106

When the alarm went off this morning, I was very tired (read: hungover and full of pizza). I hit snooze and slept as late as possible considering the heavy workload waiting for me at the office and put off my run until the end of the day.

When I got home from work, of course, the idea of running was no longer so appealing. Sunny skies, warm temps, a fridge stocked with libations, a roommate already securing chairs on the roof, a new Runner's World to read... my motivation went from "I'm going to BQ this year, damnit!" to "middle-of-the-pack-ers are people too, damnit!" But I knew I was at 99 miles for the month of April, and today being the last day of the month, I headed out for a few miles.

My legs were really worn out, perhaps because my brain fatigue from the week at work. Cranked out an arduous 7 miler and am deliriously happy it's Friday. Also, I don't know about the science between Activia, but I would not recommend adding bifidus regularus to your pre-race nutrition plan...

Despite a less-than-perfect run tonight, I'm still psyched about my 106 mile month. I'm also terrified that there are some people on the course at Boston who do 100 mile weeks. How do those people find time to get drunk?

The Internets

Not running today. While it is nice to have a rest day after a mid-week morning 10 miler, I would have run again today if my friend Cate had wanted to. But when I asked her earlier this week if she wanted to run with me, she said she was taking the week off because of a sore knee. What a surprise to find that this very morning, Cate "checked-in" to "4Square" to say she was running on the East River. She is a liar and a threat to this nation's security and should never be trusted. The internet gets you in trouble like that.

While one might think I'm all internet-saavy since I'm a (famous!) blogger and prolific Twitter-er (Tweeter?), I'm actually just your run of the mill user (for example, what the hell is 4Square?). You know the kind: uses Google maps to find the restaurant she's going to; reads the Times online when she's procrastinating; finds herself browsing wedding pictures of two people she has no connection to via Facebook. What? Oh don't pretend you don't do that. You sign on Facebook, and someone is tagged in a picture. We'll use Cate as an example since she's my Facebook friend (though no longer my friend in real life after this morning...). Cate was tagged in an album. So I go look at that album. One of her co-workers created it. There are pictures of that co-worker in the album, so I click through to look at more pictures of that co-worker. Then I find pictures of the co-worker's cousin, so I look at those. Suddenly, I'm looking at pictures of a bat mitzvah in Milwaukee that happened last June and I don't recognize a single face in the bunch. AND I CAN'T STOP.

Well, ladies and gentlemen, there's an app for that.

Pictor (http://www.littlerelevance.com/) lets you find photos of people that wouldn't show up in a normal Facebook photo search. Facebook users can turn on a privacy setting ("Photos and Videos of Me") that prevents photos in which they are tagged from showing up in a normal search. Unless these photos belong to albums you can't see, though, they will still show up if you browse the album directly. Pictor crawls albums of your friends (and their friends, and their friends ...) to build its own index of tags -- so you can lookup the photos someone is tagged in even if you can't go directly to her page and click on the link. Or, as Digg describes it, "Pictor lets you find photos of people that wouldn't show up in a normal Facebook photo search. You can get to these photos normally by stalking through friends photos, but this little app indexes it all automatically!"

Having seen this thing in action, I assure you that in no time, you'll be looking at pictures of that college ex who blocked you and his new wife and their dog and curling up in the fetal position. It'll be awesome! Just maybe save this activity for a time when you're not supposed to be doing actual, productive work...

Best Part of Nashville

How could I have forgotten to mention this gem of a t-shirt? My birthday is February 7th and I'm a size medium. Just saying...

Brrr

Saturday - tornadoes.

Sunday - monsoons.

Wednesday - Arctic blasts.

Mother Nature: WTF?

Had to wear tights and a long sleeved shirt for my 10 miler this morning. Isn't it almost May?

Drank 3 delicious Brooklyn Brown Ales last night and was quite tired when the alarm went off for my run this morning. Dragged myself outside anyway. IT bands on both legs felt tight, but glad to have gotten some miles in. Also, I saw a wild turkey (the bird, not the bourbon) in Battery Park today. I'll let that sink in...

Monday Wrap Up: Country Music Half Marathon Race Report and the Wrath of Mother Nature

When I woke up on Saturday morning, the first thing I thought to myself was "this is early." The next things were, in quick succession:

"My head is heavy."

"My mouth is dry."

"What is moving inside my stomach?"

"Where is my credit card?"

And then it started to come back to me: the beer in the airport bar, going to the race expo, the beer at the Wild Horse Saloon bar, sampling the barbecue sauce, seeing the platter of pulled pork, the beers at the dinner table... I was in Nashville, and it was time to race.

I guess I should start at the beginning, and this story begins with an ominous message from above. Literally, from the sky. Or at least, from the people who look at the sky, and maybe some maps of the sky, and something called a doppler which could just be a synonym for "sky." In any case, as I checked the forecast for my weekend in Nashville, I was greeted with this warning:

THIS IS THE STRONGEST STORM SYSTEM TO AFFECT MIDDLE TENNESSEE SO FAR THIS SPRING... AND THE POTENTIAL FOR SEVERE WEATHER LOOKS TO BE INCREASINGLY LIKELY... INCLUDING TORNADIC SUPERCELLS.

