Longest Post Ever!

OK, here we go. Two weeks since the marathon, and it’s time for the big write-up.

I woke up at 2:00 marathon morning. Even with an hour of extra sleep due to the time change (how fortuitous!), it was still early. I had plenty of time to eat some very, very bland Cream of Wheat, and do my biological business, and make sure I had everything ready to go. At 3:40 my dad woke up and, after clearing his own head, drove me to the train station, for the 4:00 train into Penn Station. There were, indeed, a couple of other marathoners on the train, but we didn’t acknowledge each other. Hey, this is New York!

Cold.

Got into Penn Station about 4:45 and started walking over to the Public Library. As I got closer, more and more marathoners appeared, instantly recognizable by their garb and by the clear plastic bags – the “official” bags – everyone was hauling. It was a bizarre, almost religious experience – as if everyone was creeping out of the woodwork in the dark, all headed to the same bright lights.

Boarded the bus to Staten Island at about 5:15, 15 minutes earlier than was on my ticket, but whatever. What a production – a long line of people and a long line of buses. Fortunately, I got on a long-distance commuter bus (an “over-the-road coach,” if you like), not a typical city transit bus, so my ride was on a cushy seat: much quieter and more comfortable. Got to Fort Wadsworth by 5:45 – a pretty smooth operation overall.

The volunteers herded us into our areas. I was in the green area, and so hunkered down by the UPS baggage trucks, out of the wind, for awhile. People lined up for bagels and coffee and tea and water and the porta-johns. I didn’t eat or drink much (I’d had one of Bagel Boss’s finest on the train). For four hours, we all sat around. The sun slowly rose, giving everything an even more surreal glow, although the harsh, loud multilingual announcements about the baggage-buses and toilets kept bringing us back to reality.

I was bundled up against the cold and was further insulated by plastic bags that Jordan Karp suggested I bring with me, which was a superb idea. I used the porta-johns a few times – it wasn’t crowded early. Eventually I changed into my race-day socks and shoes (I’d worn two pairs of other socks to keep warm during the pre-race sit-around), and put on what we’ll just refer to as “anti-chafing” gel in all the appropriate places. I checked my bag at about 9:15 or so, still wearing some extra clothes, which I would have to discard just prior to the start.

It was, fortunately, a glorious sunny day, although very cold, and a brisk breeze blew through camp all morning. My race outfit was a short-sleeve shirt and shorts, but I also had makeshift arm warmers (tube socks with the toes cut off, another JK suggestion, so that I could discard them if necessary during the run), a fleece hat, a green baseball cap, and two pairs of thin gloves. I also brought two headbands of different thicknesses, in case I warmed up and needed to swap out the fleece hat. I figured, even if I had to chuck clothes during the race, I’d bought some new goodies – another fleece hat, a visor, a cap, and a pair of gloves – at the Javits race expo.

Moved into the starting corrals. Everything really was well-choreographed. Chose essentially the last possible minute to use the porta-john once again, which was a brilliant stratagem. All throughout the race, people were peeing everywhere: on the Verrazano Bridge, on the side of the roads, EVERYWHERE. I didn’t have to pee once: after 10:00, my last deposit, so to speak, I was good until returning to Long Island, long after the race. Just before start time, I did finally take off my superfluous clothes: a fleece hoodie, a long-sleeve henley, and a pair of sweatpants. All of these items dated from my high-school years or earlier, which meant that they were purchased by my mother, which meant that they were all extra-extra-large, which meant that they were prime discard material. Woe to the charity that ultimately receives these stunning pieces of apparel.

THE START. This was apparently the first year of the three-wave start, so it wasn’t terribly crowded, and I was able to maneuver on the bridge. I was on the lower level of the bridge, which was a little disappointing, but I guess kept me out of the sun for a couple of miles, and that couldn’t have hurt.

So many people stopped on the bridge to take pictures and to goggle at the Manhattan skyline in the distance. I goggled a little bit, but I was disappointed to see no fireboat salutes. I read somewhere that they had stopped that practice due to environmental concerns. Feh.

And I was off and running! I was nervous about my pace – the key was not starting out too fast. In all the races I’ve done, though, I have always started slow. This race was no exception – my first 5K were the slowest! Carson and JK had warned me about crowding on the bridge, but that was OK, and Carson had further warned me that the bridge was much steeper on foot than I would ever realize by vehicle, but I had paid attention when the bus drove us over the bridge to the start, and I was prepared for the hills, and I was OK.

