One

It's been another low-key day. You probably burned through most of today's nervous-energy capital yesterday morning. Once you gave up fighting the transportation situation, it all got calmer. The day has mostly been about getting food, riding around the two cities, and getting your stuff in order.

Run with Ashish, Brent, and Taryn - check. The weather is going to be (kind of high-pitched and excited voice) AhhhHahhhHaawesome!

Post-run breakfast at an interesting restaurant with the same folks - check. Hell's Kitchen = Yummy food. They have a sausage-raisin-coffee-nut bread... Which sounds weird, but it was good.

Train to St Paul, pick up packet, train back - check. Lots of sitting on a train. Lots.

Noodle lunch with Brent and his dad  - check. Japanese noodle/sushi place. It hit the spot.

Hanging out for a bit at the football / bingo bar with more of the crowd - check. Left early, cuz you weren't comfortable (sorry guys, I kinda knew that wasn't going to be where I wanted to be, even before we went)

Prep stuff for the morning - check. Locked and loaded.

Dinner with Cam, Ashish, Brent, and Brent's Dad (yes, he does have a first name, but he said he's OK with " Brent's Dad", so you are doing like your kids do with their friends.) - check. You actually ate some pasta for dinner. That's not the normal preface fare, but your gut (instinct) is saying it's perfect.

About the only real anxious part of your day has been when the ghost elevator at the hotel wouldn't let you out. It took you to the lobby. Doors didn't open. Then up to floor 11. Doors opened, but nobody there. Back to the lobby again. This time the doors opened and you got out a little quicker than usual. Maybe it's just trying to tell you to "turn it up to 11" tomorrow?

And for what's next? Maybe sit in the tub for a little, then go to sleep (but not in the tub). You think you can sleep, anyway.

Two

The drama of the day has now become obvious. Weather in Dallas messed up the flights. The airline automagically re-booked you with a much later flight, and a very narrow connection window, through one of the busiest airports in the country.

You've tried to get in touch with a person on the phone who can help at least make the connection window larger. For a while, the message is simply "The weather was bad in Dallas last night. We can't take your call. Sorry, goodbye." Then, it turns into "We can call you back in half an hour if you leave your number." So you leave a number, and they call you back! There's a live person on the phone, and she's helping you!

And then... silence. For a long time. And then you're disconnected. You call back. Your number is in the queue again. They'll call you back. Maybe.

This isn't what you were supposed to be worrying about today, but never fear... you will adapt, get there when you get there, and all will be well.

Relax. Breathe. Eat something, too.

Three

I've got to step back into first-person for a bit.

It's already almost Friday. This week has just blown right by me. Three is nearly Two. Yikes.

I don't really have much to say tonight.

Today was really a rather calm day, with very few obsessive/compulsive moments, and no panic attacks or anything (FYI, the weather is still looking great).

I packed. I didn't take the customary picture of all the running junk this time though. That means one of two things. Either I will tear that bag apart in the morning and make certain everything is in there (then have to pack it all back up), or I won't, and I'll end up realizing something I forgot in the next couple days.  I'm pretty sure all the important stuff is in there. Well.. kinda sure. Maybe. Ok, I'm just going to have to peek in that bag tomorrow.

Also, we got a small pace / course talk from Steve before our run this evening. I am glad I went and listened to what he had to say. With a few small differences, he basically echoed how I plan to approach this race. That is a nice confidence boost.

And surprisingly, I think he actually answered yesterday's question about  why I find it easier to think about The Goal Time rather than The Goal Pace. I won't try to quote what he said, because I would just screw it up, but it made me realize that I just simply don't think about the race that way. The gist of his comment was Nobody actually runs goal pace. Which set something like the following train of thought into motion:

I want to get from Start to Finish in The Goal Time (or faster), and to achieve that, I'm going to run 4 to 5 miles at Feelsincrediblyslowbuthopefullyisn't Pace. Then I'll be running a whole bunch of miles at Speedybutefficient Pace. Somewhere, I'll have to switch to Mentalballsofsteel Pace, and then make a seamless transition into Justkeeppassingpeople Pace, whenever the time feels right. The final bit will be Alloutsprintinslomo Pace. Steve is right. None of those are actually The Goal Pace.

