Day 46: Tempo Pace

As you know, I decided to skip Monday's run in exchange for a cross-training bout of weight training, to let me leg rest up, as it was still bothering me off and on. Tuesday was supposed to be another cross-training day, but instead I went to my parent's house so we, along with Carla, my sister Lola, my grandmother and my Tanti Annie & Uncle Serge, could stuff and send the invitations to the 7th Annual Summer Hope Benefit (for more information visit: www.summerhope.org!). It was a difficult call whether or not to skip the Tuesday workout, but the fact that I left the stamps at my apartment in Ronkonkoma, sealed the deal for me, since Carla and I would have to go back there, drink a bottle of wine, watch Wedding Crashers and stamp 700-plus envelopes for the mailing. Wednesday, was a Tempo Training Run Day, where you run outside your comfort zone for 5 minutes, walk for 1 minute and repeat three times. Again, somewhat unfortunately, I had been staying up every night until 2 am reading "In the Woods" trying to figure out what the hell happened to Katy Devlin and wondering if the secrets buried deep in Detective Ryan's head about the disappearance of his two childhood friends would ever be unlocked! Like everything I do, this book completely consumed my life. You could imagine my displeasure, when I got home from work, promptly read one hundred pages and fell asleep at 6 pm until the next morning. No problem, I thought: Thursday was a Rest day, I would just switch them. Thursday I would run the Tempo Workout, a nice way to see if I was back on the mend or not.

I decided to run this out at the gym, figuring that the treadmill had a little forgiveness to it than the hard cement, and it might be easier on my legs. I was amped up to head there immediately afterwork. First, I'd have to hunker down and finish the last 50 pages of "In the Woods" for fear that I could have a brain aneurysm or get hit by a car at ANY MOMENT and would never know what happened in Kncoknaree Woods. When the book was over and I was completely and utterly annihilated by it's conclusion, I received a shocking text from Michelle My Work Wife:

Michelle: Are you napping?
A pretty spot on assumption: Eddie: Nope... Why are you obsessed with me?
Michelle: Wanna see the 6:45 Orphan? We would have to go right now.
Eddie: YES! What an unexpected treat!?!?!? Where? When? How? Tell me everything!
Michelle: Come here now. I'll drive.
Eddie: OK. I'm gonna wear my gym clothes. Don't judge me.

I knew that if I didn't go see Orphan fully prepared for the gym, the likelihood of me getting there was slimmer than anyone in that movie receiving an Academy Award. The thing is... I love movies about creepy kids. The Bad Seed? Yes! The Omen? "It's all for you, Damien!" The Good Son? A-MAZ-ING. I had been trying to bribe and/or beg any of my friends to see the movie since it came out, but I was shot down by everyone from Carla ("Yeah... I don't think I'm gonna do that.") to my horror-buff buddy Corey ("Nay for me - Don't fel like seeing another Good Son"). Another Good Son? IN MY DREAMS!

I wasn't expecting to see it until the hallow depths of paid cable snatched it up, by which point, I would've forgotten all about it. I had even been reduced to reading a spoiler-ific riff on the movie on EW.com. I certainly wasn't expecting this from Michelle My Work Wife, who rarely went to the movies, and even more rarely (now that she's preggo with twins) stays awake past 7 pm. Apparently, the idea was all her husband Adam's, who wanted to go surfing, but didn't want to leave Michelle to the inevitable siren call of the couch. I should be insulted, I think, that when Adam needed a babysitter for his wife, he immediately thought of me, only 1.2 miles away, with nothing to do. But, hey, I can't fault the guy for knowing me - and well, I got to see Orphan! Double score.

It was, of course, completely ludicrous, but unlike the rapper, not trying for any kind of prestige, like a recurring gig on Law & Order: SVU. I think the writers (and Producer Leonardo DiCaprio? Random.) thought that by luring award/indy movie bait like Vera Farmiga and Peter Sarsgaard, the movie would gain a pedigree all on its own. Unfortunately, that was immediately counterbalanced by the scene in which a little girl beats a nun to death with a hammer. It was mindless, stupid fun, but as Michelle noted, every subsequent scene got more and more ridiculous.

After the movie, I ran home real quick for some, uhh, digestive business, and still managed to head back to the gym. I did a massive stretch (I love stretching now. Stretching's my favorite!) and decided to run 3 five minute 6.0's on the treadmill to complete my tempo training.

