Today begins the training for 26.2 miles of foot-numbing, face-cringing, sweat-pouring punishment. Well, perhaps not punishment, but something similar.
Not sure why I've embarked on this. I've never been much a fan of testing my limits. My tattered blue La-Z-Boy chair is permanently reclined.
I think back to a few years ago, when I wrote down my list of "life goals." Basically a list of thing I never really planned on doing. I'm pretty sure I only made this list because it was on another to-do list I had. Seems half my to-do lists are usually dedicated to either writing or organizing other to-do lists. Sort of like one of those Russian dolls, or perhaps having to buy containers to store all my containers. What can I say, I get suckered in by The Container Store.
Anyhow, my "life goals." I'm pretty sure one was running naked in Antarctica. Further down the list, and only a little less likely, we see "run a marathon," an unsure scribble pretty far down on this list.
Not to say that it's an unachievable goal. I ran the half-marathon last year and have been on plenty of long-distance hiking trips. I guess the problem is one of day-to-day lifestyle. I enjoy two or three beers before bed, coffee in the morning, crouching in front of computer monitors (ahem) -- basically I'm a severely un-hydrated dude with bad posture. You buy those running magazines and see the fellows with those short shorts seemingly made out of tissue paper, they have abs that practically leap off the page and this easygoing smirk that coolly intones, "You'll never get here. But buy the magazine anyway, sucker." Not to mention this magazine runner cover star hotshot never seems to be breaking a sweat.
Well, I'm gonna prove something to myself and everybody else like me. Some runners aren't smirking Adonis wannabes with blinding white teeth. Some are coughing back last night's excess -- spliffs, wine, beer, french fries -- and are sweating their tattered old t shirts a stinky yellow. I will stand up and represent for these under-represented folks. I will be your feet.
So I will here post my progress as I start on my 4-month training program towards the 26.2 mile Rock n' Roll Marathon in San Antonio.
Today I ran 3 miles and it breezed by. Early morning starts do tend to help. Afterward made it to Barton Springs during free hours for a nice frigid belly-flop. Wasn't sure how well I would do, considering I woke up surrounded by three beer bottles and smoked a cigarette while at the studio yesterday. But my body responded better than I thought it would, only in the last mile or so did I feel that acidic ball of nastiness bouncing around my gut. Me and that acidic ball of joy do a little dance sometimes. It's not really a slow dance - not a waltz or even a polka. More like some dude at a rave who took some bad X, now he's spazzing and smiling a little too big and twitching like a lizard tongue in fast-motion. Oh, me and my ball of acidic yuck. How we love to dance.