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.