The Longest Mile

From Land to Water

2006-06-02T11:54:00.000-07:00

So. I've started swimming regularly. I think the lifeguards here at the UCLA pool refer to me as the great white whale. That's how much weight I've gained this year during school. But I'm sure it will come off. I just hope it does before someone harpoons me. Thar she blows!

Big Sur this weekend.

2006-04-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

Just to let everyone know, the Big Sur International Marathon is this weekend and my old editor Dave Kellogg is running in it and he's blogging, too. So checkitout!

It's a mile at a time!

Oh so so bad.

2006-04-28T14:38:00.000-07:00

Okay.

Here's the deal.

It's the beginning of law school finals. The first year is almost over. Over the summer, I'm going to wrest the blog back to life, if I have any readers left.

I've been a bad blogger. I've been an even worse runner.

On the road again...

2005-09-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

In the end, it was guilt that got me back onto the pavement. There was a commenter named Barb, and she had a simple post: The weather's nice, Jon. Come out and play.

The night I read that, it planted a seed. A seed of guilt. Overnight, the seed flowered. Toss, "Come out and play." Turn. "Come out and play."

In the near silence (believe it or not) of my Santa Monica apartment, I could hear my brand new shoes, three months old and never used, talking to me.

Morning:

7:30. 90 minutes before school. Woke up early. No excuses. Shoes on. Laces up. Hit the road.

In the last week, I've run twice:

One run of 19 minutes, and one of 26.

It's not a marathon. It's probably not a 5k.

And LA's certainly not the Monterey Peninsula.
But it's a good start.

And now... The Bitter

2005-08-04T12:03:00.000-07:00

It's been more than a month since I've run.

Watching the marathon on Sunday made me happy for my sister, but also left me wallowing in a San Francisco Bay's worth of self pity. Oh, if only for the shinsplints, if only I was more disciplined, if only I wasn't moving, if only...

It's a unique feeling to be handed a sack of swag for a race that you're not running. It's strange to have a tech shirt that says: "Run SF: You should have been there." I was there, but I really wasn't.

And it's with more sadness that, on Sunday, I came to a realization as I watched all the fit folks cross the finish line: 26.2 miles is a distance to be respected. It's no walk in the park like a 10k, no 2-hour jaunt like a half marathon. New York is three months away, and with the time commitment of moving and the desire to do well in my first year of law school, I don't think I can devote the race the time it deserves.

So I'm dropping out.

I'm not going to run New York. I'm still going to run, as soon as I get to LA, for all the reasons why running is a great thing to do: fitness, sanity, comedy. I'm going to run for the sake of running, without an immediate goal. And if I can do that, if I can prove to myself I can keep a regimen for its own sake, then I will have accomplished something almost as good as crossing the finish line in Central Park.

Bittersweet Day

2005-08-02T20:54:00.000-07:00

Bittersweet Day.

That was the headline of The Monterey County Herald the day after 2004's running of The Big Sur Marathon. It was the year before I would run the race.

It was a beautiful, sunny marathon day. As a nonrunning reporter, I arrived at the finish line about two hours after the start, and proceeded to the VIP tent buffet to gorge myself on free shrimp. After downing my first plate of first-class food, I proceeded to plan out my story: a feature on the free massage tent, profiling the body workers and the runners who would benefit from the expertise. I spent a half-hour in the tent, chronicling every rub, every grunt, every cramp of those three-hour runners as their legs were contorted, stretched and bent as if they were play-doh.

It was just another Sunday writing features on the city desk. But things took a dark turn. The weather was warming up and a rumor was beginning to make its way north to the finish line. A man had collapsed at Mile 17: he was getting CPR. Soon, an ambulance crossing the finishline confirmed the worst: the man who collapsed was dead.

So, the story was changed. Instead of "Massage Tent Rubs Runners The Right Way," we got "Bittersweet Day: Runner's Death Mars Marathon." It was a glorious day: 3,000 people crossed the finish line, but one didn't make it home alive.

Not every marathon is marred by tragedy, but I think all marathons are bittersweet. Goals are met; goals are missed. The race is a glorious culmination of six months of training; the race is gone and only emptiness is left. Triumph... Disappointment... Heady stuff. It's unsurprising that tears join sweat as the saline liquid byproducts of the finish line.

This Sunday's Runner's World San Francisco Marathon was no exception to the bittersweet rule.

But for today, only the sweet:

My sister Mara, bless her strong, healthy heart, finished the race in 4:17. She runs a 1:45 half marathon, but five bathroom breaks kept her from the four-hour barrier. We woke up a 4:30 a.m. and schlepped to the start line together to deliver her into the morning fog.

After seeing her off we went to Starbucks, drove to the halfway point, got stuck inside the course, got stuck inside the presidio, searched for parking, and tensely waited at the finish line.

How many times did this 250-pound (so sad) man cry? More than he can count. A man who survived a heart attack crossed the finish line? Turn on the faucet. What about the four-year-old who jumped the fence to finish the race? Here comes the waterworks.

The my sister finished. I As I ran along the course urging her to the line, I tried to take pictures through the tears. I was so proud of her and so grateful that she inspired me to run Big Sur. I know I'll never be as fast or athletic as Mara, but I know that she can inspire me to keep training and to run for the joy and health of the sport.

And as she crossed the finish line, she glowed.

Cha Cha Cha Changes (pt. 2)

2005-07-28T00:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm moving.

I'm leaving the tree-lined oceanside paradise of the Monterey Peninsula, with its perfect runnning weather and serene vistas, for the traffic choked streets of Los Angeles. Take a deep breath, and taste the soot in the air.

I'm leaving the high stress world of journalism for the high-stress world of law school.

But, as always, I'm not leaving anything on my plate.

I'm down in LA this week looking for an apartment. On Sunday, I'll go up to San Francisco to watch my sister in The Runner's World Marathon, a race which I hoped to run the second half of.

But, alas, my legs haven't been cooperating as late, and my shin is still tender to the touch, and still hurts a little when I run across Santa Monica Boulevard in flip-flops, trying to avoid being run over by any one of the scores of Tankilac Escalade drivers that seem to populate the roadways down here.

Oh god, what have I done...

cha cha changes...

2005-07-19T22:47:00.000-07:00

There have been few changes stranger than the transformation I've gone through in the last few months: from sedentary to running robot and back, temporarily, to sedentary again. The new look is just a start. Other changes are afoot.

But today I bought a new pair of shoes. Sure, at Size 13 and red, it looks a little like I stole them from Ronald McDonald. But I'm no hamburglar, although I do like to get supersized every once in a while. The shoes, hopefully, will end my shinsplint misery once and for all, and just in the nick of time. The New York Marathon is just three months away, and I have my work cut out for me if I want to finish, let alone break five hours.

I'm giving myself a 50/50 shot, but those odds are a lot more generous than the chances people gave me to conquer Big Sur. (Whether Big Sur was conquered, or merely divided into running and walking, well, that's up to debate.)

Tomorrow morning, back here in the Midwestern flatness of my parents' Minneapolis home, I think I'll try to run for just a half hour or so in the new kicks. If I don't melt in the 90 degree heat, you people will hear about it. Let's just hope I don't turn out like a piece of Velveeta left in the microwave.

Shoe Circus

2005-07-08T13:18:00.000-07:00

NO MILES FOR MORE THAN A WEEK

So -- I'm less than three weeks away from SF Half Marathon and four months away from New York. And no running. I am filled with shame, but I have a good excuse. The shinsplints are here. And so is a new layer of flab.

Is it my destiny to have shinsplints if I run? Do I need to give up the sport? I'm not sure. But I've decided to see if throwing money at the problem will help it go away. And what's the best thing to spend money on if you're a runner? New shoes.

So, last weekend, I went to my neighborhood running store to get a new pair of shoes. I have been running on two pairs of Mizuno Wave Nirvana stability shoes and determined that after 8 months they might be getting a little bit soft. Plus, some had suggested that I upgrade to a "motion-control" shoe (read gigantic brick that you strap to your foot and makes an uncomfortable clomp sound when you step on it.)

After the salesperson convened a scientific conference to analyze my feet, my gait and my peculiar odor, it was decided that the store didn't have an appropriate shoe for me, that one would have to be ordered for me to try.

Meanwhile, my leg still hurts and I'm starting to panic.

My dogs are barking again

2005-06-30T11:22:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
4? mi.	401 mins.	home <-> Fisherman's Wharf	10-11 min./mi.

Yesterday's jog was yet another step on the path of getting me running again. I just hope it wasn't a step backwards.

It was the kind of misty day that makes California's Central Coast a runner's paradise. Life is heavenly when you're running through a cloud. So what if you calves and shins start to hurt after 20 minutes? I got to my halfway point and turned around. 15 minutes or so later I ran into a colleague who was out walking her three little dogs.

They were so cute, I wanted to pick them up and bite off their little brown ears. So I stopped. And I walked the rest of the way with my colleage and her dogs. And it was nice. And sometimes it's okay to lose out on the last 10 minutes of a run. I hope.

rich in blisters

2005-06-29T16:20:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
10-12 mi.	2:01 hrs.	Home <-> Pebble Beach	choppy

So. It was Monday. I went through the weekend without running at all. I was bad. Very bad.

It was time to test myself. I would run for two hours (with a little stretch break in between.)

And guess what? I did. And it wasn't that hard. Or so I thought until I took off my shoes. I had two blisters: a dime-size one on the tip of my second toe, and a quarter-sized doozy on the base of my foot.

I might be a poor performer, but I have 35¢ worth of blisters.

The Big Hairy Engine That Could

2005-06-24T13:50:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5.1 mi.	56:30	Home to Point to Asilomar to PG High School	11:04 mins./mi.

The road back will be long and filled with panting.

It was hot. It was unpleasant. I huffed and puffed the entire way. And I included a little hill at the end of the run. But I did it. And I'll do it again in a couple of days. The aches and pains are subsiding again, the honeydew comfort of a post-run high has me calm and I'm beginning to remember just why I started doing this crazy running thing in the first place.

So. I'll run 10 miles or so on Sunday, ramping my way up to the official start of my training for New York. And I'm beginning to get excited.

It feels like the first time

2005-06-21T11:23:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
4?	42 mins.	Home - LP - Fishermans Wharf R/T	11ish min./mi.

Two weeks had passed since I last ran. Two weeks since I laced up my shoes. Two weeks since I donned the special padded socks.

But last week, I gained admission to the New York City Marathon, and if I'm going to run in the presence of such luminaries as Chelle and Derek not to mention The Donald, P-Diddy, J-Lo and, hopefully, the surviving members of the Wu-Tang Clan, then I better get my, um, stuff together.

It's time, once again, to get serious. And this morning's run was a reminder of how difficult that might be. So much hurt in so little time. First, on the short downhill five blocks from my apartment to the ocean, it was my left knee. By a half mile or so, I was huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf at the Hormel abatoir. My heart screamed for attention, my lungs grasped for air like a rockclimber's hand hanging from a precipice.

I stopped to stretch halfway through. Turning around, my legs felt leaden. A half hour passed and I had no relief from the cario-pulmonary pummeling I was taking. Would I ever warm up? Didn't I run 10-12 relatively easy miles earlier this month?

Apaprently not. It was bad until the end. Pain, my old pal, how I've missed ya. It's nice to have you back.

Start Spreading the Cheese!

2005-06-15T15:58:00.000-07:00

I am officially out of my running funk.

What has saved me? What has inspired me?

Was it a newfound appreciation for the health benefits of running? A rememberance of what it is about a good jaunt that gives me a better sense of self worth? A craving for pain?

No.

I won the lottery. I am in entrant into the 2005 ING NYC Marathon! And, knowing my appetite, I'm sure I can eat the Big Apple and wash it down with a shot of caramel sauce.

Oh sickness, leave me

2005-06-14T10:23:00.000-07:00

I am now on day 7 of the Disneyland Cold. To all who come to this happy place, says Walt, Ah-Choo!

The cold, or virus, or whatever it is, has basically made me weak and tired and achey, which, come to think of it, is kind of like running. I think I am on the mend and will hopefully be able to run tomorrow morning. It is less than six weeks to San Francisco, and maybe 13 miles will be a test, depending on how much I've slacked.

The flabbiest place on Earth

2005-06-08T12:22:00.000-07:00

My four-day sojourn to SoCal is over, and besides getting further out of shape, I've also picked up a cold. I wonder where that could have happened?

Was it Santa Barbara, with its beautiful beaches and well-dressed college students? Probably not. How about Los Angeles? No, I spent all my time there in my car, sitting in traffic. It's hard to catch a cold when you're entobed in galvanized steel moving at 3 m.p.h. down the 405.

I wonder... Maybe... Could it have been at Disneyland? No... I mean, Disneyland is filled with happy children, wiping their little noses, touching metal railings, getting on and off rides on little boats travelling in greenish-brown water. Then, I touch the same railings and get that water splashed on me before eating a Mickey-shaped waffle. I'm sure Disneyland isn't a gigantic petri dish with little, five-year-old vectors running around. I'm positive.

It's a small world after all and I'm a big target, especially if you're a microbe.

Speaking of circuses, and small worlds, and whatnot, this week's Carnival of The Runners is here. Checkitout, yo.

The Shinsplints Reunion Tour

2005-06-05T00:16:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
3ish	28 mins	along Santa Barbara beach	uh dunnuh

The Shinsplints are back together again! And they're on tour through Southern California.

Yes, The Longest Mile has learned that this painful duo are moving through socal right above Jon Segal's ankles. Will their painkiller addiction defeat them once more. Only time will tell.

discipline (or lack thereof)

2005-06-03T14:48:00.000-07:00

I need a chart.

I can't express the importance of having a chart fully enough.

A chart is filled with runs and days. You look at the day, you do the run, you cross it off. If you don't do the run, the chart stares at you in empty, googly-eyed reproach:

"You jerk," the chart says. "You didn't do the run. Now this "5" will stay here forever, like a scarlet number, a blank spot on your tubby soul."

No chart. No run. No discipline. No sub-two-hour half marathon.

Searching for answers

2005-06-01T14:09:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
10-13?	2+ hours	Home to Bird Rock (Pebble Beach) to Lovers Point	10-11 min. miles

One of the things that's so appealing about running is its simplicity. When grappling with life's other complications, in an age where even television plot-lines feature Pyncheonian permutations of character and story, the trance-like comfort of putting one foot in front of the other is intoxicating.

So it was that last night, in the face of a general feeling of unease about the many facets of life in the postmodern age, I went out for a run of undetermined length. Since the marathon, I haven't run for more than an hour at once, and there was a good chance that this run would be quite a bit longer than that.

Hoping for zen-like clarity, I stripped myself of all but the necessarry gear. No fanny pack, no water or Gu, no ipod, no cell phone: just a house key, shorts, shirt, shoes and socks, and went out the door around 7:15 p.m. as the sun was turning yellow in the sky. The first 40 minutes was hard, the rest was pretty easy. Highlights included the crashing of the waves the thunk of pavement and wood board and the crunching of dirt, sand and gravel under foot.

For two hours, peace. For two hours, clarity. For two hours, my mind focused mostly on breathing and running. And when it was done, what insights had I gained? What truth to guide my life? None, except the knowledge that I can still run a half marathon.

Country runnin'

2005-05-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
1.5 mi.	??	'round the bend and back from the dell	??

Ahhhhh, the country. What better way is there to spend the weekend then packing up the old wagon, loading the kids in the rumble seat and heading out into the country for some good ol' fashioned country runnin'?

That's what I did this weekend. And let me tell you, there's nothing like running out past the edge of civilization, where the only hazards are the great wide open and the occaisional moonshine still or meth lab.

