RighteousRunner 722

Tri-Atha-Linds-Thon

2012-02-20T19:26:00.001-05:00

It's been about two weeks since my 'luck' changed and I was thrown into the world of the triathlon.

It has been interesting. Overwhelming. Annoying. Exciting. Terrifying. The 'lucky' ten ETS employees chosen were spotlighted on the company intranet for a few days. Results were mixed. I got lots of 'that's so cool, good luck!" A few "congratulations." A lot of the same quizzical look I usually get whenever I mention any of my athletic endeavors. My mom is very worried.

Swimming

I finally conquered my fear of public pools and stepped foot into the pool area at my gym. It wasn't really the fear of the pool as much as it was the fear of being outside my comfort zone. I feel very confident in my running clothes and on a treadmill. However, squeezing into my new Speedo suit made me feel so awkward and exposed. When I entered the pool area, I had flashbacks to being the new girl in high school. I coped with being exposed and uncomfortable the same way as I did in high school. I made friends by babbling nervously to anyone who would listen.
Pool people are much friendlier than treadmill people. I guess it's because on the 'mills everyone is face forward, headphones in, marching in a syncopated line towards nothing. In a pool, it's a little more casual.

Swimming is not nearly as easy as it looks. It's actually really difficult and requires much more coordination and strength than I was expecting. I thought my arms and shoulders were alright from the sensei's love of push-ups and sit ups. My arms felt like Jell-o after only 20 minutes of laps.

Swim caps do nothing to keep your hair dry. I foresee about five months of bad hair days in my future.

Cycling

Cycling is expensive. My boyfriend and I have been 'bike shopping' and it's a lot like car shopping. Scott does most of the talking while I stare at the price tags. The sales guys politely laugh at my jokes and spew a lot of technical jargon at me.
"So, you've got a carbon fiber fork here that will make for a stiffer ride. The nine-gear shifter is a shinto that will allow for a smooth transition. The frame is aluminium which is why the price is a littler higher." I've learned the importance of sizing, inseam, seat height, handle bars, and forks.

There are even test drives! But road bikes do not come in automatic. We've visited four stores and I've taken three test rides. It's terrifying but fun. On Saturday we stopped by Guy's Bikes in Feasterville, Pa. This place was great. I took two bikes out for a ride and finally felt comfortable and not at the mercy of gravity or pot holes. I fell in love with two bikes and after Uncle Sam pays me for being an American citizen, I'll be ready to buy.

I took a spin class at my gym last week too. Again, I was very outside of my comfort zone and turned on my chatty Linds side. I loved the class and was amazed that I hadn't tried it before. The hour-long class was intense and challenging but never did it feel impossible. I was sweaty and panting by the end and had covered 24 miles! There is a lot to learn about spin and cycling. I am really looking forward to the cycling portion of this adventure.

Running:

I am worried about the two half marathons that I'm committed to before the triathlon. I went from maintaining a runner/ninja schedule. Monday and Wednesday evenings were 45 minutes of 'cross training' at the dojo. Tuesdays and Thursdays were tempo runs and speed work on the treadmills. Saturday mornings were sparring at the dojo followed by a 'long' run at the park. Sunday rest. I'm having trouble adding swimming and cycling into that mix. I'm in the 'learning' phase and need to nail down a schedule and plan as to avoid getting overwhelmed and hurt. My back is already revolting about this and I'm sure my knees will be soon too.

Chances, Challenges, and Change

2012-02-06T22:40:00.000-05:00

I never win anything. I enter drawings and sweepstakes all the time and all it every gets me a ton of junk mail and spam. I do not bother with state lotteries anymore because I am that confident that I will not win. I've never won an all-expense paid trip to the Bahamas. Or a car. Or a free dinner for two. Until last week, I had only ever won a blanket, a signed baseball bat, and one 50/50 drawing. (I donated the winnings back to the organization, too)

And, a free entry and registration to the 2012 NYC Triathalon.

In a pre-coffee haze a few weeks ago, I saw the headline Enter to Win a Free Entry to the NYC Triathalon. Because I never win anything and the article stated that only ten people would have their names drawn, I entered my name. Because I never win anyway, I did not worry about the two basic facts that I do not know how to swim and I do not own a bicycle. I went on my merry way and completely forgot that there was a slight chance that in the near future I would need to have access to pool, a bike, and a lot of free time.

In my ignorant bliss I cancelled my membership to LA Fitness. I signed up for two more half marathons and a fall marathon. I committed to coaching Girls on the Run in the spring. I'm learning numchucks in ninja without giving myself a serious concussion or getting Scott suspected of domestic abuse from the many, many bruises on my arms. I do not want for motivation or opportunity to exercise.

And then I got this:

Crap. Of course my office mate was gone for the afternoon and missed seeing me literally fall out of my rolling chair with shock. I DID NOT THINK I WOULD WIN.

I do not know how to swim. I have a slight phobia of public pools.

I do not own a bike nor have I ridden one since I was about fourteen.

Crap. What have I gotten myself into?

I thrive on change and challenge and have felt both missing from my life lately. Even with the shear terror of having to swim in the Hudson River and wear a wet suit in front of coworkers, I'm actually really excited about this. I have been running for three years now and am burned out. I almost dread it anymore and really only use negative motivation to get out there. I've been loving ninja lately and putting lots of energy into sparring.

When I started running, I did not know what it would lead to. I'm now a marathoner. I do not know how to swim but I'm really excited to learn. I'm really excited that training for the bike part will give my boyfriend and me an opportunity to share a fitness activity. I can spend a few hours on a Saturday morning exercising with him instead of him waiting for me to get home to start the day. I'm excited to feel that rush of accomplishment that I just swam 220 meters for the first time ever. I'm looking forward to the change that instead of running three nights a week with a long run on the weekends, I'll have to learn to do brick workouts. I will cover more miles on a bike than I would typically run in a week in a fraction of the time. My routine and rut have been broken and it's awesome.

And one of the best parts of this is that my best runny buddy ever, Lauren Curran, was also selected! I cannot wait to share a new adventure with a good friend. We're both marathoners, bored runners, adrenaline addicts and will find a way to kick triathlon butt together! Even if we don't have bikes, a pool, or any clue what we're doing.

Respect the Distance

2012-01-19T18:38:00.001-05:00

Running is a funny thing. There is now clear cut definition or standard to what defines running. For some, it's short sprints at strong speeds around a track. For others, it's a slow shuffle along a quiet road. For some it's a weight loss tool, for others it's stress relief. It's even some people's job. There is no time limit or pace that defines running. My 10:30 pace is my 10:30 pace and it is not that really lean and speedy guy 's 6:10 pace. Our bodies are churning, our lungs are breathing, our muscles are working, our minds are free, it's running.
There are some people who work for months to be able to run a mile; and some that can just decide to run and go for miles without breaking a sweat. Some people run fast, some run slow. Some participate in races and events and some are content to have a few moments to themselves a day.

The running community as a whole supports this. I read once in Runner's World that if you care about being called a jogger, you're a runner. A runner will never dismiss or judge another's time and while we may get competitive in those final stretches, there is always an undercurrent of pride and encouragement. It's a pretty cool thing.

The disconnect comes when trying to describe or share running with nonrunners. Runners, or those that I have met, do not judge those who do not run. I run, cool. You don't, cool. I've had plenty of conversations with nonrunners and common responses are usually :

"Oh, that's awesome! I could never do that!"
"That's cool. I have a bad back/knees/heart/wrist/ailment."
"Why on earth would you do that?" (My personal favorite.)
"I can play tennis for hours, but I hate running." (This is my chiropracter's response)
"My brother/cousin/uncle/sister/girlfriend/coworker/friend/ is a runner too." (No, I don't know them, never participated in that race.)
"Oh, what's your 5K PR?" (Agh! Another runner! Yay! Until times are discussed and I'm revealed to be a turtle-like poser).

All of these responses are awesome and I love when people show interest and excitement. The responses that really bother me are the indifference or flat out disrespectful ones.

A coworker of mine came into my cage/office in the middle of the summer and declared she was running a half marathon. Cool, huh? She told me which was it was and laid out her awesome plan for getting ready and how the race had free beers at the end. The following week she told me how much her ankle hurt. The next week it was her knees. The following week it was too hot. Then she was too busy. Then it got dark too soon. This is while I was training for my marathon and fighting a daily battle with myself to overcome those same excuses. My advice was always just do it.

She never did take my training advice, only my advice on how to wear her hair and what to eat before hand. So, what are those Gu things? Do I need them? One piece of advice she never took was to stop smoking.
So, she did the half marathon. Notice I say "did" and not "ran." Her lack of training and respect for 13.1 miles caused her to stop at mile 7 and walk the remainder of the event. She didn't make the three-hour time limit. She talked like she was allllllllllthat and mooore for days because she totally finished and barely even trained. I had to bite my tongue on many occasions.

While I would never diss on a runner's time or experience, I am bothered by the lack of respect. A half marathon is 13.1 miles. That is a lot to ask of your body. And to simply THINK you can do it and not PREPARE demonstrates a certain amount of hubris and arrogance.

I've seen many a people claim "I'm gonna run a half marathon!" and then get a few weeks into training and back down, or stop talking about it completely, as the realization of what a long run can do to your body and schedule sinks in. I've seen lots of people stick with it and cross those finish lines full of pride. And humility.

You always respect the distance. From a 5K to an Ultra, respect the distance. Running requires work, dedication, and sacrifice and for a nonrunner to assume it's easy and can be done without trying is arrogant and annoying. I'm no slender skinny minny and have had eyebrows raised in disbelief when I said, "I'm doing the half marathon tomorrow," or "I ran 17 miles this morning." Yeah, you don't have to be a stick to run. You don't have to be fast to run. You just have to run to run. And to assume I cannot because I'm not skinny or fast is question my character. It's also a very transparent showing of their character.

......Clearly an Athlete

2011-12-06T00:47:00.000-05:00

One late summer evening in 2008, my then roommate came bursting into the apartment with extra exuberance and excitement than her normal. Roomie was a dancer. A salsa dancer to be exact. She had a passion and drive for life that, when coupled with her big heart and personality, meant that whatever she was passionate about, everyone in her life knew about it and probably joined her. Her new adventure, the one she was simply bursting to tell us about, was a new chiropractor's office and 'wellness' place she found.
"and he looked at my x-rays and said i was in a car accident when I was sixteen and because of my dancing that my hips are all goofy and then i laid down on the table and all my makeup came off and he cracked my neck and ohmygod it felt so good and you have to go and they do these seminars about eating well and being organic and they are so so so nice and do yoga..and....." She went on and on. A few weeks later, I'm attending an Eight Weeks to Wellness Orientation with her parents, our neighbor, and her. And I was suckered in. This was maybe my first introduction into this concept of healthy living and making choices about your food and body that will allow your body to be, well, better. Honestly, I was just happy to have something to do after work at that point.

Part of this program was an assessment with a personal trainer at the wellness solutions center. I was running maybe three times a week for about 45 minutes at the time. And not really doing it well. I was excited and nervous for the appointment. The trainer looked like a walking, talking Ken Doll. It was kinda freaky. I don't remember what we did or how the appointment went. I will always always remember Trainer Ken watching me attempt push ups and saying, "You're deceptively weak."

Deceptively weak. Oh. Ouch. This was admittedly not the best period of time for me. I was lonely and unhappy with a lot of circumstances in my life. To be referred to as deceptively weak when one was already emotionally and spiritually weak was more painful than the push ups.

"Deceptively weak" wrinkled my brain. It secretly pissed me off enough that I had to do something. I would not be weak. I decided to train for a real run. I joined a gym. I slowly learned to value and care for my body and soul. I learned to love sweating and working out. I signed up with a real trainer. (She looked like a Barbie doll but was sweet and helpful.) I ran half marathons. My body changed. My outlook changed. I started taking karate classes. I changed. I starting coaching Girls on the Run. I started and finished graduate school.

I ran a freaking' marathon.

Despite the Ken Doll trainer's harsh words, I kept going to the same chiropractor's office. The chiropractor gave me a pass for another free appointment with a new trainer (Ken has since left the practice) after hearing about my marathon victory and the surprising pain I felt from a 'squishy' midsection while running.

As soon as my body felt recovered enough for a work out, I returned to the site of the "Deceptively Weak" crime. The new trainer and I worked on my core muscles and he gave me a lot of really good advice for runners. He was impressed that I had run a marathon, didn't question my time, or give me that "you're a runner" side-eye I sometimes get. He was interested in my karate practices. He spoke to me like I was a legitimate person with knowledge and credibility. It was crazy.

As I was leaving, he said,
"You're clearly an athlete."

I went from "deceptively weak" to "clearly an athlete." I felt as proud and as relieved in that fitness center as I did at the finish line of the marathon. The marathon was part of a journey away from weakness, away from sadness and towards strength, towards health, and life. "Clearly an athlete." Huh. I'm clearly strong. Clearly. From deceptive to clearly. From weak to athlete. It's been QUITE a journey. It's incredible to realize the power words can have over us. Deceptively weak taunted me through long runs, weight reps, and chicken kicks. Clearly an athlete has provided some kind of validation for the past three years of hard work and sacrifice more than finisher's medal or new pair of jeans ever could. The burden to 'prove it' had some how lifted. I might not be the strongest person in the world, but dammit, I'm not weak.

Disclaimer: I'm not an athlete in the professional sense and I'm certainly do not consider myself to be anything more than recreational runner. My hobby just happens to be a sport. I have respect for true athletes whose lives are dedicated to their sport.

My Philadelphia Recap: From Fable to Finish Line

2011-11-22T01:55:00.001-05:00

I won’t bore reader(s) with a mile by mile breakdown. I won’t discuss the lack of porta potties or nickpick my every step. I hate recaps like that. You’re not going to get a weather report or a grid of my Garmin times. You can read any Philadelphia Marathon recap for that. This was my marathon and the apex of a very long, very personal journey.

Let’s rewind to about six weeks ago when I was huffing and puffing my way through a solo 20 mile training run. It was not going well. I was achy, hungry, and tired. My legs and head were not cooperating. Either my legs would stop or my mind would stop telling them to go. My Camelback was annoying the crap out of me. Everything was annoying the crap out of me.

And then I got a stone in my damn shoe. It’s one of the cons to trail running. Red clay provides a softer surface and therefore easier recovery but comes with little stone terrorists that jump into your shoes and make every step way more painful than necessary. Good lord, I hated that stone. No matter how I shook my foot, it would not come out of my sneaker.

I started to think of the fable, the Princess and the Pea. If I remember correctly, the Prince was searching for a true princess but everyone he met was unfit. Let’s have Wikipedia finish the tale:

The story tells of a prince who wants to marry a princess, but is having difficulty finding a suitable wife. Something is always wrong with those he meets, and he cannot be certain they are real princesses. One stormy night, a young woman drenched with rain seeks shelter in the prince's castle. She claims to be a princess, so the prince's mother decides to test their unexpected guest by placing a pea in the bed she is offered for the night, covered by 20 mattresses and 20 featherbeds. In the morning the guest tells her hosts that she endured a sleepless night, kept awake by something hard in the bed; which she is certain has bruised her. The prince rejoices. Only a real princess would have the sensitivity to feel a pea through such a quantity of bedding. The two are married, and the pea is placed in the Royal Museum.

I drew silly parallels between the stone in my shoe and the pea under the mattress. This occupied my mind for at least three miles. Perhaps I was meant to be Princess of Running by because of this stone in my shoe. My final thought was that if I could withstand the annoying pain of a stone in my shoe than I could indeed run a marathon. So, maybe I was no princess or prince but a very determined runner with a goal. Also, I had to get home.

This faulty logic or wishful thinking became somewhat of a mantra as I headed towards the marathon. Some runners rely on mantras just as “just do it”, “pain is temporary, pride is forever” “you’re lapping everyone on the couch.” Me—I modify childhood fairy tales. Regardless of the method, the motivation and determination were there. I knew that if I could endure that stone in my damn shoe while running along the Delaware Canal, I had the mental toughness to endure the 26.2 miles of the Philadelphia Marathon. I did have doubts though because that is a pretty shaky mantra. But I think a significant amount of self doubt when contemplating running 26.2 miles in one day is probably just good common sense.

Fast forward to November 20, 2011. The day I ran my damn marathon.

very nervous at the start

I’m standing nervously in my corral, just waiting for my turn to cross the start line. I point to it as we cross and say, “You’re my bitch. I’ll see you later.”And I did. Five hours and 10 minutes later, I ran under the finish line with tears streaming down my face. I did the whole thing. It wasn’t easy. But I never thought I couldn’t do it. After three years of running and 18 weeks of dedicated training, I knew I could. I knew there would be awesome parts and I knew there would be sucky parts. I knew there would be a wall and I would have to push through it. I knew that the crowds in Manayunk would be awesome and that those final 6 miles along Kelly Drive would be a knock-down-drag-out-gut-wretching-soul-searching-stretch of pain and drive that defines champions.

somewhere around mile 6.

I can’t even say the marathon itself was hard. It wasn’t easy. It was challenging. It was overwhelming at times. Even the thrill of a personal distance record at mile 21 couldn’t negate the fact that I had already run 20 miles and still had 5 to go.

around mile 14

My marathon really started at mile 15. The first half was fun and served more as 13 miles of anticipation for the real deal. The second half. It was like the first three seasons of Lost, a lot of build up and questions which alluded to something way more sinister and crazy coming.

The wall came at mile 18. I pushed through it. My legs didn’t want to move anymore at mile 22. I made them. My heart was beating so hard and fast at mile 23 and 24 that I had to slow down to control it. But I did. My feet were on fire for the majority of the race but I ignored them. I was thirsty so I refilled my water bottle at the water stations and moved on. I was tired but I kept going. The only goal I had was to finish.

Finally, I saw Boathouse Row which singled the end of this marathon! I was at or around mile 25.5 and only had a little more than a half mile to go. I was REALLY ACTUALLY SERIOUSLY going to do this! The finish line didn’t appear as magically as I thought it would. Even though I had just run 26 miles, that .2 took forever. I followed the course and felt powered from the screaming and smiling faces. And just as that mythical finish line, the one I’ve been visualizing for 18 weeks, came into view, so did my parents, boyfriend, and friend along the gates. It was a dose of perspective. I mean, who needs finish lines when one is so blessed to have a group of people willing to battle traffic, each other, illnesses, and the Philadelphia Parking Authority to come watch me finish some journey they don’t necessarily get but want to celebrate.

Hi Guys! I'm gonna go finish my marathon now!

There they were and there it was and there I went. To finish. To be a marathoner. To believe myself as a runner. To believe in myself.

There I go! Weeee!!!

While I knew about the running part, the pain part, the hills and the course, I didn't really know what to expect at the end. A volunteer handed me a medal and a blanket. I grabbed a bottle of water. I didn't feel like a marathoner, yet. It felt real when, out of all the commotion and the bored announcer calling off generic mantras and names, I heard my mom's loud cry and saw everyone running towards me. The hugs and relief and pride and love made it real.

My face is so ridiculous because I was crying.
That is what I look like when crying and showing off.

All I can say here is BAM!

I have the medal, the t-shirt, the photos, and the waddle of a marathoner now. But I could have none of those things because I got huge hugs from the most important people to me at the end. I could run a hundred miles with pieces of glass in my shoe if it meant feeling that loved and special at the end.

Lauren ran miles 20-25.5 with me along with most of my long training runs throughout. I could NOT have done this without her.

I don't think I'll ever love another photo as much as I do this. NOTE THE MATCHING SHIRTS!

Love = wearing the same shirt as your girlfriend's parents.

This time next week....

2011-11-14T23:29:00.001-05:00

This time next week I will be resting comfortably on my coach. This time next week I will have a glass of wine in my hand and a medal around my neck. This time next week, my body will be sore from head to toe. This time next week, I will never want to run again. This time next week, despite the pain, I will have a huge smile on my face.

Because this time next week--I will be a marathoner.

I will be celebrating the end of a sixteen week journey and the crowning moment of an adventure that started three years ago. Hopefully. I don't want to jinx anything because anything can happen between now and the finish line. If everything goes well and the sixteen weeks of training pay off---by this time next week, I will be basking in the glory of having run a marathon.

I close my eyes on focus on the feel good parts of this adventure because I'm really nervous about the beginning and middle. My thoughts are consumed with anticipation, self doubt, performance anxiety, excitement, fear, and nerves. Did I train enough? What if I hit the proverbial wall too early and can't finish? I only ran two 20 milers and the second one was rough. I didn't do enough speed work. Am I eating well enough? What if I get hurt? What if I get injured between now and Sunday? What if.............. everything.

I'm allowing the question marks because I know they're going to be replaced with exclamation points soon and my doubt will be replaced with pride. As the questions grow in absurdity (what if I roll my ankle while wearing heels to work and I can't run?), the harder I think about next week. When this will all be over and I won't have to run anymore. I will have achieved a goal I set for myself and will move forward through life with that power.

And as my favorite Righteous Babe (and this blog's namesake) sings:

"The further the horizon
You know the more it holds my gaze
And the foreground's out of focus
but you know I hope it's just a phase"

-ani difranco

The horizon is that finish line and this time next week....

THIS is a MARATHON.

2011-11-01T00:11:00.000-04:00

It was 5 o'clock on a Thursday evening. I stood up from my desk chair and was greeted with a loud crack from my lower back and a dull ache spread across my hips. I took a step forward and my calves burned. I moaned.

"Why am I doing this?" I asked my office mate. I ask her this question everyday. And everyday she laughs at me. "I don't know! Because you're crazy."

"Right. Good answer. And now I'm off to do it again."

"How many miles tonight?"

"I think eight. I'm going to shoot for six and try to push from there."

"How long will that take?"

"Forevvvvvvver!" I whine.

Every fiber of my physical body wanted nothing more than to go home and take a nap. I wanted to nap, to cook dinner, and to watch The Sing Off. I did not want to go to the gym. But. Dammit. I'm training for a marathon. And so, I headed to the gym to face my old foe, the treadmill. Armed with my trusty tote bag, loaded with one sports bra, capris, tank, socks, sneakers, baggy t-shirt, headphones, I went towards the neon lights of LA Fitness. My training plan called for eight miles. That meant I had to eat a large lunch, chug 2 water bottles throughout the day, and wouldn't be getting home well past dinner time.

It was there on that stupid treadmill at the seventh mile, bored out of my mind, sore from my hip right down to my toes, the time is ticking closer and closer to eight o'clock that I realized THIS is the marathon. Sure, I'll gear up on November 20th and gather in corrals with thousands of others runners. I'll be excited, nervous, cold, scared, and anxious. My feet will cross that first timing mat and I'll be off. I'll run 13.1 miles and want to be done. I'll walk through the water stations. I'll hit a proverbial wall at mile 21 and find something in me to push further. I know my body is strong enough and my spirit is determined enough that I will cross that damn finish line.

Because I've been doing this damn marathon for 3 years. The marathon is pushing through the exhaustion. The marathon is not giving into excuses. The marathon is setting a goal and working towards it.

The marathon is running five miles to meet a friend on a brisk fall day and then hammering out 15 miles after that. The marathon is heading to the gym after a long day at work to get the miles in. It's leaving the parties early on weekends to be running by the time that most parties would be winding down. It's running 20 miles by yourself. It's running at night when the gym is closed for renovations because you're committed to the training plan (even if you're afraid of the dark). It's pounding out 16 miles on a treadmill because a Nor'easter is raging outside. It's coaching Girls on the Run, followed by running five miles. And following that with 45 minutes of intense cross training. The marathon is finding way to fit everything in. The marathon is being too tired to run and too determined not to. It is discovering deep wells of strength, stamina, anger, inspiration, motivation, and drive within yourself. And then actually using it. It's that incredible feeling of achievement earned from tackling one double digit run after another week after week.

The start line of the marathon is not in front of the Philadelphia Art Museum. It was the first day I decided to try to run. A training plan calls for 16 weeks. The distance is 26.2 miles. The marathon is more than miles run. It's a compilation of weeks or years or even a lifetimes worth of work. The 26.2 miles will really be the easy part.

Misery Loves Company for 20 Miles

2011-10-10T22:34:00.000-04:00

My alarm went off at 6am on Saturday morning. I was not happy about this. I was not happy about leaving my snugly warm bed. I was not happy that my Phillies had lost the night before and were out of the playoffs. I had company in my misery. My stomach was unhappy about the beer I chose to drink and the greasy pizza and salty chips I chose to eat Friday night. It should have had had water and pasta. My legs were not happy with the 27 miles of running I had already forced them to do that week and the 20 miles I was asking of them that morning.

At least I had really pretty scenery for all 20 miles of this run.

Saturday morning was my first 20 mile training run for the Philadelphia Marathon. This would be the longest I had ever run (ever!). The 20 mile distance is a landmark for most training plans and a beginning runner will not exceed 20 miles until race day. This distance is as close to the infamous 26.2 as I will see until the actual marathon day.

There was an angel runner on my right shoulder chanting motivational mantras and reasons why I had to get out there. There was a sleepy Satan on my other shoulder spewing off possible other ways to get 20 miles in that weekend and other skeptical, fear-filled nonsense. I was too tired to listen to either of them and simply went through my typical morning routine on autopilot. Actually, I was afraid. I was scared of the distance and the committment that it would bring. If I could get through this challenge, I would actually be training for a marathon. I would have to line up with thousands of other people on November 20, 2011 and set out to push my body for more than four hours and do so voluntarily. It's as close to the "it" as I will get. Sure, I've had sore legs and an upset stomach the morning of a race. But I've never run with or through fear.

