Playing Catch-Up

I hope you've gotten yourselves up-to-date on this weekend's races (please, you're not doing work. It's summer. Stop pretending), because there's a lot more excitement going on at the World Headquarters of Will Run For Beer. Granted, I'm sitting in the aforementioned headquarters right now, alone and in my pajamas, so it might not appear exciting. But trust me!

First, you've probably noticed the new photo up top. And you're probably asking yourself, "Hey! How do I get one of those personalized Heinekens?" You don't. Unless you have a sister who lives in Holland like I do. Generally speaking, it sucks monkey butt that my sister lives 5 hours in the future (except for the fact that it means she's too far away to rip off my toenails, which is an improvement over last winter). But her estranged locale does make her close to the home of Heineken (and the Hague, and hookers, and hash. The Dutch love alliteration), and she so very thoughtfully traveled to the brewery recently and had this special beer label (complete with beer inside!) made just for me! It gives the allusion that I have official clout, like some kind of internet beer ambassador (Dear Heineken, please don't sue me for claiming that).

But the new layout isn't the only cool thing that's happened to me this week. As of this morning, I've officially run more miles in June than any other month. Like, ever. And I still have one day to go! Sure, there were times when I didn't necessarily want to log the miles. Like today, for example, when I was literally the very first person at the gym in the morning.

Of course I tried to wise-crack with the only employee working: "Man, I'm gonna have to wait for a treadmill! This place is packed!" His response? "Technically we don't open for another 3 minutes." Good morning to you too, sir...

Anyway, I'm really excited about this milestone (124 miles and counting!), and baring any unforeseen injury or catastrophic crisis (just jinxed myself for sure), I'll add another 6-7 miles of hills tomorrow. I'll do my damnedest to make it through Central Park without puking this time.

And while we're on the subject of milestones, the approaching Fourth of July holiday reminded me that I'm coming up to the one year anniversary of this blog. I don't want to get all emotional (look at me, having feeeeeelings!), but it's been a pretty rocking ride so far. More on that next week. For now, I'm focusing on my epic Fourth of July road trip. A weekend away in the great outdoors. Excellent friends, great beers, good times. The best inspiration for writing.

But I guess if the whole blogging thing doesn't work out in year 2, and the LGBT/HIV/non-profit thing isn't really paying the bills, I always have this to fall back on: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704629804575324503844478326.html?mod=rss_careers

Race Report: Fairfield Half Marathon

Hey there! Me again. Everyone comfortable, with a snack and a beverage? Great, then let’s get right down to it.

After we showered and fed some bagels in the city on Saturday afternoon, IMan and I headed to the state of our next race: scenic Connecticut. IMan does not know how scenic our journey was, as he was unconscious almost as soon as we sat down on the train. Which meant he was able to stay awake for the US-Ghana match, while I napped for a solid 2 hours. Between the vomiting and the napping, we were like two giant, pale, redheaded babies on Saturday.

Rejuvenated from naps, IMan and I headed to the grocery store to get the fixings for a pre-race feast. We whipped up generous amounts of ziti, meatballs, bread, and salad, and washed it down with water. While not my first choice in the beverage category, we figured puking at 50% of our races for the weekend was sufficient.

Despite my epic afternoon nap, I could have slept another 2 hours when the alarm went off at 6:30am Sunday. Among the most difficult parts of back-to-back racing is that you don’t ever get time to sleep in. I was also feeling muscle fatigue; not necessarily sore, but a bit weary. Like I could have used a massage, not a half marathon. Alas, I dragged myself out of bed, threw on my trusty Will Run For Beer singlet, coated my exposed parts with sunscreen, and immediately started sweating. This was going to be a long race.

We got to the Fairfield train station about 7:30 and it was more crowded than I ever remember it. While I knew this race sold out faster than ever before, I was a little nervous that we’d be rushed by the time we finally got to the start. But just after we arrived, three shuttle buses pulled up and everyone was able to get a seat on the buses that would take us to Jennings Beach.

A note on pre-race organization: for a local race, the Fairfield Half is one of the most efficient and organized races I’ve ever run, and that’s part of the reason 2010 was my 4th consecutive year of participating. The shuttle system to the start is fast and easy, bib pick up is smooth, gear check is speedy, water is readily available before the race and porta-potties are plentiful. I noticed this year that you even had the option to pick up your shirt after the race if you didn’t want to check gear. Kudos to the fine folks at the Fairfield Fire Department for being so in tune to the little things that make race starts pleasant and not stress-inducing.

One of the biggest changes to this year’s course/organization was separate men’s and women’s starts. I suppose the logic in this was to make things a little less congested, but it seemed more confusing to me than in the past. In addition to not even hearing a gun or proclamation that the race was underway, I found the female-only start a little… tame. I don’t mean to be hating on my gender or anything, and every man, woman and child who runs a half marathon on a hilly course in exceedingly humid conditions should be commended (ahem, like me), but I’m used to jockeying for position from the start, and found the polite, prancing, and altogether exceedingly color coordinated nature didn’t really fire me up for a good race. It also didn’t feel any less crowded than in years past. That said, a separate women’s start smelled WAY better than standing around with the boys does.