Being an amicable traveling companion, I took one of my non-running friends out for a jog with runinng-celebrity Jon Segal. We'll call him hairy-bear. A regular gym rat, he wore basketball shorts and a new pair of Converse Chuck Taylors (all-stars) out onto the road. They are, in his words, athletic shoes after all.

It was truly an adventure. We were running down a trail, behind some abandoned industrial complex, when a dirt bike came ripping through from the other direction. It was a narrow trail and the dirt-biker, who I swear had a skull painted onto his helmet, didn't look like he was going to stop.

Visions of "Mad Max" flashed through my head as the bloodthirsty biker gunned his two-stroke engine and set us in our sights. It was fight or flight for me and hairy. Since I had neither a four-foot length of chain or a mace on me, I turned tail and ran. Out in the open, the biker gunned past us and did a wicked-bad jump off a bunch of rocks, breifly turning to look at us tauntingly as he flew in the air and buzzed off into the distance.

A few minutes later, my new running buddy asked a question: Why is running so much harder than using the elliptical trainer? I'm still not sure what the answer is, but I'm guessing that, in the gym on the eliptical trainer, you don't have to flee from crazy hick dirt-bikers.

Football!!! In Prison!!!

2005-05-27T11:26:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
???	60 mins.	Home to PG High	Brisk

Welcome to The Longest Mile: The official Web site of a hilarious new movie starring Adam Sandler, Chris Rock and Burt Reynolds. They play a ragtag bunch of prisoners who take on an elite team of prison guards in a football game. In the process, they score a couple points for human dignity in the face of The Man.

HEY!!! WAIT A SECOND!!! This isn't The Longest Yard, it's The Longest Mile. (Although you wouldn't be able to tell it from all the people who stumbles here with the Google search The Longest Mile Movie.) Although I'm prone to bits of juvenile anger, you're not going to find Billy Madison here. I like to smile a big toothy grin, but I'm no Chris Rock. And, although I have been married to Lonnie Anderson and was the star of Smokey and The Bandit Four: Truckin' in Heaven, I'm not Burt Reynolds. No football. No prison guards.

What you'll find here is a blog about a ragtag fat guy trying to run a few miles, in the process scoring a couple points for human dignity in the face of The Flan (and other delicious deserts).

On that topic, I ran about an hour yesterday. I still feel like I'm not in great shape. Actually, it feels like my physical condition has slipped quite a bit since the marathon. Everything is still a struggle. I had a big bowl of Eel and rice for lunch yesterday, and, about 10 minutes into my run yesterday I burped. As if you can't guess what happened next, I'll enlighten you. I burped up little eel chunks! Gross!

About six miles...

2005-05-25T18:44:00.000-07:00

I'm back on the training train!!

Chug chug chug.

Sore hip. Sore calf. All aboard!

Carnivale!

2005-05-24T14:50:00.000-07:00

Welcome to this week's edition of The Carnival of The Runners, your premiere compilation of running posts from around the Internet, and beyond.

I'll be playing carnie this week, (I've had teeth pulled to get me into the part.) so hold onto your wallets and your wives. Say, wouldn't that pretty lady like to win this here panda bear, or this kewpie doll? C'mon, three shots for a dollar, everyone wins a prize!

I used to live in Wisconsin and developed a healthy taste for beer and cheese, so imagine my surprise when I found that there was an actual marathon in the obesity capital of the United States, Green Bay. Not only did these people run a race there,
but some guy proposed to his special lady at the finish line. They both got medals, she got a ring and he got a ball and chain.

Moving from one notch on the rust belt to another, the Cleveland Marathon was this weekend as well. One woman left beautiful North Carolina to join Chief Wahoo at the race. Everything was going good, until her her ipod failed. Would she crack under pressure without the aid of David Bowie, would her dreams turn to stardust?

Following the New York Herald Tribune's advice, we go west, to the Ogden Marathon, where our correspondent qualified for Boston, praise Joseph Smith!

Now, crossing borders, we find that The Wall stretches across oceans and continents. Just ask Thomas. He ran the Copenhagen Marathon and hit it, hard. And from his picture, it doesn't look like he has much padding to cushion the blow.

Our final race report comes from far away, as we travel back in time to a born-again runner's youth. The first marathon, the one that ended in pain. Speaking of time travel, Seebo uses a training run to muse on the past of Philadelphia's haunted block.

In other news, this Twin Cities resident got a stomach ache after her trainining run. But instead of bellyaching about that stomach ache, she turned indigestion into inspiration with her creative use of her arts and crafts skills.

In New York, Carnival founder Derek Rose goes on a run with another blogger. They have a blogtacular time, and you can read their Rashomonesque reports of the experience here and here. Completing the New York round-up, we have Brooklyn, who brings it Dave Chapelle-style when talking to his knees. And, saving the best for last, Chelle delivers a treatise on sex and running.

Well, I feel like I've spent an hour on the Tilt-a-Whirl with a stomach full of corn dogs and cotton candy, so I better go. See you at next week's carnival.

Following suit

2005-05-23T11:09:00.000-07:00

Wedding season is here again! But something's different this year.

Is it the brides? No, they're still beautiful and blushing?

Is it the wine? No. Still drunk.

Is it the conversation with strangers at your table? No. Still careening wildly between awkward and stilted.

Oh. It must be my jacket size. For the last round of weddings, I had to rent a tux. Jacket size 50. This year, I'm wearing an old suit, bought six years ago during college. Jacket size: 46 long.

Thanks, running. You're the best.

Don't forget, tomorrow I host The Carnival of The Runners.

Down a deserted road...

2005-05-20T11:36:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
between 5 and 6	56:40 mins.	Down South Boundary Road	???

For six months, it's been taunting me: a road, closed off to traffic, through the scrubby hills of deserted Fort Ord. Yesterday afternoon, it was finally time.

I was the only person there, alone with the ghosts of five decades of military training chasing me down the lonesome highway. Around the first bend, I discovered the perils of running an unfamiliar road: you don't ever know what's coming next.

In this case, it was hills. Lots and lots of hills. Actually, it was a big hill that rose in three tiers. It took me about 12 minutes to get up it, so it was probably a mile long. Then, around another corner, more hills.

After 34 minutes, I turned around. It took me 22 minutes to get back to my car. Go figure.

I snooze, I lose.

2005-05-19T15:18:00.000-07:00

He who hits the snooze bar 10 times gains weight back quickly and is late for work.

I suck.

The Longest Movie (those near and far Wars)

2005-05-19T08:23:00.000-07:00

I had tickets to the midnight showing of Star Wars. They let us into the theater at 9:45 p.m. and so we sat in a crowded, sweaty theater for more than 2 hours before the movie started.

Then the movie, with trailers, was another 2 and half hours long.
I won't spoil anything. It's worth seeing, if for no other reason than final closure. Sure were a lot of freaks out. But that's part of the charm of going on opening night.

I'm tired today.

May the force be with you.

The end of silence

2005-05-17T22:36:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
3 MILES	29.07	General Jim Moore	less than 10 minutes per mile

OK. I'm back. Well, not completely back, but I'm at least here. You are probably sick of reading nothing but Segal. I know, he's funny, but hey, diversity is good.

So Segal has a new goal. Hmmm. Me wonders. How shall I top him? How can I take even more of his fame away? San Francisco? Maybe. Las Vegas? Perhaps. Full marathon? Well, maybe that's the ticket. Lets let Segal prance and dance his way through 13.1 while we go for the gusto yet again. Maybe, with enough training, enough time, enough oh I don't know, thoroughness, I can even eclipse his 5:06 time at Big Sur.

I know what you are thinking. Big talk from a guy who needed more than 6 hours to finish. But maybe, just maybe, this time it will be different.

Stay tuned. A new goal will also be announced right here in the coming days. Until then, happy trails and remember, GO CUBS!

Goal Time

2005-05-17T14:36:00.000-07:00

It's time for a new goal.

At first, I thought that it would be cool to build and eat the largest French Dip sandwich, but then I worried that I would drown in the bathtub of au jus. So I decided that my new goat should be related to running.

So, I've decided to run the second half of the runner's world San Francisco Marathon in late July. And, just to make it interesting for myself, my goal is to run it in under two hours, 20 minutes less than my previous PR for that distance.

Go me!

A journey through the annals of self-sabotage

2005-05-16T11:34:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5.3	55:42	Home - Lovers Pt. - PG Track - Home	10:31 mins./mi.

Fear manifests itself in the strangest ways.

In case, dear reader, you haven't noticed, I've been having a little trouble getting back on the training track since the big race. The immediate reasons are many -- sleeping late, making other plans, going out to dinner, dawdling at work, having a belly full of malt liquor -- basically, doing anything BUT training in earnest.

Those are the acute reasons. But what are the reasons beyond the reasons? Like Geraldo Rivera, I will now give the story behind the story. I think the real reasons are this: running is painful sometimes. Running is hard. At times, it is unpleasant, espcially in the first three miles. So here are the real reasons: I'm lazy and I'm afraid.

Today's run, my first outdoors, was a case in point. For four or five days, I had been promising myself I would get running today. And for four of five days, I've sat on my duff watcing repeats of Curb Your Enthusiasm and playing video games. It had to end.

This morning, I hit my snooze bar twice. I was running late. I couldn't find the armband to my ipod. Then I couldn't find my key. I wasted a half hour trying to get ready to run. I considered staying in, but I didn't know what I could write on this blog if I didn't run. After all, what's a running blog without running?

So I went out. And I ran. Down to the ocean, down the coast, up into the forest. And it hurt a little bit. And I huffed and puffed like Louie Anderson did when he found out The Family Feud was cancelled. But I ran my route. And I sweat. And I feel better now than I have in days.

Shrinking sack

2005-05-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

Since I ran the marathon, I've found that my mailbag is shrinking. Sad!
Here's this week's.

Hello Jonathan,

I have been hearing rumors that you are training at high altitude. Rumors of ski-lift, snow and the like. As if the Pebble Beach, Poppy Hills were not enough. Oh great! I infer that you are going to do the Lake Tahoe Marathon this fall! I can't wait to read your new training diary for that one.

With warmest regards and a PR at Tahoe,

-- Mario
Pacific Grove

Jon-

Aha! You are now officially an exercise addict! That's it for you, sport, you're condemned to a lifetime of outdoor activity and good health mwahahahaha! Bet you weren't expecting THAT to happen when you signed up for Big Sur.
By the way, your example inspired me to change my run entry last Sunday from the 4km to the 8km - on Mothers' Day!!, (This race is held every year to raise money for breast cancer research and I usually run with my Mum).
What was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking - I feel strong and happy and it's a beautiful autumn morning, and I want to see what I can do. And it wasn't so bad, either. Now it's 3 weeks until the 10km that I signed up for immediately after reading your blog - Satan does exist, in the guise of online run entries.
Have a lovely day,

Alison
Melbourne (Australia, not Florida)

Aaand, we're back.

2005-05-12T11:03:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
1.8 mi.	18 mins.	treadmill	10 mins./mi.

Since I've gotten back from vacation, I've been a wreck. Fidgety, restless, generally pouty to be around. Two days ago, I developed a twitch in my right eye. Every time I spoke to someone, they thought I was winking at them.

Two different women slapped me for what they called "getting fresh," and I was found guilty of perjury while in court. (Full disclosure: All of the last sentence was made up.) But still, it was making me dizzy, blurring my vision, giving me a headache and generally making me a quivering, miserable wreck.

I needed to exercise. Since I thought my legs were too tender to handle running, I went to the gym and hopped onto an eliptical trainer, theoretically for an hour. And ya know what? It's not the same as running. Not even close. It's boring. There's no pain, just smooth, fluid movement, like running in an amniotic sack.

Well, I wasn't ready for a return to the womb yet. So, after a half-hour, I jumped off that trainer and jumped onto a treadmill and ran about two miles. When I got off, the twitchy was gone, the restlessness was gone. I felt like sanity had returned.

And I think I'll run again today, outside. So I'm back. And I'm loving it.

Carnivale!

2005-05-11T11:32:00.000-07:00

What?

The Longest Mile isn't enough to satiate your hunger for self-indulgent running diaries. Believe you me, I know a thing or two about insatiable hunger.

Well, I have a link for you. It's The Carnival of the Runners A weekly list of the best running blog posts from the past week or so, it rotates hosts every week.

In a couple weeks, it will be hosted here, but right now The Carnival of the Runners is at Naomi's place. Everybody loves a trip to the carnival, so unless you're afraid of carnies, check it out.

Hey Jealousy

2005-05-10T11:28:00.000-07:00

I am enflamed with envy. Jealousy is spreading through my loins.

Driving to work this morning, it was a typical glorious sunny day. Joggers abounded, putting one foot gracefully in front of the other, basking in their morning dance on the sidewalks and paths of Monterey County.

Why, oh, why can't I be among them? I have promised myself I will not run for another week, hoping to rid myself of pesky shinsplints once and for all. But I find myself missing it more and more. It could just be my imagination, but I'm beginning to suspect that my belly is starting to cast a slightly larger shadow over my belt than it was just a couple weeks ago.

I can't wait to get back out on the trails; that's both a surprising and scary thought to come flowing out of my sausage-like fingers. I guess it's a good sign for someone who used to look at runners and be filled with a smug sense of superiority: look at those idiots, they're out there sweating like suckers while I'm using this great car invention, bully for me!

Now, it's just a mixture of jealousy, pride and a feeling of belonging.

Dropping the M-bomb

2005-05-09T10:46:00.000-07:00

Running a marathon is supposed to be its own reward. But the feeling of finishing is nothing compared to the opportunity it grants to those of us who are prone to bragging about ourselves.

The marathon is both an achievement and an excuse. It is a chance to impress and shock, and a chance to assure someone that, despite all appearances, you are really a dedicated athlete; your body the flesh equivalent of a Ducati motorcycle: fit, lean, built for speed.

Telling someone that you ran a marathon recently immediately changes the complexion of any conversation, demolishing the former subject like an explosion. Anytime you say, "I ran a marathon last weekend," you are dropping the M-Bomb.

A little ski-trip is the perfect opportunity to drop the M-bomb scores of times during the day. I used it often to impress strangers on the chairlift:

CHAIRLIFT CONVERSATION 1:

STRANGER: So, what brings you out to Colorado?

JON: I ran a marathon last week, and I thought I deserved a break.

STRANGER: You sir, are a god among men. (Although I never pictured god to be so overweight.)

-scene-

CHAIRLIFT CONVERSATION 2:

STRANGER: So, isn't the weather nice?

JON: The snow is nice and all, but this wind really reminds me of the wind on the course of the Big Sur Marathon, which I happened to run last week. Did I mention that it's the hardest major marathon in the U.S.?

STRANGER: Well, if you can run one, I guess anyone can,

-scene-

CHAIRLIFT CONVERSATION 3:

JON: Isn't this a big mountain.

ATTRACTIVE FEMALE SKI-BUM STRANGER: It's the highest in Summit County, 12.500 feet at the summit.

JON: Wow, that's just a little taller than Hurricane Point, a hill I had to run up when I ran the Big Sur Marathon last week. Did I mention I ran a marathon?

ATTRACTIVE FEMALE SKI-BUM STRANGER: I'm having a party tonight. Want to come and tell all of my very attractive friends about the marathon? I have a hot tub.

-scene-

Of course, the M-bomb doesn't always have to be used to impress people. It can also be used to re-assure people of your athletic prowess. Believe it or not, much of my ski trip was spent panting, trying to draw oxygen out of Colorado's Everest-thin air. I only blacked out twice while skiing, but my apparent discomfort prompted concerned strangers to inquire as to my well-being:

CONCERNED STRANGER: Are you okay there buddy?

JON (Panting): Yeah.

CONCERNED STRANGER: Then why are you coughing up blood onto the snow?

JON: I'm fine. (Cough. Cough.) I ran a marathon last weekend.

