Just One Marathon

Another Brick in the Wall

How do I get myself into these things? That’s what I started thinking part-way into my 32K training run this morning, and haven’t stopped thinking it since. It started out well, but at about 24K, I lost a lot of energy. I fuelled the remainder of the run with iPod tunes (thank you, Bruce Springsteen) and fear of humiliation.

By the time I finished (it took 3 hours and 30 minutes), I was wiped. And I haven’t recovered since, despite a nap, several dozen visits to the bathroom (damned energy gels), lots of sympathy from my family (who really deserve more from me on a Sunday afternoon), and a constant diet of foods that are probably not doing anything to aid my recovery, since they consist mostly of white flour and refined sugar.

Can I be honest? At this point – and I know it’ll change – I don’t know how I can possibly run an additional 10 kilometres in order to complete a marathon distance. I’m not even sure I want to. Is this what The Wall looks like? Because right now, I can’t see over it, under it, or around it. Simon Pegg is not standing on the other side beckoning to me.

I know I’ll feel better after a good night’s sleep and a day of rest. But I’m low-down right now. I’m not writing this to garner sympathy (although, if you’ve got any, bring it on!) but because my purpose in writing this blog is to chronicle all the highs and lows that an inexperienced, slow, barely-committed runner experiences in training the marathon. In fact, I think I’ll bookmark this entry for re-reading, in case I ever have delusions of running a second marathon.

Spitting Distance

For much of this morning’s 19K run, I followed a runner I never saw. I knew he was there, though, because every 500 metres or so, he left a glistening blob of spit on the pavement. When you’re spending two hours putting one foot in front of the other, it doesn’t take much to amuse you, so I got a kick out of following the running progress of The Spitter, as I affectionately branded him.

How did I know he was male, you ask? Well, I didn’t. Instead, I made some very unfair generalizations about the fact that he spit directly in the middle of the narrow strip of snow-free pavement along the side of the road and assumed there was a Y chromosome involved – the same determinant factor that leads to laundry in the middle of the bedroom floor and the ability to clean the kitchen without wiping the table. Sorry, guys.

About 5K into the run, The Spitter drank from his water bottle (random spillage across the whole running surface), then expectorated some more. I wasn’t annoyed – really who cares? – just entertained. Did he have a cold? Allergies? Or maybe he was the running equivalent of Hansel … leaving a trail of gob to lead him home?

I rarely catch up to other runners, so I was a bit wistful that I would never have the opportunity to clap eyes on the guy. Then, as I was rounding a curve, I saw a lean, tights-clad fellow struggling his way over a snow bank coming from the forest. I’m always safety-conscious when I run alone so I slowed down to watch his progress. Then it dawned on me what I was seeing. It was The Spitter, making his way back from his bathroom break! I took a moment to admire his accomplishment -- leaving every possible type of bodily fluid along his running route. Now that’s commitment.

I never did catch up with The Spitter … he and I ran at the same pace, so he remained a constant 500 or so metres ahead of me until he turned onto a side street. But I felt like we, y’know, connected. And I think he felt the same because as I reached his turn-off point, I discovered that he had left me one last luminous globule of phlegm.

Career-Limiting Odours

Most Tuesdays, I sneak out of my office for a quick lunchtime run. I love this routine because it’s a great energizer and an efficient way to wedge an extra workout into my week. I feel a bit guilty doing it because there’s never enough time to do everything at work as it is. But I rationalize it telling myself that I make up the time in so many other ways (for example, by eating lunch at my desk most other days).

There’s just one little problem. Although my workplace does have a locker room and showers (I work in a hospital), there is neither the time nor the facilities to wash and dry my hair. So, I shower, apply lots of product to all parts of my body and hope for an afternoon with no meetings in close quarters.

If I do have an afternoon meeting, my mind is only 99 per cent on the task at hand. The other 1 per cent of my brain is mulling over the all-important question: “Does my hair smell?”

A few weeks ago, I pounded out 30 minutes on the treadmill, quickly showered, jumped back into business attire and rushed to a meeting with my boss and all the managers in the department. As I sat down, I came to the horrifying realization that although in my mind I was finished working out, my body had not cooled down yet. As I prepared to present to the group on a current project, I could feel a wave of sweat sweeping from my head to my feet.

That time, my brain was asking another question: “Take the jacket off and cool down or keep it on and provide a protective barrier between my undoubtedly-stinky shirt and the people who determine my future career?” Yes, it was my “Pursuit of Happyness” moment, and I probably should have come up with some kind of clever line about my condition – maybe made a pun about the sweet smell of success or something. Until I do get that 1% inspiration (as opposed to the 99% perspiration that I already possessed), I’ll just have to go through my work life wondering if people think of me as “that smelly girl from HR”.

Could be worse, I suppose.