Why?

I often get asked that question. I suppose it's valid, runners choose to participate in an activity that's seemingly the same boring, repetitive, grueling routine every single day with the long-term milestones being few and far between and the victories generally being only of personal significance unless you happen to be a world class athlete.

The question is simple enough, but the answer is not. It would be enough to say, "It's good exercise," and leave it at that; but, as runners know, there's more to it than that. Luckily, I've had ample time to contemplate this during my boring, repetitive, grueling morning routine! After much deliberation I've come up with a "Top 5" that I believe adequately summarizes what I find most gratifying about this practice.

Reason #1: Running is quantifiable.
It is a finite, accomplishable task I can complete every day. There's something very satisfying in doing something with a clear starting point and a clear finish. In any given day, even if nothing else is completed except my morning run, I feel like I've made some progress.

Reason #2: Running gives me a stretch of time each day to spend outside.
I spend so many hours sitting in an office, riding on a subway car or cooped up in a tiny little apartment that, even though I live in the concrete jungle, running still feels like being in nature. After converting from a treadmill runner to an outdoor runner, I now understand the simple joy in this and look forward to that time when the morning light is perfect and the streets of the city and the paths of Central Park are empty of the gaggles of tourists that are their norm and seem to be reserved solely for the runners of the city.

Reason #3: Running has made me part of a new community.
Through it, I've reconnected with old friends from high school, community theatre, and college and have had current friendships evolve. In addition to connecting with fellow runners, I've had the opportunity to reconnect with the people who so generously contributed to my fundraising campaign for this year's Colon Cancer Challenge 15k. Old friends, new friends, family and people I've never even met contributed a total of $2,612 to support colon cancer research, surpassing the $2,500 goal I had set and humbling me with their kindness.

Reason #4: Running has become my religion.
I am a Godless heathen, I was not baptized, I was raised in a household that can most accurately be defined as atheist and, as a religious minority in a predominantly Christian community, I always wondered what the appeal was in prescribing to a specific faith. Since I began running it has occurred to me that much of the appeal could lie in the ritual. There's a certain comfort to following a set of sacred routines that, in spite of conditions, are carried out in exactly the same manner each time they are performed. I am very much a creature of habit and I like knowing that tomorrow morning I will get out of bed, lace up my running shoes, tie up my hair, and join my fellow converts on the loop in Central Park.

And Reason #5: Running is honest.
Any number of things can happen between the moment you cross the starting line and the moment you cross the finish, but the truth is that the amount of effort and care you put into preparing for any given race is going to be clearly reflected in the time on the clock when you're done. There are no excuses to be made. The amount of miles you log per week, the cross-training you partake in, the time you spend studying the course map, and the food you eat to fuel your running are all factors that are going to impact your results. Make good choices and you'll end up running a gratifying race and maybe even setting a new personal record. Make poor choices and you may end up wasting five minutes of your race waiting in line at the Porta Potty, finishing with a 10k time of 54:47 and a personal worst pace of 8:50 m/m all because you just had to eat a gigantic bowl of delicious cole slaw two days before the race and didn't anticipate the ramifications of consuming that much roughage. Not that that specific scenario has played out for anyone I know, just a generic example of how lack of planning can lead to a disappointing race day.

So, that's it. That's what I can come up with as the best answer to "Why?" Why I plan to begin each day, regardless of where I may be or what I may be working on, with a run. Why I am going to continue on this path that hopefully will continue past the initial goal of the NYC Marathon to include other races in other places. And why I will continue to analyze, with agonizing detail, every aspect of my running to try to achieve my personal best. I've decided that I want to be a runner, so that's what I will be.

"Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows that it must outrun the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're a lion or a gazelle, when the sun comes up you'd better be running." -Anonymous

Like a Broken Record

Saturday morning, May 14th. Race Day. The UAE Healthy Kidney 10k, race number 4 of the 9 I need to finish to gain guaranteed entry to the 2012 ING New York City Marathon.

