New York City Marathon 2009

I'm truly embarrassed at how long it has taken me to sit down and write this. One would think that for a race which I deemed "the best ever" I would have been more prompt in producing my race report. I am sad to say that the details of the day are growing hazy, their clarity obscured by the passage of weeks. I am writing this more for me so I do not forget the events of the weekend than I am for you, my approximately 130 faithful subscribers. (I apologize for being so selfish.)

Nevertheless, here it is, my New York City Marathon experience. And what an experience it was.

The beginning: June 11, 2009. First day of group training in Dexter. (Yes, it was mid-June and I'm wearing one of my winter jackets. So?)

The end: November 2, 2009. In Central Park the day after the race.

In between these two dates were 20 weeks and three days of training. I ran 529 miles, burned 58,285 calories, ran in eight races (setting two new PRs), went to Vermont for a weekend relay, went to California for the best vacation ever, and made four new and excellent friends (hi ladies!)

The day before I left: Darwin and Boo helped me pack. "Helping" when cats are involved is entirely subjective.

As I stated shortly before heading to the city, my only goal for the race was to relax and enjoy myself. I embarked on this quest the night before I departed, sharing a send-off dinner with one of my favorite running buddies. Said dinner also included one of the best beers I've ever tasted.

Beervana: Bell's Oracle Double IPA. If you're a hophead and you ever see this available anywhere, you must get it. Do not argue. You. MUST. GET. IT. Then, get ready to swoon.

Once I arrived in New York on Friday, October 30th, I went out with my hostess and BFF Sara to her favorite after-work watering hole for my last (yes, I swear) beer before the race.

At the Gin Mill on the Upper West Side. Clearly I'm not taking this very seriously if I'm having pints two days before the marathon. Sara also made me flex my arm. Want tickets to the tiny gun show?

The next morning I was up bright and early to meet my Green Mountain Relay teammate Eric for breakfast and go to the race expo.

The promised land! The Javits Center was the most enormous building I've ever been inside. It was so vast and cavernous that looking up at the roof made me dizzy after a while. Of course my nerd brain said, "I wonder what kind of engineering went into keeping this structure aloft?"

My prize possession, my coveted golden ticket to the NYC Marathon.

Eric and I cruised around the expo for a long time. It was immense and there was so much to see (but no Bondi Band booth, what gives?). I was thrilled when I found a clothing booth, tucked into the farthest corner of the giant hall, which was selling everything for 50% off. Not just run-of-the-mill clothes, either...but official Asics marathon gear which was selling for full price near the expo entrance! Finding the official race jacket for $60 (regular price $120) was a triumph only slightly overshadowed by my running of the race the following day. Of course my efforts at frugality were eclipsed by my purchase of not only one official jacket for $60...but another for $43...and another piece of marathon gear for $30...

And then there was the special promotional Asics booth...which resulted in this:

Yes, that's me on the billboard in the background. In Times Square. I was on a billboard in Times Square. It says: "Hello New York. Goodbye Couch of Doom." This was extremely exciting, no matter what Sara thinks. ;P What can I say, I'm just a country bumpkin from the Midwest.

The marathon was everywhere. This was on my way back to the Upper West Side after having lunch with Eric and visiting my cousin.

Saturday afternoon I headed back to Sara's apartment to begin serious energy conservation in the form of sitting on the sofa watching TV and moving as little as possible. I made a dinner of pasta with sauteed vegetables (enough for everyone) and went to bed--or tried to go to bed--around 9:30. I was finally getting nervous and excited. In approximately 12 hours I was going to be a participant in one of the world's biggest marathons.

4:45 am arrived too quickly.

Looking a wee bit bleary-eyed but otherwise race ready. 5:20 am, Sunday, November 1.

I headed out into the cool early morning. There had been some rain overnight, and the air smelled sharp and clean. The streets were empty and quiet. Workers were unloading boxes of produce at the grocery store around the corner. I got on the subway at 72nd and Broadway. The only other people on the train at that hour were other runners...and a lot of dazed-looking late-night revelers in costumes staggering home from Halloween parties. They had been out all night partying...I had been in bed since 9:30. The dichotomy of the scene was remarkable.

Once at the South Ferry terminal, I entered the building with hordes of runners and sat down to wait for the ferry to Staten Island.

Waiting, waiting, and more waiting. It was about 6:10 am and I had almost four hours yet to wait until the race.

On the ferry, I was looking out the window at the nice view of the Statue of Liberty when all of a sudden my Green Mountain Relay teammate Thomas was in front of me! Of 43,000 people heading to Staten Island that morning, we crossed paths on the boat...what are the odds?

On the ferry. Love that fluorescent lighting!

However, that's not all. After disembarking from the ferry, we were herded like cattle to a line of waiting buses that would carry us to the final staging area at Fort Wadsworth. I got on a bus and had just seated myself when I heard someone squeal, "OhmygodSARAH!" I looked up and it was another one of my GMR teammates, Maria! I immediately jumped up and went to sit with her. We talked all the way to the fort and I only lost her in the crowd when I stopped to take advantage of a port-a-potty.

Speaking of that crowd, the sea of humanity inching towards the fort entrance was endless. It was one of the biggest crowds I've ever been in. FINALLY after shuffling along for what felt like forever, I reached the athletes' village area, found where my bib color (blue) comrades were, unfurled my plastic bag, and sat down. The ground was not yet a quagmire (remember the overnight rain) but I could tell by the disheveled grass that certain areas were going to get ugly. I chose a spot on an incline, well away from the heavily trafficked zones, and didn't move an inch for an hour and a half. I watched as people's shoes became covered in mud and the ground disintegrated. I had two plastic shopping bags which I tied around my feet to keep them dry and clean. My body was similarly warm and dry; I had on several layers of throwaway clothing and the ambient air temperature was only about 50 degrees.

In the athletes' village: More waiting.

I ate a Clif bar, drank some water, laid back on my plastic and stared up at the sky, watched my fellow runners, and simply relaxed and bided my time. Around 9:15 I decided it was time to mobilize to my starting corral. I attached my Gu packets to my running skirt, clipped my bib number belt and iFitness small item holder (on loan from a running buddy and truly fabulous) around my waist, made sure I had my RoadID and Garmy, packed up my gear bag and turned it in to one of the phalanx of UPS trucks lined up by the edge of the grass. I briefly talked to my parents, and when I hung up I realized I had left my RF501 team hat in the bag (bad) but also my royal blue Bondi Band which I had selected specifically because it matched my RF501 team singlet (DISASTER). People, do you know the last time I ran without a Bondi Band, or anything on my head? That just does not happen. Ever. Panic-stricken, I raced back to the UPS truck in a futile attempt to retrieve my bag, but it had disappeared into a heaving, endless mountain of other clear plastic bags. I sighed and told myself, "This is not the end of the world." I did a quick check to see if I had left anything else important in the bag. Gu, iPhone, camera, RoadID, Garmy, bib, D-Tag timing chip, heart rate monitor. All was well. Bare headed or not, it was time to go.

