(OK that sounds like a…well…dumb way to open a blog entry. I know this. You know this. But work with me – it gets better.)
Why do I love Wednesdays? Well I’m glad you asked. Let me explain.
I’m the kind of person that is – for like of a more eloquent term – not-very-bright. When God was passing out brains I thought He said “trains”, and asked for a really long one. My rather meek level of intelligence is very clearly illustrated in the way I run. Whether the training schedule calls for a five mile tempo run, hill work, or the weekly long run…I run every day at the same exact pace.
Seriously. The same exact pace. And that is SLOW.
I began getting impatient with myself and my lack of progress. The way I was looking at it, I felt like my inner Kenyan would be released at any moment. However, he never has shown his really, really fast face. This has been the case – I’m not kidding – for YEARS.
Nope. That’s not a typo. I said YEARS.
So just recently I actually stopped expecting this transition to a fast runner to simply happen, and I began researching HOW to MAKE it happen. So I cracked open a book – an actual book with pages, words, and wisdom contained within – and began to research how a runner actually gets quicker over time. What I learned made me knock my head against the wall repeatedly until Baci (that’s my awesome puppy) (and the name is Italian for Kisses) (they tell me she’s a poodle / shitz-tsu mix…but I say that’s bullshit because her attitude and feistiness screams paisan at me) (I am digressing – see: not the brightest bulb on Broadway) began to growl her very clear disapproval at my rather juvenile behavior.
According to what I’ve read, advanced / elite runner run 70-80% of the time at a pace that is 60-90 seconds per mile slower than their race pace. That other 20-30% of the time, they do speed work that really makes them push themselves to the limit.
WOW. I am doing this all wrong.
Whenever I go to practice with Team For Kids, I always feel the pressure of trying to show my coaches and team mates that I can clip off 5-6-7-8 miles at a 9 minute pace. When I’m done, I feel great…for about an hour and a half. The next day, I feel like my legs have no juice in them. So I begin running slower, I watch others fly by me, I get self-conscious and off I go like a bat out of hell. And so the cycle continued, with me always running as hard as could.
According to what I read – that was a mistake. I need to shut out the nonsense and the pseudo peer pressure and just stick to a smart game plan. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays: I’m running 60-90 seconds slower than what I want my race pace to be. That should result in my legs being able to recover quicker. Saturdays are my usual weekly long runs – so I’ll run close to my race pace (10 minutes per mile – I want a 4 hour 20 minute finish in NYC in November) and get myself used to the right rhythm. And Wednesdays – oh baby Wednesdays – THAT is my speed work day. That is when I can run like a lunatic and push myself hard.
And that’s why I LOVE WEDNESDAYS.
Steve Prefontaine – a famous runner from the 1970’s which all runners simply refer to as “Pre” – once said that “My only pace is suicide pace, and today is a good day to die.” I think I took Pre’s words a bit too seriously. I need to run SMARTER – not harder.
Oh yeah – P.S.: I tried out my new Salomon hydration pack this morning along the bridal path for about 5 miles. I’ve got to share my thoughts on this one. So check back in a bit for a quick review!
Until next time! Great long-term habits begin with a simple decision at the outset: the decision to get out there and get in motion. I don’t care if it’s down the block for a walk or a 10k run in the woods. Motion creates emotion. You don’t get today back – so back it count.
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
So I come home from work Tuesday evening…and there it was. Sitting at my front down. A small cardboard box. Oh yeah – my new toy had arrived, right on time. I had been looking forward to this all…day…long. CHRISTMAS.
I ordered the Salomon Advanced Skin 5 S-Lab Pack for my Sunday run around Manhattan. It looked so darn cool in the pictures, I was betting that I’d feel like a rock star in this thing. I pulled the box apart. Quickly. Grabbed the contents and began to examine it.
It….looked….cool. Small – but cool. This pack comes in 2 sizes: extra small / small and medium / large. OK, so I’m usually an XL. I was worried about this thing arriving and looking like it would only fit one of the Lollipop Kids. I threw on a technical shirt and put the pack on over it. It felt snug. Not tight – just snug. There were no buckles or latches in areas where serious chaffing could result during a long distance run. There were several zipper pockets in easy to reach areas, which were big enough to store GU packets. There were two sleeves on the shoulder straps which could hold 16 ounce water bottles (or an Iphone and/or other small crap I want to lug with me), and the reservoir held 50 ounces of water (or Captain Morgan – depends on my mood). The design maximizes the available space. The material is incredibly soft yet it appears durable. The water reservoir is housed in a very light material which is designed to keep the water cold for a longer period of time. And there were two small elastic straps that go across the chest to minimize the bouncing motion of the pack while I run.
All that….and it looked cool. Just really…really cool.
This morning I couldn’t wait to find out how the pack felt while I ran in the park. So I threw it on and went out for a light five miler. It didn’t feel like the fabric would irritate my neck as I ran. The pack was designed to fit snug on the runner’s body so that the water and contents did not bounce around. After five miles in this thing – I can confirm that Salomon hit a home run with this thing. It was EXTREMELY comfortable. The shoulder straps did not screw with the way I swing my arms as I run. By the time I finished my workout, I felt like buying this product was money well spent.
This damn thing made me feel like Elvis. I was rockin’ and rollin’ along the bridal path. One note, however: I only ran 5 miles in it. I need to put in 26.2 on Sunday, and I cannot be distracted by chaffing under my arms or along my neck from this thing. So I am worried about trusting this product without first truly training in it. I am 90% sure I’ll use it Sunday. 90%…not 100%.
I’m sharing this for one simple reason: I highly recommend only going on long distance runs in clothing and equipment that you’ve trained in. One of my mottos that I really believe in: train it and THEN trust it.
Until next time! Great long-term habits begin with a simple decision at the outset: the decision to get out there and get in motion. I don’t care if it’s down the block for a walk or a 10k run in the woods. Motion creates emotion. You don’t get today back – so make it count.
