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.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
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...
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...
Monday, February 15, 2010
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
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
Sunday, February 14, 2010
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.
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.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
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.
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.
Friday, February 12, 2010
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.Thursday, February 11, 2010
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.
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.
Monday, February 1, 2010
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!
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!
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