No Pain, No Gain

Plagued by a stomachache that won't go away, I'm sitting in my kitchen wearing pajamas at 9:30 on a Saturday night. What is wrong with me? For the first time since this morning's long run, I don't feel totally wiped out and have the energy to update you bloggers on a week of tough workouts post-half-marathon, capped off by today's fifteen miler. Maybe it's the fact that fifteen is next in line in increments of five, but I'd been looking forward to hitting this training milestone for quite some time (maybe even more than tackling 13.1). It was not, however, the sensational experence I had been hoping for.

I woke up this morning at 7:00 a.m. aware that we should be expecting a cold one. I didn't quite get how just frigid it was going to feel in Central Park. 13 degrees recorded without factoring in wind chill is not exactly an ideal climate to push one's body in (particularly when said body is still recovering from a race just six days earlier). As soon as I stepped out of my apartment building, my body was stiff, my mind was elsewhere, and my upper abdomen was all kinds of wonky. For the first time in a few weeks, I made it to practice on time via subway (kudos, Scott!), joined up with (a sizably smaller) TNT crew and hit the road with Carey, Dimitry, and Coach Doug. With the help of Carey's Garmin and Doug's knowledge of the park, we veered off from the routine outer loop and messed around on the bridle path and the recreational facilities. I heated up moderately well and was fine with the slower "long run pace" but knew something was slightly awry when Carey told us our mileage...and we still had half the length to go.

Usually on these long runs I am game to pound through the workout and keep going; today I literally could not wait to be finished. Visions of burgers and fries danced around my brain as we finished the tenth mile...and still had a five-mile lower loop to complete. Though Carey, Dimitry, and Doug were great company, I was out of the zone today. After stretching and walking over to the West Side, though, the pain began. While my muscles were mostly fine, my outer extremities were frozen to the point of having no feeling. I grabbed the first available cab and dashed into a diner near my office and sat silently for a good ten minutes while I tried to re-heat. In retrospect, I think the mental feeling of not having "blazed through" a Saturday run exacerbated the physical pain. Regardless, it was a tough one today; it seems my body is still working out its last kinks from the race last weekend.

However, I've done it: I've hit 15 miles and am 11.2 away from race distance. No pain, no gain. It's amazing thinking how far we've come in such a short while. Today while on the eastern stretch in the 90's, a young woman with a backpack spotted Dimitry and Doug's TNT gear and frantically sought to catch up with us believing she was late for the training run for "the marathon." We figured out that she was meeting up with the Summer Season crew for their first practice and sent her in the right direction, reminding me of my first practice in November when a bunch of Fall Season runners whizzed by in the middle of a 15-miler. That distance seemed absurd then, but was a reality today.

All of these workouts - the tough one today, the 6:30 a.m. pre-sunrise speed workout with Dimitry in the snow on Thursday, and the brutal hill training on Tuesday night (let's not even talk about that one) - are in the service of achieving a much greater goal, and I think that's what I love most about this experience. Setting small goals and winning little victories positions the ultimate accomplishment that much more within reach.

So I'm sore and my stomach is still bugging me, but I'm optimistic and ready to go to bed.

Texts from Maya Angelou

"Thunder thighs was always a term of endearment. All to nibble on when you were a munch. Now they are thunder to achieve the goal."

--Mom

Adventures in Carb-Loading: The Tale of My First Half-Marathon

I've posted the results already, so I guess this is like reading a book when you've peeked at the last line before starting. And all the middle school overachievers out there, I know you know what I'm talking about. Though I spent the bulk of the 48 hours prior to it slightly freaking out, the Manhattan Half-Marathon was a really great experience. Most importantly, the souvenir race t-shirt was far more stylish than the yellow number we got at the Fred Lebow 5-miler.

I kid, I kid.

For your reading pleasure, here's something of a rough timeline of the weekend in which I lost my half-marathon virginity.

