Wednesday, April 22, 2015

39 Is the New 26.2

With the average male life expectancy being 78.7 years, I've decided that my inevitable midlife crisis will be met head-on this November at the starting line of The New York City Marathon. For reasons below, I thought it would be a good idea to write about it here even though I don't think anyone really needs regular check-ins on my "journey" or any other self-indulgent touchy-feely crap. That said, stepping outside the Facebook confines to communicate with my no-longer-nearest but occasionally still dearest1 felt refreshing enough that I went ahead and remodeled the space to try to make it my own.



Q: Why run?
A: Because I can't afford a sports car.
To start at the end and work back to the middle, the idea of running the marathon has always seemed over the top and out of reach, but with a hint of "why not" attached. Never enough to actually do anything about it, but there to hold my attention. This year the race will be held on my birthday, and I'm of the opinion that when the universe does you a solid and gives you natural lay-it-on-thick symbolism for your personal story you can't just brush it aside.

I missed out on the entry lottery back in March, but this turned out to be a good thing as it brought me to my new friends at the Joslin Diabetes Center. The name just about says it all, Joslin is a Harvard-based organization that promotes diabetes research, education, wellness, prevention, and care. I found them while looking for charities to team up with, but truth be told I was actively looking for a group that contributed toward diabetes awareness and treatment. It seemed to me that if I were ever going to disclose to others beyond my immediate circle that "I am a diabetic with Type 2 diabetes"2 that doing so as a small part of the solution would be the only thing that would ever drive me to share.3
Q: Why share at all?
A: Because unlike other diseases and/or conditions, type 2 diabetes for the most part is just a stupid pain in the ass that you're stuck lugging around—like an unnecessary Baldwin brother. Stephen Baldwin is totally preventable if you just stop encouraging him.
I knew that doing the marathon for a personal cause would keep me focused on all of the tasks at hand (also and again, layup symbolism = not to be trifled with). More sincerely, I thought that speaking up might be the beginning of a conversation worth having—not so much with me, but definitely between you and your doctor. That was almost mean and definitely not true; we can talk about it if you want, especially if it prompts personal awareness.4 Still, the idea of posting any of this directly to Facebook did made me a little ill. I'll give up pasta, bread, and rice as part of a low glycemic load maintenance program (for more on that, read this book or check out these recipes), but if I unflounced5 only to have Zuckerberg's algorithms target me with ads for compression socks and sugar-free snack food I might get Wilford Brimley-level grumpy. Of course, now Google has the same information to data-mine from, but I figure they're reading my gmails anyway so they already know.
Q: So are you okay? 
A: Totally fine. As it turns out, facial hair is essential in managing diabetes for those also afflicted with male pattern baldness. The beard actually acts as a sponge and absorbs the excessive glucose from my blood—it's nature's quicker picker upper.6 Also, going low glycemic load (along with a big sherpa-style assist from Kindred, the PA I've been working with) has drastically improved things to the point where my prescription was first cut in half and eventually discontinued. From here out it's all lifestyle-based management.
In hindsight this really wasn't much of a story and could have been wrapped in a tweet with characters to spare,7 but taking the scenic route is more my style. Still, rather than drag it out further by recapping the opening act, which was predictable and boring, just know that for me this all kicked off back in October—so the chapter building toward the marathon finish line will be at least 800 miles and a little over a year removed from its start. Beyond the already-provided support of my family, especially my awesome wife who inspires my awe by way of her awesomeness,8 crossing that line will require additional help. This is where the asking for money happens. My commitment to Team Joslin is to raise at least $2,500 on their behalf; I've set up a Crowdrise page for online donations—you can find that here:  https://www.crowdrise.com/JDCNYC2015/fundraiser/ronmartirano.

I don't expect my friends and family to in essence foot the bill for my race entry; all I ask is that if you're going to donate to a cause this year, this is a good one so please consider it (unless you laughed out loud at Stephen Baldwin's expense—then you totally owe me $2 and him an apology).9 I'll be making my personal donation to the same during the summer to take greatest advantage of corporate-matching once I know what it will take to reach my goal.
Q: So is all this why you're "no martyr," because you've found a cause you don't want to die for? Kind of dramatic, no? That's pretty heavy for a brief elevation of average blood glucose levels that have since returned to normal... 
A: No. "NoMartyr" is just an inverted play on my last name, like Lynbrook is to Brooklyn but with fun political undertones for the whole family. Besides, I thought it made for a cooler Twitter handle than my standard first initial followed by last name and just ran with it (PUN!).
In the end, while there are charities and glucose levels and puns to manage, what really can't be understated is that I now have a beard with a household approval rating well above 60%.10 Second to that is a single point on the far side of the Verrazano Bridge, its counterpart in Central Park, and the random phrase that keeps going through my head as I prepare to connect the two: I am a river. Not sure why, better than being a leaf on the wind I suppose,11 but it’s pretty much variations on those four words over and over with each step forward. As for what it means, it could be some sort of DIY baptism or cleansing; but I think it's the channeling of a constant force of nature roaring through the streets with beginning and end indistinguishable from each other and only recognized as components of a larger system—an organism unto itself and the mother of all spirit animals. Either that or a Foo Fighters-heavy workout playlist having its way with me,12 but it gets the job done and has definitely come in handy during the miles I've logged to date (with more river incantations on deck for the Long Island 1/2 Marathon next weekend I'm sure ).

Full-on training really won't kick in until early summer (one more book to plug), and the most important detail to know about the race itself is that the plan is to gather together afterwards for some birthday drinks and good times (with a post-race shower in between, I promise). More to come on that once the date gets closer, for now I leave you in gratitude with a hope to see some familiar faces near the finish line.

28 Weeks to Raceday!



®



1 Along with the larger group of folk whose last names, kids, dogs, and brunch orders I no longer recognize.
2 What I'm doing right now.
3 Outside of that one time I told a waitress, but that was just to try to guilt her into subbing out a side of french fries for some leafy greens.
4 Besides, I'm for certain not going to be mean when I'm only two paragraphs away from asking for donations.
5 Erica's word.
6 The views expressed in this statement as they pertain to beards are those of the author alone and do not necessarily reflect those of his awesome wife, who believes that said beard is only useful for "helping you feel like you can chop mad wood."
7 TL,DR: Am diabetic, got better; running far, send money (lawyers/guns optional)
8 Did I mention she was awesome?
9 Fundraising 101 says ask for at least $25, but $2 is just funnier. Of course, if a cheap shot at a non-Alec or Adam (no relation, I know) Baldwin is worth more to you, then have at it.


10 The dog votes "yes."
11 Just ask Wash.
12 Not to be confused with Let the River Run, with all due respect to Carly Simon and Working Girl fans worldwide.

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