Post almost-mortem (and moving on)

Don’t knock Zombies until you’ve lurched a mile in their shoes.

For the past week I’ve been living the life of the undead – and I’ve got the decayed extremities to prove it. My one healthy toe is wilting out of grief for his nine brothers,  all of which are now purple, black, or a lovely shade of in-between.

Yes, the marathon’s over, my wounds are licked and since I’ve come out of my fog of fatigue, the autopsy has begun in earnest.  But I’ve already figured out why I didn’t make my time…

I didn’t run fast enough.

Seriously though, in the words of that famous philosopher, Billy Ocean, when the going got tough, my mind got going – and kept going until it got to wherever Elton John’s real hair went.  In the moment, I convinced myself I just didn’t care enough about my goal; that it wasn’t important. But the truth is I did care – and I do.

All is not lost though.  I learnt from the Ottawa experience:

– Next time my goal seems too hard, I’ll remember this week as “the-week-I-rode-the-bitter-horse-so-hard-I-needed-body-glide-to-ease-my-chafe” and be inspired.
– The more marathons I run, the faster I get.
– It is actually possible for my feet to get grosser.
– No matter what you hear, the better marriage blanket does not a great anniversary present make.

So, it’s time to move on. I’ve rolled back the stone, risen from the dead and I’m ready for my next challenge.

Grrr. Ahhghh.

Where does one go to turn rigor back to vigor?

To family, of course.

This fall, Mark, my uber-athletic-little-brother-who-came-fifth-in-his-first-marathon-and-whose-body-fat-percentage-is-somewhere-in-the-Kate-Moss-range will run the Scotiabank half-marathon in Toronto.

I thought I might run it with him.

Mark has just returned from five-years abroad, the last two in India (lounging at altitude). What’s more, he doesn’t have a lot of time to train this summer. So he thinks 1:18 might be a doable time for him. Slowpoke!

My goal? Lose to my brother by no more than 37 minutes.

My friends, if you’ve done the math – you’ll know that calls for a time of 1:55.

I’ve run two half-marathons before. My first, in 2003, I finished in 2:04:50 (I was wearing a pair of Usain-Bolt’s underpants). Last October, it took me 2:13:37. So, subbing two-hours will be a mean feat. But what would this blog be if I didn’t have a plan…

The new, Steve Austin fast Becky is starting by burning Haruki’s book and her Sweating To The Oldie’s VHS tapes. Instead, I’m joining a local running group. This group was recommended by Reid Coolsaet, so it’s got to be bad-ass.

What’s more, I’ve signed up for Canadian Running Magazine’s Marathon Quest. The Quest grants me access to a VIP port-a-potty, which, my fellow hoverers, is worth the price of admission.  Oh, and it also comes with a top-notch training schedule and tips from running gurus like my beloved editor, Michal Kapral. Check it out.

So this time, my goal is to win by losing.  I don’t know if that’s a classic Kenyan approach…but I’ll do what it takes.

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