Lessons From My Long Run

People say that running the marathon is hard, but I would argue that it is the training process that is the harder component.

Training for the marathon is about getting out of bed at 7AM on a Saturday to run a 15-miler.
It is about seeing the pouring rain outside and knowing that this can't deter you because the other options of deferring until Sunday (in which case you know you probably won't end up running) or running on the treadmill are even more non-ideal.
It is about ignoring the initial twinges of pain from knees and ankles, which, by mile 14 have turned into strong protests from your body to stop.
It is about logging the miles alone and knowing that you could stop early because no one would ever know. But in the end, you would know, and to stop would be to fail, so you keep going.

It is about working towards covering 26 miles and 385 yards in under four hours.
It is about making a plan and adhering to it.
It is about experiencing pain and pushing through it.
Finally, it about setting a goal that once would have utterly unthinkable and overcoming enough self-doubt to accomplish it.

Honestly, I think that training for and running the marathon is going to prove to be the hardest thing I have ever done. Earning my two black belts in Tang Soo Do was hard, of course, since I had been training for them since I was seven year's old and each test was 5-7 hours in duration. But back then I had something to work against. From the age of nine, I was constantly told by my teachers that I would never earn my black belt. I was 'too fat, too lazy, too unathletic' to do so. And, being as stubborn as I am, I decided that I would show them. So I earned my 1st degree black belt in March 2002 after a 7 hour test (literally) to prove a point. And in March 2004 I went back and earned my 2nd degree.

This time, however, the only one pushing me towards achieving this goal is myself. My friends and family think I am absolutely crazy. '26.2 miles? Are you mental? Don't people die in the marathon?' are comments that I frequently hear. When WMAR ABC2 news aired 'Running to Death' about 2 weeks ago, I received numerous emails to the effect of 'Look! I told you so!' I think my parents would be more than a little relieved if I admitted that I couldn't do it and switched to the half marathon. But I want to do this, and so the push to succeed has to come from within myself. I won't be trying to prove a point to others on May 8th (well, other than that running 26.2 miles will not actually kill me), but rather to show myself that I can do it. I am still not entirely convinced that I can...especially after a very hard run like today's. But if running a marathon were easy, it would not hold the social importance that it does. The emotional and physical toll may end up being great, but, as the old adage goes, 'what doesn't kill you will only make you stronger'.

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I Wish You Best of Luck

Good news: A new dissertation topic is almost within my reach. I will not disclose the exact nature of my research just yet, but will say that it is non-plague related. Crazy, I know. I figured that after 12 years of researching the plague and Black Death in various capacities, it was time to move on. And believe me, I tried to find a way to incorporate the topic of epidemic diseases into an International Relations dissertation, but to no avail. (Past readers of this blog will know that I first researched the plague for a report in 5th grade and have written every 'free topic' research paper on it since then, culminating in my 100-page undergraduate thesis 'Living Truths in Dying Times: A Social Examination of Plague in Early Modern England').

This is not to say that I am giving it up entirely. I will always hold a soft spot for the topic in my heart (a bit macabre, I know) and may perhaps research it on my own. I will admit that I am a bit of an Ernest Gilman and Samuel Cohn Jr. groupie. I am always on the lookout for a plague-related history conference to attend. I am still a bit bummed that I missed out on this gem:

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 From the report I read, not only was Klaus Bergdolt there, but so was Vivian Nutton. Be still my historian's heart! I'm sure a great time was had by all. (Take home message: if you hear of a plague-related conference in the near future, let me know! I'll whip up a paper to submit in no time!)

Now that my history nerdiness has been exposed...

BETTER NEWS: My little brother, John, was accepted into Towson University yesterday!!!

John in his normal everyday attire. Just chillin' with the Towson Tiger. NBD.

It was his first choice school, and he will be transferring from Howard Community College to complete his degree in some sort of technology-related subject. I am not exactly tech-savy so the mere name his major is enough to send me spiraling into confusion, which is why I can't recall what exactly he is majoring in. Anyway, I am very, very proud of him because I know how hard he has worked over the past two years at HCC and throughout high school. Way to go Johnny!!!!

