Ya Gonna Eat Lightning and Crap Thunder

As I stubbornly push myself too far too early in training for the Marine Corps Marathon, the Wife has decided she'd like to help me reach my goal. It's nice having a training buddy to offer me support and words of encouragement, except when she pretends that the slow bus is coming to pick me up.

Today we traveled along the Rock Creek Park trail that heads to DC. The first few miles we had a nice, casual conversation during which I talk about doing minor home repair jobs I've been putting off. When I'm feeling real ballsy, I talk about finally painting the kitchen and dining room. Never mind those never get done after a run, it's still fun to pretend.

I train like Rocky minus the medicine ball to the abs, one-handed push ups, and the punching. And I run much, much slower.

When we hit my halfway mark it's time for hell to pay a visit in the form of my tired legs. Basically the Wife motivates me out of fear. If you do not maintain a 14-minute pace by mile 19 in the marathon, you will not "beat the bridge" and will be driven to the finish line. As someone just looking to finish, I'm just looking not to be picked up.

Her reverse psychology of psyching me to run faster doesn't start immediately. As my legs become Jell-o, my answers become shorter. Eventually I tell her to only ask yes or no questions. This doesn't sit well with her so she drafts behind me singing, "the slow bus is gonna get you, the slow bus is gonna get you, the slow bus is gonna get you..." to Gloria Estefan's "The Rhythm is Gonna Get You." It's like a weird Al rewrite.

"The slow bus is gonna get you, the slow bus is gonna get you..."

The Wife to me is like Mickey to Rocky, minus the running in snow and throwing punches at frozen butcher cuts. The negative imagery continues as she mixes "slow bus" into other songs culling them from her immense song lyric knowledge, all the while tapping me on the shoulder that the slow bus just caught me. Nothing like not feeling your legs and being told you're too slow to finish the race.

Somehow all of this seems to work because now I run scared, better, and faster. Thanks to the Wife's relentless pushing encouragement, I run plenty fast to ensure no slow bus will ever catch me. I don't want her at the finish line telling me that the slow bus got me.