I Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident

If it's raining when I wake up, I am very likely to cancel my morning run because "I don't want to run in the rain."

If it starts raining after I've already left, I will merely shrug and keep going because "it's just rain, it can't hurt me."

This morning I experienced the latter, and it only lasted for about a minute anyway.  It wasn't even proper rain; it was more of a gentle sprinkle.

We are experiencing a bit of a January warm-up here in the Big Mitten. The guy on the radio could barely contain his glee when he said Saturday's high would approach 60 degrees. Here's to hoping all the snow piles in my yard will melt.

After being stricken with the plague (aka influenza, or whatever) last week, I have rebounded enough to commence training for my next half marathon, the Martian Half in Dearborn, Michigan, on April 13. The Martian series sort of kicks off the big-distance race season in Michigan, and in the past I have done the 10K (2008, 2011) and the half (2009).

Thirteen weeks and counting! Onward!

What Happened?

It's so easy to lose momentum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You're Not Pinning This One On Me

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

The detritus of a dozen races

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

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

Pins. Gotta love 'em.

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

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

Return of the Spreadsheet

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Yes, master! I shall obey your every command!

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

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

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

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

Running...it's a wonderful thing.

Slow Runner

That would be me, not the band.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scuse Me While I Go Insane

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

Why am I going insane?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frustration. Anger. Denial. Despair.

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

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

It wasn't there.

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

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

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

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

"NO!" I yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

Life was good again.

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

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

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

In other news:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Highs and Lows

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

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

And so on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's...

TAPER TIME!

Two weeks to Boston!

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.

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.

Thursday Thoughts: Running at Work

Two weeks ago I packed my duffel bag full of running clothes and brought it to work with me. It took me 3 years but I finally went for my first run at work. It has quickly become my new favorite thing to do. I ran 3 days the first week, 3 days last week, and 4 this week. I do tempo runs, hill work, and recovery runs. I run alone or with co-workers. The sun is up. It's not dark. It's not quite as cold. It's perfect. I have a locker room to change in and showers I may use if I feel especially gross. (Confession: I just put my work clothes back on and return to my cubicle. It's winter, I'm not that sweaty, so what. I may reassess come summer.)

Now all I can think is WHY THE HELL DID IT TAKE ME THIS LONG TO FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT?

Ugh.

Kind of like WHY THE HELL DID I START TAKING VOICE LESSONS WHEN I WAS ALMOST 30 AND NOT 10 YEARS EARLIER?! I could have been a professional singer...*sob*

Enough. Do not dwell on the past. I can't go back, I can only go forward. Boston is looming, and I am finally enjoying my training. I ran twice today, once at work and then in the evening with my Running Fit Thursday peeps. The final mile or so of tonight's run I was cranking on a 7:35/mile pace. It felt so good.

My running mojo, it is BACK!

Running Coast to Coast

I'm bicoastal, yo. If one considers the Straits of Mackinac to be a coast, that is. And why not, I say! They don't call them the Great Lakes for nothing!

Representing the West Coast: I dug up these pictures of me running the Race Thru The Redwoods 10K in California on August 16. I can't believe that was over six weeks ago...sigh. I was hit by a wave of post-vacation melancholy today which completely and unexpectedly flattened me. I haven't wallowed in nostalgic funk for several weeks and for a brief period I allowed myself to do so this afternoon. It was painful.

Quit looking at the woman who's taking off her shirt OR the woman who's about to take off her shirt, you perverts! And NO, I'm not talking about myself. The sports bra-only look is one I have not yet attempted.

I saw the photographer and actually smiled for this one even though my arm felt as if it was on fire from the hornet sting.

And the finish. Don't forget to stop Garmy! Following this race I drove down the coast a ways and parked myself on the sand for five hours, hoping against hope that the sun would break through the fog and provide me with some much-needed beach-baking-in-a-bikini time. I got about 20 minutes of quality sun and that was all, unfortunately. (Side note: Doesn't my leg look awesome in this picture?!)

And for the East (Midwest?) Coast: more pictures from the Mackinac Bridge Run on Labor Day.

Right at the start. Checking Garmy.

On the bridge with one of my fellow Fitness Ambassadors. I have my "serious face" on.