The Shortest Vacation

2005-05-04T13:23:00.000-07:00

As long as I'm not running for a bit, I figured I would take a quick vacation. And what better thing to do on a post-marathon vacation than ski?

Let's check: You have a magical chair suspended in the air that takes you up the mountain, and then you can slide down the mountain on breakneck speeds on slippery little sticks. This sounds nothing like running! Perfect.

Anyway, see ya on Monday!

McGriddle? McGirdle?

2005-05-03T10:44:00.000-07:00

As I continue my post-marathon decline, I've been less good about doing things like eating a wholesome breakfast everyday. Today, given the choice between getting to work a few minutes late, or going without a breakfast filled with toast, juice, milk and yummy, tasty generic-o's, I went without breakfast.

This, in turn, led to temptation.

On my way to work, I pass a McDonald's Restaurant. In the bad old days, before the marathon training, I would occaisionally stop at such an establishment. See, a year ago, the mad scientists at the McDonald's lab invented something that seems unparalelled in its deliciousness: the McGriddle. This ingenious McSandwich involved all the greatest things in a conveniently processed form: eggs, bacon and, of course, creamy, melted, yellow cheese-like substance.

But that wasn't all.

The greasy, slippery, salty mixture was squeezed between two biscuit-like sweet pastries. They weren't pastries, though, they were pancakes. Sweet, fluffy, pancakes.

Did they stop there? No.

They injected the pancakes with hot syrup that, for some reason, didn't make one's hands sticky when stuffing the McGriddle into one's McPiehole. It is a miracle of science. They should get the McDonald's food scientists to try to cure diseases. After the McGriddle, I'm sure cures for cancer and AIDS aren't far behind.

So, as I drove to work today, I passed the golden arches. They were flashing at me, singing a siren's song of fattening, delicious breakfast, tempting me like a pot of golden has browns at the end of a rainbow.

But I did not give in. I did not lose 20 pounds to stuff myself with McGriddle sandwiches and end up wearing a McGirdle.

Big Sur Blues

2005-05-02T14:41:00.000-07:00

A little more than a week after the marathon. the post-race blues are starting to set in.

It's not so bad. I haven't taken to the bed with a box of Oreos, listening to old Radiohead albums on repeat and letting tears wear canyons on my chubby cheeks.

But the glory of last Sunday has all but worn off. That, coupled with the realization that I probably should take another two weeks off the trails to give my legs a chance to fully heal, has left me feeling just a little dumpy.

Yeah, I still walk around my house with my Big Sur International Marathon medal around my neck. Just yesterday, I forgot that I was wearing it and left the house with it on. After 10 minutes or so, I figured out why the neighborhood skate kids were staring at me. With that gigantic medallion hanging from my neck, I must have looked like a bigger, paler version of Flavor Flav.

So, maybe it's time to consider a new goal. Perhaps a half marathon in the summer (Runner's World SF?) and a full race in the fall (Twin Cities Marathon? New York Marathon?)

You can only bask in the glory of past achievements for so long. Like bathwater, if you lay in them too long, you'll start to shrivel up.

Running again (limping too)

2005-05-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
1.8 mi.	19 mins.	Lovers Point to MBAY Aquarium	10:30 min./mi.

How could I lose so much in just seven days? I went out for a run today. Pump pump. Thump thump. Huff huff.

Guess what? Running's still hard. My shinsplints (mysteriously absent on race day) still hurt. I prescribe myself two weeks on the elyptical trainer and three trips through the Grand China Buffet.

Friday Sack of Hair-Mail

2005-04-29T11:18:00.000-07:00

I finally did it. The marathon in my past, I cut off my hair again. I'm no longer like that dog from the Looney Tunes with the hair over his eyes.

(You know, the shaggy sheepdog who keeps foiling Wile E. Coyote from kidnapping the sheep. By the way, if I was that coyote, I'd seriously consider switching from Acme to another company to supply my rocket-skates and the like. I hope Acme has a good product-liability attorney. Wile E. could make serious bank if he found a good trial lawyer.)

Anyway, thanks again to all who sent congratulatory e-mails to Ken and me after finishing the race on Saturday. I can't run all of them, but here's two of the best:

-------------------------------

Ken and Jonathan,

In a word ... CONGRATULATIONS!

As webmaster and grizzled vet of the Big Sur Marathon, I have followed your blog entries and columns with keen interest. You two are living proof that a couple of normal guys can run a marathon. Running a marathon is a life changing experience which is within reach of most people.

I began running 19 years ago, motivated by being dangerously close to 40 years of age and 200 pounds. I didn't start running to become an "athlete". I started running because I didn't like what I saw in the mirror. I dropped 30 pounds during training for the first Big Sur Marathon and I've kept it off since then.

Actually, the mathematics of calories is pretty compelling:
-- you burn about 100 calories per mile running, it hardly matters what pace you run
-- to lose one pound of fat you need to burn off 3500 calories
I run an average of 35 miles a week, year round. You do the math :-)... that's one pound of fat burning per week, year round!

Even running just 17 miles a week will burn 1/2 a pound per week year round = 26 pounds per year!

So I started with a focus on calories as my motivation. What I ended up with was a life changing experience. As a computer programmer I was sedentary and lived mostly within the screen of my computer. Now I get outside almost every day for a run. I enjoy feeling the weather and sharing the long runs with my friends.

You have probably surmised that I am passionate about the Big Sur Marathon and participating as a volunteer for the organization that presents the marathon.

I have one parting suggestion which may sound silly but it has worked for me for the last 19 years. Buy and wear Big Sur Marathon shirts, jackets, hats, etc. I wear them daily as a reminder and an affirmation. I am very proud of being a Big Sur Marathoner. Think of yourselves as marathoners. You deserve it!

Cheers!
Tom

Tom Rolander
BSIM Webmaster
BSIM Grizzled Vet

Hi Jon,

Congratulations on your race --- you're AWESOME!!

I'm still on a post-marathon cloud. I actually ran it and finished!! Last Friday, 2 days before the race I had a sore throat and fever. After training and overcoming so many obstacles, I couldn't believe I'd be stoppedat the very end. I don't think I've ever felt so much disappointment in my life as I did at the thought of giving up this marathon.

I went to see a doctor Friday afternoon. After examining me, I asked him what he thought would or could happen if I went ahead and ran the marathon. He said I'd probably be sicker, but not REALLY sick. I was concerned about setting myself up for pneumonia, etc., and he readily shook his head no about that.

Sooooo . . . . I found myself literally running and laughing out his office door--- I WAS GOING TO THE MARATHON!!!! Felt SO much joy in making that decision. By Saturday I was on the mend.

My goal of doing a 4:30 to 5 hour marathon was dropped, and the plan was to run conservatively enough to be able to finish, and do it as comfortably as I could.

And boy, that's just what I did: I finished in 6 HOURS!!

It would have been nice to finish under 5 1/2 hours, but when it was clear I wasn't going to do that, I just resigned myself.

Now I'm walking around, hugging the biggest most wonderful secret inside----- "Psst! Hey, I did the Big Sur Marathon!!"
But wow, look at YOU. You creamed me!! Great job!!

-----

Some remembered moments--

-- Wondering if I'd ever get my turn in the porta-potty before the gun went off. I ended up with just 7 minutes to spare.

-- Getting choked up when the white doves were released. I had REALLY made it to the start of the Big Sur marathon. Pinch me!

-- Counting the number of men stopping by the side of the road briefly to....um....look at the view.

-- Feeling empowered when I saw one woman had stopped to go, out in the open. (Hey yeah, guys, we can do it too!! )

-- Thrilled to realize I was actually seeing THE Jon Segal running by me!
You passed me and I kept you in sight for about 2 miles, but you moved ahead in the wave of runners when I stopped at an aid station. I regret not talking to you, Jon. I got hit with a big case of shyness, and was trying to get my nerve up, but you were gone. But hey, I did get to see that famous hair, and that was great!

-- Miles 10-14 were my favorites.
I know, I know, half of that was up to Hurricane Point. It's crazy, but I loved it. (I did train on lots of hills.) And it was a magical moment on the downhill when the piano music could be heard.

-- Was it just a myth or was there really Gu at the aid stations? I never came across any. Quite understandable, I guess, as I was in the back of the pack. Anyway, by halfway through the race I found myself scanning the empty Gu packets littering the pavement, hoping I would score a full packet. No such luck. I just had to laugh that I was getting so desperate.

-- Noticing around miles 16-17 how the medical guys on bikes appeared to be starting to circle me like vultures. I must have looked worse than I was feeling, so I put my shoulders back, started beaming big smiles and pretended to look like what I thought a healthy marathon runner should look like. They eventually seemed to lose interest and moved on.

-- The sight of the marathon finish sign above the highway. It wasn't the main official big blow-up finish line most others got to go under, but it WAS the finish line and after six hours, it was joyous to pass under it.
------
Sorry this is getting so long, but I wanted to suggest a challenge you might want to do sometime, if you haven't already.
Hiking to Halfdome in Yosemite and going up the cables to the top. I did that last year and it was a great experience. Late May/early June is a good time because there are fewer people, it's not too hot, and there's still lots of water flowing.

Before doing this marathon, I'd planned on it being the last one I ever do in my life. I can't believe it, but I realize I want to sign up for it again! Maybe the delirium will pass, but I don't think so.

Thanks again for your running blog. Loved it!

M - Los Gatos

Marathon Flashbacks or The Fog of Sur

2005-04-28T09:53:00.000-07:00

I wonder how many people have trouble remembering the details of race day?

For me, Sunday is immersed in the soup of memory like a good night of drinking. Little details are emerging over time: some stuff comes back in drips, clips, fragments, like the race was a waking dream. But much of the desperate hours from miles 18-26 remain bathed in darkness.

So it was that I was driving to work today and had a vivid memory. It must have been somewhere around Mile 18 or so, because I was getting a drink from an aid station (my on-board bottle of Gatorade must have been empty, and I still was running.)

I had grabbed a cup of water and gulped down part of it. Running by a trash can, it had enough weight in the bottom that I felt I could make a clean toss, Kareem-style, into the bin. So I threw it. It sailed in a clean arc, through the air, almost in slow motion like one of those floating objects featured so prominently in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Then, it started tumbling toward Earth. Down, down, down, the cup went, little drops of liquid splashing to the edges.

That's when I saw her: the teenage volunteer in the expensive-looking black coat. I wanted to yell, watch out, but somehow the words couldn't escape from my mouth. It hit, with 5 oz. or so of water splashing on her coat and down her neck on a 55-degree mornining.

"Oh my gawd!" she exclaimed.
"I'm sorry," I said, as I kept shuffling by.
"Oh my gawd," she said, an amazed but angry expression spreading on her face. "I can't believe this,"

And then, I was gone. And so was she. Until this morning.

Speaking of memories, I've received my marathon pics by email from marathonfoto. Here's a link.

Shout outs

2005-04-27T11:19:00.000-07:00

Well, it's day three.

The first two days, I was walking a little like Igor. (Yeass, master, would you like me to fetch you a leg from a corpse?) Now, I'm back at work and nearly back to my old, lumbering self after a couple days of recuperation and re-loading of carbohydrates.

I fear the inevitable letdown will come, so for today, I'll fill myself with good feelings, remembering everyone who supported the tubby twosome. If you don't like the speeches at the Oscars, then I suggest linking somewhere else now.

First of all, big thanks to the Big Sur International Marathon for doing a great job with the race, giving this blog a link on their homepage and being very friendly, supportive and well organized. If you run one marathon in your life, it should be Big Sur.

Word to Mike Dove, winner of the 55-59 age division Sunday with a 3:08. This Donald Sutherland-looking dude, the director of BSIM training clinics, has been a resource and help to me, Kenny and hundreds of others who've made Big Sur their first big race. His training clinics will help anyone from Monterey and Santa Cruz counties make it to the starting line and across the finish.

Big props to The Monterey County Herald who offered Ken and I this forum and a weekly column to share our whining with the world. The indulgence of editors Mike Hale, Royal Calkins and Carolina Garcia have made it a pleasure to try to do this right. Sports editor Dave Kellogg, who finished with a 4:47 Sunday, used his formidable endurance to edit our columns even as deadlines approached. Lisa Mitchell, tech goddess and copy editor, kept the code flowing even when it was snowing, hyper-style.

On the Internet, all the other bloggers out there who gave us links and advice, especially intense Derek Rose, the very funny Naomi, and the inspirational Dianna. All three of these guys are worth reading on a regular basis, especially if you're serious about running, or laughing. Very special electronic accolades to my own personal online running guru Chelle, whose intelligence and running knowledge have provided the answers to many of my training questions.

My friends here rocked on Sunday and out-of-towners rocked all through expressing their disbelief and positive thoughts. Obviously, I must thank my family, my mom for telling me to pace myself and take it easy and saying that whatever I had done already was enough to satisfy her. My dad, for dispensing diagnoses over the phone and supporty in person. Especially my sister, who in many ways inspired and urged me to do this with her grace and poise and lightening-fast times. She's the seven-minute to my 11. And, of course, I have to thank my special lady, or lady friend, who was woken up at 6 a.m. on countless mornings to me putting on tights and bodyglide and slipping out into the rain or cold or whatnot. She rocks.

No, wait, stop the music, I'm not done yet. Why are these seven-foot-tall models dragging me off the stage. OUCH! Watch it with the cattle prods. Don't go to commerci...

A big thanks

2005-04-25T22:03:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to take this opportunity to say thank you to everybody who supported me through my journey to conquer Big Sur. A special thanks goes out to the many people out on the course Sunday. Those that had followed the blog and/or articles and came up to wish me good luck. Throughout the 26.2 jaunt, I was constantly recognized and encouraged and I can't express my graditude enough. It truly was a special day and though I went my share of pain and agony, I believe it was worth it.
I hope this blog was of some use and entertainment. It has been fun to share my thoughts and feelings and to have so many of you guys out there respond in kind. To those that shared my fate at Big Sur and to all that have fulfilled similiar quests, WE DID IT. And to future marathoners or runners alike, YOU CAN DO IT.
Hell, if someone like me can, anybody can.

Again, thank you.

Ken Ottmar

Sore and Lazy

2005-04-25T11:04:00.000-07:00

Well, the morning after is here.

I'm not as sore as I imagined I would be, which is to say that I was able to go out for a walk this morning, hoping to stop at my neighborhood bakery and pick up those much-needed recovery foods: an apple danish and a chocolate-chip cookie. The bakery was closed. Maybe it's a sign, but somehow I doubt it.

Over the next few days, I'll dissect the race and muse on what comes next and have a chance to give some much-deserved shout-outs to those who've helped me along the way. But today, I'm feeling lazy. (For a change, right?)

Luckily, when I opened up Today's Monterey Herald, I was greeted by my column about running the marathon. I don't remember writing it, but it's under my byline, so I must have done it, right?

It's a harrowing tale with a heart-warming ending that's sure to put a tear to your eye and a smile on your face. Or give you something to print out and put down on the floor to housebreak your puppy with.

For those of you who prefer tragedy to triumph, Kenny's account s available by clicking here.

Also, Herald Sports Editor Dave Kellogg, the old guy (actually 47) who I ran Hurricane Point with two weeks ago, finished in 4:47 hours. I guess age really does come before beauty!

Once again:

My (Segal) race report avalable by clicking here.

Kenny race report available by clicking here.

Complete Big Sur International Marathon coverage available by clicking here.

Its over thank god its over

2005-04-24T19:24:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
26.2 MILES	6;06.41	Big Sur what else?	13:59 per mile YIKES

It was the most painful experience of my life. Kind of like giving birth, I imagine. I had to walk the last 8 miles, my legs were toast. Read the story in Monday's paper or go online to www.montereyherald.com. It will be up on the website Monday afternoon.

At least I finished. But thank the almighty, it is over.