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
OK – I couldn’t wait to share this one. So I was listening to a conference call slightly past lunchtime today. I hadn’t eaten anything, so I was sort of cranky. The topic that required a group pow-wow was quickly and efficiently handled by the participants, and all that remained was sharing common pleasantries prior to disconnecting and continuing my normal work day…and, of course, the basic question that stems from this is “…so what’s everyone doing this coming weekend?”
Whenever I hear this question, I refrain from detailed responses whenever I have a full marathon planned for that coming Saturday or Sunday. Why do I bite my lip? I have absolutely no idea. I guess I suddenly hear my little Irish grandmother’s voice echo in my head, “don’t let anybody know your business!” (to which I always replied to her whilst she was in her 90’s: “Grandma – what POSSIBLE business would you have that you need to keep a secret?”)
I guess part of me is a bit embarrassed about trying something like this. Twelve marathons in a calendar year is a bit much – I know this. But I really believe in the mission of the charity that I am trying to generate additional interest and funding for, so it’s worth the bumps and bruises that comes with the challenge. And what if I fail? I think that’s the elephant in my head. What…if…I…fail. So I find myself biting my toungue in public when leading questions such as “so what’s everyone doing this coming weekend?” are posed.
So, of course, the basic responses were provided by several people on the call. “I’m going to the beach with my kids”, “I’m having a BBQ at my place”, “I’m visiting family”, blah, blah blah. I kept quiet. Inevitably, the question gets bounced to me, but the tone changes. The following is a transcript…
“…and Joe – what about you? What are you up to this weekend?”
“Well, I’m going to spend time with my daughter, do some running, and …”
I get cut off immediately…
“….OOOOHHH. Joe’s running this weekend. What else is new. Pray tell – how many miles are you putting in? Because it can’t be another marathon. No way. Not one that’s twenty something miles long. I mean – maybe he’s running one of those shorter marathons – but not one of the longish ones. No way.”
See that last paragraph? That was really said. By an actual person. In public. I cannot make that up – I’m not that clever or creative.
OK folks. I am uncomfortable about talking about what I’m trying to accomplish because I know it sounds pretty…well…OUT THERE (to borrow an old 1960’s term – and FYI, The Fonz rules). And I know I need to be able to talk about this attempt at 12 marathons in a year because I want to help The Dream Team Project. But when someone uses the term “pray tell” embedded within a statement that drips with even the slightest amount of sarcasm….well….all I can say is IT’S ON.
OH IT’S ON LIKE DONKEY KONG.
IT’S ON ‘TIL THE BREAK OF DAWN.
You know how each of us has a switch within us that, when flipped, we go from zero to pissed in 2.3 seconds? Well whenever someone mixes together a witches brew of sarcasm and nonsensical jibberish, tosses in a dash of “pray tell”, lets it simmer on a low flame for a couple of seconds and then attempts to serve it to me with a side of fries, a siren goes off in my head. This siren, of course, awoke The Tool (who only works on odd weekends – so he now wants time and a half), who quickly appeared on my left shoulder…with a crap-eating grin on his face and a small cord of rope in his hand.
The Tool prceeded to tie one end of the rope to the top button of my dress shirt, and tied the other end around his waist. He then began to repel down my back until he got to about my mid-spine area. Apparently, that’s where my switch was located. He hung there, the tiny 4 inch schmuck, waiting for the person on the phone to attempt to serve up a dessert of chocolate-covered wise cracks topped with added stupidity.
He didn’t have to wait for long.
“Well…I’m running with my team on Saturday, and then I have a race on Sunday.”
“What kind of race? On of those longish marathons, or the shorter, 4-5 mile ones?”
….The Tool reached for the switch. I could feel him about to throw it.
“well…no. I am running a full marathon on Sunday. That would be one of the longer ones that you referred to.”
That one just came out naturally. Crap. If that tiny schmuck flips the switch, it’s gonna get ugly.
“YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS! OH PLEASE. WHO ARE YOU KIDDING?”
Her voice actually got loud. People must have been wondering why the heck this person actually cared so much about what type of race I was running on Sunday. I know I did!
She continued. That was a mistake.
“YOU JUST RAN ONE LAST MONTH. THERE’S NO WAY YOU CAN RUN ANOTHER SO SOON. NO…WAY.”
That last short sentence was said with added penache. That last sentence was also the cue for The Tool. Flip.
“Well you’re right. Sunday isn’t a race. I’m actually running a marathon by myself. That would be 26.2 miles. Around Manhattan. It’ll take a while, but I’ll get it done – the traffic lights will screw with me a bit, so my time will not be too great. However, I’ll finish.”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS???”
“Yup. And I appreciate your unfliching support. When I hear commentary like you just spewed, I use it as fuel. So thanks for filling my tank for Sunday. I have to ask: whenever you’re in a restaurant, does the waiter come over to your table after the main course has been served and say ‘Is anything alright?’”
Ahhh. That felt good. The Tool climbed up the rope, hopped back on my shoulder, and I actually gave the little bastard a not-so-high five. Today he wasn’t my enemy – he was simply my adversary.
The call concluded with the sound of several loud chuckles and gaffahs ringing the background. Leave ‘em laughing. George Burns taught me that one.
On a serious note: I am a little nervous about Sunday morning. I mean, other races have turned my stomach a bit before the gun went off. This one, however, has my stomach in knots. I am afraid of shutting down. I’m afraid of not completing it. I’m afraid of failing. I know I can do this – but that fear of not giving my absolute best simply because I’m not running in a pack is what’s unique about Sunday. But believe me – the cause is worth the effort. The Dream Team Project is very special – it helps bring joy to kids suffering from life-threatening illnesses, and a brief reprieve for their families. If you’re reading this, please take a moment to click on the link below. It’ll provide more details on the charity and its mission.
Well, I just needed to vent – so thanks for listening (I mean, reading). Have a fantastic evening! You don’t get today back – so make it count.
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
The picture is of Fred Lebow – the man to helped found the New York Road Runners and the New York City Marathon. I need to pass this statue twice during the last 10k of my marathon on Sunday.
