Falling Slowly

What happened?

The last time I posted was July 31. On that day, the high was 86. The whole month had been one long miserable slog through insufferable heat and humidity, with the nadir coming on July 6 when the weather station at the Chrysler Proving Grounds in Chelsea recorded a high of 103. Fortunately I was in Scotland at the time, luxuriating in clouds, drizzle, and 62 degrees. Everywhere I went, the locals moaned about the weather, and my response was invariably, "are you kidding? I'm loving this, considering what I left behind."

Now it is fall. The nights have been comforter-snuggling cold and the days have barely cracked 60 degrees. Saturday morning I was up ridiculously early for a long run at Hudson Mills Metropark in Dexter with the Engineer and the Redhead. It was about 37 degrees when we left, and I was in nearly-full winter gear: thick tights, gloves, and hat. I wore a single thick base layer, because I knew I would heat up quickly once we got moving. I had eleven miles to cover.

Fall in Michigan. Eat your heart out, New England.

I am in the final days of training for the Detroit Half Marathon on October 21. I have been feeling good about my runs of late. While I am not by any means speedy, I feel strong. The 11 miles I ran on Saturday went by fast (good company) and I pushed myself over the final mile to see how much I had left in the tank and managed to squeeze out an 8:59.

I ran 2:04 at Dexter-Ann Arbor in June. I'd like to better that in Detroit. I doubt sub-2:00 is within my capabilities if I want to run the race wisely and not crash and burn towards the end. I have been cranking out my shorter runs (five miles or fewer) at the pace needed to run a 2:00 half marathon, but I don't know if I could hold that pace for 13 miles. On race day, however, as we all know...strange things can happen.

I love running at this time of year. The weather is so very kind to us runners. After the horrible summer we endured this feels like a gift. The Redhead and I have resumed running during the workday now that we don't have to worry about heatstroke.

Last Friday I drove to Michigan International Speedway in Brooklyn, Michigan, for my long-awaited stock car driving experience. Last year, I purchased a deal for half-off a solo driving adventure at MIS, which is only 20 miles from my house. I have a quasi-secret love for NASCAR and for many summers in a row I was on the infield at MIS watching cars turn left for 4 hours and drinking lots of beer. This was my chance to see the track FROM THE TRACK.

I cannot describe how excited I was. I arrived at MIS too early for my class, so I stood around and watched the cars roar by on the track, getting more excited by the minute. Finally it was my turn and I was fitted for my Nomex suit and helmet. Then it was off to class, where I learned how I was expected to behave on the track and how to operate the car. About 45 minutes into the instructions, a woman came in the room and announced that MIS fire safety was shutting them down because of rain. There would be no more activity that day. When I heard that, I almost started to cry. I was SO CLOSE! SO CLOSE! to getting in that car and driving it at 150 MPH around the track.

Sadly, there was nothing else to do but head home. I have to reschedule for the spring. NEXT TIME, this is going to happen, dammit.

All suited up and nowhere to go...

Lastly, in honor of fall, here is Yo La Tengo's "Autumn Sweater."

Side note: in 2000, when I was on a University of Michigan geology department field trip out West, my friend Erik passed his Discman (remember those?!) back to me and simply said, "Listen to track 12." I did, and that was the beginning of a beautiful musical friendship.

Long Weekend Long Run

I didn't set my alarm when I went to bed last night, trusting that the early hour of my retiring (10:00 pm) would result in awakening with enough time to complete my long run before the heat of the day made it difficult. I anticipated I would wake up naturally around 6:30 am and be out the door around 7:00.

My cats decided 6:00 am was a great time to play "Thundering Herd of Elephants," thereby taking the place of my alarm. I got up.

The instant I set this on the bed, Boo laid down on it. I can almost hear him saying, "Yo, 'sup?"

I waited for the passage of a small rain cloud before leaving at 7:15. The morning was overcast, blissfully cool, and peaceful. I had twelve miles to cover, and I chose my favorite loop route in the country, one I've been using for long runs since my very first half marathon training cycle in 2007.

Yesterday my workplace released us from bondage two hours early. I took this gift and ran with it to lunch at the Ravens Club in downtown Ann Arbor. I had been to the restaurant several times for dinner, but I had never tried their lunch offerings. By the time I arrived it was just after 2:00 and I was starving; breakfast was a distant memory from 7:00 that morning. I quickly ordered a beer, white bean hummus with pita wedges, and a grilled chicken-eggplant panini. The beer came first.

Original Gravity (Milan, Michigan) 2 Wheeler Witbier. Reading material: Book two of the Wheel of Time series.

Lunch was as delicious as I had anticipated. All hunger pangs were eliminated.

My view of the world was obscured by trees until mile four of my run. That's when I made a turn to the north and had a clear view across an open field.

Dramatic clouds are dramatic

"Uh oh," I mumbled. "I'm going to get rained on." It was just a matter of time. I soldiered on.

Around mile 5 I passed by "Psycho House," which is a creepy old farmhouse that brings to mind the manor house from the movie Psycho. Its clapboard siding has not a shred of paint on it; the wood is a dull, weathered grayish-brown. The house is a shambles, with pieces of it missing or falling off and a general air of neglect and disrepair. I've been running past this house for years and it has always looked the same: CREEPY. Today, however, I realized it could smell it. Whatever is contained inside that house stinks. It was an odor I imagine some of the houses on "Hoarders" have: mold, animal waste (or human??), spoiled food, FUNK and DECAY. It was nasty. I wish I had taken a picture.

I stopped for a Gu, and not long afterward a woman on a bike pulled up next to me. It was one of my Running Fit 501 training group partners from the summer of 2009. She was out for a ride and was trying to beat the rain, which had become imminent as the dark clouds from the above picture moved in. I didn't stay dry for much longer as a light drizzle began to fall. It wasn't bad; in fact, it was refreshing. The hat I was wearing kept the water out of my eyes and my iPhone was safely stashed in my CamelBak, so I didn't care if I got a little wet.