I'm smiling! Running is fun! Note to EN and TK: can you tell what socks I'm wearing? :)

Side note: the latter two pictures came from RunMichigan's photo page, where they have high-quality digital images available for an extremely low price. My two photos were $4.00 each. I cannot stress enough how fabulous I think this is. We know all too well the exorbitant prices most photographers charge for digital pictures. I REFUSE to pay $50 or what-the-fuck-ever for one goddamn digital picture. Hello, people, you would make a lot more money if you offered digital pictures for a reasonable price like RUN MICHIGAN, because I'm going to give THEM my money and NOT YOU. YOU LOSE! LOSERS!

So there. Run Michigan, YOU ROCK MY WORLD. I will continue to pay for your lovely pictures as long as you offer them at the current totally awesome and wallet-and-runner-friendly price of $4.00.

On another note...this afternoon I came home, threw on some running clothes, and got myself out the door before my brain could organize a protest. Today was a day made for running and it would have been a crime not to embrace it. It was an absolutely beautiful fall day: about 58 degrees and sunny. I had 5 tempo miles on the schedule and I decided no excuses, I was going to do my best to reach that goal.

7:55, 7:48, 8:10, 7:49, 7:47, and a cool-down mile at 8:32. The 8:10 came on the hilly part of my chosen route and I just couldn't sustain a sub-8:00 pace. The whole thing came in at 8:00/mile, which met my goal for the run. I felt amazing throughout and it bolstered my confidence a great deal. I have a half marathon race on October 11 at which I would love to PR but I've been feeling rather sluggish lately and my hopes have dwindled. Today's run told me that, yeah, these old legs still have some life left in them after all...

After I got home I roasted a chicken, potatoes, and some Brussels sprouts for dinner and I found myself eating the crispy, salty skin off the steaming, carved-up bird before I even sat down with my plate; it was that good. And I was so thrilled about the Brussels sprouts, y'all have no idea. When I saw the giant bin full of them at my CSA farm at pick-up on Tuesday I literally yelled "OH MY GOD BRUSSELS SPROUTS!" Thank god there wasn't anyone else around. If anyone had ever told me a few years ago I would become this excited about Brussels sprouts...well. I think "laugh my ass off" would have been an understatement. Snort. I now believe that olive oil, salt, pepper, and the dry heat of an oven can turn anything into a gastronomic delight.

Venus Rising

The dark mornings beckon once again, sunrise slipping further into the day as summer recedes. I went from running in the cool blue light of dawn to finding my way by streetlight. This is as it should be. I feel more at home in the dark, in the still cold air, the silent streets. I have a new companion in the mornings: Venus, whose brilliant, steady light hangs low in the eastern sky and greets me when I leave my house. She shines brightly even as the sunrise begins to lighten the horizon. Orion is there, too, coming up from the southeast. Orion, my winter friend, I will see you high overhead soon enough.

Fall is coming, its harbinger the string of unusually low nighttime temperatures we have had for the past week. Overnight lows dipped into the forties, which made for excellent running weather at 6:00 AM. I went out Monday in pants and a long-sleeved shirt; I could easily have added a hat and gloves to my outfit. I ran the mile to the track for my warm-up and once I arrived I did my intervals in lightless circles until the world brightened enough for me to read Garmy without backlighting. I did eight 400m repeats that day, hard and fast, aiming for a time between 1:30 and 1:35 for each. I failed on the first one (1:42) but found my feet after that and did the rest in 1:30-1:33, ending with a 1:32 average. It was highly satisfying.

Wednesday I delayed my 8 mile run to the afternoon and headed west with the sun glaring directly into my eyes. I discovered almost immediately that a particular song on my iPod is perfectly calibrated for me to run a 7:59 mile.

The Big Pink: "Dominos."

This song is my "My Girls" for the second half of the year. As "My Girls" and "Summertime Clothes" were for my winter/spring training for Cleveland, "Dominos" is for my summer/fall training for NYC. I LOVE LOVE LOVE this song. I've worn out the bytes with repeat plays in iTunes. Have I mentioned that I am obsessed with this song?

Also: The Horrors, "Sea Within A Sea." Another one that's getting extremely heavy rotation. TC said this song made him "want to drown" and I was all "oh honey you haven't heard anything yet." (Most of my music falls into a genre I affectionately call "depression rock." Not that I'm depressed, I guess I just prefer minor keys, darkly colored harmonies, and bleak subject matter.) "Sea Within A Sea" really takes off at the 3:40 mark, I think...