Now I've lived my whole life in the Northeast, so I've never heard the term "tornadic supercells" before, but I was willing to bet they weren't going to make for the most ideal of race conditions. Nonetheless, I headed to LaGuardia on Friday afternoon to board a flight to the aforementioned Middle Tennessee. But not before having a beer. It was technically vacation, after all:

First beer in 9 weeks. If that's what it takes to be a two-time Boston qualifier, I'm not sure I'm up for it...

Once safely in Nashville on Friday evening and fully armed with race bibs, tech t's, Gu's, and Powerbars, we met up with Lizzie - in from Chicago to run her first half marathon. We headed to the Wild Horse Saloon for dinner and a little live music in an authentic Tennessean establishment. While Lizzie sipped water, we prepared her for her inaugural 13.1: the course is relatively flat, I told her. No major hills, maybe one little climb around mile 6. Lots of music and spectators, so it'll be totally easy. We're lucky, in fact, that it won't be sunny - that'll keep it from getting too hot. I drained my beer and ordered another as we headed to the table for our meal.

If it's a beer brand welcoming you to a race, I think you're pretty much obligated to drink beer to get ready for said race. That's probably in that participant waiver somewhere...

I don't know if anyone's ever put this is writing before, but barbecue isn't necessarily the best pre-race meal. Sure, with something like a chicken sandwich, you get both protein and carbs, and add a side of fries for that to get more carbs (and deliciousness!). But if you're eating a straight up plate of meat like some members of our party who shall remain nameless (hint: it's I-man), you might wind up not feeling so hot later. If I'm remember correctly, I believe his exact complaint was that it felt like the pig he ate was trying to reassemble itself in his stomach. Then he asked if the beer pavilion would be at the finish line or the start.

As I mentioned, I wasn't feeling outstanding myself when I woke up on race morning, but I got dressed and headed out to meet Lizzie for the walk to the start in Centennial Park. The starting line was about a mile from the hotel and took us about 15 minutes to walk, during which time I endured some significant GI discomfort. From walking. 1 mile. As I contemplated the 13.1 miles of running that lay ahead of me, I just knew this was going to be the greatest race of my life...

Because of the continued threatening weather conditions, the race started 15 minutes early. This was not well advertised. As my last name begins with a W (fun fact: my name isn’t really 3:59:59. Bitches.), I had to haul ass down to the far end of the alphabetical gear check. By the time we got to the start, the first dozen corrals had already crossed the line. I-man was meant to be in corral 1 (show off). I was in corral 5. We both lined up with corral 18. I briefly considered sprinting to a porta potty. I-man said “some people smell like dogshit.” I wondered if perhaps the GI issues had gotten the best of me. They had not, thankfully, but I was out of time to evaluate the likelihood that they might eventually, because we started running.

The first mile was a wide stretch of roadway that sort of undulated with hills. When the Garmin beeped at the mile mark, I considered it a victory that I’d run an 8:30 and not pooped in my shorts - hooray! By the time we got to mile 3, I said to I-man, “this course sucks.” He said “I know. I thought you were just trying to make Lizzie feel better and not nervous about the race. This course is all hills.” I’m sorry, Lizzie. I swear to you I did not remember this. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have consumed 3 beers and a gallon of barbecue sauce the night beforehand.

By mile 4, my stomach had gone from eminently problematic to mildly threatening, and I was able to get into a comfortable stride. As we progressed, the course continued to feature both long slow climbs and short up and down stretches, and was crowded the entire way, requiring a lot of wasted energy spent passing people, particularly on uphill stretches. Crowd support was solid for almost the entire course, with lots of spectators holding signs that said things like “Get runnin’, there’s a storm coming!” and “What tornado?” On the downside, much of the music – while extensive – was more rock than country. Not to get particular about it, but it is the Country Music Marathon, people… I was also frustrated by the flow of traffic at water stations: lots of people pulling in, grabbing a cup, and then blocking access for those of us behind. That said, the volunteers were among the best I’ve ever experienced – so friendly and supportive! Made me feel like a hardened New York bitch by comparison.

By mile 11 I was ready to be done. The balls of my feet were really sore, and I was expecting to find them completely raw and blistered when I took my shoes off at the finish. As we passed the turnoff for the marathon, where an Elvis impersonator directed us into our designated lanes, I was delighted that I hadn’t signed up for the full again this year. I was unhappy, however, that I was on the wrong side of the street and missed the folks passing out beers.

I-man goaded me into finishing in 1:55:48 (and I kindly repaid him by stepping over the line 1 second faster than him. It’s cut throat out there, bitches!) – not a PR, but a perfectly respectable time all things considered. We snaked through the finish area, snagging bagels and bananas and waters and shunning Cytomax and headed to the family reunion area.

