sports
BY NICOLE BOLTON
Marathon Madness
From less than zero to long distance
T
he morning of my fi rst 18 miler
it was raining. I was prepared
for the weather and the run. Rain
hat, sweat band, Gatorade for mile 3, Gu
energy paste for miles 7 and 12, even
electrolyte tabs.
It took more than three hours, but
it felt good — really good. I was home
before lunch, showered, iced and ready
for the day. It wasn’t until that afternoon
that I saw the strange rash forming on my
chest. By bedtime it became clear what
had happened: The Nike swoosh on my
T-shirt had rubbed against my skin for
hours and mixed with sweat and rain. I’d
been branded.
After waiting tables for years, I fi nally
had my fi rst 9-to-5 since graduating
college. I liked the new job, but I was
tired all the time. Part of my exhaustion
came from using a part of my brain long
dormant. But I had to admit that sitting on
a bus, then at work and fi nally in front of
the TV was doing my body no favors.
A friend I used to wait tables with
lived three blocks away, and we missed
our hours of mindless chatter. We decided
to start running together. Once or twice
a week we’d lace up our shoes and jog
for an hour. One night after running we
went for hot chocolate and she gave me
a book outlining a training schedule for
beginning marathon runners. I laughed.
She was serious.
Eventually I gave in, and brought
aboard a third runner — a former sorority
sister and, in character and temperament,
my neighbor’s exact opposite. I thought
the group dynamic might make things
interesting, even if the running wasn’t.
A little more than 18 weeks later,
we crossed the fi nish line at the Seafair
Marathon, holding hands. And six months
after that, I cried as I watched them run
in the Seattle Marathon. I’d intended on
training with them but had bowed out.
I’ve regretted my decision ever since, but
it wasn’t until now — fi ve years later and
280 miles south in Eugene — that I’ve
decided to do anything about it.
I’m going into training older and
slower but a lot more prepared for what’s
going to happen to my body — the good,
the bad and the ugly. I’ve built a nice base
of 3 miles that I can manage a few times
a week. Already those lovely endorphins
are fl owing through my body, fi lling me
with energy. I’m hungry a lot. And I’ve
reconnected with an old friend here in
Eugene, where I grew up, to train with
during longer runs.
I know as my mileage increases,
weird things will start happening. Sudden
cramps in my calves will shoot me awake
in the middle of the night. My thighs
probably won’t chafe, but my armpits
certainly will. And I’ve already invested
in a sports bra as expensive as my car
insurance payments, so hopefully my
boobs won’t be quite as sore this time
around. Thankfully, I’ve never had to deal
with some of the more common ailments
of the long-distance runner — killer
blisters, dead toenails, bloody nipples —
but, then again, I have no idea what the
next few months will bring.
After a couple months training last
time around, I discovered a confi dence
I’d never before experienced. I was
superwoman; I could run 10 miles
straight. One Friday night, a musician
friend of mine was passing through town
to play a show. I was feeling particularly
confi dent. I could go see his set at 11 pm,
no problem. I could even have a drink,
a vodka cranberry — the juice would be
good for me. But the drink turned into
three or four or fi ve, and then it was 7 am
and my alarm was going off. I had 11 miles
to run and a friend waiting for me. I don’t
remember much about that particular run
except fi nding every public restroom (you
get really good at planning routes based
on available toilets) and drinking fountain
we passed.
I learned an important lesson that day:
No matter how good I feel mentally, I am
mortal. In order for my body to perform,
I have to respect it. It would have been
wiser to switch the run from Saturday to
Sunday that weekend.
I’m more prepared for the pain and
sacrifi ce this time, and more excited about
the rewards. If I properly respect my
body, it will pay me back with fi tness and
fi nesse and energy. My muscles will grow
stronger, and my heart will thank me.
A pretty fair trade off, even if I do end
up getting blisters, bloody nipples and
dead toenails.
ew
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EUGENE WEEKLY MARCH 17, 2011 13