The secret is out. Marathon success isn't a result of high mileage, time spent on your feet on a Sunday morning, dancing in clubs on a Friday night, your tempo pace, your diet, or blogging (or not blogging) about your progress in training. Success, like the mighty phoenix, rises from the ashes of pure misery, when the bleakest hour is upon us, and we're not so sure we'll be able to stick it out to see tomorrow.
Ladies and gentlemen, I draw your attention to this year's snowfall in Syracuse, New York: 132.4 glorious inches of frozen hell.
We've amassed enough snow here in Syracuse to nearly eclipse Rochester and Binghamton combined, so for all you shitheads that thought winter in Ithaca was horrible, you haven't seen anything like the Orange Tundra. I've literally lost the ability to produce viable sperm as a result of the repeated freeze/thaw cycles endured by my man candy.
But I digress. The wonder of offspring is nothing compared to the splendor of crossing the finish line in Pittsburgh. I don't know how many days I've taken off this winter, but I can tell you it's less than the number I took off over various two-week spans last summer. I thrive on misery. Like my father always said, what doesn't cause your testicular tissue to form ice crystals makes you faster.
This afternoon, I'm going to try to squeeze in an 18-miler before grand rounds. It's currently 14 degrees outside. The roads are lined with about three inches of slush, so I'm expecting my socks to be wet pretty much before I step out the door. I'm going to eat ribs from Dinosaur Barbeque for lunch so that I have to shit the entire time that I'm running. I've also purchased a set of anal beads to force me to maintain an upright posture the entire time that I'm out there. If this doesn't spell success, I don't know what does.
I have to be honest, though. The winter isn't all about victory here in Syracuse. I bring you the latest updates on our home in progress in the form of verse:
As Nat donned her kerchief and I donned my cap,
We heard a crash from above that made me say, "Crap."
I sprang from the couch to see 'twas the matter,
And low and behold, a fucking ice dam had pulled down a twelve foot run of gutter and fascia board out of the side of our fucking house.
Sunday is supposed to be 37 degrees. I may end up renting a cherry picker to fix things up this weekend. If I do, I'll be sure to jump off of it a few times to get ready for the marathon.
Snap!
ReplyDeleteI always viewed you as legitimately training for the marathon rather than half-assing. But I also wanted to take a shot at you for being able to run during the day.
I'm going to push the misery to the next level soon by getting hit by a car.
Wegmans was fresh out of anal beads, so I threw in a 4-mile pickup late in the run to keep things miserable. It was a success in that it felt really, really bad. I finished the run down East Genesee Street swearing at people who haven't shoveled their sidewalks. Raw, tired feet don't appreciate slick, uneven surfaces.
ReplyDeleteHere's my route: http://www.gmap-pedometer.com/?r=4281737
17.6 miles in 2:01 for an average pace of 6:52. Shout out to Charley for coming along for 6 miles of this shitfest. Big thumbs down to Natalie and Elizabeth who were supposed to meet up with me about 11 miles in. On wrongs swift vengeance waits.
Sam's a liar. There was no 3 inches of slush on the roads today. In fact it was mid- to upper-20s with some pleasant sunshine. True about the standing up though. Sad.
ReplyDeleteSo much looping in that route (though I noted you ran by my old place).
ReplyDeleteNot that the winter was nearly this bad the year I was there, but I do feel like I can at least relate to your pain in a way most other MaT followers cannot. I remember running a tempo in 8 inches of fresh snow and some guy who was fruitlessly trying to dig his car out yelled at me that I was insane. It is probably the only thing someone has yelled at me while I was running where I thought to myself "This person has a point" rather than "Fuck that asshole."