Welcome to Scribd, the world's digital library. Read, publish, and share books and documents. See more
Download
Standard view
Full view
of .
Save to My Library
Look up keyword
Like this
3Activity
0 of .
Results for:
No results containing your search query
P. 1
A Marathon Odyssey

A Marathon Odyssey

Ratings:

4.75

(4)
|Views: 124 |Likes:
Published by ogangurel
A Marathon Odyssey (A true story)
Ogan Gurel - 5 November 1990
In early September, despite a summer's lay-off from running due to bursitis of the hip, I decided to run the New York City Marathon, about 7 weeks away. I resumed my training, tentatively on account of my hip, but gradually built up to about 8 miles. I felt good but still somewhat shaky. A track work-out was sure to put me out of commission. Two weeks of vacation in France increased my confidence as I ran strongly in Grenoble. I felt faster and fitter and upon returning to New York, I markedly increased my mileage. This is where my problems began.
To spare my right hip I ran through the long miles absorbing some of the shock through my right knee. Although an 18 mile run two weeks before the marathon went smoothly (2 hours for a pace of 2:54 for the marathon) during the following week, however, my right knee felt painful; to alleviate this I shifted more of my weight to the left leg. A 13 mile run on the Saturday before the marathon had to be aborted at 10 miles. My left knee was shot and was to remain

so for the remainder of the week.
Bending the left knee was extremely painful, going up and down stairs was impossible, and even walking was difficult. Although I could feel the cracking in my knee, it was hard to make an accurate diagnosis: chondromalacia, tendonitis, plica syndrome, were all possibilities. But, whatever it was, it wasn't getting any better and the marathon was the next Sunday. By Friday, I still couldn't run and by Saturday night after using my arms to climb up the subway station stairs and a painful walk back to my room all indications were that the marathon was off.
Some friends called to wish me luck; I told them that I was not going to run. Feeling disgusted at the whole situation, I nevertheless made my preparations for the next day. I put together my bag with my running gear, my racing shoes, Vaseline, aspirin, Kandinsky and The Economist for reading material, etc. Last, I pinned my number (#2442) to my shirt and packed this carefully in the bag. I left for my parent's home in the Village by bus; taking the A train would have meant using the stairs: an impossibility.
I awoke at 5:30 Sunday morning. I took a long, hot bath, ate some muffins and bananas for breakfast, and had my first Naprosyn. I was extremely irritable, my fear, disgust, and
anger unconcealed. I took the bus uptown and said my goodbye to my parents; the plan was that if I had to stop in the race, I would beep them (my father would be carrying my beeper). Earlier that morning, not confident I could memorize the beeper number, I had, in fact, written it down on a slip of paper and stuck it into my sock.
At 6:45 AM, the streets around the NY Public Library were teeming with runners; all of whom seem to be walking so easily, so smoothly. I cursed my knee and stood in line completely alienated from the hordes of my running brethren. In front of the library, I gingerly climbed up the bus that would take us to the start and quickly, as a half-cripple might, took a seat next to the door. My thoughts, as much as I could drown them out with my walkman, were of fear and revulsion; how could I be doing something so stupid? so crazy? to what point? Among 25,000 others, I felt so hopelessly alone as we drove through the Battery Tunnel, into Brooklyn and finally over the Verrazano Narrows bridge. We had arrived, but to what point? My mind seemed detached, not only from the other runners but also from my own body. As we got off the bus we were overwhelmed by a cheering crowd; embarrassed, I tried to hide my limp. We were briskly guided into the check-in, video cameras recorded our presence and detached from all reality, I found myself in the Fort Wadsworth starting area.
I meandered among the runners, each in various states of readiness; taping ankles, applying Vaseline, changing shirts, and everyone drinking water. The day was hot, already 62 degrees; the guzzling faces around m
A Marathon Odyssey (A true story)
Ogan Gurel - 5 November 1990
In early September, despite a summer's lay-off from running due to bursitis of the hip, I decided to run the New York City Marathon, about 7 weeks away. I resumed my training, tentatively on account of my hip, but gradually built up to about 8 miles. I felt good but still somewhat shaky. A track work-out was sure to put me out of commission. Two weeks of vacation in France increased my confidence as I ran strongly in Grenoble. I felt faster and fitter and upon returning to New York, I markedly increased my mileage. This is where my problems began.
To spare my right hip I ran through the long miles absorbing some of the shock through my right knee. Although an 18 mile run two weeks before the marathon went smoothly (2 hours for a pace of 2:54 for the marathon) during the following week, however, my right knee felt painful; to alleviate this I shifted more of my weight to the left leg. A 13 mile run on the Saturday before the marathon had to be aborted at 10 miles. My left knee was shot and was to remain

