Lucky Number 7

It’s official – my next marathon is in 69 (hehe) days. Grab your board shorts, kids, we’re off to Huntington Beach, CA!

With my registration official and my credit card billed (for the exorbitant sum of $109... I need to pick a less expensive hobby), I knocked off 7 miles tonight at the gym. Stuffed with stuffing, I had plenty of energy to burn. In addition, I was suitably distracted by Monday Night Football (this game is CRAZY!!), the hot but exceptionally sweaty and grunt-y guy next to me, and the whiny girls who pay for personal trainers and then complain in high pitched voices that their workouts are too hard. I hope you choke on a hair extension. Anyway, excited to have a new project (and a vaca to sunny SoCal!) to think about. Also excited that I’ve set out to race this one just for me – no time pressures (and no alcohol abstinence) to speak of. Just 26.2 miles of reflecting on 26 years of life. Oh God, that sounds overwhelming already; I’ll probably sprint the damn thing just to get all the feeeeeeelings over with.

Anyone interested in an early Spring Break the first week in February should definitely let me know. Anyone who isn't can feel free to send a birthday present to my apartment and I'll open it upon my return. Only 69 shopping days left!

Giving Thanks

Having just participated in Thanksgiving: Round 3, now more than ever, I resemble the turkey running through the grocery store (pale, fleshy, and awkward!). But I am pleased to report that this Thanksgiving break was a success! Many beers were consumed (including the one I put in the pocket of my coat when I left the Grill on Wednesday night...), several runs were had (also some walks. I'm getting really good at walking), and general merriment was made (much to the chagrin of sleeping family members, who wondered why some Thanksgiving side dishes were missing on Thursday, and just how it came to be that our pants were on the floor of the kitchen).

I hope you took a second to reflect on what you're thankful for this year (suggestions include: "I am thankful that Claire broke 4 hours in the marathon" and "I am thankful that Leslie has a window seat in architecture studio"). Now if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go run laps in the produce section...

P.S. - On Walking

Whoa! Guys, walking rules! Obviously I've been a funk lately - bummed about being sick and anxious about getting scarcely 2 runs a week in for the past month (what's that about a marathon in California in 9 weeks?). But that walk totally lifted my spirits!

First of all, walking is just like running, only slower (who knew?!). Not to be an idiot, but it would never occur to me to engage in any kind of deliberate exercise besides running. I mean, obviously I ski and play tennis and all that jazz, but in terms of a daily workout, I just don't think about doing anything besides running. But why?! Walking is so much easier! Instead of being a marathon runner, can I be a marathon walker? I think that deserves even more respect, since it would take so long.

Second, because I felt liberated from the usual running route along the East River, I walked down First Ave to Houston and up Broadway, which meant I got to see interesting things. Like the picture above, which is supposed to be a man walking 2 Great Danes, only I felt like a creep taking a picture of a man and his dogs from behind so I had to be covert about it. But the dogs were up to his waist!

Glad I restrained myself and didn't run because even just walking was tough on ye olde lungs. Also, if there's an increase in TB testing between here and SoHo, blame it on the fact that everyone I encountered was terrified of my hacking...

I've Adopted A Pen Name...

It's currently 6:03am. I am wide awake, lights on, coffee in hand. My legumes are aching for a run. Alas, my chest is full of... icky stuff. Mentally, I'm ready for 10 this morning, I'm so eager. But if the beginning of this month is any indicator, getting back to running before you're recovered and ready is a recipe for a long, drawn-out, icky chest-y ailment. This sucks.

Stretching/lifting indoors this morning, then going for a non-run (commonly known as "a walk"). In all seriousness though, send me your clean-bill-of-health vibes so I can enjoy the holiday with the fam. I'd love to get a run or two in with Dudley. Also, it's hard to write a blog about running if you can't do it, and Will Walk For Beer sounds like the title of an episode of Intervention...

Signed,

Coughy McPhlegm

P.S. Do you feel lost without a running blog to read? Too bad. But here's a good blog about sports in general, which I recommend you read if you've ever wondered what my Gmail away messages are all about: Deadspin.

Not again...

Once again, confronted with a plague. Twice in a month - how is this fair or possible? Anyway, took the day off and actually went to the doctor this time around, who reported that I'm probably not going to die. Got some drugs and then promptly drank a glass of wine with lunch - sick days rule!!