My runner friend Lauren was meeting me at the five-mile mark (Washington's Crossing Park) and together we'd run five miles towards New Hope, and turn around. 5 miles to WC + 5 miles to NH + 5 miles back to WC+ 5 miles home = 20 miles. Those first five solo miles were horrible. I considered just asking Lauren to drive me home. My legs felt ok but my mind was not there. I used my anger at the Phillies to get me through a few miles. I spent time reorganizing everything in my weekend and thinking of excuses so that if I did bail out, I could still make up the mileage later. I turned my music up loader, hoping to drown out the downer thoughts.

Bridges = walk breaks

Lauren and I are always able to push each other and work together when we run. Once I met up with her, everything would be fine. Turns out Lauren was less than thrilled that day too. We decided our misery and overall blah-ness would have to push us through.

I want to live there someday.

With my favorite dully disgruntled running buddy by my side, we set out for part 2 of this odyssey. By mile 8 (for me, 3 for her) the Eeyore-like cloud had lifted and we were feeling ok. Not great, not good but ok. We turned around at mile 10 and felt better. Not great, but good. I started to fall apart around mile 14. Lauren ran an extra mile around the park with me. I was now at 15 miles and that fear was beginning to join the list of current feelings (tired, hungry, stinky, excited, fear).

On a long run a few weeks ago, we met an older guy on the towpath who must have sensed my distance running despair and asked what I'm training for. Actually, I think he heard Lauren and I talking about how far we needed to go and we were both wearing half marathon tech tees. My Camelback and Garmin watch may have also betrayed us as 'marathon runners.' He was an experienced marathoner who has to stick to the 5ks now because of a bad knee. He was really sweet and interested in our journey. As Lauren and I were saying good bye and I was prepping to conquer five.more.miles.solo, he walked by! He shouted to me, "Hey! Still training for that marathon?"
"Absolutely! I'm working on twenty today!"
"Good for you! You can do it!"
"Five more!"
His daughter or wife also smiled encouragingly as we passed. With that wonderful shot of motivation and inspiration, I was off.

Just five more miles.
Just four more miles.
Just three more miles. I was allowing myself walk breaks every half mile because I'd been running for close to four hours at this point. The furthest I had every gone at that point at 17 miles and I used every mile after that as a celebration. I would text Lauren and Scott at each mile. I had a little dance break at mile 18.

Just two more miles! I was two miles away from running 20 miles and had never run this far before!
Just one. more mile! I started to get really emotional. I could be believe that I was about to finish my longest run ever and that I almost given up so many times.

20 MILES! I did it! I cried. I could barely breath but I somehow managed to cry. I was so proud, happy and tired. And overwhelmed. And sore. I visualize the marathon finish line a lot as I run and I imagine how I'll feel and worry about the miles leading up to it. Saturday morning was a sneak preview of the emotional and physical exhiliration of the real thing. And I can not wait.

Righetous Runner's Recent Righteous Running Ruminations

2011-10-05T00:31:00.000-04:00

I will write a race recap in a timely manner someday. Although, I don't run most races in a timely manner so my lapse in posting time is reflective of the experience itself.

From 5Ks to marathon training runs, this season has been filled with running events. It's awesome. And tiring. And thrilling. And painful. And surprising. And surprisingly painful.

Below is a quick breakdown of the running events I've done this season.

Delran Smokin' Hot 5k 27:25:00

Garden of Reflection 5k 28:00:00

Philadelphia Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon 2:26:00

Steeplechase 25K Distance Run 2:45:00

Philadelphia Marathon Training Runs: 14 miler/15 miler/17 miler

I've found a new friend in the 5K. I've run the distance several times before but generally find the amount of effort put forth for any running event not really worth the distance. By that, I mean, I wasn't a fan of paying $25 to run 3.1 miles unless it's for a charity. Or, as was the case with the Delran Fireman's Smokin' Hot 5K, was being put on by my new boss at work. I felt a lot of pressure to do well at this race because my bossy-boss was the race director and I wouldn't have put it past her to bring it back to the office in some form.

If that race was included in my annual performance review--I would definitely get a raise! I would even be ranked second fastest female between ages 20-35 in the office. And by that, I mean I placed 2nd in my age group. I shattered my previous 5K PR almost two minutes.

I was so pumped from my performance, I signed up for the Garden of Reflection 5K the following weekend. While I felt like I ran a lot harder and faster at this event, my time was 35 seconds slower. Both events were great and we went out for a really good breakfast afterward.

When you're used to pushing your body and slogging on for more than 13 miles at a time, a finish line at mile 3.1 is amazing. There is no reason to conserve energy or hold back. No! You go balls-to-the-wall, full speed for a relatively short time.You will not pay for it later by running out of water or energy with seven miles left to run. With 5Ks, by the time the legs even realize what is happening, you're done! It's beautiful. And you get a t-shirt! You can go on with your day without having to stretch and recover for hours. Bam.

Short, sprinting 5Ks are good for Saturdays. Soul-crushing distance runs are for Sundays. The defining principle of marathon training is essentially to run a little more each week. By doing so, a runner builds strength, endurance, and stamina. I guess that's true. But, mostly, the runner learns exactly how many muscles they have and for how much time those muscles can hurt. I've learned that I can run 17 miles in about 3.5 hours and then waddle around for about 24 hours afterward.

I smile as I waddle and limp after those runs--and not just because those 16 muscles it apparently takes to smile are the only 16 muscles NOT used in running. This is surprisingly fun. Each week, I get to learn how far I can go. I'm surprised, proud, stinky, excited, and scared at the end of each training run. I usually don't feel any of those things throughout the week while I'm chained to a desk. I look forward to it! Even more surprising, they do get easier. I ran a 25K (15.5 miles) on Sunday and was so happy at the 13.1 mile mark because it meant I only had a 5K left. I'm used to being happy at mile 10 in a half. I was sad again when I realized that I would still have 10 miles to run during the marathon. Oy.

Finish line at Garden of Reflection 5K. "We're done! Already?"

Life is Not Lived From the Couch

2011-09-28T23:06:00.001-04:00

I have a very short attention span. I am hyperactive. I thrive in chaos but function best with structure and rules. I despise boredom. I once worked a part time job after my full time career because I was bored. I need stimuli. I need be social and engaged. I love lists. Without a million things to do, I will do nothing. Doing nothing makes me anxious.

My un-diagnosed ADHD combines with a powerful thirst for life to form my current philosophy: Life is not lived from the couch. Our eyes were are meant to stare at screens all day. Our bodies are meant to move. Forward. Sideways. Backward. Up. Down. Around. Moving. Breathing. Sweating. In motion. I have legs for moving. I have a brain for learning and thinking. My thighs are not this large to cover more area on a cushion. My lungs are meant to be filled with fresh air. I do not believe in television. I watch television. I laugh at the jokes. I respect entertainment as an art form (except for reality tv). I learn from news and documentaries and empathize with special features. TV entertains me, however, it does not define me or my day.

I love sleeping. I'm really good at it. Sleep rejuvenates our bodies and souls. It allows us to dream and let our minds escape. But life is real and waiting. Sleep til you're rested. Live til you're exhausted. We were not given days to sleep away. There is always a reason to get up. I assault my alarm multiple times and do not 'wake up' until a full cup of coffee. I am not a morning person. But, I get up because I cannot make my dreams into reality if I'm still in bed. Life will not happen if I'm not participating. And to me, participating is not watching tv for hours or sleeping through the day.

There are things to do; miles to run, sweat to sweat, smiles to smile, skills to practice, conversations to have, laughs to laugh, ideas to discuss, lessons to learn, lives to live. Those things simply can not be done with your brain turned off while laugh tracks and written scripts dictate your experience.

I realize television is a strong part of this American life. Some people can watch hours of television. Some people come home from work and watch television and are happy. I am not one of those people. I'm usually annoyed or angry after about two hours of prime time television (with the exception of Phillies baseball, unless Joe Buck or any other national media sportscaster is calling the game--then I'm annoyed again).

Life is not lived from a couch. Turn off the tv. Go for a walk. Create something. Play a game. Shake a booty. Push your body out of it's comfort zone and be amazed at the results. But don't watch others do so from the magic plastic box in your living room.

Righteous Runner Tribute to the Righteous Boyfriends/significant Others of Runners

2011-09-14T18:49:00.002-04:00

It was a quiet Sunday evening. Scott and I were settling in on the couch for an evening of watching Lost episodes. I had run 15 miles that morning as part of my training for my marathon and was sore and tired. My feet were swollen and tender from three hours of pavement pounding but the worst was the pressure and pain underneath my toenails.This is called runner's toes and it is caused by damage to the nail bed either by the shoe or sock. It is very common among runners. As Scott was about to turn on season five, episode 3, I muster all my strength and roll to a standing position.

"Hold on. I've gotta go rip off this toenail," I say, hobbling towards the bathroom.
"Awww! Gross! Was that necessary!" Scott hollers. I turn to see him shaking his head and doing that finger biting thing. I'm back in five minutes and attempt to resume my cuddle spot, but not without a little teasing.

"Hey, look at this!"
"Think I can get a discount on a pedicure now since I only have nine toenails?"
"That little pig did not cry wee wee wee all the way home. It got hit by a bus."

For some reason, Scott is not amused. He's actually quite freaked out. Why? It's not ok for your girlfriend to rip toenails off and then laugh about it? It's not cute?

Poor Scott. He's been woken up to come pick me up from various spots all over Bucks County at the precise mile I've decided to be done running. He's learned to come with a towel, flip flops, clean t-shirt, and cold bottle of water. He also keeps the windows down no matter what the weather. I'm pretty sure if his banged-up foot hadn't slowed him down, he would have hidden when my runny buddy Lauren and I returned from our triumphant 17 mile run Sunday morning. I have no idea why he wouldn't hug me until I after a shower.

Scott, welcome to the world of having a runner girlfriend. For when you have a runner girlfriend, things are different. What runners think of as perfectly acceptable behaviors can come across as disgusting and frightening to those not in the know. It takes a good man to tolerate our demanding training schedules and some of the unflattering side effects of running. Marathon training requires a lot of dedication and commitment not just of the runner but of their significant other. But, the boyfriends of girl runners (or the girl friends of boy runners) know that those disgusting, stinky, sweaty moments when we are red and puffy, the hours of stretching, icing, whining, the small fortune in sports bras and race fees, the early morning wake ups, will all add up to one of our best moments---crossing those finish lines. There will be smiles that can't be beat and a feeling of pride and satisfaction that will, I promise, make those quiet nights on the couch instead of a bar and bruised toe nails more than worth it.

So, lets raise our water bottles and do a Shot block to the guys who stand idly on the finish line as we strive for PRs and paces

who understand what a PR is and why it's important.
who drive us to all over this green Earth at disgraceful hours of the morning.
who will make as many stops at as many gas stations as needed en route to a race--again, without judgement.
who wait while we run.
who endure snooze buttons and multiple alarms throughout the weekdays.
who do not judge when we order appetizers, main course and dessert at dinner and clear the plates in record time.
who buy breakfast after a morning run.
who hang our medal racks.
who ensure our bibs are on straight.
who take goofy photos (or, if you're my boyfriend, multiple photos of my butt while I'm not looking).
who join us for a mile or two even if they hate running.
who do not get why the Shot block joke was funny but pretend to laugh anyway.
who are now running experts from listening to their girlfriends go on and on and on about this sport.

Any runners out there who (actually read this silly blog!) want to give a shout out to their significant other? Let 'em know you care by commenting on this never-read blog. It's almost as symbolic as letting them hold your gear bag. :-)

Righteous Runner's School of Running

2011-09-02T18:23:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I did this:

I registered for the 2011 Philadelphia Marathon. And by doing so it meant that I had committed, or at least paid to, run 26.2 miles through my home city. Crap. Crappity crap crap.
And so I find myself training for a marathon.

Training for a marathon. Those four words are no joke. Marathon training is no joke and I'm only a few weeks into it. While I've trained for and run nine half marathons in the past two years, I find myself at a loss and just as overwhelmed as I did when I first started running three years ago. My painful and slow 14 mile run felt just as challenging and rewarding as the first seven mile run I had ever done. I'm gearing up mentally for a sure-to-be-interesting 15 mile run this weekend and reveling in the completion of my 15 page thesis paper and thus the official end to my graduate school career. These two events (15 mile training run and 15 page paper) seem to have nothing in common except for the number 15 but they are very similar. When you decide to go to school part time while working full time, you have to be committed. And when you decide to train for a marathon, you have to be committed. And you can't go to graduate school unless you went to undergraduate school and you can't do that unless you went to high school school and you can't do that unless you went to grammar school. Both are the accumulations of many goals that are depended on skills and lessons learned on each level.

Marathon training takes everything to a new level. There is a reason that few people go from a C25K program directly to a marathon. It would be like going from kindergarten to college. There are things you have to learn along the way in order to succeed.

5Ks, 10Ks, and halves give runners the lessons and tools they need to smartly train for a marathon.

5ks teach us that running is fun and rewarding. Reading is fun and rewarding. 5ks are the elementary school in the School of Running. You learn the basics like the joy of comfortable shoes, eating better, pushing yourself, the importance of stretching, sweat is good, pacing, etc. It's multiplication tables, vocab, spelling tests and writing.

10ks teach us that running is fun, rewarding and we can do twice as much as we thought. We learn about nutrition, fuel, wick-away gear, injuries,dehydration, goal times, hills, PRs. It's about expanding on the skills you've already learned and building them into traits. This is where some student's talents or strengths are discovered. Here I learned I that I'm not a fast runner, but I'm good at endurance. Some may discover the 5 and 10K are great for running really fast for a while but can't hold it for too long.10ks are the middle school of School of Running.

Half marathons are high school. You're confident in your skills and have a genuine interest in running. The finish line at the end of 13.1 miles is like the diploma. Training is more intense, results matter more, but there is still room for play and growth. It's an achievement and sometimes you move on to bigger and better things.

Enter the Marathon. Marathon = college. It's intense. You're gone for long periods of time. If you don't understand how to stay hydrated on a long run, you will struggle; just like you'll struggle if you never learned how to draft a thesis essay in high school and have a research writing class in college. There are skills and lessons that are expected to have been acquired at this point. You should know to stretch thoroughly and how to use a foam roller at this point. The training plan is like your syllabus. Half marathon training should have taught you what you, as a runner, need to do to have a good or bad run. High school should have taught students how to study, organize and thrive in college. There is still room for play but you have to work harder to get it.

Good news is that it doesn't have to take 13 years to go from kindergarten to Marathon University in the School of Running. It just takes time, growth, patience, determination and drive. I'm thinking there are a lot more parallels between school and running. X-crossing is like homework; bibs are like final exams, medals could be the honor roll...I could keep going.

How about you? Are you a beginning student in the school of running or have you earned your Master's in marathoning? How do the principles of education come into your running world?

No. I don't miss bacon

2011-08-08T19:08:00.000-04:00

My New Year’s Resolution for 2011 was to give up meat and be vegetarian. The journey has been both a challenge and a breeze. I rarely ate meat even before the official start of 2011. Being single and clueless in a kitchen, my meals usually consisted of milk, cereal, peanut butter, salads, ice cream, and other items consisting of ‘just add water’ or ‘microwave on high.’ I would attempt to incorporate chicken or turkey but had significant issues with defrosting. I’d forget to pull the package out in the morning. Or by the time I would get home, I’d be too hangry (hungry + angry) to deal with the 20-25 minutes it would take to prep the meat and would settle for popcorn and cereal. I'd have turkey or chicken salad sandwhiches at lunch from our cafeteria once or twice a week.

In addition to laziness is post waitress stress disorder. Years and years of working in the food service industry have made me very weary of most menus. I would never order any red meat that is not a hamburger in any establishment. I’m also cautious of salads. Flashbacks to reaching bare, unwashed hands into a grimy salad drawer to dump out week-old iceberg lettuce on to a plate that has been sitting atop a soup warmer for hours and then drowning it un-chilled ranch dressing makes my intestines cramp. With the exception of breakfast meats, I really cannot recall a time when I ordered anything that was not chicken or turkey from a menu.

Don't eat this. You have no idea where it's been.

I never liked fish or seafood--with the exception of crab and shrimp. The aversion to seafood is another reaction to too many years in the food service industry. I worked one summer as a prep cook at the Lobster House in Cape May, New Jersey. I swear my hair still smells like fish grease to this day. Perhaps it's my Zodiac sign (Cancer, the crab) or growing up near the Chesapeake Bay and Jersey Shore, but I do enjoy a good crab cake.

The transition to full meatless was not too life-changing. For me. For my mother, it was a different story. My (Italian) mother expresses love through food. You will not last five minutes in our house without getting offered a snack. One crazy night in college, a friend and I got home at 3:30 a.m. from a concert in Philly to hear my half asleep mom yell down stairs to ask if we wanted meatball sandwiches.

"I just don't know why you're doing this to yourself!" She's cried.
"What am I supposed to feed you when you come home now? Are you still going to come home?" Yes, Mom. I'll still eat. As long as you make macaroni and cheese, scalloped corn, pasta salads, lasagna, ziti, etc., I'll come home. And I probably won't pick off of the meat. I'm a good daughter of an Italian mother. I know to eat whatever is put in front of me and to ask for seconds.

Mom and me, December 2010.

I'll admit that there have been a few cheats. When I do cheat it's because of lack of menu options or the social situation. I know my stomach won't tolerate red meat or chicken at this point, but seafood is the only acceptable alternative. Yes, I've forgotten to say "no meat" and had to pick around chuncks of ham or bacon.

My observations of meatless life are that I eat a lot more and more often. I love salads and veggies but I find you have to eat a lot more spinach to feel as full as you would from a burger. I don't diet but I do believe in the food pyramid and try to eat a little from each category and it's very easy to loose balance when your pyramid is off balance. If I don't pay attention, I'll go days eating nothing but carbs, starches, and breads. I'm also more prone to crazy cravings than I used to be. I will NEED vegetables and absolutely obsess about fruit. Also, when I'm hungry, I'm HUNGRY to the point of shaky and light-headed. I also sometimes overdose on the fiber and we all know those side effects. ;-)

The most interesting part of this veggie experience is other people's reaction. Like I said before, I'm not the only meatless maniac in the world and selective dietary choices are the new black. I'm a lot more comfortable ordering nachos with the ground beef on the side and burgers with no burger than I used to be now. I'm not the only "veggie" out there and I'm finding that more and more restaurants are accommodating. (Best franchise restaurant I've found is Pizzeria Unos. They go far beyond a veggie lover's pizza).
Just like when I used to tell people I was runner, they would immediately tell me how far or fast they could or could not run. Just like when I tell people I work for the company that makes the SAT's and they tell me their scores..... I immediately hear's people's favorite meat product. And it's almost always bacon.

"You don't eat meat? What about bacon? I could never live without bacon!"

No, I don't miss bacon! I never liked it all that much to begin with and certainly not enough to make an ice cream sundae out of it (shame on you, Denny's). Yes, it's yummy and salty but there are other meats I miss more. I have to hold onto to every ounce of self control in the mornings to resist a Wawa sausage/egg/and cheese sizzli. I try to justify it as there is really no meat in that meat product and no one would know......

Does it count as meat if no live animals were used?

I'm a little over 8 months into this veggie venture and so far so good.I'd say I've "cheated" about 10 times. In 8 months, not too shabby! Most politicians can't even say that! I'm proud of myself for holding out so long. I also really respect and appreciate when others acknowledge this choice without judgement. It really does make me happy when someone buys veggie burgers for me or asks if I eat fish or tofu. Thanks!

Running is my BFF

2011-08-02T00:07:00.000-04:00

I wrote before about how running is a big dumb jerk. And it is. But I felt kind of bad for talking trash. And I was worried about how running would punish me for gossiping. Running isn't all bad. It can also be a really good friend.

Running can introduce you to people you'd never meet or really get to know otherwise. A lot of people run and for completely different reasons, at different paces, all over the world. I love meeting people who run, reading about runners and supporting running-related causes. There is a community out there of healthy, supportive folks who share in a sweat obsession and passion for pacing.

My super speedy, super hot runner friend Bonnie who is about to start a new
and challenging journey with the US National Guard.

Running is always there for you.

Plans fall through. People disappoint. Life changes. Your pace or endurance may fluctuate. Injuries will (should) heal. A road is always a road. A treadmill is always a treadmill. But the ability to put one foot in front of the other, to sweat, to pump blood, will always be there. You may not even run, per say, you could walk. You can hobble. But you can move forward with your thoughts and hear your own voice.

Running will listen, but it won't try to solve your problems.

Running is clearly female. I complain about everything and everyone when I run. I hate everything and everyone. I get rant, vent, ponder, bitch, dream, plan, scheme to someone who doesn't have a smart answer
who doesn't tell me how to solve it
who doesn't tell me how worse off they have it
who doesn't story top

who doesn't judge

who doesn't ask questions. It just listens.

And at the end of session, the problems are still there. A boss is still a boss. A bill is still unpaid. A paper is still not written. But, damn it felt good to just talk.

Running keeps you out of trouble. It makes you behave. You don't go boozin' on a Friday night if you're planning to run on Saturday morning. (A lesson I WILL learn SOMEDAY) You don't eat massive amounts of junk food and then jump on a treadmill. It doesn't end well. The more you run, the better you will want to eat. Running is that friend who holds you accountable to diets or lifestyle changes.

You also end up spending so much $$ on sneakers, moisture-wicking clothes, race fees, travel fees, gu-s, and Garmins that you barely have any leftover money to waste on yet another purse. Who needs purses when you get a gear bag at every race? If only tech-tees could be considered business casual.

Running believes in you and makes you stronger. You can run 1 mile. You can run 2 miles. You can run 3 miles. You can do anything. Running isn't the one who makes you stop. You make you stop. Running knows you can do it. And you can. And even after you run miles and marathons, running still believes in you and you get stronger. I was amazed when I was able to run 5 miles for the first time. I cherish the feeling of crossing my first finish line. I am proud of myself for transforming a New Year's Resolution into a such an important part of life and continuing to lace up my sneakers.

How has running been a good friend to you? Do you wear your race tags on your shoe like tweenS wear BFF charms?

Righteous Runner Rules for Righteous Running

2011-07-25T23:04:00.000-04:00

"The Lord, the Lord Jehovah has given unto you these fifteen… Oy! Ten! Ten commandments for all to obey!" – Moses, "History of the World Part 1,” Brooksfilms (1981)

Thou shall not spend more time traveling to a race than it would take to actually run the race.
Thou shall not use a treadmill next to an occupied treadmill unless it is the only available option.
Thou shall not covet others runner’s pace, distance, supposed strength, outfit, shoes, time, or medals.
Thou shall not run when there are excessive heat warnings or air quality warnings—even if other people are out there. Nor shall you run when the roads are covered in ice and it compromises your safety and the safety of others on the road.
Thou shall never wear the same sports bra twice without it drying out or being washed.
Thou shall always have a spare set of running clothes in the car.
Thou shall reuse plastic water bottles twice before recycling.
Thou shall take a rest day or three or week or month.
Thou shall smile and nod at passing runners.
Thou shall honor thy body and thy soul equally.

More Important Than a Finish Line

2011-07-19T00:09:00.000-04:00

Because there are more important things than medals and free bananas.

Because when your boyfriend texts you during a race, “I just got into an accident” you stop running. Everything stops. The clocks, your heart, your breath, everything. Stops.

This weekend was the Back on my Feet Midnight Madness 8 Mile Run. I fundraised for this event because Back on my Feet is a remarkable organization that I would love to be more involved with. I really liked (at first) the idea of running at midnight. It’s a break from the early morning starts and peanut butter toast breakfasts. The race takes place along the scenic (in the daytime) Philadelphia Art Museum Loop, a course I’m more than familiar with. Four miles down Kelly drive, a little more than 4 miles back along West River Drive, around the Art Museum, finishing at the start of Boathouse Row.

From the very start, there was mysterious bad mojo around this race. The day was just weird. As I was getting ready, Scott says his stomach is in knots but he doesn’t know why. I offered him an out and he could be excused from the silliness of driving to Philly at 10pm to deal with parking in a congested area, so I could run in the dark while he sat bored for 3 hours.

As we walked towards Boathouse Row and the starting line, I got surprisingly nervous. Was I concerned about 8 miles at midnight? Nah. I didn’t like the concept of running in the dark through a sketchy areas. I got, like, really nervous. All of the runners were required to wear reflective gear and there was a contest for the most illuminated runner. I decided to stay by THAT person. At the stroke of midnight, we were off.

The race started well. Running in the dark means running without the punishing heat or humidity and significantly less distractions for a short-attention span like mine. I was concentrating so intently on the darkness and not tripping that the miles flew by.

But an easy race in the dark is not was this post is about.

Mile 7. My phone lights up. I see my boyfriend’s name and smile to myself that he’s probably sending something like a ‘good luck!’ or ‘see you at the finish line!’ type thing. But it wasn’t. It was the kind of message that pulls you out of your head and brings all your priorities back into focus.

