She Chafed At The Thought Of A Marathon In Six Weeks

Because you don't want to see where I'm chafed, a picture of my misshapen toes and striated and veined foot is less frightful.

Large calves that look like football players for sale!

Lots of things hurt. The Cubs. Death of a grandmother. Not seeing good friends for more than a year. Innocent deaths. War. A torn medial collateral ligament. A hairline fracture in the ankle. A softball hit in the eye. The continued draconian and incomprehensive rule of the G.O.P.

A lot of people mistakenly believe that it's tough to complete a marathon. It is, but it's not the toughest part of the game. The most challenging part about running a marathon is the training. If you're a decent runner, the first 65 percent of your training program won't break too much of a sweat, with regular runs ranging between six to eight miles and long runs averaging about 12 miles. But when you're about six weeks away from the race, like I am, you start to wonder why the hell you put yourself through the rigormorole of running 15 miles continuously for three hours (with more to come, with 16- and 20-mile runs to put in before I finally begin to taper). Because I'm a wimp, I do it on the treadmill while watching the World Series. It's still not the most inspiring thing though. Running by your lonesome self (unless you count Chase Utley, B.J. Upton, Carlos Pena, John Maddon and friends as running mates) is a drag and a sign, and that's not all. I went through six different versions of "Born to Run" on my trek yesterday and by the last one (1976 "Live at Hammersmith"), it did pep me up a little but I could barely fist pump like I usually do during "Tramps like us..." Motivation. Easy come, easy go.

Can you see why running a marathon is fun now? Once you get into tapering, the excitement really builds up. It's the same buzz I'm hopping around on the morning of a softball playoffs game, the afternoon of a Bruce show or the evening before a race. You can't sleep, you can't still and you keep thinking about the beer after. Apart from the fact that I'll most likely put in no more than five long runs (!) by the time the marathon rolls around this year, I'm pleased with my training success. With a marathon, three sprint triathlons and two biathlons under my belt, I've become pretty adept at rationing my water, isotonic drink and Shot Block intake and supply. I listen to my body well, so when it says "Fuck off, freak" I know that I have to wait a day or two before gearing up for a 15-mile run, even though it screws up my schedule (I had to miss Sunday morning softball practice to go the distance because I only have four miles in me Friday -- muscles were screaming and fatigue was on the Mexican Riviera). So, I have no soreness or aches after long runs. I feel really good, actually, and today I plan to run eight the day after 15. In fact, I could've played tennis in the afternoon after my morning run, if not for the fact that my pitcher Chris threw 120 pitches at practice and was done. All this, I believe, is the result of taking better care of an over-30 body with proper stretching and better nutrition, which includes a strict abolition of light and domestic beers.

Despite my sound (I hope) preparation, I always overlook one easy detail while training, which is the stupidest thing I can ever do. I forget the Vaseline. Which means that when I turned on the shower yesterday, I knew exactly which parts of me hurt like a bitch whose left cheek just met Oscar de la Renta's boxing glove. To be painfully precise, the top part of my chest, under my breasts, in between my ass cheeks, my beer belly and the sides of my hips. These are all vital parts that come in contact with the hems of my various running gear, such as sports bra and tights. There's nothing stuffed in my butt, apart from my head, but I guess it means I have a large ass.

There's still enough time for the big hurt to hit, but when I'm not wondering are we there yet in the first hour of a 15-mile run (2:45 completion yesterday), I'm really enjoying the apres-training experience. Plastic cup re-filled with Brewerkz pilsners and ales and stouts each time it got down to half full, two dinners (a cookout and my mom's divine creations), chocolate cake richer than Bill Gates for dessert... the only thing that hurt last night was betting $500 at Texas Hold'em thinking I had a straight when I was missing a card. What to do but to fill up the beer cup again?