The first half of the New Jersey Marathon began with a crisp pace and a sound feeling of confidence, as I mentioned in my prior blog entry. This aura of confidence, however, began to weaken as the half marathon point arrived.
As I crossed the mile 14 marker, I began to feel the energy oozing from my legs. It felt as if the car I was driving sprung a rather substantial leak in the gas tank, and there I was behind the wheel watching the fuel gauge go from full to empty. I’m no physiological mechanic; I don’t have the know-how to repair the leak in my fuel storage. As the driver of this damaged vehicle, all I could do was cross my fingers and hope that I had enough unleaded in the well to get me to my destination.
When the realization hit me between miles 14 and 15 that the fuel was running out fast, I really went into full Watch Warrior mode. I began the inward Mental Math: current pace per mile, number of miles left, the possible need to mix in running and walking toward the end, the cramping I was beginning to suffer in my calves, and the one variable that always comes into play during any 26.2 mile race I run: The Tool Factor.
I began inwardly talking to myself, attempting to figure out what pace I needed to maintain in order to finish in 5 hours….or 5:15….or 5:20….
Me (spoken inwardly – I think): “I’m between miles 16 and 17 right now. Three hours and five minutes down. OK – let’s get to mile 20 by 3:50. So I need to maintain a pace of…”
The Tool (never missing an opportunity to make a difficult situation even more unmanageable): “….HEY! What the heck are you doing? Seriously – you’re attempting math while you’re running? HA…HA…HA…”
(That laugh. That horrible, shrieking laugh that courses up my spine and turns a grin into a frown. That tiny 4-inch Tool sounded like a cross between Robert DeNiro in Cape Fear and the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. Just like nails on a chalkboard, the sarcastic laughter echoed in my head. It made the math feel like Calculus.)
Me: “…so hit mile 20 by 3:50 gives me 70 minutes for the final….”
As I continued to attempt to work out the numbers in my head, The Tool decided to begin singing show tunes, just to screw with my focus…
The Tool: “When you’re a Jet you’re a Jet all the way, from your first cigarette to your last dyin’ day….”
Me: “…..mile 20….gives me….an hour to get the last 10k done? Wait….no….”
The Tool (the singing only getting louder and more annoying in my ears): “How do ya solve a problem like Maria!”
Me: “…wait. I got this. I can hold an 11 minute pace. What am I running at now?”
The Tool: “DEAR OFFICER CRUPKEY…CRUP YOU!”
Who would have ever thought that the lyrics from West Side Story would EVER come into play during a marathon? Well..they did. And The Tool was able to turn Tony Award-winning music into the equivalent of mental waterboarding. The Tool had broken me with the most unexpected tactic: the music of Leonard Bernstein and the lyrics of Steven Sondheim. Unreal. As much as I hated the little 4-inch schmuck – I had to give him credit for creativity. By mile 18, I was broken.
Broken. It’s a horrible-sounding word, isn’t it? I’ve heard the term in running a few times – just enough to fear it. Let me describe what the feeling of being broken is like.
Picture yourself running a marathon. It’s a perfect day weather-wise. You’ve trained well, so your legs are ready. You know the pace per mile that you are comfortable with. You’ve properly fueled and you’re well hydrated. All systems are go. The gun sounds. Off you go. Alongside you are a couple of people that seem to have the same pace as you. You don’t feel like running alone, so you link up with them and begin chatting as you log your miles. By mile 10 you realize “WOW! I’m 6 minutes ahead of my schedule! AWESOME!” Now you’re half way home, and you realize again “WOW! I just PR’d the half marathon by 9 full minutes!” Life is goooood, right? Well…MAYBE. Now you’re 16 miles into the race, when you realize that your breathing is becoming a bit more difficult to keep under control. The breaths are coming harder and faster than you’d like. And your legs. Hmmm. They are beginning to feel a little squishy. (That’s a term I just made up. Yes. Squishy legs – meaning the juice that you had in your legs at the beginning of this endeavor have been drained by the faster-than-planned pace that you pushed for the past 2-3 hours). Now your body sends the messages to your brain:
Lungs: “Hey – this was easier in training runs. Why the heck is it so difficult today?”
Legs: “Lactic acid sucks. That’s just an FYI.”
Shoulders: “I’ve been swinging these arms back and forth for the past 3 hours. When the heck is my coffee break?”
Your brain hears all these messages coming in, loud and clear. All it wants to do is shut all these complaining body parts up. The brain is like a librarian – all he wants is QUIET. So what does the brain do? He starts contemplating the possible ways to get what he wants: SILENCE. This is where the first phase of the marathon mind game comes into play: the negative thoughts cascade through the runner’s head in order to make the pain – the noise – stop.
“Look – at that tree over there, begin walking.”
“This hurts. You should have begun walking at that tree back there. Now – see that manhole cover? That’s where you’ll stop running.”
“Look. You got to listen to me. I’m your brain. STOP RUNNING OR ELSE.”
You fight off these negative messages and press on, knowing that you are pushing limits that you never confronted before. The messages get stronger.
“Look – you have to go to work tomorrow. Ease up.”
“There will be other Sundays. Shut it down. Now.”
…and then, there is that moment that the brain tosses out that one reasonable-sounding suggestion which, when combined with the pain you currently are experiencing, sounds too good to ignore:
“OK – just walk for a minute. Catch your breath. Slow down. Gather yourself. Right…..now.”
And you listen. You stop running at your current pace and begin to walk – just for a moment. You don’t realize it yet – but you are now broken. And it’s an incredibly difficult thing to recover from being broken. At that moment, you made the race much more difficult for yourself.
Once you’re broken, the ability to recover and keep fighting against the road becomes the only challenge that matters. The importance of obtaining a personal record loses its luster. I know. That’s what always happens to me. And here – in New Jersey – it happened once more.
I struggled through the next 3-4 miles, hitting mile 21 at approximately four hours and a couple of minutes. At this point in the race, I was running on vapors. And then….in front of me…like a mirage…
There he was.
Elvis.
As a mater of fact – 2 Elvii.
