"I'm Pretty Good at Drinkin' Beer"

First, I survived the night despite ingesting spoiled acetaminophen. Thanks to all zero of you who expressed your concern...

Second, while I was busy last night whining about how hard it is to not go to work for a week and instead eat, drink, run, sleep, and eat and drink more, Tim over at Draft Magazine was busy naming me one of the 12 Beer Runners to Watch in 2011.

Says Tim: “Will Run For Beer blogger Claire Walsh has had an epic 2010. She smashed her marathon PR and ran an eye-popping and Boston qualifying 3:36:59. She drank a lot of good beer. And she followed that up with a victory lap (or several victory laps) with the inaugural We’ll Run For Beer bar crawl". Eye-popping?! Tim, you shouldn't have! (yes, you should. Shit was not easy.)

In all seriousness, this is a humbling and simultaneously bad assed (pronounced "ass-ed") honor. Take a look at my fellow Beer Runners who were recognized: Sara had BRAIN surgery. Suzi and Jason have lost more pounds combined than I weigh while holding a 30 rack six-pack (I gave myself too much credit... or too little body mass...), and didn't sacrifice the good (beer-filled) life for it. Caleb and Steve are both sub-3 hour marathoners. It seems perhaps there's been a mix up; I can't possibly be part of such an accomplished and awesome (and, as Nina pointed out, attractive) group.

Thanks to Tim and all the folks at Draft Magazine for this accolade. Thanks to all who made it out for the inaugural We'll Run For Beer last week. Thanks to Leslie who inspired me to organize it in the first place. Thanks to everyone I've ever had a beer with (the list is long). Thanks to everyone I've ever had a run with (shorter, but filled with cooler people). Thanks to everyone who has ever come out, early and cold, to watch me race (the shortest list of all, but those closest to my heart). And thanks to to fellas at DeJesus bodega for believing that 17 year old, 5' 11" Claire Walsh with her arms full of Coronas was 24 year old 5' 2" Cassandra Bujarski. I've come a long way, baby!

Monday Wrap Up: My Body Hates Vacations

The last time I took a few days off work was for Kelly's wedding, when I went to Ireland, ate fried things, drank beers, and came home with a miserable cold (also, I spent the flight home watching the two people across the aisle from me meet on the ground in Heathrow, talk for 4 hours [and 6 drinks], pass out spooning, and then awkwardly part ways in baggage claim in New York without exchanging numbers. It was a highlight of the trip).

Last week, I took time off work, ate breaded, cheese-filled, and/or mashed things, drank beers, and came down with a cold (and didn't get to bear witness to a single awkward exchange, my own perpetually inappropriate antics notwithstanding).

Since I have it on good authority that consuming only white bread and alcohol and no vegetables whatsoever is good for you (the 1950s were a boon to nutritionists everywhere), I can't imagine it's my dietary intake that undermines my immune system. My body just can't tolerate being on vacation. That must be it...

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 23. I had hoped to get in an even 30, but yesterday I slept until 9:00, ate and egg and cheese sandwich, went back to sleep until 1:00, watched the Giants' game, napped until 6:00, ate stuffing and mashed potatoes (and cranberry sauce! That's sort of vegetably. Fruity? Whatever), and went to bed for the night again at 8:30. So obviously I was very busy and unable to squeeze a run in.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: A few. Not nearly enough. I don't appreciate the scare tactics employed by the makers of Nyquil.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: I revisited the Stoudt's Imperial Oatmeal Stout and had a better experience this time around. I guess it goes better with stuffing than without. I also drank Bud Lights in my hometown last week. I felt 17 again. Only with a later curfew.

While I seem to be on the mend (and less narcoleptic than yesterday), I was just readying myself to take one last dose of Nyquil to really kick this cold. But I see that this particular package, from which I've been medicating myself for the last 3 days, expired in April 2009. Guess I'm safe to crack open a beer after all.

(If I'm not back tomorrow, please call poison control.)

Not Beer, Still Awesome

"There is one big push waiting inside you. Just keep going."

Happy Thanksgiving

Dear Dailymile,

There's a crucial element missing from my Virtual 5k Finisher Certificate below. I don't see anything in that fine print about how many beers I've earned. Isn't that the point of running anyway?

Happy Thanksgiving to all. Be grateful for the good times, but also the bad. After all, bad times make PRs possible. Love to you and yours this year.

Brew Review: Stoudt's Fat Dog and Harpoon's Grateful Harvest

In the spirit of giving thanks this week, I think you should all say "thanks, Claire!" because I'm about to give you not one but two brew reviews! Or is this holiday not about getting people to be thankful for you? Perhaps I've been doing this wrong...

First up, we have Stoudt's Fat Dog Imperial Oatmeal Stout. My dad and I picked this brew out together after he came across a new liquor store that had a great beer selection. Family trips to the liquor store constitute father-daughter bonding in my family, and I'm okay with that. Our criteria for selection were: new to both of us; domestic; not sucky. Neither of us had every had any beer from Stoudt's, which is located in Adamstown, PA. The third criteria was, of course, rather difficult to determine without tasting the beers in advance, but I had a good feeling about a beer with a dog on the bottle.

