running makes me absent-minded

There are some people who know me well, who would say everything makes me absent-minded. I disagree, it’s only waking up in the morning that does it.

Anyway, long running clearly has the unfortunate effect of inducing a stronger than normal case of absent-mindedness that lingers for most of the day.

Exhibit A
The Gold Cost Marathon 2009. After the run, I made it back to the hotel (no mean feat in my considerably muddled condition). Unfortunately, when I checked out, I left a bit of paper in the room that had the booking number for the flight home.

No problem you might think, except that the girl at the check-in counter refused to give me a ticket without it. So, I trooped off to find an internet cafe to look up my email, which would have the number in it. Great idea eh? Well, yes it would have been if I had remember to get some money out to pay for the internet.

When that was fixed, I managed to find the number, but had forgotten to bring a pen or paper to write it down. So… another trip to the shop to buy a pen, then back to the internet.

Then (sorry, this goes for a while) I made it to the front of the checkin line again, only to be told that Yes, the booking reference number was correct, but I was booked in for a flight in 4 days time.

A few terse words were spoken, and eventually I agree to fork over a sum of money to get on the next flight to Melbourne.

Problem solved eh? Not quite. At that point my credit card decided to take a vow of silence. Now, I’m aware credit cards don’t talk a great deal as a rule, but – and this is important – they can usually communicate quite well with credit card machines and atms and the like. This one stopped communicating at all. It was dumb, silent, mute, totally at a loss for words.

So, another trip to an atm followed by another wait in line to talk to the lovely airline girl, who was becoming my best friend.

I did make it home to Melbourne in the end, and to the bosom of my loving family. Of course, the loving F may have appreciated it if I had have remembered to tell them I was running late, but that’s another story.

Exhibit B
Myself this morning. I ran 27km – from home to work – wearing a running shirt inside out. Yes, I got dressed before I ran, not afterwards, but at no point during the run did I notice the problem, which proves my point. Then afterwards I went to the shower, but neglected to bring shoes, so I had to walk back to my desk wearing a suit accessorised with a lovely pair of Brooks Adrenalines.

So far, I haven’t forgotten anything more, that I’m aware of. That worries me, as I’ve probably forgotten something really important.

Oh well, it’ll come out eventually.

tattoo

I really, really hope this story is true:

Unwanted penis tattooed on man’s back

I’m sure the man involved wished it wasn’t true, but I do. I will reproduce the story here, for your pleasure:

A Queensland man faces criminal charges after allegedly tattooing a 40cm-long penis onto his mate’s back.

Police have charged a 21-year-old man from Bundamba, near Ipswich, with two counts of assault occasioning bodily harm and one offence relating to the public safety act.

He will appear in Ipswich Magistrates Court on November 15.

It depicts a 40cm-long image of a penis and a misspelled slogan implying the man is gay.

Police said the pair had a disagreement before the tattooing.

Ipswich Detective Constable Paul Malcolm said the victim was mortified by what happened to him.

‘‘The victim wasn’t interested (in a tattoo) at first but he was talked into it and he said he wanted a Yin and Yang symbol with some dragons,’’ Detective Malcolm told the Queensland Times today.

‘‘The bloke started doing the tattoo and there was another bloke standing there watching saying, ‘Mate, it’s looking really good.’

‘‘He was told not to go out into the sun and not to show anyone for a few weeks.

‘‘When he got home he showed it to the person he lives with and she said: ‘I dont think it’s the tattoo you were after’.’’

The thing that gets me, mainly, is the title of the article. It implies somehow that someone might actually want a penis tattooed on their back, under the right circumstance. I think I’ll stick to anchors or roses or “authentic tribal” patterns.

Running
Something close to form this morning – 13.5km in under an hour, including all the time it took to stop at bloody traffic lights. Not bad. More importantly, not even a twinge of knee pain.

Good stuff.

long slow and cold

It’s taken two weeks, but I finally feel physically okay after the marathon.

