Tag Archives: running

Forward in Boston

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I went to Boston last weekend because I wanted to see the marathon the year after.

Marathons have environments that defy logic. I’ve seen them in St. Louis, Kansas City, Dallas and now Boston. To think: An event that considers its origin the death of a Greek messenger sharing the good news of a battle is equated with a party. But it’s true. Marathons have evolved from the necessity of Pheidippides, to the straight-business approach of most of the twentieth century, to block parties full of behavior that would be considered odd in about every other circumstance. Continue reading

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Boston, sorrow and leisure

Thomas McDermott won the first Boston Marathon, back in 1897. He suffered from cramps and blisters most of the way and by the end could peel some of the skin off the soles of his feet. He vowed to never run a marathon again but by the next year was back in Boston, finishing a  minute faster. I suspect he must have experienced the same tortuous emotions, the grueling pain that is in fact pleasure of the highest so many marathon runners have experienced at Boston for over a century and hoped to again on Monday. Continue reading

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A Mile Away From Ordinary

I felt kinda scared when I arrived at the track that night, dressed suavely in the guise of darkness, a plain white t-shirt, and a scrummy pair of shorts Clorox can’t save. Because I have paranoia levels befitting a mother of suburban teenagers, I feared the cops could arrive, administer punishment via nightstick and then haul us to county jail. I feared I might faint or die.

OK, I really didn’t think that. That would be overdramatic. But I did anticipate excruciating pain, excruciating but voluntary pain for choosing to participate in an endurance test of sanity better known as the Beer Mile. Continue reading

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Marathon (Pt. 2)

When I wrote this a few months ago, I intended it to be a one-off appreciation of the New York City Marathon — the way it boils down sport, human nature and the complications of this city to something simple, pure and moving.

Turns out that was just Part One of what will be a three-post series. Last month, I registered to run the 2012 New York City Marathon. It will be my first marathon and most definitely not my last.

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Feeling Strangely Fast

The announcer on NBA Jam used a plethora of sweet phrases to describe the windmill, one-handed, reverse dunks that players started from the half-court line in that video game. My favorite was always, “IS IT THE SHOES?”

NBA Jam* got this from an old commercial starring Michael Jordan and Mars Blackmon, aka Spike Lee.  The shoes made the man. Or paying an exorbitant amount of money to further stuff the increasingly deep, not to mention imperialistic, pockets of Nike made the man.

*Quick Wikipedia tangent: It appears that the original arcade version of NBA Jam featured Drazen Petrovic for the Nets. He was not included on the Sega/Nintendo versions after his death. WOW. That would be insane to play with Drazen Petrovic. Someone send me an e-mail if they somehow own a video arcade or know the secrets of time travel and the location of a 1992 video arcade.

I bring this up because of the Nike Free shoes. The Nike Free shoes are for running, and they are Nike’s foray into the burgeoning movement of barefoot/minimalist running. They’ve helped me notice that it IS the shoes, and I’m not just talking about running.

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At Mile 7, an older woman read the shirts as they sped past.

“Go Juan! Go Michael! Go David! Go Julio! Go…Peru!”


Two blocks south, a stout policewoman stood atop the raised median of Fourth Avenue, her uniform a blue-black silhouette against a brown Best Western wall.

Her hands swayed from waist- to chest-level as she issued a slow and steady clap for the droves streaming past on either side.

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On running… and saying goodbye

I went for a run today.

I always hesitate to call myself a runner. To be honest, I don’t know anything about running. I don’t know anything about times, or paces, or strategy.

When I run six miles, I run close to a 9-minute mile pace. When I run two miles, I run around a 9-minute mile pace.

I don’t know anything about running, but I still run. Continue reading

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