Sunday Wrap Up: This Week Was 43% Buttermilk

Forgive me if I'm not my usual chipper, witty, and generally fun self today. Father Time is hot on my tail, what with this being the last Sunday of my 26th year on this earth and all (I just spent a solid 2 minutes figuring out if that was right. I'm turning 26, but you don't start out life at 1, so the year between one's 25th and 26th birthday is one's 26th year of life. Shit, it's even worse than I thought). In any case, I'm getting tired in my old age.

Number of Miles Run This Week: That would be 9. Wowza. Fortunately my kneecap affliction coincides with my taper, so I didn't need to get a lot of miles in this week. Unfortunately, my light mileage coincides with a week in which I consumed buttermilk three consecutive days (the following things can be made better with buttermilk: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, onion rings. Not that any of them were lacking in deliciousness from the get-go).

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: I don't think I counted last Sunday's beer in last week's count, so that's 1. Another 2 Wednesday for Liza's birthday. 2 Thursday (you remember how the raccoon and I imbibed in bed), 4 Saturday, and let's go ahead and assume I'll have 1 or 2 tonight. That's 9-11, depending on my level of thirst over the next 7 hours.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: 1 Palm (Belgium's most boring beer), 2 Kelso's (at dinner at Cafeteria on Wednesday. Nutty and brown (that's what she said?). 2 Smuttynose Winter Ales, 2 Longtrail Hibernators (similarly to Smuttynose in solstice-y goodness), and 2 Sierra Nevada Pale Ales. Again, I am forced to eat, nay, drink my words with regards to my dislike for pale ales, because Sierra Nevada has so much interesting flavor - hoppy but not bitter, a little spicy. For the first time ever, that's 5 different beers for the week, none of which I'd ever had before. I like to live dangerously!

And so we enter another period of pre-race marathon reflection, this one made all the more potent by the fact that this race will either be a wonderful birthday memory, or turn me off to birthday celebrations for the rest of my life. Let's hope for the former, because I'm not returning to NYC until Monday, 2/8, so it would be pretty awkward for my hosts, Maddy and Ryan, to have to console me for a full day after the race.

"But really, how are you feeling, Claire?" you ask. "Because obviously you look amazing, but it's what's on the inside that counts." Why thank you! If it weren't for my recent knee troubles, I would be feeling good to great. I had a good 18 miler at race pace, I've kept up my speed throughout my training, and I'm running in a flat place. But who knows how the knee will feel at mile 5, or 15, or 25. As I've said before, you do all that you can to be as prepared as you can and hope that on race day you don't wake up with an intestinal parasite or fall into a PortaPotty at the start or twist your ankle in a pot hole while you're peeing behind a parked car 7 miles into the race. Do I feel like I've done my best to address the things I can control, while still managing to be a successful professional and have a satisfying social life? Hell and yes (and wow, do I sound like a catch or what?!).

I suppose it goes without saying, but here are some goals for the week:

- Lay off the buttermilk. Not that it's not delicious.

- Celebrate my 26th birthday with 26 miles. That extra .2 can be the proverbial "one to grow on."

- Celebrate the successful (or maybe just "eventual") completion of this feat with ample quantities of beer. Preference will be give to those who are made West of the Mississippi.

I hope everyone had a great weekend and is ready to rush Monday like it's Brett Favre. Oh, snap!

xoxo,

3:59:59. Bitches.

Other Things I Do When Not Running

I know I complained about the tediousness of 10 miles on the treadmill after Sunday’s run, but having spent a grand total of just 2 miles running this week, what I wouldn’t give to be on the treadmill again! Not running? Boring as sin. I mean, the whole sleeping in thing has been pretty sweet, but with no excuse to wake up early, I also have no excuse to go to bed early, which means I’ve suddenly found myself with an awful lot of time on my hands from 7:30pm onward. Tonight I am using these time-filled hands to drink beers.

As I mentioned in my Wrap Up last week, I picked up a six pack of Palm on Sunday afternoon and had every intention to give a review of it the old college try. But while I was drinking it Sunday evening, I couldn't think of a single thing to say about it. It wasn't bad - not in the least. It was just the same as every other ale out there. Nothing memorable or special. And remember how last week I wrote about "the beer you'd want to have a beer with," and how that's how I hope to be described when I die? Well, I sure as shit don't hope to be described as "nothing memorable or special."

True, it's my own fault; I'm the one who picked it out at the grocery store. I don't even know why I picked it, as my last several reviews have been ales, which as a group are neither my favorite brew, nor particularly interesting. Fortunately, I did hear Kat mention that she is fond of Palm, so I trust it won't go to waste in this apartment. I just won't be the one drinking it. Instead, I'm warming my insides with Smuttynose Winter Ale.

Well shit, look at that. It has ale right in the name. Damn it, I screwed this up. But my point is that I like dark beers, and generally speaking that doesn't include ales. Throw in the word "winter," however, and you've got youself a whole new ball game.