Shortly before mile 7 the earbud dislodged from my left ear. I had to stop and fumble around with it, getting more and more annoyed as my slick fingers, wet hair, ear, and earbud refused to work well together. When I finally got moving again, I forgot to restart Garmy...which I didn't figure out until about ten minutes later when I looked down at my wrist and realized it still said "6.81."

FFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK...

Sigh. I knew I had run close to a mile, so I tacked that on to what Garmy said and pressed on. It was a bit of a boost to realize I was at mile 8 instead of mile 7 and that I only had 4 miles left to cover. Then 3. Then 2...turning onto the homestretch back into Chelsea on Cavanagh Lake Rd...then 1 as I passed the city limits sign at Chelsea's western edge...and then it started raining in earnest, and what little of me remained that wasn't wet quickly got drenched. I could feel water streaming off my hat and down my back. I stopped Garmy at 11.12 miles and knew I had met or even slightly exceeded my 12-mile goal.

I got out of my wet clothes as quickly as possible and into dry ones so I could stretch. First I put my legs up on a wall, and being down on the floor at cat level meant only one thing.

Darwin helping. There was much sprawling and rolling and purring.

My final long run is out of the way. The Dexter-Ann Arbor half marathon is June 3, one week from tomorrow. These last two runs--the 11 miles I did in Massachusetts last week and today's 12 miles--have been great confidence-boosters. They felt relaxed and easy in the best of ways. I'm ready!

20 on 20

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.

If You Brew It They Will Come

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...

What Was I Really Doing on Vacation...?

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...

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Morning

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?

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.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Ten and Ten

Ten miles. Ten degrees. What does such a combination of parameters require?

Lots and lots and lots of layers.

The best part about this run was seeing a flock of bluebirds. Their bright feathers stood in stark contrast to the bare branches and snow-encrusted fields.

I have finally eased back into the routine of rising and running in the dark, cold mornings before work. Boston is 15 weeks from tomorrow. I'll be ready.

Autumn Splendor

Saturday I hit the roads of the Waterloo Recreation Area for my 20-mile run. I left my house for this ten-mile out-and-back around 9:45 AM. The temperature was about 30 degrees F and the sun was shining in a cobalt sky. It was a perfect day for a run. I had my CamelBak full of water strapped to my waist, my iPhone, a bunch of packets of Gu for mid-run refueling, and my iPod cued to my "Obsessions of the Moment" playlist. (Yes, I carry a whole mess o' shit with me when I go for my long runs.)

Around mile 9 I paused for a moment, completely overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the scenery through which I was passing. I took a picture looking one way down the road and then the other.

This is why I run, folks. Look at this. Just look!



I absolutely love running on this road. It's so lightly traveled that most of the time it's like having my own private trail. The scenery, no matter the season, is beyond compare. One just does not truly appreciate one's surroundings until one takes the time to move slowly through them on foot. I experience so many things I would otherwise completely miss if I were in a vehicle. It's so rewarding.

I believe I would not be stretching the truth when I say my 20-miler Saturday was the most pleasant 20-miler I have ever done. I finished the run at an 8:55/mile pace, which is not the fastest I've ever done a 20-mile run, but I felt so energetic throughout the whole thing, maintained a constant pace, felt completely relaxed and happy, and just enjoyed the hell out of every mile.

NYC is 11 days away. I am SO READY.

Run For the Rolls Redux

Ah, the Run for the Rolls. I love it so. What could be better than a one-mile sprint through my town with the promise of a bag full of delicious rolls as a prize? I have run this race since its inception in 2007 and last year I won the women's race in a then-personal-record time of 6:48.

I have been struggling since returning from vacation to recapture my running mojo, which seemed to be receding further into the horizon as I ran after it in vain. I forced myself out the door after work Wednesday for a brisk 5K through town which raised my spirits somewhat. Thursday I was the one doing the raising of the spirits as I joined 35 fellow runners on a 10K pub "crawl" run in Royal Oak and Ferndale. 6.2 miles, 6 different venues, and a lot of beer. It was fabulous!

At the Royal Oak Brewery with my Michigan Cherry Ale. The first of many stops...

At Memphis Smoke Blues & BBQ in Royal Oak, our last stop. NO, I am not hanging on to that pole to keep from falling over!

The pub run did much to kick me out of my torpor since my trip. I was doing entirely too much moping and sighing and not running. The realization that the NYC Marathon is nine weeks from tomorrow also sent me into a bit of a panic and I knew the time for wallowing in post-vacation melancholy was over. I had to get my lazy butt back on track.

Thus, this morning I joined my RF501 group for my long run for the first time since July 25. I had 12 miles on tap (ha ha) and I wanted it to be a quality run. I settled into a steady groove and did the first six miles at an 8:55 average pace. After doubling back I decided to step it up, and did the last six miles at an 8:18 pace, including the last two miles at 7:57 and 7:52. I felt fantastic; all the lingering funk was swept away.

I had enough time to come home, have breakfast and coffee, watch some TV, and putter around the house a bit before walking to the start of the Run for the Rolls. Last year I pulled out a great time after running 18 miles in the morning. Today I had only run 12; could I better my time from last year? I wasn't expecting much, however, since my speed work has fallen off a cliff and I haven't done a circuit on the Oval of Doom since July 28. Oh well, just give it my best shot and see what happens. It's only a mile. And then I was off...running hard and fast. I felt okay, though. I was exerting myself, but I settled into a steady beat and pumped my arms and let the slight downhill on Main St. carry me along. Soon enough I made the turn for the homestretch and kicked it into a higher gear. The timing clock was obscured by something as I approached; I could see a "6" and nothing else. When I flashed past I saw it said "6:44." Holy shit! If that was true, I had just set a new mile PR. I knew I hadn't won the women's race because I could see three other women in front of me the whole way. However, I suspected I had a chance at an age group win and those sweet, sweet, delicious rolls. I waited around afterward, chatted with some fellow runners I know, and sure enough, I came away with the win in the 35-39 age group. My official time was indeed 6:44 (which was what Garmy had said, too). I was quite pleased.

