I'm a month into training for my own twenty-six (point two) mile crampfest -- Nashville's Country Music Marathon -- and I'm increasingly apprehensive as I cross each day off the calendar. Distance running isn't exactly a good time, since it often leads to blisters the size of Schnauzers or the kind of chafing that feels like you've gotten to second base with a belt sander.Last week for NBC Sports- Out of Bounds, I chronicled--what else?--the chafe-tastic unpleasantness of marathon training. My editor suggested that I type a first-person account of something sports-related, so until eating off-brand fish sticks and consistently exceeding my credit limit become competitive events, I'm limited to writing about running.
It will be my fourth marathon and I'm still not sure why I'm putting myself through another Costco-sized serving of agony. Maybe I enjoy the sense of accomplishment that lingers long after the post-race ice bath. Or maybe I just enjoy exceeding the recommended dosage of ibuprofen.
Confidential to Chase Visa: Instead of the minimum payment this month, I'll be sending you half a bag of Skittles and a drawing of my saddest face.