Here is a secret I will share with you if you promise not to take it as your own: at family reunion areas after races, instead of going to W for my last name, I go to X. Because X marks the spot. Also, because who’s last name starts with X? Logic would dictate that there would be few people waiting in the X area because there are few people with X names, ipso facto, it’s easier to find your party. Unfortunately at the Country Music Half, W and X were in the same meeting area, which kind of took the fun out of it since I’d have been there anyway if I’d stuck to the rules. Anyway, I-man and I got our gear, changed into dry clothes, and waited for Lizzie to finish. And then it started to rain…

At first, it seemed like a passing shower, and after a couple of minutes with my hood pulled up, the wet weather subsided. Perhaps that is what people mean by the calmness at the eye of the storm (I think I heard about that watching Twister or something...). In any case, the break in the weather didn't last long, and pretty soon we were standing in an open field filled with metal stakes (damn you, family reunion area signage!) in one of the most torrential thunderstorms I've ever been in. And Lizzie was nowhere in sight.

As I started to mentally compose my script for calling Lizzie's parents to tell them I'd let her get sucked into a vortex during her first ever half marathon, I spied her, soaking wet, headed to X. Poor Lizzie had to tough it out on the course in the storm, all the while being told by police officers to hurry it up because a tornado was about to touch down. Probably not the most soothing of first half marathon experiences... But we hardly had time to dwell on it, as the tornado threat was serious enough that the full marathon was stopped and the runner's not yet finished diverted to safety. That. Sucks!

On the plus side, the race drama certainly didn't ruin our time in Nashville; in fact, we quickly found a local brewery and sampled their wares to settle our nerves! After showers and naps, we were revived enough to resume gorging on Southern foods, drinking real live American beers, and rocking out to live music. The perfect end to a not-so-perfect race (or it would have been, if our flight home Sunday night hadn't been 5 hours late, including a diversion to Richmond, VA, where we sat on the Tarmac for 2 hours while LaGuardia grounded all flights in and out of the airport. Did I mention there was no food on the plane, and that by the time I crawled into bed sometime after 2:30am, I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast? But let's focus on the positive...).

Let's go to the wrap up!

Number of Miles Run This Week: 22. Hey, did I mention that, while my knee hurt for the first half of the half on Saturday, it seemed to have corrected itself by the end? Same thing happened during the Surf City Marathon. My body is a healing machine!

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: What's 13 plus 3- twenty four oz cans of Bud Light? That's how many beers I had this week.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Some Blue Moons (it's like summer in the South in April), some Bud Lights, some Bud Light with Limes (this beer tastes like poison. Not enough to prevent me from ordering a second, but still really, really bad), and 2 of Nashville's finest: Sweet Magnolia Brown Ale, make at Big City Brewery in downtown Nashville.

Since I slept for approximately 4 hours last night, I'm going to turn in early tonight. But before I go, here's one last image from this weekend:

I look pretty happy for a girl who survived a half marathon under threat of tornadoes and self defecation, eh?

Next Stop: Nashville

I've barely had time to unpack from Boston last weekend, let alone have a beer (okay, I had one last night), but this afternoon I'm heading to Nashville for the Country Music Half Marathon.

Some of you remember that I ran the full marathon in Nashvegas last year. Why am I not doing that again? The answer is simple, you see: it sucked. It was easily in the 70s at the start, and 4 hours later temperatures had climbed into the 90s. There was nary a spot of shade on the course, which looped through parking lots and industrial complexes, and by the time I saw Maddy at mile 20, she was spraying sunscreen on me as I loped by. So why would I go back there? For the food.

In advance of last year's Nashville trip, I did a lot of travel reading in the Times and other resources looking for fun things to do, and in my research I stumbled upon a description of Monell's. In short, it's the most delicious thing that's ever happened to me. Family style southern food - fried chicken, biscuits, gravy, cheddar grits, sausage... these were breakfast foods, for the record - served at a communal table, passed to the right. Granted, having run 26.2 miles last year, I could fully indulge without remorse. With only 13.1 miles on schedule for Saturday, I'm not sure I'm justified in eating French toast, and pancakes, and bacon, and eggs in one sitting. Never mind the fact that I-man has suggested we go for two separate meals...

As for the weather, it looks like we runners won't be in for the stifling heat we had last year, but instead may get a little soggy - thunderstorms are forecast for race day tomorrow. I feel this puts me at a particular disadvantage, as my height increases the likelihood that I'll be struck by lightening. If I don't win tomorrow, that's why.

While my 5k race plan, which essentially involved Googling a strategy the morning of the race and then attempting to sprint for 3.1 miles, didn't necessarily work out for me, I have a bit more experience with this distance. At least enough that I won't be frantically Googling on my phone on the way to the race. My recent knee pain/trouble, which FYI is annoying as shit, hasn't (thus far) appeared to affect performance and seems to be a bout of "Runner's Knee" (that is a horrible name, and sounds like something your grandma made up. "Chondromalacia" sounds so much more serious and legitimate. Let's go with that). I plan on using the KT Tape for the race tomorrow, which does as much mentally as it does physically in terms of providing support and stability. In terms of pace, I think my Half Marathon PR was set as a split during Surf City back in February, but it's hard to say since when I just went to check online, the only splits I was offered were 3 mile, 6 mile, 12.2 mile, and 20.9 mile. If that isn't the least useful thing you've ever heard, then you hang out with some pretty incompetent people. I had a 1:42 at 12.2, so that's roughly a 1:50 half. Nice as that would be to break, the rainy forecast combined with my recent string of injuries and resulting time off mean that's not happening for me. It's okay though - I will still reward myself for a job well done with biscuits even if I don't PR.

