I’m pulling together a (last-minute) running themed fanzine to raise money for my Boston Marathon charity, Team For Kids! TFK supports New York Road Runners Youth Programs, which provide running and fitness programs and equipment to kids across the United States.
Signups are open NOW!
This zine will be digital only.
I’m expecting that most art/fic will be from sports anime (based on the circles I /run in/), but any fandom is ok!
Final drafts will be due March 12th.
The zine will go on sale March 19th.
Thank you for everyone’s support so far, I know this is a tight schedule. Unfortunately we do have a fundraising deadline, but I know we can do it! Happy drawing/writing/running!
How Long Can I Wear This Medal Before It Gets Weird?
I didn’t believe my trainer when
she told me I was ready for race day.
For starters, in all of
our training, we never ran the 13.1 miles
required of a half marathon. Once, I accidentally went too far, and made
it to twelve. It completely exhausted me. When I brought the Brooklyn
race map home, my 8-year-old son, Leo, looked
at it, looked up at me, looked back down and said: “that looks… long.”
I tried to make it seem
achievable: I remembered how, when I was a child, we’d calculate distances on a
map by using a piece of string, threading it along the twists and turns of a travel
route before pulling it taut to measure it against the mileage key. When the
string unfurled, the distance always surprised me: it was longer or shorter
than I’d imagined, every time.
This, I said to myself, was
surely like that. It seemed so impossibly far. But it couldn’t be. Right?
The morning of the race, Leo got
up early with me, pacing the kitchen as I ate a bowl of cereal and
waited for a sudden rainstorm to pass. Then he gave me one last hug as I headed
into the chilly morning on my own.
I tried to remember something
that Gretchen Reynolds, the fitness writer for the New York Times, said when we
spoke a few weeks ago. “There is something very distinct that happens to most people
during a race,” she said. “Adrenaline does get released, all kinds of other
hormones get released, that don’t usually happen when you’re just training.”
She told me most people set their best times when they’re racing: no one really
knows why. (My trainer had said the same thing: I didn’t believe her,
By the time I got to the start,
thousands of runners were penned up in front of the Brooklyn Museum. We
stretched, and yawned. I found a mom friend I
knew from my daughter’s daycare, Beth. Her hometown
has an annual 15K, which made distance running seem like something everyone
just did; she’s hoping to run the full marathon in 2018. She
had no doubts. I was not so sure. As the crowd moved
forward, I asked, “Are we starting?!”
For a few moments as we crossed
the start line, the sun broke through the clouds. And I realized Reynolds was
right: there was something about the race itself, something about
bumping forward with a bunch of strangers. I passed some people. Some people
passed me. We were New Yorkers, so, occasionally, we practically collided.
I loved the signs: “Worst.
Parade. Ever,” or, “You’re Running Better Than the Government is Right Now!” I
loved the musicians: traditional bands, but also one guy in the middle of Ocean
Avenue playing cello, all by himself. I high fived anyone who reached out: guys
with those big foam hands, elementary school kids, even a baby. As I ran, I
Reynolds had warned me that how I
felt about the run afterwards would come down to the last few miles: my body
would either give out, or get a surge of strength that pushed me across the
finish line. During one of her own races, she said she stayed
motivated by focusing on another runner, someone with a dancer’s body who seemed to be running on springs.
I looked around for my own competitor.
I kept seeing one particular head
bob up and down in the crowd: a woman with twin fishtail braids in her short
blond hair, and a blue shirt. She looked strong, slightly faster than me. She
was always a few meters ahead. For the last couple of miles I lost sight of her
completely, and figured she’d surged forward.
Suddenly, at mile 12, we were
shoulder to shoulder. She’d been behind me, not ahead.
I could see the boardwalk
approaching, see the road ahead disappearing into the hazy ocean beyond. We
moved forward together, neck and neck. Then: she pulled ahead, zoomed up to the
boardwalk, across the finish, melting into the crowd beyond. And I was a few
feet behind, realizing as someone slipped a medal into my hand: it was over.
I looked for the
woman in the fishtail braids to thank her but never found her. I hope she’ll be
back next year: I want to be. “You looked amazing!” my friend Beth texted me
when we were done. Then she sent me the details for her hometown race. It’s
just seven weeks away.
[This is part of a series on the science of exercise and what it takes to run a half marathon from WNYC’s Mary Harris, host of Only Human and health reporter.
To see the earlier posts, click here.]
Hi everyone! I will be at New York Comic Con next week, tabling with Hero Complex Gallery. I will have lots of goodies, including postcards and magnets, and plenty of new prints. Come visit me and pick up one of these Blade Runner prints.
Amidst my JBD excitement, I almost forgot to post a pic of my run-in with RunnerJoey Ice Cream Keith Nobbs. He seemed verrrry surprised to be recognized and went on to introduce himself even though I had just used his name. Super nice. Seems like the kinda guy you’d wanna be friends with.