Tuesday, October 30, 2012

New York City Marathon Under Assault

Well, it is 9:15 am Tuesday morning as I start this, and New York is partially under water. I don't know how they are going to pull it off, but the only official reports I have seen are the marathon won't be affected. Of course, the damage hasn't even been surveyed yet, but the subways are flooded, no power in places, flights canceled... going to have to stay tuned.

Assuming it does go off, my legs are under assault as well. I visited my doctor yesterday. She's a marathoning PCP with bits of physical therapist and nutritionist sprinkled in (and she read my book!) She examined my legs by poking and probing and jamming fingers here and there and listening to my neurotic tale with interest.

In my fantasy visit, here are the results:

 "Oh, I think you will be fine. It was just a bit tightening. All you have to do is stretch, foam roll, loosen it up with some short runs but not fast. Rest up, stay calm. You're just being anxious. Once the first drop of sweat rolls down your face you will be good as new."

In reality it was something like this:

"There's not a major rip, but there is a tear in your quad. You were probably tight and then one push off caused some damage. It should take 3-4 weeks to heal. As for the marathon, it may loosen up during  the run, but I don't think it will last the whole 26. Best you can do for now is ice, no heat, no massage or foam rolling, take some anti-inflammatories, don't run at all until then."

I asked  about KT tape, and doctor said this has worked before, but that she had no idea how to tape a quad. 

Asked if I can cause permament damage?
"Your legs will tell you, walk if you need to."

And being courteous I ask "How's your running doc?"
"Oh, that's a whole other story, I may have another stress fracture and haven't run in 4 weeks."

So, that's where I'm at. I had been hoping that my fears were being exaggerated, that it wasn't as bad as I imagined and felt, but chances are my hope is being exaggerated, that my dreams of being able to run the full distance might be an illusion.  I'm big into finishing and crossing the finish line thourgh pain - I enjoy the pain in fact - but I also am a believer in a DNF standing for a "Did Nothing Foolish"

I'm okay with being Rocky Balboa and getting my face pummelled in, and then living to fight another day. But I'm not gonna be Appollo Creed and die in the ring.  (yep pretty much all my endurance analogies go back to Rocky)

Of course, with the weather, there's the chance for a DNS ~ "Did Not Start," but I am neither expecting or hoping for that.

So, I'm using all my favorite cognitive and spiritual reframing skills.  I am lucky to have run 13 marathons with only one injury that sidelined me for more than 10 days. I can learn from this injury. There's so much to still enjoy.

The universe gives us the exact challenges and barriers our spirit needs to grow in certain areas, and I suppose this one is to take my ego out of the way, to remind me that  I'm running for a cause and not just for me.

If the biggest problem I have this week is my leg hurts, I"m one lucky SOB and to fret too much is to dishonor those with real challenges who I am running for as well as  those faced with the devastation who already had enough challenges during the best of weather.   

When sunday afternoon hits and the event is over, I am still blessed with many gifts. And I have these gifts not due to myself but by chance really. In other words I was born on third base I didn't hit a triple.

And so it goes.




Saturday, October 27, 2012

"You can't save me now, because I belong to the Hurricane"

I've always felt that listening to folks talk about their running injuries is pretty tedious at first, and then it quickly turns worse.  Enough to make me put my pointer finger under my jaw and then shoot straight up.

 It's like the fantasy football geek  who gives you way too much detail about all of his ten teams on a Monday morning. You are trapped in the conversation and become hostage with a fake nod and smile on your face.

Well, I have a running injury, so smile and nod.

Last Saturday, 15 days out from race day, I went out for a ten miler that I had to cut short at 8.  It felt like all the blood was rushing into a spot in my thigh, just above the knee, which then spun in a ball size  knot. The knot got thicker, bigger, and hotter, until a golfball size spinning flame of spikes was churning in my leg.

I stopped the run and wandered back home, iced the spot, took five days of rest, and went out yesterday for a 6-7 miler. I stopped after the pain hit me again at mile five.

96% of my body feels perfect and is going as planned. This spot in my thigh has never hurt me before. The usual injury suspects are fine. Somebody somewhere has a voodoo doll.

Nobody makes it to the start of a marathon without something aching and with a perfect training plan, but I've been injury free, besides the regular days of rest needed to recover.  I'm fully aware of phantom taper injuries, I get them all the time, but this phantom is real.

