January is an enigmatic time to begin Boston training in New England. No injuries now, but slippery road injury potential looms; enthusiasm is high but the weather and early darkness punishes spirits. Frozen faces, hands, and water bottles were common running inventory. Conversation was limited.An actual conversation between three otherwise normal individuals:
"You're just selfish runners. You both just ran off and left Meg by herself."
"Sure, who said 'let's run the course the opposite way.
"So how far have we gone?" "12.3 miles."
"I think's it's 12.5"
"He's wrong."
"Did you measure it?"
"I drove it."
"Me too. It's 12.5 miles."
"Your truck's wrong."
"No your car's screwed up."
"It's not." "Is too." "No it's not!"
"I can't believe you two!"
"He started it."
"Mile 13 is near the swamp, just opposite the crooked limb."
"No, it's about 50 feet further up, near the snow pole."
"He's wrong."
"It's right!"
Proof, that in the course of a long run, in a steep hill, in extreme cold, into a head wind or about any January day one should not seek deep discussion or make tricky decisions. Few philosophical topics were discussed, fewer political problems solved. Notions of blisters, neuromas, butt pain as distinguished from hip pain, shin splints, racing flats, Yasso's, tempo, schedules, and time splits were the topics of the moment. Non-running friends became non-friends while family sought legal advice or solace in "Well, at least they're not in the bar."
The road to Boston for some began in 1997, when, figuratively speaking, a couple of guys donned animal pelts and bark and decided to spend Sunday mornings (to the dismay of significant others) running around a lake in Brookfield, Massachusetts. Destinations changed, the group became slightly larger or slightly smaller until it settled onto Pleasant Street, Worcester and selected the now well-worn path leading to Holden and back, allegedly causing at least one automobile accident in the process.
The addition of women to the original core group of guys added a dimension of...well...evolution. The women introduced the concepts of water stops, GU, Gels, waist belts, synthetic materials, expensive shoes and matching apparel.
"Seriously, I read that these guys when out for a hike. No synthetics! They wore cotton. The weather turned, the cotton got soaked and they DIED!"
"From the cotton? We had no idea!"
"Cotton kills."
"Oh my God. Wait 'til the surgeon general gets wind of this."
The weeks passed; the course remained the same: Worcester to Holden, passing the Holden Reservoir, back via Salisbury Street, Putnam Road to Bailey to Tatnuck to home. Breakfast followed where the conversation turned to running because in the course of running three hours, running just hadn't been sufficiently discussed.
Sunday, January 07, 2007 01:59 PM