If you have been a regular reader of my weekly blog (MileSplit tells me there are six of you out there based on # of web hits), you have hopefully realized I have a unique (somewhat immature) writing style. My neighbor, Maureen, likes to tell me that I stopped maturing at age 19. Picture John Belushi; Toga! Toga! Toga!
Mr. Big Mouth Running Update from Spring Break: Last Monday was my quest to go Sub 1:15 in the 400 meter dash. Courtney, Jessica and Debbie used the Garmin to lay out my straight-line course exactly to 400 meters. I lined up at the starting line and thought of those mad-dash burrito sprints before the 2:00 a.m. closing time back in college. As Courtney was getting ready to start me off she stopped and said, “Uh, dad, you need to scoot back about six inches. You are over the line.” Dang, what have I created? 65 seconds after I started, I had an imaginary burrito in my hands upon crossing the finish line. Roughly 66 seconds after I began, I was spread-eagle on the ground muttering what I thought were my final words.
By Wednesday I was actually walking again. Thursday rolled around and the three blonds alerted me that for training, it was a recovery day (4 miles at 7:30 pace). I’m in, I said confidently. It wasn’t pretty, but I hung. Running together reminded me of the Saturday morning 7 ½ miles Forest Preserve runs Debbie and I used to do together a couple years ago. For a couple of years she and I were roughly the same speed. As she got faster, I would notice these weekly runs were getting a bit mundane for her. To keep things challenging, she would run ahead at a quicker pace and then turn around jogging back to join up with me again. Or, she might sprint ahead and then back-pedal to me, or worst yet, just run backwards next to me as I was huffing. Finally, I put the hammer down; these runs were about us running TOGETHER. The next week we were side by side, stride for stride for the first few miles when I was about to compliment her for sticking with her man. As I opened my mouth, a different sentence came out; “Are you painting your nails?!” “It’s just a base coat.” she replied. “Why are you doing a base coat on our run?” I asked dejectedly. “Because the rest of my day is busy.” “Oh, got it.” Saturday joint runs were officially over.
Having an identical twin means you have a perfect training buddy in the bedroom just down the hall. Throw in a little competitiveness and you have two athletes/students/individuals striving to always improve. Courtney and Jessica started their racing competitiveness at about the 9 month mark when we would put Cheerios on the other side of the room and turn them loose to see which one could reach the snack first.
Fast forward to age 9 when we signed them up for the Chicago Kids Triathlon. They were both racing it all-out and they crossed the finish line at exactly the same moment. Yes, there is a special twin bond. I haven’t tried taking one into a different room to stick her with a needle to see if the other one feels the prick…yet.
One of my favorite examples of twin motivation was a couple years ago when the Chicago area was hit with 20 inches of snow. School was cancelled for two days. Many athletes could have used this as an excuse to lighten up on the training for a couple days since there were no coaches around to bark running instructions. Not these girls. As I was out shoveling the driveway, they came out and headed off for a four mile run. I’m sure they could have got just as much exercise by helping me shovel, but I digress. Watching them head through 20 inches of fresh snow looked just like Rocky Balboa training in the snow to fight Ivan Drago. All they needed was a giant log to tote along over their shoulder. Many top athletes can “light their own fire” and train by themselves in the off-season; but it doesn’t hurt to answer to your sister on that rare day you feel a bit sluggy.
If I had an identical twin the competitions would be along the lines of which one could let out the loudest belch or eat the most powdered donuts in five minutes. I’m pretty sure I’d win.