Another marathon

So, I'm going to run another marathon. This Sunday. And compared to last year I feel strangely calm despite the fact that I didn't train half as much and hard like I did last time. I guess, it's the same with pretty much everything you do for the second time, it's not as exciting or terrifying anymore because you know what to expect.

Childbirth, flying, public speaking, public speaking in another language, driving a car, driving a motorcycle, kissing, or sex. All of them are terrifying but less so after you've done them once. Well, I can't speak for the first but I am actually not sure it's true in this case. Given that you do know how incredibly painful it will be you might be even more terrified. But at least when you give birth you do go home with a much better reward than just a plastic medal and a shirt. Also, I've read and I will most likely be able to confirm it on Sunday, one tends to forget how painful a marathon (or birth, which I won't be able to confirm) actually was and is looking forward to the experience. Which will be as painful or even more painful than the first time. But then, once you have crossed the finish line and all those endorphins hit you like crazy, you just forget about how hard it was to finish all those miles and how you wanted to quit at mile 5, 6, 7, well, all of them but then you did it. And you're just happy and can't wait to run the next one.

When I say I didn't train that much I mean that I never ran more than two times a week and sometimes I didn't run at all. I completed, however, a few longer runs. 13, 17, and 20 miles (21, 27, and 32km). Latter didn't even feel as bad as my 20 mile run last year. When I just managed to run 19.5 miles and had to call my father to pick me up because my legs hurt too bad to walk.

The 17 miles were supposed to be only 10, half of it uphill somewhere in Napa. So I started running up that hill, briefly scared by a fake mountain lion that was sitting on top of a garage. Then, after 2.5 miles I felt something dripping from my face to the ground. I thought it was sweat and wiped it away with my hand. But it wasn't sweat. Blood was squirting out of my nose. At that point I had only reached an altitude of roughly 300 meters so it could not have been the altitude. Regardless, I turned around and decided to do a long run instead of a high run. Not before I had taken some pictures of the bloody mess and sent them to all my friends in time for Saturday breakfast.

The 20 mile run seemed really hard while I was running. I considered stopping plenty of times. I started with a bit of a hill, running up 17th Street in San Francisco all the way to Golden Gate Park. Once I was over that hill though, it got a little easier. Until I reached the next hill and the stairs at Lands End. As I had started a little later that morning a lot of people where already on the streets and hiking Lands End. Honestly, I'm kind of concerned that I might not even get to the marathon in time, given that I didn't do a single training run that early during the day. Anyway, when I climbed up the stairs at Lands End and a teenage boy started to race me, I was tempted to ask him how many miles he'd run so far and was going to run still. 7? 13? No? Then back off!

The climb up to the Golden Gate Bridge along Lincoln Boulevard was less strenuous than I had remembered it to be. At the bridge I refilled my Camelbak and started the remaining 8 miles. Mostly downhill or flat. At that time I started bargaining with myself for how much more to run. 17 miles would be fine. Maybe to Whole Foods on Potrero Hill instead of all the way home? 18 miles should be doable, too. Eventually, I decided to run to Whole Foods. And half a block away I reached 20 miles. It got me thinking that maybe, I can tell myself that I have to run 27 miles. And then, when I get to 26.2 I allow myself to end the run early :-).

I will certainly not break any records and maybe I'll even be slower than last year. Given that this year there will be 25,000 runners vs. 500 last year I will definitely have to start slower and water stops will certainly a lot busier. But the route will be more scenic and I do know it very well. There are no terrifying hills, there might actually be someone who runs the same pace as I do who I can talk to. Or silently suffer with. Or I could just watch the other runners. That's usually entertainment and distraction enough. As long as I don't get too competitive and end up running a minute faster than my usual pace and break down on the last few miles.

And this time I'll have a bunch of friends waiting for me (thank you Nihan, Barry, Danny, and Olivia). And we have a brunch reservation at 11.30am. So I do have a hard stop at 5 hours if I do want to take a shower before we eat. And I should. If only to wash away the blood :-).