Now that's more like it. Looks like a pint glass full of pancake syrup (the real kind). I will say that it was my intention to pick up an oatmeal stout tonight, which I thought I had spied at the store earlier in the week, but when I popped in tonight, this was the darkest I could find - aside from canned Guinness, which is an affront to my people. Drunks, not the Irish, though I'm a representative of both and they aren't mutually exclusive.

Anyway, this is a beer you want to savor. I'm not sitting on the couch watching Khloe Kardashian try to get pregnant by eating live babies or some other mindless program with this bad boy. This is a sit in your fluffy bed, read a bad-ass outdoorsmen story kind of drink. And what do you know!

The raccoon and I are doing just that (and see how the raccoon uses his arm to block my address from the creeps of the Internet world? Safety first!).

This is a beer that really does warm you up in the winter. A beer that feels like a hug for your insides. A beer that you can still taste long after you've swallowed it (that's what she said), but not in the bad way that you can taste beers on a Sunday morning when you've just woken up and haven't yet broken the seal that your mascara and eyeliner have formed between your lashes but you know your head is going to explode if you expend the effort it takes to crack your peepers open. Or is that just me?

Wow, this is good beer.

Things I Do When Not Running

In honor of the birthdays of some Bones, yesterday I went straight from my office out to a 7:30 dinner and a 9:30 show. When I walked in the door to my building at 11:15, sober and alone, my doorman Norberto said "ohhhh, late night!" At 25, I'm so lame that if I'm out past 10 on a school night, my doorman thinks this is big news.

On Resting

Despite consuming 2 bottles of wine with Rob while discussing South Africa, politics, and career trajectories (hence all the wine...) last night, I woke up this morning and figured I could squeeze in a quick 5k or so. I looked in the mirror and determined that I looked like a lion that had eaten somebody's eye shadow (thanks, Ryan), but it was nothing a little face washing and hair brushing couldn't change. I laced up my sneakers and headed out the door.

Unfortunately, I hadn't even reached Second Avenue before I felt the left knee twinges. Worse than yesterday, but better than Sunday, I decided that if I really want to put an end to this, I can't just run through it. I had a lovely walking tour of my neighborhood and was home in 20 minutes.

Here's the thing: I already know what my neighborhood looks like, so I don't need to walk through it. Don't get me wrong: I'm perfectly happy taking rest days when I feel I've earned them. There is truly nothing better than spending the day after a 20 miler eating bagels until you're sweating cream cheese. But that's not the case right now. I ran/walked 4 miles yesterday. I don't really deserve to be taking it easy.

But I realize this isn't a time to be screwing around; I fly to Cali a week from tomorrow! So, begrudgingly, I will promise you and myself, here in the semi-public forum that will be viewed by approximately 25 individuals (based on my Google analytics), I will lay off the running until my knee is up to snuff. Get me the Advil and an ice pack.

Since I'm here, and since yesterday's story about my professor's genitals resonated with so many of you, I will tell another story about my college years. In March of 2006, my senior year of college, I spent Spring Break having arthroscopic knee surgery on this very same knee. When I returned to school, in the dead of winter in Central Maine on crutches (sweet life), there wasn't a lot of physical activity I could engage in. Sure, I went to PT, but my therapist was an overweight old fellow who was missing a few teeth. Not quite the same camaraderie as going to the gym with your girlfriends. So I got into the habit of going to the gym with the aforementioned girlfriends and crutching from weight bench to weight bench to lift while they ran, stair climbed, ellipticalled, and flirted with soccer players. Being that it was senior spring, when everyone wanted to both look hot and maximize face-time with dudes with whom you hoped to hook up before the end of the year, we spent a lot of time in the gym, which meant I spent a lot of time lifting. By the time I went home for Easter, I looked like Popeye.

Speaking of which, I'm off to do a little lifting since I'm already dressed in workout clothes anyway. Later gators.

Will Run For Beer: Now With Naked Lady Parts!

Woke up with my left knee feeling much better than yesterday, so I popped 2 Advil and set out for an easy 4 miler. After about a mile, I started feeling some twinges. Definitely not as acute as yesterday, but also not worth the risk of having to cut back even more before Surf City. Ran out for 2, then walked the return route. You say "taper," I say "virtually cessation of physical activity." To-may-to, to-mah-to. Thought about squats, but decided I'd do better to wait until I felt no twinges at all, so I did some arms/abs instead.

Meeting Rob for drinks tonight so he can pick my brain about South Africa. To that end, I will share with you a story about working out in South Africa:

As you likely know, I lived in Cape Town for a 6-month study abroad program in college and attended the University of Cape Town. While UCT is in an affluent suburb (Rondebosch), it still wasn't totally safe for me to be bounding down the streets in a sports bra and short shorts, going out for my daily run. In addition (or perhaps because of this fact), no one else in Cape Town really goes out running for fitness. The handful of times I did, people looked at me like I was fleeing the scene of a crime. As a result, some friends and I joined a local gym. So did the American professor who served as our academic professor while abroad.