Dressed in white jump suits and rocking the huge Vegas glasses, two identical Elvii appeared in front of me. I thought I was hallucinating. So I did the only reasonable thing when faced with this sort of thing….
Me: “Long live the King!!!!”
Elvii (in unison): “…The King loves ya baby!”
You ever see one of those movies where the hero sweeps in at the last moment to save the day and foil the villain’s evil plans? Well that’s the only way I can properly describe this moment. The Tool suddenly disappeared from my shoulder and the pain that I felt in my legs took a back seat to this scene.
I spent the final 5-6 miles in a slow yet incredibly fun waddle with the King(s). Every car that went by honked. Every spectator cheered for the Elvii – and the energy was just the magic elixir I required. The three of us laughed constantly as the final miles went by. I have absolutely no idea what my time was – and I really didn’t care. The pain was forgotten. Running the last 5 miles with two Elvis impersonators was absolutely hysterical. I crossed the finish line with them, wished them well and thanked them for a race that I won’t soon forget.
My mom and my daughter were waiting for me at the finish line. I placed the medal around my daughter’s neck, and told her just how much I loved her, and how proud I was of her. Then I reminded her of one important thing: there is no challenge you cannot overcome. Sometimes it just takes sheer will. Sometimes it takes tons of preparation and dedication. But you have everything you need within you to conquer any challenge you face, as long as you do not surrender to your fears. All it takes is all you’ve got.
There is nothing sweeter in this world than getting a spontaneous hug from your kid. It’s like taking a shot of pure adrenaline.
During the ride home, I thought about the day. I started strong. I felt great. I lost my momentum and appeared to burn out early. I fought the road for as long as I could before I broke. Even though the course broke me, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. And then: The Elvii. I may not have been fast today – but I fought hard, and The Tool lost this round.
Two marathons in a week. I was fried. I was elated. I felt beaten up, yet stronger than ever. Five down. Just seven more to go. Almost half way there.
____________________________________
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
Normally, after running a marathon, I give myself 3 straight rest days before beginning to run again. However, the New Jersey Marathon was only a week away, and I wanted to shake my legs out well before race day. So I gave myself two days off before heading out on a light run early Wednesday morning. The legs felt extremely stiff. And I knew why: I simply don’t stretch well enough.
I keep saying to myself that I’ll focus more on taking the time each day to stretch out well before and after logging some miles. Life, however, seems to always get in the way.
As the week progressed, I wondered how I would fare on Sunday. I had only tried this once before: in 2009, I ran the Marine Corps. Marathon one week before running the ING New York City Marathon. These two races, combined with a finish in mid-October in Hartford earned me entry into the Marathon Maniacs. I don’t recall how I felt during those six days between races three years ago – but the discomfort was not unbearable…and that bode well. One negative which was sure to show it’s face: I was sure to have lost some of the “pop” in my legs from one week to the next. I was certain that the hills of Gettysburg took more out of me than I’d care to admit. I needed to find some sort of catalyst to focus on to get me through next Sunday.
When I came up with my calendar of marathons for 2012, I circled this week as one of the two major “hurdles” of my year. My thinking was that if I could get through this week and break the tape in New Jersey, things would be fairly smooth through the end of September. Then…the real run begins.
After New Jersey, I plan to enjoy a month of training before the next 26.2 mile jaunt: Lake Placid. Then off I go to San Francisco in late July. Followed by a very interesting race in Rye, New York in August. September’s marathon will be in Ohio (remind me to wear my Michigan Wolverines football jersey (an old jersey with Elvis Grbac’s number on it…simply because anyone named Elvis is simply COOL). Then, there will be two weeks of preparation before what I am nicknaming The 90-Day Odyssey” begins:
Late September: The Twilight Zone Tower of Terror 10 miler
Early October: The Chicago Marathon
Mid October: The Hartford Marathon
The First Sunday in November: The ING New York City Marathon
Mid November: The Wine & Dine Half Marathon
Around Thanksgiving: The Philadelphia Marathon
…and then…possibly….Vegas. Oh yeah. Vegas.
The 90-Day Odyssey. Should be interesting. But – for now – I need to stay focused on the next step, which was coming up on Sunday. The New Jersey Marathon. Race number 5 of the 12 in ’12. Right now, I felt positive. I can do this. But I recall a marathon that I ran a couple of years ago…I felt fantastic still at mile 14. Someone noticed that I was smiling as a plodded forward, and asked me out of the blue….
Wise Old Runner: “hey – you look happy…”
My response: “Absolutely!!!” (I had way too much enthusiasm in my voice – I’m sure I was obnoxious.
Wise Old Runner: “oh yeah? You’re feeling good right now? I mean – reeeeeally good?”
My response: “Hell yeah! Best I’ve ever felt 14 miles in!!!” (still waaaay too much enthusiasm for the moment. I know it. He should have kneecapped me).
Wise Old Runner: “Hmmmm…..well don’t worry…..that won’t last.”
OUCH.
…..but….he was right. I folded like a cheap lawn chair (no idea where I heard that saying, but I was dying to insert it into a blog…so there you go. Enjoy) 4 miles later. Crash. Right into The Wall. Face first. He sure was a wise old runner. I counted my chickens before they were hatched during that marathon (Oh God – that was a horrid reference. Sorry. But I’m not deleting it. Call is a monument to my lack of creativity). I won’t make that mistake this time around. I cannot look forward. I must look only to tomorrow. And tomorrow starts in just a couple of hours.
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
The three and a half hour drive from Manhattan to Gettysburg was rewarded with a wonderful town and the view of the famous battlefield that represents a key four-day span in history of this country. Driving around the battlefield, one can almost feel the horrors that spread across the green grass. You can picture the bravery of northern and southern men, fighting amongst 50 caliber musket fire and cannons reigning hell all about them. It must have taken an immeasurable amount of courage to charge the field – a heck of a lot more than I have stored up, that’s for sure. The brief tour of the battlefield was….moving. It sent chills up my spine.
