How Running the New York City Marathon Was Like Doing LSD

24 hours after each of the two marathons I ran this year, I came to the very same conclusion.

The day after running a marathon feels very similar to the day after eating some mushrooms, taking some LSD, or dropping some acid.

The analogy smacked me on one cheek after the Bayshore Marathon, and then the other cheek after New York.

Peak experiences like running 26.2 miles in front of 3 million spectators through the biggest city on the planet, or astral travel, or taking some acid, burns a permanent memory into your brain, but it's hard to come down from them.

After your consciousness is expanded and your spirit is smeared across the street like road kill, the rest of the world can be pretty mundane. People driving to work seem packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes, contestants in a suicidal race. (Footnote: The Police, "Synchronicity") The world seems in a coma. Nobody sweats, nobody high fives. There are no snot rockets. There aren't people rooting you on with Vaseline to put on your chaffed nipples.  Social media returns to its proper tiny silly corner of the world and you swear you'll never use it again.

But of course, before you know it, the mild sedative opiate of breathing everyday oxygen puts you back into the masses, and there you are, falling in line... Birth, Work, School, Death. (Footnote: The Godfathers)  Pretty soon you are back in your own shiny metal box, and back blogging and tweeting and other trivial matters.

The intensity and highs of using psychedelic drugs and the high of running a marathon are similar. There is an explosion of chemicals in your body that expand you into places you didn’t think possible. Every nerve cell is on fire. In fact, if madness is but over-acuteness of the senses (Footnote: Edgar Allan Poe)  you are briefly ‘mad’ while you are running a marathon. (when I say you, I really mean me. You may experience none of this). After you come down from such peak experiences and try to retract, there’s a sense of anhedonia: (Footnote: Anhedonia is the inability to gain pleasure from normally pleasurable experiences.).   Of course, you are still incredibly geeked about the thrill, but this excitement comes from the memory burn, not from present day stimuli. Your brain starts to look to the race calendar for the next trip.

While I do not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. (Footnote: Big Book of AA) the analogies end there. Using substances to expand the consciousness is the cowards way. It ultimately dulls the senses, kills the spirits, destroys the brain cells, and leaves you much less alive than before you started. Running, on the other hand, leaves you more alive, and I am so grateful I found the running drug to give me this same high.

So, if you're ran a marathon, you've probably experienced the same out of body experiences as one who has done acid. Congratulations, you've dropped out and tuned in. (Footnote: Timothy Leary).

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Running and New York - Some Quotes

"I went to New York to be born again. And when the train plunged into a tunnel under New York City, with its lining of pipes and wires, I was out of the womb and into the birth canal." – Kurt Vonnegut

"When you first run up First Avenue in New York, if you don't get goose bumps, theres something wrong with you."  – Frank Shorter, on the New York City Marathon

"I didn’t know the city at all, but I was so happy to be in New York I cried. I was so excited." – Greta Gerwig 

"You have to forget your last marathon before you try another. Your mind can't know what's coming." – Frank Shorter

The starting line of the New York Marathon is kind of like a giant time bomb behind you about to go off. It is the most spectacular start in sport. Bill Rodgers
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“I definitely want to show how beautiful the marathon can be. I am the opponent of all those who find the marathon bad: the psychologists, the physiologists, the doubters. I make the marathon beautiful for myself and for others. That’s why I’m here.” – Uta Pippig

"The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and beauty in the world." – F. Scott Fitzgerald 

“If you want to win something, run 100 meters. If you want to experience something, run a marathon.” – Emil Zatopek

"New York is the meeting place of the peoples, the only city where you can hardly find a typical American." –  Djuna Barnes

“Running is just such a monastery-- a retreat, a place to commune with God and yourself, a place for psychological and spiritual renewal.” – George Sheehan


"I get out of the taxi and it’s probably the only city which in reality looks better than on the postcards, New York." – Milos Forman

“It’s very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants you to quit.” – George Sheehan

"I go to Paris, I go to London, I go to Rome, and I always say, 'There’s no place like New York. It’s the most exciting city in the world now. That’s the way it is. That’s it.'” – Robert De Niro

"The difference between the mile and the marathon is the difference between burning your fingers with a match and being slowly roasted over hot coals."  – Hal Higdon

The marathon always starts after 30K. That's where the problems start. You start without any problems, without any pain. All the pain comes after 30K. Sometimes, it's possible to have pain even in the finger. Haile Gebrselassie
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"New York was a city where you could be frozen to death in the midst of a busy street and nobody would notice." – Bob Dylan

“Running is a big question mark that’s there each and every day. It asks you, ‘Are you going to be a wimp or are you going to be strong today?’” – Peter Maher, Irish-Canadian Olympian

"I regret profoundly that I was not an American and not born in Greenwich Village. It might be dying, and there might be a lot of dirt in the air you breathe, but this is where it’s happening."– John Lennon

Goals for the 2013 New York City Marathon

The way my training has been, any sort of time goals have been ruled out for the New York City Marathon.  In order to enjoy the event, I need to leave my ego in Michigan, start 5 times as slow as I think I should, and cruise through the New York streets and soak up the experience. My only hope for anything faster is if Meb himself pushes me in a baby stroller.