If you are a liberal arts college professor from the state of Maine with a husband and two elementary school-aged children, you have to be sort of out there to relocate to South Africa. And Liz most certainly was. Her lectures were peppered with terms like "hermetically sealed," a phrase that still escapes my grasp, and she was habitually asking us to "unpack" intangible things, like our thoughts on particular readings. (Tangential story: once we were discussing July's People, arguably one of the single most renowned and important contributions to South African literature. I was only sort of paying attention, and when I refocused myself, I thought we were talking about the July issue of People magazine. Awesome. I recognize that makes me out there, not Liz, but you likely knew that already anyway).

One day after class let out, I headed down to the gym to get in a workout (likely because, as we did every night, my friends and I planned to get stinking drunk off Castle Lager, Captain and Coke Light, Amarula, or some combination of the three). After I finished up my run, I was sitting on a bench in the locker room when Liz walked in, fresh from a swim. Or more likely an aqua aerobics class. The point is, she was wearing a bathing suit. She saw me and came over to chat. As we were talking, Liz opened her locker to grab her towel and other shower supplies while I remained seated on the bench. Without missing a beat in the conversation, Liz stripped off her bathing suit and left me at eye-level with her genitals.

Imagine, if you will, being engaged in conversation about African literature with your college professor while simultaneously being confronted with her junk. Are you imagining? Because whatever you are thinking, it is not as bad as this interaction actually was.

In summation, like gyms in America, gyms in South Africa are full of weirdos.

Ouch!

Since Friday afternoon (when I may have engaged in some cross-training that can't be accomplished at the office...), I've noticed a little twinge in my left kneecap. I felt it at the start of my miles yesterday, but soon "ran it out," so to speak. Unfortunately I felt it throughout the night, every time I used my legs to turn myself over or untangle myself from the covers. Quick Googling indicates that as a "young, otherwise fit female athlete," who both runs and skis this could be chondromalacia. Bummer.

I've suffered from this before, most recently when I was undergoing surgery and PT for a torn meniscus in the same knee back in 2006. Suitable treatment includes rest until the pain and inflammation goes away, Advil, and then strength training to beef up the old quads and get them to do a better job of keeping all your parts in line.

Fortunately, today is a rest day anyway, and we're predicted to have rain of biblical proportions in Gotham City today, so I won't even be tempted to get a short run in. I'll keep monitoring it to see how it feels - it could end up being nothing and will subside in a day or two. In the meantime, I'll keep myself busy by drinking. I mean not now, since it's 7:38am on a Monday. But you know what I mean.

Stay dry!

Sunday Wrap Up: In Which We Acknowledge That Blogging From a Bar at 1:30am Doesn't Make Me That Cool...

As you may know, I like football. A New York Giants fan to be sure, but I also enjoy the game itself. And so I found myself at the gym again today, simultaneously knocking out a 10 miler and watching the Jets take on the Colts.

10 miles on the treadmill is exceedingly tedious, even with the distraction of a good game. To be honest, one of the reasons I didn't just hit "Stop" after an hour was because I used this blog to convey to the world (or the 4 people who read this) that one of my goals this week was to do one run of 10-13 miles. Curse you, accountability.

While I mentioned just yesterday that the gym is full of freaks, I think that today I was probably viewed as the freak, because as usual, I spent the duration of my run screaming and throwing my hands up and fist pumping and blowing my nose into my towel (I do that regardless of what's on TV, but I think it turns some gym-goers off). I was running next to a very, very large man whose arms were about as wide around as my two thighs together. He too was rooting for the Jets (no word on whether or not I-man guilted him into it too), and one two occasions, we exchanged high fives. Stop for a moment to picture me, lanky and extremely sweaty, high-fiving an enormous, middle-aged body builder while running.

Number of Miles Run: Since we counted Monday's 18 last week, my mileage counter (see box on the right) thinks I'm more bad ass than I am. In actuality, I ran 28.25 miles. I'll take it.

Number of Beers Consumed: 2 each on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, 4 on Friday, and about 5 last night (and Meghan and I may have split 2 bottles of wine at dinner...). 15!

Types of Beers Consumed: The first 6 were the aforementioned Lighthouse Ale ("The kind of beer you'd like to have a beer with"). Friday included a Saranac Pale Ale (Hi Nina!), and Bud Lights. Last night I was drinking Amstel Light, which I always say I hate, but actually enjoyed last night. Could be on account of the 2 bottles of wine beforehand...

Welcome, Taper! I've missed you! I am so glad I'll get to spend the next 2 weeks with you! As such, I don't have any single distance goals this week (hooray!), and I expect weekly distance to be in the 25 mile range. Naturally I would like to see Cate for a run, and I would also like to see one of Cate's now infamous jumps in person. A lot can be done to alter images in this digital age and I think I need to see this with my own two eyes.

As for beers, I continue to educate myself on new varieties each week, and on my way home from the gym, selected a six-pack of Palm Ale ("Belgium's Finest!"). I haven't yet cracked it open, but I'll follow up with an extensive review. Because I'm quite verbose when I'm intoxicated.

I hope everyone had a rich and full weekend, and I hope the Jets and the Saints win today. Godspeed.

