Marathon Musings

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Running like a champion.

Bling.

However, this is the kind of bling I'm talking about.

My heart is bursting at the seams right now. And that's not because it's been pieced back to its normal optimism-pumping, full-blooded, ketchup-red self since the National League Division Series. It's because I know many people who completed marathons on Sunday, and behind every finish line is a great, great story and an even greater person.

Congratulations to my little brother Dion, who stands tall with yet another huge achievement -- third marathon, both Melbourne races under 4:45 (he would have done well last December in the Singapore Marathon if not for the knee injury). Battling winds and running alone, he didn't make his first stop until past 30km. He didn't train as hard as he ought to have, opting to pump iron instead of jumpstarting his legpower. Didn't matter, he still crossed at 4:43:50, with the bling and fucked-up ankles to show for it. Three marathons in two years. Beat that. And then kiss his aching ankles.

Congratulations to Mofo and Denise, who returned to the Chicago Marathon with a vengeance after last year's heat and logistics debacle. Mofo came very close to five hours this year with 5:04:34 -- great job for someone who completed her first at the six-hour mark two years ago. You don't just drop an hour from your 26.2-mile time without a lot of determination and improvement in fitness. She says she didn't train like she ought to as well. Who needs training when you're already pretty much there? Fantastic job.

Congratulations to Nima, who ran her second race in two years (San Francisco last year). She didn't make her 4:30 target because she had a tough run, but she raised more than $2,000 for the American Cancer Society. And to Matoula who also ran her second Chicago race in two years and finished in a fine 6:30:17 at no less than 46 years of age. More than that, she ran for the Children's Memorial Hospital.

Congratulations to my boxing buddy Tom McKone, who completed in 3:30:07. What the fuck, Rocky? And to my other boxing buddy Tom Labadie, who completed in 4:25:24. Boxing keeps you in excellent shape, let that be a lesson to all you kids out there. One of the greatest sports, art on canvas.

Congratulations to Bernie, who is again one of those who "didn't train", but still finished in 6:12:29. If I know you and you ran and I didn't know, I'm sorry. But you know I would have been thinking of you and cheering you on and you're part of the elite team always.

Look at me. Do I look like a marathon runner to you? No. I do not. I know that. I look like a beer-swigging softball player who plays tennis on the side and ping pong for a night job. And I'm one. I'm not a marathon runner. I can complete marathons and enjoy training for one and running one, but I'm not a marathon runner the way I can play ball or other sports that I'm genuinely good at.

After miraculously completing the Army Half Marathon in a decent time of 2:25-something or other with a strained left calf, I have been falling apart and tripping over every limb akimbo. My calf never healed and suddenly, my right knee started to hurt for no apparent reason, unless I've been tripping over home plate in the fence-clearing shots I'm hitting in my dreams. Imagine starting to run and being hit by pain up and down your legs for 10 minutes before it stretches itself out or motion numbs everything away. As usual, I refuse to make excuses because I keep finding dumb reasons to not execute my long runs each weekend (fatigue, watching postseason baseball, reading in bed, loser), but I did consider trying not to hyperextend my injuries. Just for shits and giggles, my elbow acted up last week illogically while I worked on some resistance training. So I rested for half a week, working out on alternate days while I attended a course, enforced at least eight hours of sleep each night like a draconian boarding schoolmaster and guess what? I have had the best training week ever.

It's only Wednesday, granted, but my completely pain-free 10k on Monday was a lovely and long overdue surprise. I never want to try figure out how my body works because I can't. I can't explain why I'll stick to a good nutrition plan for the week but only drop pounds after a night of too much pizza, wings and beer. So I don't bother and when I have a 100 percent enjoyable run, I'm not going to ask questions. I did another 10k today and had so much fun. I've also finally clicked into training mindset. I really should be halfway through my program right now, but in a way, I'm only just starting since I've had no long runs completed since the Army race. But I'm in a great place -- I'm enjoying watching baseball as I run (more if the Dodgers buck up), I'm thinking wonderful thoughts like, what will be the first beer I drink back in Chicago? When will I see Bruce again? Shall I attempt to run a different marathon in a different country each year? Will I ever write a book on pancakes? Ya know, fantasies. One day, I'd like to be able to lock down mentally and zone in on karmic breathing techniques but until then, I need Bruce, Ritter, PBJ, Cash and all sorts of crazy shit blasting gray matter between my ears.

Lots of people declare they will never be able to run a marathon. Six years ago, I would have told you to eat shit and die if you even suggested I attempt one. I'm eating crow sandwich with all the trimmings now. So, believe in yourself, even if you're done believing in North Side baseball. (But don't stop believing.)

Good luck Maribel at the Dublin Marathon, less than two weeks away! Swimming pools of Guinness await at the finish line.

Thanks to our friends at dialoperatorplease.blogspot.com for Dion's finish line shots!