I am now off to Ann Arbor for the long-awaited Great Lake Swimmers concert!

Out with a Whimper

This was the best part of Sunday's long run: my first-ever sighting of a yellow warbler!

Well. This was certainly not the way I had envisioned cresting the hill of my marathon training: 32 miles planned over two days, 21.5 delivered.

Bah humbug!

So what the hell happened? Saturday morning it started well enough. I took off for my 10-mile pace run with a spring in my step and super fab new shorts on my hips. I did mile 1 in 8:14, tried to back off for mile 2 (8:24) but by mile 3 I had crept back to 8:14. This pace is considerably faster than the pace I hope to maintain for the marathon, but it felt nearly effortless and I decided to just go with it. I was ascending a small hill when I felt it: a sharp pulling and then snapping sensation in the middle of my left hamstring. Immediately I stopped, crying out, "ow, ow, ow," and reached around to the back of my leg. I had gone exactly 3.7 miles. I stretched, walked, stretched some more, and then decided I would at least run to reach four miles. Grumbling, I ran the quarter-mile, sharp pain shooting through my leg with each stride. Clearly ten miles wasn't going to happen. At this stage of the game I knew that I should not ignore and run through pain like I usually do. The race is three weeks away. There is no room for error, or, in my case, boneheaded stubbornness. Thus, as soon as I hit four miles, I stopped Garmy and turned around for a long walk home. It took well over an hour. At least the weather was nice. I talked to myself while I was out there (it's OK; I was in the country and no one heard me). Things like "Why did this have to happen now?" "What the fuck is going on?" "God dammit!" and my go-to all-purpose phrase of exasperation, "Oh, for fuck's sake!"

The "pause" mark between miles 3 and 4 is where disaster struck.

After babying my leg for the rest of Saturday and the procurement of a great therapeutic massage, I was ready! ready! to hit the Lakelands Trail in Hamburg Sunday morning for my last long run. My über-striver distance goal was 22 miles, but I would be content with 20. After the previous day's FAIL I wanted to rock the run and go out with a bang.

I was doomed from the start, though I didn't know it. I started shortly before 9:00. I should have been on the trail at 7:00. The air was still agreeably cool at 9:00 (about 60 degrees) and the sun was obscured behind clouds. I motored along at a nice easy 8:44-8:59 pace, listened to my iPod, and kept a few neurons trained on my left hamstring (some twinges, but not enough to make me frown). I saw the yellow warbler around mile 3 of the run and was very excited. The miles wore on; I ate a Gu at mile 7, and was optimistic about achieving my goal of 22 miles.

And then. At 9.88 miles, I came to Lake Erie across the trail. At least that's what it looked like: a huge sprawling endless puddle with no opportunity to bypass it. I stopped and contemplated it. My insides shifted. Oh no, not now...I took a couple of experimental steps into the water. Instant shoe soakage. Abort! Abort! Reverse direction NOW! Guts lurch again. Spasms. Look around in desperation. No one on trail as far as I could see. Squish, squish, squish over to a grassy spot by the side of the trail. Humiliation. Why? Ugh. I need to start carrying a little Ziploc bag with some TP in it. Still no one on trail. Stand up, adjust clothes, sigh. Look longingly at dry trail beyond the water hazard. Accept defeat 1.62 miles from planned turnaround point at 11.5 miles. Turn around to face east. What's this, now? Sun? Oh noes...

Yes, the sun had burned away the cloud cover and was now beating down mercilessly. I soldiered on, hugging whichever part of the trail offered the most shade, though shade was in short supply considering the leafless state of the trees (spring hasn't quite made its full appearance up here). The temperature was rising, rising, rising (the thermometer in my car said 82 when I was done). I sucked on my CamelBak, ate another Gu. I sweated. My shorts bunched up and I started to feel the sharp bite of chafage. I reached 12 miles and thought, "There is no way I can do another 10 miles." Instant downgrade to 20-mile goal. I reached 14 miles and thought, "If I make it to 20 I will be lucky." I reached 16 and thought, "No fucking way am I even going to do 20. Once I get back to the road to the parking lot I am so done." And so it was: a little more than a mile further I swung away from the main trail and headed back to the parking lot, hitting Garmy's stop button as soon as I reached 17.5 miles. I was exhausted. My inner thigh burned from being rubbed raw. I felt like I had rolled in salt. What was left of the Ultima in my CamelBak was lukewarm. My shoulders were pink. I was pissed. I felt like I had completely failed once again. I couldn't even push myself another 2.5 miles? Across the road, another 1.25 miles down and back? What kind of fucking WEAK-ASS LOSER RUNNER AM I? I seethed at myself, muttering, "The marathon is nine miles farther, do you think you can handle it? DO YOU? Because right now I don't think so! What if it's this warm in three weeks? You can't flame out at 17.5 miles. You WILL finish the marathon."

Grumble, grumble, grumble. GRUMBLE.

Ironically, when I felt the worst and was the most displeased I was running my fastest splits of the day. Beginning with mile 11, my splits went thusly: 8:39, 8:39, 8:38, 8:53, 8:33, 8:34, 8:40, and 0.5 miles at 8:34. I wasn't even looking at Garmy because I didn't want to know how much longer the hot sweaty torture was going to continue. I just ran. Maybe I wanted it to be over with sooner. (Final stats: 17.5 miles/2:33:43/8:47 average.)