Dear Steve - Blog this!

P.S. - Why It's Important to Pre-Test Race Day Gear

I was horrified to discover, upon removing my shorts to get in the shower, blood on the tag on the inside left hip. Considering these are brand new shorts, purchased just this morning, who the eff has been bleeding in them?! Oh, right. Me.

Upon closer inspection of myself, I discovered a slice in my left hip, presumably from the corner of the tag rubbing me for 7.25 miles. Naturally, this burned like a thousand fiery suns as soon as the shower stream hit it. Awesome.

In any case, it's helpful to make these discoveries 15 days ahead of race day, as opposed to opening a gaping wound with 19 miles to go. Note to self: cut tags out of shorts.

Saturday Afternoon

Hit up the gym and the dreadmill this afternoon for a few reasons: 1) I wanted to try out my race day attire, and New York in January isn't quite warm enough for the singlet and shorts I plan to wear in SoCal in February, and 2) Sometimes I get worried that if I do all my workouts outside, the people at the gym will judge me because they think I haven't been working out. Lame? Perhaps. True? Absolutely.

While I was at the gym, I discovered why running outside is advantageous. It's not even that the treadmill is boring, which it is, but I can survive it. It's that the gym is full of freaks.

After I had been running about 20 minutes, a man got on the treadmill next to me. Things started out normally enough; the man was a middle-aged, nondescript fellow wearing normal gym clothes. But when he hit start, things got out of hand very fast. Well, perhaps "fast" isn't the right word, since the absolute maximum speed he achieve was 1.5 mph. But rather than walking it, this fellow was step-ball-change, sashay, piroutte-ing his way along, rocking out to Lady Gaga harder than I've ever rocked in my life. Naturally, this annoyed me. Furthermore, I noticed that this man was holding what I assumed was his iPod, until I looked closer and determined that he had somehow removed the headphone input jack from the treadmill and was carrying with him as he pas-de-bourre'd along. Infuriating.

Despite the aggravation, I still had a great run, and followed it up with some lifting and core stuff. And now I shall cap that off with a shower and a beer. Happy Saturday kids!

"Thursdays Are Like Fridays In Disguise"

Woke up at 5:19 this morning to go to the bathroom and decided I sooner die than try to go back to sleep only to wake up with my alarm 26 minutes later. Had some coffee, read Page Six, and prepared myself to meet Cate for a run.

When I set out, I was feeling full of last night's vegetarian penne "bolognese" (look at me, making good on my resolutions!), so I was pleasantly surprised to find myself 45 seconds faster at the 2 mile split today than I was yesterday. I was a few minutes early, so to kill time while I waited for Her Frenchiness, I did 100 jumping jacks. Here is some advice: don't do jumping jacks. If you are older than a fifth grader, chances are you are out of practice. Adult hips don't stretch that way. Also, you look like a lunatic doing them. If I were running and came upon someone doing jumping jacks, I would kindly suggest they return to 1987 where they came from.

Anyway, once Cate arrived, we had a lovely jaunt to the Brooklyn Bridge, talking shit about some people and justifying (or was it rationalizing?) the actions of others. You know what they say: Nothing gets the day started off better than talking about other people. And by "they," I mean "Cate and I." Oh stop judging, we had fun, and at least we were exercising.

My feet (right especially) are still sore from Monday's run, I suppose because I was on my forefoot climbing those mountains for so much of it. I need a tennis ball to work it out. Or a pedicure.

Annnnnnd, I just saw the adulterous Iris Robinson of Northern Ireland say "Just as the murderer can be reformed by the Blood of Christ, so too can the homosexual," which reminds me that I better start getting ready for fighting idiocy, closed-mindedness, and the injustices of the world. All in a day's work...

A Day in the Life of a Philanderer

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am a cheater.

No, I haven't been padding my mileage log (though I have fantasized about sitting on my couch, throwing back a cold one and blogging about some fictitious 10 miler). I've been cheating on New York.

Before today, my last 23 miles were logged in places not along the East River or in Central Park, but in Stamford (or Pound Ridge, but that's mostly because I ran out of room in Stamford). 23 miles. That's a whole week's worth of running for some people (slackers).

At first, I didn't even feel like I was doing anything wrong. It's not like I'm married to Manhattan. But sooner or later, I started feeling guilty. Sure, Connecticut was exciting, full of dramatic highs and lows, but there was something to be said for the reliable, if monotonous, routes of New York City.

When I came crawling back this morning, the East River put up a bit of a fight - I was left sore and tired after just 4 miles, and narrowly dodged pot holes and frost heaves. But in the end, she took me back, thank God. Like all affairs, my love for Stamford's running routes burned hot and fast, but in the end, I knew it wasn't going to work. I'm sorry, Manhattan. I'm back.

Life Is Good

I had one of those rare long weekends that actually felt long. It was full of running, dancing, brewskies, sleeping in, football, and delicious foods - all fun things I love. And just when I thought things couldn't get any better, I capped things off yesterday with a dinner of fish and chips, 2 pints of Guinness, and a slice of Key Lime pie. Of all possible permutations of meal-beer-dessert, that ranks among my top 5! How did I get so lucky?!