“I just got into an accident”

Stop. Legs stop. Heart stop. Lung stop. Life stop. I step off the course and text back, “What? Are you ok? Where are you?”

Legs start. Heart starts. Mind sprints. Imagination goes faster than my body ever will. He had to get gas. Is he by Board Street and Spring Garden?/That’s a crappy area. What kind of accident/What if they take him to the hospital/What hospital/I won’t be able to see him/Is he ok/what happened/why/where/he has my keys/I don’t have my wallet/or any cash or credit card. Get there. Get there. Find him!

The phone rings after what feels like an eternity but was probably only two minutes. There was an accident. A red light was run, cars collided, police on their way, at 25^th and Fairmount.

“Where are you?”

“ 25^th and Fairmount!”
“Ok! I’ll get there! I only have about a mile to go.” I’m not really sure what the rest of the conversation was because I became focused solely on finishing this damn race.

Imagination goes wild with crazy scenarios. Unfortunately for me, my legs didn’t have quite the momentum or power in them left as my imagination did. So, as I pushed and fought to run the longest mile of my life, ever, my mind had the car being towed with my apartment keys into, had me being locked out of an emergency room while some nurse said I wasn’t allowed in because I’m not family, had him crashed in north Philadelphia with scary gansta types that even the Fresh Prince of Bel Air couldn’t handle just circling him, had him in a fight with some drunken bar dude who hit his car, had me stranded in Philadelphia with nothing but my cell phone and my Garmin. Keep in mind, this all happening at around 1:15 am.

I could have been running a 8 minute-mile pace but it seemed like I was getting no where. I needed to finish the race and find him. As I finally passed the Art Museum, I realized that I was in the Fairmount section of the city and holy smokes, there’s 25^th street. Without a second thought, I turned right off of the course and headed up 25^th. My first DNF.

I could see the police lights from Kelly Drive. I ran up and saw the black Acura that I mock him relentless for, smashed by a street lamp. I see my always calm, always collected, never stressed out, rock of a boyfriend leaning against his car, a cigarette shaking from his lips. He told me to go finish the race. he'll be fine.

I refused. Because there are more important things in life than finish lines and free bananas. There are far worse acronyms than DNF. I have at least twenty race medals but I only have one boyfriend. I love running and I love the feeling of crossing a finish line, but I love that guy more. The feeling a hug or a nervous hand squeeze trumps a 'good job' from a weary volunteer any day.

Ironically, this sign says No Stopping. A car plowed right over it.

I’m not comfortable discussing the details of the accident. Let’s just say, there was an angel at that intersection and both drivers were extremely lucky. Scott limped away with a sprained foot and a superficial head wound from the airbags deploying. The other driver had a sore chest. The car is totaled but can be replaced. Scott now has the athlete creed of RICE- rest, ice, compression, elevation—tattooed on his foot. Not really, but the foot is so swollen that you could probably write this entire blog post on there and have room for comments.

The other vehicle involved

Nights like Saturday reminded me that anything can happen, life can change in a moment. We can control our diet, our pace, our weekly mileage, our time, but we cannot control life. It is how we handle crisis that defines us.

Running is a big dumb jerk

2011-07-12T19:19:00.003-04:00

You know what?

Chicken butt, yes. And also...

Running is kind of a big jerk. If running was an actual person, I probably wouldn't want to be his or her friend.

Running is passive-aggressive.

Running uses painful things just as shin splints to tell you when you need new sneakers. It's like when your brother would punch you in the arm instead of saying "hi" or to get your attention. Shin splints are totally unnecessary and rude. When you didn't eat or hydrate enough before a run, it will make you struggle. If running is really mad, you'll end up passing out.

Running is horribly inconvenient. I would not mind running in the morning if it wasn't so darn early. It is very presumptive to expect a person to be out of bed, dressed, and ready by 5:45 a.m. You have to run all the damn time too. Weekends are for long runs, Wednesdays are for speedwork. Year round too. You have to run in the icy depths of winter and the high heats of summer.

Running is your socially awkward friend who no one likes.

Not everyone 'gets' running, so you have to spend a lot of time explaining it. Running, in this case, is like that person you're forced to be friends with because your moms are friends. She hangs out with your friends and somehow manages to alienate, annoy, or irritate everyone in the group and you have to apologize or explain her to everyone later: yeah, that's running.

"No really, she just doesn't hang out with people alot. She didn't know you liked him!"

"Yes, I run even if no one is chasing me."

Running is high-maintenance and demanding.

You cannot half-ass a relationship with running. It gets very angry when you do and won't show you the results you wanted and avenges with pain. I half-assed my training for the 2011 Gasparilla Ultra Weekend and I paid a very sore, nauseous, sweaty price. It goes back to the passive-aggressive running.

If running was a girl, it would surely be on a Real Housewives series. It's an expensive hobby to maintain, it never stops up, and no one quite understands why it's popular.

Running is a Squatter.

Once you start with running, it's hard to stop. Running is that person who said you'd give a ride to for a week while their car is the shop and then you end up waiting for him every morning for a year. I started with running three miles a few times a week. And then it wanted me to run further and more often. And then it wanted me to run a 10 miler, then a half marathon and now a marathon. It's really greedy.

Running is confusing.

Running can make you gain weight. Running hurts but you crave it. You can never count on running. You may have trained, you may have eaten right, stretched and gotten to bed early. And then you may have a crappy race. Or you may have drank the night before, barely trained and not really have wanted to run and you'll set a PR.

I'm about to face an inevitably sucky run. I will sweat from every pore of my body before my Garmin clocks 1.0 mile. My legs will hurt, my stomach will rumble and there will be some other mysterious pain or problem. And I'll do it all again tomorrow. Because while running is a big jerk, I love it.

How about you? How was running abused you? Let's talk some trash on running.

Loosing Control of Voice Control

2011-07-05T23:12:00.000-04:00

Of all the dangers I've faced and annoyances I've tolerated along this runner journey, there is none as infuriating, as aggravating, as relentless, as the Voice Control feature on the iPhone.

Voice Control has cost me a phone, and nearly my sanity. I finally invested in an iPod shuffle to fulfill my entertainment needs while running. After screaming "CANCEL!" CANCEL VOICE CONTROL! Please stop, please...I hate you!" at the top of my lungs at 6:45 a.m. on an isolated trail, I knew I had lost the battle. Evil application, 1, Lindsey 0. Below is my unpublished recap of my ultimate sacrifice to the running gods during the Long Branch Half Marathon in May.

I usually try to resist turning my music on during a race until after the half way point. The first 5K is usually pretty exciting and the crowd support is loud enough. My mood is pretty good at that point and I like eavesdropping on conversations and people/runner watching. Once I get mad at the marathon momma behind me or a little miffed that a 55 y/o man just passed me, I know it's time for music.

Before the race. Here is where I'm thinking, "Gee, I hope that voice control thing doesn't go wild and piss me off. That would surely suck.

Earlier in the week, the ipod discovered voice control. I have no idea what voice control is, how it's activated, or why it even exists but holy hell--there is nothing more frustrating than jamming out to your favorite tune and then having it skip forward to another song, then skip back, then slow down, then speed up for NO REASON. I didn't touch anything. I was rocking out with JayZ and comisserating on our 99 Problems when suddenly Lady Antebellum was Running to Me and then Pink was Raising her Glass and then Queen was Under Pressure all in less than 30 seconds. I was annoyed.

We were heading up a bridge and over a beautiful waterway. I moved my sweaty and uncoordinated right hand over to my sweaty, slipping arm band on my left and attempted to extract the demonic iPhone from it's wobbly case. What happened next still wakes me the middle of the night. The iPhone slid from the case, dangled briefly by the headphone cord, and launched itself towards the hot, hard pavement. It hit, bounced, and slid. I screamed. Runners nearby let out a collective, "That sucks."

I've dropped my phone plenty of times and for a milli-second I had hope it survived. And then I picked it up. Shattered. The screen looked like a spider web and only the control button was left on the bottom. I'm pretty sure I heard the crunching of an iPhone pieces underneather hundreds of sneakers as I surveyed the damage. A friendly runner said, "That sucks. Some phones can't handle it." I joked back, "Right! It just didn't train enough for a half. I told it drink more water yesterday."

The iPod part was still working. Despite having been dropped and jarred, the voice control option was still reaking havoc on my playlist. Miley to Beyonce to Dispatch to Mary J, it was dying a slow death. I wrapped the headphone cord around the phone as a symbol of it's downfall and silently bitched that I had six more miles to go with no music. The only strategy I had had for the race was to listen to Pink's Raise Your Glass and F*()^&ng Perfect on repeat.

I handed the demolished shell of a once fantastic piece of technology off to Scott around mile 9. I saw him on the side and ran up with phone held out like a little kid would do when they break a toy. "Look what happened!" I shoved it at him and kept moving. I heard him holler back, "I'll fix it." Yeah, ok.

The phone and text part worked throughout the following week. The friendly nerds at the Apple Store gave me a replacement and thanks to joys or iTunes, all of my data and apps are back. I learned that 'voice control' is a byproduct of Satan and Steve Jobs that is activated when you hit or hold the middle button for a few second. Good to know.

****************

Graduate School Recap

2011-06-28T16:13:00.001-04:00

In 2009, I set out to earn my Master's Degree in Publication Management from Drexel University in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I really had no idea what that meant at the time and still am a bit unclear. This journey has been intersting to say the least. As I reflect back on the crazyness that was my graduate school experience, I offer the following advice for anyone who is considering the same route.

Lessons from the Classroom
• E-books are important. They have revolutionized the publishing industry. Blah Blah Blah.
• Amazon and iTunes are evil. Blah blah blah.
• Self-published books are not really ‘books’ blah blah blah
• Self-published authors are no-talent hacks with no merit.
• Rhetoric is a term only used by people who think rhetoric matters and those people usually only exist in the academic bubble. See also “discourse”.
• Adobe Creative Suite is really powerful software than can really advance your skills and value in the workplace…. But we’re not going to teach you how to use it
• Social media is either the best thing ever or the end of civilization.

Lesssons in PowerPoint
• Having successfully linked websites and audio for a presentation is incredibly difficult for anyone over the age of 40.
• PowerPoint is the only way to communicate with professors
• The student who asks the most questions during a PowerPoint is also the most likely to have an obnoxiously long PowerPoint Presentation.
• The formatting, background and graphics of your presentation sometimes matter more than your content.
• Preparing a comprehensive presentation about a 20 page article that only lasts 5 or 10 minutes is simply not possible. The professor will schedule all 15 students to give 10 minute presentations and then get pissy when everyone goes over and class is late.
• Classmates will read your inbox if you have emailed the presentation to yourself or use Google Docs.
• Wikipedia is a credible source only when used in a presentation from the department chair.

Lessons in Caffeine
• The Starbucks on 34th and Chestnut is superior to the Starbucks on campus. It’s worth leaving 20 minutes earlier than truly necessary in order to have enough time to get a caffeine fix before class.

• The vending machines on campus are probably more technically advanced and powerful than the computers the professors use.

Lessons from/for Classmates
• The appropriate pronoun for transgendered persons is Xee and if you don’t know this, you’re an insensitive prick. Apparently.
• Class time is not or should not be time to vent your latest woes or work-related frustrations. Save it for happy hour, please.
• Some students are much more intelligent and diligent than others. Some are more talkative and some are more argumentative. If you recognize this, you can have a very constructive experience and gain more from the discussions than the curriculums. In some cases, classmates may have more relevent experience than the professor in certain areas.
• Graduate school is a very good networking opportunity. Classmates get other classmates jobs at their companies and shared really good career advice. Most of the professors either work in the publishing industry or used to and have ties to the employment opportunities. So, don’t wear sweatpants to class, don’t yell at other classmates, don’t snark at your professors, and do not dismiss the achievements or insights of your classmates. I’ve met several people I’d hire in an instant and some that I’d blacklist…if I had the power.

Falling (back) in Love with Running

2011-06-22T23:34:00.001-04:00

If you want to fall (back) in love with running, volunteer with an organization such as Girls on the Run. I have fortunate enough to be a part of this amazing program and was able help two very special girls complete their 5ks and shatter goals. I ran with Abby, adorable, admirable, awesome Abby, as she pushed herself to beat her time from last year's 5k and to run the whole thing. Abby, who always raised her hand high and gave a heartfelt, insightful and genuine answer, couldn't believe she had run for 10 whole minutes straight!
"I didn't stop yet!" Then, she couldn't believe she ran 20 whole minutes straight! Then she couldn't believe she ran 30 whole minutes straight! When we realized that we might not beat her time goal, the girl dug deep inside herself and found bursts of speed. She finished strong and with a huge smile. That is all we ask. I loved running with her.

I got to run with Sophie and her mom as they participated in the ETS Firecracker 5k. Sophie is excitement personified. She is honest, talkative, innocent and just a joy to be around. She saw me across the parking lot and instantly was smiles and hugs. I cannot get enough of this girl. I found Sophie, her mom, and her friend around the first mile and decided to hang with them. Sophie gave it her all in the final .1 of the race and finished with a bright red face, sweaty smile and simply beaming pride. That is all we ask. Be proud of yourself. Try your best. Have fun. Be yourself.

I've crossed many finish lines and have a rack of medals hanging on my bedroom wall. Sometimes, I take it for granted. These girls reminded me of the sheer joy of crossing a finish line, of beating a new record, of pushing yourself to do things you didn't think were possible. These girls set goals, worked towards them, and pushed hard to achieve them. There were no excuses. We ignored heat, hills, and heavy breathing to get to that finish line. That accomplishment of their goal, the look on their faces, the oversized t-shirts, the crocked numbers, all brought that enthusiasm, that feeling back to me. I can't wait to race race again.

If you want to fall (back) in love with running, run with someone you love. I love my boyfriend for many many reasons. And sometimes for no reason at all. On Sunday, we set out for a simple walk on the lovely towpath. I took my Garmin watch because it's one of the coolest gadgets ever--next to maybe God's remote as he calls it. I gave him the watch at the halfway point. Apparently, that was all it took. He became obsessed with the pace and time readings. "We've walked one-tenth of a mile!," "Quick! It's dropping to 15 minutes!" I laughed and kept up. I had to stop and readjust my shoes and told him to go ahead. I ran to catch up and when I got to my rightful place on his right side, he started to run! I think my heart just about burst with pride, joy, amazement, surprise and um...he's kind of fast.

When we started dating one of his first impressions of me was, "this girl needs something more than running." Imagine how I felt to see him running. He had a really impressive pace for a good amount of time. We stopped and walked and then he pointed to a landmark and said, 'we're going to run to there." Yes, sir!

Just like finish lines and free t-shirts, I take for granted the those first steps. I remember those steps but I forget them too. It's an incredible thing to watch a loved one take those steps, to lace up those sneakers and to set out to do something that is uncomfortable, new, challenging and unknown. I didn't push him to do it. I didn't say, "I"m a runner and so you have to be too." I would love to help, coach, assist, teach, and run along with him if he chooses to run again. I would never force it because just seeing him try and acknowledge my hobby meant more than a marathon to me.

..it's the new black.

2011-06-16T11:17:00.001-04:00

I was called a bitch by a testorone-driven moron a few days ago. I really don't mind the term. I am, in fact, a bitch. I own it. I'm opinionated, ambitious, strong, passionate and all of those things that a weak minded and chauvinistic male such as the name-caller would be threatened by. I also had called his girlfriend out on some pretty annoying and unnecessary behaviour. He had to jump in to 'defend his woman' and scratch his balls in my general direction. It's so clear that in one statement he thinks so little of woman that he can't even afford a second to think of valid insult and assumes his 'woman' can't fight her own battles.

It's been a few days and the event is still lingering in my head. Do I care about what I was called? No. I certainly don't have high enough regard of the guy who called me this to give his opinion or existence validation. I have been called far worse names by far better people. People of substance and value, with education and valid reasons for theirr accusations, but a dumb redneck does not warrant my attention. I think I'm just bothered that that mentality STILL exists. I'm sad that the girlfriend, who claims to be a feminist, hid behind a caveman. I'm sad that the words I spoke, though admittedly not said in the most eloquent of voices, were dismissed because a giant alleged insult was flung in hopes of dismissing my points.

I see this all the time, the reaction to a woman is to cut her off at the knees by using terms like 'bitch' in order to protect the men's balls (or egos if you don't get the metaphor). But this is an age old tactic and really isn't anything worth bitchin' about.

What I really don't like is the new way men have found to diminish the value of a woman. Media headlines have been plagued with the tales of ego-driven, ethic-less politicians getting caught doing unbelievably stupid things. Cheating on their wives, having multiple affairs, sending stupid photos of themselves to teenagers. If one were to take a lesson from the behavior of the male leaders of this country, it could be that women are good only for entertainment value, to inflate inferiority complexes, to pose in pictures, to blame for your own shortcomings (sex addictions, really?) but certainly not worthy of respect or validation. For every celebrity and politician (and isn't it sad that those two job titles are what we consider leaders?) who does this, there are a string of women who are dismissed and erased. The governor didn't respect his wife enough to stay home? His daughter isn't worth keeping it in his pants for? The women he is sexting or risking his career and his constituents voice in government for has a father, too.

And while all the headline hooplah swirls about sexting and sex addictions, can someone tell me if any progress has been made on the health care bill? Are Republicans still making it a point to let women know we have no choice or say in our own health care as long as they're around because clearly we are not humans with rights--we are simply decorations and toys.

I wish they'd go back to calling us "dolls" and making a point to describe our outfits and use objectifying terms such as bitch or ambitious instead of this new level. I can combat bitch. I figure I'm doing something right when I get called that. I leave you (reader-singular) with my favorite clip from SNL and the mantra that has stuck in my head since Tina Fey first said it, "Bitches get stuff done."

TL:DR: Life is too short to deal with people you don't like

2011-06-13T23:04:00.000-04:00

I confess. I am not cool. I've never been cool or popular or part of the "in crowd." I used to try to be cool and to fit in and to make everyone like me. I was never successful and usually ended at the end of a string of gossip or embarrassment. Eventually, (like yesterday or so) I learned to accept my natural dork and that being me is way more fun -- and easy-- than trying to be anyone else. I have a group of very strong and unique friends who can not possibly be categorized. And there is nothing I wouldn't do for any of my friends and I would not be able to do anything without them. :-)

As I move through this thing called life, I'm learning more and more the types of people I do like and those I (usually instantly) do not care for. I like authentic people, those who know who they are at their core and rarely stray from that. I like people with passions. I like people who like themselves, but with an acceptable amount of self-deprecation. (As this blog's namesake says, "Humility has buoyancy, and above us only sky.") I like people with loud laughs, light spirits and big hearts. I like people who refuse to be unhappy.

I stopped trying to make people like me and I stopped worrying about liking everyone. It's perfectly ok to not like a person. There are people in this world who I simply do not care for and I try to avoid them. I've also learned that I cannot fake it. It is very hard for me to hide this. I call it being genuine, others call it bitch. It was kind of surreal to realize I had gone from doormat to bitch. But again, I'm totally fine with that. Whatever. Life is too short to deal with people you don't like.

I can usually pick up on "squiggly lines" vibes from a person relatively quickly. Call it intuition, call it judgement, or call it a low tolerance for bulls&^(. Sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an action or a string of actions, or one bizarre statement that will get a person on the "You Suck" list of my book.
Let's follow the formula of "You Might Be a Red Neck if "

you are not a stripper but think that dancing on tables or bars (outside the college experience) is socially acceptable...I'm not going to like you.
feel the need to tell every male in a bar that you're not so innocent, are capable of really bad things or like black guys.....I'm not going to like you. (And that has nothing to do with black guys, it's not racist. You can like whomever you want to, just don't drunkly declare it from the top of a bar while trying to take your shirt off. ESPECIALLY IF YOU'RE OVER 30!)
have ever tried to make me like you....I'm not going to like you. A very wise friend once told me that friendships are organic, not manufactured.
pretend to be something or someone you're not.....I'm not going to like you.
relive past victories or defeats over and over and over again in an attempt to either garner admiration or sympathy...I'm not going to like you.
make excuses for your own shortcomings....I'm not going to like you.

I am a bit conflicted openly expressing that I don't love everyone. I volunteer with an organization that promotes self-esteem building and healthy lifestyles for young girls. The motto is, "Try your best! Have fun! Be yourself!" Clearly, that last line is my favorite. Because if you're not being true to yourself, it's much harder to have fun. Try your best is the first part of the triangle;, if you're not being yourself--true to yourself--than even the best efforts are futile.

My Post Graduate Life

2011-06-09T11:09:00.000-04:00

It's taken close to three years, thousands of dollars, at least 150 Microsoft Word files, 2 jump drives, countless hours of schoolwork, 12 parking tickets, several happy hours, and a significant part of my mental stabiliity but I can finally say that end of graduate school is near and a shiny new Master's Degree will soon be mine for the bragging. I have an independent project to complete over the summer which, compared to the other massive amounts of work and stress of the past 2.5 years, will be a walk in the park.

While the cap, gown, boring ceremony, and goofy photos do symbolize the achievement and finality, I'm just happy to be d-o-n-e. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I first applied to Drexel in the spring of 2009 and while I do not regret anything from this experience, I'm ready to be done. Two nights a week for the past two years have been dedicated to driving to classes. The other nights have been spent trying to cram in all errands, training, and extraneous life things. (Ever go grocery shopping, get a pedicure, shop for a weekend outfit and fit in a 5 mile run in one evening-- I have). Weekend plans have been dependent on course loads and any down time at the office has been spent with my nose (discretely) buried in a textbook, scholarly article, or staring at screen waiting for that analysis idea to come to me. Dinner has consisted of either a granola bar/pb&j sandwich/Starbucks treat consumed during a class break or on the commute home. Every minute of the day was scheduled to allow ultimate amount of productivity.

This term has been light on the workload and there have been some evenings when I'm quite perplexed at having nothing to do. No chapter to read, nothing to write, no Powerpoint to prepare, what's a full time editor/part-time graduate school girl to do?

I've been preparing a list of all the things I'm going to do once I get my "life" back. I'm an active person with a very short attention span-- I don't consider watching movies or countless hours of television to be entertaining or worthwhile. (Like, you just sit there and watch? I don't get it). Below is my list of my possible post graduate life activities:

Decorate, organize apartment. (Boxes hidden in closets do not equal unpacked)
Dedicate more time to this bloggy thing
Watch all of the Harry Potter movies (I stopped at #4)
Volunteer more with GOTR, Back on my Feet or one of the many organizations that collaborate with ETS. I've been very blessed in life and need to connect with my community
Train for 2011 Philadelphia Marathon August--November
Explore other areas of fitness outside of running. I've heard of these things called 'bikes'.
Read fiction books- for fun-- any recommendations?
Reconnect with friends, be social and spontaneous again
Travel

I can't plan my "What's Next" List without giving praise to those who have helped me along the way. I met some very amazing ladies in my graduate program who were dealing with almost identical issues. It's empowering to know that there are other women my age at the same stage of their careers going through the same drama in their work and personal lives. Having a group of powerful women to relate to, sympathize with, advise, compete, network and support was invaluable.

I have to thank my family for dealing with a very stressed and edgy daughter/sister/aunt while always being supportive. I'm surprised my mom still has her hearing after the hours of bitchin' I did during my drive home from classes. I thank my friends for allowing me to go into hiding for 10 weeks at time. I thank my bosses for not firing me for blatant abuse of resources and for providing the flexibility to leave early several times a week for two years. I promise to use this fancy book-learnin' for good.

Onwards and upwards. But first, a nap!

"In the Real World"

2011-05-17T23:03:00.001-04:00

Dear Graduate School Professor

Please stop referring to the 'real world' and the experiences I'll have when I get there. I've been in the real world for several years now. I am not paying you $3,000/quarter to fill a syllabus with real world type situations. You're filling the undergrads (and unemployed graduate students) heads with false notions of editorial analysis and linear review processes that are simply fantastical.

I'd love to have the control and importance to actually receive a manuscript with time to thoroughly review, consider, and edit it. I dream of a conference with the writers when we can discuss the organization and structure of a publication and even spar over the serial comma. What 'real world' does this happen? The majority of the time I'm handed twelve pieces of pre-approved content in nine different formats three days after it was due to the printer and told to make it happen yesterday. I don't worry about complex sentences, I worry about deadlines and SLAs. My biggest issue is not a stubborn writer; it is a page that dropped off of a PDF in the fourth draft but didn't get caught until press time. I'm fully embedded in this 'real world.'

Furthermore, Graduate School Professor, when were you in this 'real world.'? As an editor for a relevent publishing company, I have not yet had to justify my actions to the writer. I've had to cover my ass to the client on countless occasions. My explanations are usually followed with emails and PDFs to prove that I was told to make a change to document.My interactions with writers and clients are CC-ed to at three supervisors (yes, I have three supervisors and maybe four bosses) and all have end goal of on time and error free.

In what 'real world' did you exist before joining the cult of the academic where editors were revered as experts? You should rename that section to "The Editor as a Scapegoat." The only time I've had to explain the alternate uses of the passive voice is when trying to defend my ego against a particularly rude email and/or missed order.

