One step, one sinking of the stomach

I've created this blog to document my training for a rock and role half-marathon I plan on running at the end of February in New Orleans. I'm blogging to keep myself accountable, hopefully amuse my friends with humour and those who don't like me so much with my travails and failures. I've never run a half-marathon before. The idea makes my heart palpitate, stomach start to churl like a whirlpool and causes me to have a nearly undefeatable urge to throw myself quickly and safely into my bed. So why am I doing it?

I used to hate running. I used to hate it more than I hate the idea of being covered with 2300 paper cuts, then being repeatedly dipped in vinegar. But one summer, I got into it. And by got into it, I mean I'd jog slowly (so slowly that 85-year old women would speed by with their walkers) for a few kilometres, sweat a lot, and feel real hard-core. I realized that it wasn't so bad, and in fact, I kinda liked being out on a warm summer day, jogging along the street, and not immediately going into cardiac arrest (which is what I used to think would happen if I jogged for more than two minutes). But from here to a half-marathon? Although it would seem I had a partial lobotomy, this is not, in fact the reasone.

My darling friend Andrea's sister lives in New Orleans, and we chatted a while ago about planning a trip there. In my head, this trip would involve drinking, eating fried chicken, staying up till 5am listening to unbelievable music, a half-marathon. HA! I got you with that last one, didn't I? I mean, who would want to run 21.6 km when they could instead enjoy beer, music, dancing and fried food?

Well, apparently lots of people. Including Andrea. She sent me an email saying "hey, why don't we sign up for this rock and roll marathon?"

I dusted myself off from falling off my chair laughing so hard I hit my head, blacked out, came to, and repositioned myself in front of the computer. I read her proposal again, realized it would mean training through an Ottawa winter, I once again fell off my chair, but this time due to an effort to pick my jaw up off the floor.

But then I thought about it some more, and (perhaps due to my earlier head injury), said Yes! Yes, I would like to torment myself for the next four months! Yes, I would like to do permanent damage to my currently functioning joints! Yes, I'd like to potentially humiliate myself by not finishing/falling/throwing up/passing out/losing the use of all my muscles at a half marathon!

The more I think about it, the more nauseated I get. But once that passes, I think about the fact that I was always a chubby kid who was never involved in any kind of sport, and have only a few times really challenged myself physically like this.

The other reason is that this past summer, my dad got sick and it shook me. I mean, really shook me. And I know it shook him too. But he's getting better, and I figure that if he can get through his illness and stay on the road to recovery, I can get through training without killing myself/Andrea/all those spandex-clad jogging flocks I see on the Rideau Canal every day.

So here we go. I'll train, I'll sweat, I'll curse, I may well fail, but I'm going to try and do it. Even if it means dressing like this to jog in February.