VFFs: Not Just For Running Anymore

I must admit: I have not worn my Fivefingers to run in ages. I was so focused on Wineglass, and BQing, and had so many new and varied workouts to do, that I let my VFF training fall by the wayside this summer and fall. And now with the New York City Marathon coming up next weekend, I've scrambled to recover and log miles at all, let alone in special non-shoes. I know I've batted around the whole "what's next?" conundrum, both on this blog and in my head, and I think I've made some progress: I'm going to get back into my Fivefingers.

And what better way to start than this weekend, when I shall be dressed as a turtle! Turtles are amphibians, right? Reptiles, maybe? Whatever, my point is that I'll be wearing my Fivefingers as a component of my turtle costume. And it is going to be awesome! Or no one is going to talk to me and I am going to stand in a corner, drinking alone until my face has completely melted off and I am moved by some outside force to dance uncontrollably, thereby making countless friends, which really would not be all that dissimilar from that time I visited Nina at Dartmouth when we were in college, and we all know how that turned out (and for those who don't, like my mom, I fully intend to keep it that way). My point is this: have a safe and happy Halloween weekend, everyone. If you're racing this weekend, and I know many of you are, I hope it's your best one yet. Kiss a Marine for me!

Marathons For Everyone!

Claire logs into Gmail yesterday morning. After exchanging pleasantries and celebrity gossip, her BFF Cate drops the following bomb.

Cate: last night i dreamt that i ran a 3:03 marathon at the rye high school track, and i got second place, but that was only b/c i LET justin bieber beat me

3:03 is faster than me. In your dreams, Cate! No, literally. This was a dream. With Justin Beiber. I'm judging you...

Sunday Wrap Up: Shoe Review

Behold, my newest toy:

The Saucony Kinvara! I've had my eye on these sneaks for awhile, but was hesitant to break from my Asics DS Trainers, which have gotten me through 8 marathons thus far (not the same pair. Though that would be sort of awesome...). In fact, I tried to bite the proverbial bullet a few weekends ago at my local running store, but when I talked with the (adorable) sales guy, he explained that they'd sent their entire stock of Kinvaras back to Saucony because he didn't think they fit well. But I'd heard so many good things from people who'd been racing in Kinvaras that I decided I'd pick up a pair of these, in addition to a new pair of Asics, so I could try them out. Also, because living at home means everything is free, so I have exponentially more disposable income to spend on sneakers.

The Kinvaras are marketed as a minimalist trainer. At only 7.7 oz (as opposed to the 12 ounces of Asics GT-2140, widely seen as the most popular running shoe), these are really light. As in, I took them out of the box with much more force than was necessary and did one of those arm-flying-out-of-control things that happens when something is a lot lighter than you'd anticipated. So light, in fact, then when I got home after work and found the box waiting for me, my roommate (mom) said "I think only one pair shipped; the box feels pretty light." Ahh, but that's the beauty of it.

I could hardly sleep on Thursday night because I was so excited to test out the Kinvaras on Friday morning (I am embarrassed for having admitted that). I woke up before the alarm, dug out some tights and a long sleeved race shirt (Philadelphia Marathon 2007, which I'd sort of forgotten I'd even run. Was that the year someone carved "Fuck You" into the paint of my Volvo while I was having a pasta feast with my best gal pals, none the wiser? That was totally a stress-free pre-race night...), strapped on my reflective vest, and took the Kinvaras out of the box.

As you can see in the photo above, these shoes are really just a skeleton covered in mesh: those ribs give the shoe its shape, and wide mesh on the inside helps it hold on to your foot. Fine mesh on the outside is, presumably, only there so it can be painted orange, which is a desirable sneaker attribute because it makes me feel like Usain Bolt. Look at me in my fancy, fast-looking shoes! LOOK!

Before I headed outside, I was genuinely curious as to whether or not my feet would be cold. To say these shoes are breathable is an understatement. There is no insulation whatsoever; you can look down at your feet and see your socks right through. I was undeterred. But talk to me again in December when there's a foot of snow on the ground.

I headed out for an easy 3 mile route just to see how they felt. Immediately I noticed a difference. Whereas my DS Trainers, which weigh 10.2 oz, are something I don't ever think about while I'm running, I was very conscious of the Kinvaras on my feet. Perhaps my running store crush was right; maybe the mesh prevents these shoes from fitting snugly (snuggle-y? Mmm, I'd like to get snuggle-y with the running store crush...) to your feet. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling; just a present one.

I was about a quarter mile down the road when it occurred to me that, as a minimalist trainer, these shoes could potentially be as tough to transition to as the Vibrams were the first time I wore those. You remember, don't you? I ran 1 mile in my Fivefingers and spent and entire weekend curled on the couch, begging anyone to massage my calves, cursing anytime I had to get up to go walk to the bathroom. What if that happened with the Kinvaras as well? It would be rather inconvenient, 2 weeks out from the New York City Marathon. Might put a damper on the long run I needed to get done this weekend. Maybe this was not a very good idea...