This beer poured very dark brown, with less than a finger's width of head which dissipated very quickly. Not the most promising of beginnings; I was looking forward to curling up with a hearty beer. The first pour gave off a caramel and coffee scent that gave me some hope. But I thought this drank very thin; the taste was a weak malty-caramel, with a hint of a bitter hops finish. There should have been much fuller flavor for a beer so dark and aromatic. And also so potent; at 9% ABV, this is a beer that's meant to be sipped and savored, but the fleeting taste meant you had to keep drinking to really savor the flavor. Which meant that I got drunk ASAP. Which was for the best, since I drank this while watching the Giants perform one of their famous late season choke jobs.

In summation, this beer was a major let down for me. But the folks over at Beer Advocate don't agree with me. If you've had this, let me know you're thoughts. And if you haven't had this, don't trust a beer just because it has a dog on the label.

Next up is the Harpoon Grateful Harvest Cranberry Ale. I snagged this while browsing at the liquor store on Friday (some girls browse at Bloomingdales... okay fine I do that too...). "Cranberry Ale" was at first a turn off, but I think Harpoon makes a good product, so I was willing to give it a shot. And, as a sucker for a good cause, $1 from every six pack sold is donated to your local food bank. Guys, it's for charity. I basically had to try it.

This beer poured an amber-orange with a frothy head and a subtly sweet, almost citrus-y aroma. The taste was malty and a little nutty, with the same citrus notes through the finish, but very smooth and palatable. Notably, this is not a fruit beer. Yes, even though I used "citrus" twice in the preceding sentence, and the beer has "cranberry" in the name. It's not too sweet, it's not too fuity-smelling. It has a complex, really interesting taste, and is one of those beers that surprises me. I thought this was a great, easy-drinking beer, and I look forward to drinking it in abundance this holiday season. It's for charity, people!

Whatever you choose to drink this Thanksgiving season, may you enjoy it with the ones you love!

Sunday Wrap Up: The Inaugural "We'll Run For Beer"

I've been really fortunate to have achieved so many of my running goals over the past several years: I've raced every distance from the mile to 26.2 of them. I've finished 9 marathons. I've qualified for Boston. But without a doubt, my proudest running accomplishment is the successful orchestration of today's inaugural "We'll Run For Beer" event. That I managed to pull this off after having been eating baked ziti pizza on a pull out couch at 4 o'clock this morning only makes this feat all the more special. Or miraculous...

When I first woke up this morning, I thought to myself "oh hell no. What's a good reason for me to cancel this run?" And then immediately after, I thought "oh hell no. I'm going to be revisited by that baked ziti pizza." Luckily I managed to stave off imminent vomit and tried to close my eyes and sleep for another couple of hours. At 10:00am, after watching Cate finish off the last of the pizza, I made my way uptown for the beer run.

I made a quick pit stop at Starbucks and then headed to the gym to a) change out of my pajamas, which I wore under my winter coat and with my bright orange Saucony Kinvaras because I am a fashion plate, and b) drop off my gear for the afternoon. The weather was just perfect, which lifted my spirits and cleared my head a fair amount. I headed over to the Park at 11:45 and waited for the crew.

Soon enough, the masses (18 of us in total, plus Joe's daughter, who - at 19 months - was the youngest participant in the beer run) were assembled at the Engineer's Gate. I wasn't really sure how to kick-off the event (the New York Road Runners did not offer to lend me their cannon), so I said a few words, offered to lead everyone in a group stretch (declined), quickly reviewed the course and planned stops, and then we were off!

We started up Park Drive and I had a chance to run with Carlos for a bit and hear about his NYCM recovery. NYCM was his debut marathon, and he ran it in 3:36. I meannnnnn. Despite pangs of jealousy (or was that just the baked ziti pizza fighting back?), it was great to talk about his race schedule and what's on the agenda for him in the future. Sure enough, NYCM won't be his only marathon.

At the 102nd Street transverse, we cut across town and then headed South on the West Side of Park Drive for a mile or so. I diligently shouted out directions to be sure that those both in front and behind knew where we were headed (apparently my map wasn't sufficient). After powering up one of those beastly West side hills, we cut out of the park and arrived at our first stop, 1.75 miles from our start: Dive Bar. The beer list was much more comprehensive than I'd expected, and I enjoyed a Dive Bar Amber Ale.

Brad and Monty were waiting for us at stop one. Which meant that Monty hadn't yet had a chance to break in his brand new sneakers!

Some participants cabbed for beer instead. I don't judge.

Susan and Michelle getting after it

Solid NYC crew: Baker, Weber, Maura, Maura, and Neal

The whole gang at Dive Bar, just after a man rode his bike through our photoshoot.

The libations at Dive Bar loosened everyone up sufficiently, and as we set off for the second leg, we were noticeably more excited (and excitable). There was much cheering and shouting and calls of "Beer Run!" and invitations to strangers to join us as we made our way down to 90th Street and back into the Park.

Action shot. Monty's getting some use out of those sneakers and Carlos looks super psyched to get another beer.

The Park took us along the scenic if circuitous route, but 1.4 miles later, we arrived at stop 2: Firehouse.