There is a New York Road Runners race nearly every weekend, most of which take place in Central Park, but the buzz around this race was different. In an effort to increase the profile of the city as a runner's mecca, the Road Runners organization extended invitations to the world's fastest 10k runners, luring them to the city with a prize purse totaling $45,000, $25,000 for winning the race and an additional $20,000 if the winner broke the course record of 27:42.

While my ambitions don't include breaking course records, I did wake up that morning with the intention of shattering my 10k personal record. I woke up before the alarm, excited to launch into my pre-race routine, get to the park, and get running. However, the clock said 4:00 so I decided to stay in bed and try to rest up for a couple more hours. When 6:00 finally rolled around I hopped out of bed, popped my bagel in the toaster and began the routine that has rapidly become tradition. Braid hair, wash face, apply sunscreen, brush teeth, clip toenails, stretch out, put on race clothes, double knot shoes, pack post-race supplies, head out the door.

I was confident I had controlled every variable that I could to ensure a great race. I was fueled, rested, energized, my injured hip was recovered and my mileage base and cross training were nearing their former levels. In addition to my standard race prep, I had studied the locations of the bathrooms along the course so I knew exactly when and where I would be stopping so as to not have to walk half a mile of the race with a full bladder. Surely a new personal record was guaranteed, there was no way it was going to take me longer than 50:49 to finish this race.

When I got to the park I lined up in my designated corral along with the 8,000 other people eagerly awaiting the start of the hilly clockwise trek around Central Park that constituted the day's 10k course. From the front of the pack, this is what the race looked like. Three of the recruited Kenyans who were favored to win ran together for the first two miles of the race before Leonard Patrick Komon pulled ahead, covering the first 5k in 13:26. He crossed the finish line at 27:35 to break the record and win the purse. I understand it was an inspiring sight.

While Komon was breaking records, I was just south of 107th Street coming to about the halfway point of the race. My splits for the first three miles were as follows: Mile 1 - 9:01, Mile 2 - 8:08, Mile 3 - 9:01. My goal heading into the park was to run an average pace faster than 8:11 per mile. Halfway in I was not pacing to accomplish that goal.

I don't know if it was the stress of the week leading into the race, the disgusting strawberry energy gel I tried out that morning, the two week hiatus I took from training in mid-April or the new armband that was housing my iPod but something about that race was off. Given the energy I had heading into the park I didn't expect the challenges of that route on that day and somewhere after the Harlem hill a voice in my head started bombarding me with all the things I'd done wrong in preparing for this race. My broken record that day had nothing to do with the time I ran, mine was the list of things I could have done differently that repeated over and over in my head like a Milli Vanilli concert track.

I ended up finishing with a time of 53:31 and a pace of 8:37 per mile. My worst race pace to date.

But, I need to be okay with that. Race #4 is over, there's no second chance to run it, it's just done. There are multiple factors that could have effected my pace, I can't possibly control all the variables, I just need to go into Race #5 with a goal and try to accomplish it. Before June 11th the only thing that I can do to better my chances of beating my personal record is to wake up each morning for the next two and a half weeks and train. Just try to do better than the day before and keep building from the base I've established.

This isn't going to be a journey with predictable improvement at every event, the game is going to change each time and I need to be just as prepared for that as I am for the elements of racing that are within my control.

So, while I fully intend to wake up on June 11th, eat my bagel, braid my hair, and pack my post-race banana and chocolate milk in Sid's backpack, I know that on that morning all I can do is run the best race that I have in me. I'll either end that day with a new personal record to beat or a more clear idea of what I need to do to improve before June 25th's Race #6.

Either way, I'll be one step closer to qualifying for the marathon.

"What distinguishes those of us at the starting line from those of us on the couch is that we learn through running to take what the day gives us, what our body will allow us, and what our will can tolerate." -John "The Penguin" Bingham, Runner and Writer

"I'm No Quitter"

Within the mess of photos, grocery lists and other souvenirs of daily life on my refrigerator clings a small square magnet. Pictured on it is a woman, perfectly coiffed, delicately holding a lit cigarette between her immaculately manicured red fingernails. The caption reads, "I'm no quitter."

