Sunday, Achy Sunday


Sunday, August 22nd ……Ah yes: the day after.  The achiness may begin late in the afternoon on Saturday…but the real pain sets in the morning after the long run.  Sunday mornings are particularly rough, as the sun beams through the bedroom window rather early, hitting me right between the eyes before 7am.  Now I know what you’re thinking: Joe, if you know you want to sleep late, then why not just draw the blinds and block out the sun’s rays?  Well I have a very good answer to that question.  You ready?  Here it comes: I NEVER think about important details like that. 

 You see, I’m the kind of man that consistently makes the same mistake over and over again. (Notice I refrained from using the term “guy in that last sentence?  Well that’s because there’s a huge difference between “guys” and “men”.  “Guys” leave the toilet seat up, wear baseball caps with a decent suit and think it looks “coooool”, talk incessantly about themselves and their high school junior varsity batting average on a first date, and have posters of Pamela Anderson – post silicone enhancement – hanging from their bedroom walls.  Men……well…..men evolve from the subgenus “guy” species over time.  So ladies, please be patient….).  Fortunately for me these mistakes are never grandiose in nature.  The mistakes I make are smaller in stature…but that’s what makes them VERY annoying.  Here are some examples:

  • Like I just mentioned – I never think to close the drapes before I hit the sack on a Saturday night,
  • I am inconsistent with icing the heel of my left foot – which results in the Sunday morning waddle to the gabinetto taking 7 ¾ minutes,
  • I forget to give my chin the once-over in the mirror prior to leaving the house in the morning, only to realize that I missed four spots while shaving this morning,
  • …I have even forgotten what day it was on several occasions.  The result of which was me waiting for the train to work on a Sunday morning, wondering why there were so few people in the station at “rush hour”.

 …I know there are MANY, MANY more – but I wanted to just provide a sample of my utter absentmindedness. I drive me nuts sometimes…..

So Sunday morning I was awakened by the bright sunlight and its heat on my face.  I waddled around the apartment, preparing myself for this morning’s recovery run.  My legs ached because of the work I demanded of them yesterday – there was a revolution being staged in my quadriceps, and I was losing control over the masses.  I got changed and headed out the door to the park, in the hopes of ringing up 4-5 easy miles set to U.S. military cadences.  It was one of those perfect days weather-wise: no humidity.  75 degrees.  A soft breeze.  Not a cloud in the sky.  One of those days where anyone staying inside should be fined by the Lazy Police. 

The miles felt comfortable – thanks to the ice bath on Saturday.  The heel, after I warmed it up by walking to the park itself, felt loose and it didn’t pose a distraction.  My form felt fluid.  My arms swung smoothly and my legs followed suit.  It was one of those days where I wanted to press on past my set mileage simply because of how great it felt.  Anyone reading this that plays golf can relate to how this run felt: a golfer can play 9 holes of horrible golf – losing balls in the woods, missing short putts, and basically hacking away for 2 ½ hours in a vain attempt to be Tiger Woods (ok – maybe not my best choice of golfers to throw into this conversation…), only to hit a PERFECT drive off of the 10th tee, that sails 280 yards down the dead center of the fairway.  That one shot keeps the golfer coming back for more.  Well this run is one of the reasons I come back to the park for more.  It’s the feeling of possibilities.  It’s possible that I’m getting better at this.  It’s possible that I’m getting faster.  It’s possible that I’m evolving as a runner.  The pieces appear to be coming together.

As I walked back home from the park after logging my 5 miles, I felt…disappointed.  I wanted to do more.  However, as a distance runner, it is extremely important to follow the training schedule.  If a runner consistently does more than the recommended mileage regularly, he/she is setting him/herself up for an injury that can blow up the whole marathon season for him/her.  So while it was disappointing to leave while I felt so groovy (God I love that word – I have to use it more often…), I looked at it as furthering my overall healing process.  This sport – distance running – is one that tests your limits…there’s no reason to rush the final exam, and if you over-study you could get all your facts and figures mixed up.  The final grade: a big fat F.  I think I’ll shoot for my solid D-plus / C – and help raise my running GPA…..

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“There are clubs you can’t belong to, neighborhoods you can’t live in, schools you can’t get into, but the roads are always open.”   – Nike

Falling Behind the Pack


Saturday, August 21st ……Saturday morning’s long run with TFK was scheduled for Van Cortland Park in the Bronx.  My last long run in the Bronx resulted in disappointment and underachievement – so heading back to the borough of the crime didn’t sound like a great idea to me as the week grew old.  As the work week dragged along, some teammates decided to meet in Central Park instead – and I chose to join them.  At 7am, a small band of TFKers got together to log the mileage that our coaches planned for us: at least 11 miles with hills. 

Now let’s face it, my dear readers: if there is one thing you can count on me to do it’s to make VERY odd decisions…and this one was no different.  Why do I say this?  Because each of the runners meeting at the Park were much faster and stronger than I am.  They all paced at 9:15 – 9:20 per mile for their long runs, while I stagger along at 10:30.  Now that doesn’t sound like too much of a difference; I mean, over a mile, they would only finish about a minute before I would.  Not too shabby.  But the real difference in pacing shows up as the mileage adds up – I can hold a 9:15 – 9:20 pace for 4-5 miles, and feel completely winded afterward.  These guys, however, can start and finish a half marathon that that pace.  Bottom line: they are where I’d like to be.

I knew what their pace per mile was.  I know what my own is.  And I ran with them anyway.  Know why?  Because I am a different man than I was a year ago. 

A year ago, I would be intimidated by people that were stronger than I was as far as running was concerned.  I couldn’t stand feeling like I’d fall away from the pack and waddle in DFL (which, for all of you playing the home game, stands for Dead F*&king Last.  I found these wonderful 3 letters my sophomore year at Iona College, while rowing for the crew team.  We referred to any boat finishing last with open water between their boat and everyone else as D……..F……L).  Allowing my weakness to be obvious to others was NOT something that I had the strength of character to permit.  It takes a strong man to accomplish something meaningful – and a stronger one to admit where he needs improvement.  A year ago, I was strong…but not nearly strong enough.

Through this year, I had the mindset of an athlete – but not one of a winning athlete.  I had the desire to compete.  I had the need to accomplish something hard.  I had the constant craving for activity and challenge.  But the whole concept of getting sweaty….well…..it sounded like WAY TOO MUCH WORK FOR ME.  I had a great HDTV.  52 inches.  Surround sound.  A HUGE collection of movies.  And did I mention the bottles of diet coke and freshly-popped popcorn waiting for me in my humble little man-cave?  Life consisted of way too many distractions.  So I was happy to go through the motions, put in four months of lack-luster effort when it came to Marathon Sunday preparation, and then stagger to the finish line in a twisted mass of blistered skin and aching muscle on the first Sunday of each November.  But as the calendar changed from 2009 to 2010, I realized that I can either be happy with the status quo…or find out just how strong I can be.  And, although the latter required a generous amount of sweat (yuck)…I made the decision to evolve. 