The corral entry area was, to put it mildly, a complete and total clusterfuck. Everyone was standing jammed shoulder to shoulder, bunched up at the single Corral C entry point, most of us with Blue Wave 2 bibs, and no one was being allowed into the corral. I heard the same bland female voice I'd been listening to on the PA system all morning announce, "Corrals for Wave 2 are now closed." I looked around in horror: Closed? What the fuck? What about the hundreds of people who were supposed to be in Wave 2 who were now shut out of their corrals? An uneasy murmur swept through the crowd. With another surge of panic welling inside me, I said to some random woman in front of me, "Wait a minute...what's going on? How can the corrals be closed already? No one ever went in after Wave 1 left!" People at the blocked Corral C entry point were beginning to get agitated. There was some yelling. People were awkwardly climbing the fence and dropping down into the corral. Another young woman next to me said, "What are we supposed to do now?" Someone else said, "Down there--next corral down--there's a guy who's still letting people in." I looked at the other woman and we both began shoving our way to Corral D. It was the same scene: mobs of people pressed against the fence, prevented from entering the corral. I whispered a plea to no one: "I hope this works." I showed the race worker my blue bib with the yellow background and he gave me the briefest of nods before lifting the mesh barrier, allowing me and the other woman to slip underneath. Once inside the corral, my breath exploded in a sigh of relief. I quickly disrobed, leaving my throwaway clothing in a heap at the side of the corral with the multitude of other discarded items. The cool morning air washed over my bare skin for the first time that morning. I don't know if I had goosebumps because of the sudden chill or because I was finally, utterly, outrageously excited. I fired up Garmy, adjusted my bib holder and iFitness belts, fussed with my hair (mourned my lack of Bondi Band for a moment), and then waited, calmly, for the next stage of the journey.

It didn't take long; a few minutes passed and suddenly everyone was moving. The tide of humanity streamed down a long, narrow chute formed by lines of buses parked nose to tail. Someone was hollering encouraging words over the PA system, a cannon was fired, and then Frank Sinatra came on the PA, singing "New York, New York."

The starting area. I was in the crowd in the foreground which ran on the upper right of the bridge.

Mere minutes before the start.

And we're off! "If I can make it there, I'll make it...ANYWHERE...it's up to you, NEW YORK, NEW YORK!"

Isn't this a thrilling sight? The Verazzano Narrows Bridge in all its glory.

I felt so relaxed when I started running it was almost ridiculous. I wasn't nervous at all, just excited. I felt my left hamstring twinge around mile 1 and I immediately thought, "Not today, you son of a bitch," altered my stride slightly, and it never bothered me again. The trek across the bridge felt like a party. People were yelling back and forth across the divide in the middle of the bridge, waving to the helicopter hovering over the water (hence the great aerial pictures which I clearly did not take myself), and the overall mood of the crowd was one of sheer joy and exuberance. A big goofy smile spread across my face and it stayed there until mile 24.

At mile 2 I came off the bridge into Brooklyn, where I would be until mile 13. I was running smoothly and easily, totally unconcerned about how fast I was going, or, in this case, how slowly. I was drinking in every sound and sight which came my way.

Heading north on Fourth Ave. in Brooklyn.

Aerial view of Fourth Ave., looking south to the Verazzano Bridge.

Early in the race, somewhere in Brooklyn, and ridiculously happy.

Front and center (I used this one for my new blog banner).

Find me! (click to enlarge)

I stopped to use a port-a-potty around mile 5 and even though it took five minutes, I didn't care. I took the opportunity to quickly text Sara to find out where I would see her later in the race. Not long after my port-a-potty stop, I snapped this picture, which is one of my favorites from the entire day:

Yes, this is a bunch of dudes peeing on a fence. Not just any fence, a cemetery fence. Have some respect, for pete's sake!

The miles slipped away effortlessly. I was so entranced by everything I was seeing, the distance I was running barely registered. I hit the halfway point in 2:02 on the Pulaski Bridge as I crossed into Queens. Queens was a blur; a couple of miles and I was on the Queensboro Bridge heading into Manhattan.

On the Queensboro Bridge.

This is my GMR teammate TK's home turf. She runs this bridge all the time. I was honored to follow in her footsteps. Eric told me that coming off the bridge onto 1st Ave, you are confronted by a wall of sound. Any spectator noise and density you have experienced thus far would be blown away by the sonic force of the mobs lining 1st Ave in Manhattan.

That's when I hit "record" on my iPhone and made the audio clip I posted here. It really was just as he described. A canyon of noise, endless screaming, such a raucous exuberance shimmering in the air that my goofball grin got even bigger. It was mile 16 and I was in love with this race.

Heading north on 1st Ave. in Manhattan. A river of runners as far as the eye can see. It was the sight of a lifetime.

I have no idea where this was in the race but I still look stupidly excited, don't I?

I saw Sara in the crowd at 116th St., gave her a big happy sweaty hug, and continued chugging north towards the Bronx. I crossed the Willis Ave. Bridge into the Bronx at mile 19.5 still feeling relaxed and energetic. I crossed the Madison Ave. Bridge back into Manhattan at mile 21 feeling achy, tired, and disgruntled. It's amazing how quickly things can fall apart in a marathon. My feet were beginning to hurt. Someone yelled from the sidelines as I reached the bridge, "Only 5 miles to go!" Gee, thanks, buddy. I decided to slow down a little bit. There was no need to kill myself in these final miles as I had done in Cleveland, scraping up every last shred of will and stamina. I wasn't going for a BQ time. I wasn't going for any time at all. Even though I was at the stage where I was thinking, God, I just want this to be over with, I was still having fun.

5th Ave loomed and I began the long straight shot which would take me to the park entrance. I texted Sara on the fly to find out where she would be in the park, and there she was, just before mile 24. I ran over and gave her another sweaty hug, and when she asked how I was doing I rolled my eyes and yelled, "IT'S ALMOST OVER!" She screamed, "I'll see you at the finish!" and I launched myself back into the field for the final 2.2 mile slog.