The evening before the marathon, I got to enjoy a wonderful meal with two friends and fellow WDW Radio Running Teammates in a historic restaurant a stone’s throw from the very spot where President Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address. There was a tavern in the basement with an old wooden bar that harkened back to colonial days. On the main floor the dining rooms were filled with families enjoying hearty meals and great drinks. There was even a bard, strolling around the building singing songs from days long gone. It was a fantastic Saturday evening. I retuned the my hotel just outside of town that evening still feeling a bit nervous – but with a more sound perspective: running 26.2 miles on a gorgeous April morning is nothing compared to the courage it took to storm that battlefield.
When I awoke in the morning, I felt well rested and as prepared as I would ever be for this race. A shuttle bus took myself and a merry band of fellow runners to the starting area: a local elementary school. A chill in the air made us all crave the sunlight at 7am, and we stood around waiting for the time to toe the starting line. I had been nervous about running such a small race, because I knew that there would be nowhere to hide my slow, plodding pace. As I chatted up my fellow marathoners, some of which were Marathon Maniacs like myself, that nervousness began to slowly fade. It was replaced by resolve.
We slowly made our way down the block from the school shortly before the scheduled start of the race. The starting line was a line simply drawn in the middle of a street. There was no fanfare. No huge contingent of fans. No press. Two races in a row with such humble beginnings…..I loved it. It felt…pure. Before we knew it, a soft horn blew, and off we went.
About a quarter of a mile into the race I had, what I like to internally refer to as a “brainfart”. Have you ever locked your home’s front door, hopped in the car, gotten half way to your destination and then, all of a sudden, realize that you’ve forgotten the one item you needed to make the trip worthwhile back on your coffee table? Well then congratulations, you’ve experienced a brainfart. So what, pray tell, was my brainfart this lovely, sunny, warm, bright, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky, beach-weather morning? My mind went over my race day checklist:
I couldn’t have been THAT big of a doorknob. No way.
(FYI – I do, on occasion, refer to myself as a doorknob when I do something utterly asinine. Why? Because it’s a fun little term and it properly represents an object that I have as much intellect as at times)
…..crap. I …..am….a….doorknob.
The sudden realization that I had forgotten sun block on a gorgeous morning where I would spend upwards of five hours in the bright sunlight was like arriving at a water stop at mile 21, reaching out for a cup of cold water, and somebody unsuspectingly handing me a cup of piping hot green tea.
Brainfarts suck.
I also realized that brainfarts are rather amusing to The Tool, since at the very moment I came to the realization that by the end of the race I would look like a distorted slab of bacon, he appeared on my shoulder with a smug look on his face. The war of internal words began early.
Tool: “Morning. What a gorgeous day. So – no hat and no sun block? This is like going to work in the morning and finding out that the boss took care of everything for ya. I think I’ll go grab a cosmo, sink my mitts into a big ol’ bag of pork rinds, get comfortable and enjoy your stupidity. Thanks in advance for the show.”
Me: “……”
(I had no witty comeback. I felt like this was over before it ever started.)
Within a half a mile of the starting line, the first hill presented itself. I steadily cruised over it, knowing that each of these inclines will take a toll, and that toll will be seen in about 3 hours.
The first half of the marathon was spent either climbing up or flowing down hills. Apparently, there is not 2 straight miles of level ground in western Pennsylvania. For if there was, I would have paid a million Turkish Lira to see it. By the half way point, I had already begun to feel the effects of the sun and the hills. I was fried. Order of Joe, well done, with a side of GU. The highlights for me was seeing my WDW Radio Running Teammates at several points early on. That gave me a sorely-needed energy boost. (A HUGE SHOUT-OUT TO STEVE AND VALERIE DREW!!!!)
Fortunately the hills dissipated by mile 15-16 I think. Maybe it was mile 14. Not quite sure when they ended, because the second half of the race was spent simply trying to maintain forward momentum. I was alone at times, just as I feared. The experience of being out there, on a quiet country road, 16 miles into a marathon without a bunch of fans providing the peer pressure I required to keep waddling on was really difficult to adjust to.
It was around mile 17 that I realized how pure of an event this was. 500 marathoners. Quiet country roads. Hills. Sun. Just the right amount of volunteer support to keep you going. Just the runner and the road. Either you finish or you quit. No one around to throw you a lifeline or bail you out. You signed up for this – now you take care of business. I may have been cooked by the sun and drained by the hills, but I hadn’t quit. And boy did that ever piss The Tool off.
The Tool: “Nine miles left. Why don’t you shut this one down. You bit off more than you could chew, you schmuck.”
Me: (suddenly growing a big and brassy pair of wontons) “Oh shut up. Nine miles is less than I had to go ten minutes ago. Let’s get this over with and head home.”
The Tool: “Wow…you’re remarkably masculine today. What a change from the usual whiny wiseass I’m used to. FYI: you’re still screwed.”
Me: “I might not be the fastest boat in the water, but no one’s gonna paddle harder than me.”
The Tool: “Oh please. Who do you think you are? Henry Wadsworth Dumbfellow? You know what – I’m leaving you to fail on your own. I need a Tylonol with a Absynthe chaser just to wash away the stupidity flying around your dense cranium. Later sucker.”
The last nine miles was spent willing myself to keep moving forward. I ran as much as I could – but I needed walk breaks. As the miles added up and mile markers 22….23…24 went by, I allowed myself to experience the roller coaster ride of emotions that marathoners go through. I can honestly say this: I run 26.2 just to take that roller coaster ride. I cannot describe it. I apologize for lacking the creativity to paint the literal picture of these feelings. However, I believe it was Ken Doherty that once said that “…to describe the agony of a marathon to one who’s never run it is like trying to describe color to someone born blind”.
There’s something about that last 10 kilometers. Pain. Loss of focus. You feel like you are going to break. And then – somehow – you manage to hold it all together and soldier on. You break the tape realizing that you willed yourself to finish. The body alone could not have gotten you to this point. Running a marathon is all about the journey. And what a journey this 26.2 was in Gettysburg.
I finished feeling sore, exhausted and relieved. And in dire need of aloe.
