Risin’ up, back on the street.Did my time, took my chances.Went the distance now I’m back on my feet…Just a man and his will to survive.–“Eye of the Tiger,” Survivor
So this happened:
The Rocky Run was a 5k at 7 am and a 10 miler at 7:45 am. If you ran them back-to-back, you took the Italian Stallion Challenge for a 13.1 mile distance.
Of course I took the challenge. You don’t eat lightning if you aren’t prepared to crap thunder. I think that’s what Mickey tells Rocky in training.
I’m going to mix sports metaphors and movie references here but hear me out. Susan Sarandon or maybe Kevin Costner advise Tim Robbins on what to say in interviews after a baseball game. I can’t recall the exact wording but the gist is, “some days you win, some days you lose and some days it rains.” That kind of sums up my Rocky Run experience, a race inspired partly by a training running montage in a movie about a boxer.
Confused? Since the micro is about this race experience, just know that it’s also in the macro for life itself. So when it comes to understanding me or me making sense, some days you win, some days you lose, and some days it rains.
When I landed in Philly, it was drizzling. I won though by still powering through to visit the temporary art installation down at the Philly Naval Yard. Here there be sea monsters… and there I go for Instagram photo bonanzas!
In picking up my bib, the skies opened and the winds came and it got colder, wetter, and a whole lot less sunny in Philadelphia. As I posted to social media, this city and I apparently don’t agree on the definitions of the words “always,” “sunny” and “in.”
But the stormy weather subsided at night when I caught up with one of my dearest friends from high school. And yet we probably haven’t seen each other in close to a decade. It was great catching up with him and while he seemingly hasn’t aged, I look more and more like an elderly shar pei.
I was a bit taken aback that his eldest daughter is off to college this fall. I felt incredibly old. I suppose when you have kids it’s both harder on you and easier to see time flashing past; they grow up so fast I hear… and see. My pal Eric and his wife have five kids and he is an ordained minister juggling two churches; I on the other hand was preparing to run a half marathon dressed like a 1976-era Sylvester Stallone. That’s about on target for those “most likely” votes in the ol’ yearbook.
The morning brought the sun … and the pain. It wasn’t as cold as I thought it’d be at the start but I was still glad to be rocking the grey sweats of Rocky B.
But as the 5k carried on, I started to get pretty hot. I actually thought maybe I’d strip the sweatshirt and the costume be damned.
I’m glad I didn’t, and not just from a photographic perspective. Waiting for the 10 miler to start, dark clouds appeared and a light drizzle fell. It didn’t last long but the temperature dropped precipitously… or if it didn’t drop, the wind certainly picked up as a chill cut through me. And sweat from earlier froze to my skin, creating a ever deeper cold. But the sun would occasionally poke out and heat me up again, with me sweating like a stuck pig. And then more clouds would lead to more winds and more chill.
Having finished, I took some touristy photos in celebration, arms raised in Balboa triumph.
Getting back to my car though was like walking in a refrigerated wind tunnel. But I didn’t want to leave without a few more Classic Philly moments. Sure, sure. I missed the Liberty Bell and Betsy Ross and countless other founding fathers and mothers historical sites. But I got these, so…
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And speaking of classic Philly, I did stop by Pat’s for a cheesesteak “wit wiz.” It was an awkward process, and emblematic of the comparisons Pat’s draws to Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi. Pat was yelling at his son working the register for “fucking it up like always.” I gathered this was stereotypical loud Italian-ness and the kid seemed unfazed at the stream of profanity coming from his father and the questioning of his mother’s faithfulness given that no son of Pat’s “could be this big of a fuck up.” I was mortified enough for everyone even if this kid wasn’t. I was really tempted to walk across the street to cheesesteak rival Geno’s but to be honest I’ve always preferred Pat’s. That said I used to defend Felipe’s over Cole’s in LA but the ambiance won me over for the latter. Still, nobody beats Felipe’s mustard.
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And here’s where winning returns to this trip. I got a text from my buddy Brent that he was covering the Creed II junket… and he was literally less than a mile away. He had to finish up some interviews and had to dash to catch a train to NYC, but we did get to catch up a bit over a 44 oz WaWa soda.
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I’m now enjoying a decadent but delightful pizza to unnecessarily carbo load for the Bucks County Marathon tomorrow. I ate so many cookies last night that honestly I’m not sure I really should be eating anything until after the next TWO marathons. And looking at the photos above, I am more a heavyweight than I meant to be.
My AirBNB is way farther away from the start than I realized and I probably should have just stayed in Philly and driven out in the morning. But dumb mistakes count as a little bit of falling rain coming into life so, so it goes…
Tomorrow’s forecast for the marathon is cold with bouts of cold followed by more cold. Rumor has it the high is going to be 42 degrees. That’s Fahrenheit, y’all. Or 5.5 Celsius. That’s the high… and doesn’t take into account wind chill. I can feel it in my bones, too. The other day when I fell and landed hard on my left wrist/palm> It was finally started to feel better… and then I came to this Northeastern tundra environ. It’s been hurting more and more ever since… not due to injury but solely due to the cold. If I had a diagnosed sciatica I’d say it was acting up too.
Some days you win, some days you lose, some days it rains….