At the age of 35, and having only just begun exercising, I've gotten myself talked into running the Austin Marathon with my good friends Stephanie and Melissa. Find out how in part 1 of "From MuuMuus to Marathons."
This entire week I’ve casually tried to drop into every conversation the fact that I'm training for a marathon. The checker at the grocery store knows, the girl at the gas station knows, I even mentioned it in the hobby section of my library card application. My conversations with Stephanie, my best friend, coworker and co-marathoner-in-training, now consist of the terms, “hydration,” “quad stretches,” and “distance running vs. sprinting,” instead of the usual, "God, how I love Matt Damon" and “how did Nicole Richie get pregnant when she’s THAT skinny?”
I’m on a marathon high and for the past four days since I signed up to run a marathon, I have been loftily walking around almost convinced that running/walking 26 miles will be a breeze. OK, if not a breeze, then at least a challenge that I will get through with my rock hard calves and a little determination.
Reality hit me last night, the evening before our first training session, when I read on the Website that all runners must wear “shoe tags” with identification and a phone number in the case of emergency. Visions of me being scraped off the trail while other runners jump over me like elk circle in my mind.
I bolt straight up from bed and fnd my husband. “John, listen to this."
He assures me that if he gets a phone call, he will rescue me with no fewer than three bottles of Coca-Cola (regular of course) and a whole bag of Hershey's kisses to revive me; while simultaneously throwing my 20 oz. bottle of Sam's Choice water into the depths of Austin’s Town Lake.
Feeling somewhat reassured, I fitfully fall asleep.
Training Day, Wherein I Debate Turning the Car Around & Heading Home
The alarm goes off five hours later and I open my eyes to a dark and quiet house. I have a cup of coffee while debating whether or not I should shave for this, my first official day of marathoning. After some debate, I skip my legs and shave my pits and mustache instead. After all, who wants sweat dripping from their mustache if they are not a man?As I drive the 45 minutes to the workout camp, I pump myself up with “Eye of the Tiger” and “Gloria.” I throw in a good dose of “Hero” by Mariah Carey, and enjoy the ride in, singing loudly and pumping my fist in the air for good measure.
Once I get near downtown Austin, I notice all the cones and sawhorses. This is where nit hits me – I am going to have to run today. I debate whether to bypass the cones and this crazy marathon business (after all, special ed kids got picked in front of me in P.E., who am I fooling?) and hightail it to Denny's where people like me belong.
I catch a glimpse of a yuppie driving a Toyota 4-Runner while simultaneously applying lipstick and talking on her cell phone. Her perfectly groomed children are sitting quietly in the backseat, with calm faces and not a DVD player in sight. I bet she's never had to try to scrub French fries out of the velour seats or try to get dried ketchup off the window. She probably only feeds her kids natural snacks like granola and grapes.
Then, to my own surprise, I hear myself say, “Yeah, you got all that, but can you run a marathon, lady?"
And just like that I turn on my right blinker and leave her in my dust when the light turns green. I call Steph, who is amazed I am not only coming, but I am only two blocks away. When I pull in next to her, she jumps out of her car, yelling that she's so proud of me.
The "Pace Run": Would I Even Be Allowed to Do a Marathon?
Stephanie and I meet up with Melissa, sign up, and apply our (gulp) shoe tags. We stand around a big stage and listen to inspirational stories. I scope out the crowd and am pleased to note I am only the third fattest person there. There are plenty of senior citizens, a mom or two with jogging stroller and sleepy toddler in tow, a few dogs and lots and lots of skinny chicks with skimpy outfits.
While I entertain visions of slipping real sugar (OH MY GOD!) into their energy, electrolyte-enhanced beverages (complete with sport tops for ease of drinking on the trail!), I try to check out the free goodie bags we get after our “pace run” (what is that, for God's sake?), but alas the goodie bags are too far away, glistening in the early morning sun like an offering to the gods.
A woman gets up on the stage to lead us through warm up. I promptly wacked Perfect Running Couple in Matching Workout Suits with my overzealous arm circles. I erupt into a nervous fit of the giggles.
After the warm-up, we are herded over to a group of saw horses to start our pace run. Steph explains to me that in the pace run, we are to walk/jog one or two miles while they time us to figure out how long it takes us to complete a mile. After doing the math, I figured I probably do about a 15-minute mile. Shoot. The walkers group does a 12-minute mile. This means I will have to pick up the pace to even qualify for the lowest level allowed to train.
Melissa and I take off walking fast, jogging down every hill to try to gain good speed. We end up completing a 13-minute mile (they still let us in). Stephanie, the super athlete, completes a 10-minute mile. Stephanie is placed in the Orange group and Melissa and I are placed in Purple. Steph is only one level ahead of us.
The three of us, sweaty and tired, scoop up our free goodie bags, listening to chiropractors try to convince us that superior athletic ability is within our goal with one quick adjustment, then grab our homework for the week.
We leave feeling accomplished and full of excitement at the road ahead. I can't guarantee I won't “accidentally” trip Malibu Barbie when she jogs by me next week, but I can guarantee you I will show up for more torture session with a smile on my face.
Pray for me.
Jennifer Roesner lives outside Austin, Texas. She's training for her first marathon in February, 2008. Check back in for Part 3 of From Muumuus to Marathons, to read about Jennifer struggling to cross her first finish line.
