It was the hardest physical challenge I’ve put myself through yet. At times I was ecstatic, at others, on the verge of insanity, and everything in between.
Not wanting to further overuse the “life is a marthon” metaphor, I did a quick search of the interwebs to find a connection between ultramarathoning and baseball, and, to my surprise, I found out that Miami Marlins president, David Samson, completed at 52.4 ultramarathon on April 27, 2012, as a fundraiser for the workers who built the new park. Over $550,000 was raised and dontated to over 10 different charities.
WHY DID I NOT KNOW THIS?
Why was this not reported by anyone? Why was this not on MLB Tonight? Why was this not front page news?
Running a marathon is hard. Running 50 miles is beyond hard. And now that I know how it feels myself, I can’t help but tip my cap to David Samson and the struggle he went through on behalf of his employees.
Now, if only he could get Ozzie Guillen to shut his trap.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
– – –
If you’d like to know more about my race experience, check out my running blog, The Run Factory, where I’ll post a detailed race report within the next day or so.
On Sunday I finished the Houston Marathon in 3 hours, 15 minutes and 19 seconds — a new personal best. And though it’s been more than 48 hours since I finished the race, not a minute has gone by where I haven’t found complete satisfaction in having accomplished the task. In fact, I don’t think I’ll stop reliving that race for a long, long time.
During my flight home to Chicago, I randomly ran into some fellow Cardinals fans friends of mine from waaaaay back. Odd as it is to bump into old friends in an unexpected place, I was quite happy with the brevity at which our conversation turned to the baseball glories of 2011, of Game 6 in particular, and how we kept our respective neighbors up that night, how our heart rates have never dipped and soared to such extreme levels. Reliving that game and that series at 30,000 feet was a pleasant testament to history.
I was reminded that you can never undo what’s been done.
And I’ll be reliving such glorious conquests for as long as I possibly can.
Hate me ‘cuz I ain’t never gonna stop gloating about the ’11 series, just don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
Every December we like to take a look back at what happened during the year in RSBS. And with Christmas upon us and the annual RSBS holiday break about to take place, it’s that time of year again. Granted, there’s no way we could do this without all the hard work put in by the interns so I want to take this opportunity to personally thank them and ask them to keep up all the good work next year.
Now, before I get to the part you’re all waiting for, I want to take a moment to recognize a couple other people without whom this blog would be a much sadder place. The regulars probably know him best from his appearances on the podcast but for me, his occasional pieces really put into words what I wish I could express. In particular, this year I appreciated Mark Piebanga’s midseason post about Don Kelly. For me, it crystallized who the Tigers were at that point in the season.
Similarly, the brilliant ranting and raving of Johanna Mahmud always bring a mid-week smile to my face. Whether he’s once again lamenting the shortcomings of the Cubs via musical theatre allusions or cautiously hoping for change with the arrival of Theo Epstein, Jo hits the nail on the head as often as not in a way only he can. However, the edition of Setting the Mahmud that really did it for me was his takedown of the Red Sox in the key of Arthur. Nothing says b*tchslap quite like setting your role model loose on the AL underperformer of the year.
For the main event, though, I thought long and hard about the season my co-author had. I watched with amusement his two-part Libertarian “coming out” as he confessed his love for the still-feisty Ron Paul. I also applauded along with everyone else as Jeff completed his first marathon, and this from a guy who, two years ago, was out of breath after running a block.
But the real marathon was the baseball season and if you don’t believe me, just go back through the record. It started in April with Franklin’s blown saves and four months later, Jeff had all but given up on the Cards (and totally given up on the Rays). Just a few short weeks later, though, his dreams came true while attending his first World Series game and a few days later, that dream reached its apex as the Cardinals won the World Series. But as happy as he may have been in that moment, and all joking aside, I don’t think any of us could possibly understand how hard the Albert Pujols news hit him. Baseball, just like that marathon, has its extreme highs and lows. In 2011 we watched Jeff live them both.