I want to go Nancy Kerrigan and scream  "Why me???" But self-pity is something I find poisonous, the opposite is gratitude.

I will finish if I have to run/walk. I believe a 15 minute per mile is tops? Plus I'm leaving the first wave. They can't close the course on me.

The idea of 8 days of rest taking it away is still one of my hopes, and I'm seeing my PCP who is also a marathoner, on Monday. More likely, the days of rest will give myself more miles past 5 where it starts to hurt.

Most of my goals are still intact. I still raised money for a great cause, and will be reflecting on this cause as I dine with other Covenant House folks and tour the streets of New York

I plan to experience New York in its grandeur, both before and during the run.  I may even turn the marathon into a photo tour and take some pictures in my expected walk breaks.

I still hope to squeeze some of my guts out of me during the run, and deposit them onto the streets.

Of course, another goal of mine: To run through a hurricane:

Like most folks, I"m fretting if Sandy will be in town. She's supposed to be there and gone by marathon day, but like a bad house guest, hurricanes tend to arrive late and stay longer than expected.

The way I see it, if its going to rain, it may as well go full-tilt hurricane (with nobody hurt, of course) with winds always in our faces, rain coming down sideways, folks leaving  the course in frustration, and a whole new set of endurance tests.

Okay, don't shoot yourself, I'll stop blabbing now.

But first, a $1,000 reward to anyone who provides tips directly leading to the capture and arrest of the owner of the Voodoo doll ~ Or provides treatment advice that makes this whole golfball full of spikes and flames in my thigh vanish by next saturday.


..you can't save me now
Cause I belong to the hurricane
It's going to blow this all away
Florence + The Machine

cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good,
When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move.
Led Zeppelin:

Monday, October 22, 2012

Traveling To A Marathon

With the Detroit Free Press Marathon taking place this weekend in my backyard, it reminded me of how convenient it is to have the start line be twenty minutes from your door.  I could feel the pre-race excitement and anxiety in the air on Saturday night, and the fact that the marathon was taking place nearby never escaped my conscious all Sunday morning.

There's something comforting about sleeping in your own bed the night before a marathon, pooping in your own pot, and having your own kitchen to make the prerace fuel.

But traveling to a marathon probably gives the experience the respect it deserves.  A marathon takes you to some strange mental, spiritual, physical, and emotional places after all, you may as well be  experiencing it somewhere foreign.

This raises forth all sorts of marathon travel questions.

My experience traveling to events isn't huge like some others. I have done Chicago three times, Boston once, and Grand rapids once, all of them being wrapped around a weekend where I either drove for hours and stayed in a hotel or had to fly.  And New York is another marathon destination and just 13 days aways.


Here's my two cents about traveling to a marathon.

Limit your walking
*Try to be careful not to spend to much time on your feet. Heck, just getting to the expo can take some major effort. And if you're in a big city with the whole world at your feet, it's hard not to use them (your feet, that is) and go to all the neat places

Remember, you'll be seeing much of the city during your run, and through the unique eyes of one in the middle of an ecstatic marathon run.

Not going full tilt tourist means some negotiating with support crew who are traveling with you, and setting an itinerary which doesn't include miles of walking.  Yes, you'll need a supportive spouse who understands you may want to sit on your arse instead of walking too much.  My wife has gone to Boston, Chicago three times, and Grand Rapids, but this year we are bringing our 8 year old to New York, so I'm somewhere in between wanted to soak in the city but limit the walking so that I'm fully ready to rock marathon morning.

Of course, if time isn't a factor at all, ignore the above, but it is still plenty easy to make your run less rewarding by using your legs too much the days before.

* Finding a place to stay~
Unlike some other folks,  I like to avoid runners. Something about seeing them all over the place just makes me think too much about the race on the next day rather than be in the moment, so I don't feel the need to stay real close to the action.  And when prices are way too high, I recommend a sight called www.homeaway.com.  I have used the site more than once to either rent rooms, condos, or to just do a bed and breakfast deal.  In Boston, I saved 400 dollars easy and got a more authentic experience by staying in a cool neighborhood.

For New York, I'm staying in this cool George Jetson looking room.
My hotel room in mid-town Manhatten. Yep, that's a bunk bed uptop.

