Bah Humbug

Last Friday, I completed my longest run ever! Jenn and I charged the park and decided to head North as far as I've ever gone without a bike. We completed the upper 5-mile loop in a little over an hour with running intervals averaging ten minutes with short brisk walks in between. Up at Harlem and Great Hills, we bounded up the stairs towards buns of steel.

I wish I felt good about this. In truth, I didn't so much. Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm in a rut.

Since this past weekend was the first time I was in New York in several weeks, I was really dreading looking forward to being able to do the TNT Saturday run. I hosted a little holiday donation party (WHERE WERE YOU SCOTT) that Friday and it was supposed to be a lowkey and early 7:30-9:30pm affair. But since, you know, 20-somethings run on their own schedule, most people didn't show until around 9:30pm. But I was good! I was preparing for the early morning! More wine, Celeste? Oh no, thanks, I'm running in the morning! You're crazy. I know!

The final guest didn't leave until well past my bedtime. I suppose I could've kicked people out but my good friend was in town who I hadn't seen in a while and yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah. After a crazed week with little sleep, I woke up at noon. Whoops.

Maybe it was because I felt guilty for not running. Maybe it's because heavy snowstorms make me sentimental. Maybe it's because I'm allergic to the cold. Regardless, I started feeling rather blue. I've been feeling a little down on myself lately. A little unpretty and a little lonely. This time of year has the habit of making me a little sad and a little fat which subsequently makes me sadder which in turn makes me fatter. I get caught in a yearly cycle of weight-loss/weight-gain. I know how to do it. I know how to stay in control. But I just lose that drive when the thermometer nosedives and I adopt the habits of pre-hibernation mammals. It's not uncommon. This is why there's a spike in gym memberships and weightloss groups after the New Year. I may be exercising more, but I'm eating. And eating. And eating. It didn't help that on the Saturday I missed the morning run, I tried to put on my jeans for the first time in a while and found that they didn't quite fit so well. It felt like wrestling latex onto a Hippo. Nor did it help that I mistakenly grabbed a maternity-sized dress (it was cute!) in TopShop and it didn't fit either (Granted, it was several sizes too small anyways but still. It stings.). You know it's a bad day when a goddamn maternity dress doesn't fit you. I'm in that time when your stomach turns a knot when you see a picture of yourself. That night, to compensate/make myself feel better/drown my sorrows/whatever the hell the rationale is to eat more when you feel badly, I ate. Ravioli. Mac & Cheese. Steak. Cake. Cookies. Cold pizza. I ate everything.

Even the accomplishment of my speed-training on Tuesday (I did it with Jenn as I didn't have time to do it with TNT) didn't make me feel any better. I ran the longest continuous interval I've ever run without a walk (2 miles) and did the whole 30-minute workout with only 2 1-minute walks towards the end. It was killer. I should've felt proud. Instead, I just wondered how the hell I would be able to do that 4 more times to complete a half-marathon. At least one person was proud of me. Jenn has been working overtime to pump me up and we've talked about some training eating plans to get me back on track for the New Year.

The journey home for Christmas didn't lift my spirits. Amtrak decided to have a power outage so I cancelled my train and booked a flight. My flight was delayed so I decided to read and enjoy a beverage. When I went to check to see if the flight was ready to board, I found that the plane had already left. They got a gate change (I heard that announcement) and were able to leave earlier (I did not hear that one). I've never missed a flight in my life. The next flight wasn't until 9pm. Which got delayed until 10:30pm. Fun times. At least there was a bar. Christmas was nice, though, despite or in spite of eating my body weight in macaroni and cheese.

I hope everyone is enjoying the holiday season. Thanks again for reading and for your support.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, TWELVE

Anticipating a frigid bout of wintry mix in the Greater Boston area this morning, I moved my regularly scheduled Saturday long run to Friday (yesterday). Anyone in Massachusetts can see clearly today that, though brisk, it's quite lovely outside (and by quite lovely, I mean a typical New England winter day). Thanks for the accurate forecast, Nicolas.

I've been feeling a little bit of pain lately on the top of my left foot; a diagnosis from Dr. Mom revealed that I've likely been tying my shoes a little too tightly. This ought to come as no surprise to those who know me and my penchant for very skinny jeans. I re-laced the ol' Brooks sneakers, threw on some very stylish new gear courtesy of Hannukah Harry and the fine folks at City Sports, wore my mom's snazzy Garmin watch, and hit the road for one of my most favorite runs yet: a 12-miler from the Boston Common in the center of downtown all the way out to our bucolic (sort of...) suburb outside the city.

