No Turning Back Now

The last long run before race day is complete.

It's two miles short of what I was supposed to do, and it was the craziest roller coaster ride I have ever been on.

I ran with Mike, as he has been a rock star and improved his running time by roughly 3 minutes per mile in the last two weeks. So it was a great help to have him for company and for motivation. Unfortunately, he probably is not as happy he had me for a running partner Sunday.

I started off in that "I really don't feel like doing this" mood. So I told Mike I would run behind him and I was able to block out the negative thoughts and just concentrate on the rhythm of his feet and match my pace with his....left...right....left....right. That got me through the first ten miles with a stop here and there for a drink, or a Gu, or a trip to the natural bathroom that the woods so generously provide. My knees were hurting, my neck was tight, and I was complaining a little.

The next three miles I started to break out of the funk, and felt pretty good. I took the lead, and we came to a fork in the road. Following the road straight would have gotten us home faster, but our 18 mile course demanded that we turn right. Mentally, I took another turn, and started down a frightful path. It started to rain, my whole body was aching, 15 miles in and I had no idea where we were. I knew I was looking for a stop sign, but every time I cleared a hill and saw open road, there was no stop sign. I thought maybe we mapped the route wrong and started thinking about calling someone to come pick me up. I thought I was hurting so badly that I would never make it back home if the stop sign wasn't even within eyshot yet. Then I got mad at Mike thinking that it was his fault that we didn't take the stupid shortcut at the fork in the road when we could have. Then I screamed out with gusto, "Where the &*^% is this f*#&ing stop sign? Where the %$# are we?!?!?" It was a complete meltdown. If I had any energy left, I would have cried.

Well, once I got it together, the stop sign appeared and I recovered, knowing I only had two miles to go. I was hurting, but I got into a rhythm behind Mike again, and was able to push out the hill at the end of that ridiculous run.

I'm hoping that the crowds and the scenery will sooth the rage in me when I hit those tough moments in the race. And I hope Mike is mentally strong enough for both of us, the way he was this past Sunday.

Food For Thought & Runners

On Thursday 11^th March, Dani and I headed to the Center City Philadelphia Runner store to hear a talk led by Nancy Clark, one of America’s leading sports nutritionists and author of the book “Nancy Clark’s Food Guide for Marathoners”. Small in stature and huge in personality, she answered every question posed and gave some great insights and ideas. Her key ideas were:

1. Think of your body as a vehicle and figure out how much fuel it needs to get you through the day.

This was done through some simple arithmetic that I’ll try and explain. Start with your target body weight in pounds and multiply it by 10. This is the number of calories the body will need in one day to survive with no exercise. To account for the everyday energy the body uses during the day (carrying groceries, luggage or children, walking to and from the car, loading a new pack of paper into the photocopier), add 50% of this total. If it’s a running day, add 100 calories for each mile you run.

Using myself as an example:

Target weight is 200lb

Calories needed daily to exist is 200 x 10 = 2000 Calories

Add 50% for Daily activity (Stripping wallpaper, walking to the South Philly Taproom etc) = 3000 Calories

If I were to run to FDR Park and back (my 6 Mile route), I’d add 600 Calories, making my daily calorific requirement 3600 Calories. Easy peasy.

2. Eat the same size meal, 4 times Daily.

Nancy recommended that we should be eating 4 times a day, every 4 hours, with each meal giving us a quarter of our body’s daily need. So if my body needs 3600 Calories, I should be eating 900 calories for breakfast, 900 at Lunch, Nancy introduced the concept of 2^nd Lunch (also 900 calories) and then 900 calories for Dinner. She explained that the regular eating pattern and second lunch prevents lows and food cravings (notably when you get home from work and you’re starving).

3. The food break during a long run should be a reward, something to look forward to.

If you don’t like GU or Shot Bloks, then don’t eat them. You can replenish your body’s needs to the same extent with Gummy Bears, Nuts, Tootsie Rolls, Dried Fruit, M&M’s, Pretzel, Twizzlers. She apologised to the storeowner for any impact on sales.

4. Figure out how much water the body sweats so you know how much you need to replenish.

Simply, weigh yourself naked. Go run for an hour and weigh yourself naked again. Every pound you lose is a pint (16oz) of liquid. Use this number to evaluate how much you should be taking with you and drinking on the longer runs. On this point she also added that it is important to train your intestines as to what they can expect, as well as your muscles. If we go to Paris and are drinking water or Powerade at each of the 5k intervals, and we haven’t been doing the same in training, our bodies will react badly.

5. You should be peeing every two hours.

If you’re peeing less frequently, increase your water intake. Water in juices, coffee, lettuce, yogurt etc counts too!

6. Electrolytes = Sodium

You shouldn’t be drinking a sports drink unless you’re exercising – a Gatorade from Wawa with lunch is just adding extra salt to your diet.

Dani and I picked up her book and would definitely recommend it. She really seems to grasp that people have lives outside of running and that it’s difficult to balance hectic schedules with training. We’re definitely going to give the 4 hour, second lunch plan a go and Dani’s excited that she can give up the GU in favor of something her body likes.

On the way out, Dani asked Ross (the Philadelphia Runner co-owner) if he’d heard from Mizuno about the running shoe sponsorship for Tom Coyne. He responded, “Who is Tom Coyne?” I guess he’s a Jeopardy fan too!

