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Virginia is for Plodders

Wanting to try my feet at thirteen miles before the holidays and fatherhood put a freeze on my traveling options, I recently headed down to Fredericksburg, Virginia to run the Blue & Gray Half Marathon. After viewing some of the footage shot by my lovely sidekick (who is celebrating her birthday today), I have begun to wonder if "run" is actually what I did. (And no, none of this footage is in slow motion.) In my defense, this first clip is from the halfway point where I was beginning to knock on the runner's wall--I had just slopped my way up a muddy hill, and I found myself at a part in the course where we were doing a loop around the athletic fields at some bucolic college that just looked like a bunch of puddles to me, and I could glimpse the miles ahead all crowded with women and children tiptoeing through the rain, bounding with joy into the distance. And this second clip at the race's end (none of this footage is particularly exciting, but what the hell, the blog needed some love) bears witness to the following facts: I did finish; it rained the entire f$%#ing time; I am still kind of fat; and I am sooooooooo sloooooooow. But running my life's longest distance in 34 degrees and pouring rain (notice that I'm the only one running without gloves--no, those aren't latex gloves, those are two frozen lumps of bloodless flesh stuck to the end of my forearms), and that I didn't technically walk a step of it feels like accomplishment enough, pace and place be damned (I actually had a decent personal pace going until the last two miles, all uphill, where my shuffle-stride had me nearly running in place -- I looked like I was busting a move instead of trying to move my body forward). Highlights of the race: A medal; Gatorade at water stations; Michelob truck at the finish line (my legs miraculously burst into a sprint at the finish as I bowled over spectators and elbowed my way through a sea of goobers waiting in line for their free banana, and I found myself standing before said truck where I made a cup of Ultra disappear like there was a hole in it). Lowlights of the race: Everything else. The notion that I would turn around and go run that race distance again is comical--nay, tragic--but thirteen felt that way not very long ago. As for running, it isn't getting easier, and I can't clearly articulate what I'm getting out of it. But as I sat (yes, sat) in the shower after the race, still clutching that cup and and feeling my fingers tingle back to life, I felt good. I felt really, really good. And how that happened at the end of a rainy, frozen morning that began and ended with me plodding my way through a strip mall parking lot, I'm not entirely sure.

Is it December already? My running year in review.

It doesn’t seem so long ago that I was sitting in Tom Coyne’s back garden talking about ideas for his next writing project. TC was doing the best he could to keep mum about the irons he had in the fire, but a very amused Allyson Coyne did the best she could to hold back the tears of laughter as she asked if I’d ever gone running before?

Oh how things have changed. Oh how I like Tom so much less.

A team of two, on a team of twelve.

My first team meeting didn’t take place with Tom and the team on Kelly Drive, but on the couch in my house in South Philadelphia. The minutes of the meeting between Dani and I are shown below.

Dani and I tackle problems very differently. Dani takes the "plan meticulously and execute with military precision" approach. I take the “Who needs instructions? Let’s just start and figure it out as we go along” approach. They clearly both have their merits. I was responsible for taking the meeting notes and began with what seemed to be the most important rule; we should have fun. The observant among you will also note that this was crossed out. What you can’t see is the 2-hour argument that followed about the need to take this whole marathon thing seriously. Eventually we regrouped, dug deep and honestly examined our character strengths and weaknesses, and came up with the additional six rules. Rule number one was also reinstated after a tantrum of epic proportions by one of the two meeting attendees. I shall protect their identity and allow them to remain nameless. For the record, Rule number 6 has long since been thrown out of the window, and Rule 4 is the rule most frequently invoked.

Tales of the Unexpected

Entering this running world, I anticipated changes both good and bad. I expected aches and pains, but somehow failed to expect the aches and pains that I actually got. Some of the other notable changes include:

1. The inability to order a sandwich at Wawa.

The first time I tried was like using an entirely new computer operating system. I was familiar with the machine, but it kept offering me the usual delicious choices of meatball subs, Italian hoagies, and Chicken Parmesan. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t find how to order a sandwich, made with wheat bread (as per Dr. Bob and Tom’s nutritionist's instructions). Even when I did find it, the automated sandwich selector kept on trying to make it less healthy – would you like oil or mayo, bacon, extra meat, half a pound of cheese, hot sauce? All great ideas, but none of them are on my diet sheet.

2. The hijack of my Internet?

There was a time when I’d be embracing the World Wide Web, only to be distracted by pop up images and banners showing me new gadgets or electronic items that I didn’t know I wanted or t-shirts with the latest ironic statement about a d-list or recently dead celebrity. After buying a pair of trainers online, mapping my run (long since abandoned), and reading the roadmap from couch to 5k, everything has now changed. Now the edges of my internet browser seem to be filled with pictures of a sweaty Lance Armstrong, thin people running into dramatic sunsets, or gallon jugs of powder that offer me boosts of stamina and energy (and probably an asterisk next to my finish time).

3. Misery loves company.

One of the associated benefits of embarking on this project was going to be the opportunity to reintroduce myself to the long lost tracks on my iPod. Music that had been buried below latest releases would resurface and help drive me toward the finish line. The artist or song didn’t matter as much as the tempo and rhythm. It would be the playlist that I’d never even considered creating – all upbeat, all the time, like a metronome producing a rhythm to run by. Weeks 1 through 4 followed the plan, but as I began to spiral mentally downward my feet began to dance a shuffle and not the tango I’d hoped for. The musical story of a relationship meltdown by Pete Yorn and Scarlett Johansson quickly replaced the upbeat pop and rock I started out with and I became much happier knowing that someone else is miserable too.

4. Accepting the unexpected.

There has to be an upside right? Running is still strange to me, a very isolated and anti-social activity. Even when running with someone (or behind Dani – partly due to athletic ability, partly due to the view) you tend to be very alone. Still nobody smiles or waves, but I’ve realised that they will if you smile and wave hard enough at them. There have been precisely 2½ instances of running on auto-pilot where my legs just seemed to be doing their thing and I felt good. I’ve lost some weight and my lungs feel strong. I also think that this 26.2 mile thing is doable. I’m looking forward to the Christmas and New Year break from running – my coach insisted.