Believe it or not, there are some folks that come to this little site to read about the running stuff. In fact, these people could care less about the Phillies, Eagles or any type of the mainstream spectator sports where one of the goals is to actually feel one's ass grow. Instead, they are much more interested in participating in sports. Come on, who can sit inside and watch a game on TV when 5x1 mile in 5:10 is on the schedule?
Anyway, there are names for these people. Lots of them, I suppose, based on some rudimentary lip reading of the lemmings hurtling around in the cars clogging up the roads. "Dork" seems to be one of the few that can be published here, but to me there is a different name.
I call them warriors and they are my people.
Actually, I don't call them warriors. I just made that up to be dramatic because I couldn't think up anything better. Truth be told, whenever I'm inside or driving around in a car I always stare like at the runners that cross my path like a guy who just left an Eagles' game and headed to the "gentleman's club" to take in the late afternoon matinee. But rather than some sort of deviant intent, I watch because I'm jealous that there are people out running around while I'm not. It's enough to make me crazy and go out and do something rash. But since I'm conserving energy for the second run of the day later in the afternoon, I just stare and roil with envy.
Like a dork.
Of course there are subsets to this dorkdom, just like there are in anything else. Perhaps it is like the sects of Eagles' fans where some like to get dressed up in a jersey and/or uniform and paint their faces as if they were Daniel Day-Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans, while others just go to the game and cheer or boo accordingly.
In running there are differences, too. There are runners who simply run and runners who train. There is no in-between because as the old saying goes, "You are either training or you are not." Still, defining the difference between the two sets isn't as easy as all that. Sometimes one is training and doesn't know it and other times a person is training so poorly they might as well just be running.
Or something like that.
Anyway, I think I'm training. After two months of running simply to put together some semblance of fitness, it's time to dive in. The focus, of course, is another marathon, which at this point is a lot like banging my head against a wall. Yet for some reason there is a thought that there is a chance that something elusive is there for the grabbing. Still, running is easy and training is hard. Oh sure, it's fun and all of that, but it's fun in the way that building an addition to your house is fun or drinking so much coffee that you can see the hair growing on your face.
Yes, it's all fun but certainly not for everyone. Actually, I wouldn't recommend any of it.
But we're going back into the breach again, my friends. So far we're three days and 45 miles into it and all of the old obsessions are on the way back. Make it obsessions about obsessions. Suddenly everything matters - sleep, food, weight, miles, the weather, pace, more miles as well as the glancing thought that my calves will spasm chronically for the next five months (at least) and if it's possible if those perpetually black toes can get blacker.
And for what? A little self masochism? Self medication? The idea that 2:30s means something?
Well... yeah.
One of my lines about all of this is, "I'm not doing it for my health." I don't buy all that new agey stuff about feeling free or a oneness with nature or any other such thing. Like the sleek, vigilant puma, most runners who train are hostile and aggressive. They would like nothing better than to slash your throat to a bloody, messy slab of spongy flesh. But since most runners go to one extreme or another and a much too small to for the local Fight Club, the puma metaphor is all they have.
Besides, it's healthy than face painting.
*** So there it is. After talking to my management team (OK, just my wife), it looks like the plan is to hit the Pocono Mountain Marathon on May 4 and the Richmond (Va.) Marathon on Nov. 15. All systems are go - no one is pregnant, the kids are settled, schedules are set and playoff baseball won't interfere... that is if there is playoff baseball.
All that's left is the work.