Hmm.. there were more words in there than I thought. Time to sleep.

Four

It always comes back to The Goal Pace question. "how fast is that?", "what is that, per mile?", or some variation thereof. This is usually the second question. It arrives hot on the heels of The Goal Time question. A little math can get a person from one to the other (and back again!), but math is hard, so the questions typically go hand-in-hand.

Weather check! Ooh! It's looking colder!

So if they are the same thing, why is it that the The Goal Time answer is so much easier to vocalize than The Goal Pace answer? The Goal Time answer prompts a few goosebumps, and maybe a light sheen of sweat. Not a big deal. The Goal Pace answer though, causes mild nausea and involuntary buttcheek clenchage.

Why? It's something you have been pondering for the past couple weeks, but there's still no clear answer. The only theory (to date) which has not been shot down is that the basic assumption is wrong and they are not, in fact, the same thing. It would be difficult to argue in a court of law, but you're starting to warm to that idea. It is less scary when The Goal Pace is expressed in delta-seconds-per-mile (ΔSPMs), as in "eight seconds per mile faster than before." Maybe that's a clue.

Whatever the answer, it means this is a good goal. A good goal behaves in this manner. A goal that is known to be achievable, or one that is known to not be achievable would be the opposite of a good goal. It would be a bad goal. Bad goals leave the skin dry and smooth, the stomach settled, and the buttcheeks in their normal resting state. Nobody wants that.

Five

The sniffing and throat clearing is getting to be a bit much. It is like the fiftieth time already this morning. Ugh... This had better not be the start of a cold. Probably it is just the pre-race sniffles. That's a thing, isn't it? But there has been something making the rounds at work. 

Five minutes until the first meeting of the day. Water. That will help. Go get some water. Then sit down and read any email that showed up last night. 

Oh nice. It's flu clinic week. You had forgotten that was going on. A flu shot? Really, now is not a good time. De-lete... hey wait... this email is different... it's a reply-to-ALL... oh man, someone's gonna be in trouble!  "Before you go take the flumist vaccine... something something... shedding live virus... something something... 20% [of everyone who gets one] is going to be contagious... something something... self-quarantine to ensure the safety of the immunocompromised [and the mental health of those running a Marathon this weekend]". 

You wish you hadn't read that. Should have known better. Any other week, and it wouldn't have been a big deal. Now everyone you see today is going to have Pig-Pen-esque clouds of flu virii swirling around them. Relax. Breathe (but not too deeply). Drink some water. 

Sigh. Well, that killed three minutes. There's not actually enough time to do anything useful before the meeting. Wonder what the weather's going to be like on Sunday. Ha! "don't think about the weather again until Friday", my ass! Still looks nice. Good. No, great! That's great news! Speaking of news, it has been a couple days. You peek at the headlines to see what's going on in the world. 

EBOLA ARRIVES IN DALLAS

You let out a big sigh, close the browser and pull your PC off the dock. Then you grab your water and take another swig. That's how it is going to be today, is it? All right, then. There's a quick pit stop in the break area to turn on the hot tap and put your hands under the water for as long as you can tolerate it. Then, it's off to confine yourself in a room with a small group of adults for the next hour.

Seven and Six

Seven:

"Good Morning Mommy!"

The yell came from upstairs - it was the smaller one's voice. The first thought - Why do they have to get up so early, and why do they insist on making so much noise when they do?

Then, a glance at the clock. 8:00 AM. Oh! Not so early after all. And wow... exactly one week until the gun goes off. Or will it be an airhorn? Followed by some kind of Minnesota anthem? "Let's go Crazy," perhaps?

One week. It still seems so distant. Not completely real just yet. But you've got that undercurrent of nervous tension going. For the last couple days, it's just meant being obsessed with making sure nothing is forgotten. The packing list keeps growing - Don't forget your SportShield! And your extra SportShield! Finding that last stick of Bodyglide in the convention center before Philly was lucky. The panic of realizing that this essential item was still in Austin, though...  it's not an experience worth repeating. One of the voices in the back of your head (the one that sounds like your running buddy, Ashish) tells you to shut up about your chafing problems already.