Friday, January 22

7:00 p.m. Leave the office energized for Sunday's race and excited to enjoy a (moderate) Friday night in Manhattan for the first time in a long while.
8:12 p.m. Whilst changing clothes, look in the mirror and tell myself that I am not going to get fucked up tonight.
9:00 p.m. Order a bottle of wine at dinner with Talya (confidant and co-worker extraordinaire).
10:15 p.m. E'er'body in the club gettin' tipsy...
10:32 p.m. Beers at a dive on Avenue A. Just a beer. NBD, okay?
4:30 a.m. It's 4:30? What race? Sunday? Pizza!

Saturday, January 23

9:45 a.m. Waking up, wonder why my shoes are still on?
10:35 a.m. Sans shower on an uptown A train trying to make it to a Team in Training special event to learn more about the really incredible work of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
10:47 a.m. The subway doors close at 59th Street. The conductor announces, "Next stop: 125th Street." The event is in the West 70's. Fuck.
10:53 a.m. In Harlem, catch first possible downtown A train back to 59th Street.
11:00 a.m. Grab a cab at Columbus Circle and dash uptown.
12:00 p.m. Inspired and moved by the words of LLS staffers, cancer survivors (some who've become marathoners), and supporters. Decide to walk across Central Park to take in the gorgeous spring-like weather rather than hop a bus to pick up my bib and D-Tag (a chip for race scoring).
12:03 p.m. In front of the Museum of Natural History, freak out that previous night's excess debauchery will screw up my running ability tomorrow. Mom calms me down.
1:00 p.m. Self-reflection and gorging at a bagel joint near New York Road Runners headquarters post-pickup.
4:30 p.m. Afternoon oatmeal, obvi.
9:30 p.m. Convinced to make a quick appearance in the West Village at a birthday celebration. Pick up a massive plate of pasta and bring it on the subway to a friend's apartment. Devour said platter and eat the entire loaf of bread. Friends look at me repulsed.
10:35 p.m. Cab it home.
11:40 p.m. Text Janneke and ask her to call me in the morning to help me wake up. She asks me why I'm still awake. Good point, Janneke.
12:00 a.m. PASS OUT.

Sunday, January 24

6:15 a.m. Wake up. The sun has yet to rise over New York City and baby I'm ready to run. Two pieces of toast, some water, and half an oatmeal raisin PowerBar.
6:35 a.m. Janneke texts. Yep, I'm awake! No, I didn't drink last night.
6:42 a.m. Friend Carly who's also running texts to check that I'm awake. Friends know me a little too well.
7:00 a.m. Good luck call from Mom and Dad.
7:20 a.m. Um, still in my apartment. Shit.
7:35 a.m. Having sped uptown in a cab, finally make it to Central Park. Find Janneke.
7:45 a.m. Too much water at breakfast; really need to take a leak; porta-potty lines WAY too long.
7:47 a.m. Pee on a tree near the starting line.
8:00 a.m. Much better rendition of the national anthem. Alone in my corral, hear the horn.
8:00:40-something a.m. Thanks to crowd congestion, finally reach the starting line.
Mile 1: Keeping Coach Christine's advice in mind to start out comfortably and ease into a race pace, freak out as a ton of my corral-packers dart ahead and past me. Eating their dust, worry that I'm going too slow.
Mile 2: Bang out a sub-7:00 minute mile.
Mile 3: Remember that Christine and the coaches know way more than I do. Fuck the people who are literally huffing and puffing as they sprint this early in the game. Slow down, get my shit together, and enjoy the perfect brisk morning air.
Mile 4: Having spilled water and gatorade on self at two beverage stations, make my way up the dreaded Harlem Hill slightly soggy and very determined. Remember that I'm going to have to do this bitch again at mile 9. Overhear a coach remind some of his runners that the West Side hill work isn't complete.
Miles 5-7: Very glad to be within earshot of this mysterious running guru who dispenses sage advice and encouragement to his team members. Contemplate thanking him on reaching the halfway mark. Realize he and his runners probably think I'm creepy for hanging onto them.
Mile 8: Coach Steve's voice comes into my head. The strategy we discussed was to take the first 8 at a comfortable pace and haul ass for the last 5. Bye bye, guru and new friends who never looked at me.
Mile 9: Well, hello, Harlem Hill; we meet again.As I watch some of the people who passed me at the start struggle up the incline, I'm proud of myself that I've got energy to push it. Slowest mile but whatever.
Mile 10: Get through the remaining Western hills. Feeling friggin' awesome. Very thankful to have taken Christine and Steve's advice. Continue to pass some of those people from the beginning.
Mile 11: Excitedly spot teammate Junior. We run together for about a mile. He introduces me to the game of fishing. You spot a runner ahead of you and haul ass until you pass. Then you find your next target and continue. Nice change of pace; ease comfortably to sub-6:50.
Miles 12-13: Pushing it really hard. Really, really hard. Trying to make up the lost time on Harlem Hill.
Mile 13.1: Turning the corner on 72nd Street, the finish line comes into sight. Pound the pavement for the last tenth of a mile. I did it. In one hour, thirty-three minutes, and thirty-two seconds, I ran the Manhattan Half.
9:46 a.m. Literally devour my free bagel in six or seven bites.
9:50 a.m. Pose for some pictures with the TNT gang and cheer on the rest of the "purple people." Excited to find Lindsay and appreciative she came out to support.
11:59 p.m. Post-half-marathon and post-Lady Gaga concert at Radio City, fall asleep feeling like a runner and thankful to live in New York City.