This weekend's race will also mark a fun and exciting milestone for Liz M. - her first half marathon! After training for months, she's ready to kick ass tomorrow. Looking forward to celebrating the occasion with her. As always, I'll be playing the role of paparazzi for the event.

Since I had 2 glasses of wine before the aforementioned beer last night, I should probably go through my bag and make sure I packed actual running clothes and didn't just fill the thing with Doritos or something... Have a great weekend!

The Boston Marathon: A Spectator's Perspective

When we last left our hero (that’s me!) on Sunday afternoon, I was busy patting myself on the back for my 23:06 5k. Little did I know that I-man would smoke me in the first 5k of the marathon the very next day. But I’m getting ahead of myself…

I-man arrived around 2:00 on Sunday afternoon, and I eagerly changed into my special shirt and headed to the Hynes Convention Center to meet him at the Expo. Pretty much as soon as we walked in the door, the photo ops began.

After tending to the administrative details of packet picket up, we took a lap around the Expo and I-man procured his hard-earned marathon… t-shirt? For reasons unbeknownst to me, the man had no interest in a jacket. If/when I run Boston, I’m going to get a jacket for every day of the week. Granted, the blinding spectacle of blue-and-yellow at the Expo, and on the streets of Boston all weekend, was almost too much for my eyes, but you better believe that if/when I eek out a 3:40:59 and am invited to Boston, I’m going to get BAA-branded everything, and work the news of my accomplishment into every conversation possible. “Claire, it’s time for your annual performance review.” “Speaking of performance, did you hear I qualified for Boston? Now what were you saying about a pink slip…?”

After I-man was done at the Expo, we headed out to his hotel in Milford. After we’d been driving for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, I-man said “this drive feels really long.” Me: “Ugh I know, we’ve been in the car forever! We’re like a hundred miles away from Boston by now.” Looks out window, sees sign for Hopkinton. “I mean, it’s a really short, easy, non-hilly trip from here to Boston…”

After a quick nap – my second of the day. Preparing for marathon spectating is exhausting! – we headed back from whence we came to dinner with a crew of friends, including Anson, who had his own Boston Marathon experience to share. After 20-odd miles, he collapsed and went to the hospital, only to have to call his spectating girlfriend to inform her of his whereabouts. Ever the athlete, he did subsequently returned to the course and cross the finish line, likely wheeling his IV bag alongside him. I threatened I-man with certain death if he did that, mostly because he was my ride back home.

After pre-race dinner (pasta for I-man, beers for me, since I wasn’t running no stinkin’ marathon in the morning), I-man and I parted ways and he headed out to Milford while Caroline, Chris and I retired to Chris’ apartment to examine paint samples and watch television programming about teenaged pregnancy and families with 19 children. Apparently, leisure activities in Boston do not differ much from those in NYC.

I hardly slept at all on Sunday night because I was so excited. Also because the leather couch at Chris' is really slippery and I kept sliding right off. So I was awake and raring to go early Monday morning, and Caroline and I set out for the T at 10:30am with almost 2 hours to get to mile 17 in time to see I-man. And then we sat on the T for an hour. Traffic was so bad that trains weren't moving. At all. Literally, the runners were going faster than the subway. Between the Sox game and the marathon, everyone was trying to be in the same place at the same time. Caroline and I made friends with the woman sitting behind us and took a look at her map to see if we had any alternate options, but ultimately decided that if we wanted to be sure we saw I-man, we needed to get off at the 25 mile mark at Kenmore.

Okay, so our plans were slightly changed. That doesn't mean we couldn't still photograph our experiences. Here is Caroline, PhD Candidate at BU, Red Sox fan (unfortunately), and marathon-watcher, with a sign depicting all three:

Getting to Kenmore before noon meant that we had some time to walk around a bit to find the most ideal viewing spot. We first settled on an overpass just after the 40k mark, near an elite water station. Which meant I got the most bad-ass pictures ever. For example:

Here is Robert Cheruiyot, eventual winner, on his way to setting a course record. Kind of a big deal.

And that guy? You may know Meb as the 2009 New York City Marathon winner - aka, my competition come November. He's also on the cover of Runner's World this month.

And this is Caroline, pretending she doesn't know me because I am being such a running geek and getting star-struck.

After the elites ran by, Caroline and I decided to walk back a little further to check out the crowd. We had a quick meet-up with my pal Michael, who PR'ed in the 5k on Sunday while wearing a skirt to show his support for women and the Susan G. Komen Fund.