At first I just had general muscle soreness (everywhere beneath the neck). Then I had some very specific knee pain. Then a cold. At one stage, I think I had all three plus a toothache.

There was probably a dose of post-marathon blues thrown in there somewhere, but it was buried somewhere under the toothache so I didn’t notice.

Now, I’m finally feeling okay. I’m still running a bit gingerly, but really enjoying not having to run to a schedule. I managed 17km yesterday. I have no idea how fast it was, and I don’t care. It was over a fairly hilly course and I was running just to “perceived exertion”.

It’s great to run just for the pleasure of it.

deep and meaningless

A sort of low-grade, irritating cold has been haunting me since the weekend, too pitiful a cold to even merit the label “Man-flu”. Today it put in a more respectable performance and managed to keep me home from work.

A cold is not normally the kind of thing that keeps me in the best of moods, but this one has had an unexpected benefit of dropping my voice by at least an octave. Now I can be twice as irritating as normal.

Not only am I snotting and coughing everywhere and complaining incessantly, I’ve also been regaling the kids with my fabulous interpretations of old Jonny Cash songs in my extraordinarily deep and husky voice. They are merely interpretations, as I can never remember more than half of the lyrics.

I do, however, remember the words for a bunch of Fred Neil songs, which is a wonderful thing for all concerned. Until you’ve heard me sing “The Water is Wide” in my dressing gown 4 times in a row, you have never lived.

I also did a few terrific renditions of Everybody’s talking which were enjoyed by all around: Everybody’s talking at me, but I can’t hear a word they’re saying (at this point I think I heard my wife say something under her breath about “wishing she couldn’t hear a word I was saying”, but I must have mis-heard).

I do think the world lost a great singer when I took up marathon running. I really do.

BTW – if you haven’t heard Fred Neil before (it is possible), try this youtube video for size:

back slowly

Last time you heard from me I was in a reflective mood, having managed to pass through the back-in-the-glow-of-post-marathon-ness in record time. I think it took me about 25 minutes to think “what’s next?”

Since then, nothing. At least, no blogs.

I have an excuse. I have been out of town, in a location where the internet may as well never have been invented; my mobile doesn’t even work.

The JH family have had a week near the beach, building sandcastles, eating fish and chips for dinner and generally doing quiet family things.

Running
I tried a bit of that. On Monday I ran for about 400 metres barefoot on the beach. On Tuesday I ran about a km on an abandonded Picnic Beach at Wilson’s Prom then a further 7km on bitumen at a really easy pace. On Wednesday I ran for about 3km before feeling some knee soreness and abandoning things.

I plan to test out the knee again today, but it will only be for about 5km. I think I deserve a holiday, don’t you? I’ve already run over 3000km this year. I’ve also been sick for the past few days – man-flu probably – so a break from running has been unavoidable.

Harmonica
I was rooting around an out-of-the-way cupboard yesterday looking for a light bulb (do you remember when we were promised the new eco-friendly bulbs would last a long time?) when I came across a harmonica. I made the mistake of letting my four year-old play the thing, and now it is “his”. So, if you’re out somewhere, perhaps a park, perhaps a shopping centre, and you hear what sounds like Bob Dylan on a really bad day, that’s him. My humble, sincere apologies. Feel free to come up and slap me over the ear.

Books
Em over at the wonderfully unpunctuated i run there i am is having a reading challenge – 12 Classics in 12 months. I love a reading challenge. I still remember with great fondness the MS readathon at primary school. I was a bit of a champion at that sport. Anyway, I think it’s a good idea. Here are some books I haven’t up until now wanted to read, but I would like to have read. (Apologies to Mr Clemens)

• Remembrance of things past – Marcel Proust
• War and Peace – Tolstoy
• The Prophet – Khalil Gibran

Hmm… there must be some more. I’ll have a think and get back to you. I did try to read Ulysses by James Joyce a few times, but I’m not convinced persevering will be worth the effort.

a strange marathon

12 months ago today I was at one of my lowest points in a long time. I was bored at work, Gold Coast marathon had been a major disappointment, I had an injury in one knee and was about to discover an injury in the one one. To top it all off I was told I had cancer in a rather delicate place. (If you look back in the archives you can read about it).