Halfway There!

I ran nearly 7 miles today. An hour and twenty-three minutes nonstop. I also almost shat my pants during the last mile. Whatever. It's cool.

When you're training for a distance run, you gain some crazy muscle mass. I was poking about my quads and realized that I have acquired some impressive thighs. This reminds me of one of many stories of my athletic past. I think it's about time I started to share these stories.

I've always had sizable and powerful thighs. I believe it was my mother who first dubbed me "Thunder Thighs". This is a nickname that I at once abhor and adore -- for what I think are obvious reasons. In fifth grade over a meal of Chinese food, my friend Ben and I decided to join the Brookline swim team. I loved and still love to swim. However, when it came to the water, I was more buoyant than I was brisk. I did okay...but I seemed to have some trouble with a very key part of competitive swimming: diving. For some reason, I just could not get it right. Every time I leapt into the water, my thighs would angle in such away as to slap violently against the surface. My form could not be fixed. And oh it was painful. I'd work myself into such a panic right before I had to go up onto the starting block. Here we go again. The slapping also caused some splashing and there came a point when people knew to move away from the pool and shield themselves in the front rows when it was my turn to swim. Every time without fail I'd spray everyone within a certain radius when I touched down in the water. While Ben went on to be MVP of the season and much later a college champion swimmer, I (probably because I was able to dive into the pool once or twice without creating a tidal wave) received the Most Improved trophy and retired after one year.

We have to start somewhere.

Movin' On Up

First, a message for Mr. Scott:

OHHHH!

How unbelievable? The kid who couldn't run a lap around the gym just lapped Central Park TWICE (and then some). Readers, our friend Scott is a rockstar. Scott is a half-marathoner.

Up until this Friday, I was having a really lame running week. Since I was sidelined sidewalked (HA) with the flu for so long, I was itching to run. My body was ready to go. My chest? Not so much. I felt like a nerdy asthmatic middle schooler with their inhaler (this may or may not be something I was in the past...) every time I tried to make moves. I had to give up on the hill run on Tuesday because I was wheezing so badly. Needless to say I was bummed. I wasn't moving forward. I had to wait until my chest cleared.

Then came Friday.

I'm gonna throw it out there. I think I qualify to make the band now. This Friday marked a huge milestone for me. Five miles has been a bit of a mental blockade to me. I've gone that distance before but never at a continuous run. The mere concept of running nonstop for that long was unfathomable to me and being able to cover that distance became the wall for me to fling myself over. On Friday I got to Jenn's and said I was going to do it. I was going to run 5 miles continuously. And I did. In fact, I ran 5.5 miles.