And speaking of gentlemen, by the time we joined them at the one mile mark, I was able to carve out a little space for myself to run at a comfortable pace. Unfortunately, I lost a fair amount of time stuck in the crowd, and hit the first mile – one of the only flat ones – in 9:08.

Having run this race 3 times before (and traveled to Fairfield to run the course once several years ago with Brad – a trip that left us very lost and not speaking to one another for the entire trip home…), I was familiar with where all the hills were, and hopeful that my hill workouts (all 2 of them) would come in handy. The first big hill is at mile two, and is following by a short downhill, a straight away, another short downhill, and then (many) rolling hills along the water. Between the forces of heat and humidity, the importance of hydration, and the need to make up for a slow first mile, I had a lot to think about over the next several miles. Thankfully, water and Gatorade were plentiful, and between the Fairfield Fire Department and friendly residents, hoses and misting stations were frequent. Splits for 2, 3, and 4 were 8:16, 8:46, and 8:14.

I completely forgot about the hill that kicks off around 4 ½ miles in, and it is a doozy. Woof. I tried to remember to pump my arms and lift my legs, but by the end of the climb, all I wanted to do was punch the person nearest to me and not be running any more. Just in the nick of time, mile 6 took us into a cool, dark, shady forest (as in, there wasn’t sun. Not as in, there were sketchy crackheads there. It’s Fairfield, Connecticut, people).

While in the woods, I started chatting with a man near me, who spied my Will Run For Beer singlet and suggested a race I might be interested in: The Windham Warrior. According to their website, this race includes:

* MUDDY MAYHEM - scramble through water under barbed wire

* WARRIOR ROAST - leap over flames

* WALK THE PLANK - traverse a gully on thin planks

* TUNNELS OF TERROR - crawl through dark tunnels

According to the fellow in Fairfield, it also includes copious amounts of drinking, which is why he suggested it to me. Fun as it sounds, I don’t know that scrambling under barbed wire and leaping over flames are necessarily the best ways for me to enjoy the weekend just 2 weeks before my BQ attempt. But it does sound fun…

It was also at mile 6 that I ran past one of Fairfield’s child-residents who was happily offering a spray from a hose to hot runners. Unfortunately for me, his small stature combined with my long legs meant that he caught me exactly at crotch level. The next few miles felt like running in a wet diaper. Again with the baby mentality…

Mile 7 was featured another hill, but I hardly noticed because it also featured Boy Scouts handing out Gu, which I was definitely in the mood for. AND it was Vanilla Bean flavored – score! I sucked it down and passed the mile 7 marker shy of one hour. 5, 6, and 7 splits were 8:58, 8:29, and 8:51. Ouch.

Thankfully the next mile was a crazy steep downhill, and one I remembered FLYING down in previous years. I ran with absolutely no control whatsoever, and finished the mile in 7:49. Solid. And safe! As we headed back towards the beach, I was still feeling strong, had no stomach trouble to speak of, and while soaking wet, wasn’t even struggling too badly with the humidity. Mostly I was getting a little bored, which I suppose is a factor of being familiar with the course. I put it on auto pilot for 9 and 10 at 8:13 and 8:29 respectively.

The volunteer working the 10 mile marker reminded us we only had 3 miles to go. “You’re getting there, slowly but surely,” he told us. Slowly? Eat me.

As we crossed the bridge and headed uphill (yet again… damn this city) and back towards the beach, I glanced at my watch. Looking good, especially considering the course and the heat. But I decided not to push it just yet. 10, 11, and 12 were 8:29, 8:18, and 8:08. Okay, so maybe I started pushing it a little bit.

It’s worth mentioning that throughout this race, even though there were hoses all along the course, I’d grab several cups at each water station: 2 cups of water and a cup of Gatorade. I’d drink the Gatorade (electrolytes are real, and they’re spectacular!) and one cup of water, then dump the second over my head. Or, in the case at mile 11, into my face. Only I didn’t work the angle right, and caught a nose full of water that made me feel like I was back at swim practice in 1990. Or being waterboarded. If you’d like more information on why I’m a marathoner and not a triathlete, please read those analogies again.

I have a vivid memory of the last mile of this race seeming interminable the last few years, I think because you spend more time on the beach-side road on the return trip than you do on the way out. I tried to keep that in mind and not let loose as soon as I made the turn, and ran mile 13 in 7:55. That plan turned out to bite me in the ass, since I ran a 1:50:54 overall, and have a half marathon PR of 1:49:16. Granted, I certainly hadn’t set out for a PR, not least of all because my training plan called for 9 miles and not 13, and the course and conditions were tough. At first I was a little frustrated that I could have pushed harder but didn’t, but this race also helped me feel confident. I ran a 8:25 minute/mile pace overall, which is just a second off my BQ pace, and felt great, so I think I’m in a good place for Wineglass so far. Plus, the calories I torched combined with the dehydration I felt meant I could, and did, tie one on at Kelly’s bridal shower immediately afterward.

And there you have it, folks. A tale of two runs. Or two tales of two runs. Two tales, each of one run. My point is this: back-to-back racing is hard. You don’t get to sleep much, dehydration is a serious risk, and you go through socks rapidly. But I stand by my previous and highly scientific mathematical equation: 2d x 2r = 2x nB, whereby d= number of days in one weekend, r= number of races, and nB= number of beers permitted earned. Trust me. I have a degree in African Studies. What? Shhh. Don’t speak.

Race Report: New York City Pride Run

Not a moment to waste, what with all the race reports I owe you, dear readers. Friday evening, I kicked off my Pride weekend with happy hour in Chelsea with colleagues. After 4 beers and a long and heartfelt conversation with my Managing Director’s husband about how they should get another dog, I packed my rainbow flag and headed down to the Village for dinner at Colin’s. More beers were consumed. Burgers were grilled. Caprese salad was devoured. Sometime before 1:00am, I headed home.

I awoke at 6:00am, sweaty and covered in mosquito bites. Blindly fumbling for the Advil, I cursed Colin and his determination to ply me with enough alcohol to get a mention on this blog (congrats!). After a few glasses of water, I felt human again, and unearthed a pair of shorts and got ready for the Front Runner’s LGBT Pride Run.

Perhaps because he was still acutely intoxicated, or perhaps because he was desperate to escape the sweat lodge that is my apartment, IMan agreed to race as well, and we headed up to the Park early so that he could register. After fashioning a means for him to attached his D Tag to his Vibram Classics (a safety pin did the trick, but I’d be interested to see how others have managed this), we headed to Columbus Circle to meet up with some of my colleagues.

Daniel arrived promptly at 8:15, looking fresh and ready to run and not like he’d been eating mozzarella at midnight. Those Boston marathoners and their healthy lifestyles… We chatted for a few minutes about our training plans (we’ll both be running Wineglass in October) and then headed into the Park to meet up with Nathan.

After a little stretching (for Daniel and Nathan) and a little sitting perfectly still so as not to unduly shake our brains (IMan and me), we headed to the start corrals. Daniel’s number was only 3 digits long, so we parted ways early on. IMan, too, got to start with the fast people, leaving Nathan and I to our own devices back with the 8:00 minute/mile plebes. We were delighted to see so many people celebrating Pride, and even encountered some more colleagues in the corrals.

And we were off. The great crowd at the start turned out to be a real pain once the race got underway. While we had all of the Park Drive, the race was bottle necked for the first mile and a half as everyone jockeyed for position. As we approached Cat Hill, however, things started to thin out, and I was able to find some room to drive my knees and arms up that ferocious feline. Because my Wednesday hill work begins at 90th Street headed North, Cat Hill comes at the end of my workout. It was therefore a pleasant surprise to find myself able to power up handily. Plus, I had Nathan blasting Lady Gaga in his iPod by my side, and his melodious voice sang “don’t call my name…” as we began the ascent. Mile 2, which included the hill, was an 8:13 split. Not too shabby.

One idiot move I did make on Saturday was that, not wanting to deal with gear check for a short race, I tucked my credit card and my apartment keys into to my shorts. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a place to stash my phone, and thus ended up carrying it for 5 miles. While holding it was only mildly inconvenient, my personal proclivity for breaking phones combined with AT&T’s policy not to offer insurance on the iPhone meant that I avoided all but one water stop. If the race had been any longer than 5 miles, I would have been in trouble in that heat and humidity.

And, in fact, I did have some trouble at mile 4.5, when I was unfortunately confronted with the distinct taste of a mouthful of bile, burgers, and beers. With half a mile to go, I choked it down and thought about how wonderfully feminine I am sometimes…

Carl the Garmin logged a 40:41, a respectable 8:07 pace on a hilly and unshaded course. I’m telling you, a finish line popsicle has never tasted so good (especially because I really needed to get the taste of puke out of my mouth). Apparently, though, I wasn’t the only one who had some stomach trouble. IMan was intimately reunited with the mozzarella and tomato from dinner at Colin’s as he crossed the finish line. Which makes it shocking, then, that he appears so composed in this finish line photo, and unfair that I took like, well, this:

Here are the NYRR race stats (looks like Carl was off by a bit, but I’ll take a 41:03). You’ll note that I placed 4th in my division. Or “my” division, I should say. Apparently when I registered, I entered my age as 16, not 26. Oh, to be young again…

71% humidity. How delightful. Let’s cover 2.62 times the distance in similar conditions over more hills tomorrow, shall we?

That was foreshadowing. Ms. Lapple would be proud.

Monday Wrap Up: 2 Days. 2 Races. Twice as many beers.