TASTE THE PAIN ALL THE WAY TO THE FINISH

2005-04-24T15:22:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
26.2 mi. !!!	5:06:44 hrs./mins.	Julia Pfeiffer Burns State Park, Big Sur, to Rio Road, Carmel	11:42 mins./mi.

Well, it's over. Kenny finished in 6:06. It was really hard, harder than I would have believed had anyone told me. A marathon is not a thing to be trifled with, especially one as rugged as Big Sur. With support from my fellow runners, visions of my family and friends at the finish, a willingness to walk and a determination not to quit, I got through, finishing before the course closed, and coming in 2492 out of 2871 finishers. (Gun time was 5:09).

Here are the numbers, you can tell what happened. I'll tell the tale later, after a dip in the soothing waters of the Pacific, pizza, beer and a good night's rest.

Mile 1: 10:10
Mile 2: 10:44
Mile 3: 10:22
Mile 4: 10:27
Mile 5: 10:41
Mile 6: 10:45
Mile 7: 10:42
Mile 8: 10:51
Mile 9: 11:09
Mile 10: 10:30
Mile 11 (Hurricane Pt. part 1): 13:21
Mile 12 (Hurricane Pt. part 2) 12:40
Mile 13: 9:40
Mile 14: 10:42
Mile 15: 11:20
Mile 16: 11:42
Mile 17: 10:44
Mile 18: 13:01
Mile 19: 12:17
Mile 20: 12:46
Mile 21: 10:58
Mile 22: 15:55
Mile 23: 12:54
Mile 24: 14:16
Mile 25: 12:04
Mile 26: 14:01
Mile 26.2: 1:52 (Back on Pace!)

Time for the pizza and the beer.

Loaded/Bloated

2005-04-23T11:11:00.000-07:00

Calories	Time	Route	Pace
10,000	36 hours	Hand-Mouth-Esophagus-Gut-Legs?	1 pancake/hr.

I might not be the fastest runner, but when it comes to carb-loading, I've got game. Rice. Pasta. Pancakes. Fried calamari. Fried calamari? Well, it was in the way of some other stuff, so down the hatch it went. Gobble, gobble, gurp.

I hope I haven't done too good a job with the loading. I'm so full, you could roll me down the back side of Hurricane Point. But I plan to taper my intake for the rest of the day. You heard it here first: I will not eat another side of beef before the race. I swear.

Today's Herald included final columns from Kenny and I, but they aren't online, so I'll have to post them here in their entirety for a little bedtime reading.

A LIFE ALTERING EXPERIENCE

BY KEN OTTMAR

I liken the Big Sur International Marathon to the coming of Haley's comet. Measured in days, instead of years.
For a long while now, it seemed Big Sur was just barely a blip on the screen, a distant haze often lost in the quagmire of events that make up my life. I knew it was coming and yet it always seemed as though it was still a ways off.
Well, the time has come, hasn't it?
Now, in the final few days before the big event arrives, I cannot help but reflect on how the past five months of preparation has really altered the course of my life. And not just in that five-month period, but rather, I believe, for years to come.
I don't want to get too philosophical. I realized long before I made the decision that ordinary, everyday people run Big Sur. That is not meant to diminish the accomplishment, it's significant. But it's not like discovering a cure for the common cold.
However, discovery is probably the best way to describe the process. And that discovery is as individual as a fingerprint.
What I discovered about myself is that I am not the man I often go to bed dreaming about. I am not as strong as I have probably portrayed myself. I am not as dashingly handsome as you may have been led to believe. I am not overly witty, nor have I written any books on the New York Times bestsellers list.
I don't make a lot of money. And no matter what you think of journalists, it is not all Pulitzers and investigations. It's not the A's, Giants or 49ers. It is a job. Not all that different from yours, probably.
I have also discovered that there really is no way to get out of a commitment. I was told by my father that a person is only as good as his word. From that, I have gained one true insight: say what you do and always do what you say.
Last November, I said I was going to run the Big Sur International Marathon. On more than one occasion, I schemed desperately for a way to wiggle out of that. I cannot adequately tell you how completely happy I am that I ignored such thoughts.
I really can’t emphasize this enough. I have yet to run even 10 yards at Big Sur, and still I feel as though the toughest challenge is behind me. I’ve been on a high this week and it is amazing how truly inspired I feel.
I suppose I could wax poetic about inspiration. But that would be overkill. If you know anything about marathons, you know that much of it is accomplished on inspiration alone.
And it is nothing new. Every marathoner tells you about the highs of running. Every marathoner has a story about why he or she did it. Every marathoner finds success, finds tranquility, finds, well, inspiration.
But lost in that, I've discovered, is what lies beyond. Sure, I was inspired. First to train for the marathon, now to actually run it. Yet, on the verge of both accomplishments, I ask, what am I inspired to do next?
Should I climb a mountain, train for a triathlon, learn a new language or finally finish one of 10 screenplays that I have partially written? Should I actually eat a more healthy diet, wash my car on a regular basis, wear better clothes to work or clean the bathrooms?
This is what I love best about a marathon. You begin with one mile. Before long you are doing 10. And then 15. Finally, you reach 26.2. And then you can say, hey, I ran a marathon.
I think that is a great analogy for life. It is not necessarily what you have done, but what more can you do.
Again, you don't have to run a marathon to know this. But for dummies like me, it certainly has clarified things.
And even if, God forbid, I don't finish all 26.2 miles on Sunday, I will know that, at the very least, I stepped forward. I did more than I had before. And I know I can do even more down the line.
The time for that certainly has come.

-------------------------------------

RUNNING IS AN OBSESSION

BY JON SEGAL
I'm drowning in running.
Sunday's Big Sur Marathon dominates my thoughts. I've taken to wearing my sweatband around the office now.
Everytime I put a morsel of something in my mouth, all I think about is how it might help or hinder my performance on race day. Between the columns and the online training diary and my own random inner musings, running is pretty much all I'm writing about right now. Since others at work are running the marathon, walking the marathon, or running the marathon relay, running is the buzz of our little newsroom.
Even religion has taken a back seat to the big run.
The marathon is on the first full day of Passover, a Jewish holiday commemorating the Exodus from Egypt. Usually, I'd spend Saturday night drinking sugary wine and eating matzo, an unleavened cracker known otherwise as "the bread of affliction." (Hint: the affliction is constipation.)
I'm not sure what it would do to show up at the starting line with a belly full of unleavened bread, kosher wine and pulverized fish, so I'll be forgoing the first days of Passover this year. It makes me a little nervous because it seems to me that any normal person would want the deity in his corner when he's about to run 26.2 miles along coastal cliffs. Then again, maybe the lord will shine on me as I reenact the Israelites' dash from slavery, although I don't know for sure if my ancient ancestors wore spandex.
If I'm willing to brush off 3,000 years of tradition to run this race, it's a fair bet that many other facets of my life have fallen by the wayside. Relationships have suffered. My golf handicap has ballooned. I've missed movies I wanted to see. And beer -- sweet sweet beer -- soon we will be together again.
But for now, the other stuff in my life is left playing second banana like Jan Brady to big sister Marcia. Like the Brady clan's whiny middle child, everything else cries out for attention when faced with the same old refrain: marathon, marathon, marathon!
Maybe that's the way it should be. The marathon demands it.
It's been 577 miles and almost six months since I declared to myself that I would run Sunday's Big Sur International Marathon. That's almost from here to L.A. and back. It's a one-way trip to Vegas. I've run on treadmill and trail, in the morning gloom and the dark of night, on 17-Mile Drive and Fremont Boulevard, in sun and rain. All to get myself ready to line up at the start Sunday.
A lot of the time, people express shock or admiration when told of my marathon quest.
"I couldn't run 26 miles. I can't even run three," they say in the common reaction. "You're awesome. (Crazy.)"
I enjoy adulation as much the next guy, maybe a little more. But the accolades are misplaced. I'm no athlete, but this is something I can do. Something I believe anyone can do.
I'm ready for the run. It's not the shoes. It's not because I'm talented or especially athletic. It's because I got off my butt and ran the miles.

It takes two

2005-04-22T12:24:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
2 mi.	18:47	Lovers Point <-> Monterey Bay Aquarium	9:23 mins./mi.

And so, last night after work as the sky changed from blue to yellow to orange over the sea, the training ended. It was a two-miler on a path I've gotten to know intimately in the last five months.

I ran tall with my head up, trying to block out any yips of pain from my legs. If you don't listen for the yips, maybe you won't go to the dogs. The training is now over. The loin left to gird is my brain.

The ingrown nail is healing, thanks to some self-surgery and anti-bacterial ointment. I'm drinking water and adding a couple of slices of bread to each meal. I'll be fully loaded by Sunday morning, guaranteed.

Two miles. Two days. Two legs. Two bloggers. Two decades of the Big Sur Marathon. Do the best things come in pairs.

Speaking of pears, isn't it time to eat something?

Dragging out the Friday Sack (self adulation edition)

2005-04-22T10:11:00.000-07:00

It's Friday. You don't got no job (okay, well maybe you do.). You don't got poop to do. I'm going to get you reading... the fat Friday sack.

This week, people wrote with compliments and good luck. I just want to share the sunshine. So let the sun shine in. It is, truly, the dawning of the Age of Aquariums.

Without further delay, here's the mail:

Dear Jon:

I found your blog through "running chick with the orange hat" last Thursday, and today I caught up with the final installments. I am training for a half marathon, and can't run over 4 miles without thinking I might just die a horrible wheezing side of the road death. I use peas on the pain, I pop Advil like it's my job.

I spend most of the time thinking about excuses to not run, or reasons why running is the answer to all of life's problems. I know if I just put the spandex on, the motivation will be there, I hope, but instead of jumping into them (another story, involving baby powder and olive oil) I validate a reason to not run. Then, on Thursday, I read your blog. I ran 3 miles Thursday, 2.5 on Friday and 4 on Saturday, because if you can run 26.2, I can run 13.1.

Keeping my fingers crossed for you, and my eyes closed, just in case you do that weird shirt thing you did on the Carlsbad 1/2 marathon!

(is it weird to email someone whose blog you've been reading? I feel a little voyeuristic)

Chandra
Portland, Maine

Jon,

I've been enjoying your blogs over the last few months. As a fellow Minnesotan I can't help but hope you do well (BTW - I consider finishing as my definition of “doing well). I'll be flying in on Friday to run the big race with you (my 2nd time doing BS) -- then it's off to Esalen for a few days of RnR.

Kick some ass and make us all proud back here in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

Good Luck,

Chris Krull
Minneapolis

P.S. Maybe you should come home and run Twin Cities in the fall, especially since after running Big Sur you will be a man among men -- Women will throw themselves at you -- children will ask for your autograph -- people will clear the way when you enter a room. Seriously, Big Sur is not a race for the weak -- it takes a lot of guts to do it as your first marathon. It’s admirable.

To Kenny and Jon:

I have been training for the Big Sur race since I ran the Big Sur Half Marathon in October of 2004. It has been a long and sometimes painful haul. One of the things that has kept me going is your blog. It is pretty funny and I can relate to many of your pains. Every time I feel tired or lazy, I would boot up the web and read about your trials and tribulations.
This would give me the incentive I needed to complete my scheduled runs. It was amazing to see your transformation from coach potatoes to marathon runners. I know you can both complete it.
Big Sur was going to be my first and only marathon, but last month I ran the Napa marathon just to see if I was able to make it. I did and it was an amazing feeling to achieve that goal. When it gets tough out there, and it will, just hang in there and you will finish it.
Ken, no matter what, you have got to finish. The last thing you need if for Jonathan to "hog the blog" and be the only one with bragging rights. And Jon, please, please, please, no more photos please :-).
Hopefully I will see you folks out there. Take care and good luck,

Bill

Guys,

Just wanted to say good luck for Sunday. I ran London last Sunday and I won’t pretend it was anything but incredibly hard for the last 5 miles or so. I hated those miles and I just felt drained afterwards. And that's a flat course. But you know what pain and extreme effort are like, to have come this far. Four days later, my legs are almost recovered and I'm basking in a warm glow that will last for even longer. So I just hope on Sunday that you are able to enjoy the good bits, survive the bad bits, and make it to the other side.

All the best

Dan

http://marathondan.blogspot.com

Hi Jon,

Yes, I'm ready for the marathon. Can't bear the suspense of waiting any longer. Let's get this torture over with!!

I actually just got back today from driving the marathon course. I found myself so curious about it, and had to drive down and take a look.

Wow, it's a loooong ways!! Eeeek!

I'd visualized the climb up to Hurricane Point pretty accurately, but I did GASP at one of the long hills further along. I'm feeling a bit psyched out about that one because I'll be getting so tired by that point. Loud whimpering will be heard for sure. But I'm really glad I went to take a look, so I know better what to expect.

Have found your writing so entertaining. As a fellow masochist going through it too, I can really identify.

Reading about your longest 21-24 mile run ended up having an influence on my longest run, and I really THANK YOU! I started to come down with a cold when you did that run. For me, the last long one seems so critical (mentally) to complete. Once done, the training pressure is over. But I couldn't risk doing the 20 miles, because I’d likely end up with a hideous full blown cold. Had to give up on it. I was feeling so ENVIOUS of you that you'd completed your longest one.

Anyway, 3 days later the cold symptoms had receded enough, and I decided to go for it. It went just fine. Fortunately the cold did not come back on me. I really needed the confidence of doing it, so I was really happy. My envy of your success egged me on. Many thanks!

Warm wishes for a great experience,

Emily

Hi Jon -

I just wanted to tell you that I have been reading your blog for months and I've loved every minute of it. I especially loved your 10 reasons for running a marathon. Fabulous.

I've finished four marathons (I am a total snail) and let me tell you -- there is nothing so fabulous as the feeling you get when you cross the finish line for the first time. The other three were awesome too, but the first one was magical. All the pain will be worth it, I promise.

I've coached for Team In Training and they've been warning us for years about the dangers of hyponatremia. Here are a couple tips:

*Don't take Advil/Motrin 24 hours before or during the marathon. Switch to Tylenol 8-hour or something similar which is less likely to interfere with your electrolyte balance. I am a big fan of 8-hour and tend to take it right at the halfway point of the marathon, it eases some of the aches right away and holds off the worst pain towards the end.

*Go to a fast food joint and snag some little salt packets. They are easy to carry with you on race day and you can eat them during your run to boost your salt intake. The best method is to lick your hand, sprinkle it with the salt packet and then lick it off. Yeah, it's gross, but it works. If you start to feel water sloshing around in your stomach while you run, your salt may be off --- so eat the packet.

*As soon as you can after crossing the finish line eat some protein. Like Power Bar Plus or some kind of protein gel. (Carb-boom makes it and you can probably get it at the expo) 10g at least in the first 1/2 hour after your finish and then another shot of about that much an hour later. It'll make your legs feel a lot better the next day. Seriously, load up on the protein ASAP. http://www.carbboom.com/products/pb_faq.php

I can't wait to hear how everything goes, but I'm sure you'll do great!

Best of luck to you and to Ken-

Helen

Hi there,

I just wanted to thank you both for your entertaining blogs over the last few months....I've enjoyed reading them and comparing training highs and lows! I'm also running the marathon Sunday (Yikes!) - I've done it before in my youth but that was 15 years ago and I am a bit nervous to say the least. It has not been the ideal training program - working shift work, a few lousy colds and the flu, minor injuries, but I plan to be there at the back of the pack Sunday with the goal of just finishing! I'm running with a much younger and stronger coworker of mine who has never done a marathon so it should be fun!

Best of luck to you both....Ken, my only advice would be to think positive and start slow, walk a few hills if you need to...I took short walking breaks at the aid stations in all 4 of the previous BSIM's I ran and it seemed to help. Jonathan, can't wait to see the hair! Thanks for the witty blogs!

