Running into the Sun

Double Down

2012-01-31T22:49:00.001-05:00

Today I did two things I have not done for a very long time:

1. Ran twice in one day

2. Ran more than 7 miles

This morning I awoke with the intention of visiting my gym, my membership to which I renewed yesterday. My new access tag wold not permit me to enter, however, so I returned home a bit disgruntled. It was only 6:10 am and I was dressed in workout wear. What else to do but go for a run? How could I not, given that it was 43 degrees? It turned out to be a very enjoyable 3.37 miles, despite my frantic dash the final quarter-mile to get home before I had a poop-related catastrophe. I texted the Engineer a bit later: "Nothing like threat of imminent crapping of one's pants to put a little spring in the step."

If you reside in the Midwest, unless you've been living in a cave, you know we are having a ridiculously mild winter. I've been in Michigan since 1998 and, before that, the Cleveland area since 1987 and I don't recall anything like what we're experiencing now. This weather reminds me of winters in the San Francisco Bay Area where I grew up. Today the temperature reached 54 degrees. 54 degrees! In Michigan! In JANUARY! This is craziness!

What it also meant was I had to run again this evening with the group from Running Fit. I couldn't let a 54-degree day pass by unused. Thus, I went out around 6:30 from the store on the west side of Ann Arbor. Even though the sun had gone down, it was still about 52 degrees. Shortly before the turnaround of the out-and-back route, I crossed paths with with a couple of speedy ladies (one of whom recently ran the Olympic Trials Marathon), and they were kind enough to slow down to my pace, which I described as"slow-ass." I could tell we were moving faster as we neared the store, and they ended up pulling me to a 9:19 pace, which these days is enough to lift my spirits. I ran an additional 3.67 miles tonight, bringing today's total to 7.04 miles. The last time I ran that far was the Cleveland Half in May 2011 (the day of the great calf-shredding debacle). My legs are now a little bit "what the hell just happened?"

They need to get used to it, because I plan on running the Dexter-Ann Arbor Half Marathon in early June. So get ready, legs; your lazy days of 2-3 miles at a time will soon be over.

The "11 Random Things/Questions" meme has been making the blog rounds, and I have been ensnared thanks to Raulgonemobile. (As usual, I'm not going to tag anyone. If you're in the running blogosphere, you've probably seen this recently, and you can play along if you want to. Right now I'm not motivated enough to come up with 11 new questions. It's late and I want to go to bed.)

1. Favorite obscure movie? (And why.)
"Walking and Talking," a 1996 film with pre-stardom Catherine Keener and Anne Heche. I don't know why I love this movie; I just do. Plus the soundtrack includes Liz Phair, which is awesome.

2. Favorite kitchen appliance? (And why.)
My KitchenAid mixer. It's been a trusty workhorse for 13 years. (Close seconds: the coffee maker, because I love the sweet nectar of the bean, and my blender, which kicks ass.)

3. Favorite Olympic sport?
I confess: gymnastics. I love watching small people do crazy shit with their bodies.

4. What method(s) do you use to make time for yourself?
I live alone, so all of my time is my own once I leave work. I can do whatever I want and am beholden to no one. Sometimes that means watching four hours of TV. Sometimes I go see a movie. Sometimes I get into bed at 8:30 and spend 3 hours reading. Sometimes I attend a classical music concert. On the weekends, there's coffee and the New York Times and then the whole day is wide open. Whatever it is, I'm doing it because I want to, not because I have to, and the freedom to decide what I do with my time is wonderful.

5. Favorite alcoholic beverage (if beer, be specific. :) )
Beer: Bell's Two-Hearted Pale Ale or Dark Horse Tres Blueberry Stout.

6. Why do you blog?
It's the natural evolution of the journals I kept throughout high school, college, and graduate school. I've been scribbling down my thoughts since I was 13. The medium may have changed, but the intention is the same.

7. What is one place you've always wanted to travel to, but haven't made it there yet?
The Netherlands, to see if I can track down my great-grandfather's family history.

8. What's your take on reality TV?
UGH. I watch "The Soup" so I don't have to watch any actual reality TV, because most of the people on those shows and their antics make my skin crawl. The stupid...it burns...

9. Favorite band?
My favorite artist has been---for 25 years--- and will always be Depeche Mode. Yes, I am a child of the 80s.

10. Mac or PC?
Currently a ten-year-old PC, but I am looking to upgrade to a Mac in the next few months.

11. Favorite season to work out in?
Fall. Summer's heat and humidity has dissipated, winter's dark, frozen chill hasn't descended, and the leaves are gorgeous.

It Was Fun While it Lasted

2012-01-05T19:19:00.001-05:00

The Streak came to an end today after 13 days. 13 days that rekindled my love of running, which had burned down to embers over the past six months.

Today was such a glorious day, too. We had temperatures in the 40s! I wanted nothing more than to come home, throw on my running clothes, and get out the door, but I didn't.

Why? Because of a strange little spot on the front of my shin, a little spot that began troubling me several days ago, a little spot whose arm-waving "here I am, pay attention to me!" quickly became more insistent. When I rubbed and pressed on the spot, located over my tibia, it hurt. Like, yank my fingers away kind of hurt. Like, what the hell is going on here? kind of hurt. Like, why is this hurting when I'm lying in bed? kind of hurt.

I knew better than to keep running on it, but I was caught up in The Streak and I was finally loving running, yearning to run, after so many months of not really wanting to, that I told myself, "it's just shin splints," and kept going.

Of course, I mentioned the tender spot on my bone to the Redhead and she was all "you need to take a few days off. STOP NOW."

Of course, that was not what I wanted to hear, but in all things bone-ache-related I defer to Red because she is an expert in that department.

I suppose I was being overly ambitious with The Streak. I don't think I've ever run for 13 days in a row without a rest day, not even when I was training for the Cleveland Marathon (when my only goal was to qualify for Boston). I just started...and couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I enjoyed every run I did, even the ones last week when it was like 25 degrees and the wind was blowing and a few times there was snow or sleet coming down and I wasn't going any faster than 10:30/mile. I was out there, I was hitting the pavement, I was pestering the Engineer to hurry up so we could go run!

Today: reluctant avoidance. Sigh.

I wanted SO SO SO SO SO! badly to run after work that when I left I texted Red and said, "Tell me again I'm NOT to take advantage of this nice day and run when I get home." She advised me to go for a walk or take Brownie out for a ride (poor Brownie, she's been stashed in my garage since September). After a stop at Lowe's and another at CVS, however, by the time I arrived home it was 5:30 and twilight had set in. I elected to label stairclimbing as my exercise for the day and call it good.

I'll stay off my legs for a couple of days, then run again and reassess the spot situation. If it persists, a visit to my sports doctor is in order. I want to err on the side of caution. I do not want to end up hurting myself grievously. I'd like to do some things to be proud of in 2012, not crash and burn like I did in 2011.

On my run after work yesterday, this was on the message rock in a local park:

I want the next one to say "School Of" or "And Roll." Further suggestions can be left in the comments.

Yesterday was also the evening of cats undercover:

Boo in bed with me

Darwin on the couch

Eve on the Ave 5K: Goodbye 2011, Hello 2012!

2012-01-02T18:35:00.003-05:00

Saturday evening I gathered with the Redhead, Spike, and the Engineer for a decidedly nontraditional New Year's Eve celebration: a 5K road race. I am old and crotchety and running three miles at 10:00 PM is, to me, a much better way to ring in the new year than getting drunk in a loud bar far from home, staying out until who knows when, and waking up with a terrible hangover the next day. No, at the advanced age of 38 I have embraced my preference for low-key evenings close to home with people dear to me, concluding with fluffy pajamas, a warm blanket, cats, the Engineer next to me, and a sensible bedtime. Oh sure, I had sparkling wine on hand for the big moment when the clock ticked over to midnight...I'm not that much of a curmudgeon.

Anyway. The Eve on the Ave 5K was in downtown Jackson on New Year's Eve, and we congregated beforehand for some conversation and silly pictures with Christmas decorations.

Red and Spike demonstrate why reflective safety vests are so cool.

The conditions for Saturday's race were favorable: clear, dry, and 35 degrees, much better than two years ago when I ran this same race in an ice storm. Spike decided he was going to lead the race for the first 50 meters, so he took off sprinting and yelling while the rest of us hung back. I quickly settled into my cruising pace, which was boosted by the gentle downhill of the first half mile. The route was two loops around downtown Jackson and then a half-mile uphill climb (the start in reverse) to the finish. There were plenty of celebratory revelers on hand to watch the crazy people running in the dark. When late-night race spectators are drunk and bar crawling or standing around on porches with music blaring, the commentary directed at you will be less of the "woo! all right runners!" variety and more like "fucking losers, get off the street!"

All righty, then. I managed to "get off the street" in just over 29 minutes, averaging a 9:19/mile pace, which is as fast as I've run since April 2011. The nasty headwind and long uphill grades nibbled at my pace a little, and the pasta dinner I consumed 2.5 hours before the race was making its presence known in an unpleasant fashion, but I finished the race feeling strong and fresh, sausage-y burps and stomachache notwithstanding.

After Red and Spike finished together about 8 minutes later, we all fled indoors for warmth and to await the results. When they were posted, both Red and I placed second in our respective age groups.


We're number two! We're number two!

Lest ye think this was a fluff race devoid of competition, the top two overall finishers were both female and ran under 18:00 (17:58 and 17:59). The race winner, a local high school senior, recently finished 14th at the Foot Locker Cross Country Championships, thereby earning All-American honors. The second-place female won the Grand Rapids Marathon in 2010. Maybe the second-place lady was a bit off her game Saturday night because she won the Belle Isle New Year's Eve 5K earlier the same day in a time of 16:44?

Sadly, they only awarded homemade pies to the top finisher in each age group, which meant Red and I missed out on some seriously awesome AG swag. Nevertheless, we celebrated our second place-ness with gusto.

Ooooh...shiny!

We parted ways soon afterward and the Engineer and I were back in Chelsea with time to spare to warm up, throw on the aforementioned fuzzy pajamas, and herald the arrival of 2012.

Saturday's race marked nine days in a row of running for me. Yesterday was 10, and today's run made it 11. Eleven days in a row of running. I don't know if that's ever happened. Tomorrow, however, reality returns in the form of work, and I will see how long The Streak lasts once I am back to getting up early. I hope that the momentum I built up over the past week and a half carries me forward.

In other news, I am a devoted player of Words with Friends, and today I conjured up my best (as in highest-scoring) word ever in a game against my good pal Mr. E. (whom I have decided to call the Birdmaster, which refers to his (and my) love of all things avian, and also because of a terrible movie called "The Beastmaster," which is a joke from our shared graduate school past. HAWK VISION!)

BOO YAH! Of course, my next batch of letters sucked. I also need to charge my battery.

Onward into 2012!

Thursday Thoughts: Relaxation!

2011-12-29T17:47:00.001-05:00

I am seven days into my 11-day vacation and I couldn't be happier. I am also seven days into my longest streak of running in I can't even remember how long. Yes, every day for the last 7 days I have gotten outside and run between 2 and 4 miles. I am reluctant to put a label on this or turn it into a loftier goal, but...how long can I keep "the streak" going?

I was in my hometown near Cleveland for Christmas, spending quality time with family. Christmas morning we indulged in mimosas.

Champagne and OJ now, running later

I returned to Chelsea on Monday. The Engineer joined me on Tuesday, and Wednesday-- yesterday-- was my 38th birthday. I'm 2 years away from being a Masters runner! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (shriek of horror)

The Engineer got me an amazing birthday gift: a watercolor painting of sandhill cranes. These impressive birds can be seen in this area (western Washtenaw and eastern Jackson counties) during their spring and fall migrations.

Darwin is not a very good art critic.

In other bird news, today on my run I saw a red-shouldered hawk in the cemetery. It was close enough so I was able to see its glassy black eyes. Awesome!

PLAYOFFS?!

2011-12-21T19:19:00.002-05:00

I was pondering how I was going to approach the traditional "end of the year" post. Considering that 2011 wasn't exactly a stellar year for me, I decided to let Jim Mora, former coach of the Indianapolis Colts, do the talking for me.

I remember hearing this rant on the radio in 2001 and laughing my ass off. "Playoffs? Don't talk about playoffs! You kidding me?"

Substitute the word "goals" for "playoffs" and that's how I feel about 2011. Actually...this whole rant describes my year.

"Disgraceful performance."

"In my opinion, that sucked."

"Holy crap, I don't know who the hell we think we are."

"Unbelievable."

"Pitiful. Absolutely pitiful to perform like that."

Yep, that was my year. Pitiful. I didn't do one damn thing worth mentioning except blowing out my right calf in the middle of the Cleveland Half Marathon, after which I ran 7 more miles to finish the race. The best part about that debacle was seeing Red about 2 miles from the finish.

I'll say it again: I love, love, love this picture.

My injury in May set up the rest of the year: three months of physical therapy followed by a very careful return to running. I ran my first full mile at the end of August and I can now run about four miles at once. My formerly-shredded calf is holding up well. No twinges at all.

I got my act together after skipping last year and sent out a holiday card to my friends and family:

This, of course, is a picture from my AWESOME FANTASTIC AMAZING vacation to the Pacific Northwest with the Engineer back in September. This particular picture was taken a few miles from the ruins of Mt. St. Helens. For a geologist, this is one of those "must-visit" locations.

You can see logs lying flat on the ground behind me, indicating the direction of the blast which raked the landscape. The mountain itself, about three miles away, is missing its northern flank, because it blew off and slid into Spirit Lake. A blistering pyroclastic flow spread through the forest, flattening and burning everything in its path. Ash and pumice rained down everywhere. And yet, you can see that the landscape is green after 30 years of healing. Nature is attempting to right itself.

I picked up a few pieces of pumice as souvenirs; I kept several and gave one choice chunk to my nephew. I explained what it was and where it came from (in terms a 3-year-old could understand). Last weekend my brother informed me my nephew would not sleep without his pumice. I replied, "I rule." I think my brother has seen through my nefarious plan to turn my nephew into a geology nerd...

Thursday Thoughts: So Long, Old Friends

2011-12-15T12:32:00.000-05:00

Brooks Adrenaline 9: March 2010-December 2011

These are the shoes I wore when I ran the Boston Marathon in April 2010. I also wore them for the Thunder Road Marathon a year ago. In January of this year I got a new pair of Adrenaline 10s because these, my fourth pair of Adrenaline 9s, were completely wasted. Once my new shoes went into rotation, these became my hashing and yard work shoes. They served me well through the spring, summer and into the fall, getting nastier and dirtier all the while. One particular hash was especially brutal from a mud perspective; afterward, I knew the shoes' days were numbered as I didn't even want to put them on my feet anymore. I got my newest pair of shoes in mid-November, which pushed my Adrenaline 10s into the dirty work position...and pushed my cherished Boston shoes into obsolescence.

I should have thrown them away long ago, but I couldn't. These shoes crossed the starting line of the Boston Marathon in Hopkinton and 26 miles later ran down Boylston Street to the finish. My Boston journey from qualification to finishing the race will likely be the pinnacle of my running career, as I don't see myself becoming fast enough to requalify for a long time. Maybe ever. My first Boston could be my only Boston. These shoes were there, man! I can't get rid of them!

Except...despite my propensity for allowing piles of paper to accumulate all over the place (I call it my "Pile Problem") I am not a hoarder. I don't have a problem throwing things away even when they have sentimental value. Worn-out dirty shoes, even if they trod the Boston Marathon course, are still just worn-out dirty shoes. Thus, this morning I carried them downstairs, flipped open the trash can lid, and dumped them inside. I admit I felt a tiny pang of sadness as they fell in with yesterday's coffee grounds and an empty tomato container. Farewell, faithful shoes.*sniffle*

Our shared moment of glory: the finish of the Boston Marathon.

My new pair of shoes are women's Brooks Adrenaline 12s. I wore men's shoes for years because they were roomier than the women's version, and the size I needed in a women's shoe wasn't readily available because I have giant freak feet. However! When I went to Running Fit last month for a new pair of shoes (having decided my old shoes were partly to blame for my aching ankles), they had the 2012 Adrenalines on hand AND THEY HAD A WOMEN'S SIZE 12! I snapped them up immediately and wore them a few days later for the Girls on the Run 5K in Ypsilanti on November 20. Running in them after using my crashed-out, washed-up Adrenaline 10s was like...puffy clouds! drifting raft! feather bed! A THOUSAND COMFY CHAIRS!

Side note: does anyone else think the evil chuckling of the Inquisitors in the video sounds exactly like the evil chuckling of the pigs from Angry Birds?

In other news, this morning when I got up it was 55 degrees. I took advantage of this by running to the gym (almost 1 mile), working out, and then running home. I was accompanied by light rain; it was not enough to dissuade me from running outdoors. 55 degrees in December in Michigan is rare indeed and must be celebrated, because it surely will not last long! Sure enough, temperatures are going to nosedive over the course of the day until we're back to 25 degrees overnight. Sigh.

Thursday Thoughts: Sigh, Ouch

2011-12-01T17:41:00.001-05:00

1. Sigh

My backyard on Wednesday morning¹

Do not be fooled by the deceptively attractive appearance of the above scene. This can mean only one thing: winter is here. Yes, I know that winter doesn't technically begin until December 22nd. This is Michigan! Winter prematurely ejaculates on us every year! You think it's still fall...you spend part of the Thanksgiving holiday walking outside in 55-degree temperatures...the sun is shining...and then...

WHAM! You get hit with a big wet mess when you weren't expecting it.

Yes, I am participating in the annual "woe is us" collective groan that arises from the Midwest at this time of year. Most of my Midwest run-blogger buddies have already posted a variation on this theme. WE CAN'T HELP IT! We forget what the weather was like eight or nine months ago. We are lulled into complacency by warm weather and green grass. The memories of those horrible long runs in 15 degrees and four inches of snow recede until we kind of remember that something unpleasant happened in February, but we're not sure what. Our gloves, hats, tights, long-sleeved shirts, and jackets get shuffled to the bottoms of piles and drawers or lost altogether. The long, lazy days of summer stretch on and on...

We know what's coming, but we pretend not to notice the days growing shorter, the temperatures falling. We wear shorts and T-shirts long after a "normal" person would have donned pants and a jacket. We refuse to try on that one jacket that was always a little snug to see if it still (sort of) fits. Maybe we can't find that jacket at all, and that's okay. It's still fall! It's still warm! It hasn't gone below freezing at night yet! I don't have to drive to work in the dark! IT'S NOT WINTER! IT'S NOT! I CAN'T HEAR YOU! LA LA LA LA LAAAAA...

*SPLAT*

That was the big wet mess. HEL-LO! It's winter, remember her?

We sigh, square our shoulders, dig out the gloves, hats, tights, long-sleeved shirts, and jackets. We make sure the battery on the headlamp is fresh and there's a safety vest to wear on those dark, cold mornings. We're relieved to find the close-fitting jacket still fits after all, and that pair of thick tights mysteriously appears in a pile of sweaters. We acclimate to the temperature, embrace the darkness. We run in 30, 20, 10 or zero degrees (not without occasional consequences, however). We run in sleet, snow, wind, rain. We feel like badasses, we consider ourselves hardcore. We are the Michigan winter runners.

2. Ouch

The Redhead and I extended our streak of good luck at Lillie Park with a walk on Monday. However, Tuesday (pouring rain) and Wednesday (snow) were not as kind. In lieu of the park, we elected to climb stairs in the tall building next to my office. Thirteen flights of stairs at 22 steps per flight and four trips up equals 1,144 steps. We were both sweaty and breathless when we finished. My heart was thundering. As relaxing and bucolic as the path through Lillie Park is, it does not equal a true cardiovascular workout. Stair climbing, on the other hand...whew.

This morning when I arose to go to the gym, my calves were like "HEY! What did you do to us yesterday?" I was unable to meet up with Redhead at lunch today, so I climbed stairs by myself. I managed two sets before my calves were all "WHAT THE HELL CUT IT OUT ALREADY!" I spent the rest of the afternoon slowly walking around the building when I had to; my quads and calves were more sore every time I stood up. They were in full-on revolt by the time I left work, screaming "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO US, ASSHOLE, JESUS IT FEELS LIKE WE JUST RAN A HALF MARATHON OR SOMETHING, YOU BETTER NOT FUCKING DO THIS AGAIN TOMORROW! ARRRRRGH!"

Little do they know.

1: In the picture you can see four of my five bird feeders. I am very serious about my bird feeders and bird seed. I have suet cakes, thistle seed, sunflower seed, and a mix. This is calculated to attract the maximum species diversity to my yard.

Thinking Back

2011-11-15T21:30:00.000-05:00

Exactly six months ago today—May 15, 2011—I sustained the worst injury of my running career. My plantaris tendon ruptured and took my medial gastroc and soleus muscles down in flames with it six miles into the Cleveland Half Marathon. If you didn't already know, I finished the race. "Did Not Finish" was not an option.

Mile eleven, in excruciating pain, but so happy I got to see the Redhead!

Following a diagnostic ultrasound in early June, I was ordered into Frankenboot. At least Redhead and I got to be miserable together, though my relationship with the boot was more of a short-term fling while hers was long-term and serious.

It's the fashion statement of the summer! All the cool chicks have one.

I embarked on physical therapy after I was released from Frankenboot purgatory. In mid-August I took my first running steps since the day I was injured three months earlier. I did the Run for the Rolls on August 27 and celebrated running one mile totally pain-free. I finished physical therapy at the end of September, turned loose into a Michigan fall. I have run three races since then: the Big House Big Heart in Ann Arbor, the Parkview Pumpkin Run (Columbia City, Indiana), and just this past weekend, the Ann Arbor Turkey Trot in Dexter. All three were 5Ks. All three exceeded 30 minutes. All three I ran with the Engineer. I'm slower than I have ever been.

The Redhead and I have made a habit over the past six weeks of walking together at a nearby park during the work week. We have watched trees clad in red and gold shed their leaves, gradually snowing in the path with drifts of brown which crunch beneath our feet. The forest unclothed, every twig and branch exposed, the dry and dirty smell of decaying leaves, the squirrels noisily rummaging on the ground, the birds in the bushes, the rumble of the freeway just hidden from view...Our lunchtime strolls at Lillie Park will continue until the weather makes it impossible to be outside. We have been fortunate thus far, but we know that winter is coming. (It snowed last Thursday.) On days when we are unable to meet, I walk by myself on a 2.5-mile loop starting at my office. It's not as pleasant as the trail through Lillie Park—it's primarily on the sidewalk next to a busy road—but it does have its own (albeit brief) woodsy charm.

Cranbrook Park trail, short but scenic

I am climbing out of the deep hole I dug with my weight gain and hiatus from running. I still have a long way to go if I want to have anything close to the speed and stamina (not to mention the physique) I had two years ago. Rejoining Weight Watchers last month was a huge step in the right direction; I have lost 10 lbs of the 50 I hope to lose.

Finally, tomorrow evening I am going to sit in a movie theater for four hours and watch a rebroadcast of a Metropolitan Opera performance from a couple of weeks ago. The opera is one that is very dear to me: Mozart's Don Giovanni, in which I performed in 2008 and from which I can sing three arias. This is one of them.

Bugs, Birds, Rocks, and Walks

2011-11-08T16:10:00.000-05:00

The Engineer and I went for two epic walks over the weekend. We did six miles on the Falling Waters Trail in Jackson on Saturday and 11 miles on the Lakelands Trail in Stockbridge and Gregory on Sunday. Both paths are converted railroad beds, so they are level and straight. They also pass through some lovely countryside and are uncrowded and peaceful (features on which I place great importance, as I find it more enjoyable to be where crowds are not). The weather was spectacular for Michigan in November and we just didn't want to be indoors!

Here I am perched on a glacial erratic alongside the Lakelands Trail. Erratics are rocks that were left behind by melting glaciers. In Michigan, this occurred during the retreat of Late Wisconsinian glacial lobes from 16,000-10,000 years ago. These rocks are called "erratics" because they do not match the local bedrock; they were scooped up elsewhere and traveled great distances in the embrace of a glacier. In this area, the erratics' most likely provenance is Canada, and a great number of them are granite (such as the one I am sitting on).