With no time goal in mind, I am still being ambitious.  My process goals are vast, deep, and many.  Here they are:

NYCM Goals:

The day before, I shall walk the streets of Greenwich village and hear the ghosts of Ginsberg and Kerouac Howl in my ears. The only ones for me are the mad ones. 

Marathon morning will start with a glorious poop. It will be productive, thorough, and leave no doubt about its status as completed.

On the ferry to the start, I will see the ghosts of my grandparents who arrived as immigrants on Ellis Island 100 years ago. They will give me a wink and a smile.

While waiting for the anthem to play, I expect a mass of black clouds to appear on the horizon. It is the son of Hurricane Sandy

threatening from the sky. Thousands of runners with their dream deferred will look into the eye of the storm and scare it back to sea. 

Race on.

I plan to bottle up the enthusiasm and excitement of nearly 50,000 runners at the start. I will bring the bottle home, and take a shot with my morning coffee for the weeks to come.

I expect to see Macon from my novel “On the Lips of Children” standing anxiously at the start with a runner’s bib pinned on his shirt. His body is scarred and his brain seems troubled.  “Fodder, Fodder,” I hear him mumble. 

I move on.

After the anthem and Sinatra’s “New York, New York,” I expect the energy of the event to keep pumping music into the air.

I hear the Beastie Boys booming Sabotage from Brooklyn and echoes of punk rock 20 years old from CBGB’s.

Bruce’s  “Born to Run” thumps across the water. Lou Reed monotones about heroin and walking on the wild side.  “Shattered” from the Stones mocks us all saying, “Go ahead, bite the big apple, don’t mind the maggots.”  Jay Z and Alicia Keys urge us on to run through “concrete jungles where dreams are made.”

When my insides are warmed to a boil, I expect my spirit to transcend my body and commune with my recently deceased brother. I tell him things I wanted to say before he died. He promises to appear again in my dreams.  

I move on.

During the route, I expect Broadway shows to spill onto the course.  The lead role from Wicked, Elphaba, will run beside me. Together

we will belt out “Defying Gravity.”  “Nobody in all of Oz, no wizard that there is or was, is ever going to bring us down.”

I expect my bib number to mysteriously change to 24601 and Javert from Les Miserable to appear behind me. He gives chase, nips at my heels, and threatens a return to jail.  “I am warning you Javert. I’m a stronger man by far, there is power in me yet, my race is not yet run.”  

And when my tendons inflame , my muscles tighten, and my veins fill with wet cement, I will throw my hands to the sky and curse the

Gods.  “HASA DIGA EEBOWAI!!”   The cast of The Book of Mormon will then appear and sing, “time to be a hero and slay the monster.”  “MAN UP!”  

I expect the runner’s high to give me a buzz more than years of drinking and drugging ever could.

I expect inspiration to sweat out of my brain into my eyes, and I will have visions for my next novel or two.

I expect to see Adam from the cast of Lena Dunham’s “Girls” on HBO. He will say something quirky and weird that I try so hard to repeat for the rest of my life but realize I can’t, because I only understand Adam, I don’t speak it.

I expect to see Woody Allen and Diane Keaton sitting on a bench in Manhatten.

I expect to see John Lennon appear in Central Park, of if not, at least Elton John singing Empty Garden.

And if I could hit a time goal, it would be a 4:09:43 with the power to co-opt the 4:09:43 finishing time of the history of all marathons, and prevent any deaths and heal any wounds of anyone injured at this time. 

I want to photo-bomb Pamela Anderson’s finishing line picture.

I want to see Janice from my novel “The Jade Rabbit’, wearing her medal and looking to the sky after her 2:59:50 finish.

If none or all of these come true, my goal is the same for this or any marathon:  to run hard enough to squeeze out my insides until something new is revealed. Every 26.2 demands a deep, personal journey, all while connecting to thousands of other running souls along the way.

Nope, I have no time goals. But the clock can’t measure everything.

