There was once a television commercial about a guy who was trying to dry his pants using the radio antenna on his car as a clothes line. I do not recall what product was being advertised, which may say something about the value of cheeky ads. What I do recall is that he wound up at his soon-to-be in-laws’ home with no pants. In a similarly inspired yet demented move, I am hoping to arrive at the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games sans pantaloons on Saturday morning sometime around 10:30. This feat may be the most inspired stunt I have ever pulled off, or it may be the dumbest idea in since Phidippides decided not to wait for the train.
Coming off last year’s Flying Monkey Marathon, I was both thrilled and disappointed. Thrilled that I was not violently ill but actually recovering quite nicely. Disappointed that my performance during the race was not what I had hoped (or that I did not manage my time around the race so as to spend more of it with my sister.) The problem with the race lay, I believe, in my being too aggressive on the early hills. Hard to judge, given that I was not wearing a watch that day. Wherein lies another lesson.
So somewhere in the preparation or aftermath of the Monkey, I devised myself a plan that should be the envy of any man. I would redeem myself in the mountains by taking on the Grandfather Mountain Marathon. Idiots who sign up for this Samsonite of hurt get to run from Kidd Brewer Stadium in Boone to McRae Meadows on Grandfather Mountain. The thing is that the Grandfather Mountain Highland Games are going on at McRae Meadows. The games apparently involve other running events because there is a track at the Meadows. So marathoners finish on the track, at the Games, in front of like 15,000 people. And bagpipes.
So I know what you are thinking. There is only one way to do a marathon like this, right? Right: in a kilt. Any guy can strap on a skirt, drink some mead, throw a pole, and call himself Scottish, but only an insane few would dare put on the kilt to run all the way from Marathon to Athens except with something like 2,000 feet of elevation gain. Sorry, Dr. Phil, I can’t answer your question. I have no idea what I was thinking. Except that I was in need of a kilt.
Which are often made of wool, which is hot, and which theoretically should come to about mid-knee, which is annoying. The solution to these problems could be found where all problems for skirt-wearing men are solved: The Internet! I Binged the Google to find Angus and his Sport Kilts. (If you are going to buy a kilt, you should buy it from a guy named Angus, should you not?) While one could purchase a man kilt and trim it up a bit, the advice I found on the internets suggested buying a lady’s kilt which comes in a slightly shorter size to begin with — all other features being the same. To say that my Sweet Lady was bemused at my request for this as a Brumalia gift is a generous description of her skepticism.
My full vision, however, had yet to be revealed. It would be several weeks before the temperatures outside warmed enough for a trial run, so to speak, of the kilt. When it did happen, the conditions were so wet and nasty that it was easy to imagine myself traversing the Hieland moors with a not-so-racist Mel Gibson. In other words, the kilt was perfect. What I needed then was conditioning. If I were to run the GMM, it would be my fifth, but it would be the first that I had trained for in the spring.
Initially, I thought I would run everyday. Starting a streak seemed appropriate to the madness of this whole exercise. The madness was stopped almost as soon as it started, however, when I came down with what the urgent care doctor insisted was a social disease but which later turned out to be either kidney stones or lady problems. I’m choosing kidney stones. Streak over, time for more reasonable training to begin. Like routine days of 6 + miles and long runs of 16 miles or more on the weekends.
To my pre-runner, dilettante bohemian self, this does not sound reasonable at all. Camel Lights, little chocolate donuts, and John Coltrane sound reasonable. I can still go for the Coltrane. And the occasional little chocolate donut. I can also go for the higher miles. The trick for me is to build a bit more slowly and not taper quite so much. Some runners will ramp up the mileage and the lay off for a couple of weeks immediately prior to a big race. They are like Ferraris or Lance Armstrong: nimble, quick, and over the candlestick. I am more of a Jan Ullrich (without the drugs or Porches.) I tend to get going in one direction physiologically speaking and sort of stay in that direction for a while.
So instead of ramping up and tapering, I have been building a pretty strong base and then dialing it back a bit. My longest run, about three weeks ago, was around 21 miles. During the work week through that period, I was running about 7 miles a day. You’d think I would be skinnier by now. In any event, while tiring, the 50 + mile weeks felt good. Subsequently, I have done 18 and 16 mile long runs, keeping my week day mileage between 30 and 35 miles for a total of 40 to 45 in those weeks. This week’s runs have gotten progressively shorter such that I will run 3 miles tomorrow morning for a total of around 25 miles so far this week. In comparison to previous tapers, my legs seem to have more “spring” in them yet I do seem to have recovered from many of the aches and pains that continuous high mileage is destined to deliver.
I have also been spared the serious dip in confidence that has come with previous tapers. Not that I’m again taking the hills for granted, but more the opposite. I won’t have to prove to myself over the first several miles that I can do this. I can start relaxed and not overextend myself in the early part of the run. Which is important because I want to look decent at the finish. After all, the whole kilt thing kind of puts me out there to begin with. I hope that I will hear the cheers of appreciation at the finish, not the jeers of mockery. You will be able to judge for yourself, as another feat of sibling bonding may be accomplished when my brother serves as official Sanuk D photographer for this race. It may be Sunday before you hear from me again, so please pray, preform a ritual, do a scientific experiment, or whatever your thing is for me on Saturday morning. It’s supposed to stop being hot then, right?