I have to apologize for the delay of this article to my constant readers. It has been sitting in my draft section for months now, and I know a bunch of you have been anxious to read on.
I ended my last race in the Maryland Half Marathon, completely worn out and with a leg pain of suspect shin splints to worry about. The days after the Half were filled with pain and regret. I would pause training for days of rest, then put on my shoes and go out to run. Each one ending in under a 1/4 mile with a very sad limp back to the house. I would spend more time soaking in hot water, then I did in my shoes, and it was eating me alive. I went and sought medical help.
My first doctor, must have had 5 loved ones murdered by marathons. Her outspoken hatred for them was not something you expected to hear. She proclaimed marathons as a sad large-scale boast to the aging masses as a way to prove that they weren’t as old as they so were. Running is great for you, but apparently up until mile 7; after that your body starts to eat away key nutrients. And marathons are apparently the worse thing for you. She didn’t understand that it wasn’t that I didn’t agree, I just didn’t care. How do I get through this?
My second doctor (imagine that), who’s English-speaking skills weren’t too different from his free hand writing skills, had no problem spending all the money in the world on tests. No interesting hatreds or life stories from this one. But it did end with the result in 3 weeks of tests and exams. Prognosis: “You just need to rest.”
And so I do for a near month, plenty of Co-pays and testing bills later.
The Booby Bus
Months ago before my Half Marathon, our company participates in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure and offers to pay each employee’s entry in. Normally it is a 5K walk around, for women to parade in pink holding signs in an inspirational thing. Not normally a race you jump onto as it’s not organized in the normal tag and number on your chest. But this one is free for me.
Don’t get me wrong, I love tattas. But I am big donator to Winn and to other causes that go directly to research organizations. When your claim to fame is $1 billion spent in marketing awareness but have nothing to show for money to research, you ain’t getting my money, willfully with a smile. But to each their own. This race is two parts, a 5K run and then the walkers get to walk about after somewhat in parade style. All paid for by my company. Why not?
I’ll tell you why not, because you will be the only dude not wearing pink in bus full of very cranky angry old women, ready to murder you for simply having a penis. That’s why. There was a point on the way down to D.C. in which I thought they were going to throw me out of the bus. The front most eldest crank has a giant cache of signs; heavy signs. One of which is far too large for any normal lady to carry, but surely the only male to be on the bus would surely oblige.
“I’m running, sorry.” I said very cautiously. “I’m not doing the walk, I’m in for the run.”
“So, you won’t be holding this sign, is what you are saying?”
“Ummmmmmmmm ………… ummmmmmmmmmmmmm…….Yes,” I responded with a flinch.
It was an awkward 3 miles left in the ride in silence and daggers of anger in my direction. There was at least one girl there under the ripe age of 137. In fact it was my little long distance running friend from work in Part 1. The one that didn’t answer her phone on the St. Patties Day Race. I had someone to talk to at least.
I instantly disappeared from the bus area as we landed. And found my way to the race area with Ms. Real Runner.
The Booby Run
This small 5K would be my first running activity since my Half Marathon near a month prior with small spurts of failure of trying in between. I had not even jogged once before this time in hopes of saving my leg. At the start of the race I had been chatting it up with the Ms. Real Runner and she proclaimed that she had not been keeping up this year and was extremely slow. Well, so it my time to shine and stay with her pace. Awesome. Apparently, her out of shape pace is almost my pace. If only you used this equation:
HerPace = MyPace * LudicrouslyFaster
It’s just a little Ludicrously Faster. Who doesn’t have a little Ludicrously Faster in their back pocket? So even though 3 miles should be extremely easy, it is not when you attempt it at speeds 2 minutes under your traditional pace. You want to know how to impress someone? Don’t do that. That’s how.
Wait, but it gets better. That pain that should have gone away by now, just has erupted in full-blown sensation of agony. Pure unadulterated agony. This marathon just isn’t going to happen, I thought.
I was going to just end the series as a Trilogy. But the actual Marathon story itself was so large, it was no longer an enjoyable length of reading. So my Trilogy is now a Saga. Be on the lookout for Part 4 coming soon.