Unfortunately, I was only able to complete two until my leg started acting up again, and the difference between pushing myself and injuring myself got blurred once more. I thought this was a good start back onto the wagon. We'll see.


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Day 43: Pumping Iron

After Sunday's false start, I consulted with Jilly and she advised me to skip my run on Monday, as to not strain my leg anymore. In the twenty-four hours since the 9 mile debacle, which more closely resembled the first 15 minutes of Scream than a marathon training session, my thighs were still bothering me. I downgraded this to "thigh pain" because I don't know enough about the human body to exactly pinpoint the source of the pain. I think it was my quads, but it could have just as easily been my knee or my tibia (being that I have no idea where on my body the tibia resides). What was the most worrisome, was the fact that this pain wasn't all that painful, which somehow would've eased my mind. A direct sharp pain, I felt could be worked out, stretched into submission. But this was different. It was a lingering, annoying sort of pain - like something being whispered in your ear while you're sleeping. On the one hand, skipping a run, suddenly became the last thing in the world I wanted to do. On the other hand, I didn't want to injure myself, and not be able to continue training. Somehow I had developed this weird Stockholm Syndrome with my marathon training - I hated it, but I couldn't give it up. Spurned on by my most recent issue of Men's Health sitting in the bathroom and True Lies which I had watched over the weekend, I knew the answer to this problem was simple: Hit the Weights.

As you can imagine, me pumping iron is as antiquated a notion as, well, the term "pumping iron." I get very easily confused on the machines at the gym, and the free weights are like a visceral nightmare for me. But I had to persevere and get to the workout that Men's Health and Josh Duhamel prescribed me.

I immediately realized that I was unprepared, however, because I had left my gold chain at home, and unfortunately, had decided not to gel my hair. I would be a laughing stock. I quickly wondered if I should run to the Wal-Mart across the parking lot from the gym and purchase a pair of extra baggy sweatpants with cargo pockets to avoid mockery, but realized this was too little, too late. Next time I would just grab some Muscle Milk for everyone, and all would be forgiven.

I first did some dumbbell bench presses alternating with pull-ups. I found it ironic that something called the "Belly-Off" Diet, would ask fatties of different proportions to pull themselves up and down a bar. We fat people don't like to hang in the air - it makes everything shift to different, very bad places. This immediately got me thinking of Elementary School Gym class, when we were taking the week long physical fitness test, the only part of which I passed was the sit and reach (I've always been freakishly flexible for someone my size). Mrs. Kuperberg and Mr. Schack would stand up at the class, calling us all up to the pull-up bar one at a time - the boys needed to do 7 to pass the physical fitness test. I had wondered, at the time, whose test this was, and what "passing" it meant? I assume now, as I did then, that it was completely made-up to torture the fatties like me. I haven't grown much as a person since I was nine. My classmates would fail and succeed at different levels (Zee, Lisa, Badee - you know what I'm talking about...), but even though I was a trim 175 pound third grader, and being able to complete a pull-up would be tantamount to curing cancer with my Mr. Wizard Chemistry set. And yet, I was forced to waddle up to the front of the gym, and hang loosely, defiantly on the pull-up bar, my arms out-stretched, my feet nearly on the ground, until the 30 seconds was up.

I wish I could say that this occassion, twenty years later, was different. It wasn't. My first attempt at a pull-up was met by my own snickers as I feel rapidly, holding on to the bars. I thought the momentum of a leap, would give me the added push I needed to get at least one pull-up complete. It wasn't. I then realized that I weigh about 200 pounds, and that if laying flat on a workout bench, I'd be hard pressed to lift 200 pounds, so what made me think adding gravity to the equation would make things easier? There is a facet of the pull-up machine at the gym that allows you a little boost to complete the process. I was able to finish my subsequent sets.

I left the gym, after a 10 minute cool down walk on the treadmill, pleased with my free weight performance, but still this nagging feeling about my prospects of running.

The Breakdown of the Day:

The Workout:




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Day 42: 9 Down... Way, Way Down

On Sunday, I was to run 9 miles. It would be the longest run of my career (you'll be hearing that a lot, and very often). I was excited, to be honest, to get that kind of mileage under my belt. It seemed inconceivable to me, almost as if the Dread Pirate Roberts had tricked me into drinking poison. After today, I would have run OVER 1/3 of the entire NYC Marathon. I never thought I would make it this far. Unfortunately, I was right (Isn't that ominous? DUN DUN DUN!).

