I’m a shopper. I can’t be sure if it’s because of nature or nurture, but I love to buy shiny new things. I’m the type of person who gets just as excited about the gift shop at any destination as the destination itself. Every time I get into a new hobby, I’m equally enthralled by its merchandise.
Running, an activity done by barefoot tribesmen on dirt roads, provides an excellent opportunity to indulge in retail therapy. There are stores dedicated solely to running -- a beautiful thing. Just purchasing shoes means you have a myriad of choices, and you can change your mind every two months when your old pair wears out. Then there are the clothes, with all the new advancements in climate control, the cool gym bags with all the clever compartments, the watches that offer all sorts of other timing options besides telling time, hydration products, books and magazines, recovery and therapy products. The list goes on and on. If you’d like proof of this, go try to buy a simple running hat. The range of choices is dizzying.
While I scoff at the people who run out to get iPad and the newest Wii games, as a runner I am both an early adopter and a toy-hound. I’ll try virtually any new product that claims it will make my running life easier/faster/more comfortable/less injurious/cute. I have superlight sunglasses, orthotic insoles for my shoes, a Spibelt to carry stuff, a Road ID tag on my shoe and a mix of every kind of technical clothing imaginable. With all the different brands I resemble a NASCAR vehicle when I run, only not quite as sleek.
So when the hardcover book about running (Born to Run, Christopher McDougall) I was reading claimed that injuries are caused by running shoes, and a barefoot-style shoe call Vibram FiveFingers could help, I immediately bought those too. The theory on barefooting is that running shoes actually cause injuries by providing so much support and control that your natural form suffers. Vibrams contour to your foot and around your toes, giving you the form of barefoot movement with a soul for protection from the ground. Mine are pink, and, as my new brother-in-law helpfully pointed out, they look like they should be part of a Barney costume. They take getting used to, but the change in form they trigger is immediate and dramatic. I am so optimistic that these will become my primary running shoe that I have already picked out a second pair for rotation.
A few weeks ago I was on my Saturday morning group run, running with Seth, who I suspect slowed down to hang with me out of pity. Every mile a beeping sound would emanate from Seth’s wrist. He would then announce the precise pace in which we had completed that particular mile. He could do this because he was wearing a Garmin Forerunner 305 watch, which tracks your runs with satellites. I have wanted one of these since I heard of the concept, but for years the reception in cities was simply not that good. But now they’ve improved, and they work where I need them to work. By the second beep, I knew the 305 would be on my wrist within weeks.
It arrived at my office this past week, just a few hours before my Tuesday night group run. I drove everyone at work crazy beeping away while I was trying to set the thing up. I didn’t have time to properly ingest the instructions before I went for the group run. Luckily for me, another runner in my pace group, Tracy, was wearing one. This was most unfortunate for her, because of the barrage of questions she had to deal with from me. “How do I get it to beep each mile?” “How can I see the pace?” “How fast did we just go?” “What time is it?” And on and on. “Is our pace going up a lot?” Yes, it was, because poor Tracy was frantically trying to shake me loose. I annoyed the stuffing out of her, but I think she got an eight-minute mile out of it. If I ever figure out the Forerunner, I know I will love it. It has the coolest features I’ve ever seen. I can make it beep at me if I’m going too slowly. It can help me find my way home if I make a wrong turn. It can even create a little image of a virtual opponent, who can either beat me or not depending on what the Garmin people decide.
I don’t know what running gadget I’ll have to have next week. I do know it is a very good thing that qualifying for the Boston Marathon is virtually impossible for me. I would definitely be one of those people decked out head to toe in Boston Athletic Association gear, which is the running equivalent of shoes on the beach.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Quest for Four
While I was sitting around last fall and winter, staring longingly at my running shoes and waiting for my ankle to heal, I had some time to ruminate on my running ability and goals. There are certain realities I should face. I’m over 40, my knees hurt, both Achilles tendons are damaged, I have strange big toe pain and some weird problem in my hip. I’m not skinny enough to run distance, but I really don’t care to lose any weight. My best marathon time is 4:32, decent for a regular person, but it’s not going to get me any shoe deals. The intelligent approach would be to stop pushing myself so hard, cross-train on the bike at least as often as I run and, most important of all, lay off the marathons.