Now this decision was not an easy one to come to.  Laziness to me comes naturally.  I love sitting.  Laying down is even better.  Now hand me a bag of Tostitos, load my 5-disc DVD changer with the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, pour me a bottle of something with no nutritional value that contains chemicals 10 syllables long, and have the Pizza Place on speed dial…and THAT, my dear lab rats, is how we spend a wonderful Saturday.  Then I realized that so many other people were actually moving forward and making progress with their lives, and here I was slacking off.  There’s an old saying: “there is nothing worse than wasted potential”.  Well I saw potential in myself.  As did others.  And here I was flushing all of it right down the gabinetto (for those of you just joining the merry band of misfits that read this blog, that’s Italian for toilet…).  While stepping out of the shower in late December of 2009, about a week before New Year’s Eve, I actually looked at myself in the mirror…and was embarrassed at what I saw.  Now I am not referring to the physical aspects of my persona – although that view was irritating enough to make me cranky for about a month.  Instead, I looked into my own eyes and I saw….nothing.

The man looking back at me in the mirror was the man I was – not the man I was supposed to be.  And that pissed me off.

I remember spending hours thinking about my life and my goals.  I drew them out on a piece of paper.  I mapped where I wanted my life to go.  That was the easy part.  After I completed my rather detailed drawing came the hard part: figuring out how to get started.  I thought it would be difficult – and I was wrong.

I found that I am a creature of habit.  By replacing an old, boring habit (TV, chips and soda, limited activity that required perspiration) with a new, healthy habit (running, changing my diet and basically getting my rotund rear-end off of the sofa and joining the human race for once), I developed positive momentum over time.  Each day got a little easier.  Then….results started to show themselves as the winter turned to Spring.  Weight loss.  Speed.  Endurance.  Hello new me – nice to meet you.

In the Spring, I joined TFK. I developed this year’s list of marathons to finish. And I decided I would set a personal best time for each one I run.  Lofty goals for this lazy S.O.B. (no further clarification needed on this one, lab rats).  I began talking to someone that helped me stay focused personally and athletically.  I needed assistance with this evolution – I was not strong enough to do it alone.  I found that I was stronger when I had a sturdy support system.  The TFKers showing up to practice three times a week began to gel into a real team as the spring led into summer…and my support system grew stronger yet again.  Positive momentum – and lots of it.  This positive momentum generated from he desire to evolve and the strength to admit when I needed improvement got me to this Saturday – running with a bunch of TFKers that were much stronger than I.

It was a smart move for me.  I knew that, in order to get better at running, I needed to run with people that were stronger and faster than me.  I knew, at some point, I’d fall behind the pack…but it wouldn’t be without a fight.

The first 4 miles were rough.  The pace from the outset was much faster than I anticipated.  9 minutes flat.  Up Harlem Hill.  Down at an 8:30 pace.  Up another hill and onto the east side of the park…and I began to drift back.  I stuck with the pack for 4 miles.  Not a great showing.  However…The Tool was nowhere to be seen.  That intrigued me, because he basked in the glory of my failures.  And as I went to my arms and propelled myself up the hill, turning south along the east side drive, I realized why the little 4” schmuck was nowhere to be heard (no seen – he’s a figment of my imagination – and I’m not THAT nuts): I wasn’t failing.  I was testing myself. Pushing myself to a higher plateau.  When a runner tries something like this and, after a while, falls away from the pack not due to a lack of desire, determination, dedication, discipline or effort, but due simply to a lack of endurance…it is not failure.  It is the beginning of the evolutionary process. 

I moved from the east side drive to run along the bridal path, passing the pack as they ran in the opposite direction.  Sure, they were faster.  And yes, they looked fantastic clipping along at that 9:15 pace.  But I remained focused on the job at hand – pushing along at my own pace.  Demanding more of myself than I normally do.  Paul Tergat, winner of the 2005 ING New York City Marathon and owner of a marathon finishing time of 2 hours and 4 minutes, once said that “…you have to constantly ask yourself ‘can I give any more?’, and the answer is usually ‘yes’”.  He was right.  On this Saturday I asked myself if I could give more, and the answer was affirmative. 

My foot was killing me – let’s not kid ourselves.  And I wasn’t breaking the land – speed record.  But I wasn’t stopping either.  After 7.5 miles, I switched to the outer loop of the park and ran another 6 plus miles.  Rounded up, I ran 14 miles on the day.  Not fast, mind you…but I didn’t quit. 

As I limped home, I had a grin that couldn’t be wiped from my face.  This training was HARD.  It hurt.  I knew I’d pay for the effort later.  A migraine was 90 minutes away – I knew it.  But the juice was worth the squeeze.

I’ll leave you with a quote that my grandmother always told me when I was little.  Whenever I thought I couldn’t do something, my grandmother would look up at me (she was 4’7”, so she looked up at basically everyone…but she was also one Irish woman that was tough as nails – real old-school) and say “Joseph – whether you think you can or you think you can’t…you’re probably right”.  Smart woman, my grandma. 

As I climbed out of the ice bath afterward, I once again looked in that same mirror.  There was something different about me.  Something in my eyes that wasn’t there before – some sort of spark I hadn’t seen in quite a while.  I almost didn’t recognize it. But whatever it was, I was glad it was there. 

The man I am hasn’t met the man I am supposed to be yet….but I think he just dropped me a mental text message to introduce himself.  I’m looking forward to meeting him.    

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“Most people run a race to see who is fastest. I run a race to see who has the most guts.” – Steve Prefontaine

I’m as Sharp as a Bowling Ball…..


Monday, August 16th – Friday, August 20th ……With the start of the new week came a renewal of my dedication to the cause.  I woke up determined to put in the extra effort to ensure that I mitigate the risk of me feeling as horrid as I did on Sunday.  I sat in my office Monday afternoon watching the clock, actually looking forward to making my lungs burn for 5.5 miles during the evening’s planned tempo run with the team. 

I went to the gym that afternoon, prior to heading out to Central Park, and I went through my usual work out routine with vigor.  I raised the weight amounts for several exercises, feeling a jolt of excitement in the commitment.  By the time I headed to the park, my arms and chest were achy…..which was exactly how I wanted to feel. 

The tempo run that evening was crisp.  Sure my legs barked at me a bit – but vibrant enthusiasm allows a person to raise their level of performance.  As we made our way around the bridal path, my heel began to ache.  The pain wasn’t going to take away from my effort, however.  The Tool attempted to make an appearance on my shoulder…but I was pumping full of adrenaline and anything he muttered in my ear was drowned out by the sound of my labored breathing.  I felt fantastic as we finished our evening routine with stretching.  I went home Monday night feeling like I had righted the ship.

