Sports The Starting Line 91. The Countdown Begins
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Leslie Rubinkowski had never run a mile in her life when she watched runners passing through Oakland last May during the Pittsburgh Marathon and wondered: Could I do that? This blog will track the answer to that question. Over the next 19 weeks, she will seek advice from experts, explore issues that runners face - from nutrition to motivation to footwear to music - and write about all of it while running a minimum of 25 miles a week. Her account will culminate in the Pittsburgh Marathon on May 15. Related links:
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About Leslie Rubinkowski: Now a writing teacher at the University of Pittsburgh and at Goucher College, she is a former reporter at the Post-Gazette and The Pittsburgh Press and has worked at other newspapers, including the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, covering everything from government to finance to film. Her writing has appeared in magazines including Harper’s and literary journals like Creative Nonfiction. She is author of 
Wednesday’s workout: 1 hour spin
Today: Off
I like the feeling of my heart beating out of my chest. On a spin bike last night I kept twisting the tension on the knob to see at what point I started breathing like it meant something. One hard turn and I started panting. Another, nothing. Another, sweat stood out on my face. Some more and my quads started screaming out of my legs. Right there: the happiest I’ve been all week.
I’m weary with all this rest. (If I were talking to my trainer Terry I would say: I’m not complaining. I’m just making a statement.) At our last meeting before the race Ron DeAngelo advised me to take off two to four weeks off running before I considered starting back. Sunday makes two weeks since the marathon. I know more rest would be good. But even though I’m lifting and doing spin I miss the feeling of running. Nothing else makes me feel that kind of good. Just as much I miss the ritual: getting up early, mapping a course, stretching, setting out. That first step out of a walk always feels like stepping through a door or behind a velvet rope into some cooler place – out into the world and inside my endorphin-addicted head.
I keep thinking about a moment in the early miles of the marathon – did this happen to you? – when the runners in my corral headed toward the Strip District and streaked beneath the bridge near the Greyhound station. Everyone started whooping and the sound bounced everywhere and splashed its echo and made such a perfect soundtrack to that feeling at the start of a run. Especially a run that big. I'm counting down the days until I hear that echo again, if only in my own head.
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