Honolulu Marathon PR

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I was never an athlete, still am not. I played football and baseball in high school but never played in an official game. I was a bench-warmer. I went out for the team because I liked to play games. I had no idea one had to practice and be in good physical shape. As I got older I realized that I was overweight and inactive. College drinking followed by high pressure jobs made me soggy.

I was living in Los Angeles and decided to drive to Santa Monica beach and run a little to “get in shape”. I only lasted about twenty minutes before I realized that it was not a good idea. Being the addictive personality that I am, though, I continued for another forty minutes. An hour just seemed like a good round number. When I got home, showered and rested the soreness began, and got worse the next day. Running and being active really sucked.

I saw runners every day looking like they were enjoying themselves. I didn’t become a fund manager at a large money management firm by being lazy so I did my research and found a number of running clubs. A running club did not sound like a barrel of moneys but I joined LA Leggers just to test myself. I always thought I could handle difficult things, maybe running a marathon would help me mentally as well as physically. LA Leggers is a running club that trained people to compete in the Los Angeles marathon. I was very competitive.

At 29 I had a dream job, making over two million dollars per year, some years much higher when we beat our indices. I had a fabulous condo on Ocean Boulevard and needed another challenge, the kind of challenge that a marathon would provide. Stanford business school was highly competitive, as was the field of money management. I got my CFA and got recruited to a large firm doing research for and eventually co-managing a mutual fund.

Saturday mornings were for Leggers and marathon training. Like everything else in my life I threw myself into it like the “A” type personality that I am. The training season began in early August in preparation for the Los Angeles marathon the fist Sunday in March. After my aborted effort to train myself, I thought that the ten minute pace group in Leggers would be the place for me. The first week was one mile along Palisades Park, each week progressively building up (it is not called the marathon build-up for nothing) to twenty six miles two weeks before the big race (tapering for two weeks prior to race day).

Of course, one could not possibly get into marathon shape on a diet of Saturdays alone so I joined Sports Club LA, which is a few feet from my office on Sepulveda Boulevard. Weekdays I would work out after work, as I had to follow the market and be at my desk at 4:30 am. I got to the gym by 4:30 pm, beat the crowd and found good treadmills near a television screens. After the first one-or two-mile runs on Saturdays, I was able to run on the treadmill for five miles in fifty minutes. That meant I was comfortably in the ten minute pace group and that is where I put myself in week two of Leggers workouts. I was not pushing myself and felt I could go faster as I lost weight and strengthened my body.

Working out at LA Sports Connection had its benefits besides great workouts. The women looked great and usually wore fantastic and coordinated leotards or workout attire. The eye candy was great! Still, I was a geek who wore glasses and dated little. I had opportunities, probably because I was successful but was terribly shy around women. I hated being rejected and took few chances. When I did, I was able to develop good relationships.

I met Veronica at the gym. At twenty, she was four years younger than I at the time. We had casual conversations while stretching (which I learned how to do well in the Leggers training) or using weights. We dated. I took her out to dinner six or seven times over the course of the fall and winter. We ended up in my condo one fabulous evening and had a great time. I needed the pleasure of a woman like any other man and that would have been enough for most guys but we talked a lot about dating, relationships, future plans and I realized that she and I had dissimilar goals. I met other women and the married guys at the office always had set-ups for me. There were thousands of women in Los Angeles who would want to be with a guy who had my income, thousands of women. I found a few. I enjoyed myself. I began to improve my bedroom skills. More importantly, I gained self confidence in close correlation with my body image. That first marathon season I went from 230 lbs. to 193 lbs. and toned up nicely. A change of diet helped a lot as well.

Marathon day in March was glorious. Those were the days when the Los Angeles Marathon was a circular course that began and ended in downtown. There were over twenty five thousand runners, thousands of people lining the course, bands along the way, people to chat with and some good eye candy as well. My first marathon took four hours and twenty nine minutes. I was in heaven. I did something bursa escort I never thought possible. Now, people looked at me differently. I was hooked.