Tuesday, the rally continued.  Work out in the afternoon.  Raise some of the weights.  An extra set thrown in for good measure.  Go home achy.  Perfect.  Aches = progress in my new book. 

Wednesday, the momentum couldn’t be hindered.  The gym got another visit from me.  Then I ran with the team, performing speed work and covering some of the hills along the northern park of the Park.  My running form has improved, so I knew to swing my arms to help me up each of the hills without losing a step on my group.  Wednesday night I fell asleep with a smile on my face.

….well, my dear reader….if you’ve learned anything about me by now it is that I am as sharp as a bowling ball.  Why do I say this amid all of the positivity that my keyboard just oozed for the past 20 minutes?  Well if I were smart, I would have gradually stepped things up little by little, allowing my body to get used to the increased demand / workload.  A smart athlete would have also treated his known injury with ice in order to limit any chance of the momentum being slowed.  But ladies and gents, we are talking about ME here.  I’m lucky if I can spell the word cat if you spotted me the “c” and the “t”.  There are your normal, everyday idiots…and then there’s me: Lord of the Morons.  And I found out just how dumb I was on Thursday morning……..

Thursday morning I woke up with that grin still on my face.  But that grin was erased rather quickly as I slipped out of bed and placed my feet on the floor.  The heel was killing me.  The pain had graduated from the heel pad to now include the area directly below the ankle.  It was tender to the touch.  My arms were sore.  My back ached.  I made a b-line for the kitchen and my big bottle of Advil.  As I entered the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door there sat The Tool, perched on the top shelf.  He started in immediately….

The Tool: “I kicked your ass royally!!!  First Sunday, and now – HA!  How does your back feel by the way?”

Me: “STAI ZITO!  I knew I’d be sore.  Maybe not this sore – I mean DAMN, this hurts – but like the old saying goes: pain is weakness leaving the body.”

The Tool: “….then you were a HUGE wimp.”

Me: “Oh gee that was clever.  Are you sure you don’t want to be a night club comic?”

The Tool: “ummm….Joe….I’m the embodiment of your negativity.  I don’t actually exist except in your own mind.  But you do live and breathe, however.  And old Mrs. Santino in 14C is getting a show right now.  Here you are, talking to your fridge, wearing a pair of boxer shorts that say “Vote For Pedro” on the back, in full view of her as she’s trying to cook breakfast for her husband.  Who’s the tool now?”

Me: (ducking behind the refrigerator door) “…..that would be me.”

The Tool: “Then my work here is done.  God it’s good to be me.”

….and POOF – he evaporated, leaving me to deal with the glare of the mu-mu wearing Mrs. Santino and my Advil.           

Thursday’s run still contained the enthusiasm that I craved…but it hurt.  The aches and pains were adding up, as I assumed they would at some point.  Part of training for a marathon is pushing your body to its limit, and then redefining its limits all over again…and then pushing those limits as well.  Of course you are going to hurt.  When you choose to run a marathon, you choose to experience an amount of pain.  It’s the pain that we go through that makes the overall challenge hard….but it’s the hard that makes finishing a marathon great.

I enjoyed my Friday off.  I rested completely.  I realized my mistake from earlier in the week and I took steps to address it.  I iced my foot.  I “enjoyed” an ice bath.  I allowed my rather flabby muscles to heal.  For Saturday, as always, brings a test…another long run.

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“Vision without action is a daydream.  Action without vision is a nightmare.”   – Japanese Proverb

The Bronx Half Marathon


Sunday, August 15th ……A lot of people complain that they do not sleep well the night before a race.  Strangely enough, I never seem to encounter that problem.  I fell asleep Saturday night to the annoying sound of my own inner voice (a voice that I have developed an entire character around, and that I have dubbed “The Tool”) spewing negativity into my brain, and I woke up to that same mild cackling.  It was a feeling that I compare to falling asleep on your sofa just as some horrible movie is coming on – let’s use Reds (which I consider to be the single WORST movie of all time – simply brutal…and those of you reading this blog that have never heard of this carwreck of a film, google it……you’ll regret that you did) – and then waking up 6 hours later to the immediate realization that some independent film channel has decided to run a “Reds Marathon” all day long.

I waddled into the shower….The Tool hopped onto my shoulder and wouldn’t give me any privacy.  I got changed into my running clothes (a TFK electric lime green running singlet, black short with an under-layer of Nike spandex, TFK green and blue socks, my Garmin running watch and my lucky leather marathon chain) – and The Tool patiently waited for me on the edge of my bed, whistling a somber tune that brought a sinister smile to his face (a la Lurch working his magic on the organ during an episode of The Addams Family).  I went into the kitchen and drank some Gatorade – as The Tool attempted to pull the cork out of the bottle of Ridge red zinfandel that I left on the counter.  Before leaving the apartment at 5:30am to catch a ride to the starting line, I put my ear buds in and began listening to my Ipod – only to have The Tool begin speaking over the music, distracting me from the motivational sounds of Pearl Jam and Dave Matthews.  There was no escaping this little 4” nightmare today.

When I arrived at the starting area, my team was already assembled and stretching had commenced.  Twenty minutes later the gun went off, and we slowly inched forward.  As we crossed the starting line, I started my stopwatch and off I went.

Through the first five miles, I felt surprisingly excellent.  Several hills needed to be overcome early in the course, and I climbed each of them without feeling like I spent too much energy at the time – I had plenty of gas left in the tank.  Somewhere between miles 5 and 6, however, I needed to use the port-o-potty.  OK – let’s deal with this disgusting subject quickly: port-o-potties are horrid.  I only use them when the discomfort is overwhelming.  I take a deep breath when entering and I think of my time in that big plastic green canister as my imitation of Houdini in the submerged trunk: get the hell out of there ASAP.  There you go – the port-o-potty subject has been broached for the one and ONLY time in this blog…..never to be brought up again.  Oy.

Stopping for the port-o-potty also meant one important, negative thing to me: the pack of my teammates that I was entrenched in kept going and I now needed to motivate myself for the next eight plus miles.  As if on cue, realizing that my teammates had moved on and I was flying solo for a while, The Tool ensconced himself to my shoulder and unleashed an onslaught of negativity usually reserved for mile 15 of the ING New York City Marathon…..

The Tool: “Wow.  Eight more to go.  Those hills were rough early – I bet they’ll do a number on you later on.”

Me: “Figures – you show up now.  Such a coward – waiting for my teammates to take off before showing your face.”

The Tool: “I told you payback was una schifosa (that’s Italian for…..well you can figure it out I’m sure), didn’t I?”

