Call Me Lance

For all the bitching and moaning I've done in the past about biking, it turns out it's not the most miserable means of exercise in the world (I think walking on the treadmill might win that award in terms of sheer boring-ness, though step aerobics ranks high with its ability to make me feel both physically and mentally challenged). So confronted with a busy evening tonight and residual rain drops outside, I undertook what was (hopefully) to be my last ride at the gym this morning.

Again, I set off for a journey through an Alpine Pass, all the while staring down at the buses barreling across 23rd Street. In an effort to make the most out of my last hurrah, I even amped upped the resistance. To 8. Out of 20. Stop judging. Having finally gotten to the point where I wasn't in agony upon sitting, the hour actually seemed to fly by.

While I was mostly consumed by my sucking wind as I pedaled furiously up fictitious Alps, with nary a corporate sponsorship or performance enhancing drug to spur me on, I did happen to notice a fellow I recognized from my East River runs. Whom I hate. In his entirety, he weighs as much as my left leg, his head is far to big for his body, and he's the type of runner who, when sensing he's about to be passed, speeds up. Buddy, if we're out for a regular old Tuesday morning run, there's no need to get competitive. Because you can't win because I'm faster and better than you, so suck on that! Anyway, I felt smug as he struggled with his form while doing bicep curls with weights much heavier than he could manage. Then I remembered that while I've spent the past two weeks riding a bike to nowhere, he's likely been logging miles on the road and will surely smoke me next time I see him out there. So I got over myself pretty quickly.

In conclusion, sorry I've been the least inspired and inspiring runner/drinker/blogger ever these past 2 weeks, but thanks for sticking with me. Next time you're thinking about putting your feet up on the coffee table and tossing bon bons down your gullet instead of knocking out a quick couple of miles, remember: run because you can! See you here tomorrow for a recap of my triumphant return...

You're Welcome

Women created beer.

2 More Days...

Set out for yet another walk tonight, up to the UES and then west to Fifth Avenue and back downtown. On day 12 of this experiment in non-running, I made several observations:

- Walking: still not as satisfying as running...

- But it doesn't alleviate the need to blow snot rockets...

- Which is frowned upon when you are, technically speaking, a pedestrian walking down Fifth Avenue...

- Which is seriously crowded with tourists, even in the rain, even on a Monday, even 8 months before Christmas.

Let's fast forward to Thursday; I don't know that I can muster the enthusiasm to keep blogging about walking, unless I drink heavily, and Monday is a little early in the week for those kind of antics. Gotta draw the line somewhere...

Sunday Wrap Up: The Week There Was No Running

While today was a cold and dreary late winter day, I had a chance to enjoy the great outdoors yesterday, having gone on a walk while I-Man occupied himself with his last long run before Boston. I walked from his place to my parents', had a snack and a soda with my mom, got a ride back, and still had time to shower and make myself presentable before I-Man and his chafed extremities returned. Sometimes not running isn't so bad.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 0. Number of Breakfast Sandwiches Eaten: 3. Instead of the running (and addition to the eating), I spent this week trying my best to stay active by walking and biking. So, Number of Miles Walked: 15. Number of Miles Biked: 44. I should bike more often if only because 44 sounds like a lot of miles...

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 8. Tried to cut down on liquid calorie consumption on account of foot paralysis.

Types of Beers Consumed: Quite a few Bud Lights and a Bud Heavy, and 2 Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA.

As I've mentioned, oh I don't know, every day for the last 11 days, I'm cleared to get back to running on Thursday of this week, so I'm looking forward to it, and cautiously optimistic that my foot won't turn to dust with my first stride. I won't set a mileage goal for the week, and instead am hoping I will be able to resist the urge to make up for lost time and knock out a pre-work marathon on Thursday morning.

As for beer goals, I'm giving up on IPAs for now, having decided that a) they don't taste that good, and b) life is too short to drink bad beer (there's another quote for my epitaph). Not too sure what I will focus my drinking efforts on, but there's probably an appropriate beer out there to celebrate Easter. I mean, I can't be the only one who celebrates the Resurrection with a cold one, right? I am? Oh, this is awkward...

This Time Next Week, I'll Be Back to Running

Had another bike workout this morning, which reminded me that I hate biking and am anxiously looking forward to getting back to running next week. Especially because when I sat down on the bike this morning, I winced in pain and shot out of the seat, half expecting to see that I'd positioned myself on some claw that stabbed me "where my bathing suit covers." Any exercise that sends shooting pains through one's genitals is not an exercise for me. Also, with the exception of biking, it's probably an STI and not an exercise at all, in which case I recommend you visit a medical professional.

In beer news, I drank Bud Light last night, even though we have Dogfish Head in the apartment, and I'm okay with that.

Hope everyone has a fine Friday and a delightful weekend!

Brew Review: Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA

I'll be honest: I've never had Dogfish Head before. Part of this stems from the fact that I don't like IPAs. Part of it stems from the fact that, when I first developed my taste for beer, I was a destitute college undergrad, and $15.00 6-packs were too rich for my blood. I'm still destitute (hint hint - corporate sponsors who would like to provide beer money and/or race entry fees are welcome!), but based on my sister's recommendation, I picked up Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA tonight after work.

