I’ve danced with you for the last 35 years. Loved you deeply. Gave everything to you. You’ve been fickle with my affections. Always so full of promises. Toyed with me as I lay broken. Laughed at my tears.
Its been worth it. That one magical morning we tripped the light fantastic, now 23 years ago. That agreement, or intersection, or mere fate. The grace and beauty and life time memory of the 1995 Houston Marathon. 2:46:56.
My marathon days far past, one of the real joys now coaching others to their own dance with destiny.
You set a date, pick the venue. Get all gussied up in your best fitness finery. You’ve never looked or felt better. You eagerly anticipate the day. Every detail planned, butterflies bearing you on gossamer wings of anticipation.
The week before the big day. Dreams are dashed. Character defining moment. How to reconcile supreme fitness with the tiniest of tendons.
My guess is that the vast majority of you readers consider yourself marathoners. This scribe’s ultimate test of running/racing, litmus for Real Runners. 87.5% effort for 40K, 90% the last 2K. As marathoners you’ve all had your own dance. You have your personal records and your stories of disappointment.
I’ve been coaching Nicole and Jackie to their Boston effort. Both have done a tremendous amount of work. Less than a week away Nicole is peaked (No Taper!) for her run at sub 3. Jackie, made it through all her workouts, fit as a fiddle, addressing a recent strain. Still ready to go, that fine razor’s edge of the marathon awaits.
Monday, April 16th, 2018.
The Marathon. Bestower of Honesty. Provider of Potential. Seductive. Temptress.
Cruel Mistress.
The 1995 Houston Marathon. Executed to my personal potential perfection. 8 consecutive 5Ks at 19:52-19:57 and wings on my feet for the last 2K. The dance that I will never forget, the day the lady let me lead. post script: Grandma’s 2012 was my last marathon effort. On April 10 of that year I had reached 1009 miles of training. This morning I sit at 201 miles for 2018.
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