This magnet has adorned refrigerators in Madison, Minneapolis and Manhattan after having been bestowed on me by my charming baby brother my senior year in college. There was a time when I would reference the magnet in arguments with my mother about my need to stop smoking. After all, if the beautiful, well-groomed woman on the magnet with the sassy 1940's hat could continue to proudly smoke, so could I.

My first post included all of the reasons it was irrational for me to train for a marathon, with my smoking listed as one of my primary obstacles. For the sake of full disclosure I feel I must clarify, I quit smoking two weeks before writing that blog post. To be perfectly frank, I included it in the initial blog because all evidence would have suggested that I would be unsuccessful in my efforts to quit.

I am proud to report that I have not had a cigarette since January 23, 2011. Today is my 100th day without smoking and the longest I've gone without a cigarette since I began smoking at age 15.

It's my understanding that it's customary for those who have quit smoking to impart their newfound expertise on the subject in a condescending fashion on all the filthy smokers we encounter. I don't have time for that so I'm just going to write what worked for me on here and then continue in my pattern of loudly, harshly and hypocritically voicing my disgust for smokers I pass in the street.

1) I wrote down all the rational reasons I had for quitting. (Eg. Cost of cigarettes, Time spent smoking, Health risks, Family reasoning, etc.) I quantified the most rational of reasons. (Smoking in NYC for 100 days costs approximately $600, Smoking half a pack per day means 12 hours per week are spent smoking, etc.) I then wrote all of the reasons I had to quit out by hand and posted them on the back of the door to my apartment. For me it was very important to have more than just the generic "Smoking Will Kill You" reasoning. Apparently the $1,200 I spend annually on this habit is more of a rational deterrent than the prospect of death.

It was also important to me that this be written in my own handwriting. It had to be a personal note. To: Me, From: Me. It couldn't be someone else telling me why I had to quit.

2) I created a rewards system for myself with goal dates to reach to receive the rewards. At first these were things like massages and haircuts, but then I realized that those things didn't really matter to me. So, I shifted my rewards to shoes. I was going to buy myself a pair of red heels, a pair of snakeskin heels and a pair of Kelly Green Converse All Stars.

Fast forward to May and I'm almost out of student loans, so those rewards will have to wait until I have gainful employment. I was complaining about the rigidity of my financial situation to my friend Dana and mentioned how it was unfortunate I wouldn't be able to reward myself adequately for my progress and she commented (in the very nonchalant way that only Dana can), "Isn't the fact that you're quitting smoking your reward to yourself?" Leave it to Dana to cut through all the bullshit and get right to the heart of the matter. Since I had to stop with the reward system for the time being, the boyfriend has picked it up and has decided to reward me with a series of IOU's for awesome dates in and around New York City. Each date comes in the mail described on the back of a postcard specific to the location where the date will take place. He's an excellent boyfriend.

3) I kept a pack of cigarettes with me at all times. In fact, it's still in my bedside table. It has notes taped to the sides of the box and photos taped to the front and back of the box. On the back, my boyfriend Sid, who will apparently be "really pissed" if he eventually finds himself holding my hand while I'm hooked to a respirator (those are his words, not mine). That conversation was the first time I really realized that my smoking wasn't just about me, it's about everyone in my life who cares about me having to eventually watch me suffering all the consequences of years of self-destructive behavior. On the front, my mom. I have no idea what the bond between mother and child feels like, and I hear I won't until I have my own children, but I hear it's unpleasant to watch them habitually engage in behaviors with such long-term adverse effects. I then sealed the pack of cigarettes (because it was half smoked) with packaging tape so that getting one out wouldn't be as easy as just opening the box and would give me some time to think about whether or not I really wanted one before tearing into the pack.

I kept the half full pack with me at all times because it was important to me that I be controlling the addiction, not allowing the addiction to control me. I chose the date that I was quitting, it was not determined by when my last pack ran out. I wasn't not smoking because I didn't have cigarettes, I was not smoking because I was choosing not to.