Audrey

Feeding and bleeding

2005-04-21T14:48:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, the carb-loading has begun in earnest.

Today, thus far, I've consumed a bowl of chex with honey and banana, a glass of grapefruit juice, a bowl of udon noodles with shrimp tempura and a California roll. Fathers, hide your pasta, because I'm coming for it!

When I'm not drowning myself in carbohydrates, I'm worrying about things in general. Of particular worry is a new problem I have with my toe. Like most of the troubles in my life, it's a problem of my own creation.

In the yelllow book given to me by the Big Sur Marathon Training Cult (known vaiously as The Book, The Bible, The Tome or The Necronomecon) it reccommends cutting your nails on the Monday or so before the race. Being a dutiful disciple of the Cult, I cut my toenails and I cut 'em good and short.

Oops.

Yesterday, my big toe began to itch. Then it began to sting. Then it began to throb. So I took off my shoe. I took off my sock. I dicsovered the problem. There was a little, bleeding cut on the inside edge of my big toe. I have an ingrown toenail. I cut it too short.

Luckily, I have experience with such things. I had a similar malady growing up. It gave my dad, a doctor, an excuse to bring his work home with him and do surgery on me in our bathroom. He brought home some alleged anesthetic spray and four sharp poking tools.

As my mother held me down on the bathroom counter, my dad moved forward with his medieval work. Screams and cries followed as he took the sharp poking tools and wedged them beneath my nail, then shoving a piece of gauze between the nail and the skin. All the while he told me it didn't hurt. Yeah. Right.

So, from then on, I fixed my toes myself. Hopefully, I will heal in time.

Hairy and Harried

2005-04-20T13:58:00.000-07:00

It's an off day for running and I'm having spilkes (pronounced shpillkahs, which is Yiddish for little tiny conniption fits brought on by stress.)

Apparently, my little runs of the last two mornings have prevented the gerbil running around in my head from driving me completely mad with its squeaking and scratching little toes and whatnot. But now, the gerbil's running around at Warp 9 and it's little wheel hasn't been greased for at last a day. Apparently, running was the WD-40 that was keeping the darn thing sedate.

See, when Tubby (that's me, not the fictional brain gerbil) runs a marathon, he has to make it into a big federal case. He's too meglomaniacal to just do what normal people do: train and suffer in silence, triumph on race day and take a quiet pride in accomplishment. Not enough for me.

No, to feed my ego, the only thing more massive than my appetitie for Kraft singles, I have to make a federal case out of it, like I'm the only one who ever ran 26 miles, 385 yards. So I blog. And I write. And I invite all sorts of people from far and wide to come and watch and support me. And now, it's three days before the race and I'm thinking about running, and writing and cleaning and entertaining.

I know for sure I won't have time to get my back waxed before the race. I'm too busy. But you know what? In the immortal words of Alanis, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Run. Tubby. Run.

Getting stronger, building confidence

2005-04-20T09:48:00.000-07:00

The knee (knock on wood) is as strong as it has been since the first episode of pain arrived 7 weeks ago. I will now have one more test run (tomorrow) to stretch it out and not go a whole week without some running. I am feeling better and more confident. I have put aside my fear of the hills. It will do me no good to lament about something I enevitably have to face anyways.
Besides, I have received a number of e-mails in support from people who I trust know what they are talking about. I feel like it will still be difficult but I will finish.

We have but three days to go, and things are really starting to move quickly at work. It is becoming a celebration of sorts. More and more people are deciding to show up and watch Segal and I struggle to the end. Oh and my boss too, who has committed as well (he'll finish, he runs like a 9 minute mile pace).

So, I will check in again tomorrow.

Five and counting...

2005-04-19T11:01:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
3.8 miles or so	37:30	Monterey Bay Aquarium down Rec Trail and Back	hopefully around 10 mins./mi.

I wish I could say my shinsplints were healed. I wish I could say I won the lottery. I wish I could say I was selected to be the cover man in next year's SI Swimsuit Issue. (I've been working on my washed-up-on-the-beach-tee-shirt glistening-with-water-slight-dusting-of-sand-on-my-back-hair look.)

I could say all that, but that wouldn't get me any closer to the sandy beaches of Aruba. And it wouldn't cure the nagging lower-leg pain. So, I've come to grips with the splints. They will accompany me on race day, and hopefully fade after the first few miles.

I'm a big, tough, extremely hairy guy, so I can take it, I guess. It will just add an extra element to the drama of race day, like a swirl of caramel adds a dimension of, um, silkiness to a ice cream. Mmmmmmm ice cream. I guess I have to take the attitude that pain can be delicious too.

For all you readers who didn't read the heading, there are five days left until the race. For me, that means one more training run (a three-miler on Thursday) and then rest, relaxation, stretching and icing, mental prep, compulsively checking the race-day weather and, my favorite part, carb loading. The surprising thing is that my carb-load routine seems to differ very little from my actual diet. Maybe that should tell me something, but I doubt it.

For those of you who are interested in the weather, here's the link again. Check early, check often, and pray to your gods for aq tail-wind.

A six-day war

2005-04-18T11:40:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
3 mi.	29:17 mins.	PG Track x12	9:45 mins./mi.

How many times in the last few months have I begun a post with this: I meant to go out for a run this morning, but I guess I'll hit the treadmill tonight.

Well, today, I begin another way: I meant to go to the gym this morning to run, but instead I went outside. I ran three miles, around in circles at the local high school track: dirt on my shoes, sun in my hair and 60-degree air filling my lungs. Fastest lap was Lap 12: 2:16. That's the right way to do it, no?

We have six days left until the marathon. I'm not nervous. Who's nervous? What's there to be nervous about? No sir. No nerves here. No nerves at all. Breath in, breath out. Go to your happy place.

No, seriously, I get to relax at long last.

I get to watch TV. Have you people heard of this reality show thing? It's like TV, only with real people. (Albeit real people with perfect bodies and glistening white smiles with more drama in their lives than the third act of Hamlet.)

I get to load up on carbs. Take that, Dr. Atkins, I will bury you in a sea of sushi and leave you sinking in a passel of pasta.

I have two more training runs, and then the marathon. And I can't flippin' wait.

Ice and Rest (and still scared)

2005-04-18T08:59:00.000-07:00

My legs hurt. My knee hurts. And I'm still very much afraid of the Big Sur Marathon.
I have been icing down my lower half, constantly. It's a beautiful thing. I got an e-mail from a lady in Denver about how some races run out of the GU and other various revitilization stuff they provide. She had heard a rumor that the faster runners take more than they need and by the time the slower runners, such as myself, make it to the aid stations, all the good stuff is gone.
That better not be the case. I can't think of anything worse than runners who know they will make it hogging the stuff that may make the difference with runners who may not make it.
Anyways, six days to go. I doubt I will hit the road again for any more runs. I would rather keep my legs rested and refreshed. I shall revisit this on Wednesday and make a final decision.

One week left...

2005-04-17T13:57:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
8.5	1:30:37	Monterey Bay Aquarium <-> Asilomar	10:37

How much duct tape will it take to keep it together down the home stretch?

It didn't feel like I was running a 10:40 pace on yesterday's run as I kept telling myself, take it easy big fella, take it easy, take it easy. I never thought anybody would have to tell me to take it easy, even myself. Taking it easy is one of the things I do best. In college "easy" was my middle name.

Okay, my middle name is Louis (which for some reason, I think, is cooler than Lewis) but still...

With a few days left, I'm making preparations. I bought a sweatbands yesterday, in black and white, since I've decided that I want to keep my "Brad Pitt in Legends of the Fall" hair after feeling my sweaty locks swish on my head.

In other news, I think I fought off a nascent (possibly psycho-somatic) cold. My shin still hurts, and, if that weren't enough, an old friend seemed to come back yesterday. Yes, playing a limited engagement, back by popular demand, it's the tendinitis in my (right) toe!

Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be here all week. Enjoy the buffet and pass the duct tape.

A double edge sword (or why I shouldn't have driven Hurricane point)

2005-04-16T14:25:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
16.3 MILES	3:01.23	My house, along bike trail, past Aquarium, past Lovers, past PG Golf course, turned around returned to Lexus dealership where I called wife and had her pick me up	11:08.10

I began my day by going to the Treadmill to pick up some GU and various items. I got there at 9:20 a.m. only to discovered it didn't open until 10 a.m. So, since I was already at the finish line (Crossroads), I decided to drive down the coast and check out the route. What a big mistake that was. If I wasn't already in fear of the hills, I am now petrified. I don't think the first 9 miles will be that difficult. The final 17 will pure hell. It isn't just Hurricane Point. There are a number of steep hills afterwards. Hills that I know I can't run very well. And I can only imagine the type of pain and suffering I will be feeling if I actually make it that far. Why couldn't I have chosen a flatter marathon? I truly believe if this marathon was flat I would have no problem finishing. But the sight of those hills has shaken my confidence to the core. Almost to the point that I contemplated driving off one of the cliffs and ending it all then. If only I hadn't put myself on the hook.

That said, I got home around 10:30, stretched and set out for my longest run to date. Many people warned me that I shouldn't try to push it one week before the marathon. Maybe not, but I needed to test myself somewhat. I needed to see how I will feel at mile 16.
So, off I went. My knee is still somewhat fragile and through the first five miles I felt OK. Then, around mile six, my knee started to hurt. Cursing because I felt if this happens on race day I am toast, I pushed through the pain. At mile 8, the pain subsided, at Mile 9 it was gone, though tender. I turned around then and headed back towards Seaside. Around mile 11, I began to get real hungry. This has been my routine. I had already downed two GU packs and decided to finish off the third and last. It didn't help much.
At mile 13 I became light headed. I kept drinking water and splashing some on my face. My time slowed but I didn't care. My legs began to tire somewhat but I kept pushing. At mile 14, I was really begininng to tire out. I kept pushing. At mile 16 I decided that might be enough. I called my wife and jogged maybe a half mile further before she picked me up.

So here's what I think. There is no doubt I am in trouble. My hope is that there will be fruit and better revitilizing stuff at the aid stations. I feel like if I can not get so hungry and so light headed, I may have a chance. The reality, though, is that I had trouble with 16.3 today and ran a very flat route. I have seen what awaits me and I am very afraid.

Everybody says the race atmosphere will push you through the tough spots. I have been relying on that since the turn of the year. I know that I did not put in enough miles through my training. But I cannot quit. I know this. Better to collapse on the course than to not show up. Maybe something miraculous will occur. Maybe some divine intervention will carry me to the finish. Maybe....

Oh, what's that? It's the Friday sack!

2005-04-15T17:40:00.000-07:00

This week we hear from Garbriella, belissima from Italy, and San Francisco runner Alyssa.

Hi Jonathan!

I'm Gabriella and I'm writing from Italy (so I'm sorry for my bad English), I found your blog because I read about that on an Italian newspaper of running.
I can understand what you and Ken are passing through because last year I had this insane idea to get ready for a marathon, the one I had been dreaming to run since years, the New York City marathon. All my friends was thinking I was crazy but I wanted to prove to everybody and to myself that if I really want it, with the right training, also a normal girl like me could run a MARATHON.
So I did it, I trained for 9 months and at the end I run the Ing NYC Marathon, 9 months just like having a baby and it was like having a baby! Very painfull but an unique experience! At the arrive I also cryed, you know after much effort I had reach my purpose, finally I got the medal! It was an unforgettable day…
Now I'm still running, I can'tstop, and maybe this will happen to you, too. I hope so, because so then you will keep on writing on your blog and I can keep on reading it!
I'm sure you will be great on the Big Sur Marathon, because you want it, and that's all.

So GO JON GO!
good luck for the marathon,
gabriella

Jonathan,

Taste your pain?
I'm living it.
Big Sur was my first marathon, and it was quite the first marathon to do. I had friends who would ask me if I wanted to do my first marathon on such a difficult course, and my response would be "26.2 miles is going to kill me no matter what, so I may as well kill myself while enjoying good scenery."
The low point: Hitting the last hill right around mile 25, a short but steep one. After running for 25 miles, with the previous 9 into a headwind, it was all I could do to not sit down and cry.
The high point: Finishing. And deciding that was kinda fun, and I wanted to do it again.
It was the most physically challenging thing I had done, but I totally loved it. I was cruising on that runner's high for days, even if I spent the first 3 of those days doing the post-marathon Frankenstein shuffle, and walking up stairs and curbs backwards. I didn't learn my lesson though, and did it 2 more times. I'm training (kinda, in my best gimpy way) for my 4th try at Big Sur.
I'm totally whacked in the head, I know. But I guess it takes a little bit of that to want to run 26.2 miles. In one day.

Good luck to you and Ken!
- Alyssa

You can check out Alyssa's blog about her training by clicking here!

Water worries

2005-04-15T10:07:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5 mi.	47:49 mins.	T is for terrible, R is for running, E is for everyone, A is for annoyed, D is for doing, M is for miles, I is for indoors, L and L.	9:33 mins./mi.

If you're a runner, you've probably seen this article about water drinking and the Boston Marathon.

In fact, if there's a marathon in your recent past or near future (my marathon is only nine freaking days away) there's a great possibility that your mother, sister, father, brother, great aunt, boss, mailroom boy and panhandler on the street have accosted you to warn you of the great risks of brain explosion from overhydration.

As if I won't have enough problems on race day. It's not enough that I have at least 14 hill, including the dread Hurricane Point to carry myself up and down. It's not enough that I have shinsplints. It's not enough that I'll run the race and people will wonder what freak occurrance of evolution caused a great white whale to mutate and make its way out of the deep blue sea, up a cliff, onto highway 1 and into a singlet.

Now I have to worry about drinking too much Gatorade and getting hyponatremia.

Drink too little water, I'll get dehydrated and die. Drink too much water, I'll get overhydrated and my head will explode after a seizure. Oh yeah, and I'll die.

It seems like, either way, I'll be joining a certain beloved Pole in heaven soon. Oh no, wait, I'm Jewish. We don't have heaven. We just sleep in the dirt. Oh well, I guess after all this training I could use a good nap.

Top 10 Reasons to Run a Marathon

2005-04-14T10:27:00.000-07:00

Do you want to run a marathon? All you're missing is a good reason. Well, I've saved you the trouble of coming up with one. Because I've written 10 reasons to run a marathon in today's Herald. I've done the work, all you have to do is click on the link!

A sense of finality

2005-04-13T11:49:00.000-07:00

Last night was the final Big Sur Marathon Training Clinic and I won a prize for perfect attendance! Aren't I special? Yeeaaaahhh!

The topic of the clinic was final preparations, basically sketching out what we need to be thinking of on the day before the race.

My final preparations include:

1) Completing my living will. I don't want a feeding tube unless it delivers pureed Krispy Kreme donuts. Then I want three feeding tubes.

2) Completing my last will and testiment. I've already willed by most valuable posession: my Playstation 2. I hope my friend's thumbs can withstand the arthritis.

3) Carbo-loading. This is my favorite part. Pass the bread... pudding!

4) Staying off my feet in the two days leading up to the race. Isn't it ironic that my final prep for the marathon involves a reversion to my former lifestyle? I plan on taking to the couch with a vengeance, perhaps watching all three old Star Wars movies and then the first two Godfather films. (Confidential to Fredo: You broke my heart.)

5) Packing my "marathon bag." This all-important sack contains all you need to get through the morning of the race. Mine will include Xanax to calm my nerves, a pre-filled syringe of Morphine to dull the pain, several fried peanut-butter and bannana sandwiches for energy, and a picture of my dear Priscilla.

Hey- wait, how did I get Elvis's marathon bag? (Oh well, I'll roll with it. I already have his hair.)

It's a dog-eat-jon world.

2005-04-12T10:30:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
NOT SURE	44:04 mins.	Around PG	9-12 mins./mi.

Ah. The taper continues. So does my leg pain.