We walked a bit further back as the crowd of runners started getting thicker. We saw lots of representatives from NYC-based running clubs, and one guy rocking a Colby College singlet (go Mules!). I think my arms are more toned today on account of all the clapping I did Monday, and Caroline and I had a great time cheering for those whose names were visible - mostly because I gave them all nick-names. Charles? Have a great run, Chuck! Anyway, lo and behold, who did we get to see just after 24 miles?

It's I-man! And he's even smiling! Probably because I was offering him loving and supportive words of encouragement:

I hopped the barricade and ran with him a little bit (and some guys even cheered for me! "Go, backpack girl!") before wishing him well and watching him head towards the finish line.

At that point, Caroline and I parted ways and I headed towards the finish to meet up with I-man and his mom. Obviously, the crowds got very thick on Commonwealth and Hereford, and by Boylston no one could get through. So I was forced to rely on my keen navigation skills (and by that I mean my I-phone) to find a route to the finish.

After walking what felt like a marathon of my own, I finally found my way through the hectic meeting area for the final verdict: I-Man didn't suck! He ran another BQ time of 3:10 (jerk... give me a chance!)

Watching Boston was an incredible experience, and even our bump in the road in getting to the race didn't put a damper on the day - though I recommend for those of you who want to watch that you leave at 9:00am to get where you're going. But I'm willing to bet that running it is even better. Hopefully I'll let you know next year...

Sunday Wrap Up: B.A.A. 5k Race Report

This morning when I woke up, which in and of itself took some effort, as I sampled many of New England's finest intoxicants last night, the first thing I did was Google "how to run a 5k." Clearly I was destined for success.

I slithered off the couch (Chris' apartment has a slippery leather sofa that is serving as home base for me this weekend) and dug into my duffle bag. Shorts. Singlet. Done. Then I checked the weather. 38 degrees. I looked at my exposed limbs and thought, "well this is awkward."

Caroline very graciously clamored out of bed at an early hour to escort me to Boylston Street. One major perk of running a race in a city is that you can take public transportation to get there. A few minutes on the T (oooh, the T! Do I sound local?!) and we were outside the Public Library.

Speaking of sounding local, the Mayor of Boston made some remarks at the start. I have absolutely no idea what those remarks were, though, because his accent was so thick I was wondering if perhaps we were hearing from tomorrow's foreign competitors. I wondered if, as Bloomberg's pressers are translated in Spanish, this fellow's remarks would be translated for those of us not from Southie. Sadly, no.

Getting into the start corrals was really easy, and Caroline was able to wait with me right up until the start, which meant I could cling to my hoodie until the gun went off. When it did, though, I ran through the streets of Boston dressed like it was the middle of August.

Because I was totally improperly dressed, the first few minutes were tough, as my muscles struggled to warm up. The crowds were still pretty thick, and between the jostling and the boxing-out, I struggled a bit to find the right pace. After what I thought felt like about a mile, I glanced at my watch for the first time. 3 minutes had elapsed. Well shit.

After the first mile, the course turned around Boston Commons and headed uphill towards the State House. As I was sucking wind and coming to terms with the fact that being an experienced marathoner does not make for being a proficient 5k-er, a 10 year old boy stormed up the hill past me. Respect your elders, child!

Blissfully, this uphill was followed by a long downhill stretch, and I hit the 2 mile mark at 15:00 exactly. Not bad! I mean, not world-class either, but did I mention my hangover? By the time I'd gotten to mile 2, though, I was annoyed at how many twists and turns the course featured, and eagerly embraced the stretch down Commonwealth, dotted with spectators and their dogs. As we headed up Hereford to the famed "Left on Boylston," a runner to my right joked, "If any of you are running tomorrow, this hill is brutal." Given that I was only at mile 2.75 of my race and was cursing under my breath, I didn't doubt him.

And so I did it. I crossed the finish line of the Boston Marathon. But in the lamest possible way. Granted if I ran a 23 minute marathon, I think I'd be looking at some serious prize money... But finishing this morning's 5k only made me more determined to knock those last 7 minutes (Jesus! 7 whole minutes?!) of my marathon PR and run this damn thing myself next year.

Now, for the wrap up:

Number of Miles Run This Week: 19. I have a problem, whereby I forget what weekly mileage is meant to look like when you're not training for a marathon. That's not meant to make me seem like a self-important, bad-ass running machine. More so, it's meant to indicate that I'm dumb. I have to remind myself not to say, "What do you mean, I didn't run 35 miles this week?!" because it doesn't matter. My next race is only a half marathon. Chill, woman.

Number of Miles Walked This Week: 4. Knee pain forced me to walk it out on Thursday morning, and rest Friday. Yesterday's 5 felt good, but it's sore to the touch post-5k today. If I have another injury that derails my running, I should probably start investing in Cannondale.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 3 on Tuesday, 1 on Wednesday, 1 on Friday, 3 last night. Plus a bathtub full of wine. Still, only 8 beers? I better rectify that tonight. Just because I-man's running tomorrow doesn't mean I can't get loaded...

