Hi Folks,
My brother-in-law was on my case about being a negligent blogger, and rightfully so. I'm embarrassed to admit it's been 6-ish weeks since my last post. I'm pleased to say that this does not reflect a lapse in running, just a lapse in writing.
At the sound of the beep, the Marathon will be officially 41 days 16 h 42 m 27 s away. BEEP!!! To that end, on Sunday, yours truly participated in the ING NYC Marathon Tune-Up coordinated by New York Road Runners. I "tuned-up" to the tune of 18 big ones. That's 3 loops around the outer rim of Central Park (6 miles a pop.) Here are some other ways to think about 18 miles:
--95,040. The number of feet in 18 miles. Let me assure you, it feels like more...
--Larchmont, NY, close to where I grew up, is located 18 miles outside of NYC and can be reached in 39 minutes by railroad (did I mention how long it took me to run? 3 hours and 19 minutes. God bless Metro North.)
--Anyone ever been to the famed Strand bookstore in Union Square? If every book at the Strand was spread out in a straight line, the distance would be 18 miles. That's a lot of running--and a lot of reading!
While the weather was a temperate 61 degrees, the humidity made it feel, well, gross. And while we're on the subject of "gross," I had the distinct displeasure of using a port-o-potty on this run--more on that in a moment. The aforementioned humidity required me to drink frequently. This was fine with me since I like a water/Gatorade cocktail as much a the next gal. However, by mile 13, I must've been drinking faster than I was sweating, because the urge came fast and strong. In prior, shorter runs, I managed to hang on until I could access the comfort of my own blissfully clean (relatively speaking) bathroom. Not so today. I rationalized that using a port-o-john would be good practice for the Marathon, as it's extremely unlikely I'd be able to avoid them for 26.2 miles. So, when I approached a series of 4 adjacent, army-green colored boxes, I took a deep breath, held it so as to avoid having to smell, and entered the left-most one. I was under the delusion that because this port-o-potty was furthest from the race course (by about 2 yards,) that perhaps it would be the least utilized. Um, I was wrong. Very, very wrong. I'm going to spare you the graphic details, but I will share a few thoughts I had at the time that will shed some light on the impact of this experience:
1.) I wondered if it was possible to pee any faster without straining a muscle.
2.) I tried, in vain, to think of anyplace else I'd ever been in my 35 years that was nastier than this one.
3.) I rejoiced when I noticed a hand-sanitizer dispenser mounted (sort of) on the wall. I cried (almost) when I saw what was on the button I would have to press to dispense it.
4.) I contemplated whether the effects of dehydration were preferable.
The remaining 5 or so miles were spent carefully avoiding making any sort of contact between my right index finger, (which I used to open the door), with any other part of my person.
Lest anyone think this put a permanent damper on my run, I will share the following with you, as well. About 50 meters before the finish, I found myself with an unusual desire to "empty the tank," so I upped my pace to a sprint. This must have impressed the race announcer (the NYRR races come complete with a dude with a deep-baritone who narrates the events) because what do I hear over the loud speakers when I cross but "And here comes DaNYa Kurtz crossing the finish!!!" Close enough, right? What a way to finish!
One step at a time,
Dayna
As we're getting down to the wire, Folks, I'll ever-so-gently ask those who have not (yet) made a donation to Fred's Team on my behalf, to please consider doing so. Any amount is most thoughtful and welcome. Here are some ideas:
1.) $26.20, for each mile I'll be running
2.) $262.00 sort of like #1, but with a sneaky decimal point!
You can donate here:
Thanks again.