But as I pressed on, I found that the fit was fine - the mesh was noticeable, but not painful, rubbing, or chafing in any way. And my stride was no different in the Kinvaras than it is in the DS Trainers; I maintained my forefoot strike, but wasn't contracting my calves to stay way up on my toes the way one does in the Fivefingers. And best of all, the Kinvaras are seasonally appropriate!

As for the long run this weekend, I decided to stick with the Asics DS Trainers. Why mess with perfection? Or at least practiced mediocrity. As I don't plan to race NYC in the Kinvaras, I thought it best to do my last long run of this (seemingly endless) training cycle in my race-day shoes. I decided I wasn't going to grit it out for a full 20 miler, as my grand plans for New York include:

a) collect as many high-fives as possible

b) take pictures with friends on the sidelines, and at least one stranger

c) drink a beer mid-race

So I went out for 17. Also, it was almost 600 feet of climbing. I should probably adjust those race goals; make it 2 beers.

And so begins the taper. For real this time. No more distance races in 2010. I feel like I've been training all year long, and it's mostly because I have.

Looks at calendar.

Realizes Boston training starts in mid-December.

Opens another beer.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 40. In addition to yesterday's long run, I had a really, truly awesome run on Thursday night along the West Side Highway. 10 miles that made me glad to be alive. Not even the raccoon, nor two rats, I saw on my run could dampen my mood. Runs like that are what keep me going. Seriously, I was so happy I didn't even need a train beer on my journey home.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 10-ish. Nothing remarkable. The MTA beer vendors should organize beer-tastings. Friday nights. Get a local brewery to hook them up with a couple cases for cheap. Maybe even serve it on draft. Maybe that will be the next beer-related planning project I'll undertake.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Blah. Bud Light, Heineken, Sierra Nevada.

Coming up this week, Will Run For Beer travels to Michigan, entices undergrad boys to get drunk, hilarity ensues. And something about running...

(In my mind I was just picturing me-as-Giselle, the best thing that's ever come to East Lansing. In actuality, I'll be wearing a turtle costume.)

Where The Wild Things Are

If attacked, I'm pretty sure I could take a coyote. I'm less sure about a buck though. And I hope there are no wild boar up here, but frankly anything is possible; this is, after all, the former hometown of the chimpanzee who regrettably ate the face and hands of a woman last year.

I've been thinking about what to do should these creatures attack me after having spent yesterday morning running outside, in the pitch blackness. Does this mean I'm afraid of the dark? Perhaps. But not irrationally so. If a chimpanzee ate your neighbor, I'd think you'd be entitled to have some type of emergency action plan.

Anyway, back to the run: after spending a highly boring hour on the treadmill the day before, I simply could not stand to do it again. I was going to run outside, damnit. It's what runners do. I looked at the thermometer. 39 degrees. I mean, runners also take rest days...

But I persevered. I put on tights and a long sleeved running shirt, a reflective vest, and gloves, and opened the front door. Then I promptly tripped down the two front steps leading to the walkway, as I could not even see the ground in front of me. "That's okay," I told myself. "Once you get to the road, they'll be no obstacles and nothing to do but run straight."

This was a lie. First of all, it snows a good amount here in the winter, which means the roads get torn to hell by frost heaves and then snow plows, and then forgotten until the next winter. In the first quarter mile, I stepped in 3 separate pot holes. Second, it's really, really dark. Even though the 5:30am run has been my bread and butter for so long, doing it in Manhattan is very different than doing it in North Stamford. If New York is the City That Never Sleeps, then much of Southern Connecticut constitutes The City That Got Rich Before The Market Crashed And Now Gets To Sleep In Because It's Not Like They Have To Go Into The Office Or Anything. Not only is my route not illuminated by cars and buses and ambulances and 24 hour diners (I would be BEYOND happy if I had stumbled across a 24 hour diner yesterday morning, though), but there aren't even street lights. I don't know about you, but to me, the quiet darkness seems like perfect hunting ground for flesh-eating wild boar. (Or rapist-murderers).

So with that, I am packing my gear to take to the city today, and it is my hope and intention to log today's miles along the Hudson River. This will of course require a great feat of strength since in order to get to the gym, where I will change, from my office, I must pass 2 oft-frequented watering holes, perfect for "just one drink" after work, which of course is not even possible since both offer two-for-one during happy hour. I'd almost rather be threatened by a chimpanzee. Almost...

Nothing Says "Better?"