So while we sit here in class at 8:23pm and undergrads are asking mundane questions such as 'so, what if the writer, like, you know, doesn't like listen to you and then they're stuff is like, wrong and people, readers, whatever like read it or whatever. Like, what do you then?" I'm silently screaming, YOU DO IT! THEY PAY YOU AND SO YOU DO IT AND YOU MOVE ON AND WITHIN TWO MONTHS YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT SEMICOLONS ANYMORE.
And I'm also making to do lists and strategies for how I'm going to handle the 20 emails in my inbox, the 200 pages of an Economics proof I need to check, and the 2 chapters I have to read for your class. Graduate school has been more of an exercise in time management than it has been in professional development.

Professor, your 'real world' and my real world conflict. My real world is funding your current world. Please join me on the side of practical, true experience and restrain from ideals and theories. The only place ideals and theories work are your 'real world' of old.

Sincerely,

The-tired-looking-frazzled-student-in-the-corner-with-her-ID-badge-still-attached-making-death-stares-at-the-kid-eating-a-meatball-sub-in-the-middle-of-class.

Lessons from 7th Grade

2011-05-13T12:47:00.002-04:00

My seventh-grade field hockey coach, Ms. Hammond, used to tell all of the girls on the team, “You’re beautiful.” She didn’t really care if we won or lost the game. She wanted us to know, and sometimes repeat it with her, that we were beautiful. This didn’t always sit well with some of the athletic, competitive girls on the team. I remember thinking it was hokey and was probably trying to either fit in the group or stand out among the other girls on theam. I think this is one of the few times in my middle school/junior high/high school career when I remember hearing the word beautiful in reference to myself. When I heard ‘beautiful’ then, my insecure tween mind instantly said, “whatever.” I saw only my bushy hair that my friends always made fun of, my mouth full of metal, the red splots all over my face. It probably made me uncomfortable.
I recall some kind of political move to have Ms. Hammond removed as coach for being ineffective and telling girls they’re beautiful instead of how to hit a ball.

Let’s fast forward 15 (*gasp!*) years. It’s a crisp spring morning and I’m sitting with a group of eight to ten-year-old girls. We’re discussing what makes us beautiful.

“I’m beautiful because I’m a good friend!”

“I’m beautiful because I’m energetic!”

“I’m beautiful because I’m fun!”

“I’m beautiful because I like to read!”

Yes! Yes! Yes! These girls didn’t roll their eyes and get annoyed that we weren’t talking about ways to win or run faster. Parents enrolled their daughters in this program to hear this message.

When I think about Girls on the Run and the impact it’s having on girls, I find my mind wondering back to that open field in southern Chester County where a loony coach made us profess our inner beauty. A few years later, Molly Barker has the same idea only goes about it differently and to a younger group and a revolution begins. Maybe it wasn’t an idea as much as a revelation. No, I don’t like revelation. What would you call it when you just suddenly get it? Why did it take so damn long for people to understand that beauty doesn’t mean ‘pretty’ and that it’s a good idea to tell young girls this?

So when is the correct time to teach this? Always. It matters. Girls on the Run is at times a bit hokey to me as an adult. I thought it was strange as a kid too. But, as an adult I don’t need to recite the alphabet to spell a word and as a kid letters just looked like funny shapes. Eventually, it should become as common as reading to know that our physical appearances or abilities have little to do with our personal beauty.

I’ve realized that not being told things like “you’re beautiful because you’re fun, smart, energetic, a good reader, a good friend, caring, strong, helpful, intelligent,” has the effect of making a woman believe she is either only beautiful because of her appearance or that she nothing because she is not pretty. There are so many issues that women battle with daily that are caused from this ridiculous disconnect.

Please, let’s tell our daughters they’re beautiful because they’re kind, funny, smile a lot, give good hugs, are good friends, laugh, think, cry. Tell them it’s ok to fail and it’s ok to be different and that life is a lot more than other people’s definitions.

I don’t know if Ms.Hammond wanted us to do anything more than have fun and learn the game of field hockey. She probably wanted her lessons to sink in a lot earlier. It only took 15 years but I finally get what she was saying.

PS: Middle school sports were the very start of my relationship with running. I was not a great field hockey player. I'd say average on a good day. But I wanted to be on the team because all my friends were and there really wasn't much else to do in our school district during the fall. I lacked talent but I had heart. When the coaches would tell us to run laps, I'd take off like a bat out of hell to get a lead on the other girls. I'd sprint for the first lap and then slow to a bearable trot for the rest. I may have been guilty of cutting corners and even went as far as to stand towards the outside of the circle so I could get that much more of a jump.

Steps. Effin' Steps.

2011-05-02T22:58:00.001-04:00

There are few things more terrifying to runner after a race than a flight of stairs. Sore legs, achy backs, aggravated knees, and blistered feet join forces to make a usually simple motion into a pain fest of annoying proportions. The medal around my neck suddenly felt a lot heavier as I stared at the flight of stairs in front of me.
"Do I really need to go upstairs? Could I live in this hallway?"
"Would it be easier to walk up backwards?"
"Why did I move to the second floor?"
"If I go up there, I'm never coming back down."
"This. is. going. to hurt."
"Ok, quick like a Band-Aid, just go!"
"Oww! No more quick! No more quick! Slow and steady. One more step."
"Holy crap. Never running again."

I conquered the stairs of pain and was in my second-story sanctuary when I was faced with another runner's nightmare. Little mini steps such as curbs, sidewalks, any elevation change that requires contraction of the demolished quads in my legs. The legs holler, NO MORE! STOP MAKING US DO THINGS!
"My god. Who put the steps in this apartment?"
"Oh sure, the sunken living room was adorable at the time, but now I just have to bend my knees and apply pressure to go to the bathroom!"
"I can just sit here on the couch for the rest of my life. There is no pain on the couch."
"Oh, dear god never running again."

Other things that will strike fear into the heart of post-race runner:
-getting in to the car
-getting out of the car
-sitting down
-standing up

-crossing your legs

-uncrossing your legs

-the first few steps
-heels
-unpacking
-that this pain will never fade
-an empty fridge
-never running again

My Inconvenient Wedding (Revised)

2011-04-29T16:37:00.000-04:00

In honor of the big Royal Wedding this morning, I thought it would be fun to revise and republish my thoughts on the perfect wedding. This was first written in 2009 and posted as a note in Facebook. We've come a long way since then and attended a few more weddings and showers since.

Every little girl dreams of her wedding day. We dream about the dresses, the flowers, the music, the dances, the bridesmaid’s gowns, the honeymoon and the groom. (I almost forgot that last one.)

I've attended many weddings and worked at a banquet hall in a small western Pennsylvania town. From these experiences, I've gathered a lot of ideas and plans for elements and traditions I'd like to incorporate into my own wedding. I thought I'd share some of them.

I want to get married the Tuesday before Thanksgiving 2021. This should be excellent time of year because venues should be cheaper because it's right before the holiday season. I wouldn’t want to be a complete jerk and have it on the most traveled day of the year before an important family-oriented holiday. It should not be a problem for my guests to burn a vacation day and hire a baby sitter.

I figure that in the next ten years, I’ll attend many more weddings, followed by house-warming parties, followed by baby showers, followed by birthday parties and graduation parties and other gift-requiring celebrations. I’m going to be broke. I do not intend on spending much on my wedding as I’ve probably spent most of my money on buying gifts for others. There will be several cost-cutting measures on my part but at inconvenience of my guests. I'm sure my guests would not hiring a baby sitter, burning a vacation day and fighting rush hour traffic to attend my Friday evening reception so I can save $300 on the reception venue.

The ceremony will start at 10:30 or 11 a.m. My guests should just miss the rush hour traffic but probably be starving because it's not a set meal time. I might even be late because there is nothing my guests would enjoy more than sitting on a hard wooden pew with a church full of strangers for a long period of time. The ceremony will conclude around noon but lunch won’t be served until 2. I will provide my guests with directions to the church and to the hotel. I will not, however, provide directions from the church to the reception site or from the reception site to the hotel. It would cost an extra $5 and 10 minutes of planning. While we’re getting our photos taken my lovely guests can drive around aimlessly for three hours and enjoy the scenery and day off from their busy lives.

I am blessed to have a great family and really amazing friends. If I were to include all of my close girl friends, I'd have an eight-person wedding party. (I've maintained that the the number of bridesmaids directly corresponds to the age of the bride and the potential for divorce. If she's 23 and has 12 non family bridesmaids, I'd maybe be conservative on buying anything with a warranty.) I don't like big wedding parties so I've set up qualifiers. No matter how awesome you may be you cannot be in my wedding if you:

have a tattoo that is visible and would need explained to senile relatives or impressionable children. I'm going to have many a senile relative by that point. If I have to explain the tribal tattoo four times to my aunts, I have to explain it forty times to my mom.
do not like to get dressed up or dance. I’m not listening to you belly ache about the perils of heels while I’m sucked into a dress and probably won’t have eaten for a month.
are going to project your past experiences and spend more time talking about how your wedding was or what you did
are skinnier and prettier than me. You’re out, sorry. Unless you’re willing to pack on some pounds and not wear makeup on that day.
have any kind of life outside of wedding planning. I'm going to need your undivided attention from engagement shower all the way through to the honeymoon.

Know that having a life, tattoo or aversion to heels does not mean you're not invited! I still love you and would love for you to buy me something. For those who do BQ- Bridesmaid Qualify- I'm still working on the dresses. It will probably be hideous, outrageously expensive, unflattering, and you won't be able to or want to wear it again. But you'll coordinate with the centerpieces!

I will insist on every possible combination of photo to be taken….. candidly. I still want the obligatory Grandmom/Grandpop/Bride/Groom/Mom/Dad pictures, but not posed. Who likes knowing when they are about to cemented into a person's history? It's much more fun to be stuffing your face with a mini quiche for the photographer than smiling gracefully. But be prepared to have a grumpy photographer sneak up on you several times.

Oh, the flowers! Huge, fragrant and full of allergens is how I roll. I envision GIANT centerpieces that encompass almost the entire table. Who needs room for utensils, plates, glasses when you can stare at a tree for three hours. I do think that it's more fun to cram 10 people to a round table meant for 8 so that everyone can bump elbows and become friends. I think my third cousins will love trying to scream over a huge arrangement of tropical orchids (or something) to talk to one of my coworkers.

Get your dancing shoes ready for my inconvenient wedding. We’re doing all the dance combos out there Father/daughter, mother/son, grandparents, parents, siblings, bridal party together, bridal party with respective spouses, couple’s first slow dance/fast dance/choreographed dance/ kids dance/ bridal dance (so you can give me more money). If you leave at the end of night having not been able to cut a rug because your current social situation didn't allow for name to be called, mission accomplished. It's been my experience that best way to get pegged as "single ~~and pathetic~~" at a wedding is when the DJ plays the "couple's dance" and you're the only one still sitting. It's fun and really a great way to meet the l~~osers~~ single people at the party.

My best worst wedding ever idea is my favor. I love the wedding favor. I love the the pointless trinket with our wedding date on it. It can sit in closets and drawers for years- sometimes lasting longer than the marriage itself. I like the frame with the names and dates on it. A guest can only put a picture from my wedding in that frame! How awesome is that? But, since not everyone likes worthless junk that will be trashed before the cake is eaten, I will give all of my lovely guests a card with a donation. To me. I’m not donating that money to research or a charity. In lieu of wedding favors, I’m paying my credit card bill on time. My good credit is the best gift of all, for me.

Diary of a Wimpy Runner

2011-04-04T23:22:00.001-04:00

Runner Confession:

I'm a wimp- a wimp with a very large tolerance for pain and a larger dislike of doctors. I will interview CEOs and go toe-to-toe with academic department chairs, but when it comes to making a doctor's appointment, I throw temper tantrums. My knees started to bother me soon after starting karate. Ninja-ing, as I like to call it, is a lot of kicking, jumping, squatting, jump squatting, lunges, more jumping, twisting, spinning, and more kicking. All of these actions are very different from the one foot in front of the other motion of running. The discomfort was not surprising and would easily remedied with a dose of glutimine in my post-ninja smoothie.

One night in early November, we did nothing but right leg front kicks. We worked on form and power. And my right knee has not been the same. I woke up the next day and went for a run and felt fine. I wore heels to the office and noticed some extra soreness.

I should note here that the combination of karate and running means that I'm almost always sore. Before I started karate, I was doing strength training with a personal trainer. At this point, I'm able to recognize typical muscle soreness from something-ain't-right. Soreness means your muscles are growing or changing. There are exercise-y people with scientific definitions and reasons for why soreness is a good thing.

Back to the night of my knee. I woke up two days after the front-kick fest and was greeted with a sharp, burning fire sensation in my right knee. I iced it throughout the day and kept my leg elevated. I bought a cheap-o knee brace from CVS that afternoon and felt immediate relief after putting it on. I went to ninja that night and out to the bar after.

A dull ache has persisted in my right knee since. I've iced. I worn the stupid, cumbersome knee brace that makes my thigh look like a sausage. The brace helps the knee but hurts the rest of my leg. I've diagnosed myself with runners knees, torn meniscus, sprained ligaments, tendinitis, arthritus, and the same thing that Chase Utley has. I'm on the DL list.

While the breakdown in my runnerness of late has come from a busy schedule and conflicting priorities, there is also a little voice in the back of my head saying, "ummm..... maybe this needs looked at." And also a louder, nag-type real voice from boyfriend and mother telling me the same thing. Here's the thing: I hate doctors. I resist going until I'm on my figurative death bed. I subscribe to my father's theory of illness, "I can go to the doctors and get meds and I'll be better in seven days. Or I can just let my body heal and I'll be better in a week." I even resist taking OTC medicine until orange juice fails me.

It took me three months to gather the courage to call an orthopedic doctor. I faked that I was looking for recommenations. I wanted to wait until after Gasparilla. Honestly, I'm scared! Dr. Google and the staff of Runner's World have the rational side of me convinced that this a minor injury that can be healed with ice and rest. The irrational side of me has been listening to my mother too much and is pretty sure that I'm going to need a total knee replacement and will never be able to run again. I'll just have to learn to swim or bike or deal with my emotions through a non-physical outlet. The horror! Even worse, the irrational side has a 60-40 majority.

My appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping that I will be a waste of the doctor's time and this chronic dull ache is just a symptom of overuse. But, what if it's not?

Don't call it a comeback

2011-03-30T16:39:00.001-04:00

But I ran on 4 of the past 5 days. This hasn't happened in months!
Don't call it a comeback. I’m resetting. I'm starting over. I'm redefining my relationship with running and what being a runner will mean to me in the future and how it got me to this point.
I started "really" running in the fall of 2008. I was sad, lonely, and miserable. Things change. Addresses, friends, jobs, goals, priorities, relationships, families, interests, everything, attitudes--change.

Fast forward to 2011 and I’m anything but sad, lonely or miserable. I’m crazy busy and happier than ever. I keep getting bogged down in what my running used to be. It was a defense mechanism and a way of establishing myself in my own terms. I used to run when I was unhappy. I used to run to prove it. I used to run because I didn’t have anything else do to. I used to run because I was afraid of gaining weight. I used to run because I wanted to be stronger, faster, leaner. I used to run because other people didn’t. I used to run because I needed to feel some form of accomplishment in the day. I used to run because I did not feel good about myself.

Those deep-seated motivators simply don’t light a fire under my feet anymore. I’m not so worried about gaining a few pounds because I’ve finally learned that what is in my head is far more important my pant size.

I used to run to prove “it.” I would run through or over whatever “it” that was missing in my life or the “it” that I was not succeeding with. I had to prove I was something outside of ‘editor’ or the unhappy person I was on the verge of becoming. Would you rather have someone say, “oh, she’s a runner,” or “oh, she’s a bitch.” I might have made another mistake at work, but I ran 6 miles that morning. I don’t see the connection either but that got me through the day. I might not have any one to go home to but there was always a treadmill waiting for me. I didn’t need anyone because I had my sneakers and myself. Get it?
Running is often about challenging yourself and reaching deep down to see how far you can go. I now know I can run 13.1 miles and am capable of doing more. It taught me how to set goals and plan. I don’t feel the same urge to go further and faster. I’ve achieved the goals I wanted to achieve through running and in a few months will have achieved some significant life goals as well.

I’m currently working a new set of running and life goals. The past month(s) off was not a slump. It was a reset. I will continue to run and sign up for races and buy adorable running clothes because I simply enjoy it. It’s a part of my life now but it is not my life now. I have an ultimate goal of running 2011 Philadelphia Marathon in November and beating my half-marathon PR of 2:09. But first, I have a Master’s degree to complete, a career to manage, boyfriend to spend time with, and a family I’d like to see more than once every three months.

As my favorite singer/song-writer and this blog’s namesake once said,

“I’ve got more and more to do/ I’ve got less and less to prove/ And it took me too long to realize that I don’t take good picture/because I have the kind of beauty that moves.”

Defeat at Gasparilla: Running without Respect

2011-03-15T00:46:00.001-04:00

In my last post, I was expressing concerns and excitement over the Publix's Gasparilla Distance Classic Michelob Ultra Challenge. I was going to be running a 15K and 5K on Saturday and a half marathon and 8K on Sunday. And attempting to say the entire name of the race correctly, holy brand names! Well, friends. I did not complete the challenge. I got through the 15K and 5K on Saturday.

My legs were a little more sore than I would have liked as I was lining up for the second race on Saturday morning. I heard someone in the corral say that the 5+ 3K was 5 miles. When I thought that a 5 + 3K was 4 miles, it was bearable. But the thought of having to run 5 miles after running 13.1 miles when my legs were tired enough after having only run 15K, was just overwhelming. I decided then and there on the spot that I wasn't going to do the fourth race.

My favorite part of the entire weekend was that I was running the majority of the half marathon with my friend, Kylie. This was her first half and she did so well. She maintained a strong pace and didn't stop once. We were together until around mile 4 when I got a call from Mother Nature. I jumped into the slowest line ever for a porta potty and promised Kylie I'd catch up. I ended up doing a sprint/walk/sprint/walk combo for about the next three or four miles, finally catching her at around mile 6. I The sprinting wore me out (or the 13 miles the day before) and by mile 11, I just couldn't go anymore. I watched Kylie's white hat and long pony-tail truck forward and was crushed. It was one of my worst runner moments ever. I so wanted to cross that finish line with her. Finding her at the finish line and our sore, slow walk back to the car was one of my best runner moments.

It's been a few weeks and I'm still digesting my defeat at Gasparilla. My head and heart were never really in any of the races. I was too busy with work, school and social life to have properly trained for ANY distance race. I knew that. I could not rely on the confidence of good training. I expected the ego and hubris of having run so many other half marathons and distance races to carry me for 30 miles. Stretching and hydration, I thought, would be the keys to success. I stretched. I drank loads of water and Gatorade. I ate super well. I did not train.

I said I was doing this four-race challenge because "I needed a win." To be honest, the amount my butt getting kicked to me kicking butt lately has been disproportionate. But I lost. And I needed to lose. I needed to be reminded that just like everything in this world, runnning requires dedication and practice. You can not just think about running. You have to respect the distance and the sport.

I allowed, or had to allow, life get in the way of running this winter. I had three very challenging graduate classes, an overwhelming amount of work and stress, a new apartment, a new (real) relationship and simply did not have the time, or energy, to properly train. I have to respect my limitations and learn from this experience.

Even though I didn't complete that fourth race and the three races prior weren't my best, I did run 25 miles in one weekend. And that is STILL something to be happy about. Maybe next year, when grad school is done and I've finally unpacked this apartment, I'll train properly and return to Gasparilla for round 3.

I may have lost that battle, but I'm gonna win this war!

Dead Runner Walking

2011-02-25T22:52:00.002-05:00

Oh, boy. What have I gotten myself into and why won't I back down? Challenge, my friends, challenge.

I'm blogging (or avoiding doing homework) from the glory that is St. Petersburg, Florida. I'm visiting with my good friend Kylie Matthews and journeying into my potentail runner death this weekend. It's called the Gasparilla Distance Classic and it may be either my worst failure or greatest triumpth.

I'm participating in the Michelob Ultra Gasparilla Challenge. God and my right knee willing, I will run the Publix 15K which is followed by a 5K. That's two races in one morning. I can do that. 15K = 9 miles, 5K=3 miles. SO that's 12(ish) miles in one day. I can do that. I did the 15K last year in 90 minutes and have since beat that time in several other races. I remember crossing the 15K mark of the Diva's Half Marathon at 85minutes.
With time to stretch and rehydrate, another 3 miles isn't so bad. Even with a minimal amount of training I've been able to get in this winter, I'm not worried about tomorrow.

It's Sunday where things are getting scary. Because I'm not sane and because I want a HUGE medal and because I, apparently, love pain, I'll be participating in the second part of the challenge-- a half marathon (#8, whatwhat!) followed by a 5+ 3K.

I have no idea what a 5 + 3K is but rumor has it that it's about 4 miles. So, thats 13.1 miles + 4 miles = 17 miles. So, for the math whizzes out there- that is 12 Saturday miles + 17 Sunday miles = 29 miles. In two days. In non-math terms, that's just CRAZY.

I feel unprepared. While I've run seven half marathons and other races, I've never run more than 15 miles. I'm trying to harness the power of positive thinking and tell myself how awesome I am and that I CAN DO THIS! But, I keep flashing to the horror that was the last three miles of the Atlanta Half Marathon.

Does that look like someone who had fun running 13.1 miles? No.

I'm trying to remember the good races like Diva's and Rutgers. I'm trying to give myself credit for having found time to get ANY running in between a nonstop/full time life. I am accepting the fact that THIS IS GOING TO HURT.

Luckily, I'll have a running buddy on Sunday for the first part. Kylie will be running her first half marathon and since my legs are going to be tired from the previous day's 12 miles, I'm running with her as she dominates those 13.1 miles like they're Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwhiches. She's going to rock it. She rocked the 15K last year. I'm excited to run with her as she experiences the half marathon distance.

Kylie and I after the 2010 Gasparilla 15K

Going slowly, conserving energy and not burning out are my goals for the half. I worry about the 'runover' and my knees and shins. I worry about puking or passing out or how I'm going to get through this race without my headphones. I worry about dropping and getting the first DNF. Essentailly, I'm worried about failure. I need and I want this win but I have doubts. Is there anything more annoying than self doubt?

I had the option to only register for the half. Or only do the 15K, 5K and Half. But no, I wanted to do the complete challenge. And I will. And it's not gonna be pretty and there is a lot that can go wrong. But a lot can go right. And hopefully, by Sunday afternoon- I'll be watching the Phillies beat the Yankees in a preseaon exhibition game after having run 29 miles in one weekend and having amazed myself in the process.

Go Phils!

Spring Training 2010

Running in Circles

2011-02-21T00:19:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow morning, I'll report to the exact same desk where I started my career. Almost five years ago, a very nervous 23 y/o girl with very little professional experience and a mom-like hairstyle wobbled into the lobby of the ETS Operations Center in New Jersey and hoped for best. She had gotten stuck in traffic on the Pennsylvania Turnpike twice during the 60-mile commute from her parent's house in Chester County and was already an hour late. The AC also wasn't working in her beat-up red Cavalier and thought it wasn't hot outside, she definitely perspired more on the stressful commute than one would like on the first day of a new job.

She clutches her fancy leather portfolio full of newspaper clippings and freshly printed resumes, and watches the fancy business people hustle in and out of the lobby. Soon, a beautiful, gregarious woman comes out to greet the nervous girl. A big smile and warm laugh lets this girl know things will be okay. Minna leads this girl to a small office with a pile of Post-It Notes, an uncomfortable chair and a pretty blond coworker named Kristen. They liked my purse.

I ended up working at the Operations Center for close to four years. I turned 24 shortly after that nervous day and am now staring at 29. I made friends. I made mistakes. I learned a lot. I got to know those "fancy" business people and inadvertently became one. That lobby I waited for Minna in once served as a foyer for a second home, with a second family.

A lot has happened in the five years since I first sat at Z-xxx. I'm not a temp.I don't live with my parents anymore. My hair is a lot longer, my style is a lot better. About a year ago, I left the Ops Center, or Z Building, when I accepted a position with a different department. It's been a rough year as is expected whenever there is a job change. One of the many lessons of the past five years is that a desk is a desk and your performance is what matters. But I still can not help but sigh and shake my head at the irony of it.

I'll walk confidently into that lobby tomorrow, carrying a hefty box of work and a good amount of stress, and a very full briefcase of readings for the final classes of Master's Degree. I'll say hi and how are yous to the fancy business people. It's a full circle, yes, but it's one of those kind that spiral upwards.

Would Rather be Running....

2011-02-03T20:52:00.000-05:00

Between a full-time career, full-time graduate school, an active social calender, karate and trying to run 20-25 miles a week, my life is often a study in time management and planning ahead.

One thing I'm learning, or trying to learn, or becoming aware that I need to learn, is to not expect perfection is all of these areas all at once. There will be weeks when I'm too tired or overwhelmed to go to the grocery store to stock up on healthy foods and will survive via Wawa. There will be weekends when I'm too exhausted to get off my couch. There will be days at work when I can toil away at school work without my inbox suffering and then there will be days when I'm stuck in meetings or have deadlines and my homework won't get done. There will be nights when my brain only wants to watch The Daily Show and not write an article summary. There will be times when I will leave a chapter unread in order to get a beer with friends. There will be mornings when I will manage to get out of bed for a run. And there will be nights when I have enough energy to hit a treadmill at 9 or 9:30. And there will mornings when I didn't get to bed until 2am and a 5am run would just make for a miserable day.