Don't take erratics for granite.

OMG GIANT ROCK!

This is a picture of me next to the Madison Boulder (New Hampshire), which is regarded as one of the largest glacial erratics in the world. I convinced my family we HAD to visit the boulder when we were on vacation in nearby Melvin Village in the summer of 1995. My college geomorphology professor had told our class about it. If you suspect I was overcome with glee upon seeing the boulder, you would be correct.

I get excited when I see an unusual bird (the Engineer was there when I saw an indigo bunting for only the second time in my life and I yelled, "HOLY SHITBALLS it's an INDIGO BUNTING!") and even more excited when I find an unusual rock. My hometown friend Ellen has a great story about the time I nearly peed my pants and passed out when I found a GORGEOUS, perfectly preserved rugose coral in a creekbed in her backyard in 1993.

The Redhead could tell you about the time I saw a green heron up close while we were out walking over the summer and I became so animated with excitement I whacked her boob with my flailing hand as I squealed, "oh my god it's a GREEN HERON!". I call this "having a birdgasm." It happens a lot.

At home I have a cabinet devoted to special items, many of which are science-related. There's a whole shelf of important rocks I have collected over the years, including my Favorite Rock of All Time: an oblong hunk of serpentinite I extracted from a western Ireland beach in 1997 during my geology field camp experience

So, yeah, Nature nerd. This is an established fact.

I also like bugs...to a point. I can't stand those nasty-smelling Asian lady beetles that invade my house every year about this time. If I see a house centipede on the floor, that thing is headed for squishville; I don't care how beneficial it is. Spiders indoors? NO.

However, I do love fat, fuzzy caterpillars, like this big guy I found on Sunday:

Eeeee! It's on my hand!


Yes, those are my birdwatching binoculars around my neck.

I later identified the species as the caterpillar of the Giant Leopard Moth.The caterpillar was fun to observe, but I would have been even more excited by the adult moth. Unfortunately, they're nocturnal.

So, yeah. Nature nerd, and proud of it.

Thursday Thoughts: Autumn Splendor

2011-10-20T18:31:00.000-04:00

Fleeting fall is here in all its golden glory. We here in the big mitten know that we have but a precious few weeks to enjoy brilliant blue skies, dry air, and colors galore before the inevitable late-October windstorm blows all of the leaves to the ground. Thus begins the long, gloomy five-plus months of dead brown everything interspersed with frozen white everything.

Enjoy it while it lasts.

A path through the woods near my house. It's not very long but it sure is pretty.


Milkweed, daisies and dry grass at the West Lake Nature Preserve near Chelsea.

With a woolly bear caterpillar we found while walking at West Lake Preserve. Photo courtesy of the Engineer.

The above pictures were taken with my new iPhone 4S, which has an 8-megapixel camera. I dare say they are as good if not better than pictures from my 10-megapixel Nikon point-and-shoot.

Oh yeah...my new iPhone 4S? TOTALLY FUCKING ROCKS. It's like when I got my '98 Jeep Grand Cherokee to replace my '90 Ford Tempo, except it's more like upgrading to a Ferrari. If you thought I was in love with/obsessed with my iPhone 3G...well, if my 4S was a person, I would be in jail for stalking it.

In other news, I continue to run in little dribs and drabs. A few times a week I will head out in the crisp darkness before work (I did so today, and got rained on for my trouble). A couple of weeks ago, the Engineer and I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K, one of southeast Michigan's most popular races. Discounting the one-mile Run for the Rolls on August 27th, the BHBH was my first "longer" race since the disaster that was the Cleveland half five months ago.

Five months without a race is a long time. I sort of forgot what I was doing. How do I know this? I left my race bib at home the morning of the race.

D'OH!

I had everything else...even pins for the bib...but no bib. I had left it on the desk by the door. I was completely disappointed and very angry with myself. When we got to the stadium, I took one look at the GIANT MONSTROUS line for the help table and said, "Screw that. I'm going to bandit this race." Yes, I bandited a race I paid for, so maybe it was only a partial banditing.

I have never missed this race. It started in 2007 and I have run it every year. I wasn't going to let something like a forgotten race bib keep me from finishing on the field at Michigan Stadium! NEVER!

I think my finishing time was one of the slowest 5Ks I've ever run. I wasn't running for time. I was running because I finally can, because I was with the Engineer, because it was a beautiful fall day, because I like running through the University of Michigan campus, and because I got to lounge on the field at the stadium!

Sitting on the big "M" in the end zone at the Big House after the race. GO BLUE!

Finally, after a hiatus that began in January 2010, I have restarted the Weight Watchers program. I rejoined on October 11, so this past Tuesday was my first weigh-in after a week back on the program. I lost 5.4 pounds. I was very pleased. I know that a large loss is expected the first week or two, and then I will settle down into the more normal 1.5-2 lbs per week. I'm on my way back, baby!

Friday Thought: I Graduated!

2011-09-30T10:14:00.000-04:00

I finished physical therapy yesterday! It lasted exactly three months (my first appointment was June 29). As befitting a graduation ceremony (perhaps of the kindergarten ilk), I received a cupcake at the end of my session.

I need to stop thinking of myself as being injured. I am no longer injured. I have recovered from my injury. I'm healed! This week I have run three times for a total of 9.5 miles, which is the most I have done since the Calf-Shredding Debacle of 2011, aka the Cleveland Half Marathon. My calf muscles did not bother me at all.

Thus begins the long, slow road back to true distance running. My endurance is shot, my speed is nonexistent, and I have gained a depressing amount of weight. I can run about four miles max before my ass starts dragging. Nevertheless, my sights are set on yet another Cleveland half in May of 2012. I want to administer a smackdown to the course which treated me so cruelly four months ago. REVENGE!

Luckily it is now fall, the finest season for running in Michigan. The weather is cool and dry, and the scenery is colorful. Of course...it's now pouring rain again, and I run in the early mornings when it's dark, so...maybe not so awesome after all. But hey, it's not 95 degrees with 90% humidity!

In other news, at the beginning of this month the Engineer and I went on vacation together. We spent nine days in his home state of Washington (and a little bit in Oregon). We put 1,000 miles on our rental car and had many fun adventures.

Wherein I:

Admired scenic mountain vistas (Mt. Rainier)

Loved on some basalt (also Mt. Rainier)

Had a total geonerdgasm (Mt. St. Helens)

Relaxed by the ocean (Cannon Beach, Oregon)

And last but not least, enjoyed many fine beers (Elliott Bay Brewing Co., Burien, Washington)

In praise of true friends

2011-08-19T00:30:00.008-04:00

It has been three months since the Calf-Shredding Debacle of 2011. Throughout this ordeal there has been one person who I knew would be there to listen to my every gripe, moan, and whine, one person who knew exactly how I felt: the Redhead. Girl, I might not be able to say it properly (what's that? an introvert having trouble expressing emotions? you don't say!), but being able to commiserate with you online and IRL has been the difference between abject despondency and manageable exasperation. I may have put on a brave face...but the past three months have been exceedingly difficult. Thank you so much for everything. WE SHALL OVERCOME.


The girls (Redhead and myself) taking the girls (Leela and Brownie) out for a 14-mile spin in Dexter

Oh yeah, that sexy brown bike in the picture? That's Brownie, my gorgeous girl, my $120 Craigslist find, the bike I've secretly always wanted but never had because I thought people would make fun of me (seriously). She's a 1960s vintage Schwinn Collegiate cruiser, five speeds, a few creaks and squeaks, but she rides smoothly and I love her. I have ridden Brownie more since I got her in mid-July than I rode any bike for the previous 8 years. My new favorite thing is to go out for 4-5 miles in the evenings when the sun is setting and the streets are quiet.

I also look a bit browned up because I was on vacation the last week of July. I went back to Cape Cod with my family. I hoped I would be able to run while I was there; sadly, that was not meant to be. I did, however, attach Brownie to the back of my car and haul her 900 miles so I could ride her, which I did, extensively.

The rest of the time was spent doing this:

I can guarantee you that is not coffee in that mug.

My greatest concerns all week were:

shifting my beach chair as the day wore on in order to remain in optimal sun-baking position
getting up to take a swim in the ocean if I became overheated while roasting in the sun
picking up my mug and discovering it was empty, whereupon I would go into the house and fix myself another vodka tonic (or gin and tonic)

I also plowed through all of A Game of Thrones and part of A Clash of Kings. Reading, bike riding, walking with my mom, drinking beer and other assorted booze, eating fried clams and lobster...it was a wonderful vacation.

Starting out with a bang!

2011-08-18T09:03:00.000-04:00

This morning I did something I have not done for three months:

I got up at 6:00 and went running.

I didn't run very far—maybe a mile total—and I took walk breaks every quarter of a mile.

I didn't run very fast—even though I didn't wear Garmy, if I was going faster than 11:00/M I would be surprised.

I ran. I went running. I RAN.

When I got up, I could hear rumblings from an approaching thunderstorm. I left the house as the first rain drops began to fall. I chose to do loops around the block, about a half mile for each one, so I wasn't far from home if the skies suddenly opened up. The storm drew closer as I trotted along; lightning illuminated the sidewalk and thunder crackled in the clouds. The rain began to fall in earnest, and I fought the temptation to run faster. After three months of rehabilitation, the last thing I needed was to reinjure myself by sprinting for home. Even when a flash of lightning lit up the street like a squadron of searchlights and thunder crashed so loudly I jumped and jammed my fingers in my ears, I kept my pace slow and steady. I made it home just ahead of the deluge. I was damp with sweat and rain, breathless, exhilarated. I never thought running one mile would feel so good.

This was a reconnaissance mission of sorts: test out the leg with some light running mixed with walking to assess the progress I have made in physical therapy since early July. I am pleased to report that my calf did not trouble me at all.

I have a looooooong way to go before I can run with the frequency and intensity of even six months ago, never mind a year or two years ago. I may never run like that again for all I know. Right now, at this moment, I'm happy I ran a mile. I ran a mile and it didn't hurt.

I ran today!

In additional milestone news today, not only did I run for the first time since May 15, but the black toenail I gave myself by dropping my glider chair on my foot on May 18 FINALLY FELL OFF!

Forget my running today—my ugly black toenail is gone!

The general state of affairs

2011-07-05T09:33:00.000-04:00

This comment landed in my moderation bin:

"Though you end up last in the race, it doesn't mean you failed. It only means that there are people better than you in that field. The important thing is you finished what you have started valiantly amidst aching feet. Good Job Mate! [spam link to sketchy web site redacted]."

Shut the fuck up, spammer. People like you are why I have comment moderation enabled.

In other news, I have begun physical therapy on the mess that is my right calf. At my first appointment last week, I asked the therapist how long it would be before I could resume running.

He said three months. My ruptured tendon could take even longer than that—up to a year— to put itself back together completely.

I wanted to cry; instead I groaned and looked at the ground. Three months. I guess that means the Fort 4 Fitness half marathon at the end of September is out. Maybe I can bounce back in time to squeeze in the Detroit half marathon in mid-October, but I am not optimistic. I haven't run since the tendon-shredding debacle at Cleveland seven weeks ago. My stamina is shot. I will be starting over, when I eventually do start over, as if the previous four years had never even happened. What I have come to think of as my best year—2009—is a distant memory.

Focus. Focus. Concentrate on physical therapy for the next two months.The fall is an indistinct haze. It's not worth getting my panties in a bunchy wad about races I won't be able to run (and thankfully didn't register for), the whole summer wasted, not a lick of training to be undertaken. Ride a bike at the gym, lift weights, do my exercises at home. One day at a time.

The Truth Hurts

2011-06-17T19:27:00.000-04:00

Upon viewing the picture of me and the Redhead flashing our awesome lower leg swag yesterday, Spike had this to say:

"Worst three-legged relay team ever."

You should leave the legal profession and go into comedy. I'm serious, dude.

P.S. Way to poke fun at CRIPPLED* PEOPLE!

*not crippled for life, just temporarily. The runners will rise again!

Thursday Thoughts: Meet Frankenboot!

2011-06-16T19:50:00.000-04:00

I knew I was not going to get away with doing nothing after the revelation about my plantaris rupture. My usual tactic of "pretend it's not there and it might go away" (hey, it's worked before!) would not suffice.

Two out of two doctors surveyed said:

"You must wear the boot."

Say hello to my little friend

I will be hauling Frankenboot around for two weeks. It's not uncomfortable (yet). It doesn't make my foot sweat (yet). I described the way it feels as "my leg is being hugged." It's not glued to my leg 24/7.

Nevertheless, it is not ideal. I keep telling myself that two weeks of annoyance now means I will be able to run again in the near future. In the meantime, I will be doing some SERIOUS upper body strength training. My arms are going to be RIPPED.

I sent the Redhead an email yesterday when I learned I was going to be strapped into a boot. If anyone would understand, it would be her; she's been carting around Das Boot for a month. The subject line of the email said:

"UGGGHHHHHHHHH"

That pretty much sums it up.

We went out to lunch today, which presented an epic picture opportunity. Even in the midst of mutual disappointment and exasperation, we know how to find a silver lining.

Plastic and velcro are IN for summer! Institutional gray or funereal black, take your pick!

Canal Days 5K: Dead F-ing Last! (And Proud of It)

2011-06-13T21:23:00.000-04:00

I have begun a new phase in my running career, or, my running career which is defined by not running for the forseeable future. Thus, I downgraded my desires for Saturday's Canal Days 5K (New Haven, Indiana; small-town festivals RULE) from "running really slowly" to "walking." It turned out I was the only walker. The small field took off at the start and I watched the clump of runners quickly leave me behind. I wasn't alone, however; I had the sweep vehicle accompanying me the whole way. "Vehicle" in this case was a golf cart belonging to the New Haven Police Department, piloted by an amiable officer with whom I made jovial small talk for the duration of the race.

I had vigorously mowed my lawn with my reel mower on Thursday afternoon, and my calf had reminded me all day Friday it was not happy about being treated badly. It was still complaining as I began briskly walking the 5K, and I was forced to limp almost immediately. It was uncomfortable but not unbearable, and I forged onward. The afflicted area sent out a few major bolts of pain, but nothing, nothing like what I had felt during Cleveland or the weeks afterward.

Bringing up the rear in a race was a novel experience. I have finished last in races before, though not since 1989, when I dragged my exhausted ass across the finish line of the OHSAA Cross-Country Regional race on an 85-degree day in late October. This time, however, I wasn't part of a high school team that was trying to qualify for the state meet. I was out for a stroll on a cool, if humid, summer morning.

Law enforcement held up a HUGE line of cars at a major intersection until I passed, which caused me much embarrassment as there were a lot of pissed off motorists waiting for me to hobble by.

I waved and smiled at a lot of people who were waiting for the Canal Days Parade to start in downtown New Haven. I felt like a mini celebrity!

Let me just state for the record: walking three miles seems to take FOREVER. I was glad when the high school came into view and I knew I was almost done. The Engineer was there, too, and when he saw me coming he ran out to meet me and we crossed the finish line together.

I wasn't dejected or mopey about my 50-minute time nor the fact that I had finished dead fucking last nor that I couldn't run. This injury...it is what it is, and I have to accept it as such and look towards rehabilitation and healing.

Another bright spot in the morning was seeing Holly (Rust Belt Runner) again. She told me about this race a while back, otherwise I would not have known about it. I was planning on heading to Indiana last weekend anyway, so the logistics worked out perfectly.

Post-race

At the finish line there was a huge box of free T-shirts for a Craigslist-like service provided by the local newspaper. Since I love random T-shirts (trucks, bacon, Cryptosporidium, particle physics, to name a few) I couldn't resist grabbing a hot pink one. I will now be able to advertise Bobslist in southeast Michigan.

In a few hours the Engineer and I were on our way south to Indianapolis for the Independent Music and Arts Festival. Last year, it was a brutal 95+ degrees and sauna-like humidity. This year, it was MUCH nicer.

Of course, there was beer: first, lunch at the Brugge Brasserie (mussels were eaten), followed by a visit to Sun King Brewing.


I left with one growler filled.

The next item on the running agenda is...well, more not running. Slow rehabbing is where I'm heading, I believe.

Well, this explains a few things

2011-06-08T12:00:00.000-04:00

Today I learned about something called the plantaris tendon. I never knew this little strip of tissue existed before 8:30 this morning. Now I know far too much about it.

Lower leg of doom

See that thin blue strip? That's your plantaris tendon. Yours is probably fine.

Mine, however, is ruptured. Oh, and my medial gastroc and soleus muscles are torn. For even more fun, I even have a touch of the achilles tendinitis. Why not toss that onto this steaming pile of crap as well?

I can pinpoint the moment this bad boy let go: mile 6 of the Cleveland Half on May 15. It felt like someone took my right calf muscle and ripped it in two. Like any overly stubborn runner, I powered onward and finished the race. Dropping out for the dreaded DNF is not in my vocabulary, even though I could barely hobble forward. I finished that race in 2:28, my slowest half ever. But I finished.

No wonder it hurt so much! I WAS RUNNING WITH A RUPTURED TENDON AND TORN MUSCLES.

I still haven't run since that day. I was hoping to run this coming Saturday with the Engineer at the Canal Days 5K near Ft. Wayne because my leg has felt great, almost normal, for several days. I mentioned this at my appointment today and the radiologist was like "That's not a good idea."

While I won't need surgery, I may be in for a round of physical therapy. I will see my sports medicine doctor at the end of the month for a follow-up and I will hear what she has to say. Right now, however, the course of action can be summed up thusly:

No running
No running
NO RUNNING!

I'm in for a lot of elliptical, biking, rowing and strength training.

These recent revelations make the following picture, taken near the end of the Cleveland race, quite bittersweet. I was in a tremendous amount of pain, and I knew I was almost done. I hadn't seen the Redhead yet and I was worried I had been too slow to see her at mile 7 (I didn't know she never even made it there, having gone the wrong way to spectate). I started to hear some crazy person yelling into a bullhorn and when I got close enough I saw that, yes, it was indeed the Redhead, on the sidewalk at mile 12. Oh, happy day!

I think this is my new favorite race picture ever

I didn't know it, but this would be my last race for a long time.

Interestingly, this injury (the tendon rupture and accompanying gastroc tear) is colloquially known as "tennis leg" because it happens most often to tennis players. Why it happened to me I have no idea.

I'm holding out hope I will be able to run when I go on vacation to Cape Cod in six weeks. That's all I want: to run by the ocean.

Still LIfe

2011-05-27T10:49:00.000-04:00

That's where I am. Life is still. I ran the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15th and I hurt myself so badly I haven't run a step since then. My right gastroc muscle staged a hostile takeover, a bloody coup, a rebellious revolution. I can pedal a bike at the gym but that's about all. Hence, I have been catching up with my backlog of New Yorkers (and a few trashy gossip magazines) as I sit and pedal to nowhere.

It's okay, though, because there is nothing on the horizon for which I must train. I registered for the Dexter-Ann Arbor 10K (June 5); it remains to be seen if I will be able to participate. My next half marathon is months away. The unofficial start of summer is this weekend (though one might not believe so, because it was 47 degrees when I went to work this morning).

This song came across my radar earlier this week and I've been listening to it repeatedly. I love moody British indie rock!

Have a great long weekend, everyone.

Hope Springs Eternal

2011-04-14T19:50:00.000-04:00

For the past two days I have taken walks in the afternoons as I try to shake off an annoying respiratory virus I picked up over the weekend. I feel okay, but I keep coughing up globs of mucus, which isn't pleasant. Walking has gotten me out of the house for exercise; additionally, the weather this week has been lovely and it seemed a shame to while away the hours after work indoors. On my perambulations around town I have made two observations:

One: walking takes forever. My three mile loop dragged on and on and I felt like I would never finish. Running is so much more efficient at getting me from point A to point B!

Two: I notice more when I go slowly. I passed a twig dangling over the path behind the hospital and to my delight I saw the first sure sign of spring:

A LEAF BUD! A LEAF BUD!

Yes, folks who live in warmer climes, we still have no leaves on the trees here. Most of the trees, in fact, don't even have buds. The woods are as bare and transparent as they were in January. This is how it goes in Michigan.

We had a brief blast of summer style temperatures on Sunday, however. It got up to 82 degrees that afternoon. I went running Sunday morning at my parents' and it was 50 degrees. By the time I got home to Michigan it was above 80. I wasn't ready for the warmth. I was wrinkled and sweaty from being in the car, and my house was stuffy. I slept poorly Sunday night, tossing and turning on crumpled sheets in a room that was 10 degrees warmer than it had been in months. Having cats piled up against me like driftwood didn't help, either.

Fortunately things have gone back to normal and nighttime temperatures are back where they should be, i.e. the 30s. Much better. I can curl up in my down comforter again.

My farm share starts in seven weeks. I am so excited. Fresh asparagus and spinach and turnips, oh my!

One year ago I was making final preparations for my trip to Boston for the marathon. This year, I am not going back, and I find myself nostalgic for what was and slightly jealous of those who are running again. Boston was such an incredible experience. I want to run there again, no, I say I will run there again. Someday.

This Saturday the Engineer and I are attending a performance of Mozart's The Magic Flute at the Detroit Opera House. I am super excited as you all know how much I love opera, especially anything by Mozart. I know more Mozart arias than any other composer. I taught myself how to sing "Der Holle rache" long ago, high F and all, but I can't sing it like Diana Damrau.

Meteor 10K

2011-04-07T10:45:00.000-04:00

A great day for a run

I hopped back on the race wagon on Saturday with the Meteor 10K, my first race since the Thunder Road Marathon in December. We all know how badly I got my ass kicked by that race. Let's move on.

I ran the Meteor 10K three years ago, the half two years ago, and now I was back for another crack at the 10K. I knew all of my previous 10K times were out of reach; my goal for this race was to run strong and enjoy the morning. What a morning it was! Clear, dry, and about 35 degrees at 7:30 when the Engineer and I arrived at the race venue for our 8:00 start.

Wearing the best Bondi band ever, courtesy of the Redhead. Now, if only I would stand up straight...

The green and black insanity you see above was part of the awesome bag o' swag from the Redhead, which I received the day before at the race expo.

Spike and I at the expo, representin' Boston and Grand Rapids

After some hobnobbing with my fellow run-nerds, the Engineer and I slid into the crowd near the back of the pack. I was anticipating running 9:45-10:00 miles, an easy, comfortable pace, and so I was pleased when Garmy beeped for the first mile in 9:38. That would be the slowest mile of the race, as I subsequently managed 9:23, 9:15, 9:20, and 9:14 miles. With a mile and change left to run, I decided to pick up my speed a little and see if I could squeeze out a sub-9:00 mile.

The whole race had unfolded smoothly; I kept my breathing under control and felt relaxed and energetic. I crested the final hill and saw the turn to the finish about a quarter-mile away. I cruised down the slope, made the turn, and finished strong. A quick check of Garmy told me I had run 8:49 for mile 6. Official finish time: 57:36. That's more than 10 minutes off my best but I was pleased nontheless.

Heading for the finish

I ran 5.5 miles Tuesday, 4 yesterday, and if the weather cooperates I'll run 3 after work today. The weekend holds 4 miles on Saturday and 9 on Sunday. I'll be in Ohio again for some family stuff, so I'm looking forward to a change of venue. Nine miles isn't enough to lure me to the Towpath Trail, but I'm sure I can string together something around the old neighborhood.

Balls!

2011-03-28T21:47:00.000-04:00

I wish I had taken a picture of them: five dirty, lonely bowling balls dumped in a weedy, watery ditch. Where did they come from? Who would do such a thing? I am reminded of another abandoned bowling ball, which was lying on a soccer field near the water treatment plant in Ft Wayne:

Alas, poor bowling ball, I knew it well

What is this epidemic of bowling ball neglect? i demand answers!

