NYC 2003 - My First Marathon
by Chris Lear

Over the next eight weeks, Chris Lear, a Colorado-based full-time sales representative and freelance writer, will be sharing his training diary as he prepares to run in this year's edition of the ING New York City Marathon — his marathon debut. Lear, like the vast majority of this year's entrants, is not a full-time runner. Yet, as for most of the competitors running this year's event, November 2 will nonetheless represent the culmination of months of hard work and planning. Each finisher, in the end, will have his or her own story to tell. In coming weeks, Lear will share with you his story: his goals, dreams, triumphs, and disappointments as he prepares to tackle the 26.2-mile behemoth for the first time. He hopes you'll enjoy the ride…

Entry #4, September 4, 2003 — The Tipping Point

The King and the kid.

I'll be honest. The first couple weeks of this training program sucked; they totally sucked. Every day I was getting out there, huffing and puffing around, the minutes dragging on insufferably like Pirates of the Caribbean. Fortunately, I've been through this process before. I knew if I just persevered a little bit, eventually I would reach the tipping point.

What is the tipping point? Malcolm Gladwell wrote a book about it. Gladwell examined how things like ideas, books, or products become fads — spilling over from niche success to popular success. I've found the process of getting fit to be much the same. You slog around, seeing little gains here and there, but overall, nothing's doing. Then, one day, you hit your stride, float effortlessly over your usual route with big ticks to spare, and see all your work being rewarded.

I should have known the magical tipping point was near last Thursday. I took off on a morning run shirtless, without even thinking about it, which is remarkable given that I can't remember the last time I did so due to the excess luggage hanging over my shorts.

That's changing.

But that was but a prelude to the real tipping point, which occurred for me this past Saturday, when I ran with royalty. That's right, royalty. Kristian Agnew, a former track standout at NC State, now working crazy hours for the man, surprised all the locals to win the Boulder road race series and earn the title of Boulder's King of the Roads. Considering he faced the likes of Lee Troop (an Australian who finished 17th in the World Championships Marathon in Paris), marathon great Silvio Guerra, and local standout Art Siemers, and still won the overall series, his title, in these parts, is pretty buck.

We ran an out-and-back two-hour run on a gorgeous trail that begins in central Colorado Springs and reaches its zenith just north of the Air Force Academy. The King kept it light by conversing with me for virtually the entire run. And while three-quarters of what he said went in one ear and out the other due to oxygen debt, I couldn't ignore the pearl he dropped on me with about 15 minutes left in the run.

Realizing we were negative splitting and facing the prospect of finishing a few minutes shy of the deuce we'd set out to run, the King said, and I quote:

"Lear, the way I see it, you're gonna finish this run as either a loser or a pussy."

"How's that?"

"Well, if we get back a few minutes ahead of schedule and you jog around the parking lot to get to two hours, you're an anal-retentive loser. But, on the other hand, if you don't do the full two, you're a pussy. Either way, you're screwed."

"Fabulous."

Fortunately the King granted me clemency, and we ran past the parking lot for a few minutes (during which I called him every curse word I could remember — in my mind, that is — for I was too tired to speak) before doubling back for an honest deuce.

I felt fine for a while after that. I almost felt ebullient. After all, it was only three or four weeks ago that I didn't even dare contemplate running that far. I realized I'd reached a milestone; hit the tipping point, and that NYC 2003 may not be a total sufferfest after all. That feeling of satisfaction lasted for a while, until out of nowhere, about 90 minutes after the run, I broke out in a cold sweat, doubled over, overwhelmed with a feeling of nausea, and realized I needed food — now. Nachos, three Pepsis, and a burger and fries later, I was back.

It's been so long since I've been out running long that I'd forgotten about the old post-long-run GI distress. And in the midst of my GI turmoil, it was hardly a barrel of laughs. Yet, I'd be lying if I didn't tell ya, on another level, it hurt so good.

Ciao till next week. I gotta go make like Emeril...

Chris