17 Day Taper for the New York City Marathon and Billy Joel's "Piano Man"

 "Paul is a real estate novelist, who never had time for a wife." ~Piano Man, Billy Joel

Started hearing about New York City marathoners finishing their final 20 miler last weekend. Me? I just ran my last 20 miler yesterday.  My training was delayed by a nasty, 6 week long bronchial infection that ripped open my lungs and heart. 

 I finally got the bronchitis out of my chest and it looked like this.

14 days used to be my usual taper, but 21 works better. To help speed my recovery along during these 17 days, I ran my 20 on soft surfaces. The first 15 were on a gravel trail, and the last 5 were on my treadmill. 

Finding time to fit these long runs in is even harder when you're running slower miles. Not to mention that I don’t want to be an absent dad. This is a passion, not a career.

The last few years I have taken paid time off work to fit in a long run. This stops the huge 3 hour plus time suck from my family, and it is the best staycation I can think of. Being paid to run, I often think of it. And I highly recommend it.

 Running slow, so many stories I want to write, where can I find the time?

Everything I needed to know about life I learned from "Piano Man"

 Billy Joel said a lot when he noted; "Paul is a real estate novelist, who never had time for a wife."

Of course Paul couldn't just be a novelist. That's nearly impossible and against all odds in this market. Real estate paid the bills, novel writing paid his soul, but there he was, lonely and drinking, no time for a wife, and "he's talking with Davy, who's still in the navy, and probably will be for life."

 The words could be rewritten as; "Paul is a real estate marathoner, who never had time for a life."

Sitting in front of a drink lamenting the loss of time just doesn’t get my sympathy. And the irony wasn’t lost on Billy Joel either who sung about a series of self-pitying patrons who 'sat at the bar and put bread in my jar'. I can relate, because I spent years being a drunken, self-pitying bastard myself.

 Paul just needed a better vacation package, and to get his ass out of the bar.  I feel pretty fortunate to be a father, runner, and novelist, who never has time for the bar. As for Davy who’s still in the navy? Well, he probably won’t miss me.

Kabbalah, The New York City Marathon, and The Indigo Girls

 And then I think about my fear of motion, which I never could explain. Some other fool across the ocean years ago must have crashed his little airplane   ~Indigo Girls, "Galileo."

In case you are one of those who regularly read this blog (Hi Mom!) I did not run Sick last week despite my plan to do so, and as described in this post. My sickness has grown into epic proportions, and I have a terrible case of bronchitis. Antibiotics and inhalers are on the job but no match for the viral stew that is bubbling in my chest.

I've layed awake coughing for hours pondering how in the hell we don't allow assisted suicide. If I had to live in that condition forever, I would fasten on my parachute and jump into the next life.  Maybe I should also add that I have a huge skin rash from an antibiotic allergy.

All of that, but running is what's on my mind. Funny, because everything else is impaired, but I can at least partly perform the other roles in my life, but I can't run.  Maybe I got issues. (what do you mean maybe?) but not running is one my biggest concerns, and the fact that I have to basically start all over to train for the New York City Marathon. I had a 16 mile week last week, and zero this week. I'm like Sisyphus from Greek mythology who keeps rolling an immense boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down again, repeating this into infinity.

I hate self-pity. I used to live on self-pity. It was "poor me, poor me, pour me another drink." I try to live on the opposite of self-pity. Gratitude for what I have, and feeling I have the power to handle any challenge that comes my way.

Kabbalah teaches a spiritual tenent where obstacles we see in our lives are self-created. That our spirit knows exactly what it needs to grow, so we ourselves create specific barriers and put them in front of us. These self-created problems pull out and build specific strengths that we require to move on. Reincarnation happens until our souls get it right. Randall, from my novel STRAY, likes to spout off on this Kabbalah tenet.

I love this idea because there is nobody else to blame and no room for victim-hood or self-pity. And as I try to run the New York City Marathon, I have a long list of things I have caused.

I have caused injuries, I have caused a hurricane. I've had my running gear lost by the airlines on the way to New York. And now I've caused an evil case of bronchitis.  What the hell is wrong with me? 

Kabbalah might say I'm serving time for mistakes made by another in another lifetime. Perhaps so would the Indigo Girls.

For the record, I do believe there are real victims, and terrible tragedies that happen, but I also love the concept of survivor-hood as the ultimate growth. We should judge ourselves by our scars, not our trophies.

I'm gonna cross that finish line God dammit, ain't nothing gonna stop me.  Give me your germs, give me your hurricanes, severe my tendons, treat me like your servant Job, but I'm gonna cross that finish line if I have to rip my lungs out at the start and drag my intestines across the 26.2 miles and smear the remains onto Central Park. Won't that make a cool finish line picture.

