You are currently browsing the daily archive for May 23rd, 2008.
Well, it’s now just two days ’til the Buffalo Marathon, and I feel woefully ill prepared. I MUST do the following:
1. Locate/acquire essential pharmaceuticals including Immodium, Advil, BodyGlide, and Peanut Butter Power Bars. (Even in their generic forms, the aforementioned magic potions should serve to keep me relatively feces-, pain-, chafe-, and hunger-free.)
2. Sleep, stretch, eat pasta. Sleep, stretch, eat bread. Sleep, stretch, eat potatoes. Sleep, stretch…
3. Pack my mini stapler and my laminated 3:45 pace bracelet.
4. Pound my head against the nearest wall repeatedly and with great vigor for even dreaming that I might somehow possibly finish a marathon in 3:45.
5. Berate myself for not having acquired a pace tattoo, which would negate my need to pack a mini stapler. (Because if you’ve ever used a laminated pace bracelet, then you know that sweat has an uncanny and sinister way of seeking out the tiny staple holes in the pace bracelet, filling said tiny holes, and causing the paper to swell to ten times its size. My pace bracelet is generally a soggy, unreadable mess past Mile 15, but I still refer to it often, if only to direct my curses and scowls somewhere.)
6. Create, steal or borrow an effective mantra. I’m kind of partial to “Suck my dick” , but it doesn’t exactly leave me feeling warm and fuzzy inside. (I’m not suffering from penis envy – I’m just trying to draft on G.I. Jane’s mental and physical toughness.)
7. Remove all race pins from my much maligned running hat. I lurve my grungy, battered, army hat but every second counts, people, and those Boilermaker pins must weigh at least 12 ounces.
8. Pray for at least partial sun today, so that I can wash and hang to dry my running clothes, including my sweet new running socks. (Thanks again, M!)
9. Cut my gnarled, grotesque toe nails, lest they poke canyon sized holes in my aforementioned sweet new running socks.
10. Purchase new ear pods for my iPod, as the thought of running 26.2 miles without the melodious inspiration of “Come On, Eileen” and “I Will Survive” is clearly absurd.