Tourist trap
As for the expo, I like to get in and out, with minimal nonsense.

My first huge expo was a sight to behold, but now they make me claustrophobic. I feel trapped, the noise aggravates my brain and I can't take it.  Funny, I am much more comfortable with these same people packed together in the starting chute where we were meant to be, instead of bumbling consumers running this way and that, smashing into each other with bags of swag. Makes more sense for us to be in our natural running state, all running in the same direction, working in a single sweet line of flow instead of like a bunch of ants on a smashed ant hill.

Bring your stash
I'm for bringing all the needed gu, body glide, s-caps, and any other elixirs or potions you use for the race, rather than expect to find it at the expo.  My last marathon in Ann Arbor actually had 'no body glide' at the expo. Argghhh! What's up with that? Of course, a large expo would have this, but 'one less thing you have to remember. 

What to wear?
As for race day gear, I Bring lots of running clothes, more than just one set.

If you're the neurotic runner like I am, you start checking the 10 day forecast on the weather channel 12 days ahead of time, and continue to check it every five minutes, looking at temp, wind, humidity, rain percentage, and the all important map in motion, so you should have a good idea  what the weather will be like.

But the forecast can change in a flash. Therefore, I bring 3 sets of running gear; one for a bit colder than expected, one for a bit warmer than expected, and of course what to wear if the weatherman is actually correct. That way there's about a 40 degree temp range covered.

Drive the course?
I know some runners who like to drive the course before running it, but that's not me.  It  feels intimidating to take an hour drive just to navigate the course that I am then supposed to run.  It eliminates the ability to lie to myself, and I don't want to lose my illusions that 26.2 isn't that far.  I do like to know landmarks to look for, especially famous ones like the Citgo sign in Boston, and I also try to memorize exactly where any big hills begin and end. 

Packing food
I  plan on there being no food in the city for the morning of the marathon, and I have my marathon morning breakfast packed. Of course, there usually is something there, but I pack exactly what I want  just in case.  You don't want to grab a frozen snickers bar and a miller lite from the mini-bar. (cause, you know, that would cost $85.99 or something)

Planning prerace meals.
Scope  something out for the pre-race carb-loading meal the night before and make reservations in advance.  My first time doing Chicago, my wife and I walked the streets looking for a restaurant to take us.  There was none to be found, so we wondered back to the hotel and ate cardboard pizza.  This time I am a bit smarter, and we have reservations at a place in Little Italy the night before at Sal's Pizza.

The Sals in Little Italy. Reservations for 3.
Just Do The Right Thing
I'm dying to walk into Sals Restaurant, look at the photos on the wall, and scream "Hey Sal, why don't' you have any pictures of brothers on the wall?"  It is sure to start a race riot.
(A Spike Lee "Do The Right Thing" reference)




The Sals from 'Do The Right Thing'


"Hey Sal, How Come There Are No Brothers On The Wall?"
Radio Raheem understands the perpetual battle between Love And Hate.


Happy trails.





Thursday, October 18, 2012

Detroit Free Press Marathon


 
 My hometown Detroit Free Press Marathon is this weekend!
Below are a few excerpts of the marathon featured in 