The long ride home was spent contemplating the day. My mistakes – SUN BLOCK! My need to focus on my endurance. Drop weight. Focus more on my diet during the week – consider proper eating an additional daily workout. Train harder. I need the work.
Four down. Eight to go. I need to train harder…just not this week….for my next 26.2 was scheduled for next Sunday, May 6th in New Jersey.
____________________________
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
I returned home on the bus from Atlantic City, New Jersey to Manhattan’s Upper West Side sore and dealing with mixed emotions. My pace during the Ocean Drive Marathon was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t take the first five kilometers too fast. I focused on my breathing and controlling the swinging motion of my arms. My legs felt fresh. I had prepared as well as I could. The course was flat – although the head wind was going to add a few minutes to my time, I felt supremely confident as I toed the starting line.
But, as in any sport: one odd bounce of the ball – one errant swing of the bat – a shot that sails just over the crossbar – or, in my case, one instance of taking in fuel a third of the way into the race resulting in a lost tooth – adjusted the course of the outcome. It was a firm case of Marathon Running meets Chaos Theory.
Now before you actually begin thinking that I understand higher mathematics, let me clarify: everything I ever knew about Chaos Theory I learned from watching Jurassic Park. I….am…not…kidding. Jeff Goldblum explains it perfectly: two drops of water placed on the exact same spot on a person’s hand resulted in different outcomes: each drop of water moved in a different direction. Why? Could have been the small hairs on the hand. Or the person’s pores. Or the wind. Or simple gravity. Who knows. Bottom line: even when you think a result is rather predicable due to your understanding of most of the important variables built in to its calculation, there is always something within the equation which cannot be controlled or accounted for which effects the outcome.
For me: losing a tooth at mile nine. THAT was Chaos Theory at its best. There was no message sent to me in the days prior from my mouth to my brain, saying the following:
Mouth: “OK folks – we’ve got an issue. Loose crown. Right side of your jaw. Fix it before race day, or else you’re liable to swallow the darn thing.”
Brain: “Understood – thanks for the head’s up. Now where the hell did I leave the Crazy Glue?”
In the days that followed Ocean Drive, I went on a roller coaster ride of emotions. Up and down. High and low. I kept thinking about the fact that, even after feeling so confident and ready for 26.2 miles of running – something as freak as losing a tooth could disrupt my focus on the matter at hand. The inability to fuel during the race caused me to crash before mile 19. The last 12 kilometers went by in a dull haze. The Tool perched himself on my shoulder with a tiny bag of popcorn and a crap-eating grin on his weathered face, enjoying my misery. To the victor went the spoils.
The emotional roller coaster ride lasted through the third week in April. Not good. Not good at all. The timing of this distraction was incredibly poor as well, for on April 29th I would run the race that I had circled on my calendar as the one I was most nervous about: Gettysburg. In order for me to build momentum for the remainder of the year, I needed to bounce back from this doldrums I had fallen into. Quickly. The Tool had sensed his opening and was really making the most of it, playing on my confidence like Yo-Yo Ma plays the cello. He made the most of this opportunity. He was, indeed, winning.
Gettysburg was a marathon that I both looked forward to as well as feared. The smallest field of runners that I planned to run with all year long: 500 marathoners. The most hills of any race I have ever encountered: 16 miles of them, beginning within a half of a mile from the starting line. Very few spectators: this provides The Tool with a valuable edge later in the race – his constant message of pain and discouragement comes through clearly without the strong noise of spectators to drown him out. Water stations every 3 miles instead of every 1-2 miles. And lastly: the weather reports predicted crystal clear skies and 75-80 degrees – without shade, this last factor could make the day go from bad to worse in an awful hurry. In a field of just 500 marathoners, there was no pack to hide within. No pack to draw energy from. I would be alone at some point, and would need to look within to get myself to the finish. Gettysburg would be a pure test….but I didn’t feel like I was ready for such a challenge.
The Friday before Gettysburg, I sat in my firm’s New York City office right near Times Square. I looked west from a high office window, and stared at the New Year’s Ball that sits perched atop the southernmost point of the square. Then I looked down at all of the people, scurrying around like ants. Things look much different 40 stories above the ground than they do whilst standing on the corner of 42nd and Broadway. At that moment, it hit me: success is all about perspective.
I spent more than three weeks contemplating the things that I needed to address or think about before Gettysburg. I racked my brain in a vain effort to mitigate the possibility of Chaos Theory coming into play once more. But this entire time I was looking at my last marathon experience from ground level. Taking a different perspective: I had finished a marathon running constantly into a headwind, losing a tooth and finishing without fueling during the race. If I could do that – why couldn’t I handle hills? Why couldn’t I handle running 26.2 miles in basic solitude? From 40 stories up, life appeared a bit clearer.
From now on, I’m going to stop asking myself “Why?” and begin saying to myself “Why not?” Success in completing a marathon is one part physical and one part mental. And both the physical and the mental need constant training. The physical gets you through the first 20 miles. The mental gets you home.
As I packed my bag for Gettysburg, I felt my nerves tingle. 16 miles of hills. Nervous. Excited. Focused. And now mentally ready. The fields of Gettysburg would witness another battle: myself versus The Tool. And there was no way he was going to win the day.
The morning of March 27th began under cloudy skies and a wind just brisk enough to run a chill down your spine. I took my sweet time waking up, showering and changing into my racing clothes, since my hotel was right around the corner from the starting line. I felt less pressure than in prior races. I ate well. I slept well. I was relaxed and feeling…well…confident. There was no nervous tension turning my stomach as I grabbed my overnight bag and closed the hotel room door behind me. Somehow, the specter of the prior night’s dinner was a distant memory as I exited the hotel and took in the crisp, damp air.
The walk to the starting area was a simple 2-block excursion. I realized that the overcast skies and the damp air could make the run feel unseasonably cold for a bit – but after a few miles the warmth of my exertion should chase the chill away and result in a fantastic effort. As I stood around the starting area after dropping off my luggage at bag check, good omens began to present themselves. First I saw one of my Team for Kids coaches – Coach Glen. Glen is a fantastic runner with an easy stride and a phenomenal work ethic. We briefly chatted before he headed toward the starting line – it was good to see a friendly face.