We're in death march mode now: 2K to go. My smile finally disappeared.

On Central Park South less than a mile from the finish.

SO...CLOSE...

And done!

My official finish picture. I'm quite sweaty, but very happy.

My feet were crying in agony, I was exhausted, but I was overjoyed. I had finished my third marathon, the New York City Marathon! (Official finish time: 4:16:56, a 9:49/mile average). After a long, painful shuffle north through the park, I retrieved my gear bag(training team hat and Bondi Band safely stowed within) and slowly made my way out to Central Park West where I found Sara waiting for me.

My "Superwoman" pose, with mylar cape.

Right after taking this picture, Sara and I started to walk back to her place when I heard somone yell, "Sarah, oh my GOD!" It was my GMR teammate and fellow run-blogger TK! Just standing there on the sidewalk! I knew she was going to be spectating at the race, but I thought I was going to see her at the bar afterward. In one day I randomly bumped into three of my relay teammates in a city of millions of people and a race field of 43,000. What are the odds of that?!

Somehow I managed to walk/stagger back to Sara's apartment where I washed off the grime and put on clean clothes. I was ready to party! I met Eric at a place nearby and savored my post-marathon beer.

Ah, delicious reward for a job well done. And why yes, I am wearing my $43 half-price official marathon jacket!

My second-favorite picture of the day. Believe it or not, I saw a guy holding this sign in Brooklyn and it made me laugh. Imagine my delight when I saw the same sign again at the bar afterward! I had to get my picture taken with it.

Eric and I at the post-marathon party.

I made it all the way to 8:30 before I crashed like a ton of bricks. One minute I was sitting up watching the Yankees in the World Series and the next I had literally toppled over so my head was resting against the arm of the sofa and my eyelids had slammed shut. I was so tired my head was buzzing. When I finally laid down on the unfolded sofa bed it felt so good I groaned. I fell asleep almost instantly and didn't wake up for hours. The next morning every muscle fiber in my body was howling in pain. Everything hurt. Determined to make the best of it, I went for the slowest walk in history through Central Park and down to TK's midtown office building to meet her for coffee. The park was absolutely gorgeous, in full, bursting fall colors (I wish I had taken a picture). It took me almost an hour to walk the two-ish miles from the UWS to my destination. The motion loosened my legs and I felt better. On the way back north to Sara's place I walked the marathon route through the park. I wanted to see it again, slowly, to savor it as I had not the previous day. Work crews were busily and noisily dismantling the barricades, banners, bleachers, packing everything away for another year. People who had clearly run the race were milling around the finish line area. And so, I too posed for one last picture, the picture I placed at the very beginning of this post. I have come full circle, then, to the end of that epic race, that epic day, that once in a lifetime experience: my first New York City Marathon (but hopefully not my last!).

AWOL

Hi folks. Remember me?

I think this is the longest I have neglected the ol' blog since I started it almost 2.5 years ago: 18 days. I have just been extraordinarily unmotivated to write and there hasn't been much going on anyway. NYC was four weeks ago and it was only in the past week that I made any effort to run a substantial amount of miles (30).

Side note: considering I ran 5 miles the week of November 15-21, running 30 the week of the 22-28 violated the "10% Rule" by 590%. Oops.

I put on my game face Thursday morning for the third annual Thanksgiving Day Aurora Turkey Trot in Aurora, Ohio. Last year I raced to a sub-30:00 time, and this year I did not expect to come close to that. Not with the way my shoes had been languishing in my closet and the alarm had been going off at 7:00 am. Speed work? Tempo runs? What?

I pulled off a 7:29 mile 1 which shocked the heck out of me. Thereafter, acquiescing to the fact that it was unlikely I would able to sustain that pace, I concentrated on being more mindful of my breathing, footstrike, arm movement, and carriage than I usually am. In the end, I suprised myself by finishing the four miles in 30:28 (7:37/mile) and taking third in my age group again. Excellent. My fleet feet weren't completely buried under several weeks of laziness!

Yesterday I went out for a leisurely cruise around the old hometown in Ohio, taking my favorite out-and-back seven-mile route and listening to my iPod. I had every intention of running at least double that distance this morning but a late-night beer-drinking/Euchre-playing session at my brother's house squashed that ambition. I'm hoping to get in a final run tomorrow before I head back to Michigan.

My sole goal after I get home is to finally write my darn race report for the NYC Marathon. I can't believe I let such an important event slide for so long. It's really quite shameful.

Lastly, this morning I had a dream about running Boston. The race is five months away. In my opinion, it's much too soon to be dreaming about it. This dream was of the "unprepared/running late" variety. If I'm already having anxious dreams about Boston this far in advance, for what might I be in store four months from now when the race is mere weeks away?

Scary.

I hope everyone had a pleasant holiday!

Let's Try This Again

marathonsounds.mp3

That should work.

I thought I was being so tech-savvy trying to embed the audio right into my blog...FAIL.

Edited: OK, WTF?! HELP. My tech-savviness has officially reached its limit (not that there was much to begin with).

How about THIS one?

http://www.filefreak.com/files/82036_kr2sr/marathonsounds.mp3

Oh, and just in case anyone is thinking "it's just a sound bite, what's the big deal?" it's because it REALLY IS THRILLING (well, for me, anyway). I just want everyone to have a chance to experience a tiny bit of what running the New York City Marathon is like. Imagine all that noise and much more for 26.2 solid miles. It really was an endless party. It was wonderful.

Sounds of the Marathon

While I take my sweet time composing a race report for the New York City Marathon, I flexed my (severely limited) computer-nerd muscle and uploaded a little sound bite of the marathon for y'all. I made this on-the-course recording (using my iPhone) around mile 16 (you can actually hear Garmy beep), coming off the Queensboro Bridge into Manhattan and beginning the northward trek on 1st Avenue. When I listened to this for the first time after the race, it made my skin tingle and heart beat a little faster as I remembered what it was like at that moment: Thrilling.



On another note: My Google Reader suggested I add myself as a feed. (Never mind that clearly Google Reader has its head up its ass on that one.) I was curious to see what I look like in Google Reader so I clicked on me. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that 129 people subscribe to my blog. I continue to be amazed that my silly little blog, which started almost 2.5 years ago as a place to set down my thoughts on running and weight loss, has metamorphosed into something people actually want to read. I guess my childhood dream of becoming a writer has come true in some small way. Thank you, everyone, all 129 of you!

New York City Marathon: The Really Short Version

Official time: 4:16:55

Pre-race goal: Have fun!

