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