Make Way For Ducks

While I was out for a ten-mile run this morning, this handsome quartet crossed my path.

Moist

For the record, I hate that word (also: "panties." UGH). However, it is the most accurate description of my run this morning. Fog hugged the ground and the ceiling of clouds hung low. A few random raindrops fell on my hair and face, and I felt as if I were in a grocery store mister; it was delightfully cool and refreshing. I managed 5.3 miles of my planned 6, cutting it short because of a bathroom emergency: the Beast of the GI Tract awakened around mile 4. Rain began coming down much harder as well when I had about 1/2 mile left, and cemented my decision to break for home sooner than expected. I felt much stronger than I did last week even though my pace was glacial. At least I didn't want to curl up on the floor when I got home.

I'm in my Ohio hometown for the weekend to celebrate my little nephews' birthdays. Yesterday was the big party, after which my parents and I visited a local beer-and-burgers establishment for dinner, where I enjoyed a Bluegrass Brewing Bourbon Barrel Ale (pictured). I decided I deserved it for surviving 3 hours of stampeding, shrieking, crying, whining, yelling little kids.

I finally got my training plan for Dexter-Ann Arbor typed up and printed out. All in all, it's just another spreadsheet on the wall. Ten weeks to the race!

I'm Melting!

There are some things that just aren't right. Pauly D's hair. Jeggings. Tea-flavored beer.

I would like to add to that list: 80 degrees in March. In Michigan. We're supposed to have snow on the ground. I'm supposed to be wearing flannel pajamas to bed. It's not supposed to be EIGHTY DEGREES!

Nonetheless, today was Run Day with Red. I packed shorts and a tank top and even put moisturizer with sunscreen on my face after my morning shower. Five miles on tap.

Let me preface this by saying that last week I came down with some awful rhinovirus which knocked me flat and after I struggled through four days at work I cried "uncle" and took Friday off. I then spent three days hunkered down in bed or on the sofa plowing my way through all three of the "Hunger Games" books. Next week I will be making a trek to the Hunger Games movie, of that you can be sure.

Anyway, over the course of five days I lost 8 pounds because I had zero appetite. Having no sense of smell and thus no sense of taste killed my desire to eat, so I lived on tea and oatmeal for several days. Saturday I forced myself to eat a scrambled egg because I knew needed protein. When Sunday rolled around I was essentially back to normal, but the rapid weight loss and minimal food intake wreaked havoc on my stamina. I went out for a run Sunday morning and after 1.5 miles I knew I was toast. My planned four miles contracted to two as I found my way back home, defeated.

Two days later (today) I was more optimistic. I felt even better, I'd had one more day to rest, and I was finally eating again. Red and I and her coworker Fabulous started on the edge of the Michigan campus and worked our way west into downtown Ann Arbor before turning back. Normally I would be thrilled to run around my home city, but today I began fading after only 2 miles. The heat felt oppressive and my legs refused to respond. I was determined to see this run to its conclusion, so I plodded grimly onward even as my pace slipped almost to brisk walking speed. Stinging sweat was in my eyes, my legs felt wobbly, and my head was starting to spin. It was so hot. So goddamn hot. Why was it so HOT? It's MARCH! It's not supposed to BE LIKE THIS! At 4.5 miles, at the final hill, I gave up and walked. I felt like ass and I wasn't "running" any faster than walking pace, so I walked. I cursed my wasted legs, cursed the stupid hill, cursed the blazing sun. Oh, accursed sun! Go away! Give me a few more weeks of 30 degrees before you unleash your summer soul sucking awfulness upon me!

When I got back to work and changed, I peered at my forehead and shoulders in the mirror...yep, sunburn. Just a touch, but it was there. I like getting my color while I'm relaxing on the sand oceanside on Cape Cod in JULY, not running around Ann Arbor in March.

In other news:

The only good thing about losing 8 lbs in less than a week?