Morning kids! Big weekend at Will Run For Beer, and as a result I was tucked into bed by 9:00pm last night. Drinking vodka lemonade while baking in the sun will do that to you, I suppose. And that was after racing the Fairfield Half Marathon. Sometimes I shock myself at the things my body is able to do. I mean in terms of its ability to drink under virtually any circumstance. Anyone can manage the running part.

Quick wrap up this morning, and I'll be back later today with two (two! You lucky dogs, you!) race reports. I know you're on the edge of your seats.

Number of Miles Run this Week: 36. Had a couple runs with extra miles, and then the race yesterday, which exceeded the 9 miles laid out in the training plan this week. Think I had 7 extra total. And since there's no system in place for me to get extra credit, I'm going to blog about it so that someone out there knows that I am far superior to the Training Plan.

Number of Beers Consumed this Week: Ruh-oh. Okay in reverse order - none yesterday, because apparently beer isn't a bridal shower drink (note to self: don't get married); none Saturday, because of the Fairfield Half; approximately 8 Friday, and there will be more on the impact of those at Saturday's Pride Run in the race reports (spoiler alert: vomit!); 4 Thursday, because I'm not alone in my love for brews among the New York running community; 2 Wednesday (you remember the Troegenator, don't you?), and probably 1 or 2 Monday or Tuesday. 16. Please. I ran more miles than that in one weekend. Special thanks to Colin for his disproportionate contribution to this week's numbers

Types of Beers Consumed this Week: Heavy on the Stella, with some Troegenator, some Blue Moon, and some Corona mixed in.

With that, it's time for another week. Of which the first 2 hours or so will be spent catching up on other races from the weekend. So blog hard kids. Mondays are slow.

Mail Bag!

To the fellow running along the East River in a lax pinny,

No.

Best,

3:59:59. Bitches.

To the handsome shirtless devil whose defined pecs and six-pack abs glistened as you took effortless strides in the June sunshine,

Proceed. And don't mind that tall strawberry blonde girl blowing snot rockets. Who brought her?

Warmly,

3:59:59. Bitches.

Brew Review: Troegenator Double Bock

When I got up to leave my desk this evening, I was taken aback by how tired and heavy my legs felt. Yes, I did a hill workout this morning, but this felt more substantial than that. And then I remembered: when I got back to the gym after my run, I asked the attendant where I could find mats to sit and stretch. "Oh, those are on the fifth floor!" We were in the basement. Whomever designed the New York Sports Club on 86th and Lexington is an evil genius determined to work every last empty calorie of alcohol out of your being. Even if you go to the place to get a drink at the water fountain and take a look in the window in the spinning studio, you have to haul ass up 6 flights of stairs. This was precisely what I did not feel like doing after a 7 mile hill workout. What I did feel like doing? Drinking.

I mentioned in the Wrap Up last week a potent witches brew, and indeed the stuff packs a heavy punch. Which is just what I was looking for on a hot night in the city when you're sitting in your underwear (I wasn't kidding about that this morning). "In this corner, coming in at 8.2% ABV and hailing from Harrisburg, PA, it's Troegenatorrrrrrrrrr!" Actually, it's just with one R. Troegenator. 8.2% ABV excites me.

Sorry about the backlighting. Makes it look like a gift from heaven though, no?

First pour: reddish brown, not too much head, but what there was in the way of head was fluffy. Like a cloud. Again, a gift from heaven! Smelled faintly malty, but I've seen it described as having a "bready"smell, which is a) revolting, and b) not really true. Holy shit, if I cracked open a beer and it smelled like a Subway restaurant I'd never drink again.

This picture is to show you the color, which is sort of burnt siena, and in the same color family as this book cover. Also, I'm showing you that I'm not illiterate, despite what you may have gathered from this blog. I read good. And stuff.

This beer has a malty, spicy taste that's meant to be savored. Even a seasoned speed drinker like myself can't rush through this. And because I'm drinking at a snail's pace, I'm actually able to think about the diversity of flavors. First a little caramel-y malt, then the spice, then a full feeling in the mouth. Because I didn't know much about bocks before I tucked into this six pack, I did a little research. According to the fine folks at Troegs Brewing Company:

"The style, Double Bock, dates back a century or so ago. During periods of fasting without solid foods, the Monastic brewers relied on the double bock; a stronger, richer beer to fulfill their basic nutritional needs. Known to them as "liquid bread," a double bock has a strong malt aroma and chewy rich body."

Wow. A couple points to be made:

1) Fasting without solid foods?! That sounds awful. Glad I'm not a monk. Though as monk side-jobs go, I'd rank brewer as number one. Second would be jam-maker (Trappist preserves are AMAZING). Third would be chanter, like those Benedictines. Last goes to genealogist or whatever it was Gregor Mendel was doing with peas. It's not like he was preventing people from being born with 6 fingers, only figuring out where those 6 figures came from. At the end of the day, your 6-fingered mutant kid isn't wearing a baseball glove with his Little League team.

1a) This is still about fasting without solid foods, but I went off on a tangent above because I'm drinking beer with 8.2% alcohol. So presumably if this beer is rich and fills basic nutritional needs, it's not meant for pairing with, you know, food? Definitely not chips and salsa, which is what I prepared when I got home. Too much mouth-spice!