Afterward I drove to the Running Fit Trail Marathon & Half Marathon, which was taking place in the Pinckney Rec Area. I was expecting to see some of my running peeps. While I was there I took the opportunity to wade into Silver Lake's frigid waters for an impromptu "ice bath." It felt amazing. I snagged a blueberry muffin and headed home to clean up before my Michigan Lady Food Bloggers gathering (I made pork liver paté; the theme was French cooking).

And so it ended, this, my last big week of training. Except it really wasn't. I didn't run at all last Wednesday, so there went 10 miles. I managed 5 on Tuesday and 6 on Thursday. 4 on Saturday, 17.5 on Sunday, a total of 32.5 for a week I should have hit 52. This week, with 5-8-5-4-12 on the schedule, I will be running more than last week, and I'm entering my taper...

Shut up, quit whining, I'm doing great, right? Hang in there for two and a half more weeks, it's taper time, enjoy it, I've come so far, I'm going to kick ass in Cleveland, BQ in the bag, babies, it was just one lousy run, the whole program didn't fall apart, I did two 20-mile runs, the third was just the icing on the cake, STOP BITCHING. STOP!

Hey, did y'all know I'm running a marathon in less than three weeks? Well, let me TELL YOU ABOUT IT...IN EXCRUCIATING DETAIL! EVEN WHEN THE EXISTING CONVERSATION HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH RUNNING! Don't worry, I'll find an opening somewhere!

So, yeah, I'm running the Cleveland Marathon on May 17...

Weekend Warrior

In the past two days I have run 30 miles: 10 Saturday and 20 Sunday. This was a high-mileage week for me, closing with these two long runs back-to-back. I decided to do both on the Lakelands Trail, a rails-to-trails linear state park which extends from Stockbridge to Hamburg. Saturday I was up early and at the trailhead in Stockbridge at 8:00. 10 miles were on tap and I was eager to get them done in the beautiful weather.

Not bad, eh?

Contrast this scene with six weeks ago on the same trail:

Um, yeah. So glad winter is over.

This was not supposed to be a pace run, and I knew I needed to take it easy to be fresh for my 20-miler the following day, but trying to keep my pace down is easier said than done, at least lately. I started off okay, with miles of 9:11 and 9:21. Then I hit this stretch of trail:

Spring thaw + gravel trail = glop.

Which did this to my still brand-spanking-new shoes:

At least now they have "character." I don't look like an insufferable running noobzilla any more.

They looked even worse by the time I was done, trust me. It took quite a bit of water and several rags to get them looking halfway decent again.

After mudbogging my way to a 10:28 mile, I took off and put out the next four in 8:44, 8:46, 8:45, and 8:51. By then I had doubled back and once again hit that nasty stretch, but this time I did not let it slow me down quite as much and I splashed through that mile in 9:41. After an 8:45 for mile 9 it was time to kick it for the final mile, which I did in 7:58, feeling strong the whole way.

Saturday 10-miler: 10.33 miles/1:33:55/9:05 average.

Sunday morning I was out at the other end of the trail in Hamburg for the first of three planned 20-milers. Before I left and during my drive to the trailhead it was raining lightly but steadily. I arrived earlier than my running partner in order to do three miles alone since I would be running 20 and he was only running 17.

On my way out of town I had stopped at the bakery to get some coffee. I read this article in the New York Times the other day and decided to put it to the test. Normally I do not drink coffee before exercise, but I thought, what the hell, why not give it a try? Anything to ease my passage through 20 miles of running.

Well, that coffee espresso-trained itself through my system and by the time I had run 0.75 miles I had to pee worse than I ever have in my entire life (save one time I had an unfortunate accident when I got lost while driving through downtown Amsterdam, New York, on my way back to college...but that is a story for another time, my friends; that story is quite possibly my best story ever. I don't have a lot of stories but that one's a pretty fucking awesome one if I do say so myself). Anyway, the call of nature turned into a bellowing stampede of wildebeests and water buffaloes and zebras, and with a frantic scan of the trail to make sure no one was nearby (no one was; what kind of nutjob goes running in the rain at 9:30 am on a Sunday, anyway?) I pulled over to the side and took care of business right there without any sheltering underbrush whatsoever, not even a tuft of grass, since I was on an elevated railbed with swamp on both sides and it was either use the 18 inches of grassy berm next to the trail or I was going to be getting my feet wet or worse. And then the worst thing of all happened, which I should have known was going to happen anyway, since my GI tract and I have a long and not-so-loving relationship, and coffee makes it even worse. Oh, crap. Literally. Well, not much I could do about that. Shit happens, you know? And when shit happens in the woods when no one's looking, one has to make the best of the situation by using whatever piece of woody debris happens to be laying around to, uh, clean up the scene.

Good thing there was a swamp just down the embankment.

After that I felt so much better. I zipped through my second and third miles in 8:58 and 8:45, stopped back at the parking lot to collect my running partner and my CamelBak full of Gu and Ultima, and we set off for a 17-mile round trip. The rain stopped and I took off my hat around mile 5 and stuffed it into my CamelBak. Around mile 7.5 the paved part of the trail ended and turned back into gravel. We were now passing through the town of Pinckney.

The old Pinckney train depot.

A few miles later we turned back. This sign was affixed to a bridge over a small creek near the turnaround point:

As with many things of this nature, you know they had to put this here because someone actually did jump or dive off this bridge and hurt themselves.

Not long after we came across a box turtle inching its way across the trail. It retreated into its shell when it saw/felt us on the trail, and after picking it up to look at it, my running partner put it into the grass by the side of the trail.

Run free, little turtle! Or...creep free? Well, whatever. The water's that way!