It's always a balance of what you want to do and what you have to do. I am driven by an irrational fear of failure so many times my decisions are based on the lesser of two evils effect. I want to go to the gym and run but I need to do the course reading. I do not want to get fat or out of shape. But more than that- I don't want to be called on in class and not know what's going on or fail an exam. So, I rationalize that I can work out more on the weekends or that 2-5lbs can be lost. The $3,000 I'm paying for that class can only be spent once.

Running has, unfortunately, taken a back seat in all of this. Nothing makes me more upset or conflicted than the gym v. work debate. Things would be a lot easier if the ground wasn't covered in a foot of snow and topped with a sheet of ice and if the shoulders of roads weren't buried under mounds of white mess. It's simply not safe to run outside in the Northeast right now. (That is another blog post for another time.) School work v work work is easy enough to rationalize. School work v chores or socializing is another easy win. However, school v treadmill gets me every time. As I sit here with a document design book on my lap, I'm silently freaking out that I've only run 6 miles this week. How will life as I've known it for two years continue if I can't have time to run? Insert world ending noises!!

It will. Hopefully, by time this quarter is over-not only will I have figured out what I need to do to get above a B in tech writing, but also how to give myself some credit for handling a pretty packed schedule and not beat myself up for a few missed miles or gained pounds.

It's supposed to get easier

2011-01-20T23:58:00.000-05:00

Isn't it supposed to get easier?

This thought repeated itself through my head as I struggled through what should have been an easy 6 mile run. I had to break it into two 5Ks and still barely finished. I've been struggling with running this winter.

I've been struggling with a lot more than running this winter.

Hell, it's been a struggle filled year.

Ten months ago, I left a job I thought was horrible. I thought the work was boring and there was no future with the company. I was snotty and self-righteous. I left for what I thought was greener pastures.

I was warned that the first year would be rough. I didn't realize that the first year would be marked by such frustrating levels of insecurity and self-doubt that sometimes I think parking my car is the only thing I do correctly. I get out of the car and immediately start doing things incorrectly. I never know for sure if I am doing anything right but, boy, they let me know when I'm wrong.

Every day I tell myself that it's going to get better. It's going to get easier. But it doesn't seem to get any easier. It seems to get harder and harder to put up with the condescending remarks, the arbitrary and shallow processes, the remarkably unfriendly personnel. It digs deeper each day.

Running got easier. It never got easy-- but it got easier. I was at the gym tonight after a miserable 10 hours at the office preceded by a late night of doing schoolwork. I resisted the urge to ignore my healthy lunch and hit the vending machine for every chocolate product in there. I was at the gym, so why was running a simple 5K so damn hard? Was it because I did a strong tempo run last night and my legs were tired? Was my bra/tank combo too tight and making it hard to breath? Did I eat enough today? Am I just tired?

Or, is it just life?

Dear Winter

2011-01-11T08:57:00.000-05:00

Dear Winter,

Thank you for all the snow you gave us here in the Northeast this past year. Starting in January 2010, you have been so generous with the amounts of snowfall. I certainly enjoyed the extra days off from work and school. I watched lots of bad tv, ate lots of food and took a lot of naps. I didn't even mind shoveling the entire driveway when my landlord claimed he "you know, has a bad back like that." I was fun. I made a snow angel.

I had fun running with you last winter too. I felt so tough and hardcore when I'd jump over snow piles and play hopscotch through black ice patches. I surrendered my towpath routes after the second blizzard when there was like a foot of snow that would just not melt. My legs would get so cold that I couldn't feel them on our morning adventures and therefore didn't know if they hurt. I thought it was awesome that I didn't have to wash all my running clothes immediately because you barely sweat when temperatures are below freezing.

I see you're back at it again. I really enjoyed that extra day off after Christmas. But, you know, Winter, we're good on the snow. Really. Unfortunately my deadlines remain the same no matter how much white stuff you send. It just gets more difficult to do my work from home since my lazy a$$ landlord won't shovel or even help clear the driveway so we can get to the office. I have a professor who thinks his class is far more important than my safety. He will be very unhappy if I miss listening to him marvel at the brilliance of his own voice because you've made the roads so slick and slippery. I disagree with him and side with you on that though.

And Winter, I really can not stand to run with you anymore. I'm cold. I can feel the nerves and tendons in my hamstrings right now. They are cold. I have no more layers left to wear. My clothes are always wet from frost and snow. I think my hair froze this morning. I have frozen frizz. And as if being constantly afraid of bears, deer, cars and crazy people while I'm running in the darkness isn't enough-- I know have to watch every single step for fear of slipping or sliding on the treacherous black ice patches that are everywhere.

I don't want to play anymore, Winter. We had fun. It was great but I just can't keep this up!

Have you heard from Spring lately?

Thanks,

Lindsey

Working with Running

2011-01-05T18:41:00.000-05:00

I've been a runner for two years but I've been a corporate stooge for five years. I sold my soul early for the luxury of medical insurance and never having to think for myself. I used to think that being a runner had very little to do with being an editor, or any entry-level position. But Runner Linds is not so different than 9-5 Linds. Being a runner and working in office will teach you about determination, pushing yourself (or being pushed) and how to feel proud of your accomplishments.
In a corporate world though, it's not just you and your sneakers. There are coworkers, office mates, clients, bosses, managers and really mean cafeteria ladies.

I'm going to start a section of my blog for the working' runner. I say blog loosely because posting once every other week might not be enough. Just like my running advice and tales, the working side of this blog will also be void of legimacy or information. It'll just be funny stories, insights, and experiences I've had along the way. Please do not read if you're actually looking for ways to get ahead your career. Please don't read this if you're trying to become a runner. I'm good for laughs and maybe some inspiration. Or maybe I'm full of myself and lack both. Either way, I'm by no means an authority on anything. I'm convinced that a woman don't get to be an authority or taken seriously until she's thirty, married or has a child. That is it's own blog post right there.
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Here are a few teasers:

The printer always wins. Always. Printers are like Transformers. They're disguised as a normal machine but their sole purpose in life is to ruin you. Their distructive forces get more powerful after 5pm and the peak on Fridays.
You must watch one horrible reality television show. In any office, in any industry, in any part of the country, someone is talking about Project Runway. Know at least ONE person on ONE show if you ever want to talk to anyone. Popular shows: Amazing Race, Project Runway, Top Chef, The Apprentice, The Biggest Loser. JUST ONE PERSON!
It's good to take a pen and paper into meetings. It's bad to doodle all over it instead of paying attention. It's really bad to draw violent, disturbing images in the margins.

Confession:I have two sets of clothes, work clothes and work-out clothes. I feel way more confident and sexy in my running capris than I do in pin-stripped trouser pants.

Lindsey Got Runover...

2010-12-29T22:42:00.000-05:00

I'm trapped in a vicious sugar cycle that has seriously damaged my running mojo. I call it, the runover. What is a runover? A runover is when your body thinks it's hungover after running.

There are few things in this life to which I consider myself an expert. I know a little bit about this and that and just barely enough to survive in this adulty world. However, one topic I'm far to familiar with is the phenomenon known as the hangover.

The hangover is my cup of tea, my stein of beer, my shot of whiskey. While I can't quote Associated Press style off the top of my head and can barely remember any of Italian language I minored in, here is what I remember from college:
- Never mix liquors
-Liquor + Beer, you're in the clear. Beer before Liquor, never been sicker.
-The more sugar in a drink, the worse you'll feel in the morning
-eat before and after
-it's never a good idea the next day

I can wake up the morning after drinking and immediately gauge my level of hangover.
Level 1- sober/headache/cranky/sleepy but definitely functional. Drink coffee and water.
Level 2- sober/headache/sleepy/tight stomach, drink coffee, water and OJ.
Level 3- not sober/room spinning/headache/sleepy/hungry, drink coffee, eat something, and OJ.
Level 4- still drunk/room spinning/headache/hungry/nausea/thirsty/nonstop feeling of wanting to puke, do not drink water or eat, go back to sleep for 4 hours.
Level 5- Drunker than when you went to bed/room is like a tornado/throwing up everything you've consumed in the past 48 hours and some bile/smells are offensive/ do not drink water, or eat for 7 hours.

My runovers started the day Lauren and I ran 15 miles together. At the end of our run, I felt great emotionally and mentally but it didn't take long for my stomach to drop and I just knew something was not right. As we limped our way towards the car, I felt more and more like I was waking up with a Level 4, minus the drunk. I had nausea, I was shaky, my stomach was cramping. I've had this happen after races before but it usually passes pretty quickly. I thought it was a combo of endorphins and blood sugar levels. However, it stuck. I felt sick, hungover sick, the entire ride from Philly to New Jersey. I guzzled water along the way only to throw it back up minutes later. I figured I had not eaten enough the day before or during the run and my blood sugar levels were yelling at me. But I re-tallied and had fueled properly. I made oatmeal that morning with brown sugar and cinnamon and hazelnut coffee.

Then it hit me, I had had a lot of sugar that day in my oatmeal and coffee. I think there was a dessert of some type the night before. My dad once told me (as I fought to hide a Level 4 at the breakfast table during a visit home during college) that SUGAR dehydrates your body and thus causes hangovers.

And a hangover is essentially dehydration. My body was dehydrated and thus behaving like it was hungover. I made a mental note to watch sugar consumptions before long runs and to drink more water. I haven't been drinking enough water since the temperatures dropped. I guess since it's not warm, I don't assume thirst? The 15 mile runover passed quickly enough and soon I was devouring my dinner and back to feeling proud of my accomplishment.

I thought the runovers would be a long-run only occurrence. I thought I was safe since I didn't foresee any double digit runs in my near future. I went on my merry runner way. It's cold and I see no reason to run outside when there is a chance your sweat will freeze\ to your face, so I've been sentenced to months of treadmill running.

And, apparently, runovers. A few nights ago, I powered out a glorious 5 mile tempo run (1 mile at 6.0, 1 mile at 6.3, 2 miles at 6.5, .5 miles at 6.3, .5 at 6.5). I felt awesome. I came home, chugged some water, made a smoothie, sat down to stretch, and it happened.... The Run Over. The spinning room, the nausea, the headache. I got a shower and went to bed. I was runover the past four times I have run. I've drank water before and after. I've decreased the intensity which is hard to do on a boring dreadmill. It even happened on an easy 4 miler I attempted to squeeze in at my parents on Christmas eve.

My sugar consumption has skyrocketed this month thanks to the wonder that is Christmas cookies and my renewed love of Pop-tarts. It's the only change in my diet. And just like my body has an unpleasant physical reaction when some one asks me if I want do a shot or drink any form of whiskey or tequila, my running self is now afraid of the runover. I don't 'booze' nearly as much as I used to because I hate the hangovers and now they've invaded my running world!

It's interesting how a minor increase in a small ingredient can have such a drastic impact on my body. I'm almost hesitant to believe that an extra scoop of sugar can wreck my system and wonder if there are any other factors at play.

Any ideas, Blogworld? Has anyone ever experienced this? Is it just dehydration? Why didn't I feel this way during the summer when I was running longer distances and sweating more? I want to run again without the fear of spinning rooms and toilet hugging.

Disclaimer: I'm not an alcoholic or a lush by any means. My alcohol consumption habits have always been on par with those in my age group. I drank a little in high school. Sorry, Mom and Dad. I drank a lot in college. Sorry, Liver. And while there have been some crazy bad-decision juiced moments since college, I've calmed down considerably and allocate any booze to weekends., I drank like a college student in college and now drink like a responsible 28 year-old.

Pimpin' Ain't Easy....

2010-12-20T17:12:00.000-05:00

Ok, seriously. I don't know how polygamists do this!

Running is my significant other. For the purposes of this analogy, consider it to be my husband or wife. I think wife may work better. Running has my heart, and always will. The medals on my wall and callouses on my feet are our eternal bound.

Karate is my dirty mistress. My little somethin' somethin' on the side to keep things interesting. Running knows about karate and that it's mostly a physical thing. Running is fine with that because it makes me a better runner. I spend time with karate on Monday, Wednesday, Friday and do my running thing on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Sunday, we rest. All parties involved have been happy with this arrangement until recently.

I've been spending more time with karate than running lately and a lot of that is weather and time related. It doesn't mean I love running any less, it's just cold. I feel bad but again running doesn't mind. It understands that it takes up a lot of time and can be rough on me. We appreciate our time apart because we just have that much more fun when we're together. Running and I are tight like that.

Lately, my mistress is getting a bit needy. Karate wants me to leave running! Well, it never actually said that but I know what it's thinking.
For a few months, the conversation between karate and I went like this:
Karate: We need to get you sparring gear.
Me: But I don't wanna spar.
Karate: It's fun.
Me: I do not want to spar.
Karate: For me, please? Just come watch. I'll be your best friend.
Me: I don't wanna spar. Look, change of subject.

I approached karate about this. I said I needed new gloves because I lost mine. Karate seems to think "I need new gloves" means "I want to be here more and therefore need new stuff." Next thing I know, I'm buying a car payment's worth of sparring gear .I'm fairly sure this is the equivalent of getting pregnant to keep a guy. Seriously. I can't leave karate now, I'm an orange belt and I have a giant bag full of new clothes to wear. Clothes = padded vests and knee pads.

Starting in January, I'll be going back to graduate school, increasing my already stressful work load at my full-time job and attempting to train for a pretty intense challenge in Florida with aspirations for a marathon(!) in the fall. Tell me, when am I going to be able to raise this sparring baby with karate? When? Karate tried the old, 'but other people have full schedules and sparring babies too," and "but running is so old and doesn't get you like I do" and "you promised me you'd get your black belt."

I'm sorry, karate, I never said I wanted a black belt. I wanted to be a ninja. I made my intentions clear from the beginning. I feel torn because I do enjoy karate. I don't want to quit or walk away.
I need to reason with karate and find a way to build on my skills while maintaining a balanced schedule and achieving all the goals I have. I also need to evaluate our relationship. I need to reaffirm and spend more time with running. It's definitely being neglected lately.
There is a physical, tangible release that comes from actually getting to punch and kick things (safely and without fear of human resources or police interference) that cannot be found with running. There are very few people in my life whose face has not appeared on that punching bag or kicking paddle. Karate is loud. It's in your face, it's fun. It's anger management in it's purest form.
Running is quiet. Running is long stretches of a determined silence. Running is just me, my thoughts and my feet. There is also a release that comes in thinking through the stress, in plotting, rationalizing and strategizeing and telling people off in your head.

This is hard! I love them both but want the long-term commitment with running and short-term with karate. Pimpin' ain't easy. Fo' real.

I Still Believe in Santa.

2010-12-15T00:36:00.000-05:00

This post has nothing to do with running or Cliff Lee's triumpthant return to the Philadelphia Phillies.

I still believe in Santa. I own this fivilous belief and embrace it's absurbity. I love it and I love Santa. I see parents with carts full of toys and make myself think they're just for neices and nephews. Though it is one of my favorite traditions, my heart still breaks every Christmas Eve when my brother-in-law and dad get the kids' gifts out of hiding and lay them out by the tree. I refuse to help (too much) and won't eat the treats left out because those are for the reindeer. They are. I have anxiety about where the letters to Santa actually go when they get to the post office. I think my worst fear would be accidentally telling a child the devastating truth about Santa. I couldn't do that, and I don't like kids all that much.

Is it wrong to allow children to think that a man magically appears to every single household in the world and leaves them exactly what they asked for and does the same for everyone? It's no more wrong than making girls think they can only like pink and be pretty and boys have to like sports and never cry. When you consider the other tales and false truths we pump into our childrens' minds throughout their lives via actions or media, the hope and joy in reward seems quite reasonable.

The myth of Santa and his elves watching over us, seeing our good deeds and bad deeds is an interesting thought. As children, it made us behave. We listened to our parents especially during those final months of the year, we were nice. It was a tool to teach us morality and values. Right, wrong, nice, naughty. I find no harm in believing that if we're good all year, we will be rewarded. We do so much based on this single principle, hard work = reward and often this equation doesn't work out.

As adults, we know the truth about Santa; we also know so many other disappointing truths. Hard work is not always rewarded. Being good may not always get you what you want. Being bad won't either. When you ask kids what they want for Christmas, you get material responses, dolls, toys, books, electronic whatevs. Adults want the material things too but I think if you ask many grown ups, they'd all ask for an intangible. People want more money (need more), we ask for health, we ask for forgiveness. We ask for happiness. We ask for love. We ask for our children to be ok, for our lives to be better. For all those things that being good and working hard still sometimes can't deliver in the ways we want.

When I was a kid, I believed that not fighting with my siblings, listening to my parents, doing my homework, helping with my chores, being nice to others, not getting into trouble at school were all the things that Santa would consider "good."

I'm like somewhat of an adult now and my definition of good has completely changed. I stopped not listening to my mom years ago. It took me about 28 years to comprehend that my mom is always right and/or knows what to do. I don't fight with my siblings anymore because I kind of like them and my brother finally started letting me sit in the front seat in the car. I define good now by eating well, by sticking to a schedule, making good choices, by completing to-do lists, by paying bills. All of these things do have benefits and rewards. But rarely are they as fun as getting a freebie gift under a tree for no reason other than someone loves me enough to let me believe in a myth. You can't unwrap good credit and a done to-do list is not a great stocking stuffer.

For the next two weeks, I'm going eat super well and play nice with my coworkers and I won't yell at other drivers and I will try not to curse as much. Because I'm fully expecting/wishing/hoping that Santa brings me the Lost Series Set DVDs.

So yes, I still believe in Santa because I don't always have faith in everything else.

Farthest v. Furthest, oh who cares. I ran a long way!

2010-12-13T13:37:00.000-05:00

I ran 15 miles on Saturday. In runnery world, that is what we call a Personal Distance Record. I'm calling it my best run ever. I say ever a lot but I really mean it this time. I've run 13.1 miles seven times, but never a foot more than that pesky one-tenth of mile. I take the term "finish line" very seriously.

Lauren and I are a good running duo. We both share a hatred of hills, maintain a similar pace (she's definitely faster and more experienced), like to set out with a goal and course in mind and have lots to talk about. When I asked her if she'd be interested in doing a long run this weekend, I had an easy 8 or 10 miler in mind. After all, she did just complete her first full marathon not even a month ago. One would assume that she'd either never want to run again. Wrong. She came back with the suggestion of 15 so she could keep her mileage at about 40/week and thus avoid any holiday/cookie guilt. And you all thought I was nuts.

My first reaction wasn't an immediate no. Ok, my first reaction was considering having my friend committed. The inspirations of the NYC and Philadelphia Marathons have gotten the wheels moving in my head towards the epic 26.2. I'm no longer afraid but apprehensive about training and time. This 15 opportunity really hit at the perfect time. I struck a deal with Lauren that I would make it to 12 miles and every thing after that would be bonus.

Oh, and I wouldn't have to buy her a Christmas gift.

Because of my trepidation about the mileage, we had to plot our course carefully. I wanted to retrace the first half of the Philly Marathon. It started in front of the Art Museum---through Center City, along the Delaware River, up through University City, to Girard Ave, through Fairmount Park and eventually looping back to the Art Museum. All things in Philadelphia begin and end at the Art Museum, you can blame or thank Rocky for that. I figured we'd do a solid 13 and she could continue down Kelly Drive to get the full 15 if I chickened out.

Lauren informed me that the Fairmount Park part was one biiiiiig hill and thus that option was removed. We've run the Art Museum/ Kelly Drive/ West River Drive loop too many times and are 'over it.' We decided to head in the opposite direction for an hour and then figure it out. We had no map or route, just figured we'd see where that went.
We headed south on the Schuylkill River Trail. Our pace was brisk and spirits high. Saturday was a perfect day for running. It was chilly but not cold. The wind was silent and the sun was kind.After 2 miles and the end of the trail, we hung a left and went down Locust Street. We followed Locust Street from 25th through Rittenhouse, past Thomas Jefferson and decided to head towards Penns Landing. We did our fair share of stopping at red lights, dodging shoppers, pointing out various landmarks, jumping potholes, and admiring the scenery.

We came to Penns Landing feeling great. The Ben Franklin Bridge was taunting us. We both looked at it, looked at each other, did that raised eyebrow thing and then decided not to anyway. Someday, we will run to Jersey, but not that day. We decided to check out the new Sugar House Casino by Northern Liberties and headed north along Delaware Ave. The scenery and smells definitely changed during this leg of the journey. After being underwhelmed by the monstrosity that is Sugar House, we turned around because it was also the end of 'safe running zone.'

We headed back and turned up Race Street.We took Race to South Street, to Broad Street, through City Hall, where we got yelled at for running through a Christmas festival and I did my trademark discreet flip-o-the-bird, up Market Street towards 30th Street station. It was fun to tell stories of first dates and crazy nights while running (sober) through Old City and South Street.

We were at about 9 miles at this point and I was feeling good. My legs were definitely sore from Friday evening's karate class and my feet were puffing out. But, nothing crazy bad. I was expecting my stomach to start revolting or those negative thoughts in my head to start up. But, neither happened. We picked up the Schuylkill River Train again and turned back towards the Art Museum area.

When we came up on 11 miles, I was feeling good but I didn't know if I could last another 4 miles. I remembered the deal I had with Lauren that I didn't have to do the full 15. I decided that I was definitely going to 13. Our conversation had increased while our pace slightly decreased.

At mile 12 the soreness in my legs started to become a tightness, pulling on every muscle in the back of my legs. But, I was determined. Just 3 more miles.

When my Garmin beeped on the 13th mile, I couldn't believe it. We were no where near a PR time and despite the pain in my legs, I could keep going. We were surprisingly maintaining an average 10min/mile pace. I did ask to stop for a stretch break and from miles 13 to 15 there were several stretch and then walk to the lamppost type moments. We decided to make it to the the 2 mile boat house, turn back and run until the garmin said 15. I was happy that every time I checked my watch, another half mile had passed. We hit 15 at the plaza/fountain area with the statues of people know one knows about. (The only statues that matters in our city are William Penn and Rocky.) We stopped, high fived and then bemoaned the 1.5mile walk back to the car.

As soon as we stopped running, my legs went from sore and tight to weak and jelly-like. My stomach also decided to come to life. We also realized that it was cold and our clothes were wet. I dropped my water bottle at one point and it took a good 90 seconds to pick it up. I was hit with the runner's cocktail of pain and pride with a side of nausea. No sooner had I finished saying that eating ShotBlocks at mile 8 really helped me then my head got really light, the world started to spin and I knew I'd be in for a few hours of unpleasant.

Our 15 mile run had somehow triggered a hangover. For about two hours afterward, I was hungover. It was, actually, dehydration caused by too much sugar, not enough carbs or electrolytes, possibly stale ShotBlocks and well, just plain running. But it presented itself in the same manner as a hangover does but with less room spinning and more stretching. I had two 'revisits' with some of the water I had drank but was fine afterward. I all put licked my plate clean at dinner that evening and have been eating cookies nonstop since.

I was amazed how easy it was to wrap my brain around 15 and then do it. Lauren made the excellent point that races, from 5Ks to fulls, put a lot of pressure on us so that the enjoyment of just running is sometimes overlooked by the pursuit of a personal record. On Saturday, two friends set out with a common goal and (one of them) went further than she thought she could. I didn't get a medal from a smiling volunteer; there was no t-shirt. There were no mile markers or fan fare. This experience gave me the confidence and reassurance that I can handle marathon training--when it's time.

Since You're Behind...How's Mine?

2010-12-07T23:38:00.000-05:00

I'll admit that I've been lacking in the running motivation department lately. I'm not training for any races or adventures and have been focusing getting my orange belt in karate.

And it's really cold out! And it's dark in the mornings. And at night. And and and...I don't wanna!!

I've been digging deep into my bag of tricks to get my butt out the door. If I need to do a morning run, I've found that sleeping in the base layer of my running gear definitely helps. The spandex are sometimes daunting enough to turn the alarm off. Because who in their right mind would want to wake up at 5 am to put on incredibly tight clothes?

Righteous Runner TIP of the YEAR-- set your coffee timer the night before. If you do nothing else, make sure that there is a fresh pot brewed and waiting for you. My coffee maker, or miracle machine as I like to call it, is really loud and wakes me up more than my many many alarms. I may be angry at the miracle machine but I do love it's juice. When it's cold out, any warmth is good.

Coffee is made, clothes are on. No excuse now, get to running! Wait, it's cold and dark. Interestingly--since I started taking karate and self-defense classes, I'm more afraid of the dark than ever. I still can't figure out a way around the cold darkness aside from bundle up and be careful. I sometimes like to pretend I'm Helios, the Greek god who dragged the Sun across the sky. It'll be light when you're finished and you can feel a secret smugness throughout the day that you already exercised.

Tonight, I felt particularly unmotivated to run. After getting home late from work with a full briefcase of more work to do, all I really wanted to do was flop on my bed. And eat peanut butter. My tummy hurt and my brain was done. I was about to surrender to the couch when I remembered something.