2) "Liquid bread." I hate that term. First of all, it's gross. Second, and I've written about this before, but it makes people - especially young women in my cohort - feel either guilty for drinking dark beers and therefore "OMG, drinking, like, a loaf of white bread!", or disinclined to try them. People, it's about 1/3 of what you're sucking down at Jamba Juice, and has the added benefit of getting you drunk. Also, it takes good. I've sampled your terrible, terrible well vodka and cranberry, the least you can do is taste what I enjoy. Though as I readily admit, I run for beer. God help me if I loved beer like I do and didn't love marathon training...

3) "Chewy rich body." That doesn't even make sense. It's liquid. Sounds like someone over at Troegs had a few too many Double Bocks before they started reviewing...

All that said, this is a solid beer worth savoring. Maybe a little out-of-season (says the girl in her underwear), but as a whole, I'm pleased with the unique, complex flavors. Hey Troegs Brothers - any of you guys single?

Disclaimer: I don't usually do this (because it's not very often that this happens), but after a beer and a half, I'm intoxicated. Forget operating heavy machinery; if you're going to try this beer, do so in a padded room filled with stuffed animals and Mallomars. Mmm, Mallomars...

"Hills? Why'd It Have to be Hills?!"

Imagine, if you will, the feeling of being in a warm bath. Now imagine running a 7 mile hill workout in that bath. Now you're me in Central Park this morning. Feel free to hold your head under the water in that imaginary bath now.

I sleep-walked to the subway this morning and sweat while standing still on the platform in a tank top and running shorts. After I dropped my gear at the gym and gave myself a little pep talk, I headed to the Park for my second hill workout. Fun fact: hills are still hard.

Even before 6:00am, the temperature was in the mid-70s and humidity was approaching 70%. Outstanding. I tried to remember the description of this workout from the training plan: "You won't feel fast uphill, but you'll feel strong." Mostly, I felt like a bicycle in the wrong gear; my arms were pumping about 3 times faster than the rest of my body was moving. Nonetheless, I got into a solid stride after about a mile and a half and used my jet-pack arms to get me up the Harlem Hill and up and down and up and down and up and down the West Side hills. By the time I got to the bottom of Park, I was mentally prepping myself for Cat Hill.

And so we come to the climax of this story: I passed three people on Cat Hill this morning! Yes, they were running! Now some of you might say, "It's not really in the spirit of running to be competing with the other good people who've dragged themselves out of bed at 6:00am on a Wednesday morning in 76 degree weather to go running." To that I say, I assure you that the 45 people who passed me viewed it as an accomplishment, a reason to celebrate on this sticky Hump Day. Or, maybe they didn't, and merely felt bad for the folks who were going so slowly that even I was able to pick them off.

A special shout out to the bad-asses I saw doing brick workouts this morning (and there were a lot of them). Biking is virtually impossible for me at any time of the day, even on a stationary bike, so the notion that there are people out there who bike (intervals!) at 5:30am and THEN run boggles the mind. Also, I cannot imagine wearing that much spandex is comfortable or cool.

Rest day tomorrow. Thank God. That means tonight I can drink beers in my underwear. Just your typical Wednesday...

It Runs in the Family

Took a break from my usual East River routes to run up First Avenue to my sister's old neighborhood this morning. All looks the same. Though there appears to be a surplus of wine in her absence...

According to the esteemed astrologists at the New York Post:

"You have kept your passions under strict control in recent weeks, but now you need an outlet for all that pent-up emotional energy. Physical activity of some kind is a must. Without it you'll feel fit to explode."

I don't know exactly what passions I've kept under strict control in recent weeks, though that's certainly not a reference to my passion for bagels, in which I've indulged 7 of the last 8 days. Though too many bagels could make a gal explode... Anyway, the physical activity today was tough, and the humidity continues to take a lot out of me. I've hardly recovered from Sunday's death march (and the nightmares of cockroaches that had me tossing and turning last night didn't help). I'm going to pretend that Carl is sick and therefore giving me bad data, and not that my splits were as inconsistent as they seem. I wish Carl would contract some disease that made him tell me I run solid 7:30s. Given the weather, it'd probably be some tropical disease like typhoid. Yes, I know what I'm talking about. I lived in Africa. Also, Maddy was a women's studies major and taught us all about Typhoid Mary. Don't question my medical knowledge.

Sunday Wrap Up: BQ Training, Week One

Last night I was curled up on the couch watching Bear Grylls review his top 25 "man moments." His top moment involved giving himself an enema of fetid water to stave off dehydration. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank every single water station volunteer I've ever encountered at every race. Ever.