Don’t forget our awesome Oakley Blender sunglasses give-away, made possible by our friends at Crown Royal! If you would like to win these sweet shades, all you gotta do is send us a picture showing why you are RSBS’ biggest fan. Email it to us at RSBSblog@gmail.com. The winner will be announced this Saturday, December 24th.
I ran the Chicago Marathon yesterday, so pain is on my mind today. Obviously, the Cardinals’ loss to Milwaukee didn’t make me feel much better; but as I sit here with ice on my quads, a beer in my hand and a masochistic grin on my face, I continue to remind myself that a) things are gonna get better b) it’s a MARATHON not a sprint and c) we signed up for this.
With every pitch, with every swing (every stride, every step) our feelings and emotions are fully invested. We worked hard to get here and we’re not gonna lay down and die just because we’re a little knocked down. Instead, we’re gonna lace ’em up, pound the pavement and enjoy the burn.
With a smile.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
(Image via Christian Petersen/Getty Images)
On Sunday, April 10, 2011, I spent 3 hours and 51 minutes running 26.2 miles along the streets of St. Louis, Missouri; and I can honestly say, it changed my life.
We often hear “the marathon” used as a metaphor for myriad events. The baseball season… is a marathon. Every December I look forward to… “A Christmas Story” movie marathon. Life itself… is a marathon. But when we say all of the above, what we are really just saying is that some things take a long, long time to complete.
Let me assure you, the marathon is much more than that.
It’s setting a goal and working towards it.
It’s getting up at the crack of dawn while all your friends are sleeping in.
It’s battling fatigue, slaying freezing temps, conquering blazing sun.
It’s knowing your limits, pushing them, then pushing them again.
It’s glowing when people ask you why you’re so positive about life.
It’s metaphorizing your life, making up for past mistakes, proving you’re not a nobody.
It’s throwing the hammer down on negativity.
It’s getting a song stuck in your head that… just… won’t… stop.
It’s rewarding yourself with a big, fat, juicy burger every Sunday.
It’s asking yourself “I paid to do this????” only to realize, “Hell yeah I paid to do this!!!!”
It’s thanking strangers who hand you Gatorade and oranges and Vasoline (not always in that order).
It’s being aware of your surroundings, taking in the sights, the smells, the cowbells.
It’s being extraordinary…
It’s being inspired…
It’s being an inspiration.
But most of all, it’s feeling like death only to discover just how alive you really are.
Don’t hate me ‘cuz I’m right.
*PS, To the lovely, smiling woman who held up a sign shortly before Mile 3 that read “If you don’t finish, Albert Pujols will sign with the Cubs”… well, I want you to know that around the 22 mile marker, when I just about wanted to die, I thought about that sign and I finished that damn race for you. MUAH!
While spending the past weekend in San Francisco, one thing stuck out for its incongruity. A city that claims to be a bastion of liberalism and the protector of all thought left of center really should do more to practice what it preaches. Sure, there are lots of homeless people and the denizens of the city leave them alone in true liberal fashion. But why is the public transit system subpar at best? And are you really saving electricity when you leave your low-wattage bulbs on all day long?
Don’t get me wrong, San Francisco is a beautiful city. I was lucky enough to run a half marathon that took me down the Embarcadero, across the Golden Gate Bridge and up the Presidio. And it was amazing. I also made it to AT&T Park and watched as Barry Zito proceeded to ruin my fantasy scoring for the week. But staring from behind home plate at the line of trees peering over the top of the left field wall, I couldn’t help but wonder how people that pride themselves on eating local also support the importation of palm trees, a species that is in no way native to the area. Sure, like Zito’s sweeping hook they’re beautiful but the upkeep probably costs as much as his contract.
I have an idea for you, San Francisco. Let’s return the palm trees to Los Angeles because even though they aren’t native there, either, at least the fakeness fits. Let’s get a train system with more than two stops in the city so it’s actually worthwhile. And let’s turn off the lights when we leave. I’ll be back in a couple years and I expect results.
Thanks to L for the idea