In terms of the race on Sunday, I'm going to play it by ear and see how I'm feeling. Until then, you can find me on the couch in Stamford, eating Girl Scout cookies and squeezing Jingles.

Guess Who's Not A Slacker

Proper re-hydration is key...

Another post-work 4 miler. Really sprinted the second half, so it was a bit disappointed to find I was only 20 seconds faster tonight. But I am still proud for going out at all, since the six pack of Bud Lights I bought yesterday but didn't touch were REALLY calling to me when I got home from work. I'm sorry, but good God, those are so easy to put away!

Speaking of God, there have been some questions regarding my upcoming race on Sunday for God's Love We Deliver. No, I didn't find religion in the Chelsea gay bars on Monday night (though that would be an ironic place to find it...). GLWD is an organization here in NYC that provides home delivery of meals to people living with AIDS (and sometimes cancer) whose diagnosis has left them homebound and unable to get regular meals on their own - no proselytizing involved. Check them out online. Think of God's Love as a synonym for delicious feast. Try to use it in a sentence. As in, "I'm going to get so drunk this weekend and then pick up some God's Love at Lyric Diner late night." The more you know...

Get It Together

Exhausted and extremely unproductive on the heels of my epic evening, I snuck out of the office early tonight and squeezed (squooze?) in a quick run along the East River. Felt a-okay. 4 miles brought me to an even 300 miles on my DailyMile counter!

Speaking of mileage, I’ve definitely been slacking off of late, and feeling increasingly guilty about it. Not only am I hitting snooze more mornings than not, but recent meals have included Shake Shack, bacon, late-night pizza, and mini candy bars – nary a vegetable in sight. Frankly, Chicago was long enough ago that, unless I want to be confused with the mashed potatoes next week, I need to get my act together. I guess it’s time to register for my next race to really light a fire under me. While I’m signed up to run a 4 miler for God’s Love We Deliver this weekend, I don’t think that’s quite the right amount of mileage to motivate me. Surf City Marathon?

Anyway, here’s hoping tonight’s run put me back on track (and tonight’s drinks with the Ladies of Development don’t derail me yet again…)

Make It Work, Indeed...

Last night I drank two Stellas, which would be unremarkable, had I not consumed these two beers:

-in a gown

-in a gay bar

-with the cast of Project Runway

-while watching a corporate donor assault my boss with his tongue

The Last Dance

Early meetings yesterday morning and a late event last night left no time for a run, unfortunately. I did, however, get a work out in last night by dancing to Donna Summer at Saks with male models in bathing suits. If it's wrong to be sore from disco dancing with half naked men, I don't want to be right.

Woke up this morning at 6:30 with the intention of running, only to be greeted by gusty winds carrying neighborhood dogs, school children, and delivery men down the street in an Oz-like tangle of fur, backpacks, and bagels. Opted to lift in the warmth of my apartment. Arms, abs, squats, lunges, planks. Hoping to squeeze in a run after work...assuming the traditional 5:55pm Friday dance party doesn't take too much out of me.

Friday the 13th. Ooooooooooooooooooh.

What a Difference a Day Makes

4 outside in light rain this morning. Unlike last night, my legs felt like trying to run in a swimming pool. I don't care what Agassi says; crank is most certainly a performance enhancing drug. The only redeeming aspect of this morning's workout was watching a dog catch a rat, which was a lot noisier than I would have expected.

Don't forget to thank a veteran today (I have one you can borrow)!

The Days Can't Be Like The Nights

Things are positively crazy these days, but rather than a stress-inducing obligation, running after work today was actually a much-need diversion. Plus I am on no fewer than 3 different kinds of cold medicine, so I was kind of tweaking the whole time.

Have more than $1 million in grant proposals due this week and have been fighting this nagging cold for almost 2 weeks. Managed to escape the office at a reasonable hour and without a splitting headache tonight, so I strapped on ye olde Asics. Was delighted to find that, despite the warm weather, the East River path wasn't jammed with other runners and bikers. Victory!

Threw in some squats and lunges for good measure, but only 2 sets since 3 left me unable to walk last week. Arms, abs, etc. Subconsciously preparing for The Biggest Loser tonight? Perhaps. Also, combatting the unfortunate discovery I made that chocolate really does ease cold and flu symptoms. In any case, it felt good to get outside and do something just for me.