I was out pounding pavement after work because my 8-mile run didn't happen yesterday due to a combination of feeling poorly (the Engineer) and rolling an ankle on a railroad tie on Saturday (me)

Why was I running on railroad tracks? Hashing! I was running around New Haven, Indiana, with about 30 other folks, most of whom were dressed (as I was) in a kilt. Yes, we got a lot of strange looks and at least one "What's going on?"

Having an AWESOME time, of course! It was a beautiful day and I ran about 6 miles, which, when added to the 3.4 I ran Saturday morning, put me over 9 for the day. The 3.4 I ran on a path at the YMCA near the Engineer's apartment. I've run on this path several times with the Engineer, because during the winter we could count on it being cleared of snow. However, the other morning I ran with Holly from Rust Belt Runner. Run blogger MEET UP! I love those.

It was FAH-REE-ZING (25 ish degrees) when I went to meet her around 10:00, so I was in full cold weather gear, but I knew I would get warm despite the temperature, and that's exactly what happened. It helped that the sun was out. We did two loops of the path and then walked a bit. I visit Ft Wayne on a regular basis so I anticipate running with her again.

Nine miles on Saturday, none yesterday and thus today I was fidgety and anxious, looking out the window at the bright sunshine, itching to get home and into my running clothes and out on the road. It was as lovely out there as I had suspected. I knocked out the 8 miles and barged through my back door, scattering cats, then said, "Yeah, that's how it's done!"

It wasn't fast, but it was good, and hell, I'll take that.

Thursday Thoughts: Oops...

2011-03-24T09:03:00.000-04:00

The only appropriate word, sometimes, is "D'OH." Picture Homer Simpson saying it.

When I went to bed last night I set my alarm for 5:45 am with the intention of getting up to run 3 miles. In the middle of the night I woke up, decided 5:45 wasn't gonna happen (and, by extension, my run) and reset my alarm for 6:45.

The alarm went off, and I laid there listening to NPR for a few minutes and wondering why I still felt so tired. Ah well, time to haul the old body out of bed and into the shower. Freshly scrubbed and dressed a few minutes later, I went downstairs to heat some water for coffee. There was a little kernel of confusion rattling around in the back of my head, however: why was it so dark outside? It was past 7:00 and I should have been able to see the yard by now. I didn't think it was that overcast.

Wait a minute...

I looked at three different clocks, finishing with the one on my iPhone (because the almighty iPhone is never wrong), which confirmed my suspicions: it was only 6:15. I had still gotten up at 5:45, because when I was fumbling around with my alarm in the dark I had accidentally reset the clock an hour ahead.

Sigh.

I wished I had figured out my blunder before I took a shower, because I would have made myself go to the gym or go running. Alas, there wasn't much else for me to do but prepare for the workday. I made my coffee, washed some dishes, prepped my breakfast and lunch, and left for work.

Learn from my fail: don't try to reset alarms in the middle of the night.

This wasn't the only D'OH I have had in the past week. Last Thursday and Friday were spectacular in terms of weather: sunny and high 60s on both days. I opened the windows for the first time in months. The warm breeze and fresh air were enthusiastically welcomed by all members of the household:

Window Kitties!

That window is one of the Prime Kitty Viewing Spots in my house. There are a couple more upstairs, and when I left for Ohio on Friday I left a few windows open for the cats. It was such a nice day, how could I close up the house when they were enjoying themselves so much? It was 65 degrees outside!

Oh yeah, did I also mention I turned off the furnace?

Oh yeah, are y'all aware this is March? In Michigan? No further explanation should be necessary.

Fast forward to Sunday night. I arrived home and my house was 49 degrees. I turned the furnace on and immediately got into bed under my down comforter. The cats were on me like a duck on a june bug. I apologized profusely for my error.

Learn from my fail: DON'T leave windows open when you go out of town for two days in March. Unless you live in a place where it's already 75-80 degrees, in which case, I hate you.

In other news, I was in my ancestral homeland of the Cleveland area in order to attend an opera with my parents (Don Giovanni) and celebrate my nephew's third birthday. I hung out with my brother and sister-in-law on Friday night where I received Extreme Doggy Love:

PUPPEH PILE!

At Fancy French Restaurant Dinner before the opera Saturday evening, when it was time for dessert I bypassed all the gooey, chocolatey, cream-laden offerings and opted for one of my favorite combinations of all time, one I discovered while I was still in graduate school:

Fresh berries and crème fraiche = LOVE

Opera, dogs, awesome food, and family: it was a great weekend.

Situation Rectification

2011-03-11T17:39:00.001-05:00

I have done that rarest of things in my runnerdom: I ran on a Friday, my sacred rest day. How could I not, with clear sunny skies and 45 degrees seductively beckoning? The evil that is the "wintry mix" will return tomorrow; it was now or never for one quality run this week. So I went, and it was wonderful.

What Happened?

2011-03-11T09:37:00.000-05:00

It's so easy to lose momentum.

Last weekend I did my scheduled runs without fuss, even if the weather and footing conditions were less than optimal.

Monday I was supposed to go to yoga class but I stayed late at work and then went to the Corner Brewery in Ypsilanti with a friend.

Tuesday I felt tired and cranky and sore-throat-y all day so instead of running when I got home, I put on my pajamas, watched four episodes of "Mad Men," and went to bed at 9:30.

Wednesday morning it was pouring rain and I said "no thanks." I had a classical music concert to attend after work so I stayed late again and then had a few pints at my favorite beer bar in Ann Arbor before the concert.

Thursday I did get up early and hit the gym for some upper-body strength training and core work, so today my muscles are not happy. I should have run after work but over the course of the day formulated a plan to hit happy hour with coworkers at a local watering hole (Sidetrack in Ypsilanti). I got home at 7:45, washed dishes, whipped Little Boo into a frenzy by singing opera arias, and settled down to read in bed at 8:30. I had the light off before 10:00.

Now it's Friday...I haven't run all week, and not for any good reasons. There's no excuse. I was lazy, plain and simple. Time to reboot: 4 miles tomorrow, 6 on Sunday.

In other news, earlier this week I won tickets to a concert by being caller number 12. Thus, the Engineer and I will be at the Ark in Ann Arbor tomorrow to hear Eilen Jewell perform. I called in on the spur of the moment after hearing the giveaway announced while I was driving to work. When I won, my first thought was "OK, this is cool, but I have no idea who she is or what her music sounds like." I listened to the songs on her MySpace page and was very relieved when I liked all of them. Yay for awesome NPR stations and free tickets!

Signs of Life

2011-03-02T12:13:00.000-05:00

There is hope, people.

Item one: when I left my house to run this morning around 6:15, the eastern sky was light. The pale blue dawn swelled as I ran, and when I rolled up to my driveway 30 minutes later I had no trouble seeing. When I run after work, even if I finish at 6:30 it is still light. The days are getting longer. We are crawling out of the dark hole of winter.

Item two: after last week's one-two-three punches of snowfall, this week has been kind to both the runner and the daily commuter (I am both). Above-freezing temperatures and a bit of sun have eliminated most of the sidewalk snow and we have had no new snowfall. I probably just cursed us with that statement.

Last weekend I was in Ft Wayne with the Engineer and we completed two runs together: a 4.6-mile slog through snow on Saturday and an easier, if duller, 6.8-mile run on a snow-free, paved path on Sunday. I grumbled and fussed (that's a nice way of saying I was bitching) during the Saturday run until I quit boring a hole through the patch of ground 10 feet in front of me, started looking around, and realized that the scenery was lovely (we were next to the Maumee River on the Rivergreenway) and there was birdwatching to be conducted (seen/heard: chickadee, titmouse, cardinal, mallard, Canada goose, nuthatch, red-bellied woodpecker).

Sunday on the YMCA path we came across this little fellow:

Help me! I'm melting!

Sorry dude, you're not long for this world. Spring is coming!

Notable beers of the weekend: 3 Floyds Black Sun Stout (post-run Saturday) and New Holland Blue Sunday Sour (post-run Sunday).

When Llamas Attack!

2011-02-22T15:28:00.001-05:00

There are only two people who read this blog that are going to get this. However, I couldn't resist.


LLAMAS! NO!

For more laughs, see this story.

This might be my favorite picture caption ever: "The llama that went berserk."

Let's all breathe a sigh of relief that we don't live in North Carolina. However, I KNOW SOMEONE WHO DOES...look out, CJ!

In other news, the Engineer and I had the good fortune to spend last Saturday evening hanging with Spike and Redhead. Many laughs were had, and we discovered that we all are equally terrible at pool.

So much for last week's spring tease. Did I not predict the return of winter? The Engineer and I squeezed in two weekend runs before WHITE DEATH version 2 slammed us Sunday afternoon. If we had waited one more hour before starting our run, it would have been a disaster.

And thus it was that I spent yesterday morning doing this:


That's me. Shoveling snow. A lot of snow. A LOT of snow.

Can it be spring now? Please?

You're Not Pinning This One On Me

2011-02-17T22:17:00.002-05:00

I cleaned out my Running Command Center last week in preparation for a household renovation project. I drilled through layers of old training schedules, promotional race materials, Gu packets, race bibs, and random odds and ends which had accumulated for years on the surface you see in the picture. At the end, when everything else had been cleared away, this is what was left:


The detritus of a dozen races

Pins. Pins, a racing runner's best friend and bane of his or her existence. Pins on the floor of the car. Pins in pockets. Pins rattling around in the dryer. Pins between the couch cushions. Pins in extremely weird places (I'll leave that one to your imagination).

The small cat-themed container is also packed full of pins. That's my portable pin bin. I take it with me to all major races.

Pins. Gotta love 'em.

After last week's Arctic Blast^TM, this week has seen a considerable improvement in the weather situation. Temperatures vaulted into the forties and fifties, most of the snow melted, and the sun made occasional appearances. However, I have lived in the Midwest for too long to be fooled by this flirtation with still-distant spring. I know that a few days hence there will be fresh snow on the ground and 50-plus degrees will be a fading memory. I took advantage of the favorable yet fleeting conditions by going for three afternoon runs, reveling in the lightness of limbs less encumbered by layers of fabric.

The weekend will bring a return to more typical weather for this time of year, including the dreaded "wintry mix" on Sunday. We're not out of the woods yet, fellow Michiganders. Hang in there.

Collection

2011-02-08T22:05:00.001-05:00

You know you are a runner who perhaps has a few too many running clothes when...

...you're moving your clothing stash from one place to another, which entails emptying out various drawers, thereby requiring refolding and rearranging of said clothing so it will all fit into its new home, and you find yourself saying one or more of the following:

"I wondered where that went."

"I totally forgot about this!"

"Ah, the first proper jacket I ever bought."

"Oh yeah...this one."

Additionally, you may revisit triumphs of deep discount sales (hello, Asics Storm Shelter jacket that I got for 50% off), milestone race shirts (Detroit Marathon '08), and questionable purchases (not every piece of gear is awesome).

I am happy to report that all of my stuff is neatly tucked into drawers, and I rotated some neglected items to the tops of piles so I will see them first and therefore be more likely to wear them.

In other news:

I ran when I got home from work, because the morning temperatures of late have been alarmingly cold. Dangerously cold. Like, wind chills below zero. Having frozen my hands on a subzero run two years ago, I hesitate whenever the ambient temperature dips below ten degrees. Thus, I balked at going out this morning (9 degrees) and pushed my run back to the afternoon when it was a pleasant 25 degrees. I decided around mile 2 to go longer than planned in order to run through the cemetery and take a picture of the sunset, but no sooner had I made that choice than my guts sent out a warning signal of impending doom (seriously, it was like five seconds later) and I knew I would have to go home along my originally scheduled route. The cemetery and the setting sun will have to wait.

Lost Weekend

2011-02-07T16:16:00.000-05:00

Friday evening, I was supposed to attend a chamber music concert in Ann Arbor, one of the concerts in my University Musical Society subscription series. I left my house a few minutes after I ideally should have, which, combined with my decision to stop by my bank's ATM, triggered a butterfly effect of events which ended with me, 30 minutes later, back at home and sitting on my sofa.

What happened was this: I left the house, got some cash, then attempted to enter the highway at the nearby interchange. Too late, I saw that he ramps were blocked by a congregation of emergency and law enforcement vehicles. I saw a couple of cars that were badly damaged, one facing the wrong way on the on-ramp. Clearly something major had occurred, and not long before, since a police car pulled up to the accident scene as I drove by. My intended route was not an option, so I elected to travel south until I reached a certain east-west road, then travel it eastward until I found the northbound road which would take me to the next highway interchange.

Well.

I rarely get lost, because I rely on my sense of cardinal direction and the "map in my head"...but Friday evening I found myself driving around for fifteen minutes on pitch-black barely-plowed roads I had never heard of with only a vague knowledge of their layout, until I finally reached the one I had been looking for, the one that would take me north to the highway, and I saw the glimmer of lights through the trees, but as I closed in on my goal I looked at the clock and knew I was horribly behind schedule. I should have been off the highway in Ann Arbor and heading for the parking garage, and I was still bumbling around on country roads three miles from my house. Irritated, frustrated, and defeated, I yelled, "SCREW THIS!" When I finally reached the main road, I drove back to my house, put on my pajamas, made myself a drink and called the Engineer. Then I watched the DVD of the fourth season of "Oz" which had arrived that afternoon from Netflix.

Saturday morning, 6:30: I attempted to roll over in bed and instead of executing this motion smoothly and without incident as I had for the previous 1,000 times I rolled over in bed, I failed to move my head at the precise moment required and a horrible wet crunching ripping sound (I described it to the Engineer as "like crushing a wad of celery") reverberated through my neck and skull. A searing bolt of pain flashed through my neck and I screamed. I laid there, panting, and my first thought was, "Did I just break my neck? Is that even possible?" I wiggled my toes and fingers. OK, so, no damage to vertebrae, all extremities appeared to function normally. I tried to move.

AAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHH...

That didn't work so well. I could feel heat spreading up my neck and over my shoulder and I knew I had to take some ibuprofen and get an ice bag on it ASAP. I held my head with one hand and gingerly rolled over, swinging my feet to the floor, stabbing pain accompanying me the whole way. I took the pills and got the ice bag and laid back down, groaning. I dozed for a while, woke up, briefly contemplated trying to do my run, shifted the wrong way, yelled in pain, ditched the running idea, dozed off again, and finally got up around 10:30 with no idea what I was going to do all day.

What I did Saturday was what I did all day Sunday: sat around in comfortable clothes with various combinations of cats on my lap or next to me, watching copious amounts of TV and aimlessly munching through all the snacks in my house. There was also beer, since my emergency WHITE DEATH! 2011 supply was not gone yet. Oh yes, and the constant, comforting presence of either the ice bag or my hot corn bag on my neck. I powered through the entire first and half of the second seasons of "Flight of the Conchords," watched three movies, read all my backlogged New Yorkers, and tried to move my head as little as possible. When the beer supply dwindled on Sunday to one bottle of Founders Breakfast Stout, I switched to hot Irish whiskies. A weekend trapped indoors is a little more bearable with a (hearty) shot of Jameson, hot water, a lemon slice, whole cloves, and sugar. Especially when you have, like, five of them.

I was going to run the Super 5K in Novi Sunday morning, but after a restless and uncomfortable night spent shifting endlessly trying to find the elusive configuration of arm, shoulder, and neck that would allow me to fall asleep without too much pain, I decided it wasn't meant to be. I still had to support my head with a free hand if I wanted to get out of bed; how on earth was I going to drive 80 miles to and from the race, much less go running?

Phooey.

I'm feeling good enough that I will most likely go running tomorrow as planned (3 miles). Saturday and Sunday were the first runs I've missed on my current training schedule, and the inactivity is grating on me. That and the massive amounts of carbohydrates I consumed over the weekend have left me feeling sloppy and sluggish. Enough is enough.

Attention Residents...

2011-02-03T18:42:00.001-05:00

To those of you who have promptly and thoroughly cleared your sidewalks: You rock. I love you. On behalf of walkers and runners everywhere, I thank you.

To everyone else: Go to icy hell, and have your shoes be filled with five pounds of snow!

White Death!

2011-02-02T18:22:00.000-05:00

Not quite death...more like a really bad cold, perhaps?

The Blizzard of 2011 has come and gone, depositing significantly less than the much-hyped amount of "UP TO FIFTEEN INCHES AAAIIIEEEZOMG!!!11!!!" but enough to cause my workplace to shut down because of the weather for the first time since 1978 (and only the second time since I've worked there; the other time was the Mega Blackout of 2003). When I called the special hotline number for work this morning and heard the words "The Ann Arbor location is closed," I was thrilled. A snow day! For adults! I haven't had a snow day since I was in high school!

I lounged around in my pajamas, had oatmeal and coffee, watched a movie, shoveled snow, ate mac & cheese, drank some beer, moved more snow around with my neighbor's snow blower, took a shower, and relaxed. I was supposed to do a 30-minute tempo run today but I decided several hours of snow removal would serve as a substitute. Shoveling by hand certainly raised my heart rate, and pushing a 100-lb snow blower around wasn't easy either. I got my cardio and my weightlifting at the same time!

Alas, the rare treat of a grown-up snow day has come to an end and it's back to work as usual tomorrow. At least I know I'll be able to exit my driveway.

Tuesday afternoon in the cemetery. I decided to squeeze in a short run before all hell broke loose.

Everything one needs to ride out a storm.

Wednesday morning: It's SNOWPOCALYPSE 2011!

Boo and Darwin couldn't care less.

The driveway area pre-clearing. My little snowblower wasn't up to the task, so I borrowed a neighbor's ultra-burly machine. Even so, clearing it took almost 2 hours. Ugh.

Before the Storm

2011-02-01T22:38:00.001-05:00

As I write this I am snuggled up in my down comforter in bed. An angry wind is whipping snow against my window and into great billows down the street. It's Snowpocalypse 2011!

It has been snowing for about five hours now, lightly at first, but with increasing vigor in the past 2 hours. My desultory clearing of my back porch has been obliterated. I'm letting my driveway and sidewalk go until tomorrow.

Before Snowmageddon descended, however, I went out for a quick post-work run. I knew tomorrow's conditions would most likely preclude venturing out in car or on foot. It was a pleasant 22 degrees with just a hint of wind when I departed around 4:45. I alternated between road and sidewalk depending on the degree of snow clearance. I paused in my favorite spot, the cemetery, to take a couple of pictures. On my way home I made a final stop at the market for hunker-down supplies: chips, salsa, hummus...and beer.

The outlook for being able to bust out of my driveway tomorrow is poor. I anticipate not going to work. If I'm feeling adventurous I might bundle up and go for a walk around town. It could be fun to be the only person out and about.

Stay warm, folks!

Return of the Spreadsheet

2011-01-25T12:51:00.000-05:00

Alternate title: It Came From Excel...TO RULE THE WORLD. Or at least my running for the next 16 weeks.

I have known for a long time that I do my best running when I adhere to a schedule. There is something comforting about having each day's activity planned ahead of time, for weeks on end, culminating in a goal race. There is no guesswork. I do what I'm told and it works surprisingly well (Cleveland, New York).

When I do not use a schedule, the results are...debatable. I winged it for Boston last year, and while I finished the race in 4:11 without major difficulties (other than the predictable late-marathon "why the fuck am I doing this to myself again" thoughts), I still feel like I was undertrained. I attempted to train for Grand Rapids using a schedule, which fell by the wayside after I hurt myself in August, and I never really picked it back up. We all know how that turned out when I ran/death marched Thunder Road in December.

Even though I am not planning on doing a marathon this year (unless I succumb to temptation on February 1), I decided I needed to slide back into the embrace of a rigid training schedule. The goal: the Cleveland Half Marathon on May 15. The training plan: Hal Higdon's Intermediate Half Marathon, which I used 3 years ago when I wanted to run my first sub-2:00 half (which I did). It's a modest schedule compared to others I have put myself through. Having a 12-mile run as my longest run feels sinfully luxurious, almost epically lazy. However, it is exactly what I want-- nay, what I need-- right now. Low mileage, but running multiple days in a row. Strength training. Weekend runs that are primarily less than ten miles, meaning I won't lose half a day getting ready to run, running for two to three hours, and then recovering from running (i.e. sacking out for a nap, waking up at 5:00 and thinking, "oops...").

Thus, I sat down last night and put together one of my dearly beloved but long-neglected training spreadsheets. Oh, how I have missed those tidy black-lined boxes, each little square my taskmaster for the day, ordering me to get off my lazy butt, get out of bed, and GET OUT THERE.

Behold, THE SPREADSHEET (or part of it, anyway):

Yes, master! I shall obey your every command!

What did my schedule tell me I had to do today? Run 3 miles, and because The Almighty Schedule said I was to run 3 miles, I set my alarm for 5:50, got up, and did it. No grumbling, no pushing my wakeup time back to 7:00 and skipping it, no rationalizations about weather, lingering aches and pains, being too tired, having cats on me whom I did not want to disturb, any of the array of excuses I have deployed over the past far-too-many-months to avoid running. That shit is so over.

Not only do I believe that getting back on a schedule will improve my running and allow me to cruise through the half with ease (it is awful of me to think, "It's only a half marathon"), I hope it will reverse the creeping weight gain which has been plaguing me. I was perusing old pictures last night, circa first season of marathon training, and my god, people, I was so freaking skinny...I got angrier and angrier with myself for letting that awesomeness slip away. I suppose one could call it Last Straw Moment II, the first and most epic Last Straw Moment being my shock and horror at seeing the pictures of me from Hawaii in 2006 that kick started this whole thing. Cinderella (the hair metal band, not the fairy tale character) sagely said, "Don't know what you've got til it's gone," and that I did not, my friends.

Even before I found myself in a grumpy funk from looking at pictures of my vanished hotness, I went to the store and bought ingredients to make several of the menu items from my Athlete's Plate last week. I was eyeing my heap of groceries on the checkout belt and thought, "This is the food of a health nut. That, or someone with a boring diet." Flaxseed, whole wheat flour, Grape Nuts, bananas, apples, pears, onions, almonds, raisins, black beans, brown rice, chick peas...(and no beer, for once). Well, I am a health nut, or at least I am until I take delivery of this year's haul of Girl Scout cookies. And I don't think I have a boring diet. Yes, I need a shakeup in the breakfast realm (how does four straight years of plain yogurt with fresh blueberries and ground flax meal sound?), which is why my project tonight is homemade granola.

So. Three miles this morning. A quick check of my iPhone weather app (and, yes, I did so while lying in bed....I'm not renouncing all of my laziness at once) revealed that the current temperature was a near-heat-wave-worthy 23 degrees, an enormous improvement over the previous week of industrial-strength meat locker style weather. A meat locker in the Yukon Territory, at that. On the edge of the Arctic Sea. Not today! I was sweating before I finished my first mile. The road edges were free of snow, a rare treat at this time of year. The sidewalks, not as much...when I was forced to use them, it was hard going and I felt even slower and clumsier than ever. Nonetheless, I finished the run (3.18 miles) and, while hanging up my damp clothes, I realized I already felt better and more energetic than I have in far too long.

Running...it's a wonderful thing.

Thursday Thoughts: Let's Eat!

2011-01-20T12:14:00.000-05:00

Some of you may be aware that in addition to my running blog I have a food blog, Una Buona Forchetta. After a flurry of posting when I started it in 2008, my updates became few and far between. I posted to my food blog twice in 2010; the last post was in April.

I have no excuse for neglecting to post more frequently, however, because I have received a boot to the rear, or, as my advisor from grad school would have put it, I've had "a fire lit under my ass," in the form of two externally-based motivators.

One is the Spice Rack Challenge, a monthly food challenge for 2011 organized by my friend and fellow Michigan Lady Food Blogger MK. I posted my response to this month's challenge ingredient, rosemary, earlier this week. My first food blog post in 9 months! Joining the Spice Rack Challenge will guarantee I have at least 12 posts to my food blog this year.

The second is my being featured on The Athlete's Plate today. I was nominated for this week's feature by the Redhead, who had her own menu last week. I now have six meals (both full and snack) created for me by Jason, who mined my blog for inspiration and ideas. It is not a surprise, then, to find I have "kitty litter" granola and pizza (and beer!) as two of my menu items. I will be making and posting recipes from my Athlete's Plate to my food blog, starting with the granola, because I have long suspected homemade granola will be better than anything store-bought, and my breakfast routine has suffered from same-thing-every-day disease. Thank you, Redhead and Jason, for the delicious honor!