You ever make a bad mistake, and as you're making it, you almost float outside of your body, and see yourself making it, hear yourself making it, but can't do anything to stop yourself from making it? I must imagine this is what Lindsay Lohan or the NY Mets feel everyday. It's certainly what I felt on Sunday, as I hit the streets for 9 miles.

I knew something was up when I couldn't complete more than one mile at a solid pace. If running is 70% mental, I'm at a major disadvantage, because my biggest proponent is my mother (who wasn't available to ride in her car besides me cheering me on) and my biggest detractor is my own mind. Often times, when I'm running, I just stop - for no particular reason, just cause I wanna. I have to remind myself - to keep going, but something inside my switches off. Several times, I've self-diagnosed myself with Adult Attention Defecit Disorder, but I'm scared of medication, and I'm sure my doctor is still trying to work his mind around the Epstein Bar diagnosis I gave myself fairly recently. This general, eventual ennui, is how I am in every aspect of my life. I feel like Evil Willow: "Bored now."

But this was different. This wasn't me being a quitter (which is something I am, fairly often). My whole body felt like it was locked inside itself, and pretty soon I would start speaking with my fluttering eyelids and paint with my two working toes. This was about 1.5 miles in and I should've probably turned back, realizing that this 9 miles wasn't happening. But my stubborness, rears it's misbegotten head at all the wrong times, and I decided to keep going. Every few songs/miles I would give another go at running, but I was getting a horrible pain in my thigh, and every subsequent step felt like another tear in some imaginary fabric being tentatively held together somewhere inside me.

Jilly, has been sidelined with an injury for the past few weeks, and her NYC Marathon bid is rather tenuous right now. Hopefully, she'll be back on track in another week or so, but I feel terrible for her - and I'm not entirely sure I want to do this without her. Granted, we signed up independently of one another, both in honor of her father, the great Ed Cook, but once I knew she was running the marathon as well, for some reason some of the pressure was off. We were going to do this together. Even if we weren't together on the run (Jilly easily outpaced me with her stupid softball training...), I never felt I could do this more than when I knew she was doing it too. However, her injury has scared the crap out of me - because it was likely that I could face the same problem if I kept pushing myself on this particular run. Once I made that connection, I knew there was no further I could go, running. I was giving up, but hopefully, I was going to struggle to waddle another day. The only problem was... I figured this out 4 miles away from my house, in any direction. Ass.

It's not fair, really. I am so used to skating by on wit and cuteness, that when harsh consequences come deservedly my way, I'm sort of stunned. The consequences of my poor training had finally bit me in the ass - or more specifically in my quad. I could hear some cliche, hardened coach from any based on a true story sports movie yelling: "You didn't respect the mileage!" Now how would I break down racial barriers, get the girl and chant Rudy in the stands? I finally limped home - the 9 miles completed, totally defeated.

The Breakdown of the Day:

The Playlist:

There's Not I In Team - Taking Back Sunday

This Town - OAR

Gold Digger - Kanye West feat. Jamie Foxx

If It's Over - Mariah Carey

Come Together (live) - Kris Allen

By Your Side - Sade

Transatlanticism - Death Cab For Cutie

Show Me What You Got - Jay-Z

Bloodshot - Jack's Mannequin

Best I Ever Had - Drake

Love Drunk - Boys Like Girls

Please Don't Leave Me - Pink

Cry Baby (live) - Allison Iraheta

Break Your Heart (live) - Barenaked Ladies

Sugar, We're Going Down - Fall Out Boy

Who's Lovin' You? - Jackson Five

Love Lockdown - Kanye West

Ego (remix) - Beyonce feat. Kanye West

I Only Have Eyes (For You) - The Southland

Now You Tell Me - Jordin Sparks

Dance, Dance - Fall Out Boy

Say It Right - Nelly Furtado

Tonight - Jonas Brothers (this is when full disclosure bites you in the ass)

Sky - Joshua Radin feat. Ingrid Michaelson

This Modern Love - Bloc Party

The '59 Sound - The Gaslight Anthem



The Workout:

9 miles / 2:39:14 / 17:41 per mile / 1,371 calories

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Day 41: 5K Loop

In accordance with my renewed commitment to that little 26.2 mile jog I've got going on November 1st, I headed to the gym on Saturday to run the prescribed 40 minutes as part of my training plan. The day started off promising enough, I was going to run some quick errands and actually take a run around my neighborhood. No problem. Well, it shouldn't be, right? Not at this point in my marathon training. Well, tell that to my belly.