And then, there's where to eat. Some general baselines have been established, but nothing is firm just yet. The plan includes something "tasty", together with a small amount of something "beerish" on Friday night. Yes - that's as specific as it is right now. Then a big breakfast on Saturday. Probably some noodle soup for lunch - that's Brentley's thing, but you are willing to give it a shot. And dinner on Saturday night... well, who knows. You know what dinner isn't. It isn't Ruby Tuesday. It certainly isn't Chipotle. But there's probably worse things to be worried about right now.

Six:

Really? It's 4:30 already? Why is it so easy to roll out of bed when it's going to be a group run, but so difficult when you have to go solo? All summer long it's been a struggle. Sliding out of bed onto the floor, stumbling out into the dark living room, just waiting to step on a wayward Lego or stub yet another toe on a couch leg, or ram a shin into the coffee table. Drink something, eat something, then go do that zombie-jog thing for the first thirty minutes. It only takes a second or so for all that to run through your brain, and then you've quickly changed the alarm to the (slightly) more reasonable weekday wakeup time. Come on.. it's the shortest Monday run all summer, and it's the last one. Get up... Go run...

...at lunch. This feels awesome. Stronger and lighter than anything in recent memory. That's a good thing (probably). It's not particularly fast, but it isn't supposed to be. Everything seems to be clicking. The fleeting obsession of the morning was the weather. Some unsubstantiated reports of a 75-degree high rolled in, but your sources say no way (José). 40's and 50's during the race, a high in the low 60's. Rain - not likely, but not out of the question, either. Don't think about the weather again until Friday. Pack a parka and a loincloth. It's all about options.

Your mind wanders to that odd sci-fi novel you read earlier in the summer - the one that was written all in second person. It was a little awkward at first, but it grew on you pretty quickly. And then your thoughts jump the tracks to that blog post you wrote last night. Like so many others, you never actually pushed the publish button. Too self-critical. Hmm.. change the voice, add some color, and dump today's round of random and useless thoughts in there? Sure. See how long before this second-person thing gets really super-duper annoying? Definitely.

Mile 1160: Bodyglide is for Badasses

Fall "officially" showed up this week, along with a cool, and more importantly dry breath of air. I won't delude myself into thinking that summer is completely over just yet, but this sure does feel nice.

With T-minus-10 days and counting until Marathon #9 (outwardly calm, inwardly... starting to freak out a little), it's a good time to avoid obsessing about the race by reflecting on the two most important lessons I learned in all those miles this summer:

1. There's a product out there called "SportShield".

2. It is AWESOME!! With a capital 'A'. And a capital 'WESOME'. And two exclamation points.

Thanks to Nathan for spreading the good word. And now, I am here to spread the word to you. It might be the only post with any useful information that I ever write.


"But.. but.." you might stammer, "the title of this post is about Body Glide! And badasses!"

That's right. I should be clear here - this is my experience, and your mileage may vary. I have nothing against Body Glide or the good folks at whatever company makes the stuff. I've been swearing by Body Glide for several years now. Why? I chafe. Really bad. Where? That's none of your business. But now that I am leaving it up to your imagination, you are getting all sorts of horrible ideas, even though the reality is very tame (this is my proof that there's no such thing as TMI).

Anyway, yeah... Body Glide has been a life saver. If I use Body Glide, my chafeable patches stay a nice rosy pink all summer long, and they may get slightly raw on longer runs. Not super bad.. just enough to make me wonder who is making all those awful squealing noises during my post-long run showers.

But if I forget Body Glide on just one run, it's like a belt sander loaded with 40-grit was somehow involved, and I'll have trouble walking for the rest of the day.

Body Glide truly has been good to me, but SportShield is a whole different level I never knew existed. I tried it out for the first time maybe six weeks ago? Eight? I don't remember. It's so good that it has completely erased the memory of when I started using it. Within a couple days, the skin in those chafe zones was healed. All the way. Like brand new. Not even pink. And so far, no amount of torture has managed to un-heal it.

So, the only natural conclusion that a person can draw from all this is that Body Glide really is for badasses.

SportShield on the other hand, is for wimps like me.