In other news:

It's cold here. How cold? Well, how does a high temperature of 14*F tomorrow sound? Bleah. This is "scurry from office to car and car into house" weather for me.

Last Sunday I attended a recital performance in Ann Arbor by soprano Renée Fleming. I indulged in a single extravagantly-priced ticket which landed me seven rows from the stage and smack in the center. I could not have been more perfectly placed for optimum aural and visual satisfaction. The woman may be almost 52 years old and has been hammering on her voice for over 30 years, but she sounded fabulous. I soaked up every shattering high note and tender pianissimo like a dry sponge, choked up a little during one of the encores, and drove home while listening to (and singing along with) her Mozart arias CD. Ach ich liebte, wär so glücklich!

Thursday Thoughts: You Know You're A (insert name of cold region here) Runner When...

2011-01-13T12:10:00.001-05:00

You know you're a Michigan runner when 15 degrees and four inches of snow don't bother you.

This morning I actually got up and went for a run before work, which has not happened since before the Thunder Road debacle. It was about 15 degrees outside, so I dressed appropriately (thick Sugoi tights, Jacket of Wonder, gloves, earband). I knew I was going short and slow. Longer miles (and hopefully my erstwhile speed) will come in time. My goal for the rest of the month is to ease back into the routine of getting up to run multiple times during the week.

I have to admit, it was pleasant. Lovely, even. The cold temperature was bothersome for only a brief time; the new snow skritch skritch skritch-ed under my shoes. There was no one else around. A few lazy snowflakes spun down in the yellow glow of the streetlights.

I was forced to prematurely abort my run 0.04 short of 2 miles because I had to make a frantic dash for the bathroom at home. I was trying so hard not to let something unpleasant happen my toes were clenched into little toe-fists inside my shoes.

Speaking of shoes, I have pushed my current pair to the brink of 700 miles. They have endured two marathons with me, a distinguished career, and I believe it is time for them to retire with full honors. This means I will have to shoe-shop for the first time in ages, since I have been cruising with an unbroken string of Brooks Adrenaline 9s for over two years (I am on my fourth pair of the 9s). My last pair of 9s I ordered online almost a year ago. I highly doubt there are any unused pairs of a two-year-old model drifting around. This means I must...change shoes. I could take the easy way out and just make the leap to the current model of the Adrenaline, since my feet get along so well with them. Or at least they do until I wear them well past their retirement age, in which case unfortunate things occur such as nasty blisters which lead to bacterial infections and the falling off of toenails. Yes, while the paronychia has cleared up, my poor beleaguered little toenail, battered and insulted, went into its death throes a couple of weeks ago. I helped it commit assisted suicide.

My family is coming to visit for the weekend, which means running with Dad, a trip to IKEA, a fancy dinner, and the enjoyment of my favorite malty beverage. I was with the Engineer down in Indiana on Monday, and took the opportunity to pick up some brews from Three Floyds Brewing for my dad and I to sample.

Now it is time for me to pick up the lovely Redhead for lunch...stay warm out there, folks! (unless you're from somewhere in the South and claim anything under 40 degrees is "too cold." And you think I'm "nuts" for enjoying running in cold weather.)

The Year that Wasn't...Sort Of

2011-01-08T22:21:00.001-05:00

This is how I felt at the beginning of 2010:

So full of hope and promise, ready to take off into the bright blue yonder! Wheeee!

By the end of December, this was me:

Out of air, out of gas, out of...ugh.

I ran two marathons, two half marathons, my cumulative mileage was 1,031 and yet I feel like I didn't accomplish anything. I didn't improve my performance at any distance, I gained weight, and my cavalier attitude toward training came back and bit me hard during Thunder Road in December. I limped and coughed my way into the holidays dispirited, demotivated, and bacterially infected. After three years of improvement and lofty goals realized, I suppose I was overdue for an "off" year. No one improves indefinitely.

As far as running goes, I did only one thing in 2010 that truly mattered:

I ran Boston. I RAN BOSTON. I. RAN. BOSTON!

Even if I never set another PR or run another marathon, I will always be a Boston Marathon finisher.

2010 is over. 2011 is here. Clean slate, fresh start. Now what?

I will be in Cleveland in May to see my dad and the Redhead run the marathon. The Redhead is aiming for a BQ, and y'all know how I feel about Cleveland and BQs because that's where I achieved my dream of BQing in 2009. This year, however, I will run the half marathon again. I registered on Friday, and now I have a goal. As much as I have been enjoying the past four weeks of directionless living, I need something to work toward. I'm hitting the reset button on running and starting over. I'm going back to a low-key training plan, my spreadsheet tacked to the wall in the closet, up and running when I'm supposed to. No more slacking off.

The best non-running-related highlight of the year was my vacation with my mom to Cape Cod in July. Seven days of reading, drinking, running, and sunning. If only life could be like this all the time.

One of those moments where I wouldn't have changed a single thing. Perfection. (Except maybe to have some fried clams at hand.)

Enough moaning about what's over and done with. It's time to look ahead. Twenty-eleven, here I come!

All You Really Need To Know About Me

2011-01-01T10:12:00.000-05:00

Fact: I was in bed at 10:30 last night.

Conclusion: I am an old fart who prefers the comfort and safety of home over staying out too late and getting too drunk to drive home.

Fact: I received this from the Engineer for my birthday (it was December 28) and I am now utterly obsessed with it.

Conclusion: I am a HUGE bird nerd.

(My favorite call so far is that of the Common Eider. Oooooh!)

Happy 2011 everyone!

Aside: what will your moniker of choice be for the new year? Will you say "two thousand eleven" or "twenty eleven"? I'm going with "twenty eleven," myself. If we say "two thousand eleven" we will sound too French, á la "deux mille et onze," and we don't want to sound FRENCH, mon Dieu!

Name Recognition

2010-12-30T10:38:00.000-05:00

You know you're a runner when:

You see the name "Bill Rodgers" listed as a dissertation committee member and you think, "Hey! How cool that he has the same name as the running legend!"

In other news, I have paronychia. That is what has been plaguing my wee little piggy toe since Thunder Road. My brother took about two seconds to diagnose me when I thrust my bare foot at him on Christmas. A visit to the doctor earlier this week confirmed it. I am taking antibiotics and have inserted a foam wedge between my little toe and the one next to it (is it considered one's "ring toe"?) to allow it to have room to breathe, so to speak. I escaped the lance because I took a needle to it myself about two weeks ago, which opened it enough to allow fluid drainage, but it wasn't healing because it was pressed against its neighbor. Hence the wedge.

When I got up this morning and made my trip to the bathroom, I realized as I was sitting on the throne that I had walked down the hall without limping and without holding my right foot in the awkward, curled-toes-side-of-foot configuration I was forced to adopt in order to keep my little piggy toe from touching the ground. Holy shit, it's actually getting better! I can see the light at the end of the bacteria-infected tunnel.

Last week I went for my first run since the marathon: the third annual Christmas Day 5K. It's not a race, it's just me running in my parents' neighborhood. My toe hurt like hell but I managed the 3.1 miles in just over 31 minutes. Other than that, I have been wallowing in sloth and gluttony and have no plans to cease either until the new year has started.

Have a Happy New Year, everyone!

Charlotte Nightlife

2010-12-22T12:27:00.000-05:00

I said I wouldn't find anything to write about before the weekend. Apparently, I lied.

During my first night in Charlotte, I woke up abruptly because of a loud noise. Banging. Hammering. What the hell...? groggy thoughts as I pulled myself into consciousness. A thumping sound in the hallway. I tiptoed to the door and put my eye to the peephole. Some guy was slumped against the door of the room adjacent to mine (for reference, my room was at the end of a short hallway, and the entrance to the room next door was at 90 degrees to mine, so I could see everything). I watched, fascinated, as he swayed and bumped against the wall and doorframe. A limp hand pawed at the handle. Muffled incoherent mumbling. He pushed back and stood upright...or quasi-upright. I realized he was totally drunk and probably had no idea where he was. Another futile jiggle of the door to his room...then he turned and tried my door handle. My face was inches from his, but I wasn't frightened; in fact, I was having trouble suppressing laughter. He turned away and began stumbling down the hall, caroming off the walls. I heard a distinct "FUCK!" as he turned the corner and disappeared...only to reappear about five seconds later, whereupon he threw himself at his door, pounded on it a couple of times (did he expect it to open magically?), leaned against the frame, and then retraced his crooked steps down the hall, bouncing off the walls as he went. I waited at the peephole to see if he would come back, and when nothing happened I went back to bed. About five minutes later I heard noise in the hall: the tinny beeping of the electronic lock disengaging, then the chunk-crash of the door opening and closing. Drunk Guy had returned with a new keycard and was safe. All was well.

It's after noon and I am in my pajamas. Darwin is propped up on my arm on the computer desk, purring madly. I have some Christmas shopping to do, and we're still under a boil water advisory. Yesterday I saw "Black Swan," talk about a twisted (but awesome) movie. Later today I get to see two old friends and tomorrow I am heading to Ohio. Now, if only I could do something about this damn snow everywhere...

Off to shower. I'll try not to get any pathogen-infested water in my mouth.

I Want to See Other Races

2010-12-21T10:50:00.000-05:00

Look, marathon, it's not you, it's me. I've just...well, maybe it is you. We've been together for a little over two years, and we had some really awesome times together (remember New York '09?) but lately I've been feeling like you don't really appreciate me. You haven't been very nice to me lately. I think...I want to take a break and see other distances. I'm sorry. I haven't been giving you the attention you deserve and that's not good for either of us. I'm not ruling out getting back together in the future, but right now I need some space to think about things and figure out what I really want from a relationship with you.

There's a hot little half marathon I want to date for a while, and some 10Ks hovering on the sidelines as well. Yeah, there are a lot of races competing for my attention, but you'll always have a special place in my heart, marathon.

----------------------------------------------------------------

So, yeah. I'm breaking up with the marathon for an indeterminate amount of time. I've completed five of them, and I've come to the realization that running that far...

...basically sucks. Even when I'm in peak physical condition (Cleveland '09) it still sucks. Since I'm not a fan of purposely inflicting pain on myself, I've decided not to do it again for a good long while. Yes, I want to run Chicago, and I'd like to run NYC again, and I dream about completing all of the "big five" marathons (I need Chicago, London, and Berlin, having already done Boston and NYC), but I believe 2011 is going to be a marathon-free year.

I'm going to concentrate on:

1. Losing weight
2. Getting a little bit of my speed back
3. Running and racing for fun with friends and family

I know I will be back in Cleveland for the half marathon in May, but that's the only race I am positive I will be doing. Other possibilities include the Martian Half (April) and a half marathon in Ft. Wayne in September. There is also the usual slew of local 5Ks and 10Ks that I have been doing every year (Shamrocks & Shenanigans, Dexter-Ann Arbor Run). I will have plenty to do, and the prospect of spending the year free of a rigid training schedule is enough to make me feel giddy. The thought of not having to get up early on a Saturday to run 14 or 16 miles in frigid weather...? DO YOU KNOW HOW HAPPY THAT MAKES ME?

------------------------------------------------------------------

My toe.

It is fucked up. I didn't say much else about it in my race report, but after peeling off my sock and peering at the digit, I realized something very bad had occurred. It's been 10 days since the race and it's not any better. I believe the nail is ingrown, it's infected, and still oozing a clear substance. It's extremely painful and makes walking difficult. I messed with it a little bit (poked it with a needle, peeled off some skin) which probably didn't help. I need medical assistance, but I will have to wait until next week after I return from Ohio.

Stupid toe.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Alarming things you do not want to have happen in the middle of the night: being woken up by a loud, strange noise coming from one's toilet. It sounded like my toilet was about to erupt. I was too scared to lift the tank lid to see what was happening so I just turned off the water valve. It wasn't until I got up for work at 7:00 that I learned Chelsea had experienced a major water main break around 1:00 am, which sent a half million gallons of water into the woods on the east side of town. The break was repaired, but my pipes are full of air (hence the bubbling toilet and spitting faucets). We're under a boil water advisory for at least the rest of today. I have to go home and run my faucets to get rid of the rest of the air and restore the water pressure. What a hassle.

In other news: today is my last day of work for six days! I won't be back in Cube World until Tuesday the 28th!

I probably won't find anything to write about before Christmas, so have a great holiday weekend, everyone!

Thunder Road Marathon: The South Rose Again

2010-12-20T23:51:00.000-05:00

I knew I was in trouble when I saw the T-shirt that said "Flat is for sissies."

I'm doomed

It was Friday morning in Charlotte, North Carolina, and I was at the race expo picking up my packet and some goodies (more cute hair bands). I had arrived in the city the day before, taken a taxi from the airport, and settled into my sweet 14th floor hotel room in the heart of "uptown" Charlotte. From my window I could see the Time Warner Arena, where the Charlotte Bobcats play. If I pressed my face against the glass I could just barely see the NASCAR Hall of Fame. I had a king-size bed and FIVE pillows (I love pillows). All this for only $89 a night!? Yes. Note to interested parties: if you ever want to visit Charlotte, I highly recommend the Hilton Center City. It rocks.

I was due to have dinner with one of my oldest friends, Ellen, Thursday night, so to pass the time until she was done with work I ventured down to the hotel bar and sampled some local microbrews from Red Oak (Greensboro) and Old Mecklenburg (Charlotte). At the restaurant with Ellen a few hours later I ate cornbread and grits and had a beer from Asheville's Highland Brewing (Black Mocha Stout, oh yum). I was in the South, after all, an area of the country I had limited experience with, and I wanted to absorb as much local flavor as I could.

Friday after the expo I lazed around my room waiting for Carolina John to show up. After two-plus years of being blogger buddies, we were finally going to meet each other! He arrived, and after some discussion, it was decided we would head to South Carolina for barbeque. I said that I had never been to South Carolina, one of only six states on my "states I have NOT been to" list, and, considering SC is extremely close to Charlotte, it was an irresistable temptation. Off we went in the car, a trip during which I learned about kudzu, the world's largest fireworks store (according to CJ, that's because Southerners like to "blow shit up"), the word "you'uns," (I believe it's a variation of "y'all"), and the giant butt in the sky (actually a water tower painted like a peach). We ended up in Gaffney, where I made my prerace dinner out of South Carolina chopped BBQ, hush puppies, baked beans, and a First Snow pale ale from RJ Rockers (Spartanburg, SC). Of this momentous meeting of run-bloggers, I sadly did not get a single picture of us together. Major fail.

Thus it was that I moved South Carolina onto my "states I have visited" list. I'm coming for you next, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Washington, and Alaska!

Back at the hotel, I decided it was time to wind down and go to bed. I didn't have to get up ridiculously early, because my hotel was a short walk away from the starting area, and the race didn't start until 7:45. What a welcome change-- not having to get up at 4:30 am the morning of a marathon! I readied my gear, set the alarm for 6:30, and settled in with my five pillows. I can't say I had a particularly restful slumber. It took me a long time to fall asleep, and I repeatedly woke during the night. I awakened at 6:29 and savored a final minute of rest before abruptly sitting up and saying to no one in particular, "Well, let's get this over with."

I got a banana and a cup of coffee from the quick breakfast offerings at the hotel restaurant, strapped on my various accessories, and headed to the starting area. I left the hotel perhaps a wee bit too late, because I was still frantically untangling my iPod headphones as the crowd began shuffling toward the starting line after the gun. I managed to get the 'phones settled and iPod going before I had to start running (but just barely).

I felt good, but I knew it wouldn't last. I was in for a world of pain, it was just a question of when it would arrive. Within a quarter-mile I was running down the street directly in front of my hotel. I thought, "I could just step out and go back in the hotel and forget this whole thing...I could in bed, all warm and relaxed, in less than five minutes."

I seriously considered this option for two seconds. Then I thought, "No, I came here to do this. I have a job to do today, so let's get it done."

Charlotte skyline. Yes, I stepped off to the side to take this picture.

The first half of the course was the nicest, and not just because I still felt fresh. We passed through some lovely residential neighborhoods of big houses, big lawns, and big trees where a lot of people were watching the race still dressed in their pajamas, holding cups emitting lazy curls of steam in the cold morning air. Groups of kids wrapped in blankets huddled on front lawns. I smelled barbeque more than once. I rolled with the hills, taking it super slow and easy. I was in no hurry at all.

I told you: big trees.

In the early miles, when life was still good

Miles 1-13: 9:40, 10:10, 9:43, 9:43, 9:57, 9:34, 9:52, 9:56, 9:47, 9:50, 9:57, 10:17, 12:35 (first bathroom break). Time at the half: 2:12:57.

If I could hold my pace, I would finish close to 4:30, a time far off my best but about what I was expecting.

When the half marathoners peeled off and headed to their finish, I felt a brief, intense wave of jealously and longing wash over me. I would have done anything to be almost done, but I had half the race yet to run, and I was starting to feel the effects of my lack of training.

I didn't know it, but I would not run another sub-10:00 mile again. My pace started sliding...10:03, 10:12, 10:22...

It was during mile 17 that the shit really hit the fan. My feet were killing me and my quads weren't happy, either. Faced with yet another hill, I walked. I hadn't walked in a race since the May 2007 Blossom Time five-miler in Chagrin Falls, Ohio. I had always taken a certain amount of pride in my ability to power through any amount of pain and exhaustion in order to keep moving, never stopping. However, this time, I was done. I was toast. I walked. This pattern would repeat itself many times over the remaining 9 miles of the race: slow, painful jog, walk up a hill...slow, painful jog, walk up a hill. The knowledge that I had what felt like an insurmountable number of miles yet to cover made me want to cry. My legs were on fire, my feet were screaming in pain, and there was something funky going on with the pinky toe on my right foot (more on that later).

I barely remember anything about the second half of the race. I sank into a fog of pain and barely looked up from the pavement in front of me. I can't remember anything I saw. It's all an indistinct blur of buildings and streets. I know I took another bathroom break, and my Garmin split for mile 19 (16:40) reflects this. Somewhere along the way I passed a group of people with a table set up in their yard; they were handing out shots of beer. Of course I stopped and had one! I'm a hasher through and through, I never turn down small amounts of cheap beer, even in the midst of agony. A few miles later I came across another, larger, more boisterous bunch of folks partying in their yard. Some guy was standing there with a red plastic cup and I immediately pulled over and said, "I'll take that!" He said, "Are you sure, it's beer." He said most people stopped thinking it was water and, once they learned it was beer, continued on without drinking it. I replied, "Fuck yeah, I don't care," and slammed it. Once again, I'm a hasher, I never turn down beer on trail. At that point I was looking for anything to take my mind off the disaster that was my race.

With maybe three miles left, I decided I wanted to put an end to the agony as quickly as possible. It hurt more to walk and resume running again, so I was going to run the rest of the race NO MATTER HOW SHITTY I FELT. I have never wanted something to end as badly as that race, and the more time I spent running, the sooner it would be OVER.

I was crawling through the pain cave, totally immersed in my own suffering. My quads were at terror alert level red and every footfall felt like I was stepping on knives. I cursed all those missed long runs, cursed my flippant attitude toward training over the previous few months, cursed the extra 25 pounds hanging on me that made my knees and ankles ache. I was in as black and foul a mood as I have ever been in my life.

Not feeling the love

But I was slowly, painfully, closing in on the finish. I was getting it done, the job I had come to Charlotte to do.

Mile 25. One mile to go. One fucking mile. And then: something happened to my toe. It felt like it had been squeezed and popped like an overripe tomato. If I thought it felt weird and uncomfortable before, this was something else entirely. I immediately stopped and started walking (and my feet and legs sent up a fresh chorus of agonized wails), limping badly. Some guy next to me asked if I was all right and I said, "Something really weird just happened to my toe, I think a blister popped or something!" He asked me if I wanted some water and I declined; that was the only thing that had gone right in this race: I was well-hydrated. No, I said, "I just want this to be over! We're so close to being done!"

I ground my teeth and forced myself to start moving again. Oh, my god, the pain in my foot was incredible, unreal. I felt wetness and I knew I was either squishing blood or some other body fluid around in my shoe. I was so tired by now I was bending forward...perhaps gravity would assist me in my controlled fall toward the end.

The final turn of the course was at mile 26, leaving me with a straight shot of less than a quarter-mile to the finish. I saw the banner in the distance and I kept my eyes glued to it while I jog-limped as fast as I could toward it. The pain cave was brightening; I was rising up out of the dark. I was almost...done...almost...

And then I was. Done. Oh sweet baby Jesus, I crossed the finish, I stopped, it was over. OVER.

DONE, I'M DONE, DONE DONE DONE DONE!!!!

I have never been so glad in my ENTIRE LIFE to be done with something as I was to be done with that race. That includes: taking the GRE, writing both my undergraduate and graduate theses, driving 750 miles in one day, remodeling my dining room, all four of my previous marathons combined, and shoveling my driveway for two hours in a blizzard. I may even go so far as to say the relief I felt exceeded the selfsame feelings I had when I woke up in recovery after my hysterectomy, knowing my long nightmare was finally over.

I have a really weird look on my face, but the photographer surprised me. That, or I was too tired to smile properly.

I got my medal, Mylar blanket, a banana, and a bottle of water. I clutched the wrap around me and slowly limped back to the hotel. Thank god it was less than a quarter-mile away. I got to my room, let the door wheeze shut behind me, let the blanket drift to the floor, set the water and banana on the desk, and bookended my comment to myself from six and a half hours earlier with:

"That was the most horrible fucking thing I have ever done."

You know what, though? I did it. I finished. I worked harder and suffered more for that finisher's medal than in any previous race. I shed blood for this marathon, as I discovered when I peeled off my socks.

Debris of disaster

Completely exhausted, but strangely triumphant: I DID IT.

After cleaning up (holy god that hot shower felt good), I put on my awesome black compression socks ($5.00 at Meijer), some fresh clothes, and slooooowly limped my way up the street for...

Duh.

I also ordered the most outrageous burger on the menu, the ULTIMATE BACON CHEDDAR, with "twice the bacon, three times the cheese." I was leaning toward the black bean burger (it's HEALTHY!) and then I thought, "FUCK THAT. I just ran a goddamn MARATHON, I burned at LEAST 3,000 calories, I'm going to get the GIANT PILE of BEEF, BACON, and CHEESE. I EARNED it!"

So I did. And it was fucking delicious. (So was the beer.)

A few hours later Ellen picked me up again and took me to her and her husband's place for dinner, where I consumed more beer and ate homemade shepherd's pie. I also made the acquaintance of their wonderful cat, Mr. G:

I was cat-deprived so I gave this handsome boy a TON of love. He had the most majestic whiskers and was super friendly.

I felt myself spiraling toward oblivion around 8:30 and I knew I didn't have much longer before I crashed. I hadn't taken a nap after the race and I was seriously circling the drain. I had Ellen take me back to the hotel where I immediately changed into my pajamas and then...WHAM. I collapsed into bed with my five pillows and finally allowed my aching, exhausted body to rest.

The next day I was in the Charlotte airport nervously awaiting departure. I knew a bad snowstorm was at that moment blanketing a large portion of the Midwest; I had seen the flight status boards covered with "DELAYED" and "CANCELLED" and I didn't want my flight to be among them. We boarded on time, left on time, and landed in Detroit ahead of schedule. However, this is what greeted me upon returning to my home state:

Welcome to Michigan!

Driving the forty miles home-- the final leg in my four-day odyssey-- was about as bad as you might expect given the above picture. When I arrived at my home sweet home, I did as little as possible (hang up coat, turn up furnace, retrieve mail, drop suitcase on floor) before crawling into bed and pulling the comforter up to my nose.