Anyway, as I was running this afternoon in 94 degree temperatures with humidity hovering around 85%, I started thinking about how I might rank my tough runs. Not to rush to judgement, but I'm ranking today as number one. After one mile, I wondered if perhaps I would have to turn back because the humidity was so oppressive. After 2, I had to stop to deal with temporary blindness from the sweat and sunscreen pouring into my eyes. By 3, I was running low on water and subconsciously squeezing my butt together as I thought about Bear and his homemade enema. Thankfully I found a rec field full of soccer rugrats with a bathroom and running water to fill up. For the last 4 1/2 miles, all I could think about was how much I was looking forward to diving into the pool waiting for me at the finish line. When the rain started falling at mile 6, I slowed down to enjoy it. And when I finally crossed my make-believe finish line in the driveway at the beach club, the pool had been closed due to thunderstorms. Whoever controls the weather deserves a fetid water enema.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 27. The plan only called for 25 this week, and I fully intend on cashing in on these two extra miles on a day when I'm hung over and value sleeping in and eating bagels over a BQ. And let's be honest, we all know that day will come.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: Well, today there was 1. You bet I celebrated my finish with a beer. Yesterday I had 1, and I-Man was perhaps the most surprised I've ever seen him when he offered me a drink and I declined. Friday? 5. Because happy "hour" was 4 hours long. Thursday: 6-ish. Not too sure on the exact number, but I drank enough to eat a cheeseburger. Surprise! Red meat is delicious! There were another 2 or 3 in there somewhere. Let's go with a respectable 15 total.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: There were some Saratoga Lagers, UFO Hefeweizen, Magic Hat "Wacko," Sierra Nevada, Sam Summer, and something called Troegenator Double Bock, which was 8.2% alcohol. As such, I don't really remember the rest, so can you just look back at that picture from Thursday night and see for yourself if I missed anything?

Looking forward to getting BQ Training Week 2 underway tomorrow, if for no other reason than the week starts with a rest day. I'm racing both Saturday (Front Runners 5 Mile Pride Run) and Sunday (Fairfield Half Marathon), so I'll be straying from the plan in distance and pace at the end of Week 2. At this rate, I'll accrue enough "extra" miles that I'll be able to take a whole week off eventually. Like, next week?

I Could Have Used A Saturday This Morning

Yesterday the plan called for a rest day, which was convenient since I had to be at the office at 7:30am for a meeting and was hosting a dinner party at my apartment at 8:00pm. Not a lot of room in the day for squeezing a run in. Though I did sort of trot/skip to the grocery store, half in the bag, around 10pm when it was discovered that the entree for our dinner party smelled like rotten eggs and perhaps we should pick up a replacement, so I'm going to count that as a workout.

Our guests for the night (Monty is special...)

The boys were in charge of meat for the evening, while my roommates and I were tasked with salad, dessert, and beer. Guess which one I handled?

There would be more in there, had Brad not broken two bottles trying to open them.

The evening was a smashing success (once we realized we'd be safer and less prone to gastrointestinal distress if perhaps we didn't eat burgers that were giving off a stench Caroline had assumed had been expelled from someone's body), and we're looking forward to many more summer nights on the roof. Best of all, there are still a few beers left!

Anyway, all that is really background for my run this morning, which as you can imagine was not high on my list of things to do after a night of burgers and beers (things that were high on that list? Sleeping more, finding some Advil, and eating leftover strawberry crumble for breakfast). But according to the plan, I only needed to do an easy 4 this morning. So I strapped on the Vibrams and off I went.

The trick to running after a night out is to just start doing it. I know, I know, that sounds miserable and horrifying, but as someone with a good deal of experience in this field, I ask that you trust me on this. In fact, I've covered this very topic in a reputable medical journal. In any case, once I got outside this morning, I felt a-okay and knocked out a couple miles with ease.

On the return trip, I was so focused on breathing and pacing and posture (no I wasn't; I think I was focused on what I should wear this weekend), that I didn't even notice I had come up right behind Katie B. and Lynn. After we exchanged "Happy Fridays!" I was fired up to finish strong - and come home to the leftover strawberry crumble.

It's going to be about 47,000 degrees this weekend, so I hope everyone stays cool and hydrated. I'll leave it up to you to decide with what liquid refreshment you choose to hydrate, but if you are looking for any suggestions, see if you can identify any of the brews in the picture above.

P.S. Since I promised him, here is a picture of Brad, drinking a beer and being generally cool:

Day 3: "Run on the Hilliest Route You Can Find"

And we've rapidly gone from easy local runs to "for serious, I have to go up to Central Park at 5:00am on a Wednesday to do hills?" in this training plan. That was fast.

When the alarm went off this morning I wanted to stab someone. Instead, I brewed a cup of coffee, put on my running gear, and tossed some work clothes in a bag. I was out the door and off to the subway by 5:25. I'd like to think that I purposely looked like an atrocious monster so as to dissuade any rapist-murderers from getting too close in the North Woods of Central Park, but mostly I'm just not cute in the morning. At least I wasn't the guy on the subway picking at his blackheads in the reflection of his cellphone screen. I have some standards, people.

