Six years ago....

101 alumni in their natural habitat.

My baptism in running was in January 2007.

Twenty of us sat around a large table, everyone thrumming with nerves but not speaking much.  My own emotions ran the gamut from adrenaline-soaked giddiness (“I can’t believe I’m doing this!”) to doubt-laden dread (“I can’t believe I’m doing this…”)

This was the first night of Marathon 101, six years ago this month.  Each of us had a unique idea, a motivation, a reason that brought us there. Some of us were fast runners – truly gifted with speed and biomechanics. Some of us were totally new to running, with rookie ambitions untempered by reality. But all of us were first-timers at this rodeo, and that sealed a bond across whatever differences existed among us.

Each week, we rejoiced together, commiserated together, and attentively listened to stories of longer mileage, sore shins, blistered feet, and huge post-run appetites. We laughed knowingly about bathroom-break travails on long runs, and cursed the icy weather that had us seeking out treadmills. As training wore on, the eyes of our nearest and dearest glazed over when we talked about goal pace, hydration, the difference between soreness and injury. But Marathon 101 became a support group of willing co-conspirators. Once a week, we talked in detail – sometimes gut-wrenching, torturous detail – about endless miles and the emotions they evoked. We were doing this thing, and it was rare, and it was awesome.

Yes, we learned about how to build a proper training schedule. Yes, we learned about optimal nutrition. Yes, we learned how to avoid the services of a PT, and where to find one should we need to. And in the six years since, I have applied and gladly shared that information. But the most valuable take-away from Marathon 101 (in addition to the satisfying weight of that finisher’s medal) is a handful of life-long friendships that sprang from the shared experience of trying something so hard. 

We’ve commiserated over missed goals, and celebrated healed injuries. We’ve run through relationships, births, deaths, new jobs, and plain old small talk.  Since finishing that first marathon, we’ve traveled to many more races – in Chicago, New York, Houston, Boston – sometimes to run, sometimes to cheer each other on.  We even stuffed ourselves in a van and ran the 100 on 100 relay. (Team name? That’s right: 101 on 100.)

Your first marathon is memorable, no matter the outcome. I’m grateful my memories are all the sweeter for having shared it with some of the kindest, most genuinely supportive friends -- all who just happened to be in the same room at the same time, wanting to attempt the same fantastic goal.

"Dammit, I want the medal!"

This was the upshot of a conversation I had with another runner at the Philadelphia marathon a few weeks ago. We were a mile from the finish of the 1/2 marathon and walk-running our way to the slowest finish imaginable.  I was feeling great, having squeezed every ounce of enthusiasm and cheer from an awesome morning on the course of a race for which I had not trained.  She (I don't know her name) was feeling miserable because she was struck with IT band pain around mile 7.

She told me she lived close to the course and actually went home (near mile 9) and called it a day. And then after feeling sorry for herself and moping on the couch she decided, screw it!  I'll walk if I have to!

She was still in the mopes when we met, because it wasn't the finish she had planned for. I thought it was kind of awesome -- she engineered her own redemption story, and had to fight the temptation of her own comfy living room to do it.

Since Thanksgiving (ok, it's only been a week...) I have been putting in slow, steady, not overly ambitious but just-right miles. And I have also been reading incredible stories of runners who have endured tremendous life-threatening tragedy, and emerged intact. Stories that put a laugh track under my own excuses and my Philly friend's frustration. And though I have thought this more than a few times, I'm ready to say my next marathon will be my best -- in time, spirit, training, cheer and fulfillment. VCM 2013, my fifth marathon, and the race's 25th anniversary.

Heading out now to run a few miles.

"Oh no....."

This was my first thought when I got an email last night entitled "2012 Leaf Peepers Race." My second thought was, "It's not tomorrow is it?" followed quickly, "How the hell did I forget that I signed up for this?!"

Here's how I forgot. Behold my list of topline projects for the next month:

* Train new producer and emerge from 3 months of debilitating understaffing
* Produce 6 election debates
* Finalize sale of house and purchase of condo, move
* Produce election night coverage
* Train for a marathon


My fall race plan was written and committed to (with determination! enthusiasm! gusto!) long before the events above were budged into motion The election sure, I knew that was coming. But vigorous, focused running seemed like a great antidote. And I've got the 3-year plan to get to ready for Antarctica, which waits for no news cycle.

This last point (Train for Marathon) gets us back to the first point. I signed up for the Philadelphia Marathon this summer, wanting a late fall race to avoid both the election and running the longest of long runs in the heat of summer. And then I doubled down by signing up for Leaf Peepers, which would fall neatly within my training, and to which I would add several miles to make the 1/2 marathon a good long run.

That was a great idea at the time.

Until life intervened and I reduced, sandwiched and rationalized a low-volume marathon training plan and completely forgot that I signed up for Leaf Peepers at all. I had so pushed it out of my mind that I truly wasn't sure the date of the race. I read the email as I was finishing two very long, very rainy days of traveling for work. (Aside: I packed my running clothes and planned to get in two runs during this road trip. I was really, really sure that I had a pair of shoes in my bag, and another pair in the car. When I dressed for my first run, I discovered I had one shoe total. Nicely done, Daniels.)  So I was relieved to realize that race was NOT the next day. I was only partially relieved to realize that the race is next week.

This feels like a rerun of last year's Leaf Peepers. I trained, but not effectively. At the last minute I gave into doubt and misgivings and did not run. I did come to cheer on friends and I felt like a pile of turd for not giving a shot.

This year, I will be there. I will run. I will run slowly and even walk. It will be rough going, but I will finish. And then Philly is just a round the corner, as soon as I get a few other things done first.