At this moment, one week from today, I'll be crossing the start line!

One (Satur)Day More...

Apparently, I am all about the Les Miserable references today...

Tomorrow morning is the last Saturday of my training! The last Saturday I have to wake up at 4:30 and make my way to White Rock Lake. The last loop around the lake this training season. The last Friday nights of playing by the rules and eating/sleeping as directed. And perhaps most significant of all...the last trip to the Taco Joint.

It hardly seems possible that 24 weeks ago I went to the lake for my first of many runs this year. For an entire month before that, MK and I did practice runs a few times a week, just to build up to the initial 5 mile time trial. Having done the program last year with Get With It! (TM), I can tell you with no small amount of confidence that this year's program was hotter, muggier, more draining, more exhausting, and more rewarding than the regimen I endured the year before.

I am so thankful for my coaches, who offered encouragement and coolers full of refreshing beverages every single week. But I am even more grateful for Cat, Bethany, Jon, and of course, MK and KC, who fulfilled the role of faithful running buddies each and every week. Truly, having friends to pass the time and the miles makes it so much more rewarding. They keep you motivated, accountable and honest. I truly couldn't have done it without them.

I have loved this experience, and, who knows, would at least consider doing it again...maybe...but for now, I am really looking forward to having my Friday nights again!

Timmy

Who am I...

There are several numbers that define us. Our height, our weight, our social security number. Telephone, address, zip and area codes. But right now I am only focused on one number...

55204

That's my bib number of the 2010 ING New York City Marathon.

I'm in the Orange Group, Wave #3, Corral # 55. Which means I will be starting my run at 10:40 a.m. (Eastern) with a brisk 2 miles jaunt over the top of the Verrzano Narrows Bridge...with 15,000 of my closest friends. The orange path stays separated from the other groups until mile 4 or so. Eventually my fellow 15,000 strong orange runners will meet up with 30,000 runners of the blue and green persuasion and we'll run the last 22.2 miles all together.

I know that I am one of many in this race, but I am the only 55204, and somehow I feel like this marathon is being organized solely for my benefit.

Timmy

Curb appeal

As I mentioned on here before, I enjoy running to a destination. The first time I ran anywhere with a purpose was to Blockbuster to return a movie that was probably several weeks overdue. Since then I have run to the grocery store, to a restaurant, to pick up my boss's newspaper while she was out of town, and, last night, to KC's house.

Running (as opposed to driving) makes you keenly aware of everything you've been missing. It also makes you realize how far apart everything is. It's similarto the transistion from passenger to driver...suddenly everything becomes much more important.

Last night I had agreed to meet KC for dinner post-run. She, too, had to put in a full hour run before we could feast so I told her I would meet her at her house, as per usual. The thought of running my "usual" route just wasn't exciting me, so I pushed a few buttons in my GPS and found that the Wee One's house was a mere 4.6 miles away. Sadly, that's just about what I run during an "easy" hour, so I was set.

All was going well, until I hit Mockingbird. No matter which direction I chose, there were no sidewalks on which to run. To be clear, neither Inwood or Mockingbird can be described as "pedestrian friendly".

The next five minutes of my run are best visualized as a game of real life frogger (sans the logs and sound effects). I wasn't so interested in crossing the street as I was in just making my way along it. Finally, after spending a while in the median waiting for a break in the traffic, I was able to sprint my way to safety on the far side of the street. Fortunately, I was not forced to repeat this 5 more times or move up a level.

Having not yet voted, I am changing my number 1 issue for this mid-term election from education to sidewalks. I am sure the candidates that went door to door are sympathetic to my plight.

Timmy

New Shoes

As you know, I have recently adopted a pair of new shoes. I took them for a test spin last night and I have to say...I am impressed. They are springy and comfortable. And white. Man are they ever white.

After one run in my new shoes, I realize that I might have clung to my old ones a bit too long. These new sneakers cradle my feet like clouds supported by gossamer tissue resting on a baby's bottom. The shoes still feel foreign and in some ways uncomfortable, because I haven't spent enough quality time in them to truly break them in, but I feel like these shoes and I are going to go far.