Apart from having an opportunity to show off my very chic new Nike outerwear, I was looking forward to this one for a number of reasons.

• First, I've never run 12 miles before. As I mentioned in a previous post, as soon as TnT hit the 10-mile mark, each run going forward would be my longest-yet. This lends an added element of accomplishment to each Saturday bout of hauling ass and further legitimizes my post-run gorging. If you're curious, yesterday's snacks of choice were Raisinets, Chinese food, and beer. Hurray for a very balanced lifestyle.
• Second, I've never done a long run by myself. Running with my six or seven TnT compatriots is a social affair; everyone talks for the bulk of the workout and, as a result, it rarely feels like we've been pounding the pavement for ninety minutes. I was a little nervous about being out alone on the road with only my thoughts (iPods are for wimps, people) and holiday traffic to guide me along. Moreoever, I rely on teammates for pacing. Quick theory interlude: When going out for a long run during a marathon training program, you don't want to be a speed demon; you save the really fast runs for shorter distances or interval workouts. I have a very hard time keeping myself at a consistent, steady pace. Often I'll dart out too quickly and not even realize it. We aim for around an 8:00 minute/mile pace on Saturday workouts.
• Which brings me to my third point: I was very excited to try out a Garmin watch to help with the aforementioned pacing. As I couldn't just run along with the pack, I tried out my mom's very sophisticated Garmin watch. It tells you time, distance, and PACE. A glance down every couple minutes (or if you're obsessive like me, every twenty seconds) will tell you how fast you're actually going and enable you to make a conscious, deliberate decision to slow down or speed up. Or go home and eat.

That being said, as soon as I made my way around the Common, I knew things were going to be just fine. I went out a bit too fast (my first mile was at a 7:46 pace; it should have been an 8:30) but found that the combination of taking in new scenery and the rush of being alone propelled me well. I was reading an old issue of Runner's World yesterday and laughed when I read about people singing to themselves on long runs alone. Well, thank you, Jonathan Larson. For whatever reason, repeating whole verses from everyone's favorite rock musical Rent pushed me over the Mass Pike. La vie boheme, indeed.

I was too caught up in keeping track of my pace and actually making my way home safely (despite the fact that I ran almost exclusively on one very long street) to engage in weighty intellectual discussions with myself. I found that for the bulk of the run, my head was empty, my thoughts more concerned with the practicalities ahead. Only when I got home did I realize that a good 10 miles or so were part of the Boston Marathon course.

That one's another goal for another time. Yesterday's 7:50 minute/mile average pace is accomplishment enough for right now. And that means more Raisinets when my brother and I go see Avatar later today.

Florida and Big Dinners and Sunshine and Books and Stuff

Holiday greetings to all from sunny Palm Beach, Florida where the yentas play and we sip pinot noir like every day.

Vacation here has been lovely (if not a little bit ridiculous). Coming here can be like entering an alternate universe - there's more money, more gossip, and more nylon tracksuits than anywhere you could possibly find in New York City (save for maybe the 92nd Street Y). In between stuffing my face at the delicious restaurants Nana and Papa have secured reservations at (can we please talk about the Ocean Dragon at the Asian fusion palace downtown last night?), I've been keeping abreast of what's expected of the TnT-ers during this holiday week (and do look at the hyperlink when you've finished reading this entry...tee hee). I hit the road yesterday and banged out a nice 6 miler keeping up a steady 7:10 pace, which to my fellow elderly speed demons on the street must've looked like something out of The Fast and the Furious. Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, I needed about a mile or so to ease into the run; I think my body was somewhat shocked by the severe climate change and needed to adjust. Running along the intercoastal was fantastic and the experience was diminished only by the uneven sidewalk. Alas.

As tonight's group run is all about speed training, I wanted to have accurately timed intervals. Without the Garmin-wearing TnT teammates telling me when to pick up the pace and when to recover, I felt more comfortable on the treadmill, taking advantage of the exact timing/speed (and the cushiony surface). Since starting with Team in Training, I haven't once been on the machine and forgot what it feels like (a little piece of heaven compared to hilly Central Park). Armed with some headphones and a quality episode of Law and Order (SVU, obvi), I am happy to report that the hour-plus workout felt like nothing. By the time I'd finished eight rounds of 3 minutes hauling ass (even faster)/3 minutes recovering, Christopher Meloni had solved the case and looked mighty handsome doing it.

