3 lessons learned from running the Boston Marathon

1. 
How to eat and run. 
Before marathon training, eating while running was a skill I had only attempted once, at running camp. If I'm honest, it was "eating lunch, then running 10 minutes later," but who's counting. When you're running a marathon, you have to eat. Unless you're a sub-3 marathoner, you're burning over 1000 calories an hour and no amount of Gu, Powergel, and Gatorade can replenish those lost calories quickly enough. No matter how sensitive your stomach is, you must learn to eat and run. You also must learn to eat and run and not puke or choke, because puking leads to dehydration and choking leads to respiratory distress, and neither of these are conducive to successful marathon running.

I started small. On our training runs, I'd take an orange slice off the table every couple of miles and start there. This led me to a discovery: At age 19, I had never eaten a straight up orange. Those things are complicated. I've since learned how, but still... What a weird fucking fruit. It's all stringy and gushy and texturally unpredictable.

Then I moved onto carbs. Pretzels worked well, I realized, unless you broke the golden rule and forgot to chug water immediately after eating said pretzel. This led to me almost choking to death in Framingham, in February of 2004, dressed in red from head to toe on a Valentine's Day-themed 16-miler. Oops. Lesson learned.

I'm happy to report that this skill continues to be useful in my life. I haven't run a marathon since, but I'm still a distance runner, and it's not uncommon for me to go on a 14-miler with several waffles strapped to my arms. It also means I can eat something in the middle of boxing class and not upchuck. I can also all-out sprint down Comm Ave looking for a cab 36 seconds after stuffing my face.



2. 
Peeing your pants is badass. 
I realize this goes against everything we've been taught since being potty trained, but when you're a marathon runner, you're badass, and badasses don't wait in line for the bathroom. It doesn't matter how slowly you're going, if you're waiting in line to use a porta potty, you're STOPPED. Zero miles per hour. And I wouldn't know, but I'd expect the following dialogue to be running through your head: "So.. I've put 6 months into training for this race and I'm waiting in line for 5 minutes in the middle of it to pee... While the clock is still running..."

It makes no sense to STOP to pee. Not to mention the fact that you're already covered in so much dirt and sweat and blood and pus (throughout the course of a marathon, you get blisters, they pop, and you get more), is pee really going to make you that much grosser? The answer is no. Suck it up.

On the 8th day, God created fancy fabric that wicks away moisture, so fucking buy some. Go all out and by dri-fit underwear if you want to. I didn't bother. I just went with bike shorts. But whatever floats your boat.

One time I met Uta Pippig and she complained to me about everyone asking her constantly about her messy marathon. She got her period, didn't stop, got the runs, peed, and kept going. I mean really, if I could run a marathon that fast, I wouldn't care what was on my skin while I did it. RESPECT.

Related sidenote: Peeing your pants is actually quite difficult. Your entire torso is clenched together, and you can't really stop and sit down, so you have to kind of un-clench part of your torso while still clenching enough ab muscles to keep yourself running. I actually had to stop and walk to make this happen the first time I peed.



3. 
Weight training is key. 
I was a naive child at 19. I thought I could just run and that would be enough to stay thin and fit and strong. As is evidenced from the pictures taken during that time period, clearly that was not the case. Take it from me: You might make it through a 21-mile training run with no arm strength. You might think you're fine, because running is legs. You would be wrong. When you hit mile 21.5, your arms start to burn. The pain slowly extends into your delts, lats, and pecs, to the point when you feel each pump in excruciating, slow-motion detail, and it hurts so badly you picture the muscle fibers ripping as you move. Then they get heavy, and it hurts to lift them. By this point you're in Brookline, so it's not too hilly, but you still need to pump your arms to move your legs in sync and it hurts so much you start tearing up. No one notices because by this point you're covered in 27 layers of sweat. You try briefly to run with your arms floating by your sides, but they don't float, they drop heavily and the impact shoots through your shoulders and you instantly regret that decision.


Do not make the same mistake I did. Make your arms strong too. Just trust me.

I <3 running, I don't <3 pants...

I used to be so good at blogging. I decided to start a blog again because of a teacher from grad school. Long story short: he lost a paper I wrote. Rather than going on a joyride through my old, ruined hard drive, I elected to write it again, and OH MY GOD I had so much fun.

