First Entry

Welcome all. I've created this blog as a means of not only tracking my own progress and racing schedule but also as a means educating my friends and family as towards why I would be pursuing such an insane hobby as foot racing and triathlons. Let's face it, it hurts, I'm killing my knees, and early morning and nightly workouts pretty remove any semblance of a social life. Why would I put myself through such an ordeal? (Or as a friend recently asked, "Seriously, what the hell are you thinking?") .... it's almost a koan...

So why? Well, quite frankly it's a potent addiction. Endurance is a drug and it's effects are visible on the photo I've chosen as my banner. I had just come off the Philadelphia Marathon, my first, and met my family on the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. It was a cold day, I was soaked with sweat and completely exhausted. My legs had totally failed me and walking was nearly impossible. Being the amazing people they are, they thought ahead and brought me a set of gym sweats (which I had neglected to bring) and somehow managed to get them over my convulsing body. 

Standing there with my family in a beautiful late November Philadelphia morning, I could do nothing but listen to the cheers of the tens of thousands of spectators. The mothers, fathers, friends, wives, husbands and coworkers of the runners. It's an event that celebrates the outstanding accomplishment of everyday people. These weren't professional runners, they don't grace the cover of cereal boxes or newspapers; they are real estate agents and students, grandparents and cancer survivors. All pushing the limits of their mental and physical endurance for grueling hours, only to wind up back at the same place they started. 

So there is no gold medal for a 3 hour race, no cash prize for coming in 2nd. Yet the award ceremony lasts for hours, possibly days, in the coffee shops and delis around the city. Runners can still recognize each other a week later by the awkward shuffling up the stairs to the post office. 

But the real addiction lies in none of these. It's in the weeks of 4 am runs and the Sunday afternoons spent doing mindless laps around Central Park. Seeing the same tired faces, breathing the morning air and watching the daily evolution of New York morning life as the roads fill up, the clubbers stagger home, the UES moms bring out their Yorkiepoos and the newspaper venders read the first headlines. And the days definitely don't just fly by, you can't ignore every step, every hour of lost sleep or every 2 minute shower so you're not late to work. 

There are thousands of reasons not to run but only a handful of payoffs to get you out of bed an hour before the sun and for me, only one that's significant --- Standing on the steps of Philadelphia Art Museum in front of well meaning, but misguided cheering fans. The race means nothing. The real event was on a rainy Saturday morning when all I wanted was a warm cup of coffee and a bowl of oat meal. No one cheered for me then and I didn't wear a number, but if you could sum up all those mornings, multiply the hundreds of miles around the same dirt paths and dozens of Tylenol and focus them into the five minutes I stood on the limestone steps you might understand the Why.

Oh, and after running for  One Hundred and Ninety Five Minutes I still finished thirty-six seconds too slowly to quality for Boston.