March 29, 2013: On my rest days, I am... FAST

You thought you had a shitty day?

8:40am: After deciding to take the morning off from running, I woke up quite comfortably at quarter past eight. So I'm driving to work, texting on my new Nexus Smart phone, and blasting Eurotrash House music on the new Evolution radio station 101.7, which replaced the famed and beloved WFNX...And within the last hundred feet before work (literally, I  can see the Eiffel Tower in the cliche B&W Parisian poster I hung in my cubicle) a cop crosses on the opposite side of the road. He activates his sirens and pulls a U-turn as if it is a 1990s Keanu Reeves action movie.

Whaaaat? First of all, I drive a Mazda, not a  white Ford Bronco ...

Anyways, when I rolled down the window and met his face, I knew I was done. He looked something like this guy, but older, wrinklier:

"Bouche en cul de poule"

OK -- so the usual BS: license, registration, condescending look of disapproval when he realizes I'm not American. And BOOM. Citation... Allegedly, I was speeding at a scientifically impossible (given various circumstances and engineering factors) "53mph" instead of 35mph. Can't believe that, especially as I'm an M.I.T. mathematical wizard (the diploma can be found next to the Paris print) and I can easily mentally assess complex calculations for anything and everything in the physical world. Like, I knew S= D/T before I could even properly use a toilet.

Officer, I can kill you with my brain.

Needless to say, I will dickheadly be contesting this ticket in court, and I've yet to decide whether I will channel my inner "Good" Will Hunting to ensure justice is rightfully served. You see, I'm just a regular Joe Schmo trying to maintain some sense of morality in this nefarious and depraved world. And that's why this corrupt ticket won't be paid without robust resistance from this dickhead.

Fuck you, Taxachusetts. Did I mention, officer, I'm running a marathon?

Lesson to be learned here: Don't skip a morning workout.  Built up kinesthetic energy + shitty techno music = throwing my car into fifth gear on a regular road in front of a cop. Better to speed on the treadmill...

Ahem, but (cough), we're getting off topic, because remember, I'm not at fault here...

I wasn't speeding...

I didn't do it... kinda like...

 If OJ can away with murder and write this book, then there must be a chance the American Judicial system can get me out of a $100 ticket. Like Mr. Simpson,  I just need some sound evidence and mathematical proofs...

March 17, 2013: Returning to the BASE

One more time, I realized that all of these efforts were shallow / useless.

You may now wonder: is he talking about his bitchy girlfriend? Or his marathon training? Welp, for this time, it's all about the training. My super-genius (but slow) MIT brain has come to the conclusion that I should work on my base training for a little longer way longer than that, before even thinking about doing HIIT (high-intensity interval training) again. Let me quote this article from the registration fuckery worst-registration-server-ever, namely Active.com:

Often, one of the hardest concepts for triathletes to understand and implement is the notion of base training. The idea of running slowly to boost performance later in the season can seem counterintuitive. It is also difficult to hold oneself back, but if you have the discipline to train aerobically this winter when everyone else is hammering away, it will pay dividends down the road.

OK -- I'm no triathlete, but I'm closer to being a triathlete than a Market Basket cashier, right? Paper or plastic? Exact amount? Can I see your ID please? (that's when I use my girlfriend's unsigned Chase Freedom card; she put me as a AU... what a mistake).

ALRIGHT, I know you guys (yes, YOU American folks, not Guatemalans...) love topics regarding grocery shopping and credit cards, but let's go back to the main subject: MYSELF.

My second week on training looks like this:

Week 2

Picture taken at the gym (no inference or critical-thinking necessary, here):

My training on Wednesday... still flabbergasted how Instagram can turn shitty pictures into... shitty pictures.

Actually, there is a Thursday night, 2am 2.2-mi run not shown on the above spreadsheet. This is because I was too cheap to take a cab home from the bar where I heavily drank away my sorrows all night long. So, in my mind, it sounded (schizophrenic) like a BRILLIANT idea to RUN home. With dress shoes. In a button-down shirt. You don't believe me? See screenshot below (note the time).

Yeah I pixelized the map... Oh, I forgot to tell you I'm also paranoid (schizophrenic)?

So not only my girlfriend was wicked mad that I went out late and got drunk, but in addition I destroyed my knees, feet, and I'm suffering from a serious case of shin splints. A total victory.

Whatever. That was my latest marathoner-to-be dickhead move. And if you don't like it, you can still TTYFN.

