Why I'm here...

 ...or, Ruminations of a Geek Who Speaks Jock. (Not the title of a Monty Python sketch, but almost as silly.)

                                          Now bid me run,
          And I will strive with things impossible,
          Yea, get the better of them.
                                                      (Julius Caesar, II, i, 324-6 in the Riverside edition)

As philosophical as the title of this post might seem, the content is considerably more prosaic (despite the epigraph in verse, thereby setting out some of my geek credentials). There are plenty of books, amusing and otherwise, about triathlons out there; there are infinitely more blogs about both writing and exercise in general. Why on earth add to the chatter?

Several reasons do come to mind besides the usual desire to sound my yawp, barbaric or otherwise, to the electronic world. Most immediately, I've recently signed up to run the L.A. Marathon, from Dodger Stadium to Santa Monica, on March 20, 2011. I've done several sprint and Olympic-distance triathlons in my year-long career, but this will be my first marathon. (I'm really hoping not to repeat the actions of Pheidippides, the very first marathoner ever, who, having run from the Battle of Marathon to Athens in 490BCE, reported: "Rejoice! We conquer!" to the waiting Athenian leaders and promptly died on the spot.) Since I've never done one of these before, and I've already experienced plenty of amusing and/or odd things while training and racing triathlons, it seemed a good way to record the strangeness I'm almost certainly going to encounter along the way.

Case in point: shoes. One might think, rationally enough, that running shoes are just that: shoes in which it is possible to run, and thus available in a relatively limited selection given their stated single purpose.

Oh dear me, no. Walk into any decent running store and you will be faced with WALLS of shoes, each purporting to do ever-so-slightly different things with the goal of making the wearer faster, lighter, and generally more Hermes-like in the course of her or his athletic pursuit. Shoes for pronators, supinators, trail runners, sprinters, plodders...and now there are even shoes for people who prefer to run barefoot. (This last may indeed seem odd, but is perfectly true, I assure you. I can only imagine Eddie Izzard doing a bit about being a fly on the wall at THAT particular marketing meeting: "Come on, lads, we need to expand our market share somehow in this dodgy economy: let's hear some ideas!" "I know, I know-- let's sell shoes to people who don't like to wear shoes!" *baffled silence* "Erm...not quite sure I follow you there, Jeff." "No, really-- we tie some dental floss around a bit of old tire, then tell 'em that these are specifically designed for their non-shoe-wearing needs! They're not really there at all!" "That's brilliant! Someone call Detroit!"

Eddie Izzard, however, who is both hugely talented and no slouch as a multiple marathoner himself, would be far more funny. And he'd do it while wearing heels infinitely more elegantly than yours truly could ever manage.)

I did, in fact, buy a new pair of running shoes today: some Gore-Tex Nikes for me to stomp my way through puddles, slush, and whatever else might be lying around this winter as I train for L.A.. There was a recent discussion on one of the triathlon forums about the moment one realized one had become that guy or that girl who did triathlons; responses ranged from "When you've got sweat-wicking fabric drip-drying from every available surface in your home" to "When you test-drive your new car by driving it home to check if your bike fits inside it before buying it" (*cough* guilty *cough*). All highly amusing stuff. But you really know you've become that girl, specifically, when you realize that the only shoes in your wardrobe on which you've spent $100 or more are either running or biking shoes.

On the other hand, you know you're taking this training thing with the levity it so richly deserves when you gleefully realize that your new running shoes are black...and thus if you ever want to give up your current job for a career as a ninja, that option is now sartorially open to you.

I was telling a dear friend about my triathlon training a while ago-- he listened with some interest, then exclaimed, "Wow-- you're a jock!" It took me a while to digest that, but I have to admit he's right.

Yep. I'm a heavy-tome-carrying professional nerd who knows what the term "lactate threshold" means and actually owns a heart-rate monitor with GPS built into it. Someone who goes running through Regent's Park before spending hours in the manuscript reading room of the British Library whenever she can. Someone who willingly gets up before 5AM on weekdays so she can pedal her bike on its stationary trainer for an hour or so (while watching Eddie Izzard concert videos) before getting ready for work. And someone who does all this with absolutely no expectation that she'll win any of the races she enters: I'm a solid middle-of-the-pack-er. I do this (most of the time) for the fun of it.

Can't get much sillier than that, I figure.