running the cities

XIX.
It was a warm spring day and the basement of Fay House in Radcliffe Yard was downright cheery. We had the windows open and the radio on to listen to the live broadcasts from the Boston Marathon.

And I thought, why not?

A few minutes of web research later, and I had my goal in mind: I'd train for six months, and run the Cape Cod marathon in October of 1998.

People's reaction to this news were varied. Well, no, actually, they weren't. You're insane, was a pretty universal reaction. Except for Lauren, who was planning to run the New York marathon at about the same time.

I read every online article about marathon-running that I could find. I set a plan and ran 3-4 times a week, progressively longer. After my first 12-mile run, my then-roommate Aaron found me lying on the floor.

Hey Aaron?
Are you okay?!
Mmmm-hmmm... hey Aaron? Could you make some Kool-Aid? And bring me some? I need some sugar and I don't think I can stand up.

Eventually my stamina got better and my distances got longer. Rather than planning out my running courses, I'd just head off in any direction, and turn when I felt like it. An hour or so later, I'd be in a strange neighborhood. In a strange city, for that matter, and with no idea of how to get back to the middle of Cambridge.

Excuse me? Which way is Harvard Square?
You mean Cambridge? You're in Medford. It's gotta be six, seven miles back to Cambridge!
Which direction?
Well, it's that way, but--
Thanks!

And I'd jog off, cheerfully chugging the six or seven miles home.

Monday 11 February, 11:24 PM