Except for going to work, that's where I stayed for the next five days. The irritating sore throat which had been bothering me before the marathon took advantage of my weakened physical state and dove in for the kill. It quickly erupted into a full-blown chest cold. Monday and Tuesday were...I really have no words. Gruesome. Horrible. Miserable. I could barely walk; what I was doing was more like hobbling. My throat burned and my nose ran like a leaky faucet. My voice was a harsh croak. I came home from work and went straight to bed, totally spent from being awake for nine hours. I could do nothing more than lie there and read while ingesting cough medicine, Nyquil, and various pills. I turned my light off between 8:30 and 9:00 every night. I had no appetite and I lost eight pounds in less than a week. I hung on by the skin of my teeth until Friday when I finally took a day off from work. I was absolutely wasted. The marathon and being truly sick for the first time in years smashed me flat.

Well, there was one bright spot, which was Tuesday afternoon. I met one of my hashing buddies at an Ann Arbor beer bar for their Stouts & Porters Celebration. I had three amazing rich, dark beers. After parting ways I was walking through Nickels Arcade and passed a barber shop. I jerked to a halt, pivoted on my heel, went inside, and fifteen minutes later I emerged with my first real haircut in two years. I say "real" because the last "haircut" I had was the one I gave to myself a year ago with my utility scissors while standing in my bathtub. I had the barber eliminate a couple inches of raggedy frazzled crap and give some shape to the rest, which as allowed my curls to come out and play:

The best part: it only cost $16 ($20 with tip).I am a firm believer in cheap haircuts.

Today, my legs feel okay and the cold has receded, though it has left a sizable amount of flotsam in the form of goopy snot in my lungs and sinuses which I am perpetually hacking up. I still have very little desire to eat and not much energy. That's fine, however, since...

I DON'T HAVE TO GET UP AND GO RUNNING!

That's the best feeling of all.

Final stats: 4:54:34 (11:15/M), 66/88 F35-39, 1087/1295 OA

Ouch

2010-12-14T11:00:00.000-05:00

You know you ran a marathon recently when you have to use a handicapped stall every time you go to the bathroom. Those safety bars are the only thing standing between me and an embarrassing toilet-related incident.

Twelve Hour Shift

2010-12-08T10:30:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning my alarm went off at 5:55. Instead of bounding out of bed to run 3 miles, I reset it for an hour later. The cost of this extra hour snuggled in bed with the kitties was that I would have to run after work. Remember how I mentioned Punishment Runs last week? This was one of them.

I had to take one of the kitties to the vet first, and when I finished around 5:30 it was becoming dark and cold. I allowed myself a small mental whine of "I don't wanna go running now...it's too dark!" before thinking, "Hey, stupid, you run in the morning when it's even darker and colder, so shut up, put the clothes on, and get out there. Jeez, it's only three miles, quit being such a baby."

So I did. I left the house at 6:15 PM instead of 6:15 AM. Same amount of light, same temperature, wholly different atmosphere. The traffic was heavier; it was the tail end of rush hour. There were more people walking dogs. The cemetery seemed less creepy. The ambient noise level was higher. I didn't feel as if I were the only person on earth as I often do in the early morning.

While I enjoyed being lazy and getting out of bed at the last possible moment, I prefer running in the morning. I like completing my run before I go to work, meaning I can proceed directly to comfortable clothes and the sofa when I get home in the afternoon. I enjoy the calm and quiet of the predawn streets. And yes, there is a selfish element of "I'm hardcore!" when I get up at 5:45 and run five or six miles, especially now that the temperatures when I leave the house are in the low 20s and it's snowing.

That said...once again, this morning, I didn't get up until 7:00, which means I will be doing another Punishment Run after work. Is this a trend? Will the trend become a habit...and then the normal routine?

------------

Things you do not wish to experience before running a marathon:

Waking up with a scratchy throat and sniffles.

Since I began running, my immune system has become more robust and I rarely get sick. I know from experience that a sore throat, which used to be a harbinger of doom, will rarely morph into a full-blown cold. I hope that with my ample daily water intake (3 liters) and nightly sleep (7-8 hours) this thing will not progress past the minor annoyance stage.This race is going to be difficult enough without throwing a viral infection on top of it.

Tonight I must begin packing for my trip. The forecast for Saturday in Charlotte has race morning temperatures in the low forties, which is perfect. I'll pack clothing for any possible weather event and then I'll probably just end up wearing my trusty running skirt and Chelsea Market short-sleeved shirt.

Returning to Detroit could get ugly. Another major storm is predicted to blow through the Great Lakes region Saturday. I hope it leaves Michigan behind by Sunday afternoon. Nevertheless, I will have plenty of reading material on hand in case I end up trapped in airport hell.

Only three days left until the race!

Thursday Thoughts: Things are Looking Up

2010-12-02T00:30:00.012-05:00

Wednesday morning's run was a huge improvement over Tuesday's, meaning I managed to stay upright and did not trip and fall on my face!

My knuckle is a mess. When I fell on top of it, a piece of my flesh was gouged out. There is a divot in the back of my hand. Next to it is a pasty, wrinkly thing I think is a flap of skin, yet I don't really feel like peeling it off. Next to that is an abrasion that perpetually weeps clear fluid. Yummy! My chin is starting to darken. I see the epic bruise approaching.

When I left the house this morning, there were snowflakes lazily drifting through the glow of the streetlight. It looked like the inside of a snow globe that had been freshly agitated. I ran five miles through the falling snow, feeling it dampen my face. I swung through the subdivision on the east side of town, and when I rounded a curve that would start me on my homeward trek, a brisk and cutting west wind smacked me in the face. I had kept the wind at my side or back until then and the sudden pushback and burst of snow into my eyes was an unwelcome reminder that the real meat of winter is irrevocably approaching. In two months when the snow is deep and hard-packed and the wind slices through my warmest clothing, I will long for this kind of morning.

Punishment runs. Who else does this? Hit the snooze button one too many times, thereby missing one's opportunity for a morning run: "I will run after work as punishment." Eat one too many sushi rolls or brownies: "Well, I guess I have to run an extra mile as punishment." I do this a lot. Guilt is a powerful motivator.

Last night I armed myself with my drain snake, a bucket, and a pair of latex gloves and did battle with my ever-recalcitrant kitchen sink drain. I snaked the fuck out of that thing, I snaked it so hard I ran the entire 25-foot length of the cord into the pipe from the kitchen and did it again from the basement. And you know what...I FIXED IT. I FIXED that fucker. FIXED. I solved a problem that had been a constant annoyance for years by making a slight adjustment to something, and it's FIXED. People, you don't know how satisfying it is for me to tackle a home maintenance issue and obtain a positive outcome. I am not a handyman type. I get nervous around tools. Taking things apart-- and having to put them back together correctly-- is frightening. Therefore, to face down plumbing and have everything turn out well is a huge ego boost. Next thing you know I'll rebuild my engine. :)

Concrete Punch

2010-11-30T18:55:00.002-05:00

I trotted down my driveway around 6:15 intending to do my three-mile loop. At the last moment I swerved away from my usual course and decided to do three-mile loop Version B. "Something different, for once," I thought. I was motoring along the sidewalk when my left foot caught the edge of an upthrust slab of concrete. Instantly I was airborne, arms flailing. I desperately tried to get my right leg up and under me. If it hadn't rained overnight I might have succeeded, but instead my shoe failed to grip the wet pavement and I was going down. My left knee hit first, followed by my left palm which I had thrust out to catch myself. Scrape. Fail. My body turned and I fell onto my right arm, hand trapped under me and grinding on the ground. Then my chin hit, just under my jaw on the right side. Finally, the worst of all: forehead, meet concrete. My scrambling had done nothing to check my descent to the pavement. The pain as my head connected with the ground was stunning, instantaneous, overwhelming. The knob on the pain-o-meter was cranked past eleven so hard and fast it broke.

BAM!

This all happened in about two seconds, but I saw the rain-darkened surface rushing toward my face and knew it was going to be bad. I turned my head slightly, which I think saved my teeth and nose from being broken (good for me, bad for my dentist).

My head ricocheted and I barrel rolled onto someone's lawn, fetching up on my knees and forearms. I cradled my head gently, hand against the spot above my eye, cool wet grass against my face, soaking through my pants and shirt. I could do little more than croak "Oh my God" a few times and then I started panting because I felt like I was going to barf right there on that nice tidy Chelsea lawn. I had two thoughts: one, I really hope I didn't sustain a concussion. Two, I really hope the owner of this house doesn't see me and come outside. I knelt there for a while until the immediate agony subsided and then I slowly got to my feet. All motivation for my run was gone. I had to get home and assess the damage. My hand was throbbing; I looked down and saw blood. My chin was starting to tingle; I had been so consumed by the awfulness of the pain in my head I barely realized my chin was a victim as well. My left hand was stinging like crazy. Even the toes on my left foot hurt where I had stubbed them against that cockeyed slab, that slab which started it all. I looked back and saw it and I GLARED.

I walked the quarter-mile home and went right up to the bathroom to take a look.

The red dot in the center of my forehead was a totally evil pimple I conquered the night before. The little red line above my eyebrow is the culprit. Do not be fooled by its innocent appearance.

Some chin music. If you look really carefully there's a fleck of gray concrete stuck to my face right by the corner of my mouth.

I discovered a chunk of stone under my ring after I got in the shower. It must have been jammed through the open design when I landed on my hand. While I was in the shower I started feeling odd, kind of unsteady and vaguely nauseated. I decided it would be best if I finished up quickly because I didn't want to pass out in the shower. I had hit my head one time too many that morning. I went and laid down for about 10 minutes (with Bouhaki, who was all snuggled up under the covers with his head on my pillow...CUTENESS), drank a cup of water, and I was fine. Well, not totally fine, since my face felt like it had been clobbered, but I was upright and functional.

I inspected the development of the scrapes throughout the day and I am happy (?) to report that my chin is swollen and is already blooming into a nice bruise, and my hand and head have darkened up as well.

My middle knuckle took the brunt of it. My poor ring is all gouged up.

Forehead scrape. It looks like nothing but it felt like being hit with a hammer.

Thank goodness for big chins, because without mine I probably would have busted my teeth.

I suspect that in the coming days both areas will become a spectrum of colorful bruising. I will take pictures, of course.

Two things to consider:

1. I have been running around town for four years and despite Chelsea's occasionally uneven sidewalks, I have never tripped.

2. Last night I was conversing with the owner of the New Chelsea Market and expressed my preference for running in the dark predawn hours when the streets are quiet and mostly deserted. I said I had never felt anything but comfortable because of the abundant street lights. Never had any problems because I couldn't see where I was going.

I suppose I was asking for it.

It has been zero days since our last accident.

20 on 20

2010-11-22T22:56:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I was visiting my ancestral homeland in northeast Ohio and when I'm three weeks out from a marathon and I find myself in the Cleveland area, you know what that means:

TOWPATH TRAIL TWENTY MILER!

Flat as a pancake, no traffic, and with an overabundance of scenery...what could be better?

I was up at 7:00 am Saturday the 20th (hence the title of this post) and on the way to the trail at 7:30. When I arrived shortly before 8:00, there was a scant smattering of cars in the parking lot at the Lock 39 trailhead, which all but assured I would see almost no one else on the path.

Solitude. That's how I roll.

I trotted off at an easy 9:30/mile and allowed my mind and legs to go on autopilot as I listened to my iPod. I kept an eye out for birds and was rewarded with sightings of a red-tailed hawk, a northern flicker, a downy woodpecker, cardinals, chickadees, juncos, blue jays, and mallards. The last time I ran here (March) I saw wood ducks, but no such luck this time.

I turned around ten miles in just after passing the Brandywine ski area in Sagamore Hills. I took a pit stop at mile 11, stripped off my jacket (it was now over 50 degrees) and convinced my weary legs to start moving again. I had nine more miles to cover.

A few weeks ago I trotted fifteen and a half miles and felt hardly a twinge from any body part for the duration of the run. I felt so good I even managed to pull off a couple of sub-9:00 miles at the very end. Not so this time. Everything was protesting loudly, from the balls of my feet to my little toes to my ankles to my calf muscles to my knees to my hips to my back. I forced myself to run four miles straight through to mile 15 whereupon my reward was to walk that entire mile, leaving me with only four miles to finish the run. I made another pit stop at the canal visitor's center with 1.75 miles to go (my GI issues were in rare form that day) and then gritted my teeth and plodded onward. I was so glad to see the information kiosk by the path up to the parking lot come into view. Three and a half hours after I started, it was over. It was the toughest, slowest 20-miler I have ever done, but I got it done.

In less than three weeks I will have to run that far and then 10K more. I am resigned to the fact that this race is going to hurt, and hurt a lot. This haphazard training season was not to my benefit. However, my body is holding up (mostly) and I am determined to gut this one out. I may have to downshift into a walk/run pattern, which I have never done. So be it. This will be my fifth marathon, and I have nothing to be embarrassed about.

And now, some pictures:

If you dismantle something historic, you had better make sure you put it back together correctly. There was a construction project taking place at one of the original canal structures, and blocks like this were stacked all over the place, each one marked with chalk.

Left Hand Brewing's Twin SIsters Double IPA. Lunch at the B Spot in Woodmere before I departed for Michigan on Sunday. I love me some IPAs.

And because there aren't enough cat pictures on the Internet:

Bouhaki helps me fold the Mount Everest of laundry.

Darwin is the perfect lap cat, right down to the question mark tail.

I will be returning to the ancestral homeland with the Engineer for Thanksgiving. A visit to Thirsty Dog Brewing has been placed at the top of my list of Things To Do.

This morning it was unusually warm (58 degrees) and the temperature crept up to 64 by the afternoon. Needless to say, for November in Michigan, it was odd. I took advantage of the balmy conditions and walked to and from my yoga class after work (2 miles round trip). Now, however, I can hear rain pattering on the window next to me and the wind blowing up the driveway. The cold front is moving through. Tomorrow's high will barely reach the low 40s.

That's the Midwest for you! Summer one day and winter the next.

Weight: holding steady at 181. No loss, but no gain, either, and that's a good thing, especially after a weekend with the family.

Baby Steps

2010-11-12T13:37:00.000-05:00

Today's birthday suit weight: 181.4.

It's not much, but it's a start.

I visited my long-dormant Daily Plate account, which has now partnered with Livestrong.com. I installed the app on my iPhone. I've resumed tracking everything I eat. I know this is the best way to hold myself accountable for my caloric consumption.

One day at a time. One pound at a time.

Backsliding into November

2010-11-10T16:30:00.002-05:00

In hashing, "backsliding" is when you fail to show up to a hash for an extended period of time. In my hash one can expect to flirt with backsliderdom after four consecutive no-shows on Sunday afternoons. I am happy to say that in the year and a half I have been hashing I have never been slapped with a down-down¹ for backsliding.

The same cannot be said of my weight loss. When it comes to that, I am backsliding. Badly.

This is difficult for me to admit, but laying it out here will make me accountable. I went to the doctor on Monday morning and SOP there is to hop on a scale before anything else happens. The resulting number was one I have not seen since early 2007. I knew it was going to be bad, but I was not prepared for just how bad.

Three and a half years. Three and a half years of weight loss essentially down the drain. I wanted to cry.

182. That's what it said. 182. One hundred and eighty two pounds. There. I said it. Do you know how fucking crushed I feel at writing that number? (On the bright side, this is still 40 pounds less than I was at my heaviest.)

Now I know why my pace has been falling into the basement. I'm carting around 25 pounds (that's one economy-sized box of cat litter) more than I was when I was training for Cleveland and New York in 2009.

I can point fingers every which way in an attempt to lay the blame for this debacle (injury! nasty weather! beer!) but in the end, all the fingers point directly at me. It's my fault. I became lenient with my diet and I wasn't exercising enough. I let things slide. Backslide.

A few rays of hope, though: one, I've been through this before and I know what I have to do to reverse this unfortunate trend. Two, the last time I weighed this much I was in the nascent stages of Phase II of my running career and thought that anything over four miles was impossibly far.

Last Saturday I ran 15.5 miles and felt fresh as a daisy throughout. Yeah, I went slo-o-o-o-w-ly (average pace was 11:06, but that includes a fair bit of walking), but I ran fifteen miles at once. And that's while weighing 180 pounds.

It's time to dust off my Weight Watchers cookbooks and start doing weekly meal plans again. That worked wonders the first time around. Having ingredients on hand for five or six preplanned meals does tend to thwart the temptation to eat poorly. The rest of it is willpower and determination.

Additionally, I have kicked what's left of my training for Thunder Road into high gear. Fifteen miles last weekend will segue into 20 this coming weekend (to be run on the Towpath Trail through the Cuyahoga Valley National Park, one of my favorite places to do 20-milers) and I'm back to doing all of my midweek runs, including my Thursday runs with my peeps at the Running Fit store. The aggravation and frustration of August and September have receded and I am happy to report that my hamstring has ceased to be an issue. That is not to say I will be sprinting through the closing meters of any Beer Miles (or anything, for that matter) anytime soon.

One little bit at a time. I can't think "I have to lose 25 POUNDS?" or I will be defeated before I even begin. My first task is to just get below 180 again. Three pounds.

On a lighter note, the last weekend of October was an eventful one. Here are some pictures. Let me show you them.

This was during my 12-mile saunter² around Ft. Wayne, Indiana, with the Engineer on October 30. We found a bowling ball in the middle of a soccer field. This is the most incongruous object I've ever seen on a run. After we finally got back to the car we visited the Trion Tavern in New Haven for some well-earned brews.

The Redhead and I FINALLY run a race together! This was the Run Thru Hell on Halloween. We are rocking some awesome Salvation Army-supplied Scooby Doo-inspired costumes. For the record it was about 32 degrees and I was freezing, but not as freezing as poor Redhead who is used to Florida temperatures and was wearing a sleeveless dress.

Spike as a socially awkward parental-basement-dwelling World of Warcraft player. He stayed in character the whole morning. The persona was inspired by "the greatest shirt in the world." His mom told him he had to get out and do something physical with people IRL. So he did. He also met an awesome girl who doesn't care about the weird satiny yellow shorts and crazy T-shirt and glasses wrapped with tape³. Oh, he also set a new 10K personal best. Not bad for a guy who hasn't seen sunlight in about two weeks.

The sign kind of says it all, doesn't it? For more riffs on the "Pure Michigan" tourism ad campaign, go here. You might not get it if you don't live in Michigan, but they're still funny. I laughed the hardest at "Royal Oak," "Downriver," and "U of M Football."

After all the excitement, what better way to relax than with a four-pack of Dark Horse Brewing's Scotty Karate Scotch Ale while I dole out candy to 200+ ungrateful brats?

And there went October. I have a little more than four weeks before Thunder Road...onward!

1: A "down-down" is when one is made to chug a small amount of beer as punishment for an infraction real or imagined. I have done many, many down-downs.
2: It took three hours, but in my defense, there was awesome fossiliferous limestone used as a building material that I had to look at and get all carbonate sedimentologically nostalgic about.
3: By the way that chick went home with him. Daphne, what a ho. Velma would never do that.

My Bad...I Guess...

2010-10-29T10:24:00.000-04:00

Having lived in the Midwest for most of my life I know how quickly it gets dark at this time of year once the sun slips past the horizon. A run which begins in daylight at 6:00 pm will end in near-darkness an hour later. Said expedited twilight is enhanced when clouds blanket the sky.

I need to be aware of this when I do things like dress in all black and attempt to cross a busy road (in a crosswalk and with the green light right-of-way) near the end of a five-mile run.

A lady in an SUV driving into the crosswalk to make a right turn on red will screech to a halt as I pass in front of her, then pull around the corner where I am now waiting to make the next crossing, and will yell at me out her passenger-side window.

I was terribly embarrassed and didn't say anything. I thought about snapping back, "Give me a break, it wasn't dark when I left an hour ago."

She drove away in a huff, and as I crossed the next street I thought, "Note to self: from now on, BRING SAFETY VEST." It won't even be a point of contention in another couple of weeks because we will be switching back to standard time on November 7 and it will be dark at 6:00 (sob). My safety vest and headlamp will become default equipment in my winter running gear set.

My run was otherwise uneventful but for the fact that it was the first time I've run with the Thursday Night Gang since early June. The long, hot, horrible summer is over and I have no reason not to head to the Running Fit store on Thursday evenings to hang with my peeps. We even hit Banfield's afterward for beers (Bell's Two Hearted Ale).

On tap for tomorrow: 14 miles (hopefully) and then the Run Thru Hell 10K on Sunday morning!

Grand Rapids Half Marathon

2010-10-26T22:17:00.001-04:00

Six months ago, fresh off the emotional high of the Boston Marathon, I ambitiously set a goal of qualifying for another Boston at the Grand Rapids Marathon in October.

Life had other plans, as it often does.

From a dreadfully hot and humid summer that sapped me of willpower at every turn to the fateful hamstring injury in August, this was not a season to remember. I struggled, I fought, I complained, I bitched, moaned, and basically gave up.

It was the giving up that hung on my spirit more than anything. Once upon a time I went after my goals with fire in my heart and I flung myself headlong into any endeavor, gritting my teeth and powering through the long and lonely miles. That winter season of training for Cleveland, was anything as difficult as that, really? And here I was whining about running when it was insufferably hot. What about all those awful mornings when I slid out the door into a dark, frozen world and ran 6 or 7 miles? Where was that version of me when I needed her most?

Skulking around in the shadows, just beyond my field of vision...so close, yet so far away.

When I finally backed away from the full marathon, it was a huge relief. I knew that even with the spotty training I had cobbled together since mid-August I could run a half marathon. The conditioning and overall fitness I had spent the past three years building up would be enough to carry me the 13.1 miles I needed. It was going to be hard but I would survive.

So it was I found myself huddled in the crowd at the start of the Grand Rapids race on Sunday, October 17. My dad and the Engineer were by my side and somewhere in the crowd were Spike and the Redhead and three more of my running buddies (Lorenda, Larry, and Amanda). We were in this together. 13.1 miles, I had run that distance a score of times. What's 13 miles? I could do that in my sleep. Except...my sleep had lasted two months. It was time to wake up and run.

Temperature: about 45 degrees. The sun was rising and it was calm and clear. I was wearing my trusty running skirt and my special Chelsea Market shirt. I felt relaxed and ready. I was covered in Body Glide and I had a freshly charged Garmy. Bring it.

The race itself was rather uneventful. We weaved around the streets of Grand Rapids, crossing the river, winding through downtown, past riverfront and warehouses and grassy meadows. I maintained a nice, easy 9:00-9:15 pace. I stopped for a bathroom break around mile 8.5, without which I probably would have broken 2 hours, but that's okay. Around mile 10 fatigue settled in and I knew the last three miles were going to require some pushing. I hadn't run this far in a long time. Like, two months. I told you my training had gone off the rails. Gone off the rails? It was a trainwreck. A pileup.

Miles 11 and 12 slid by and before I knew it I made the last turn with about a half mile to go. I could see the finish line banner in the distance. I was almost done. So close. I was tired. I was ready for it to be over.

Onward, I told myself. You're almost done. This doesn't hurt as badly as the last half mile at Cleveland, and you're not trying to qualify for Boston, so just glide on down there nice and easy, no need to sprint (remember the hamstring debacle!), just keep it slow and steady...

I crossed the finish line and it was done. My sixth half marathon, and my second slowest at 2:05:28. I fought for that 2:05, however. I don't have anything to be ashamed of.

Late last week I met up with the Redhead for lunch as we are wont to do seeing as how we work half a mile from each other. We were unable to connect on race day to my great sadness, but that meant that last Friday we were able to get our run nerd on in fine form, including matching race shirts and medals!

Don't mind us, we're just a couple of weird runner chicks...

I can't fully relax, however, because come December 11 I will be running a marathon. A full one this time. I'm not letting this one slip away. Thunder Road is waiting. Charlotte, here I come.

For the record, my hamstring didn't give me a single twinge for the entire race. Not a quiver, not a clench, nothing. That, my friends, is the biggest triumph of all.

Onward!

Thursday Thoughts: Three, Two, One...

2010-10-14T12:40:00.000-04:00

Three...

Days until the Grand Rapids Half Marathon, where I will be running with my Dad, the Redhead, and the Engineer while Spike runs the full marathon. Truthfully, if I was running the full on Sunday like I planned...I'd be crapping my pants right about now with fear. I'm so glad I only have to run 13 miles. 13 miles is nothing.