And the craziest part? I totally could've run further! This was the first moment that I felt that, yes, I can actually do this. I believe that running is mostly in the head. The hardest part is convincing yourself to keep going. The first loop of the Central Park reservoir was fine and I reminisced about how just last summer I wasn't able to run the entire thing around. On the second loop, my brain started its do I have to do this monologue. As we neared the final stretch of the second loop, I started to get excited. Every step I took after completing the second loop would be longer than I've ever run continuously before (the previous longest being a 5k). And by the time I was into the third loop, I was actually chatting. My body begrudgingly realized that I was in this for the long hall and just went along with it. To round off the 5 miles, we peeled off the reservoir after the third loop and headed Southward on the road. We were going to stop at one of the pre-designated stoplights. But we just kept going. All the way back to 72nd street. And again, each step forward became the furthest distance I'd ever run well...ever!

Shit just got real. This marks a big point in my training because now I know it can be done. We've got just over three months left. Let's do this.

I plan to run a half half-marathon today. Or 6.55 miles. There appears to be a monsoon outside. Incidentally, my best runs are when it's raining but these clouds aren't playing around. The temp is pushing 60 degrees right now, though, and the cold weather is supposed to return to us this weekend...

I know I can't compete on the same level as Scott. And this isn't a competition. But I think that maybe my sub-conscious is a little jealous of Scott's stellar achievements. In my dream last night, I was in some random class with him and we had this big test. I thought I did fine. I studied. In the next class, the teacher hands back the list of results. I had an 85 which was listed as the average score of the class. Alright, I'll take it. Then Scott showed me his score and it was 95 and the number #1 in the class. Typical!

Let Me Tell You About My Day

It's almost 1:00 a.m. and I have been awake for 19 hours. In that period of time, I scarfed down some toast and half a PowerBar, powered through two loops (and a little more) of Central Park's main running course for 13.1 miles or so, scarfed down a bagel at the finish line, cheered for the TNT runners, spent three hours at a board meeting for a nonprofit I volunteer with, shopped for groceries, ate dinner, had drinks with friends, and saw the one and only Lady Gaga in concert at Radio City Music Hall.

I am pooped.

I want to tell you all about the Manhattan half-marathon. I do. And I will. But not right now. Now I am icing my knee and heading to bed.

But if you must know: 1:33:23 / average mile: 7:08.

Holla.

If you can believe it, the hills are even more alive...

...with the sound of wheezing and cussing.

Team in Training got real tonight. If you think last week's hill workout sounded fun, this one was a doozy. Exactly seven days ago our coaches sought to instill in us a respect for the hills we'll inevitably have to conquer and to better equip our bodies for those upward surges that come out of nowhere. Having mastered the basics, tonight was about pushing ourselves to the limit and seeing just how fast we could propel ourselves uphill. Awesome. The workout was structured a little something like this:

• Run slightly uphill at a fast pace for a distance equivalent to about one city block.
• At the point where the incline really starts to steepen, haul ass as fast as friggin' possible for another three city blocks.
• Recover back down to the starting point for the total four blocks.

(Preceded and followed, of course, by a mile-plus warm-up/cool-down).

We did this 6 times. I gotta say, despite the pained looks on our faces as we launched into the final stretch of each uphill sprint, it was actually a blast. First, the weather more than cooperated; it was a balmy 45+ degrees in Central Park tonight (leaving me slightly overheated in my two top layers and gloves). Secondly, we had an extra element of competition. In my haiku collection last week (I love saying that), I alluded (in five syllables) to "a new friend" joining us at practice and giving me a literal run for my money on the road. He (Dimitry) was back tonight to ignite my competitive ridiculousness.

MOREOVER, some total rando named Paul showed up and completely schooled every single one of us. He told us that he'd only run one marathon before and did it in 3:06. WTF. More than a few four-letter words were uttered as we ate Paul's dust. And then we found out that, contrary to public belief tonight, Paul wasn't a friend of our running buddy Junior's (like we all thought). He was a complete stranger who found his way into a TNT practice and made all of us look like old ladies. Somewhere around the fifth go-around he just disappeared into the night. Maybe he's a unicorn.

The workout tonight will doubtlessly come in handy this weekend for the half-marathon, as we'll be facing the brutal Harlem Hill not once but twice over the course of the 13.1 miles. Janneke, Carey, Ren, and Junior are all racing and I'm very glad that there will be some familiar faces in the crowd. As I wrap this entry up and head to bed, I'm left to wonder: will the complimentary race t-shirt be as insanely yellow as the one we got for the Fred Lebow Classic? We'll find out this weekend, dear bloggers.

