#445: Pennsy's Marathon Checklist

• Schedule 
• Friday
• 7:00 Pack Bags
• 10:00 PM Lights Out
• Saturday
• 9:00 AM - Leave Lexington
• 10:30 AM - Arrive Cincinnati for Race Expo & Packet Pickup
• 12:30 PM - Lunch in Cinci
• 2:00 PM - Leave Cinci
• 7:30 PM - Lay out travel clothes
• 8:00 PM - Shave for taping
• 8:30 PM  -  Lights Out
• Sunday
• 2:30 AM - Alarm.
• Shower, 
• Breakfast, 
• Dress
• 4:00 AM - Leave Lexington
• 5:30 AM - Arrive Cincinnati
• 6:30 AM - Start
• Noon - Goal finish time
• 1:30 PM - Leave Cincinnati
• 3:00 Drink Beer, Eat Meat, Sleep on the Porch

• Travel clothes
• Compression Running Shorts
• Blue Nike Warmup Pants
• Chacos Sandals
• Berkeley YMCA Sweatshirt
• Livestrong Cap
• Red Bag (race bag)
• Race Clothes
• Green NikeFrees
• White Injini Toe Socks (original weight)
• Gold YMCA tank with Bib
• Sweat Bands (wrist and head)
• Race Gear
• Garmin and HR strap
• Interval timer
• Sunglasses
• First Aid Kit with
• Body Glide
• Sun Block
• Foot Powder
• Tape, bandaids, etc
• Hydration pack
• Powerade (2 liters)
• Phone
• ID
• Insurance card
• Debit card
• Energy Chews
• Blue Bag (backup bag)
• Black LIVESTRONG NikeFrees
• Spare tank top
• Gray YMCA half zip warm up jacket
• Feetures running socks
• Black LIVESTRONG shorts
• Rain Suit
• Water & Powerade
• Bananas

As I've said many times... The best thing about running is how simple it is. All you really need are sneakers, shorts, and a tee shirt.

Peace,
Pennsy

#400: Run the Bluegrass Half Marathon

An unlikely cover boy

The Run the Bluegrass was my second Half Marathon. Parts of it were easy and familiar to me, others left me struck with awe, admiration, or stupor, depending on the circumstances.

My pre-race routine is getting pretty set. In the days before a race, I prep as if it were a marathon. Ease up on the the training. Focus on fruits, veggies, and whole grains at the table. I always pickup my race packet early so I don't have to figure out what to do with a plastic bag full of coupons and swag half an hour before the race. The day before, I do the sleep math, counting backwards. On site about 90 minutes early. Travel time. Two hours to dress, eat, and use the bathroom before I leave. Seven to eight hours of sleep. An hour to pack my bag. Wherever that puts me on the clock, is where I start my countdown. This weekend it was 8:00 PM, Friday night.

This little bald lady is tougher than you

We finished our LIVESTRONG at the YMCA session with a half hour walk on the Legacy. The girls zoomed on ahead while I walked behind with F, who is the toughest man I've ever met. F has had cancer three times. He also has a rare wasting disease that is slowly erasing his muscles. And he has the heart of a lion. I've watched him grimace as he squats four or five inches, the most his legs will allow. I've seen him progress from pantomime bench presses, straining to simply move his clenched fists up and down, to knocking out 12 reps with a 9 pound bar. I watched him get thrown off a treadmill, take stock of his bumps, ask for a hand back up, then get back on the thing and finish his cardio. F isn't exercising so he can fit into smaller jeans. F is fighting for his life. He's one of the reasons I keep asking you for money. (You can do that by clicking the link, by the way.)

We finished at 7:30, and I booked it on home. Mrs P had a hard day, and had stopped for pizza and beer. I was tempted for a moment, but the thought of port-a-potties somewhere around mile 10 convinced me that I'd be better off with a bowl of granola for supper. Then it was time to pack.

Locked and loaded

For me, packing is a fairly obsessive process. I empty out my whole bag onto the bed. Don't need the swim goggles. Don't need the lifting gloves. One wet sock? Seriously? Get a towel. Extra towel. Three towels. You never know. Find the expensive running socks. Both pairs, in case of puddles. Which shoes? The new shoes, of course. My favorite compression shorts? My black LIVESTRONG running shorts? They're in the washing machine. Crap. Put them in the dryer and pray not to forget where you put them in the morning. (as if I'd forget to put on pants. Garmin? Charged. Timex? Run walk interval alarm set. Tape, Body Glide, Aquaphor, Band-aids? Check. Finally, I lay out my new dri-fit YMCA tank and pin my bib on. Mrs P managed to get the blood spots out from last weeks long run, but in my mind, I know they're still there, right over my heart. Pack and repack two or three times, just to be sure I haven't forgotten anything. Trim my toenails. Take a shower. In bed by 9:00, where visions of Bluegrass hills dance in my head. 

The dogs wake me at 2:00 to go out for a pee in the rain. The alarm wakes me at 5:00 and it's race day.


Weight? 254. Excellent. Heart rate? 58. Right on. One cup of coffee. One bagel with jelly. Wait for nature's call. Swap my jammies for the royal blue compression shorts and the black shorts. Mrs P is stirring in the bedroom, so I go back there to finish dressing. Grease up the feet with Aquaphor. Pull on the good socks. Double knot the shoes. Sun block. Slather the nips. Try to put 'Iron Man" cartoon band aids on them. Mrs P points out I've done that backwards, as the band aids fall off my lubricated chest. Finally, pull on the shirt and my YMCA Staff fleece to keep warm, and let my sweet bride go back to sleep. She promises to be there at the finish line with her camera. 