I HIT 20 POUNDS LOST AT WEIGHT WATCHERS!

Double Down

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.

Balls!

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.

Situation Rectification

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.

Signs of Life

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).

Twelve Hour Shift

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!

Number Crunching

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

8 Before 8 Redux

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)!

Words To Live By

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.

Mackinac Bridge Run

Me and Mighty Mac.

Some of y'all might be aware that I was selected via lottery for this year's Mackinac Bridge Run.
What I did not mention until now is that I was also appointed by the Governor's Council on Physical Fitness, Health and Sports to serve as a Fitness Ambassador for the 2009 Bridge Run. I was one of ten people selected as ambassadors this year. When I submitted my entry for the lottery in January I filled out a lengthy questionnaire regarding my athletic endeavors. The folks in Lansing must have read something they liked because I was told not long after the bridge run lottery about being tapped as a fitness ambassador. The official announcement came out in mid-August while I was on vacation. I returned home to find an article in my hometown newspaper:

Look, it's me! In the newspaper! The picture was from last year's Run for the Rolls.

All right, I admit to being a wee bit tickled by this. OK, a lot. OK, it was totally rad. Wait, I just dated myself as a Generation X-er who grew up in California. I was...very honored and deeply humbled. I didn't think my story was that impressive when compared to my fellow ambassadors. I just decided three years ago I had to change my lifestyle...I never, ever expected my efforts to lead to losing 65 pounds and qualifying for the Boston Marathon. When I began running in earnest I was barely aware that the Boston Marathon existed and running a marathon myself was COMPLETELY OUTSIDE THE REALM OF POSSIBILITY. Naturally I am HYPER-aware of its existence now because I WILL BE RUNNING IT IN APRIL 2010 (omg!).

I headed "up north" (as we say in Michigan) on Saturday afternoon. In the morning I had a superb 14-mile run on my beloved yet neglected country roads which was as pleasant and relaxing as a 14-mile run can be.

After arriving in Mackinaw City on Saturday afternoon, FK and I found a place to eat dinner:

Oh jeez...they had Short's Brewing Huma Lupa Licious! One of the more formidable India pale ales out there! My inner hophead was so hoppy...I mean happy...

Monday morning I set my alarm for 4:30 AM, yes, that's 0430, not a glimmer of dawn on the horizon, the nearly full moon still shining brightly, hardly anyone reasonably sane up and about at that hour except for approximately 330 runner types converging on the Mackinaw City Recreation Center for transport on school buses across the bridge to St. Ignace. Speaking of school buses, even though it's been 20 years since I rode one to high school, how come it still smelled the same? L'eau de school bus? Curious...

Once I was deposited on the north side of the bridge around 5:15, there was not much to do except stand around and wait for the 6:45 start of the run.

It's totally dark because, well, it's pretty much still the middle of the night.

I found my RF501 training group teammate LF in the crowd.

Eventually, the eastern sky began to lighten and the runners assembled to begin the run. The Governor of Michigan, Jennifer Granholm, was on hand to send off the runners. After everyone else had departed, the Fitness Ambassadors were able to meet the Governor and pose for a photo op.

It's the 2009 Bridge Run Fitness Ambassadors!

And then it was time to go:

4.3 miles of bridge await.

This was not a race, just a friendly ramble across the bridge. A...noncompetitive group run?? When was the last time I did that? I told myself to just enjoy the moment, take it easy, talk to my fellow runners, look at the scenery, this was a unique experience, no need to rush.

Approaching the north tower, almost halfway across.

Sunrise over the Straits of Mackinac.

Closing in on the finish line. Thanks to LF for the awesome picture.

After the run, enjoying myself.

I finished the 4.3 miles in about 37:45. I had Garmy on, of course, but forgot to stop it once I finished. I asked one of my fellow Fitness Ambassadors who had crossed the line with me what she had for a time. Even though this was a noncompetitive run, it was still a run, and I wanted to count it toward my weekly mileage.

