Just One Marathon

A Brimming Glassful of Whine

I’m not loving January. Circumstances have combined to turn this month into one long, miserable series of unfortunate events. Here’s why.

It’s cold and snowy. Yes, I live in Ottawa and, no, I’m not surprised. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

There’s too much hockey. My son’s minor league hockey team has become the monster that eats our weekends. Last weekend, for example, I was volunteer coordinator for the Peewee C Tournament, a job that’s just as glamorous and exciting as it sounds. This weekend, his team has two games, and no doubt, there will be at least one late-afternoon weekday practice necessitating a frantic trip through rush-hour traffic. Enough already.

 

There’s too much of everything else. The Runner I Married has been travelling, work has been incredibly hectic, my eldest son is wrapping up his semester and studying for his first set of high-school exams, and despite my good intentions, I’m starting to fall behind on my own studies.

 

There’s not enough running. I sold my bib in last Sunday’s Hypothermic Half-Marathon because I knew I’d be busy with the tournament. And believe me, running 21K in -21C probably would have been more relaxing. On a day-to-day basis, the snow makes running extremely difficult. I’ve been slipping and sliding around, feeling for my footing and having to slow my pace considerably – and I need all the pace I can get. I can probably also chalk up my decreasing speeds to the fact that I’ve been missing scheduled runs as often as I’ve been actually making them.

 

There are no buses. Ottawa has just settled a seven-week bus strike. Yes, that’s seven weeks without public transit, in the middle of winter. Though the union and city reached an agreement yesterday, they say it will take at least a week to get any buses on the road and three months to get the whole system up and running. Union leaders, workers, politicians, crazy commuters: a pox on all your houses.

 

Needless to day, although it’s officially six days past the most depressing day of the year, I’ve still got a raging case of the January blahs. But with the end of the month in sight, I hope to be back to a glass-half-full state of mind soon.

Almost a Catastrophe

Blogger Glavenwrote the other day about encountering an injured deer during a recent outing. It was a sad, poignant story but it reminded me of a happier animal encounter I had a couple of years ago.

I was cycling to work one morning along a very busy thoroughfare. As I laboured up a huge hill (I hate hills on two wheels as much as I do on two feet), I spied a small black-and-white lump in the middle of the road. The road was momentarily and uncharacteristically quiet as I approached what was plainly a small cat right in the middle of the left lane. As I drew closer, the cat moved, and I realized it was not dead (as I feared and expected) but alive and injured. A small spot of blood stained its head above its right ear. I slowed and looked back at the oncoming traffic, wondering how I was going to stop the inevitable rush of cars and rescue the poor stunned beast. I had just laid down my bike and was standing uncertainly by the side of the road when a vehicle approached.

 

As it came closer, I saw it was an ambulance. I waved to alert the truck to the cat’s presence, hoping it would change lanes. However, as the ambulance approached, it slowed to a stop right in front of the cat, its lights flashing to warn off other drivers. The paramedic in the passenger seat hopped out to join me in examining the cat, which was alert and docile but unable to move. The paramedic picked her up gently in gloved hands while we discussed what to do. “There’s a veterinarian’s office just down the street,” I said. “I would take her but I don’t know what I’d do with my bike.” The young woman thought about it for a second and then said, “We aren’t on a call right now and it’s less than five minutes away. We’ll drop her off. Just don’t tell anyone.” I swore I’d never tell her secret (though I hope that several years later, it’s safe with you, gentle readers).

 

She hopped back in the passenger seat of the ambulance carrying the stunned and bleeding animal, and they drove off to deliver what must be the luckiest cat in the world to the vet. I don’t know what happened to the cat, though I would have given anything to see the looks on the faces of the people in the veterinarian’s office when an ambulance delivered her. I do know I rode away that day with my faith in human kindness confirmed.

Runner With A Yoga Problem

The other day at yoga class, while we were supposed to be lying still, emptying our minds of distracting thoughts and letting go of all our worries, I was thinking: “Wow, I really suck at yoga.” Then I started composing a blog post in my head about how I suck at yoga. Which kind of proves my point.

 

If you think I find this discouraging, you might want to consider the fact that in my primary sport – running – I’ve finished 2,513^th out of 3,356 runners and still felt like a hero. In fact, I regularly sign up for “races” I have absolutely no hope of winning and yet I don’t give it a second thought. So am I going to be bothered because I can’t execute a perfect downward dog? Pu-lease.