Having showered and eaten, I'm now enjoying the Floridian afternoon slump wherein you count down the hours to your evening dinner plans. Keeping up the running mindset, I've just downloaded Liz Robbins's A Race Like No Other to my Kindle and am very pleased with this new addition to the marathon book club (the first book being Haruki Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running). A journalist by trade, Robbins tracks seven or eight runners over the course of completing the 2007 New York City marathon. I'm only a few chapters in and am totally engrossed. Those she profiles include a 22 year old cancer survivor, elite runners like Paula Radcliffe, and a fiftysomething "glamorous grandma" on her 35th marathon. Robbins alternately highlights these individual racers and provides a fascinating, panoramic history of the race itself and the historic markers along the course. What I'm really taking away from the book is the idea that though Robbins has picked just several individuals, each runner has his own story likely worth documenting.

I guess this blog is how I'm choosing to narrate my own.

Run, Fat Boy, Run!

I'm going to be frank and get it out there: this was not my finest week of marathon training. In fact, I was dubious about my being able to pull off today's long run satisfactorily. Let's consider what was working against my favor.

1.) I drank a lot. Like, a lot, a lot.

2.) As a result of said drinking, I sampled much of the Lower East Side's finest streetside cuisine upon returning home each night. This included several falafel pockets and a few slices of pizza. Eating in the wee small hours does wonders for your physique.

3.) I gorged my way through both floors of my office, snacking on gifts and devouring platters at our three holiday parties this week. We know how to kick it in the buildup to Christmas and New Year's. With McDonald's, macaroni and cheese, and ice cream cake, obvi.

4.) I wasn't exactly diligent when it came to following this week's calendar. I showed up to practice on Tuesday and eked out a lame run on Wednesday....yeah. I spent most of the week at bars and movies.

So. My alarm rang this morning for today's 10-11 miler at 7:00 a.m. as per usual. Still tired from an uneasy night's rest, I hit the snooze button, slept for another HOUR, and woke up at 8:05 needing to be way on the Upper West Side by 8:30. I threw on clothes, swiped a Gatorade from my roommate (I'll buy you another one!), ran to the corner store and bought a Powerbar, and booked it uptown via a $20 cab ride. 

No dice. I arrived too late and the group was gone. Rather than go my own way, properly warm-up, and ease into a comfortable race pace, I hauled ass in an effort to try and catch up with my pacing group. Pounding the pavement for three and a half miles, I finally caught the gang near the West Village and was thankful to have company and conversation on this frigid, windy morning. The breeze off the Hudson was intermittently killer but we knocked out a solid 11.6 miles at a 7:50-ish pace (factoring in my ridiculous starting few). I sprinted the final dash with one of the girls in my pacing group and as we whooped it up coming into the group corral, a thought came to me:

My next run will be beachside in sunny Florida.

Adios, NYC; vacation awaits. See you on the flipside, racers and fans.

Broccoli, Broccoli!

Oh. Hey there. I um...hi. Do...do I know you?

So, yeah, I fell off the face of the earth for a little bit. Well, not really fell off of it, just went some different places on it. But I'm back!

I traveled to Miami and Los Angeles, both very sunny and warm places except when I'm in town apparently. The past couple of weeks, I've been dealing with a gross cold and a lot of work. I fully intended to keep up with my running schedule but, well, you know. I thought about going for a 3-mile run in Miami despite having a cold. I napped instead. Hey, at least I even brought my sneakers. The days between trips were so congested (GET IT) that I only managed a small workout with Jenn and blew off TNT altogether. In LA, I once again brought my sneakers and, you know what? I actually did my Saturday 3-4 mile run. 3.2 miles counts for that, right? I kept to a slow pace to get my body readjusted again. Up until I stepped on the treadmill, I had been feeling cranky and a bit anxious. Once I completed my mileage (or rather, once The Soup ended and the so-unbearable-E! True Hollywood Story: The Kardashians-that-I-had-to-leave-the-gym started), I felt infinitely better, lighter even. This subsequently made me mad. Running is now a necessity to my well-being. Goddammit.

So back in New York, back on track. I was a mess yesterday, hitting the ground running (HA) with a full plate of work that has kept me sleepless and stressed up until right now. Working out was a good way to take a break and clear my head. After doing a little arms and abs with my girl Jenn, I trudged over to Bethesda Fountain for my first TNT training in two weeks. Last time proved disastrous in the social arena but strong in the arm swinging, I guess. Tonight was cross-training night and we alternated 10 minute runs with 10 minute strengthening intervals (lunges, step-ups, abs, etc). Hooo boy I feel the burn today. The highlight of the workout was our man Broccoli. Broccoli was a rather colorful homeless character named for, among other nonsensical bon mots, his occasional yelling of "Broccoli, broccoli!". He got in on the action every now and then, blasted some Rihanna, and helpfully counted out our reps in various languages. Suddenly we had a crazytown TNT cheerleader. Well, we did until five squad cars pulled into the area and took him away. I was sad to see him go.