Once some more official pictures had been taken, everyone was free to go their separate ways. I walked back to my hotel, which was not even five minutes away from where the run ended, and then FK and I got some breakfast and hit the long road back to Detroit. The crowd of thousands there for the Bridge Walk was thronging the city and I was beginning to get agitated and irritated because I do not like large mobs of people. Trying to drive in large disorganized mobs of people and insane traffic jams makes me even more anxious. I finally pulled a U-turn, backtracked, and found the correct on-ramp to the southbound freeway and then I was home free.

So, the Mackinac Bridge Run. It was a first in my running career. Will I do it again? I don't know. I do enough officially endorsed races during the year to be able to put my name in for the bridge run lottery. If I do decide I want to do it again, it will not be for a few years.

My most urgent concern right now is that registration for the 2010 Boston Marathon opened today! What the hell am I waiting for?

Attack of the Killer Tree Branch!

This morning while I was out on the dawn-silent streets of my town I crossed paths with a large and unruly tree branch. It was lying in wait in the street-light dappled shadows on the sidewalk, bristling business end of sticks facing me. I ran straight into its stabbing clutches. Hot pokers of pain shot up and down my legs and abdomen as my feet tangled in the woody tripwires and for one sickening, swaying moment I thought I was going to lose it, to take a tumble to the pavement. Feet fumbling, kicking off the grasping fingers, I reached down and grabbed the offending assaulter and flung it aside onto the grass, shouting, "For fuck's sake!" Rhythm reattained I continued onward, but a reminder of my tangle with the tree in the form of sore spots stayed with me until I arrived home.

For all you low-light runners out there: beware of rogue tree branches.

Hitting The High Notes

High note 1: Literally, a big fat high B-flat I dropped in the car on the way here as I was rocking out to "Come scoglio" (Mozart, Cosi fan Tutte). "Come scoglio" was the aria which started it all back in college. I remember those early, rather pathetic attempts I made to sing it...sigh. Oh, reckless, untrained youth!

High note 2: My pace run this morning, which was just perfect in every way. Perfect weather (30-ish degrees, no wind, no precipitation), perfect clothes (Jacket of Wonder and the tights component of the Stealth Bomber outfit), perfect tunes (Animal Collective's "Brotherspot" closed out the run) and most importantly, perfect pace: 8:25/mile for the 9 miles. Hells yeah. That's what I'm talking about. I felt so fucking good I did miles 8 and 9 in 8:18 and 8:13 respectively. Now, string together three of these and I'm on my way to Boston!

High note 3: In a few minutes I am heading off to watch the lovely Natalie Dessay rock a few high E-flats in Bellini's La sonnambula in high-def on the big screen. I just absolutely love going to these Met Opera broadcasts.

I'm Back, Baby! YEAH!

Have you ever had one of "those runs," the one where everything clicks and you feel amazing, like you could run forever at a blazing pace without a care in the world?

That's what my run this afternoon was like. I decided last night to grab an extra luxurious hour or so of sleep and instead of getting up at 5:30 to do my 8-mile run today I would hold off until the afternoon, when the temperature was predicted to rise all the way to a balmy 39 degrees. When I got up this morning it was 10 degrees and I knew I had made the right call.

5:15 pm rolled around and it was the forecast 40 degrees, a welcome change from my run Tuesday morning at 7 degrees. I put on my If You Look Good You Feel Good outfit, strapped Garmy to my wrist, jacked up Animal Collective in my ears and headed out the door.

I didn't think of this run as anything special until I was closing in on the one-mile mark, snuck a quick peek at Garmy, and saw to my surprise I was running at an 8:20 pace. OK, well, I thought, let's go with this as long as it lasts. Knee/IT band assessment: no problems whatsoever. Not even the slightest twinge.

Mile 1: 8:21.

