Running Stories

 It is easier to read about running than it is to actually run, isn't it? It is certainly much easier to run if you are avoiding swimming.

Getting to the point of any kind of committed training involves a series of decisions. Lately, I've been saying to Paul that his training mainly consists of the races themselves as there is not too much going on for him in the way of hitting the pavement in between these organized events.  And, of all people, he should know better as he BROKE HIS LEG and collapsed 50 feet from the finish line of his first marathon about ten years ago.

When Paul talks about running, I know what he's saying. It's symbolic and literal with all that subcutaneous liquid seeping into or out of the bone marrow just before he fell. Guts or ego (or something else) prevented him from pulling out of the race sooner.

When Haruki Murakami talks about running, he's articulating drive, force and commitment. The ebb and flow. Something of that is in Paul's continued running. After two operations and "the boot", cane and limp and full recovery (more or less), he runs with a massive hockey stick shaped scar that goes from his knee to his ankle and enough screws to set off a metal detector. Paul also told me that he was so close to the finish line when he did collapse that he heard the announcer over the loudspeaker state that "There appears to be a woman down on the course." The emergency workers placed Paul's chipped shoe on the finish line so that he could complete the race and get a time.

In our three event, Bermuda Triangle Challenge, Paul placed 264th and I 265th out of 331 participants. Our total time for the one mile, 10K and Half-Marathon was under 4 hours. Just. But still -- we were very happy with the results, and I will be donating $50 to a charity -- send in suggestions.

Stay tuned for a mini interview with one of the organizers of Bermuda Race Weekend. 

Some cross-training in the works and I still haven't gone swimming yet.

Out the Window

This is the view above the clouds and rain on our flight from Toronto to Bermuda.  Thirty minutes or so after this was taken, the plane went through a bit of turbulence and there was lightning, rain and stereotype. You know...something like that famous Twilight Zone episode and the Bermuda Triangle and all that. Really. Even our taxi driver mentioned it.  Plus, it was the eve of Friday the 13th.

 Louise Mallard in The Story of an Hour looked out her bedroom window and saw rich new possibilities. Me,  I want to throw it all out that window: all the negativity, worry and anxiety.  In yesterday's local paper, The Royal Gazette, there was a 12 page supplement on Bermuda Race Weekend and all of the participants were named.

Tonight, we will run a one mile invitational, tomorrow a 10k and then, if we are lucky, a half marathon on Sunday. I've tweeted it before, and I'll tweet it again: if I don't finish last, I will donate $50 to a charity; if I am last, I'll donate $100 (probably World Wildlife Foundation, though I will take suggestions).  No one loses.

Signs and Symbols

The bathing suit has arrived. It was left on the porch unceremoniously and was in a much smaller package than I imagined.

Its arrival reminded me of a worry I had many years ago when I was preparing to live in Japan as an English teacher. I had heard that it was a cash society and I knew that the first few days there would be busy with meeting colleagues and getting settled and all of those kinds of things, not to mention the jetlag and nervousness and all of that. So, I wanted to be sure that at least I had some of that cash on hand, especially if the society was based on it, as I had been told. I went to the bank a few days before departing Montreal and ordered something like 150,000 Yen which seemed like an enormous amount to me. I couldn't really imagine how much that money was worth, even though at the time I had paid about $1,000 Canadian for it. The bigger issue was how I was going to carry that around with me AND what kind of wallet I was going to use with such a huge wad of dough. As I recall, I was very preoccupied with the details surrounding the money: how much money,  researching the money, getting the money, carrying the money, the value of the money, what I could get with that money,  even just having the money period. I understand now that the money (even the word itself) and its being researched, coddled and carried were distractions from what was really going on. At this time, too, I was in the early stages of becoming a fairweather runner, but was not terribly concerned with gear and the like.

I was leaving Montreal and all of my friends whom I adore and I'd ended a four year long (very problematic) distance relationship, though remained deluded (for many months to come) that we'd get back together (somehow) in Japan. A lot of that relationship was bracketed, now that I think of it. I'd also spent a year or was it two (?) trying to write a thesis on a postcolonial autobiography by Sara Suleri called Meatless Days. I never completed the thesis, but did learn all about rice. This whole Japan thing was a both an adventure and failure. Anyway, I was a bit of a wreck and the Japanese cash and its carrying were welcome respite. I was very excited and even felt a little bit important when I was called at home by someone at the bank to tell me that I could pick up the cash. I nearly collapsed in embarrassment when the teller handed me the slimmest envelope of currency I'd ever seen. My paper phone bill used to be thicker. 

I will have to develop a little courage to wear this suit in the pool because the truth is I look like a bit of a circus clown in it. I'm not a tall person and so the bottom half goes past my knees. Also,  it's fortuitous that I am flexible because I had to do some pretty kooky moves to get my self into the thing. They don't call it a skin for nothing. I think I am beginning to understand what is behind the bathing suit anxiety and it's not just my large ass. Let the training begin. Finally. For Real. Yes.