By now I was working on mile 15 or so of my run and I was starting to feel it. My knees felt surprisingly good; no unexpected or unwanted twinges or explosions had occurred. I had been taking in Ultima and Gu at regular intervals and so my energy level was high. But...you know, it was mile 15. I was ready for the damn thing to be over. Even so, my pace had been decreasing steadily following our turnaround. Mile 12 was 9:16. By mile 17 I was at 8:37. Whereas until that point my running partner and I had kept up a steady stream of chatter, silence descended, disrupted only by the whap of shoes against pavement and my increasingly hurried breathing. Mile 18: 8:38. Mile 19: 8:26. I heard Garmy beep for mile 19 and knew I only had one more mile to go. Just finish just finish just finish just finish was what I kept repeating to myself. And then it was over. 20 miles. Last mile: 8:20. Well. Clearly I had more left in the tank than I thought. And lo and behold, I ran my 20-miler faster than my 10-miler. So much for taking it easy.

Sunday long run: 20 miles/2:59:33/8:58 average.

Running was followed by carb replacement at nearby Zukey Lake Tavern in the form of one Stone Arrogant Bastard Ale and one Bell's Two-Hearted Ale. Protein intake in the form of turkey burger. Salt and fat from onion rings. Much-needed rest in the form of nap when I returned home.

As it turned out, I could not have timed my run any better. The rain that ended so early in the run returned while we were at lunch and by the time I was on my way home it had become the dreaded "wintry mix." Then it started snowing. Seriously. But for the three hours I was on the trail, it was fine.

This week I am going to experiment with a mini-taper as I prepare to run the Martian Half Marathon next Sunday in Dearborn. My goal for the race is to break 1:50 and I want to have as much zest as possible.

Hope everyone had a great weekend!

Toes Meet Towpath

(Apologies to Nitmos for totally stealing his blog name as inspiration for my post.)

Sunday morning I was up bright and early before the sun had even risen in order to embark on my long run, which I intended to do on the Towpath Trail, which parallels the old Erie Canal and the Cuyahoga River inside the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Yes, Ohio has a national park. Go visit it! This is Viper's home turf, although I was at the northern end of it.

Some years back I biked a portion of the Towpath, a 40-mile round trip. Sunday's run was to be on a much less grand scale: only 19 miles. I decided to take advantage of my proximity to the trail last weekend and do my run there instead of on the obnoxious hills, uneven pavement, and 45 MPH roads around my parents' house. The lure of a flat, un-automobile-encumbered ramble through the woods and meadows was irresistible.

I put tread to trail at 7:30 am Sunday. My car was one of only three in the parking lot at the Lock 39 trailhead in Valley View. A pair of people headed off down the trail shortly before me, but I caught up to and passed them quickly. From then on it would be miles before I saw anyone else. Only the truly dedicated (or truly nuts) would be out at that hour in those temperatures (about 33 degrees).

In the beginning: Sunrise over the Cuyahoga Valley. 19 miles ahead of me.

The solitude was complete; the ease at which I traveled unmatched. I was wearing my favorite pair of tights and the Jacket of Wonder; my iPod was freshly charged and on all-songs random play; my stride was smooth; my CamelBak strapped around my waist not bothering me at all.

Could there be more perfect circumstances for a run?

Beautifully bleak: March in northeast Ohio.

I stopped here and there to take pictures with My Precious (aka the iPhone) and observe things. I was on the lookout for birds because I am a birdy type. I saw many mallards and Canada geese in the canal and also abundant robins, red-winged blackbirds, chipping and field sparrows, cardinals, downy and yellow-bellied woodpeckers, and great blue herons.

How many great blue herons can you find in this picture¹?

I came to an area which had a sign announcing it as bald eagle nesting habitat. I looked to the west and saw a large number of nests high in tall trees which I assumed contained the bald eagle nest. When I was on my return trip there were some people with binoculars and other fancy equipment stationed on the trail in the nesting habitat area. I stopped and asked if they could indeed see the eagle nest. I was then given the binoculars and told at which tree to look. The nest was originally a great blue heron nest into which the eagles had moved, and then the rest of the GBHs in the rookery promptly moved out. Through the binoculars I could see the white head of the eagle poking above the lip of the nest. Even though it wasn't much, it was still thrilling.

Somewhere in that scattering of nests across the river is the bald eagle.

About a mile and a quarter past the Red Lock trailhead I reached 10 miles and turned around to head back. Before I did, I took this picture, which I think best captures the beauty of the trail and the morning:

Time to head back.

Now I would be put to the test. While the out trip was a breezy jaunt, the return would be much less mosey through the countryside and more "just let me finish this damn thing." Since I grappled with ITBS in February, my long runs were aborted, skipped entirely, and just plain all jumbled up. I hadn't run more than 12 miles in a row this entire training cycle. I was very determined to make this one count. My pace up to mile 10 had been between 8:46 and 9:15. When I turned around I kicked it up a notch and peeled off 5 miles in the 8:37-8:45 range.

Then mile 16 hit. Suddenly my step wasn't so spry, my legs not so fresh. I started thinking less about "16 miles in the bag!" and more "dear god, only 3 miles left to go." My right knee, the one which was stricken with ITBS 6 weeks ago, had not given me so much as a twinge the entire time. No, this time it was my left knee which decided to turn pissy on me. I could feel it wanting to do something unpleasant. It was getting stiffer by the meter. I had to stop to wait for cars to pass by the canal visitors' center with about a mile and a half to go, and when I tried to move across the road my knee had completely frozen. I lurched/hobbled my way to the other side, and, upon checking Garmy and seeing I was so close to finishing, ground my teeth together and forced myself to continue. The last mile was a death march. My pace plunged into the 10:00-plus range, and I started glancing obsessively at Garmy, ticking off each tenth of a mile as I ground toward the end.

