clarification

The last post sounded a bit strange and has elicited reactions of perplexity. Despite my attempt at humorous obfuscation, it was plain that the post was about running and about my decision to do the Oberelbe-Marathon yet again. That doesn't sound extraordinary and you might wonder why I come back to it, but the devil is in the details. Unaware, you have witnessed a seminal event.

I signed up for a sporting event six months in advance and vowed to train with all due seriousness. My running colleague in the lab reacted incredulously when I announced it to him. "That's ways away. That's not you. Are you sure about this?" To which I replied: "Mark your calendar, my friend. In preparation, we're running the Roding Valley Half Marathon together on 28 February."

He won't be the only one shaking his head in disbelief at my approach. Back in Salt Lake, I had a riding buddy who got perennially frustrated about my erratic behavior. When he went out to the gym or tortured his legs on the trainer on the porch, I would lounge on the sofa slurping buckets of Ben & Jerry's. Sometimes I wouldn't ride my bike for weeks, and yet when we went out into the mountains the next weekend, I would usually be able to keep up with him, much to his despair. Like everyone else, I needed to get into shape at the beginning of the season, but once arrived, I stayed there without effort and no matter what I did. My friend, in contrast, had to suffer for his good legs.

The previous two years, I took the same casual approach to the marathon. I ran in the park whenever I felt like it, without rhyme or reason and never when the weather was bad or too good, never when there were things going on in London or I had plans to go out. Last year, I ran less than 300 km before race day, and I didn't do intervals or anything that had the potential of hurting.

On the course, I was able to keep up with most but, crucially, not with my expectations, and that's the worst kind of failure I can imagine. I really don't care if I win the marathon or if I come in last. What I do care about is whether I achieve what I think I'm capable of. I know I can do three hours, but so far I haven't shown this. Twice I crossed the finish line in bitter disappointment.

This year, which is really next year but has already started for the purpose of bookkeeping, things will change. I'm encouraged by the uncontested fact that three times is a charm, but I'm also aware that charm will not be enough. Charm will need dedication and hard work to come through.

The seminal event that you have been witnessing is that this year, 2010, is the year that I jettison my habitual listlessness and convert to a philosophy of focused hard work. Surveying my adolescence and adulthood, I'm struck that I have hardly ever worked hard for a goal. Things tended to happen in ways that pleased me. With the marathon, I haven't been this lucky, but I'm determined to win – over my legs, over my sloth, over my laziness, and over general physical feebleness. To achieve this, I'll have to have a plan and stick to it. I have to build a base of endurance and sharpen the spikes of speed. I have to put my aspiration ahead of everything else. Whatever happens in the next half year is peripheral to big goal. Maybe this revolutionary attitude will diffuse into other aspects of my life. But if nothing else, it's going to push me to a marvelous marathon.