I don't have to be at work until 10:00am. Go ahead and be jealous; my place of work is a nonprofit AIDS service organization, which means that sometimes we get paid in condoms if that's all that's in the coffers. But I know I am unique and fortunate that my work day doesn't officially begin until the finance set has been at their desks for a few hours (more than a few for those first-year analysts burning the midnight oil) slaving away with hardly a moment to spare. But despite the late start I'm afforded, I got to the office 90 minutes early today. I spent half an hour leisurely drinking my coffee, listening to voicemails, and reading the Post. At 9:00am on the nose, I went to the Boston Athletic Association website to register for what I'd worked so hard to earn: entry into my first Boston Marathon.

After a dozen attempts, each of which were met not with a confirmation page but a blank entry form, with no record of my previous attempts to give away my identity and hard-earned $130 (lucky for me we were paid in real money last week), I finally succeeded. Voilà:

In the late afternoon, I checked back to see if there were any reports on how registration was going; with recent articles generating buzz about qualifying standards, there was speculation that for the first time ever, Boston would fill up before New York City was run, knocking the latter out as a qualifier. I was particularly interested to see if this prediction came true, as I'd kept the New York City Marathon in my back pocket (err, small waistband pocket, if we're talking about running shorts) lest I fall short of my goal in Corning. But I have to say I was truly shocked to come across this screen when I went back to the BAA website:

Instead of breathing a sigh of relief that I'd made it in (pending verification of my submitted qualifying time, though I assure you there is no public transportation or anything in rural Western New York that could have transported me to the finish line Rosie Ruiz style beyond my own two feet), I was pissed. Really, really mad. The 2011 Boston Marathon is now more about fast Internet connections and time zones of residence than meeting the qualifying time. I'd be curious to know how many Aussies or other Western Hemisphere dwellers will be with me in Hopkinton. Or how many hardworking runners thought they'd register when they got home from the office, only to be closed out. And it breaks my heart to think that they are hundreds or thousands of people just like me who sweltered all summer long, training their asses off for their chance to feel like someone, only to have missed out on that chance because they were busy between 9am and 5pm today. I don't deserve this anymore than they do.

For such a monumental event in an amateur, middle-of-the-pack marathoner's "career," getting into Boston has left a terribly bitter taste in my mouth. Don't get me wrong; I'll be at the 115th running of the famed Unicorn Race. I just wish it didn't feel so crappy.

Sunday Wrap Up: I'm Too Excited To Sleep

You guys. Tomorrow, I get to register for the Boston Marathon. Holy hell. Me. Boston. April. Yessssss.

In other news, this was a solid weekend, and an especially solid Sunday (minus the lack of Giants, which is seriously unforgivable, and I hope that every executive at both Cablevision and Fox sits on a cattle prod for pulling that kind of BS on a Sunday during football season). After brunch at my new fave establishment, which I naturally only discovered a few days before I moved out of my apartment, I had a great run over the Brooklyn Bridge and along the East River this afternoon. I felt good and happy to be outside in the sunshine. I did, however, notice a disturbing trend: I saw several men running in capri pants. This concerns me. Greatly.

Post-run, I met Maura for a pint (4 pints...) on the West Side, at a lovely Irish pub, and we talked about the impending New York City Marathon. We talked about a great many other things also, but I don't remember them nearly as well, given the aforementioned four pints.

To the wrap up:

Number of Miles Run This Week: 29. Today's 12 miler put some wind in my sails, after a tough week of feeling really sore and un-athletic. Also, full. Do you have any idea how much parents' try to feed their children?

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 10. I tried two new (to me) beers this week, both of which were seasonal. The first - Geary's Autumn Ale - was something I picked up because I love Geary's so much. As a heathen, being in Maine is the closest I come to a spiritual experience, and therefore any tangible connection to Vacationland serves as my own personal talisman, and these objects remind me of the place on earth where I am happiest. Yes, I did just align spirituality and beer. Anyway, Geary's Autumn Ale is a hearty, hoppy beer that smells a little bit like molasses. It's pretty heavy (which meant that drinking it at a tailgate was... excessive), but definitely felt seasonally appropriate. Probably better suited to a Sunday night at home than a Saturday afternoon in the blazing sunlight where beers are being consumed in mass quantities.

The other new beer I sampled was Sierra Nevada Tumbler. In short, this rules. Bright and caramel-y, I could (and did) drink 47,000 of these in one sitting.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Well I guess I sort of jumped the gun with my previous response. In addition to the newbies, I had some Guinness, a Bud Light (hell, maybe it was even Keystone. That's what you get when you go to a high school football tailgate), and an unidentified New York-brewed stout. What kind of drinking establishment doesn't reveal the brewery behind their beers? It was like going out at the Secret Frat for Grown Ups. I dated a secret frat guy in college. It was exceptionally lame then, and it is no different today. Don't keep things from me!

If you haven't already, please take a moment to review my plans for "We'll Run For Beer" and shoot me an email to let me know if you're interested in participating. Regardless of running ability, all are welcome and encouraged to attend. Except that secret frat guy.

Save the Date: We'll Run For Beer is Happening!

