The unintentional marathon

Last weekend, I flew to New York to visit Carolyne; Those of you who have been following my journey from couch potato to running machine will note that I've been a little light in terms of training of late.  One would think, based on my lame-ass training regimen, that I have no business running a marathon.

...and he/she who thinks this would be absolutely right, particularly given that I was

So last weekend, I'm being the supportive boyfriend that I am, and offered to pace Carolyne through her marathon - at least part of the way.  You see, we're doing Honolulu together in two weeks' time, and we both need to be in shape for it.

So anyhow, we start out late, still a little bit hung over from Friday night and not feeling well from the day preceding the race, but we started out nonetheless on time and in her correct starting group.  The first 8 miles went without a hitch; we were cruising along pretty well at about 9:50/mile, and having a good time running together.

mi	Pace (min/mi)	Elevation (ft)
1	9:49	46
2	9:38	-35
3	9:24	-37
4	12:30	8
5	9:40	48
6	9:22	50
7	9:06	-86
8	9:45	78
9	9:13	-54
10	9:46	66
11	10:37	-72
12	9:30	-24
13	10:16	45

Around mile 12, I started fading.  My calves were seizing up and hurting like crazy.  Carolyne surged ahead, and I lagged while I dealt with my issues.  I caught up around mile 14, and then couldn't go any further.  My legs just weren't cooperating.

For christ's sake, how the hell am I supposed to be able to complete a marathon when I can't run 15 miles?

Cursing myself, I let Carolyne go, and relegated myself to cheering squad status.  I sat on the side and stretched and stretched, and stretched and stretched.  I stretched and stretched soooo much that the muscles in my legs gave in, and were cooperative again.  I thought, I'll race ahead and catch her, surprise her.  Mile 14, 15, 16, ... 18, 20, no dice.  I couldn't find her.

So I hung out at the 22 mile mark, and waited... and waited....

nope.  So I decided to just run it out in hopes that we'd run into one another.  Alas, t'was not to be, but I managed to complete a 26.2 mile run for the first time in my life - roughly 9 miles longer than the next longest run I'd ever done before.

Yep, I'm pretty proud of both of us.  Next up: Honolulu.  Train a little better, don't drink yourself into a blubbering oblivion two nights before next time, and rest up.

Bring it!

Getting back into (running) shape

I'll say this: life has somehow managed to get in the way of running for me.  Well, that, and the fucking IT band.

This past month has been, honestly speaking, one of the best months of my life.  I got back on a plane for the first time in a while, and regained my love for a city I've disliked for a while.  The San Francisco giants won the world series, and along the way, I came to realize that I living life as a cynic isn't my schtick - that I'm a hopeless romantic and just need to accept that fact and move on with life.

I resolve today to train in earnest for the next month, because otherwise I'm toast.  I went to my Chiropractor and massage therapist last week for an adjustment to my jacked up right side.  Something is rotten in the state of Fraleigh, and that would be my right leg.  I'm going to grin, bear it, and cross-train like a motherf*cker, so that I can get through the 26.2, one month and 5 days from today.

Tomorrow at 6am, I'll be out pounding that pavement for a little while, working that leg back into shape.

Wish me luck, pounding that pavement and righting the life of sloth that I've been living for the last month.  No more hot dogs, no more beer.  It's go time.