I forgot how much I loved to write. All my time is spent teaching adolescents to write, so I haven't been writing, and I MISS IT! So, this is my attempt to get back in the writing game. It will probably be all rambly and horrible, but you made the decision to read it, so...

So, what's going on with me? I am completely overwhelmed at work. It will probably be this way for the first couple of years, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. It's so hard creating everything from scratch for four grade levels, but at the same time, I know that if I were given a curriculum and told to teach it exactly, I would hate it. I'd rather spend the extra time making something I love.

One of my eighth graders wrote the greatest writing reflection the other day. He's a guy's guy, a self-described "not so much writer," but he wrote a fantasy story for his little brothers and they loved it so much that he's gone off the fiction deep end (in a good way). It made me happy.

Recent obsession: Twilight. One of the unexpected pleasures of teaching eighth grade is their alarming insight into themselves. My fifth graders are so oblivious, but my eighth graders are very aware of their own thoughts and feelings. That doesn't make them rational, logical human beings or anything, but still, it's interesting to hear what they think about themselves. My Twilight obsession came about because one of my eighth graders said, "Miss, I hate everything pretty much. If these books can get me to read over 2000 pages, you should definitely hit them up."

After this, I realized two things:
1. She's right. If she connected with them, I should definitely experience them.
2. I clearly have a borderline creepy love for vampires already. Think about it. I grew up watching Buffy. I loved Interview with a Vampire. I liked that short-lived cheesy show Moonlight. I OBSESS over True Blood (on HBO, go watch it, it will change your life). Clearly, another vampire story is not such a stretch.

Hmm, what else is up with me...

What author study should I do with my students? I'm already doing a mini- one on Sharon Creech, but that's more of an excuse to read Love That Dog and introduce free verse poetry. The older ones like really twisted stuff, so I'm thinking Poe, but we'll see.

Oh, I went running for the first time in forever yesterday! I got so confused. My body isn't used to running in this area. I always start in Beacon Hill, so by the time I reach the Holiday Inn on St. Paul's street and Brookline, I've been going for a few miles already. Living in Brookline completely screws it up. Marathon training is going to be challenging. I'm going to be tempted to just run home mid-run. Good thing that's not happening for a year at least.

So, I ran all around the Chestnut Hill Reservoir, and into the middle of it by accident. I'm not sure how it happened, but it all looks different in the snow. At some point I looked down and thought to myself, "If I jump really hard, I will fall into a body of water. Oops."

Anyway, I am feeling it today, but not as badly as I had expected, which is good, I suppose. 90 more miles and I can buy new sneakers, BOOYEAH.

I was also deathly ill. I still kind of sound hoarse. My students began an unofficial "use figurative language to describe our teacher's horrible voice" contest, and my favorites were:

She sounds like Lindsay Lohan after a rough night.
She sounds like an adolescent male going through puberty.
She sounds like Sylvester Stallone punched her in the voice box.

I love my creative ones.

Any other updates? Oh, HOW 'BOUT THAT TOBIN BRIDGE? One lane? Really people? I'm going to have to take the Turnpike to work. That costs $4.25. Damnit.

My vaccuum broke. It is tragic, and probably my roommate's fault.

Oh! So, our motivation for losing weight is that we're going to throw a skanky short-shorts party in late March. Thus, we will lose weight because we must look fabulous for said party. Clear your calendars... probably one of the last couple of weekends in March. My goal is to wear short shorts WITHOUT stockings. And possibly a lifeguard bathing suit. We'll see.

I should go lift weights, but I just don't like the gym. I'd rather run outside for hours than sit in a confined area letting gravity have its way with me. Plus, I'm so used to going to an all womens gym, that going to Gold's is daunting. All these huge, burly men watch me constantly. I was flattered at first, but then I realized they didn't think I was hot, rather, they were watching with a kind of horrid fascination as I failed to bench press the bar. I'm quite good at working out. I know fifty thousand exercises for each muscle, I swear, so I would look like I know what I'm doing, except... except for the fact that I'm holding 8-pound weights. The boys are nice though. They help me when I am doing something wrong.

So, I'm off to read notebooks, make food, shower, and hypothesize about the next season of the L-Word.

Goede Nacht!

--LW