From the people who brought you Will Run For Beer (me!), I hope you will join me on Sunday, November 21st in Central Park for the inaugural “We’ll Run For Beer!”

As you know, I love running, and I love beer, and I want the people I love (you!) to love these things too! "We’ll Run For Beer" isn’t a race, and it isn’t a fund-raiser to fight malaria in baby seals or provide croquet mallets to armless youth in BedStuy. It’s a chance to get outside and enjoy the fall with your friends! And a chance to sit inside in a dark bar and be anti-social! Like Hannah Montana, you’ll get the best of both worlds!

We’ll meet on Sunday morning at 11:00am at the Engineer’s Gate at Central Park (Fifth Avenue and E. 90th Street). From there, we’ll run (slowly, comfortably, and without tripping, throwing elbows, or blowing snot rockets on one another) north and west, hopping back and forth between the Park and the Avenues of the Upper West Side to quench our collective thirst along the way.

Stop one: Dive Bar, Amsterdam Ave. between 95th and 96th Streets

Distance to stop one: 1.1 miles

Stop two: Firehouse, Columbus Ave. between 85th and 86th Streets

Distance to stop two: 1.4 miles

Stop three: Amsterdam Ale House, Amsterdam Ave. and 76th Street

Distance to stop three: .65 miles

Stop four: PJ Clarke’s, Columbus Ave. and 63rd Street

Distance to stop four: 1.5 miles

I can’t stress enough that "We’ll Run For Beer" isn’t a race or competition of any kind. Hell, I’m not even bringing a watch. I’m reaching out to running- and non-running friends (but not to non-drinking friends. Because I don’t have any of those) to join me, and everyone can move from “fluid replacement station” to “fluid replacement station” at their own pace. Just try to finish before 8:30pm, because the Giants are the Sunday night game that week.

If you’re interested in participating in "We’ll Run For Beer," shoot me an email at willrunforbeerblog at gmail dot com to let me know; once I have a sense of numbers, I’ll reach out to the planned pit stop locations to reserve a few tables. All you’ll need to do is show up on the appointed date and time, in sneakers and the running clothes of your choice (if you wear something extra awesome I'll buy you a beer), with beer money and a Metro Card to get home from the Lincoln Center area at the conclusion of the run.

Please alert your friends and neighbors and anyone else who likes running, drinking, the great outdoors, and fun. If you have any questions, reach out and let me know.

As always, here’s to the next great adventure!

Something Awesome

Hi kids. I think I have an excellent idea (this thing atop my shoulders is not just a hat rack, you know). Okay, fine, my friend Leslie is the one who had the actual idea. But it is a good one regardless of where it originated, and as such it deserves to be carried out.

I hope you will join me for the inaugural "We'll Run For Beer" event the weekend of November 20-21st! As you know, I love running, and I love beer, and I want the people I love (that's all of you!) to love these things too! We'll meet at the Engineer's Gate at Central Park (Fifth Avenue at East 90th Street) and run (at whatever pace feels right for you) north and west, through the Park and along the streets of the Upper West Side, making four pit stops at local watering holes. I'm still hammering out the route, but I want this to be accessible, attainable, and comfortable for everyone, even if you hate running and haven't done it since that creepy tennis coach in high school made everyone run 2 miles so that he had an excuse to sleep off his hangover for 15 or 20 minutes. I'll make sure the maximum distance between "rehydration stations" is less than 1.5 miles. And I'll reach out to our potential pit stops in advance to reserve seating so we can rest our weary legs.

So if this sounds like something that might be up your alley, and you'll be in the New York metropolitan area the weekend before Thanksgiving, please shoot me an email at willrunforbeerblog at gmail dot com and let me know. In return, I'll provide email updates (including finalized date and time, maps and information about our bar stops, and perhaps even some head shots of my friend Leslie, who was not only smart enough to come up with this but also has a lot going for her in the looks department). Hope to see you out there!

New Home, New Gear

Those of you who've been playing along at home know that I've always spent a fair amount of time in Connecticut, where my parents live, running on hilly, windy, wooded roads, racing whatever wildlife crosses my path (I'm still pissed at those two turkeys who beat me a few weeks back...). But for the time being, I'm an actual resident of the Charter Oak State (nope, no idea what that means. Something about signing a charter and hiding it in a tree. Or maybe just signing it under a tree? If you're reading this, you're using the internet. Open a new tab with Wikipedia if you're that curious). Yep, I live in New England now.

Scenic (and free!) as it is to be shacking up with mom and dad, this is not a permanent living situation. Fun as it would be to develop some type of frat-house code with my parents, whereby if a sock were hanging from my door, I'm not alone... No, that wouldn't be fun. That would be horrifying, and I want to throw up at the mere prospect. So I will be returning to Gotham City permanently in a few weeks. I just have to find a new home first.