Then, more great omens arrived: fellow Marathon Maniacs from all over the place converged on the starting area. The mustard-yellow jerseys were easy to identify from a distance, and they seemed to draw teammates together with the simple thought that there is an inner strength in numbers. Two of my fellow Maniacs walked with me to the starting line just minutes before the gun went off. The starting line was a spray-painted orange line on the asphalt. To our right, the sound of the waves hitting the beach. A trumpeter played the Star Spangled Banner. The horn then sounded, and off we went. This was my kind of race. No fancy starting line. No fanfare. No huge throngs of fans. No TV. Just 26.2 miles of road, and a bunch of runners to share it with. There was something quite pure about this race.
The pace was a bit quicker than I had liked – about a 9:20 pace for the first couple of miles. Rookie mistake, and quite improper given the fact that no one ever wins a marathon in the first mile….but professionals know that a marathon can indeed be LOST right from the start. About five kilometers into the race, my two Maniac teammates and I backed off the throttle a bit and began to settle in to a nice, flowing rhythm. We chatted about our goals (which, to some, might sound a bit…extreme), such as running a marathon in all 50 states, earning more Marathon Maniac “stars” (more “stars” are earned by Maniacs that execute more….shall we say…..aggressive….marathon schedules), running ultras (any race over the marathon distance), and other rather interesting ideas. (note to reader: I had one extremely INSANE idea to raise money for the Dream Team – but let’s get through this year’s marathon of marathons first). (….in case you didn’t notice, that’s what we aspiring authors call a “teaser”. LOL).
The first 6…7…8 miles were going by smooth as silk. But this is me we are talking about. Nothing ever stays this way.
At around mile nine, I was still breathing smoothly and my legs felt like they had a lot of juice in them. All systems were still go. The course hugged the coastline and took us through one small town after another. There was a headwind that made the race a bit more difficult than optimal – but still quite enjoyable. I truly felt like this was the race that I was going to blast through the 5 hour barrier and grab a 4:45 finishing time.
A third of the way through the course, The Tool was nowhere in sight. The three of us decided to use our gels / energy shots at this point. As I was not a big fan of the taste of GUs, my energy source was a more solid, jelly-like substance cut into gooey cubes. They were squishy and reminded me of my childhood adoration of gummy bears. (Oh please – how can ANYONE dislike gummy bears). I popped one of these gummy cubes into my mouth, bit down and……
Crack.
I chipped a tooth.
There must have been something solid in it, as this was NOT a scenario I ever prepared for whilst running through my marathon gameplan. I quickly moved the gummy cube to the right side of my jaw, and…..
Oh no.
It stuck to the crown of my lower molar.
I tried to extract it…… And the crown came out with it.
Now I a small chip in one tooth and a large hole on the other side of my mouth. And in my hand: the crown that belonged in the rear of my jaw. So I did what any marathoner would do at this point: I stuck the crown in my pocket and just kept on going.
The extremely odd circumstances at mile nine became an utter distraction, as it completely took my mind off of what I was doing. Dumb thoughts kept racing through my brain, such as:
• I have to see my dentist now. This sucks.
• Well, I won’t be able to take in any fuel for the remainder of the race. This sucks.
• How the hell am I going to handle miles 20 – finish without fuel? This sucks.
• Belmont doesn’t open until Memorial Day, and I really felt like betting on the horses. This sucks.
• (see….I am odd)
The distraction disrupted my running chi. I began to lose my focus. Although I hit the halfway point at 2 hours and 15 minutes, my breathing got away from me. Then my arm swing faltered. Then, by mile 17, I began running out of fuel. I would have to fight just to finish. The wheels had come off.
The next few miles went by in a very slow, deliberate haze. Although I felt very little pain from the miles of effort, I simply had nothing left in my tank. You can have a fantastic car – state of the art – but it’s not going to budge without some Chateau Exxon 2012. I waddled to the finish line, just simply thrilled to earn my third marathon finish of the year. No personal record today – but one heck of a story to tell.
In three months, I had run three marathons. One in 25 degree temperatures. I lost a tooth in another. That’s….well….unique. The Tool rode with me all the way home, enjoying the view on the bus from Atlantic City’s terminal to Port Authority. No, he didn’t look out the window at the New Jersey landscape; instead, he took in the unmoving look of concern that was etched on my face. Would I feel this good before a marathon again in 2012? And, if so – would I be able to avert the rookie mistakes as well as the obscure issues in order to earn a personal best time? The sad look on my face said it all: I was beginning to lose faith. The Tool took a deep breath of the stale air and a huge grin appeared across his face. He could sense an opening – and he was going to make the most of it.
The month of March was rough indeed. After a poor showing in February during my second marathon of my “12 in ‘12”, I decided that changes needed to be made. In my last blog entry, I noted that I gave up on chocolate and Diet Coke. While I stayed disciplined and stayed clear of that delicious carbonated elixir through the end of the month, my resolve folded like a cheap lawn chair when it came to chocolate. Hindsight being 20-20, the fact that I caved and resumed my love affair with all things dark chocolate probably saved lives. I’m just going to leave it at that – no more detail is necessary. Trust me.
In the weeks that built up to my third marathon of the year, The Ocean Drive Marathon in Cape May, New Jersey, I became more focused on my training and starting racking up more miles during the early mornings. Each time I laced up my sneakers and waddled around Central Park, my confidence grew. My pace became easier to maintain for longer periods of time. I began to hold a 9;15-9:20 pace for 3-4 miles…which, historically for me, was simply a pipe dream. I felt like I would erase all feelings of disappointment on March 25th. All of the growing frustration stemming from my self-imposed Diet Coke de-tox was going to be worth it. The constant, slight ache that was the result of a more spirited work ethic was going to be worth it. My constant overall crankiness which was taken out on the world in general (during this time frame, my cherub-like demeanor morphed into a mouthy grouch a la Dr. House…sans chemical enhancements) would be worth it. Right?
