elevators are my new friends

I normally eschew elevators and take the stairs: it's one of those things that's just better for you, right? Even though the only people I see in the math tower are on the seventh floor and I'm usually a little out of breath and sweating when I knock on a door, I hope people assume I'm just overzealous about math.
But after the marathon in Cleveland on Sunday my legs are beat to hell and stairs are out of the question for at least a day or two. On the plus side I ran much better than I had expected and turned in my best time, 3:57:52. I'm not sure what got into me, really. I stayed with the pace-setter until the last mile or so (I passed him at the last water station) and tried not to think too hard about it or let my mind talk me into walking. I ran through side-stitches and a major bout of coughing when I decided to inhale my water rather than swallow it midway through the race. The last 2 miles I wrestled with leg cramps like have never known before.
I wasn't totally exhausted at the end either, contributing to the mounting evidence that I really can run a 3:30 marathon. I need these little incremental improvements of 10 minutes off my time to reassure me that I won't die if I try harder or collapse and give up if it hurts. I think of it like quitting smoking except that I'm quitting sucking at running. And yet strangely at the same time, there is still part of me that somehow feels like I'm faking it; like I'm pretending to be a runner and I snuck in without being caught. I show up at races and think, 'It can't be very hard if I, a nonrunner, can do this.'
Caity, Steve and my parents were there to cheer for me. When I wasn't running, my family played a lot of card games. My favorite quote from the weekend was from Caitlin's phone conversation during one such game whose mystifing rules tormented my mother: 'We're all playing Hearts, except my Mom who is playing Spades.' Ker-pwned!










