The Wall is Real; or Bonking the Blog

This is not about running, BUT . . . The Wall exists.

During decades of on-again, off-again underachieving as a runner, I didn't believe The Wall existed. Runners, especially marathoners, speak of The Wall as if it's lurking just around the corner, waiting to throw itself in the path of an unsuspecting, under-prepared runner; but, to borrow from Ghostbusters, 'I ain't afraid o' not ghost.'

Running experts associate hitting The Wall, or 'bonking,' with the depletion of Glycogen, which is the energy source for running up until about 18-20 miles (depending on training). Somewhere around that point, muscles begin to burn fat, which produces less energy, slowing you down, and eventually you slam right into The Wall.

Bonk . . .

Those experts say that better training will help maximize the use of available Glycogen and allow the body to supplement it earlier by burning fat (at least that's what I think I they said). They also recommend energy drinks and carbo-loading to provide additional sources of energy during the run.

I didn't believe in The Wall . . . until Mile 17 of the Austin Motorola Marathon in 2001. The Wall not only smacked me in the face, it fell on me.

Just a reminder for you non-runners or bored runners: This really is not about running.

As a runner, I'd learned how to compensate for fatigue or pain in one part of my body by stressing another part; but after The Wall fell on me, I hurt in places that had never hurt before, and I didn't have a clue what to do.

Fortunately, marathons, depending on their popularity, are lined with well-wishers who'll toss out words of encouragement and lie to you about how good you're looking or how close you are to the finish line. After meeting The Wall, I broke into tears every time anyone even acknowledged my presence.

The Wall had physically, mentally and emotionally crushed me.

Then, running advice jokingly offered by my couch-potato brother-in-law came to mind: 'Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot.'

I finished the marathon, carrying Wall bricks for last nine miles, in about five hours. For those of you who are not runners, a marathon is 26.2 miles, and five hours is somewhere south of mediocrity.

But I did finish, and I somehow sprinted across the finish line. And I must've looked good (HA!). While I was recuperating, wrapped in a silver, thermal blanket and drinking whatever athletes drink, an African-looking runner (Kenyans are the best) approached me and asked if I knew where the elite runners were meeting. Yeah, and Elvis and I will be singing with The Beatles right after the meeting.

Why is this not about running?

I think I've bonked on my blog. I've started 2-3 different posts and haven't finished any. The Wall seems to be waiting for me every time I sit down at the keyboard.

I do remember learning to type. The method was to type: ffffffffjjjjjjjjjfffffffjjjjjjjj, etc. That's even more basic than 'right foot, left foot. right foot, left foot.'

So if I can bonk, then 'right-foot-left-foot-right-foot-left-foot' it to the finish line and then be asked for directions to the elite runners' meeting, then I can get fffffffjjjjjffffffjjjj it to cranked back up on this blog.

And if you cheer, I promise not to cry.

Blog Central aka The Front Porch

Laurie at I Can Leave My Hat On (my blog mentor) asked her visitors to post their 'work stations.' You can see why my blog is called George's Front Porch.

Items of note (from left to right)

Antique trunk that my wife refinished. It contains family photos and momentoes and will eventually go to daughter #1. We have an antique tool box of similar size for my son and another trunk (still awaiting sandpaper) for daughter #2.

The radio on top of the trunk sat in my parents' garage for years. My dad would listen to it while he worked in the garage or on our car, and my friends and I would listen while we played. There's a distinct (and pleasant) memory of cigarette smoke, beer and motor oil associated with it. The radio originally belonged to my mom's Aunt Blanche (Domingue), who lived in Lake Charles.

A reflection of the flash because George doesn't know how to take pictures.

An antique sled that my wife loves. It's part of one of those winters that she's hoping we'll eventually have. MAJOR part of Christmas decorating around our house.

The book case also came from Aunt Blanche's. It's one of the pieces of furniture I salvaged after my parents' house burned.

Back two steps: that's my Austin Motorola Marathon coffee mug (with hot tea to help deal with the flu). I feel like a real runner when I use it.