New York City Marathon 2013 ~ Looking For Revenge

I registered for the 2013 New York City Marathon today and paid $266 dollars. This is steep at ten bucks per mile, but it is worth it. You don't take nothing with you but your soul. And I like to think that our souls are full of our memories and energy from our lifetimes, so I intend to gather up what I can for that day I take the trip to the next stop.

I had hoped that I could wait to register for New York until I had finished the Bayshore Marathon on May 25th and I could assess the damage done. I've been whittling my legs down to nothing, and who knows what will be left after this run.

But, as the cosmic joker in the sky would have it, deadline to register for New York is 12 midnight, May 24th, 7 hours and 15 minutes before Bayshore starts.

Either way, I'm all in for 2013, 

New York City Marathon Redux. Part 2. The Sequel. There and Back Again.  This time for a real run, not a Central Park "Run Anyway" marathon. I"m not leaving until I cross that finish line.

Every time I put on my Orange 2012 New York City Marathon shirt, my daughter scolds me with "you didn't earn that shirt."  

"I know," I think to myself, "she's right," so like Bruce Willis going back home for his watch in Pulp Fiction, (as I described it in full detail in this post here) I am going to return. And like Bruce, this time, I'm a little pissed off and looking for revenge.

Darryl Dixon Runs His First Marathon

The New York City Marathon was canceled, but I am still imagining the "What if..." 

What I'm doing instead is imagining "What if.." someone else ran that New York City marathon.

What if that someone else who ran was an incredible bad-ass;
 Someone who was small yet ferocious.
 Someone who was lovable yet savage.

I'm talking about none other than that little ball of hate; 

DARRYL DIXON.

(Click Here for my follow Up Article on Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead, and Why 'How People Die Matters')

Yes, This is the story of Darryl Dixon's first marathon.

Darryl from The Walking Dead ~ Darryl is the coolest bad-ass around.  We may have hated him at first, but his sensitive and caring side grew while his bad-assery got sharper. Yes, he carries a cross-bow, never tires, ratchets up the zombie body count and spits out zombie blood.

Darryl's felt lost his whole life, you can tell. He has never really felt important like he deserved, but to train for and run a marathon, that would give him the respect he has been waiting for.

Darryl would of course not bother to taper. The only taper he knew about was when he sliced himself open with a hunting knife, and brother Merle said, "oh, you got a cut? Well, 'Taper shut' then would you, and get on with it."

Marathon morning, he would eat bacon and ham for breakfast from a pig he killed himself. Or perhaps even a squirrel or opossum.

He would wear a sleeveless shirt, the sleeves having been torn off, of course, and we're not taking a hi-tech, moisture-wickering shirt, were' talking 100% southern cotton. Yep, cotton enough that it would make your nipples bleed before mile one, but when you're made of Darryl material, you don't pay that no mind.

And Darryl wouldn't take a bus over the bridge or ride a ferry to get to the start at Staten Island for the start of the New York City Marathon like the rest of us. Hell no.

Darryl Swims To The Start

The only problem would be if Merle ran alongside him.  We know Merle would lecture Darryl on turning his back on family for running a marathon.

Of course,  Merle got arrested by the cops on the way, and got handcuffed to a park bench while the cop chased off some marathon bandits. 

and Darryl would surely want to go back and rescue him

We all know Merle would just chop his hand off, and end up the right hand man of the Race Director/Governor, take your pick.

Darryl is perfect marathon material.  He doesn't feel pain, and the solitary nature of running lets him keep his hard-ass independent edge, at the same time be part of a large group all with a common goal.

Darryl would speed up with pain along the course and be on pace for a negative split and a very respectable sub 4 marathon.

But when he hits the 20 mile mark near Central Park he's sure to see what happens when runners don't pace themselves correctly and just can't run anymore. Yep, it's a sight that makes his blood boil.  
 "Walkers".

Yep, they're everywhere. The Runners who have bonked out and smashed into the wall, and have now become: "Walkers"~  'Ravaged bodies that grunt, barely moving with stiff legs and slime all over their inhuman faces', so he shoots as many as he can in the head, grabs all the food from the aid stations for supplies, and takes a detour towards a safer shelter.  DNF and NHFA  (never heard from again)

Word is, Darryl is still out there, living in secret dwellings in Central Park.  Some folks say they've seen him. Others say he will appear every first Sunday in November, to take care of the 'Walkers.'

So, let that be a lesson as to why we all need to finish our marathons and not do the 'zombie shuffle' to the end. Cause he's out there. Darryl Dixon.

Click Here for A follow Up Article on Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead, and Why 'How People Die Matters'

My Zombie Short Story, 99 cents on Amazon,

Zombie Dash