Goal met? YES, YES, YES, YESSSSS!!!!

It was the most fun I've ever had in any race EVER. I absolutely LOVED EVERY SINGLE MINUTE.

Longer post with pictures coming eventually!

Calm Before the Storm

Good morning, folks!

I am having a bit of breakfast and coffee in my friend's apartment, enjoying these last few minutes of peace, solitude, and inactivity before the insanity of the next few hours overwhelms me. I'm dressed and ready to go both physically and mentally. I'm finally just a tiny bit nervous.

It's Sunday morning, and I'm going to run a marathon today!

See you at the finish line!

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Thursday Thoughts: Goals, Or Lack Thereof

This is it, folks. Three days until the 2009 New York City Marathon. I leave tomorrow morning (I'm leeeavin'...on a jet plane...dunno when I'll be back again...actually, that's not true, I'll be back in Michigan on Monday evening).

After 18 weeks of training and hundreds of miles of road under my feet, what are my goals for this, my third marathon?

1. Have fun
2. Have fun
3. Have fun!

That's it. Seriously. I put down "3:55" as my projected finish time when I registered. I'll aim for 4:00 or so, but if I miss it, I won't be upset. This time it's all about relaxing and enjoying the moment. I am thinking of this race as a really long run with 42,000 friends.

At Detroit in 2008 I was a ball of nerves, frightened, clueless, and anxious. It was my very first marathon and I had no idea what to expect. At Cleveland in May of this year I had set such a lofty goal for myself (BQ OR ELSE!) that I was focused to the point of obsession on reaching it and I couldn't let myself enjoy the race.

This time, however...it's totally different. I know what it feels like to run 26.2 miles, so I'm not scared of the distance. I know I will be able to run the entire way. I already qualified for (and was accepted into) the Boston Marathon, so I don't need to freak out about my splits. I'm excited, of course, but I'm primarily very...calm.

I'm taking my camera, my iPhone, and my sense of adventure. I'm going to walk through the water stops, visit the port-a-potty as many times as I need to, find my friends in the crowd, wear my name on my shirt so people yell at me. I want to high-five little kids, take pictures of everything, boogie to the music. I am going to have the BEST RUN EVER.

According to those In The Know, my spot in the Blue bib corrals means I will be on the upper deck of the bridge after the start, and therefore I will avoid being pissed on, unlike the unlucky bastards in the Green corrals who have to run on the lower level of the bridge. This is good. Being sprinkled with other people's whiz is not how I want to start my day.

If anyone is really, really interested in following my progress on race day, there are two ways you can do it. One is to sign up for Athlete Alert, which will deliver my 5K splits to an email address. Additionally, you can also use the Race Day Tracker, which allows you to look at splits on the NYC Marathon web site the day of the race. My bib number is 24783.

I would like to tell y'all a funny story about a long run I had last month. I went out for 18 miles one overcast Saturday morning. I decided to run 9 miles out and back from my house. It was a pleasantly cool day and the first blushes of fall color were beginning to appear on the trees. I was rolling along at about a 9:00/mile pace when I passed a couple of guys who were digging a post hole on the side of the road with an auger. I waved to them and the little kid who was with them for no reason other than I was feeling fine and frisky at mile 4.5 of my run.

I meandered through the countryside, reached the 9-mile point, and turned around. Around mile 13.5 I saw the post-hole-diggers again, who had managed to install a mailbox while I was gone. It had been nearly an hour and a half since I passed them the first time. When I went by they were staring at me with disbelief. I could tell one of them was saying something, so I yanked my iPod earbuds out of my ears and said, "Pardon me?"

"Were you running...THE WHOLE TIME...since we saw you before?"

I chuckled and said, "Yes, I was...well, I'm training for a marathon, and today is my long run day. I'm doing 18 today."

The two men exchanged looks and then one of them said, "I just...can't...I can't even begin to imagine. Well, training for a marathon, I guess that's what you gotta do..."

I laughed again and said, "Yes, it sure is. Fortunately, I love it. I'm at 13.5 and I've got 4.5 more to go!" I waved again, jammed my headphones back in, and moseyed off down the road.

I'll never forget the way that guy said "THE WHOLE TIME." It was priceless.

Edited to add: I still have to pack...

Just Another Day in the Underbrush

Sunday I spent a portion of the afternoon knee deep in mud, wading through water, and crashing through the woods. Oh, and I was also liberally dusted with flour. You want to see people give you strange looks, run past someone raking their lawn and be covered in mud, a strange grayish hue because of all the flour on your black clothes, and you're running at about a 7:15/mile pace. "Weird" doesn't begin to describe the way people were looking at me as I bolted through the quiet suburban neighborhood...

What on earth was I doing? Hashing, of course. I volunteered to be a co-hare at only my third hash, and Sunday I found myself in one of the 'burbs northwest of Detroit in my old shoes and stealth bomber outfit (to be less conspicuous in the woods, of course). I had brought with me 24 bottles of Michigan's finest microbrews (Bell's Best Brown Ale, Arcadia Nut Brown Ale, Dark Horse Crooked Tree IPA, and Founder's Pale Ale, all of which were intended to be an antidote to the cans of Bud, Coors, Miller High Life and Labatt Blue...seriously, folks, did you think I of all people would do anything less?) and six pounds of flour.

Once everyone seemed to have shown up at the starting point, my two co-hares and I took off, laying trail as we went. I did whatever I was told, tossing flour about liberally, sprinting to catch up, shoving past branches and vines, and eventually landing on my hands and knees in a swamp.

I was having the best time.

Eventually we were able to take a breather at the first beer check, having confused the pack enough that we had almost 10 minutes to chill in the middle of a field before they arrived. After merriment and mass consumption of cheap beer, we three hares left to lay the second half of the trail. Somewhere along the way I ended up wading through a mucky creek which wet me from the crotch down (but my iPhone stayed safe and dry in my jacket pocket). Eventually it was over and I had run/walked/waded/backtracked/staggered about 5.5 miles, but who's keeping track? The only things I cared about were 1) we didn't get caught on trail and 2) I didn't hurt myself, so NYC is still a go!

Then the real fun began as everyone dug into a huge pile of pizza and the rest of the beer. Every last one of the bottles I brought was consumed. I didn't have a single one to bring home with me, which is probably just as well, considering the marathon is in a mere five days.

I still have dirt under my toenails.

My shoes aren't fashionably black...that's just mud.

Autumn Splendor

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

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

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



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

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

NYC is 11 days away. I am SO READY.