In the meantime, I'll be logging my miles on the hills of Fairfield County, and to start my tenure as a Connectikite (?) off right, I set out for a run this afternoon along one of the routes I frequent when I am here. The leaves are pretty spectacular right now (that's two weeks in a row of peeping! I'm like a sexual predator of leaves! There are probably chat-rooms dedicated to such a thing, if chat-rooms still exist), and I was in no hurry, so I took my iPhone with me and snapped a few pictures. Behold:

Pretty beautiful, eh? You can thank the lovely folks at SPIBelt for allowing me to share those pictures with you. Cathy over there send me a SPIBelt to try after I complained to her that I have difficulty carrying what I need with me on a run. Like a six pack. And some pizza. While I couldn't quite squeeze a sixer in the little pocket, I had plenty of room for my phone and keys. The pictures on the website don't really give a good sense of how small the thing is (and man do I wish a girl could have a better understanding of size before she tried something out - HEYO!), but it's only about an inch or two wide, like a regular belt. The genius appears to be in the folding; the pocket is sewn onto the belt in such a way as to expand when filled.

The SPIBelt looks like a fanny pack, if fanny packs were sleek and had been invented in the 21st century by someone with a neoprene fetish. That sounds like a terrible product review, but I was actually very pleasantly surprised at how excellent the SPIBelt was. Like, I said "wow, this thing is excellent!" out loud. More than once. The belt didn't ride up at all, and the pouch stayed flat against my stomach (which itself is obviously flat, because I am fit and awesome and beer is slimming) and even when full, it didn't bounce at all (again, just like my stomach...). I'm typically a minimalist runner in terms of what I need to make me safe and happy while I'm out; with Carl on one wrist and my RoadID, I'm usually good to go. But there are plenty of occasions when I decide to bring along a MetroCard, or a couple of bucks for a Gatorade. With no place else to stash them, I stick them in the side of my sports bra. Which means that the Gatorade vendor in the park not only gets a peep show when I pull my money out, but he also gets two soggy bills that smell like they've been drenched with boob sweat. The SPIBelt made me realize "hey, I can bring things with me on a run, and not have them smell like they've been next to my armpit for 90 minutes!" It's sort of a great invention I never knew I needed, but once I had, wondered how I could possible have lived without. Like cell phones. And Guinness.

Despite the scenic vistas and technological advancements from which I benefitted during my run, I actually didn't feel all that good, even though I only went out for four. My quads felt like I'd spent the day racing downhill; totally trashed. They were jello from the start, so I don't think it's just a matter of adjusting to running someplace where all the street names have "ridge" in them (never a good sign). Maybe I pushed the pace a little too hard yesterday (why do I have to be so fast and awesome?). Whatever the cause, I'm going to take a rest day tomorrow. Until then, I'll be in bed, rolling out my thighs with The Stick. Do I need to put a sock on my door for that?

So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish

Cinderella must have had a banging bod, because this whole cleaning and scrubbing thing is legit.

After spending another day sweeping and mopping and dusting and tossing (also, bitching and sweating), I hurdled a few boxes, a chair, and a dust mite that I swear to you had a digestive system and got outside for a run along the East River late this afternoon. It was a gorgeous Indian Summer day, and people were out biking and fishing and playing soccer and walking their dogs and generally enjoying all there is to offer on days like today. In typical fashion, I completely missed the opportunity to genuflect, as it wasn't until I was already done running that I realized it was likely my last run, at least for awhile, along this particular section of the East River running path. It's probably for the best - feelings aren't my strong suit.

But while I have a moment (and a stolen internet connection) now, I wanted to take the time to say thanks to the East River running path. You gave me a lot of great miles in the two years I've lived in this 'hood. But, like Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree (a book my mom never liked to read to us because it really pissed her off that the tree gave and gave and the boy never gave it anything in return and then he chopped it down. And sorry if that just ruined the plot suspense for you), you gave me many other things as well. I'm not grateful just for the physical gifts (though once you did give me a skinned knee and road rash on my palms when I was running in the dark and tripped over a chain and ate it on the pavement. Thanks for that...), but for the experiences; they were among the most valuable of all that you gave to me. Including:

- gorgeous sunrises over Queens

- the lights of lower Manhattan

- mornings in the freezing cold when Cate and I had to scream at the top of our lungs just to stay warm while we ran

- weekends when I was awake before everyone else and had the city to myself

- the smells of barbeques on Sunday afternoons in the summer

- the time I saw human poop on the sidewalk

I think the last was probably the best gift I've ever been given. Thank you, East River running path.

Sunday Wrap Up: Different Kinds of Fitness

This week I learned about different types of shapes. As in, the varying definitions of what it means to be "in shape." For example, here is a picture of a man I met on Friday night, which I did not even remember doing until Cate told me on Saturday. Which indicates what shape I was in... Anyway:

His biceps are blocking Cate's face. He is "in shape." That shape just happens to be quite different from mine. Specifically, twice as high and 4 times as wide.