Best Laid Plans

I think it was inevitable that it was going to end up this way. Despite a lifetime of better efforts, no matter how much I plan in advance, deadlines are met with an adrenaline fueled, high octane dash to the finish line. Having spent most of November and December using the weather, work commitments, the Philadelphia Eagles home schedule and anything else I could muster as an excuse to not run, I found myself on a plane with Dani on the way back from Christmas and New Year with our family in Europe and only 14 weeks to prepare for Paris. Still enough time to prepare without the last minute, frantic panic. I was convinced. The plane touched down on January 6th, I vowed that January 7th was to be the first day of 14 weeks dedicated to gym enrollment, the accumulation of road miles, physical fitness and nutritional health.

January 7^th – Julian, You’re Fired.

Generally, I was not fond of my job. For nine months I learnt a lot, unfortunately most of the lessons fell in the “What not to do” column. But I was being paid, paying bills, I had a client that I loved to work for and (I later discovered) loved the work I was doing for them.

With a house move on the horizon, hiding out as long as it took for the clouds of the recession to pass by had been my plan. Unfortunately, the clients that canceled projects or chose not to renew their contracts did not share this plan. Neither did my boss who had the courage to ask someone else to pull me aside at the end of the day to ask me to pack up my things and bid me a fond farewell. At least I suddenly had time on my hands to run, you would think.

With my calendar suddenly open, I was now able to help Dani’s dad (Rainer) work on our new home. Even an untrained eye would know that a toilet and wash basin shouldn’t be 2 feet from the circuit breaker panel in the basement, or that outlets on all three floors shouldn’t be protected by just one fuse. Rainer had trained as an electrician in Germany many years ago, prior to a career developing new technologies for Siemens and he was heading over for three weeks to manage the rewiring project at our new home. A daily pattern quickly began to emerge – breakfast, work, lunch, work until 9pm, dinner and 3 beers, bed. No time to run, and limited physical capability to do so even if I wanted to. 11 weeks to go and no effort made to fulfill the promise I made to myself on the January 6^th flight.

It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Loses an Eye!

Other than the promise I’d made to myself, I’d forgotten a lot. I forgot that I’d made a promise to do this. I forgot that I was part of a team of 12 that were also dealing with personal and professional commitments as well as inner demons. I also forgot that I was part of a team of 2, and that Dani had our own plan and commitment to help each other get to the finish line. Despite my complaints, tantrums and reluctance to put in any effort, Dani had continued to forge forward. She was putting in the miles on the road or getting to the gym to run on a treadmill when the snow outside was too deep.

Then she quit.

She’d run further than she ever had before and was rightly proud of her accomplishments. She was financially supporting us both whilst running a business in the same recession that had cost me my job. Airfare to Paris and accommodation for two was going to be expensive. She wasn’t getting the motivation she needed from her coach, but more importantly she wasn’t getting any from me. Some kind of team-mate I was.

This was the motivation I needed to get back out there, but now I needed to find a way to pick Dani up too. I threw everything I could at her – the history of Germany v England (sporting and otherwise), the story we’d tell our grandchildren (a weapon she’d used to good effect to motivate us both early on in the project), and the fact that her competitive nature wouldn’t let me do this without her. I managed to get her back on the road logging the miles again, but she wasn’t convinced.

Paris 2010 BK (Before Kate)

On February 27^th, Tom had arranged for us to meet with Sports Psychologist, Kate Taylor. Mike and Kim kindly offered their home as a meeting venue and welcomed us on a cold Saturday morning with champagne bottle in hand, enough food to feed 12 hungry runners for a week and the phrase “We’re not going to run today right? it’s too cold”. My kind of people.

Kate had been introduced to Tom through his Bishop’s Collar network. As Kate Fonshell (her unmarried name) Kate had walked behind the US Flag in Atlanta 1996, representing her country as an Olympian in the 10,000m. Kate had trained as a Sports Psychologist and she wasn’t here to wave the flag, but to boost the flagging. In light of the mental cracks that were beginning to appear in us all it was as welcome as the mimosas and cinnamon rolls that accompanied the discussion.

It was amazing to hear a world class athlete talk humbly of the demons that they battled as a college athlete and as an Olympic hopeful. We openly shared our own worries and concerns and she reassured us all that the goal was still in our reach. We talked about visualization, devising a mental as well as a physical plan for the race, we had our running form reviewed and importantly for Tom, she reminded us that he had only provided us with the opportunity and that taking it was our fault and not his.

Importantly I felt that we came back together as a team with encouragement from each others accomplishments. Cristin joined us live from Dubai via satellite having completed a half marathon in the dessert. Helene’s run log showed that she’d run the equivalent of Philadelphia to Pittsburgh and back. Shannon, in true altruistic Coyne style, had found a passion for running that she converted to helping others. Mike had dropped pounds while he and Kim had become the envy of their neighbors as they ran to basketball practices rather than drive the few miles. And Dani asked the question, “With six weeks to go and only a handful of long runs under our belt, is there still enough time to be prepared for Paris?” Kate answered “Yes.” Team Europe was back in the race.

Running with Duffy.

