Audience Finder

I read over the instructions for this assignment a few times and still wasn't sure what I was supposed to do. But eventually I began as I begin most any endeavor, that is by taking the first step. For this assignment that meant creating a del.icio.us account and following the instructions. I installed the tagging buttons on my browser after some hesitation because I am reluctant to install add-ons into my browsers as they seem to want to take control in more insidious ways than advertised. Once I reached that point all that was left was to start tagging away like a graffiti artist approaching a virgin cityscape. Where to begin. "Well", says I to me, "how about running through your bookmarks and seeing what's tagworthy, at least as far as I want to give the public a glimpse into my browsing proclivities." A quick perusal shows five main sub-folders at the top of my bookmarks those being USF, Running, Media, Psychology, and Games. So I began tagging some of the sites and below is a grouping of the tags I used. The most common tags I used were Running with six followed by Marathon with three. So it seems that just from that exercise at least some portion of my audience is runners and more specifically marathoners. Just a few words of clarification for the sake of anyone in my audience who is not familiar with running marathons. Sometimes my running comes up in conversation and I mention that I have done two marathons and I'm currently training for my third. My first was in San Diego in June of 2005 and my second was last November on the Sunday after Thanksgiving in Cocoa, FL. Inevitably someone will ask me how far the one in San Diego was and I explain that it was 26.2 miles. In fact, that's what makes it a marathon. A marathon is a distance of 26.2 miles just like a 10K is a distance of 10 kilometers and a mile is a mile. So yes, the one in Cocoa was 26.2 miles as well. I've explained this so many times that I catch myself coming across with this, "Duh, don't you know anything?", tone of voice when it's completely understandable that they don't know. Even my own father, who I've explained this to about five or six times, still gets confused. To him all runs are marathons. But that's not really what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about how I was transformed from a 60 pounds overweight, pack a day plus smoking, heavy drinking, fast food scarfing couch potato slash barfly to a marathoner. It started with a long hard look in the mirror and an admission that I did't much care for what I saw there. That was followed by another admission that I had no one to blame for what was staring back at me from the mirror other than the man in the mirror. I was reminded of Michael Jackson singing, "If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at youself and make a change." (And yes, I am a little embarassed to be quoting Michael Jackson but I like that song. So there, I've said it out loud.) And so in the next year I put down the booze, the fast food, and the cigarettes in that order. I started eating more fruits and vegetables and found that I actually liked that shit. I started walking my dog, Charlie, almost every night. At first a mile and then two and before long we were walking three miles five nights a week around Gulfport. We got to be well known in the neighborhood. One elderly lady in particular would be waiting for us to come around and would have snacks for me and for Charlie. This went on for a couple of years until I moved to St. Pete Beach and started walking up to six miles along the beach which was a bit much for Charlie and her dark coat in the heat of August not to mention no dogs allowed on the beach, damn specieists. Toward the end of that second year, I started taking a class at St Pete College and found that I was allowed to use their fitness center and so I started going there at lunch three or four times a week. I fell in love with the elliptical machines. I found that I could get an amazing heart thumping, sweat drenching, endorphin releasing workout in just about a half hour. I went there at lunch consistently for a couple of years. Through these four years or so, the pounds fell off and I went from about 240 to 195. I would catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror sometimes and I would have to do a double take cuz it didn't look like the man who had been staring back at me for so long. And then I would smile, laugh, and shake my head. Throughout all of this I consistenly maintained that I would never be a runner. Too hard on the joints, I had hurt one of my knees pretty good years ago, I just couldn't do it. At least that's what I told myself. It reminds me of a quote from Henry Ford, "Whether you think you can or you think you can't, you're probably right." But then I met a woman who was training to run a marathon as part of a group known as Team in Training(TNT). TNT is affliated with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and they help train people to run marathons, enter them, transport them to the marathon, and put them up in hotels. In return, the participants raise money for Leukemia research. So she asks if I want to go on a little training run, say 5 miles. I say well, I'm not sure I can, although by this time I was starting to feel pretty fit. I go with her one Sunday