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Operation brother smother

The reality of a mere 37-minute-loss to a guy who even farts athletically has finally dawned on me.

Would it be wrong to start sabotaging my brother now? Just some subtle swapping of his Body Glide for cooking lard or hiring a hit man to take out his orthotics?  (Disappointingly, my number one fan couldn’t be manipulated into doing a Tonya Harding on his knee – though she considered it briefly. G-damn it Mum!)

Sigh. Yes the reality of a mere 37-minute-loss to a guy who even farts athletically has finally dawned on me. Taking into account at least one bathroom stop and water-break-walks I figure I’m going to have to maintain at least a 5:20km race pace to manage a 1:55 time.

5:20???? What????? That’s a full minute faster per kilometre than my last half marathon time and even faster than Cheruiyot’s Boston Marathon pace – if he took twice as long. Yikes!

Last week, in a little experiment, I thought I’d run 10K at race pace to see how I fared. The Good News? I finished. The bad news? I was finished. My body was in so much shock over the effort it took to picketing around my sneakers yelling “hell no I won’t go” for three days after the experience.

But it hasn’t been all bad. These past two weeks I have been luxuriating in my 10K “Long runs” and a few 5K jaunts around the neighbourhood. Not having the insane pressure of keeping up to Crazy-Haruki’s  “serious runner” criteria has been down right liberating.  And, while the reality of imminent speed training is starting to sink in, the race is still far enough away that I’m not panicking just yet.

Last night I ordered three running books – one on getting faster, one on getting leaner and one on getting mentally stronger. When these books arrive sometime in the next few weeks,  I plan on sleeping with them under my pillow in an effort to help their contents creep into my subconscious.  Next week, my running group starts officially training.

Until then I am happy to live in rest-mode making the most of my “I just ran a marathon” excuse and figuring out the best way to hide ex-lax in my brother’s hamburger at our family barbecue next weekend.

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