Me: “It….is…”

By this point, I am approximately 8 miles into the race.  Five miles to go.  I am panting.  Unfocused.  The Tool has me right where he wants me.  I am no longer thinking about the task at hand – my mind is beginning to wander off and my breathing has gotten away with me.  I have stopped swinging my arms.  My form has become virtually non-existent.  The wheels are coming off.  The little 4” schmuck smells blood in the water and moves in for the kill….

The Tool: “…oh…and I forgot to remind you…you’re all alone right now.  The only one that’s gonna get you to the finish line is YOU.  And let’s face it: you’d rather be anywhere but HERE.  You’re a mess right now.  Your legs are achy.  Your foot hurts.  And you have a ton of crap on your mind.  You shouldn’t be HERE.  Don’t you wish you were at home, asleep?”

I began to falter.  My pace slowed.  My head was in the clouds.  The wheels had, indeed, come off and the car was out of control.

….and with that, I slowed to a walk.  The momentum was killed.  The Tool claimed victory.  I hung my head as I began to walk toward a water stop.  I quickly drank two cups of Gatorade in the hopes that the potent liquid would revive me.  While it would provide me with the energy I needed to cross the finish line in 2:25, which was a personal best for me, the orange fluid could do nothing to repair my messed up psyche.  For my goal was to crack 2:10.  I was on pace and I had the ability to do it.  Yet I allowed my internal turmoil to get the best of me and I folded like a cheap lawn chair.  My final sprint to the finish felt great – but it was short and meaningless as far as I was concerned.  I let The Tool get the best of me.  By earning a personal best time, it would appear to my teammates that I accomplished something…but to me, all I took away from the race was that I do not have complete control over the mental aspects of the sport I am coming to adore. 

I rode the subway home after the race completely disappointed in myself.  I have less than three months to beat The Tool into complete submission.  My work was obviously cut out for me.

I sat at home in an ice bath, and I replayed the race in my head – and while I did, I came to a simple conclusion: in order to run the marathon that I know I am capable of, I must fire on all cylinders on race day.  This means that I need to:

  • train my body to handle the actual distance (this I know I am doing, better than ever before),
  • trust that, when the time comes, I’ll have the heart to push through the pain and soldier on after the body literally runs out of fuel to burn (I’ve done this before – so I know I have the heart of a marathoner), and
  • develop the mentality of a strong athlete which, to me, means blocking out all of the negativity that pulsates through the body and mind in the heat of battle and – when necessary – go into a bubble where nothing else matters but what I am doing at that very moment.  Nothing can distract me.

Well, it’s that last point where the problem now appears to be.  I have just experienced the feeling of disappointment in my own performance.  While on the train I realized that I had fuel left in the tank.  Every race I’ve run before this one, no matter the distance, I have always been completely out of breath and fried by the time I crossed the finish line.  That feeling of exhaustion as I lined up to get my bag after the race was the one that I craved, because it told me that I gave it all that I had.  If I walked away with that feeling, I would be happy with my performance regardless of my time.  Today was different.  I sat on the #4 train and held my head in my hands – that feeling of exhaustion had eluded me because I didn’t give it my best.  And, in the immortal words of Steve Prefontaine, “to give anything less than your best is to sacrifice the gift”. 

 Today….I sacrificed my gift.

 Now I know what you’re thinking by this point: I’m usually a lot funnier than this.  All of my prior blog entries are MUCH funnier…and all of my future ones will be as well…but I needed to vent about this race because not every race can go the way you want it to.  As I sat in that ice bath, I began allowed myself s few minutes to soak in the disappointment.  As I reached for my towel and began to dry off, I remembered what my high school football coach told us after we got royally pounded one Saturday afternoon early in my sophomore year.  As we sat on the benches feeling sorry for ourselves, he got our attention and looked at us with eyes that were almost devoid of true expression.  What came out of his mouth echoed in my head as I looked myself in the eye through the view of the bathroom mirror:

 “Gentlemen, take five minutes.  Sulk if you want to.  Go ahead.  Shed some tears.  We got handed a good ol’ down home country ass-whoopin’.  But I want you to do one thing for me, and that is…burn the memory of how this ass whoopin’ feels into your skulls.  That way you’ll never step out on that field and give anything less than your best again.  You deserved today’s beating.  Let it be the last.”

I looked at myself in the mirror and made myself a promise aloud.  It consisted of two words: “Never again.”  ….and somewhere, deep in the recesses of my brain, a little 4” tall schmuck could be heard talking to himself….. “let the games begin”.

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 “When you get to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.”   – Theodore Roosevelt

Frustration Comes with the Territory….I Think


Sunday, August 8th – Saturday, August 14th ……After completing 14 miles on Saturday and rewarding myself with a rather generous supply of food that contained absolutely ZERO nutritional value (FYI: finding foods with ZERO nutritional value is not as easy as it sounds – and twinkies do not count because they actually have half-lives and therefore aren’t defined as “food”….they are clearly defined as “gastrointestinal stress tests”), I went to bed Saturday night feeling sore…yet content.

Sunday morning began the same as any other: with the feeling of stepping on a knife as I slid out of bed and rested my feet on the wood floor.  A very pronounced limp accompanies me as I make my way to the kitchen for some water.  As I continue to walk around, the limp lessens and the sharp pain is replaced by the dull ache that I’ll carry with me for the rest of the day.  This has been my daily routine.  Some days are more painful than others – but all contain the dull ache.  By lunchtime, the ache is accompanied by a mild headache.  Advil, Motrin, Tylonol….they’ve become a food group for me – and what sucks is that I cannot deep fry them.  It’s called plantar fasciitis, and I’ve got it BAD.

According to all of the websites I’ve read the and doctors I’ve chatted with, plantar fasciitis is an irritation and swelling of the thick tissue on the bottom of the footThe plantar fascia is a very thick band of tissue that holds up the bones on the bottom of the foot.  According to what I’ve read, the main causes of plantar fasciitis are foot arch problems (both flat foot and high arches), obesity, running, sudden weight gain, and/or a tight Achilles tendon (the tendon connecting the calf muscles to the heel).  Well I’m no Dr. House, but I’m betting that my heavy dose of this annoying malady was caused by a combination of a foot arch problem and the frequency of my running.  This, combined with the fact that I still have some extra weight to eject, makes me sound like a prime candidate for this annoyance.  So here I am, waddling around my house the morning after a solid workout, looking like The Penguin (sans the really cool top hat and tuxedo) from the old 1960’s Batman TV show. 

Historically, I’ve had a very high threshold for pain.  (No need for me to list the various battle scars earned over the years – this current one is more than enough for the time being, thank you very much).  However, the high levels of pain I’ve dealt with in the past have usually come with a shortened shelf life.  This current issue, however, is a different animal altogether.  Some of the articles I’ve read indicate that it can take anywhere from 6 to 24 months to fully heal from this injury – and that’s if you are treating it correctly (icing the heel every chance you get, stretching properly before running, wearing running shoes that support your arch correctly, wearing a specially-designed sock that holds the foot in a bent position as you sleep).  While I know this is a common injury, and I also know that it won’t get any worse than it currently is…..the duration and persistence of this ailment is beginning to get to me. 