Marathon Morning

      Piping hot, extra strong cup of coffee to get me started. Caffeine improves performance, but too much dehydrates. A banana is the first thing I eat, followed by a peanut butter sandwich. It is 5 am, two hours and fifteen minutes before take-off. I scan the weather on the TV with the noise muted.
Forty-eight degrees currently, high of sixty-two, a mix of sun and clouds with a chance of showers increasing towards the afternoon. Winds out of the northwest with gusts up to ten miles per hour. No real change in the weather from what was expected yesterday.
I take a warm shower to get my body going, yet keep the lights out in the bathroom and my eyes closed in the shower. I bow my face towards the shower faucet. Water hits my forehead and drips down my nose and my chin. The splatter of the water starts humming, putting me into a trance so that I don’t know if I’ve stood under the water for five seconds or twenty minutes. Either way, there’s not a spot that hasn’t been cleansed and is fresh and ready to go.
This is the morning you’ve worked for. You’ve done your work, today is just the victory lap. Run like you have metal in your chest and the finish line is one big magnet, sucking you in. Take nothing with you, leave it all on the course, all of it, all of it, all of it, all of it, all of it on the course today. There is no tomorrow.
My naked self is all I got. Everything else is gone except the body that I have sculpted to shoot through the Detroit city streets.
I get out, dry, and then do my best to have a bowel movement. Anxiety usually means this is no problem, but today I’m too scared to move anything.
I stay naked for a while, letting every spot fully dry in the air, before I put on body glide on any area of my skin that may chafe. Then I take each piece of my outfit and put it on ceremoniously as if I had an audience: blue shorts, white running bra, red top, and anklets that I pull tight three or four times. I wrap my watch around my wrist, check it more than once to make sure it is zeroed out and ready to go, and I tie my shoes loosely. I know they will get tied, untied, and retied many times before starting time.
The dogs come up the stairs, fresh from Sharleen’s bed, and I take them out back. The backyard scents are doused with fresh morning dew and the dogs put their noses to the ground. They make little sniffing noses and wag their tails. The cold pricks at my flesh, little hairs on my arms stand on end, and my heart rate picks up an extra beat.
There is nobody else awake in the whole world it seems. It’s always so quiet on marathon mornings. So still. Always dark.
Whatever is waiting for me after the finish, I can’t worry about. None of that can matter today. If it does, I’ll be lost. I should just stay home if I’m worried.
Randall wakes up at 6:15 am to drive me. He’s to drop me off and return to pick up Sharleen, who lays still sleeping in the basement. I wonder if she’s really asleep or just down there, scared, maybe with nightmares, but probably not. That’s just me.
We start the car and I turn on a light heat. It will be cold until a mile or two into the race.
I sit in the passenger seat and rub my thighs and calves, trying to loosen up the muscles, warm them to the core, and I eat one last perfect yellow banana. Tiny sips of ice mountain water quench my nerves. Both of us are always quiet on this twenty-minute drive.
Downtown Detroit. The streets are empty except for folks like us coming down to the event. Nervous runners are already sprinting the streets for warm up, shooting this way and that. The place looks like the top of an anthill. Randall winds the car through the many closed down streets to take me as close to the start as he can before letting me out.
“You are ready for this, I believe in you,” he says. “You are ready for this, I believe in you,” he repeats.
I watch him drive off, and start my walk towards the start, surrounded by many, but alone.



Running The Ambassador Bridge 
From Detroit into Canada



      The incline to the bridge begins, and even though it demands more of my thighs and a deeper pump of my arms, it’s a nice change. The sky is fully light now, the faded moon completely gone, and the sun starts to peek above some horizon clouds. Sweat has formed on the base of my neck. I pass through the tollbooths, still uphill, and my thighs are eating it up. Sweat itches my brow and I occasionally swat it away with my hand.
Below me are the swirling waters of the Detroit River, choppy and turbulent, from lakes Erie and Huron being smashed together. On the bridge above, orange cones separate runners from the open side of the road. The occasional truck comes by, shooting fumes into our lungs.
 Then we’re greeted by the sun: like a slowly opening eyelid with rays of golden eyelashes, the orange pupil rises above the horizon cloud. A swelling of warmth rises in my chest and I run farther up the bridge, way above the water below, far enough now that a jump would be deadly. Sunrays splinter my eyes...  


Back Home Through The Underwater Tunnel 
      Border guards on the Canadian side scan our race numbers, yell out ‘Good job’, and walk in little back and forth paces. We fly by, shooting through the tollbooth and down the depths, back to my country through the underwater tunnel. The tunnel connecting Windsor and Detroit is advertised as the only underwater mile in all of marathoning. Every runner passes through the underwater tomb, going first over the water across the Ambassador Bridge into Canada and then returning to the United States below.
Our shoes plop on the pavement, echoing about us as we descend. The day turns dark, lit by periodic lights lining the tunnel besides us. Gravity pulls us through the little downhill, and Mom and I both widen our wingspan. Our bodies and legs get pulled faster, shooting us down farther into the earth and towards the middle of the river. The little downhill smashes my hamstrings with each collision of foot on pavement, but the speed feels good.
The tunnel is moist and traces of water leaks can be seen running down white tiles on the walls. Bits of the raging river all around us are dripping in. The engineers must know this, this must be how it’s supposed to be, I tell myself, it doesn’t mean the tunnel is about to break open and drown us all, it’s just condensation. Somebody somewhere is always looking out for us. Nobody is forgotten. We’re all safe.