Lessons Learned: I am an antisocial runner. Really, I don't feel like chatting with you when I slogging up a hill. Unless you're Jenn, in which case you're usually telling me fun stories to distract and keep me moving.

After practice, I hustled Scott so we could get to the subway in hopes of having an opportunity to chat with Guy in a Dodgers Hat (again not wearing the hat but a red sweatshirt). I skipped down the stairs but didn't see him. So we walked down the platform, me a little sad, Scott in ultratight pants. And there he was! But some chick was talking to him. Damn her. We wait. The train comes. He gets on, she doesn't. So we all shuffle into the same car. Do it, Celeste. Just do it.

And guess what? I said hi! I shook his hand! I got his name! As per usual, I blacked out most of the interaction. I vaguely recall making him laugh at one point about Broccoli (thanks Mr. Broccoli, wherever precinct you are, for providing me with a brief moment of humor). That's good, I think. He has piercing blue eyes and is totally a little awkward which I kind of love. So yeah. I did it. Finally. Now I'll probably spend the rest of the season ignoring his existence.

The training was a good little break in my hectic week but oh man is it Friday yet? I just want to chill out like this guy:

Onwards.

Celeste Is Hopeless and Other Short Stories

Let's Time Travel for a Moment

Since I disappeared for a bit, I figured I'd recap an important practice two weeks ago to highlight how immensely lame I am.

Two weeks ago, we focused on our arm swing. This is super important for me to get down pat. I definitely cramp up in my shoulders and have been carrying a lot of tightness and pain there over the past several months. We did intervals up and down a flat stretch on the east side, running at a full pace with exaggerated arm swings for the distance of six lamp posts followed by a normal run for 3. I ran with Scott's coworker and our new TNT buddy Lindsay! We were given no hint to when the intervals would end. So back and forth we went. Back and forth. And...back. Aaaand forth. Back forth. I have no idea how long we were running but I'm going to venture to guess that we completed 18,000 miles.

Anyway, during the warm up I was running behind none other than Guy in a Dodgers Hat! Except he wasn't wearing the hat but a red sweatshirt. But for simplicity, we'll keep him as the Guy in a Dodgers Hat. Because I'm incredibly lame, I didn't say hi. Instead, I decided to increase the volume of my voice on interesting Celeste Facts while talking to Lindsay. "WHEN I LIVED IN CHINA..." or "I'M STUDYING FOR THE FOREIGN SERVICE EXAM" or "THAT TIME ON MOUNT EVEREST." You know, like a normal person would.

So afterwards, I'm waiting for my group to get their stuff together so we can walk to the unofficial TNT post-training bar spot. Who is standing outside? Guy in a Dodgers Hat. Do I say anything? No. Suddenly my iPhone gets really interesting instead. I internally beat the crap out of myself. And we're walking to the bar. Who is literally feet behind us? Guy in a Dodgers Hat. Seize the moment, Celeste. At one point he was like a foot over my shoulder. So I'm like, maybe he's coming to the bar. Perfect. I'll say hi then. And for all ten blocks of me not saying hello, it seemed like he was indeed coming to the bar. And just as we were nearing the spot, he hopped on the crosstown bus.

Speed Training in THE FREEZING COLD

Well....tonight was a little tricky. 

I woke up planning to run early...then went back to bed.

I thought I might hit Central Park at lunch....and got Cafe Metro's finest Cape Cod Turkey Sandwich instead. Mmm, tasted like home! And by home, I mean suburban Boston nowhere near Cape Cod.

Which left me to my devices alone at night after work. The 27 degree winter air turned "Manhattan's verdant oasis" into a mostly empty, freezing course of little fun. Tonight's exercise was another bout of speed intervals, though the ANTE WAS UPPED. 3 minutes (not 2 like last time) of hauling ass, followed by a 3 minute recovery. 3 times. Then, 2 minutes of hauling ass even faster, followed by a 3 minute recovery. 3 times. Preceded and followed by 10-minute warm-up/cool-down. 

Thinking of rock-hard legs/abdominal muscles in a couple of months (and my stupidity in failing to wear gloves) the entire time, I pushed through the workout with minimal huffing and puffing but looking something like Arnold Schwarzenegger's character in the Batman movies (look it up, people!). Though glad to have met this evening's requirement, I think it's fair to say that the post-run marathon of Glee, Jersey Shore, and Modern Family was a liittttttlllleeee more enjoyable.