After I dropped my gear at the gym (they had free bagels, btw. Really had to resist, pre-run), I trotted over to the Park entrance at 90th Street and started my run. I was very pleasantly surprised to find dozens of other runners and literally hundreds of bikers already out for their morning workouts, none of whom looked like the Preppy Killer. Perhaps I might even live through this workout!

The actual plan of attack for the day, as described by TrainingPeaks, was a 6 miler, which I was meant to "run on the hilliest route you can find. Hills build leg and lung power, and prepare you for speedwork later in training. You won't feel fast going up hills, but you'll feel strong." Is that so? Because I don't think you've ever been to Central Park and run up the famed Cat Hill, which today came at 5.75 miles into a 7 mile run. When I passed that cat, I shook a first at it. I would have cursed it out, but I was basically doubled over sucking wind, so the fist gesture was the best I could muster.

All told, this actually wasn't that bad, and I averaged 8:05/mile on what truly was the hilliest route I could find (baring leaving Manhattan, which I feel is unreasonable at 5:00am on a Wednesday morning). I've linked to the data Carl the Garmin spit out when we were finished (see that green link, below), because I like looking at graphs and things, and also because I didn't start this run at my house so that map that's included will not lead the Preppy Killer directly to my doorstep. Constant vigilance.

Central Park Hills by walshcc at Garmin Connect - Details

BQ Training Day One: So Far, This Is Pretty Easy

Hi Kids! Big things happening at WillRunForBeer today: it's day one of my Boston Qualifying Training Program! On tap for today's workout: Rest. Well then. So much for getting fired up from the get-go...

While I've trained for, and finished, 7 marathons in my day, I've qualified for Boston at precisely zero of them. That said, I've progressed in leaps and bounds (or maybe sprints and strides? Fartleks and tempos?) since my first marathon in 2006, where I finished in 4 hours and 22 minutes. My PR is now 3 hours and 47 minutes. Or, more to the point, 7 minutes away from running a BQ. I have 16 weeks to cut 7 minutes.

While it's not quite accurate to say that the BQ has been eluding me for 7 marathons, since when I first started distance running I never dreamed of running 8:24/mile for 26.2 miles, it's now close enough within my reach that I can't not go for it. But I'm going to need all the help I can get.

Which is how I came to find myself resting on Day One. It's all part of the plan. No, that's not the plan of "I Can Just Be Satisfied with Being a Sub-Four Hour Marathoner and Yes, Bartender, I Would Like Another Beer, Since You Asked." It is the Runner's World Intermediate Marathon Plan. The plan I have vowed to follow to the letter for the next 16 weeks. The plan that is going to get me to Boston. (Also, the plan for which I paid $29.99, with the hope/expectation that the weekly emails informing me of what lies ahead, combined with the customized calendar that takes all guesswork of where in the training cycle you are meant to be, will save me the aggravation of counting backwards from race day every single time I want to go for a run. I pay for convenience).

In addition to putting my trust in the plan, I have a few other tools in my BQ arsenal. One is Carl, the "virtual training partner" who lives inside my Garmin Forerunner 405. He's a huge pain in the ass and I don't like him at all because he always tries to stay juuuuuust out of my reach. But like a raccoon chases shiny objects to the bottom of a Dumpster, so too shall I chase Carl across the finish line.

The other tool I have is I-Man, the non-virtual training partner who lives in Connecticut. He's not a pain in the ass (mostly) and I'm pretty fond of him. He's also a two-time Boston qualifier himself who has a hill fetish. And he tells me I look good in a sports bra. But perhaps most importantly, I-Man was not a marathoner before he met me, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let him be known as "The Runner" over me. Whatever keeps you motivated, right?

Lastly, this here blog probably counts as a tool. When this whole "I'm a blogger" thing started last summer, I was trying to break 4 hours while simultaneously enjoying the finer things in life, such as cheese fries and craft beers. Since then, my nom de plume - 3:59:59. Bitches - has become more of a historical reference than a benchmark for me (can't change it though. I've got the branded sweatshirts), and I've kept the readership informed of my successes and my failures. So I'm hopeful that anyone who's been reading this since last year (hi Nina!) continues to keep me honest, and anyone who's just joining me will take to the comments and suggest perhaps I work on the ratio of time spent selecting beers at the liquor store versus logging miles on the FDR Drive. Right now it's about 4:1 in favor of the beer-buying. That can't be good.

Well I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted from this whole training thing already. So tired, in fact, that I'm probably going to need a drink. This is going to be a long 16 weeks, eh?

Sunday Wrap Up: I Like Your Beard

Want to know what almost $700 of booze looks like?

I'll just let you take that in while I move on to the wrap up...

Number of Miles Run This Week: 27. Not quite as many as I had hoped, but after the aforementioned booze, the consumption of which necessitated sleeping until noon today, and the detritis of which was littered not just in every single room at I-Man's house, but on the back porch, in the driveway, and throughout his yard and those surrounding his and therefore requiring a significant and exhausting clean up effort, I couldn't muster more than 3.4 miles today. Sure, I could have run yesterday to add some miles to my week, but would you have wanted to miss as epic a liquor store run as we had?