For yesterday evening's run, I decided to go out for somewhere between 1/2 hour and an hour, and just run whrerever I felt like running. What fun!

My route took me down toward the ocean and then into the rough of the Pacific Grove Golf Course. Running up the fifth hole, I saw a woman in the distance walking a beautiful golden retriever (off the leash, of course).

As I ran closer, the cute little 80-pound doggie approached me, wagging his tail and giving a friendly bark or three. As is my custom, I smiled, and laughed, and barked back. Rough!

In retrospect, this may have been a mistake.

The dog started chasing me, running up on my side, jumping and trying its best to take a chunk out of my arm. All the while, its owner looked on in horror, screaming "No!" "Come Back Here!" "No! No! Bad dog!" As much as I appreciated her efforts, they were futile. Luckily, I was able to run away from the bloodthirsty beast and continue my run.

Now, it's confirmed. I am a delicious piece of meat.

5 at 5

2005-04-12T06:41:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5 MILES	1:00 hour	From my house to Burger King and back	12 minutes a mile

I got up at 5 a.m. to run 5 miles. I figured I might as well make at least an effort to run early in the morning, seeing as the marathon starts at 7 a.m. and I will be on bus to the starting line at 4 a.m.
To my surprise, it was a peaceful and pleasant run. I certainly didn't push myself. That, and the fact that the route is quite hilly was the reason I was so slow. But at this point, why rush things?
It was dark, I could barely see the road. But it was nice. Cool. A bit of the morning breeze into my face. The occasional passing car illuminating my path.
The only problem happened right near the end. My left knee began to tighten and though there was no real pain, I felt a slight twinge. Had I ran any further, I think it would have really started to ache. That is somewhat worrisome, but what am I to do about now? I think it is in my best interest to let all concerns go. At this point, I don't have much time to heal nor do I really want to take any more time off. I will take it easy, and see what happens.
If only this marathon was flat....

13 days left

2005-04-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

Lucky 13.

The race is a little less than two weeks away, and I can't wait.

At this point in the game, some people would be worried about nagging injuries, or diet, or getting enough sleep, or fine-tuning their last wills and testiments.

Not me.

What's keeping me up at night is my hair. Look at the picture on top of the blog, taken back in November. Look at the picture over to the right. That's from a month or so later. Hellooo, Elvis!

Guess what?

I haven't had a haircut since I began training. At first, truth be told, it was just laziness. Then, I started using the race as an excuse. "i'm not going to get a haircut," I said. "I want to look like Steve Prefontaine, my flowing locks following me across the finish line."

But now, my hair is longer than Pre's. It's long like Slater in Dazed and Confused. It's long like Axl Rose. It'l long like Bo Derek in 10, though not in braids. My girlfriend hates it. My sister hates it. But bad girls think its sexy. And I'm a bad, bad man.

But it's in my eyes and I'm beginning to feel a little like that sheep dog who battled Wile E. Coyote in Loony Toons.

Unfortunately, now, it's a Thing. Now I'm worried that if I cut my hair before the race, it will be bad mojo. What if my hair is the source of my strength? What if I play my own Delilah to my own Sampson? Would that be perverse? (What if I put biblical references in each post?)

So, should I shave it off for aerodynamic purposes, or should I continue my exsitance as a dirty, stinky, jogging hippie?

It's a hairy problem.

One thing's for sure: I will not put it in a pony tail. I WILL NOT BE THAT GUY!

Dont worry

2005-04-10T18:54:00.000-07:00

I haven't put in too many big runs this past week, but have managed to get in some smaller ones. I've been active, though I did roll my ankle in a basketball tournament Saturday at the Good Old Day in PG. I also nearly broke my index finger on my right hand.
Other than that, I've got two weeks to go and am feeling very confident and strong. So... reallly, don't worry.

Hurricane Point Survivor (or I get beat silly by an old guy)

2005-04-09T17:49:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
9.7 mi.	1:48 ish.	Mile 7 of Big Sur Marathon Course to Mile 17, including the dread Hurricane Point	around 11 mins./mi.

All the while Kenny and I have been training for the Big Sur Death March, a secret rival has been lurking in our office. He's been training in secret, cloistered in the trees of Pebble Beach. But this morning, he came out to play with Mr. Tubby, and it wasn't pretty.

He's a mild-mannered man on the outside. But inside, the fires of competition burn like a plate of spicy bar-be-cue. You wouldn't know it from looking at him working at his computer or subtly directing the actions of the sports department, but the Sports Editor of The Monterey Herald is a running beast.

I know, because I witnessed it first-hand.

It's been a week since the editor, Kenny's boss, declared publicly that he, too, would be running the Big Sur Marathon. He lamented that others may cure their mid-life crises with cute little sports car while he chose 26.2 miles of suffering. So be it.

He had run strong and fast in his triaing, which had been going on for 8 months, a whole 60 days more than Kenny and I have been at work. But one thing still struck icy fear into his heart: cruel Hurricane Point. So he suggested that we run it in training, together, today.

Despite ruining the race-day surprise and the great chance of getting hit by a car on the scenic but shoulder-less Hwy. 1, I was game. We drove down this morning, dropping off my car at Mile 17, and driving down to Mile 7 in his. It gave us a chance to behold the mountain we would climb: 2 miles, 550 feet of pure paved precipice, against what must have been a 75-mile-per-hour headwind. Ouch.

Arriving at Mile 7, we got out of the car, stretched and went on our way. Two miles later, the middle-aged editor was so far in the distance, I could hardly see him. So much for the icy fear in his heart. The fear had been replaced by fire.

I plugged along through the shinsplint-pain zone to the bottom of the Point. By halfway up, I was winded, but my legs were finally getting loose. I actually sped up the second half of the climb. And when I got to the top, I put my arms up and allowed the wind to buffet me around. It was a sense of accomplishment and relief.

The relief lasted about a mile downhill, until I faced a second, smaller version of the monster hill. Then there was another hill. In fact, the rest of the run was a lot like the stock market: up down up down up down.

I knew I was close to the end when I saw the Editor sprinting at me from the other direction. He had finished about 10 minutes earlier. He had arrived at the car and was coming back to check on me. He feared that I got hit by a car and was coming back to steal my wallet. How sweet of him.

We ran the last .25 miles together (him for the third time). I swear, I've never been happier to see the blue of my Subaru.

In summary:

1) Someone two decades older than me beat me out of my shorts.

2) Doing the big hill makes me confident that I can do it on race day.

3) It's all the other hills that worry me.

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5 mi.	52:45 mins.	Friday night treadmill party	10:30 mins./mi.

I left work early and went to the gym last night. See, I'm not completely worthless.

Ye olde Fridaye Sacke 'o Mail

2005-04-08T10:03:00.000-07:00

I haven't run yet today, but I will. This time I promise.

Anyway, here's the fat sack (o' mail)!

Hello Jonathan,

I read your column for the first time on Friday, and the next day our training path crossed on the bike path in Pebble Beach, one mile before the Spyglass road -- I thought: I saw this guy before ... c'est pas possible!, this is the big guy from the Herald on training for Big Sur IM. And I learn today that you were running a 21-24 miles via the hills. Impressive! And you are still in good rounded form. How can this be?

And no, I am not this young tall blond that passed you near Spanish Bay...

-- Mario
Pacific Grove

Hi Jonathan,

Oh my gosh, you are hilarious! I love your daily blog of the Longest Mile. I look forward to reading it daily.

A friend of mine who lives here in Dallas, Texas, is training for the Big Sur marathon and stumbled upon your website and forwarded it to me. First off, you are a fabulous writer, something I truly admire. Second, I think it's great you are training for this marathon and I know that you can do it despite any road blocks that may come your way.

I decided to train for the Dallas White Rock Marathon back in 1997, shortly after my mother passed away. I thought it would be a great obsession to get my mind off the grieving and also shed some extra pounds. Well, I did manage to shed some pounds, and on occasion, it did help the grieving process, but a month away from the actual marathon, I ran a half marathon and I ended up getting a severe upper respiratory infection, which slowed me down mentally and physcially. I didn't do the marathon that year, which was terribly discouraging. But, I decided to train again in 1998. That extra 12 months helped and I was determined to accomplish that goal. I remember, I could barely sleep the night before, b/c I was so pumped up. I must have gone to the bathroom 4 times before the gun went off. I felt great, hydrated, fueled and ready to run the full race. At mile 10, my running partner stopped to pee. I didn't. I felt great. By mile 13, I had to pee, and when I crawled into the stinky portapotty, I only trickled. It burned like hell. I had a bladder infection...half way into the marathon. I thought I was going to die. I thought I would have to quit. But, I had trained too long and hard for this, I would just have to muttle through it all. I continued to drink water, gatorade and eventually, the pain in my feet and legs overpowered the pain in my bladder. I managed to "shuffle" my way through the 26.2 mile adventure and it was the best feeling ever. Needless to say, it was my first and last marathon. I swore I would never put myself through that again...and I haven't. I do still run on ocassion to try and stay in some sort of shape. But, my latest passion for the past few years is ice hockey. I Iove playing this game.

Anyway, I just wanted to cheer you on, and tell you, even though it's probably nothing new, make sure you drink plenty of fluids, eat when you need that extra energy and be aware of your body. Don't hold your piss too long, even if you feel great. :-)

I'm inspired by your efforts, and your creative writing skills. You're amazing. If you start feeling weak or discouraged, just keep in mind that there's a girl in Dallas, Texas who will be anxiously awaiting your "blog" and/or story on how you finished your first marathon. Go Jonathan Go!!!!!

Helen
3rd Grade Teacher
Dallas, TX

Acts of wretched villiainy

2005-04-07T15:40:00.000-07:00

Kenny has a brand spanking new Herald running column where he casts the story of The Longest Mile and our training for the Big Sur Marathon in a cinematic light.

I wonder who'd play me: Ben Affleck? Jared Leto? Vincent D'Onofrio? Frank Black? Ashton Kutcher? Oliver Platt? Dom DeLouise?

The role of Kenny will be played by Hilary (put me out of my misery) Swank.

A pattern of failure developing?

2005-04-07T10:22:00.000-07:00

I stayed at work until 11 p.m. last night.

I was waiting to go out to dinner with my special lady.

We went to the only place open that late: Denny's. At least I didn't order the "Moons Over My Hammy" sandwich. I did eat a chicken sandwich, grilled, with BBQ sauce and hash browns.

I planned to run this morning, but woke up with indigesteon (big surprise) and heart burn and an overwhelming sense of shame. I hope that I haven't come this far to self-destruct in the last few weeks, but I think that despite taking two days off running and eating loads of crap, I'll still be okay, as long as I can get my act back together.

It's time to sack up or sack out. Tonight it's back to the treadmill.

It is 9:30 p.m. Pacific

2005-04-06T21:30:00.000-07:00

And I have not run. I am still at work. I am worthless. But I will try to redeem myself by running at least 8 miles tomorrow morning. Early.

In such a way, I will prove to myself that I am not a complete slug.

Taper or Torpor?

2005-04-06T11:21:00.000-07:00

I don't know when the last time I woke up early for a run was.

The alarm goes off. I hit the snooze bar. It goes off again. I reset it to 9 a.m.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe it's daylight savings time, or maybe I'm reverting to my lazy self.

Sleep badness isn't the only place where I'm slipping.

Since I was running wicked late for work today, I stopped at a local bakery to buy a bag of cookies to disperse to my colleagues, hoping they would overlook my tardiness. While there, I bought a delicious apple danish for myself, and managed to get my greasy mitt into the bag of cookies, too.

I feel like a a toddler: if I see something, I have to put it in my mouth. If I don't see something, I have to put it in my mouth. I can't seem to stop eating junk food. I'm worried that I'll blow up in the last three weeks, turning the Big Sur Marathon into an athletlic version of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, except I'll be playing the part of the gigantic
Garfield balloon.

Pass the lasagne.

Stayin' Alive (running 5)

2005-04-05T11:43:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5 mi.	49:49 mins.	Hamster Ramp	9:58 mins./mi.

I got a massage. I ran five on a treadmill last night.

I had a realization.

I didn't really get winded last night, even as I did two miles at around 9:10, which, for me, is fast. My heart and lungs could be in their best shape ever. But my legs, my poor legs. Still tired from the big run Saturday, were resistant for all five miles.

I welcome the blessed taper into my heart.

Sore winner

2005-04-04T11:33:00.000-07:00

After running an undetermined number of miles on Saturday, I expected that I would be sore. Big surprise, I was right for once.

Here is a list of the sore muscles I have today.

My abs, wherever they're hiding under my belly, feel like they're being stretched from the inside by little men with forks.

My left quadraceps are twicthing every few minutes or so, like there's a jumping bean hiding inside it. My right quad just feels like someone punched it.

My glutes feel like I was on the recieving end of a swift kick in them, something that my parents say I've needed for a long time.

My calves feel like veal. My hamstrings feel like stringcheese. (Okay, I don't know what this means, but doesn't it sound neat?)

My forearms are sorearms from swinging them so hard running up and down hills.

My back feels like it carried 225 pounds for more than 20 miles. (Oh, wait, it did do that.)

Anyway, you get the picture. Tonight will be a massage followed by 5 miles on the treadmill. Slow.

Lost in Pebble Beach (Or I'm ready!!!)

2005-04-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
Somewhere between 21 and 24	4:18:14	Downtown PG to Spanish Bay to Peter Hay to Poppy Hills to Highway 1 to Pebble Beach (Carmel Gate)to MPCC to CC Gate to Home	Probably around 11:15 min./mi. or so

Two weeks made a load of difference since my last long run, a troubling 22-mile affair that had me cryin' for my momma.

Yesterday's run confirmed several things for me, in order of importance:

1) I am ready to run the Big Sur Marathon.

2) Running the marathon is going to take toughness, because it will be hard and painful.

3) The signs and roads in Pebble Beach are confusing, especially when you've been running for three hours.

4) Getting hit by a German or Japanese luxury car probably kills you just as much as getting hit by a Chevy.

Now, onto our story.

I had obtained permission from a buddy at work to enter Pebble Beach by car, bypassing the $8.50 fee that the prestigious gated community usually charges us plebes for the priviledge of driving through its gem-encrusted streets. This gave me the opportunity to map out a route running from sea level up to the tippy-top of the Del Monte Forest, looping around the summit once,(picking up a bottle of gatorade I hung on a roadside sign) then heading back down the hill and north to Pacific Grove in time to collapse in a cramped mess in my apartment. The total distance was to be 20.7 miles.

Oops.

The first part of my run went perfectly. Over the first 40 minutes, my shin splints hurt a lot, so I took it easy. Forty seems to be a lucky number for me, because the pain disappeared at 40 minutes, which was good. Soon I was chugging up hills, Spyglass Hill, then another hill, then a big, long ascent that doesn't really have a name. It was tough, but I was comforted that I had a new bottle of Gatorade waiting for me at Mile 11.

I got to what I thought was the top of the hill and then turned. Then I turned again. All the sudden, (30 minutes later) the scenery was the same. I had gone around in a circle. I hadn't seen my bottle of Gatorade. I had been running for 2:15 minutes. I was completely lost, although completely lost on a road with sweeping views of the decending sun over Monterey Bay.

So I took another turn, and was greeted by a steep hill. After plodding up that, I found myself on another circular, winding road with more sweeping views of Monterey Bay. I heard the vultures circling overhead. My gatorade had been depleted for 20 minutes and I was certain I was nearing a very scenic end. At least, I thought, perhaps my ghost would haunt Del Monte Forest, stealing people's expensive golf balls depressing multi-million dollar property values.

Ten more minutes of running, and I realized that this was not to be. At 2:35 on the stopwatch, I found my Gatorade, and my previous wrong turn had been corrected. I had no idea how much longer I made my run, but I'm guessing my unexpected detour added at least two miles.