I was heading west out of town on a road which offered several options for routes. I chose to follow the path of least resistance, a road which paralleled the railroad tracks, because it was very flat with only a couple of small inclines. I sensed I had a good thing going and I didn't want any hills to ruin my running mojo. Or I should say Mojo, with a capital "M," because this was a capital-letter kind of Run.

Mile 2: 8:15; Mile 3: 8:28; Mile 4: 8:22.

I reached my turnaround point (I was doing an out-and-back route) and let my legs fly freely down the gentle slope I had just ascended. I felt absolutely fantastic. I had not felt this good on a run in months, maybe since some time last summer. My legs reaching, my arms pistoning, my breath deep and steady, posture upright, hips solidly underneath me, shoulders back, chest lifted high, chin up, all elements working in perfect harmony, my body become machine. I let the feeling surge through me and just rode the wave.

Mile 5: 8:11; Mile 6: 8:05

I rejoined the paved road shortly after mile 6 and decided I was going to push myself, move out of my comfort zone, to see what I was capable of. I made the supreme sacrifice of not looking at Garmy; I wanted to run on pure feeling. I quickened my pace. My breathing accelerated with me but I did not break and start panting (my indication that I have reached my lactate threshold). I certainly felt like I was working hard, but I was not exhausting myself. I still felt strong and powerful. I swung through the 90-degree turn over the railroad tracks at the city limits, and, knowing I only had about 3/4 of a mile to go on a totally flat road, turned it up a notch. Now I was really pushing it. Yet, my stride remained steady, my posture firm, my breathing rapid but not uncontrolled. I heard Garmy beep; I had hit 8 miles. I did not stop. I had an extra incentive to get home as fast as possible: my GI issue was rearing its ugly head. I finally stopped Garmy at the foot of my driveway: 8.05 miles. 1 hour and 5 minutes. I knew that was the fastest I had ever run 8 miles.

Mile 7: 7:57; Mile 8: 7:42.

8.05 miles, 1:05:46, 8:10/mile average.

Wow. Just, wow. This was one of the best runs I have ever had, race or training. I can't believe the difference between today and a mere one or two weeks ago when I thought I was finished, done for, a total has-been.

My knee did not give me even the tiniest whisper of trouble. It was as if the past 3 weeks just vanished. Something happened yesterday which I found very intriguing. After work I met up with a co-worker to practice stairclimbing for the big event on Sunday. We quasi-jogged the 100 or so feet between my office building and the building next door where we climb stairs. Within the first few strides I had taken, my knee fired off a couple of warning shots, bursts so painful I almost stumbled and fell, thinking to myself, "Oh my god, is this it, is this the end?" Once we reached the lobby of the building, I sat down in one of the chairs, and as I bent my legs to put my butt in the chair there was an eruption of pain so intense I almost cried out. Then I felt something slide over the outer edge of my kneecap, like a band snapping back into place, and it was one of the oddest and most uncomfortable sensations I've ever experienced. And then it was gone. I pressed my fingers to my knee, probing, lifting it, swinging it gently back and forth. Nothing. We did our four ascents and descents of the stairwell and I felt nothing. I pounded on that knee for 8 miles today: nothing. What on earth happened? Did my IT band somehow miraculously and magically find its groove again? I may never know.

In other news, as of today I am officially a member of the NYC Running Chicks and a Few Dudes relay team for the Green Mountain Relay, which will be held in Vermont in June. My friend and fellow runblogger TK of Pigtails Flying did this race last year and had a great time; she put the screws to me to join her on the team this year and I confess it didn't take much arm-twisting on her part before I caved in and said I would do it. I love road trips, I love adventure, I love New England (that's where I went to college after all—Massachusetts) and best of all, I LOVE RUNNING. Put all four together and I know I will end up with stories to last a lifetime.

I've already decided I am going to "liveblog" the event using the iBlogger app for my iPhone. Hooray for geekdom!