“I’m running the New York City Marathon on my birthday, and it’s a beautiful day, and my friends and family are here to see me and support me. Awesome!” I thought this again and again during the race (as Theresa correctly guessed afterward), which meant that – uncharacteristically – I had an idiotic smile on my face most of the time. Well, they say that smiling reduces tension! And who needs tension?

Suddenly it wasn’t cold, and I felt no wind, and I wasn’t sore, and the four hours of waiting disappeared from my memory, and I was running the New York City Marathon!

I thought I would find a person, or some people, running at my pace and then stick with them throughout the race, but this didn’t happen. To those who predicted I’d make lots of new friends and chat everyone up for 26.2 miles: I didn’t talk to a soul, except for the guy ahead of me in the porta-john line at about 9:00 – a woman asked him where the “drop-off” was, referring to the baggage-collection trucks, and after she left, he turned around to look at me for some reason, and I quipped, with perfect timing, “I thought this [the porta-john] was the drop-off area,” and he reared back his head and laughed, a big British belly laugh, and that was that.

We came over the bridge into Brooklyn. “Welcome to Brooklyn!” people shrieked from the sides of the road. It was a party! People were cheering and playing music and there were bands and little kids holding out their hands for high-fives and everyone was clapping and handing out paper towels, orange slices, water, lollipops, candy, and who-knows-what, and it was a giant Experience, with a capital E, and one of the most astonishing things I’d ever encountered. Manhattan, later, would be a Huge Production, again with capital letters, but somehow not as fun as Brooklyn.

I dropped my spare headbands at one point and had to stop and pick them up, and resolved to ditch them as soon as I found Carson and Theresa. I didn’t have to wait long… they were waiting at mile 4.25, at 59th Street and Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn. As we’d planned, I was running on the right side of the road. (I wore a bracelet on my right arm, on which I’d written where I was expecting to see everyone – I’d worked this out ahead of time.)





I’d estimated a ten-minute-per-mile pace for the race as a whole, and so far, I was a little behind… but, again, I had planned to start out slow. And I was already picking up speed: my second 5K would be faster than my first.



I should point out that it was very easy to see Carson and Theresa, because in addition to having worked out a place to look for them, Carson also brought a very subtle, understated visual aid.



(I have to point out that I pioneered the use of the pirate flag, which ordinarily hangs down right from the middle of our office ceiling, when I waved it on the sidelines of the Boston Marathon in April to catch Alisa’s attention – although Carson improved upon the technique by using a two-stick approach, as pictured. Arrr!)

I was feeling absolutely great at this point, although I still remembered to make an extra effort to look strong, and happy, and good every time I was expecting to see my cheering section – so nobody would say later on, “You know, when I saw you at mile X, you looked pretty bad.”

I felt even better when I saw my parents, waiting for me at the corner of 36th Street (at about mile 5.5), holding up happy-birthday signs (which, to ease the recognition process, I had been shown the day before). I spotted my parents a block away!

And I saw Ben and Katie, right as planned, at the corner of 9th Street, at about mile 6.5. No pirate flags or signs, but Katie’s red jacket was all I needed to pick her out of the crowd.

And apparently even I could be picked out of the crowd. JK had suggested that I write “Eric” on my shirt, so everyone along the route could cheer me on, but I demurred, not being 100% on board with two million complete strangers screeching my name at the top of their lungs. But at about mile 8, I heard someone yell “ERIC!!” at the top of their lungs, and my head swiveled around like a bird’s. It was Aaron, waving frantically from the crowd! I have no idea how he spotted me within the mega-pack, but that was awesome, and probably the single niftiest thing to happen during the run. If everybody had been shouting my name, I would never have picked out his voice.

At around this time, I realized that, despite having gorged myself on pasta and other carbs for days, I was actually starving. Huh? But it was true. I had brought five gels with me (as well as two bottles on the utility belt – hey, maybe it’s just a Linus-like security belt, but whatever!), and I began eating them, and I began drinking lots of Gatorade at the fluid stations, not so much for the hydration as for the calories. In Williamsburg I actually darted across the entire road twice, once to grab a lollipop from a little kid and once to grab a mini-Kit Kat. I savored the lollipop but held onto the Kit Kat… just in case.