I continued to work out after work at LA Sports Connection and decided to add yoga. I found a yoga studio on Second Street in Santa Monica that had a class that began at 6:30 pm, perfect. I bought a yoga mat. I was terrible, of course. While I thought I was in good shape after two seasons of the build-ups, yoga required entirely different strength. Each one-hour workout was as physically taxing as a ten mile training run. I was drenched with perspiration and tired. And of course, there was plenty of eye candy. Furthermore, the women were a few feet from me. I could smell them when they arrived, all made up and perfumed (many of them were looking for mister right) and sweating and grunting at the end. I went home many nights and beat off.

After I had gotten a little better at the yoga positions, I could relax and look around more. Then when I started, I was able to concentrate and stop falling down and embarrassing myself. That is when I noticed an incredible blonde. I was aroused and arrived early to place my mat near hers. We chatted a few times before I had the fortitude to talk with her. Gail was an artist who designed video games at one of the gaming companies in the area. She was an avid yoga student and knew a few other places but this was her favorite. I finally even got up the nerve to ask her out. I must tell you about her.

It is difficult to see past her incredible good looks. She was tall. I am 6’2″ and she was near my eye level. She wore her shoulder-length blonde hair in a single pony tail, which left her neck and shoulders bare. She had a perfect body, perfect tan (from what I could see—arms and back but not her legs which were covered in tights) and an unbelievable ass. She always had color-coordinated yoga outfits that accentuated her face. She was intimidating. She told me she was single and we made a date for lunch on a Sunday. I thought that would be less aggressive than dinner. We talked about yoga, of course, and other workout things, mostly. She was twenty-six, like me, from Central California and studied art at the Art Institute of San Francisco. We dated and even were physical. It is difficult to describe how turned on I was with her body. She taught me some things about giving head and I will be eternally grateful. I never thought we would end up together and when she told me that she wanted to have a chance with an old boyfriend who had moved to LA I understood. From then on, blondes drove me crazy.

I continued to train for the LA Marathon and planned vacations around other marathons. I was getting addicted. The market was having a broad decline which hampered my fund’s performance but we were within acceptable boundaries, balancing risk and return. I was able to find a few investments that turned out very well and was promoted to assistant manager of the large fund.

In my second year of training, I ran a few half marathons as a way to work on improving my speed. I decided that breaking a four hour marathon would be my goal.

Marathon training provided other opportunities for dating. I got more social during the training runs and talked mostly with other guys. On one Saturday, I fell in behind a woman who was wearing a matching green and white running outfit that accentuated her great body. Saturdays were casual and most people wanted to break the monotony by talking. We all knew that it was preferable to run at a comfortable pace at which talking was possible. I caught up with Samantha on San Vicente at a place when the grade was even.

Although she did not look it, she said she had an eighteen year old son. I then figured she was in her early 40’s. We had a nice chat. When we finished the run at the pier I found her at the table where the oranges were. She took off her sunglasses to reveal bright green eyes. They complemented her auburn hair nicely. We talked until almost everyone was gone.

She lived in a house in Santa Monica with her son who was a senior at Crossroad School, the house she got in the divorce from a lawyer. She asked me out for dinner and chose Fritto Misto in Santa Monica, a great place. She had been divorced for ten years, dated a little, and wanted to find someone. I was surprised she opened up to me so easily. Her house was near the airport, was paid off as a result of the divorce and she spent her time volunteering at the Venice Boy’s and Girl’s club, mostly. She also took tennis lessons and was quite good. She belonged to the Malibu Racquet Club. I told her that I lived on the tenth floor of a condo on Ocean Boulevard. I was shocked when she told me she would love to look out on the ocean.

I am not a lady’s man at all and my heart was racing. Here was an older woman—a very pretty older woman—about twenty years older and she was coming on to me. I told her that she could park behind me in the garage and we left. I was bursa escort bayan nervous as hell.

I got out of my car as she was pulling into the stall behind me. She had a look on her face that was a mixture of adventure and conquest. I opened her door. She stepped out and asked me if I usually take women home on the first date. I told her I had never before and, in a moment of levity mixed with nervousness, I asked her to be gentle with me. She had her clutch in her right hand stepped toward me put her right hand holding the clutch over my left shoulder and her left hand on my chest. My head was pounding but I put my hands on her waist and leaned in. We shared a wonderful first kiss that lasted about thirty seconds. “Is that the kind of gentleness you want?”