4) I had a plan. A strategic plan, of course, for how to deal with the onset of any cravings. I also wrote this out in my own handwriting, laminated it (because who doesn't love to laminate?), and kept it in the little pouch in my bag that housed my doctored pack of cigarettes. Also in this pouch, a pack of delicious fruity gum. While quitting I really branched out in the gum chewing department and found a whole new set of flavors that are not available in the treasure chest in my father's dental office. My current favorite is Strawberry Shortcake, mostly because I feel like Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when I have dessert flavored chewing gum.

So, that's what has worked for me. 100 days in I consider myself to be completely quit. I've only had one day where I was even tempted to smoke and have only dreamt about smoking once. The doctored pack will remain in my bedside table until January 23, 2012, when it will have been one year.

Today I will celebrate this milestone by visiting the Midtown Buffet (the only Chinese buffet I've ever seen with dumplings included in the spread) and by tasting my first ever slice of blueberry pie!

But first, a seven mile run.

"It's easy to quit smoking. I've done it hundreds of times." -Mark Twain

Maintaining Mileage

In the last month my mileage has really tapered off. I don't know quite what it is, but it's becoming really difficult to get out of bed every morning and put in the work. Before the 15k on March 27 I was averaging about 30 miles per week. I was supplementing my training with a core strengthening video (Jillian Michaels' 6 Week 6 Pack) and I was feeling (and looking) pretty damn awesome!

In the last 4 weeks that has slipped dramatically. I've put about 10 pounds back on, I'm sluggish, my pace is suffering on my training runs, and my legs are aching in places they haven't before. During the month of April I averaged 10 miles per week. That is a disappointing decrease.

This past weekend I ran a fun run for my alumni association, The Big Apple Badgers. We were on the path in Riverside Park and it was a very informal event with about 50 people (which is almost twice the number that turned out last year, so good work Badgers!!). I was feeling weird about the race, I had a nagging pain in my right thigh all week, a tightness in my right ankle and a series of ankle exercises I'd done in class on Friday left the front of my shins tight and painful. Regardless, I lined up and lead the pack as we started through Riverside.

Stretching before the Crazylegs World 5K in Riverside Park. Photo by Lorah Haskins.

I lead by a healthy amount for most of the race. My endurance didn't last. I had to walk. Just before the halfway point the first person to pull ahead of me passed. Shortly after her there was a guy and another girl that pulled in front. At about mile 2.5 another girl passed me and for some reason I was unwilling to accept 5th place. 4th place is fine, there was no way I was going to catch the first three people to pass me, but this girl was not going to beat me. So I picked up the pace, ignored the burning in my shins and barreled through to the finish.

Prior to the race I had set a goal of averaging with a pace of less than 8 minutes per mile. Our course wasn't exactly 5k, it turned out to be about 2.98 miles. I ended up finishing in 23:50, which is a pace of 7:598657 minutes per mile. Just barely attaining my goal by clawing my way back from what had the potential to be a horrible race.

Now I have to claw my way back into the 30 miles per week range after slipping by almost 80 miles last month. I'm optimistic, I'm going to be smart about it and I'm never going to let myself have a 5k be that difficult ever again.

Lesson to be learned from the Crazylegs World 5k: Don't get cocky about your training, keep your mileage up.

"Champions do not become champions when they win the event, but in the hours, weeks, months and years they spend preparing for it. The victorious performance itself is merely the demonstration of their championship character." - T. Alan Armstrong

What Race 3 Has Taught Me

Runners spend a lot of time thinking and talking about food. There are countless forums dedicated to pre-race meals and carbo loading and everyone has their rituals whether it's starting the race day with a bowl of oatmeal or a small piece of fruit, everyone has a specific food they feel works best and they seem to stick with it religiously. I have adopted a pre-race ritual that includes waking up two hours early, starting with a bowl of cereal and then having a banana while en route to the race.

While thoughts on food consumption tend to vary, hydration prior to race day and on the day of is universal. Common sense dictates that if you're going to perform at any decent level you want to have a good amount of water in you so in the days leading up to the race you constantly refill your water bottle and during the race you run to those little folding tables precariously stacked with paper cups and hope to god you manage to slow down enough so you don't trip and knock the whole damn thing over. You then attempt to keep running while drinking the cup of water because heaven forbid you lose the 30 seconds it would take to slow down enough to drink it without spilling it all over yourself.

