After Red-Belt-With-Black-Stripe Comes The Coffee Belt

I am (finally) taking my brown belt test this evening, after postponing it three times.  I’ve been running through Taegeuk 8 in my head since I got up this morning (no, really, I was half-practicing it during my commute).  However, still operating on a sleep deficit since my flight back from Madison on Monday, I could not resist the strong lure of Starbucks when I went out for a walk this afternoon, and sucked down a Venti-sized beverage during the post-lunch lull.

My mistake?  Not opting for decaf.  Now I have a serious case of the shakes.  I am WIRED beyond control, and my hands are very obviously vibrating.  If anyone has a secret (besides a blood transfusion) that will get my caffeine level down to a reasonable place in the next 3 hours, I would love to know it.  Otherwise, let’s just say I’ll be shaking things up at this test.

Ironically, they like to remind us that the color of our belt (they get progressively darker as you advance in rank) represents all that we’ve put into our training and ourselves.  Indeed.

If You Make Fun Of My Plastic Trophy, I Will Kick Your Ass, Too

As of last week, I’ve been doing taekwondo for two years. I really like my school because we’ve had great instructors who push us hard, but in a friendly and often less-structured way. Generally, I have a lot of fun at practice, even when we’re working through brutal drills. Some of the other chains are a lot stricter, with more military-style classes, and very firm start and end times. I realize that’s probably a better system, especially when you’re learning dangerous techniques, but since taekwondo is more “hobby” than “life” for me, I think my dojang is the perfect fit.

During these past 730 days, as I worked my way up from horrifically out-of-shape white belt (seriously, for my trial lesson, I was unable to do one sit-up) to red-belt-with-stripe-and-promotion tape (my brown belt test is this Friday), I refused all invitations to attend tournament events. A tournament represented a wildly unpredictable day of fighting overly-committed people who were more than willing to sacrifice their body (and mine) for a prefab plastic trophy. I knew that I’d be putting myself at risk for serious ankle injuries (or, more devastating to me, a broken wrist), so I stayed far, far away.

However, it was announced about a week and a half ago that if we expected to get our black belts, we HAD to attend at least one tournament. As the days wore on that week, “one” became “two to three” and, by Friday, “three to five.” I made the mistake of mentioning that I wasn’t planning on going to the upcoming event, at which point I was promptly recommended, and handed a registration form. I saw no way out, so I decided to give it a shot.

Marathon Training Officially Starts Now

I (finally) joined the NYC Road Runners club!  Unfortunately, I didn’t become a member in time to guarantee entry into the 2009 NYC marathon.  Had I read the webpage more thoroughly last November (when I first decided that I wanted to run the NYC marathon), I would’ve signed up by the end of January, and would’ve been eligible to run next year.  Ah, well.  We’ll see how training goes, and if I feel like I’m ready in 2009, I can run a marathon in a different city, and then do NYC in 2010.  I would take my chances with the lottery, but we all know what kind of luck I have.

In the meantime, I’m going to check out some of the NYRR running clinics, so I can perfect my form and learn to run without getting these damn shin splints.  Being a member also means that I can participate in a variety of shorter races throughout the year.  I hope they have something in mid-July… being able to run a 5K would be a great birthday present to myself!

*Excited!*

Si Jeunesse Savait, Si Vieillesse Pouvait

Eight years ago, I climbed all 1,710 stairs to the top of the Eiffel Tower.  I’m not really sure how I did it.  More appallingly, I remember running up quite a few of those flights (until I realized, halfway to the apex, that the metal stairs were backless, and I was just a quick trip away from freefall in le plein air).

I am reminded of this climb as I sit here, legs elevated, after my latest post-dinner run/walk.  Overly ambitious in my new Nike training outfit, plugged into my most motivational mp3s, I attempted a three-mile run to Woodside and back, and even though it ended up being at least 50% walking, my knees and ankles hurt like whoa.

Too bad, though, because I plan to keep running.  If I can’t run a marathon in my 20s, it’s not going to be any easier to do it in my 30s or 40s. 

I’m hoping this whole running thing will be like learning French.  I’ll suck at it for about three weeks and then suddenly bam! I’ll be quasi-fluent.