The Healing Powers of Cleveland

I'm chilling in C-Land this weekend as I spend some quality time with family. We're heading out to dinner at some Mexican place in a few hours. Ay carumba, bring on the margaritas! I am normally not much of a tequila/margarita drinker but given what attempts to pass for "beer" at most Mexican restaurants, I tend to make the occasional exception.

My return to regular running continued this morning as I stepped out in my snazzy new shoes for a planned seven miles. Certain folks cautioned against blazing out at my race pace right from the start given my recent ITBS. I said FINE, I will try to hold myself back.

First mile: 8:47. Oops. Slow down. Mile 2: 9:30. That's better.

I felt my IT band trying to seize up when I hit 1.5 miles. I willed it not to. I just thought, "Not today. I am going to finish this entire run no matter what." It never got bad enough to make me stop and turn back or even limp, but I could feel it threatening to turn on me. I found that the faster I ran, the fewer twinges I felt, so...I ran faster. So much for restraint. Miles 3-7: 8:52, 8:50, 8:56, 8:41, 8:38. I finished the run, 7.02 miles, in 1:02. Average pace 8:53/mile. I was so pleased I was able to do the whole thing with a minimum of pain. I want to get out again tomorrow; I know the scheduled 16 miles is not going to happen but I'd like to do 10. I have a decent 10-mile route I do when I'm here. If I was feeling spry enough (and I hadn't missed the last 3 weeks of training) I would go down to the Towpath Trail's northern end in Valley View and run my 16 miles there. Perhaps I will be able to do that when I return to Ohio a few weeks hence for my nephew's birthday.

Right now, however, I am glad my bout with ITBS is coming to an end. I have sorely missed running regularly.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Snowy Saturday Run

Stopping by woods on a snowy morning...

After a too-brief respite from the unrelenting misery of a Michigan winter (I wore shorts on Tuesday to stairclimb practice; it was 60 degrees) it was back to normal today as a few inches of the white stuff fell overnight. The prospect of a seven-mile jaunt through the snow would otherwise be cause for me to grump and whine, but I was actually looking forward to it because it would be my first chance to test-run my latest acquisition:

Behold the Sugoi Firewall 220 Zip! Now with Brown Tabby Stamp of Approval.

I had been saving a gift certificate from Running Fit for just the right occasion. I bided my time, waiting...waiting...until it went on sale. This was a $180 piece of apparel. I got it for considerably less. Zero, in fact, since I was able to use my gift certificate for the entire purchase. I even had a little left over so I grabbed a couple of boxes of Mint Chocolate Gu (limited availability).

I am normally a fairly frugal person when it comes to clothes, especially since I lost weight and had to overturn my entire wardrobe three times. Replacing all those clothes became prohibitively expensive and so I started shopping at a local consignment store. Now I refuse to pay more than $15 for blue jeans and a $3 shirt is like the best thing ever. (I once found a brand-new pair of black wool Calvin Klein dress slacks at this store for $14! Score!)

But when it comes to running gear...well, my frugality falls apart. I am aware there are differing opinions on the benefits, both positive and negative, of fancy running gear. I think we can all agree that moisture-wicking fabrics are a must, and that one should avoid cotton in the winter. Beyond that, however...it's all a matter of personal preference. My personal preference (read: weakness, obsession, addiction, craving, LUST) is for lovely, soft, attractive things, which more often than not are overly expensive. Most of you have seen this post (one of my favorites) about all of my running gear. Then there's my "if you look good you feel good" outfit, and my all-black Stealth Bomber outfit. And of course let's not forget my massive Bondi Band collection, one of which I can coordinate with anything in my inventory. Actually, I believe that I can apply the "if you look good, you feel good" maxim to any outfit I wear. I take it one step further, however, and include "if you feel good, you run faster." Therefore, my gear purchases have a clear purpose: to make me run faster, obviously. It's simple logic, really.

