I Have 39 Years

It has been a tough week to start training.  My daughters, 6 and 10, have had a week off of school and it has more or less rained steadily.  Save a couple of play dates and soggy outings, we have spent a fair amount of time indoors reacquainting ourselves with old toys, making comic books, inventing contraptions with sticks and tape, and the like.  Needless to say, these activities have not included running.

This morning, a field of brilliant blue greeted me from between the rooflines.  It was sunny and clear and I was excited to get outside and run.  I chose a route around the Champ-de-Mars, the large park that stretches 780 meters behind the Eiffel Tower all the way to l'Ecole Militaire (the military school).  I say behind because I live near the Trocadero which overlooks the Eiffel Tower from the opposite side of the Seine.  My route would take me along side the great monument and through the long park, around the well-groomed rectangle and back again.

Of course, hoards of runners have the same plan with a morning like this.  It is a huge motivation to encounter countless runners, walkers, strutters, saunterers of various ages and ambitions.  As I run, tire, walk a bit, and run again, I come to think about where I am and who I am and how long I have been who I am.  I am 39, I think.  No, I have 39 years, I reconsider.

When first learning French, there are a few introductory phrases that quickly alert one to the fact that English cannot be word-for-word translated into proper French.  One of these phrases is, "Je m'appelle Christine." I call myself Christine, not, my name is Christine.  Another is, "J'ai trente-neuf ans." I have 39 years, not, I am 39 years.

I have 39 years.  I earned them all and they have all become part of me, the wear on my bones and the wrinkles on my skin, the miles on my soles and the memories in my heart.  39 years of opportunities seized and opportunities missed.  They are all mine to claim.

As I finish my less than impressive 3.5 mile circuit,  the Tower at my back, Terrapin Station buzzing in my earphones and my calves taught and tired, I feel alive and grateful. I slow myself and my 39 years to a solid, steady walk and head for home.

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

Obviously, a runner's most vital tool is the proper pair of running shoes.  My only pair are getting quite old and have stomped quite a few miles.  Silly me, I assumed I could simply go online and re-order a pair of Asics GT-2110. But no. You see, since my last (apparently ancient) purchase, Asics has evolved this line: 2120, 2130, 2140.... Available to me now are the GT-2150s.  I've skipped over three generations -- practically the Rip Van Winkle of aspiring runners. 

How have I even been able to limp out the door without the DuoMax® Support System to enhance stability, Solyte® midsole material, ComforDry™ Sockliner, Space Trusstic System®, and Impact Guidance System (I.G.S.®) for gait enhancement? I have come to the sad conclusion that I am running on the shoe equivalent of an 8-track tape.

So, I'm back to square one and now attempting to evaluate my feet-- get in touch with my inner sole, if you will.  Am I supinated or overpronated? Am I neutral? Could I possibly need support? Or, might these unruly hooves actually require "motion control PLUS"? The running web sites out there tell me I need "an analysis" and I don't know whether to visit a Footlocker or sit on a psychotherapist's couch.

The quest is on for my perfect match.  In the meantime, I'll continue to don my vintage 2110s, clip on my "Walkman," and overpronate my way around Paris.

First Things First

Day one of official training and I accomplished three very important tasks:


1. Secured race-week accommodations in Pauillac: We will stay in the guest house of Chateau Malecot , a winery located just 2 km south of the start/finish line.


2. Ordered The Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer with the intent to follow it diligently. The first section of the book is aptly entitled "Making Your Own Reality."


3. Drank the first of my weekly dose of Medoc wine*, a 2005 Chateau Le Bourdieu --a very enjoyable wine, young and graceful with aromas of plum and tea leaves, easy tannins and a long finish.

I power-walked 4 kilometers to my monthly writers group (approximately a tenth of the distance I must ultimately accomplish).  The Paris sky was high and bright, and the walk was invigorating, save the occasional pauses for traffic lights, posing tourists and shuffling geriatric shoppers.

Oh, and I'm now posting my second blog entry.  Here's to training!

*I plan to discover a new Medoc wine each week, starting easy and working up to the full sprint of a Grand Cru Classe as a fine reward for my longer runs. [These will obviously come much later in the training process!]

On your mark, get set...

I've had false starts before.

I intended to start a blog once, twice... if not three times prior. 

I got screen fright.  I became way too self-conscious, felt way too egocentric to convert thought to key stroke, key stroke to posting. Many people do it. Heck, too many people do it. But what makes me capable of sustaining a diatribe in cyberspace with any level of poise and poignancy?

Beats me.

Here it is: I will be 40 years old on July 31. I have, thus far, lived a charmed life, filled with beautiful places, beloved people, and savored experiences. My one-ticket ride on this planet has afforded me some truly amazing opportunties and I am brimming with the desire to write about them.

Now living in Paris, France with my husband and two young daughters, I have committed myself to training for, and actually finishing, my very first marathon.  The Marathon du Medoc touts itself as the longest marathon in the world and I am officially registered with number 634.  It is run through the bucolic vineyards of Bordeaux and includes 8,500 costumed revelers running 42.195 kilometers, enjoying 25 stops at chateaux along the way to sample everything from foie gras to oysters on the halfshell-- complemented by fine Bordeaux wine, of course. This marriage of pure athletic stamina and pure unadulterated gastronomy compelled me to declare, "I'm doing it!" before I ever took the time to consider the hard work and soulful commitment involved in successfully preparing for such a task.

So, here I am, impulsively, unabashedly, starting my training and starting my blog.  Really starting it this time.

On your mark, get set, go.