I have goals set for myself this year.  Serious goals that require serious effort.  Thus far I’ve poured myself into my training.  When I began my training in later April / early May, I felt like my goals of running Hartford, New York City, Philadelphia, Orlando, Miami and Ft. Lauderdale this marathon season were extremely far-fetched – like  there was no possible way that my rather rotund rear-end would be able to handle that workload.  Now here I am in mid August, and I can see and feel the results of consistent hard work.  I want to continue the positive momentum I have created, and I don’t want it to stop any time soon.  And now my own body has thrown me an additional challenge: deal with the pain as you’re honing yourself for your upcoming trials.  I’m frustrated – but I guess frustration comes with the territory when you begin to push your own body’s envelope. 

One of my TFK teammates asked me how this injury actually occurred.  I told him that I first developed this injury when I ran the New York City Half Marathon a couple of years ago.  The race took the runners through one full lap and change of Central Park’s Outer Loop.  Then the runners were released like the bulls of Pamplona southbound down 7th Avenue.  When the runners reached 42nd Street / Times Square, we were herded west, down 42nd Street to the West Side Highway.  The race then propels the merry band of miscreants southbound, finishing right near Ground Zero.

I felt solid during the race, coming out of Central Park at my normal, barely-breaking-a-sweat-because-the-elderly-move-faster-than-I pace.  I scurried down 7th Avenue.  I hung a right on 42nd Street.  I made it to the West Side Highway, more than 9 miles into the 13.1 mile course.  Now the West Side Highway, unlike the other roads I normally ran on, is made of pure concrete.  Concrete, as many runners know, is a very hard, unforgiving surface to run on.  Well somewhere between miles 10 and 11, I came down too hard on my left foot and WHAM!  It felt as like a kitchen knife was plunged into my heel.  Now I’m not talking about one of those cheap knives that you can buy for $9.99 as some cheesy Williams Sonoma wanna-be place.  No way.  I’m talking about one of those knives that you see on the infomercials at 3am  – you know…the ones that never need sharpening and can cut through a lead pipe and then dice a potato Julianne-style.  One of those Ginzu, I-wanna-be-a-habachi-chef numbers.  Get the picture?

The moment my foot landed on the concrete, I knew something was incredibly wrong.  I hobbled over to the side of the highway and the initial feeling I had was fear.  I thought I ruptured something.  As I moved my foot in circles, I realized that nothing felt broken.  Knowing that I was only 2 and change miles from the finish line, I walked the rest of the race, in agony.  I tried to jog with 200 meters to go, but refrained.  It hurt THAT MUCH.  After that race, I took a lot of time off from running.  The foot slowly healed….but now I think the injury never fully healed and it has come back in force.

This injury was the main reason why my times haven’t noticeably improved over the few years that I’ve been in to distance running: I have always been afraid of re-injuring my foot.  This year, however, I have decided to take the chance and push myself – I crave improvement.  So I’ve made a firm decision to continue to deal with the discomfort and, in the immortal words of the Disney film Meet the Robinsons….”keep moving forward”.  This decision, I am sure, will not be easy to deal with – but the juice is worth the squeeze as far as I’m concerned.

After nursing my foot and taking it easy on Sunday, I went through my normal training week in preparation for the Bronx Half Marathon on Sunday, August 15th.  I visited the gym Tuesday – Friday afternoons.  Although I wasn’t able to make the TFK team runs on Monday and Wednesday, I did my weekly assigned mileage in order to stay on pace.  Through consistency and effort, these weekly workouts are becoming easier. 

I rested on Saturday in preparation for the race…and then I received some rather sad news on a very personal front that afternoon.  While I’ll refrain from going into detail (because let’s face it: I whine like a mule enough already just about my running), I can say that I spent that evening on my sofa watching reruns of House and basically feeling sorry for myself.  (For all of you playing the home game, I am physically in my late thirties, and mentally in my early teens…so I pout, stomp my feet and basically become a total annoyance to be around when the world doesn’t do exactly what I want it to).  Now normally I would address this melancholy by throwing on my running shoes and beating the immaturity out of myself…but I couldn’t.  I had to rest.  Saturday evening went by in a dull, achy haze.  I knew that the race would now be much harder to focus on because of the black cloud that I knew would follow me for 13.1 miles.  Tomorrow will be a test.  Tomorrow I’m going 12 rounds with The Tool, because there’s no way that he can resist the temptation of kicking me while I’m down.  Tomorrow will feel like a title fight. 

By the time my head hit the pillow, I felt worn out.  And as I closed my eyes, lo and behold, there appeared The Tool.  Like clockwork.  He wasn’t even waiting for the sunrise to begin the mental assault.  I kicked his tiny culo (it’s Italian – but do I really need to tell you the English translation?) recently and, to him, revenge was a dish best served cold (any time you can quote Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan, your day just got a a little burst of sunshine).  He stretched his little 4” frame out on the pillow, positioning himself next to my ear, and snickered.  The last thing I heard before I drifted off was his tiny pre-pubescent voice cackling “…….when you wake up, you’re MINE….”

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“You have a choice. You can throw in the towel, or you can use it to wipe the sweat off of your face.” – Anonymous

The Long Run Gets Longer…..


Saturday, August 7th …..I woke up this morning with a sense of bright-eyed optimism.  Please don’t ask me why, because I have no idea whatsoever.  When I slid out of bed and my left foot hit the floor, the sharp stabbing pain that has become my internal alarm clock jolted my eyes open.  Today was beginning just like any other: with the feeling of stepping on a knife.  I lumbered into the bathroom and took a warm shower, in the hopes that the hot beads of water will somehow soothe me.  All it did was remind me of just how much I’d really like to climb back into bed and sleep for four more hours.  As I climbed out of the shower and reached for my toothbrush, I realized something: today was Saturday.  Now ordinarily the thought of being off from work would be enough to plaster a huge smile on my face through lunch – but as the toothbrush glided over my molars it dawned on me that the team is running at least 12 miles this morning.  Since I burn approximately 165-180 calories per mile, and I’m running at least 12 miles…..that’s a lot of calories being flushed right down the ol’ gabinetto today.  (It was 6am  – so don’t ask me for a final count on the exact number of calories scheduled to be burned, because I refuse to do math before midday).  At that moment a little light bulb went off directly over my head: I can use my long run days as motivation to maintain my newly-established diet.

