Wear and Tear

After running casually, but pretty regularly, for the last two or three years, I’ve finally instituted an actual training program. If all goes according to plan, I’ll run a half-marathon in November and follow it up in the spring with the real thing. I’m a bit terrified by the prospect, but mostly I’m excited and curious — curious, especially, to know what this level of physical and emotional discipline will do to my body and mind.

I’m already feeling the first effects. On Sunday I finished my first ten-mile run — did it in just under 90 minutes. I felt good at the end of it — good enough to go another mile or two, even. But that night, after crawling into bed around the usual time, I lay there wide awake for another hour or so, my mind and feet still racing. Burning so many calories each week is doing strange things to my metabolism. I seem to eat constantly and drink even more. For the first time in my life I know the difference (sort of) between simple and complex carbohydrates, and my refrigerator is stocked with PowerAde. Not only have I become the guy who bitches at Meet the Press, but I’m also now a “runner.” Lord help me.


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