Now what? It’s two days after Steamtown. Boston is Monday (Monday?), April 18. The earliest I can apply is Monday. And despite my aching feet, I will. Will, it seems, is the operative word.
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K found Thurber (see right!), a mahogany-colored bloodhound mix, on Petfinder.com. For as long as she can remember, she’s wanted a bloodhound. As a child, two of her favorite books were on sharks and “The Right Dog for You: Choosing a Breed That Matches Your Personality, Family and Lifestyle.” Sharks weren’t an option, and a Bichon, Snowball, adopted us at a Manhattan pet store, and he was the sweetest family dog for eighteen years. But the dog book said bloodhounds are loyal but not needy, which is just like me, little K said. I’d love to have a bloodhound.
Running for Your Life: Steamtown: The Race
Can’t remember when I haven’t been able to sleep like this. Sleepless in Scranton. Well, Moosic. Moosic, Pa. In a Courtyard Marriott, a cul de sac mall where that evening’s carb meal choice, Bella Trattoria, settled on K and me like an alien/scene in “Men in Black.” Instead, it’s the larded-up special at a slice palace, 10 p.m. Saturday and we got the place to ourselves.
Which may explain why my first thought when I saw the corpse was to think I'm having a bad-food delusion or sleep-walking. I’m in my gear (new insoles, taped-up right ankle, thanks Dr. Mollica!, but no PAINKILLERS!, damn, I should have insisted), when I walk up to my car at 5 a.m. for the drive into downtown where I’m told I can get a bus to the starting line. In the hollows, it’s gotta be close to freezing, so no way am I asleep, can’t be, so sure enough that’s a spit-polished-shined shoe at the rear of the car parked near mine in the hotel lot. And, yep, a body’s attached.
Which may explain why my first thought when I saw the corpse was to think I'm having a bad-food delusion or sleep-walking. I’m in my gear (new insoles, taped-up right ankle, thanks Dr. Mollica!, but no PAINKILLERS!, damn, I should have insisted), when I walk up to my car at 5 a.m. for the drive into downtown where I’m told I can get a bus to the starting line. In the hollows, it’s gotta be close to freezing, so no way am I asleep, can’t be, so sure enough that’s a spit-polished-shined shoe at the rear of the car parked near mine in the hotel lot. And, yep, a body’s attached.
Psyched!
All right. It's only a little over 24 hours since Steamtown. More later, but I did want to let everyone know that not only did I finish, but I managed a personal best: 3:33:08, on the runner's chip! They tell me I placed 493rd out of 1,952 finishers, and 15th out of 110 in my age group. And Boston! That time qualifies me so that I can run the Boston Marathon. Now I have finished more marathons (3) than those in which I was forced to stop due to injury (2). Woo Hoo!!!
Last Post -- Before 10-10-10
Very briefly, a marathoner-friendly podiatrist, Dr. Ray Mollica in Cobble Hill (PR 3:10, New York City Marathon), carved me an cushiony insole, which he said would work better than the Brooks Defyance paper-thin ones (who knew?) and should provide relief for my forefoot pain, and showed me a basket-weave taping for my the "trauma" spot, as he called it, on the lateral band of my right foot. Alas, though, no PAINKILLERS :(
And now on to Scranton. Thanks so much for all your good wishes. And to my Canadian friends and family, Happy Thanksgiving!
And now on to Scranton. Thanks so much for all your good wishes. And to my Canadian friends and family, Happy Thanksgiving!
Running for Your Life: Week Ten
Tuesday, I turned 55. Funny, back in May, when I was surprised with my 3:47:42 personal best marathon at 54, that for purposes of qualifying for the Boston Marathon, I would be 55, advancing to the 55-59 age category for Boston by five days if I ran in the Steamtown Marathon on Oct. 10. That gives me a reasonable shot of achieving the qualifying time for that group: 3:45. Count those fives (three), my lucky number, along with 10, for October, or two fives.
On my birthday, My mother called 30 minutes to the date 55 years ago that I was born.
“Do you remember what happened just about 55 years ago?” my mother asked.
“No,” I said. “I know what you’re going to say but I don’t remember.”
“Well, I do,” she said.
On my birthday, My mother called 30 minutes to the date 55 years ago that I was born.
“Do you remember what happened just about 55 years ago?” my mother asked.
“No,” I said. “I know what you’re going to say but I don’t remember.”
“Well, I do,” she said.
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