Selective Amnesia

Selective Amnesia.

How quickly I forget about the 18,000,000 sweat-drenched emergency public restroom stops on the 20 mile training run. I have decided to sign up for a marathon again. Maybe my dad will sign up with me and run his second marathon 20 years later. That would be ridiculously great. You heard it here first. Actually, it's highly unlikely.

Race day last year, my parents were waiting at mile 17 or so cheering me on and not taking pictures with their unresponsive camera. I like to think I was moving so fast that I beat their shutter speed, but that would be a rotten lie. I digress. My dad commented afterwards that being out there in the race environment almost, just almost made him want to do it again. Keep in mind that this is a man who runs 40 miles a week every week with sweet Sammy the dog and doesn't realize the fantastic mileage unless you specifically ask him if he ran 5 miles that day, and yesterday, and the day before, etc... But he's getting on in years, and he just had a hunch that if he were to train for a marathon, it might very well be the end of his running career. I'm the type of person who gets excited just reading my mileage log, so to think of someone who runs 40 miles a week without noticing is just insane. Relatively, I don't have all that much banking on running (hah, I say that now...), but for my dad, it's huge and automatic for him in the same way as breathing or putting vinegar on chips/fries.

Maybe I can get my dad to be on my team when I do the Wild Miles Relay one year (anyone else? dibs not it on the 13+ mile all uphill leg), but for now I think I'm on my own for the marathon.

And alone I will feel. Having done Marathon Number One with the ubiquitous Team In Training (do it!), it's going to be overwhelmingly difficult to forge my way on my own this time. If anyone wants to run with me for a little bit even, such as pacing me for a few miles on my long runs, I'll be your best friend forever and ever amen and will always share my goo packets.

Who knows, maybe this time I'll be more forthcoming about all the ills of marathon training, such as my second toenail or what I un-affectionately refer to as Runner's Poop. Lucky internet. Poor toenails and butt.