Nature finally calls, but only on line 1. I finally give up on waiting for line 2 to ring and leave, hoping for the best.

 "Is this heaven?" "No, it's Kentucky."

You know the final scene from Field of Dreams where miles and miles of headlights are snaking along the road in the dark toward the baseball field? That's what I see in my rear-view mirror as I turn onto Versailles Road at 6:00 in the morning. All these people. From all over the country. All coming to run these hills that I love so much. Last night's rain has left a misty, mystical fog on the ground and the air glows with pre-dawn light.


Something cool is happening at these gatherings. I'm meeting friends. These are people I've run with. People from the Y. People I know on Facebook. Faces from other events. A guy I used to go to church with. Ladonna, my fellow cancer fighter. Bob, who swore me to secrecy about his training, who has been preparing for this day since autumn. I'm one of them, now. I'm part of the community of idiots who get up at 5:00 in the morning to run. And they're some of the most supportive, generous people I know.

LaDonna reminding me why we're here

I wander around the crowd, taking it all in. Long sleepy lines for the bathroom. Drowsy bodies in warm up clothes stretching on the floor. A few of us trotting around outside to get the blood flowing in the legs. Slowly, 2000 people gather at the starting line. The horn sounds, and we're off.


Actually, the elite runners are off. We mortals are waiting in a line four lanes wide to filter through the starting gate. It takes my group about four minutes to reach the gizmo that will read out timing chips. I start my Garmin, and we're off. 

Target pace? 13:00/min. Must have been the Gatorade...

I told you all about the course in last week's post. We flow along the curves and hills, this river of brightly colored running clothes. Runners are stopping to take pictures. We laugh to each other as each new climb starts. I tuck in behind one runner after another as I fall into my 3:00 run/1:00 walk intervals. Many who pass me early, I catch later when their legs start to tire. God bless Jeff Galloway. Every two miles or so, a crowd of cheering kids holds out paper cups. "Water? Gatorade?" I stick with water for the first half, then switch to the sweet sticky stuff at around 7 miles. The last 3 miles are a celebration for me. I follow a group of friends, much stronger runners than I, who are joking and teasing and stopping every few hundred yards to take pictures. This isn't a contest, it's a festival, it's a holiday for loving life. I run the last two miles faster than I ran the first, and as I approach the finish line, there is Mrs P, always beaming, shooting pictures through tears of pride. I feel myself choke up a little too, but I'm not sure if it's from emotion or if I'm having a heart attack. 

He's with Stupid

At the end of the finisher's corral, a person whose gender I don't even remember holds up a blue and white checked ribbon, just like the colors Secretariat wore, and slips my medal over my neck. I float through the crowd dazed until Mrs P catches up with me. My friend Bob greets me with a bottle of water and a banana in his hand. We embrace, take more pictures, smile and laugh, then drift off toward the parking lot. When I look over my shoulder, I see Bob, standing still, watching the crowd. He isn't ready to leave. He's drinking it in. 


I don't really have an ending for this. On the drive home, a thought came to me: How much better would our world be if every now and then, we all got together on a Saturday morning and ran together? I think it might make a big difference.


Peace,
Pennsy


Hey, don't forget to make your donation to Living Strong at the Y. It's easy, it's cheap, and you'll be a much better person if you do. Promise.

#386: Brain Nuggets

I love words. I love my friends. And I have come to the conclusion that playing Words with Friends is an almost perfect waste of both.

We aren't fighting against cancer,  we are fighting for our lives.


If you want to be a decent human being,  get to know the person who gets paid to clean your toilet at work. They have something to teach you.


My heart breaks with joy every time I look in the pool and see the surprise and pride in Mrs P's face when she realizes that she is actually learning to swim.


My dogs drive me insane sometimes and that isn't their fault. I need to learn to be a better dog for them.

Don't tell me you're inspired,  tell me what you're inspired to do.

I could spend all day telling you how amazing I think cancer survivors are, and never spend a second bragging. I am humbled and proud to be counted among them.

Nothing really serious should ever be taken completely seriously.

It is amazing how good the rest of your life becomes when you know you could run a mile if you really had to.
There have been a lot of uniforms and costumes in my life: Boy Scout merit badge sash. Church choir robe. Shakespearean tights. Back stage blacks. I worked hard for each of them. But that yellow shirt is still my favorite.

If you really want to improve your kicking, you should buy some flippers,  the swimmer advised me. I can just throw it in the bag with my goggles, my heart rate monitor, and my yoga strap. Swimming. Running. Yoga. There is no exercise so simple that someone can't figure out away to sell you gear for it.

Wouldn't it be great if you could create something really useful by combining household dust, dog hair, and the cold brown puddle you find at the bottom of yesterday morning's coffee cup?

The most heroic people I've ever known had no idea that they were being heroes.

I have always had a crush on Lesbians and Piano Players. What's up with that?

The only real limit to our ability is our will.

It is hard to serve teenagers because they've seen all your crap before, and are unimpressed.

I get angry when I see the same vultures who celebrated her slow-motion suicide for thirty years pretending to care about Whitney Houston now that she's dead.


The quickest way to diminish your ability to meet the needs of the world is to neglect the things you need yourself.

You can fit a lot of stupid onto one little bumper sticker.


I don't know if they intended to be, but The Village People were right about the YMCA.

Young Man, I was once in your shoes
I said I was, down and out with the blues
I felt no man cared if I were alive
I felt the whole world was so jive

That's when someone came up to me
And said young man take a walk up the street
There's a place there called the Y.M.C.A.
They can start you back on your way

God has blessings for you beyond anything you can ask or imagine. 

If I ever get one of those tramp stamp tattoos,  I think I would like it to be the Chinese character for "butt crack."

Peace,

Pennsy