© 2013 Jules

Marathon Training

Well it’s six am on a Saturday and I’m up, alert even, and busy ingesting as much food as I can handle. The only reason to provoke such behavior: marathon training. The forecasted high is 91 degrees today which means I need to cover 11 miles as early as possible before the sun renders the face of the earth a raging inferno of inhospitable turf. (At least that is how it feels to be running in heat above about 73 degrees.)

After hoovering up my 400 calorie breakfast I now begin the anxious and excited wait for that invisible tyrant that rules my existence: metabolism. I need to digest my food just enough that I don’t belch up chicken sausage on mile three, but not so much that I run out of energy prematurely. It is a delicate balance and my current formula is to eat an hour before I head out on the run. The time between breakfast and heading out is always a bit agonzing. Primarily this is so because I can’t have my morning cup of Earl Grey with Lavender. I tried that once and had to pee in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. The wait is also agonzing because my brain starts the Shoulda routine.

This mornings Shoulda routine included the following thoughts: I should have skipped that Corona last night. I should have run further on Tuesday to make today easier. I should have looked for my missing $15 sock.

At which point I spring up from the table and head out to the garage with a clamp light to investigate behind the washing machine. As it turns out, washing machines are quite a heavy piece of equipment! I managed to maneuver mine forward a paltry three inches, but it proved to be enough. Illuminated in the warm light of my garage, nestled alongside a dusty high visibility shirt I spotted my wayward sock! Joy filled my heart and I reached for it only to find my arm is about two feet too short to reach the floor while my body is perched atop a dryer. Heart in my throat, I scampered around to find two sticks long enough to reach and maneverd them like an oversized pair of chopsticks to retrieve the sock. I dropped it twice, but on the third attempt, with the angel chorus singing in the background, I gently took my sock into my hands. It was covered in grass, dust and other detritis. I briefly considered dusting it off and just wearing it for my impending 11 mile trek, thought better of it, and fondly placed it in the laundry hamper.

Oh my, look at the time: 6:48! My punctual running partner will be here any minute and I am not yet dressed. Wish me luck on today’s running adventure!


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