Finally I reached 19 miles, smashed Garmy's stop button, and slowed to a walk. I had planned my route so I would finish a mile from the parking lot and walk the rest of the way as a cooldown. I was regretting that decision as I walked along, knee aching, hoping for a glimpse of the parking lot in the distance. Finally, finally, I saw the cars in the lot and breathed a sigh of relief. Once I was back in my car, stripped of my various paraphernalia, and munching on my banana, I quickly discovered that operating the clutch pedal in my stick shift car was the most painful part of the day. Each depress and release of that pedal wrenched a groan from my lips. When I got back to my parents' I shuffled up the walk like an 80-year-old, thinking, what on earth have I done? It's better now...but not 100%. Sigh. I'd just like to make it to the starting line in Cleveland in one presumably healthy piece, you know?

My route. I love satellite photos, don't you?

Chock Full O'Numbers: This morning's run was a quick 5 miles around town, 42-odd minutes, an 8:21 pace. It was on the windy side which irritated me greatly. Tomorrow morning I'm running 10, yes, that's ten miles. This upcoming weekend I have 30 miles on deck: 10 on Saturday and 20 on Sunday. My first (of three) 20-milers. I'm 11 weeks into my 18-week training program for Cleveland. According to my Weight Watchers weigh-in, I'm hovering around 155 pounds. I want to get to 150 or less this time around, goddammit. I think I'm not eating enough. On that note, it's time for dinner. Black bean soup, anyone?

Final stats: 19.00 miles; 2:50:21; 8:58/mile. Fastest mile: 8:37, mile 15. Great blue herons sighted: about 12. Head of bald eagle: 1.

1: There are three.

About Face

Saturday: I rocked my 6 mile pace run. The weather was perfect (if a bit breezy), the country roads mostly ice- and snow-free, the iPod was turned up loud and I listened to my Animal Collective playlist twice over. Following my successful pace run I spent three and a half hours listening to Anna Netrebko belt out high E flats (or at least she tried to belt out high E flats; she totally biffed it a couple of times but managed to pull one out at the very end of "Spargi d'amaro pianto"¹) in another live broadcast of the Met in HD (Lucia di Lammermoor) at a local movie theater. I went home, whipped up a quick dinner of green lentil soup, slammed a beer, and headed back to Ann Arbor to hear yet another vocal performance, this one by tenor Lawrence Brownlee. He totally rocked his rendition of "Ah! mes amis"² from Donizetti's La Fille du Régiment with its monumental nine high Cs (and then he did the cabaletta again as an encore). Thus, my Saturday was a perfect day, encompassing the four things I love most, as it says in my profile: running, opera, cats (because any time I sit down on my sofa, a cat jumps on my lap, and I was watching TV while I ate my soup), and cooking.

Sunday: I set out around 10:00 am for my 13-mile long run on my favorite country road loop. I intended to maintain an easy, relaxing pace of about 9:15 per mile and for the first 8 miles I did so successfully. I had my CamelBak on for hydration and Gu for refueling. 50 minutes in I stopped for my first Gu ingestion and when I began running again I felt...a strange twinge in my right knee. Ignoring it, I pressed on, and it faded. I had been farmer-blowing constantly throughout the run (that darn cold just won't go away) and somewhere around mile 7 I executed a full-body farmer blow (I felt like I lost half my brains) which caused a chain reaction of muscle contractions that resulted in my entire torso becoming a giant mass of knots and spasms. I tried every deep-breathing singing trick in my repertoire to ease the iron band around my ribcage but nothing worked. It felt like a fist twisting in my chest. I was well past the halfway point and was determined to finish though my pace was starting to fall off, drifting past 9:30. Then like an electric shock my knee just gave out, pain like a knife slice shooting up my leg, and I screeched to a halt, hopping on my left leg, hollering, "God damn what the hell!" I walked for a little bit and then started running/limping again. I had an opportunity to cut my run short and finish with 9 miles but I thought, "NO! You're almost done, just finish the damn miles!" (I am a slave to my training schedule.)

I plodded onward, intercostal muscles and diaphragm clenching, barely able to draw a breath, knee aching, grinding my teeth together. Miles 9, 10, 11 and 12 slid past as my pace continued slipping, 10:00, 10:15, 10:30...I was finally back in town with one mile to go and I was furious. I was mad because my iPod chose to play a song I didn't particularly like and I wasn't in a position to skip it, I was mad because my face was covered with errant snot-rocket residue, I was mad because I am not used to running that slowly and I could. not. make. myself. run. faster, I was mad because only the day before I had a really great run and now I was having the suckiest run of all time, and I was mad because my damn knee was in pain and I didn't know why. I was HOT, TIRED, and IRRITATED and I just wanted the whole stupid thing to be OVER ALREADY. The instant Garmy turned over to 13.00 miles I slammed the stop button and walked the rest of the way home. Actually, "shuffled" is a more apt description of what I did.

When I finally oozed in the door the only thing I could do was rip Garmy off my wrist, the headphones out of my ears, the CamelBak from around my waist, and lean wearily against the counter. The backs of my pant legs were splattered with mud from the glop on the roads, which I hadn't noticed until then. I felt like pond scuzz. Walking was difficult; my knee was singing in pain like Netrebko's high notes from the day before. When I finally made it upstairs to take a shower, I bent over to take my socks off and something in my knee went rrrrrrrrrrrip! and crunch! and I just thought, "Oh, NO." Hearing something like Rice Krispies emanating from one's body is never a good sign.

I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head and just laid there for a couple of hours, feeling beat up and bone-tired. When I got up my hair was a crazy nest because I had laid down while it was still wet from my shower. My torso still ached and the first couple steps I took almost brought me down as my knee sagged underneath me. Going downstairs was agony (I started hyperventilating from the pain) and I realized that I was probably going to have to...

