Ran into friends this morning.

This morning we had breakfast at a local bagel shop. Within a few minutes another group of runners came in, damp and rosy and starving. They all stopped by our table on their way in and we stopped by their table on our way out. Companions on the road. Lifelong friends. With one exception in this morning's chance gathering, we have all done the New York City Marathon at one time or another. Some of us together. This morning I am struck by the tight kinship of running friends who share the secret the marathon teaches. We all know something that no one else in the bagel shop knows. It binds us to each other and to the infinite potential of the human spirit.

Feeling philosophical this morning. Must be the cream cheese. Or maybe it's gratitude.

Thinking about Phil Wharton ...

I found this photo of Phil Wharton surrounded by ahtletes who have just completed one of his famous workouts. I think it speaks for itself. When the man works you out, you're worked out! HA! I'm sure he'll check in with us this week to let us know which workshop this was and to reassure us that he didn't wipe out an entire tennis team. (You didn't, did you, Phil???)

I write a lot about Phil Wharton, and you'll notice correspondence and conversations with him throughout this blog. He is the "son" part of the father and son team of Wharton Performance in New York City. Jim is the father. For nearly 25 years, these two have been preparing and repairing athletes and dancers on the highest level. Their client list is "Who's Who" in sports and on Broadway stages. Filled with energy, driven, and sweet-spirited, Phil is devoted to maximizing human performance physically and mentally.

Oh, yeah. And he and Jim are helping ME train. As I said ... "highest level." (Insert gagging sound here.)

I visit Phil's Web site from time to time ... and I also dog the live webcam sites on line for Flagstaff, Arizona, where Phil lives now to take his athletes through high altitude training. Right now I'm seeing a lot of snow, which fills my Floridian soul with pity for the boy.

His Web site is www.whartonhealth.com.

Laundry burns calories.

I just read another study on the “AFTERBURN” effect of running. Researchers report that when you work out hard, post-exercise calorie consumption can be elevated to burn fifteen to twenty percent more calories than were burned during the actual workout. In other words, metabolism remains juiced up long after you’ve taken off your running shoes. The benefits are exponential when you’re trying to trim down. It’s a sort of physiological bonus round.

I agree with the immutable effect of afterburn. I just disagree with the cause. No offense to scientists, but afterburn is less a result of residual metabolic activity and more a function of laundry.

Yes, my friends. Changing sticky clothes, showering and generating soiled towels and washcloths, hauling clothes and bath linen to the washer, transferring wet stuff to the dryer, pulling stuff out of the dryer, folding, hanging, and hauling stuff back to closets and drawers … THIS is the true source of “afterburn.” And don’t talk to me about “residual.” I’m directly having to allocate extra time each day – fifteen to twenty percent more time -- to keeping my workout clothes in circulation.

Statistical coincidence??? I think not.

The magnetized sign on my washer obliquely reiterates my opinion: laundry=burn (or in the case of washing running clothes, AFTERBURN).

I’m a New York City Marathon runner, so I do extra laundry every day and bear it like a Kenyan. Silent. Stoic. Soapy.

Phil, there seems to be a fine line between “Run with the sun,” and “Run with the suds.”

I'm an insider.

Winter reappeared in Florida this morning. The temperatures plummeted while I was sleeping like the Kenyan I aspire to be. But that’s okay. I can’t be cold when my heart is so warmed by the New York Road Runners. They sent out an e-newsletter yesterday: the “Insider’s Guide.” Now, I’m not saying that they’re implying anything by sending an INSIDER’S Guide to Bev, who has applied for entry to the marathon through the lottery. But I’m can’t help but notice that it wasn’t aimed at OUTSIDERS. Had it been, I would be discouraged about ever being accepted again. But the fact that they’re treating me as one of them—an insider—gives me a glimmer of hope. Am I reaching here? Am I looking for signs of acceptance where there are none? Is this just the editorial staff of NYRR, reaching out to all runners everywhere in camaraderie and good will? Have I had a psychotic break?

Never mind. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I keep working diligently to refine my Kenyan-ness.

I move with the sun, Phil.

Phil Wharton reveals a Kenyan secret!

Hey, Bev,

You asked me to share a Kenyan running secret from the time I lived and trained with them in Italy and Kenya. One secret that may be helpful to you is this: “Move with the sun.” The Kenyan runners go to bed with and rise with the sun. They know that to stay injury-free, they must recover from workouts. Rest and regeneration are important keys to their success. Sometimes in a running program, rest is even more important than the actual training.

So be like the Kenyans. Sleep your way to stardom!

Great Job! – Phil


Note from Bev: Training for the New York City Marathon is getting really tough. Running, eating in perfect balance, lifting at the gym, stretching … and now THIS? Do the demands of running like a Kenyan never end? No wonder they dominate the sport as best in the world ...

Deer were out this morning.

I was in a fog of half-sleep this morning when I rolled out the door, but put my muffin body on cruise control and padded down the driveway. By the time I got to the mailbox, cool air had begun to clear my thoughts. Not a lot. But at least I was able to take quick inventory and make sure I had my shorts on.

About fifteen minutes into the run, I came around a curve and startled a sorority of deer. Five of the girls were out secretly hunting squirrels or whatever it is that deer do at dawn when they think no one is watching. One doe stood me off as her sisters bounded into the safety of the palmetto forest. The sentry of the group threatened me by affixing me in her unwavering gaze and stamping one foot repeatedly in warning. But I wasn’t threatened by her. I was enthralled. I felt a little guilty. She was trying so hard to look rough and tough. Out of respect, I thought I should probably whimper and cower and beg for my life. I wanted her to feel good about herself. But instead, I stood quietly about ten feet from her and just studied big doe eyes. Finally, she tired of the showdown, turned, and with one silent leap, vanished. And I resumed my trot.

I love running in the morning. One never knows what great things might happen. With the deer-encounter, I was suddenly fully alive and charged up. No matter what horror and stupidity befall this day now, I will have this magic to hold in my heart. This is one of the gifts of running. It gives you the best first.

I lower my odds in the lottery ...

... but I'm going to heaven. This morning someone asked me about the New York City Marathon. I could tell by the line of questioning that he was interested in running it. I can always tell. The look in the eye is faraway. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the soft strains of the theme song from “Rocky.” Doves appear. The runner is suddenly taller and more square-shouldered. There is spittle. I wanted to tell him it was already filled so that he wouldn’t run to his computer and apply for the lottery. I planned to be consoling when he deflated and the doves landed. I would purr that he would hate that marathon anyway. I might pat him on the shoulder … maybe even whip out brochures from other marathons that I carry for a moment such as this. I would be so noble.

Gotta be honest. I don’t want him or anyone else to apply for my New York City Marathon until I’m accepted. Getting through that lottery is already going to be impossible. I don’t want to make it worse by adding even one more runner.

But at heart, I’m a good guy. I very casually gave him the Web site for the New York Road Runners, which I am NOT posting here.

Let us picture the moment together: He gets in and I don't. Will he be able to run the marathon with Bev duct taped to his leg?