Soon, I was at the Highway 1 gate at the summit of Pebble Beach. I flew down 17-Mile Drive against traffic as I raced the sunset. With no shoulder on the road, Many Benzes, Beemers and Lexi (that's the plural of Lexus) came within inches of hitting me. But with a painful stitch in my side and a good bit of oxygen deprivation, I didn't really seem to care. Besides, they were probably all well-insured.

I reached the bottom of the hill at 3:10 on the watch or so and had about 6.5 miles to go. Up hill slow, down hill fast, up hill slow, down hill fast, all in the dark. By the time I got to the Pebble Beach gate, exiting into Pacific Grove, I was filled with joy and covered with salt.

I had escaped being hit by cars. I was almost home. And I had enough gas left in my tank to speed up a little. It was all downhill from there and I coasted back to my apartment.

I've run about 530 miles since I started training. There a three weeks left to taper for the race. I'm ready. It's all downhill from here.

Sink or swim? A little of both

2005-04-02T15:12:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
13 MILES	2:38.12	My house, past Lovers, past Asilomar, past PG High School, into Pebble Beach down to Spanish Bay then to my parents	12:10 per mile

The knee felt no better, no worse. I had to run, one way or the other. A mile into it, it started to hurt. At about a mile and half, I decided to bag it. As I turned back towards my house, I began to think that I had only 3 weeks until the marathon. A decision had to be made. It was time to sink or swim.
Screw it, I thought. I will either run through the pain or blow out my knee. Either way, my problem will be solved. What did Shakespear say about the best laid plans?
Well, the pain never went away, though it was tolerable. I pushed past the Wharf and was feeling great otherwise. Got to the Aquarium, no great white, still a lot of people lining up to get in there. Past Lovers, I could still feel some real tension in the knee, but kept going. Around mile seven, I popped a few Advil and downed my only GU pack. As I got to Mile 10, I started to go up Sunset, a medium sized hill. At that point, I really felt like I could have turned around and jogged another 10 miles back to my house.
Funny how 10 minutes later I felt entirely different.
The hill just about killed me. I tired quickly, and the pain in my knee grew. As I reached the top, I took a right turn on Congress, heading towards Forest Grove Elementary. Past that school, I made it to the Forest Lodge gate and began to really feel quite dizzy. My energy was gone and I felt really quite hungary. I turned into Pebble, and took Congress down to Spanish Bay. As I trodded down the hill, I almost fainted. My head felt light and my vision began to blur. The only real sensation I was aware of was throbbing in my knee. Once I made it to Spanish, I started to walk. I had to, I really thought I was going to black out.
Well one minute turned into two and when I started to run again, my knee said, "I don't think so, bud." It hurt, like someone had driven a nail into it and was applying more pressure each time I stepped. Even when I stopped running and began walking again, the pain was still there.
I walked the last half mile back to my parents, killing the decent time I had made. Not that time is the important factor in all this. My knee, however, is.
I don't know the solution to this. I had found a way for the majority of this run to deal with the pain. I believe had I not ran the hill and became dizzy, I could have finished 16 or 17 miles. Honestly.
The problem, naturally, is that Big Sur is nothing but hills. I think I will consult my soft tissue guy, and hopefully, he will find a way to make it all go away. My legs, by the way, feel fine. My feet feel fine. My hips, my back, my whatever, feel fine. It's the knee. If if fix that....well, it will be a wait and see proposition.

Friday Mailbag!!!

2005-04-01T13:47:00.000-08:00

WARNING: This letter, from "M." in Los Gatos, is a little bit gross. But it's also poop in your pants funny!

Dear Jonathan and Ken,

Today I came across your marathon training column. I really enjoyed reading about your experiences! Wonderful to have a window into how others are experiencing training for the BSIM besides myself.

About 16 miles into an 18 mile run this week, the question kept popping into my head, "Why am I doing this?" The scary thing was that I could NOT think of an answer. It was suddenly eluding me. But reading of your experiences has helped rev up some courage & motivation to see this thing through.

THANK YOU!!!

I have to share the low point in my marathon training with you. During my training, I'd gradually put on 7 lbs. (What's the deal with THAT?!). I decided to go on a diet to try to lose some of it. Well, I learned the hard way that dieting and marathon training don't mix.

In February I started on a very hilly 12 mile trail run in the Santa Cruz Mountains. After 6 miles of UP, I reached the top. Right about that same time, suddenly all energy left me. I was 6 miles in the middle of Sierra Azul Open Space Preserve which is very isolated, and I could barely function. My system was really whacked out.

I slowly continued on my way, and I started to get hit by very strong intestinal cramps. In another mile I realized I was going to have "the runs" in a serious way. So out in the middle of nowhere I had to "go." Don't know how to express this delicately, but as there was no Charmin to be found, I had to decide what my next tissue of choice would be. Wet soggy leaves? (it was a drizzly day.) My socks? Naw, potential blisters without them. My undies? No, I was too depleted & weak to even take my sport tights off. So I sacrificed my favorite running bra. (Geez, what IS the protocol in such a situation??!!).

To make matters worse, when I started back down the trail, suddenly everything began to go dark. I realized I was starting to pass out. Not wanting to fall, I got myself down on the ground. I was feeling pretty screwed up by this time. I was extremely weak, alone, chilled, no cell phone, and I was on an isolated fire road about 5 miles from my car.

The urge to just lie down there in the road and take a nap was SO strong. But more cramps & runs called.

My story ends anti-climatically, thank goodness, but HAPPILY, in that I was able to walk back to my car.

I am now a firm believer in plenty of carbs the night before a long run!

Wishing you both a great time at the marathon. See you there!

(dang, I just loved that bra.....)

Best Regards,
Los Gatos Marathoner in Training

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.

2005-04-01T10:41:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
About 5	52:02 mins.	Home to Fisherman's Wharf R/T	10:24 min./mi.

In the aftermath of my massage, my legs felt fresh and good, like tuna steaks packed in white deli paper. I wanted to run fast last night and desire, as in many matters of the heart, won out over common sense.

Common sense says you start out slow if you're trying to get over an injury. Common sense says you don't start out your run at a 7:40/mi. pace when the first half mile is straight downhill and you have shinsplints.

Last night, common sense took a brief vacation and pain was my reward.

I flew down the half mile to the ocean as quickly as my legs could carry me and then headed north on the recreational trail. By two miles, my legs hurt a lot. Left shin/calf, right shin/calf, right hip, glute, quad. All either stiff, on fire, or feeling as if they had been bludgeoned with a meat mallet.

I stopped. I stretched. I skipped for about 100 yards, because I couldn't put weight on my left leg. Then things settled down and I was able to grind out the next three miles, with the pain receding as I ran.

A bag of frozen peas and a bag of frozen chicken later, (and a fistful of Advil) I felt almost better. I swear, by the end of this thing, I'll be using entire TV dinners for theraputic purposes.

I'll post an explosively funny Friday mailbag later today, so stick around!

Pass the pasta, pickles, chocolate and cheese!

2005-03-31T10:24:00.000-08:00

Guess what? It's Thursday. Time for a new Herald running column! Reading the blog, some of you might have noticed that I like food. The column, like my waistline, expands on this theme. Bon appetite!

Oh, and I'll run five miles tonight. So don't worry.

Pissed off and fuming

2005-03-30T14:16:00.000-08:00

Tried to run today but guess what? My knee hurts. Bad. I can't put much real pressure on it. Boo hoo hoo, I know. The thing that pisses me off the most is I can't think of any reason why it should hurt. I didn't twist, bend it wrong, fall on it or bang it into anything. It just hurts. Just what I needed some three weeks before. I'm so happy about all this. Can't you tell? Doesn't it just radiate from the words you are reading?

Massage magic

2005-03-30T10:25:00.000-08:00

Even as my bag of frozen peas is wrapped around my shin, I am tentatively ready to say that my leg might be getting better.

The key, maybe, was an extraordinarily painful massage I had last night. Now, I'm no stranger to painful massages, but this one was even more painful.

The massage therapist I see practices something called "release" which is not nearly as erotic as my dirty-minded readers might assume. It involves taking either two fingers or a fist, and wedging them deep into my abdomen or under my rib cage to release the tension from a muscle that apparently runs down the inside of your back, connecting your feet directly to your eyes, or somesuch thing. Long story short: when she is releasing this muscle, it feels something like when a baby alien is born in an "Alien" movie, except that in this case, the alien is trying to GET INTO my abdomen, not get out.

Regardless, coming out of the massage, my legs felt better than they have in weeks, so spring that I actually skipped and hopped to my car on the way to the Big Sur Marathon training clinic. Things are getting a little thin around the clinics, and I'm not talking about my (still robust) waistline. A crowd that initially numbered over 100 has dwindled to less than 20. Even my theoretical training partner Ken (heart of a champion) Ottmar has not attended the last half dozen or so. For shame.'

Last night's clinic was the second in a row focusing on actural Big Sur course strategy. One speaker, a world-class distance runner, told us that the bottom line is that the person who does best on race day is the one who's best equipped to deal with pain. If my leg is truly getting better, than maybe the injuiry has been a blessing, because it certainly has been a real pain.

Fast Five

2005-03-29T10:18:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5 mi.	46:17 mins.	treadmill	9:20 min./mi.

So, here's the plan, people. Listen up!

During the week, I'm going to run fewer miles and try to run them faster. The longest week-day run I'm-a-gonna do will be five miles.

I ran five miles today. I might run five tomorrow. I'll definitely run at least four on Thursday.

I will run 1 more long run. On Saturday. It will be between 20 and 22 miles.

Then I will go back to five-milers. Or, if I feel like it, less.

The next weekend, I'll run something longer than five miles. Maybe 10. Maybe 12. No more than that.

Then, five-milers from then on to the race. Five miles. Five miles. Not six. Not seven. Certainly not 8.

I will try to run them fast. I will develop speed. I will sweat and smile.

I will be ready for the race. My leg will not fall off. I hope.

That is all.

Saturday Six

2005-03-28T10:04:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
6 mi.	58:30	treadmill	less than 10 min. mi.

Four. Weeks. Left.

Thank the lord.

I'm procrastinating before every run becuase I dread the shin pain. I had planned to run in a 10k on Saturday morning, but didn't set my alarm.

I slept until noon, then had a big lunch. The big lunch precluded me from running until the dusky afternoon. Accordingly, instead of running outside, with big icky hills, I ran on the nice, flat, rubbery treadmill.

My legs still hurt, buty I ran four mile intervals at 9:40, 9:22, 9:06 and 9:06. Good for me. Then I quit, three miles short of the 9 I had planned on running. I haven't run today, and I'm not sure that I will, but maybe I'll try.

I'm already trying to work up the mental strength for my last long run, another 22, and then we'll be at the blessed taper. It's a good thing, too, because The Fear is getting thick aroungd here. I fear that that crazed lunatic Kenny might try to do something rash. I've installed a mirror in my desk so I can watch my back while I work and I've taken to wearing shinguards and a catcher's mask around the office to fend of any possible Tonya Harding-type behavior.

The news is not so good

2005-03-27T23:37:00.000-08:00

My knee hurt worse today than yesterday. Most times, it feels fine. I walk without noticing anything. But then an awkward step or off-balanced move and immediately a rather sharp and painful jolt hits the area, causing my left leg to buckle.

I don't know what to make of it. As I sit here typing, I feel totally normal. I have even tested it by jogging down the hall or across the newsroom tonight at work. I just don't trust it.

Well, hopefully rest will cure all. I'll update tomorrow.

What's in a knee?

2005-03-26T15:45:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
11 MILES	2:01.22	My house along the ocean to PG high to my parents	11:02 per mile

I gotta tell you...I'm getting stronger. Problem today, however, was a bad pain in my left knee. It didn't throb like an ache, it was sharp like I had twisted it. But I didn't, so I'm a little baffled.

Anyways, I've said stuff like this before, but my legs felt great. I wasn't tired. I could have done at least five more. I just hope this knee thing gets better quickly because I can't put alot of repetitive pressure on it.

Anyways, that's it.

Friday mail sack.

2005-03-25T10:38:00.000-08:00

I didn't run today, but I didn't plan to, so it's not a failure.

I didn't get much mail this week, so that's kind of a failure. But I did get a delightful letter from Sandy, who helps me put the difficulties of my last long training run into perspective. At least nothing bit me last saturday, although I'm sure my salt-covered flesh would have been tasty.

Subject: Bag of peas
Date: Mon, 21 Mar 2005
From: "Sandy"
To:

Jonathan,

I've really enjoyed reading your columns and your "adventures" in running. Even though I am relegated to walking because of back problems and will only be able to do the Power Walk at Big Sur, I can totally relate to your trainings.
I have had many, many horror stories in trainings over the last 5 years while training for various marathons and half marathons and have found the Contour paks (www.contourpak.com) from Moraga are much better than peas.
I bought my first one at the Big Sur Marathon in 2000 and have purchased others since then (when one body part hurts, there is usually another equally painful spot on the other side of the body hurting too).
Your painful 22 miler will make you mentally stronger for the marathon. Even if things do not go perfectly, you will know YOU CAN DO IT!!! When things get tough for me I remember my last long training before my first marathon when I was doing 26 miles for the training.
I was bitten by a dog on mile 15 so my leg was throbbing and my stride was thrown off. For the remainder of the miles I had muscle spasms in all sorts of weird places because of my strange gait, blisters which I had never had before, and I was a physical and emotional mess.
My husband waits at each mile for me on the dirt roads where I train and all I could think of when I saw his truck down river was that all I had to do was to make it to the truck.
Just as I was almost there, he drove off down the road. When I finally got to where he stopped and asked if that was 26 miles, he smiled and said no, you did the whole 26.2! If I had the strength, I would have strangled him.
A few months later he was smart enough to call from his truck instead of telling me face to face that his odometer on his truck was off and I had actually gone 27.5 miles that day. Why didn't I stop when bitten - because I had to get the long one done and I did not want to repeat those 15 miles!
I know your next training run will go better and I hope you fly like the wind! I will cheer for you at Big Sur when you run by me.

Sincerely,

A fan from the CA/OR border

Angry, Angry Kenny

2005-03-24T15:30:00.000-08:00

Kenny wrote a very angry column about his training for the Big Sur Marathon in today's Herald. The tone is defiant, fiery and upset. Come April 24, he will finish.

By the way, a newsroom spy reported that they saw Mr. Ottmar snacking on a double bacon cheeseburger during his shift Sunday night. Shame. Shame.

Hitting the bottle again

2005-03-24T11:25:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
12 mi.	2:12:27 hrs.	Home - Monterey Bay Aqauarium - PG High R/T	11:03 mins./mi.

Sometimes I wonder when running will be fun again.

Oh, sure, there are moments in each run that are enjoyable, there are times that are little epiphanies, like today, when, at mile 4, the pain went away and I could run normal for a while, or, at mile 8, when Axl Rose invaded my head, screeching "Welcome 2 the Jungle" as I sang along the the alarm of sea gulls and senior citizens alike.

Welcome to the Jungle, indeed.

This morning's 12 was another run where almost everything hurt at one time or another, with the loudest complaints continuing to come from my left leg. In the last month, I've tried to control my mileage, I've tried to move some training off pavement to the treadmill, and I hit the Advil hard, until one night I had a bad stomach ache, hopefully caused by eating too much cheese.

Cutting more miles with a month left before the race is not an option. In fact, I think my conditining has actually slipped in the last few weeks, although it's possible that running with a limp takes more energy than having good form. So, now, after a few days off ibuprofen because of an upset tummy, I'm back on the horse.

Magic beans, down the hatch. Bring your sweet relief.

p.s. Kenny wrote a really angry column for today's paper lashing out at me and his boss for doubting him behind his back. I'll post it later today, so it can get the attention it deserves.