An unfortunate side effect of taking Dayquil/Nyquil (the old standbys), Tylenol Severe Sinus (better than the 'quils at relieving sinus headaches), and Claritin D (the only one that actually decongests. As it should, since that shit cost $9.99 for 5 pills!) is that you really, really cannot drink alcohol. Really. I think your liver just turns into that shiny liquidy stuff Alex Mack was made of if you do. So no beer reviews today. If anyone wants to write in with one, or suggest one for later in the week, please do. Until then, I'm going to be chugging milk and pretending I'm wasted. I'm sure my roommates will be so grateful...

Indian Summer

Had a lovely, sunshiney weekend, including a run in Connecticut on Saturday morning with Dudley and a walk along the Charles in Cambridge on Sunday morning. Came home to the shitstorm that is the New York Giants. I hate sports.

Anyway, a few things to note about my pilgrimage to where the pilgrims lived:

1) The path along the Charles is WAY nicer than the path along the East River. Also, homeless people in Cambridge seem both less abundant and less… destitute. Or at least they are wearing fewer layers and pushing fewer shopping carts/strollers/lawn chairs held together with bungee cords.

2) We drank Harpoon Winter Warmer (even though Becca works for archrival Sam Adams). It’s okay. Not my favorite. It tastes like the beer version of mulled wine – savory, with lots of spices and flavorings. As advertised, it did keep me warm, but it tasted too much like food that a grandma would cook, and as such, I gave up and switched to wine after 2.

3) Happy Meals are underappreciated. At least by 25 year olds. They don’t call them Happy Meals because they make you sad, that’s for sure.

Ow

27 is:

a) The number of World Championships the Yankees have won

b) The approximate number of beers I drank last night

c) Both

d) Neither

If you answered "c," congratulations (and stop judging me). Having celebrated America's past time with Ireland's greatest gift into the wee hours, I am struggly right now. Be back tonight with news about an evening workout that will surely not be very productive. Is what I am typing even making sense? Ugh, work...

A Triumphant Return; An Epic Failure

I woke up this morning at 5:50, eager to finally get back to running after a cold sidelined me for more than a week. A chilly fall morning, I threw on tights and a long sleeved top from the Maine Half Marathon and got ready. I hadn't been this excited for a run since Mile 20 in Chicago! And then I checked the morning's headlines.

This is a blog about running and beer, and as its writer, editor, and publisher, I have no political agenda, unless "Run lots. Drink more" counts. As a person, I do, however, have an equal rights agenda, and as such am using my blog this morning to express my embarrassment as a former Mainer that marriage equality was repealed yesterday. In 2005, when I was living in (and registered to vote in) the state of Maine, I went to the polls on election day to vote against a proposition (incidentally, also One) that supported housing and employment discrimination based on sexual orientation. Read that again. A proposition that advocated for housing and employment discrimination based on sexual orientation. In 2005. More terrifying that Proposition 1 being a ballot item at all was the fact that it had a strong following in central Maine, and while it did not pass, it lost by a not-too-comfortable margin.

Given that context, I felt a particular sense of pride back in May of this year, when state legislatures signed marriage equality into law. Maine had, in my view, made great leaps and bounds over the course of less than 4 years. Yesterday's repeal is both stunning and deeply disheartening; it's also epically frustrating to see progress made in one direction in one place only to then witness backsliding someplace else. Maine is now "Worth a visit, worth a lifetime" - unless you were hoping that lifetime might include marriage. And while I recognize that great strides have been made in the LGBT fight for human rights and equality over the past 40 years, and that in all likelihood I will see marriage equality in my lifetime, the symbolism of this loss indicates there is still a lot of fighting left to do.

In that case, I better get ready for work.

Welcome back to the blog, bitches. As you can see, I'm fired up.

Oh. Hey.

Oh, hey, it's me. Claire. Not to be confused with www.areyoutheregoditsmeclaire.blogspot.com. Anyway, just popping in to say I haven't forgotten about blogging, it's just that I've been taking a lot of Nyquil and so typing is rather difficult. As is running (or so I imagine, though I haven't tried it myself in a week. I am picturing the scene in Old School where Will Ferrell gets shot in the neck with the horse tranquilizer. That + treadmill = hilarity. And coma).

Anyway, wish me luck at fighting this plague off. And wish the Yankees luck at fighting off the Phillies. And wish the Giants luck at FINDING A QUARTERBACK WHO ISN'T THE MOST EXPENSIVE IN THE NFL AND IRONICALLY ALSO THE WORST. Be back soon.