The Jade Rabbit on Amazon


STRAY on Amazon
 

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

If Only You Could Bottle That "Finish Line Feeling"



I had the great opportunity to review another running book.  

Finish Line Feeling, by Liz Ferro.

Finish Line Feeling is an incredible memoir by the founder of Girls With Sole, an organization that uses fitness and running to empower young woman, many of who are in residential treatment or other services.  The author herself was in the foster-care system at the age of 2, was in 4 different foster homes, moved around until her adoption, and ultimately found strength and empowerment through sports.


The memoir is the story of an amazing athlete, who is very  humble about her accomplishments.  She  has completed at least 4 iron distance triathlons and many marathons.  Yes, I said Iron-distance races; a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and a 26.2 mile run. The  ultimate endurance test.

The book tells her story of trauma, abuse, lingering adoption issues, and resulting roller-coaster relationship drama as an adult. It is told in a very engaging, conversational style.  There is a bravery, honesty, and bluntness that highlights the strength of the author.

You can tell the author has an inner-strength as she faces these challenges, and that she just needs a few breaks, but needs to fight to learn to make life-affirming choices. As the author discusses relationship and family distress, and some poor choices along the way, you  want to reach out and help her. Through it all, she  falls back on training for strength and gains the subsequent insight that comes with choices, mistakes, and lessons learned.

There is also an isolation she faces with lack of affirmation from her family, and my guess in writing this book and founding her organization, she was taking back some power in her life and spreading it to others.  This is a story of perseverance which I believe will especially resonate strong with woman runners, and anybody who has been in training to bring the best out of themselves.

At times I wanted more running in the book, but Ironically I am reminded of comments about my novel "The Jade Rabbit" where ‘running readers’ wanted more running, while those who weren't’ runners felt it was too much.   

And I also fully believe that when we are in our training 'beast mode', our life is our running and our running is our life, and the two can’t be separated.  In "Finish Line Feeling," this is very true, as the author's relationships are integrated into her running life.

How to handle, for example, a boyfriend who basically ‘cheats’ and finishes a triathlon without completing the swim, and then lies about it?  (Yes, he's eventually dumped) But later on, the author meets her eventual husband during a running of the Cleveland Marathon, which just goes to show that truth is stranger than fiction.

With all the trials and tribulations the author goes through, she finds that “The running drugs are capable of bringing feelings of clarity, control, power and pain relief and they are completely natural, healthy,  and legal.  Running alone in the woods gave me a chance to take care of mental housecleaning and it was an organic way for me to feel strong and purposeful.   

It isn’t therapy that brings her back to strength.  She felt that she could have seen a ‘thousand therapists,”  but running and competing gave her something this didn’t, since “You quickly learn as a survivor of trauma and as an athlete that nothing is impossible and if you believe it you can achieve it. If you have ever completed a race (of any distance or type), and put your heart and soul into training and achieving your goal , then you know the feeling of electrifying empowering excitement at the finish line.”   

As she says, that “That finish line feeling is something we just can’t bottle”

 The message of the story is solid, and is reflected in the novel as well as the mission of the organization Girls With Sole. From dire circumstances come great achievements.





The Organization: “Girls With Sole”  

Saturday, October 13, 2012

'The Fall Will Probably Kill You' - NYCM Pondering


This weekend was supposed to be my last long run, the culmination of my marathon training where I try to nail a progressively faster 20-plus miler and then go into my taper with a warm glow and confidence oozing out my pores.

Didn’t happen. Instead, I looked at the forecast and saw 70% chance of rain both days, thunder and wind, but Friday was a perfect 50 degrees and sunny, so I was able to swing some paid time off work, and took the afternoon getting paid while I did my last long run.

Yep, I’m no longer an amateur; I’m being paid to run.

Started off slow as can be, forcing myself to hold back. Still, my legs were feeling sorer than they should, and you just never know when you’re going to be able to blast the last half of a long run. It all seems so random when your body will respond sometimes. A mystery.

But when I hit the switch it did seem to work, I felt that zing, and after running the first ten at a 8:45 pace, I picked it up for a few miles, and then nailed the last 8 miles from 7:53 to 7:58.  Yep, these days, I call that ‘nailing it’ and I was woozy and hazy but happy at the end.