Lots of people demonstrated the shape they were in this weekend; between the Chicago Marathon, the Staten Island Half, Ironman Kona, the Yankees, the Giants, and the Spartans, I was inspired a lot by physical prowess this weekend (hehe, that's what she said. Sorry mom...). It just so happens that said inspiration didn't manifest itself into a whole lot of running for me. Which brings us to the Wrap Up!

Number of Miles Run This Week: 12. Easing back into it (that's what he said. Sorry again, mom...).

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 12 billion. I counted them all. I am very good at math.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Hmm... Blue Moons, Guinnesses, Bud Lights, and whatever else we found in our fridge when we finally got around to cleaning it out tonight. "Are those nips of tequila in the far reaches of that freezer? What can we mix that with? Well, here's some mustard..." I went from Boston Qualifier to degenerate in record time this week.

That was fun. But sadly it can't last forever, since the New York City Marathon is 4 weeks away. On tap for this week? Some actual running.

I'm Back!

No, I don't mean back to track workouts or hill repeats or LSDs - yet. I'm back to being hung over on a Friday! The beer-drinking and the bar scene, I missed terribly (of course for my triumphant return I went to a gay sports bar...). The head pounding and stomach churning? Not so much.

Slowly but surely, I'm making my way back to running again as well. After consulting with esteemed expert Elyssa (who writes a delightful blog of her own here: Bridges Runner), I decided to take it slow this week instead of diving headlong into my NYC Marathon training. (Did I mention I have to run the NYC Marathon, which is one month from yesterday?). After horrifying my father with my ability to consume calories on Monday, I spent an hour on Tuesday night walking on the treadmill to loosen up, followed by a solid 15 minutes stretching, which onlookers would surely have described as "sitting still" since I was so inflexible. But it helped quite a bit, and by Wednesday I was no longer stumbling around like a drunk (when I was sober). I decided to test out the legumes a bit more Wednesday night and ran for 20 minutes with another 10 minute walk. By the time Thursday morning rolled around, I felt almost good as new. Which is why I decided to go out for Happy Hour last night, which was really 3 hours, and which left me feeling distinctly not good as new this morning. Back to the drawing board.

I'm excited to get back to my roots (and my routes! Running pun! Claire drrrk!) this weekend with some quality miles outside. Hopefully I'll formulate a more concrete plan for the New York Marathon, and then maybe address the looming question: what's next? People, stop asking me what's next. I'm not done having you fawn over me and my BQ from Sunday; don't be so eager to move on!

Until then, here are a few more pictures from Sunday. Special thanks to Megan, who pointed out that I look "chilly" in some...

Thumbs up for Advil, Gatorade, and bacon, egg, and cheese breakfasts. See you when this headache goes away...

Race Report: Wineglass Marathon

According to the Corning Leader online, my official finish yesterday was:

Claire Walsh, 26, F, 3:36:59

That's good for 396th place overall and most importantly, an entry into the Boston Marathon. I feel like I've been repeatedly punched in the right ass check, my quads and calves on both sides become totally seized up after a few minutes of not moving them, I'm walking up and down stairs like I have ski boots on, and the sole of my left foot seems to have run 26.2 miles on a bed of hot coals. But who gives a damn; I'm going to Boston in April!

Getting There (Not to be confused with the Mary Kate and Ashley feature film of the same name): I had a crazy week last week and was lucky to make it through (relatively) unscathed. Special thanks to my amazing and supportive friends, who spent 5 days reminding me (or lying to me...) about what a bad ass runner person I am. Between the emails, the phone calls, the manicure dates, and the packages shipped to my office, I hardly had time to get stressed about Sunday's race.

Whoops, that's a lot of leg to be showing at the office, eh?

Thanks Niner!

I left the city on Friday after work and headed up to Connecticut. This would have been a more efficient process had I not gotten all the way to midtown only to discover I'd left my car keys back at my apartment and had to go back downtown to get them in order to go back up to midtown to get on the train out of the city. The whole process was emblematic of the week I'd had, and frankly I figured if every single thing that could go wrong in the days leading up to the race did, then perhaps I would be spared on Sunday morning.

I finally made it up to Connecticut and spent Friday night unpacking and repacking and double checking my bags. I prepared my pace bracelet, reread Kara Goucher's email, and looked through my training log. Damn I'd done a lot of running already. Another 26.2 miles - really?!

Saturday morning I went for an easy 3 miler before setting out for my journey to the Southern Tier (apparently that is what the Corning/Elmira area is called. I have never in my 26 years thought of New York in tiers, and I suspect this is some weird branding strategy developed by people in Rochester to make themselves feel special for living in a place where it's winter 11.5 months of the year). I didn't take Carl with me on my last pre-race run, deciding instead that I should just focus on how I felt and not how fast I was going. I did, however, wear a long sleeved top for the first time this season. Frigid temps, just in time for my race!