I got a new shirt. After the Thanksgiving Half Marathon, I treated myself to an obnoxious dryfit running shirt from the super fancy Nike store in the super fancy Lenox Mall. It's purple. On the front in obnoxiously large font, it screams SINCE YOU'RE BEHIND and on the bottom of the back, in smaller font, HOW'S MINE?. I usually stick to race tees or plain Old Navy tees for running but this one made me smile. I wanted to save it for some kind of running occasion but desperate times call for desperate measures.

See cool shirt here, but picture me in it. :-)

I thought to myself, "Lindsey, you can wear your funny new shirt if you go to the gym. And you could even wear your Old Navy running pants with the purple lining."

Fine! I'll go to the gym and run since I have a new outfit. Fine. It's cold, I'm tired but I have a new shirt. Divas and funny women for centuries have been saying it for year. Sometimes, the outfit just makes it happen.

When you can't do something truly useful, you tend to vent the pent up energy in something useless but available, like snappy dressing. ~Lois McMaster Bujold

What a strange power there is in clothing. ~Isaac Bashevis Singer

I'm sure there is a Sex and the City quote out there for the occasion. I'd go try to find it but I just ran 6 miles at 9:30 pm and have two frosty bags of veggies on my knees. So, use your imagination.

Moral of the story, get creative and dig deal for whatever the hell motivation that is needed to get out of bed. The spandex pjs and goofy shirts make me laugh at myself as I pound out the miles. And that's all that matters, right?

A Runner Confession and A Runner Rant

2010-12-02T12:07:00.000-05:00

Here's a little confession for y'all:

This has happened to me several times recently. It's really silly.

If I put my pony tail too high on the back of my head and pull it the whole way through, it swings around as I run. Inevitably it will swing forward and hit my shoulder or back. And I will inevitably get startled and jump.

every. single. time.

Usually after about three mini-heart attacks and a mental run down of the defense moves I'd use to fend off the person who could be behind me before realizing it's my own stupid self, I'll pause my watch and redo the perilous pony tail.

My list of imaginary dangers while running now includes bears and my own hair.

Despite my claims of being a running ninja, I'm actually quite cowardly when I'm out on the road solo. Everything scares me. I've had to remove the following songs from my playlist for terror alerts
Thriller- Micheal Jackson
Magic- David Bowie
No One- Alicia Keys (emotional terror)
Out loud- Dispatch

I think car headlights are swerving off the road and coming right at me. Even if the car is on the other side of the road and there is a body of water between us. I assume that all deer are waiting to be on "When Animals Attack."

And now, for the rant.

I do love my town. It's small, quaint, close to everything and has a Starbucks. I love the centrally located Wawa with it's faithful team of lifers and disgruntled teenagers who provide me with breakfast and dinner multiple times a week. I'm curious about the high concentration of day spas, hair studios and nail salons along the one mile strip that is Main Street and surrounding strip malls. As I strained my eyes and arranged my living will on my pitch black 5:30 am run this morning, I realized the one thing this lovely little yuppie town needs is STREET LIGHTS! They have wonderfully wide walking trails lining the McMansion developments and overpriced Condo Communities, but nary a streetlamp is to be found. Sure, Heacock Meadows and WeThinkWe're Royal Farms developments have tennis courts, pools, ample parking, high property taxes and neighborhood watches, but can we get a streetlamp so that the lonely little morning runners or late nighters can SEE. Perhaps if there were streetlamps along the perimeters of the residential zones, the gaggle of unsupervised tweens that populate the 'streets' would relocate closer to their mother ships and stop skateboarding in front of my house. I sound really really old there, I know.

Perhaps there are no streetlamps along the walking trails because they are not in the "Borough." This area is unlike I've ever seen where people introduce their town and immediately distinguish borough or the name of the development. A typical introductory conversation would go,
Local: Where do you live?
Me: I'm in Yardley.
Local: In the borough?
Me: Huh?
Local: I'm on Big Oak Road in WashingtonWasNearHere Once. Do you know where nail salon Number 45 is? It's close to that.

So, Yardley, proper? Or Yardely McMansionville, or Lower Makefeild or whatever you call yourselves to feel superior to us town dwellers, please invest less in your nails and more in streetlamps. Thank you.

Atlanta Thanksgiving Half Marathon

2010-11-30T16:20:00.000-05:00

My seventh half marathon is now in the books. Lucky number seven.... not so much.

While planning a Thanksgiving reunion with some girlfriends to Atlanta, I stumbled upon ~~searched for a~~ fun turkey trot event. Only I really didn't want to get my butt out of head at 6am on a holiday to run a 5K. When I saw a half marathon option too, I immediately signed up. I thought it would be a great way to explore the city and definitely earn my turkey.

I've become a bit tired of the a$$-crack of dawn wake up times, endless Porto potty lines and constantly getting in the way of someones group photo. All the race materials suggested getting to the starting area an hour before the 7:30am start. Child's play, I thought. Plus our apartment was all of 3 miles away, there is no way we'd have to worry about being late.

Wrong. As we pulled onto the entrance ramp for 1-75 South, we were met with a parking lot. Traffic in the right two lanes was simply not moving and was backed up for miles. I was shocked. Shocked. And uncaffeinated thanks to a closed Starbucks and surprising lack of convience stores in downtown Atlanta, there was no coffee/breakfast stop. Kylie deserves a humanitarian award for dealing with my Jackal/Hyde reactions to this. I went from,
"It's ok, I have an electronic timer on my D-Tag. I don't need to start with everyone," to
"This is crap! This is absolute unprofessional bull!"

We see other runners getting out of cars on the highway and heading towards the race area. To add insult to injury, we could see the course up ahead. At 7:30, I saw the half marathon runners go. At 7:45, I see the 5K start. And at 7:55, we were finally close enough that I jumped out of the car and headed opposite of where the runners were coming from.

I wasn't alone. There were hundreds of other runners stuck in traffic. I caught up with two others who had ditched their rides and went by foot. The race started right outside of Turner's Field, the home of the Atlanta Braves. I forgot where I was for a minute and joked, "No wonder no one goes to Braves games." The one guy was no amused. Ooops. Go Phils!

I made it to the half marathon starting line just as they were about to turn off the sensors and pull up the mats. I stomped my foot on the sensor mat and took off like a bat out of hell. I was furious too. Angry running is good running. Running to catch up to the rest of the race is good running. At first.

The first two miles were a steady incline and I was maintaining a miraculous 8:50 pace. I had to make a conscientious effort to slow down. Because I was in the back, I wasted a lot of energy passing people. At first it felt great but after a while I got really annoyed and developed a deep appreciation of the corral system. Running Guru John Bigham often jokes that if you want to have fun in race, stay to the back. I guess that is true but my good mood was a bit soured by the rough start.

The people in Atlanta are super friendly. The walkers were thanking the volunteers. You'd never see that north of the Mason Dixon Line.

This course was HILLY! It could be described as rolling hills which means a series of never ending up and downs. I was feeling really strong on well-rested legs and what I thought was a well-fueled tummy. I powered up those hills,refusing to walk or look at my watch on them. Atlanta has down hills too! It it a very beautiful city and course. I would have stopped to take some photos but I was in race mode. Sorry, reader(s). (So instead, I used cropped race photos of me looking like I'm about to cry and further evidence that I don't lift my lefts when I run.) We went through midtown Atlanta to Piedmont Park to fancy residential areas through some college campus and ended back in front of Turner's Field.

Miles 1-8 flew by! A new PR was in sight. I crossed the 10K at 55 minutes which is really good for a non-treadmill run for me. I was perking up and despite a play list dispute with my iPod, was starting to enjoy myself. I overheard two women say how they were worried about the second part of the race which had the big hills. Huh? What? Big hills? What were these?

I began to tire at mile 10 and was absolutely miserable for the last 3 miles. I figured I had dominated the first nine miles of hills and surrendered to the final three. I tend to get sick to my stomach during the last 3 mile which is a direct result from not eating enough before or during the race. This time around I actually felt lightheaded too.It always slows me down and will be something I'll work on for my next. I walked up the hills and would do 20-30 second walk breaks. Hey, it happens.

I survived and finished my seventh half marathon! Lucky number seven it was not as I almost missed the race and then died at the end. But, I'm still proud of myself for having maintained a good pace until the end and for not yelling at anyone throughout.

My watch time is 2:12 and chip time is 2:15. Not a PR or a best race by any means, but I'll take it!

Below is a diagram of the official course map and elevation chart and my thoughts along the way.

2010-11-23T00:19:00.000-05:00

Disclaimer: Again, I'm a little behind on this post. It was originally supposed to go up on Saturday night and then on Sunday night. Creative juices and time management didn't start until Monday.

This is my friend, Lauren. She's pretty cool. Lauren loves history, her cats, the Philadelphia Phillies and running.

Lauren has been a huge guide on my running journey. She was the first person I ever met who had run more than, like, five miles. During the Fall of 2008, our friendship solidified over a mutal love of the Phillies, Lost and her lack of airplane making skills. Also, she ran a lot. I was still doing 4 and 5 miles in the local park after work with no training plan or knowledge. She was always there with advice and encouragement. Lauren's tales of 'races' and longs runs were a major factor in my New Years Resolution to conquer a Philadelphia Broad Street 10 Miler.

To be honest, I didn't even know that event existed until I met Lauren. I didn't know what a half marathon was or that running 1 mile burns one hundred calories.

She was running 10, 15, 20 miles on the weekends with Team in Training in preparation for the 2009 Disney Marathon.

A month before what was supposed to be the best weekend of her life, that she had trained and fundraised for, she woke up one morning with an unbearable pain in her hips. That pain was stress fracture in both hips. It was devastating. I remember getting an email from her and just feeling my stomach hit the floor. No marathon. No running. She could barely walk.

While Lauren was suffereing a major heartbreak, I was falling in love with running. I had begun my training for Broad Street and was constantly peppering her with "I RAN 6 MILES!" emails and questions like "Why do I not want junk food any more?" And even though she was in pain and upset, she answered and encouraged. It wasn't until she said I was ready to run it that I believed it I was. She rarely, rarely complained. You never knew how much agony, emotional and physical she was in. We still went to baseball games, watched Lost Season 5 and gossiped about coworkers.

With determination and patience, Lauren's hips eventually healed. And she was runnin' again.

Here she is at the 2009 Philadelphia Distance Run. This was my first half marathon and her second.

Lauren and I frequently have text message conversations consisting of nothing but a distance, time and lots of !!!!!!!!! or distance, time and some weather-related profanity. She is my favorite runny buddy. Her determination and tenacity about our sport is unmatched. Lauren has her running schedules prepared months in advance and will stick to them, come hell or high water. And, from the time we have started to run together, she has improved so much. Girl is speedy now. I remember telling her about speedwork and fartleks once. Fast forward three months and I could barely keep up with her and I silently cursed sharing that information. ;-)

We've run together a lot over the past year or so. Though neither of us will admit it, we compete against each other. She wins, everytime. We've stood next to each other at the starting lines of three half marathons, two 5-milers, one 5K and one 10 miler.

And on Sunday, November 21, 2010, Lauren Curran ran the Philadelphia Marathon. And she killed it. And I've never been more proud and inspired by a single person ever. I almost cried when she asked me to run miles 20 through 25 with her. I made sure, absolutely sure to be at the mile 20 point that day and kept an obsessive watch on the runner tracker to anticipate when she'd be approaching. When I finally saw that purple shirt and white hat making the way down Main Street of Manayunk, I got butterflies in my stomach.

As we ran--yes, she was still running at mile 20-- I chatted mindlessly about everything and anything I could. The only complaint from that girl was tight hamstrings. We took little walk breaks at each mile. She was incredible. I reminded her of the horrific hills she had to deal while training in Princeton all summer. The hills were gone, but her strength remained. I kept looking at her and saying, "Hey, Lauren. You're running your marathon." I got a little choked up when the mile 25 marker came up and it was time for Lauren to conquer that final mile.

We all have obstacles and bumps in the road. I'm sure there were other runners with injuries and comeback stories on that course. But, I don't know them. I do know Lauren. And I know that Lauren has helped, encouraged,infuriated, motivated and amazed me for two years now.
So, thank you Lauren! And to show my gratitude and love, I leave you this delightfully embarrassing post. :-) You're awesome. I'm proud of you. And I hope you're going to help me get to marathon ready someday.

Cheating on Running

2010-11-17T16:12:00.000-05:00

I cheated.
I’m a cheater.I am in a long term relationship with running. We’ve been together for two years. Two years of dedication, heartache and fun.

A few months ago, however, my eyes started to wander. Every relationship goes through ups and downs and you have to spice it up a little. In runner world, it’s called cross-training. Enter karate. I started casually seeing karate a once or twice a week and running seemed to be ok with it. It was. My legs, core and arms got a lot stronger and being stronger is always a good thing. My relationship with running became one of those hard-to-explain open relationships where running had my heart and emotional self but karate was the fun, exciting element.

That lasted for a couple of months. I earned a yellow belt and made some friends in karate. But, I suck at relationships and have major commitment issues. Or a short attention span. Things weren’t so great with running and even karate was feeling routine. Once again, my eyes started to wander.

I heard about kickboxing classes at the gym. I was angry at gym but wanted to give it a chance for redemption. I’ve watched women and a few brave men run around like crazy people to techno remixes of pop tunes and have seen the survivors walk towards the locker rooms with dazed looks on their faces. I was curious. I’ve avoided classes such as those because I lack coordination and have a self-righteous “I’m a runner. I don’t need no stinkin’ classes” approach to such things.

A friend asked me to join her at one of these mysterious kickboxing classes the other night. My frantic desire for something new led me to say yes. My nerves at trying something new also led me to text her twenty times with such pressing questions as “are they going to laugh at me?” and the always important “what do I wear?” I felt a little pang of guilt as she told me to bring my boxing gloves. Can I use my karate boxing gloves in kickboxing class? It felt like taking your mistress to your wife’s favorite restaurant. What’s a Catholic girl with commitment issues to do?

I’ll skip the foreplay parts because this is a family-read blog, but I had fun. I was uncoordinated and awkward, but I never felt overwhelmed or tired. I actually had energy to burn at the end and if I had time, would have banged out a few miles on the treadmill. It was a good sweat. Now, I was intrigued and I had that “I’m doing something bad and getting away with it” rush going. My friend asked if I wanted to try cardio kickboxing the next night. “Wait, that wasn’t cardio?,” I exclaimed! Oh, yes, I was in. Because if that 45-minute session wasn’t cardio, I needed to see what was!

I should have stopped while I was ahead.

We laced up our sneakers and squeezed into sports bras the following night for round two. And, hooo boy! Did I get my butt kicked! Remember those comments I made about not being coordinated and awkward? Those are one hundred percent factual statements. Now, factor lack of coordination in with an ability to maintain counts and being the only newbie in class and you get the limp-flailing, ten-step-behind-low-kicking-wrong-way-facing sweaty mess that was me in that class. The incredibly fast and energetic instructor kept yelling out combos at a pace which led me to believe she was stuck on fast forward and everyone else seemed to jump, kick hook jabcrosshookhookelbowdoggekickhookcrosskneekickhookscissor and SWITCH in perfect unison. My only thought was, “I’d rather be running.” I longed for the slower pace and cute sensei from karate. Yes, we did similar combos but at a much slower pace because they’re more focused on technique and strength than caloric burn and full body workouts.

I silently apologized to running and karate and promised to never cheat again. I worried that I’d be unable to move for the rest of week, thus ruining my monthly evaluation at karate and threatening my training for (another) half marathon next week. Did I ruin everything, both relationships, by trying the other class?
I'm happy to report that my penance of guilt and glutimine powder (and Advil, water and Epson salt) seemed to have worked and my muscles are a normal amount of sore.

I can't promise I won't cheat on running again. We think that it we start training for a marathon one day, I'll stop stepping out on running. I mean, that works in other relationships right?

LA ForgetU-ness

2010-11-12T16:29:00.000-05:00

I used to love my gym. I felt like a part of something as I handed my swipe card to the cheerful receptionist and beelined to the women's locker room. Yes, we areall making choices to be here to be better, healthier, happier I secretly chanted as I got changed and headed towards the treadmills. Back then, I could feel the adrenaline pumping and thrived off the sweaty energy. I would wave as I drove past it and proudly exclaim, "That's my gym!" Back when I thought that missing one run was going to undo every other run, I was there a lot. During the suffocating hot summer days, I'd be there. During the freezing cold and knee-deep snowy nights, I'd be there. I'd be there after work. I'd be there on weekends. Nothing says "loser" like being at the gym past 8 o'clock on a Friday night. Nothing.

I had a personal trainer for about a year which guaranteed a weekly visit. We ventured into that other area--the one with the mirrors and meatheads. I even did that terrifying chinup/dip machine and didn't die. Although, I would question her every time. She'd walk me over and adjust the weights and tell me to start with 15. I'd politely ask why she was trying to kill me and what I ever did to her. I was also doing a lot of speedwork training in a delusional attempt at a sub-two hour half marathon. It's a lot easier to do speedwork on a treadmill than a track.

Fast forward:

Then my trainer moved away and I canceled the personal training package. I started taking karate classes a few times a week and running outside more and having more time and before I knew it, I hadn't been to the gym in two or three months.

I've been enjoying my casual status with running for the past few weeks. I started to feel gross and stuffy after the zero miles weeks and decided it was time. It was time to return to the gym.

I hate that place. Hate is maybe too strong a word. But it has significantly dropped in it's standings of places I like to be. First place--bed; Last place-- grocery story; Second to last place-- gym.

What I used to think was the stench of calories burning and muscle eating fat is now just plain stench.
Riddle me this, readers. I've been watching the same group of men play racquetball for about ninety minutes, three nights a week for two years. And not a single one of them have lost a single pound. They.all.look.exactly.the.same. (I haven't lost a single stinkin' pound in this adventure either, but my body has changed.) AND they have yet to figure out that the plastic doors are see through. Sometimes I just want to open the door and yell, "WE CAN SEE YOU!"

You're often on the same schedule as others and see the same faces every time. I swear there is a Shane Victorino lookalike who comes in around 8pm every night. I call him Shane Victorin-i. (Although, I don't think we'd be best buddies like the real deal and I would.) There is one overweight woman who works out in the pool and I've seen her slowly loosing weight over time. I want to say something but have absolutely no idea what or when. I'm proud of her though.
And there are the cute Asian ladies who come in every night. They're adorable and scary. I have no idea what they do there but they always seem to be getting out of the shower.

For a few months, I was on the same schedule as a lady who looks exactly like our high school drama teacher, crazy blond hair and all. She would attack the ellipticals with fury and seemed to change her shirt every twenty minutes. You know how I noticed that? Because I have seen that woman topless more times than I think necessary. There is acceptable amount of exposure while getting changed in an locker room and then there is this lady. She would seriously take her shirt off to go the bathrooms. And since we were on the same schedule, I'd see them coming and going! I've been going to the gym later in the evenings because a quieter, less crowded gym is a much more bearable, less rage inducing gym. I also thought this would spare me from the locker room flasher. Nope. The first evening of my return, I turn the corner and bam!

Another mystery of the gym is the sitting on machines. This phenomena occurs mostly in the men and mostly on the ab machines. Maybe I'm only noticing this because I want to use the ab machines and there is always, always, some dude just sitting on them staring off into space. I understand you need to give your muscles recovery time in between sets. However, is it really necessary to listen to the entire song? Do your three sets of 25 or 50 or whatever other macho number you're doing and move on. I've never observed a woman hovering on an ab or any other machine for too long. I assume this is because women a) naturally uncomfortable on that side of the gym and b) have darn much too to do to sit on a machine for five minutes without actually doing anything. More and more, I find that men seem to have this constant luxury of time whereas women are always rushed and always frazzled.

*Side note: I know that working out in public and even entering a gym in intimidating and hard for many people out there. By no means am I attempting to mock or discredit the efforts and dedication of those whom are there. I don't know the stories behind these faces.These are just the thoughts that bumble through my head as I pound away on the treadmill. We're all beautiful people.)

I'll continue to drag myself there as it's cold and dark in the evenings now and the morning thing just ain't happening lately. And I'll continue to roll my eyes at the prissy receptionist and dose my hands in sanitizer when I leave.

NYC Marathon: A wonderful day of running watching

2010-11-10T23:15:00.000-05:00

NYC Marathon: No, I didn’t run it.

Writers note: You have no idea what I went through to put this post together. I need to work on my photo adding abilities... or my laptop may pay the price. Is it better to write the post and then add photos or add photos and write around?

One day. I ventured up to the bustling, busy, blissful concrete jungle that is New York City with a three-part mission: a) visit with high school bestie, Ayo; b) be not in Philadelphia, Bucks County, Princeton, or lost somewhere between them and c) watch the NYC Marathon with the hopes that it gets my running mojo flowing again and quells this fear I have of the full.

Missions accomplished! I’ll spare the details of the A and B aside from my first drag show, the Seinfeld restaurant and fancypants. When I originally mentioned to Ayo that the marathon was going on I’d like to get up early on Sunday to watch it, I was met with silence. I realized my error and corrected it to “I want to go to the Marathon by myself on Sunday morning while you sleep in and I’ll bring you back a Coke.”
I researched the marathon route and was happy to see that miles 22-26 where in Central Park and all I’d have to do is walk the half mile from Ayo’s Upper West Side apartment to the Upper East Side to watch some running magic. What I didn’t research, or consider, is that it takes a while to run a full marathon. It was like an algebra equation. If 40,000 runners start at 9 am and have to run 26.2miles and what time will the fastest ones be at mile 25? Ummmmm….. crap. Also, a factor to consider is the 30 minutes difference from the wheelchair start to the elites and the 20 minutes between elite women to elite men. And even if they’re super fast, it still takes a while. I ran through Central Park to arrive on 5^th Ave and realize I was two hours early. The elite wheelchairs were just starting to zip through when I arrived.



Since no runners were on the course (yet) but everything was set up, I did a ‘test run’ and ran along the course from mile 23 through 25. I was just making sure it was safe! J I wasn’t the only over excited fan out there though.
The army of volunteers were ready and the water stations were stocked and I swear that even above the daily hum of the nation’s largest city, you could hear the pounding stampede of marathoners.

I took advantage of my mathematical mistake and got a good watching spot at mile 25. I figured this is where you have to truly gut it out and power through. The last mile is usually the best and the worst feelings in the world.

And so, we waited.
And waited. And waited. And finally….
RUNNERS! I cannot tell you how incredibly cool it was to see the elite women come zipping past. It was mile 25 and they still looked strong. I have video of the first and second finishers flying by, but I’m not that fancy yet.



These photos aren’t in order by finisher or anything. But they’re close. The group of elite women was much larger than I had expected. Second place went to an American, Shaylene Flanagan-- making her marathon debut. I overheard a group of people talking about a few of the elite American women as if they were all friends. So I was either standing next to American running royalty or really pretentious New Yorkers with subscriptions to Runner’s World and memberships to NYAC. They cheered loudly whenever anyone with NYAC shirts came by.
The men were close behind the women and also flew through mile 25 like it was a 5K.  Gebre Gebremariam, Ethiopia, the winner of the 2010 NYC Marathon had never run a marathon before. He crossed the finish line at 2:08--which is my half marathon PR. Yeah. He average 4:53 minute pace for 26.2 miles.
Here is Meb Keflizighi, an American running hero. He won the 2009 NYC Marathon and was the first American male to win a marathon in 28 years. He came in sixth on Sunday.

I was expecting a great herd of runners led by the elites. But that wasn’t how it happened at all. The professional fasties went by one at a time. I guess that’s why it actually IS racing to them. One at a time soon became clusters of five or six and then a steady stream of speedsters. I called the first wave of non professional runners Bostoner’s because they were all qualifying for Boston Marathon in April. Slowly the steady stream turned into a flood I was expecting.



I watched and cheered and screamed my little runner’s heart out. I even flirted with a guy standing next to me. I yelled every cliché I knew! “You’re almost there!” “JUST ONE MORE MILE!” “LOOKING GOOD!”
If someone had their name on their shirt, I pointed and cheered specifically for them. If they were running for a cause, I yelled thank you. If they were walking, I said keep going! It was truly inspirational and amazing to see people reaching the end of a long journey and to have only a shred of understanding of what their going through. The journey to a marathon isn’t about the finish line. It’s the training runs, the dedication and the heart. I stood and cheered for about three or four hours.
I started to think that hey, everyone is looking so good and strong because they’re gutting it out and reaching deep down inside for mile 25. I needed to see some walls. I need to see a marathon be hard and see people hurting to know I can do it too. I don’t know if that makes sense but I don’t expect the smiles and pride at the end of the race to reflect the previous pain.
And…um…it got a little boring up there and people were getting pushy. I decided to see some deep marathon madness and walk back towards 96^th street.
As I moseyed on back, I saw what I needed to see. I saw people walking. I saw tears. I saw limping. I saw that thing when a person puts their head down for a few seconds, takes a deep breath and then just powers forward. You know just from watching that they had said or thought or felt something deep down in order to move forward. It’s just there.


The wonderful thing about this sport is that everybody can do it, all shapes, all sizes, all nationalities, all economic levels, whatever. I saw a man with two prosthetic legs run through the 25 mile marker and I saw many a 70 year old zip past twentysomethings. A lot of the names I couldn’t yell because I couldn’t pronounce them. Signs in every language were being waved and I’m pretty sure I heard five different ways of saying “GO RUNNERS”!
It was along Fifth Ave, I realized I could do this and I can do this and very soon I will do this. Oh yes, I’m ready.

