I believe that the marathon is about equal amounts of physical and mental toughness. I think the mental toughness aspect of the race is often times more important than the physical side. There comes a time in every race, and in every training run, when most runners want to quit. I can say this unequivocally, there comes a time, usually multiple times, in every run when I want to quit.
Running is hard. Very hard. I have to continually and constantly resist the urge to quit.
My favorite runs are the ones I spend with my dear friend Ed. Ed is a 33 time marathoner (I have just done 21 of them). He’s also an IRONMAN (something I will probably never be). Ed is a warrior and an inspiration.
He’s also a close close friend. I cherish the times we run together.
Continue reading “Progress (S-L-O-W Progress, but Progress Nonetheless)”
The NYC Marathon is 7 weeks away.
I upped my long run (on the treadmill, again) to 12 miles. Again, not fast, but, slow and steady covers (if not wins) the race.
I just have to push through the pain that accompanies the run. The tears in my right Achilles aren’t exactly fun to deal with, during, or after the run. But pain is temporary, pride is forever!
I took only one quick walking break today, for less than a minute, at 5.0 miles.
Today was another step in the right direction.
I’ll push the distance to 15 miles next week.
New York City…here I come!
(I’ll see the surgery center after the race.)
This week my orthopedist said that they’ll schedule my Achilles surgery in mid-November… after the NYC Marathon.
“If you want to try to run it… run it,” he said.
I have to ramp up my long runs very quickly. I only have 8 weeks until the race.
Today was a BIG step in the right direction. I wasn’t fast. I took quick walking breaks (less than a minute each) at .5, 1.5, 3.5, and 8.5 miles.
A BIG STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION!
Next Saturday, I’ll do 12.
TOUGH AS NAILS!
Pain is temporary… Pride is forever!
I just got off the treadmill. I’m tired. I’m in some pain. I’d like to go to bed, but it’s morning. I’m tired. Real tired. But, underneath all of this exhaustion, I feel alive. I feel more alive than I’ve felt in a long time.
It’s good to feel ALIVE!
This is the story I didn’t want to write…
***
Two days after I pitched on June 23, I had my first appointment with the orthopedist. This doctor is very well known and very respected. He took X-Rays, put me through a battery of small tests, he examined my legs, took careful note of my right Achilles, and, after all of that, said that my baseball season, my softball season, and my running season are all over.
I knew this was coming.
We all knew this was coming.
I just didn’t want to hear it.
I still don’t.
It all started as a sort of lark. A few dads from my school were talking about forming a baseball team and jokingly (or not) asked me if I was interested in playing. I immediately declined. While I have played competitive men’s softball for decades, I hadn’t played baseball since I was sixteen years old. While I might be pretty good at softball (on my good days), I was never very good as baseball.
If I had one, my prime would have been a long time ago. I’m fifty years old, well past baseball age. I knew that a league like that wasn’t for me.
Continue reading “One Last Shot… A Real Life Baseball Story (Part 9 -The Second Start)”
I woke up today, April 6, feeling pretty terrible. Awfully terrible. I still feel terrible.
But yesterday I felt even worse – even if the actually feelings were different kinds of terrible.
In the end, terrible is terrible no matter how or where it feels.
Continue reading “One Last Shot… A Real Life Baseball Story (Part 5)”
On November 10, I started my comeback. I was ready. I was fired up. I was focused.
I was still injured.
I just didn’t want to admit it.
It has been the strangest autumn of my life. Or, at least the strangest autumn of the last fifteen years – since 2002.
I’ve shared on these pages before that I’m not running a fall marathon this year.
It’s an unfamiliar feeling. And I don’t particularly like it. The beloved New York City Marathon, the race I love and adore, will go on without me.
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