So "allegedly," this plate of nachos and five Coronas are 4,362 more calories than I burned?

"I've been running almost every day since. The weight fell off me within a month or so, and has never come back. I don't understand why anyone would want to go on a diet. It seems crazy. Dieters are tired and sluggish. They joylessly eat boiled fish meals with watery sauces and no bread. Diets are about edging miserably away from things – puddings, cheese, etc. Whereas running is about tearing into something – into a park or a city or along a beach. A 40-minute run uses up 400 or 500 calories, I imagine. What is the not eating equivalent of that? You'd have to not eat a whole lunch and then you'd be hungry and unhappy and unable to concentrate for the rest of the day."
--Jon Ronson, "Why I Run"

Like George Clooney's doppelganger up there (I think the trick is to close one eye and smear three inches of Vaseline on the other, then you can totally see the resemblance) ever since I took up running I've been eagerly trotting out to the mailbox each morning hoping to finally see my card or decoder ring cementing my membership in the "I Run So I Can Eat" club. So far all I've gotten is a few lousy "Bitch Please, need I remind you of the genetic betrayal that is your legacy" coupons from Janeane Garafalo and a book titled The 30-Something Female Metabolism and It's Realities: A Guide for the Perplexed.

SAD FACE.

You Can Pry My Headphones From My Cold, Dead...Ears

I wasn't expecting to find such an accurate depiction of what I look like when I run (well, maybe a little more bemused and cross-eyed). Thanks, Google Images!

Oh man, do I have strong, cranky feelings about this topic. Even back in the dark ages of 1996, I had to have my Walkman and Alanis Morissette tape buoy me through my one pitiful season of cross country meets so I wouldn't go out of my mind with boredom (What's A Matter Mary Jane?" takes on extra heart-warming resonance when you see one of your teammates barfing into a storm drain). Despite the Discman being a nearly useless upgrade for runners since they tended to skip CDs at the mere suggestion of jostling, I also soldiered through this era until finally, finally the iPod and Nike+ pedometer kits came along and made working out immensely more tolerable.

Nike+ is swell because it recognizes that I'm a bottom line kind of gal when I exercise:

"1.5 miles to go," the female-bot pipes over my playlist, almost apologetically, and then fades back into my music. Only 1.5 more miles? And then I can go home? CAN DO! If prompted, fem-bot can also tell me my pace, calories burned, etc, but the most crucial piece of information she holds is when I can stop running to pursue more rewarding endeavors like the season premiere of Flipping Out.

Alas, some speed work on a small indoor track last winter along with my running coach's insistence that being too absorbed in your music and unaware of your surroundings is no bueno finally motivated me to at least try going for runs without the iPod.

"You should be listening to your body," people would tell me. As one who's long since given up on yoga due to an inability to "center" and do just that, I was pretty skeptical that I could make this sort of hippie dippie adjustment without shanking someone.

But you know what? Not so bad...if you're willing to adapt to Nature's Soundtrack.

Oh, I'm sorry, are you unfamiliar with Nature's Soundtrack? Based on last night's 3 mile run in Prospect Park without my iPod (Nike+ was acting up), I'm going to give you the track list:

Nature's Soundtrack
Track 1: UGH! HUH! GRUNT! UGHHHHH!--man sprinting past me making sex noises. And you thought these guys only hung out in weight rooms!

Track 2: Weeeeee-ooooo-whoooooooooo!--po-po sirens

Track 3: MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY!--demonic child on trike

Track 4: HI LIZZ!!!--my coach's wife, volunteering at an in-progress race. This interruption actually warmed my pulsing black heart, as this woman is an absolute joy and such an inspiration.

Tracks 5-9: the Beastie Boys's "Girls" accompanied by the mental image of a dog repeatedly chasing its tail. The song wasn't actually playing, but often times this is where my brain goes when I'm trying to "clear my head."

Track 10: Mumble mumble mumble, eee??--by far the weirdest encounter and a perfect example of why I prefer to block out the outside world when I run. I was almost home and sporting my usual super attractive post-workout tomato face when this 11 or 12-year-old boy with one foot in a cast approached me and asked me something completely unintelligible ending in an "eee." Possible queries:

"Do you have weed?"
"Do you want E?"
"Do you have some money?"
"Are you in need?"
"My, what speed!"

Let's go with one of the last two!
*********
So what do you think? I guess one could argue that foregoing the headphones keeps the journey fresh and unexpected in some respects...but on the other hand, if your brain defaulted to this on a constant loop during a 26.2 mile run, wouldn't you want some alternative songs?

"Well, alright, *sigh*, this plot's not gonna unfold itself."

(side query: is Training Day actually worth watching?  I've never seen it and don't recall any film nerd friends being like, "you HAVE TO watch this movie, Denzel and the ineffable Ethan Hawke give the performances of a lifetime; it's a must-see," so unless I hear otherwise, I'm going to go back to ignoring its existence after this post) 

For the uninitiated, NYC Marathon training for most participants starts during the first week of July. Yesterday marked my first of God willingly many tiny x's on an endless expanse of calendar boxes that mock me with blank stares.

July is a fabulous time to start any physically demanding training regimen. You've got your 80-90 degree temperatures and crippling humidity, sure, but when you factor in that you're coming off of a holiday weekend that exists solely to pose the question of how many grilled meats is too many grilled meats (none, it's always none) and a six pound weight gain to show for your relentless quest for an answer along with a bunch of angry bruises dotting your legs from where they thwacked some Delaware River rocks not even 24 hours prior when, aside from the bruising, you were having SO MUCH FUN cruising down the river in an inner tube and getting blasted with your friends and OH MY GOD, WHY aren't you doing THAT right now and EVERY day instead of doing your best impression of a distance runner for the next four grizzly months??  When you factor all of THAT in?

You realize just how cockamamie this marathon racket is. 

Look, as I prefaced in my About Me to the right there, I'm sure there are marathon runners so efficient at mainlining their Runner's High that the euphoria has killed off enough brain cells to make them think that training and completing multiple marathons is a good idea. I have met and am friends with many of these people, and they are unsurprisingly fit as a fiddle, exceedingly positive and great to run with. I applaud those people, I totally do.

I would argue that the majority of people training for a marathon, however, are like me--Bucket Listers. As in "I am running a marathon to cross 'run a marathon' off of my tediously coined 'Bucket List,' and when I finish I never, ever, ever, ever, want to do that ever again." Dollars to delicious doughnuts it is the Bucket Listers coating this fellow's pockets because the crafty folks at New York Road Runners know the desperate lengths we'll travel to etch strike marks on meaningless pieces of paper, since nothing compares to that sense of accomplishment that comes as a result, despite the fact that in the end we're all just going to die anyway, no nothing.

This blog is a half-hearted, McDonald's birthday party celebration of all of us committed to training but less than jazzed about it "one-offs," if you will.  Make no mistake, I'm sure as SHIT going to make it to the ING finish line somehow; but if you think that means I won't delight in dragging my feet the entire way, or that running marathons is going to become some sort of nasty habit to replace beer consumption and Celebrity Ghost Story marathons (the only "right" kind), you've taken a wrong turn, my friend. 

124 days to go. But who's counting?