And The Insanity Begins...

What is it about endurance events that attracts certain people? Why is it that some of us are more than happy to count a half hour light walk or jog each day as decent exercise (and it is, according to the latest information released by the US government) and some of us have to race-pace for an hour or more just to start feeling as though we're getting a reasonable level of activity? What is it about distance running that turns most people's stomachs...and some of us into addicts?

I've thought about this for at least the past twenty-four hours or so, shortly after registering online for the Boulder Backroads Marathon, a Nike-sponsored race three months from now. While I'm unconcerned about the training I know it will be substantial, and registering will also kick-start my brain--which has been running-fuzzy since the Bolder Boulder, to say the least--into compliance with the rigorous training routine I know I'll have to follow from here on out. After registering, I was feeling pretty good about myself...even to the point of e-mailing my registration receipt to Gregory with the same subject heading as this post's title. I knew if I spent the money on it, I'd follow through with my training for it. By the time September 25th rolled around, I'd be a lean, mean, marathon-running machine. I was stoked.

So stoked, in fact, I decided it'd be a good idea to share my progress with some of my friends and colleagues. After the third or fourth person gave me a blank look and asked, "Why?" in a tone reserved specifically for dealing with the mentally disabled, I came to a stunning new realization: I really was as crazy as their looks were making me feel. What kind of insanity must one possess to actually plunk down $64.40 of hard-earned dough (hey, when you're living hand-to-mouth, $64.40 is two weeks' worth of groceries) so that they could participate in an event which demands the ability to keep the body physically moving for 26.2 miles? Who would actually pay to work out by running 40-60 miles each week for the next 13 weeks, so that as the finale to all of that training you get to run a substantial portion of that distance all at once, one time? Better yet, what the hell are the marathon committee members thinking by offering a pint glass as well as a finisher's medal to all finishers? That we're actually going to want beer once we're done literally running our bodies into the ground?

David Sedaris, in describing a scene from an event in the rural village in France in which he was, at the time, living, writes 'Here was an event that answered the question "Why?" with a resounding "Why not?"' Sedaris' essay, I Almost Saw This Girl Get Killed in his book Me Talk Pretty One Day, describes the event in question as centered around an arena that held vachettes which are, apparently, kind of the punk-rockers of cattle. An angry vachette--or several angry vachettes--would be released into the arena and the people therein would try various ways of pissing it off further without getting maimed for life. The first component of this event included the vachette being released into a soccer game, and she snorted and charged after players who were apparently entrusted with the fateful task of keeping the game going in the presence of a very angry, emotionally disturbed animal.

Whenever I've thought about marathons in the past, I've always felt that the same kind of ideas apply. "Why do a marathon?" "Hey, why not?!" was always my joking answer, at least inside my head. I couldn't really ever come up with a reason, besides, well, that distance runners are crazy. Even after I got the idea to do Backroads into my head, I still never came up with a real reason. Since registering, however, Gregory posed the worst question anyone could've asked me: So, do you have any goals in mind?

It was the worst because it forced me to rethink my why? why not?! justification. Nobody runs 26.2 miles just because, ever. There has to be a better reason. Better reasons lead to goals. Goals lead to further motivation to accomplish the teask set forth, or at least that's the way my brain has always worked. So since then, I've been thinking about it, and I've come to a few conclusions:

1)My only real goal is to finish. Yeah, I'd love to do sub-3:40 and qualify for Boston, but I'm not too concerned about it. I want to go out and give it my best and have a good time.
2)I need to assess my ability to keep up my nutritional needs on the course. This is more for future reference, as should my marathon be a fun and successful adventure, my next goal will be the Leadville Trail 100. Yes, that's right, a 100 mile footrace. More to come, some other time.
3)The training program for the marathon alone will get me into shape. Coupled with a solid abs routine, I will be buff and beautiful and healthier than I've ever been by the time September 25th rolls around. It's been a long time since I felt that good, and I would like to have it back again.
4)I can continue to hike in order to mix up my training and especially to strengthen my ankles, calves and knees. When your feet are constantly readjusting to rocks, mud, water, soft snow, dirt trails, packed snow, basically being turned in every position possible without injuring the muscles and tissues within them, I consider it excellent prevent-an-injury training. It's also excellent cardio work and I love hiking. The fact that it fits beautifully into my training just makes it all the better.
5)Distance runners are psychotic, and I love being one of them. A few months ago when I quit smoking and went for my first run in a decade, I never thought I'd be saying this. Between then and now I've had a few injuries, retrained my muscles in my legs substantially, lost a little bit of weight, eat better, and have achieved the "runner's high" or "the zone" as I call it, that euphoria that transports your brain into a dimension dominated solely by the rhythm of one foot hitting the ground in front of the other and the inhalations and exhalations paced to that speed, a dimension in which I literally feel I could run forever. It's the best feeling in the world, mostly because it's all yours. Nobody else contributes to it, and nothing can take it away. It's solid bliss, found within a pace and stride matching your present mood and attitude, and once you're there, you never want to leave.

So I guess there's only two real goals there, but it certainly got me thinking. There's a tiny part of me that just wants to be able to say, "I ran a marathon." That tiny part is the seed of my "zone", my favorite place on earth, where all that exists is the ground under my feet, the path ahead of me, the sky over my head and the blood pounding in my ears, whispering, "you can do it, you can do it."