I feel close with you readers, mostly because I can count the number of you on my hand, so I have no problem explaining to you that I got about 1/4 of a mile around my apartment and then had to run the fastest sprint of my life back to avoid a publicly indecency fine, for pooping in the playhouse my neighbors were selling at their garage sale. Is this an overshare? Probably, but my stomach problems are well-documented - almost historic. When the tummies hit, they hit, and there is (pardon the expression) shit-all anyone can do about it.

After I recovered from my near miss, I headed off to run my errands - these are mostly made up and not nearly as important as they sound - me trying to get someone to go see Orphan with me ; purchasing Watchmen Director's Cut on Blu Ray; finishing "In the Woods" the resplendent debut novel from Tana French which until recently, consumed my entire life. I also decided to take my run into the gym, because I'd be slightly less likely to mess my shorts. Under Armour is expensive, after all.

I didn't have much going for me on the run, and my days/weeks of half-assing my training, was coming up quickly to bite me in the ass. I thought that I would set the treadmill for stun, but that not being an option, I decided to hit the 5K button. I had never run a "5K" before, and this was better than a charity 5K, because it allowed me the opportunity to contemplate all the various ways a person could cut the sleeves out of their t-shirt.

The run was sort of miserable, and I felt every step of it, which I think is a bad sign. I couldn't really concentrate and my feet were landing with a particularly harsh thud. I had to stop to walk slightly more often than normal, and I felt achy all over. I think this is the longest I've ever stuck to something that I've decided to do, fitness wise, and it was starting to take it's toll on me. What if this became a regular habit? What if I started eating organic meat? What if I did sit-ups? Dear God, what if I had 8 servings of fruit a day!?!?! It was too much for me to handle on a single forty minute run - but luckily the nightmare was coming to an end: 5K in 41 minutes - nothing to write home about.

The Breakdown of the Day:


The Workout:



The Picture:



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Day 40: Let's Take A Long Walk

Friday hit me like a ton of Nike Shox, and I quickly realized that all the Meggy B. inflicted guilt I was feeling for not keeping my blog up to date, really paled in comparison to the empty promises I made to myself about taking my training a little more seriously. For some reason, even though the 16 stairs at work were still giving me the workout of my life, I wasn't really taking this "marathon training" seriously. I was taking it so Kristin Cavalierly (in the running for the gayest thing I've ever said? You decide!) that I hadn't trained since my triumphant 8 mile run the previous week. I decided towards the end of the week, as I was staring down a 9 mile run with the same grim determination and fear that Amy Winehouse regards a clean pair of underwear, that I would amend this week's training schedule to: Friday - Cross-Training; Saturday - 40 minute run; Sunday: 9 miles.

Luckily, my best friend Carla, and I had a day together planned, which usually involved hijinks and lots of time "regrouping." Carla and I had been best friends since the 8th grade, and as much as it seems that I, a nearly 30 year old man, should be embarrassed about still referring to anyone as a "best friend", I cannot refer to her as anything else. We're best friends. BFFs. Besties. I feel like to refer to her as anything but might give you the impression that she and I have a normal, mature, adult friendship at 28 years old. That would be a lie. And for all the things I am, I am not a liar.

Carla and my friendship started in the 8th grade when the misfit who sat between us in technology was shipped off after getting pregnant. For this, every day I thank God for loose morals, faulty condoms and bad decision making. If it wasn't for some delicious cocktail of those three (with a dash of self-loathing and sluttiness) the nearly cosmic force that is Carla and Ed would never be. And while everyone else who has ever come into contact with us (several retired, disgruntled teachers, our families, our closest friends) might be better off had someone decided to strap on a condom after a midnight screening of Casper at the Broadway Multiplex Cinemas, surely Carla and I would be mere shadows of our current selves, roaming the earth aimlessly, searching for our Hocrux (Harry Potter reference! Nerd alert!).

