Keep Moving
I told people at work today that the race "was tons of fun," but that's the type of thing you say after the fact, when memories of the actual running are joined by memories of stepping onto the Piedmont Park meadow and getting my t-shirt and a tepid bottle of water, and meeting my sister and talking about how great it was going to be to go home for a shower and breakfast and a nap, and then getting off the train at our stop and seeing my car and remembering how, at 5:20 in the morning, I'd imagined this lovely moment of flopping into the front seat and opening the windows and nodding along to the New Pornographers' "Sing Me Spanish Techno" with as much energy as I could muster. But I suppose that even when I strip all of that away, I can still say that the race was fun. Oh, sure, it was hot and sunny and I found myself sitting in the Lenox Mall parking lot at 7 AM and saying to Susan and my sister, "Oh no! I forgot sunscreen!" And, yeah, there was that stomach cramp I got around the five-mile marker, when I was passing through Colony Square and there was a band with a lounge singer-type frontman singing "Brick House"; because I wanted to get out of the sun and sit down, I ran the last mile way too hard, and my legs are sore today.
But there were also the first three miles, which were so pleasant. I didn't have to expend any mental energy towards telling myself to continue to run -- the running just happened, and my conscious thoughts were only along for the ride. I had my music with me, but sometimes it was good to turn it off and listen to the bands along the way, and listen to the spectators ringing bells and noisemakers and calling at people to keep it up and don't start walking! 55,000 people run this thing, and it seems like the number of spectators equals the number of runners. Coming to the top of a hill and looking out upon all the runners ahead of me was really amazing -- it's not sweaty tops of heads spread out along the four-lane road. Rather, it's a solid mass of movement, sort of like a formation made on a football field during a halftime show. I would have tried to turn around and see what was in back of me, too, but I knew I'd get dizzy, so I just kept on.
When I got home, Adam was just waking up. I launched into my lusted after routine of a shower and breakfast and a nap. I slept so very well.
Okay, so I guess the race really was tons of fun, but I don't know if my sister's going to be able to talk me into training with her for the Atlanta half-marathon. Again. If I do, this will be the third time I've trained for it. The last two times, my right leg didn't want to do any more running after we got to the point on the training schedule that called for an eleven-mile "long run." I should go to a sports medicine therapist sometime soon and see if I should attempt that again or if I should just try to keep running decent 10Ks. 6.2 miles isn't a wimpy distance, after all.
But there were also the first three miles, which were so pleasant. I didn't have to expend any mental energy towards telling myself to continue to run -- the running just happened, and my conscious thoughts were only along for the ride. I had my music with me, but sometimes it was good to turn it off and listen to the bands along the way, and listen to the spectators ringing bells and noisemakers and calling at people to keep it up and don't start walking! 55,000 people run this thing, and it seems like the number of spectators equals the number of runners. Coming to the top of a hill and looking out upon all the runners ahead of me was really amazing -- it's not sweaty tops of heads spread out along the four-lane road. Rather, it's a solid mass of movement, sort of like a formation made on a football field during a halftime show. I would have tried to turn around and see what was in back of me, too, but I knew I'd get dizzy, so I just kept on.
When I got home, Adam was just waking up. I launched into my lusted after routine of a shower and breakfast and a nap. I slept so very well.
Okay, so I guess the race really was tons of fun, but I don't know if my sister's going to be able to talk me into training with her for the Atlanta half-marathon. Again. If I do, this will be the third time I've trained for it. The last two times, my right leg didn't want to do any more running after we got to the point on the training schedule that called for an eleven-mile "long run." I should go to a sports medicine therapist sometime soon and see if I should attempt that again or if I should just try to keep running decent 10Ks. 6.2 miles isn't a wimpy distance, after all.