Day 12: I Am a Kenyan

"We are inevitably our brother's keeper because we are our brother's brother. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly."


--Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
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I received an e-mail from my marathon running aunt, Margie, today with some words of advice: you are a Kenyan. This came in handy when, after the first seven block of my run, that familiar pang began tapping at my ribs and my breath began to shorten. Standing a little taller and imagining myself to be a strong athlete from a line of athletes helped a bit. Still, it did not ease the pain completely.


That was when I realized that I needed my own mantra. hat did I want to achieve and how was I going to accomplish that? So while standing on the corner of Texas and Madison, I had what we call in education "an Ah-ha" moment (it is funny how these always occur in the most random places, isn't it?). I found my mantra (at least for today) and I ran the next forty three minutes with ease. I even ran an extra three blocks just to keep the euphoria pumping.


As a child, I never understood why older people told me that certain things build character (I have distinct memories of being told that stewed zucchini built character, but I am sure my mother would argue otherwise). Today, I think I placed a few more bricks in my character. We will have to see if it is still there in the dawn's early light, or if I have to start over again tomorrow.

Thought for the Day

"The love of our neighbor in all its fullness simply means being able to say to him, 'What are you going through?'"


-Simone Weil

Day 9- There's Something About Saturdays

My Team in Training donation page: http://www.active.com/donate/tntsdh/jenbrownruns

There is something about Saturdays that causes my body to reject the idea of running. Maybe I am so resigned to doing things I am not excited about on weekdays, and that's why my workouts have been so successful. They have, by the way, been quite successful. Last week I ran the full 40 minutes on both Tuesday and Friday, and the 20 minutes slated for Wednesday with absolutely no complications. My pace is steady (if none too swift), my mind works through it and everything comes off like I have been doing this for years. But there's something about Saturdays that inspires a total system meltdown.


Maybe it is the fact that I can't limit my exercise simply to the running regime plotted out by my friends at Team in Training. In addition to my short Wednesday night run, I spent 40 minutes that afternoon with Master Wilson.


Here I must and draw you a picture of the man who will turn me into one of two things: a brick wall, or a whimpering puddle of human remains. Master Wilson is the nicest and cruelest man I have yet to meet in one package. A former Drill Instructor for the Marine Corps (and if you heard his voice, you would believe it. This man has been yelling at people for YEARS), he now teaches fitness and self-defense around San Diego County. His methods must work, the man is a fortress of a human being, but oh! the agony to get there.


Master Wilson teaches in the gym next to my classroom six times a week and all of his students have been singing his praises and compelling me to try the class for weeks. Last Wednesday, I complied, only to learn that these invitations were firmly rooted in the adage, "Misery loves company." Master Wilson cuffed our ankles together with rubber bands and made us kick, crunch, squat, and lift until I was seeing spots. Then, to add insult to injury, he told me that if I didn't come back that was okay, they would just all know that I am a wimp. "Well, hell," I thought, "I've known I'm a wimp for years. Might as well pass the information along, right?"


But I digress.


Between Master Wilson Wednesdays and hours of volleyball Friday, I was not standing too well on my own two feet come Saturday morning. Having considered the previous week's cramping incident, I developed a new plan: eat breakfast, go to my volleyball class for 3 hours and then run. By then my body should be warmed up, I will have food in my system, and I should be able to rock this hour of running out in no time. Being clever readers, you have, no doubt, surmised my lack of success from the context clues, but I will tell you anyway. Boys and girls, one would have thought that I had not yet learned to walk, let alone pedal my feet at a more rapid pace so as to be considered running. My ineptitude was astonishing! I ran for 42 minutes because I wanted to extend my time even if that meant only slightly, but those were some of the most excrutiating minutes of my life to date. It felt as though I was trying to give birth to a baby elephant through my calves. Ugly is a good word for it. Straight up ugly. Maybe I have some mental block against running on Saturdays. Maybe I just need to give myself more time to build up my endurance, but Saturdays, so far, have been evil for my running game. Evil.

Day 2- I Hate Cake

Cake can kill you. Cake makes your butt large, whereupon it drags on the ground and slows you down. I hate cake. I hate cake almost as much as I hate running. But I love yoga. Goal: 45 minutes.



I was fiercely reminded of how much running hates me 12 minutes into my regime. I started making deals with myself: one dollar towards an Ipod for every minute I run; run ten more blocks and then you can turn around. At block eight the all-too-familiar pang settled into that nook between my two lowest ribs on my right side. Typically, this means that my body will shut down in T-minus 10 seconds and counting, but I tried to relax, breathe through it, and soldier on. My torso was not having it. When I made it to my 10th block (please refer to previous deal with self), I slowed to a walk and rounded the corner. I stopped my stopwatch (16 minutes of running down, 29 to go) and walked brisquely, breathing deeply, and trying to convince my abdomen to continue playing along with the rest of my body. The farther I walked, the more my side cramped, bringing me closer to my pain threshold.



This is where I had to start thinking outside of the box. So I stopped, right there in front of the garage sale on Monroe and I-15, closed my eyes, and stood in Mountain Pose. I stretched my ears to the sky, my feet into the ground, and just breathed in and out. The bargain hunters may have thought I was a nutter (which, let's be honest, I am), but it worked! My cramp subsided and I managed to run another 20 minutes. So, I hate cake, I will learn to like running, but yoga will always be my saving grace!

Day 1: Piece of Cake

This is a piece of cake. Goal: 30 minute run. Who knows why I found this run so easy (God knows I hate running- so does anyone else who will listen, for that matter), but I explored my neighborhood with ease. I even managed the successful launch of a few snot rockets (a skill of Ben's that I have long admired). When this run was over, I was euphoric. I was wide awake for hours longer than usual, plotting ways to earn money for leukemia research and planning future runs. My future is bright. This running thing is a piece of cake.