Here is what my sister had to say:

"I had one just last weekend and love it! They also have a 90 minute version (no idea if this is the estimated time of blackout or what), but I cannot vouch for that particular brew."

It should be pointed out that, while no longer destitute, or an undergrad, my sister is in college 2.0, having moved to Michigan last summer to pursue her MBA at Michigan State University's Eli Broad School for Adults Who Sleep In Twin Beds and Throw Up In Trash Bags In Cars Coming Home From Off-Campus Parties. Hypothetically speaking, of course. Anyway, given that she's more apt to have her ear to the ground (when she's not sucking face with frat boys) when it comes to good beers, I'm taking her advice.

First pour: rich coppery-amber color. Spicy, earthy smell. Froathy head (though I tossed this one in the freezer when I got home because I bought the sixer warm, so I can't vouch for whatever scientific impact that had).

First taste: Hoppy. Whoa hoppy. Like pin-pricks on your tongue.

Second taste: Unlike other IPAs, the bitterness doesn't really linger, which I appreciate as a hop novice. Sometimes with hoppy beers, the taste gets stuck under your tongue and you can't quite clear your palate, but with this, the flavor is gone after a swallow or two (that's what she said). However, that first taste is hoppy. Bitter. Makes my mouth feel full. And with a full-feeling mouth, I'm disinclined that have another sip. This is a critical roadblock in my efforts to drink.

I remember being 14 21 years old and having my first real, more-than-just-a-taste-of-Dudley's beer experiences and thinking "this tastes like shit, but I'm going to drinking because drinking makes you cool." Granted, it was Coors Light, and I was chugging it under the cloak of darkness as fast as possible to both make it home for curfew and avoid the wrath of the local police... But for me, and I think for most people I know, beer is an acquired taste; could hops be an acquired taste within the acquired taste of beer? Or did I just blow your mind? In any case, this certainly wasn't love at first site, but I'm willing to keep trying.

Given that making a dent in this pint is slow-going and I have to get ready for another early non-run in the morning, I'll bid you adieu. Hope you're spending your time and money drinking something you actually like tonight. And don't do things because you think they make you cool. And don't drink if you're not 21. Or buy alcohol for minors.

Where's My 10 Grand?

As I mentioned in my belated wrap up for last week, I'd hoped to use this week to try out alternate ways to stay active while resting my foot. Unfortunately, the trouble with planning to go to yoga after work during the week is that you spend the entire workday mentally excusing yourself from that yoga class. And so I spent last night online shopping and watching The Biggest Loser, which should totally count as a workout because it's so stressful and draining. I have a hard life.

That said, The Biggest Loser actually did serve as inspiration for me today. This morning I set out for the gym at the bright and early hour of 5:45 to get on the bike. A couple things worth noting:

1) Unlike the treadmills, the bikes aren't crowded in the morning, so getting to the gym before 6:00am is totally unnecessary.

2) I don't think I've been on a bike since I did PT after knee surgery in 2006.

3) I don't think tall people are meant to ride bikes; in order to have enough room to move my legs, I had to raise the seat so high that my upper back was straining to bend to the handlebars. I fear my body proportions resemble those of a T-Rex...

Having no idea what to do on a bike, I sat down, arbitrarily picked a pre-populated workout (Random Hill), guessed at an appropriate resistance level between 1 and 20 (5), and selected a doable time (20 minutes). In that time, my heart rate didn't get above 108 bpm, I didn't break a sweat, and I burned all of 90 calories. Something was telling me I wasn't doing this right...

I decided to try another workout (Alpine Pass), this time with greater resistance (8), for 40 minutes. Oh! Ohhhh! THIS is how biking should feel. Soon enough, I was pouring sweat and my ass was numb.

As I approached the 40 minute mark, I realized that by adding my two bike workouts for the morning, I was close to completing the challenge contestants on last night's episode of The Biggest Loser faced - biking 26.2 miles. So I figured, what the hell? Might as well go for it. I crossed the fictitious finish line in 1:04:25. Dear NBC, You owe me $10,000. But I'd settle for a cupcake.

While I've gone on the record about my personal dislike of biking indoors, I have respect for the bikers and triathletes out there. That respect was heightened when I got off the bike and very nearly collapsed on the gym floor. My legs felt like each one weighed as much as a contestant on The Biggest Loser. Furthermore, while I was on the bike, I felt pretty badass, like those chicks in the Lucille Roberts commercials who are super fit and look hard core, but can't possibly be because they are at Lucille Roberts. And perhaps most importantly (and this is probably obvious to everyone but me), the bike puts no pressure whatsoever on my wounded foot. While I should probably be excited that I've found a decent workout to keep me busy for the last 7 days of my run-free phase, I absolutely hate that my previous tirade about spinning is now coming back to bite me in the ass. Though if I do suck it up and go to spinning class, I'm sure I'll have plenty of fodder for this blog...

Anyway, after yesterday's failed attempt at a post-work workout, I'm happy to be done with my fitness for the day. Tonight, I shall dedicate myself to sampling the IPAs you've recommended. Happy, Rafter?

