HAVE RACING SHOES, WILL TRAVEL

by Bob Schwartz

I was always befuddled by the phrase "opposites attract." In my track and field world, I figured if there were truth to this confounding notion, I'd wind up married to a high jumper since it's only with a mini trampoline and a running start that I can successfully jump up a curb.

But I wound up going further down the line of opposing athletic personalities: I fell in love with-dare I even say it-a non-runner. Talk about your inter-faith marriages. Truth be told, my wife was a recreational runner when we met but then set her PR in the 10K at 21, and subsequently retired completely from the world of bruised toenails and periodic shin splints. She claimed something about wanting to go out on top.

I always held out hope that she'd see the light and I'd be her marathon trainer and pace her along at some exciting race in an attractive city. But after 17 years of marriage and with her dust-laden running log stuck at zero, I'm giving up hope that the lovely bond of sharing an energy gel packet at mile 23 is anywhere in our foreseeable future. And I'm finally beginning to realize why.

Seems that our many "vacation/marathon" trips together have left her with a certain running resentment towards centering our vacation plans on a race. We've visited many lovely places for races from Seattle to Cozumel to Bermuda to Carlsbad to San Juan. I feel at home surrounded by my running brethren in moisture wicking clothing and have the opportunity to get all sightseeing done via the race. On the other side of the starting line, it's safe to say my wife has failed to grasp the inherent joy of free race T-shirts, a virtual city tour by going over the course map, and the lovely smorgasbord of bagels and lukewarm sports drink at the postrace refreshments.

Many years ago she quickly grasped the nuances of running vacations as I tried to convince her that one of the highlights of the trip was unlimited garlic bread and the choice of three sauces at the pre-race pasta dinner. She'd been thinking more along the lines of a secluded romantic dinner followed by a leisurely stroll to a chic dessert shop. Instead, I was offering half-hour lines at the pasta buffet in the cacophony of an undersized banquet room surrounded by thousands of nervously chattering marathoners and a dessert selection limited to stale peanut butter cookies. Needless to say we didn't have the same travel agent.

And a post-dinner romantic stroll? Sacrilege! I'm the champion of avoiding any unnecessary steps the day before a race. I'm prone as soon as possible after the last strand of spaghetti is ceremoniously sucked into my carbo-loaded stomach. To avoid unnecessary time on my feet, I've been known to take a cab the 76 yards back to the hotel where I then rearrange the room to push the bed closer to the bathroom and limit the steps required if proper hydration necessitates a nocturnal visit.

I recall our first trip to New York City for the NYC Marathon. My wife was envisioning our shopping along Fifth Avenue, walking through the theater district, and attending a Broadway play, while I was thinking of souvenir headbands at the race Expo and hoping I could get Chariots of Fire for an in-room movie at our hotel.

After a few race trips together, I assured her that if she'd allow me my idiosyncrasies the day before the race, the evening of the marathon and the next day I'd be available to do all that she desired in our visit to a new city. That's a lovely theory, but the runner's reality is that postmarathon plans are usually hampered by my inability to walk more that 10-yard stretches at a shuffling pace before having to stop and reposition the Band-Aids on my toe blisters.

But, as in any non-running-spouse marriage, the spirit of compromise comes into play. Our non-race vacations provide her free reign at selecting our daily itinerary. Thus, I don't complain about touring another art museum on a non-race trip and she puts up with having to endure the overenthusiastic mile-by-mile race rendition by first time marathoners at a postrace dinner.

And on those race-related vacations, I'm happy to accompany her shopping as long as it's all in one building, no stairs and there are those lovely couches outside the dressing rooms-good for a quick postrace recovery nap. And I'm all for a dessert shop the night of the race as I've got plenty of burnt calories to replenish. Just wake me up and drag me back to the hotel if I nod off into my tiramisu.

My wife has learned to find the silver linings of race vacations-even in the lengthy awards ceremony. It's there that she usually befriends the other non-running wives and husbands and engages in the always-amusing game of "Top The Quirk." That's where the non-running spouses see whose mate has the greatest running eccentricity.

I think it's some consolation to my wife that she usually wins.

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Robert Schwartz is a regular writer for FN and is a member of the Motor City Striders, MI. For more of Bob's humorous pieces on running, read his book "I Run, Therefore I Am-Nuts."