After we met with Kate, Duffy suggested to Dani and I that we meet the next weekend and do our long run together. We run at a similar pace (10 to 11 minute miles), Dani and Duff like to run on Forbidden Drive, we had similar distance goals (Dani and I 14 miles, Duff,16). Perfect.

We agreed to meet at Valley Green Inn at 9:30am on Saturday March 6th; Duff and Dani had charted a course with appropriate intervals:

Section 1 - Valley Green Inn to the equestrian center and back - 1 hour, 5 miles, water and GU.

Section 2 - Valley Green Inn to Kelly Drive - 1 hour, 4.5 Miles, water and GU.

Section 3 - Kelly Drive to Valley Green Inn - 1 hour, 4.5 Miles, water and GU.

Duff was then in a position to run the extra 2 miles, body permitting. Dani and I were able to collapse into a heap, 5 weeks from Paris with our 1^st half marathon complete.

10:30am – Section 1 went as well as could be expected. The sun had emerged from its hibernation and the conditions for running were better than they had been for the previous 2 and a half months. Duff cast aside his sweatshirt and jogging pants and off we went on the next leg of the run, to Kelly Drive. The snow and ice on the path was still heavy in parts, making it more of an arctic assault course than a running trail. This made the section slower, but intact, we arrived at Kelly Drive and the end of Section 2. This is where Dani, Duff and I split up.

11:16am - Convinced that if he ran back to Valley Green Inn with us, Duff was confident that his car seat would be too appealing and that there was no way he would motivate himself to run an extra 2 miles to achieve his goal. Instead, he decided he would run from Kelly Drive to the Falls Bridge, and then back to Valley Green with his 16 mile goal accomplished. Dani and I wished him well, expressed that we may see him back at the end and we headed our separate ways.

12:24pm - Our final 4.5 miles were a slog and progress had not been quick. We stretched out our tired limbs as best we could replenished our bodies with water and shot blocks, and any other foodstuff that was lying in the car. We had run slowly and it took some time for us to be able to stretch our limbs enough to operate a vehicle. As we drove away, Dani commented, “I’m surprised that we didn’t see Duffy finish.”

Square One

Well, after 7 months, countless doctor visits, hundreds of dollars in co-pays, 12 extra pounds and 8 weeks in 1 giant boot, the doctor has cleared me to start training again.

I have to admit that when the good doctor told me I was not to do any weight bearing exercise of any kind, I thought it was the best news I'd heard in my entire adult life. I had permission to be the lazy, out of shape person I always knew I was.

I had the best of both worlds...I could legitimately say I was injured while I was training for a marathon (no one had to know I was only up to 3 miles). I became a fake athlete and talked more about running and sports injuries than I ever thought possible. Other runners treated me like one of their own. And I never had to run. It was brilliant.

All that being said, with Paris approaching I've started to feel sad about not being part of this experience the way that I thought I could have been. There's little reward in being the first one "booted" off the island.

After meeting with the team and listening to their stories of struggling to get to distances I can still only imagine, I've become inspired. You all have come so far and accomplished so much already. I now wish I knew the feeling of completing a "long run" or a race (or even 3 miles at this point). You should all be VERY proud.

So by the time the team is headed to Paris, I will be up to one slow mile on the treadmill (according to my new training schedule). It may sound crazy but I am determined to start running again. I think I'll start with a 5k though. Let's face it, 26miles is just f-ing nuts Tom.

Le Run de Breakfast

I found this clip on the marathon's website and thought it might be of interest. For those of you traveling with family or friends who may have caught the running bug, there is a choose your own distance (up to 5k) breakfast race on Saturday, April 10, that takes you down the homestretch of the marathon. I have no idea what this guy in the video is going on about (per my limited French, I think he's trying to order soup), but it was somewhat inspiring to see the various nationalities and walks of life that arrive in Paris to be a part of all this. If I can get a running stroller to France, I'm thinking about running this with Allyson and Maggie. It's free, and a good way to shake off some jet lag. And it's the way to score a free banana, apparently. Have to brush up on my banana dance...



And then I found this clip on YouTube...kind of inspiring. It gets a PG-13 for the unexpected number of rubdowns going on here, but hell, it's France. And some of these folks look pretty poky, so take heart.

Marathon in jeopardy? I hope so!

If any of you were wondering about that window-rattling boom that originated in southeastern Pennsylvania this past Monday evening, that was my head exploding. At around 7:15, I walked in the door to a phone call from Fred, and I answered in the hopes that he was calling to cancel this Sunday's run. He was actually calling with more interesting news: "Dude. You were just a question on Jeopardy." As a lifelong Jeopardy devotee, I thought his call a cruel trick, payback for bringing the word "interval" into his life. But when another friend sent along this screen shot:
my head proceeded to inflate faster than a crash test air bag. Ego came gushing out of my ears, filling our living room and threatening to drown us all. (If you've seen this on Facebook this week--yeah, I'm still not over it.)

As I catch Jeopardy on most evenings, I was crushed that I wasn't watching when the question came up, though it was probably for the best. I'm sure I would have passed out, dropped the baby, or pizza-tossed the dog. Being part of a Jeopardy answer/question has been my life's secret ambition, so if it weren't for this marathon, I might never try to accomplish anything ever again. No races. No contests. No quizzo for me. I wouldn't attempt so much as a crossword puzzle--I would just go sit on my stoop for the next forty years and tell passersby about the night I was a $400 question. And I would leave out the part about the three lumps who didn't buzz in to answer.