Monday Wrap Up: Because Sundays Aren't the Same Without Long Runs

Ask any semi-serious runner what day of the week she does her long runs, and each and every one will give you the same answer: Sunday. The Sunday long run is so deeply entrenched in running minds that when I set out to race my first marathon (3 years ago this past weekend?! Pass the Botox, please!) and discovered race day was Saturday and not Sunday, I considered finding a different Spring marathon that better matched my training schedule. So forgive me for not providing you with a Sunday Wrap Up yesterday; without a long run to accomplish, it didn't even seem like a Sunday.

Number of Miles Run: 18. Number of Miles Walked (for fitness): 10.

Number of Beers Consumed: 12. In one of my various doctor's appointments last week, I was told that as a woman, I should allow myself no more than one or two drinks a night. You better believe I'll be rolling over those last 2 drinks into this week's allotment.

Types of Beers Consumed: 6 of 'em were Guinness, on account of St. Patrick's Day. There were a few Sierra Nevadas, a Sapporo, 2 (ish?) Pauwel Kwak's (more on that below) and whatever was the last remaining beer from a Saranac Sampler I picked up last week.

As for this week, my biggest goal is to not run, which is harder than it sounds. Thankfully it's raining today, because if we had any more days like Saturday, I can't promise I'd last for the entire 14 days of rest. And the "rest" I'm engaged in is pretty active rest at that; after work tonight I went for a 5 1/2 mile walk.

Because I'm not too confident that aggressive walking is what doctor Zaghi had in mind when he told me to stay off it, I'm also going to try to come up with new ways to stay active this week. Maybe yoga, maybe even the dreaded stationary bike. Though there's always competitive eating...

In terms of beers for the week, I'm off the Belgian kick, having been turned off by the Pauwel Kwak I tried Friday night. While it had the cloudy appearance of a yeasty Belgian ale, it didn't have any of that fresh, citrus-y, suitable-for-summer taste that most Belgian ales have. This week, I'll be sampling IPAs; not typically a fan, I'm setting out to find one with a hoppiness I find pleasant and not overpowering. Any suggestions are welcome (and by that I mean desperately needed).

I hope everyone had as awesome a sunshiney weekend as I did, and kudos to the National Marathon/LA Marathon/NYC Half-ers out there. And look at that - I'm down to single digits on the mandated rest countdown!

Rest Day 3

I am proud to report that I've been following doctor's orders, going so far as to wear sneakers to work yesterday:

I spent the entire day with "Let the River Run" stuck in my head. If only my blazer had shoulder pads, I would have been the complete Working Girl package.

Woke up this morning to an absolutely gorgeous June day... in March. Eager to enjoy the sunshine (with sunscreen), Cate, Liza, and I set out for a walk downtown... which turned into the Battery Park 10 mile loop. No one said anything about not walking...

13 Days to Go...

So. After the weirdest doctor’s appointment ever yesterday, during which the (racist) doctor suggested that I provide testicular exams (not to him, thank God) and educated me on the relationship between growing mushrooms and wearing tight jeans (vomit, vomit, holy Lord, creep), I was referred to the podiatrist, who was totally normal and highly professional. Score!

Dr. Zaghi looked at my right foot, compared it to my left foot, asked about running frequency and mileage, examined my Asics, and scoffed at my Vibrams. After much poking, flexing, weight-bearing, and x-raying, and a stern suggestion that VFFs should be saved for trail running and not the mean streets of Manhattan, Dr. Zaghi diagnosed me with a joint injury. He pointed to the x-ray and said words like “navicular” and “cuboid” and said something wasn’t right, that the problem was in the joint (“the files are IN the computer!”). Thankfully, I’ll make a full recovery (no Cheetah leg prosthesis for me. Which I suppose is for the best…) Treatment? 10 days of wrapping, 10 days of prescribed anti-inflammatory (how come I never get prescribed any good drugs?), 10-15 minutes of heat twice a day (apparently the previous 2 weeks spent icing were not helpful. Never trust liberal arts grad) and 14 days without running. Dagger.

Two weeks? Just when the weather is getting nice? Come onnnnnnnnnnnnn. Elliptical is out as well, though I’m welcome to use the arm bike to my heart’s content. Um, thanks, but no thanks.

Naturally, I’m bummed. But not devastated. Two weeks will go by fast. And even if I don’t run another step before April 1st, I’ll still have time to get back into fighting shape for the Nashville half mary on 4/25. And I can feel less guilty about taking cabs. “It’s the cuboid. Gotta stay off it.”

I didn’t run this morning, on account of consuming my weight in Guinness and soda bread last night, so today counts as Day 1. 13 days to go.

If They Amputate Today, This Was My Last Run Ever

Of all the annoyances associated with running (and believe me, there are many), the thing that really pushes me over the edge is when my heart rate monitor gives inaccurate readings. I wear a basic Polar monitor, the single job of which is to record my heart rate. So screw you, Polar, for telling me my heart rate is 77 bpm when I'm hauling ass up a hill at break neck speed. I burned 10 miles worth of calories this morning, and you better effing record it so that, when I'm binge eating while reviewing my weekly training on Sunday night, I can continue to feel accomplished and/or self-righteous. You deserve a lifetime condemned to be strapped to my sweaty body, smothered under a tech tee that never really loses that "ripe runner" smell. Jerk.