On the day of the 2009 marathon, I read about all the people doing PBs in what sounded like glorious weather and it did nothing to help my mood, considering I had just had an operation to remove something better left unsaid.

I felt my body was falling apart, like I was losing control.

The 12 months since then have been a pretty dour struggle to get back that sense of control, largely by running myself back into marathon shape, as well as getting a new job and a few other things which I won’t burden you with.

So today’s marathon, which I consciously knew was just another race, held a much greater significance for me, sub-consciously. I might not have been thinking about it, but my body was, giving me stomach cramps and nausea for the 48 hours leading up to the race.

Then, on the start line, as the siren blew to start the race, I inexplicably starting weeping. I don’t think anyone noticed, and it was over by the time we hit St Kilda road, but it really set up a strange race.

Then at the end, when I almost always feel emotional, I just couldn’t stop crying. Not sad crying, the sort of crying you do in moments of great emotional release.

I take this to mean the experience of running this race did what I needed it to.

The running itself left a little to be desired. I ran well for the first half, then continued pretty well until the 31km mark. From that point on I knew I’d reached the race proper, but I shifted into a nice fast rhythm going up St Kilda road, with lots of space around me, and concentrated on counting down the k’s.

It was a nice rhythm, but a fragile one. At Toorak road we merged with the half marathoners and all of a sudden I was ducking and weaving, here jumping onto the verge for 5 metres, there grumpily saying “marathoner coming through”.

It really shook me up. I slowed and couldn’t get my pace going, even when they half marathoners diverged. In the end I ran 3 hours 3 minutes, which is my second best time. I do think I could have run faster, but I’m not overly worried.

I know I’m never going to run 2 hours 10, or even 2 hours 40, and I can live with that. I think a 3 hour marathon is about as fast as this old body will go. So, I’m not overly worried.

I saw a few bloggers and denizens of the forum world before, during and after the race. Cilla, Steve, Tiger boy, PJ and others.

Now it’s a beautiful afternoon, which I’m spending gardening with the kids and trying to fend off nausea and dehydration headaches.

Finally freaking out

Well, it took a while,  but the pre-marathon madness hit in force this morning. After weeks of serenity and confidence, I woke convinced I was coming down with a terrible cold.

To be fair, I did feel sniffly and headachey and I had spent 2 hours in meetings with my sick boss the previous afternoon.

It all added up, and what it added up to was not good: a sick marathon this Sunday. Months of training wasted.

I spent the day shoving industrial quantities of vitamin c into myself and loudly cursing fate.

It was jaykay who solved it with some excellent Facebook-delivered advice (“htfu”) which I have duly followed.

I am now of the belief this is wholly psychosymatic and that everything will be better after a good night’s sleep.

It’s a theory.

Sometimes I hate this marathon business.

BTW, this is the longest post I’ve done on my android phone. Apologies for any spelling problems.

preorder and save (or get ripped off)

A lovely email just came through from the good people at marathonphotos.com kindly asking if I would like to preorder my photos from this weekend’s Melbourne Marathon.

Are you mad?

I’ve seen what I look like when I’m running, and it ain’t pretty. My wife took a picture of me 30 seconds after crossing the finish line on my first marathon, had the print blown up to a large size and framed, and brings it out to taunt me on occasions when I have earnt her displeasure.

It’s not pretty; it actually causes me pain to look at.

The times when I want to look at a photo of me running, let alone pay for one, are very few and far between. If I do want to buy a picture of me running, I need to see it first.

Nice try.

Running
8.5km last night. It’s a very easy week, this week.