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.