Childhood Memories

When we drew houses and roads with chalk on the street. In hot and dry summers we'd eventually run out of street to draw on as we relied on the rain to tear them down so we could draw new ones.

We played tennis on the street in front of out house. On a chalk-drawn field and a rope for a net strapped to trash cans on either side of the street. The soles of our feet were black and we had to run after the ball so often, given that the street was slightly descending.

When I played horse and carriage with my rocking horse in a harness while sitting on my wardrobe with my bed as carriage behind me.

Horse race or circus with the rocking horse. Using my balancing skills from artistic cycling when standing on the horse arms held out on both sides, while rocking the horse like crazy.

When I cut open my stuffed animals in my pet hospital. And sew them back together.

We built cities with Lego and tore them down, then built new ones, and tore them down.... We spent whole weekends crouched in our PJs in our playroom without ever getting up.

We played soccer in the field behind our house. Before our neighbors built their house there. And I got hit so hard in the stomach by a ball one time that I was unable to breathe for a while.

We jumped off the swing into the sandbox. Or just tried swinging high enough for a 360 around the bar the swing was attached to.

Summers in the pool. Every day, I got home from school, finished homework, got on my bicycle and rode 3 miles to the public pool. I'd ride home reluctantly, but also happy, tanned, and exhausted. The trip home always seemed 10 times as long and hard.

Every time I greeted the life sized (ie. brown bear life sized) stuffed teddy bear that stood in front of the toy store in the city center by shaking his huge paw. Judging by how worn the fur on the paw was, I wasn't the only child that was not afraid of the huge teddy.

My favorite food, cooked by my mother. A huge pot of Letscho with rice. Lean spare ribs where the fat had dripped to the bottom of the baking dish so we could soak our bread slices in them. Cabbage and ground meat casserole. Or just plain boiled potatoes, left over from lunch. My mother always made more than necessary so skinny and always hungry me had something to snack on later. Hmm, potatoes!

My favorite food, not approved by my parents. Bread with anything on it but butter and cheese. Ketchup, Nutella, Maggi, and curry powder or salt. Anything chocolate, candy, or cracker.

Taking one "After Eight" chocolate after the other out of it's packaging and putting the package back into the box so my mother wouldn't notice. She always did.

Singing along to our favorite cassettes with my brother in the back of our Westfalia when we were on vacation. Not pretty and never in tune but awesome and loud!

Making up new rules for card games so I got all the trumps and my brother all the useless cards. Then singing while playing and making up card game relevant lyrics, while crying and almost peeing our pants from laughing so hard.

Detecting faces and figurines in the wood panels right above my bed in my large and beautiful attic room, my father built for me and my brother.

Helping my father built the attic room by handing him nails and brackets to attach the paneling.

The smell of the new carpet in the attic and the salesman we bought it from. And the carpet burn on my knees after a sliding incident...

I designed furniture for my Monchichi dolls that my father built. And my mother sew bed sheets, carpets, and table cloths.

We built houses for our Playmobil dolls with the wooden bricks our parents had made for us. Then we tore them down and built new ones.

Swimming in the ocean or in pools. And how my parents always tried to stop at every pool or beach when we were traveling all over Europe in our Westfalia so I could go for a swim. By the time I was 10 I knew the word for pool or beach in at least 4 different languages.

Diving under waves in the North Sea or the Atlantic Ocean. No wave was big enough. The feeling when I made it in the last minute or when I finally came back to the surface when one of those huge rollers had caught me and tumbled me around for what felt like 10 minutes.

Sleeping in the back of our Westfalia, curled up like a cat. Or waving to truck drivers on the Autobahn or any freeway, either using my hand or my stuffed dog, Debbel's paw.

Walking barefoot through deep and soft lawn. And the smell of freshly mown lawn.

When my grandpa came visiting and greeted me with a "Hello, my Heart (Hallo, mein Herz)!" before he picked me up and gave me a big hug.