Live from New York, it's...

Things Celeste Does When She's Sick and Bored and Can't Run

Or reasons why we should never leave Celeste with a computer:

It's Sim Celeste and Sim Scott!

Sim Celeste is already rocking the post-marathon body. Sidenote: the Sims are racist against curly hairdos. Sim Scott is wearing tight pants. And a combover.

Since Real Celeste couldn't go running, Sim Celeste hit the treadmill.

"What is that crazy young lady doing?!"

Um. WTF someone died at the gym. Sim Celeste heads immediately to the bar. I kid you not, an uncontrolled Sim Celeste went straight for the bar to mix a drink at every opportunity.

Alright, let's take it outside! Looking good Sim Celeste! You go girl!

Hand over the cheeseburger, kid.

This is the thought bubble for "spa". Again, I kid you not, every ten seconds Sim Celeste's "want" was "Go to Day Spa".

That's not running, Sim Celeste! Alright girl, go on with your bad self.

Um...yeaaaaah. So. Right. This flu thing and not running has clearly taken a toll on my sanity. I'm feeling almost up to snuff. Hopefully my chest will be clear tomorrow and I can enjoy the balmy 45 degree weather with a long park run! I've got a lot of catching up to do! Let's pretend this post never happened, okay? Kthx.

Worth it but painful...after.

That about sums up today's 13-miler. The weather was perfect, the park was packed, and I was exhausted from going out a little too late. I probably wasn't in peak physical shape but chugged along comfortably and felt great...until an hour later.

A GChat Interlude with Mom

me: Whew I am sore.

Jamie: you should be - who told you to stay out all night

was that part of the training schedule

And again, Mom keeps it real. Celeste and I are on the couch watching Modern Family and Project Runway. And then I'm going to bed. Again.

To Run or Not to Run?

At 7:45 a.m. having been out until 2:00 a.m., that is the question.

Yes, banana. I think I shall.

Haiti

If you have not done so already, please donate to the Haiti relief effort.

www.redcross.org

www.savethechildren.org

www.yele.org

The Whooping Cough and the Willow Tree: Haiku Collection

A fire in my chest
I traded hills for some pills
Tylenol is good

Crying in the night
I can't open the child cap
Just want some 'tussin

Kylie Minogue sang
I'm burning up baby, yeah
Thermometer climbs

The road forgets me
But my soul is in my soles
Sad, the leafless tree.

THE HILLS ARE ALIVE: A Haiku Collection

Tonight in the park

We did hill work up "Cat Hill."

It was really cold.

I put on cute gear

And cab'd it with Lindsay there.

We were kind of late.

The group had just left

So I haul'd ass to catch up.

So much for warm-up!

I plan'd to not race

But when we started uphill

I met a new friend.

He was really fast.

And I am competitive.

So I pick'd it up.

Coach Steve said "Faster!"

So I went really quickly,

Trying to pass him.

At the end, I did!

(Just barely, so I can't brag.)

A good workout, team!

The best part was when

Lindsay and I got dinner

At Neil's Coffee Shop.

Veggie burger, soup,

And a tall glass of water

Tasted really good.

The subway was cold.

Now I am home on the couch.

"Idol" starts tonight!

THAT. WAS. AWESOME.

It's 10:15 a.m. I'm back home and I friggin' demolished that race. Having been off my feet since Sunday's nightmare-cum-triumph, my body clearly wanted to get out there and hit the road. I met up with TnT this morning at 7:30 following an epic cab ride uptown chauffeured by a Bengali former soccer player who sent me off to the starting line with encouragement. Thanks, man.