March 10, 2013: Escaping the world on a treadmill... a.k.a. going nowhere

This week marked the first official several days of training for the Chicago 2013 Marathon, and I'm beginning to question my fortitude. I'm exhausted, debilitated, and emotionally enervated. It's not a result of the earlier knee incapacity; it cannot simply be chalked up to "it's-my-first-week-of-serious-running-and-I'm-only-complaining-because-I'm-French-and-le-tired." In fact, it has nothing to do with training. What is the problem, you might ask? Patellafemoral syndrome (see previous post)? Shin splints? Explosive runner's diarrhea? None of the above. The setback is the old ball and chain. She's beginning to feel the effects of this remarkably inspiring (and unrealistic) ambition of mine, and let's just say my knees aren't feeling that bad in comparison to my relation-shit status...

The majority of my week was equally divided between my Hanson's Marathon training workout, and receiving irascible text messages from my merciless girlfriend. On Wednesday (see spreadsheet below), the high intensity training on the treadmill was very much the same as the high intensity battles in the bedroom. The workout calls for running at a pace close to the lactate threshold for 400 meters (the lactate threshold is the point where lactic acid starts to accumulate in your blood stream), recover at a slower pace for another 400 meters... and do it again. TWELVE TIMES. It's a total bitch... and so is my girlfriend. She's having a difficult time coping with the new workout schedule. Not to mention the fact that my boss has threatened to fire and deport my lazy French ass if I don't start putting in more overtime hours. So pretty much she's pissed at the lack of time and attention devoted to her. We'll fight for a a day or so, and then make up the following night (similar to the interval and recovery workout). And that's taking quite a toll on my training.

Week 1 of training
T = tempo, W =  warming up, C = cooling, M = 1.609K, [xx] = speed range (mph), and EZ =... easy.

I've been working out all week and I feel nothing but pain, frustration, and soreness. I'll either get to the gym early in the morning or late after work. Both times the gym is usually empty... except for one girl who oddly decided to choose the treadmill directly adjacent to mine despite the fact that there was a plethora of empty, ready-to-use, clean machines all over the gym. And then there was the Jersey-Shore Axe drenched guido who left me no choice but to switch treadmills in the middle my high intensity phase due to cologne asphyxiation (like, you're supposed to be close to VO2 max, not to VC2H6O max). Then, he and his cloud of noxious vapors FOLLOWED me to my new machine, where he continued to speak to his friend at an extremely loud volume. At this time and date, I still have not found an explanation for these behaviors. These people are the worst. Don't people have any personal-space awareness when it comes to gym etiquette?  It already sucks enough that I live in Boston and I cannot train outside due to the 70 feet of snow we've received over the past month and a half. Hey you other 45,000 participants for the Chi-town Marathon, if you happen to recognize me on race day, it'd be in your best interest to get the FUCK out of my way... as it seems like with the way things are going, the next eight months will be chock-full of spatially retarded assholes invading my extra large comfort zone. I hate humans.

Speaking of humans...who is the one guy in Guatemala who is reading this blog? Do you guys even get internet down there?

Notice that my motherland, France, is not represented on this map. Too busy on strike for more vacation time. 

Anyway, I'll let you know how the second week of training goes, girlfriend and marathon wise. And hopefully these inconsiderate gym rats will stop gnawing at my feet while I try to change and inspire the world through my running.

Who am I kidding?

I hate the world. And everyone in it.

March 1, 2013: Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome?

Classic, over-zealous dickhead move:  I started my training too strong, and too fast. After the intense past ski weekend, I felt my muscles tensing and tightening. So I forced my girlfriend to rub copious amounts of Arnicare* all over various parts of my excruciatingly sore body, all while moaning like a dying whale. After a few hours of muscle kneading and cathartic complaining, I felt much, much better. So I decided that I should go for a 7 mi long run... the next day.

 Wrong decision, bad consequences.

My knees already hurt. It's not a intense pain, but rather a 24/7 "bothering" feeling that just doesn't feel right. I gave an other try on Wednesday with 4.5 mi... Then I decided I should stop running so I jumped onto the elliptical on Thursday... and realized I forgot my red iPod nano 2nd generation at home. One hour on a treadmill without TV or music is LONG. Plus my gym isn't like the Call On Me video (confer previous post) where there are nice chicks to check out. Fuck that.

Welp, it's Friday and the pain is still there, despite intense bis in die Arnicare self-application (very rarely, I mean, I should say extremely rarely, my girlfriend is so mad at me that I have to massage myself). I guess that's what people call runner's knee. And consequences of being a dickhead.

Who knew either of these situations could affect marathon training?

Hey marathon competitors, I'm sure you haven't started training yet, but I'm already behind you! Damn you Bank of America, City of Chicago, Boiron, and those cheap patellas passed down from my Italian forefathers.

Hey bing.com, do you mind indexing my website quam primum? It's 2013 and it shouldn't take that long! Your business is appreciated.

Hey former Latin teacher, remember when I averaged 3.5/20 on your class and now I use plenty of obnoxious latin expressions in revenge?

*useless gel, but made in France... ergo it's fancy and fucking awesome.