I used to be smart, maybe even smart enough to follow this path. But I’m not anymore. I think the oxygen deprivation from all that running has killed the common sense brain cells. So my current plan is to run one or maybe even two marathons this fall, and to complete one in less than four hours. This goal is so ridiculous for me that I may offer it to the Merriam Webster people for consideration as a definition of delusional.
The idea of breaking four hours started germinating in my mind a year ago, when I kept setting personal records at races. It really took hold, however, when I volunteered at the Philly Marathon in November. My assignment at the Marathon was to hand out medals at the finish line. This gig was a blast. I was right there when the winner crossed, and I got to see all of the ecstatic people who finished with Boston Marathon qualifying times. I’ve never been there to witness all of the people coming in under three and four hours. Despite the cool air, they were sweating profusely, and many were stumbling as soon as they finished. I saw a lot of paramedics rushing to help runners who simply could not take another step. Witnessing the sweaty zombies, my brain damage spoke to me. It said, look at these people; you are not working hard enough.
When I mentioned my goal to the bright-eyed jolly members of my running club, they assured me that of course I can do this. That they had to tell me this at the post-run dinner because I can never keep up with them during the run itself did not factor in their conclusion. In fact, they said, I should try to qualify for Boston. They’re not crazy; I’m just so far behind them they’ve never actually seen me run.
I have picked the marathon for the attempt: Steamtown in Scranton on October 10. I’ve also signed up for the Philly Marathon in November as a backup. My training plan requires me to run five days a week, getting up to 50 miles a week by marathon time, cross-train on my bike on a sixth day, and incorporate weight and core training and yoga. I also have to lose at least 10 pounds, which sucks because the only reason I run in the first place is so that I can eat what I like. As of now, I’m up to 29 miles a week, and I’m working hard to bypass the basket of Hershey miniatures that is left for us at work every day. I also spent money I don’t have on a Garmin Forerunner to track my pace, because ordering it was a training tactic I could accomplish while sitting on my butt in front of the computer.
Even if I manage to do all of this, I still don’t know if I can break four. Worse yet, if I do achieve this goal, there’s a darker, scarier idea bouncing around in that otherwise empty head of mine, too impossible to address.
I used to be smart, maybe even smart enough to follow this path. But I’m not anymore. I think the oxygen deprivation from all that running has killed the common sense brain cells. So my current plan is to run one or maybe even two marathons this fall, and to complete one in less than four hours. This goal is so ridiculous for me that I may offer it to the Merriam Webster people for consideration as a definition of delusional.
The idea of breaking four hours started germinating in my mind a year ago, when I kept setting personal records at races. It really took hold, however, when I volunteered at the Philly Marathon in November. My assignment at the Marathon was to hand out medals at the finish line. This gig was a blast. I was right there when the winner crossed, and I got to see all of the ecstatic people who finished with Boston Marathon qualifying times. I’ve never been there to witness all of the people coming in under three and four hours. Despite the cool air, they were sweating profusely, and many were stumbling as soon as they finished. I saw a lot of paramedics rushing to help runners who simply could not take another step. Witnessing the sweaty zombies, my brain damage spoke to me. It said, look at these people; you are not working hard enough.
When I mentioned my goal to the bright-eyed jolly members of my running club, they assured me that of course I can do this. That they had to tell me this at the post-run dinner because I can never keep up with them during the run itself did not factor in their conclusion. In fact, they said, I should try to qualify for Boston. They’re not crazy; I’m just so far behind them they’ve never actually seen me run.
I have picked the marathon for the attempt: Steamtown in Scranton on October 10. I’ve also signed up for the Philly Marathon in November as a backup. My training plan requires me to run five days a week, getting up to 50 miles a week by marathon time, cross-train on my bike on a sixth day, and incorporate weight and core training and yoga. I also have to lose at least 10 pounds, which sucks because the only reason I run in the first place is so that I can eat what I like. As of now, I’m up to 29 miles a week, and I’m working hard to bypass the basket of Hershey miniatures that is left for us at work every day. I also spent money I don’t have on a Garmin Forerunner to track my pace, because ordering it was a training tactic I could accomplish while sitting on my butt in front of the computer.
Even if I manage to do all of this, I still don’t know if I can break four. Worse yet, if I do achieve this goal, there’s a darker, scarier idea bouncing around in that otherwise empty head of mine, too impossible to address.
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