so for the remainder of the week.
Bending the left knee was extremely painful, going up and down stairs was impossible, and even walking was difficult. Although I could feel the cracking in my knee, it was hard to make an accurate diagnosis: chondromalacia, tendonitis, plica syndrome, were all possibilities. But, whatever it was, it wasn't getting any better and the marathon was the next Sunday. By Friday, I still couldn't run and by Saturday night after using my arms to climb up the subway station stairs and a painful walk back to my room all indications were that the marathon was off.
Some friends called to wish me luck; I told them that I was not going to run. Feeling disgusted at the whole situation, I nevertheless made my preparations for the next day. I put together my bag with my running gear, my racing shoes, Vaseline, aspirin, Kandinsky and The Economist for reading material, etc. Last, I pinned my number (#2442) to my shirt and packed this carefully in the bag. I left for my parent's home in the Village by bus; taking the A train would have meant using the stairs: an impossibility.
I awoke at 5:30 Sunday morning. I took a long, hot bath, ate some muffins and bananas for breakfast, and had my first Naprosyn. I was extremely irritable, my fear, disgust, and
anger unconcealed. I took the bus uptown and said my goodbye to my parents; the plan was that if I had to stop in the race, I would beep them (my father would be carrying my beeper). Earlier that morning, not confident I could memorize the beeper number, I had, in fact, written it down on a slip of paper and stuck it into my sock.
At 6:45 AM, the streets around the NY Public Library were teeming with runners; all of whom seem to be walking so easily, so smoothly. I cursed my knee and stood in line completely alienated from the hordes of my running brethren. In front of the library, I gingerly climbed up the bus that would take us to the start and quickly, as a half-cripple might, took a seat next to the door. My thoughts, as much as I could drown them out with my walkman, were of fear and revulsion; how could I be doing something so stupid? so crazy? to what point? Among 25,000 others, I felt so hopelessly alone as we drove through the Battery Tunnel, into Brooklyn and finally over the Verrazano Narrows bridge. We had arrived, but to what point? My mind seemed detached, not only from the other runners but also from my own body. As we got off the bus we were overwhelmed by a cheering crowd; embarrassed, I tried to hide my limp. We were briskly guided into the check-in, video cameras recorded our presence and detached from all reality, I found myself in the Fort Wadsworth starting area.
I meandered among the runners, each in various states of readiness; taping ankles, applying Vaseline, changing shirts, and everyone drinking water. The day was hot, already 62 degrees; the guzzling faces around m

More info:

Published by: ogangurel on Nov 10, 2008
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial

Availability:

Read on Scribd mobile: iPhone, iPad and Android.
download as PDF or read online from Scribd
See more
See less

02/01/2013

pdf

Marathon Odyssey
- 1 -
Ogan Gurel
A Marathon Odyssey
Ogan Gurel
5 November 1990

In early September, despite a summer's lay-off from
running due to bursitis of the hip, I decided to run the New
York City Marathon, about 7 weeks away. I resumed my
training, tentatively on account of my hip, but gradually
built up to about 8 miles. I felt good but still somewhat
shaky. A track work-out was sure to put me out of commission.
Two weeks of vacation in France increased my confidence as I
ran strongly in Grenoble. I felt faster and fitter and upon
returning to New York, I markedly increased my mileage. This
is where my problems began.

To spare my right hip I ran through the long miles
absorbing some of the shock through my right knee. Although
an 18 mile run two weeks before the marathon went smoothly (2
hours for a pace of 2:54 for the marathon) during the
following week, however, my right knee felt painful; to
alleviate this I shifted more of my weight to the left leg. A
13 mile run on the Saturday before the marathon had to be
aborted at 10 miles. My left knee was shot and was to remain

Marathon Odyssey
- 2 -
Ogan Gurel
so for the remainder of the week.

Bending the left knee was extremely painful, going up and
down stairs was impossible, and even walking was difficult.
Although I could feel the cracking in my knee, it was hard to
make an accurate diagnosis: chondromalacia, tendonitis, plica
syndrome, were all possibilities. But, whatever it was, it
wasn't getting any better and the marathon was the next
Sunday. By Friday, I still couldn't run and by Saturday night
after using my arms to climb up the subway station stairs and
a painful walk back to my room all indications were that the
marathon was off.

Some friends called to wish me luck; I told them that I
was not going to run. Feeling disgusted at the whole
situation, I nevertheless made my preparations for the next
day. I put together my bag with my running gear, my racing
shoes, Vaseline, aspirin, Kandinsky andThe Economist for
reading material, etc. Last, I pinned my number (#2442) to my
shirt and packed this carefully in the bag. I left for my
parent's home in the Village by bus; taking the A train would
have meant using the stairs: an impossibility.

I awoke at 5:30 Sunday morning. I took a long, hot bath,
ate some muffins and bananas for breakfast, and had my first
Naprosyn. I was extremely irritable, my fear, disgust, and

Marathon Odyssey
- 3 -
Ogan Gurel

anger unconcealed. I took the bus uptown and said my goodbye
to my parents; the plan was that if I had to stop in the race,
I would beep them (my father would be carrying my beeper).
Earlier that morning, not confident I could memorize the
beeper number, I had, in fact, written it down on a slip of
paper and stuck it into my sock.

At 6:45 AM, the streets around the NY Public Library were
teeming with runners; all of whom seem to be walking so
easily, so smoothly. I cursed my knee and stood in line
completely alienated from the hordes of my running brethren.
In front of the library, I gingerly climbed up the bus that
would take us to the start and quickly, as a half-cripple
might, took a seat next to the door. My thoughts, as much as
I could drown them out with my walkman, were of fear and
revulsion; how could I be doing something so stupid? so crazy?
to what point? Among 25,000 others, I felt so hopelessly alone
as we drove through the Battery Tunnel, into Brooklyn and
finally over the Verrazano Narrows bridge. We had arrived,
but to what point? My mind seemed detached, not only from the
other runners but also from my own body. As we got off the
bus we were overwhelmed by a cheering crowd; embarrassed, I
tried to hide my limp. We were briskly guided into the check-
in, video cameras recorded our presence and detached from all
reality, I found myself in the Fort Wadsworth starting area.

Activity (3)

You've already reviewed this. Edit your review.
1 thousand reads
1 hundred reads
ogangurel liked this

You're Reading a Free Preview

Download
/*********** DO NOT ALTER ANYTHING BELOW THIS LINE ! ************/ var s_code=s.t();if(s_code)document.write(s_code)//-->