Two...

Years since I ran my first marathon, Detroit. At this time two years ago I was an excited, nervous wreck with an ice bag strapped to my ankle because I was desperately trying to get rid of a mysterious ankle ache that had been plaguing me for days.

One...

(plus approximately seven) Hours until I get to see Sufjan Stevens LIVE IN CONCERT TONIGHT.

It's all good, folks.

Slow Runner

2010-10-11T18:31:00.004-04:00

That would be me, not the band.

For the time being I've accepted my status as more of a tortoise than a hare. Not that I was ever super-fast to begin with, but there once was a time when I could run a 7:30 mile and not think too much of it. In fact, it felt casual and carefree. Why, just a year ago I ran a half marathon at an average pace of 7:51 per mile.

Not so much at the moment. Since the beginning of the hamstring debacle in the middle of August, my runs have been more about survival than speed. Too many days off have taken their toll.

The Grand Rapids Half Marathon is this coming Sunday. I was supposed to be staring down another Boston qualifying attempt in the marathon, and instead I will be lining up with my dad and the Redhead and hoping to maintain a 9:30 pace for 13.1 miles. Not that running with my dad, the Redhead (and possibly my sweetie, the Engineer) is that distasteful a prospect. I am sure I will enjoy myself no matter what. Any day running is better than a day without.

On October 3 I ran the Big House Big Heart 5K for the fourth time. This is a race I never miss. The thrill of running into Michigan Stadium has yet to lose its luster. Last year I ran the race in 23:46. This year I eked out a 27:24. After a crowd-clogged first mile (9:21) I was able to open up and run an 8:31 mile 2...and then my hamstring decided to revolt again. I was so mad. I had been running steadily and without pain for weeks, and now this. I limped my way through an 8:49 mile 3 to the finish.

It was not the outcome I had hoped for. Fine. Get over it and move on. The half marathon is waiting, and after that, the Thunder Road Marathon in December. Once that race is done with, I am going to back off goal-oriented training. I have been training for once major race or another for three years, and I'm tired of it. I just want to get up in the morning and run whatever distance I feel like, not something that's prescribed on a spreadsheet. I want to be able to run only three miles instead of a scheduled five and not feel guilty. I want to be able to blow off a run here and there because it's pouring rain when I wake up and not beat myself up about it. I need more cross-training and strength training.

The past two years were amazing in terms of my growth and improvement as a runner. I knew the upward trajectory could not last forever. Eventually I was going to crest the hill, reach the apex, the apogee, and begin to descend. I seem to be on a downside at the moment. I hope to pull myself out of this valley. I realize that the sub-22:00 5K, the 3:30 marathon may be beyond my ability. That's okay. I just want running to be fun again.

I may be slow, but I'm working on it.

Rationalization Justification

2010-09-11T15:18:00.004-04:00

It is a wet and gray late summer afternoon as I sit here at my desk drinking a Bell's Oracle Double IPA. I have Glasser's "Home" on infinite repeat and there is a dull and persistent ache behind my right knee.

I will not be running the Grand Rapids Marathon on October 17.

Just saying those words lifts a huge weight from my shoulders. I've grappled for weeks with the question of whether to shove onward and do this race, or accept that it wasn't meant to be this time.

I am nothing if not stubborn when it comes to running, and that trait has yielded unfortunate results. I suppose I could say I have finally learned from my past mistakes¹. After three years of constant training I have learned to listen to my body, to know when it is telling me enough is enough.

Sharp pain in my hamstring after five miles of slow running does not bode well for a full marathon. I know this as sure as I know that it's raining outside at this very moment.

There's the part of me that cries out, "Quitter! You're giving up this easily? Remember how you lost almost a month of training to IT band syndrome and still bounced back to qualify for Boston?"

Shut up.

I hate that voice, the one that tells me I'm weak and soft for taking the easy way out. I could force myself through these final five weeks before the marathon and then gut out the race itself, but for what? Another Boston qualifying time is completely out of the question. I know that running the full in Grand Rapids would hurt like hell. I'd be wrecked. I don't need that. There is determination and there is stupidity. Forcing myself to run a marathon in my undertrained state is stupid. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. I've completed FOUR marathons. That's 400% more than most people will do in their entire lives.

I ran today, five slow miles, accompanied almost the entire time by my friend, hamstring pain. I thought about the amazing year I had in 2009: setting new personal bests one after the other, qualifying for Boston...2009 would be difficult to improve upon under any circumstances. I ran Boston in April and that was the experience of a lifetime. Perhaps that will have to suffice as my major accomplishment of the year.

Shifting from the full to the half in Grand Rapids means I have 12 weeks until the Thunder Road Marathon in Charlotte. That has become my focus. 12 weeks is enough time to rehab this irritating muscle injury and rebuild my fitness for the race in December. I have a modest goal in mind for Charlotte: do better than my last two marathons (4:16 and 4:11). Breaking four hours would be even better. Forget about requalifying for Boston. If that ever happens again...wonderful. If it doesn't, well, I did it once, and the memories of that experience will be mine for a lifetime.

Side note: in three years I get another 5 minutes' worth of cushion on my Boston qualifying time...

...which also means that in three years I will be turning 40...

BLOODY HELL.

That is so not the way I wish to end this post, all broody and thinking about getting older. No. I'm going to end by saying that I'm going to run the Grand Rapids Half Marathon with my Dad in five weeks, and Spike will be there, and the Redhead too, and I'm going to visit Founders Brewing, and there will be much merriment and good times.

Congratulations to Carolina John on completing a half Ironman today! And to all my buddies slogging through the mud at Dances with Dirt!

1: Add to list: Never sprint the final 30 meters of a Beer Mile.

Scuse Me While I Go Insane

2010-09-02T13:00:00.004-04:00

Thanks to Sunset and the song "Late Night Dawning" for the inspiration for this post title.

Why am I going insane?

Let's back up to Sunday, August 15. I did my 12-mile long run that morning as scheduled. It was a step-down week, and good thing, too, because seriously, folks, those 12 miles were some of the most uncomfortable I have ever endured. The warm temperatures and accompanying oppressive humidity turned those 12 miles into a soggy chafing-riddled death march. Once I was home, I stood steaming in my kitchen as sweat trickled down my legs and into my socks. There wasn't a single square inch of fabric on me that wasn't soaked through. My sports bra and shirt dripped onto the floor when I hung them up in the closet to dry out. It was disgusting.

All that badness aside, I was feeling upbeat. I felt as if things were finally gaining momentum. I was looking forward to the next phase of training.

And then I had to go and run that beer mile...

It was later on that same day that I met my hashing friends for a classic endurance event: drink a beer, run a quarter mile. Repeat three more times. Try not to barf. I was being supremely lazy, and I was having a great time. I was one of only three people who hadn't finished as the clock slid past 30 minutes. Yes, I had wasted 30 minutes "running" a beer mile. I finished my last beer and set off at a nice leisurely pace to complete my final lap. With only 30 or so meters to go, I decided to starting moving a little faster. And then I moved faster yet. And then I was sprinting like I hadn't sprinted in forever.

Then it happened: it felt like I had been stabbed in the back of my right leg as my hamstring simply gave up. Pain shot up and down my leg as I screamed and tried not to fall down. I staggered across the finish and immediately thought:

"Oh shit...what have I done?"

What did I do, indeed. I derailed my training like a 100-car trainwreck. I couldn't even walk without limping. Running was absolutely out of the question. A few days later I broke into a jog to try and catch my office building door before it locked, took two steps and felt like I'd been shot in the back of the leg. Ibuprofen and ice bags on the couch in the evenings, wincing when I moved the wrong way or bent down to put my shoes on. I waited 9 days before I tried running again. I made it about a quarter mile before I felt the tickle behind my knee that indicates my hamstring is very unhappy. Unwilling to admit defeat I pressed onward as the tickle became a hot stabbing ball of pain.

I was forced to walk. Sweating and cursing under my breath in the cool dawn air, I walked. I tried to run again. I had to stop a few hundred feet later. I was seething. I walked a little farther, then slowly trotted home despite the ache in my leg.

I let it go for a few more days, then tried again last weekend with the same results. Walk...slow, painful jog...stop.

Frustration. Anger. Denial. Despair.

Then, a tiny ray of hope: Sunday afternoon, out in the woods hashing again. This time I walked. Walked trail with my friend on a hot August afternoon, simply enjoying being outside. We must have walked four miles before losing trail and bumping into some of the other hashers. I thought, "Screw it, I'm running."

I ran...and it didn't hurt. I wasn't running very fast, but I was running. I remained hyperaware of my right leg, poised to halt at the first tickle. Except there was no tickle. My hamstring was quiet. I rolled into the beer check in a good mood. Even Budweiser in a can tasted good at this point. I was sitting at the picnic table chatting when for no reason at all I reached around and felt for the back of my waistband where I had stashed my car key.

It wasn't there.

Folks, never in my life have I said the word "FUCK" more times in less than one minute. The gentle wave of happiness I had been riding collapsed as I thought about the four-plus miles of trail I had just traversed. My car key could be anywhere.

"Stupid fucking useless Nike so-called pocket! FUCK!"

I wanted to cry. The bleak prospect of backtracking on trail in what would most likely be a futile attempt to find my lost key, a three-hour (at least) journey of being driven home, somehow getting into my house to get my spare key, driving back to the park, then finally being able to drive my own car home...

I stood up from the table, resigned and defeated. Sitting there moping wasn't going to accomplish anything. I started trudging back toward the woods. I hadn't gotten more than 50 feet away when my friend K called out, "Come back here and chill out for a second."

"NO!" I yelled.

He insisted I return to the table, and I reluctantly did. He launched into a seemingly unrelated rambling anecdote about the "trail fairy," who finds lost items on trail. "Flip cameras...cell phones...wallets...and car keys." He pointed.

My car key was lying on the table. My mouth dropped open and I screamed, "Oh my GOD!" I grabbed it in disbelief. "Who found it?"

Two of my hashing buddies had found it on trail where the path had divided to go around a tree. I knew exactly what they were talking about. It was the very spot where I had decided to start running. The key had popped out of the pouch almost instantly. They came across it lying in the dirt not long afterward and picked it up not knowing it was mine. Another hasher recognized it as the key to my Volkswagen. By the time they reached the beer check, they all knew they had my car key. How long would it take before I realized it was missing? And how long would they let me curse and rail at the heavens before the big reveal?

Quite a while, apparently, and not without some behind-my-back mirth on their part.

I was so relieved to have my lost key returned to me I didn't care. It seemed almost miraculous that they had seen a small black piece of plastic lying on the ground, something that could easily have been overlooked.

Life was good again.

Life was even better a couple of days later when I cautiously ventured out for a run. I walked about a quarter-mile to loosen up, and then began running. I kept the pace nice and slow. I ran about 1.75 miles of my 2-mile loop and it was completely painfree. Nary a tickle nor twinge from my hamstring.

With only six weeks to go until the Grand Rapids Marathon, however, I don't know if I can get this train back on the tracks in time. I should have done my first 20-miler (of a scheduled three) last Sunday. My long runs stalled at 17 miles. I feel woefully unprepared and undertrained. I want to try a longer run this weekend to assess things, and the outcome of that run could well determine whether or not I downgrade to the half marathon in GR or forgo it altogether and concentrate on the Thunder Road Marathon in December instead.

What a nightmarish turn of events, and I have only myself to blame. If only I hadn't decided to showboat the last few meters of that damn beer mile...karma, it bites hard.

In other news:

I have seen the "cherry on top" meme popping up all over the running blogosphere. Normally I ignore memes, but two people (Pigtails Flying and the Redhead) have specifically tagged me, so I feel I should be a good sport for once and participate.

1. Answer this question: if you had the chance to go back and change one thing in your life, would you and what would it be?

This one is an absolute no-brainer. I would have started taking voice lessons in college when I was 18-19. I would have gotten a ten-year head start, and maybe things would have turned out differently. Most of you who have been reading this blog for any length of time are aware that I am a singer with a modest talent and unfulfilled dreams of a career in opera. I have accepted, finally, that the window of opportunity has closed and I am never going to be a professional singer. However, I have had enough training that I am able to sing moderately well for my own and my family's and friends' entertainment. I sing every day, whether it's opera at home or indie rock in the car. There are few things more enjoyable for me than letting loose with a brilliant high C in "Chi il bel sogno di Doretta" or raging full throttle throughout "Mi tradi quell'alma ingrata."

2. The second thing you have to do is, pick 6 people and give them this award. You then have to inform the person that they have gotten this award.

Well, I squirm when forced to put people on the spot, so I'm just going to list my favorite run-bloggers, some of whom are awesome friends in real life, and some of whom I've never met. (Participation past this point is totally optional.) Whenever I see a new post from any of these folks in my Google Reader, it makes my day.

The Redhead of Caution: Redhead Running. Oh, my dear Redhead, where do I even begin? I am so, SO glad I have gotten to know you in real life as a friend and running partner, as well as rescuing Spike from moping around on his plaid couch and being trapped under mountains of dirty running socks.

TK of Pigtails Flying. Best booty in the run-blogging business, in my opinion. Relay team captain extraordinaire, graceful under pressure in the extreme (such as finding oneself lost in a maze of New Jersey highways as well as backing up the wrong way on a freeway on-ramp), and always good for a surprise free book from time to time just when I need it most.

Viper of the Booze Hounds Inc Running Team. I started reading Viper's blog in early 2008 and immediately knew I had found a kindred spirit. Rarely have I seen someone combine running, drinking, and writing with such skill. And not just drinking beer, but quality beer. For, as I always say, "Life is too short to drink bad beer." The Viper and I share a common region of origin, and one of these days (ONE OF THESE DAYS!) I am going to convince him to meet up with me for a beer when I'm visiting my parents.

Carolina John of Smoke Training. What started out as a chance meeting two years ago in the comments section of GQH's blog (I believe we first traded barbs over The Event Which Shall Not Be Named) grew into run-blogger friendship after we discovered our mutual love of "When Harry Met Sally," one of the greatest movies ever ("WAGON WHEEL COFFEE TABLE!"), thereby negating the pain of the aforementioned Event. When I travel to Charlotte, North Carolina, for the Thunder Road Marathon in December, I hope I will finally get to meet him.

Spike of Running Spike. How long have we known each other now? Three years? Two? You have been an awesome friend for many reasons, not the least of which is the ever-present candy bowl. Yes, that's right, I only like you for your dark chocolate Reese's peanut butter cups and mini-Twix bars. Seriously, though, being able to share my first Boston Marathon experience-- from the day I qualified to the race itself almost a year later-- with you was fantastic. And of course you know how I feel about you and the Redhead. I know it hurt to break up with your shower curtain, but it really was for the best.

A tie between Nitmos of Feet Meet Street and Glaven Q. Heisenberg of the Fourinone Blog, formerly known as Mostly Running...Some Bullshit (or was it All Bullshit...No Running?). I really can't pick my favorite of these two comedians. No matter what they write, it's going to be funny. I rarely laugh harder than I do when reading something they have written.

Finally, I have to list another blog whose thrice-weekly appearance in my Reader is eagerly anticipated: Sardonic Shock Syndrome. Not a running blog (shocking, I know!) but a well-written, witty, and frequently hilarious look at just about everything with an emphasis on current events and culture. If you're from the Detroit area you may find it especially entertaining. I know the author in real life as well, having contacted him after reading his thesis at work (see, cubicle jobs are good for something!).

3. The third and final thing is, thank the person who gave you the award.

TK and Redhead, you ladies rock my world. I am lucky to know you both. :)

The long weekend is almost upon us...to steal a couple of phrases from two of the previously mentioned folks, run well and drink well, and catch y'all on the flip side!

The Quicker Picker Upper

2010-08-12T11:21:00.003-04:00

How many of us have done this before?

I frequently find myself picking up others' discarded trash in order to dispose of it properly. Lazy assholes can't be bothered to do it themselves, so I'll do it for them, and silently direct invectives in their general (unknown) direction as I place the object in the correct receptacle.

Aside from picking up blatant asshole-deposited trash, how many of us have returned from a run carrying something more useful which we found lying on the road? I have come home with a wool U of M hat and a colorful tote bag.

The smorgasbord of clothing left behind at the start of major cool-weather races is a serious temptation, as are the innumerable hats, gloves, arm warmers and the like scattered on the road in the early miles of a race, but I do my best to refrain from picking up anything because I probably won't want to carry it for the next 24 miles.

Number Crunching

2010-08-11T10:47:00.004-04:00

Miles on schedule: 9

Alarm sounded: 5:15 am

Out the door: 5:29:00

Length of time spent staring at smudgy white patch of grass in my yard: 10 seconds

Back inside after realizing smudgy white patch of grass was actually a skunk: 5:29:10

Out the door a second time after turning on porch light to scare away skunk: 5:30

Temperature: 68 degrees

Humidity: 97%

Yuck factor due to excessive humidity: Infinite

Deer seen: 2

Rabbits: 6

Unknown critters rustling in underbrush: 7

Times I had to stop and poop: 2 (once back at the house, once at a port-a-potty)

Sprinklers I ran through: 4

Retied shoe: 1

Other runners spotted: 3

Minutes spent contemplating delicate pink hue of clouds at sunrise after using port-a-potty: 1

Negative thoughts about training: 57

Miles ran: 9.03

Post-run: Drenched from head to toe with sweat

Chicago

2010-08-05T12:39:00.003-04:00

Yes, Chicago was the backdrop for my long run last weekend. I was there to attend the Wicker Park Fest with my man.

And here's my favorite song with "Chicago" in the title, from a band which I was able to see live two weeks ago.

17 miles on the schedule for Saturday on the Falling Waters Trail. That is, if the Redhead's leg gremlins allow her to run.

If You Brew It They Will Come

2010-08-02T21:34:00.004-04:00

I have no idea if the title of this post has been used as an advertising slogan, somewhere, sometime, but three rounds into my stint at the bar at Three Floyds Brewing in Munster, Indiana, I was suddenly struck by inspiration and I felt the need to announce this brilliant phrase of my own devising to my companion. Loudly.

In addition to Three Floyds, I also visited Bell's Eccentric Cafe, Two Brothers Brewing, and Old Hat Brewery. We probably would have stopped at Dark Horse Brewing, too, but it was too late.

It was an incredible weekend of new brew discoveries. The Ice Grille from Three Floyds was a delicious find.

But that's not what my weekend was about. It was about THE MOST AWESOME LONG RUN EVER! MYSTERY GUEST LOCATION REVEALED! (sort of.)

WHERE WAS SUN RUNNER?

I'm on a boat! OK, not really. I wish I was on that boat...with my nautical theme pashmina afghan.

Best picture of the set. If you can't figure it out by now...

Look closely: there is a dog on that custom trailer. He looked as if he were having the time of his life.

There was a major race (half marathon) going on. I inadvertently fell in with the racers around mile 2.5 of my run and hung with them for about 4 miles. Let me tell you all, that was a HUGE boost. Even though I wasn't racing, I had the benefit of the live entertainment and all the cheering. I did NOT take advantage of the multiple water/Gatorade stops and wet sponge handout. Hello, serious breach of runner etiquette! I refused to take what was not rightfully mine. I could wait for a water fountain (although the first two I tried to use didn't work, and that was a massive problem as I desperately needed water to wash down my Gu).

I ran 16 miles total in just over 2.5 hours. It was an incredible run. What a treat.

So, savvy readers, in which major U.S. city did I do my long run this past weekend? Facebook friends, keep out of this one! No fair spilling the beans!

I have another 8 miles on the schedule for tomorrow...must go to bed now...

Highs and Lows

2010-07-30T11:22:00.004-04:00

After the pleasant eight-mile run I had on Tuesday, Wednesday morning I plodded through a four-mile slog that was anything but. I felt as if I were wading through a swamp. My legs were heavy as stone. As the torture ground on, I descended into one of those self-doubting black moods we all have at one time or another. Does any of this sound familiar?

I don't know why I even bother.
I'm dying and it's only been two miles, how the hell am I going to run a marathon?
I'm never going to requalify for Boston if I don't improve, and FAST.
This is fucking stupid.
Maybe I should just downgrade to the half.
Fuck that, maybe I should just quit racing altogether.
I am pathetic.
I'm so fat.
I've got to get out of this funk.
Maybe I should just accept that I'm getting older and slower. Maybe 2009 was my last hurrah.
It didn't used to be this hard. What happened?

And so on.

I was plodding along around 3.8 miles in, desperately wanting this horrible run to END, when I came to a four-way-stop. I proceeded across the intersection, vaguely aware that a car had pulled up at the stop sign. Then I heard someone call out to me:

"Good job. Keep it up, young lady. Good job."

I looked over and there was an older gentleman in the car. I said, "Thank you!"

No, I didn't start running a 7:30 mile all of a sudden. However, it did lift my spirits a bit. I stopped slouching so badly and finished the run feeling slightly better about myself.

I opted to do my pace run today instead of taking my traditional rest day, thereby freeing up one morning of the weekend for other things. I was determined to get this one right. "Pace" means my marathon pace, 8:35/mile or less. I owned that bitch.

8:24, 8:12 (wtf?), 8:23, 8:24.

Same route, same mileage as Wednesday...but a full minute per mile faster. What's more, I felt great. I was running instead of plodding. Maybe there is hope for me and my second BQ quest after all.

The next time I run will be my 16-miler in the super awesome guest location. I can't wait!

8 Before 8 Redux

2010-07-27T10:06:00.005-04:00

Two years ago I wrote about running 8 miles before work for the first time. This morning I found myself back at it, having reached the point in my schedule where my midweek runs begin creeping up in duration. I wasn't especially thrilled about the prospect of dragging myself away from my comfy bed and cuddly cats at 5:30 am, but the shit must get done! I even went to bed at 10:00 pm to ensure I was rested.

We are far enough removed from the summer solstice that leaving the house before 6:00 am means the streets are dimly lit and more than likely the streetlights are still on. Soon enough I will have to start wearing my safety vest (and let's not even get into the coming cold weather and all the equipment required to survive it) . This morning, though, I stepped out into the cool blue predawn light unencumbered and ready to run.

Things rolled along smoothly and before I knew it I was already half done. The sun was just beginning to peek above the horizon and the clouds were glowing pink and orange. Shortly after mile 6 I was forced to make a pit stop at one of my emergency port-a-potties (the one at the high school athletic fields). I took the opportunity to walk through the dew-saturated grass. There was a blanket of mist draped over the untended meadow beyond the edge of the field and somewhere beyond the trees I heard a sandhill crane send its rattling call into the quiet air. A small flock of herring gulls shuffled through the wet grass away from me (making me long to be on vacation again, where those gulls are ubiquitous). It was a lovely, perfect morning for a run.

In two weeks my Tuesday run goes up to 9 miles, and two weeks after that to 10. I am steeling myself for getting up even earlier, but the alternative-- running after work-- is even more unpleasant. This summer has not been kind (unlike last year). It has been hot and humid consistently, and the temperatures in the afternoons have been dangerous and brutal. I have abandoned my Thursday evening running group until cooler temperatures prevail. Given the choice between running at 6:00 am when the sun is not up and it is a tolerable 60 degrees or running at 6:00 pm under blazing sun and a broiling 85 degrees...Yeah. Not much to debate there. After a couple of blissful nights of sleeping with the windows open and leaving the air conditioning off during the day, tomorrow it's going to be 90 degrees again.

I'll be running my five miles at 5:45 am, thankyouverymuch.