Having been off a race course since last spring's Revlon Entertainment Industry Fund Walk/Run 5K (and I'm totally not kidding), I was admittedly a little antsy about race day protocol and getting everything in order. A few thousand people were out there in the freezing cold (literally) and the chaos at the baggage check area was more fun than nerve-wracking. Unable to spot co-worker Lindsay or this blog's very own Celeste, I made my way to the TnT hang-out spot where I ran into Janneke, one of the girls who usually keeps pace for me. Relieved to have someone there for speed consistency, I listened to Coach Christine's pep talk and got some pre-race advice from Coach Steve who changed everything today. In the cab I planned a scheme where I'd start out around a 7:30 pace for the first mile, ease towards a 7:00 pace around the third mile, get through Central Park's notorious "Cat Hill," and finally go balls-deep for the final mile. He told me to throw all of that out the window.

When I told Steve the game plan, he furrowed his brow and said something to the effect of, "Come on, you can do better than that." He suggested going out at a 7:10 and building to a sub-7:00 after the first mile. I doubted my ability to pull this one off, but his belief in my pacing encouraged me to give the race a harder try than I had planned. Janneke, Carey (the other girl I usually run with), and I began together at the starting line following a less-than-spectacular rendition of the national anthem. In the second corral behind the 6-minute milers, we hit the road at a comfortable pace. What I didn't know was how congested the course would be the beginning. I lost both of them about a quarter-mile in and went off on my own. At the first mile marker, I saw that I had met Steve's goal for me of a 7:10 first mile and started amping up the energy.

By the second and third mile markers, I was feeling good and saw on the race clocks that I was actually racing sub-7:00 miles. That realization gave me an absurd burst of adrenaline and I knew that given the short race course, I could really use it to kick the final mile's ass. Dressed a little too warmly, I started pulling down on my Under Armor a little bit before Cat Hill, slowed down a bit, and then shot up at the end where I was really excited to see all of our coaches screaming and cheering. I threw all of my shit into the final half mile and, breathing heavily, sailed through the finish line and saw the clock: 33:40. Give or take a 10-15 second delay at the starting line, that's an average 6:42 mile.

UPDATE: Final time was 33:23 / average pace: 6:40.

FUCK. YES. Tell that to the fatty in high school.

I was ecstatic and went to retrieve my bag with a huge, goofy grin plastered on my face, feeling nearly invincible. When I spotted my pack, I overheard a bunch of runners talking about the race. Said one speed demon to another, "Yeah, it was alright. You know, a solid 28 minutes. Felt okay." Said the other to the first, "It's all good, man."

Um...I suppose there's always room for improvement?

I can hear garbage men cleaning up from the bars on my block...

Celeste is a rock star. That's all there is to be said. While she worked her ass off this week, I wasn't able to get nearly as much time in running as I would have liked to (due to a number of circumstances, some good, some not so good). 

Runners say that the road is the great equalizer. We'll soon find out. It's 6:44 a.m. The sun is slowly rising over Manhattan, and I'm about to race the NYRR Fred Lebow 5 Miler (my second race ever). Game on. 

Sing us out, P.S. 22 Chorus.

A 5K a Day

Remember how I ran a 5K on Monday?

Yeah, well, I did it again last night. In 34 minutes and 47 seconds. Over three minutes faster than the night before. No big thing. No big deal. Whatever, I do what I want.

When Christine, the head coach, yelled out my time as I crossed the finish, I blurted "Holy Shit". Then I almost simultaneously vomited and peed my pants because I stopped running immediately instead of slowing down gradually. Dumb. My body was like HEY NOW. I was so surprised by that time. The only other time check I heard had me at an absolutely solid 11-minute mile but I felt that I was slowing down over the course of the race. As opposed to Monday's run, there are tons of gradual hills in the lower loop and we were going around it almost twice. I think it's safe to say that "hills" is up there with "winter" and "Gosselins" on the list of things I don't like.

I have to admit, I ran smart and it worked. I discussed with Jenn that I should actually take it easy on the few flat/downhill stretches on the lower loop and really push myself on the hills. This was a lifesaver and made me look pretty awesome when people would pass me on the downhill and I'd bound past them on the hill as they started to struggle.

I decided to start with the 11-12 minute mile group (after fighting an intense urge to go with the sub-9ers because Guy in a Dodgers Hat was taking off with them...swoon). People took off. I noticed that people are finding it difficult to pace themselves. It's so hard to fight the temptation to keep up with the person in front of you instead of listening to your body. So I really shut everything off around me and paid attention to my own comfort. I didn't speak to anyone and I don't think I looked further than ten feet in front of me the entire time. I was getting in the proverbial Zone.