That said, I did something exceedingly foolish and against my better judgement this morning, and I am sure that when I meet Dr. Bennett in 2 hours, he will agree: I ran the 10 mile Battery Park loop. My reasoning was that, having started my run with minimal pain, I should take advantage of the fact that I could tolerate logging some miles, since tomorrow (or for the rest of my life) my fankle might be giving me trouble. Yes, I recognize that running on the fankle has great potential to exacerbate any injury, but I couldn't resist. Plus, I ran into Katie and Amy again this morning and they were so happy and chipper for 7am, going so far as to tell me I was "looking good," when I know that was a lie because I was feeling so very tired (thanks, girls!), that I felt like I just had to keep going. So blame them.

Actually, I'm not even feeling bad, post-run, though I do have the ice pack on there now. Definitely less tender than yesterday. Again, this is the least consistent ailment ever. The doctor will probably tell me I have a broken wrist and the fankle pains are psychosomatic. But please do send me your good vibes this morning and stay tuned for my diagnosis.

Advil Has Many Uses...

When I woke up this morning, the ankle part of my fankle was feeling a little weak, so I did some strength crap (seriously, are there people who really do sit-ups? Aside from in the context of the Presidential Physical Fitness Test in elementary school? They're impossible and highly uncomfortable) in front of the Today Show and put off the possibility of a run until after work today.

When I got home and laces up the Asics, I was hoping for a repeat of last night's short and pain-free Williamsburg Bridge run. I even thought about strapping on the Vibrams, which have gotten very little love from me of late (just two runs in two weeks...), but decided I better wait until I've fully recovered. Looks like that recovery is not yet within reach.

The foot part of the fankle was acting up pretty aggressively by the 1 mile mark, though by mile 2 I was able to ignore it enough so that it became a dull roar rather than a screaming jab to the metatarsal (fun fact: metaTARsal is in your foot, and your feet touch the TAR of the road. MetaCARpal is in your hands, which you use to drive a CAR. Thank you, Mary Henwood and the entire staff of Rye Middle School physical education). While I was able to finish the run, even knocking a minute off last night's time, when I yanked my sneaker off, the foot was sore to the touch. While I don't think that can possibly be a good thing, I've made no bones about the fact that, as a graduate of government and African Studies, I am in no way qualified to make medical diagnoses, and am sick of speculating. Off to the doctor tomorrow morning.*

Since the whole broken appendage thing is kinda a bummer, I thought I'd share some lighthearted stuff tonight as well: As I've mentioned in the past, I check the Google analytics of this blog often, because I like to know that 4 whole people have viewed my blog (hi Mom!). One of the things I always check is the search terminology people use to find me. I've had some weird ones: immediately after I wrote about the girl in the gym talking loudly on her cell phone and wanting to rekindle old romance, someone found my blog by Googling "Sean Verlin;" "aerobics shower naked," something I've never done, let alone written about, also lead someone to find me. But recently when I checked, I was quite taken aback, both by the search term someone even thought to Google, and the fact that it lead someone to this blog.

"i have deep twinges in my legs after my hangover is over"

I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you found what you were looking for on this blog. A recommended hair of the dog? Or an ample dosage of Advil perhaps?

*Is it wrong that I am still cautiously optimistic that, because my doctor's appointment has gotten me out of work until tomorrow afternoon, I'm hoping to spend the morning running somewhere between 7 and 10? Is that at cross purposes with the whole "injury which requires medical attention" thing?

Preemptive Luck of the Irish?

Something very strange happened when I woke up this morning: the alarm went off at 5:45am, and when I put my feet on the floor, I didn't feel a thing. No fankle pains at all. I promptly got myself out of bed and fully on my feet, walked over to the alarm clock and reset it for 6:45am. 5:45 is early on a regular day; it's unfathomable on the first workday following Daylight Savings.

On the plus side, Daylight Savings also means that, while it's still pitch-black outside in the morning, twilight is prolonged after work, and I was able to test out my fankle on a short run this evening.

Whereas recent runs have had me noticing (if not wincing from) a little pain immediately upon starting a run, tonight was different. I felt nary a twinge for nearly 30 minutes. Furthermore, I noticed that in spite of whatever deliberate or coincidental damage they caused my foot/ankle/self-esteem/ability to consume beers and fried foods with reckless abandon, the VFFs truly have helped me with my stride and foot falls; after a mile, I could feel the muscles in the backs of my legs working to keep me on my toes, all the way up to my butt (hello, summer full of short skirts and bikinis!), while taking short, quick steps.

Fearful of overdoing it tonight after a few too many sets of lunges yesterday and setting myself to be too sore to run later in the week (and nervous that my luck with the fankle could run out at any moment), I turned around at the Williamsburg Bridge for a 4 miler. I'm still icing and Advil-ing tonight for good measure, but I'm pleasantly surprised that my foot hasn't shriveled up and fallen off by this point.

Here's hoping the weather gets better as the week goes on: between the spray coming off the East River (remind me to make sure my vaccines are up to date...) and the wind that literally pushed me laterally across the running path while I tried to make forward progress, I'm ready for March to go out like a lamb. Like, now.