down to Ft DeSoto and am amazed to find that I can run 5 miles without too much difficulty. "Wow, who'd a thunk it?", I think to myself. Well, as her marathon, which was in Phoenix in January, approaches she asks if I want to come as her guest. I say absolutely. To make a long story short cuz this is already too wordy, it was one of the most inspirational things I have ever witnessed or been a part of and maybe I can write more on that some other time. But I came away from that weekend knowing, absolutely sure, that I wanted to see if I could do something like that. So I signed up with TNT and picked the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll marathon which was about five months away. San Diego had a special significance to me because I had live there for most of the 90s and Charlie was born in the hills just to the east. I remember sitting on a curb throwing down a bud light and smoking a Marlboro at about nine one morning as the Kenyans who made up the lead pack went running through my neighborhood and thinking, "Lookit them stupid motherf#&*ers run." I was psyched to go back with a new outlook and see if the place seemed any different from this vantage point. Well I started following the recommend training schedule which consisted of 3 to 5 mile runs by myself a few days a week and one long ass run, anywhere from 8 to 20 miles, on Saturdays with the group. I had to fight through many of the typical runner issues with tendons, ligaments, and muscles that hadn't been used in a while and mostly just needed to be stretched out a little or a lot. I can still recall the first time I ran 10 miles. "Holy f&$%king shit!", I recall thinking. I had pretty much the identical thoughts when I ran 13 and 15 and 17 and 20 miles. It boggled my mind that my body was capable of this. In fact, it was more than capable, it was thriving on this. I was down to 178 and never felt better in my life that I could recall. Of course some people who had known me for a while told me I look emaciated. "Emaciated!?", I says, "you might want to look up the definition of that word", I suggest. Anyway, the big weekend arrives and off I fly to San Diego with a half dozen other members of the Suncoast chapter of TNT. We arrive, go to our hotels, get on the trolley to the convention center to pick up race packets, have a huge pre-race pasta meal, listen to some motivational speakers, people who have gone before us or families who benefited from leukemia research. And then back to the hotels for an attempt at sleep before the race. We are bused to the starting line by around 5am for a 6am start. Milling around Balboa park with 17,000 other marathoners in the pre-dawn hours is truly an amazing experience. Everyone is peeing in the bushes, even the women. We're stretching, jogging, chatting, listening to music and waiting for the start which comes soon enough. I find my pace. I want to break 4 hours which means I need to maintain a 9 minute mile pace and so I find it and I try to stick with it. But before long we start on a long downhill and I can't help but pick up speed. "That's okay", I think. "I'll give it back on the big hill", which is what miles 7 through 11 are, one big uphill. I reach the half way point feeling strong and happy and I'm ahead of pace. What makes a Rock 'n' Roll marathon unique is that there are live bands at every mile marker. So there are huge crowds all cheering us on and high fiving us. I really feed off of this and metabolize the energy. By the time I reach mile 17 I still feel pretty damn good considering I've been running for over two and a half hours. The next three miles are through my old neighborhood. I run past many prior versions of myself, on the curb with the beer and the smoke, I smile and shake me head, weird. When I reach 20 miles I enter unknown territory. This is as far as I have ever run and my body knows it and is complaining loudly that it's time to stop this nonsense. The miles after 20 are sheer determination. It's much more a mental challenge at this point than a physical one. Miles 22 and 23 were the hardest. I seriously contemplated walking, but I looked at my watch and even though I was slowing down, I knew I could still break four hours if I kept running. And so keep running I did. "Brian, you may never again be at mile 23 of a marathon with a chance to break 4 hours, pain is temporary but breaking 4 hours will be forever, just go", is what I recall thinking. From mile 24 on it got easier as I sensed the end was near one way or the other. The finish line pulled me toward it like a magnet. I crossed in 3:55:58, a 9 minute mile pace almost to the second, amazing. I was numb, I was crying with joy, I hurt all over and it all felt wonderful. Someone handed me a bottle of water, "God bless you" I say. Someone put a finisher's medal around my neck, "God bless you". Someone hands me half a bagel, "God bless you". I make my way to the grassy area on the Marine Corps base, that on that day was doubling as the finishing area, and collapse. My feet are throbbing, my calves are trying to cramp and there is a big goofy grin on my face as I never realized hurting this much could feel so good. I am a marathoner.

1 Beaches 1 Daybreak 1 Florida 1 Games 1 Golf 3 Marathon 2 media 3 News 2 newspaper 1 Rhetoric 1 Rhythm 6 Running 1 Sports 1 training