In other news, last week I was moping heavily because I was not on vacation any more. Luckily, something happened on Friday which was the perfect way to shake me out of my funk:

The Michigan Brewers Guild Summer Beer Festival! I hit the festival around 6:30 pm just as a tremendous thunderstorm crashed down upon us. It cleared up eventually and my sweetie and I spent the next two hours cruising the festival and sampling a few of Michigan's finest microbrews. My favorites of the day were Old Hat Brewery Peanut Butter Stout (the only beer I had twice) and Arbor Brewing Company's Buzzsaw Massacre multiple-dry-hopped IPA. Good Lord, that was delicious. (Other notables: Corner Brewery Demetrius Barrel Aged Sour Double IPA, Right Brain Ancho Chile Chocolate Porter, and a bourbon barrel aged stout I can't remember the name of.) After 15 3- to 4-ounce samples everything started to blur together. The festival was closing down for the evening by then so we went and ate a huge amount of sushi for dinner. Amazingly I was up at 5:15 am Saturday morning as planned for my 10-mile run with the Redhead in East Lansing. After a post-run breakfast of fried egg on toast prepared by Spike, I returned home refreshed and recharged. As if the previous evening's beerstravaganza hadn't been enough, my sweetie and I hit Original Gravity Brewing in Milan for lunch and more brews.

In the fake living room set up near one of the serving tents at the festival.

On the schedule this weekend: 16 miles, possibly being run in a totally awesome place (to be revealed in a later post)!

What Was I Really Doing on Vacation...?

2010-07-18T19:10:00.008-04:00

I think this is a case of "a picture is worth a thousand words."

Wine and the beginnings of my epic tan

Beer (and fried shrimp and onion rings, YUM)

My last day there and a Cosmopolitan.

Oh, there was running, too. Quite a bit of it, actually. This was on the Cape Cod Rail Trail in Harwich, during my 13 miler my first day of vacation. I ran seven days in a row for a total of 40 miles. Throw in my 14 miler from this morning and that makes 54 miles in 9 days. I'm pooped.

There was lobster, too. That crustacean went DOWN.

I'm back in Michigan and not really looking forward to returning to cubicle world tomorrow. Such is the price one pays for being on vacation for 10 days. Was it really just a week ago I raised my glass of wine in the first picture? *sniffle*

It is unspeakably hot and humid here. I shudder at the thought of the coming weeks of training. Fortunately I have habituated myself to early morning runs, so rising before 6:00 am in order to take advantage of the coolest part of the day is not really an issue. Given the present conditions there is no other option for me. I begin coming unglued when the temperature hits 70. After 80 I'm all but useless. Throw oppressive humidity on top of that and you get something like the ghastly slog I had this morning: 14 miles of fucking torture. I was all right through mile 5 when there was a cool blanket of fog obscuring the sun. Then, that wretched orb burned through the mist, however, and I was trapped in a haze of heat and sweat and fatigue and hating every second of it. I made it to the grounds of a school near my parents' where I suspected there might be a port-a-potty (THERE WAS, THANK GOD). At that point I had made it about 10.5 miles and despite my mood I was not going to give up. I ran 2.5 miles on the track at the school and then the last mile on the road back to the house. I really hated running this morning. Not just running, as in the action verb, but running as in the activity itself. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing, why I continue to do this to myself when so often it makes me so ANGRY and TIRED and EXASPERATED...

The Tide is High

2010-07-16T09:16:00.000-04:00

I am, at this very moment, sitting in a beach chair approximately three meters from the ocean. I have been watching a semipalmated sandpiper probe the sand for tasty morsels for the past 30 minutes. Industrious little bird.

The tide is coming in. If I sit here long
enough, it will wet my feet. Then I might have to move, which is not on my agenda for today, my last day on the Cape.

True, I did run 7.1 miles this morning, bringing my 7-day total to more than 39 miles. That's the most I've run in a
week since I was training for Boston three months ago. This morning's run almost didn't happen, as I nearly succumbed to last-day-of-vacation laziness, but in the end I strapped on my shoes and iPod and hit the road for what turned out to be the best run of the week. For the first time I wasn't felled by oppressive humidity and I felt as if I were running and not merely surviving. It was a fantastic way to cap my week at the beach.

I wish iBlogger had a photo upload feature because I would love to include a shot of my brown toes digging into the sand.

The ocean, glassy calm when I got up at 7:15, is now choppy and restless. Nevertheless I will be taking a plunge in a little while, to feel the salt water on my face one last time.

The surf is just a little bit closer now. Ocean, take me away...

Mobile Blogging from here.

Thursday Thoughts: Tan and Rested

2010-07-15T14:58:00.000-04:00

I'm still on vacation, though it is quickly and sadly drawing to a close. I will be departing Saturday morning.

In the meantime I am baking myself on the beach into an advanced state of brownness. Certain people who know me IRL, get ready to be shocked.

In conjunction with the roasting (and such roasting is taking place even with SPF 30 liberally applied every day), I am maintaining a high volume of adult beverage consumption befitting one who is on vacation. Yesterday I visited the brewery of Cape Cod Beer, purchased a growler of their IPA, and finished said container off today while enjoying my fried shrimp, fried clam, and onion ring lunch on the rental house deck overlooking the ocean. (Those of you who are my Facebook friend saw pictorial evidence of such.)

I have been liberally hitting the "mark all as read" button on my iPhone's Google Reader, meaning almost every single blog I subscribe to has been shoved unread into the discard heap. The only running blogs I have bothered to actually read this week have been those of the Redhead and Viper. There is too much sunning, reading of large books, and birdwatching to be done for me to be reading all of my usual blogs.

As far as running goes, I have run 32 miles in the past 6 days and I have 7 on the schedule for tomorrow. Today I did a tempo run, and pulled off an 8:16 mile without much trouble. That is a welcome development. For too long I felt as if my speed had deserted me. It's creeping back...slowly. Grand Rapids and my second BQ attempt await.

Now back to my vodka tonic...

Mobile Blogging from here.

Reemergence

2010-07-12T15:04:00.000-04:00

Yo folks.

I'm not dead, I'm on vacation. And, yo, bitchez, this is some vacation. It may not quite approach the awesomeness of my trip to California last August (aka The Best Vacation Ever) but it is close.

I believe when I left y'all I was whining and complaining about the various obstacles life had thrown my way. Since then I am happy to report shit has straightened itself out. The last overly irritating thing to occur were the four fillings I had replaced on June 22, an episode which left me with an aching face and seven uninterrupted hours of reading accompanied by cats. When the pain became unbearable, I took two painkillers from my carefully hoarded stash and promptly passed out.

I also participated in the Green Mountain Relay for the second year in a row but that is a post for another time. Suffice to say I love all you guys (even if you are incapable of ever shutting the fuck up I'm looking at you M&M).

But for now I'm on vacation, getting obscenely tan and sitting here half drunk while the ocean breeze drifts through the open window. I'm training for marathon number 5, the Grand Rapids Marathon, and I ran 13 miles yesterday morning. Otherwise I'm sitting on my ass on the beach reading.

This is the life, folks.

Mobile Blogging from here.

Yes, I Would Like Some Cheese With My Whine

2010-06-07T18:25:00.001-04:00

Hi folks. I'm breaking my 3-week silence solely to write this very whiny post about all of the annoying, upsetting, and generally unpleasant shit that has been happening to me lately.

My grandmother died.

I got a $330 speeding ticket on the way to my hometown to attend her funeral.

My car got a flat tire in the parking lot of my office the day before it was due to have all new tires put on.

My debit card was "deactivated," leaving me with no access to any monetary funds.

The band I drove all the way down to Toledo to see live canceled their appearance unexpectedly.

My water heater went kablooey, depriving me of hot water for four days. I had it replaced today, and thought all was well. That is, until I turned on my dishwasher tonight...only to find there is a major leak in the hot water line coming out of the tank. Water spraying everywhere. I managed to stem the leak by closing the cold water feed valve leading to the tank, but at 10:00 PM there's not much else I could do except place a panicked call to the plumber.

My basement partially flooded due to crazy insane amounts of rain Saturday night.

I had a small ant invasion in my kitchen.

I missed placing in my age group at the Dexter-Ann Arbor 10K by four seconds.

To say I've generally had it with just about everything would be an understatement.

I'm posting this from my bed because I'm too lazy to get up and do it in my computer room. Who cares?

Mobile Blogging from here.

Cleveland Half Marathon

2010-05-17T19:11:00.005-04:00

Prerace: hanging around in our expendable clothes

One of the last things I said to my dad as we stood in the crowd assembled for the start of the Cleveland Marathon & Half Marathon around 6:55 am Sunday was:

"Last year at this time I was completely freaking out."

Indeed. Exactly one year ago I had saddled myself with the goal to end all goals: qualify for the Boston Marathon or else. I was about to run the most important race of my budding career and I was nervous as hell. The subsequent three and three-quarters hours were going to make or break me.

We all know how that turned out.

What a difference a year makes. With Boston four weeks in the past, my running life has taken on a leisurely pace. Oddly, however, I am running stronger and better than I was during my training for Boston. I feel amazing.

So. For this year's installment of the Cleveland races, I was merely going to run the half marathon. Nevertheless, my goal this time was similarly important: pacing my dad to a sub-2:00 finish. I was 99% sure I could accomplish this. After all, my half marathon PR is 1:43:01. Still...there was a little kernel of doubt in the back of my mind which whispered: "You haven't run more than 10 miles since Boston. You barely managed a 2:00 half there. Are you sure you can do this?" I fired back: "I have been enjoying running more in the past two weeks than I have for a long time. I feel great. Of course I can do this."

Ya gotta believe, people!

Just before the start

The weather was beautiful and ideal for running: about 50 degrees, a very slight breeze, no precipitation. It was 7:00 and the sun was rising in the east. Unlike last year when I was a bundle of nervous energy, this time I was completely calm and relaxed. I was just going for a Sunday morning jog with Dad.

Mile 1 was slow: about 9:30. It was to be expected. I knew we had to start chipping away at that deficit immediately, however. I bumped up the pace until we were under 9:00/mile.

Crossing the historic Lorain-Carnegie Bridge to the West Side. You can barely see it in this picture, but the statue on the right has been crowned with a Cavs headband.

By the time we hit Tremont at mile 4 we were cruising at around 8:45/mile. The crowds were sparse, and I thought wistfully of my last two marathons (NYC and Boston) where there were people shoulder to shoulder almost the entire way. The folks who were out at 7:45 on a Sunday were very enthusiastic, though. We passed by the West Side Market and St. Ignatius. We hit the halfway point in Ohio City, and then it was on to Lakewood. We made the turn onto Edgewater Dr. just before mile 9, veered onto the Shoreway shortly thereafter, and then it was one long slog back into the city. There was a long uphill during mile 11 that taxed me more than I expected. Dad got out in front of me by about 20 meters. I did not remember that nasty slope from last year.

On the Shoreway around mile 11.

The Main Avenue Bridge, Mile 12

The inclined stretch of road pictured (blurrily) above was the last major hurdle before the end. Once we crested the bridge and hit downtown on the other side, it was all out to the finish. I had peeked at my watch enough to know we were going to come in under 2:00 without any trouble. Dad was hanging back and I suspected something was going awry. I slowed until he caught up to me and then I said we only had about half a mile to go. He said his quad was cramping. It was just another couple of turns onto St. Clair and E. 9th and then we were on the homestretch on Lakeside Ave. Memories of hurtling down this same piece of pavement a year earlier washed over me. How light and easy I felt this time, how full of energy! I cruised in for a 1:56:54 official time, and Dad was a couple of seconds behind me. We did it! We had finished in under two hours.

After the race. The giant red thing behind us is the Free Stamp, a local landmark.

A short while later, we were able to see the men's marathon winner come in.

And then, of course: BEER. Mine was a Great Divide Espresso Oak Aged Yeti Imperial Stout.

Speaking of beer...this is what I am enjoying at the moment. Thirsty Dog Cerberus (Akron, Ohio). I must give thanks to Viper for bringing this beer to my attention. I found this tasty brew at Warehouse Beverage on Mayfield Rd. in South Euclid, if anyone's interested.

I already have my next marathon training schedule stuck to my fridge. I have decided to run the early weeks of the schedule repeatedly until the real thing starts in late June. That way I can keep my base miles up and get some speed work in at the same time. This summer is going to be Serious Training. No more fooling around. Grand Rapids is going to be Cleveland all over again: qualify for Boston or else!

Race stats:
Official time: 1:56:54 (8:55/M)
Age group: 88/1145
Females: 514/6986
Overall: 1410/12449

Thursday Thoughts: Recent Races

2010-05-13T19:50:00.002-04:00

Since returning from Boston last month, I have been enjoying running (and not running...no guilt about skipping training runs when I'm not training!) a great deal. I've also been busy racing. Boston was April 19, so I have been taking advantage of not having a major race to run in May (and consequently having to taper for said race), unlike last year when I had to forgo racing while I was tapering for Cleveland. That didn't stop me from abusing my taper, as savvy readers may recall.

First up: the Run Fit 5K in Novi on April 28. It was at this race last year that I ran my 5K PR of 22:13 (and roughed up my taper a little bit). I knew I wasn't coming anywhere near that time this year. I just wanted to have a little fun after work with some running friends. I ended up posting a time of 25:04, good enough for 2nd in my age group and another mug to add to my collection.

Next was the Heart of a Spartan 10K in East Lansing on Saturday, May 2. This is that other school's answer to the Big House Big Heart, which finishes inside Michigan Stadium. This time, however, I would be finishing inside Spartan Stadium at Michigan State University. Because I am a proud University of Michigan alumna, I deliberately chose to wear my "Michigan Alumni" shirt for this race. I wanted to make the natives restless. Perhaps it was the unpleasant weather (steady rain, breezy, about 60 degrees) dampening people's moods, but my brazen display of the maize and blue drew surprisingly few comments from the crowd. I got more of a response when I wore the same shirt at the Cleveland Marathon. Spike's reaction was better: a disgusted groan and some snarky comments.

I wore a hat to keep the rain out of my eyes, but that was the only part of me which wasn't thoroughly soaked by the first mile. I gave up trying to keep my feet quasi-dry, and soon I was feeling water squirting between my toes with every step and my clothing was plastered to me. After I got warmed up, the cool rain was actually quite refreshing. I sloshed my way to a 51:33 finish, good enough for 7th in my age group.

Go Blue! Take that, Sparty!

Last but not least was the Vision Builders 5K this past Saturday. Like the Spartan 10K the weekend before, it was raining steadily. The difference was the addition of a 30-35 MPH wind and a temperature hovering around 44 degrees. There would be no sassy T-shirt and running skirt worn for this race. It was back to the full winter treatment, which in this case meant my Boston jacket and whatever wasn't dirty.

Three years ago the Vision Builders race was the first race I did after I got serious about running. I finished in 28:47 (9:15/M) and thought I was going to collapse. It was incredibly difficult.

May 2007. Little did I know what was in store for me.

Saturday morning as I was getting ready, my left hamstring was sending me some curious signals. "Hey, remember me? I'm back!" I was annoyed at this development as that troublesome spot had not been an issue for months. A warmup jog before the race to assess the situation was not cause for concern, but I know the hammy only acts up when I run at a fast pace. I decided to keep my expectations low and avoid risking injury because I want to be in decent shape for the Cleveland Half Marathon, which I will be running on Sunday.

So much for that...I cruised in for a 24:13 and placed 2nd in my age group. My hamstring didn't give me a single twinge. The worst part was battling the violent headwind.

I'm on the left (duh).

With my swag.

With fellow Thursday Night Gang runner Larry, who won his age group.

Careful readers may have noticed I slipped something into this post about running the Cleveland Half Marathon. Yes indeed, I'm heading back to my ancestral homeland tomorrow to run the half on Sunday with my dad. We have done the same races before, most notably the Marine Corps Historic Half two years ago. Last year while I ran the full marathon in Cleveland, he ran the half. This time we are going to run together, as in he wants to finish in a certain time and I am going to help him get there. I'm very excited!

Hawkeyed readers may also notice I said I don't have a "major race" to run this month. But...I'm running a half marathon on Sunday! My, how things have changed. There was a time when running a half marathon was cause for extreme panic. Now, running 13.1 miles is something I might do just for fun around town on a Saturday. Training for and running marathons permanently alters one's perceptions of distance.

Aaaaand...last but not least, I took the plunge and registered for the Grand Rapids Marathon. It is my intention to requalify for Boston at the race, so I have some work to do over the summer. Luckily for me I am going on vacation to Cape Cod in July so I will have somewhere different and interesting to do some of my runs.

My next post will most likely be after the half on Sunday. Have a grand weekend, everyone!

Run Fit 5K: 25:04 (8:04/M), 2/25 AG, 33/206 F, 107/368 OA
Heart of a Spartan 10K: 51:33 (8:17/M), 7/100 AG, 86/751 F, 360/1423 OA
Vision Builders 5K: 24:13 (7:49/M), 2/14 AG, 30/162 OA

Boston Marathon 2010

2010-05-09T16:35:00.004-04:00

The most famous route in all of runnerdom.

I dragged my feet for so long in posting this that even Spike beat me to posting his race report, and that's saying something, considering in the past we've had good-natured contests to see who is lazier. I think I won this one, my friend.

Boston. Where do I begin? How can I accurately articulate what running this race meant to me? Should I start here:

Just after I ran my qualifying time at the Cleveland Marathon, May 2009

Or should I start here:

August 2006. Before everything.

Four years ago, pushing 225 pounds, the idea that I could change my life for the better was nonexistent. Exercise? What's that? Eating wisely? Ha!

Needless to say, my, how things have changed. From that first 5K I ran after starting to lose weight, where my only goal was to finish without walking, to my first half marathon and onward to my first marathon...what a journey. What a fucking incredible journey, people.

I arrived in Boston on the Friday before the race. I visited the expo, collected my race packet, spent WAY too much money, ate WAY too many free samples of anything that was offered, and then hit up a local watering hole with my awesome hostess for the weekend. Saturday brought entertainment in the form of the Boston Hash House Harriers, who put on a stupendous hash through the streets of Boston.

It was about 40 degrees and spitting rain but I was very happy amongst my tribe.

Sunday I met up with some other run-blogger folks at a brunch gathering organized by the Redhead. I also saw Spike and we exchanged valuable prerace strategy in the form of giant tater tots stuffed with cheese. Carb loading, right?

With Spike and the Redhead at brunch. YOU GUYS ROCK!

I chilled out for the rest of Sunday, had a big pasta dinner with some other runners from Michigan, and hit the sack around 10:00 Sunday night. My bag was packed, I was ready.

What a girl wants, what a girl needs...to run a marathon.

Race morning was cool and sunny, unlike the previous three. I took the T into the city, met up with the other Michigan folks, and rode the special Michigan runners' charter bus to Hopkinton. After hanging around the bus and the athletes' village for a while, it was time to go. I strapped on my various accessories, dropped off my bag, and headed to the start. I found my corral and wriggled into the crowd. I took a moment to relax and ready myself for the task at hand. I was about to run the BOSTON MARATHON!

Right before the start.

Without much fanfare, we were off. I had decided long ago that I was not going for any particular time on this day. It was my very first Boston, and I just wanted to enjoy every moment. Consequently, I held my pace to a leisurely 9:00-plus per mile. I listened to the abundant people cheering, waved to various folks, high-fived little kids. Around mile 2 my fellow runner Erika, one of my Thursday night running group, came up behind me. I was very glad to see her and we ran together for the next 14 miles.

On the road in the early part of the race.

Midrace action!

I was moving along comfortably, soaking up the experience. When I got to the famous "Tunnel of Noise" at Wellesley College, Erika and I sped up considerably, buoyed by the cheering. I looked at Garmy after we ran through the screams and I said, "We gotta slow down, we're running like 8:30 pace!"

Even though I'm a Smithie, I have to give these women some props.

Just after Wellesley was the halfway point, which I reached in 2:00:42, right on pace for a 4:00 marathon. Around mile 16 I said to Erika, "I have to stop and use the bathroom, go ahead and don't wait for me. Good luck!" It was a miracle I had made it that far without having to use a port-a-potty. Usually the beast rears its head long before that. After exiting the bathroom, I settled in to run the rest of the race alone. I clearly remember passing mile 17 and thinking, "Nine more miles...shit." I knew where I was heading: that lonely territory of the mind where every marathon runner goes eventually. The late miles of a marathon are an out of body experience. We grit our teeth and concentrate on forward motion, pushing through the pain. I was closing in on that place. I made it through the series of hills culminating with Heartbreak at mile 21. At mile 22 I thought wearily, "Only four more to go."

On the course

And the pavement slid past under my feet, and lo I was very tired and did want to stop more than anything, but come ON, this was the BOSTON MARATHON, and I was in it. And I made the turn onto Boylston St and the final 0.3 miles stretched out in front of me. The screaming coming from the assembled crowds reached new heights and I pushed my glasses onto my forehead because I wanted to see everything as clearly as possible, only I found myself running with eyes half closed and a stupid grin on my face as a tsunami of emotion crashed over me. I was alternately laughing with joy and crying in disbelief as I ran toward the finish.

How can I look so happy at the end of a marathon? Because it's Boston.

I am so close to being done.

As soon as I finished, I knew I had to come back. There's no question. I can't let this be my only Boston.

About a minute after I finished. I was still riding an incredible emotional high.

I finished the Boston Marathon!!

Of course, no marathon report of mine would be complete without a picture of me savoring my first post-race beer:

Victory never tasted so hoppy.

So now what? I'm looking ahead to October and the Grand Rapids Marathon. I will try for another BQ at that race. In the shorter term, I've already run three races (two 5Ks and a 10K) since Boston. Next Sunday I will be running the Cleveland Half Marathon with my dad. I ran 10 miles this morning which was my longest run since the marathon. I'm enjoying running a lot at the moment. The weather is ideal and I am shedding some pounds and moving faster, which make me happy.

What a journey, folks. What an amazing journey. Most of the time I still have trouble believing that I actually did it.

Race stats:
Official finish time: 4:11:57
Age group: 3757 out of 4984
Overall: 17420 out of 22645

Feline Filler

2010-04-26T13:57:00.003-04:00

No Boston race report yet (still waiting on World's Most Overpriced Photos).

In lieu of such, I am posting a picture of Little Boo digging his claws into my shoulder (because cats are always cute).

Who's the silly cat!

Tease

2010-04-23T09:58:00.004-04:00

Because I just know you're all waiting for something relating to the Boston Marathon (race report forthcoming; I just ordered an incredibly expensive CD of all my Official Race Photos and I'd like to use some of them in my post, so I'm going to wait until that arrives; for $100 it should be here TODAY and hand-delivered by Ryan Hall and Brian Sell¹), I'm going to throw y'all a wee bone. And because this is me we're talking about here, it should come as NO surprise this is the picture I have chosen to represent my day:

Victory tastes like a Harpoon IPA served cold in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

1: The fact that I just name-dropped two runners as my Dream Postpeople has just qualified me as World's Biggest Running Nerd.

26.2 Miles is Wicked Fah

2010-04-19T12:09:00.000-04:00

2010 Boston Marathon finishing time: 4:11:57.

I did it, by golly. No one can ever take this away from me.

Mobile Blogging from here.

Overcome

2010-04-16T13:45:00.000-04:00

I made it to Boston.

Picking up my packet today, I was overwhelmed with emotion. When I held that number in my hands, I choked up.

After spending an obscene amount of money at the race expo, I am now waiting for my hostess for the weekend to arrive at the restaurant for dinner. in the meantime I am enjoying a hand pulled Allagash Black. Ahhhh.

Three more days!

Mobile Blogging from here.

Well? How did I get here?

2010-04-15T12:05:00.004-04:00

And by "here," I mean four days away from running the Boston Marathon.