I took a New Jersey Transit bus from midtown New York City to Cape May, New Jersey on the morning of Saturday, March 24th in a real positive mood. (This is unusual for me, as I normally stomp around like a troll with a Bronx accent). I checked into a fantastic small hotel near the center of this quaint town, and realized that the starting line for the marathon the next morning was literally a 4 minute walk from my room. The expo was held in a small convention center on the boardwalk. The volunteers were very polite and efficient. Aside from a light rain, this marathon was shaping up just the way I had hoped.
I went to a local restaurant for an early carb-intense dinner, and sat alone in a small booth as I waited for my hefty serving of pasta to be trotted out. My Iphone was playing the audiobook of “Too Big To Fail” through my earbuds…when all of sudden I was no longer sitting alone.
Like a genie escaping from a bottle, The Tool appeared on the worn wooden table that my elbows currently rested on. He had that Cheshire Cat grin on his narrow face that immediately told me that my good vibes were about to become a thing of the past.
“So…..feeling good?”
“As a matter of fact – yes I am. Go away”.
“Feeling really good? Like a personal best time is on its way tomorrow?”
“Yup. Now hit the bricks”.
“Feel like you’re going to surprise yourself – like you’re going to go sub 4:50?”
“Absolutely. Now GO. Leave. Go play in traffic. Go chase parked cars. Go annoy someone – anyone – else. I don’t care where you go or what you do – just do it somewhere else. Hasta la vista, numbnuts”.
The Tool stood up and began to walk his tiny 4-inch persona toward me. When he reached my large glass of ice water he paused, folded his pudgy arms and leaned his shoulder on the cold, sweaty glass.
“Look. Here’s the deal. All I wanted to do was stop by and let you know that I was here for you. I made the trip all the way down to Cape freakin’ May New freakin’ Jersey for you. Now I thought you’d appreciate the company. But instead of being polite, you got rude. You asked me to leave. That was not nice. Not nice at all. Something will need to be done about this disrespect.”
And with that, he instantly evaporated. The only thing left that signified his presence was a hint of Drakkar in the air. Once more, I sat alone in the booth. Alone with my thoughts. The seed of doubt had been planted – I just couldn’t let it take root.
The audiobook had lost its amusing flare. As I turned my Iphone off, the waitress arrived with my linguini.
“Let me guess – you’re running tomorrow?”
“How did you know?”
“Pasta. Call it an educated assumption.”
I tried to show my positive attitude… “Well I feel ready. I think tomorrow’s going to be a good day”.
“26 miles, right?”
“Yup – 26.2 miles”.
“….how – that’s a long way to run! Must be painful.”
There went my positive aura – “……yeah – it does for a bit. But….it’s worth it.”
“Well, good luck!” And the young waitress strolled back to her spot near the bar.
….and in the distance, I heard a faint chuckle.
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
So in yesterday’s episode, I took stock of my lack of progress and the possible rationale for my stagnancy. I basically gave myself some tough love. And that reeeeeeeally stunk. Why? Because I forced myself to look at the current state of “internal affairs” and concluded that enhancements needed to be made toot-sweet. (I just used the phrase “toot-sweet” in a sentence – I should be given a time out for that moment of idiocy). As a result of this analysis, one of the discoveries I made was that my diet was, in technical terms, well…….stupid. Just dumb. Moronic. Here I am trying to stay healthy, injury-free and strong throughout what promises to be the most physically demanding year of my life (thus far), and I still take in enough Diet Coke a day to choke a horse. Enough chocolate a day that I constantly walk around on a sugar kick. And coffee? Don’t even get me started! If I had the medical credentials and the proper equipment, I’d simply mainline Dunkin Donuts French vanilla with cream & sugar.
These harsh realizations resulted in what I am now defining as a self-intervention. As my buddy Chuck once told me, “Joey my boy (he called me Joey and that pissed me off – but he was a bit smarter than me so I gave him a pass), for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction”. To which I, of course, retorted “Chuckie D (I called him Chuckie D just to exact my revenge on a rather kindergarten level – and because he secretly adored Run DMC), you must be high”. Well I was wrong. He wasn’t high. Instead, he wrote a few laws and got famous in the halls of science while I rumbled through a remote college ingloriously.
Ah those words still bounce around in my rather dense cranium: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Chuck was right, and I can prove it without some fancy-shmancy scientific theorem (“toot-sweet”….”fancy-shmancy”…see what happens when you take a schmuck like me off of my magic elixirs?). Based on the action of my “self-intervention”, the reaction was me publicly swearing off of Diet Coke AND chocolate. Why did Chuck need to be so darn smart?
Well I am happy to report that it’s been approximately 24 hours since I made that promise to myself….and thus far I’ve managed to stick to it. However, it has NOT been easy. The action of taking away my soda and chocolate is like taking away Dr. House’s bottle of vicodin: the reaction is probably going to be messy.
….24 hours……that’s all….and I’m already a complete grouch. This does not bode well. And I’m a sourpuss to begin with.
On a lighter note, last night I sat down and developed my running schedule for the next couple of months. I’ve now provided myself with some structure. Hopefully this will help me improve my speed and stamina. Time will tell.
So there you have it, sports fans. I have a bunch of marathons coming up along with some other races in New York City, I’m about to step up the structure and intensity of my workouts…and I’m doing it without my of my favorite food groups: chocolate and Diet Coke. Make sure your seatbelts are fastened, your trays are locked and your seats are in the upright position, because I’m betting there will be some turbulence up ahead.
If you’d like some information on The Dream Team Project or would like to make a donation to their amazing cause, please stop by the website: www.wdwradio.com/the-dream-team-project I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I really believe in what The Dream Team Project stands for. It raises money for the Make-a-Wish Foundation, helping to grant the wishes of children suffering from life-threatening illnesses. Being s former wish-granter for the NYC Chapter of the Make-a-Wish Foundation, I can tell you first-hand just how much of an impact this organization makes in the lives of children. Please consider donating to this worthy cause. Thanks!