Just to prove that not all of my music is depression rock, here's another song which I've been wearing out lately: Taken By Trees, "Watch the Waves." See? Isn't that perky and happy? I was listening to this song on repeat while I wrote this post. It seemed appropriate. :)

And Grizzly Bear, "About Face," from Veckatimest, which has become one of my favorite albums of 2009. Also from Veckatimest, "Ready, Able," which is another truly awesome song but is more of the depression rock variety. I'm going to hear Grizzly Bear in concert at the end of the month and I'M SO EXCITED I MIGHT JUST PEE MY PANTS. I was similarly excited last Saturday to see one of my favorite bands, Great Lake Swimmers, live. I sighed and cried and sang my way through the concert and it totally made up for the disappointment of having the Depeche Mode concert canceled on me while I was on vacation. You know, the concert I bought a ticket for in March? The concert I organized my entire vacation around? The concert by my favorite band OF ALL TIME? Yeah, that one. To say I was upset would be the understatement of the decade.

Anyway. "Dominos" pushed me through the first mile of my run, and then I backed off because I didn't want to flame out too early. However, I was feeling so good as I cruised through miles 6 and 7 that when mile 8 rolled around I was like "let's turn this thing back up" and went back to "Dominos." Could I run a sub-8:00 mile as my last mile? To keep my feet turning over at the right speed I had to shorten my stride and increase my cadence, which had the curious effect of making my perceived effort decrease until I felt even better than I had during the previous few miles. I finished the run in high spirits with an 8:19/mile average. My running mojo, I has it!

I has it again last night at my RF501 group workout at the track in Dexter. 8 x 800m and I killed it. Eight good intervals, 3:33 average (7:06/mile pace) which is what I was mostly aiming for. Today is rest day and then tomorrow I have 14 miles on the schedule. Monday is the Mackinac Bridge Run up north. Busy, busy, busy...

My official participant handbook for the NYC Marathon arrived in the mail and HOLY CRAP that's a lot of information...EIGHT WEEKS TO GO!

I can't leave y'all without two more excellent examples of my beloved depression rock:

The XX, "Crystalised"
Papercuts, "Future Primitive"

Have a great holiday weekend, everyone!

Thursday Thoughts: The Good, The Bad, and the Smelly

Long time, no blog. It's been almost two weeks! I've been spending the evenings, normally my waste-time-on-the-computer time, burning all of the stages of the Tour de France to DVDs for my dad, who is an avid cyclist but is without cable. I'm editing out all of the ads (the TDF broadcast is infested with them) because for all the magical and wonderful powers of TiVo, it has not yet figured out how to not record commercials. In doing so I can easily cut over an hour from the program time which is composed of nothing but ads. It's kind of appalling.

My reappearance after 13 days should do wonders to soothe some people's angst (expressed privately) at not having any of my sage words to read. Are you happy now? ;)

The good:

As a friend of mine likes to say to express amazement and excitement, "holy WAH." I have no idea what that means, but it neatly encapsulates what has happened since I began the FIRST program on June 29. After three weeks, the cumulative effects of this speed-heavy program have suddenly and spectacularly made themselves known. As in, "oh, I think I'll just go out for a nice and easy four-mile run" and the next thing I know I've done it at an 8:10 pace and was able to carry on a relaxed conversation the entire time.

Monday morning I visited my local Circle of Doom (aka the high school track) for a taxing interval workout: 12 x 400m with a 90 second rest. Emboldened by my weekend of quality running, I attacked the track with a vengeance and hit my target time (1:40 +/- 2 seconds) on 11 of my 12 laps. I did the whole thing, including warm-up and cool-down, in under an hour and made it to work on time. For the record, my legs were complaining A LOT Tuersday and Wednesday after that, which may have contributed to the EPIC FAIL which was my tempo run on Wednesday morning. The less said about that the better.

Last night I attended a concert by one of my favorite artists, Neko Case. It was fabulous! In a couple of weeks I am going to see Fleet Foxes. At the end of August I will hear Great Lake Swimmers, and then at the end ofSeptember I will be able to see Grizzly Bear! As exciting as this lineup is, it pales in comparison to THE BIG ONE, the concert of the year (for me, anyway): DEPECHE MODE. AUGUST 12. OMG. OMG!

The bad:

I smashed my hand into a door as I was carrying a chair from one room to another. I thought to myself when I picked it up: "I need to be careful, because I could easily bang into a door." Um...yeah. The impact also planed a little curl of skin off the back of my hand. I now have a lovely bruise to remind me of how clumsy I can be sometimes.