Yesterday was my third race, the Scotland Day 10K in Central Park. I woke up at about 7:00, had my cereal and set about braiding my hair and stretching a bit in preparation. I also had a few cups of coffee as I was hopped up on Sudafed and had been up late the night before and wasn't feeling my most alert. At about 8:15 I'm dressed and headed toward the park with my post-race essentials (a banana and a chocolate milk) safely tucked in Sid's backpack.

At the start line I'm feeling good despite the crowding, I'm ready to run. The first couple of miles are the same as they've been in other races, mostly weaving in and out of the traffic jam created by people who decide it's a good idea to line up ahead of their pace groups and slow down the rest of the pack who lined up properly according to speed. By the time I hit the Harlem hill I'm feeling good, pacing well, and am determined not to stop and walk for the entirety of the race. I make it up the big hill, round the bend at the bottom and start back up the other side toward the east side of the park.

As I start up the second hill I pass a fluid station and restroom and it occurs to me that I should stop and take advantage of the facilities but then I think, "No, if I stop on the uphill I'll never run when I get out of the bathroom, there has to be another bathroom coming up, I'll just keep going." This, I have learned, was a mistake. It is also a mistake not to study the course map to the extent that you note where the fluid stations/port-o-potties are. This is what race #3 has taught me.

As I foolishly passed on the port-o-potties and charged up the second hill I felt okay, but by the time I reached 96th Street and the top of the reservoir it became apparent that if I kept bouncing up and down I was going to have a problem. I understand that some marathoners just pee down their leg when they really have to go rather than stop running. That's all well and good if you're a world class athlete competing in a world class event and have an actual chance to win it, it's a little different if you're running a 10K in which your only real goal is to beat your last race pace and you know it would be a miracle to even come in 1,000th. So, as I hit 96th Street I decided to sacrifice my pace to retain my dignity and walk until I hit another rest station.

At 84th Street I found that rest station. I had to walk half of a mile of the 6.2 mile race to get there, probably added a good five minutes to my time. After the rest stop the running got much easier and I was very happy to finish with dry tights, but this race's regret was that I hadn't even thought to study the course map in terms of where and when I'd be able to find a bathroom. Seems like a pretty common sense thing for someone who pees about thirty times a day. But I suppose that's why these nine qualifying races are required for entry to the marathon, you learn a little bit with each one. A new mantra was born out of this experience, "Pee Before Mile 3," as that's where the skipped port-o-potties were positioned. This mantra will forever serve as a reminder to pee early and pee often.

I ended up finishing the Scotland Day 10K with a time of 50:49 and a pace of 8:11 minutes per mile, which is a personal best. I just wonder if I could have paced at a flat 8 minutes per mile if I hadn't had to pee. Damn coffee.

With Jenna and Jessica in Central Park after the 2011 NYRR Scotland Day 10K.

"Always go to the bathroom when you have a chance." - King George V

Have Yet to Catch the Blogging Bug...

My first two races are complete, I'm only 7 races and 1 volunteer shift away from qualification for the 2012 New York City Marathon. My third qualifying race will be this Sunday in Central Park, the Scotland Day 10K.

The first race on this journey was the Coogan's Salsa, Blues & Shamrocks 5K on March 6 in Inwood. Two classmates were also signed up for the race and early that Sunday morning we bundled up and braved the rain to run through Fort Tryon Park up to the Cloisters and back. It was hilly and crowded and cold, but the race went well and I finished ahead of the pace I anticipated with a time of 26:40 and a pace of 8:36 minutes per mile. I walked once, which has bothered me since because I know I didn't need to do it, but for a first race I was rather proud of myself. My delightful friend Jessica was kind enough to make the commute to Inwood in the rain to watch and take photos, she's an "above and beyond" kind of friend.

With my classmate Brittany before a cold and rainy run.