A leisurely 8

2005-03-23T12:26:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
8 MILES	1:32.32	MY HOUSE TO THE WHARF AND BACK	11:34 PER MILE

Ah 8 miles. Nice and easy. No need to push. Time is not the important element. Consistency is. I admit, that has rarely been the case throughout. But I feel good. Nothing hurts. The last mile up hill was difficult. I am a bit afraid of Hurricane Point. But alas, what is there to worry about? I will either make it or not. What is the difference? I tried, did I not?

I am a bad bad boy.

2005-03-23T10:49:00.000-08:00

I didn't even bother hitting the snooze button today. At 6 a.m., I just reset my alarm to 8:15 and went back to sleep.

I can't seem to wake up for a morning run anymore, expecially when its drizzling out. The antiseptic comfort of the treadmill is readily available to me after work, and allows me a convenient excuse for not getting out of bed.

The thing is, I've never seemed to need an excuse for staying in bed. It's something that seems to come very naturally to me. Maybe it's the comfort of my appropriately named comforter, maybe it's the knowledge that if I get out of bed, I'll have to wash the drool off my face. Maybe it's the sweet, sweet dreams of frolicking through donut shops in South Beach with supermodels drinking beer and chocolate milk.

But I'm guessing that I'm just lazy.

Sooo, sooo tired...

2005-03-22T10:18:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
6 mi.	1:08:58	treadmill: 3 miles at incline	11 something mins./mi.

I think my legs are shot.

I wanted to run 7 mi. on the treadmill last night. I only ran 6. I think my legs are still tired from Saturday.

Thankfully, I'm taking today off. No running, not even to the refrigerator.

The most interesting thing that happened yesterday at the gym: a middle-aged woman got onto the treadmill next to me, and noticed that I was making the floor, her treadmill, and everything around me shake with the pounding of my steps.

As her water bottle bobbled precariously on the control panel of her machine while she walked at a 2.5 mph pace, she kept shooting me looks and giving me a sort-of-whatthe.eff.- gesture with her hands.

When I quit running at 6 mi. and turned off my iPod, she had the nerve to comment that she'd never experienced such shaking when she was on a treadmill before, with the subtext that she found the whole sordid episode to be greatly disconcerting to her.

Why didn't she just come out and say that people who weigh more than 200 pounds shouldn't be allowed to run at her gym? The nerve.

Ode to frozen peas

2005-03-21T11:23:00.000-08:00

Oh bag of frozen peas,
I love the way you crunch,
when I slam you on the table,
breaking you up for duty.

Crispy cold you comfort,
bonded to my shin,
cooling off my sweaty legs
tied on with an old sock.

In minutes you are squishy,
the heat has made you soft,
green liquid leaking out,
but pain's replaced by numbness.

Back in the box you go,
on the shelf next to the chicken,
where you wait for me to take you
out into the world again.

Your duty it is sacred,
for you will not be eaten,
like carrots, ice cream or burritos,
you, doctor of the freezer.

p.s. I've apparently lost my mind.

If suffering gives life meaning... (or 22 miles of ouch)

2005-03-20T17:06:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
22 mi.	4:29:42 hrs.	Downtown PG to 12th Street in Marina R/T	12:16 mins./mi.

Some Russian novelist said that life without suffering is meaningless. Well, on Saturday, my life had just as much meaning as I could handle.

How bad was it?

It was as painful as listening to Poison's "Every Rose has a Thorn" for eight straight hours while drinking eight bottles of sickly sweet Boone's malt beverage.

But let's go back a couple days to find the origins of my pain. On Thursday, I felt myself getting drowsy, with an itchy throat. This wasn't just a bad case of ennui, I was coming down with a cold. Knowing in the back of my mind that I had to run 22 in a couple days, and confirming once again that the marathon has, uh, skewed my priorities, I decided Friday morning that I would stay home and try to sleep my cold away. I drank lots of water, ate some lozenges, and the cold started to clear up.

That night, something else happened. After a day of subsisting on various forms of bread and cheese, I got a horrible stomach ache. It felt like my intestines were tying themselves into a lasso so they could rope a calf. And, as a bonus, I was all bound up - clogged like the drain in King Kong's bathtub. A little pepto cleared up my problems -- so I thought -- and I went to sleep.

Saturday morning came. My stomach didn't hurt anymore and my cold was in full retreat. But when I got out of bed, I noticed something strange. It felt like I had pulled an abdominal muscle as I slept. Is it possible to have a stomach cramp so bad that it pulls a muscle? Had all the Advil finally eaten a hole in my gut? An intelligent person might have been concerned. But I wasn't.

I strapped on my gear and was off to the north. It was basically the same route I ran for my 16-miler but further.

Now, as stated previously, at this point in my training, nearly everything hurts. So, I took it easy. Real easy. Like, more than 12 minutes a mile easy. Early in the run, everything seemed to be going well. About an hour in, the place of my stomach discomfort started hurting. It seemed my fanny pack was strapped over a tender spot. I adjusted. Kept running. It kept hurting.

By the time I got to my halfway point, the pain was exquisite. I looked at my cell phone. It stared back at me. I decided to ignore the pain. I decided to finish the run. So I turned around and ran the 11 miles back, creaky legs and cramping stomach. I ran them very slowly (A 10-minute positive split).

Near the end of my run, a teenaged boy yelled at me to run faster. If I could have run faster, I would have caught him and issued him the first class beating he deserved. But then I would have had to cool down and stretch in the back of the squadcar. And I'm a lover, not a fighter.

Sometime I wish that I could wear a sign when I do my long runs. The sign would display to people that I was on my 20th mile. Then maybe they'd learn some respect.

Anyway, I finished, in 4.5 hours, just a little less time than I hope it takes me to run the entire marathon. I don't know why I was so slow yesterday. I don't know if I can run a really long distance any faster. But I do know that I can gut it out if things don't go right on race day. And I guess that's the point of running 22 miles.

The specter of pain

2005-03-18T17:11:00.001-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
11 MILES	2:04/25	My house to Lovers, turn around but stopped at Embassay Suites	11:16 per mile

Standing over me, with a grin of pure evil and a touch of pure disdain, the spectar of pain was having one of those days. I could tell from his icy eyes and his butane hot fingers that the idea of torture was something of a pasttime.
As for myself, I could do little to stop him (or her?). Though I longed to simply kick free of his grasp, I was beyond the point of resistance. No, the only option remaining was to submit.

Sounds tragic, doesn't it? Or maybe just perverse. I don't know how else to describe how I felt moments after completing just 11 miles. My legs grimmaced at even the slightest thought of movement. Every twitch, even the mere strain against the breeze, brought discomfort the likes of which I have never known.

Overdramatic? Perhaps. But I have literary freedom here. What I don't have is an escape clause. This insane idea of running the marathon is now just weeks away. When the prospect first arose, it was nearly half a year in the making. Now, I realize that there is nothing I can do, short of intentionally injuring myself, to get out of this one.

One way or another, I will be on that bus the morning of April 24. Between this day and that, I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that I cross the finish line. At what time? Not even I care. Finishing has been the goal since the second month of training. Beating Jon Segal? Comedy is a luxury I just can't engage in at the moment. Heck, even my boss, who has yet to declare his intentions to run the marathon, is further (or is farther) ahead in the training. He just completed 18 miles. And he said it didn't reallly hurt.

Okay, my wife just handed me some cheese. I'm done whining.

Miles on the shoes; miles on the credit card

2005-03-17T11:00:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
5 mi.	56:30 mins.	home - up irving ave. - up david - up presidio - down congress	11:20 mins./mi.

My run last night, through what I call "the hill route" was tough. I thought I went faster, but when I looked at my watch, it wasn't fast at all. Now, my leg still hurts and I think I'm coming down with a cold. Yuck.

But even worse, my credit card bills are coming due. I've stressed out my magnetic stripes on a binge of coolmax and spandex. Read all about it here in my latest Monterey County Herald running column. And then send money.

Good story.

2005-03-16T16:14:00.000-08:00

I really enjoyed this ultramarathon story in the New York Times today.

Snooooze.

2005-03-16T14:10:00.001-08:00

I hit the snooze bar seven times this morning.

Apparently, I liked running at night so much, I wanted to do it again.

I am a lazy, lazy man.

Here's a link: Technorati Profile

Moment.

2005-03-15T11:20:00.000-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
7 mi.	1:08:30	Home to Window on the Bay R/T	9:47 min./mi.

Have you ever had a perfect running moment? One that's cinematic, sublime, dreamlike...

I have.

It was last night...

I thought my marathon dreams were in danger. I thought they were foundering on rocks of ice in a sea of Advil. I thought they'd be shattered by shinsplints.

The soreness in my left leg has gotten to a point where, a few times a day, I walk with a cute little limp. Awww. Darling... But yesterday I made up my mind. Throw out the fear. Press on.

So with a little trepidation, I stripped off my work clothes and slid on my shorts and a short sleeve shirt. It was 6 p.m. and the sun had nearly set when I stepped out of my door and onto the road down to the rec trail.

In the beginning of the run, I was carrying an extra weight with me: fear. I heard that if you run with an injury, you change your gait a little to make up for it. This, in turn, causes another injury somewhere else. Soon, the theory goes, you don't have a chance, your body starts falling apart everywhere and you'll be a mangled mess.

So, on my way out in the twilight, every twinge was a possible career-ender, every ache the beginning of the end. One side of my brain said to ignore it and run faster. That side won and I ran into the coming darkness.

Down the shore, past the aquarium, down Cannery Row. Breath in, breath out. All the while my left leg still hurt a little, and I wondered if I was favoring my right.

Nearing the halfway point of my run, I forgot about all of it. Between the breathing and the sweating and the ocean in the moonlight and the perfect night air and peace of the nearly deserted trail, I just didn't care about the pain anymore. It was just me, my lungs and the music in my ears.

My strides fell in rhythm with the song on my ipod and I couldn't much feel the ground beneath my feet. It was almost like I was flying. And it was then that I knew it for sure: I would run the marathon in April. And it would be wonderful.

Turning around, the boats in the harbor, the moon and the stars, the city lights on the hills all accompanied me as I cruised home. Last night, I set a new personal record for that route. But, more importantly, I killed doubt, hopefully for good.

Days of reckoning

2005-03-14T11:05:00.000-08:00

I haven't run since Friday. On Friday, I ran 5 miles. Since then, I haven't run. (In case you missed it the first time.)

My leg still hurts. I thought taking a couple days off would help. I walked a lot yesterday, and sometimes it hurt, and sometimes it didn't. But I promised myself that, no matter what, I would run on Monday morning.

The road of my life is paved with the shattered remnants of broken promises. I hit the snooze bar six times and got to work 15 minutes late, without running at all. My gym bag festers in my car, dirty shorts and socks, sweaty shoes all basting in the sun, creating a heady brew of stink in my Subaru.

I have the feeling that the pain will be with me for the duration. I have a feeling that this is crunch time. Six weeks left. It's time to get off my butt and back on my feet, before my butt starts growing again.

It's Friday Mailbag!!!!

2005-03-11T13:37:00.000-08:00

I meant to run yesterday. But my leg hurt and I'm lazy and I ran Wednesday and what are you going to do about it anyway. Huh? You wanna piece of me? That's what I thought.

I'm sorry if I seem more agressive than usual. It's just that instead of training, I watched training on TV. Specifically, I watched "Rocky 4: Rocky Wins the Cold War." This is the movie that pits the old Italian Stallion up against Dolph Lundgren, who is trained with the best technology and drugs that the Soviet Union can buy. Rock, on the other hand, trains in Siberia by pulling a cart, chopping wood, running through the snow and boxing a side of beef. By the end, Stallone os so ripped that he looks like he's carved from a slab of marble, albeit a slab slathered with a thick coating of grease. (Dolph, by the way, looks and acts like he's carved of wood.)

Of course, Stallone wins and, in the process, captures the hearts of those nasty commies including a Gorby lookalike, who goes on to bring down the Berlin Wall.

If Rocky can have such an effect, what can two tubby guys running a marathon achieve with the public. We'll find out with a new edition of ..... Friday Mailbag!!!

Date: Thursday, March 10
From: "Beth XXXXX"

Hi Jonathan!

I wanted to drop you a line to let you know how much I have enjoyed reading about your running/life.
What will us addicts to your words do after you complete this journey? I think you will have to take on another horrific task - triathlon anyone?
Seriously, I have half as sed considered myself a runner for years now. I struggle in every way you describe and more. I'm motivated to keep moving my fat ass so my girls see a healthy mom, but the most I have ever accomplished is a 1/2 marathon. You are so fantastic taking on a full marathon!!! Keep up the great work and know someone in Stillwater, MN is cheering you on from afar!!

Beth

PS. Your Mind Over Matter entry was hysterical. I've spent many a run chanting Hail Marys, I'm going to try Mind Over Monkey for my 10K the end of April...I'll let you know if Mary gets pis sed off or the Monkey carries me through.

Date: Saturday, March 5
From: Glenn XXXXXX

My dad is one of the grizzled vets and he talked me into running the 20th BSIM with him this year. It took a lot of wine, but he somehow made me promise to do it this year. My training runs are almost identical to yours, except I think I hurt more. Which is puzzling since I prided (note the past tense) myself in being an adventure athlete that spends 10-12 hours on the course. Of course the good teams spend about 6 hours.

Best of luck with the remainder of the training- and remember that most of us are just like you guys, grinders.

Glenn

Subject: 3/03 column
Date: Sunday, March 6, 2005
From: KAEDAY@XXXX.XXX

I read your article with interest. The Monterey Recreation Trail is wonderful, but it is not the Marathon Training Trail. Perhaps you should consider weekend training along the Big Sur Coast road or little-traveled roads near Jolon or Lake San Antonio or Tres Pinos.
My husband and I occasionally enjoy a jaunt along the Monterey Recreation Trail on a weekend day, loving the weather, the views, the people we meet, and the fairly level trail that allows me to enjoy it all from my wheelchair.
Please take your marathon training elsewhere & allow families to use the Recreation Trail without bothering you.

Subject: trail rage
Date: Friday. March 4 2005

Thanks for your article - it was hilarious and I fully identified with every part of it. When I'm biking on the trail, I hate walkers/runners. When I'm walking or running, I hate bikers. When I'm on skates, I hate everyone. My only trick is to go very early to avoid the crowds.

Good luck with your training,

Christy

Grinding it out

2005-03-10T10:49:00.001-08:00

Distance	Time	Route	Pace
10 mi.	1:39:03 mins.	treadmill	9:54 mins./mi.

Another night, another hour and a half on the treadmill. I wanted to run 12 last night, but the treadmill only goes to 10. Who was I to argue? I wanted to go slow, but the timer on the pre-Y2K treadmill only went to 99:59. Who was I to argue with an ancestor of our future robot masters?

So I ran 10 miles, with the goal of finishing in under 100 minutes. I found success. But success comes with a price.

Yesterday, thanks in part to Advil and to an extended pre-run stretching routine, the old left-leg shinsplints weren't even bothering me. But this morning, when I woke up, my left leg was stiff and sore. As long as I'm complaining, I might as well tell you nosy people that I've had a lingering sore throat for a week or so, too.

So, folks, here's what I'm looking at. I have six weeks until the race. I've had two long runs, and have two left. I'm at almost at the climax of the training. I have shinsplints. I've already moved a good deal of my miles to the forgiving surface of a treadmill.

Should I:

A) Stop running and crosstrain for a week or two until my shinsplints go away.

B) Cut my miles by some fraction.

C) Combination of A and B.

D) Keep running my miles, pop Advil, ice frequently and hope the shinsplints go away.

I'm inclined to choose D, because the shinsplints are tolarably painful for the first mile and a half of a run then they go away for the remainder.

And one more thing:

Courage.