My good fortune continued at work today, when I impressed my boss' new boss with an informed tour of our programs and facilities and then helped reel in a $250,000 grant. And it's already Tuesday night!

To celebrate all of these good things, along with my successful completion of the hard parts of marathon training, and to make good on my promise from yesterday, I am currently enjoying a Fire Island Beer Company Lighthouse Ale:

[Shout out to the Bones (above left), and my sister and her potato-headed little brudder (right)]

I snagged this particular brew not at Whole Foods as I had planned, but at my regular neighborhood grocery store, which is not Whole Foods, both because Whole Foods is far from my apartment and because my non-profit salary combined with my love of imported and microbrewed beers and the expensive habit I have of running marathons in faraway places doesn't leave a lot of disposable income for luxuries like organic, free-range, grass fed tofukey or whatever. Anyway, my grocery store has a pretty good selection of brews, including several I had never had; I lingered a few minutes in the beer aisle just trying to decide what I should try first. I landed on Lighthouse Ale for several reasons:

1) The label has a pretty picture that reminds me of Maine, which I love

2) The label further includes the following description:

"...a beer for all seasons, all foods, and all friends.

Or as we like to say, the kind of beer you want to have a beer with."

I am sure there are many ways people describe me ("She can reach things on high shelves"), but if I were to die tomorrow, I hope people would say "She was the kind of girl you want to have a beer with." Whoa, that was deep. Somebody write that down.

3) My line of work lends itself to developing a fondness for Fire Island. And why wouldn't you be fond of this?:

This beer is flavorful: a little bit fruity (no, that was not meant to be a pun), but not overwhelming, with a clean finish. Definitely refreshing. I could see this beer being a nice sundowner (Dear SoCal, I'm talking to you. Sand. Sun. Beer. See you there.), but could also put more than a few back watching football. I had salad for dinner (lame, I know), and this beer definitely outmatched mesclun greens and goat cheese, but I could see it with, oh, I don't know, fish and chips? Hypothetically, of course.

As is customary on Tuesdays (already Tuesday!), I must leave you to watch Biggest Loser. I hope everyone is happy and healthy and generally a-okay. Thanks for reading!

xo,

3:59:59. Bitches.

Monday Wrap Up: In Which We Consider Today To Be An Extension of Yesterday

As you've no doubt realized, I've done away with tradition this week and therefore present you not with the usual Sunday Wrap Up, but with an MLK Day Edition of the Monday Wrap Up. I could make up some reasons about why this is the case, but the real reason is that I was putting off my long run this week for as long as possible, and this morning I finally ran out of ways to procrastinate. Now that it's on the books, I can wrap up my week. Which was 8 days. And because this is my blog, I can do that, so na-na-poo-poo.

As for the run, I knocked out 18 miles here in Stamford this morning, and I learned a very important lesson while doing so: places with "Ridge" in the name are not runner-friendly. Examples from today's run include High Ridge Road, Long Ridge Fire Station, and Pound Ridge, NY. That's a lot of ridges. Same goes for anyplace with "Upper" in the name. Today I ran past Upper Shad Road. Now my Upper Shad is so sore, I need an ice pack.

In all seriousness though, aside from sore legumes, which - duh!, I felt remarkably good overall. A quick rundown of highlights:

Miles 0-2.5: I have a cramp.* This sucks already

Miles 2.5-5: Hills.

Mile 5: After jumping into a road side ditch to avoid a car careening down the road, I start thinking about which would be worse: amputation or paralysis. Freak myself out and decide there is no right answer. Try to think about puppies instead.

Mile 6: "Welcome to New York: The Empire State." Thank you!

Mile 6.5: After cresting a hill, I decide to stash my water bottle in a stone wall so that, when I am cresting in the other directions, I will have something to drink. Sometimes I am so considerate of myself!

Mile 7: "Shitshitshit, this is a steep downhill." Does not bode well for the return trip

Miles 8-9: Hills

Mile 10: Pass a sign that says "Stamford: 9 Miles." Thanks, Dick.

Mile 11: Oh, how right I was about the return up this hill being bad. Fist pump and give myself a shout-out when I reach the top. Am aware that a young family out walking their baby and dog is witness to this. Do not care. Lo! There is my bottle of water!

Miles 12-14: Hills

Mile 15: Male passerby shouts unintelligibly out car window, which scares me. I hate him.

Miles 16-17: Hills

Mile 18: I rule!

Unfortunately I forgot my heart rate monitor at my apartment, which you know I hate, but Dudley was kind enough to lend me a digital watch from 1981 that looks like the kind of thing Alice the cleaning lady robot from the Jetsons would wear. Got the job done though: 2:37:44. Booyah.

Now, onto the Wrap Up:

Number of Miles Logged: 26 for the actual week, 44 for the 8 day week. So let's go with 44.

