i was born on the 87th anniversary of the first Boston Marathon. Patriot's Day. April 19th was no happy accident. it was the morning of the 'midnight ride of Paul Revere'. Like Pheidippides, Paul Revere was America's messenger. so the Boston Athletic Association picked this day to pay homage to couriers everywhere. My dad qualified for Boston. and i'm not leaving this world until i've had my BQ. or at least that's what i promised myself when i was given a second chance at being a runner in this world at all.
which is why i've completely reconsidered my training strategies for 2013. we're cutting to the chase now. my new plan is this: i will not run NYC until i have run Boston. this means running fast, flat courses in 2013. I'm thinking Chicago. i had an MRI this evening. as i layed there still in that horrible loud tunnel, i made a vow to myself to take my training seriously. i'm not here to finish marathons. anyone can finish a marathon. that isn't what i set out to do. eff that. i want what most people know they'll realistically never get. if i can win first and second place medals in 3, 5, or 10 miles, there's no reason why i should still be farting around on a longer race course like i've been doing. four hours is no longer an acceptable time for me. i need to start producing 8 minute marathon miles every time. i realized this in Newport when i did not hit a wall during the race. although my knee failed me before i was halfway through, i never did become tired. i didn't cry when i ran through the finish line in Newport. i collected my medal and my blanket, and quietly slinked back home to retreat, lick my wounds, and feel sorry for myself for the rest of the day. more than half of the competitors finished behind me, so i'm sure if they heard my bitching about the time, they'd think i was a 'self absorbed narcissist'. i would like to formally invite anyone who shares that opinion of me to go fuck themselves. you'll have all the right in the world to pass judgement upon me once you beat me. like a shitty relationship, i will not look back on it fondly or with pride. but it taught me a lot about myself, and with every long distance, the experience permanently alters your soul. and given the chance, i'd still punch it in the face if provoked.
i don't have a running watch. i just go out there and i open up. sometimes it's a 6:30 mile, and sometimes it's an 8:30 mile. but when i'm on the go, i'm gone. i'm a zen runner. no water bottles, no watches, no ipods, no iphone running apps. i run with my heart and stop when my heart is no longer singing. i disconnect entirely, and my physical state is only a small technicality. i've never dealt with injury like this before. i've never even thought about it. understandably, i'm very upset that something as trivial as a piece of cartilage could even prevent me from doing what i've done every day for ten years. i am angrily brandishing my fist at you, knee cartilage. you asshole.
am i bitter that my meniscus went when it did? that sonofabitch! cut it out. that bastard cheated me out of everything i worked my ass off for. i was trained. i was done. i was ready. i was poised on the edge of triumph and i snatched defeat right out of the jaws of victory. if only it could have just waited until after the race to give me trouble... coulda woulda shoulda... i went too far and i ran myself into the dirt this time. i didn't dedicate myself. i was too tired from sailing. there's many excuses i've been using to rationalize my time, but at the end of the day, i still need surgery and i'm fucking pissed. i couldn't even place in a 5K if i wanted to right now. i'm anxious to see how my next doctor appointment will go.
...and, this is when i tell myself that i've been hurting worse than this before. and i'll be hurting worse than this again. there is a mason jar full of old race bib pins beside my bed. and they're a good reminder of how far i've come since just last year. sometimes you just have to take time to rebuild in order to come back more powerful than before. i've done it. so i'm familiar with the leap of faith it takes to leave behind your tired, broken body and become something entirely different. it isn't for everybody.
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