We love each other...really

(And if you are wondering how long it took me to make that wonderful picture celebrating John's educational success - an unnecessary amount. But no sacrifice of time is too great for my little brother. One day he will look back on all of this and say 'Wow, she was a pretty good sister. Who else would give up their {valuable} time to make rudimentary PaintShop pictures for their brother?')

Thursday Night Dance Party

I've somehow managed to run 20 miles in the past 2 days. Go figure. No more running for me until Saturday's long run of 15 miles. Knowing my luck, I'll somehow manage to injure myself and have to pull out of the Edinburgh half which, considering that my tickets arrived today, would be rather disappointing.


In other news, there appears to be a dance party going on in the room next to mine. I was just attacked by a bottle of water that was vibrated off my shelf and on to my head by the sheer volume of the music.

From the sound of it, I am imagining a scene much like this:

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However, considering that this is a student halls and the people I live with are first year undergrads, the reality is probably far more similar to the following:

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Still, the pounding bass driving the club-worthy beats offers a nice contrast to the rather depressing reading material I've been focusing on for the past two hours: rape as a weapon of war. It is times like these when I feel that perhaps I should have chosen to study the psychology of happiness or laughter - something more cheery.

It is strange to think that graduate school is winding to a close. I have 6 more weeks of classes after this, a month and a half of spring break/exam preparation, 2 exams, and then that is it. I'll do my dissertation at home over the summer, but that will be according to my own schedule rather than one set for me. The hardest part will be over and once the dissertation is handed in (mailed in, actually) then the real world beckons. And what then? It seems less and less likely that I will move to the Isle of Mull to become a horse farmer and tour coach driver (although the idea remains appealing on days when I am feeling particularly pessimistic about my future career options). Or perhaps I could petition the Scottish Government to re-open the weather observatory on the top of Ben Nevis. It closed in 1904 because no one could really be bothered to live on top of the mountain, but give me access to a space heater and a steady supply of Diet Coke and I imagine that I could get on quite well up there. It can't be that hard to measure the weather.

Future home sweet home?

Upcoming Events:
Wed., 23 Feb: Final XC race at Brunel, Uxbridge
Fri., 25 Feb: OSINT essay 2 due
Sat., 26 Feb: Hyde Park Relays
Thurs., 3 March: Last presentation in Middle East class
Wed., 9 March: Teddy Hall Relays in Oxford!
Sat., 12 March: 20 mile run (Ugh. There me thought of this freaks me out.)
Sun., 13 March: DAD COMES!

The following appeared as a status on a friend's Facebook page today:

"Never make anyone a priority who only makes you an option."

It is strange, but this quote made my entire day better. Perhaps one day I will no longer be just someone's 'option'. I harbor grand delusions, I suppose, since this is simply not how the real world works, at least as far as I have seen and experienced.

Anyway, off to bed with my hot date: the 2009 Arab States Human Development Report. Yeah, after some scare tactics (inadvertent, I might add) by my father, I have decided that it is time to become wedded to my dissertation. At the end of it all, at least I will walk away with my master's degree (and some crazy stories - like being hit by a moving vehicle, being cheered on my runs by homeless men, watching people fish in the Thames), which is an accomplishment that certainly merits a party...and perhaps another trip to the Royal Mile Pub in Wheaton (*hint hint*).

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Valentine's Day is tomorrow. Expect to see more on this topic in tomorrow's post. I'm quite sad thinking about it at the moment, so can't trust myself to write something appropriate. Everyone says that it gets better over time, but when? It's been over a month, and it still hurts. But whatever. What is life without a little (or a lot) of pain?

