Marathon Facts

Dear Readers:

Yesterday I ran a marathon. You can tell, because today, I move very slowly and ache in a lot of places. It was one of my slower races and humbled me, again. Running 26.2 miles is really a challenge. Most of the time, no matter how much preparation you give it, something goes wrong, either before or during the race. Usually it's minor, like aches and pains, but sometimes it's more substantial, like no strength, no stamina. The stamina part is the hardest for me to figure out. Sometimes you have it, and other times you don't. This was one time I didn't have it.

My wife said I looked exhausted halfway through the race, and had bags under my eyes. Truth is, I felt like I had bags under my eyes, and I was tempted to quit after the first ten miles. It was a small marathon in Buffalo, New York. I've run there before, and usually do very well. Yesterday seemed like any other race day morning. Runners collected around the announcer, a singer belted out the Canadian and United States national anthems, the horn sounded and we were off. I spent the next 26.2 miles huffing, puffing and plodding along, and had to resort to many walking periods in the latter part of the race. I think what kept me going was knowing how bad I'd feel if I didn't finish. Finish I did, but with difficulty.

Ironically, I ran the Boston Marathon a few years ago and "quit" two times during that race. It was a hot day, and I was light-headed and beat. I remember standing in a gas station watching all the runners go by, while I waited for someone to pick me up. Minutes passed and no one came to get me, so I got back in the race and ran some more. I eventually finished the race in under four hours. Yesterday, the weather was cool and I ran a much easier course, but it took longer than Boston to complete, and I was tired the whole time. Go figure. At least I finished, so I got a medal to take home.

Until later.

Thar She Blows

Okay, so I didn't see any whales. But my car did blow a gasket. At least, that's what the mechanic figured. He couldn't be sure, unless I forked out twenty-five hundred dollars, so he could take the engine apart to see what ailed it.

I was on my way home, when all of a sudden the car died. It coasted to the side of the road. When I restarted it, a rattle could be heard under the hood when I drove off. It died again and hobbled to the side of the road. This time I got out, popped up the hood and looked inside. Some steam, but no other clues.

The wise physician engaged his mental faculties. I'd just wait for my car to get over it's hissy fit, then restart the car and slowly drive it to the nearest service station. Even a wimpy engine could make it if I was easy on it. This strategy worked for about one minute before the car died a third time. Now the dial on the dash indicated it was running a fever; Damn! I pushed it too hard. Now my car was really sick, and I was the reason. An hour later I was sitting in the cab of a tow truck next to the driver. My old car dragged along till she found a place to rest at a car hospital nearby. The mechanic said her condition was terminal, and I had to let her go. It was difficult, but I managed.

Until later.

Pick Your Pain

Dear Readers:

Today I'm having a good day. That's because last week and the week before it are behind me. The dreaded visit at the dentist's office is over, and I've finished my maiden voyage in the underground world visited by proctologists.

The dentist was bad enough. No matter how much anesthetic is given, I can always count on an uncomfortable experience. Usually, I get reassuring words like, "The shot will take the pain away," and I'm left with a drooling lip, but a partially anesthetized tooth. Halfway through the procedure I'm likely to be in a suspended state of animation, levitated several inches above the dentist's chair, my hands firmly gripping both arm rests. Somehow, the dentist got it right this time, and there wasn't any pain. But it was too late. The mental stress from years of dental work had taken its toll. I felt like I was sitting next to a guy trying to reassure me I was safe, while he defused a bomb.

The dentist was followed by another trauma -- the colonoscopy. I'm over fifty, so I'm supposed to get one to make sure I don't have colon cancer. I asked my family doctor to schedule one, since I've put it off for so long. The worst part of the procedure wasn't the colonoscopy, but the preparation; a liquid diet and laxative the day before, and no liquids the day of the procedure. That worked out to about thirty hours of no real food. By the time my scheduled colonoscopy arrived, I was feeling crummy and listless. The nurse noticed my haggard appearance and asked if I was okay. I said I wasn't. She asked if I did anything unusual. I told her I ran 10 miles, because I felt lousy. Then I knew I was in trouble. She told me I was a doctor and should have "known better" than to run on a empty stomach and dehydrate myself. I told her I felt just as lousy before the run, but no matter how much I tried to convince her, she stood her ground. Then she rounded up the troops and told more nurses. I tried a lame joke: "Hey, I'm a child psychiatrist. I never grew up." But they didn't look amused. Then I tried another one, "You know, doctors make horrible patients." They still weren't amused.

Well, the colonoscopy wasn't a big deal. No pain and I can't remember anything except telling the doctor, "Don't put this on the Internet." I was really thirsty when I got home, so I downed a milk shake, a slushy, an iced tea and some other drink. Then it all came up later when I ate dinner.

Yep, today's a good day.

Until later.