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.

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.

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.

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.

Life Lessons

Don't wear control top stockings on Thanksgiving.

Guy in a Dodgers Hat

So there's this guy in a Brooklyn Dodgers hat who I think is pretty cute...

I first noticed him sitting with the Vancouver marathon group at Kick-off. Then I spotted him across the massive sea of runners on Saturday. He even runs in the beginner group, who I'll be running in from here on out for reasons explained below. But oh! I was looking so rough! As it was still before my normal wake-up time when the run was done, I wasn't feeling too social. So I said my goodbyes and headed out of the Park to catch the subway back downtown. While waiting an eternity and a half for a train, I popped in my headphones and dreamed that Guy in a Dodger's Hat would appear on the platform and we'd strike up a conversation and fall in love and it'd be great. He never came. But the train did and I moped on and settled into a seat. In a dramatic moment out of "Sliding Doors", Guy in a Dodgers Hat pushed through the doors as they came to a close. Oh my God, I thought to myself, this is it. This is fate. Say something. But...I have my headphones on...and he's near the door and I'm sitting down and...just say something...but I'll look like a stalker for recognizing him...say something...Oh no!...Now he put his headphones on...chance lost...maybe not...just have to say something.

I just sat there. I did nothing.

Okay, okay, I bargained, if he gets off at my stop I'll say something. Each stop went by and he didn't get off. This is it. This is fate. Aaand one stop before mine he hops off. Of course.

I am an idiot.

Blame it on the ah-ah-ah-alcohol.

I, on the other, did not do any running yesterday. Because I came home like this: