Runner's porn

Went to the store yesterday and bought two volumes of runner’s porn:  I run, therefore I am—Crazy, and Born To Run by Christopher McDougall.

The first one is a stupid little book full of what seems like running themed newspaper commentary/articles where the guy basically bitches about what he loves about running.

Not at all inspiring.

The problem is that all the little quirks that he loves about running are the things that really bug me about running—the aches, pains, dehydration, delirium, and on and on.  I’m not running because I WANT all that stuff, I’m running so that all that stuff doesn’t happen anymore when I run.  I know, it’s something of a catch-22, because if I just didn’t run I wouldn’t have dead legs and shin splints.  But, then again, if I do run and can condition myself beyond that, I’m all the stronger for it.

I read the first 20 pages, flipped through the rest of the book, now I’m done.

 

The other book, though, is a fascinating story about the Terahumara tribe in Mexico’s Copper Canyon region.  I’m maybe 25 pages in and want to go running tonight.

Yes, I’m actually horny for running, so to speak.  The runner’s porn has done its job.

 

The thing is, I want to want to run.  I don’t like forcing myself to do things, even though I know it’s good for me and I can’t do X unless I first do A – V, whether I want to or not.

Today, however, I find myself actually looking forward to my new shoes I’m going to go shopping for in a week.  I’m looking forward to picking up a few more shirts, and another couple pairs of shorts.

This go around might actually be different.  The switch might actually be flipped.

 

Time will tell.

A step beyond

I was planning on pushing the distance up to 3 miles this weekend, but not today.

Nonetheless, I made it to my 2 mile turnaround point and decided to take just a couple more steps because I was feeling good. Those few more steps turned into an extra 1/3 of a mile.

Total distance for today: 2.66 miles (according to Google Earth).

I made the whole distance out without a single stop. I made it about 1/3 of the way back and had to pause at a red light (blessedly placed right where I needed a short breather). There's an uneven patch of cement where a bus stop used to be that I walked 6 steps across. Then 3 more points on the way home where I stopped. I didn't walk any of the 2.66 miles.

By the end of the month, I should be knocking down 6 miles on the weekend long runs, and 3 miles on the weekday long runs. By the end of September, the goal is 10 mile weekenders and 3 mile weekday short runs.

I owe myself a bike ride or two, as well. I'm a bit behind on my bike mileage, and consequently I'm still running a little heavy.

I've also noticed that I haven't been sore after ANY of my runs. What the hell is up with that?!?

Finally, I almost rolled my ankle not once, but 3 times. THREE TIMES!!!

Anyway, time for dinner and a little bit of water.

Two miles--no walking

Ok, I squeezed in two miles this morning. Not having a watch is beginning to get on my nerves.

I think I maintained a 10 minute pace, but I can't be sure. I paused twice to catch my breath, but both pauses were less than 5 seconds. The legs didn't feel like tree trunks at all during the run, and I managed to work through the "ok, just walk for a few paces" phase right after the turnaround point.

Working through that is a big psychological win for me. When I hit the turnaround point (or mile markers at Memorial), there's this feeling of "whew, I did it!" I presume you runners know what I'm talking about. Then comes the "I give me permission to walk" crap that pops into my head, so the physical trainer on my back starts to shout insults at that little douche and challenging my manhood. I have a very interesting soundtrack going through my head when I run (or bike, for that matter). I'll describe my physical trainer a bit more at some other time.

So...

2 miles today. No walking. For a run, it felt good.

mm mm good

Cream of mushroom, wild rice, celery, carrots, peppers, and either quail, dove, pheasant, or rabbit.

 

Goodness gracious.

Lunch!

From August 3:

 

Ok, so I had the burger.  And it was good.

 

But it wasn’t a double (did have cheese, though), it did have lettuce and tomato, no mayo, and no coke.

Yes, I ate the fries.

 

So, I figure the salad balances out the yummy, juicy, delicious meaty cheezey burger.

And the tea offset the fries and foregone coke.

Take that, Captain Killjoy!

