Concrete Punch

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

BAM!

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

Two things to consider:

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

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

I suppose I was asking for it.

It has been zero days since our last accident.

20 on 20

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

TOWPATH TRAIL TWENTY MILER!

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

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

Solitude. That's how I roll.

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


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

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

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

And now, some pictures:

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

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

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

Bouhaki helps me fold the Mount Everest of laundry.

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

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

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

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

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

Baby Steps

Today's birthday suit weight: 181.4.

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

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

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

Backsliding into November

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Bad...I Guess...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grand Rapids Half Marathon

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

Life had other plans, as it often does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

Onward!

Thursday Thoughts: Three, Two, One...

Three...

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

Two...

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

One...

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

It's all good, folks.

Slow Runner

That would be me, not the band.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rationalization Justification

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shut up.

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

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

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

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

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

BLOODY HELL.

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

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

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

Scuse Me While I Go Insane

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

Why am I going insane?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frustration. Anger. Denial. Despair.

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

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

It wasn't there.

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

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

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

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

"NO!" I yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

Life was good again.

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

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

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

In other news:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Quicker Picker Upper

How many of us have done this before?

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

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

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

Number Crunching

Miles on schedule: 9

Alarm sounded: 5:15 am

Out the door: 5:29:00

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

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

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

Temperature: 68 degrees

Humidity: 97%

Yuck factor due to excessive humidity: Infinite

Deer seen: 2

Rabbits: 6

Unknown critters rustling in underbrush: 7

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

Sprinklers I ran through: 4

Retied shoe: 1

Other runners spotted: 3

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

Negative thoughts about training: 57

Miles ran: 9.03

Post-run: Drenched from head to toe with sweat

Chicago

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

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




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

If You Brew It They Will Come

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

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

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

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

WHERE WAS SUN RUNNER?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Highs and Lows

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

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

And so on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8 Before 8 Redux

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Was I Really Doing on Vacation...?

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

Wine and the beginnings of my epic tan

Beer (and fried shrimp and onion rings, YUM)

My last day there and a Cosmopolitan.

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

There was lobster, too. That crustacean went DOWN.

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

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

The Tide is High

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Thursday Thoughts: Tan and Rested

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

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

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

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

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

Now back to my vodka tonic...

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Reemergence

Yo folks.

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

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

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

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

This is the life, folks.

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Yes, I Would Like Some Cheese With My Whine

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

My grandmother died.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had a small ant invasion in my kitchen.

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

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

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

Mobile Blogging from here.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Cleveland Half Marathon

Prerace: hanging around in our expendable clothes

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

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

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

We all know how that turned out.

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

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

Ya gotta believe, people!

Just before the start

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

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

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

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

On the Shoreway around mile 11.

The Main Avenue Bridge, Mile 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday Thoughts: Recent Races

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

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

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

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

Go Blue! Take that, Sparty!

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

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

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

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

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

I'm on the left (duh).

With my swag.


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

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

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

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

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

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