...GO TO THE DOCTOR.

Which I will be doing on Thursday. I haven't been to the doctor for any reason since March 2008, and that was for a sinus infection. My preferred method of dealing with the various aches and pain I suffer as a runner is to ignore them. I figure they come with the territory. This is different. This isn't a black toenail (I've got one of those, too) or DOMS or frozen fingers. I've never had any knee problems. I do not need to tell y'all that I am terrified I will hear bad news. Like, "You have a partial tear of your lateral collateral ligament and you can't run for six to eight weeks" kind of news. Which would effectively kill my plans to attempt to BQ at Cleveland. I might still be able to run Cleveland, but that's all.

Dear god.

One day is wonderful, the next not so much.

Oh yeah, I found a wool Michigan hat lying in the road, amazingly free of dirt and mud, and I picked it up and brought it home and washed it. John thinks this is very strange and gross. I was like, "OMG free [awesome] hat!!" As long as I washed and dried it, what's the big deal? Thoughts? Have any of you ever found something on a run that you've brought home?

1: The aria in the clip is Natalie Dessay singing, not Netrebko. On a really good day when I'm fully warmed up I can nail the high E flat at the end. It's such a fun aria to sing even without the big glory note at the end.

2: That's Juan Diego Flores, whom I saw in that production in another Met in HD broadcast last April with the aforementioned Natalie Dessay. I know the subtitles are in German, but the text isn't the point. Just listen to the man (and look at him ;) ). My god!

If A Garmin Falls In The Forest

...and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Or will it make a sound even if there is someone there who should hear it?

Answer: No.

Don't worry, this story ends well, unlike the sad debacle that was the Michigan-Ohio State game. Or at least the UM-OSU game ended well for some people who will remain nameless THOUGH YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

I decided I needed a change of scenery for my long run Saturday so I drove up to the Lakelands Trail State Park in Stockbridge. It was a brilliant, frigid late fall morning; the temperature was around 25 degrees. The trail was covered with snow, but I had a pair of YakTrax so I was not worried about slipping. I wanted to do at least 10 miles if not 12 on this lovely straight, level, out-and-back path. My iPod was freshly charged and beefed up with some new tunes and I set out at a nice casual pace. My fingers promptly froze and then thawed out around mile 2.

Around mile 3 I felt the familiar twinges of the beast in my gut and knew that sooner or later I was going to have to pull over. Fortunately the trail passes through rural farmland and woods so I was assured of privacy (and of course there was no one else out there on the trail with me-- only crazy people go running when it's that cold). I peeked at Garmy at 3.74 miles and just after mile 4 I took my leave to the side of the trail. I battled briefly with some groping thorn bushes that wanted to do away with my earband and sank their teeth into my nice New Balance NBx top-- goddammit let GO, fuckers!-- and took care of Business. I was back on the trail and feeling much better when I looked down at my wrist because something about it felt odd, sort of light and airy, and suddenly my good mood vanished, vaporized like my breath in the cold air, because Garmy was no longer on my arm.

PANIC! DEFCON ONE! TERROR ALERT RED! OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD!

I screeched to a halt and turned around. Wild thoughts blew through my head: It can't be that far away, because I just looked at it at 3.74 miles, and I know that wasn't that far back, I took my pit stop just after mile 4, it has to be close by, OH PLEASE LET IT BE CLOSE BY OH MY GOD! I ran back the way I came, eyes frantically scanning back and forth across the trail. I knew its black band would stand out against the white snow. I thought: I wonder if it fell on the ground when I was going to the bathroom? Those bushes were pretty grabby, maybe one got a hold of it in just the right place and popped it off my wrist. I began looking for the spot where I had stopped. Everything looked the same: tangled bare twigs, lumpy snow. Would I be able to find it? I stopped again. I knew I had gone too far. I turrned around. There. There it was. The place where I had stopped. And LO AND BEHOLD, THERE WAS GARMY LYING IN THE SNOW. I thrashed through the bushes and snatched it up. It was still faithfully whirring along (my pace was now 17:30/mile) and I brushed the clumps of snow from its face and wrapped it around my wrist so tightly it hurt. Oh, Garmy, I almost lost you!

For the remainder of my run (I ended up doing 12 miles-- 12 agonizingly slow, ankle-bending, knee-twisting miles over the very uneven trail, uneven because horse hooves have ripped it to shreds and the cloaking snow cover lay just so in all the cavities) I remained extra-conscious of its presence, sneaking peeks at it constantly, swinging my arm farther out so I could see its red case out of the corner of my eye.

Strange coincidence of the day: as I was listening to the Fleet Foxes' "White Winter Hymnal" I came across a trail of blood spanning the path; I suspected a wounded deer had crossed there. It's firearm deer hunting season in Michigan and I wasn't surprised to find this. The bright red blood stood out alarmingly against the snow. There is a line in "White Winter Hymnal" that says "turn the white snow red as strawberries in summertime." How freakishly weird that just as I heard it, I came across the blood trail, yes, red as strawberries against the white snow.

Speaking of snow, it's snowing here. Again.

Oh, and this is my 200th post. Yippee!

Run & Race Reports (Weekend Wrap-Up)

Saturday: I sacrificed sleeping in and lounging around in my pajamas drinking coffee and reading the paper to drive 40 minutes to Kensington Metropark to run 20 miles. Wait a minute...every Saturday is like that (minus the driving) and has been since June. *sob*

I jest. Really! I was up cheerfully at 6:30 and on the road before 7:00, pulling into Kensington around 7:40 to check in with the RF501 person on-site. The place was swarming with people who were there to run the Kensington Challenge. I was there to pound through 20 miles. I did the run totally by myself; there were a lot of fellow runners on the path but I wasn't running with anyone. I passed people, was passed by people, crossed paths with the Kensington Challenge field (twice; I saw the leaders up close and personal around mile 13 due to course overlap-- the second-place male zoomed past me and said, "Great job, looking good" and I said, "Thanks-- you too!"). The weather was amenable (about 60 degrees at the start, overcast) and the scenery pleasant. I can't argue with woods, water, and birds including a group of four sandhill cranes which were foraging right next to the path. I stopped to watch them for a minute. I was about 3 meters away from them. It was crazy! I love birds.