My second race was the Colon Cancer Challenge Fund 15K in Central Park on March 27. When I signed up for this race I decided to fundraise for the charity in a friend's mother's honor and was thrilled to reach my $2,500 goal the day before the race and exceed it the next day. The outpouring of generosity from those I'm close with, people I haven't seen in years and even people I've never met was humbling.

The run was a challenge. 9.3 miles with the adrenaline of the race pushing me left me exhausted after mile 6, but I pushed through and finished with a time of 01:18:28 and a pace of 8:27 minutes per mile. My boyfriend Sid came to cheer me along and my cousin Lorah came in from Connecticut to take photos of me running/finishing, it felt great to have supporters along the track. There were a number of children lined up watching with their parents who held their hands out for high fives from the runners going by, I made a point to high five all of them and it put the spring back in my step each time I did.

Running the 2011 NYRR Colon Cancer Challenge Fund 15K in Central Park.
Photo by Lorah Haskins.

My training has dropped off a bit lately, my weekly mileage has dropped as I've attempted to integrate more cross training into my program. Today is the two year anniversary of my move to New York and I'm using it as a kind of renewal, like a New Year's resolution but specifically for the life I envisioned for myself in NYC.

The blogging bug hasn't bitten me yet, but I'm determined to have this serve as a record for me during this particular goal so I'm going to keep trying. Future posts will hopefully be more frequent and more interesting than just an update, but I felt like I needed something to serve as a general update for the two months I've let this sit here.

On Sunday it's supposed to be cloudy and sixty degrees. Should be a nice day for a run!

"Running is a big question mark that's there each and every day. It asks you, 'Are you going to be a wimp, or are you going to be strong today?'" - Peter Maher, two-time Olympic marathoner from Canada

Didn't the first guy to run a marathon drop dead?

He did indeed. Pheidippides, a Greek messenger, in 490 BC ran 26.2 miles from the battlefield at Marathon to Athens, announced the Greek victory over the Persians and promptly dropped dead.

In September of 2010 I decided that I was going to become a runner. Not just any kind of runner, I was going to become a distance runner. A marathon runner, Pheidippides and his legend weren't going to dissuade me.

Statue of Pheidippides along original marathon course.

Anyone who knows me knows that this is ridiculous for the following reasons:

1) I am a glutton. I love food so much that a phrase was coined around me at a former place of employ. During the shift meal at this Manhattan restaurant people would be reprimanded by being told not to "Gretchen" the food if they were taking too much and instantly snapping up the preferred lukewarm leftovers. I also have been known to have Chinese buffet championships with my little brother (who outweighs me by a good hundred pounds). I love eating.

2) I am a smoker. And not an occasional smoker, I am a pack a day for the last ten years smoker. A fact made all the more disgusting by the fact that I am currently 27 years old and smoked for two years before reaching the pack a day level. I am not one of those self-loathing smokers who finds the habit disgusting, I am a smoker who loves it. I love everything about it. I love packing them, opening the pack, flipping the lucky and the way that I always managed to smoke them in almost the same order every single time. Maybe my compulsive nature just needs to find a new ritual.

3) I am not a jock. I have never been what one would consider an athlete. I once walked the bi-annual elementary school mile run. I don't know that it could even be qualified as walking, I think I dawdled it. It took me 21 minutes and 21 seconds and I crossed the finish line with a bouquet of dandelions in hand. My gym teacher was less than impressed. I danced competitively growing up but I was never the most fit girl in a leotard. I was considered a bit of a stud amongst my high school theatre friends, but one can imagine the level of fitness necessary to achieve that label in that circle. I think I was considered "athletic by association" at best as my four brothers (well, three of them anyway) all oozed athleticism as did all of the cousins on the Page side of the family. Of all of them, I am sure that I am the least athletic. Debate could open that up and make my brother Adam the least athletic due to his delicate build, but I'm fairly confident that he could take me in a fight.

I had dabbled with the idea of becoming a runner previously, but had never gotten further than the treadmill at the Columbia gym. I hadn't even gone as far as investing in a proper pair of running shoes. I had logged a fair amount of miles on my discount cross trainers when I got the news that shaped my decision to actually embark on this journey. My grandfather was dying. He had been diagnosed with prostate cancer the year before, but now he was actually dying. This had been an inevitable event since the diagnosis, but every time things seemed hopeless something would always turn up that made it seem like this wasn't going to be the end. Nothing like that turned up this time.