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 25. Million.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: This is hard. Definitely some Lionhead "Deluxe" Pilsner, and definitely some Bud Light (see the keg, above). Also, some PBR. And presumably some Roofie Cooladas, because why else am I having some difficulty accounting for my whereabouts between 11pm and 2am? Though I do recall watching a grown man throw up into a sink at some point.

Number of Pigs Harmed in the Making of This Weekend: 1.

And that was just Saturday. Why can't the weekend be five days, and the workweek be two? How can I possibly be expected to limit my fun to fit into 48 hours?

Summer Friday!

I don't actually have Summer Fridays ("AIDS doesn't take a vacation"), but I happen to have today off. Naturally, I spent the evening imbibing, then watching trashy television, then eating things covered in Nutella. I got into bed several beers deep and relished the fact that I could sleep in today.

I woke up at 6:45.

I thought that shit didn't happen until you were old. Like, 30.

Anyway, I puttered around the apartment while Carl the Garmin charged this morning, and then headed out for a run 2 whole hours later than usual. What a rebel! I had initially thought I'd get a 10 miler done today, because a) I had the time to do it; b) The forecast for the weekend is hot and muggy; and c) I have to wear a very form fitting gown to an event tonight. As it turns out, I can forgo the gown in favor of "cocktail attire," (thank God, since I don't think the loaf of bread slathered in Nutella was doing me any favors), and I'm vain and shallow, so really that was the only thing motivating me to run long today. As such, I took out the Vibrams for a 4 miler and unearthed a roomy dress from the closet.

Look! So seasonal!

Looking forward to getting a mani/pedi, both because my feet are dog tired from the past two weeks of runs, and because it's funny to see the pedicure lady's reaction to my feet in all their missing-toenailed glory. "No, I don't want callus remover. I worked hard to get those calluses."

Happy weekend, kids. Drink responsibly, and in abundance (is that possible?).

Something About Ticking Clocks...

This morning when I finished up my run and was cooling off by pacing outside my building, I noticed something troubling. Someone who lives on the first floor has a keyboard in their apartment, facing the window. While that's troubling enough, the song book open on the music stand above the keyboard was "Coldplay: The Ballads." This is grounds for me to start looking for a new apartment, right?

Runs yesterday and today both uneventful. Humidity still mercifully not bad. Trying to log as many miles as I can before the weekend, when it's going to be muggy again. Also, I'm going to be drunk. Again.

Runner's High

What a difference 25 degrees make! Outstanding 8 miler this morning down past the seaport. Last three miles were all sub-8:00. Finished more than 5 minutes ahead of Carl. Suck on that, Carl!

Brew Review: Lionshead - "Deluxe Pilsner Beer"

Despite being blessed with a break from the oppressive heat today, I kept my promise to myself that I was going to take the day off from running. After 21 miles in 3 days, I thought I was well deserving of a day off. But how could I possibly keep myself entertained? Ah yes, with a brew review.

Tonight as I browsed the shelves at Morton Williams, my eye caught a neutral colored six pack among the bright, island-y color palette of dozens of summer beers.

Deluxe Pilsner Beer? What the hell is that? I don't know about you, but I can attest that when I think of scenic Wilkes-Barre, PA, home of Lionshead Brewery, "deluxe" is not necessarily the first word that comes to mind. "Amish" is probably more accurate. But in addition to the promise of "deluxe" beer, I was also drawn to Lionshead tonight because of a clever design feature:

Individual finger holes! I liked this design because it makes me feel like a badass when I picked it up, like I was wearing brass knuckles. Okay fine, so I grew up in the suburbs and have no idea what wearing brass knuckles might feel like. But if they are made of cardboard and attached to 72 ounces of deluxe pilsner deliciousness, then call me Gansta 3:59:59. Bitches.

However, my delight was displaced when I got to the check out counter. When the clerk ran up my purchases, my beers came to a grand total of $5.99.

Now don't get me wrong; I love a good bargain as much as the next guy. But I'm also a cynical New Yorker, and as I walked back to my apartment carrying a microbrew from Amish country that costs less than a sixer of Bud Light from Duane Reade, I had my doubts.

First impressions: the pour is darker than I'd expect a pilsner to be (maybe that's the "deluxe" part?). It also smells malty, and tastes more like a summer seasonal than its actual relatives, like year-round Heineken and Stella. It's not bad, but I'm surprised at how specific the taste is, given it's mass-market price point. This particular beer also seems a little flat, but God only knows how long it's been sitting on the shelf at the grocery store. Since every time I go there, the joint is overrun with the elderly, I can't imagine there are a ton of other beer bloggers going through the inventory faster than they can stock it.

And with that, I better start drinking these in rapid succession, since I'm watching The Bachelorette and feeling second-hand embarrassment for all participants involved. Ali, stop giggling. If I were her, I'd give a rose to Chris Harrison and be done with it.

Back to the roads tomorrow. Here's hoping the weather stays cool!