Oh People. People, People, People...

Dear Sun Runner,

This is to notify you that your entry into the 114th Boston Marathon on Monday, April 19, 2010 has been accepted, provided that the information you submitted is accurate.

You can verify your acceptance into the field by searching the 114th Boston Marathon "Entrants" database on the B.A.A. web site, www.baa.org/2010/cf/Public/EntryLists.cfm. Additionally, an acceptance postcard will be mailed to you via US Postal Service mail.

Wild Life Half Marathon: Trail Blazing

Freezing my little buns & boobies off in the parking lot before the race. It was 29 degrees this morning, people! You see the frost on the grass behind me?

This morning I ran a race which exceeded all of my expectations. At one point I felt as if I were having an out-of-body experience. It was that awesome.

First off, let's get the details out of the way: I set a new personal record by running a 1:43:01, which killed my previous PR, set in April at the Martian Half, by 4:01.

People. Never, ever, ever, EVER would I have thought I would be capable of running a sub-8:00 average pace for thirteen miles.

In early September I wrote this in an email to my running buddy TC:

"I registered to run a local half marathon on October 11. My goal is to at least improve on my PR from April (1:47:02) with a really improbable goal of 1:45:59 or better. An 8:05 pace for sub-1:46 vs. 8:09 to beat my PR...totally doable. Or even more wildly speculative, could I maintain an 8:00 avg and run a sub-1:45 (1:44:48 to be exact) half??? Will I be capable of that in six weeks? Who knows. I'm going to try, though. The course is flat as a pancake, a converted railroad to paved trail thing. One long straight shot, balls to the wall. Should be gorgeous, too, mid-October in Michigan with the leaves aflame in fall colors."

That goal was in serious jeopardy recently because my recurring hamstring injury flared up again a couple of weeks ago during track work with the RF501 gang. One minute I was pounding out a 1:35 400m interval...and the next I was hobbling dejectedly around the track trying to pretend this was. not. happening. again. Since then my hamstring has been much on my mind, dogging me every step of the way on every run I have undertaken. As recently as last Wednesday I was able to run only 2 miles in a row. I downgraded my goal for today's half marathon to "just run and have a good time." The weather forecast was decent, the race would be small, the scenery amenable...what's not to like? Just get out and run.

And run I did. Two days of inactivity did wonders for my hamstring. A pair of compression tights, wrapped snugly around my troublesome thigh, did the rest. I knew the potential for a great race was in me during the first mile. By mile 2 it was undeniable. I found that coveted groove, my fifth gear where I feel as if I could run forever and not shed a bead of sweat.

I was running east into the rising sun (ha) for the first half of the race, and several times, when the sunlight blinded me and I could barely see, I felt as if my legs were disconnected from the rest of my body. They turned over of their own accord, driving forward, pistonlike, and the rest of me was being carried along for the ride. I felt as if I were floating, literally skimming over the ground. It was a most peculiar yet exhilarating feeling. The miles flicked past so quickly, before I even knew it I had reached the turnaround point and was on my way back. I had kept up a blistering pace for so long, I knew at some point I was going to begin to feel fatigued, and around mile 9 it washed over me. My whole bearing changed: my torso angled forward, my chin raised up, my arms crept higher and barely moved, my breathing quickened. I was tiring and I knew it, but I also knew I had run a spectacular race thus far and I had it in me to finish strongly. At mile 10 I peeked at Garmy and saw I was at 1:19. I did a quick calculation and knew that with only 5K left, a PR was definitely in the bag. At the pace I was running, I would cruise through that 5K in under 24 minutes. 1:19 plus 24 minutes equals...1:43.

Holy crap. I was on pace to not only crush my PR, crush my "improbable goal" of sub-1:46, but crush my "wildly speculative" goal of sub-1:45. I just had to stay cool, stay relaxed, stay confident. I forced myself to concentrate on my posture and breathing as the final miles ticked off. Soon enough I passed mile 13, and with only one mile to go, I kicked it into an even higher gear. I passed the posts marking the end of the trail and knew I had only about a half mile to go. I reached deep inside, scraped up some final vestige of energy and let it flow through my muscles. When I pressed Garmy's stop button at the finish line and looked down, I only saw "1:42" on the display. I started laughing. 1:42 WHAT? I quickly found the screen which informed me I had run a 1:42:55, which I realized (sadly) would translate to something a few seconds slower for my official time in this non-chip-timed race. Indeed, my gun time ended up being 1:43:01.

This was the kind of race where one can walk up to the race director and ask "Hey, are there race results yet?" and then read them oneself from sheets which have been freshly printed and handed to one by said race director.

I love tiny races.

Anyway, my official time was 1:43:01, which I immediately zeroed in on as a complete FAILURE, because IF ONLY I had run TWO SECONDS FASTER somewhere on the course I could have gone sub-1:43...all I could think about was my highly annoying 50:00 10K PR from 2008 which twisted around in the back of my head for a year until I finally killed it in May. This is going to be that PR. I am going to obsess over it until I can kill it, and I have already decided where it will be: at next April's Martian Half Marathon. You're on notice, 1:43:01. You're going DOWN!

Never mind that 1:43:01 bested my previous PR by 4 minutes and 1 second and my hamstring didn't bother me at all and I ran one of the best races of my life and I finished third in my age group and 24th overall. No. 1:43:01, people. Two lousy stinking seconds away from 1:42:59. TWO LOUSY SECONDS!

ARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!

Sigh.

The nitty gritty breakdown:

8:17, 8:04, 7:53, 7:50, 7:50, 7:46, 7:48, 7:48, 7:57, 7:55, 7:45, 7:44, 7:40 & 0.1 at a 6:57 pace.

Final stats: 1:43:01, 7:51/mile avg, 3/10 age group.

I ran today's race as part of the Worldwide Festival of Races global endeavor. I was proud to be part of this informal gathering of runners from all around the world.

I have to give totally mad props to FK, who ran with me every single step of the way in this half marathon. We were side by side, elbow to elbow, the whole way. If it weren't for him I doubt I would have done as well as I did. He pulled me along and kept me going. He's also way smarter than me because while I ripped open my Gu packets and choked their half-frozen contents down immediately, he warmed his up in his hand for a while before eating them.

Also, a huge HUGE HUUUGGEEE shout out to my peeps who ran the Chicago Marathon today: Spike, Morgan, Cowboy Hazel, and Coach Ted from the Chelsea/Dexter RF501 gang.