Today's weather is the mortal enemy of my hair: warm, drizzly, and very humid (89% at the moment). You want to see the 'fro at its angriest, just make me go outside for five minutes today. Then stand back, because I'm not responsible for what happens if anyone gets too close to my hair. It's wild and dangerous, I tell you. Luckily it can be tamed (almost) with the strategic deployment of a hair elastic, a vital piece of grooming equipment which is never far from my reach. iPhone in one hand, elastic in the other, that's all I need to feel secure.

My aforementioned tempo run from Wednesday. Bah.

The smelly:

I realized something foul was afoot last Saturday morning when I got up to go running. L'eau de skunk was rather pungent. When I got home from my run, I knew something was really wrong because my house...ugh. And then I opened the basement door. OH MY GOD. The smell, it was very bad. I immediately called Critter Control. They were here that afternoon to set a trap. By 9:15 pm Saturday night there was a skunk in the trap. But wait, there's more! There was more than one skunk lurking in the crawlspace under my kitchen floor! I could hear them scratching around, fumbling against the heating duct, making squeaking noises. The cats were terribly intrigued and spent long periods of time staring at the baseboards and sniffing at the heating vent (which I had closed, because, you never know).

Critter Control returned Sunday afternoon to remove the trapped skunk, who responded to being moved by releasing a small but fierce blast of odor into the air. It was highly unpleasant. Let me repeat that: IT WAS HIGHLY UNPLEASANT. Two more traps were baited and set by the hole, but since then, nothing else has happened. I haven't heard any more noises, and my house does not stink any more (aside from the smell of sweaty running clothes, an odor which is normally kept quarantined in my Closet Command Center). The traps remain empty morning after morning. I am hoping the other members of the skunk family packed up and left town on their own.

Tomorrow I have something very exciting to do after work. More on that later!

Ow Ow Ow Ow Ow

You'd think I'd never run before the way I have been staggering around today. NO, this is not a repeat performance of last week's ovarian symphony. This is DOMS from my group workout at the track last night. It was a fartlek extravaganza of 1.5-mile warm-up, then 100 yards each of walking lunges, high steps, high skips, and kick-butts (followed by a jog over the rest of the track). Repeat sequence twice for a total of two miles, followed by a 1.5-mile cool-down. 5 miles total. Temperature was hovering somewhere around 77 degrees.

I knew I was going to be in trouble when my legs felt like rubber after the first set of lunges. Nevertheless, it was one of those workouts which tests one's fortitude, but in a good way. I gave it my all, and returned home feeling tired but satisfied.

Today...just ouch. Aching quads, aching glutes, aching everywhere. It didn't help that I had to sit in my chair at work all day and was unable to move around very much. I'm hoping tomorrow's long run will sweep away some of the soreness. I can run miles and miles, but make me do a few drills and I turn into a puddle of goo. Clearly, I have some things on which to work.

No Thanks...I Have Enough Race Shirts

Well, folks, as of today, my little blog is two years old. Two years ago I wrote my first posts...and...well, the rest is history. According to various etiquette-savvy Web sites, the traditional gift for a second anniversary is cotton, but as we runners know, cotton is bad for running. So why are most race T-shirts cotton? Who knows. I have about 30 of them. I'm wearing one right now (Dexter-Ann Arbor Run 2009). However, the modern equivalent is china. Therefore, I will take one piece at a time of this. So get cracking, people.

Monday marked the official launch of my 18-week Summer-Fall '09 New York Marathon Training Plan. For this, my third tour of 26.2 miles, I have chosen a training plan which is completely different from any I have done before: a FIRST plan. After some consideration I decided to use the plan for first-time marathoners. I'm not a first-timer, but I don't think I'm ready for the intensity of the "FIRST to the Finish" plan (unlike certain crazy people who shall remain nameless. but still crazy. you know who you are). The FIRST Marathon plan has enough speed work to keep me happy, and only requires me to run three days a week. I slipped in a fourth day of running, which will be my Thursday workouts with the Running Fit 501 gang; this leaves me two days of cross-training (hel-LO weightlifting!) and one day of rest, which will be my traditional rest day of Friday. Yesterday my workout called for six intervals of one minute at a fast pace followed by three minutes at an easy pace. For these Monday workouts, my "Key Workout #1," my fast pace will always be my 10K race pace (7:30) minus 45 seconds = 6:45. I handled this workout without a huge amount of difficulty and it left me with a satisfied tired feeling. This training plan packs on a lot more speed work than any I have done before, and I am truly hoping that as a side effect I can bring down my 5K personal best a little further. I would love to crack 22:00 before the end of the year.