 

Of course, I’m still going to have to put in 5 miles or so to balance the whole deal, but I was hoping to work up to 5 miles by next week anyway.  I’m actually looking a little bit forward to the 6 mile route I used to run.  It’s a lot longer on a map than it feels in my head, and it’s even longer while running it than it looks on a map.  But, as far as runs go, it’s a good run.

And thus, it is official

From July 17:

 

I have paid the fee and am registered, officially, for the Houston Marathon in 2010.

I’ll probably even run it.

 

When I close my eyes I can still see the 2005 and 2006 iterations of the marathon.  The one with crushing defeat, the other with waves of exhilaration.  I was underprepared in 2005 and I knew it, but was hoping that guts would take over where preparation gave out.  They did not, and brains stepped in for the guts and I had to shut it down.  I can go out to the very point on the pavement where I knew it was over, too.  And then there’s the spot a little further down where I actually threw in the towel.  I can still feel the failure if I stop and ponder it for even just a moment.  There’s a pain associated with it that’s not just physical, but something deeper and more profound.  There’s even an acrid, acidic smell that comes to mind, too.  Something like baking pavement, car exhaust, sweat, and demoralization.

DNFs are not the end of the world.  They happen.  I’ve pulled out of a couple of MS150s without the same sense of failure.  But this was different.  This was not “a” marathon.  For me this was “the” marathon.  I’m probably never going to qualify for Boston or travel the country running marathon after marathon.  Houston IS my crowning marathon achievement.  My Tour de France.  My Everest.  Quitting in 2005 was an admission of defeat.  That hurt.  It made me angry.

But that tight ball of hurt and anger became fuel that would start a fire burning in July that kept growing through December.

Those very same spots, the very next year, came to carry a new and different meaning.  The first where I knew I was done in 2005 became the spot in 2006 where I knew I was strong enough to finish the thing.  The spot where I had to quit and admit defeat became the spot where I spat on the ground because this time the course wasn’t going to win.

A new spot was added to the list, as well, and it exists both physically and mentally.  This was the spot on the course where, based on the pace I was keeping and the distance remaining, I knew I was going to finish in about 5:30, right on schedule.  That barring any injury or freak accident, I really, truly was going to finish.  The goal was reached.  I was going to win.

 

Tonight I’ll take in a short run.  I’ve spent the last two days pouring and stuffing poison into my body, so I’m going to have to crank up the engine to burn some of it off.  I’m going to pay for the poor choice of fuel, but what the hell.  Pizza tastes good.  Beer tastes good.  Saturday or Sunday will feature a longer run (3 miles?) and another shortish ride (10 or 15 miles, maybe).  I’m going to have to plan a trip back out to the Woodlands to scrub the embarrassment of the last RTW out of my hair, too.  I know, I can go to Memorial and run a 5k there, but none of those runners know I’m chasing them down to pass them and nobody has a stopwatch or free goodies to give away, either.

2 miles and multi tasking

The junior got a new bike for his birthday. A cute little teeny tiny thing with training wheels.

Thank you Nana and PawPaw.

So, today we introduced him to his bike helmet and took him for his first spin. Meanwhile, I took the opportunity to get my first run of August in the books. The junior took one little spill and bounced back up like a super ball. No sweat. He's a tough little guy.

I added a tenth of a mile (about a block) to the run and managed to get about 3/4 of my two miles without pausing. The full front mile went down non stop. About 1/4 away from the midway point, I had to pause--not to catch my breath, but to spell my legs. What the hell is up with that? I can push a bike into the wind for a solid 15 miles without pausing even a little, but if I run for 10 minutes, my legs start to feel like telephone poles. I can't think of a more stupid physical phenomenon.

Anyway, I got the motor turning over again and made another 1/2 mile or so before taking a short pause to cross the street, then cranked it back up to the big house. That's my run. Exciting, isn't it?

Oh yea, I saw some guy get arrested and his car towed.

I also saw a couple of friends of mine gawking at the police action. Shame on them... it's like they don't have cable or something.