August 2006: Joined Weight Watchers
October 2006: Ran a half mile on the treadmill at the gym, called it quits in exhaustion
November 12, 2006: Ran my first 5K in over six years and finished in 32:58
June 2007: Registered for the Detroit Half Marathon in a moment of wild speculation
October 21, 2007: Ran the Detroit half in 2:07:40, the farthest I'd ever run in my life, and said afterward there was "no way" I was ever going to run a full marathon
April 2008: Registered for the Detroit Marathon (so much for never running a marathon)
Sometime in the summer of 2008: Learned that one had to qualify for the Boston Marathon
September 27, 2008: Ran my final 20-mile training run for Detroit at a pace of 8:38/mile, which made me start thinking "What if..."
October 19, 2008: Ran the Detroit Marathon in 3:52:01, missing my Boston time by 6:02
About a minute after finishing Detroit: Decided I was going to BQ in Cleveland in May 2009, by god
January 2009: Started training for the Cleveland Marathon
February 2009: Briefly reached a total weight loss amount of 70 lbs (too bad I didn't stay there)
May 17, 2009: Ran a 3:45:14 at Cleveland, thereby qualifying for Boston
November 1, 2009: Ran the NYC Marathon and had the most fun I've ever had in a race, proving that running 26.2 miles at once can actually be enjoyable
January 2010: Started training for Boston
April 16, 2010: Depart for Boston
April 19, 2010: I will find myself in Hopkinton with 25,000 other runners

It has been an amazing journey, one I never thought I would undertake. I have gone from being a 220-plus pound couch potato¹ to someone who is going to run the BOSTON MARATHON.

Never underestimate what you can accomplish if you set your mind and body to it.

1: I'm still a couch potato, but now I exercise a lot to offset my natural inclination toward laziness.

No. Just....No.

2010-04-13T08:45:00.003-04:00

Wearing full makeup while working out: Awesome!

Wearing a lacy tube top to keep your enormous fake boobs in place while running (barely): Even better!

Smoking a cigarette after working out: OMG just stop now.

Looking like a total asshat: Priceless.

Who is this bimbo, you may ask? She's some chick from that awful MTV reality show "Jersey Shore." The only exposure I have to "Jersey Shore" is the 30 or so seconds devoted to it on The Soup on occasion. Any more than that any my brain starts to hurt. The stupid, it burns.

When celebrities "run," the results are often...interesting.

Via The Superficial.

In other boob news: Amy Winehouse!

B-Minus 10 Days

2010-04-09T11:15:00.006-04:00

In one week I will be on my way to Boston.

Am I ready for this race? I suppose. I will be able to run the distance, but I suspect this one is going to hurt more than the previous ones. I did two 20-mile runs, but the last one was almost 3 weeks ago. My experiment with self-guided training was largely a failure. I now know without a doubt I need the structure of a regimented training program. For my next marathon I am going back to my trusted friend Hal Higdon, whose Intermediate II program was the one I used for the Cleveland Marathon last year (the race at which I qualified for Boston). It worked.

I am well aware I am not in the same physical condition I was a year ago pre-Cleveland (amazing) or even six months ago pre-New York (still pretty good). I have felt sluggish for quite some time and I'm in a running mojo-less funk, which is not a great place to be when one is about to run the Boston Marathon. I know this race is going to be a slow one, possibly even slower than NYC (4:16). Having come to terms with this, I am going to bring my camera and my love of running to the starting line and just go out there and have fun. This is Boston, for crying out loud. BOSTON! I'm going to soak up every sound and sight available, and I can't do that if I'm obsessing about my pace and time like I was in Cleveland.

In other news:

Did anyone else see this story? OUCH!

The World's Most Annoying Dog problem I ranted about has abated this week because the weather took a sudden detour back into Winter. After Monday and Tuesday pushed into the high 70s, Wednesday kicked off a downward spiral which included the appearance of snow flurries this morning. Yes, that's right, SNOW FLURRIES. Welcome to Michigan!

A couple of days ago I got together with Spike for a pre-Boston strategy session, which consisted of eating candy while wearing our Boston Marathon jackets. We both ordered an obscene amount of official race gear (OK, mine was only mildly offensive, but his was truly obscene) and even though it's a huge Race Faux Pas to wear the gear before the race, I insisted we get a tiny bit of our dork on and wear the jackets inside, away from accusing eyes. After all, we both worked our butts off last year to BQ, so I felt we had earned it. Then, what did I do but WEAR THE JACKET OUT TO DINNER. (It was cold and rainy!)

OMG.

Running gods, strike me down now¹.

Proof of massive breach of race etiquette.

Last weekend the hashers invaded the Waterloo Rec Area for some trail running and cheap beer-drinking. This edition of hashing was co-hared by myself and two other brave souls. Afterward everyone came to my house for a homemade feast I spent several days preparing: two kinds of chili (black bean and and beef), an 8-lb baked ham (from my half hog), eggplant hummus, and two pounds of bacon. There was nothing left but a few scraps of ham after everyone left.

In my house it is a well-known rule that any open container will spontaneously generate a cat. Here Darwin has teleported into one of the coolers we used for the beer checks at the hash last weekend.

Earlier this week I attended an extremely good concert by a band I first discovered last summer, the xx. This show capped a period of concert-going which spanned almost a month and included some great (and, unfortunately, not-so-great) music. I have a break of a few weeks before the next wave of shows begins on May 10 with Local Natives in Ann Arbor.

The xx live: restrained majesty.

During the mini-trip I took for the xx concert, I went to a bar which had Founders' Kentucky Breakfast Stout ON TAP. This is one of the best beers in the world according to Beer Advocate. I had it for the first time only a couple of weeks ago, and because it is highly seasonal and enjoys limited release I wondered if I would be lucky enough to taste it again this year. I was.

Have a great weekend, everybody!

The xx: "Islands"; "Basic Space"

1: Not only did I wear the jacket out to dinner on Wednesday, three weeks ago I wore it ON A RUN while I was visiting my parents. Clearly, I'm just thumbing my nose at the Running Gods.

It's...

2010-04-05T14:30:00.000-04:00

TAPER TIME!

Two weeks to Boston!

Shut the F@%k Up!

2010-04-02T13:27:00.002-04:00

Wherein I Reveal That I Am Actually An Extremely Angry Person (Surprise!)

Southeast Michigan has recently been blessed with a burst of uncharacteristically pleasant weather. Each day this week has been a joyful combination of sun and warm temperatures. Spring breezes carry the scent of burgeoning life as plants and soil awaken from their winter slumber. My early morning runs no longer take place in the cold, still darkness; a riotous chorus of robins and other early-rising birds accompanies me. I have thrown open my house's windows to let the fresh air circulate (which also blows all the cat fur tumbleweeds down the hall and reminds me that I need to vacuum).

Opening my winter-stale house to the warm spring air has, however, reintroduced to my life the only thing I don't like about living in my otherwise peaceful neighborhood:

The World's Most Annoying Dog (also known as: That Shitty Little Fucking Yappy Piece of Shit Motherfucking Rat Dog).

I'm not a huge fan of dogs in general. I have a low opinion of poorly-behaved asshole dogs who act like their often similarly poorly-behaved asshole owners (imagine that), like the asshole dog that bit me on my arm last year (those teeth left marks which are still visible). I like dogs the same way I like very small children: fun to play with for a while, but I'm glad I can give them back to their handlers when it's time to go home (especially if they start to act up and/or need a diaper changed, a scenario which may apply both to humans and canines). The only exceptions are my brother and sister-in-law's dog Maya (whom I refer to as "the best dog ever," because she totally is) and my little nephew (who was joined this week by his new baby brother, making me an aunt two times over!). I can cuddle with Maya for hours and when Little Nephew refers to me as "Ra-ra" I turn into a puddle.

Anyway, despite my committed lifelong cat person-ness (save the "crazy cat lady jokes," I only have two cats, not two dozen) I can tolerate and enjoy most dogs. (I just don't want to live with one.)

Not this one.

I hate this dog, The World's Most Annoying Dog (WMAD), with the fire of a thousand suns. I daydream about ways in which this dog could be wiped off the face of the earth. A stray piece of airplane debris, perhaps? My town is in the approach path (albeit 40 miles out) for Detroit Metro Airport, so it's not completely outside the realm of possibility. How about a meteorite? It could totally happen! Lightning strike! Sinkhole! Dognappers! Falling tree branch! Red-tailed hawk! Anything!

Those of you who know me as a soft-hearted animal lover who cries at ads for the Humane Society or ASPCA (damn Sarah McLachlan!) and who has approximately 800 pictures of her cats on her iPhone are probably mystified and a little disturbed. Maybe you're mystified in general because I rarely rant about anything not running-related. Maybe you're just disturbed, in which case, seek professional help.

Let's just say I hide it well, unless you happen to be a helpless passenger in my car while I'm driving. Then you will be hit full-force with the extent of my commentary on all the FUCKING IDIOTS who share the road with me. Blunt-force road rage!

Not today. Not this time. I need to vent, and vent BIG. Like, catastrophic Mt. St. Helens explosive volcanism with bonus pyroclastic flow (now with extra chunky flaming boulders!) kind of big.

Back to the WMAD. First of all, this...thing...can barely be called a dog. My cats are bigger than it. Darwin could kick its ass just by lying on top of it in a nonviolent feline coup. I think it's a miniature or toy something-or-another, maybe a Doberman pinscher. Suffice to say it's the size of a loaf of bread or my Barbie horse from when I was little. Thus, it obeys one of the cardinal rules of caninedom: The smaller the dog, the yappier and more high-pitched its voice. This is the smallest dog I've ever seen; therefore, it is the yappiest dog I've ever come across.

Let's sum up so far: warm weather, open windows, yappy dog three doors down...do you see where this is going?

This is what I heard for a large chunk of Wednesday afternoon and evening as I was TRYING to enjoy hanging out in my house with the windows open for the first time since early November (yes, the windows were closed for five months. Welcome to Michigan!):

YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP

This is what I heard Thursday at 5:45 am after I slept with my windows open:

YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP

I think you get the idea.

Imagine that sound drilling into your brain for HOURS upon HOURS. Imagine hearing that shrill ceaseless shrieking as you lie exhausted on your bed after an 18- or 20-mile training run, desperate for a nap, but unable to fine a shred of peace because that FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT DOG WILL. NOT. SHUT. UP. And for those of you wondering why I didn't close the windows: even with them closed, I can still hear it. Additionally, it's my house and if the weather's nice and I want to have the windows open, then I'm going to have my damn windows open. And there's no fucking way I'm wearing earplugs to sit on my couch and read a book. That's just stupid.

I must justifiably direct a large part of my ire at the "owners," who stick the poor dog in their backyard, attached to an overhead wire, and leave it there alone for hours. No dog deserves that. It's clearly bored or anxious and wants to be with its people, and voices its displeasure by standing by their back door barking (I can see into their yard from certain of my second-floor windows). If you're going to have a dog and ignore it all day, then why even have a dog, you morons? Get a cat; they can deal with being left alone and often want to be left alone. Cats don't freak out if you leave the room. You might leave, come back five hours later, and they haven't even moved. Darwin and Boo might take a moment to look at me as if to say, "Oh, you were gone? I didn't even notice." Plus cats are way quieter.

Additionally, HOW in the WORLD do they not know how disruptive, rude, and insensitive it is to their neighbors to leave their dog outside to yap endlessly? Are these people fucking clueless braindead IDIOTS? I THINK SO. There's no other explanation. Any respectable dog owners with half an ounce of common sense know not to allow their dog to bark nonstop. My next-door neighbors have an Old English sheepdog. It's a big dog with a big bark. It likes to bark at things. They, however, quickly shut it down with a firm "No!" or let it back inside after it's woofed at a few squirrels, falling leaves, me getting into my car, the air passing by...Suffice to say, even though it's exasperating when that dog barks at me when I'm going up the stairs in my house, they have their shit together when it comes to responsible dog ownership.

I dread what's coming this summer. Every weekend the WMAD will be in its yard yapping. It happened last year and I thought I was going to lose my mind. We had such a mild summer that I only ran my air conditioner a handful of times; the rest of the time I kept my windows open. Each Saturday and Sunday I would hope for just one day where I didn't have to listen to that yappy fucker spreading its aural poison around the neighborhood. Occasionally the stars would align and the gods smiled down and the WMAD was nowhere to be heard. Ah, blissful silence! I could hear the breeze rustling the trees, hear the birds chirping, hear my own thoughts.

The other 5 bajillion days I spent muttering "Shut up shut up shut up shut up for the love of fucking god, PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP

I've composed anonymous letters in my head countless times. They always begin: "Dear Dumbasses..." (or "Dear So-Called Owners of the World's Most Annoying Dog...") I've thought about how I could cover my tracks in sending this letter. (I'm not telling.) I've envisioned front-porch confrontations. (No one dies; I'm not that violent.) I've indulged in fantasizing about much more nefarious and unsavory and un-Sarah McLachlanesque ways of dealing with the problem (think flamethrowers). The problem with that is when I have reduced the WMAD to a smoldering pile, letting silence reign over the neighborhood, my heart is pounding and I feel lightheaded from adrenaline. (Power daydreams: try them!)

They've created a monster with their stupidity and the entire neighborhood has to pay the price. I can't possibly be the only one who is harboring a deep and secret hatred.

I just don't know what to do. The prospect of another summer marred by brain-melting hair-pulling rage-inducing barking has filled me with dread. It's started already and it's only April. I might get a reprieve when the weather takes an inevitable brief turn for the worse (I fully expect a surprise snowstorm or a string of 45-degree, rainy days), but eventually it will be all warm, all the time, and all hope for salvation and a peaceful summer will be lost.

So. Anyone know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy...?

Seconds From Disaster

2010-03-30T12:42:00.005-04:00

Behold, the incident to which I referred in my last post.

Here he comes! About one second after this picture was taken, the crash landing occurred. I looked for a picture of the guy sprawled on the pavement, but alas, there were none.

A normal picture, no sprinting goobers in sight, even though I have my "serious race face" on.

In other news, recent weather forecasts have the daytime temperatures zooming past 70 degrees over the next few days, with a high of 79 projected for Friday. All I have to say about that is: WHAT THE HELL. I'm NOT ready for that yet. I'm going to break a sweat just walking to my car at the end of the workday.

On the other hand: SKIRTS TIME!

Additionally, tonight I am going to hear two good bands in concert: Spoon and Deerhunter. I have been waiting for this for months!

Spoon - "I Turn My Camera On"

Deerhunter - "Neither of Us, Uncertainly"

OUCH!

2010-03-26T15:29:00.002-04:00

From FAIL Blog

Come to think of it, this is exactly what happened to the guy who SPRINTED past me in the closing meters of the Shamrocks & Shenanigans 5K in Ann Arbor on March 14. He blasted past me on the left with about 10 meters to go and when he was only a few feet in front of me he completely lost his footing on the damp pavement (it had been raining that morning) and crashed to the ground so hard he actually skidded for a few feet. The sound of his bare skin scraping across the asphalt was rather...gruesome. I was hoofing it to the finish and when that guy went down in front of me I had to do a little zig-zag and hop to avoid stomping on his outstretched flailing arm. The assembled crowd emitted a collective gasp. I crossed the finish line and looked back to see him hobbling to the end.

On one hand, man, that must have hurt, and sucks to be him. On the other hand, really, dude, did you have to channel Usian Bolt in the final moments of the race? What was that all about anyway? There's finishing strong, and then there's doing so little for the entire race you have enough energy to sprint like a madman. You looked like a GOOBER.

In other news, tonight I am going to a live show featuring this fine band. I am quite excited.

Cave Singers -- "Seeds of Night"

Thursday Thought

2010-03-18T15:52:00.005-04:00

That's right, I only have one thought:

The weather for the past two weeks has been absolutely PERFECT for running outdoors. Each time I step outside, no matter what time of day it may be, I sigh with pleasure.

I had to put that out there before we get hit with the dreaded "wintry mix" this coming weekend.

What March in Michigan giveth (64 and sunny), March in Michigan taketh away (34 and snow).

32 days to Boston!

Thursday Thoughts: Some Pictures are Worth a Few Words

2010-03-04T20:21:00.005-05:00

Saturday, February 20, I headed for Jackson to do my first 20-miler on the Falling Waters Trail. This was the same trail on which I ran my stellar half marathon PR (1:43:01) last October. The day was cold (19 degrees) and brilliantly sunny and I was in good spirits. I ran the entire length of the trail from Jackson to Concord and back. How convenient that it's 10.2 miles one way! I even negative-split the second half, pulling out 8 sub-9:00 miles in a row to finish in 2:58 for an 8:55/mile average. I was pleased.

Mile 15 of 20 on the Falling Waters Trail in Jackson.

A week and several snowstorms later, I peeked out my window Saturday morning with the futile hope that the 13 inches of snow on the ground might have magically vanished overnight, leaving me bare, dry sidewalks and streets on which to run my 16 miles. Sadly, this was not to be. I conceded defeat at the hands of the elements and knew my only course of action was to run the miles on a treadmill. I ran the mile to my gym, ran 14 miles on the treadmill, and ran the mile home. It was dreadful. There are no words to describe how awful running 14 miles on a treadmill are. By mile 3 I was ready to quit. The thought of 11 more miles made me want to cry. I devised a plan to ease the pain: break the distance into four 3.5-mile segments and take some kind of break after each segment. That helped a lot. I went to the bathroom, walked and ate Gu, drank some water. Nevertheless, the final 2.5 miles felt like a death march. I was just so done with it I sped up the treadmill until I was running a sub-9:00 pace just so I could GET IT OVER WITH FASTER. Finally, FINALLY, I was done. But wait, there's more! I had only run 15 miles. I STILL HAD TO RUN ONE MILE HOME. And you know what, folks? That one mile outdoors was easier than the 14 which preceded it.

Thirteen inches of snow on Friday means I'm not doing my long run outside on Saturday.

The very next morning I was inside the Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit, staring up through the glass ceiling of the atrium at this:

70 flights, 1,050 steps.

Yes, it was Climb Detroit time again! I participated in this event last year and had so much fun I came back for more. I want to thank especially my run-blogger friends who donated to my stairclimb fund: Redhead, Mike Fox, Zoomylicious, Mr. Loser, girlrunningaround, and JoyRuN. Thanks to you I totally crushed my goal AND helped my workplace team be the number one fundraising team this year! We raised over $8,000 for the American Lung Association.

I surprised myself by turning in a time of 11:02, which was only 9 seconds slower than my time from last year. Despite my nearly identical time, competition was much stiffer, and I finished 12/65 in my age group and 27/212 for women.

I prepare by scratching my arm.

Today for lunch I met one of my favorite run-bloggers and all-around awesome dude and great friend Spike. Not only that, I finally got to meet the one and only Redhead who is braving the tail end of this Michigan winter to hang with Spike for a few days. I am happy to report that 1. Redhead is indeed as funny and effervescent as she is on her blog and 2. They really are the cutest couple ever. I was very sad when I had to go back to work.

An epic run-blogger meetup!

Finally, when I stopped at the New Chelsea Market after my group run tonight, I saw this bottle of Malbec and knew I had to get it for the sole purpose of taking a picture and posting it here:

Sure to make Nitmos and Spike squeal in terror. Clearly, llamas are taking over the world.

SIX WEEKS to Boston!

Words To Live By

2010-02-24T20:16:00.003-05:00

Take heed, young grasshoppers:

Shit washes off.

How do I know this?

First things first: we're all runners here. We have no or very little shame. We discuss odd and embarrassing things about our bodies all the time. Now, on with it.

Shit happens, as they say. Shit happened to me for only the second time this morning. Yes, I have GI issues almost every time I run, but 99% of the time I'm able to control the beast and avoid a mishap. Not so today. I was cruising through mile 4 of my 5-mile run when I felt the dreaded rumble in my guts. I had cleared the pipes before I left as I always do (this is even more important than my shoes, Garmin, or sports bra) and there had been no grumbling from down below so I thought I was golden for the duration of the run.

Well. My body had other plans. I found myself sprinting for home, not an easy feat on sidewalks which were accumulating a slick coating of fresh snow. I almost took a spill right at the foot of my driveway. Despite my best efforts, I was too late. Yes, folks, I crapped my pants. There was nothing I could do to avoid it. Like I said earlier, shit happens. I find it almost miraculous that this has only happened to me twice given my constant battle with my GI tract.

Shit also washes off. It disappears quite nicely when a hot shower and lots of Dial soap is applied. I emerged squeaky clean, spicy fresh, and ready to face the day.

Up until this mishap, my run had been very enjoyable. When I first set out just after 6:00 AM, the first fat, lazy flakes of the morning's snowstorm were just beginning to float downward. The air was so still, they filled the air in a thick cloud which gently buffeted my face. It was like running inside a snow globe. Snowflakes accumulated on my eyebrows and eyelashes until I had to swipe them away. I ran in the street, my footfalls muffled by the soft layer of snow.

I am torn between loathing the cold and unpleasantness of winter training versus its quiet beauty. Luckily I have about 7 more weeks of this to figure it out.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Morning

2010-02-15T19:08:00.006-05:00

Saturday I headed out for my longest run since the NYC Marathon last November: a cold and snowy 18-miler on my favorite, albeit challenging, long run route through the Waterloo Rec Area west of town. Last October I did my 20-miler on the same road, and this was the scene at the time:

October 17, 2009

Saturday, this was the view from approximately the same place (notice the one tree on the left is the same):

February 13, 2010

Clearly, it's not fall anymore. It was about 16 degrees when I left my house. I was wearing my thickest tights, a warm base layer, YakTrax, and the Jacket of Wonder. It was snowing lightly for the first few miles, but that tapered off and stopped by the time I got into the woods along Bush Rd. The footing was decent, aided by the 'Trax. I had the iPod rocking and I was feeling good. My knee/IT band wasn't bothering me at all. I was just out for a long, slow cruise in the country. When I reached the 9-mile mark on Loveland Rd. I paused for a picture:

Halfway there. I am amused by the corona of exhaled vapor clinging to my headband.

I finished the run in just over 2 hours and 47 minutes for a 9:18 pace. It was slow going, considering the surface conditions, but once I reached dry pavement again with 2 miles to go I took off the 'Trax and squeezed out a couple of sub-9:00 miles. I was pretty well aching all over by that point so I consider that an accomplishment. Once home, I showered and collapsed for a nap, complete with cat:

I think he's happy, don't you?

NINE WEEKS TO BOSTON.

Preparedness or Madness?

2010-02-13T08:30:00.000-05:00

You know it's going to be a long, cold run when you use hot water to mix the Gatorade you're taking with you.

It's 16 degrees, snowing lightly, and I have 18 miles in my immediate future.

I must be crazy.

Mobile Blogging from here.

Shameless Begging

2010-02-09T21:49:00.002-05:00

Last year I participated in the American Lung Association's Fight for Air stairclimb at the Renaissance Center in downtown Detroit. I contributed over $400 to the ALA's efforts to fight lung disease. I'm back for more as a member of my workplace team. The stairclimb is February 28 this year and I am hoping to raise at least $300 by then. I hate asking people for money especially given the current economic climate, but even $5 would help me in getting to my goal.

Just so y'all know, last year I kicked butt and finished 14th out of all the women who participated. I don't do this just to raise money for the ALA, I do it to KICK SOME SERIOUS ASS at the same time, because I'm super competitive like that. Even though it's not TECHNICALLY a race...I act like it is.

In the process of kicking butt at the 2009 stairclimb.

Last year because I met my fundraising goal I got a sweet little duffel bag as my incentive reward. I use that thing all the time. Many of you contributed last year and thus are partially responsible for the sweet little duffel bag, and for that I thank you.

My personal fundraising page.

Help me out here people...even $5 would be awesome.

In The Bleak Midwinter

2010-01-28T20:55:00.002-05:00

In the bleak midwinter
Frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
Water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
Long ago.

That's how I felt when I went running this afternoon. It was about 15 degrees and there was an evil wind coming from the west which sliced through my thermal pants like a hot knife through warm butter. My chin turned into a chunk of rubber and drippy snot froze in my nose. Nonetheless, I chugged my way (into the wind) through six repeats of the hill near my office. When I run these hill repeats, I cannot help but wonder what people who drive by me are thinking, especially the ones who see me turn around and head back the way I came at the top or bottom of the hill. What on earth would drive a person to push her body up and down the same quarter-mile stretch of pavement over and over? Especially when it's so bitterly cold?

The Boston Marathon, people. Boston is looming in less than 12 weeks. It's late January and mid-April is only 11 weeks away. In 11 weeks I will actually be in Massachusetts, visiting my alma mater on a personal Nostalgia Tour before getting down to business. The business of running one of the world's premier marathons. Me, the fat chick who still weighed almost 200 pounds three years ago and could barely run 3 miles at once.

I've come a long way, baby.