Sunday Wrap Up: Advil and Ice Packs

I had every intention of spending my morning out on a 10+ miler, thereby absolving myself of all future guilt associated with the mammoth brunch I had planned with my girls at noon. Alas, the potent trifecta of late night Friday, Saturday's epic lax road trip, and daylight savings left me struggling to get out of bed this morning. No worries, I thought. I'll run after brunch.

Nevermind that brunch started with a glass of champagne, followed by a beer, and tastings of French toast, chicken sausage, cheddar grits, and strawberry butter. Nor that, following brunch, we retired to my apartment for yet more beers, along with a cheese plate. No, I was going for a run.

As I digested, the Sunday depression crept in, and I realized I had to get myself to the gym if I didn't want to spend the night watching "16 and Pregnant" while surrounded by tabloid magazines and the detritus of fast food. I hopped on a treadmill, anticipating a 7-10 miler. At 1 1/2, my fankle was really throbbing. And the potent beer-sausage-cheese combo wasn't exactly soothing in the tum. By 3 miles, I threw in the towel. So much for that 10+ miler this week...

Number of Miles Run: 24. Not the planned 30-35. On the plus side, I-Man raised an interesting point during the sweetest, sickest lax trip we took this weekend, brah. I mentioned I planned to run 12 or 14 today, to which he responded "what are you running 14 miles for if you're not training for anything right now?" Good point, I-Man. My next race is the Nashville Half-Marathon, and I'm confident that my weekly 10s will get the job done. So I'm okay with not getting a 10+ miler in this week. Lax on 3.

Number of Beers Consumed: 18. Respectable. Percentage of those consumed between 5pm Friday and 5pm Sunday: 67%. Impressive.

Types of Beers Consumed: A whole lot of Guinness, a handful of delicious Saratoga Ale (medium-hoppy), a Bluepoint, a Mother's Milk, an Allagash White, a couple varieties of Saranac, and a truly delicious magnum bottom of Chimay Premiere. So. Good.

Number of Cabs Required to Get My Party To Brunch This Morning: 2. Nina, I miss you already!

I'm not going to set any goals for this week until I get the fankle issue straightened out. I have a doctor's appointment on Wednesday morning and until then, I anticipate a high Advil-and-ice pack-to-mileage ratio. Though speaking of Wednesday, I can assure you that I'll do some of my best beer drinking that day, in honor of my people. And, since cold beers make good ice packs, my inner multi-tasker is excited.

Hope everyone was safe in light of the storm this weekend, and kudos to you if you braved that weather for a run, or if you stayed warm and dry by enjoying a beer indoors. Extra credit if you did both.

The Original Walsh Family Beer Runner

Got up with the 5:45am alarm this morning, and while the binge eater in me is ready for a good calorie burn, the fankle pains are telling me to take a rest day. While I'm deciding what to do, I'll share something with you:

That's my dad and me, above (not last night. Sometime in the 80s, in case that track suit didn't make it clear). Dudley is the original Walsh Family Beer Runner. I remember watching him in local Turkey Trots and thinking it was badass (before I even knew what badass was) that he participated in the Greenwich Bushwhack cross-country race, bounding over hay bails and through ankle deep mud puddles. And then, when I was old enough, I was invited to join him to participate in what became a turning point in my own beer running career: The Boilermaker.

If you've never run the Boilermaker, you should. Not because Utica, NY is a particularly nice place (though they certainly need your tourism dollars), or because running up a golf course hill in blinding July sun is a pleasant experience, but because this is the quintessential beer race. Billed as the world's largest 15K. the Boilermaker was the first race I ran with "Elites." When I say "with" I obviously don't mean side-by-side, but the race is significant enough, in distance and in crowd draw, that runners from all over the world compete. And when they are done competing, they drink.

Hell, even before they compete, they drink. Or at least that's how my family does it. The day before the race, after packet pick-up and hotel check-in, we would travel to the Saranac Brewery for a brewery tour, which any of us could have lead, we'd be on it so many times (that said, the term "dry hopping" never gets old. It's like dry humping, people!).

Here we are (Mike C, Dudley, me, and my sister Liz) witnessing the miracle of dry hopping. Or something.

After the tour, we would go upstairs to the tasting room. Let me tell you, the fine folks at Saranac don't mess around. 2 full pints complimentary. Once, while we were enjoying our Pilsners and Black & Tans, two older gentlemen starting chatting up my sister and me, asking how long we'd been Boilermakers, whether we'd been on the tour before, etc. When we explained we were old hands at the tour and tasting combo at Saranac, the men reached into their pockets and pulled out no fewer than 40 complimentary drink tickets, saved up over years and years of Boilermaker weekends. Creepy old-man beer runners: I salute you.

Couple quick programming notes before I wish you a happy Friday:

1) Nina's coming to NYC today. Woohoo!!!

2) My buddy Michael is also running the B.A.A. 5K up in Beantown on Marathon weekend, but since he's a better human than me, he's doing it for charity. But not just "wahh, wahh, write me a check so we can all feel good." Michael's running in a skirt (and sports bra?) to support Susan Komen and ladies (and their tatas) everywhere. If you want to see Michael in a skirt, or just want to support ladies and our knockers, visit Michael's website.

And with that, adieu.