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: It's been sort of hot in New York, so I had 3 Blue Moons on Tuesday night with some co-workers. I support beers that remind me of summer. Knocked back a few Brooklyn Pilsners back home, then when I arrived in Boston yesterday, I had a Buzzards Bay Black Lager, a Whale's Tail Pale Ale, and a Fisherman's Ale, which was sort of a misnomer because it's a Kolsch style beer. AKA I did not like it. As for the Whale's Tale, it was pretty hoppy for a Pale Ale, but not quite as hoppy as an IPA. Could I have finally found my hops middle ground?! I should probably have a few more tonight, to be sure. And the Black Lager? Meh. If I'm drinking a beer that dark, I want it to have a thick, creamy head and not be served ice cold. This poured like a Diet Coke.

Even though I'm doing a Sunday Wrap Up this week, obviously the big event this weekend doesn't happen until tomorrow, so I'll have plenty more to report on then. I plan on taking an embarrassing number of pictures as soon as I-man arrives - I'm sure he's delighted...

IMPORTANT: If you are racing tomorrow, have the best damn race of your life out there. You deserve it. Word.

Boston-Bound

Despite the fact that it's waaaay early for a Saturday morning, I'm awake and going through my bags to make sure I've packed everything I need for the long weekend ahead (I had a dream last night that my bag, which was carrying The Stick, was stolen, and am therefore pleased to see it's yellow-and-blue handle poking out from my duffle this morning).

Not to make this weekend all about me (but what isn't all about me?), but packing was trickier than it is when I'm just packing to run a marathon. When it's my race, all I worry about are my race clothes, dry clothes to put on afterwards, and flip flops. No one cares what you look like when you've got a medal hanging around your neck. But for this weekend, I needed my 5k race day clothes, plus clothes to wear out in Boston since it's not like a 5k is going to stop me from hitting the town to try some New England craft beer, plus a cute outfit that will inspire I-man to run fast on Monday, plus something to cover up that cute outfit so that I-man's mom doesn't think (know) that I'm a slut. I have a hard life.

When I talked to the I-Man last night, he wasn't nearly as fired up as I am. Granted, I don't have to spend 3 hours (which for me is 4 hours) running on Monday... But I'm so excited for this race! When I first started thinking about watching Boston, I had figured this would be my first marathon-watching experience as an adult (surely I've watched any number of Dudley's siblings run, but you hardly experience the marathon spirit - and the day-drinking - when you're a little person). But then I remembered what's been one of the best in my rather lengthy list of marathon experiences: Leslie's running of the New York City Marathon!

Leslie ran NYCM in 2008 (is that right, Lee?) as her first marathon. A pack of about 20 of us went to First Avenue to see her and set up shop with a few million other fans around 62nd Street. When she came over the bridge and up First Avenue, she looked amazing for someone who'd already run 16 miles. I hopped the police barricades (sorry, New York Road Runners) and joined her as she headed uptown, all the while looking fresh and feeling good enough to chat the whole way. By the time we looped through the Bronx and were headed down 5th Avenue towards the Park, I was sucking wind and snapping pictures of Leslie from behind and she happily bounded further and further ahead. I guess maybe she just wanted to get closer to this guy:

That picture is framed in my room to this day. Amazing. My point is, watching marathons is super-fun for the spectators, and as a runner I can assure you it's super-important for the people sweating and bleeding and chafing out there on the course on race day. I shudder to think about what this poor fellow's ass chafing looked like by the time he got to the Park...

I'm headed out for an easy run to see how the knee feels, then packing it in and getting on Amtrak. If you're racing this weekend, have a great run. If you're not, go spectate. What you wear is up to you.

Mercury in Retrograde

While this much-reviled astrological occurrence isn't set to begin for another 3 days, I seem to be experiencing some early-onset symptoms:

- My head pounds, my eyes are itchy and my nose is running like a faucet

- Work is suddenly very stressful

- Having just returned from an injury-induced running hiatus, my left knee cap now hurts with every bend

- I saw a cockroach this morning (it was dead, and not in my apartment, but I still hate those bitches. More than cilantro.)

- My stomach is effed

- I got lost in Alphabet City this morning

You may think these are all explainable outside of this cosmic conspiracy. For example:

- It's allergy season

- If work were easy, people wouldn't devote their work days bitching about how they don't like work

- Running is hard on your joints, and I am less-than-careful with myself

- I live in New York

- My stomach is always effed

- I should probably be thankful I am not more familiar with a place like Alphabet City. And I did find my way, after I realized I was standing outside the bar I went to on Friday night.

But here, I offer you definitive proof: this morning, I was chased.

My pursuer was an older man who appeared to have some difficulty with balance. He was loaded down with dozens of bags - backpacks, messenger bags, shopping bags - so perhaps that lead to his apparent inability to walk fully erect. He was also screaming "Beach boardwalk or bust! In a blizzard!" so perhaps he had packed both his seaside needs - towel, bathing suit, sunblock - and his winter clothes in preparation, hence the bags. But they were weighing him down enough that, as he staggered toward me, arms outstretched Frankenstein-like, I managed to stay just out of reach. While I know my efforts sound heroic, I will admit that it wasn't that difficult. Because I was walking. The concept of being chased while walking is one I still can't wrap my head around, and I've actually participated.