Which brings me to a new ambition--to become a Jeopardy question that someone knows the answer to. Or maybe a Daily Double. Which is where the Paris Twelve comes in. Somewhere amid these many solitary miles, we might have lost interest in one of the cool things about this slog--that people are going to experience all of this with us, in a blog, in a book, and maybe a game show. A whole bunch of strangers are going to be running right with us, pulling for us, critiquing us, becoming friends we didn't know we had. I've never felt quite as lonely as I have on these long winter runs, so let's not forget that we have some company. And with each new mile and new challenge and new circumstance, we are writing a story--a story that might end up crossing Alex Trebek's sweet lips someday in that ultimate dream: 26.1 to Go, the Jeopardy category. Consider the possibilities: "What is, molasses?" "What is, Body Glide?" "What is, a stress fracture?" "Where is, the Bishop's Collar?" "What is, last place?" Post your own 26.1 to Go question/answers here. You never know who's following...

Hawks, Buzzards and Other Mind Games

I'm posting on behalf of our brother in running, Brian:

Hard to believe, but I think back to August to try to gain some perspective on where this running journey has taken me. This one of the many mind games I play in trying to convince myself that this training-for-a-marathon-experiment-in-idiocy can possibly end well. I think back to my first attempts of running again after years of rust and fat build-up, those desperate steps on the boardwalk in OC in which a mile was a struggle. Can't you just run to the Music pier and back, you pathetic geezer??!! I remember the heat, the sweat, the utter humiliation. Well, minus the heat, not much has changed...or has it?

I have now stretched out my training runs to what is legitimately labeled "long runs"- 10 mile, 9 mile, 10 mile, 11 mile and 12 mile runs under my belt. I hope to manage 13 or 14 really slow miles this weekend, my head bobbing above the canyons of snow plowed along the path on Kelly Drive. I am quite amazed at how far I have come from those hot, futile runs last summer, yet I am overwhelmed by the distances still to be overcome. The 12 miles last Sunday seemed to take every ounce of energy, strength and fortitude I could muster. How can I possibly double this output and then some in two months time on the streets of Paris?? How much more do I really have in this aging body?

The math does not add up. I find myself doing math in my head constantly on my runs. How far have I gone? How much further do I have to go? If I turnaround now, how far will that take me? How many three mile loops go into 26.2? What time did I start my run? What time will it be when I finish? How long will I run for? How many weeks to Paris? How many "long runs" left on the training schedule? How many times have I heard this U2 song? How far have I ran since I last heard it? And on and on... Can I patent a running shirt with a built-in calculator in the sleeve? How can I get the math to add up on April 11?

A few weeks ago, I was three quarters of my way through my "long run", about 7 miles and 80 minutes through along Forbidden Drive, when I saw a large hawk sitting on a low branch of a tree alongside the trail just in front of me. Maybe it was a hallucination? I nearly stopped, but continued on and passed within 15 feet of the predator, his eyes following me the whole time as I cautiously moved in full front of him. As I ran past, I wondered what he must have been thinking....Can I take this guy and be set for winter and beyond? Kind of like hitting the hawk powerball lottery. I ran faster to ensure I was out of range quickly, my heart beating faster but not because I was running faster, hoping that the rules of nature would hold sway. Hawks swoop down on squirrels and rabbits and mice and such, not cows, pigs or gorillas, right?

Running back on Forbidden Drive, I often see the hawks majestically circling the trees overhead. Toward the end of a "long run", I sometimes wonder if they are not buzzards circling, waiting for the impending collapse of the carcass. They can smell it, can't they? The thought keeps me moving, further than I ever have run before.

I imagine Paris. I see people lined on the streets, shouting in French. I see myself sprinting to the finish line, but I can't be sure yet if I bask in sunlight or flood light. What are the tube stops near miles 18, 20, 22, 23, 24? Mile 25? If I make it that far, I know I can low crawl the rest of the way, like the way we stormed the beaches on the coast to the west.

I have had a few runner's highs on some of the "long runs". The Gu packs have sure helped(thanks Fred!). After an especially good vanilla bean last week, my step noticeably picked up at mile 9. I felt like I had a huge zipper lined down the front of my body. I unzip it and ran out of a huge layer of myself, the skin and fat of the previous me left behind on the trail behind me, the "long run" new me bounding forward, light and fleet. Could I possibly do this? Could I have again become that runner from so many years ago? Then mile 11 came, and I shuffle that last mile to the finish, completely crushed and unsure if this is at all possible.

But I figure if I can do 12, I can squeeze out 14. And if I can do 14, I can do... March 21 is circled on my calendar. That's my target date for 20 miles. I'll know better that if I can get to 14 then I can get to 20. And if I can get to 20, then...the race starts at 20, I am told! As long as I don't stop moving, I know I can get to 20!! The math means nothing, it's all in my head, and if I just don't stop moving, I will get to 26.2. And if I can do this, we all can do this. I hope and pray I can do this!