When I was getting ready for my run yesterday, I instinctively reached for my old pair. Sliding them on I felt the pleasant sensation of clinging moisture accumulated from Saturday's high humidity run. Which caused me to think..."I wish I had a new pair of shoes..." Which made me realize..."I have a new pair of shoes." Elation followed.

Whenever I buy the shoes, I am always amazed at the price. Don't misinterpret what I am saying, Luke's charges a fair price for a good product, but having grown up with shoes from Payless in the 80's, I am always taken aback at having to pay $130 for shoes. These aren't just any shoes though...apparently I have a tendancy to "roll" when I run. I beg to differ, because "rolling" sounds much more pleasant than whatever it is that I am doing, but nonetheless, my shoes job is to put a stop to that nonsense.

So, with all that said, it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to my new running shoes...Shoes, this is my blogging audience...audience, Shoes. Damn, I really should have taken a picture.

Timmy

Verklempt

Everyday I get a little more convinced of my ability to complete the marathon and everyday I gain a little more insight into how bad it is going to hurt. I try to remind myself that the physical pain will be temporary and will fade, but the emotional high of completing the marathon will be remembered forever.

I definitely teared up when I completed the half marathon, and at the time I thought that was the biggest physical accomplishment I would ever complete. This marathon will represents a much more significant (and in some ways insurmountable) feat for me, and for that reason I am more than a little nervous about my ability to hold it together.

Don't get me wrong, I am a crier and I am not ashamed. Crying poses no threat to my masculinity. I will cry. It's going to happen. The problem is when am I going to start crying. If you've never had the pleasure, next time you happen to be out jogging around, do something to make yourself cry...think about death, hit yourself, look at your 401K statement....then try to keep running. It ain't easy.

You can't really see, and I have always found sight to be a helpful addition to any run. You can't really breath, which, if anything, is more important than seeing. And you look like a tool. No one looks sexy when they are trying (a) not to cry, (b) to see, and (c) to breath. Your face turns a brilliant red color and assumes a contorted and pained expression. I can try to distract onlookers by somehow bringing attention to my well-toned and shapely calves, but that only lasts for a minute or two.

To add to the fun, I have recently discovered that I have exercised induced asthma, brought on by a build up of lactic acid in my system towards the end of a hard run. Apparently one of my triggers is getting emotional. I have been training myself and my lungs during my last few long runs to deal with this exciting new development. My training consists of blocking all emotions after mile 18 or so. Unfortunately, mile 18 also marks the point where my emotions run rampant and cannot possibly be controlled without constant effort.

Anything...ANYTHING...can set me off. It's not so much about the object as my body's apparent need to cry...for any reason. I have a couple new inhaler friends that are joining me on runs now, just in case, thankfully since a rather terrifying run a few weeks back (sorry MK...didn't mean to be so scary) I haven't had any issues.

But even outside the running environment, I have noticed a definite increase in my emotional connections with running. Yesterday I bought new shoes. My pair for the marathon. The pair that will take me across the finish line. When I got home I saw my old pair haphazardly thrown on the floor. Just laying where I tossed them when I came home from Saturday's 12-miler. My plan was to take the old shoes back to Luke's to have them recycled. That would be the responsible thing to do. But I just can't. It seems unfair that my new shoes will be with me when I finish this race, but my old shoes were with me all the way there. Why should my shoes have to miss out when they have been there for me on one of the greatest adventures of my life?

Of course I know that I can't carry everything that helped me along the way, that would be ridiculous. I have to pick one shirt, one pair of shorts, one pair of socks, one pair of shoes. My belt can only hold so many Gu's (and inhalers). Our coaches gave us a list so that we can make sure we have everything we need for the race. I'll be inspecting that list and checking and re-checking my bags to make sure I have everything I need.

But I'll be carrying a lot more than what is listed on that sheet to make it through 26.2 miles.

I have been so amazed by the support from my friends and family. The donations to my charity were truly humbling and the constant words of encouragement have gotten me out of bed and out the door more mornings than I care to admit. My training process has been a lesson in how truly blessed I am to have friends and family who believe in me ever when it seems impossible.