In any case, this low-speed chase at least added some excitement to my otherwise dreary day. I'm feeling so bad for myself and throwing such a pity-party, even I don't want to be around me. As for the knee pain, which is why I was walking in the first place this morning, I've learned from my recent doctor experiences that I should probably just rest, rather than paying for a doctor to tell me to rest. (Fun fact: yesterday I went to the podiatrist for a follow up appointment. The doctor asked how I was doing: "Great," I said. "The foot feels fine and I'm back to running!" He poked me for no more than 15 seconds, then said "Great, you can keep up the running." Then charged me $20. I'm in the wrong field.) I could also stand to be more careful when crossing my legs at work, as I slam my kneecaps into the underside of my desk with enough force that I could moonlight as a mobster.

Now if you'll excuse me, I must get ready for work. Time to start free-basing Advil, Claritin, and Tums...

Perpetual Motion

Woke up tired, no doubt from last night's quick 7 miler, and was slow-going to get my act together this morning. By the time I finally unearthed a clean sports bra (note to self: do laundry) and choked down some coffee it was nearly 6:45.

To get from my apartment to my regular running route along the East River, you have to cross 4 intersections: Second Ave., First Ave., and the on- and off- ramps of the FDR Drive. Because I was late this morning, traffic had already picked up enough to make jay-walking an impossibility. Furthermore, my late start meant that there were many more runners out than I usually encounter.

When I got to the first crosswalk and waited for the Second Avenue bus to go by, I saw out of the corner of my eye something moving. Soon enough, though, the light changed and I was on my way.

At First Ave., I was held up by 3 garbage trucks and some cabs, and while I waited again I was sure this time: something in my peripheral vision was moving. Bounding.

I crossed First and continued East to the FDR Drive - the longest light on my route to the East River. This time, the bounding thing came up right alongside me as we waiting for the white crossing man to appear. I turned to my right and was confronted with a girl about my age (do I have to say "woman," now that there's really no disputing the fact that I'm a full-grown adult? I say no) engaged in a full-on, high-knees, run-in-place exercise. I'm not talking about a little shifting of one's weight from side to side. This girl was literally sprinting to nowhere, right there on the corner of 23rd and FDR. What. The. Eff.

Listen. There are times when I'll allow a little curbside movement. If, for example, I get stuck at a light on mile 18 of a 20 miler, and I'm quite certain I will not be able to start moving again if I come to a complete stop, I've been known to shuffle my feet a bit. But it's 6:45 on a Tuesday morning. Chances are, you're not knocking out your 20 miler right now. Maybe you don't feel adequately limber yet. Then stretch. Maybe you're feeling super fit and energetic this morning. Fine. Then do jumping jacks or push ups. I'll still publicly shame you, but at least you won't be standing on the street corner looking like some time-traveling 1980s relic who read about what it means to "jog."

Happy Tuesday. I'm judging you.

Monday Wrap Up: Because Yesterday I Was Too Busy Playing With 3 Dimensional People In the Real World

Last week was a particularly good one at Will Run For Beer: productive at work, with lots of fun and varied social events during the week, a good amount of running outdoors in good weather, and the solid weekend trifecta of Bavarian Beer Hall/weekly long run/Sunday funday in the sunshine. I'm not saying that all of this good stuff is a direct result of the increased consumption of beers this week, but the numbers don't lie, people.

On to the (belated) wrap-up!

Number of Miles Run This Week: 28. A-okay by me. The 10 on Saturday was tough, but it appears that I have, in fact, survived my stint as a mangled-footed injured person.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: Last Sunday, post-wrap up, I put back 4 (still mourning the loss of my toenail), then 2 on Monday (mmm, Chapstick-y!), 1 on Tuesday, 8-ish Wednesday (hello, free happy hour! Why yes, I do think we should go out for burgers and beers afterwards! No, my 8:30am appointment tomorrow is totally not important), 5 Friday (+ 1 power-nap), and 1 last night while I was working on my super top secret craft project for next week's Boston Marathon. 21! Thank God I got that 10 miler in over the weekend...

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: In no particular order: Longtrail Blackberry Wheat, Bud Light, Abita Strawberry Harvest (I still get the antioxidant benefits from these fruit beers, right?), Brooklyn Pilsner, unspecified German Dark Lager (that was at the Beer Hall. Fun fact that I am sheepishly admitting to not knowing - you can't get a stout in a German beer hall), Bass Ale (random), Heineken, and one single Dogfish Head 60 Min IPA which I will begrudgingly admit has grown on me, ever so slightly.

While my weekly beer-drinking goal was to drink beers that brought back memories, I only shared a handful of those memories with you, and there are many more. I'll be back this week with additional stories of delicious brews drunk in exotic locales (mostly so those pictures of 18-year-old-me drinking Smirnoff Ice are bumped off the first page).