As as aside, thank god for Gu. The Gu gels are awesome, and I look forward to those packets along my runs the way I used to look forward to a Wendy's double with cheese. I have found that my tastes in Gu are very similar to my tastes in general. My preferences are in the vanillas and chocolates, not so much in the fruits. I can attest to one side effect that should raise caution in using Gu before a date or job interview. After a recent "long run", I stiffly shuffled up to my house and in the door, greeted with a jumping-into-the-arms hug from my three year old. I gave her a big kiss, and she recoiled, her nose shriveling up at me. "Bridget, what's the matter?" "Daddy, your breath is stinky!!" Relieved and satisfied, I said, "I know, sweetheart, I know". As she ran off to the play room, I was sure that no matter where this journey ends, it's been worthwhile getting here. At least that's what I will be telling myself on Sunday, round about mile 12.

BD

Vive le Paris 12!

With Paris looming ever closer, I decided to brush up on my French. I've collected some phrases that might come in handy during the marathon.

Je suis désolé de courir. I hate running.
Je vais vomir. I'm going to vomit.
Non, je ne peux pas aller un peu plus vite. No, I cannot go any faster.
Mes jambes font mal. My legs hurt.
Je veux crier. I want to cry.
Pourquoi ai-je dit que je le ferais? Why did I say I would do this?


I also discovered some interesting idioms:

Ah, la vache! (Oh, the cow!) Oh my god!
Avoir une araignée au plafond (To have a spider in the head) To have a screw loose
C'est la fin des haricots. (That's the end of the beans.) It's the last straw. / It's hopeless / That's the end of it.
Les carottes sont cuites. (The carrots are cooked.) I've had it. / That's enough.
Avoir le cul bordé de nouilles (To have the ass full of noodles) To be lucky


So, basically, the carrots are totally cooked and I'm at the end of my beans but maybe I'll have an ass full of noodles on April 11th.

Tom Said He Wouldn't Be My Friend if I Didn't Blog

Greetings all,

Joe Byrne here, reporting live from Chicago where my phone tells me it's 18 degrees with a Real Feel (TM) of 13. So I've got that going for me, which is nice. Tom tells me some of you may be wondering what happened to that one guy who showed up in Philadelphia that one time, the one who huffed and puffed and wheezed his way a couple of miles up and down the lovely riverside path that you're probably all too familiar with. Well, I have been running, albeit a bit less frequently as of late. Cold weather, snow, laziness, long days at work, a dog that needs to be walked and entertained, and attempts at having some semblance of a life, all conspire to make running 5 days a week (16 miles on Saturday Lowell says!) a less than attractive prospect.

To echo what Cristin (or Dubai C. as I like to think of her) wrote, the desire to run this marathon is a bit in question. Would i like to finish a marathon? Absolutely. Would i be crushed if an ankle gave out and the doctor said I couldn't run it? Maybe not. The time commitment required to prepare for this is a bit daunting. I lead a relatively simple life, so i can't even begin to imagine the sacrifice and determination required by many of you with families to stick with this. I'm impressed with all your efforts and you should all really take a moment to congratulate yourselves for all the hard work you've put in thus far. My knowing that the rest of you are out there, running around the highways and by-ways of the greater Philadelphia metro area, helps to get me out on a frost-bitten Tuesday night (oh interval training! what joy!).

I like how i feel after I run. I like that I've lost some weight. I like that I am totally sexier now than I was in August (that part is, I suppose, open to debate). But man, the running itself is just not all that thrilling. When I ran my first 16-miler I wished that I had my transit card to hop on a bus that would whisk me away and back to my couch. But I pressed on. I pressed on because I had told someone I was going to run 16 miles and there was no way I was going to see them later and say, "oh, well yeah... I just ran 9 miles instead...". I pressed on because you all press on. Whether it's the fear (or the hope?) that Tom will de-friend us if we don't run, or something nobler (pride, determination, insanity) that pushes you onward, you're doing it. I'm trying to do it. And by george, come April 11, I'll be planting one foot in front of the other for (hopefully) 4 hours and I'm sure a part of me will be enjoying it.

Sorry, it's early and I don't even know what I'm saying right now, so apologies for such an incoherent post. Tom demanded a post from me and he got it. What he, and no doubt each of you, is now realizing is that you were all doing fine without rambling run-on sentences from that one dude in Chicago. And now for the most important question... anyone up for liquid brunch at the Bishop's Collar? Meet you there in 15 minutes.

26.1 to go: The Movie

Maggie Gyllenhaal as Cristin Luck

Suzy Kolbert as Kim Gerardi

Phillip Rivers as Mike Gerardi

Milla Jovovich as Daniela Kuehn

Chuck Knoblauch as Fred Plaza

Emily Blunt as Jen Coyne

Emily Blunt as Shannon Coyne

Harrison Ford as Brian Duffy

Leann Rimes as Jeannie Zimmerman

Terri Hatcher as Helene Taylor

Dominic Monaghan as Joe Bryne

Hugh Grant as Julian Hill

Eric Stoltz as Tom Coyne.

You want some good news about your running? Well here you go!

I would call these the dark times. The crap times. The I'm-sending-all-Tom's-running-emails-into-my-spam-folder-from-now-on times. Three feet of snow. Nowhere to run if you even want to. Yet the clock ticks on and the calendar pages turn, and that finish line in France rapidly approaches. Some of us made great progress, then started to run in place. Or not run at all. Or just kind of disappear (JB? You out there?).