Tomorrow I have to run six miles, broken into two-mile chunks of easy-tempo-easy. For my Wednesday workouts, "Key Workout #2," my "tempo" pace will be my 10K race pace (7:30) plus 15-30 seconds. Therefore, I have to run my two tempo miles between 7:45 and 8:00. Yeesh. Well, I can't complain...I signed on for this madness. I am a crazy obsessed runner chick, after all. I have to live up to my reputation.

So what happened to "oh, I'm just going to take it easy this time, my hard work of the year is done." I qualified for Boston in May, so what's the big deal? Well...I love a challenge, and this is going to take my running in a totally different direction. I still think of myself as little more than an ongoing physiological experiment, and I treat my body as a laboratory of one. I guess I'm just curious to see what happens. Sort of like "hey guys, watch this!" but without the possibility of flames or explosions or people crashing into things. No blood will be spilled nor runners harmed in the making of this marathon experience. Maybe.

Speaking of races of all shapes and sizes, here are a few pictures of me racing which I dug up on the Internets:

At the Fit 5K in Novi, where I set my current PR of 22:13. Test-driving my Michigan Alumni shirt for chafing in preparation for the Cleveland Marathon.



Dexter-Ann Arbor 10K, where I set my current PR of 47:13. Test-driving my Summer Stealth Bomber outfit. It's fab.

Flirt with Dirt 5K trail race, just before the finish. I'm in the process of totally chicking that guy who held me up for half of the race. See ya later, dude.

And on that note, I'm off to bed...I'm trying to make myself go to sleep earlier. 5:45 am arrives awfully early. I've been staying up too late reading, a longstanding habit which stretches back into elementary school.

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...

Hot Hot Hot

Oh spring, where art thou? When I got up this morning it was 40 degrees. By 11:00 it was already above 70, and when I left work at 4:30 it was well over 80 and uncomfortably humid. It's like we went straight from winter to summer in under six hours. This happens every year, but I'm never ready for it. I certainly have not adjusted to run in this weather, so I will have to get up early tomorrow (which is projected to be warmer than today) and get my 10 miles in before it gets too hot. Tomorrow I want to do those 10 miles at my marathon race pace (8:30-8:35) so I do not need any obstacles such as unpleasantly warm temperatures.

This weather is perfect, however, for kicking back with a beer (or two) which is what I'm currently doing on the patio seating area of my favorite restaurant in Ann Arbor. I've had a Bell's Oberon and I'm now working on a Stoudt's Pale Ale. I'm off to my last classical music concert of the season after this, and I decided to treat myself to some al fresco dining. It's the first day where I didn't feel like I needed to have a jacket on hand when outside. Of course, I also don't want to look like a weird loser who's eating dinner on a Friday evening by herself, so that's what liveblogging via iPhone is for: so I look like a weird, albeit hip with the latest technology, loser who's dining alone.

This weekend marks the apogee of my training for Cleveland. With 10 miles tomorrow and 22 on Sunday I will close the door on the bulk of my training and begin my slow steady glide toward M-Day, a mere 3 weeks and 2 days hence.

I can't believe it's almost here. Sitting where I am at the moment (outside, in sandals, skirt, and short-sleeved shirt), I've almost lost sight of the fact that I started training the second week in January. All those weeks of pitch black predawn runs, snow and ice encrusted sidewalks and streets, frozen fingers, ears, and nose, the stillness of the mornings, shuffling through freshly fallen snow, feeling like I was the only one left on earth...did I really experience that? Yes. Over three months ago I started on this, my marathon journey, and now the end is almost here.

But first, dessert!

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

One Month and Counting

M-Day approacheth: one more month until the Cleveland Marathon!

I feel good. This was a fantastic week of running, probably my best ever. I had three quality runs, fast runs, and I can't wait to get out for my 6- and 12-mile runs this weekend. The sudden improvement in the weather is undoubtedly helping, and I was able to wear both shorts and a tank top for the first time since last October. Divesting myself of irritating full-coverage winter gear has dramatically improved my mood.

I was tagged by Emma with an "Honest Scrap"award which goes something like this:

The Award and Rules:

This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, brilliant.