I saw Carson and Theresa again at mile 9, near Classon Avenue. Naturally, I ran past yelling “Arrr!!”



And I saw Ben and Katie again near Nassau Avenue, making me five for five. But I missed Dana and Mindy at mile 11.5, and Ben and Katie at mile 12.5, which was a shame, but I was prepared for a sub-100% success rate with the spectating. At Queens Plaza, I saw Carson and Theresa again, although they nearly missed me – I cried “Arrr!!” again as I hurtled past. Carson stuck out his hand and I slapped it, thinking he was going for a high-five; I later learned that he was trying to hand me a Starburst, which I would have loved. Arrr, indeed!

Theresa managed to snap one shot of me chugging by.



I should point out that in order to see me in multiple places, everyone took the subway, the eighth wonder of the world. Carson snapped a contemplative shot of Theresa at the Smith-9th Streets station on the F/G trains, the highest point in the subway system, on the way to Queens.



And here’s a picture from the subway heading over the Queensboro Bridge, toward Manhattan.





I continued to accelerate as I passed the halfway point of the race. The inclines of the Queensboro Bridge were no problem as I powered on along. I’d rolled down my arm-warmers, but I’d kept on the fleece cap as well as both pairs of gloves, and temperature-wise, I was OK. I was sufficiently hydrated, with no urge to pee, and although I was looking forward to some goo at mile 18, I was OK on energy.

By this point – miles 15 or 16 or so, around the entry to Manhattan – a lot of people were struggling. Many were walking, or stretching out on the side of the course, or, of course, peeing. Some were at the medical stations set up every mile, in obvious pain. Many, too, were stopping to hug or take pictures with their family or friends along the route, and that was great to see. But there was so much pain and despair on display, I almost felt bad that I didn’t feel bad. But I didn’t feel bad, and fortunately I didn’t feel bad, either, and I think that around this point, after speeding up for more than a dozen miles, I reached my maximum speed.

First 5K took 33 minutes and 8 seconds.
Next 5K took 30 minutes and 16 seconds (total time, 1:03:24).
Next 5K took 30 minutes and 23 seconds (total time, 1:33:47).
Next 5K took 29 minutes and 55 seconds (total time, 2:03:42).
At the half, I’d run 2:10:11.

Now, in September I had run the half, in Maine, in about 1:56 – nearly 15 minutes faster. But I knew I had to leave a lot in the tank for the freakin’ FULL marathon, so my goal was consistency, not speed. I knew that if I stopped, or walked, I might not be able to start again – I learned that during my 18-mile (maybe 21-mile?!) run in Phoenix, when I got a pebble in my shoe near the end, stopped to remove it, and then couldn’t start back up. Anyway, so far I was happy with how things were going, and I was carefully monitoring my time by checking my watch against the mile stations (each was clearly marked).

Some might be asking at this point, what did I look like? Here are some shots snapped, apparently covertly, by the official race photographer. OK, so I look like a freak. Let’s see you run 26.2 miles!







This one is a little better, but as you can see, I’d spotted the camera, and raised my arms and removed my sunglasses in anticipation.





Carson and JK had both told me that I would feel the Verrazano Bridge shaking underfoot. I didn’t, but the Pulaski Bridge, crossing from Brooklyn into Queens, felt like it was going to collapse. The Queensboro, I didn’t feel, either, but the Willis Avenue Bridge, which I’d cross later, going into the Bronx, was actually just a metal grate, covered with a carpet for the marathon. Yikes. All in all, though, the bridges weren’t too bad.

On to Manhattan. Turning onto First Avenue from the bridge was a shock – there were tremendous cheering crowds on either side of the road, which for the first time looked to me, a native New Yorker, as a New York avenue always looks in the movies: a giant canyon. It was a deafening, mind-blinking adjustment, which had to be made all at once, even while continuing to plow forward.

“I’m running the New York City Marathon on my birthday, and all these people are here to cheer for ME!”

Brooklyn was a giant party; most of First was a Spectacle. At mile 17, sponges were handed out, and acting on JK’s advice, I grabbed two and held onto them for the rest of the race, so that I could pour water on them and then suck the water out, without worrying about spillage from cups. Of course, as Carson noted later, very mildly, that technique may have helped JK when the temperature was in the 60s or 70s, but not when it was only 40 degrees. Still, I felt cool.