Junky

Lately my Vibrams have not been my friends. It all started last Thursday, when I took them out for 7 and felt great, only to discover a monstrous pain radiating from my foot. Ankle. Fankle. I took a day off. I tried to switch back to my Asics. I took another day off.

Since then I've been able to get in some miles, and truth be told, many of them were good miles, but I've felt this fankle twinge ever since. This morning, I figured maybe the problem was the switch back to the Asics. So I got out of bed, put on shorts, took off my socks, and headed out with the VFFs. Gah.

My fankle throbbed. Something was rubbing my foot. A dog gave me chase. My eyebrows felt itchy. In general this run sucked. It was like the Vibrams were saying, "Eff you, Claire."

"Eff you, Claire." (See how I pushed the middle toe up, there? Like they're giving me The Finger. Clever!)

In beer news, I've been tempted by a large bottle of Chimay Ale Premiere I picked up at the store on Sunday but have yet to taste. My Dad is coming to town for dinner tonight, so perhaps I'll suggest we have a glass before we dine. Nothing says Father-Daughter bonding like sharing 7% ABV intoxicants produced by Trappist monks.

Battery Park Rave Run: The Redux

Tried to recreate Sunday's spectacular 10 miler this morning. Not quite as lovely today - it's not nearly as warm at 6am as it is at noon; having to get ready for work meant I couldn't wander around willy-nilly; and there was sadly no Katie B. today - but still a solid run. Had terrible luck with the lights though; got stuck at every crosswalk between 11th Avenue and 3rd Avenue. Forget turning off street lights; if I were Dumbledore, I'd for sure whip up a magical traffic light device.

Took some pics of this morning's run, in case my raging Sunday depression this weekend when Nina leaves me is further compounded by the forecasted rain and I need to be reminded that Spring really was here, at least for a few days:

Seaport

Statue of Liberty

Sign indicating that I was by the Statue of Liberty, since you can't really tell from the previous picture

Ooooh New Jersey!

And, that's the old man who totally smoked me. Like, it was awkward how fast he flew by me. Not nearly as awkward as the fact that I whipped out my iPhone and took his picture. Who's got the last laugh now, Grandpa?!

Today I'll Use My Desk Chair to Roll from Meeting to Meeting

After Sunday's 10 miler, yesterday's 7, and spending 15 hours on my feet smiling and schmoozing at a work event last night, today calls for a must needed rest day. I'm bummed because it's a beautiful day and I'd like to spend it running, but my feet have never been more excited.

And speaking of my feet, at last night's event a man with a press pass photographed them. In fact, he was at first unhappy with just my feet in their natural habitat, and so he asked me to pose them. The look of sheer panic that crossed my face when a stranger with a camera asked me to "spread my legs a little bit" is one my colleagues won't soon let me live down. I'm sorry, but I don't think I was unwarranted. People are creepy.

Sunday Wrap Up: There's No Better Feeling Than Your First Run in Shorts

Given that yesterday I was convinced my foot ailment was a dire skeletal deformity that would require surgery, if not amputation, to repair it, I was happy that by this morning the pain had morphed into a general lower leg fatigue - something I could certainly work through. Here is a tip: African Studies majors don't make for qualified medical professionals.

Having finished up Born to Run this morning, I was motivated to get outside and enjoy the gorgeous weather today and excited to give my foot another test. I set out with no particular mileage in mind, and unless I've stumbled upon some genius nutritional formula whereby a night full of rounds of car bombs + Egg McMuffin for breakfast = excellent run, I didn't have high expectations. Mostly, I set out to enjoy the run.

The twinges in my foot were tolerable this morning (unlike yesterday) and I found that after a few blocks I hardly noticed them at all. I set out for the East River path, darting in and out of trail offshoots and generally exploring things. By the time I got to the Brooklyn Bridge, I decided maybe I'd run for 40 minutes and turn around. And then suddenly, someone called my name.

Katie B. and Amy G., those fit fitness ladies, were out enjoying the weather as well. And, since the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, the first thing Katie asked me was "Is that a sunburn? Do you have sunscreen on?" I stopped to chat with the girls for a bit, and they encouraged me to keep wending my way downtown exploring things, so I did.

I ended up chucking the 40 minute out and back plan and making my way through Battery Park City and up the West Side Highway, finally crossing back to the East Side at 23rd Street. Though certainly not my fastest run, this might have been one of my best. Great weather, fun, new course, no pressure. Just enjoying the run. In Born to Run, Chris McDougall gets a piece of advice I tried to take with me today: If it feels like work, you're working too hard. I wish all my runs were like that.

As for the wrap up...

Number of Miles Run This Week: 31. Right on target. And 2 of those were 10 milers. Rock on.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 11, plus that Hennepin monster. So let's go with somewhere between 12 and 13. And a few car bombs...

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: True to my word, I tested a Belgian this week, but one Belgian is hardly a thorough examination. The rest of my beers were Stellas, a Mother's Milk, a handful of Guinnesses, and several cups of deliciously foamy Bud Light from a keg. Demerits for lack of flavor, but extra credit for overall house party experience, so I'll call that one a draw.

A few goals for the week:

-30-35 total miles. I-Man appears to be serious in his threat to run the Ocean Drive Marathon at the end of this month, and I can't very well let him think he's more badass than me. Better get some mileage under my belt just to be safe...