What to think about when you're running alone?

Usually for me it's, "I'm going to die." But I diversified. I may have solved the meaning of life around mile 2.5.

After about half a mile, I was already negotiating with myself. Well, maybe I'll take a walking interval when I come back around to Bethesda fountain. Maybe I'll grab some water from my bag. Maybe I'll just do one loop. I got up the hill to Bethesda and considered. My throat was dry. But I went straight past. As I passed the "finish line" to begin my second loop, I started using that as my motivation. Every stride was putting me further from the start of the loop and closer to the end. I hit the glorious "blank mind" once or twice on that second loop and boy does time go faster when that happens. I talked urged myself through the hills and imagined an invisible gear shift inside of me.

In conclusion, I murdered that 5K because goddamn it was cold and I really just wanted to go home.

Pretty Much Everywhere It's Gonna Be Hot

This was not the weather forecast for New York City this weekend:

Thanks, Arthur.

As Scott blogged, it was one freezing week and as such, I did very little running. Wah wah.

After my emo Christmas post, I took myself out for a run in Boston and was only mildly thwarted by icy mud puddles of death (see exhibit A). I put in about 2 miles just to feel my body moving again. I also got my eating under control and I've felt very on top of my food intake this past week. Last Monday, Jenn and I did a good 4 miles. And after that? I hibernated. My full intention was to go to TNT on Tuesday but when I walked outside and got slapped in the face by a gust of artic wind I said oh hell no and got the first subway home. New Year's Day was not a day for anything more than purely existing. I also had full intentions to attend the early morning run on Saturday. I even set my alarm for 7:40am and put it on the couch. Why the couch? Well, since Morning Celeste is a far more difficult creature than Normal & Ambitious Celeste, she has to be dealt with in different ways. And by that I mean manipulated into a conscious state. Since I sleep in a loft bed, I would be required to climb down from warm cozyfest, cross the living room and turn off my nuclear bomb warning alarm. This would hopefully get me awake. The next morning, the alarm went off. The building shook with gusts of wind. Bleary-eyed, I padded down from my loft. Success! I plodded across the room. So close! Turned it off. You can do it! And climbed right back up into bed and slept another 4 hours. Wait, that wasn't in the plan. Hibernation is fun.

New Year, New Week. In TNT tomorrow we're running a 5k. My runs are consistently longer than the 3.1 miles of a 5k but as we know my longest continuous running interval is only a little over 2 miles. I wanted to freeze my ass off be ready.

Today, I arrived in the UWS to meet Jenn at 3pm. Despite wearing more layers than a delicious cheese oozing bolognese lasagna, I was still shivering. My goal: to run two laps around the Central Park Reservoir without a single walking interval. 3.14 miles.

And I did. BOOYAH. In 38 minutes...a steady 11-12 minute/mile pace. I couldn't feel my legs or my butt the entire time because of the cold. No big deal. Up until the final quarter mile or so, I felt pretty strong. I always start off grumbling and hit a stride after the one mile mark. Getting my mind to wrap around doing the distance of 9 loops instead of just 2 is a bit impossible but I feel one step closer today. To me this was an even greater feat than running 5 miles because it was continuous.

Fun Fact: Shouting "I'm on a beach! I'm on a beach!" into the wind does not, in fact, make it warmer.

A New Year, An Epic Tome

Celeste's RuPaul video posted a couple of days ago is about looking good and feeling gorgeous (aren't all RuPaul videos about these things? At least conceptually). At the start of a new year, I was really hoping to tell you all about a week filled with doing both. I failed on all fronts. I was a hot mess. In the words of Beyonce, I was a beautiful nightmare. After that amazing twelve-miler last weekend through the streets of Boston (look at Odysseus back from war, that hometown hero returning glorious!), I took a day off to get my shit together (read: go drinking that night and avoid the painful next-day hungover run) and recover from the long distance. Upon returning to New York, I went for what I hoped would be a nice night run down the southern tip of Manhattan. Enjoying the spectacular weather and my body's abnormally limber state, I pushed it pretty hard for about seven miles, feeling a slight heel pain around the fifth mile that worsened until the completion of the run. See the photo to the left for further details.