Final high note: Saturday when I drove out to Concord to pick up my race packet I went there directly from viewing the live broadcast of Tosca at the movie theater in Ann Arbor, and I sang opera the entire way to Concord and back to my house, a trip of approximately 90 miles, and I wasn't in danger of being pulled over for Speeding While Singing Opera Arias because...HELLO CRUISE CONTROL.

Even when I flung out the most perfect string of high Cs and Ds I've ever done (the final run from "Ach ich liebte") and I realized I was straining all of my legs muscles and gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white, I was motoring along at a sedate 72 MPH (in a 70 MPH zone).

Three weeks to NYC, people!

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.

Opera Can be Hazardous to one's Driving Record

Last night I was on my way home from Ann Arbor (where I had been to see "Julie & Julia"). I was motoring west along I-94 to Chelsea and I had the Met Opera station cued up on Sirius. I was really rocking "Glitter and be Gay" and I got to the end where I was supposed to hit a high E flat, and my voice totally cracked with a screech. I stopped, composed myself, and then sang the the ascending line to the E flat again except when I got to the note I shifted my palate and pushed most of the air into my sinuses. The back of my throat was lifted impossibly high, but it worked and I got the note out, with vibrato, even. Hello whistle register! Emboldened by this feat (it's been a long time since I cranked out a high E flat) I sang the closing line of the aria several times, getting the feel of the notes, making slight adjustments to my jaw and palate to improve the quality of the sound, not that there's much one can do that far above the staff. That's essentially "grip it and rip it" territory. Things are apt to happen one doesn't have control over. The breath takes on a life of its own. I just go along for the ride.

Anyway. So I was really getting into it and I was not paying attention to anything else...and that's when the spotlight and pretty lights came on behind me. State trooper alert! I just sighed and thought, "well, it was bound to happen again some time." I have gotten pulled over for speeding so many times that it just doesn't faze me any more. I pulled off on the shoulder and waited for the inevitable. The officer came to the passenger-side window and rapped on it with his flashlight (omg it's like I'm on an episode of COPS!). This is what ensued:

"Good evening, ma'am. May I have your license, registration and proof of insurance?"

I fumbled all of these documents together and handed them to him in a little bundle.

"Do you know why I pulled you over tonight?"

"I was probably speeding." personal rule #1: just admit it. we all know what's going on here.

"That's correct. Do you have any idea how fast you were going?"

"Um...probably around 80 mph?" personal rule #2: don't even bother pretending I don't know how fast I was going. I ALWAYS know how fast I'm going. except when I get really wrapped up in singing opera...

At this the officer burst out laughing. He said, ""I clocked you going 71...in a 60 mph construction zone."

"Oh dear..."

"How's your driving record?"

"Not good." personal rule #3: just admit this, too, because he'll find out as soon as he runs your license.

"When was the last time you got a ticket?"

"Four years ago." September 2005, on U.S. 141 South in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

"Where are you heading?"

"Chelsea." I was less than a mile from my exit, too!

"OK, well, just hang on and I'll be right back."

I immediately fired off a text message: "I just got pulled over for speeding."

The advice I got: "Cry."

I can't. I never have, even the first time I got pulled over. After so many speeding tickets I have found that the best tactic is to be affable, jovial, and honest. No silly sob stories, no barely believable excuses. (It doesn't hurt to smile, either.) If I get a ticket, so be it. It's not the end of the world. I've mostly reformed my ways since I acquired my Jetta in 2007 anyway.

The trooper was back. He was still chuckling. He handed my things back to me and said, "I'm going to let you go with just a warning tonight...80 mph...heh heh heh...This is a construction zone, you know."

"I know...I was just...singing opera and I got carried away!"

"Just be more careful, OK?" He was still laughing at me.

I merged back onto the freeway for the final mile to my exit and I was home five minutes later.

This has happened before on numerous occasions. Not the getting pulled over part, but the part where I'm singing an aria in the car and I look down and I'm going 90 MPH. It usually occurs when I sing something vocally challenging, such as "Glitter and be Gay" or "Come scoglio" or "Mi tradi quell'alma ingrata" or "Sempre libera," all of which require intense focus and effort. I tend to completely lose myself in the music. When I come to I realize I'm rocketing along the road and I can't remember driving the last two miles.

Singing opera arias in the car: as dangerous as a cell phone? Only a soprano knows for sure...

Plans

You know you're a runner when someone asks you what you're doing this weekend and the first thing you say is, "Well, I have to run 18 miles on Saturday morning..." and then you completely draw a blank on anything else.

Actually, that's not exactly true; this is my "Weekend Indie Rock Doubleheader of Awesomeness," in which I not only have Grizzly Bear in Ann Arbor tomorrow night, but tonight I am attending a sold-out show of the one, the only, the incomparable, the wonderful Sufjan Stevens. Thanks to the miracle of Craigslist, I scored a ticket to this show only a couple of days ago. To say I am excited WOULD BE THE UNDERSTATEMENT OF THE DECADE.

Best wishes to Viper in his quest to break the four-hour barrier at the Akron Marathon tomorrow!

It's all Relative

I'm watching "The Office" (one of my favorite shows) as we speak. This dialogue was just uttered:

Jim: "I didn't tell Michael because...I thought he'd try to help. Example: he handed out Jello shots at the 23rd mile of the Steamtown Marathon."

He said that as if it were a bad thing...all I know is, one of my favorite memories of last year's Detroit Marathon was tossing back that shot of warm beer at mile 24.

Five weeks to NYC, folks.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Catastrophe

Yesterday I went out for a run when I got home from work. I was supposed to do 9 miles, and I was only able to do 6 in the morning. My GI tract, still upset about the amount of food I dumped into it at dinner on Tuesday, had other plans for me and I was forced to return (sprint) home. Therefore, in the spirit of adhering to my schedule, I returned to the sidewalks for those remaining 3 miles. It was a beautiful late summer afternoon, about 72 degrees and sunny. I was working on about an 8:00/mile pace (aided by my song obsession of the moment, "Dominos," again). On the sidewalk about 100 feet in front of me I saw a woman walking with her back to me. As I got closer, the small black smudge I saw next to her arm resolved itself into a cat. She was carrying a cat. I've done this particular walk myself: cat escapes, must be found and retrieved and brought home cradled in my arms. I had a sinking feeling as I approached. I just knew what was about to happen. I should have slowed down, or said something, or done something, rather than just barreling up behind the woman, because the moment that cat saw me it propelled itself violently out of the woman's arms into the air. I know exactly how that feels. The cat uses your skin as its launch pad. I have scars on my left forearm where Darwin leaped out of my arms once.