Yeah, when it comes to running, I'm a total clothes horse. (Clothes whore?) Now, back to that gorgeous jacket. I finally got it yesterday and just hung it up in my closet to admire it. I stroked it. It's so soft, you have no idea. It's also a much livelier red than the little camera in my iPhone (aka the Eighth Wonder of the World) can convey. I couldn't believe it was mine! No, I didn't sleep holding it next to my cheek. Sheesh, what kind of weirdo do you think I am? But it was there to greet me when I got up this morning for my run in the freshly fallen snow.

Break out the YakTrax again! (My thighs look enormous in this picture; it must be the weird angle.)

A dreaded snowy day, so I'll meet you at the cemetery gates...The Oak Grove cemetery driveway and entrance gates. This is my favorite bit of road on all the routes I run. It is beautiful in any season.

So we go inside and we gravely read the stones/All those people, all those lives/Where are they now? Looking back the way I just came, up the drive toward the cemetery. I wasn't the only one to pass this way this morning.

My IT band was quiescent until I reached mile four-ish and then the pain flared up again. By the time I was inside the cemetery I was hobbling, and stopping to take pictures didn't help. I doggedly continued onward and finished the seven miles though I was in serious agony by the end. Stupid knee. Once home, I did the stretching and strengthening exercises I got from the doctor the other day. One of them is the classic "cross one leg over the other and touch your toes" stretch, except in my house, I perform a variation on that theme:

Bend down and touch your tabby.

They were both helping out this morning. Brown Tabby (Bouhaki) on the left, Big Orange Tabby (Darwin) on the right. They were facing that way because I was facing that way, so obviously there was something worth looking at over there.

The state of my knee at the moment does not bode well for my planned 14-miler tomorrow. It hurts like hell. I'm not happy about that, not happy at all. It was a difficult run today. The footing was questionable even with the aid of YakTrax. My feet were constantly slipping backward with every strike, which irritates my knees on a good day. This was not a good day. Except for my fab new jacket, midrun iPhone deployment, and the Feline Personal Trainer Corps.

7.13 miles/1:11:53/10:05 pace/annoyance level: high

All photos taken with the magical wondrous iPhone. Post composed in the normal manner, i.e. at my computer. Just to show certain people that I am capable of putting it down for...uh...how long has it been now? Hold on, I have to touch it again...

I've Got 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...Senses Working Overtime

(credit goes to XTC for this post title.)

Touch:

When I left the house this morning for my scheduled 6-miler, my first thought upon breathing in the crispness of a typical February morning was "Well, it's really not that bad out here!" The cold air against my face was nothing out of the ordinary.

Smell:

I can tell what people are up to in the wee hours of the morning by the smells surrounding their houses. Drying a load of laundry. Burning toast. Frying bacon. Warming up a car. Stoking a wood stove. And then there's a house around the corner from my own that just smells...peculiar. Kind of sour and bitter and chemical-ish. My personal and totally unfounded theory is that someone is operating a meth lab in there.

Hearing:

My shoes on the thin skim of new snow: squeak squeak squeak. A city fire truck, sailing down Main Street: Sirens wailing! The wind through dead oak leaves still hanging high in the branches: Rustle, rustle. Someone doing some woefully overdue sidewalk shoveling: Scrape, scrape. An idiot going 40 mph in the 25 mph zone inside the subdivision: VROOOOM! Me, in response to said speeding idiot: Slow down, asshole!

Sight:

The new snow is so pretty under the street lights! Look how it sparkles and glitters! The song "White as Diamonds" by Alela Diane was created just for this moment. "I’ve known mornings/white as diamonds/silent from a night so cold..."

Is that...light I see in the eastern sky? Oh happy day! I have been running in the dark for so long. Bring on the dawn! In another month, it might be light when I leave the house.

Taste:

When a thin line of snot trickles out of your nose and it's not enough to farmer blow onto the ground, what do you do? Oh yeah, you know what I'm talking about. How else do you think I know snot is salty?

That is my impression of my run this morning, brought to you by the five traditional senses. We do have other senses, however. I'd like to discuss one in particular.