At the two month mark, it seems that most of the Paris Twelve (or shall I say, Ten? Eight?) are feeling squeezed--nay, crushed--by the pressure to train harder and longer, just at the time when running seems to have lost its very last charm (not that it had pocketfuls to begin with). Judging by a teammate's recent suggestion to re-title the project: "On your marks, get set, F@*& that!" I sense a certain frustration brewing. So I thought it might be useful to get a sense of where everyone is right now in terms of preparedness and running state of mind. How about a short quiz?

Out of the following ten statements, how many could you hear yourself saying?

1. I would rather lick the bottom of my sneakers than put them on again.

2. Running is for people who suck at golf/football/poker/darts/having a life.

3. I have considered running drunk in the hopes that it might be less excruciating.

4. Hey, running: You're a dork and nobody likes you.

5. I have contemplated punting a Canadian goose on Kelly Drive, just to make another animal feel my pain.

6. I have lied about a distance I ran.

7. I have lied that I ran at all.

8. I have purchased a package of running energy shots, then eaten them all while watching Kitchen Nightmares.

9. I would rather suffer from the runs than go on one.

10. I used to like myself. Then I started training for a marathon.


How many of the above apply to you? If you said ten out of ten, don't fear, you are not alone. And thanks to our good friends at Mizuno, the Paris Twelve are now not alone in the best kind of way. Mizuno Running has agreed to come on board this adventure as our equipment sponsor and outift us for our training and the Marathon de Paris. So when you are out there searching for the air for that last mile, or if you're in bed, looking for a reason to not just roll over, remember that the finest manufacturer of sporting goods in the world believes in you! You are part of a team! You, the newbie, the misfit, the tortoise--you are sponsored by Mizuno! (At least until they read this blog). I will be in touch as details come together, but I wanted to share the good news. We needed some.

Plodding and scheming

Greetings from Dubai! This blog entry has been a long time coming so I apologize if I ramble. Bob and I have been plugging along these past few months. Running did not mix too well with a wedding and honeymoon but we’ve managed to stick with it. Our days in Dubai are numbered and we will be moving home in a matter of weeks. I like counting down to our last day, March 15th. April 11th is another matter…

We ran the Dubai Marathon 10k on January 22nd. This will sound ridiculous but I was really nervous about it. So much so that I only got 2-3 hours of sleep the night before. Mentally, I am still having a hard time contemplating stretches of running that exceed an hour. I don’t yet trust that I am capable of such insanity. But the excitement and camaraderie managed to overpower my anxiety and to my surprise, we really enjoyed it. After we finished, we stuck around to watch the winner of the marathon. (We didn’t have to wait that long.) I’ve never seen elite runners that close up. And watching them go by, I’ve never felt so big and slow. So, that’s what real running looks like! Luckily we missed seeing the fastest woman cross the finish line since I later heard that she vomited her way through her last few strides. I am sure I will do the same but unlike her, I won’t be handed a $250,000 check for my troubles. I’ll be lucky if the event hasn’t already closed down and someone is around to hand me a tissue.

I hate to write this but I’ve been starting to really wonder why I am doing this. Not just why but should I. The fact that most of the time I am still not sure can’t be good. Sometimes it feels like the only reason I am doing this is because I said I would. But that does little to bolster you when you are feeling the Dubai sun, your secret water stash is on the other side of the park, your knee is aching and fully-veiled women are speed-walking past you.

According to everything I have read, your state of mind is really what makes or breaks you. I usually prefer a pleasant surprise over a leap of faith and (no shocker here) this has not been serving me too well. I have not seen my “doubt and see” method in any marathon book or article I’ve read. You have to believe that you are capable. This has become my greatest challenge. Every so often, I flip through the book The Non-runner’s Marathon Trainer. And right at the beginning, it is suggested that you tell anyone who will listen that you will be running a marathon, that you are a marathoner. That just doesn’t sit well with me and to this day, I cringe whenever the subject comes up with anyone other than Bob and my family. Can’t I just tell them when I finish? If I finish? (I refuse to think about the fact that Tom is writing anything about this. Book? What book?) I don’t look like a runner. I don’t feel like a runner. So why should I go around advertising myself as a runner? I’m a jogger at best with a knee that doesn’t even want to be that.

I recently went back and re-read that article in the New York Times. I still hate it. But give me a crappy run and I slip to the other side of that argument. I appreciate the hard work and dedication necessary for a newbie to even attempt running, let alone a marathon. And hopefully I will eventually appreciate firsthand the effort it takes to finish one. Still, if by some miracle I do finish, I’m afraid I’ll be closer to someone who had a sherpa drag them up Mt. Everest than a runner who actually ran a race. I hate how negative that sounds and I worry about the toll this mindset is taking on my effort. Which means I am now worrying about worrying. Oh boy this really isn’t good. I’m really over-thinking this aren’t I? I'm annoying myself at this point. 