We've literally been inseparable ever since. The entire basis of my current incarnation of myself is somehow based around her - it was her brother, Steven, my surrogate little brother, The Bean, who passed away from cancer two days after turning sixteen (two weeks before we graduated high school) thus me taking this whole "cancer" thing so seriously. It was in Steven's memory (as well as the memory of my grandparents and in honor of my Tanti (aunt) Annie's battle with cancer), that I founded The Summer Hope Foundation, and subsequently got my job at the American Cancer Society. In Steven's passing, Carla and my already ridiculous relationship, was solidified into something more - in grief, we were bonded forever - a final gift from Steven.

Before you ask - for the five people who read this who don't know Carla & I personally - we dated briefly when we were in college. And when I say briefly, I mean it lasted 5 months, 3 of which she was away at "Seamester" for school. It was a disaster. We had become, without even knowing it, beyond a romantic relationship. Now it's an ongoing joke. Carla is now happily married to a great guy, John - a fact that hasn't stopped our reign of terror. As you can imagine, John is very understanding.

Incidentally, I wanted to go to California for college to be a writer or journalist or something, but when applying to schools, couldn't comprehend the thought of being across the country, while Steven was sick. It's funny how the things in life lead you to where you are.

Thankfully, Carla (all 100 pounds of her) was on a health kick and we did something we've never done before - we walked. We're not very active people to begin with, and we certainly have a tendency to bring out the sloth in one another. But Carla is nothing if not supportive - If I was found in a pool of blood with a knife and a nun's severed head, Carla would swear on all that is holy that the bitch had it coming. She knew I had to do some cross-training that day (and I checked my book and walking counts). John is an outdoorsy kinda guy - hiking, camping, pasteurizing his own milk, that sort of thing, so Carla knew of a path by their house. I find this very annoying, not just because the word Kayak sounds like a vomit noise to me, but it also seems like Jigsaw-level torture.

Carla and I went to the path, which was about .5 miles each way, and we walked in the blistering heat for about an hour. It wasn't a workout that was going down in history anytime soon, but it was in the ballpark of what I was supposed to do that day.

The rest of the day was filled with the usual missteps (all these years later, we can't seem to get anything right - even going to the bank is a process), but we enjoyed ourselves, specifically, looking for ugly things in Home Goods that could be used at Summer Hope's 1st Annual Hope Cup Golf Outing (Carla, naturally, serves on my board). We decided at our last meeting, that at The Hope Cup, there should be a trophy which would get passed around year to year, with the winners names engraved on it. But, of course, it would have to be hideous. Here were our options;



We sent these pictures to my cousin, Mike, an avid Golfer, Summer Hope Board Member and the person running Summer Hope's Golf Tournament. He didn't get back to us. In all fairness, he's sort of sick of us by now...

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Day 35: Crazy 8

Firstly, I need to dedicate this post to a one Ms. Meggy B. She, an other marathon-runner-in-training, got me back on this blog, after verbally accosting me for my lack of postings. Now, there aren't many things I know about Meggy B. I know she hates the traffic on the LIE. I know she enjoys a good edition of Entertainment Weekly. And I know she loves Run, Fatboy, Run. It was the disappointment that I told myself I saw in her big brown eyes (which was more likely the effects of the several beers we were swigging at a happy hour for Jilly's Marathon Bid for Memorial Sloan-Kettering) that made me realize, I need to keep Run, Fatboy, Fun going. Not just for me, not just for Meggy B., but for the half dozens of people who truly enjoy reading my exploits and mocking me to their friends, families and co-workers. However, as our other friend Allie pointed out quite accurately, if I wasn't posting that meant I was off the wagon. Allie, the wisest girl in any bar at 2 am, couldn't have been more right.

Since the epic 4th of July run that left JJ nearly paralyzed - or with a foot ache - I ended up only getting one run in. My life just kind of overtook my training - and plus my good friends Meggo & Bobbo were getting married in Philly the following weekend. I realized, quickly that my resistance to long distance running would have to take a backseat to increasing my resistance to Bud Lights, otherwise the trek to Philadelphia would be a waste. It wouldn't matter if I was in West Philadelphia. Or I was born and raised there. Or even if on the playground was where I spent most of my days - if I couldn't keep up drinking with the Irish side or the German side of that wedding party, it would be more disappointing than even the slowest marathon time. And look how happy they look:



Then last week, I was recovering from all the celebrating I was doing. Around mid-week, it had dawned on me that everyone I knew, or had my facebook account, knew I was planning on running the NYC Marathon, and I hadn't done a thing to make that ballsy statement a reality in over a week. It all came crashing down on me when a friend of mine, Badee, who I had known since Elementary School, but haven't seen in a couple of years, questioned me about my running the marathon. He ended up congratulating me and hopefully donating to the cause (hint, hint, Badee - haven't gotten your check yet. Deadbeat.), but it was the initial shock in his font via FB that made me realize - oh right, right, right - no one thinks you can do this and they are probably right. I don't fault Badee for being shocked - when our 5th Grade teacher, Mr. Z., would play basketball with the boys during lunch I was either a) reading, b) sneaking my 4th snack of the day under the monkey bars or c) keeping score. I was going to have to get back on track if I ever wanted to live out my fantasy of finding Mr. Z and beating him in a game of one on one. Unfortunately, I could run all the marathons in the world, and I still would have all the hand eye coordination of a blind man, but I digress.

This led to today's epic 8 mile run. It would be the longest I've ever run by a clear mile, and I had only been training intermittently. Also, my dieting had real gone in the crapper, and wasn't helped by the fact that although I wasn't training and not eating great, I was still losing weight. I'm the kind of person who needs negative consequences, not positive reinforcement. I knew I wouldn't be able to squeeze the run in on Saturday, so I planned it for Sunday. My idea was to wake up early and get it over with. I also wanted to start running in the mornings, that way on the day of the marathon, the whole thing doesn't shock me like that first jolt of cold water when you turn on the shower.

However, I had two days from hell at work Friday and Saturday, and ended up sleeping in on Sunday. By the time I was ready to run, it was about noon. Luckily, my cousin Julie called me and reminded me that it was mid-day in mid-July and about to hit 90 degrees outside. As many of you may know, I'm not very smart, so this would've never dawned on me. People think I'm smart because I'm funny, but if you talk as much as I do, you're bound to say a couple of clever things. Just like people think that I'm friendly because I like to talk - not friendly, just chatty. Remember that if you see me in the street.

Normally, this hiccup would result in a day of lounging on the couch, but I thought of how disappointed Meggy B. would be and I decided to head to the gym, and the sanctuary of meatheads, lycra and air conditioning. I hate running on the treadmills, but it had to be done. At least this way I could look around and figure out what I might want my neck tattoo to say one day.

The run was sort of miserable - and those negative consequences I wanted so desperately, were more than I could hope for. A few times, even though Planet Fitness is a "No Judgement Zone", I couldn't help but notice that people were looking at me in disgust. You see, Planet Fitness also has a "Junk Alarm", which is to make sure people aren't being gross and grunting. But some of the primitive screeches I was letting out towards the end of my run, were female tennis player caliber. If I wasn't so sure I was going to die and never see any of these people again, I would've cared a little more.

As luck would have it, not only did I not get thrown out of the gym and have my membership revoked, but I finished the 8 miles in record time... for me.

The Breakdown of the Day:

The Playlist:

Chelsea Dagger - The Fratellis
Dance, Dance - Fall Out Boy
Come Together (live) - Kris Allen
Black Or White - Michael Jackson
This Modern Love - Bloc Party
Numb/Encore - Linkin Park & Jay-Z
Who's Lovin' You - The Jackson 5
Permanent (live) - David Cook
Good Girls Go Bad - Cobra Starship & Leighton Meester
Since U Been Gone (live) - Kelly Clarkson
What Sarah Said - Death Cab For Cutie
Flathead - The Fratellis
My Hero - Foo Fighters
Sic Transit Gloria ... Glory Fades - Brand New
Dirty Diana - Michael Jackson
Man in the Mirror - Michael Jackson
Home - Foo Fighters
Got to Be There - Michael Jackson
Banquet - Bloc Party
My Love - Justin Timberlake feat. T.I.


The Food:

Starting tomorrow, I'm keeping much better track...


The Workout:




The Picture:




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Day 20: Fireworks

To celebrate our fine nation's independence I shipped up to the suburbs of Boston to my spend the 4th with my second family at the Lambo compound. I thought heading to my New England comrades would be the best way to get my Yankee Doodle Dandy on as I envisioned spending the weekend dumping tea in Boston Harbor and drinking Natty Ice cans out of a styrofoam cooler, while singing God Bless America at the top of my lungs from a porch. I thought there was nothing more American than this, but then realized I could do both of things while wearing a sleeveless shirt that said MADE IN THE U.S. with arrows pointing both to my penis and my face. You're welcome, America.