Number of Beers Consumed: This is tough this week, but a definitive 6, as the 6 pack of Budweiser American Ale I bought earlier this week is no more, plus maybe 5 at Rob and Allison's wedding Saturday night. God, what a light weight!

Types of Beers Consumed: The aforementioned (and abominable) American Ale, and Heineken. Another reason Allison is my girl crush: Heineken was the only beer served at her wedding.

And speaking of beers, I discovered one day this week at lunch that Whole Foods has a HUGE selections of beers I have never tasted. As such, I will once again make it my goal this week to drink something I have never drank before. As for overall mileage, I'll be fine with something in the 30s this week as I wind my way down until the race. I'd like to do another double digit run, but nothing too ambitious - between 10 and 13 will suffice. And lastly, as I am starving right now, my goal is to eat. Immediately.

Have a great day, friends! See you here tomorrow!

* When I first wrote this, I said "I have a crap." For the record, at no point during my run today did I do this.

Saturday Night Fever

First off, this will be short because my right hand is busy blowdrying my hair so typing is tough, but I wanted to pop in with a few quick updates.

Had a hard, hilly 5 mile run this morning with I-man, who was kind enough to a) run with me, b) lend me a long sleeved shirt because I only packed a t-shirt, and c) not hold it against me when we turned a corner to reveal a HUGE hill and I said "I've never liked you." Sorry, I-Man. Anyway, finished and felt good and didn't let him beat me by too much, so I felt satisfied.

In other news, Ms. Megan Moynihan has booked her flights and is now CONFIRMED to join me in Huntington Beach, CA next month!!! She also reports that she will begin training to run 50 yards of the race with me today. Get cracking!

That 18 miles is still hovering over me, either tomorrow or Monday, which I consider to be part of the weekend this week on account of the holiday. But for now, I'll put it out of my mind and focus on not singeing off my mane. Until then, kids!

Making the Most of a Rest Day

In anticipation of tomorrow's rest day, and in response to Rafter's claim that this blog has become too running-oriented (FYI - just because I'm not blogging about it doesn't mean I'm not stumbling out of Automatic Slims three sheets to the wind), tonight I picked up a six pack of Budweiser American Ale. As per my goals for the week, this is (to the best of my recollection) a beer I have never had before. Which was something I should have been proud to maintain, since I am not a fan of Bud's marketing ploy to appear as anything but a cheap beer meant for playing Beirut and tailgating. Also, because this beer isn't that good.

My problems with this brew are multiple. First, the bottle. Between the shape and the label, the whole thing is trying too hard to be retro-hipster. The neck is something from a Hoegaarden, which is weird since the label is distinctly American with the eagle. AND THE NAME OF THE BEER. It looks like something you'd see on a coffee table in those 1970s Bernie Madoff photos.

Second, the color. This beer is moderately brown. Bud is meant to be the color of apple juice. My brain does not compute.

Third, the taste. This beer is very flavorful - an advantage it has over other Bud products (except for the Wheat shit, which has flavor, but it's a bad one). But I wouldn't necessarily say this is a good flavor either. Maybe it's just that I didn't wait for these to get cold before I cracked one open. Or perhaps it just doesn't go well with cheddar Goldfish. I'll revisit this point when I open my next beer. Because obviously I'm going to keep drinking them even though they aren't good.

Lastly, the price. These beers cost $9.19 at Duane Reade. Bud Light costs $6.99. Heineken costs $9.99. Upon closer label inspection, these beers were made in St. Louis, as were there Light cousins. Heineken comes from Holland. Am I just doing at bad job at converting Euros to dollars, or is there no reason why a beer from Missouri should cost nearly as much as a beer from the Netherlands? That's what I thought...

Because tomorrow I'll be sleeping in and not running, and therefore not blogging, you might have some time on your hands. Also, because it's January, you might have some year-end bonus money on your hands. Why don't you spend the time you would ordinarily devout to fastidious reading of this blog to visit Food For The Poor and make a donation to help our Haitian brothers and sisters?

Important Notice

If like me, you're sitting on your couch tonight drinking a beer, think about how much better off you have it than our brothers and sisters in Haiti. Raise your glass to them, say a prayer for them, or best of all, write a check to them.

For information on making a donation and other ways to help, visit Food For The Poor.

An Open Letter to Gentlemen of the East Side

Dear Contractors, Construction Workers, and General Collective of Men Parked in Trucks along the East River Running Path,

It is 23 degrees today, with a windchill factor of 11. As such, I am wearing running tights. However, this fact is not to be interpreted as an invitation for you to honk your car horn, point to my legs, shout "Hey Girly!," give me a thumbs up, or engage in any combination of the preceding. Like you, I too realize that I am wearing spandex. Drawing attention to this fact does not make you enlightened. It seems rather unnecessary.

Furthermore, the honking of your car horn while I am "in the zone," so to speak, is extremely disruptive. It also scares the bejeezus out of me and makes me jump in the air in surprise, which looks stupid. I hate looking stupid. Please stop honking.

Lastly, while it is the case that cheering for a runner by name motivates her to run stronger, faster, better, my name is not "Legs." As such, shouting "Go Legs!" as I run past does nothing except motivate me to get further away from you.