Bob and I are signed up for the Ras Al Khaimah Half-Marathon on February 19th. Ras Al Khaimah is one of the seven emirates of the UAE and shares a border with Oman. In other words, a perfect location for long-distance running. We discovered the event after regular registration had closed but managed to sneak in through the waiting list. (Damn.) Ironically, we’ve been given left-over double-digit numbers normally reserved for elite runners. It really is a bad time to be in a country that outlaws Tylenol PM.

Despite all my complaining and over-thinking, I am determined to stick with it. I really want to see this through. I think I just needed to vent. The New York Times can still shove it. I hope you are all well!

Calling all couples...

Mike & Kim! Julian & Dani! Shannon & Bill! Fred & Katie! And despite her Facebook status, Jeannie & Bill! Allyson? (I can swaddle Maggie up and run with her like I'm fullback Fred Plaza...)


Nothing says I love you more than sweaty laps around suburbia, but this sounds like fun. You run as a couple, running in the opposite direction of your partner, passing them again and again throughout the race so you can blow kisses, shout your resentment, or throw hay makers. The race is February 13 at 3:30pm (you can sleep in, J Hill!) in Bryn Mawr. Click the LOVE to register.

Pardon me, Fifteen Miles, but do you really want some of this? Do you? Really?

And so were some of the thoughts bouncing around an unsteady mind as I tromped my way through the streets of Philadelphia, searching out fifteen downhill miles that would still lead me back to my starting line. I had grown weary of the Kelly Drive loop—last Monday, I ran the four mile back stretch without seeing another living being aside from all the geese in Canada, dodging their crap my afternoon's only diversion.

So for this long run, I mapped out a route through the streets of Philadelphia that would take me past historic sites, motivational monuments, and Wawas where I could refuel on Gatorade and a bacon and cheddar breakfast hoagie. I abandoned that route within a few blocks as I was pushed onto side streets by Septa busses and red lights, but with my handy GPS watch (it’s the size of a car battery, but I love it), I was able to improvise a fifteen mile run through the city of brotherly love.

Along the way, I learned many things. One, Philadelphia is not as large a city as I thought it was. I ran from the Art Museum down to Delaware Avenue, down into South Philly, up into Old City, back to Delaware Ave, up to Northern Liberties, back to Fairmount, and I still had to run four laps around the Eastern State Penitentiary to tally fifteen miles. I also realized that Rocky’s run was not as impressive as I once thought it to be. He really should have bounced up those steps the first time. I followed his route and took a turn down 9^th street and into the Italian market, pumping my arms past rows of produce and dodging a moped teetering under a stack of caged chickens (running through the smoke from the oil barrel bonfires felt particularly cinematic).

As I ran through the theater crowds on Broad Street and the tourists on Chestnut and the hipsters on Second and the two guys on Girard yelling at Alicia across the street to “Get your ass off the corner, girl!” I realized that I was that guy, the one running past you on the sidewalk with snot smeared across his tight sport-tec jacket, eyes swollen with exhaustion, that dude bounding past you while you sit there and try to remember the last time you exercised—the kind of guy I used to dodge as I walked my dog and thought, “Go find a track. Douche.” I was that lone runner, running in places where no one else was running, because I must like to run or show people how I like to run and run far and run all over the place because I just can’t stop running and I run everywhere. I don’t. I’m not. But as I came to my finish line outside the Bishop’s Collar on Fairmount Avenue (it’s amazing how all routes seem to end there), I stopped after having kept my legs moving for the longest continuous amount of time in my thirty-five years, and I breathed deep and let out a loud “F-you, fifteen!” Nearby, an old man was walking his dog. He didn’t look at me. But I know what he was thinking.

PARIS UPDATE

If you have been following the French news, you will see that those of you who were planning on wearing an Islamic face veil to hide from the embarrassment of running a nine hour marathon, well, you are out of luck (I wonder if anyone will run in a veil in protest). You should have recently received your monthly update from the Paris marathon—or dig it out of your spam folder, it’s a good read. I’m hoping that the shaky translations from French to English are not indicative of the overall organization of the race—see “Our runners friends and their families are always welcome but our wish is to welcome moreover, all the children who want to run on route that the champions will go through the next day! Between 2 km or 5km, in the choice.” Or “Discover Bultex, the material of the sleep.” (I can’t resist cheap FR/EN chuckles – it’s not like they won’t be laughing at my French!) This breakfast run is interesting if anyone is traveling with family who would like to try to do a short run the day before and experience some of the route. Check it out HERE. But the highlight of the newsletter and the new route map: SPONGES! Every 5km, sponges! What this means, or what I am to do with a sponge (Sop up my tears? Wear it like a beret? Practice responsible family planning?), I’m not sure, but at this mind-quieting distance, a sponge qualifies as something to look forward to.

Speaking of things to look forward to, thanks to Mike for this idea (or blame to Mike for this homework assignment): Between now and Paris, I’m hoping that each of the Paris twelve and/or their friends, families, or followers of this blog might post some information about and photos of the sites we will be passing during our run (just ripping stuff from Wikipedia is totally acceptable for this task). This might help some of us get reinvigorated about what we are going to have the chance to do in three months, and it might give us something to distract ourselves from what we are doing as we plod through Paris (Hey, we aren’t all just running in a 26 mile circle for a t-shirt; We’re 37,000 hurried tourists looking for the Louvre!). I’ve looked at the route, and it might be great to get some more information about the following locations that we will be seeing should we be able to pick our heads up long enough (and forgive the spelling, I’m taking these off a blurry course map):

The Arc de Triomphe

The Champs Elysses

Place de la Concorde

Musee de Louvre

Hotel de Ville

Place de la Bastille

Chateau de Vincennes

Cahedrale Notre Dame

Musee d’Orsay

Tour Eiffel

Grand Palais

Trocadero

74 days and counting! Plans for the post-race party are well underway, as are the specifics of a send-off soirée. Fifteen more miles this weekend—anyone want to see Philadelphia? Like, all of it?