And finally it was mile 18, with gels being handed out. I grabbed gel after gel, because I wasn’t sure which had caffeine and which didn’t, and I wanted to eschew the caffeinated ones, as I had throughout my training. (Fortunately, as in my training, the gels were of the PowerBar variety.) I sorted through the half-dozen I’d grabbed, and then, right on cue, at 96th Street, were my parents, so naturally I chucked the unwanted gels right at them, startling them. Hey, a gel is a terrible thing to waste! It turned out that Ben and Katie were right there, too, and they saw me again, even though I had been expecting them at 86th Street! D’oh!

I was starting to think that Manhattan was a lot more impersonal than Brooklyn – the size of the Manhattan crowd was just absurd. But then the crowd suddenly disappeared, and as I ran up toward Spanish Harlem, it was quiet once more. Approaching mile 19, at the corner of 110th Street, I saw my friend Lisa, whose gaze was fixed way down the avenue; she didn’t see me coming up. I grabbed her arm and yelled her name and ran past, and although she briefly feared for her life, she quickly realized it was me and her cry of “Eric!” rang out from behind as I kept motoring up toward the Bronx.

I missed Carson and Theresa at 125th Street, and Ben and Katie at 138th Street in the Bronx, and I was starting to tire and weaken and the running was, for SOME reason, starting to get very hard. Suddenly, though, I remembered that the weather forecast had the wind out of the north all day, which meant that after the Bronx, for the first time, I’d finally be running with the wind, and just when I needed a boost. I figured, if I could run 20 miles directly into the wind, I could run 6 more with the wind at my back. Who knows where the wind was actually blowing… the thought buoyed me tremendously.

And when I ran back into Harlem and, at about mile 21.75, again picked up Carson and Theresa, my mood brightened all at once. They nearly missed me, but Carson picked up his legs and ran with me for a block or so. “It’s getting hard,” I said, trying hard not to look like I was dying (I didn’t want them calling my parents telling them, “He’s dying!”). Carson gave me a mini-Snickers, and although I resisted it at first, I did take it, and I ate it as I ran along, in tiny bites. I figured that I’d never eaten anything like that when running, and I was worried about what it would do to me, but then again, I’d never run 26.2 miles before! I ate it very slowly… delicious! And Carson actually ran with me for a little bit! Really cool.

Near mile 22.5, at the corner of 104th Street and Fifth, I picked up Scott, Jansen, Leah, and their assorted sprog. They, too, nearly missed me, staring up the avenue as they were. But it was fantastic to see them – I had just enough time before rushing past to see all their faces light up as they realized that the exhausted, sweating freak loping past them was me!

Here are some of Scott’s pictures. By this point, along Fifth, there was once again a humongous crowd.







This picture is absolutely awful, but I’m a completist.



And away I went.




… OK, took a break from typing. Where am I now? Oh, right: 23 miles. Wow! Because I had eaten often and taken advantage of the many Gatorade stops, I didn’t hit the wall or bonk – I just got progressively more tired and sore. Fortunately, I didn’t sustain any injuries, and I was able to continue on pretty much as I had been, although I began to slow down.

From 20K to 25K took 30 minutes and 11 seconds (total time, 2:33:53).
From 25K to 30K took 31 minutes and 24 seconds (total time, 3:05:17).
From 30K to 35K took 32 minutes and 43 seconds (total time, 3:38:03).
From 35K to 40K took 33 minutes and 49 seconds (total time, 4:11:52).

I passed many, many more people walking or limping. My goal not to walk at all during the entire race began to seem achievable.

At mile 23.5, at the corner of 96th Street, I saw my parents again, but they didn’t see me. I yelled, “Dad!” I should have yelled, “Plosky!” A woman later said to my dad, “I think that was your son.”

I didn’t get dizzy or lightheaded or freak out or have other mental issues: I was fine in the head (for a change, yeah, yeah). But by the time I entered Central Park and the end finally seemed in sight, I was drained of most emotion and just wanted to finish the race. The crowds were enormous but there were no more friendly faces, and the whole thing started to feel really strange.

I turned east and then north to approach the finish – and I did it! I finished! I had run the New York City Marathon!





At least I remembered to raise my arms for the official pictures. Man, do I look like a freak, or what?

