Gubbi of Arabia: Expat Life in Dubai

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An Open Letter to the Asics Gel Nimbus

Hey Nimbuses (Nimbi? Nimbae?),

So maybe you’re wondering where I’ve been lately.

Don’t worry, I haven’t stopped running - not until recently, at least.

It’s worse than that.

For a while, you see… I found someone else. 

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’ve been my go-to running shoe for a decade. I have countless pairs of you cluttering closets in Dubai and Tennessee - probably even a pair or two squirreled away in DC in a friend’s parents’ attic. You’ve seen me through hundreds of miles in dozens of cities - from college to grad school to, uh… real life. You’ve gotten me across the finish line in 8 marathons, 1 ultramarathon, and a half-dozen half-marathons - all with a freakishly low injury rate (one running-related doctor’s visit, 8 years ago) in a sport that has a reputation for inducing the occasional limp.

How could I forsake you, you’re thinking - and you’re right. How could I?

Well, you see, I read this book, and I got all wrapped up in the barefoot running movement. It was such a sexy idea - so groundbreaking, so revolutionary! I couldn’t do all my miles barefoot, though (social propriety and whatnot), so when I heard about this new sneaker - one that weighed a fraction of the weight of a normal running shoe, without all that clunky overwrought cushioning, and was designed to mimic the mechanics of a bare foot - I was sold. Even its name sounded beguiling, like it would make me float on air - the Nike Free. 

I was enlightened, I thought. I had found better. So I embarked upon my training program for marathon #9 without you… and now, two months and a nasty case of extensor tendonitis later, all I have to show for it is a prescription for Celebrex and a mean old-man gimp. 

So today, on the day that my physiotherapist has finally cleared me to go for a brisk three-mile walk (walk?!) as a start towards to resuming the derailed preparation for my January race, I want to apologize - for casting you aside, sweet Nimbus, and for breaking a cardinal rule of running (and life). 

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

I promise, with Kara Goucher as my witness, I will never cheat on you again.

Love,

Gubbi

Don’t worry, not that kind of ultrasound (the “OMG it’s a girl and now all I will blog about for the rest of my life is BABBIES!” kind of ultrasound)… just another afternoon whiled away at the office of my cheerful Aussie physio, gamely trying to fix my bum foot. I am now at about T+15 days of no running, and each day that goes by is pushing me closer to the brink of full-fledged endorphin-withdrawal depression, to the point where I spent an hour this morning limping around the house mournfully singing the “Gubbi No Running” song (“Feel so bad about myself / Want to crawl in a hole” repeated ad infinitum) as Alex looked on in bemused, terrified helplessness.  I really ought to at least hit up some spinning classes, but given how I feel about group exercise (in a word: bad), it’s much more palatable to continue my current strategy of wallowing my way into marathon shape, one ice pack at a time. Wah…

Don’t worry, not that kind of ultrasound (the “OMG it’s a girl and now all I will blog about for the rest of my life is BABBIES!” kind of ultrasound)… just another afternoon whiled away at the office of my cheerful Aussie physio, gamely trying to fix my bum foot.

I am now at about T+15 days of no running, and each day that goes by is pushing me closer to the brink of full-fledged endorphin-withdrawal depression, to the point where I spent an hour this morning limping around the house mournfully singing the “Gubbi No Running” song (“Feel so bad about myself / Want to crawl in a hole” repeated ad infinitum) as Alex looked on in bemused, terrified helplessness. 

I really ought to at least hit up some spinning classes, but given how I feel about group exercise (in a word: bad), it’s much more palatable to continue my current strategy of wallowing my way into marathon shape, one ice pack at a time.

Wah…

Getting the day started right with some good ol’ fashioned electroshock therapy for my tendonitis… apparently this will be my life for the next 6 weeks leading up to the Dubai marathon. In case you were wondering, the bell is for me to ring for help if the current gets too painful. “I don’t get running injuries” FAIL.

Getting the day started right with some good ol’ fashioned electroshock therapy for my tendonitis… apparently this will be my life for the next 6 weeks leading up to the Dubai marathon.

In case you were wondering, the bell is for me to ring for help if the current gets too painful.

“I don’t get running injuries” FAIL.