-A longer-than-10-miles double-digit run. 13? 14? 11? We'll see.

-Continue my quest to sample delicious Belgian style beers. This week, I'll also try not to get blindingly hungover from this activity. Wish me luck.

If you haven't already, get outside today. Go for a run, go for a walk, hell even if you're going out there to smoke a cigarette, enjoy the weather. Something tells me it's not quite here for good, so soak it in while you can. Have a great week!

An Open Letter to Christopher McDougall

Dear Chris,

I'm calling your bluff. This business about not getting injured if you're barefoot? False. Having worked my way up to run 7 miles in my VFFs on Thursday, I was feeling super-psyched and proud of myself. Now my ankle feels like ass, and has sidelined me two days in a row. This is (somehow) your fault.

Love,

3:59:59. Bitches.

Soooo I guess in my post-run euphoria on Thursday I neglected to notice that my right ankle/top of foot was hurting. A lot. It didn't bother me at all during my 7 miler, but once I stopped moving and took off my VFFs, weight bearing was painful (an advanced "Eff you," for anyone who cracks a joke about how much weight any ankle of mine might have to bear. Dad, I'm looking at you). Oddly enough, wearing heels during the workday eliminated the pain. It was only when I was flat footed that things got uncomfortable.

I took Friday off and spend the evening reading Born to Run, which was sort of like exercising, right? When I woke up this morning and swung my legs onto the ground, things felt much better. Hooray! I slapped on running clothes (shorts! It's 50 degrees out there!) and regular sneakers, figuring that if high heels eliminated the problem, so too would the elevated heel of a cushy running sneaker. No such luck. I was barely to Second Avenue before I knew this wasn't something I could just "run through."

On the plus side, I'm glad I knocked out so many of my weekly goals early in the week and am not relying too heavily on the weekend to get them done. Ran double-digits (10 still counts, even though it's the first possible double-digit) Wednesday and 7 miles in the Vibrams Thursday, as well as drank enough Belgian Ale to have me seeing double (it didn't take very much). Depending on how quick my recovery is, I may not squeeze in 9 miles before Sunday to get my 30-mile goal done, but I'll live.

As for Chris, I hope we have no hard feelings, and I have no intentions of retiring the Vibrams; hell, maybe I stepped in some forgotten pot hole and would have gotten this ailment in my Asics too. I just ask that you recognize that there's no "magic bullet" for eliminating running ailments altogether. Or for becoming a cloning of Gisele, otherwise obviously I'd be getting back into bed next to Tom Brady right now.

A Rocky Start, But A Mission Accomplished

When the alarm went off the morning, I tried to lay very still. Maybe, I thought, if I don't move a muscle, I won't disturb the beast. No such luck. My friends, I was hungover.

I staggered to the bathroom like a redheaded Frankenstein: legs stiff and straight from yesterday's 10 miler and eyelids weighed down from the yeasty (I mean "baby unicorn glitter power-y") potency of Belgian Ale. Advil. Coffee. Water. I wanted to cry (but I was too dehydrated) - not because of the pain I was experiencing, though it sucked, but because I was coming to the realization that I am too old to drink giant bottles of 7.7% ABV on a Wednesday night. What do you mean I'm expected to go to work today? And again tomorrow?!

Nearly a full hour after I woke up, I had finally recovered enough - both physically and in terms of ego - to get myself out to door for what was to be my longest run in the VFFs yet: 7 miles to the Brooklyn Bridge and back. Given how bad I felt when I woke up this morning, I was surprised to find I felt great on the run: got into a good stride early and cruised, heart rate never fluctuating. At the 45 minute mark, my legs started to feel tired, but not at all sore, and not where I was expecting; whereas in my first runs in the Vibrams, my calves had borne the brunt of the labor, today my quads and hammies struggled a bit at the end. It felt a bit like I was barely able to get my legs high enough off the ground to turn over my feet. Nothing a hot shower can't fix, though.

Also, for the first time since I've had my Vibrams, I passed another girl out for a run in them. The look of excitement when I saw her coming toward me probably made me look like a sexual predator, but I felt like I'd found a kindred spirit.

Glad to have knocked off another goal of the week this morning, and feeling confident that, with 7 weeks to go until the Country Music Half, I can work up my VFF mileage enough to race in them.

Time for Gatorade. Electrolytes work wonders for hangovers.

Brew Review: Hennepin Saison Farmhouse Ale

Soooo, something popped up in my Twitter feed today about the B.A.A. 5k on Sunday, April 18th. Since I’m going to be in Boston for the weekend anyway, I thought, “what the hell?!” And that is how I found myself $40 poorer and with another Spring race on my calendar. “My name is Claire, and I am too impulsive to have a credit card and an internet connection.”

Anyway, in keeping with my goals for the week, tonight I searched for a delicious Belgian-style beer. And I do mean searched, for this was not an easy task, and I did indeed have to pour (pun intended) over dozens of beers to make my selection. Not that a wealth of beer choices is a bad thing.

Decisions, decisions...

In just one trip to the grocery store, I'm already overwhelmed - in a good way! - by all my Belgian choices (none of which actually happen to be in the photo above, but trust me, they're there), and I hope to continue this mission into next week. I also hope someone will join me, because unless I want to drink a 6-pack (or an entire 1 pt 9.4 oz. bottle) a night, it's going to take me awhile to get through all of my options. And did I mentioned these suckers tend to be on the boozy side?