However, there is more to this great holiday than just masturbatory fantasies of Betsy Ross' Bald Eagle and a strategically placed American Flag. Unfortunately, there was also a matter of a 7 mile long run on this our nation's birth. This would be the longest run of my incredibly underactive life thus far, and I was a bit nervous.

I drove up on Friday after, once again, skipping my work out. My friend, Mish, was heading up to her father and stepmother, NIck & JJ's house outisde of Boston with her boyfriend New Scott. She would be joined by 3/4 of the Lambo children - her twin sister Cindy and brother Jimmy - along with Jim's wife Robbo and their two kids, my fake nephews, 2 1/2 year old Tyler and 3 month old Bryce. Mishy told me earlier in the week and I quickly invited myself. I could use some quality time with my fake family, and plus, they like me more than Mish, so it's always a good confidence boost when I'm up here.

When I arrived, just in time for Sammy the Dog's 11th birthday (complete with cake, special bandana and multiple birthday songs), I made the mistake of telling JJ that I needed to go for a 7 mile run on Saturday morning. JJ is much younger than Nick, and incredibly active. Not to say that Nick isn't. Crap. I'm going to get cut out of the will. Oh well. She's the type of workout junkie who will talk you into a quick 2 mile bike ride, and all of a sudden before you realize it a Canadian Mountie is offering you a piece of beef jerky and tickets to a Maple Leafs game.

Her face immediately lit up when telling her this, but the family all unanimously winced upon me mentioning physical activity to JJ. She was delighted, because it wasn't often that someone volunteered for her particular brand of torture - none the less me, the least active of the extended family. Nick just about said his goodbyes to me at this point, and I feared that young Tyler and Bryce would never get to know their Fake Uncle Eddie, who was currently in the process of buying their affection with unnecessary gifts.

JJ for her part was concerned, rightfully so, that I was going to leave in the morning without her, and threatened to set the alarms in the house so that I couldn't escape. Knowing when I was beat, I essentially made her sign a contract in blood, stating that I would be dictating the terms of the run - which involved numerous stops for walking and stretching. She was amenable, but no one was convinced that I was going to come back alive.

Upon waking up and downing a half glass of Orange Juice, JJ and I headed out, while Jimmy and Nick played Taps on the bagpipes, and called my parents to apologize in advance for the Blair Witch-style disappearance of the heir apparent to the Mouradian throne.

I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised by JJ and her easygoing attitude on the run. She took me the nearby beaches where we ran on the road along side some beautiful views of the greater Boston area. This was one of the first time's that I had actually ran with a partner, mostly because I just don't think I'm at that level of fitness, and I don't want to drag anyone else down to my level. This may also explain why I'm single. Womp, womp, womp. But JJ was a great running partner - supportive, motivational, and most importantly, carried my water and wipes so I could manage the buckets of sweat pouring off of me. There were a couple of times that she ran ahead and had to wait for me, but other than that, I kept up pretty well with her, and found it oddly reassuring that there was someone there with me to make sure I made it out of this running hell I had created for myself.

And, by the end of the 7 miles, I was feeling pretty good. Around mile 5, in fact, I was feeling great, and for the first time I think I felt that elusive runner's high that I thought was a euphemism for hotboxing after a run. In fact, I went into an all out sprint for the last half a mile, a mistake, being that we were already at our car and I had to run around the parking lot a couple of times in order to reach my mileage. I also couldn't help but think about the fact that after today I ran more than a half marathon and more than a quarter of the marathon. I started thinking, for the first time, "I could do this four more times... not right now... not tomorrow, but eventually."

The Breakdown of the Day:

The Playlist:

In my last homage to Michael Jackson, I decided to run to the vocal stylings of the late, great King of Pop. Something about hearing his music inspired me to run, but also, not die a decrepit weirdo. I did need a little boost for that half mile sprint and hit the Power Song Button on my Nike + iPod chip for Foo Fighter's Best of You, which foolishly makes me think I can do anything.

Billie Jean
Whatever Happens
Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'
You Rock My World
Remember the Time
You Are Not Alone
I Want You Back
Got to Be There
Dancing Machine
Never Can Say Goodbye
Butterflies
ABC
Thriller
Beat It
Bad
Give In to Me (thank you Allison Iraheta)
Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough
Smooth Criminal
Scream
Best of You - Foo Fighters


The Food:

I haven't been keeping close track of my food in take, but I ate alright today, considering the big run I went on. I could've done without the bagel at 10:30 pm - but it's a holiday and I don't want to hear any crap.