The drive to Corning was easy and uneventful, and the foliage was really spectacular. I peeped so many leaves!

The Expo: Packet pick-up was located right in downtown Corning off Market Street and was really easy to get to. We lucked into a parking spot in the lot right across the street. After I looked up my bib number (1386. Bitches!), I breezed through pick-up, which included a bottle of New York State Champagne (with a screw top) and a commemorative wine glass, of which I have two since I'd paid for two registrations. You can never have enough New York State Champagne... The pace teams had a table at the expo, so I stopped by to meet Diana, the 3:40 pacer, in case I decided to run with her on Sunday.

The expo was really just one booth aside from packet pick-up, but I was able to poke my head in to pick up a pair of gloves to wear on race day. I also picked up a delightful pair of socks with beers on them (pictures of beers; they aren't, like, wet with stale beer. Yet). I wasn't able to find sleeves, but had packed plenty of potential throw away tops, so I wasn't too concerned about my warmth and comfort for Sunday.

The Night Before: Ordinarily I wouldn't make a special note about how I spent the night before my race; generally speaking, it's "eat dinner, set out gear, go to sleep." But Saturday night was special. Especially bad.

Dinner at the hotel restaurant was perfectly adequate, and after retiring to the room, I set about checking the weather forecast every ten minutes and packing my gear bag. At about 9:00, I set my alarm and got into bed.

At 9:02, a booming voice echoed through the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Suchandsuch and Whatsherface wedding!" I kid you not, it sounded like the DJ was standing at the foot of my bed. After learning the intimate details of each member of the wedding party as they were announced, the music started. It appeared to be a hip hop-themed wedding. I burst into tears.

By some miracle, the wedding ended by 11:00pm, but I spent much of the night tossing and turning nonetheless. When my alarm finally went off at 4:45am, I was relieved that I could stop pretending to try to sleep.

Race Morning: I went through my usual pre-race routine on Sunday morning: make coffee, get dressed, lube up with Body Glide, nervously force down some granola bars. Before I knew it, it was 5:45 and time to head to the bus to the start.

You'll note my gloves are holding a bottle of champagne and a wine glass. Even phantom Claire is a booze hound.

My mom kindly woke up ass-early and drove me back into downtown Corning to catch one of the buses from the finish line to the start in Bath. I was able to get right on the bus, and it filled up and pulled away within 5 minutes. There were tons of buses waiting; a very smooth process to get to the start. The ride itself seemed to take forever - an unfortunate reminder of just how far I was about to run. After about 35 minutes, we pulled into the Phillips Lighting parking lot where the start was staged.

There wasn't a lot going on at the start; ample Porta Potties, and because I was on a early bus, I do believe I was the very first person to use mine (sorry, everyone who came after me...). Have you ever used a Porta Potty in the pre-dawn hours? It's dark enough outside, but then you go into a Porta Potty and literally cannot see a thing. Anyway, I went to the bathroom and then headed towards gear check, which was just a rental truck with a hand written sign that said "Runner Gear" stuck to it with masking tape. I was pretty sure that it was the local Salvation Army just looking for easy donations... But for a small marathon (2500 runners, which was nearly double the pack last year), things were well organized and easy, if a bit bare boned.

It was COLD at the start, and there was no place to go inside to warm up. While I was glad I'd left myself plenty of time to get to the start and go to the bathroom, I had more than an hour to kill, and the wind was whipping through the parking lot. I kept my gear, including sweatpants, until the bitter end, but even with a few layers on, I was shivering and anxious to get started. Watching the sunrise over the mountains and light up the red and orange leaves was pretty bad ass though. I ran into my colleague, Daniel, at the start and we talked strategy for a few minutes before we headed to our respective self-designated starts (as a 3:09 marathoner, he started well ahead of me, though there weren't specified corrals).

About 7:45am, I lined up near the 3:40 pace group. Huddled together for warmth, I was ready to ditch the plastic garbage bag I'd stuck my head through to keep my top half warm. As I stripped it off and got ready to toss it, the guy behind me ask if he could have it. In just a singlet and shorts, he must have been freezing! I gladly handed my bag over to him and turned back to face the start. Here goes nothing.

The Race: My strategy was to run 8:15-8:20 miles for the first half and see how I was feeling at that point. After struggling with my pacing for so long during training, I wanted to be sure I wasn't heading off like a shot, but wanted a few seconds in the bank to allow me enough time to stop to pee if I needed to. The 3:40 pace group flew out of the start, and after the first mile, I panicked that something was wrong with Carl; he was reading 8:04 for the first mile - already too fast - and the 3:40 pace group was more than 100 yards ahead of me. But everyone around me was commenting on how fast the pace leader had set out, so I was comforted and rather than picking up my pace to catch up, I relaxed and settled into a comfortable pace. After the first mile, I tossed my long sleeved shirt and was adequately warm in a singlet and shorts.

