My Weekend...

Meet Patsy and Eddie. Bolli and Stoli. Sweetie darling.

My weekend started like this:

...and ended like this:

Today I'm going to try to run 8 miles. God help me.

Love,

Eds

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.