Putting My Behind in the Past

This weekend I found the type of closure which can only be acheived by one or all of the following: almost pooping yourself on a 20-mile run, getting hit on by a guy working under the hood of his truck - in front of the house in which you grew up! - making friends with your ex-of-all-exes, and finally understanding your two best friends after 5 years. It was, as they say, a doozy. (Didn't get much homework done though . . . oops.)

Rewind . . .

Friday night was the perfect night: a little flirting, some dinner and an early bed time. I overslept on Saturday for my 20-miler - didn't get up till 7 and out till 8, when my plan was up at 6 and out by 7. Then it turned out I only went 19 miles and change. I still feel really good about the results, though - and not sore at all. It was an awesome run. I proved to myself that, while Philly may hurt and I am going to have to break the iPod rule, it isn't going to kill me and I am capable of finishing. It's strange. I knew somehow at about mile 4 that I was going to make it through Philly. I still had 14-16 miles left, but I knew.

Around mile 5, I suddenly thought about how my parents' old house was close by and, feeling a pang of sadness that they're neither in Orlando nor coming to Philly for my first marathon, I decided I would run through their old neighborhood and add some mileage. I don't know why I thought that I'd feel their presence by running past their house, which hasn't been theirs in a good two years, but for some reason I did. Usually I avoid going past their house - I haven't been there in over a year. (Half the people I know don't live in the neighborhood; my parents are not there; might make me get too sentimental; etc.) But, today, embarking on the longest run of my life (which felt more like a string of music videos set to running than a string of miles set to music), I needed to.

The moment I crossed the street, a ball of emotion settled into the back of my throat, threatening to burst forth from my mouth and eyes. In fact, it might have, if it hadn't been for 'truck guy' and the scraggly dog that chased me. The whole place was just like I'd remembered it . . . but nothing like I'd remembered it. The homes of some of the neighborhood bullies, my baby-sitting clients and my old friends were re-painted. One family still lived there, and their parents, not as old as I'd imagined they'd look, were holding a garage sale. Mom and Dad's once-beautiful, landscaped yard was overgrown - not uncared-for, just not as manicured and lush as it was during our nearly 20-year ownership. The wisteria was in full bloom, despite this summer's unseasonably hot weather, and the china berry trees were almost full-sized, a far cry from the flexible, fragile-looking saplings we had originally planted. I passed the house where my first boyfriend lived on the way out, and the garage door was up. It was the only thing that remained unchanged - even the cars in the garage.

As I left the neighborhood, a surreal and palpably bittersweet sense of farwell fell over me. Crossing an invisble forcefield held in place by brick walls with gold "Sandpiper Ridge" signs, supported by 20 years of memories, I was compelled to look back several times on the way out and bid my childhood a final, silent goodbye. With that, I set my teeth and completed 19 miles and change.

Saturday night Karime and I got a little goofy, dressed as Amy Winehouse and Britney Spears (I think you get the theme here), and had a really fun time. We really connected, and I think our group of friends is more solid than ever. Sunday morning I was FINALLY able to firmly but nicely teach my soon-to-be-ex-husband (December should be the month) that friends do not cuddle in bed or shower together. I caught up on some work, did some studying, had lunch with a friend - during which he said something so profound that I finally understood him for the first time in years - and then did one of the most amazing 2-hour yoga classes in the world. After the weekend and a few odd dreams, I decided to e-mail Carlos, the guy I call my ex-of-all-exes and my first, long-term relationship (which was a total trainwreck). I decided it was time to stop talking shit about him and time to stop ignoring his ignoring me ignoring him. It was time to put the past behind me and be an adult.

I think a few cancer scares, some interesting training experiences on the way to Ironville, and getting close to 30 have really mellowed me out. I'm feeling this sudden need to tie up my past, refine my overall people skills, be friends with my past (including my exes), and be more direct in fulfilling my needs and expressing my ideas. It's the most amazing feeling I've ever had.

It's been a long time since I felt this way, that the world is my world, a limitless expanse of possibility and challenge. I'm looking forward to 30. And 40. And 50. But there's something else there that I've never felt, and that is a sense of self-assurance. First of all, I've been down a lot of these paths before, and my track record is success, so I will never doubt my ability to reproduce those results. Second, if the path is unfamiliar, then anything - and I mean anything - I encounter along the way is fodder for creativity, growth, laughter and strength. I am writing these words, at this moment, to immortalize this feeling, to remind myself that, should I ever find myself in a place where I'm tempted to do, say or think anything that can lock me down, I can come back and recall this exact place in time.