My grandfather was an important person to countless people in our community, in our state and in the world of athletics. It was a running joke that anywhere you went if you said you were from River Falls that someone would say "Do you know Don Page?" This joke is funny when you're a twelve year old on a plane heading for a summer vacation, less funny when you're a 26 year old heading through the Times Square subway station two days after your grandfather has passed away. Amazing that it never occurred to me that the inch tall Bucky Badger patch that has been sewn to my backpack for a decade would ever lead to a thirty second conversation that would conclude with me sobbing in the arms of an elderly stranger on the busiest subway platform in Manhattan during the morning commute.

But, I digress, it was the week in between receiving the call that he was nearing his end and the morning that I embarrassed some poor Wisconsin tourist in Times Square that made this goal a reality. I have been very fortunate in that I haven't had to deal with the deaths of many people close to me. In fact, there have only really been three deaths that have had a profound impact on me, two of them being grandparents. With my other two experiences with death I was at home. This time I was more than a thousand miles away in a city in which it is exceedingly easy to feel isolated waiting for a phone call and realizing, as I spent the entire week avoiding any real sort of contact with anyone, that I didn't know my grandfather. I knew he was a four sport Badger athlete, I knew he coached, I knew he officiated, I knew he was an administrator and an incredible fundraiser. I knew what he did, I didn't know who he was. I knew the outline, I knew the legend, but I didn't know him. And it had now reached the point where it was entirely too late.

I spoke to my father about this as soon as it dawned on me. It started with some easy questions. "What kind of music did Grandpa listen to?" He apparently didn't listen to music, which struck me as odd because it's so much a part of shaping my daily life. He listened to AM radio, mostly sporting events. The only time I can remember doing anything remotely close to listening to a sporting event on AM radio was this past year while riding in the back seat of my father's Durango, hungover from a five martini wedding the night before and begging him to turn it back to Rush Limbaugh so I wouldn't have to listen to another minute of the Packer broadcast and bitching about the fact that I was out of ginger ale. I don't really qualify a steady stream of hungover, freely associated pissing and moaning as "listening to the radio."

My grandmother listens to music. She attends the theatre, she likes jazz and classical music, she loves modern art and architecture, all shades of blue and quaint Polish dishes. She loves to play cards, she's a ravenous reader and she lights up when she tells a story or hears one that she finds particularly amusing. I know these things about my grandmother because we have a common thread, one that I think was refined by the fact that I was the only non-athlete of their grandchildren. Everyone else had things to share with Grandpa when we went to visit, successes in basketball or baseball that he probably already knew from watching their games. I think he realized later that he and I had missed each other a bit and he began to ask me questions about shows I was seeing when I would make my weekly phone call after moving to New York. I appreciated his effort, but the connection just didn't have time to materialize.

When my father called me to tell me that it was only a matter of days for Grandpa and I realized that I had missed having this relationship, I didn't know how to cope with it but running felt right. My little brother coined it as "cranking up the incline and running through the tears." I was numb, I was running six miles a day, I wasn't talking to anyone in New York about what was going on back at home and the people at home all had each other to talk to (making me feel as if I was somehow intruding on their grief). I had quit smoking a few weeks before this and used Grandpa's worsening condition as a legitimate excuse to leap right off that wagon and start lighting up again. Incidentally, smoking a pack of cigarettes and running six miles a day is difficult.

And so, this journey was born. It's been five months since I began. I've come to see this goal as a way of making up for the relationship I will never have the chance to build with my grandfather. It may very well be irrational, but I feel that if I can become the athlete that he never knew me as I'll be able to understand more of who he was. I never idolized my grandfather in the same way my brothers did, and I don't know if I ever will, but there can't be much harm in trying.

"Run like hell and get the agony over with." - Clarence DeMar, AKA Mr. DeMarathon. Winner of 7 Boston Marathons.