Nociception, aka PAIN:

First, let's go back to what I said at the beginning: "Well, it's really not that bad out here!"

It was zero degrees. With a breeze. As I later learned from the helpful folks at WEMU on my way to work, that's a wind chill factor of minus 16 degrees. There's a wind chill advisory in our area until tomorrow, you know.

No. I didn't know. My hands did, however. Around mile 4 as I ran into the headwind coming from the north, my hands started to chill. I curled my fingers tighter against my palms to no avail. By mile 5 I knew I was in serious trouble. My hands were now stiff, frozen claws that felt like hunks of ice. Like an idiot, I pushed on for the full six miles even though I had a chance to cut it short. When finally I got to my back porch I had to fumble in my pocket for my door key. My fingers literally would not work; I could not uncurl them and grasp my keys. I couldn't feel the key in my hand. I managed to open the door. I was already groaning in pain. I pulled my gloves off. My hands were a weird shade of white with some red splotches. I turned on my kitchen faucet and put my hands under the lukewarm water. Almost immediately they started throbbing and tingling. The pain was...intense, surreal, supernatural. It hurt so much the only thing I could do was lay my head against the edge of the sink and moan and try not to throw up because the pain was so bad it was making me nauseous. I was crying without tears. The only sound I could make was a low "Uhh...uhh...uhhh.." I looked at my hands again. The backs and palms were an angry red, my fingers sickly white. I had to stop the running water treatment, however, since the bathroom break I had preempted for my hand-thawing abruptly became priority number one. My hands were flexible enough that I was able to take care of Business, though I still could barely feel anything I touched. Once I was in the shower, I held my hands under the warm water (which felt alternately searing hot and icy cold depending on which part of my hands it touched) and let them thaw the rest of the way. I noticed some dark, purplish patches appearing on the pads of my fingertips. I thought, "Well, at least my hands don't look like Beck Weathers's."

All of this was earlier this morning. My fingertips still hurt. A lot. They're tender, sore, and tingly. I think I had a bit of a brush with frostbite. Somewhere between "frost nip"and superficial frostbite. A narrow escape, if you will. I have to be more careful. I have to get better gloves or mittens, or at least wear two pairs at once. Winter bit me on my unprepared ass this morning.

At least I'm not Steve, who had the same thing happen to his...well, just read about it. And cringe.

Weirdest. Sensation. Ever.

This morning I bravely braved the snowy outdoors for my six-mile run. We're getting a light brush from that bitch of a storm's skirt here in Michigan and when I went out there were a couple inches of new snow on the ground (but nothing like the devastation by ice taking place to the south, nor the eight inches my parents in northeast Ohio's Snow Belt have received). Never fear, YakTrax to the rescue! The quasi-plowed streets were perfect for YakTrax-ing. Traffic was light and I was enjoying myself.

Halfway through mile 4 I swung into one of the cookie-cutter subdivisions from hell that have cropped up on the outskirts of town like a noxious cluster of mushrooms. Despite my scorn for the development and what it represents (destruction of farmland, bland yuppie sameness; every house with a hunk of plastic play structure in the backyard and an SUV in the driveway, 2.5 kids and a Golden retriever), I enjoy running on its perimeter because the road is flat and lightly traveled. So lightly traveled, in fact, that this morning I was breaking virgin snow with my feet. Not a soul, neither man nor beast nor automobile, had passed before me. I entered the area of the sub closest to the city water treatment plant where all of the building lots are empty save one (imagine that!) and the development company never even bothered to erect street lights (actually I think that particular developer, the one who took over the "less desirable" lots near the sewage treatment plant, went bankrupt).