The cat landed easily on the front walk of the woman's house, sat down, and looked no worse for wear. She looked around, startled. As I went by, I did the only thing I could, which seems inadequate and lame even now, which was to say, "I'm sorry!" I have a feeling it was more of a yell since I had my iPod headphones jammed into my ears and the music turned up and I couldn't really hear myself.

Whoops.

I finished off my 3.23 miles shortly afterward and then made myself pasta alla Norma (pasta with eggplant and tomatoes) for dinner using eggplant from my farm share. It was absolutely delicious.

Thursday Thoughts: 300

No, this is not about an overly oiled Gerard Butler in a loincloth¹ (as much as I wish it was). This is my three hundredth post for my humble little blog. Shocking, I know.

You know you're a runner when...your phone (in this case, the wondrous iPhone) has Gu residue on it from being stuffed into a waist pack for a long run. Or anything else which one might cram into a pack on a long run. Sticky Gu smears (or the fuel supplement of your choice) are just part of being a runner, I guess.

Also: YKYARW...

You pull something out of your jacket pocket and safety pins sprinkle the ground like fairy dust.

Bonus running dork points if said jacket is a jacket from a marathon you ran.

Double bonus running dork points if you're wearing said marathon souvenir jacket as part of your work ensemble for the day...and you work in an office building.

I think I win for the day. And yes, I fully acknowledge this was a contest only I was playing, and yes, I am a complete running dork. I think y'all knew that already.

I have "new shoes syndrome," that unavoidable malady all runners experience a few times a year. I recently acquired my third pair of Brooks Adrenaline 9s (and yes, once again they are men's size 10 shoes, please hold the big feet comments) and have begun to break them in. These are the shoes which I will wear in the NYC Marathon. Right now they are, to put it lightly, blindingly white. I feel incredibly self-conscious. I need to get these babies dirtied up, stat. Of course this is what happened the last time I had brand-new shoes...I'm not anxious to repeat the sudden-death overtime dirtying experience, but I believe 16 miles of Dexter country roads with my training group Saturday morning should lightly dust them with a respectable sheen of dirt.

Tonight's RF501 group workout: 6.68 miles of HILLS. Whew. Yes, we have a few hills in Michigan. We use one of them for our hill workouts. It may be seen here. That's me at the bottom in the orange shirt.

Registration fee for the 2010 Boston Marathon: $130 (applied to card only when qualifying time has been verified).

Registering for the freaking BOSTON MARATHON: PRICELESS.

1: Confidential to Mr. E: Remember the Beastmaster drinking game where one of the cues to drink was "excessive oil"? Yeah, I know you do...don't deny it. :) See also "hawk vision" and "unnecessary swordplay." And the catchall "things that make no sense," which was pretty much the entire movie...

Also: GQH, somehow Lansing survived the great Angry Librarian Invasion of 2009. No cars were overturned, no mobs of rampaging librarians set fire to couches in the middle of the street. The madness is over...FOR NOW...

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?

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!

Run For the Rolls Redux

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vacation Pictures

These sum up my vacation nicely. Oh, what a vacation it was. Truly one for the ages.

Running.¹

Beer.²

Food.³

Friends.⁴

1: At the summit of Black Mountain in the Rancho San Antonio Open Space Preserve, Los Altos Hills. 8 miles of hard trail to the top, where a gorgeous view and awesome rocks awaited. And then 8 miles back to the parking lot...

2: Deschutes Brewery Mirror Pond Pale Ale.

3: Insalata caprese which I made for the fabulous all-farmers'-market dinner, which also included roasted Brussels sprouts, sauteed green beans and shallots, roasted new potatoes with fresh rosemary, and olive oil-brushed crostini.

4: Me and my friend Mr. E at the Pyramid Alehouse & Brewery in Sacramento on the last day of my trip.

SIGH....

That's all I have to say about my vacation coming to an end.

Regular programming will resume...eventually.

From the Shore of the Pacific

Hi folks,

I've been off the radar for a while. I'm currently on vacation; in fact, I'm writing this from my perch atop a beach towel on the sand overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Watsonville, California. I have been out here on my nostalgia tour for almost a week. I was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area and before this trip I had not visited my hometown in eight long years. I spent most of last week in Marin County at the luxurious Tiburon home of an old family friend. Friday I moved south to my childhood stomping grounds, the two towns where I grew up (Sunnyvale and Los Altos).

Yesterday morning I went out for a very long trail run in Los Altos with my running buddy (and trail ultrarunner extraordinaire) TC. He promised long ago to take me to the top of a mountain to look at the rocks exposed there which are serpentinite, remnants of ancient oceanic crust which have been shoved onto land. The Coast Range is riddled with these fragments. I could not resist the siren call of actual rocks, fantastic rocks, so I put myself through 8 miles of grinding uphill hell to reach the 2200-foot summit and the rock outcrop. TC had a laugh or ten at my expense as I dragged my non-hill-running butt up the terrible final mile of the trail. I found a little in reserve at the end as he taunted me, "You can throttle me if you can catch me!" Somehow I found it in me to get my feet moving again as I ran after him to the top. All was as advertised and made the grueling uphill climb worth it. The view was amazing; the whole of the peninsula and the bay spread out beneath me. To the west lay the Coast Range and beyond that the ocean, invisible. The rocks were there, odd jagged grayish shapes protruding from the ground. I took a sample which is destined for my special collection at home. A few minutes, a few pictures, and then the dash back down the mountain. 16 miles, 3 hours, a run months in the making. Thanks, TC.

Despite some lingering fatigue I was up early again this morning to drive into the Santa Cruz Mountains for the Race Thru the Redwoods 10K. I picked this race out months ago and I wasn't going to miss it, hard trail run the day before or nearby forest fire be damned! I knew this was not a day for any record-breaking efforts. I just wanted to enjoy myself. The race was held at a state park thick with redwood trees (hence the name). It was primarily trail. Beautiful trail. With one crazy awful hill easily comparable to the worst of what I ran yesterday. I had to stop and walk. Once the hill had been crested shortly after mile 3, my legs felt like rubber and I still had half of the race to go. I pressed on, and after mile 4 the course went downhill for almost a mile. I let my legs whip out behind me as I flew down the slope. Flying! I was skimming the ground! Suddenly I felt a needlelike pain stab into the skin on my left tricep. "Ouch!" I cried as I swept my right hand back and across my arm, coming away with a hornet! I cast the offending insect to the ground as fire slowly took hold of my arm. Spurred on by pain and anger, I ran even faster, almost reckless in my dash downhill. A couple of times I felt my knees begin to buckle under the pounding; a failure at that point would have been a disaster. I kept my footing, though, and zoomed past mile 5. One more mile and I was feeling more energetic than I had for the entire race up to that point. I cruised through mile 6 and with only the last 0.2 left I slid into machine mode, that lovely zone where I feel as if I could run forever. Why now, when I only had a tiny slice of race left? Oh well, just go with it. I finished in 57:29, ten minutes off my 10K PR, but I didn't care. I was there for the experience.