Because, if a Chilen miner who was trapped underground for 69 days with 32 other men can do this, I can do this. Yes, I saw him. Yes, here’s a photo.

I saw runners wrapped in blankets with their medals hanging from their necks as I made my way back to Ayo’s and on my way home. I had to hold myself back from giving them a hug or handshake. I wanted to ask everyone if it was their first marathon, how they did, and to thank them for the inspiration. I am motivated now simply out of out envy and awe. I want to limp my way down the 96^th Street Subway stop, chilled to the bone, achy, anxious, hungry, and proud. I want to refuse to sit down because I won’t be sure I can get up.
It was an amazing day that really brought everything home for me. I remembered that crazy “I can’t believe I just did that!” pride and reveling in the tangible work you put in to get there. I know I can do half marathons, they’re almost easy at this point. I needed to see a marathon, not read about it or watch a documentary about it or have someone tell me about it. I had to see it to believe it. And now, I believe I can!

Because you're amazing/just the way you are

2010-11-01T13:15:00.000-04:00

Girls on the Run Practice 5K

I have had the wonderful opportunity to volunteer with the Girls of the Run Program for the past ten weeks. I first learned of the program when my niece participated in it a few years ago. I wasn't a runner then but that was one of my introductions to organized running and training.

GOTR was started the inspirational Molly Barker as a tool to empower and educate young girls about confidence, fitness and strength. It's essentially a empowerment program with a running problem. You can learn more about Girls on the Run http://www.girlsontherun.org/. and I'll write more about what the past twelve weeks have meant later.

The culminating event for GOTR is a community 5K. As part of the training, we conducted on "Practice 5K" this past Saturday. It was truly amazing.

Coach Anne is our fearless leader and the absolute epitome of what a girl on the run is. She's always energetic, positive and strong. She's coached this program for years and makes it seem effortless. She wanted the Practice 5K to be as authentic to a real 5K race as possible. She asked for parents to donate food and beverages and had individual 'finisher medals' made for the girls. She also found a giant blow up spider to use as the 'finish line' and got one of the parents to donate his time and equipment for real DJ music.

Coaches and girls were encouraged, though no required, to wear running-friendly costumes. For some reason, the term "runaway bride" popped into my head for this event. For my running-friendly costume, I found a white sundress (I think it's the one I graduated high school in...ten years ago...), a cheap novelty veil, and a pair of sneakers. Get it? I even wore a blue sports bra for the something blue. :-) I thought it was funny but definitely felt out of place. I got many questionable stares as I was buying 2 boxes of Joe and 100 Munckins at Dunkin Donut's. What, doesn't everyone run in a white eyelet sundress overtop a UA turtleneck, black shorts and sneakers at 8:30 am on a Saturday? Coach Jenny found a pair of butterfly wings and a headband for a "Queen Butterfly Fairy" and Coach Anne simply added a headband, rose-colored glasses, and pigtails for a "Hippie". Much better and more appropriate.

The girls and parents arrived early and were ready to run. Everyone loved the giant spider and creative lap board. Our track is 1/3 of a mile and the girls would need to complete 9 laps. The music was pumping as the girls lined up at the "start line." With an enthusiastic pep talk from Coach Anne, they were off!

I was tasked with handing out lap counter bracelets, snapping photos, cheering, and sibling herding. A lot of the little sisters and brothers wanted to run too. I don't know if they were all so caught up in the moment, wanted to stay warm or just wanted a prize.

"Coach Lindsey! Can we run too?" asks two exact mini replicas of their older sisters

"YES! Absolutely. Go run, kids!! It's so great you want to run too."

"Can we have a bracelet if we run?"

"Of course!"

"Can we have a bracelet if we don't run?"

I think it was the prize. Speaking of the bracelets, why is the color so important? I couldn't just hand a pink one to Olivia, she wanted green. And Sophie already had three blue ones and wanted a purple. And Isabel had a purple and wanted a pink next. It was a like a logic puzzle.

The girls did so well! They ran under the spider with giant smiles on their faces. As the laps started to pile up, we had to prepare for the finish line excitement! Coach Anne wanted each girl to get the opportunity to break the tape and each parent to get a photo of it. I added 'tape holder' to my list of tasks and it was getting hectic! I was cheering and dancing and holding crete paper and snapping photos and handing out bracelets while Coach Bridgette was keeping count of each girls laps and updating us on the leaders. Allie's on 8! Sarah's on 9! Margaret is on 9! Here they come! It got crazy but was so fun! I don't know how many times I screamed "You're amazing!" "GREAT JOB!" "ONLY X MORE LAPS!" "KEEP GOING!" "GOOOOOO!"

Each girl got her break the tape photo even if it meant a few tries. Coach Jenny handed out the handmade finisher medals. Parents seemed to be having a good time and several dads were put to use 'holding down the spider' as it kept getting blown around.

As each of the 20 beautiful girls finish, they would gather by the spider and cheer for the others. Maiwah was our final finisher and had no interest in the photo or medal, she headed right for the snack table. I couldn't believe that 20 girls had just run 3 miles! We're usually trying to negotiate them to run just to that tree, now run to the next tree, and now the next tree and that morning they knocked out 9 laps!

The coaches gathered the girls in a circle to 'process the lesson.' I was already so proud and impressed by these girls that I had to hold myself back from hugging each and every one. As their parents looked on and Coach Anne started to tell them all how proud they should be, "Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars started to play. I'm not sure if Coach Anne had that planned or not but there was no more perfect moment for it to play. The theme of GOTR is teaching confidence, self esteem and to respect ourselves just the way we are. Coach Anne said that song makes her think of all the GOTR every time she hears it. "And when you smile/the whole world stops and stares for a while/because you're amazing/just the way you are..."

And, I may have shed a tear on that. And I may be mildly obsessed with that song now. I may still get teary eyed when I hear it and it may be my ring tone right now.

The entire morning was incredible! I hope that the girls do understand that running 3 miles is something that not many people ever do and they did it at ages 8, 9 and 10. I hope they realize that they're all beautiful, intelligent, silly, adorable and kind girls and won't fall into those 'girl box' traps. I hope they felt good about themselves for doing something that was fun, positive and healthy. After the parents left, we lingered behind cleaning and dancing. It was IMPOSSIBLE to not be happy and feel lucky to be alive.

Zero Miles and Zero Guilt

2010-10-28T10:27:00.000-04:00

I haven't run this week. At all. Not a single mile has been logged into my dailymile journal. I'm not sure where my sneakers are at the moment.

I have set my alarm three times this week with the truest intentions of a morning run. I laid out my clothes and prepped the coffee maker. It was raining on Tuesday (darn!), and Wednesday (shoot!) mornings and today was simply too foggy to be safe (oh man!). Did I then feel guilty about it for the rest of the day and force myself to the gym in the evenings? Nope.

And you know what?

I feel great! My knees are happy. I'm not getting random shots of mystery pain in my legs and my shoes (somewhat) fit this morning. It's 10:30 am and I'm not considering eating my arm as a mid-morning snack. I'm not exhausted. My shoes fit easily this morning because my feet aren't swollen. My energy level is up and I'm willing to walk to my coworkers office instead of emailing. I'm not panicking on the inside about decreasing mileage or gaining a pound or ten.

Huh? What's happening? Who is this girl? Didn't you say you can't go three days without running for fear of the world as you know it completely coming to an end? Are you and running fighting again?

Relax, I'm just resting.

On Saturday, I accomplished my goal of racing or participating in 100 miles in 2010. With four half marathons, two 10-milers, and a handful of smaller events, I successfully raced 104 miles from February to October. Those 100 miles do not take into account the hundreds of training miles and hours of cross training.
As I set out on an easy run on Sunday, my legs let me know that they were D-O-N-E. I could barely maintain a 10:45 minute pace. After 2 miles, I gave up and walked home. This was a huge 'listen to your body' moment. The pain in my shins and calves as I ran was more than the typical discomfort. It was threatening. With each forced step, my legs were saying, "If you don't stop now, we're going to make you stop." In my head, they sounded like my mom would while giving the I'll-give-you-something-to-cry-about threat.

I feel like this week off is allowing my body to play catch up. I've slept well these past few nights and have woken up feeling rested. Because I'm not burning through every calorie consumed and my body isn't working as hard, the bizarre cravings have also subsided. They've been replaced with a want for veggies and meat which means I was probably low on protein.
My appetite has decreased significantly and when I do get hungry, it's not accompanied by a lightheaded desperate feeling. I'm not HANGRY (hungry + angry = hangry). I bought a jar of peanut butter on Tuesday night and it's still unopened. That's saying something, people.

I'm not worried about losing my "runner-ness" because I know that soon my legs will be asking me to run and a new race will come my way that I'll want to train towards. This is the runner's cycle. You run until you hate it and then you rest until you need it. In this interim, I won't have to schedule runs or have distance/pace goals. I love the "off season" season because running returns to it's fun roots. I'll be out there because I feel like it and because I can.

My next run will be on Saturday with Girls on the Run as we do our 'practice 5k'. I predict that with running back and forth, I'll log 4 miles. And that's just fine with me.

A 10 Mile Run Down Memory Lane

2010-10-25T16:53:00.000-04:00

October 16, 2010. Octorara Covered Bridge Classic

A few months ago my family started telling me about a 10 mile run sponsored by the Octorara Community Recreation Center/YMCA. They finally figured out that if the pull of home-cooked food, free laundry and fun kid times wasn't enough to get me home, the promise of a bib and a free tshirt would surely do the trick. And my niece told me about it, so how could I say no?

I loaded up my car with three weeks worth of towels, socks and "Woolite Clothes (read: my nice work clothes that only Mom knows how to wash without ruining or have some kind of stain) and headed home for a weekend to run the Octorara Covered Bridge Classic 10 Mile Run.

I was really looking forward to this run as a private homecoming of sorts. While I grew up in the Octorara area and went to school there for 10 years, I've never truly felt like a huge part of the community. The problem with a small town school is that your role in life until you're 18 is defined when you are in elementary school. The fact that I didn't find cashier at Dutchmanns Grocery Store to be an acceptable career path really set me back socially. Having your mom as a teacher in the gauntlet that is middle school didn't help my case either. Oh, and I never shut up and was definitely a "late bloomer."

This was a very low key event and I honestly didn't know what to expect. The registration website crashed three times while I was attempting to register and I ended up just emailing the race director with my information. My new running philosophy is just have fun and relax so I wasn't stressing about it all. I was mostly concerned that I'd get lost along the hilly backroads of Atglen and Christiana. I was trying to not think of the hills.

The morning of the race, I woke up feeling great. I never sleep as well as I do in my old bedroom. My parents drove me to the starting which was nice change from me having to be coordinator, parking finder and arrangement maker. The registration was the parking lot of the church in Atglen. If you grew up in the area, you know exactly where I mean. The starting line was in front of what used to be the Atglen Market. It's boarded up now.

As we waited in the church basement, I joked with my parents that this could be first race where I could potentially finish last. There were maybe 100 runners milling around. Gulp. And while you can never judge a person's speed by their size, terrors of being last flashed threw my head. Everyone was really friendly and chatting about the unknown degree of hills we'd be encountering. The start line was just a guy with a pop gun, bullhorn and stop watch. This, again, was so refreshing compared to the 30,000 people crushing corral systems from bigger races. He yelled GO! and off we went.

We headed out Upper Valley Road. The wind was at our backs and the sun was shining. It was a beautiful day for running. I forgot to start my Garmin until 3 minutes into the race. Oops. I barely remember the first two miles as I was running down memory lane passing houses of former friends and remembering what it was like to 13 years old again. As we came up to mile 2 and I was looking at the horse farm where Shanna S and Lindsay used to ride, I saw a familiar red SUV coming the other way. (Roads weren't blocked off for this event) It honks and out of the windows pop my nephew and niece!

My mom had called my sister and her kids to tell them the course and they tracked me down! I slowed down and slapped their hands. I asked for a ride but I don't think they heard me. How can you not smile and feel great when you have a carload of support! A few runners laughed as I threw my hands up and waved.

Behind my sister's car was an Amish buggy with a family of 4 watching in complete awe. I can only imagine what that family was thinking as they see a line of crazy Englishmen running with numbers on their shirts. For no reason. While they're freezing in buggies. There's work to be done! How lazy can they be to just run? :-)

As we passed farms, horses ran along with us and friendly, non annoyed drivers waved. It was a beautiful day indeed. At mile 3, I heard "LINDSEY! I MISSED THE START!" and a blue streak come whizzing past me. That blue streak was a very speedy Ashley Caldwell Landers. Though I wasn't friends with Ashley in high school, I remember her being one of the most genuine and nice girls in her class. I was happy to see her zip past and glad I've been able to connect with her through running and Facebook. :-)

We went through the Covered Bridge on Bailey's Crossroads and I was maintaining a smooth 9:20 pace. And then came the hill. It's like the opposite of a light at the end of the tunnel. It's a hill at the end of the tunnel. That hill ended up lasting 1.5 miles of steady incline. It was rough. And I ran it. I usually wimp out and walk up hills. This was a hometown hill and I was going to own it.

I remembered driving that hill everyday as it was part of Bus 18's route. I was the first one and last one off that bus for 8 years. I would talk to the bus driver, Mrs. Thompson, every day about whatever was on my mind. I even wanted to be a bus driver when I was a little girl. I thought about the antics and conversations and friendships and crushes and bumps that took place daily as the school bus hauled us around. Before I knew it, we were at the top of the hill! Fallowfield Road, consider yourself owned.

The massive hill ended at the top corner of Mocassin Run Golf Course where we turned right onto Highland Road. At the corner of the Golf Course, I see my parent's minvan and my mom and niece hop out! "HI LINDS! I BROUGHT YOU WATER AND AN APPLE!" I ran over and gave Hope a quick hug and took a gulp of the water before heading on my way again.

My sister and the kids surprised me by showing up at my first race ever and gave me the strength I need to finish. Mom and Dad were able to come to my first half marathon a few months later. I wish they could make it to more of these silly races because having people on the sidelines is so motivating and comforting. I was so happy and proud of them for coming! :-) I mean, I did practically run through their backyard. I still envision the images of my sister and kids on the sidelines or my parents during the really rough miles. It made me laugh they these two spotings of my family were the only support throughout the race except for the finish line. And my mom tried to feed me. Because that's how she does.

There was another massive hill at mile 5 but this one had a decline! The wind was a brutal at times and the chill in the air kept me moving. I paced with two ladies in their late forties from mile 5 on. I listened to them chat about IT Bands and their sons and husbands and travels while enjoying the gorgeous fall weather. I've driven Creek Road before but never noticed the little cottages on the banks or historic signs along the road. I had to resist the urge to stop and take pictures. I turned my Ipod on around mile 7 and my playlist was spot on for perfect nostalgic, easy music.

I looked behind me a few times and was relieved to see I wasn't last but there, um, weren't too many others back there. I've found a new running-spiration...fear of being last. I was also experiencing a wardrobe fail and may have accidentally exposed more of my bum to those behind me while attempting to roll the waist of my pants up without giving myself an atomic wedgie. Yep. That happened.

As always, by mile 9, I was ready to be done running. I had slowed to a 9:45 pace and my right knee was definitely letting itself be known. My dad made the astute observation earlier that mile 9 was sponsored by the local funeral home. I giggled about that for a bit and also thought about the family I used to babysit who lived along that road.

The last mile went into the wind and the final stretch went uphill. Will they ever learn? It didn't matter because at the top of the hill was my adorable mom and niece cheering! Ok, my mom was cheering. Hope was doing that "expressing excitement in the coolest way possible because I'm 11 and am in public" thing. I finished at 1:38! There was no hectic herding at the end or volunteers shoving bottles at you. Nope, I gave my bib tag to the volunteer and walked the two feet back to find my family. I gave Hope a sweaty hug and high five and finally took the apple from my mom. We stuck around for the awards ceremony-- five minutes later. Remember that blue streak from mile 3? Yeah, she came in second place! AWESOME!

Overall, I'd give this race an 8. I almost got hit by a huge SUV trying to make a left INTO runner traffic on a road that was closed off which I didn't appreciate. The course was challenging but not awful. The beginning of the race needs some attention as several runners missed the start and 3 different start times were advertised. There was water support at good locations and I loved being able to actually see the scenic route. After a year of big races, this small event was a great change. I think I'm done with the mass registrations, the huge expos and the hassles.

Afterwards, I got to go watch my nephew play soccer and then had a huge (free) lunch. And a nap. What else can you ask for?

Half Marathons: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly Photos

2010-10-13T22:07:00.000-04:00

Why, hello there reader who is not me checking in on my blog.

About a week ago (October 2, 2010--I have no concept of time lately), I completed my sixth half marathon! A half marathon is 13.1 miles. I sometimes like to say that I've also done three full marathons since you know two halves make a whole.

My first half was the 2009 Philadelphia Distance Run. I had fallen in love with running earlier in the spring while training for the Philadelphia Broad Street 10 Mile Run and figured, "Hey, what's another 3 more?" I remember hearing those words come out of my mouth before I had realized I even thought them. (This is some kind of genetic disorder thing I have. My mouth literally goes faster than my brain.) I ran a lot that summer but never with a true training plan. I followed the principle of increasing my long runs on the weekends and doing about 20 miles during the week.
I had no idea what I was doing or getting myself in to. I made every mistake there was to make. I didn't follow a plan. I ran in old shoes. I didn't hydrate. I didn't taper. I let my personal trainer put me through a killer leg strength workout three days before the race and was in so much pain. I ate nothing the day before. I bought new stuff to wear during the race. I drank too much gatorade. I took Gus for the first time in race and didn't even do that right! I stressed about it for days.

The only thing I did right for this race was have my parents come and find
me at mile 8. I run the same course in Philly a lot (Kelly and West River
Drive) and still see my dad and mom clear as day standing at Montergomery
Ave.

I finished my first half in 2:21. I was so proud! And sore! And completely addicted to half marathons.

As most runners do, I immediately signed up for another half marathon. This is a side effect of what is called the runner's high. It's commonly experienced after races or anything involving bibs, medals and portapotties. I've since rethought this phenomenon which so many think is rooted in pride and endorphines. I think it's actually just our stomachs and brains being so incredibly happy that for at least two days, there is non stop and nonoveranalyzed eating.

So, to The Spirit of Pittsburgh Half Marathon I went. This time, I encouraged/motivated/challenged/drug through hell my best friend Bethany to do it with me! This was a wonderful racing experience since there was a road trip, family, friends, Phillies, and a running all in one weekend. I was a bit smarter this time and much more relaxed. After a beautiful, but hilly, run through the city of Pittsburgh, I finished this race is 2:18. I shaved 3 minutes off my last! This is my favorite running photo ever.

In the spring of 2010, I added two more half marathons to my collection, bringing my full marthon count to two. I learned the value of eating well before an event and not mixing dating with running at the Rutger's Unite Half Marathon in New Jersey. I have a race recap of that already done. Thanks to a speedy demon friend and blissfully chilly temperatures, I earned a personal PR of 2:09--which is almost 10 minutes better than Pittsburgh and 15 better than Philly! This is where I decided to rename PR Progress Report.

Number 5 came in an poorly organized, mess of a race known as the Oddyssey Half Marathon in Philadelphia. We learned of this 'event' at the expo for the 2010 Broad Street Run. They coat-tailed themselves onto the BSR, claiming that you can keep your training going from BSR for four weeks and conquer a half. BSR is the first week of May and Oddyssey was the last. I really have nothing good to say about this event.The majority of the registration money was spent on high tech photography, tracking equiptment and stupid obstacles but not on porta potties or course support. There was a huge HUGE hill at the end that killed everyone and few spectators.

I finished this "race" in 2:12 and to this day KNOW my time would have been in the 2:05 range were we not ambushed with that incline. I had stuck with the BSR and Rutgers training plans (long runs on weekends, etc) and really ran well. I was honestly so stressed out at that point with a new job, graduate school and my social life that I had almost forgot about it completely. I actually went on a day date immediately following this race. I mean, I cleaned up as well as I could in a public bathroom on a warm May day. It's ok, he's a runner too so I actually got brownie points for being hardcore........and a little stinky.

After a glorious six weeks off of official training over the summer, it was time to gear up, hunker down, and get back into half marathon mode. I was confident that with my friend, speedwork, and the always decreasing times in the five other races, that I could achieve a sub 2hour finish time. I mean, at this point, I'm hardcore, right? I started at 2:21 and had a 2:09 PR. I'm a little runny know-it-all. A sub 2 hour race means running at AT least a 9:30 pace. For 13.1 miles. That would mean fast for a while with no walk breaks. Sub 2 in runners vernacular means 'legitimate runner who runs 13 miles in less than two hours, even if it's 1:59:45.

Psssssshhh.....I got this. This summer, I followed the Runner's World training plan for a sub 2 halfsie to the tee. I mean, there wasn't an easy run, speedwork or long distrance run I skipped. I.did.them.all. I got up early. I stayed at the gym late. I cross trained. I ate well (though never lost a pound). It was HOT this summer too, by the way. I did fartleks, mile repeats, tempo runs, hills. I had the plan on my fridge and entered into my Googely calendar.

My vision: A year and five half marathons later, I would return to the Philadelphia Distance Run and I would conquer it. And I would conquer it in sub 2 time. It would be glorious and the heavens will smile upon me and life will forever be grand. Every person in the world (or Philly) who has every hurt me would for some reason all find themselves on the Art Museum Steps as I breezed over the finish line. There could be confetti.

My reality: A year and five half marathons later, I ran the worst race of my life. Sometimes it doesn't matter how hard you worked or how much you've already accomplished, or what you want-- some days, it's just not your day. The Rock-n-Roll Philadelphia Half Marathon (same event, different name) was not my day. I was miserable the entire weekend because I had put so much stress on myself to get that sub 2. When I realized at mile 9 that it wasn't going to happen, I just fell apart. I finished because I had some wonderful support, but it wasn't near 2:00. My chip time reports 2:16 and I'm going to be honest and accept that. No more but my "garmin says 2:10 because I stopped to pee." I wasn't in the portapotty that long. I walked and I cheated by stopping my garmin. It was 2:16. Still 5 minutes better than last year!

But after 5 half marys?

I didn't feel the runner's high. I felt the lowest I've felt since I started running. And I was feeling pretty darn low before that. But I didn't have too much time to wallow in my running grief because two weeks later, I had half marathon #6 to take on.

Enter, The Diva's Half Marathon in Long Island. My friend Bonnie, who ran Rutgers #3 with me, asked me do this with her in the summer and the event sounded so cool. I couldn't resist. Diva's was one of the few, though increasing, female distance races in the country. The event promoed boas, tierras, firemen, and a fast course. I couldn't resist!

I was still licking my wounds from Philly as I headed out for my last long training run in between the two. I decided to JUST HAVE FUN at Divas, to enjoy the energy of running with 10,000 other women and get back to my running roots. I wasn't going to attempt a PR. I had no time in mind. I just wanted to run and get a t-shirt. The race was well organized with great swag. Bonnie and I had such a great time traveling to and around the strange world of Long Island, that the run was the last thing on my mind. I had no plan. I didn't even look at the course map.
We actually...gasp...had two beers and a shot the night before. This is unheard of in runnery world. As we lined up in a sea of hot pink and happiness that race morning, I just smiled and let it all go. I let the pressure and the pain of the previous half go. (Wow--that sounds like a fart joke.)

I.ran.the.best.race.ever. I will also write another post recap of this experience. I don't know whose legs I borrowed from miles 1 through 10, but thank you. I finished at 2:10. WITH A HUGE SMILE. Not a personal record but a personal best. I found that runner's high again but have resisted the urge to sign up for any other races! Divas will always have a special place in my heart because it was where I learned to let go and just..... run.

Good races aren't determined by your finishing times or your training plans. A good half marathon, or any distance, is determined by your attitude and heart. Bad races happen to good runners.

Ugly race photos, however, happen to everyone!!!! :-)

I suddenly understand where Tom was coming from

2010-10-06T22:12:00.000-04:00

I'm not afraid of spiders or bugs. I've made friends and roommates based solely on my ability to kill a creepy crawling thing using the closest object and without panic. Snakes don't really bother me either. Me'h. It's just nature. I grew up in the country.

For some reason, however, I'm really not cool with the whole rodent genre. Specifically mice and rats. I don't care about the little field mouse. I like to think it's scampering off to some try out for an animated movie. Rats. Ugh. The government can launch an awareness campaign that "Rats aren't bad" complete with commercials and funny movie and bus signs and I'd still be convinced their just little bundles of evil scurrying about. Dirty, rotten, disgusting, yuck.

On Monday morning, I tossed a bruised up banana into my trash can. Of course, the trash was towards the top and I did make a mental note to take out the trash once it stopped raining. I came home later that day and opened up the cabinet to throw out a paper towel or something. Imagine my horror to find a hole eaten out of the discarded banana. There were little teeth marks! It looked like a person with really stupid teeth took a bite out it! EWWWWW! And because they're just awful awful things, around the trash can was a trail of droppings. Rats are like Pandas but instead of Eats, Shoots and Leaves-ing- they Eat, Crap and Infest. (And major brownie points to anyone who gets the Panda and Eats Shoots and Leaves reference. Sneaky grammar book shout out!)