Spin Cycle class today. Paul and I leave for Bermuda on Thursday and technically we are on our "taper" for the half marathon we are supposed to run on Sunday, preceded by a 10 K and a one mile invitational. I will let you know what happens.

Suit Tracking

After much fanfare and starting up anxiety, my bathing suit still hasn’t arrived. The exact details of who was supposed to ship what and when are not all that important, except to note that I’ve never seen such corporate finger pointing. This is the new retail, I guess, with clients who are online and at the mercy of invisible companies and shippers.  The insipidly obsequious and insincere customer service made me kind of sick. Anyway. As it turns out, on a bus to Montreal from Toronto I totally pulled some sort of muscle on my lower right side. I’ll look it up in an anatomy book, but it feels thoracic to me. Thoracic…sounds like indigestion. My husband, Paul, has always said that if you eavesdrop on conversations in any running event, you’d think you were in a hospital emergency room.

 

I will believe the suit when I see it and then I will open the package and attempt to squish myself into it. 

 

Gym-bound for some cycling and treadmill work.

The Inaugural Entry

Okay. It's January 3rd and late into the night and early morning, I spent hours online looking at gear for training. I just ordered this suit and am hoping against hope that it isn't too small. I mean, who in God's name orders a bathing suit (or anything for that matter) without trying it on. Especially a bathing suit. The TYR Fusion Aeroback. I am sure it won't be too big.

 My theory on swimsuits has always been that there is no such thing as too big, not on me anyway. Then again, I am no competitive Olympic swimmer...plus, I figured this getup offers massive coverage. Massive and complete coverage. Also, swimming lessons wouldn't hurt. I don't want to be disingenuous here by emphasizing how naturally non/un-athletic I am.  I'm in decent physical condition. I don't want to present the the humiliation of sharing some watch-me-suffer-the-extreme-indignities of training. I want to document my progress, such as it is and may be. I don't even really talk about this with my closest friends. They don't know how I wept when I could not run a half marathon for which I had trained religiously in grotesque winter conditions: the first distance race ever for me... after I'd quit smoking (another story, one that has ended very well). Pulled calf: I've never had the injury since, though live in fear. I'll let you know how the suit works out -- a UPS truck will be delivering it in the next day or so.

My main recent training activity has been running, although I am a bit of a gym rat in less than fairweather conditions, which can be extreme in Montreal, where I currently live. I don't own a bike, but I have run over a dozen half marathons and other short distance races in the last three years. The truth is I have not improved my completion times at all. My inaugural 21K race in Toronto three years ago had a PB of 2:20, and I'm not talking peanut butter. My very first officially chip-timed race, a 10K,  resulted in what has become a PB of 1:03. Slow. I know.  Talk about peaking early and ironically, the finishing times have been going kind of downhill since then. I did cross the finish line last on a 5K fun run over fours years ago, but I thought (and still believe) that this had to do more with starting too fast, chatting as I was with the elite runner who eventually won the event.  How was I to know that this colleague (and now friend and mentor) would actually win? Oh how my arms felt like lead pipes and I couldn't breathe: a terrible sensation that I have been cautious not to repeat. You'll meet Barb, the aforementioned elite ultra marathoner and athlete, in this blog soon.

Anyway. I was the last Canadian to cross the half marathon finish line in Phuket, Thailand in last year's Run Paradise race event. Paradise indeed. And, two days ago in a New Year's Morning 10K run, in Toronto, Ontario, hosted by the Longboat Runners once again,  I found myself (last, with my husband, Paul)  behind a lovely 67 year old man who'd recovered from double hip replacement surgery.  We are in the background of all of his congratulatory finish-line photos and later had a wonderful breakfast with him. He's been running for 40 years. So this back of the pack thing isn't really new, but two days ago I almost quit the whole thing and had a kind of crisis. Why am I bothering was all I could ask myself.

I used to say that when something becomes a symbol, it's time to work on perspective. Running as metaphor...something like that.  I wasn't prepared for the symbol to become literal which seems to be happening to me.  My idea is to share something of myself as I train for my first sprint distance triathlon which will be in Jimbaran, Bali on June 24, 2012. I want to speak with other folks who are committed to training to tap into what drives them.  You'll have to believe me when I say that I am also critically aware that running faster would seem to be the most obvious and simple solution to this crise d'esprit. In the meantime,  I've signed up for two other distance races: The Bermuda Race Weekend, coming up January 13-15 (...and I've registered for three events for the Bermuda Triangle Challenge - one miler/10K/half marathon) and the Hollywood Half Marathon in Los Angeles on April 7.

Despite the whining about time, believe me again when I say I'm absolutely grateful to be doing this at all. Join  me in the ups and downs. Mostly ups, I hope. Could writing change the game, even slightly?