Diving into our cosy booth at Bruno's we got to ordering the usual supply of giant sandwiches, burgers and omelettes. I had spent the last five miles swapping recipes with Q-less, something I am apt to do when I am really hungry. Today I was so hungry I would have happily bitten the proverbial rotting leg off a dog. I had, yet again, forgotten the gu, which is a bit rich as I work in a running store. I also hadn't had a second breakfast as I usually do. Thursdays see me getting up at 5 am to get the older child to swim practice, so by 9.30 am I was already running on empty. To save face, I said with some sage authority that we were going to try out McMillan's carbohydrate depletion theories, and Q-less fell for it and gave me one of her particularly blank looks and a resounding 'uh huh'. McMillan argues that you wean youself off a big breakfast and gel supplements in training, then you feel really zingy when you hit the race and have carbs in your system. Of course knowing me that probably just means a belly ache as I won't be used to eating a gu every 45 minutes...but it is an interesting theory. Q-less didn't care anyway, the blank look was because she had had about three breakfasts, so she wasn't bothered anyway, but by the end of that run my stomach was growling like an angry bear and I was talking obsessively about a great recipe for rocket, toasted pine nuts and cherry tomoatoes over pasta that Q-less was describing and trying out variations with her on different varieties of cheese one could put with that.
As I crawled into the booth in my carb depleted state, I looked over at Merciless' Baby Berkeley, now a glorious plump ginger bombshell of eight months who is starting to look rather hungrily at the interesting bites we are taking, rather than at her baby food mush. I had had the privilege of feeding her her first chocolate chip cookie the previous week, which was a riot with the cream coat and all. So today the lovely Aunties surrounding her in a halo of long run sweat and love decided it would be even more fun to feed the poor kid a pickle. It was a priceless moment, sourness puckering Berkeley's serene round face for the first time, then the rather unfortunate, but not altogether unpredictable gag reflex which resulted in near perfect ejection of the offending article.
This moment got me to thinking how different things are with the first baby - the tentative offerings, the anxiety, the consultation of the manual every two minutes, the rules and the general neurosis. It is a wonder the poor first born can achieve anything without a life of therapy bearing in mind the incompetence they have to endure. It seems to me, Marathons are a heck of a lot like babies. Joyous, yet arduous and painful sometimes, and ultimately one of the most rewarding moments you can accomplish. The training is much like the pregnancy, full of expectant moments, yet you are always thinking about the next phase and the final culmination. The race itself is certainly a labour, and can be divided into the same phases, with the last being the most painful, yet memorable. The pain of that labour is quickly eradicated by the joy of finishing and before you know it you have fooled yourself into thinking the whole thing was fabulous and of course there should be another - and soon!
The fifth baby of course grows up without any of that neurosis, all rules go out the window, and there is an ease in its upbringing, knowing that if the other four babies made it, chances are the last one will. Besides which there are four other siblings to share the love and delegation becomes the name of the game. I have a good friend and neighbor who was a fifth child and whilst she did elicitly learn to drive at the tender age of 12, she has a fabulously relaxed attitude to life itself and is a wonderful person. Not running every time that baby squawks is probably a good thing, and benign neglect certainly has its benefits.
The fifth marathon is somewhat the same as the fifth child. I am no longer constantly consulting the manual and stressing over every detail. I skipped a recovery run on Monday because I felt like it and went to the gym, now my weekly total is 44 not 49. Unlike with the first marathon, I am not constantly dogged by the agony of that missed run. I won't show up in Boston in April still convinced that missing five miles means the race will not go smoothly. It is really much more fun this time around. Q-Less was in charge of the garmin on Thursday and we missed our pace a bit, relaxing on the way back, and talking (about food remember) but my response was more, 'oh well, it was a drop down week', than 'oh crap' how are we ever going to run 26.2 miles 40 seconds faster than that pace. Time was I would have been drinking water all night and avoiding the dessert table before the ten mile tempo run I am about to do, but instead, I had a couple of glasses of wine and a fair few brownies and blondies - oh well! Like Berkeley and the pickle, the worse that can happen is I end tossing the said cookies - it won't be the end of life as we know it! Here is to marathon number five turning out to be the lovely balanced relaxed and happy fifth child.
Great post Ruthless!
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