I am not quite sure how this idea developed in my brain – maybe I do my best thinking while scrubbing my incisors with AquaFresh (anyone can use Crest or Colgate…I’m an AquaFresh guy because I like that neon blue, possibly radioactive gel they wind into the toothpaste to make it look like the dental equivalent of a candycane) – but I came to the rather shockingly astute conclusion that I was only hours or days away from falling off my current diet’s wagon. (As I have mentioned numerous times before, I lack discipline).  So, in order to motivate myself to stay on this health kick during the work week, I have decided to dangle Saturday afternoons over my head like a carrot in front of a rather lazy, slow, ADD-ridden horse.

I made an internal promise to treat myself to a nice lunch after the long run – something utterly sinful, possibly consisting of all sorts of deep-fried and/or chocolate covered ingredients.  Yum….a deep fried, chocolate-smothered carrot was now right in front of my eyes.  Now all I needed to do was earn it by running hard for 2 hours.

The team began stretching at 7:30am, after which we split up into pace groups that each of us could reasonably stay with for the mileage assigned.  In some of the books I’ve read about marathon running the writers mention a “2 minute rule”, meaning that a runner should run their long runs at a pace roughly 2 minutes slower per mile then their planned race pace.  I loved the sound of that rule…..but let’s face it: there’s no way I was going to be able to do that and stay with the group of runners that I have been training with, which maintain a pace of 10 minutes per mile regardless of the day of the week of the length of the workout.  10 minutes for mile….for at least 12 miles.  Not an easy request to make of my body, because my brain was already preoccupied with preparing the rather empty calorie-laden lunch on the horizon. 

I may have mentioned this before but I’ll say it again because it bares repeating, especially for any of you training to run or even thinking about running a distance event: the long run is the key to distance running success.  You need to consistently push yourself a little farther each week, in order to get your body used to the various feelings – both physical and mental – that you’ll experience on race day.  The long run builds the strength and endurance you’ll require to cross the finish line.  It also provides the sense of confidence you’ll lean on as the miles escalate during the race – knowing that you’ve run 16…18…20 miles before the day of the race develops a level of self-assurance that you’ll be able to handle task handed to you when you pin your bib to your racing singlet. 

The catch phrase that I always come back to when I think of the long runs during marathon training comes from a book a read by Dr. Bob Rotella called “Golf is Not a Game of Perfect” (yes, I look for wisdom everywhere…and I highly recommend that you don’t look to ME for enlightenment because I’m a couple of vegetables short of a salad).  Doctor Bob talks about a “shooter’s attitude”, that being the attitude of an athlete that has enough confidence in him/herself and his/her own abilities to “want the ball when the game is on the line”.  In order for these clutch players to actually have this high level of confidence, he/she must hone his/her skills through consistent and effective practice over a period of time.  Then, on the date of the competition, the athlete can trust in his/her abilities because of the completed training.  What comes out of this long-winded, rather elementary explanation of Dr. Bob’s much more eloquent work is a mantra that I swear by: “Train it and Trust it”.  Train hard…and then believe in yourself on race day.

The run began along the bridal path, running north from 62nd street near Columbus Circle and completing 5 long revolutions around the reservoir, before returning to 62nd Street in a heap of sweat.  The group I have found myself running with regularly consists of a bunch of runners that simply enjoy being around each other – and it shows in the positive motivation we provide each other as the miles add up.  Conversation flows as our feet pound the dirt.  There is strength in numbers. 

At this point in the training program, regardless of how fast each of the members are pacing, we are coming together as a team.  You can see it as we pass each other doing laps on the bridal path.  You see it as runners finish long runs and we stretch together.  As the training gets more intense, our camaraderie has become more apparent.  We enjoy seeing each other succeed.  Being a member of TFK becomes increasingly more meaningful to me as the year goes on.

Through 10.5 miles, I felt OK.  Then, out of nowhere, The Tool makes his appearance.  I hate this little 4” schmuck.  He begins his mental assault on my confidence and focus by reminding me of the distance I’ve already covered.  Then he mentions that I must be hungry because I didn’t eat breakfast.  He mumbles something about how bad it would feel to drop off of my group at this point because I simply cannot stay with them for another 3 miles (our goal was to finish 14 for the day).  I became distracted – he was getting to me. 

The Tool smelled blood in the water.  He had me right where he wanted me.  He hooked me – now all he had to do was reel me in.

When we hit 12 miles he hit me with a haymaker, by reminding me of the pain in my foot.  It had been bothering me for a bit, but I was really focused on my running form and my breathing, so I was able to ignore it up to this point.  However, once The Tool brought the discomfort to my attention that was all I could think about.  I stopped swinging my arms.  I lost control of my breathing.  The wheels were coming off….and just when I thought of shutting it down and walking, Nina, one of the runners in my group, asked me how I was feeling.  I told her I felt like crap.  She reminded me that we were almost home…..and that was all my mind needed to hear to snap me out of my mental funk.  The Tool evaporated like the Great Gazoo in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, and I wrapped up the long run by plodding south to Columbus Circle with my teammates.  The Tool almost had me today – if I were running solo, he would have claimed victory.  But…I had backup. 

I limped home sore and hungry….and with a smile on my face.  Next stop: FOOD.  Food that isn’t good for me.  Food that devoid of nutritional value.  Food that makes my arteries require a Roto-Rooter guy.  Yum!

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“Don’t bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors.  Try to be better than yourself.”  – William Faulkner

A Moment of Sanity Amid This Concoction of Lunacy


Dear Reader,

(CAUTION: THIS CAN GET A BIT SAPPY IN PLACES.  FEEL FREE TO CALL ME A TOOL AND FOCUS ON THE HUMOR…LOL)

(I’m writing this entry because the website is asking me to describe what this blog is all about.  So I’ll add this to the “About” section of the blog afterward….but I wanted to share it with all of you first…)

My blog – “Built for Comfort, Not Speed” – tries (sometimes in vain) to document my training for the 2010 – 2011 marathon season, with a specific focus on prepration for the 2010 ING New York City Marathon scheduled for Sunday, November 7th. I’m attempting to blend some simple training ideas, humor and a bit of motivation to my readers through an honest, self-depreciating style of writing. My goal is to motivate others to select and achieve their own goals, regardless of whether it be running a marathon or simply getting into shape. It doesn’t matter what the goal is: the message I’m trying to send is that it is important to HAVE goals and to apply yourself the best you can to attain them. Challenge yourself. Once in a while it’s OK to bite off what appears to be more than you can chew.

I’m not a very fast runner by any means – I truly am built for comfort, not speed.  As you might have read so far (and as you’ll continuously notice as this blog matures), I make tons of dumb mistakes of various shapes and sizes.  I make the same mistakes over and over again.  I make mistakes that even make first time marathoners shake their heads, roll their eyes, and say aloud “you cannot be serious – you actually did……THAT?”  But even though I make tons of idiotic miscues, I have finished every marathon that I’ve started (including the 2007 Chicago Marathon, which turned into a “Fun Run” after 300 people collapsed in the heat and 1 died on the course) – and finishing the race means I acheived my goal. 

