Once-in-a-Lifetime, Again

Friday, March 11, 2011

Page 11

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Once-in-a-Lifetime, Again

By J’AMY PACHECO

About this time last year, my best friend and I made an unusual decision. I had recently celebrated my 50th birthday and, determined to do one crazy thing to commemorate that year, casually mentioned the possibility of participating in a 13.1 mile half-marathon.

At first, we laughed uproariously at the thought of two relatively sedentary moms attempting a 13.1 mile jaunt as a foray into the wonderful world of running. But we ended up registering, training and completing the September event within the time allowed, and were rewarded with some nifty medals for our efforts.

For Christmas, my pal gave me a shadow box containing pictures from the event and a friendship poem, as well as a spot to place my bling.

I considered it a once-in-a-lifetime thing, and when my friend suggested a few weeks ago that we do it again, my instinct was to say, “Nope.” But since my friend just celebrated a milestone birthday of her own—40—and because I almost never say “nope” to anything I think I’ll be able to write about later, I agreed to do it.

Participating in a 13.1 mile race isn’t something you can just go out and do spontaneously. Last year, we started a 14-week training plan in April because we wanted to make sure we were ready. The plan involved working on speed during the week, saving endurance for Saturdays, when we would attempt distances ranging from two to 10 miles.

We both managed to injure ourselves over the summer, so our training got off-track for a while. But our marathon story still had a happy ending.

If I’d had any clue that I would be persuaded to repeat the experience, I would have stayed in better shape. I would have kept up the Saturday endurance training—or at a minimum, started parking farther from the grocery store. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I’m starting from ground zero again.

In my little world, there’s no adventure in doing something without throwing in some complications. Therefore, this year, I decided to have surgery right about the time I would have started training. Not just any surgery—I went with the kind that virtually guarantees you’ll be out of sorts for about eight weeks.

The last day of the eight-week recovery period is the day I would normally have to start the 14-week training program. Although my usual modus operandi would be to stagger out of the recovery room and start training at the last possible minute, I thought I’d better take a different approach and begin training before the surgery.

So, for the last three weeks, I’ve been training for yet another 13.1 mile adventure that will take place Labor Day weekend.

I use the word “training” loosely, as my family has decided to help and encourage me by going along on some of my walks.

Going for a walk with my family would be a pleasant thing if it didn’t involve two weeks of preparation for each 30-minute stroll. My teenaged daughter, for example, refuses to wear proper shoes, insisting her ballerina-style flats are fine.

While we’re arguing over that, my husband usually runs upstairs to check his e-mail and inevitably finds something that “needs” to be answered. Once he’s finally ready and we’re halfway out the door, someone will suggest we bring the dog along. That means we have to collect dog-water and equipment to pick up any deposits the pooch might decide to leave along the way.

It’s usually dusk by the time we get going. We live in a rural area that gets fairly dark when the sun goes down, so we spend a lot of time trying to watch where we step. There are, we’ve discovered, a lot of people who leave the house without collecting their pup-poop equipment.

With the dog along, we have to make sudden stops at nearly every tree, fire hydrant, pole, bush, stick, rock, leaf and blade of grass. And each one needs to be “marked.” I wouldn’t have guessed it was possible for a 15-pound creature to carry 15 gallons of liquid waste, but she has demonstrated on our walks that she is capable of that.

My training is off to a slow start, but it’s off. I suspect the only way I’m going to be ready in September is if I figure out how to sneak out of the house without my entourage.

If that doesn’t work, I suppose I can always just run away when they ask to come along. Who knows—maybe it will make me faster in the long run…which is what September is definitely going to bring.