I thought maybe I had tied my shoe too tightly. When I got home, I called Dr. Mom, and explained where I was hurting. The tone in her voice was enough to let me know that we had a little problem in the state of Denmark. Apparently I pulled my Achilles (hence the Homeric nod in that previous paragraph) and needed to stay off it for at least a couple of days. Well, that sucked. I was at a point in my training where I was confident and looking forward to upping not just mileage but speed and effort and all that other good shit.

As Dr. Mom knows all, I took her advice and stayed off the road for a few days, skipping what looked like an awesome TNT pacing workout up and down Central Park. On Wednesday night, feeling better, I put on my snazzy cold weather gear (see left) and was ready to hit the road once more to see if I could figure this heel thing out. Running past my local drugstore on my way to that evening's planned course, I saw that the pharmacy was closing in five minutes in advance of New Year's and if I wanted my prescription, I had to get it then and there. Another fucking run thwarted. When I finally got home and dropped the prescription (and dishwasher detergent) off, I was too lazy to get back out in the cold. I promised myself I'd make it out there sometime on New Year's Eve Day before the night's debauchery.

Long story short: obviously I didn't go running. Instead, coming home from a (fabulous) party, I excited a cab and slipped and fell on a patch of black ice and PULLED MY BACK. Another couple days off the road; another TNT workout (this time, the long run - 11-13 miles) missed. I woke up at 7:00 a.m. on Saturday morning to see how my back was doing and could make a few steps before it started to cramp up. Instead of swiping one of my roommate's Gatorades and heading uptown, I went back to bed like a lame duck.

TODAY HAD TO BE THE DAY.  I woke up having celebrated my friend Pat's birthday with a few too many rounds of margaritas a little too late into the evening and told myself I'd need to boot and rally and get 'er done. An hour after chowing down on a banana and a PB&J on a bagel and properly hydrating, I put on about 1000 layers of cold weather gear ready for to bang out another 12-er. As soon as I left my building, I felt like Helen Hunt in Twister. Calling today breezy is like calling Beyonce talented. Today was tornadotastic (and Beyonce is prodigious). I was slammed with gusts of awful city wind and nonstop snow for the bulk of the first six miles. People on the street looked at me like I was an insane person. I cannot tell you how many times I debated turning around (or when I hit the West Side Highway, getting into a cab). At one point I actually screamed out to the sky, "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?" By the time I got uptown to 72nd Street, I was so defeated and exhausted that I took a two minute walking break and used the 120 seconds to reflect on whether or not to keep going.

When I hit Riverside Drive (the halfway point), the wind subsided and the snowfall calmed down. TIME TO MAN UP, CHALOFF. I picked up the pace, ran over to Central Park, and knocked out the remaining six miles. Definitely not my finest run but a vast improvement over the first six; after feeling like the island of Manhattan was trying to kill me, I was relieved to see that I could still pound the pavement and keep it together for the most part. I mean, concrete jungle where dreams are made of, right? Something like that. 

So, yeah, I'm back and ready for action. Countdown to the Manhattan half marathon: THREE WEEKS.

Zen in '010

Happy New Year! 2010! It's the future!

Thank you for reading and for all your support thus far! You're helping us make this year our healthiest and most inspired yet!

So I may or may not have been reading Cosmopolitan's 2010 Bedside Astrologer at some point yesterday. Now, I'm no expert or anything but I doubt that Cosmo is the utmost authority on horoscopes. I've always pictured an intern writing the blurbs and not some person who actually, you know, reads the positioning of the stars. I was expecting something along the lines of Attached? Steam up your relationship with a spontaneous vacation around April. Single? A new hottie enters your orbit around February. But no! Right off the bat, first sentence:

"YOUR YEAR AHEAD Visionary Neptune helps you plan your next big goal (starting a blog, running a marathon)."

Wow.

2009 wasn't my favorite year. 2010 is going to be great. I can feel it in my toes. Onwards.