So nice when that switch does go off, when I feel myself gain energy the more I push, rather than times where the more I push, the more my legs push back and resist. When things are going well, it gets to that point where I’m not really even running anymore, but instead I’m just riding on a pair of legs who are doing their work and seem dead set on keeping their pace.

Of course, with this runner's high, I then start doing my most quirky of running habits which is singing out loud to my ipod. I tend to lip synch or sometimes break into song when I’m really in my running groove at these later miles. It’s like I am in 7th grade again with a hairbrush in front of the mirror pretending to be Steve Perry, only now I’m busting out and pretending to be Jack White, James Hetfiled (Mettalica) Eminem, Elphaba from Wicked (Defying Gravity), and yes even Neal Diamond.  I’m summoning their spirits, rocking my legs, and cruising through the sleepy suburban streets with my body on fire and oblivious to the seemingly dead souls around me.

Now its time for the taper,  

 Taper: the time of rest and slowly dwindling training so that  you can spend all of your energy worrying about things that one can not change.

And I have the specter of New York to worry about.

New York is so massive, especially the marathon start which is like being sent to a military compound with stages and colors and quarantined areas.  Just getting there seems so mysterious. In fact, I think you get there by taking the subway at platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Marathon morning is precious to me, I have routines, see. I need my coffee and my peanut butter sandwich and shower and shit (yes, especially that last one) and a bit of personal meditation time. Instead, I have a 6 am bus to catch, and then I have to wait over 3 hours until 9:40 to start.  (Fortunately I am in the first wave.)

I don’t think I’ve ever pooped in a port-a-potty.  The smell, no sports page to read, people waiting for you in line, all those plastic doors slamming from the line of potties all around you…. The pressure.  This is harder than the run itself.

And then there’s the run itself.

Chicago, New York, Detroit, it’s all the same street. I realize this.  26.2 miles is the same wherever you go.  But this is New York, the Gotham of cities, the home of artists and American Psychos and Woody Allen and, of course, the soup nazi.  I will probably do something wrong and be denied water on the course.

I can see it now, the Aid Station Nazi.
 No Gu for you

 Just saying the words ‘New Yor’k is  supposed to make one intimidated.  I am sure my hometown Detroit Tigers feel they don't stand a chance of beating the Yankess at Yankee Stadium. (beating them in 2006 and 2011 must have been flukes) 

Every New Yorker I know walks around saying “Yeah, my names ‘such and such and I’m from New York” like they are a different species and naturally cooler, more interesting, and of course, much more aware of things like how to bagel-up, take a dump and have an empty bladder at the military marathon compound of race day morning.

Ah, the worries, the worries, the very strange worries.

There are UFO's over New York, and I ain't too surprised.

What if John Lennon's ghost appears to me, as I am sure he will. He’s been waiting for my arrival. Just in case, I put Instant Karma into my playlist.

Yes, I will of course have battles back and forth worrying about my training.

*I haven’t run enough weekly miles – a few 40 miles weeks tops.
That’s what you have always done, says the voice of confidence

*Maybe I have run too many long runs,  six 20- milers since July
You kidding? A dream come true, this is what you were looking to do and you did it

*I did my last long run way too hard.
You only ran the last 8 hard, and you have 22 days of taper

*That mole on my back is cancer?
Early detection is the key

*I didn’t  record that last cash withdrawal
You’re one check away from being bankrupt

*What happens when you are driving a car at the speed of light and turn your lights on?
Oh no!!! I can’t take it, I can’t take it.

What I come back to is Don Kern of the Grand Rapids marathon and his dialy mailers. He told this story on how he calmed a runner so worried she was crying the night before a marathon.

I jumped off a bridge in New Zealand.  Don't worry.  I was connected to a big rubber band.  As I stepped off the platform into thin air, I discovered something in the next half-second.  There was nothing I could do.  Either I was going to die or I wasn't.  After that, my mind totally changed modes and I was focused on the experience, the fun, the adrenaline, the sensations.  IT WAS GREAT!! 
-------

Yep, and here I am, ready to leap into the water below me, not sure if I can swim but ready to jump.  Sure I can worry all I want  but that’s silly, because, in the words of Butch Cassidyy  “Are you crazy?. The Fall Will Probably Kill You”






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