Running to Lunch with Landon

Did you know that I have a slight control problem? I can’t control my speed. I can’t control my mind. I can’t control my urge to overdo everything. No joke.

But that’s why I’m friends with people who wisely advise me. Like Landon.

Summary: Landon and I have known each since eighth grade, when our close-in-alpha-order last names paired us for school life and I forced him to be my friend. He’s run marathons, half marathons and everything in between and was the one person—without him knowing it—who pushed me to run.

While Landon wasn’t a runner growing up, he started casually running a few years ago and then racing after that. A couple marathons into his career, I realized that, well, if he wasn’t a born runner and could run so well, then I didn’t have to be born into the sport either.

See, at that point I had been tri-training for nearly two years. I just wasn’t running; I hated running. And I thought I was predisposed to stinking at it. Here was Landon, however, tearing it up on the concrete. Where was my excuse then?

Silly me.

Now I’m a little over a year into running and he’s back in Cleveland for a few months. It’s been way rad running with him the past couple weeks. Not only have a learned what it’s like to run with someone (he’s housebreaking me for future running buds), I’ve totally dug running with the friend who got me started in the first place. Thanks, Landon!

What’s even better? He makes stellar running routes. Today we started at Johnny Mango on Fulton and Bridge in Cleveland. We wound through the hip Ohio City streets before hitting Edgewater Park, where I always read about people running, but have only visited twice in nearly 30 years of Cleveland living.

And while I’m a consummate Eastsider who just bought a house in Euclid, I’m not gonna lie to you: the near West Side, particularly by the lake, wasn’t too shabby. There, I said it. No, I'm not switching sides. But I liked the way the land turns and you get an uninterrupted view of the water and the city. Sigh. Nevertheless, I adore my lakefront community, and that’s for a different blog.

I also dug the hills and dales we took on this route, which ran us into Lakewood before we turned back. I’d tell you where exactly we ran, but my consummate Eastsiderness prevents me from really having a clue.

One of many running-with-Landon perks: talking. Sure, there’s my idle gab about work, gossip and Neil, but it’s neat catching up and learning how an experienced runner paces himself, takes downhills and trains in the winter. Plus, keeping up my gab forces me to run at a reasonable pace—that’s neither pokey nor break-leg—if I want to finish a sentence.

And it helps that Landon keeps me honest: I had the bright idea of running about 14 miles to Johnny Mango, which wouldn’t have been a bad trip. Last year. But I’m still rebuilding my legs, my confidence, my endurance, my running-brainpower. After my huffy-puffy last run in the Heights, I was a little nervous about taking a 14-miler so soon. So, I didn’t. It’s cool to have a running buddy who will support the decision.

Isn’t that what friends are for? Support and running for 90 minutes around the near West Side. I couldn’t quite get a grip of our pace, but it must have been between 9:30-45/mile (it was slower than Wednesday, but only a touch). That puts us around 9-9.5 miles. Ish. I couldn't believe the precision of Landon's route-planning—we rounded the corner onto Bridge Avenue at 1:30:47. If I had planned it, we'd still be running. And I'd be crying.

This run gets two thumbs up—I felt great during the run and I’m feeling even better after it—and the company gets three. We completed our workout with a few minutes walking down Bridge Avenue, where we passed the birthplace of John Heisman (yes, the Heisman) and then ended up back at Johnny Mango, where I had a post-run/body-rebuilding meal of grilled chicken and black bean quesadillas. And about three pitchers of water.

Once we move, I think I might run for my meals more often. I might get a reputation as the stinky diner, but it will be worth it. It’s been a good time getting back to Cleveland, and I have to admit I’m getting a little crush on the city. I’m glad I’m coming back.

Even the weather has been cool too. I can handle these chilly-(upper30s/lower 40s)-but-sunny days for running. Today was a hat-and-gloves kind of run. But it was almost all frozen lakefront and 100 percent sunny. Marathon training is finally looking up.

I’m Sorry Mr. Clarke

According to Neil, I just killed Arthur C. Clarke.

See, I have this strange belief that famous people die in the threes. And when two go, I always say to him, “Uh-oh, Britney Spears better watch herself…” so Neil can curse me for cursing someone else.

I don’t actually believe there’s some cosmic pattern-making in the deaths of celebrities, but the three-to-go trend is just something I noticed years ago and like to point out to Neil. Because it freaks him out and makes him think I have special powers. And anytime I strike fear in someone on that level, I like to take advantage of the opportunity.

Beware the G!

Believe me: I’m not playing willy-nilly with people lives, and I definitely had nothing to do with Heath Ledger’s death. On three very odd occasions, however, my words on celebrity deaths have struck a little too close for comfort.

Example 1: Flipping through a New Yorker issue that feature a retrospective on Richard Avedon’s photos for the magazine, I looked up and said to Neil, “I want to become a renowned writer (or renowned anything else, for that matter) and have Richard Avedon take my portrait for The New Yorker before he dies." That was September 30, 2004. He died the next day.

Example 2: Two days before my 25th birthday, I finished reading a short story by Arthur Miller. Marveling at the brilliance of his fiction-writing, I said outloud but to no one in particular, “All I want for my birthday is to meet Arthur Miller before he dies.” He died Feb. 10, 2005. My birthday.

Example 3: One week ago I was re-reading some materials from a software engineering class I took in college with an awesome professor. We read plenty of Arthur C. Clarke’s work on technology, the future and ethics for the class. And as I finished reading a piece on the responsibility of technology, I said, “Arthur C. Clarke would be an incredible guy to know. I hope I can meet him before he dies.” Sigh.

What’s the lesson here? Famous-for-good-reasons people need to meet me ASAP before I curse them. Really.

Well, not really. I don’t actually believe I have a magic death wand, but coincidences have a way of freaking me out.

(Note: Bridget has brought up a good fear in the comments below. Let me assure you that my fatal words generally pertain to elderly, mostly male celebrities. In fact, they're typically in their eighties or nineties. And while I hope to see everyone at a race some day, I promise not to curse you.)

Think I’m crazy? You’re probably right. And I was really crazy not to go running last night after work. It stopped raining by 5 p.m. and it was poking above freezing when I was outside. But I opted to rest, again. With good reason.

My plans for today include a post-work run with Landon, which will be my first run-with-somebody trek in a very long time. Call me a running loner. I think my running fitness, however, has improved since my old two-miler days on the track with JG before this generation of me arrived. And I’m looking forward to running into Monica for some post-work running in the coming weeks as well.

It's supposed to rain ALL DAY LONG, so I'm kicking myself for not running yesterday when I had the opportunity (but not the energy) to not get cold, soaked and sick doing it. But who believes weather.com these days anyway? Shucks.

Running with others, though, will all be a really nice change of pace; I’m totally into that these days.