The one thing that I want you, the reader, to take away from this blog is the simple fact that there is no such thing as impossible when it comes to human achievement – there are just varying degrees of diffculty.  One of my heros, Walt Disney, once said that “it’s pretty fun, doing the impossible”.  With this blog I want to do my best to motivate you to give the impossible a shot.  I once thought that a 5k race would be impossible for me to finish.  I was wrong.  Then I figured a 10k was out of my reach.  Wrong again.  Then I ran my first half marathon in Boston in October of 2004 to honor my brothers – and I bet myself a package of Yodels (God those things are good) that I wouldn’t cross the finish line after 13.1 miles.  Well I enjoyed those Yodels on the bus home, with a my first ever finisher’s medal around my neck.  This race took a lot out of me – it was the first time that I met The Tool (and those of you who have read this blog up to now know EXACTLY who that little 4″ schmuck is), and he convinced me that 13.1 miles was all this flabby body could handle.  At this point in my life, the word “impossible” was defined as “any race that required me to waddle more than 13.1 miles” – and that definition appeared to be written in stone.  It would take something huge to make me reach into my own personal dictionary and rip that definition out altogether.

Late 2004 – early 2005 was a lousy time for me.  I had hit rock bottom and had begun to dig.  I was unfocused.  My overall attitude was extremely negative.  I felt like I was a ship on an ocean in the midst of a storm, rudderless, with no shoreline in sight.  My hull had begun to take on water and the S.O.S. was clearly being sent to anyone else at sea.  Depression had set in. 

It was at this point when a lighthouse appeared on the horizon.  Its light awakened me from my despair, made me grab the helm, and slowly right my course.  That lighthouse was my six year-old daughter.  When I needed something to guide me – when I needed something to set my course to – there she stood, unflinching in front of me regardless of weather thown at us by Posiden.  And at the same time I needed something to draw me out of my own internal storm, my daughter desperately needed a hero.  And something inside me made me believe that the hero she needed………was me.

My daughter needed to be shown that a person can do anything he/she puts his/her mind to.  Some goals may be extremely difficult to attain – but the difficulty only makes the victory that much sweeter.  In order to show her that “impossible” was just a word, I needed a new challenge – something I felt that I truly could not do.  That is how I wound up running the 2005 ING New York City Marathon.  When I crossed that finish line, the word impossible truly was ripped from my own personal dictionary, never to be included in any future printings.  When I placed my medal around my daughter’s neck as she stared at me with eyes as large as dinner plates (probably because I looked as if I went 12 rounds with Rocky Marciano – my knees and feet were bloody, my hands were swollen, and I had a limp more pronounced than Doctor House), I felt like I was her hero.  When I kneeled in front of her and hugged her, I whispered in her ear “never let anyone tell you that you cannot do something.  You can do anything, buddy.  You just have to want it bad enough.”  5:20pm on Sunday, November 6th 2005: that moment in my life is one I will NEVER forget.  And let me tell you – there aren’t many things in this world that can top the feeling of being a hero to a child – let alone your own.    

I’m hoping that each of you will rip the term “impossible” out of your own personal dictionaries.  Let’s face it – evey time we use that word it carries with it a negative connotation.  Maybe a few of you are feeling like your own ships are dealing with some rough seas and stormy weather.  Well look through your lives and find the lighthouse you need – who knows….maybe something within yourself will cast the strong light from your own shoreline that you can use to guide your ship.  Set a goal for yourself that appears to sit just outside your reach, and then say to yourself “any other day I’d say this is impossible – BUT NOT TODAY.”  Make the goal something that you enter in to your calendar.  Make it several weeks or months away, so that you have to build up to attain it.  Make the goal require hard and consistent work.  And then, in the immortal words of Bum Phillips, “give everything you’ve got….and then a little bit more.”  And then….when you cross your own finish line, whatever that may be, you will become your own hero. 

Since that first marathon, I’ve set more difficult goals for myself in an attempt to show my daughter that if you can do anything as long as you never quit.  I’ll continue to run marathons until my doctor tells me I shouldn’t any longer….and then I’ll run another just to show him that he was wrong.  Some people think I’m a bit….well…..nuts to run as many marathons as I’ve targeted for myself.  And let’s face it: they are probably right. But as I’ve just illustrated, I do have a number of very serious reasons for pushing myself the way I’ve been trying to.  Now I’d like to share another one of them with you.

2010 will mark my 6th running of the ING New York City Marathon, and my 4th running for the New York Road Runners Team for Kids (“TFK”). This is a charity that I believe strongly in, because I have seen first hand how much they are helping grammer school kids throughout the city fight childhood obesity. TFK volunteers empower youth development via running and character-building programs in low-income schools and community centers in New York City, throughout the country, and in South Africa. Please take a look at the charity’s home page (www.tfkworldwide.com) for more information and details on the number of running programs provided. This charity is making a real difference with kids, and I’d like to ask you to consider helping them with their cause by making a donation – no donation is too small, and all donations are used wisely by the organization to maximize the benefit to the children they serve.

Making a donation to TFK is easy. The charity assigns each runner a specific home page on their secure fundraising site. I’ve attached my home page to this post (http://www.runwithtfk.org/Member/PublicPage/1289), in the hope that you’ll consider making a donation. All contributions are tax-deductible.

Your giving helps New York Road Runners Youth Programs to:

  • Serve over 100,000 children in more than 400 schools and community centers with FREE programs.
  • Reach children of all fitness levels and athleticism, with a heightened focus on reaching out-of-shape and overweight kids with little or no athletic experience.
  • Prevent overweight or obese children from eventually suffering heart disease, high blood pressure, diabetes, and other chronic illnesses that lead to health-care costs in excess of $100 billion annually.

Whether you are a runner, have worked with children, or have kids yourself, I hope you will join me to further this great cause!

Thanks for taking a moment to read this. Regardless of whether you choose to donate to the charity or not please know that I appreciate your support with this blog and, as a direct result, my efforts to train for the challenges I’ve set for myself. I look at this blog as my way of staying focused on my goals, because ordinarily I have the attention span of a gnat.   And now back to our regularly-scheduled lunacy.

– Joseph

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“The greatest pleasure in life, is doing the things people say we cannot do.” – Walter Bagehot

Joseph [jo-sef] (noun) – A guy that waddles through marathons, whining like a mule along the way….