After the race I drove down to Santa Cruz and then continued south to one of the state beaches. I have been sitting here listening to the waves and smelling the briny air for a couple of hours, hoping the sun will burn through the fog and I can get some serious sun baking done. I didn't come all this way to hide my hot pink bikini under a t shirt! The sun is out now more than it has been all day; an actual shadow is visible on the sand under my trail dust-encrusted feet. Time to lie back and soak up some rays.

I'm alone but not lonely. I have visited friends, some new and some old; seen family; gone running in exotic, beautiful places; drunk and dined well (but not too well; I have lost 5 pounds!); and generally have been enjoying the heck out of everything. And I still have a week to go!

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Homer Hogstravaganza Road Hog 5K: Comeuppance

Yesterday I came home from work, executed a quick change of clothes, and headed out the door to drive 50 miles to run a 5K at 7:00 PM. Why? Because the name of the race promised to deliver one of the best race T-shirts ever and I had nothing better to do on a Friday evening. The T-shirt did not disappoint:

The race was part of the Homer Hogstravaganza, one of those small-town agriculturally-themed festivals which I am familiar with, having grown up in a place which has the Maple Festival every spring. I anticipated a small field with a large contingent of local high schoolers and I was exactly right.

I was out to improve upon my lackluster performance from Sunday's Lyn Yarows 5K. I rested Wednesday, had a good hill workout Thursday with the RF501 gang, and got a good night's sleep. I was ready. It was warmer than my preferred running weather: about 78 degrees. Nothing I could do about that, though. I did a ten-minute warm-up, felt limber and energetic, and wandered over to the start.

The field of 100 took off and I settled into what I felt to be a moderately fast yet not taxing pace. I refused to look at Garmy until mile 1, and when it beeped, I looked down and saw "7:19" which was a complete surprise. Last Sunday I felt like I was killing myself to run 7:45 for my first mile, and here I was strolling through a 7:19 mile. This was going to be a great race! I might even squeeze out a sub-24:00 time! I told myself to stay relaxed, even slow down a little, there was no need to overdo it, to hurt myself...

Um, yeah.

The trouble started not long after mile 1. I'd say about 1.25. It began as a whisper at the back of my knee, a strange tightness that quickly grew to a roar and then ripped up through my hamstring with a scream. Suddenly I was limping, favoring my leg, the pain with each step a knife stab through my muscle. I thought, what the hell is going on here? Not this again! It hasn't bothered me since Cleveland! And even then it wasn't this bad! I ran all those brutal intervals and tempo runs and hills last night and there was nothing, no twinge, no pain, nothing, what the hell?! I could do nothing but slow down, helpless, furious. For the first time ever in a race I debated stopping and walking. I knew that every step was doing damage, and the pain was unbelievable, but I'm not like that. For better, or frequently for worse, I'm too stubborn (colossally hard-headed) and determined to accept what is happening and do what is best for my body. I was going to fight with clenched teeth through this and finish the damn race without walking. My pace for mile 2 fell by a minute to 8:20, and the searing pain subsided to the point where I was able to speed up slightly. I found that if I ran faster, it hurt less, so I ran faster. I was somewhat cheered by the fact that I still had a lot of fuel left in the tank; my energy level was very high. If it wasn't for my goddamn leg...Soon enough, the finish was just ahead and I finished strong even though I was "duded" right at the line (but I chicked a couple of guys in the final tenth, so it all evens out).

I hobbled around, unable to make my leg do much of anything, grabbed a granola bar, and sank onto the grass with my legs splayed out in front of me. Ants crawled on me and something irritating and scratchy poked the backs of my legs but I didn't care. I just wanted the hurt to go away. I sat there as sweat ran from under the bottom of my Bondi Band into my lap and I chewed my granola bar and wondered for the tenth time what the hell was going on. I scrolled through the info on Garmy, noting that my average heart rate during mile 1 was only 155, a good sign that I was not overexerting myself even though my pace was substantially faster than anything I've done recently. I had done mile 3 in 8:06, which was pleasing. Final time was 24:45 according to the official results. I picked up another sweet age group win as well. Apart from the hamstring meltdown, it was an excellent evening.

Driving home was somewhat agonizing, because I had to use my left leg to work the clutch. Every lift of my leg and press of the pedal wrung a groan from my lips. I got home and fixed an ice pack and sat on the couch watching TV.

RICE without the C and E. But with TV and B¹.

I knew my long run this morning was out of the question. FK, TC, and JF all told me I better just chill and not do much of anything. TC scolded me the most: "You...you...you...YOU NEVER LISTEN! I TOLD you, you were overtraining and needed to rest! I told you so. What are the three things you need to get to the starting line of a marathon? Guts, training, and HEALTH." And so on. I got a 20-minute earful.

I know, I know. I was asking for it. I demanded too much of myself and I didn't give my muscles the rest they were clearly crying out for. And now look. Laid up on the couch with an ice pack. I was eating a cookie last night and it broke and scattered onto the kitchen floor and I just left the pieces there because I couldn't bear the thought of trying to bend or squat to clean them up. I can't even bend over to pick up a cat toy off the ground.

I hate being injured. I chafe and seethe at even one day of unscheduled inactivity. I feel like a complete failure, a slacker, shirking duty, I'm going to fall behind in my training, IT'S ALL OVER. Perhaps I exaggerate. NYC is exactly three months away, which is plenty of time to recuperate. I lost three full weeks of training for Cleveland because of ITBS and it wasn't the end of the world, obviously, since I rocked the marathon and qualified for Boston. My goal for NYC (just have fun!) isn't nearly that lofty, so being a slave to the schedule isn't as important this time. I have the mental fortitude to run a marathon, I can do the required training, but yes, TC, you're right, if I don't have my health it's all for naught.

On the other hand, sleeping in this morning instead of meeting the RF501 gang for the long run was ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC.

1: One guess what "B" stands for.