I spent the first few miles running with a couple guys from Ontario who were friendly and chatty and talked all about how great Boston is. I told them to keep up the chatter to inspire me for the next 20 miles. They told me, "3:40? You got this." Given that we were only at mile 5, I wasn't nearly as confident as they were. But I was turning in pretty even splits. The first 5 miles:

8:04

8:11

8:13

8:10

8:18

While the first couple of miles took us through residential neighborhoods and downtown Bath, pretty soon we were running along a long stretch of paved country road with mountains and trees ahead and Route 17 to our right. The road was flat and pretty straight, so you could see the runners well ahead of you. The road dropped off into a ditch on either side, so there was no coverage to step off and go to the bathroom, and by mile 5 I had to pee. I finally spied a few Porta Potties at mile 7.5 and had to wait about 20 seconds for someone to finish before I could dash in. Miles 6-10:

8:15

8:10

8:56 (bathroom break)

8:10

8:11

I was pleased with my pace over the first ten miles, and surprised at how good I was feeling. But I decided to stick to my plan to mentally check in at the half and determine if and how I should adjust my pace. 3 miles to go, I told myself. I choked down a Gu and kept plugging along. Miles 11-13:

8:14

8:15

8:14

By mile 13, the sun was up and I was reminded how smart I'd been to stick with my singlet and not wear a long sleeved top for the whole race. The sole of my left foot was starting to feel painful, but not unmanageable. I decided I'd keep up my pace until mile 15 and check in again. Miles 14-15:

8:11

8:14

By 15, I was shocked that I kept pace for so long, but also starting to get scared that I still had 11 miles to go. I tried to break up the rest of the course mentally. I'll have another Gu in a mile. I'll see my mom 3 miles after that. Then one more mile and I'm already at 20. 16-20:

8:15

8:17

8:18

8:18 (hi Mom!)

8:15

Mile 20 took us onto a very narrow shoulder on a road that was not closed to traffic, and the headwind picked up quite a bit. While I had almost 2 minutes in the bank at that point, I was fearful that the last 6 miles would all be in these less-than-ideal conditions. We'd left the country road and were back on a thoroughfare with gas stations replacing scenic vistas along the road. A perfect time to implement my standard marathon mental game!

Long ago when I was training for my first marathon, I read a tip that suggested you should dedicate each of the last 6 miles to someone or something, and repeat that as a mantra of sorts. In the past, I've dedicated miles to friends who'd come to watch or supportive people I'd encountered along the way. For my BQ attempt, I decided instead that I'd come up with 6 reasons that I should qualify for Boston. The "mantra miles" not only helped to remind me why I was doing this in the first place, but also gave me something to say to myself over and over again in time with my footfalls. I was so busy repeating things like "because I trained for 16 weeks, damnit," and "because my mom is so selfless and came all the way out here with me," and "because I am a good person and deserve good things," that I hardly noticed when we turned off the narrow road and headed down a hill into a park, wound through a neighborhood, and hopped on a paved bike path that meandered back into downtown Corning. Suddenly, I was passing the glass factory and on my way towards the finish. HOLY SHIT, I WAS GOING TO QUALIFY FOR BOSTON! Miles 21-26.2:

8:22

8:08

8:18

8:17

8:18

8:17

2:02 (8:10 pace).

Holy shit. HOLY SHIT. I just PRed. I just BQed. Holy shit. I crossed the finish line and wanted to start crying. I even tried, but it made breathing pretty hard, so instead I settled for collecting a medal and a mylar blanket and a bottle of water. I stumbled over to the bagels, and then to the bag check, and threw myself on the grass in the sun. Holy shit, I'm going to Boston.

Meanwhile, my mom, who is about half my height, was jumping up and down trying to find me among runner after runner streaming down the finish chute, all the while with her eye on the clock. As I made my way to our designated meeting spot (which was no small feat, as my lower back wanted me to do nothing more than to lie on the grass forever), my smallest little mom thought she was watching my dream slip away. When the finish clock said 3:48, she figured I probably wouldn't want my picture taken as I finished, and headed to Market Street to wait me out.

But I was already there! Lying in the middle of the sidewalk, with no shoes on (the things I miss out on by living in Manhattan! It is a DELIGHT to take your shoes off in public, and to sit down on the ground, and not live in fear of sitting on pee and dirty needles), dream safely in hand. Hooray!

And so ends my tale of qualifying for the Boston Marathon. But my running stories are far from over. Mostly because I have to run the New York City Marathon in five weeks...

It's been a crazy couple of weeks, so thanks to the great many of you who have been there for me, offering support and encouragement. I hope to offer you a beer or two in return.

As always, here's to the next great adventure!