So, no, it's not the shoes that make me cry. It's the mornings spent with my best friend, believing I couldn't accomplish the task before me, but knowing somehow we would. It's the calls and emails and letters reminding me how much I am loved and supported as the days countdown to November 7, 2010. And it's the memories of a wee friend running next to me at the gym telling me that I really could run for one full minute, even though it seemed so impossible at the time. It's a journey a lot longer than 26.2 miles, and it's taken a lot more than one lousy pair of shoes.

So yes, I will probably get a little emotional. Unfortunately, my packing list does not include tissue, so if you are coming to the race, for pete's sake, bring some freakin' kleenex.

Timmy

Strong Finish

When MK and I were training with Get With It! (TM) last year, our coaches had a strange form of torture for us to endure each week as we finished our runs. About 300 feet from the finish line, a coach...or possibly more than one...would run up next to you and "run you in". This consisted of picking a random spot on the street (usually a bumber of a foreign car...like a white Honda or a maroon Nissan) and upon reaching that spot you would "sprint" to the finish.

A few weeks ago, during a easy 12-miler, MK and I decided to relive our past and ran from the fender of a dark blue Saab all the way through the barricade that marks the end of the line. KC, a cheering bystander, was disturbed by our gusto and confused by why, after running 12 miles, we were voluntarily putting ourselves through that much more agony.

I think the party line is that you want to finish strong on the days it doesn't matter so that come race day you can finish strong when it really counts.

I have been running for a year and a half now, and it has only been recently that I think I understand why people (myself included) really run. You never reach a point where it stops hurting. You never reach a point where it's easy. You just reach a point where it feels right, and that's the moment when you forget all the pain and push it just a little bit harder. Before you know it, you're running farther, faster and longer than you have ever run before. For me, that moment happens when I cross through the final barricade on the Luke's course.

I used to push myself to finish a 30 minute run, and now I push myself to run for 5 hours. But sprinting my way across the finish is just as sweet every time I have done it. There have been a lot of differencest pop up between 30 minutes and 5 hours, but one thing remains consistent, if you can finish strong, you'll come back again week after week, just to cross the finish line one more time.

Timmy

The Proper Attire

One thing that I have noticed since I have started running with Luke's Locker is that I have become a snob. Correction. More of a snob. Let's, at least, be honest.

I feel a since of superiority over other less fortunate runners that aligned themselves with other less expensive runnings groups. To be clear, my running group didn't break the bank. It works out to about $5 a week, so we're not talking big money. Still, Luke's has a mystique all it's own. I am sure that all running group members feel the same way about their program...in fact, on a recent Saturday run, a rival running group had scrawled in chalk powder on the street where the entire Luke's program runs "Luke's Sucks!"...had that been at the end of the 20 mile run we were completing that day, I might have been more inclinded to agree.

MK and I have often discussed this sudden sense of superiority. We have been taught to run correctly, breathe correctly, how to face hills, how to face downhills, how to stretch, and generally how to be a better runner than you (well not YOU per se). Whether we properly implement these tools of the trade is an entirely different story. But the lesson that I have learned loud and clear, is what to wear when running.

I showed up on day 1 last year for a 10 minute jog...my first time jogging for more than a minute ever...wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt. By the end of that job, I had something akin to a paper maiche tshirt mold stuck to my torso. I am fairly certain that was the last time I have worn cotton while intentionally trying to make myself sweat. While there is something exhilarating about wearing a thoroughly soaked shirt around town for a bit after a good run, I am sure, my experience with Luke's has taught me that "real runners" wear fancy shirts that are sold with heavy marketing tags (honestly more like a brochure which has been attached to the shirt using those annoying plastic things) extolling the wicking virtues and aerodynamic design.

Don't get me wrong. I am willing to pay a fair price for a fair product. But, the first time I paid $40 dollars for a tshirt that was designed solely to be worn while I sweat, I had my reservations. Let me assure you, however, worth. ever. penny. Do you still sweat? Oh my yes. But somehow the shirt just makes it better. No one knows how...no one.