The rules are as follows:

1. When accepting this auspicious award, you must write a post bragging about it, including the name of the misguided soul who thinks you deserve such acclaim, and link back to the said person so everyone knows she/he is real.

2. Choose a minimum of seven (7) blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have seven friends. Show the seven random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with Honest Weblog. Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.

3. List at least ten (10) honest things about yourself. Then pass it on!

In the immortal words of Sally Field, "You like me! You really, really like me!" *blushes* I'm flattered that you think my content is brilliant, all of my posts about pooping in the woods notwithstanding.

I don't like tagging other people, but I like self-absorption (I have a blog, for cryin' out loud) so I'll list ten things about myself and anyone who reads this can choose for themselves whether or not they wish to participate.

1. For a very long time I believed that rivers could only flow south because they had to follow the curve of the earth. I will not say for how long I believed this. Suffice to say it's extremely ironic that I became a geologist¹.

2. I have received nine speeding tickets. I never cried or whined or protested (or flashed any cleavage) when I got pulled over. I had no excuses. I always knew exactly how fast I was going. I like driving fast. To my credit, my last ticket was over three years ago. Once I got my Jetta I started driving like a granny.

3. I once worked at Victoria's Secret. It was the most mind-numbing, tedious job I've ever had. I lasted three weeks before I bolted for an office job.

4. I used to set ants on fire with an enormous magnifying glass². My brother and I would put slugs and snails on top of the gas grill when it was on and watch them die shriveled, horrible deaths. It's a wonder I'm not a serial killer.

5. I almost quit cross-country my freshman year of high school because my legs were so sore after the first week of practice I could barely walk. I didn't; I stuck it out. And good thing, too, or I probably wouldn't be the runner I am today.

6. I thought when the Ramones sang "I wanna be sedated," they were really saying "I wanna piece of this."

7. My two least favorite songs in the entire pantheon of songs are "Brown-Eyed Girl" and "American Pie." I will break the fucking radio trying to change the station if I hear even one nanosecond of either of those. Luckily I have both SiriusXM and an iPod adapter in my car so my chances of inadvertent exposure are greatly diminished. I also cannot abide the entire AC/DC catalog. Hearing what's-his-name's earsplitting screechy voice makes me want to slam some Renée Fleming into the CD player and rock out with a Mozart aria or two.

8. Riffing off one of Emma's items, when I was very little, like 4 or 5 years old, I apparently saved my younger brother from drowning in a swimming pool. I have no memory of doing this. As far as I'm concerned, my brother owes me.

9. I collect antique geologic maps.

10. I am terrified of raccoons. I have dubbed this procyonophobia, from the Latin name for the common American raccoon, Procyon lotor.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

1: OK, fine, I was a freshman in college and this notion was only disabused during my introductory geology class.

2: One can achieve similar effects with a geologist's hand lens.

Martian Half Marathon Pictures

These are from the Martian Half Marathon, which I ran on April 5 and where I set a new PR of 1:47:02.

The start.

In the early miles.

Nearing the end.

The final push to the finish; you can see the timing mat in the foreground. You can also see the agony on my face. AAARRRGGGHHH!

The classic finishing pose. Don't forget to stop the Garmin!

Weekend wrap-up: Saturday I did a 10-mile pace run, which ended up being 2 seconds slower than the 10 I ran on Wednesday. So much for pacing. 10 miles, 1:23:39, 8:21/mile. It was such a beautiful day, I couldn't help myself.

Sunday was the second of my trio of 20-milers. For this one I chose to head into the Waterloo Recreation Area. Around mile 5.5 this out-and-back route becomes extremely hilly (blame the glaciers). Hilly yet scenic; its cruelty is disguised by its beauty. It was the same route I ran last fall for my first-ever 20-miler. This time, the hills just killed me. I felt drained, lifeless, exhausted. It took everything I had to stagger to the end. After hauling my aching body in and out of the shower, it was time for a nap. First, however, I ate (while lying in bed because I was too tired/lazy to go downstairs) the following confection:

That is a Vosges Flying Pig, which might just be the perfect treat: chocolate and bacon IN ONE SCRUMPTIOUS PACKAGE. I decided it contained everything I needed post-run: carbohydrates and protein at the same time! I know it sounds bizarre: chocolate and bacon? Seriously? Seriously! It was delicious. Pig consumed, I curled up for a well-earned three hours.

Five weeks until the Cleveland Marathon. Three weeks until taper time. One long run left. And miles upon miles yet to go.