In other news, yesterday I ran 15 miles. This is the furthest I have ever run and I did it in 1 hour, 56 minutes. This may seem impressive, but considering that I started off at a 6:45min/mile pace (ridiculously, stupidly fast) and was someone near a 8:10min/mile pace by the end, it is really not. If I were to pull the same stunt on marathon day (and succeed), I could potentially pull off a 3hr 22min marathon. Hah! So not going to happen. It was one of the most painful/difficult runs I have ever done. I had tried to map my route so that I would run from my flat across Tower Bridge, along the Thames until I reached Westminster, head towards Buckingham Palace, and then circle Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens twice, for a total of 15 miles. Unfortunately, my second trip round the Parks saw me at 14 miles - 1 mile short of my goal. This may not seem so problematic, but when you've mentally told yourself that you will hit 15 miles when you hit Hyde Park corner for the second time and that, upon reaching it, you will (mercifully) be allowed to stop, it can be quite disheartening to realize that you've actually got another mile left. I'm really glad that no one was around me as I ran that last mile as I spent the entire time complaining.

My biggest challenges in training for the marathon have been figuring out how to adequately fuel and hydrate during my long runs and for the race itself. It seems simple enough: bring a water bottle and some sports gels, right? Not quite, at least not for me. I have trouble drinking water on the go or carrying a water bottle for long periods of time. The sloshing of the water in the bottle annoys me. And I learned the hard way during the Patrick Henry half marathon that Gatorade/Powerade is not an option for me. The last three miles of that race were absolutely horrible due to the stomach cramps that resulted from taking just a few sips. As for fueling - I've not even begun to tackle this one yet. My stomach/digestive system is extremely temperamental/sensitive even during the very best of times (i.e. not running), which is why I have had to switch to a no-meat, relatively bland, whole foods nutritional plan. I can't even imagine what ingesting a sports gel like GU would do to me. Ugh.

After my 15-miler finished in Hyde Park, I decided to treat myself and take the Tube back to Borough. (In actuality, this was less of a treat and more of a necessity since my legs were unlikely to carry me the 5 miles back home). I was thirsty after such a long run and decided to grab some cash out of the ATM in the station to buy a bottle of water at a nearby stand. This turned out to be a bad move on my part. I got to as far as telling the ATM how much money I wanted to withdraw when suddenly the screen went black and the 'Windows has experienced an error' message popped up. "Don't you dare!" I exclaimed out loud, as the distinct sinking feeling that accompanies the realization that things are about to get difficult descended upon me. I frantically pressed the 'cancel' button, all the while repeating "No!", but to no avail. I watched as the blue screen of death appeared and then the ATM died entirely. In a futile attempt to get it to eject my bank card, I hit the machine a few times, prompting it to emit a low hum and blink, but no further progress was made. I spent a further five minutes standing in front of the ATM, vainly hoping that it would suddenly overcome whatever error had caused it to crash and spit out my card, but eventually realized that it would do no good. My Barclay's card was gone forever, doomed to be picked up and destroyed by whatever HSBC technician happened to come to repair the machine. And so my 'glorious' 15-miler ended with my riding the Tube back to London Bridge, running (but really hobbling) down Borough High to my flat, and sitting on hold with Barclay's customer service hot-line for the better part of an hour whilst waiting to cancel the card. The lesson to be learned here: Never buy bottled water when you can simply wait to use a tap.

Booked train to Edinburgh for the half-marathon? Check. Leave King's Cross on Thurs. April 7th, will be back in London by 11:05pm on the 10th. (Allows me enough time to drop in at the Consulate, plus at ₤55 round-trip...not too shabby! Would have been twice as much to fly and I am never taking mega-bus again). 


Tentative travel plans in April: (Haven't booked because am still debating whether or not I should go)
April 13th: London to Venice Marco Polo
April 17th: Train from Venice to Milan
April 19th: Milan to Seville
April 23rd: Seville to London


May (once I figure out when exams are):
Hamburg
Oslo
Copenhagen

Speed Dating for the Unwilling

"Why the hell am I doing this?"

This was the first coherent thought that I had this morning, or at least the first one that was not so profanity-laden that it is suitable for publication. I may be relatively mild-mannered during the day, but first thing in the morning and the monster that is my insomnia takes over. I operate on four or five hours of sleep during the best of times, and yesterday could hardly fall within that category.