Official time was 4:26:11, for a pace of 10:09 (or 10:10, depending on how you round) throughout. Hey, I’d promised 10 minutes – not bad! I was proud to have finished in the first place, but especially proud that I hadn’t walked, and that I managed to keep up a steady pace.

I didn’t have much time to reflect on my accomplishment, because I suddenly realized that instead of being free to run at my own pace, I was now part of a mass of shuffling humanity. Plus, it was suddenly freezing cold, and I was shivering. People placed a medal and a mylar blanket around my neck and gave me a bag of food (although, of course, I had the presence of mind to somehow acquire a second bag), but most of what was in my head was: MAN, I AM SO COLD. It was 40 degrees, and I was soaked through. Medical people were assisting some runners who looked dazed or who had sat down – sitting is a no-no, since you are supposed to keep the blood a-flowing for awhile after finishing.

The only logistical incompetence encountered during the day was at this point, during the retrieval of the belongings from UPS. Complete morons were inside and outside my baggage truck, along with several children, who must have been dragooned into this work after the organizers realized that the originally-assigned professionals would arse it all up. A German guy standing next to me realized that his number was only one off from mine, so the two of us started and kept up a chorus, yelling our numbers at the befuddled-looking bag-throwers. After an interminable delay, during which I developed a good, healthy case of the shivers, my bag was finally produced. Yeesh.

I staggered out of Central Park to the corner of 75th and Central Park West, the designated meeting spot. No one was there. I was shivering uncontrollably and my teeth were actually chattering. I hadn’t been this cold since my scuba certification dive, which took place in FIFTY-degree water in an old quarry! I actually borrowed a stranger’s cell phone to call my parents, who were late turning up – because they had missed me at the corner of 96th, and didn’t believe the woman who said that she thought I had yelled “Dad!”, they waited there for awhile longer, hoping to still catch me. Fortunately, they were only half a block away, and arrived in short order, and I took the backpack I’d made my dad carry all around the city all day and pulled out all my warm clothes and put them on, right over my sweat-soaked clothes, and after a few minutes, I was OK, although it took a bit longer for my lips to de-purple. My friends showed up, too – I guess I’d forgotten to tell them to meet up at the southwest corner of the intersection.

Well, I’d done it, and my parents and Carson and Theresa and Ben and Katie and I were all together for the first time. I looked as though I had been shot, but otherwise, I felt fantastic, despite feeling as though I had been shot. You understand, right?





Since it was my birthday, Katie treated me to a birthday pretzel from a street vendor, which was delicious, although I didn’t finish it for about an hour. I also nibbled on the food from the finisher bags, and I began to drink lots of water.

I felt so wonderful that everybody had come to see me. This wasn’t “a marathon,” it was a once-in-a-lifetime-marathon-birthday-sunny-everybody-there-for-me Major Production and Unique Happening, and it was an amazing sensation to realize that I was so cared about, and had such support. How could I possibly have done this otherwise? How could I have run 26.2 miles without such a strong boost?

(In case you are curious, YES, that includes loyal readers of this blog!)

I thought of Ru and Brian, who I would later learn also successfully finished the marathon – congratulations! And I thought of Michael Landon and Andy, who’d just run Louisville and the Marine Corps Marathon. And I thought of Carson and Katie and all my other friends who’d run marathons, and my own father, who ran the Long Island Marathon in 1980, although he had a terrible time because he acted on bad advice received pre-race, in the parking lot, to stop at every water station. My dad was a very fast runner, who once managed a sub-18-minute 5K, which I’ll never do, and ran dozens of races for years… but I beat him in the marathon!

I would have been overwhelmed with emotion, but I was also overwhelmed with the need to literally get into a warm, fuzzy place. The plan had been to stagger over to Broadway and get on the subway there, since it would be less crowded, but I quickly realized that I would not be able to make it even those few blocks, and so we all smushed onto the Eighth Avenue line at 72nd and Central Park West, with me using the handrail to support most of my (remaining) body weight on my arms. I had instructed my parents to have enough MetroCard capacity to accommodate my fare, but marathoners rode free! Huzzah!

We all smushed onto the subway; Carson and Theresa ran up to a less-crowded area and did not reappear until Penn Station. Ben and Katie got off at Times Square for the shuttle to Grand Central; they had driven up from Philadelphia that morning to White Plains to park, and they would take Metro-North back there. Carson and Theresa rode with us to Penn, where they, like us, boarded the Long Island Rail Road: my parents and me to Hicksville, and they to Merrick.