“Wow, but…I need to be sure,” I said and pulled her closer. We made out while leaning against her Mercedes coupe. My pants had gotten very tight. I guessed she could tell. “Let’s get out of this garage.”

When we got into my apartment, she walked immediately to the sliding glass door and she asked me to open it. “Mmm, that smells great,” she said as a gentle breeze washed over us. “Look, Cliff, I hardly ever go home with anyone but I am very aroused.” We kissed for a long time and she reached down to find my painful bulge. She tried to find the belt buckle but I told her I would do that. I pulled down my pants. She pulled down my briefs. My cock was hard. She sat on one of the couches and stroked it. The moon was out but was in the eastern sky so the room was bathed in semi-darkness and my cock was soon standing straight up. “Tell me if I am not being gentle enough,” as she licked the shaft for a long time.

“Perfect, that is perfect,” I was so nervous. She sucked on the head, stroked the shaft and squeezed the balls. I felt as if I had really accomplished something special, having a beautiful women in my apartment on the first date.

“Can we go to the bedroom?”

“Of course,” I said and she stood up.

I turned on the dimmer switch in the bedroom so that we could navigate without tripping but leaving a gentle glow…I was trying to be romantic type. She took off her jacket, threw it over a sofa and asked me to unclasp her dress. I fumbled, of course but was successful. I nibbled her neck and she moaned loudly. “Very nice, very nice.” I pushed the dress over her shoulders but she still had to wiggle out of it. She stepped out of her heels and placed the dress on the same sofa. I was naked. She removed her bra. Her breasts were very nice but when we kissed again, I squeezed her ass, which was accessible since she was wearing a g-string. We kissed for a long time. I knelt down and pulled off her g-string to reveal a very nice bush. I put my nose into it so I could inhale the female scent I craved.

When I dated in college and until I met Gail, I was repelled by the taste of pussy. Gail helped me come to enjoy the sweet, musky aroma. She told me she used perfume on her bush and lips before going out on a hot date. I was reminded of Gail because Samantha smelled great. I ran my nose through her bush and she murmured approval. I stuck my tongue into her crack, past her lips. I sucked on the protruding lips. “I really like that, Cliff.” I tried to stick my tongue deeper into her vagina but could not get a good angle, as I was kneeling, looking up. “Get up,” she commanded and lounged on the king size bed. “Nice bed, nice pillows, soft and comfortable.” I joined her on the bed and we made out for a long time. She stroked my cock. I felt her soft, wet vagina. She moaned.

I kissed my way to her breasts and she cooed while running her fingers though my hair. Her nipples felt good in my mouth. I licked and sucked and blew cool air on them. She pushed my head down, down, down. She needed me to go down. Gladly. I licked my way down to find a perfect patch of damp, curly hair. She spread her legs wider. I sucked her clit and fingered her vagina. “Oh, good…very good…I feel very good….” I pressed my index finger up into her g-spot and rubbed. She grunted and sighed. Her sounds were awesome. They were getting higher and higher. I was conflicted. On the one hand I wanted to tease her and munch her down for hours. On the other hand, I knew she was close and needed to come. Her vagina got wetter and I sucked her clit. Her voice reached the highest pitch and…. She grunted. Her vagina gave four or five spasms that squeezed my fingers. Then she pushed my face away from her crotch. We rolled into our respective corners. “Damn, that was good. Mmm, a long time in coming…pun intended.” She bounded up and got between my legs, staring at my flag pole. “Can I sit on it now?”

“I have a condom. Wait here.” I disappeared into the bathroom and returned with an envelope. She beckoned me to sit at the headboard of the bed. I figured that out because she put three big pillows against the headboard. I assumed the position and rolled on the condom. She gave it a tug and bent down to escort bursa suck it. She sat up and straddled my waist.