I felt good. Really good, in fact. So good that I finished my run in 2 hours 52 minutes which was a 6-minute overall and 20 seconds-per-mile pace improvement over my 20-mile run three weeks ago. I averaged 8:38/mile for the duration.

Stop right there.

bq

If you recall a few weeks ago I posted this. I was only off that pace by one second the other day.

bq

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I have to push through an additional 10K. The truth is I felt extremely good on Saturday. I definitely had enough zest to keep going. If I start a little bit quicker...try to sustain an 8:40-8:45 pace for the first half and then take it up a notch for the second half and get down to around 8:25-8:30...

BQ

That little voice in my head is getting louder and louder. It's driving me MAD, I tell you. I KNOW, I KNOW, I should be thinking, "Shut the hell up about Boston! Just concentrate on finishing! It's your first marathon! You should not be thinking about qualifying for Boston!" I do think that, actually. I did it on Saturday while I was running and realized I had done two 8:26 miles in a row (miles 17 and 18). Shut up about Boston. Shut up about Boston. SHUT UP ABOUT BOSTON!

But...you know...if I'm physically capable of running at the required pace, which I appear to be...THEN WHY NOT? Why not give it my all? Why not go for glory? If I crash and burn, I can at least say "I tried my best" and move on, looking ahead to a future race and another chance. I will be driven more insane by an aftermath of "if onlys..." and wondering what could have been if I had really made the effort. Thus, I have decided:

BQ or bust, baby! I'M GOING FOR IT!

Now you all can tell me I'm completely nuts.

Sunday: I was in Ann Arbor for the second annual Big House Big Heart 5K. A warmup jog quickly made me realize this wasn't going to be a day for breaking personal records. I was rather creaky from the previous day's long run. Add to that an unorganized field of thousands and my unfortunate position trapped way at the back and I really wasn't going to be setting any records. I decided to use the race as an easy recovery run and just enjoy myself. 3 miles feels like a fleeting wisp of nothing these days, you know? So that's what I did. I moseyed through the first mile in about 8:54 and by then I had worked my way past most of the walkers and slower-paced people. I was able to open up my stride and cruised easily through the final 2 miles of the race. Unlike last year when I was working really hard over the final half mile and could barely enjoy the trip through the tunnel into the stadium and then the final 50 meters on the playing surface, this time around I ambled into the bright sunlight (or should I say "ran into the sun," LOL) at the end of the tunnel and gazed around at the splendor of the Big House. I was treading the same sacred ground on which struggling Michigan (no snark; they're REBUILDING this year!) had pulled off an unbelievable comeback and massive upset of 9th-ranked Wisconsin the previous day! I kicked into high gear for the final 50 meters and finished in 27:06. The scene at the finish was total chaos as thousands of runners were funneled into a tiny choke point at the apex of two angled lines of water tables. TERRIBLE PLANNING! I shuffled along with the rest of the crowd, grabbed a water, a banana, and some oatmeal cookies, bumped into someone from my training group (unbelievable coincidence given the swarming melée of people) and then split to go meet up with a friend.

It was a good weekend. Quality running, quality recovery napping with tabby cat (Saturday afternoon), quality beer (Celis Grand Cru, Celis White) on Sunday evening ending a three-day hiatus from all adult beverages (due to the unholy trinity of warm weather, an old friend, and a bottle of Maker's Mark last Thursday).

Oh, and by the way: IT'S TAPER TIME!

I Would Run One Thousand Miles...

On the road again...

Disclaimer: I actually can't stand that song but it seemed fitting.

Yes, people, I cracked that barrier yesterday. One thousand miles. Too bad I was so wiped out at the end I completely forgot about flashing the super-secret sign of the "Thousand-Mile Club" as suggested by Big. I busted through my 16-mile run at an average pace of 8:40/mile, which was perhaps a wee bit faster than necessary, and I paid for it later in the day when I collapsed for a good two hour nap.

I scared the crap out of an acquaintance of ours whose house was conveniently situated around mile 10 of my run. I was fighting "the urge" and we decided to stop there to see if someone was home so I could use the bathroom. Upon arrival we found the front door unlocked, cars in the driveway, but no one answered our shouts and so I went directly inside and upstairs whereupon I caused a massive dog ruckus and our friend was roused out of sleep in the most unfortunate way: by a flushed, sweaty person dancing from toe to toe in his hallway while two dogs emitted frenzied chaotic barking. Fortunately we're on good terms with the guy so barging unannounced into his house at 10:15 am wasn't a problem. I zipped off with a new spring in my step for the final six miles of the run and even pulled off a couple of 8:25-ish miles I felt so good. New route, nice weather, husbandly accompaniment, passing 1,000 miles, four weeks left until the marathon.

Country roads, take me home...

My personal trainer Darwin will show me how it's done.

Here is where all I could muster was a thumbs-up. I was on the verge of total meltdown.

Final stats:
16 miles
2:18:48
8:40/mile
1000.5 miles for the year!
Post-run rehydration: Michigan Brewing Company's Superior Stout and Screamin' Pumpkin Spiced Ale. I also sampled the Imperial IPA...OOOOOEEEEE!!! We went to the brewery for lunch. John bought a starter homebrewing kit. Look out!