Yesterday I mentioned that my marathon training team, The New York Road Runners Team for Kids (“TFK”), meets three times a week in Central Park to run as a group.  Mondays are usually tempo runs – runs that are designed to add to a runner’s overall mileage base, run at a pace that’s consistent and can be improved upon as training goes on.  Wednesdays are “speed work” days – where we spend our time running up hills (as the old runner’s saying goes: “Hills are speedwork in disguise”) or doing “pick-ups” (which are the types of runs I described in yesterday’s installment.  Saturdays are “long run” days.  These runs are the foundation and the key to distance running success, because the runner adds on a mile or two each week to his/her prior week’s total, thereby getting the entire body used to the feeling of running for longer periods of time without rest.  For example: last Saturday I ran 10.5 miles along the Hudson River with TFK.  By the end of the run, I felt as if a tap dancer was perched atop my head dancing along to Singin’ in the Rain, while an elephant sat on my chest as two trolls used my legs as a wishbone.  (I just read that last sentence to myself several times, and each time I was left with the same thought: God that was weird.  So weird…..I’m going to leave it in and just move along….).  I was not caught by surprise – I’ve gone on runs much longer than 10.5 miles.  I knew how the run was going to make me feel, and I was not doing cartwheels due to the pending excitement (….because if I WERE doing cartwheels AT ANY TIME, anyone standing nearby has the legal right to backslap me into coherence).  As much as I was NOT excited about the aftermath, I ran the distance anyway….because I know how important the long run is.

This coming Saturday is my next long run – 12 miles.  Estimated temperature in the park for Saturday….94 degrees….and humid.  Oy.  Not excited.  But I’ll do it anyway.  Fortunately for me, today is not Saturday!  

Now aside from these three TFK group training days, each runner is expected to do addiitonal weekly work.  This consists of an easy runs or cross training on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and a light recovery run on Sundays.  Friday is a pure rest day, since it’s the day prior to the weekly long run.  Cross training for me consists of lifting weights, light stretching, and abdominal work.  Cross training is pretty important because it allows the runner to develop some stregnth and work the muscles of the boday that aren’t primarily stressed during running sessions.  Marathon running is definitely a full-body experience – after the race, muscles that you never knew you had will hurt.  So working out the entire body helps your endurance and overall performance…or at least that’s what I’ve read!  LOL This is the first time in my life that I’m actually following a strict training regimen without “falling off the waggon” one month into the program.  I’m hoping that I’ll see results along this journey.

So today I’m hitting the gym and working out for about an hour.  No running AT ALL.  I need to work on my abdominals most of all, since strong abs help running posture and overall endurance. 

Tomorrow…..REST.   Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!

Until tomorrow, my friends!

A Quick Preview


I’ve decided to begin a blog that will track my training and corresponding life experiences while preparing for the upcoming 2010 – 2011 marathon season.  While this might sound a tad boring, I can assure you that I lead a rather full and interesting life.   And its contents can be enjoyed by a broad spectrum of people, in my humble opinion:

For all of you avid runners out there that clock in 6-7-8 minute miles, this blog will allow you laugh hysterically as I attempt to train myself to make the leap from ridiculously slow to just plain…..well…..slow.  For you see, I really am built for comfort – not speed.  I’m 5’11”, and weigh 201 pounds.  I’ve lifted weights since high school, when I played QB for the Fordham Prep Rams.  I was introduced to cardio-vascular workout (i.e., running…..yuck) during college, when I rowed for the Iona College Crew.  After college….well….life simply got in the way of me actually maintaining my level of physical fitness.  That, at least, is the politically correct version of the story.  In reality, fell in love with all things BAD FOR ME.  I hit rock botttom and began to dig.  Now those life stories aren’t going to be included in this blog; instead, they are the foundation of the novel that I am in the middle of completing.  I’ll make sure to let everyone know when it’s going to press.  The title is going to be For My Sins…..and trust me, I committed a TON of them.  But sins, when seen through the eyes of an amateur comedian, can sound quite funny……  So all you speed demons out there, sit back and have some laughs at my expense – because the person I love to make fun of the most…..is….me.

For all of you fellow back-of-the-packers that have trained for / are training for a marathon, I think you’ll especially enjoy this one.  Why?  Because I have made every dumb distance running mistake in the book, and I’m sure there will be at least one or two that you’ll think to yourself “……huh, I remember doing that exact same thing…”.  Knowing that other people make that – as well as many more – mistakes may help you put things in perspective.  Being fast is a great goal.  It takes a lot of hard work (and Lord knows I hate hard work.  I try to avoid it like the plague), and improvement comes with time – so patience is key.  Having goals, regardless of how silly or out-of-reach they may sound to others, are the carrots dangling in front of us back-of-the-packers (which I lovingly refer to as turtles) that will allow us to improve over time.  My goal – and it might be your’s as well – is to graduate from the rank of turtle to the stature of hare.  My friends may look at me when they hear this lofty goal and say “Sure Joe – that sounds great.  Want an Oreo?” So this blog will help me stay focused on my goals….and maybe it can help you keep on track as well.  So I ask you to follow me as I go through my training, and have a bunch of laughs along the way….maybe it can help keep you motivated as your own training gets tougher as the mileage increases. 

For those of you that are thinking about running a marathon for the first time, this will be sound evidence that you CAN do it.  Because if I can pull this off, ANYONE can.  I am not a natural athlete.  I’m not thin and lean.  I’m not easily motivated.  I lack focus.  I don’t eat healthy 100% of the time.  I complain A LOT.   And…with all of those negative personality traits firmly in place within my pea-sized brain, I’ve managed to complete 10 marathons since November 2005.  You’ll learn that the body will only carry you to a certain point along the marathon course, and then it hits The Wall.  At that moment, the road forces you to look inside yourself and find the courage to keep moving forward.  Either that – or quit.  Now I may be slow….not in the greatest shape….and I may lack focus….HOWEVER, one thing I hate is failing at achieving a goal.  I’ve run smack into The Wall – HARD – ten times.  Each time I didn’t let the road get the best of me.  And if I can do it….YOU CAN DO IT. 

For those of you that simply like to laugh,  you’ll have TONS of chuckles, multiple gaffaws, and numerous snickers purely at my expense.   And I’m sure I’ll deserve every one of them. 

For my friends and relatives,  you’ll be able to keep tabs on how I’ve been spending my time outside of my office.  And also laugh at my expense.  Call me a few names under your breath.  I’m sure I deserve it – Lord kows I never pick up the phone any more – I deserve to be bluggeoned over the head with a wet noodle 20 times.

So let the games (and the laughter) begin!

This effort is dedicated to the people closest to me – MY FAMIGLIA. 

And a special shout-out to my team: The New York Road Runners Team for Kids.  Helping over 100,000 New York city school kids fight childhood obesity every single day.  Thank you teammates and coaches, for helping me stay motivated.  2010 marks my 6th ING New York City Marathon – and 4th with the Team for Kids (simply referred to as “TFK”)…and if you are ever thinking of running the NYC Marathon for the first time, this team is the WAY TO GO.