But somehow I don't think I'll need to.

They're gonna hafta remove me. Cause I ain't goin' nowhere.

There's a reason why most running coaches and experts suggest that you shouldn't run any distances close to marathon distance unless you're running an actual race, and it has nothing to do with science, medicine, or even superstition. It's because nobody actually wants to run that goddamn far unless there's a medal, free beer and a cheering crowd waiting for them at the end.

Today I went for the longest run of my life. (So far.) The original plan was 20 miles, but weeks and weeks ago I had reduced it to anywhere from 18-20 because of my recent illness and lack of training. My super-secret, dream-it-anyway, overambitious goal, though, was 22 (1 warmup, 1 cooldown, 20 running). How did it turn out? Well, I'm going to start referring to this as the "Van Gogh" run. Because it was so perfectly surreal, not because I cut off an ear. Although, at some points I wanted to cut off something. Start here if you want the words; scroll to the end to see it by the numbers. (I know you numbers people. I know how you work.)

I figured it would take roughly 4-4.75 hours to complete 20 miles - about an 11-minute-mile pace with a 2-minute walk break each mile. I felt so good I abandoned my 5/2-10/2-5/2 plan and just went for 2-minute walks every mile. (Keep this part in mind, 'cause we'll come back to it later.) When I left home, it was drizzling. Believe it or not, I was pleased, because I knew it would be cooler - besides, I've already run 13.1 miles in mud and full-on rain, so at this point there ain't a whole lot that can phase me. (As Tea says, "tears do not compromise my strength." Amen, sista. Likewise rain, ankle-deep mud. Likewise poo and pee. Likewise vomit.) Anyway, I had my iPod loaded with my favorite songs and shuffled the order so that I'd get a nice "surprise" with each one. I'd just re-calibrated my distance tracker on my Nike+ kit, and I'd already confirmed my route with GMap Pedometer. I wore my contacts so I could use my awesome Smith sunglasses, and also because my contacts don't provide vision as sharp as my glasses do, so they help me "detach" a bit from my mind, which is important for a thinker like me on a long run. I was armed with 2 salt pills and 2 Gus in my little clip-on Gu pouch, extra ibuprofen, a house key, $20 cash, my i.d.,and a 24-ounce Polar bottle full of water. It seemed to take a little long for the voice to tell me, "One mile completed," but I shrugged. No use counting pennies when you have 21 miles to go.

21, I thought. Blackjack. Blackjack in the rain? I've done that before - and on marathon-crossover training week, too. It must be a sign. (Of course, that was on two wheels, but it was my body providing what my dad would call the "go-juice.") Well, if that wasn't enough of a sign, around mile 3, I glanced down at the sidewalk and saw that someone had lost a playing card - something you usually don't see unless you're in a big city. Three of diamonds, to be exact. Mile 3? 3 of diamonds? Coincidence? I think not! (We'll come back to this, too.)

I decided to add a mile or two to my route so I wouldn't have to do my planned "additional loop" at the end. (I'm one of those people who hates having to "tack on" a mile or two - I like to get close to home, do my little cool-down walk, and go straight inside. It's a mental thing, but still.) I decided around mile marker 5 to run through my parents' old neighboorhood. It looked a lot different - their once-beautiful yard was trashed, and some dude was working on his heavy-duty pickup in the driveway. Hood up and all, he started checking me out, even gave me a too-friendly "hello." I wanted to yell at him, "I grew up in that house, jackass!" But I didn't - I just kept on moving. Then I was chased up a hill by a scraggly-looking Pek that, from behind, was so unkempt I couldn't tell whether it was a cat or dog. Good news? On mile 5, I'd already "gotten out of my head."

I seemed to be going much faster than the 15-minute mile my tracker told me, and I had lost my second Gu. Nonetheless, I wasn't too worried, because the shopping center 1/2-mile away had a GNC. It was only when I had to stop for Gatorade because the shopping center no longer had a GNC that I knew something was REALLY wrong with my iPod tracker. By mile 13, my watch showed 3:38. My body is getting a little too detached from my mind, I thought. That's impossible. Even my slowest 14-mile time is 3 hours flat, and it was telling me I had taken almost 40 minutes more to go one mile less. But, at this point, there was nothing I could do.

Until I couldn't find a place that had water and I had to buy Gatorade for the SECOND time during the run.

Now, my GI system is VERY sensitive. I cannot handle a lot of sugar and HFCS. I don't even buy food if corn syrup or hydrogenated oils are listed anywhere on the labels. I use Clif shot and salt pills, and the ONLY gel that doesn't make me want to puke is Gu brand, especially Vanilla Bean - that's the best one for Meggan Ann's tummy. So I was desparate to call my husband and ask him to track my route and make sure I wasn't going too far, because I was starting to get rumblies in my tumbly. I couldn't find pay phones, though, and panic began to set in. How far had I gone? 14 miles? 18? I didn't really know. Because I had "added on," and because I don't have a GPS unit to carry on, I was clueless. Worse still, I grabbed a Powerbar with Gatorade #2, only to realize when I got outside that it was a "trail mix bar" put in the wrong box. Meaning more HFCS and sugar. I shuffled about a half a mile, dejected. To my chagrin, my 4.2-hour playlist had re-started. Even more to my chagrin, the sugar and HFCS had done their job.

ALERT! ALERT! ALL SYSTEMS CODE BROWN! REPEAT, ALL SYSTEMS CODE BROWN!

I have "stage fright" (hate to go #2 in public), but this was so bad that I couldn't make any fast movements, so I HAD to find a place to go. 7-11 behind me? - ain't goin' back. Next 7-11? 1.5 miles. Then I finally made it to 7-11 #2 and couldn't cross the road to get there because the light wouldn't work in my favor. So, I stayed on my side of the road and shuffled along to an Einstein's Bagels, thinking I'll get some coffee while I'm there to perk me up. When I got in the bathroom, my contacts were hurting my eyes and making me sick. To make matters worse, it was a one-staller. And - the piece de resistance - a huffy, impatient lady walked in and waited on me. Even though all I could do was a tiny tinkle, she walked out and stood outside of the entire restroom, waiting until I had peed, come out of the stall, washed my face, re-adjusted my bandana, and forgot to take out my contacts.

Shit! (No pun intended.) I ended up struggling for about THREE MILES with this problem. The 3 of diamonds now seemed more like a bad omen than a good sign.

I made it to 7-11 #3, where I didn't have enough change for the pay phone to call Mr. MAJ for assistance. The bathroom was blessedly available, with no other women in sight. But now, I couldn't go. So, I pulled out my contacts, threw them away, vowed to get a new prescription even if I had to pay for the second eye exam myself, and struggled through a run/walk for the next almost 2 miles, during which time a blister on the bottom - yes, the bottom - of my baby toe broke open. I made it home to discover that I had only gone 19.37 miles in just under 5 hours (and I still had a mystery chafe). Well, I'm going to have to do better than that in Philly, I thought. Breaking 5 hours is embarrasing, but 6 is just out of the question.

Lesson learned? NO HFCS or sugar!
Lesson learned? Don't deviate from strategy during the race.
Lesson learned? When undertrained: walk early, walk often!
Lesson learned? I am not sore and felt great until mile 15 or 16, which means I'm not as undertrained as I originally thought.
Lesson learned? Philly's gonna hurt, unless I can get my ass seriously together in the next 3 weeks.


And now for the numbers.

• Ounces of water consumed: 80+
• Gus consumed: 1
• Gus lost: 1
• Number of (successful) visits to 7-11: 2
• Number of visits to Albertson's: 1
• Number of times someone on the street yelled at me while driving by: 4
• Number of times I gave them the finger in response: 2
• Ounces of Gatorade consumed that then made me sick to my stomach: 64
• Number of times I wanted to puke: 8
• Number of miles that "code brown" prevented me from moving at anything faster than a turtle's pace: 3.5
• Number of place I stopped but was foiled from resolving the problem: 2
• Number of "mystery chafe"spots: 1
• Number of miles actually covered: 19.37
• Total time running: 4:59:47
• Total time away from home: 5 hrs 20 minutes