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Three weeks into training, I'm finally getting some distance out of my runs. Not a lot, but something that isn't embarrassing to admit. The first two weeks all I did was walk. Week One was 20 minute walks. Week Two was thirty minute walks. Week Three, walk-running. And my last run I did thirty-five minutes of five minutes walking/five minutes running. Went over two and half miles.

For those of you who have been following this blog since the beginning you may be wondering why the heck I'm starting out so slow. Marathon training is different than 5k training. Keeping the legs strong and healthy is far more difficult, and so my runs will be much slower, and over much softer ground. Increases at this stage will be pretty gradual. Ok, back to the point of this entry ...

So yeah, I'm finally working up to a decent speed and a decent time ... and then I get a cold. It's funny, but throughout the winter ... through the H1N1 scare of October and November, to the Incomparable...

Henry

Alone.

Largely in the dark, with only the flickering light from our gas driven fire warming the ceramic logs and 55 inches of high definition art providing a view into what is most often some far corner of the world.

Night after night I sit ignoring the phone, e-mail, text messages and two very persistent family dogs. I am left up, alone in my living room with Mary Carrillo, long after my wife has gone to bed.

If you think that sounds a bit destructive, you might be right. I have a problem. I’m an addict, a junkie, a freak.

My name is Bob and I am an Olympiholic.

Roughly every two years, for 17 straight days, I get wrapped up in The Games.

It is likely somewhat genetic, my addiction to this modern version of the most ancient of sporting events. My mother, a woman who really couldn’t give a tinker’s dam for sports, never misses The Games.

We watched a bit of everything. Gymnastics,...

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