City Coach | Green Light's Blog

Stolen Bike Seat Run

Today was “long run” day -- 8 miles. I’m slow enough right now that this meant my mind had plenty of time to wander, and so I found myself reminiscing a lot about that first time marathon training. I’ve only run two marathons, and both were quite a while ago. My first was back in 2001, ah, the age of innocence, in so many ways.

Eight miles was the first run that really launched marathon training then. At that point, it was the longest I had ever run. I remember doing it: I had measured the distance around McCarran Park – literally -- by using string on a map (no kidding), and ran loops around it until I got to 8 miles. I was excited to have run so far; that’s what I remember most about marathon training, how every time I’d bump up that long run, it would be a new distance, theretofore unfathomable. I can still recall the excitement and thrill that came with actually doing it. I still love seeing that that excitement on the faces of those training for their first marathons, as week after week they run farther than they've ever run before.

Anyway, I ran what subsequent gadgetry would confirm was indeed eight miles, and later that day some friends came from out of town. We went out to eat and on the way out, I noticed that someone had stolen the seat off my trusty steed (that was before the seatpost fused to the frame).

So in my mind, 8 miles is the distance of a stolen bike seat.

Very kindly, my houseguests went to a bike shop the following day and got me a new seat, the one pictured in the link above, I believe. It was used. Probably stolen off someone else's bike, in fact, but let's not ruin a happy ending.

I have the feeling there is going to be a lot of nostalgia this time around.

Excuses

There is always an excuse. Whether in training or in other parts of life, there are excuses. But some things don’t lie. For example, your standard slog around the neighborhood. For me, that’s the run around the cemetery. I’ve been running it for the past five years, ever since we moved to this neighborhood. Doesn’t matter what the distance is around it (although of course I know) – it’s a benchmark. They can't move the sidewalks, and there aren't even any traffic lights to blame. It doesn’t change. But boy have my times around it changed. Up and down through different stages of fitness, injury, recovery, pregnancy … you get the idea. You’ve probably been there.  You definitly have your own benchmark run.

Those times don’t lie. They are what they are, and hence the excuses. Which are only there when that time on the watch isn’t what I want to see. You never see excuses for when a time is great. Like that time that I was running back from the park, and there were two guys I’d seen running around the ‘hood and I caught their heels and hung on for dear life. Did you hear me say “well, I was drafting,”?  No. I said “woo hoo – PR!” But if my time is slow? “It’s hot out (whine whine whine).”

There have been a lot of excuses for me in the past several months. Many of the excuses were choices, and that’s an important distinction. I’ll take responsibility. I haven’t been running, or training much. Despite all the reasons I might offer for why that was the case, at the end of the day it boils down to the choices I made for how to budget my time.

But now, Philly looms not six months away. I’m slow -- quite possibly the slowest I've been in ten years. And the time around the cemetery proves it. 34’30 last week. That’s going to change, although it may take some time. Watch this space.

I’m not sandbagging. Just setting it out as it is.