Motivation

Sold out – Paris that is, not me. The 2011 Paris marathon has hit capacity for ‘Joe Blogs’ entrants. I don’t know why that’s made it more exciting, but it has. In fact, I’m jittering with nervous enthusiasm again just thinking about it. I feel I’m part of an exclusive club – if being ‘1 of 37,000’ is exclusive (that may be straining the definition of ‘exclusivity’ now that I think about it). Anyhoo, I’m in, and the die is cast.

My apologies I’ve been remiss in updating the blog. I’m sure you have all - all 19 of you that is - been aching for a new update with hourly screen refreshes. My excuse: I’m flat out busy with work, and who can really turn down work these days! Just look at the IMF, look at the debacle they’ve taken on… just to make a few bucks before xmas presumably! I can picture the scene in the kitchen in the Chopra household 30 minutes after ‘Chopper’ arrives home from Afghanistan and Mrs ‘Chopper’ is back from tennis club:

Mrs Chopra: “You take your ass over to Ireland, take the reins, earn some money and get me that ski lodge”

Mr Chopra: “Ireland, are you for real!”

Mrs Chopra: “Do you want sex any time this century”

Mr Chopra: “Yes Dear, I’m on the ryanair website as we speak”

Editor (me) – we’re all answerable to someone after all

Right, so, injury woes. Welllllllll, deep breath, it’s a bit of a long story that I’ll sum it all up as follows: I got scan results that gave me the all clear about two weeks ago, I try the odd 5 mile jog but my foot consistently hurts the very next day. So I talked this through with my physio who assures me that this is to be expected. She also mentioned that my strength exercises were not just for Christmas, her words, so I’m calf raising like a Kango hammer these days. It’s a bit of odd scene that I tend to limit to our home. So, overall, I get about two 5 mile jogs in a week with some cycling and swimming heaped in for good measure. Hardly the conditioning of champions, or sub 3 hour marathoners, but it’s all I got so I’ll make do.

Seeming as I needed a motivational pick-me-up to get through this exceedingly long rehabilitation period, I’ve started questioning what’s motivating me. It’s not the €300 bet (oh, sorry Bec, did I forget to tell you, the lads were taking the mickey and they goaded me into it – they questioned my pride for God’s sake, what’s a male to do!).

So, that digression aside, here are the 3 main events that I think motivated me into doing the marathon…

Several months ago, myself and three other buddies were lying down on the leeward side of Mt Mangerton (outside Killarney, Co. Kerry). We were tucking into one or two bottles of Heineken having successfully tackled the mountain. It was on a Saturday of a stag and we were all in relaxed and jovial form – full the brim of hearty banter that is all too rare now as we get older and ‘grow up’. The rest of our hiking troop had marched ahead – eager to complete the mountain in record time. We had stayed behind as we were eager to adopt a different approach; soaking in a glorious view, a warming sun, and some sparse alcohol. For whatever reason, the subject of running came up and I mentioned that I was thinking about taking my new hobby more seriously – I was going to try and run (1) a 10 mile in under 60 minutes and (2) a marathon in under 3 hours. Unsurprisingly, this exchange of views was more one way traffic, but none of my friends dismissed me out of hand (completely). I wouldn’t say they believed that I could definitely do it, but they thought I might be able to do it. As the weeks passed and as I began discussing this with others who knew me from my team sports days, I started thinking about it a little more. It really resonated with me… maybe I could do it… maybe I should definitely try and do it… maybe I’d regret if I didn’t at least try and do it.

Now I’ve always been a bit of a sucker for inspiring quotes. My PhD thesis is littered with them; I’ve one or two in my room; and of late, I’ve begun sprinkling them around this blog too. When I was initially getting into middle distance races, I came across this quote from the 1952 Olympic marathon winner who won the race having never run a marathon before (he decided to run it a few days after winning the 10km!). He is quoted as saying, “If you want to win something, run 100 metres. If you want to experience something, run a marathon” (Emil Zatopek). When you talk to people who’ve competed in marathons (and even those who have injured themselves in the process) most of them will echo his sentiment. A marathon was always on my bucket list, but now more than ever, I want to feel it and live it.

However, the final inspiration probably lay in a feature length film/documentary I watched in May of this year: Spirit of the Marathon. Released in 2007, the film captures “the essence, drama and unique spectacle of the famed 26.2-mile race”. It charts the progress of five runners, - three amateurs and two elites - as they train for and ultimately run the Chicago Marathon. It's an inspiring show, I won't go on abou it, but when the credits rolled by, I think that was most likely the point that I knew I wanted to run a marathon.

Why I made the bet, if I’m being truthful, that’s probably for my ego. I need to know that I can still excel in a sport that I always looked at and thought… I could do that (if I wanted to).

Happy Trails

137 days to Paris

Let's talk about yoga

That's yoga Jim, not Yoda, although the force would come in handy these days...

Now, my yogic prowess is questionable at best - I’m about as flexible as the Titanic was. This disabling lack of limberness is all the more disappointing as it’s not exactly the most taxing of activities. As a male, I can grudgingly accept that I’m not as good a F1 driver as Fernando Alonso, soccer player as Wayne Rooney or rugby player as Brian O’Driscoll. However, it’s a bitter pill to swallow when my own mother can probably outperform me when call upon to touch ones toes. 

I joined a beginner’s yoga class about 6 or 7 years ago in the college gym. Two weeks into the eight week term, my fellow neophytes were rapidly extending limbs to extremities unimaginable to my rigid mind - they seamlessly slipped from one pose to the next, propped by nimble muscles that held strong in glorious displays of amateur abilities. These arty exhibitions stood in stark contrast to the giraffe in the corner of the room. My own body shook widely when called upon to assume the simplest of poses. Where the lithe bodies of my peers gracefully assumed a stream of flexed body positions, I audibly flapped around like a fish landed onto the deck of a trawler . It seemed to pain our teacher just to look at me.  My version of the ‘V’-like ‘dog pose’ invariably resembled a ‘W’; arms and legs fired out to all four compass directions. At the conclusion of the two month course, while the rest of the class would be advancing onto the intermediate group, my teacher felt it best if I stayed behind to repeat (thankfully she whispered her  assessment  to me in private to save my blushes). I didn’t return.  

In an effort to avoid further shame - or at least to confine it to the four walls of a living room - I bought a yoga DVD last week. Not just any yoga DVD, one for old fogies! I figured a normal DVD mentored by some 20-something-year-old elastic band would sweep through the positions and I wouldn’t be able to keep up (again). Given my penchant for protracted flapping, the pace of a DVD aimed at the 60 year old market seemed about right. In a way, I thought myself to be an embarrassed genius. Unfortunately, the DVD is paced sooooooooooooo slooooooooowly, that I’m blissfully snoring on top my resurrected yoga mat by the time old dear gets around to the first pose. Keep this up and my body is doomed for evermore to be as pliant as concrete. I still can’t touch the top of my socks when bending over (unless I cheat and bend my knees). 

In running related news, I'm awaiting the MRI results; hopefully I’ll have word towards the end of the week. As for my burgeoning golf career - I'm tied in 17th place going into the closing day of the Sinapore open.

154 days to Paris