My best friend's dog, Laika. Small, black, smart, and incredibly sweet and loyal. Who I spent so much time with that she still recognized me when I saw her almost 10 years later. The time when she ran full of enthusiasm through a rapeseed field in full bloom und we only saw her head when she jumped up to see where she was.

Our self made tents in the garden. With blankets and the timber trestles my father had made. I'd say makeshift but nothing he has ever made could be called "makeshift".  I can still smell the old, ragged blanket we always used because it's shape was so perfect. Until it was all torn, dirty, dusty, and smelled so bad that we didn't want to be near it, anymore.

My fake secret agent ID I made after watching some movie or TV show.

How I was able to spend hours by myself, making up games, imagining lives, worlds, things, without ever getting bored. No TV, no book, or expensive toys required.

Walking on stilts. I can still see them leaning against the wall in our little tool shed. Not too difficult if you could hold your balance and once you got the hang of it. It's always safer to keep walking fast. The same approach I had to riding a bicycle. That's why it's so hard to me to drive slowly.

We played ice hockey on the frozen lake in our village. And used to swim in the lake in the summer. There was a huge floating wooden cross anchored in the middle of it, where we could rest or play seesaw if there was more than one person. Unless the lake was closed for swimmers because someone had recently drowned in it.

Building igloos in meter high snow. And getting back inside after hours, all wet and cold. And the smell of the boiler room where we left our wet clothes to dry.

Racing down the little hill up the street behind our house with wooden skis, no ski poles. Who needs those? Sledding down that same or other hills. Until my brother drove straight into the barbed wire when he tried to avoid some woman who stood in his way.

Dressing up for carnival in self sewn costumes that my mother or grandma had made for me. A belly dancer with a veil for my face, looking like an 8 year old harem woman. A pierot. Zorro with my little red leather boots.

My stuffed dog, Debbel. Who I got for my birthday when I was two and barely as big as him and who's still with me and even survived a serious eye surgery.

All the people who thought I was a boy and wouldn't let me into women's rest rooms, almost punched me because I was so naughty or, in an extreme case, had a crush on me.

The forest that pretty much surrounded the village I grew up in. Just a few minutes walking distance and an incredible place to play and for adventures.

Self made popsicles, frozen cherry or orange juice. Or even frozen lemon soda. Watching Saturday night game shows while curling up on the couch in my PJs, and crushing the frozen juice with my spoon.

The mold on top of the bottle of home made cherry juice. We just poured the first glass using a sieve to get rid of the mold. That might have been one of the reasons we never got sick. And I liked the fact that my mother used empty rum bottles for the juice.

The sound of the black bird that used to sit on the roof top right outside my bedroom window in every summer night and kept me from sleeping. But no matter how often I tried to chase it away, it always came back the next night. 

When I read a book in one sitting. Getting absolutely lost in the story without a break to eat or go to the bathroom.

I spent almost all of my pocket money on candy and ate in minutes it without ever gaining any weight. 

We played Winter, Summer, and World Games on our Commodore 128 and, thanks to the joystick moves required, we ended up equally exhausted as the athletes.

The time when we were small and skinny enough to built a tower around each others with our wooden building bricks. And how surprised we were that, a year later, it didn't work so well, anymore.

When I learned that my brother would survive his accident and we slowly realized that he had as much luck as someone in his situation could have possibly had.

Being curious and fearless without thinking of consequences or wether or not I could get hurt.

All those memories. I'm so incredibly grateful that I can still remember all of these and, when I close my eyes, still see the images, smell the smells, hear the sounds, and feel the feeling. Keep your childhood memories alive. Never forget how you were, felt, what you did as a child. Children are honest, sometimes brutally so. Children are innocent but can be cruel at the same time. But, most important, children are curious and take nothing as given. They question everything and imagine the impossible. Wouldn't it be nice if we could retain this ability until the end of our lives?