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.