No time for post-race celebrations!

Miracle of miracles, there was an escalator down to the Hicksville train, which I never had noticed before.

My parents and I shared a five-seat section, with seats facing each other. I swung my feet up on the opposite seat to stretch out, and the conductor didn’t bother me – double huzzah!

I thought of the kids all along the way in Brooklyn, gunning for high-fives. When I was a little kid going to summer day camp, at the end of every afternoon, as our buses pulled out of camp, the camp director and his elderly camp-director-emeritus father would stand off to the side with their arms outstretched, and all the kids would lean out the bus windows and slap their hands. I doubt they allow that these days. I’m surprised they did then!

SUCCESS. I did it. Wow.

The sun was already going down when the train pulled into Hicksville and I pulled myself down the stairs, again using my arms quite liberally. Carson would later e-mail me this photo, which was taken at the end of his LIRR experience:






The day ended with a long, hot shower, pasta ordered in, and birthday cake. And going to sleep early, and not sleeping well because I could barely move, but being very relaxed because I had done it.

I had also done my required fundraising, collecting a total of $3,125 in contributions, more than was strictly required. Everyone who was part of Team Plosky, know this – I carried a little card with all your names written on it throughout the race. It meant a great deal that you were willing to put your money where my feet were. You believed in me, and helped me believe in myself. And yes, your thank-yous are on the way…

Bonus shout-out to Suzanne and her husband Jonathan, the final contributors. Suzanne just gave me a check yesterday!

In case I have been in any way unclear about this, I’ll say it again: THANK YOU to everyone!

THANK YOU FOR READING!

ALMOST DONE!

And now. Here I am, two weeks on. I haven’t run since, but this Tuesday, on the Veterans’ Day holiday, I finally got back on the bike and went for a short 14-mile ride, which felt like nothing. I was, naturally, extraordinarily sore and stiff in the day or two after the marathon, but I never lost the ability to walk or use the stairs, and now I am pleased to report that I think I am about 99% back to normal. The pain was not as bad as I had feared – a relief, let me tell you. No injuries, fortunately – only two small blisters (typical of my longer long runs anyway) and some underarm chafing, although that was ameliorated even during the race by the strategic application of a Vaseline-tipped popsicle stick acquired from a cheerful medical-area volunteer.

Yesterday I sent in my application to the Boston Marathon – er, the Boston Theater Marathon. Maybe this year they’ll accept, and produce, the funny little play I wrote with Carson. (Last year: “A Trip With Dad.” This year: “Character Treatments,” as well as “ABQ,” which we submitted to a different festival last year.)

OK, so that was a red herring, and not a genuine answer to the perfectly legitimate question of whether I will run another marathon. Well, I can’t wait to get back into the running – I may as soon as today, after I finish typing this, get on a plane to DC, and arrive at my fitness-center-equipped hotel. In fact, I’ve already signed up for the Jingle Bell 5K in Davis Square, on Dec. 14, the same race I ran last year that started me on the road toward this whole exercise (true no matter how you parse it). And I have plans to set personal bests over the next year in the 5K and at other distances: 5 miles, 10K, 7.5 miles, and the half-marathon. I’d even like to try a duathlon and a triathlon in ’09. Why not?

But what about another MARATHON, you want to know. Well, as I said, this wasn’t just a marathon for me – it was a whole experience: my birthday, my family, my friends, etc. Everything worked out so well, with the weather and the lack of injuries and the seamless logistics and everyone being there – how could I ever hope to top it? Plus, the training was time-consuming and the actual physical exertions were considerable… why even bother?

Well…

Wellll……

Nothing could replicate November 2, 2008. But like all marathoners, I can’t help but wonder: could I do it faster next time? If I did more cross-training and was more serious about eating right and did some flexibility and strength work? Maybe… maybe… hmm… hmm…

For now, I don’t know. I do want to do all those other races, and I intend to get right back into the swing of things. I had no idea I could do this and I want to do all I can before someone or something tells me that I should never have been able to do any of it in the first place and I have somehow been cheating all along. All I can say is, stay tuned.

And that, as they say, is that. For now. I think. One step at a time…