I did what any self respecting28 year-old women faced with something creepy and gross would do. I called my mom. Moooom! There is a mouse in my apartment! That night, I avoided doing the dishes or making coffee or any task that would take me near the kitchen.

I bought D-Con to poison the sucker. Yes. I'm setting animal traps and being very un-pc and so very anti-PETA. Rats multiply by the hundreds. There is no shortage of them. Sorry, I'm not sorry. "Ha!" I thought. "I have outsmarted the rat." I shall now avoid cooking for lack of skill, knowledge or ambition instead of fear of Ebola-infested rodent hiding in my trash can. I cleaned up the rat poop and gagged. I've cleaned toilets at a restaurant that served colon-cleansing like pasta sauce and not batted an eye. Rat poop, puke. Either way, it'll eat the D-Con, and then go drown and I shall prevail.

It's back though. I checked the cabinet today and there they were. Little rat feces just taunting me. In the words of my favorite television character ever, "Son of a bitch!"

I quickly made my nightly smoothie and retreated to my living room.

And here I sit. On my couch, battling a fear of going back to the room where rats have tread. I'm hungry for a snack but don't want to go into the kitchen. I'm afraid of some rodent that may or may not have at some point today ran through my apartment! I have a sink full of two-day old dirty dishes that I have no idea how they're going to get done until I know it's gone.

I understand where Tom in Tom and Jerry was coming from. I'm about to place an order with Acme.

Put Out the Cigarette Before You Judge Me.

2010-10-04T13:37:00.000-04:00

I run. A lot. I do. It's not all I do, it just shows up in my social media life because one is a lot less likely to get fired or worse for having too many photos of crossing finishing lines posted than, say, one too many photos of drinking or crazy dancing. I have plenty of political opinions but I just chose to express them in less annoying and more effective ways than hitting a "press like if you ...agree with this hyperbolic statement about an extreme group...." I too have a schedule that goes like work, gym, study, dinner and feel relief on Fridays and angst on Mondays but just don't say it. I do run. I like to talk about it and mostly people are interested in hearing about it.

But, it's not all I do. I've noticed at parties and other social functions now that running is all people want to talk to me about. And that's fine and I'm happy about my little passion. I'm touched by the interest and find it baffling sometimes that some have said I'm inspiration? If my FB friends acknowledge the DailyMile posts in real life conversations, it means they've noticed them. Has anyone ever been approached about a TGIF PEEPS! status? And if they're annoying, just hide me. Or defriend, whatever. I will gladly offer advice and encouragement to anyone who is lacing up their sneakers for the first time in years or ever. Let's talk about it for a few minutes and then move on. There are many other ways to relate that don't involve running. Did you know that I also love to talk about the Phillies, electronic publishing, books, figuring out the ending to Lost, gossip-- celebrity or real, career related things (did you know I'm the youngest person in my office by at least 10 years? Advice on how get a group of perimenopasual women to like me without having to bake, have a baby , or get married would be more than welcome!), current affairs, music, education and travel. I'm not too hip on the movies and tv just yet though.

Also, if you don't run or exercise, please don't judge me for doing so. I'm not crazy for waking up at 5:15am to run before work because I have class in the evenings. I don't have leprosy because I like to sweat. Let's put this into perspective. Who is more crazy: Someone who takes care of themselves in a healthy manner by finding time for exercise and makes an effort to eat well OR someone who considers pizza, cereal and beer to be a well-rounded meal and done a minute of exercise aside walking outside to smoke. Yes, but the bleeping cigarette out before you judge my living habits. Put the beer down and get your head out of your a$$ before saying I'm nuts for getting up early in the morning. Please don't tell me you don't even drive as 5 miles in the morning. It's not helping and I certainly don't think it's funny. I find it just as hard to relate to your lack of activity as you would to my level of it.

(I fail to understand how when you're in a social situation such as a party or a bar demeaning another person could possibly work in your favor. I've been on dates before where the guy was like "that's crazy! I couldn't do that without a beer first." Which is when I would mentally check out and just enjoy the free meal. I had started a rule that the more you diss my sport, the higher $$ the entree I'd order.)

2010-10-01T09:10:00.000-04:00

Dear Linds,

Hi, it's your knees here. We understand that you love your shoes and feel that adding a few inches to your height somehow makes you feel more adult-y. The leopard print heels our friend, feet, are rocking today are gorgeous and do spice up the typically dull outfits you chose.

However, if you're going to continue attempting to be some kind of running ninja diva, we're going to have to ask that you alternate some flats or sneakers into the corporate Linds collection. Seriously. You cannot expect us to be happy about the hilly miles in your long runs and the beatings of the treadmill followed by kicking and jumping like a poorly balanced drunken ninja and then make us carry your never decreasing weight around all day teetering in 3 inch heels.

Your ankles would also appreciate a rest. They would threaten to swell and puff out like a cankle but we all know that would be pointless. We've gotten some feedback from the feet and they're just generally uphappy all around at the way you've been treating them. A pedicure could make things better. Or a pair of runninig shoes that fit. Or maybe not wearing the above mentioned 3 inch heels for 9 hours a day. Its safe to say your entire lower body is not happy about recent shoe choices.

Kthnxbi,

The two massive joints that hold your thighs to your never-going-to-fit-into-boots-calves.

Knees

The Dark Days Are Upon Us

2010-09-29T09:36:00.000-04:00

Yes, the wonders of an autum in the Northeastern United States means cooler temps, colorful leaves, pumpkin stuff that other people love, post-season baseball, the end of humidity, coats. It also means shorter days and less sunlight. As I set out for a easy morning jog today, I realized I have to readjust my morning run mode for "FALL/WINTER". This means:

It's going to be even HARDER to get out of bed. Set alarm for earlier. It's hard to imagine a time earlier than 4:50 am. But for a snooze-button addict, it's a harsh reality.
More blankets + warmer bed > need to run. Math sucks.
Layering: Add a long sleeve t-shirt or lightweight hoodie to 'running clothes for tomorrow morning' (if I actually get up)' pile on the floor. Remove sport tank tops as it's too chilly for shoulder sexiness now. Add longer shorts. Remove skirts. Add beanie hat. Remove marathon cap.
Fewer (or less? Kylie- grammar me!) people on the trails. Everyone runs in the spring and summer. It's the pressure of bathing suits and ice cream. Moms don't have kids to get ready for school. It's lighter and cooler out. There are many advantages to running in the mornings during the summer. However, it's a lonely time in the chilly months. This means that it's okay to sing along while running but you're also more likely to be bear breakfast.
Switch cereal with fruit to oatmeal with fruit.
Leave coffee warmer on because the best thing in the world after a chilly run is a warm cup of coffee. It's also the worst thing in the world after a hot hot hot run.

The biggest change in seasonal running is the lack of light in the morning. It's still dark at 5:45am which is when I'm lacing up my sneaks and syncing the Garmin. Dark means:

holycrap High Beams! Cars are equally as baffled to see me running in the dark as I am to be running in the dark. Be prepared for a retina burning shot of adrenaline as cars forget that people have eyes too and beam the bejebus out of you. This is when I retire from 'road running' and turn to the towpath.
No more ninja running gear. Ninja running = wearing all black. I need some kind of light reflective gear to alert cars and deer of my presence.
Animals, even cute little kitties or mischievous squirrels, are pure evil untill the sun rises. I've had full, though one-sided, conversations with a deer in broad daylight. However, seeing a deer dart ahead of you in the gray dusk of the morning is horrifying!
Remove "Thriller" from running playlist.
Dogs really hate morning runners. Be prepared to get barked at.

Making Up and Moving On with Running

2010-09-27T22:33:00.001-04:00

Dear Running,

Ok. So.

The 12 mile on Saturday morning was respectful. The speedwork session tonight was really sweet. Oh, running. I can't stay mad at you.

I needed that week off. I thought about how devastated I was at what I thought was a terrible race. I can be so hard on myself that any accomplishment gets overshadowed. I took my ridiculousness out on you, sport, and that's not fair.

I'm going to redefine the terms of our relationship, Running. I'm going to stop holding you accountable for so much of my self esteem. I'm going to find more to feel good about than just you. You're great and I couldn't imagine not being a runner at this point. However, I'm going to spend more time with karate and maybe even try biking. I can't just only run.

The biggest amendment is going to be the definition of PR. PR is no longer personal record. PR is now Progress Report. I will always aim to do better in races because it's just not in my nature to not give my best at everything. However, I will always remember where I came from and who I am in terms of my times. I'm not a natural runner or athlete. This is not a gift, this is a passion.
Progress Report will measure performance by things such as pacing, walk breaks, hydration, nutrition and pride. When I aim for a PR now, I'm going to aim to have fun, do my best, and cross the finish line strong and happy. If it's at 2:01 or 2:31, it's a finish line and it's matters.

Running, I can't promise I won't get angry or frustrated again. Thank you for letting me recover and recoup for a week and come back strong today. I'm looking forward to our adventure on Sunday and hopefully will have an easy session on Wednesday or Friday.

-L

I'm such a good blogger that I forgot what the website I used and how to login.

Breaking Up or Down with Running

2010-09-20T23:20:00.000-04:00

Running and I got into a fight this weekend.

I'm sure we'll both get over it soon enough.

If it wasn't for the five races I'm signed up for and the five friends I'd be disappointing, I would be seriously considering breaking up with running right now.

I'm going to stay at Karate's place for a few days and let my muscles recover. And think. Think about my training, what I did wrong, or right, why running and my stomach seem to battle at the worst possible moments and what exactly a PR means. To both of us. I'm going to think about the races I've done and remember my runners high. And I'm going to wonder why I'm feeling the exact opposite of that. I'm going to talk to my heart and brain to see that they think about this whole thing. They so rarely agree that I wonder if it's worth it.

I hope running does some thinking too. About how much I care. How much I've given up and how I've changed because of him. I hope he understands that there are so many factors that go into every step of every mile. And sometimes every step is a victory in and of itself. It doesn't matter if it's a running step, a walking step or a step off of the course to breathe. Running should also maybe send a text to my stomach and my lungs to see whose brilliant idea it was to gang up on me at mile 11. Seriously, running should look into that because it was just a cruel thing they did.

I'm sure we'll both get over it soon enough. If the past 18 months have proven anything, it's that we can't stay apart for too long. We have an event in two weeks in New York.

National Running Day (belated)

2010-06-03T12:37:00.001-04:00

Happy (belated) National Running Day!

Everything was belated yesterday as I didn't get to properly wish my best friend a Happy 27th Birthday and now just feel like a tool trying to do anything today.

I was also belated in celebration of National Running Day. I was unaware that this was a holiday, first of all, so I really couldn't plan too well. If I had known, I would have surely set my alarm, coffee maker, second alarm, tv, and third alarm to go off from 5:00-5:25 am in order to pay homage to the running gods. Had that ritual not worked out, I would have thrown a set of running gear into my car for late night affair with the dreadmill.

So, when class ended at 7:45pm and I was enviously watching runners on Kelly Drive from my traffic-ridden vantage point on the Vine Street/76 merge and the daylight slowly faded, I was feeling like the worst running worshipper ever. I should have been prepared. It felt like Thanksgiving without turkey. National Running Day and I didn't run.

I reminded myself that I was purposely unprepared because this is a rest week. Wednesday was supposed to a well-earned rest day and if running has taught me anything -- it's the value of rest. Because on Saturday I completed my fourth half marathon in less than year. That is two whole marathons, in my mathmatically-challenged opinion.

Last night, my third toenail came off and ruined my pedicure. And that was my offering to National Running Day deities. I will continue to offer my sweat (lots and lots and lots) and blood, probably some tears, frustrations and joy to the great sport of running for the next 365 days as long as it continues to reward me with calm, motivation, and not having to buy new pants every season.

I love running and will always be a bear-fearing/slow-pacing/race-loving/mid-packing mess who calls herself a runner. I restarted my running ritual this morning and went for nice and easy four mile out/back. I'm calling it nice and easy because "Proud Mary" by Tina Turner showed up on my playlist like four times. It was really muggy and slow.

This sweat isn't for you, Buddy.

2010-05-25T22:00:00.000-04:00

Dear late=fifties/early-sixties year old-men at the gym, particularly the two who were on the treadmills in front of me from about 7:30 to 8:oo tonight.

Who in the hell do you think you're kidding? It is clear that your motives for spending time in the gym are not to get in shape, live a healthier lifestyle, loose weight, or better yourselves in any possible way. Your reasons walk back and forth between the women's locker room and the rest of the gym. Oh, you idiots think you're slick, huh? You're not. Your reasons are about as obvious as your age -- which you're also not hiding well.

How can we tell? Lets see, the fact that you don't even have the common sense to change into workout clothes after coming from whatever lowbrow life you lead is a huge giveaway. Seriously, if you're going to objectify and degrade every female who walks past, at least have the decency to put some normal jogging shorts. Cut off cargo pants, really? Work boots? Really? While you might be seeing us as some sexual link to some fantasy that is never going to happen, we're seeing you as morons in cargo shorts.

Also, increase the speed on the treadmill to a something beyond "oogle." I'm not saying you have to run because your grease-filled heart probably couldn't handle it (and all the blood is most likely rushing to another part of your body). I'm just saying at least walk at an quick pace.

Another tip for how to hide your hidden agenda and other things, look straight ahead consistently. I've seen less head turning at a tennis match. There is a baseball game on in front of you, fake that you're watching it. Mygod, isn't the ability to discreetly check out a woman the whole point of the Y chromosome?
You could at least "fake" some aspect of your workout, as judging by the way you're presenting yourself, unfortunate women have been faking it for you for years.

I respect that you brought a friend. It was a failed attempt at trying to not be a douchebag. I've found that the guys who are geniunely at the gym for their health, go it alone.

While I can't speak for all the women in the gym, I can say this: I'm not there for you, Mr. DirtBall Older Than My Dad Still Trying to Feel Something While He Can. I'm not doing the ab crunch machine so you can look down my shirt and I'm not stretching in the corner so you can stare at my ass. I'm running out stress and frustration from having to deal with your more educated counterparts in the corporate world. This sweat is for me. I'm not increasing the speed on the treadmill so I bounce more for your benefit. The girls walking past aren't putting on show, douchebags. They're trying to get to the yoga class. For some of those women you've just mentally disgraced, the hour or so at the gym is the only time they have away from SOBs like you.

No one likes being eye-f*(*ked by a man older then her father on the way to the hip abductors. I'll never complain about being checked out by one of the healthy, age-appropriate, non-tattooed, not fresh out of jail, non high school kids. Especially by the one guy I see all the time on Tuesdays in the weights area.....heeeeyyyy. Or the other taller one who comes in around 8 and plays racquetball. Holla!

Moral of this story is: If you're going to be an old man dirtball and check out girls younger than your daughters and granddaughters, wear sneakers, do some kind of fake workout and stay out of my way.

Thanks,

The girl on the treadmill behind you who flipped you off when you turned around.

PS: To the moron who ignored the seven open treadmills in front row and nine open ones in the back row and jumped on the one next to me, Is that your dad in front of us? Really, kid? It's a little overly intrusive and just plain annoying. Also, don't look at my screen. Yes, I'm going faster than you. Yes, I've been going that fast for a long time. Don't try to keep up. And if I slow down, I'm only going to get faster in 2 minutes. Again, not doing it for you.

PSS: It was apparently Douchebag Night at the gym. Dear dude who was walking around with his iPad? Need I say more? Even better, he's spotted texting on his phone while holding his iPad and sitting on a bike.

Race Recap: Rutger's Unite Half Marathon

2010-05-05T22:22:00.000-04:00

Subtitle: When running, dating, pride, and hills come together, it hurts. :-)

So, a few months back I started dating a guy runner. Yes, I don't know what is more shocking, me actually dating someone or finding someone with the same crazy hobby. Stop laughing and just read on. On date 2 he told me about this half marathon in New Brunswick that he and all his buddies were running in April and I totally had to do it too. I was in the late stages of training for the Gasparilla 15K in Florida and was feeling pretty invincible. I added the Rutgers Unite Half Marathon to my training schedule and, more importantly, wrote it on my calendar. Once something appears on my desk calendar, oh, it's happening.

I am, apparently, the most un-call-back-able girl ever because things between guy runner and I fell apart. His loss. April hit and I flipped that calendar to see "RUTGERS" written in big red letters on April 18. Oh crap. Well, now I had to run it! First, it was on the calendar. Second, I said I would and if I didn't it would be like I didn't go because of him. And, like I'm going to stand for that. Third, I was inadvertently training for it anyway.

So, I really wanted to do but I could not under any circumstances show up at that race alone. That would be the ninja loser move of the month. I needed a running buddy. And since there was not enough time for me to get super hot and fast(and will probably never be enough time), I needed a super hot and fast friend. Enter Bonnie.

Bonnie is a wonderful friend of mine that I met through my former roommate. Bonnie was a great source of advice and inspiration during my 2009 Broad Street Run training resolution. She and I ran 2009 BSR together until mile 7. Love me some Bonnie. She does BSR every year and goes to the gym everyday. Seriously, this girl is insane fit. Like 3% body fat fit. Did I mention she has two kids? I conned Bonnie into it. It wasn't hard. Since she's already super hot and fast and in shape, I gave her all of a week's notice. Hey, I needed some sort of advantage aside from experience. This would be Bonnie's first half.

The night before the race, Bonnie lets me send runner guy who doesn't know what he's missing a friendly "good luck tomorrow" text. I get a quick "gl 2 u, have fun.'" He was never one for full words, punctuation, grammar, or rules. It would have never worked.

It was cold on race day. The spring season is always tricky in the Northeast and that weekend was chilly! I mean, chilly! Like mid-forties/fifties. But, thanks to running outside all winter, I was fine. (Foreshadowing for the 2010 Broad Street Run two weeks later were the temperature at the start of the race was already 85.) Bonnie and I had a typical race day breakfast of english muffins and peanut butter, coffee and water. Bonnie is super hot, fast, in shape and smart than me because she also got a breakfast sandwich at Dunkin' Donuts on the way up there. This will matter later.

Rutgers University opened it's campus for this race. The event itself was small with probably only 4,000-5,000 runners. The vibe at the start of the race was great though with lots of hungover, though helpful, student volunteers.

A small start means no corrals or anything like that. They say go, we go. Less than half a mile into the course, we encounter the first hill. Bonnie and I run the same pace and were having a good time talking and joking as we started out. That hill was like nothing. Mile 1, down. We saw the marker for mile one, but no timer. The course wasn't super. There were pot holes and uneven pavement. Mile 2 through 5 flew past but damn if it wasn't one hill followed by another. Now, this is New Jersey so HILL is a bit subjective. I mean a slow, gradual incline that you wouldn't notice in a car. You legs do notice though.

Sidenote: Not even done mile 1 yet and there were boys peeing on the side. How? Why? 10 minutes prior and they could have used a porta-potty like everyone else? It was less than a mile into a 13 mile race! Thing # 938849 I don't understand about men.

There were no timers along the course! Anywhere! The distance was marked well enough and water stations were always well prepared. However, when one is trying to pace themselves, those times help. A lot. It wasn't until the turn around at mile 7 when the 9 minute-mile group passed us that Bonnie and I realized we had been doing a sub 10 minute pace. For these short tree trunk legs, thats awesome. I was feeling good. It was cold but runners love the cold. (This one does at least.) Also at that turn around, we passed he-who-is-running-out-regret-from-not-calling me.

Bonnie is like the energizer bunny, she just goes. We passed through another turn around at mile 9 and I thought to myself, "this is going really quickly." Again, the 9 minute group was ahead of us and the 10 minute pace group was behind us. We have fun running together, we cheer on the people who are cheering for us. We tell hot guys that the race rules say men go shirtless at mile 11. Women at mile 14.

Around mile 10 and hill #456, my stomach so wonderfully reminded me that I had only eaten about 600 calories at 5:30 am and it was now about 10 am and it had burned 1000 calories since. As in, I was hungry. When you're running and you have nothing in your stomach, it lets you know. I started to get the "oh no-s". An Oh-No is that feeling you get right before you hurl. SOme call it nausea, but I find that too hard to spell. I stiffed the oh-nos and forced myself to keep up with Bonnie, but another hill was coming. I signaled her to go on and that hot butt just kept going like it was the first mile. I, on the other hand, spent the next two miles strategically searching for places to puke. I walked. I wanted to cry.

Imagine a car running out of gas. It sputters, it stalls, it whines. That was me.

Only, I'm not a car. I'm a runner, dammit. And a runner with a guy I dated on this course, there was no way I'd surrender. I reached deep inside and fought the oh-nos. I quit running about every 500 ft. I figured that if I puked and kept going, my hard-core runner status would skyrocket. I really did feel like I was running on E. I thought about the progress I'd made since my first half in September. I got to mile 11 without walking. this was my third half in less than a year! I could barely finish the BSR last year and now I'm coming up on mile 12 of a half marathon! Whats a little walking when you've run so far this year? Walking made me upset and sick to my stomach but running at that point only made it worse.

I heard a guy yell "You're at mile 11! Two more miles and you're under 2 hours."
WHAT? Despite being exhausted and sick, I was going to PR! (PR is runner lingo for personal record or best time ever!) Huh, imagine that. That was great encouragement for me.

Hey, Rutgers, who puts a HILL- a real hill- at mile 12? That was rude. Bad racing form, bad form. I powered up that hill. I wish I could say that. No, I staggered up the hill. And then, my friends, the finish line! The remarkable wonderful finish line that would mean I could stop running! Yay! Oh sweet finish line, I might just vomit on you with happiness. As I powered through the final sprint (I did power that time!) I noticed my time was.......2:09. Holy crap.

My first Half Marathon was 2:21. My second was 2:18 and now I just did 2:09! I smiled and waved to the cameras, crossed the line, grabbed my medal, gave the lady a hug and quickly found Bonnie. That super fast, hot, in shape, Energizer Bunny of a runner finished her FIRST half in 2:03. Incredible. SO proud.

The Oh-Nos turned to OHDearGod Get Me Out of Here really quickly. There were all kinds of festivities at the finish fine but our car was at the starting line, about a mile away. Fan-freezing-cold-tastic. Who do I see staring at my shivering but faster than last time butt? Mr. Oh, What have I done himself! By all means, don't say hi. Please.

Overall, this course was challenging because of the hills, but not laid out well. I think they tried to squeeze too much race on to too small an area. Not having timers was a big oversight. Also, one porta-potty station at mile 7 was effective but could have been done better. Everything else was well-organized and professional. Though we complained about the cold and distance on the walk back to the car, shuttles were offered and all the literature totally warned us of that. Oops.

I PR-ed but am still unhappy about my burn out. I learned to eat more the day of a race and will train with GUs or those ChompShots things for next one. I had a great time with Bonnie and really liked having a running buddy for the majority of the race. Mixing dating and running was a great motivator and distracter for me.

I'll (someday) write a post about mood swings you go through during a race. There is elation, excitement, annoyance, anger, anxiety, grief, acceptance, joy, accomplishment, pride. Stay tuned for 2010 BlueCross Broad Street Run Recap, aka my one-year Runner-Versary! :-)

Can't Win Them All

2010-04-11T23:30:00.000-04:00

One of the other blogs I subscribe to has the tagline "I love tequilla and the treadmill equally". I love that line. And I truely an epitome of it this weekend.

I had a good time with the Not Boston Fun Run in Tyler State Park on Saturday morning. It was a very small event with maybe 50-75 runners total. I think the event planners could have marketed it a little more. Not Boston was a 2.62 mile run with mile markers every tenth of a mile to simulate or mock the epic Boston Marathon next weekend. The description for the event was "I didn't qualify for Boston." The small field really motivated me to keep up a good pace and I crossed the finish line at around 24 minutes. I was pleased~! I wanted to run more but I had promised myself a good long training run on Sunday. I was planning on taking advantage of a stay in NYC to run in the picturesque Central Park.

My best friend Ayo lives in Manhattan and I love going to visit her on random weekends. Saturday night was her last performance in her graduate program at the New School for Drama. I had to see it! I figured we'd go out for a few drinks afterward but that I'd still be able to run in the morning/late afternoon.

A few drinks turned into a few drinks too many as her very generous father insisted on getting us hammered. And I always feel trashy if a maybe CEO like her dad asks to buy me a drink and I say, "Ill take a beer." So, I broke my own rule and had bad idea reunion with my ex Gin. Gin and his friend Wine and eventually Beer. We had a great time last night. This morning was another story.

I wasn't full out can't function hungover, but I did say one or two prayers to the porcelian goddess. Running was not an option. I'm ok with that. I realize how addicted, or neurotic, I am as I was contemplating an after-dark run around the neighborhood when I got home. Now, the rational side of me knows that no harm will come from missing the training run this afternoon. It happens. I had a blast last night and certainly wasn't going to turn down free drinks! Not running today will not have a giant impact on my performance in the half marathon next weekend and I can squeeze in one or two up tempo runs this week to compensate. I know this. But I feel almost as guilty about not running today as I do when I eat peanut butter for dinner.

Had I tried to run today it would have been ugly. There was no way I was going to do the full eleven. I'd have died or puked or something even more embarrassing. I will have to admit my defeat today. But will rise super freaking early tomorrow to be ready for the next battle. Or not. It's must easier to surrender at 5am than it is at 5pm.