Some New Year Thoughts

First of all, Congrats to Tom and Allyson. What a beautiful picture and a beautiful baby girl. Now we’re the Paris 12 and ½.

Second, I wanted to throw a personal note thanks out to Tom. I’m really enjoying this whole experience. In fact, whilst running today, I tried to think of some ideas for your next book (in keeping with the flavor of this adventure).

- “Freak! From Suburbia to the Circus” - A group of 12 sedentary people see if they have what it takes to become a member of a traveling circus sideshow. Follow their zany adventures as they take on sword swallowing, fire eating, and getting a cannon shot into their stomachs!”

- “31 Flavors of Pain!” – A group of 12 ordinary citizens stand around in a circle and trade kicks in the crotch until only one is left standing. Journey with them into the heart of darkness.

- “Torture….HO!” – As sleeping on a bed of nails, fire walking, and Ethiopian lip plates become more fashionable, watch how a group of 12 regular Americans come to love the pleasure/pain that comes with these wacky forms of self mutilation.

Just some thoughts. Please let me know if you decide to use any of these ideas as I would like a slice of the royalties.

Third, I’d like to state right here and now for the record, the following resolutions:

1. That I will NEVER miss another run, from here until Paris. Lowell is my sovereign lord and liege and I will obey all dictates and commands.

2. I will provide weekly updates on the blog for all to see on both my running and my weight loss. Embarrassment works well for me as a form of motivation. I need to drop some lbs and keep the running up or I’m dead in the water. Expect my first update this Friday.

3. That I plan to give Tom a "Code Red" at some point in 2010. If anyone is down with that, I’m thinking about beating him with a bar of soap in a tube sock. Hit me up if you’d like to participate.

Also, Kim and I would like to host a Country Run at some point in February (get you city folks out of the city for a day). How does Sunday, Feb 21st look for everyone? I’m thinking we’ll do a group run, and then come back to the house for a breakfast/brunch. Let me know if this works for you and we’ll lock it down.

Yours in mindless pain,

Mike

My not-running excuse is better than your not-running excuse

Happy New Year to everyone, and thank you for all the kind words and well wishes for our latest member of the running team, Margaret (Maggie) Frances Coyne, born Christmas Eve. She was an early surprise (whispering to Allyson's belly about tax deductions seemed to do the trick), but she arrived healthy and well at six pounds, eleven ounces, and Mom and Maggie are doing great. And her big brother hasn't even tried to eat her yet (though he seems to be contemplating the reprocussions of doing so in this picture). While she has been slacking off in the running department (she's a marathoner of day-sleeping), that certainly makes her no different than her dad.
Maggie has been the best reason to not run I could have ever asked for, but as the holidays end and the calendar turns and life regains some sense of normalcy, it seems time to return to that former routine of right, left, right. As we approach the three month mark to Paris (wow, that's what pure terror feels like) it is time to recommit to our running ways, and not let all that progress we were making fly off on the bitter January breeze. I recall running on a warm September morning when we talked of the approaching cold with hopeful and welcoming tones, convinced that running in the chill would be far more enjoyable than sweating in the humidity and haze. What a bunch of crap that was. Getting out there in the freeze is going to be our biggest challenge yet, but this is where we are--the cold and crap times. Think April as you go. And let's get together soon and put an end to the excuses that recently seemed as abundant as Christmas cheer. In case you thought you were the only one lying about your mileages, allow me to offer a recent excerpt from an email exchange between anonymous members of our (non)running squad:

Runner A:
it was 4 degrees last week, and i didn't even pretend like i was going to go. And then it was snowing and then i just didn't want to. and then i was hungover. and then i wasn't hungover but didn't want to spend 2 hours running around like a moron. maybe this week i'll run again. Nice work on 8 miles!

Runner B:
8 is lame compared to these running freaks Tom has conspired to surround us with. I'm beginning to suspect something fishy is going on, people seem to be regularly putting double digit miles on the clock, signing up for every opportunity to get a free t-shirt and run 5k at 4am on a weekend morning. It's like an episode of Stepford Wives, with a running theme.

Runner A:
That is a t-shirt just waiting to be made. 11 stepford wives in running gear and tom coyne leading them.

Let's get back at it, freaks. Maggie's cooperation provided, I would love to get together for a group run this weekend--Sunday looks like it's getting all the way up to 30 degrees! And I think we need a race to get re-focused here. On January 16th, the Winter Pickle Run is being held at Ridley Creek State Park. It's a 4.3 mile prediction race where you try to guess your finish time (no, Julian, you can't guess it in days). You also hunt for hidden pickles along the race route. And there's a t-shirt! Click the pickle to register.

Layer up. See you Sunday?