In closing, feel free to continue to ogle me and my gams (what? You thought I was doing this just for myself?), just do so in silence. Many thanks for your cooperation and continued support.

Best,

3:59:59. Bitches.

Grrr

I'd like to think this little blogging experiment has allowed me to develop some modicum of internet skills, but apparently not enough to figure out why my Dailymile mileage counter widget won't refresh itself; it's missing Monday's and Tuesday's runs. As a result, I feel 14 miles less bad-ass. Any internet wizards who can fix this problem will receive a kiss. On the mouth.

P.S. The only two people I expect can help with me with this are Ryan and I-man. The open-mouth kiss goes to the first one of you who can help.

Overeating/Overtraining

I left a few things at home after the holidays, and Dudley was in town for a dinner tonight, so he stopped by my office this afternoon to drop off my gear. And a box of croissants. By the time I left my office, I was practically sweating butter. I can haz obeesitee?

Anyway, adequately fueled, I embarked on a quick run after work, which makes me feel less guilty that I’m now tossing pieces of Hanukkah gelt into my pie hole like they’re… damn, I can’t think of an analogy. I was going to go with “vitamins,” but since you only take one of those a day, that doesn’t make sense. Cheerios, maybe? Anyway, I’m snacking on these suckers (which were in my Christmas stocking, not because we embrace all people [though we do] but because I’m a closet fat kid and have always had a soft spot in my heart for really cheap milk chocolate that tastes like straight milk and sugar, and gelt fits these requirements to a T) while watching The Biggest Loser, which probably isn’t what the producers of this show had in mind. Which is why I went running first. Are you still with me?

So yeah, this run. I managed to avoid the pot-smokers on the out, but ran right through a huge cloud (and gaggle of snickering boys) on the back, precisely at the moment when I was sucking air the hardest. Woohoo! After I finished, I walked around the block since I was sore when I woke up this morning and thought a little loosening up couldn't hurt me. Then I took the stairs up to my apartment to avoid an intoxicated old gentleman who was bobbing and weaving his way across the lobby to the elevator. Classy.

In other news, I woke up this morning with a run in mind, but in addition to the soreness, I had the beginnings of a scratchy throat, which is serious bad news (see newly added marathon countdown widget, below right). Fiended Emergen-C at the office today, so hopefully this is just a passing thing. Meeting Cate for a Hump Day Celebration run tomorrow morning (it’s actually not any different, procedurally, from a regular run, except that the name sounds more enticing. Doesn’t it make you want to lace up your sneaks?! DO YOU THINK I AM HAVING A SUGAR HIGH?!).

That will be 21 miles for the week, and since I have to do 18 one day this weekend, I will probably use Thursday and Friday to have one short (4-5 miler) run and one rest day. In a dream world (aka, a Hal Higdon world), the perfect marathon training regimen lasts 18 weeks. When I registered for Surf City, I was staring at a starting line 9 weeks away. Because I'm crunching my training into an abbreviated timeframe, I need to walk run the fine line between under-preparing and overtraining. Overtraining is an actual condition that results not necessarily from too much running, but from not enough rest, and involves unrelenting soreness, nagging injuries, decreased immunity (hello, sore throat?) and running depression. Do. Not. Want. Fear not, however, as I will likely consume a delicious brew which I have never tasted before on my rest day, and will have much to blog about. It may or may not be typed correctly.

One last nugget of wit I will share with you: today Brad and I were talking about RoadID and how their website has excellent insights as to what information is relevant to first responders and what is a waste of space, and as usual, I was getting very excited. He said to me “like Pauly D is the ultimate guido, you're the ultimate running dork.”

Monday: Mixed Feelings

Didn't feel awesome after work, but didn't feel terrible either, so I decided to knock out 7 to the Brooklyn Bridge (may have unwittingly cut a corner somewhere in there because I highly doubt I had a PR on the route tonight). Less than 10 minutes into the run, I passed by a group of teenaged boys and ran right through a huge cloud of pot smoke. Rather than making me extra light on my feet, the next 6 1/2 miles were filled with visions of potential predators leaping out from under dark underpasses to attack me. Drug-induced paranoia? Probably not. Unfortunate and unpleasant coincidence? Most certainly. At least I was wearing my RoadID.

Speaking of which, there were actually some pluses to my day today. When I got home from work, my RoadID was waiting in my mailbox (Cate, don't screen your calls anymore). Naturally, in the space for "motivational quote," mine says "Will Run For Beer." (For the record, should I be mortally injured on a run, my epitaph should read the same).

BAHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHA I am cracking myself up with that picture. I didn't want all my emergency contact information broadcast for the whole internet to see so I used those wonky settings in PhotoBooth. Maybe I am high, because I am enjoying that image way to much.

Anyway, I also received a call at work today from one Megan Moynihan, who reported she's going to try to come down to Huntington Beach for the marathon next month! Could it be? Potentially two Megan sightings in one month?! AMAZING!