GAME ON

Since my last post and that spectacular (hardly) 7-miler, we've had two great workouts with Team in Training, one independent interval workout, and another "easy run" that I wuss-ed out on after getting a stomachache from Cafe Metro's finest Turkey Chili. As I've mentioned on the blog previously, that I'm running and working out with the advanced group is still a pretty big source of humor--and, not gonna lie, pride--for me. I realize I sound like a bit of a dork here, but I love that my body is able to not only withstand what the coaches throw at us, but actually do pretty well with it. Mentally, I can't begin to explain the kind of satisfaction I'm deriving from becoming more of an athlete each practice.

I mean, let's not kid ourselves. Remember when I looked like this? That was my high school graduation more than five years ago. Despite the ridiculous Hello Kitty grin plastered on my face, I was unhappy with my body and completely out-of-shape. I keep this photo on my Blackberry to show friends that there's some sort of legitimacy to my body dysmorphia-lite. Moreover, the pic is inspiration enough to get up at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning, schlep to Central Park, and bang out 8 miles in 40 degrees with light rain falling. 

Which is exactly what I did today. Today was the second of our "distance" runs - we kept it at a comfortable just-sub-8:00 pace and did the middle 4-mile loop twice. Ran with a really fun group of 7 other people or so; entertaining conversation made the whole thing pass by quickly and I was really pleased to finish feeling still-energized and able to keep hauling ass. The trick, I'm learning, is that slowing down at the beginning makes the later push substantially easier. Next week we're up to double-digits, people! A highlight was running opposite and high-fiving my amazing co-worker and friend Lindsay Schuster, who recently signed up for the Vancouver Half. Look out for more on her progress here, too. 

Where was Celeste, you ask? Oh you know, NBD, just enjoying the sun and art in South Beach for Basel. 

Bastard.

Back to business: the past two workouts have been pretty great. On Tuesday night, we learned about speed intervals. After a brief warm-up, you haul ass for two minutes, recover for three, and repeat the process for a total of six go-arounds. A very different kind of running for me and really enjoyable, particularly with TnT coach Steve kicking our asses in the process. Repeating it alone in Central Park a couple of days later felt awesome. I'm starting to get the hang of some of these nuances and it's exciting for someone who used to be a hot mess couch potato.

If it isn't readily apparent, I'm stoked at this point. Onward, ho(es)!

Some Numbers!

Thanks to your generous donations, Scott and I have raised a combined $1628. That's amazing! Our whole mentor group (12 people) has raised a total $2363 for the LLS! Now I may not be a math wiz or anything but looks to me like Karl and Ru are the heavyweight fundraisers in the bunch. We feel so loved!

We still have a long ways to go to reach our goal so donate now! We'll love you forever!

If Scott or I reach $1000 today, we win WINTER WEATHER GEAR. I know you don't want us getting cold (we may also have been promised a free alcoholic beverage or two from our mentor Stephanie). So far your donations have earned us each a pair of socks, a visor, and a nifty drawstring bag.

Thanks again for everyone's support. You are helping a tremendous cause and really bolstering our drive to keep going.

A Fresh Start in the Rain

I could literally murder someone for a piece of pie right now.

You think I'm kidding. I don't eat a lot of sugar on a normal basis and now all my body wants is another hit. My leg is shaking under my desk as I write. My eye has developed a twitch. This is serious. I must hold off and get this stuff out of my system. I'm going cold turkey. Pun intended. GET IT?!

Anyways. Yesterday, I got back to the city relatively safe, sober, and sugarfree. I was meeting Jenn at 3pm for my first run since adding another chin to my collection and was certainly not looking forward to it. I didn't manage to get in another 2-3 mile run like I was supposed to over the weekend and was intent on making it up. The weather was foggy, gusty and rainy as if New York had a cold but I was adamant about taking on the park. And showing off my new Under Armour raingear, obvs.

From the moment we started jogging, I felt like I was starting over again. I felt heavy, out of shape and my chins shins were instantly bothering me. We forged ahead, though, cutting a loop up the hilly eastside, crossing over above the Jackie O. reservoir and coming back down the westside. I was all over the place but managed four running intervals ranging from 7.5 min to a full 12 with 2-4 minute brisk walks in between. Each interval got stronger even as my whining and huffing got louder. I probably put out a solid 4 miles in total. It's a start but I've got a lot of work to do.

Now if I could stop fantastizing about pie...