MK told me recently that before she started running she thought female runners wore capri sweat pants probably with a fun top sporting a college logo. I imagine that, alternatively, a charity walk/run tshirt could be subbed in for school pride, but definitely capri sweat pants were mandatory. For myself, I was under the impression that all men who were actual runners never wore shirts regardless of the weather and pranced around is something akin to a shorty garbage sack.

Thankfully, we've managed to land somewhere in the middle. As a favor to the public, I have pledged to keep my shirt on at all times, and MK and I both have a few faithful pairs of running shorts and wicking shirts that get recycled on a weekly basis. I look "sporty" but perhaps not "athletic". I am good with that.

Timmy

One is Silver and the Other Gold...

Since I have started running I have lived in three different apartments. The first apartment was on Maple Avenue, right next to the Katy Trail. Each and every day I climb up a dirt embankment about a block from my building and proceeded to jostle my way up and down the same path. After a while, you realize that, basically, you see the same people over and over again. I don't know any of their names. I wouldn't feel comfortable approaching them in public. They are not my friends.

The second apartment was Arts District adjacent. Offering a quick walk to work and a variety of running paths to choose from. Sure, sometimes I would jog down the hill to the base of the Katy Trail...it's comfortable, what can I say, but usually I would simply jog up and down McKinney Avenue. McKinney had its perks. It's well lit. There's a lot to see. Unfortunately the smells wafting from the bars and bushes adjacent to said bars were not always pleasant (seriously...Aura...get a hold of your customers). I felt very "Uptown". If I saw anyone, both of us made every effort to ignore one another. That's just the way we Uptowners do it. Even when I used to run around the Texas Repulic Bank Building (one loop is a quarter of a mile...just FYI), the security guards would politely look away each time I passed their window.

My third and current apartment has proven decidedly different when it comes to meeting people during my running adventures. There are some fun horn honks and cat calls as I gulump my way through my neighborhood. These typically happen at night. I feel this is the case for several reasons: (i) it's dark so the drivers/cat callers can't actually see me...and my girth, and (ii) it's the end of the day, so my fans have had more time to build up their courage/blood alcohol level.

My runs take me out of the security fence surrounding my quaint 1950's condo development, past the Section 8 housing that sits across the street, down to Cedar Springs, through Perry Heights, around Craddock Park, in front of Whole Foods Market, into Highland Park (by way of Lomo Alto), up to Versailles, over to Preston or Throckmorton, and back down to Cedar Springs. The Highland Parkers are very similar to the Uptowners, except more vocal about my need to share the sidewalk...seriously. Well, okay, just once and I think she was having a bad day...I hope she was...because I certainly did after our brief encounter.

This morning, however, I finally made contact. A real, random, running buddy.

As I was passing the free clinic on Cedar Springs, a spry forty year old African American man named Eric sprung off the wooden bench on which he had seated himself to join me for the rest of my run. We really connected. I think because we have so much in common.

Eric just celebrated his big b-day with his recently reunited brother. It was hard for the brothers to keep in contact for a few reasons. First, because Eric has until recently lived out of town. Second, because Eric has until recently been in prison.

Not to worry though, Eric has excellent social skills and would be a fine addition to any gathering. He inquired as to my occupation...to which I said "I work at a law firm" (people, do not ever tell a stranger you are an attorney...just trust me...I was tempted to tell him I work "in an office", I was risking it with "law firm"). Not wanting to be rude, I return the queary and was told "Oh, I cash my disability check. I've got the bipolar disorder."

He apparently is not one to dwell (an admirable quality in a new friend), since we quickly moved on to why I was running and where, exactly, I was running to. I told him I was running the NYC marathon in 3 weeks. He asked if he could come. I told him yes, but he would have to find his own ticket. We discussed the length of the marathon and the length of my morning training run (which was almost at an end at this point...lasting a little over 5 miles and taking right at an hour). To which he responded that I was "pretty fast for a guy who is so thick." At this point we had run about half a mile together. He needed to stop and stretch for a bit, which I declined, but wished him well in all his endeavors.

I looked for him on facebook, but nothing... Wishing you well, Eric from the free clinic. If you make it to New York, be sure and flag me down.

Timmy

What is there to say...