Flurries forecast tomorrow morning, but I may give it a go again before work. Stay tuned.

Sunday Wrap Up: WOOHOO!

Legs. Are. Tired. And, not for nothing, I'm nursing a sizeable headache (Automatic Slims packs a potent one-two punch, combining alcohol and rocking 80s music). Taking today off from running and will instead be trekking all over the City with Maddy when she arrives this afternoon. That counts as cross training, right?

Number of Miles Logged: 40! Woohoo!

Number of Beers Consumed: Hmm. One Tuesday, 3 Wednesday, 3 Thursday, 3 Friday, and 8-ish yesterday. 18. Still more miles than brewskies!

Types of Beers Consumed: A few Brooklyn Browns, a Guinness, and an awful lot of Bud Lights. That is embarrassing. Perhaps tonight I'll take a trip to the bodega and pick up some quality intoxicants.

And what do you know? I met all of my goals for the week! Particularly proud of knocking out that 14 miler yesterday, which should do something for my confidence as much as for my endurance. As for this week, I'll aim to get in 35-40 again. I'm also going to try to run one 18 miler, so that even if I don't run another step before the marathon, I'll still feel like I can tackle the race. And I will aim to drink one type of beer I have never had before. At least I can look forward to one of those goals.

It's 23 degrees in NYC today. Sunny SoCal, here I come!

It's All Coming Back To Me Now

It's a cold one today - 27 degrees with a wind chill of 18. In spite of that, I dragged myself on a 14 miler. I think I deserve a finisher's medal just for that!

Ran up to the 90th Street entrance to the Park and got stuck at what seemed like every other intersection. Felt good when I got into the Park right at 36:00, and was looking forward to being on a road without traffic. Unfortunately I had forgotten just how hilly the Park is compared with the rest of the City; not only is the Harlem hill pretty much the worst topography has to offer, but the whole west side is all rolling hills. Ugh. Despite that, I felt good throughout, and made up a couple of minutes, finishing 10 in 1:27:00. No arch problems to speak of. Yay!

I checked my watch again at the 13 mile mark and was at 1:54:00. Using the highly scientific prediction model of Marathon = (Half-Marathon x 2) + 10, that puts me at 3:58. Ambitious and unlikely, but I'm still satisfied to know that I should be able to run at least 14 miles of Surf City, considering my abbreviated training regimen. I'd be happy with a 4:15 in California. I'd be happier still if, after the race, I could watch the Giants in the Super Bowl, but that's beyond my control.

Speaking of football, I am going to take a hot shower, put on my bathrobe, and watch the Jets-Bengals game. And quite possible drink a beer, because I deserve it. Happy weekend!!

Hook 'Em Horns

Ran the Brooklyn Bridge 7 tonight, post-work, pre-BCS. Felt excellent, except that I had to stop 3 times to stretch out a VERY tight arch in my right foot. It felt like my toes were curling under and I was running on a foot-fist. Very strange, as my feet don't usually trouble me. Stretching for 10 seconds helped each time, but after about 2 miles, the pain came back.

Post-run I headed to Gym Bar (FYI - that link may be considered NSFW, depending on your boss' stance on homoerotica) to watch the Texas-Alabama game. Given my beer intake tonight and my arch strain, tomorrow (Friday) will be a rest day for me. The last thing I need is a) to aggravate my potential future hangover, or b) to develop full fledged plantar fasciitis 4 weeks out from the marathon.

To entertain you (As if the Gym Bar website weren't enough), I leave you with the following gem, which I received this week. I'd like to think this blog played an integral role in my success:

Top 12% of all female finishers. "Are you questioning my bad-assness? Have you seen my guns?!"

Since it's now 12:06am, happy Friday my friends! See you for a long run this weekend!

Words to Live By

Made myself a little mantra at my desk this afternoon.

Wednesday Weirdness

The scene: 6:30am, top floor of a Gramercy apartment building. Claire gets into the elevator, dressed in running clothes. Down one floor, another young women enters the elevator, dressed in a combination of pajamas and business attire. The two women travel to the first floor. The elevator opens, and the second women exits and approaches the building's door. She struggles with opening it.

She: "Sorry, I actually don't live here."

Claire: "Oh, no worries." (Opens door. Concludes that if girl slept in building but can't operate door, she has never been in building before.)

I salute you, Mid-Week Sleepover Girl, for your commitment to both getting some strange tail and getting to work on time the next day.

New Year, New Sneakers!

Is there anything better than a new pair of kicks, fresh out of the box? So shiny! And they smell so new! They might be the best possible thing to come home to. Oh, wait:

There's this: new sneaks, fresh Runner's World, cold, dark beer. I love this life.

P.S. Yes, these sneakers are identical to the ones I ran in this morning. In fact, for those of you keeping score, I'd estimate that my last 10 pairs of sneakers were these same Asics DS Trainers in varying colors. Post-marathon, though, I swear I'm getting the FiveFingers.

P.P.S. Yes, I said I was going to read that issue of Runner's World last night. I made it through the table of contents before I fell asleep. At 10:00pm. I'm that cool.