The predawn darkness closed in and as I stared at the snow in front of me I was overcome by the most peculiar feeling. The uniform blanket of white in every direction, unbroken by shadow or footprint, made it impossible to tell where the ground actually was. I felt as if I was running on air, suspended above a bottomless void. Only the impact of my feet striking the ground reminded me that I was in fact present on the earth and gravity was my friend. The sensation intensified if I looked directly at the snow. I had to look away, at something concrete and three-dimensional, because it was starting to make me dizzy. My gaze was drawn back to the ground, however, because as brain-scrambling as the view was, it was still cool. I watched my feet move, appearing to be suspended above nothingness, and yet finding solid ground in the formless void. This lasted until I arrived at a place where someone had backed out of a driveway, and the tire tracks gave the snow some topography and the illusion was broken.

I arrived home snow-covered, a slick, salty mustache of clear snot plastered to my upper lip region, peeled off my YakTrax and wet clothes, and once upstairs in the bathroom I saw myself in the mirror and seriously, people, I looked like death warmed over. Zombielike, if you will; I could have been an undead extra in any recent zombie-themed movie. My eyes were red-rimmed, grayish smudges underneath them, hair all straggly and wet, lips pale purple, face smeared with snot and sweat and snow, ghostly white except for a couple of pinkish spots on my cheeks. The effect was gruesome. I even said, "oh my god, I look terrible" to my reflection and then leapt into the shower as fast as I could.

When I rolled in from my 11-miler on Sunday, freezing cold, staggering, and bleary-eyed, with snot frozen in two little wads in my nostrils , John was in the kitchen. As soon as he saw me he said, "What a glamorous sport."

Nope. Not glamorous at all, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not a figure skater, I'm a distance runner.

White Winter Hymnal

(With apologies to Fleet Foxes.)

The snow fell on Sunday, huge lazy drifting flakes that gently covered the last remains of fall's scattered leaves. The bird feeders grew puffy helmets; a male cardinal paused for some sunflower seeds, bright red against the white. I, in my Sunday not-so-best (comfy pants and fleece), spent the day ensconced in warmth, feet tucked into wool clogs, nestled in a blanket on the sofa with the two tabbies by my side. Guilt at not going out for a long run nagged at me only slightly. I was having a difficult time coming to grips with the sudden change of seasons. I knew that the surprise Indian summer weather of two weeks ago would never last; however, I just wasn't prepared to have winter shoved in my face so soon.

Monday morning when I released the hound into the backyard at 5:45 the frigid air reached in through the open door and slapped me in the face. A few flakes were still spiraling out of the sky and my motivation to go out withered, black and dead as the leaves on my basil plant after the first frost. I fled for the warmth and safety of the gym where I did three insufferable miles on the treadmill and then caught up on my celebrity gossip with Us Magazine while pedaling on the recumbent bike.

This morning I steeled myself. No more of this lackadaisical foolishness. The cold weather is here to stay and I need to accept that it will be around for five more months. I cannot run on the treadmill all winter.

I strapped myself into my cold-weather best (Asics Thermopolis pants, Pearl Izumi thick base layer, Asics Storm Shelter jacket, Sugoi neck tube, hat, gloves) and stepped onto the crackling snow on my doorstep. It was 19 degrees F. The sky was clear, the stars brilliant. The nearly full moon hung low in the sky, its still-bright light making the fresh snow glow. My breath plumed in the cold as I crunched down my driveway. I set off and the cold air burned into my lungs, brought a flood of tears to my eyes. My fingers and nose grew numb and protested this cruel treatment.

By mile 1 I was warm inside my clothes, the first beads of sweat moistening the band of my hat. By mile 2 the first hint of light appeared on the eastern horizon, the coming sunrise ready to do battle with the moonlight casting my shadow ahead of me, blue on the snow. The streets of my town were deserted; only the truly brave, hardcore, or insane would venture out on foot at this hour, in this cold. By mile 3 I thought: Why did I wait this long? Why did I fight so hard? This is delicious and refreshing! By mile 4 I felt like I could have run 4 more, but alas, duty called and I crunched up the driveway in the opposite direction.

I am now ready to take on the worst a Michigan winter has to offer. Bring it.