Something strange happens when I am running. At some point, I lose all sense of propriety. Correction, I know exactly that what I am saying is not a polite topic of conversation, but I proceed to say it nonetheless...and with abandon.


Over the past several weeks, I have forced MK to talk about basically every topic of conversation that can be covered by two best friends. We've discussed the movies (The Social Network...pretty solid, but kind of depressing...I enjoyed it), our romantic escapades (I use the word "escapades" to convey a sense of excitement and intrigue...this part of our conversation is usually quite short), various financial topics (including, but not limited to, who's turn it is to fork over the $3.50 for our group queso during our post run breakfast at the Taco Joint), and general complaints (ranging from "I smell awful" to "You smell awful", etc.).


But the topic that I frequent the most is one revolving around my gastrointestinal tract.

Ah, the GI Tract...one of God's great jokes. I mean, picture it. It just looks weird. No one knows how it works (doctors, please lower your hands)...but we all know when it is not. And the times when it is not working somehow manage to coincide almost precisely with when we, as humans, are running.


Any runner has heard of the trots...we live in fear of the grumbling that belies a painful jolt to a disgusting rest stop...you read about it in running magazines and online running websites, where they refer to it with quotation marks or print it in italics. This might lead you to believe that tummy troubles are a topic of conversation that cannot be broached between runners in public. Don't be fooled. Nothing is taboo in the brother/sisterhood of running companions...most particularly the trots.


I remember running past the arboretum with my coach during last year's program while he relayed to me a story involving a Friday night t-bone steak, a bottle of wine and a 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning clinched jog to the 7-11. I believe the words "exploded" and "tragic" were used several times. I still cannot look at that convenience store in the same way.


I have told people I hardly know (and been told by people I do not know) exactly what I/they ate for dinner the night before and the merits of that cuisine in regards to its digestion related effects. We've discussed the pros and cons of breakfast pre-run...what that breakfast should consist of and when it should be consumed. We've talked about recommendations from various nutritionists, websites, running magazines and grandmothers. But we don't just talk about it...we live it.

For those of you who know me well, you know that I enjoy a hardy blech now and again. I am not ashamed of this. In fact I rather enjoy it. But I am afraid that I have literally woken slumbering households on the streets of Lakewood due to burps that can only be described as "thunderous". Additionally, I could fill a small pond with the amount of saliva I produce during a weekly long run. I hate spitting. I hate it when people spit, and I hate spitting myself.

So why this sudden freedom to discuss the comings and goings of the bowels and their supporting glandular pals? Frankly, I'm not sure. Much like being slightly inebriated, running gives you carte blanche to proudly discuss almost any topic. Sure, it's not for everyone. To be clear, MK is more of a passive observer rather than an active participant. But when else do you get to discuss the strong points of various port-a-potties and the exact location of bushes that might work in a pinch.

I try to remind myself that if people slowly move away from me during my run, it might be because they don't subscribe to my free spirited no-holds-barred conversations (in which case, good ridance), or it might be because they are suffering through their own "moving" experience and just want you to be upwind (in which case, God bless).

Timmy

She of Little Faith

As you are all painfully aware, my blogging entries have been sparse as of late. There are a number of reasons for the lack of blogging, none of which are exciting or interesting in the least...except for the bit about having my hands chopped off in a third world prison after being accused of stealing a pastry...which did not happen, but that is the type of exciting/interesting thing I am talking about.

My lack of blogging has nothing to do with a lack of running excitement over the past few weeks. There have been trials, and yes, tribulations. And there have been miles...many, many miles. What there has not been is a lot of free time, which translates in to not a lot of blog entries.

This past Thursday a big project I have been working on finally closed. With that closing came a narrow window of freedom which I promptly started to crack open. My new (re)found flexibiilty caused me to realize what a sorry job I have been doing on this "web log", as it were. To be clear, I have taken more than a little heat from KC and MK about my lack of dedication to this site (for those of you who have missed it, KC's blog is what my blog wants to be when it grows up...and can be found here...www.kristijustpassedyou.blogspot.com).