In running news, I've got the BAA 5k coming up on Sunday, and am thoroughly pumped for my Boston weekend. While I've done my fair share of 5ks in the past, most of them have been leisurely excuses to run with my Dad, so I've never really "raced" one. But I expect to basically win the thing because Caroline has offered to prepare me a delicious pasta feast Saturday night and crew for me during the race. That's what you do for a 5k right? Depending on how I do next Sunday, I will tell you that I didn't really "race" this one either, so stay tuned.

After my 5k, the weekend's big event is obviously the Boston Marathon, which the I-Man is running because he qualified in Chicago, thereby stealing the thunder from my own PR there. But I'm not bitter. Actually though, I'm really excited for him and for everyone running and can't wait to display my super top secret craft project. And given that the man hasn't had a drink in 2 months, I'm really excited for him to finish and proceed to get stinking drunk with me. See, I told you beer was about shared experiences!

Brooklyn and Breasts

Tough 10 miler this morning over the Brooklyn Bridge and back. By the time I was back on the Manhattan side, I was praying I'd run into Katie and Amy and have an excuse to stop for a bit, but no such luck.

Sort of wishing I had one extra week before Nashville, but what can you do? Now I must focus my efforts on next week's adventure to Boston, for which I'm getting super excited, and I'm not even running the marathon!

Which reminds me: there's still time to donate to Michael's fundraising efforts for next week's BAA 5k. Frankly I find it hard to believe that there's anyone on this planet who doesn't either:

a) have breasts

b) want breasts

c) like breasts

You may even be all three! In any case, support Michael and the Susan Komen Foundation by clicking here.

On Families, and Drinking

If you're a longtime reader of this blog, you know that I am lucky enough to have two loving, generous, committed parents. You also may also have realized that, because of how close I am with my girlfriends from adolescence, I have the added benefit of having their loving, generous, and committed parents in my life. Basically what I'm saying is that if you didn't grow up in Rye, your life just basically isn't worth living since it will never be as amazing as mine (Colin and I-Man, are you paying attention?).

Last night I arrived home to a stack of mail on the kitchen counter. It involved the usual suspects: a Con-Ed bill, a promotion from American Express, 3 copies of Victoria's Secret, each addressed to a different person at this address. But I also spied a large manila envelope. A treat! Even better, it was addressed to me! And best of all, the return address was from Nina's parents!

Enclosed was the following note:

Claire,

Given your new found fame in the world of "Ales," I thought you should have this. Found it in Ctown [that's Cooperstown, inspiration for the first ever Will Run For Beer blog post and summer home to Nina's family] in the "please take free" pile.

-Mr. Keith

True to his word, Mr. Keith had sent me a copy of "Ale Street News: Your Bridge to Beer and Life's Related Pleasures." BEER AND LIFE'S RELATED PLEASURES! ARE YOU READING THE WORDS I AM TYPING?! THIS PUBLICATION IS MADE FOR ME! Some of the teasers on the cover page include "32% Beer?!?" and "Chili & Beer," the latter of which I will save for Mr. Keith himself should he be interested in fine tuning his already immaculate recipe. Mr. Keith, you are an American hero. Thank you!

While we're on the subject of Nina's family, there's one more thing I've been meaning to mention on this here blog. Much as I love Mr. Keith and his wife, The Dean, they've recently done something I don't appreciate at all. They've sold their home, and with it their exceptionally comfortable basement that holds happy memories of Dockside sandwiches and illicit beer consumption (sorry Mr. Keith and The Dean! We only did that like 2 or 3 times...). But just as every cloud has a silver lining, so too does this sad story have a happy ending. While Nina was home from Chicago for Easter, she had to start cleaning out her bedroom in their home - a place she hasn't lived since high school. And she found some excellent surprises:

It's a photo album from Spring Break in the Bahamas! At top, you have me, apparently standing on a hotel bed, with something taped to my chest, and several inches of mid-drift exposed (in my defense, I seem to recall that when I was in high school, my mid-drift was almost always exposed on account of my height. And my apparent notion that skin was in). I appear to be intimately embracing a bottle of Smirnoff Ice (sharp eyed readers will also note the elusive Sean Verlin in the background, a modern day Where's Waldo).

The second photo shows me, slumped over the side of a hotel balcony. It's unclear why I am doing this, though I seem to recall accidentally throwing my purse off a balcony on that trip. It's also unclear how one accidentally throws a purse of a balcony...*

Readers, if you have a family, particularly one that includes teenaged daughters, and those daughters come to you and say "Please won't you let me travel unsupervised to an island nation with 70 of my closest also-18-year-old-friends for a week while I am a high school student?" say no. Let them hate you until they're 35 if they must. But do you really want a daughter who drinks Smirnoff Ice? Thank God that wasn't a lasting side effect...

* It's worth noting that the legal drinking age in the Bahamas is 18, which I was when these pictures were taken. It's also worth noting that Kalik, the so-called "Beer of the Bahamas" tastes like ass. That's the only explanation I have for the Smirnoff Ice. I'm sorry.