After an 8.5-mile run yesterday morning, a few hours in the library, and four hours of class, I returned to my flat only to frantically continue working on a presentation on the crisis in the DRC for my OSINT class. (Talk about a depressing topic! Since 1998, the 'Africa's World War' has left 5.4 million dead, 2 million displaced, and 450,000 as refugees. 45,000 people die each month, mostly due to the indirect causes of war: disease, starvation, and lack of neo-natal/pregnancy care). The powerpoint proved harder to put together than I anticipated, and my group members and I were still emailing back and forth at midnight. I fell (literally) into bed at 12:45am, falling to sleep somewhere around 3:30. (Friggin' insomnia). Still, even if I wasn't actually sleeping, it felt wonderful to be lying down.

And yet, despite this, 6:30am saw me forsaking the warmth of my blanket cocoon for the freezing cold of my room. (As to why it has been freezing cold considering that the actual weather outside has been rather temperate is a mystery to me. Wind channel, perhaps? There is no A/C unit in my room to generate cold air. I rather suspect that it is my heater doing this just to spite me.) By 7:15am, I was outside starting my 6-mile run. Commence mental cursing and my first coherent thought of the day. The run itself was utter rubbish. My legs hurt when I woke up, which is never a heartening sign, and I could swear that I was dozing off as I made my way down the stairs of my apartment building.

Why do I do it? I have absolutely no idea. If I take the time to think about rationally, it simply does not make sense. Me, a chronic insomniac, wakes up early to go engage in an activity which, for the first ten minutes or so, is not entirely a pleasurable experience. So I just prefer not to think about it rationally, and simply classify myself as 'completely mental'. I must be considering that tomorrow is my first-ever 15-mile run. 

And now for my much-anticipated (for me to write at least) account of my speed-dating experience! Earlier this week, a friend of mine who has been severely depressed at the thought of being single for Valentine's Day (which is this coming Monday and I am determinedly not thinking about) dragged me to a 'London Loves' speed dating event. I think the rationale behind this was that I was single too, so of course I would just love to go to a dating event. Please. I went, but it was entirely against my will. 

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That venerable source of knowledge, Wikipedia, defines speed dating as "a formalized matchmaking process or dating system whose purpose is to encourage people to meet a large number of new people....Men and women are rotated to meet each other over a series of short 'dates', usually lasting from 3 to 8 minutes." At the end of the event, you tell the host which 'matches' you wish to forward your contact details on to. In short, this is my personal version of hell. I am not good at small talk (nor do I really like it) and have the habit of simply not talking when I've nothing meaningful to say. This can be particularly discomforting to strangers, but works out well for me since it weeds out those whom I probably will not get on well with and requires minimal effort on my part.

So how was it? Not as bad as I thought. I didn't come to the event looking for romance, and I certainly didn't find it. I did not 'click' with anyone. There was no magical 'spark' (if such a thing even exists. I remain skeptical, but then again, as my friend says, I am a bit bitter). The majority of the men I met were either much older than me or were highly self-absorbed. Think the 'I'm a lawyer who drives a BMW in a city where the daily parking charge is absolutely ridiculous' type. Definitely not my scene. I had one guy, after finding out that I am a vegetarian, spend the entire 7 minutes listing off the benefits of eating meat and then get quite miffed when this failed to elicit an 'I've seen the error of my ways' from me. Another man talked for the entire 7 minutes about his job as an accountant for an international banking firm without letting me have a word in.

The most memorable, however, was an 'interesting' fellow who strongly hinted towards having some
particular...interests...that I learned about when I was 15 through watching a memorable episode of CSI: Las Vegas. I am still emotionally scarred. I will not go into details about this particular hobby of his as I have family members who read this blog and do not want to be responsible for their early demise. Suffice it to say, it is weird and I did not ask for his contact details at the end of the night. I don't think I have ever been so glad to hear a bell ring (signaling the end of the round) in my life. Final conclusion: not a complete waste of time (since it provided me with plenty of fodder for this blog, although I have had to edit out a lot), but certainly not worth the ₤10 I paid to attend. (My friend paid the rest because there was no way I was shelling out more than that for something I didn't want to attend in the first place).






(Side note: Never Google 'crazy runner'. If you do, you will end up with this image, which is a bit worrying:

My eyes are burning! (And now yours are too!)