My moment of clarity, combined with several weeks of disparaging remarks, somehow culminated in a post-22 mile run, Saturday morning declaration wherein I committed to updating this page with "meaningful content" and not just "I ran ___ miles"-posts (as KC puts it) at least 5 times a week from now until the marathon.

The reaction that followed my proclamation was a mixed bag of hilarity and dumbfoundedness. As a point of comparison, when I declared my decision to run a marathon, the responses ranged from "That is wonderful, you can do it!" to the more common "Wait a moment while I repress the tears that your inspirational act as caused me to shed...Tim, you are my hero." Saturday's reaction was more akin to "Whoa there Tim, let's not aim too high" or "Ha, mwah ha, hold...ha!...on...hee, hee, hee, can't catch breath...that's absurd." I was taken aback.

How was it possible that my closest friends could have so little faith in my commitment to blogging? As I pointed out to MK, I type all day everyday, all I have to do is redirect that typing energy. Running a marathon actually requires me to partake in an activity in which I was not at all inclined to partake willingly or for any extended period of time. Yet, to my friends, a completed marathon seems infinitely more likely to occur than a 5-substantive-blog-entry week.

I have spent a lot of time, and made a lot of jokes, about their lack of faith in my blogging stick-to-it-ive-ness. Feigned hurt feelings at their (totally justified) scepticism. And spent some serious time planning some standby topics, just in case I hit a writers/runners wall. But in the end, I am still a little confused as to why my commitment to this running diary engenders so little trust as compared to my running endeavors themselves, which seems far more absurd a goal if you have known me for any period of time. And I think I know why.

Blogging is a singular, isolated activity. Unless you leave a comment (Ginny) I have no way of knowing that you have even seen these words. There are no spectators on the sidelines, no sign waving in the crowd. I have followers (shout out!), but none of them are showing up in my office to tell me "you can do it...blog the hell out of that entry!"

Running is also a singular, isolated activity...for many people. But not for me. When I think about my marathon training, I don't think about the hours on end I have spent running alone in the dark. I think about meeting my best friend at our designated port-a-potty at 5:15 on Saturday morning, every Saturday morning, and getting to spend the next several hours catching up on the meaningless and the meaningful. I don't think about my early mornings stumbling over my shoes as I prepare for the drudgery. I think about the mornings when I've been stumbling my way slowly up the Sperry loop, ready to give up, and a tiny hand belonging to an impossibly cute blond has caught me on the small of my back and told me I could do it. One pat on the back from someone you adore...that's all it takes to make it to the end.

Of course I can run a marathon. With friends like mine, how could I not run a marathon.

Oh, and girls, one down.

Timmy

A Time for Running

For everything there is a season...I think either Hallmark or God said that. Regardless, it's true. For the past several weeks work and running have been in season. Blogging, not so much. But that era has come to an end. I am 23 days from my (first?) marathon and I am really excited. Unfortunately, that excitement has had to take a back seat to some serious working since early September. It's sad when I look forward to leaving work a little early just so I can get in a good run before immediately going to bed...sad and satisfying.

Let me take a moment to get everyone up to date.

1. My hip is feeling awesome. For those of you not in the know, I have torn the labral cartilege in my hip and will need to have surgery to repair the damage in December (after the marathon). In the meantime, I am getting steroid injections directly into my hip joint in an effort to build up muscles and get me through. I have my second and final injection on Monday and I am really hopeful that I will stay pain free (at least in the left hip area) through the marathon.

2. 20 miles has got nothing on me. Two weeks ago I ran 20 miles. It was a great run. I felt amazing. The weather was perfect. It wasn't easy, but in many was it was exactly like running 2 miles...10 times in a row without stopping.

3. I have really incredible friends and family. As you all know, I am committed to raising $3,000 for charity in order to run this race. As of this moment I am within $500. A part of me wants to just pull out the credit card and be done with it, but I am so amazed by people's generosity and support that I am selfishly holding back.

Okay, next time I sit down to write I am going to have my Garmin in my hand so that I can really update my total mileage, etc. I have NOT been consistent with that...so all those of you think I have only been running one or two times a week...false!

Timmy

3.55 miles.

Saturday- 20.16 miles!
Tuesday - 2.24 miles
Wednesday - 4.86 miles