 

In fact, I blame running for the fact that I’m so bad at yoga. For one thing, when I run, I basically only exercise these muscles:   

 

Yoga, on the other hand, introduces me to muscles in my body I didn’t even know existed, like the ones used in this pose:

 

 

Still, as my sister (who is an amazing yoga teacher) has been telling me for years, yoga is a great complement to running. It increases flexibility and strengthens the core. It teaches breath control. It increases awareness of the body and emphasizes the importance of engaging muscles purposefully. So it’s worth learning, even if I’m the slowest student in my yoga class. But I know this from running: the back of the pack is where all the fun is.

 

Incidentally, I’m looking for a “yoga for runners” DVD. Do you know a good one? I’d appreciate any recommendations.

Lions and Tigers and Shoes! Oh My!

For Christmas, The Runner I Married got me a gift card for a high-end department store here in Canada. Normally, I’m afraid to go in there. I imagine they’ll take one look at my washable faux-shearling coat, sensible rubber-soled boots, and salt-encrusted designer knock-off purse and ask me to leave. But the gift card gives me permission to cross their threshold – I walk in brandishing it like a police badge at a drug raid. (Yeah, I know it’s pathetic to be intimidated by retail but I’m too old to change now.)

Once I got through the doors of the store last Friday, though, I lost all my inhibitions. The stars aligned to make it a perfect shopping experience. All the clothes were on sale. All the sales people were nice. Everything looked great on me. The gift card became more like, y’know, a down payment. I had narrowed down my purchases to one excellent and versatile outfit. The saleswoman popped over to the shoe department to grab a pair of pumps, so I could have the pants hemmed. And she came back with these:

 

Now I’m normally not a pointy-toed shoe person. But these were incredibly comfortable, they finished the outfit perfectly, and I swear they even made my ass look smaller.

 

Then the sales person tossed out this little nugget of information: “You know, they’re made with

Nike Air technology." And I thought, “Whoa, whoa, whoa … they’re, like, running shoes?!” Until now, I've been walking around my workplace wearing low-performance, non-technical career footwear. I don’t even know if I pronate or supinate in the office. Clearly, I need these.

 

After that, it was kind of like the scene in The Wizard of Oz where the wicked witch tries to take the ruby slippers from Dorothy and gets zapped. To remove the shoes from my feet, you would have had to lock me in a tower and hex me with a magic hourglass. Witches, castles and hourglasses being in short supply, I took the shoes home with me. And we lived happily ever after.

Be It Resolved

I love New Year’s resolutions. I believe in their magical power the way some people believe in Santa Claus. I make them every year feeling completely confident that I will keep them, even though research says that 75 per cent of resolutions fail.

 Sometimes, I beat the odds and my resolutions succeed. I have lost weight, read classic novels, and improved my dental hygiene. I have returned phone calls more promptly and eaten more fruit. I have significantly reduced the frequency of cuss words in my vocabulary. I have run a marathon.

 

I’m not perfect, though. I still interrupt people (2008 resolution). I haven’t learned to sew (2006). I forget to unroll pairs of socks before putting them in the washing machine (2000 – present). Still, it feels important that my good intentions are out there, representing new levels of self-improvement I might achieve someday.

 

So, in keeping with the season, here are my running resolutions for 2009:

• Try a new race distance (30K at the Around the Bay race in Hamilton, Canada)
• Idiot-proof my locker at work by filling it with extra running gear for all the times I forget things.
• Find out what I'm actually supposed to be doing on those days marked "cross-train" on my running schedule. I think it has something to do with exercise.
• Run a half-marathon in 1:55 or less, and if I can do that ...
• Qualify for the Boston Marathon by running a 4-hour marathon.

I have a plan mapped out in my head for how I’m going to take a run at a Boston that goes something like this:

 

March:Run the 30K race

May: Run the National Capital Race Weekend half marathon in 1:55

September:Try for a 4-hour marathon at the Scotiabank Waterfront marathon in Toronto

October: Try again for a 4-hour marathon in the Toronto Marathon (3 weeks later)

November: Quit and never run again (Unless I BQ, in which case I will keep running until April 2010. Then I will quit and never run again)

 

I’m really nervous about setting this goal, because it’s one I’m not really certain I can accomplish. Am I actually willing and able to put in the effort needed? Do I have enough natural ability to achieve a really challenging time goal? I just don’t know. It’s scary – and exciting.