The Workout:

7 miles / 1:27:56 / 12:32 min/mile / 1101 calories


The Picture:



Oh and this is JJ - immediately after our 7 mile run.



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Day 17: Staycation Blues

You would think a week's vacation would give me all the time in the world to do the things I need to get done: Clean my apartment, finish putting my comic books to rest on eBay and, of course, creating the perfect Michael Jackson Memorial Playlist (Who Is It? vs. Never Can Say Goodbye - it's like a slightly more painful Sophie's Choice). I also assumed, that all this free time would make working out and training for the marathon a cinch. In the words of Cady Heron's inner-monologue, I was wrong. So wrong.

For some reason the freedom that comes along with a week off of work and no vacation plans is too much for this tugboat to haul. I spent day after day alternating naps with errands ranging from returning two more Nike + iPod chips (MUHAHAHAHA!) to finally getting around to building that ark (ZING! How about that rain!?!?! Am I right or am I right?). I spent a lot of time with my BFFL Carla before her and her husband John's trip to Iceland this week (I envision them riding a sea otter with Bjork on a rainbow), but our adventures usually start well intentioned, and end with us at the tail end of a five hour bender realizing we haven't gotten anything done. Think "The Hangover" minus the buzz. So Monday went. Then Tuesday. Then, gulp, Wednesday. I realize that if I didn't get a hold of myself, I might fall so far off the wagon that I would never be able to see the end of the marathon glory. By Thursday, I knew if I didn't run, I'd never run again. I'd be a white, male version of Julia Stiles in "Save the Last Dance", only I would have a clear distinction between my calves and my ankles. And without a sassy black love interest to get my back on the pavement, there'd be no way for me to every resume my training. I knew I couldn't do allow myself to fail like that. No one wanted to see what mestar in the "Prince and Me."

So Thursday, I strapped my shoes back on and, like the Doobie Brothers and Taylor Hicks before me, I took to the street (I'm on random pop culture reference overload!). After getting some heat from Carla about the perils of running on the service road of the Long Island Expressway, I headed to the local Starbucks, parked my car and started to run. Then I walked. Then I ran. It was an okay run, nothing special about my performance. Sadly, that's not the first time I've felt that way about my performance, but at least this time I didn't have the smeared lipstick on my shirt and the stench of a walk of shame to confirm it. Double sigh.

The best part about the run was that I stumbled upon a path that I might check out on my next run. For some reason, the town of Ronkonkoma is lousy with gazebos. I don't know why but they are everywhere. They are so abundant, that Michelle, my work wife and I, have an elaborate plan to buy engraved bricks at each of the gazebos and write something ridiculous on them. Yes, kids, that's the kind of thing you think is absolutely hilarious when you reach your late twenties. Kill me. Anyway, as I was panting and gasping for air, I saw that one of these gazebos had a cement path around it, so I thought I'd take a detour. Once I did, however, there was a cement path leading up a hill, to an entire field - some kind of recreation center. I took the path around the field, and noticed several dirt paths leading into the woods. I didn't have the time of stamina to go exploring, but I think that will be the site of my next run, where I hope to lose my Running Virginity. Running Virginity? That's when you run through the woods on a slightly rainy day and come across a beautiful woman who is stretching out her quads after a tough run. No one's around so you ravage her up against a tree - poison ivy be damned! Isn't that what happens on runs when you head into a wooded area? Isn't that why so many people run?



The Breakdown of the Day:

The Playlist:

Use Somebody - Kings of Leon
Several Ways to Die Trying - Dashboard Confessional
When Love Takes Over - David Guetta feat. Kelly Rowland
Knock You Down - Keri Hilson
Man in the Mirror (live) - Kris Allen
Sink Into Me - Taking Back Sunday
Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson
Oh Sherrie - Steve Perry
Who I Am Hates Who I've Been - Relient K

The Food:

One of the things that have gone by the wayside while on staycation - keeping track of my food. Fortunately, I've been having some crippling stomach pains this week, and really haven't been eating much. I'll get back on this starting Monday.


The Workout:

2.73 miles / 35:38 minutes / 13:04 per mile / 428 Calories.
I was supposed to run 40 minutes, but made it back to my car in 35:38 - sue me.


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