Which brings us back to tonight's selection - Hennepin Saison Farmhouse Ale. ABV: 7.7% Happy Hump Day, indeed!

I should begin by saying that I've actually had this brew before, though it was back in the day before I knew enough about what constituted a good (or at least delicious) beer. I'm fortunate to have a beer-loving Dad, who has a beer loving best friend, both of whom hail from Western New York. Proud New Yorkers, my dad (Mike, though everyone calls him Dudley) and his BFF (also Mike, and so far as I know, everyone calls him Mike) were also interested in products from the Empire State, and one summer when Mike and his family came to visit, he bestowed upon Dudley and his family this treat from Cooperstown. I was probably high school aged at the time, and therefore disinterested in any beer that didn't resemble diluted apple juice and taste like water. I was an idiot.

This beer comes in a corked bottle, and as soon as I opened it, the strong, yeasty smell of fresh beer came pouring out. "Yeasty" is a foul word, but this was actually a good smell, so sorry I just totally grossed you out. I eagerly poured a pint and noticed two things right away: this beer had a thick (full? tall?) head, and was cloudy in the glass even though I didn't jostle it around enough to disturb the sediment (again, that's yeast, but let's call it something else. How about "baby unicorn glitter power?") in the bottom.

In terms of taste, this was a little citrus-y, a little spicy, with a hint of hops to the finish - just enough that it was still refreshing and not biting. The flavor reminded me a lot of a couple of other Belgian's - Blue Moon and Hoegaarden. While pleasant, this was sort of disappointing since those are two beers with which I'm pretty familiar, so this wasn't so much of an groundbreaking experiment for me. Nonetheless, I give it two thumbs up:

That's actually only one thumb up, but the other thumb was occupied holding that bottle 1 pt, 9.4 oz is heavy!

Anyway, as you can see from the image above, that's a big bottle, so I've got a lot of drinking to do tonight (I ran 10 miles today, I'm entitled to it). If you're drinking too, find a sober friend to drive you home!

Love,

3:59:59. Bitches.

"East 22nd Street's Back, Alright!"

After wrestling with the dreadmill to finish what should have been an easy and measly 4-miler on Monday, I skipped my morning run yesterday to attend a breakfast to benefit the NYU College of Nursing. I'm friends with the Dean. Kind of a big deal. Anyway, it was a terrific morning (Matthew Modine's wife complimented both my coat and my necklace, so I'm expecting a casting cast, like, any day now), though I don't think Greek yogurt is meant for casual consumption. You really need to train to be able to digest that stuff, and I guess I've been so focused on hops and barley, I've neglected active cultures. Whatever the reason, I spent yesterday with a rumbly in my tumbly that was fiercer than Kevin's angry talking furnace in Home Alone. Much as I wanted to get a run in after work, I was resigned to reading about running, rather than actually doing it (sidenote - runner or not, Born to Run is an awesome book, and I highly recommend buying it for someone you know so that you appear considerate and thoughtful, but deep down you know full well that, once they are done, they will let you borrow it, so it's really like you're buying it for yourself. Happy Valentine's Day, I-man!)

This morning the alarm went off at 4:50am. Burn. I choked down some coffee and got myself to the gym before the computers were up and running and the music and TVs were blaring (being in a quiet gym is a really, really weird sensation, especially in New York). As I hopped on the treadmill furthest from the door, already plotting to fly under the radar and exceed the 30 minute time limit, the anorexic girls who populate gyms at that hour of the morning were probably thinking, "That girl must be lost." Don't worry ladies; that protrusion that bounces while I run is just a stomach full of Greek yogurt. No cause for alarm.

Miles 1 and 2 were used to get the kinks out, but after about 15 minutes I found my stride and felt good. So good, in fact, that at 7, I figured, "What the hell, let's go on." I eased off the pace a bit for the start of mile 9, but was practically floating by the end, and ratcheted the 'mill back up to full speed for the final mile. Feeling awesome knowing that I've already knocked out my planned double-digit run for the week and it's only Wednesday. Also proud of myself that I resisted a mimosa at yesterday's breakfast, given that a) it was 7:30am on a Tuesday, b) I was a guest of the Dean, and c) I had to go to work afterwards. Take credit for life's little accomplishments, people.

Ughhhh

Maybe because it's Monday, maybe because I ate many delicious things, maybe because I drank oh so many beers last week... whatever the reason, this morning's run was the P-I-T-S. Ran on Dudley's new treadmill, which is a cushy ride, but without all the freaks and weirdos who distract me at the gym, I had nothing to pay attention to except how loud the treadmill was on a quiet morning and how hot the room was getting the faster I ran. I've run marathons that felt shorter than that 4 miler. Anyway, glad that's over with.

Thought of one other goal that I omitted from yesterday's wrap-up, though you won't be able to hold me to it until April 1. According to Dailymile, I ran 104 miles for the month of February. Not my highest mileage month (that was last month, with 121 miles), but a good effort. And February is a short month! My March goal is going to be 110 miles. Only 106 miles to go...