“I have not had a man inside of me for a long time. I may come again.” We kissed for another minute and she reached down to guide her hips to a position of maximum pressure and pleasure. She sat down with a grunt and a groan. “Oh, nice, babe, I feel sooo goooood.” She humped me and grinded me. I squeezed her waist. She grunted with each stroke. Soon she was perspiring and her auburn hair was matted to her forehead. She sat down—this time remaining still– and we kissed for a long time. She started humping me slower and shallower. This allowed me to catch my breath and concentrate on staying hard. Here was a woman who was technically old enough to be my mother and we were doing the deed and making each other very happy. She stopped. “How are you doing down there?” she asked.

“There is a beautiful woman riding my cock and making me feel very good,” I responded.

She resumed fucking me hard and deep. “You get rid of that bitch. I want you all to myself for tonight. She can have you tomorrow. Make her leave. Tell her that I am going to come. Tell her that your nice cock is mine. Ohh, ohh, ohh, fuck, I feel so good.” She grunted and quivered, leading me to believe she had peaked again. That was confirmed when I heard her say, “Small but very nice…. I want you to come now. What can I do?”

“Missionary. I come quickest in missionary.”

She got off and laid down next to me, moving away all of the pillows. I climbed between her legs. She guided me in. I pumped as hard and deep as I could. She moaned and groaned and hugged me hard. After about ten short minutes I felt my orgasm coming, tried to hold on but the feeling of sliding into her was overwhelming. With one final push I tried to climb into her body cavity through her vagina. I had five spasms and shook uncontrollably. I went entirely limp.

My reward was her sparkling smile and big green eyes. I got off of her and pulled off the condom. We easily got into the lovers’ embrace, her head on my left shoulder, her arm around my chest. We both sighed deeply and relaxed. It was Saturday night and Sunday was an off day from workouts.

I woke up an hour later, needing to pee. She was breathing softly and had a wonderful expression of sweet contentment. I fantasized that she was having a very nice dream. After I emptied my bladder and washed my hands good, I climbed back into bed.

We slept until sunrise and made love all over again. We dated for the remainder of my third marathon training season. A couple of months later, she told me that she started seeing someone closer to her age (45, but whoa, she was still had a strong female drive). We broke up.

It was time to start training for another LA marathon. It would be my fourth LA Marathon and I was no closer to four hours. My first was 4:29. My second was 4:27. My third was 4:14 (it was unseasonably hot). I never thought I was a good athlete but I figured that physical training alone would not get me to my goal. The Los Angeles marathon course was considered fast by national standards. I needed a change of pace. I ran Huntington Beach Marathon, hoping that the course—almost entirely within a hundred yards of the ocean—would give me added incentive. That race is on Super Bowl weekend, four weeks before LA. I had a good race but got a little beat up on that one large hill. I finished in 4:17, got a cold in mid-February, curtailed some of my training and finished LA in 4:14. I needed a plan.

I spent the rest of March asking the Leggers coaches and other runners what other marathons gave them the most motivation. Honolulu on the second Sunday in December kept coming up. That would fit into my work schedule as we always had a lot of tense meetings and analysis the two weeks prior to quarter—and year—ending. I could get away that weekend.

By that time, most of the best hotels were booked up so I settled for an Outrigger, 2.2 miles from the start and 0.6 miles from the finish. I created a schedule that included a half and a 10K in September and October and hired a track coach. I skipped yoga for the rest of the year so I could meet him at Santa Monica High or Brentwood School. We worked on my technique, using my arms correctly, conserving energy, how and when to hydrate during the race. I was psyched up.

I flew business class so I was not so cramped, leaving my legs room to stretch out a bit. I arrived on Thursday, leaving all day Friday and Saturday to meditate, another tip from my coach, to stretch and implement the meal plan that coach gave me.

Race Day is always big, loaded with energy, big sounds, big colors, lots of people. Honolulu attracted more weirdos than usual, potential for distraction. For the first time (it would be my eighth marathon, half or 10K) I did not get distracted by the hot women runners either, as I walked around Waikiki Beach. Coach helped my get “in the zone.”

I woke up, attached the chip to my shoe, had a bagel and a banana, drank about a quart of mineral water, filled up my water bottle with half H2O and half Gatorade, jogged to the start and stretched, as the coach taught me.

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