Thumbs up for socks with beers on them. I win!

Of all the stops, Firehouse had the least interesting beer selections, but it was still a solid choice for the run as it was spacious and gave us a chance to check out the scores. And it gave Monty a chance to pimp out Joe's baby. Normal. After putting back a Red Hook, I rallied the troops and were off for leg 3. The shortest leg of our journey, we kept to the streets and avenues of the UWS, terrorizing the neighborhood.

Cate also terrorized Harlem earlier in the day after a rogue subway took her a bit too far uptown...

Next up was Amsterdam Ale House, which had a very interesting and comprehensive beer selection. They lose points, however, for lack of bartenders and little space for moving around. The bar is long and narrow, so we all stood shoulder to shoulder drinking our beers and sweating on the patrons enjoying brunch.

For the last leg, another 1.4 miles, we headed back into the Park. Baker took off at a solid clip, and Carlos, Susan, Neal and I gave chase. As we tore down Park Drive, Baker chatted amiably and I sucked wind and begged for mercy. When we left the Park at 63rd Street, Baker and Carlos took off in a full on sprint, and I just hoped they wouldn't drink all the beers before the rest of us arrived at the final stop.

Get these runners a beer!

Once at PJ Clarke's, where we had a chance to regroup, I took an informal survey of all the participants regarding their thoughts on the first "We'll Run For Beer." In short, everyone agreed I'm amazing. I love surveys!

Happy beer runners

Not bad for being five beers and five miles in

In all, I think the afternoon was a success and I'm so glad we had such good turnout and everyone had a good time. Thanks so much to everyone who made it out today. I'm already looking forward to the next one. And I'll try not to go out the night before.

As for the wrap up:

Number of Miles Run This Week: 30. After the beer run, and a cheeseburger at PJ Clarke's, I headed back up to the UES to collect my gear at the gym. Running those last 2 and a half miles was not easy. I also snuck in another 3 miles in the Vibrams this week, logging an easy run along the water with my Dad yesterday. So I pretty much deserved that late-night pizza. I worked hard this week.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: If memory serves me correctly (and it hardly ever does when I'm trying to recount how many beers I had in a week), about 20? 5 today, 9 yesterday (sorry Mom...), 2 Friday, 2 Thursday, and probably 2 more I don't remember.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: A couple interesting ones made it into the mix this week. Harpoon's Grateful Harvest Cranberry Ale is awesome, and I'll do a full review of that later this week. Red Hook, Guinness, Brooklyn Lager, Sixpoint Cream Ale (that might have been the beginning of the end for me on Saturday night...) - the list goes on. A solid representation. Of alcoholism.

So many miles, so many beers, so many reasons I can't wait to pass out tonight. I don't think I've ever been this excited for bed. If you need me, I'll be under the covers until about 2pm tomorrow.

The Balance of the Cosmos

Once upon a time, some years ago, after a night on the town none of us can remember, my friend Ryan and I decided that, instead of staying in Manhattan and sleeping at my own apartment, which I paid many hundreds of dollars to occupy, we should probably go to Brooklyn with my friend Nate instead, where we would sleep on a couch and not in a comfortable, down covered, clean sheeted bed. We had never been to Brooklyn before, and it was not very easy to get there, and I had sheets of my own that were like 4 billion threadcount, but we were undeterred. I think it had something to do with wanting to walk Nate's dog. Because most dogs need to be walked at 4:30 in the morning by two girls who can scarcely walk themselves...

In any case, we went to Brooklyn, promptly fell asleep in all of our clothes, and woke up the next morning with mascara crusted down to our chins and no idea where we were or how to get from there back to Manhattan. Did they even make cabs in Brooklyn?

Eventually, we found a yellow chariot to save us and hopped in, laughing all the way as you do when you are 23 years old and have no responsibilities (or good sense). As we opened the door and sat down in the cab, we noticed something resting on the backseat. It appeared to be a wallet. And a pen. "Wow, how irresponsible," we thought, since we had not spend the night in our clothes in an outer borough after having been unable to resist the lure of dog-walking... The drivers license was a Maine ID, and though our Brooklyn geography was not good, as someone who spends a good amount of time in Maine, I was pretty confident it was not near Brooklyn, and therefore this IDs owner, who had logically just been in this cab, did not actually reside there.

Next we examined the pen, which was from an autobody store. The phone number was printed on it. It was a 207 area code. The state of Maine!

"Let's be good people and try to connect this person with their ID!" I said. Or maybe it was "Let's prank call a stranger at 8am on a Saturday!" Whatever it was, somehow Ryan and I decided to call the phone number. Which - miracle of miracles - turned out to be the family owned store of the fellow who left his ID in the cab. His poor mother was worried to tears that her son, a college student living in Boston, was lost in the big city without his ID and credit cards (and pen!). But she was able to connect us to the son, who eventually made his way to my apartment to collect his ID from my doorman. What a happy ending (except for me and Ryan, on account of the splitting headaches and dog poop on our shoes we acquired as a result of this voyage)!

I give you all that as background, because (as I may have mentioned) I tragically mislaid my license last Friday night. There was very little I wanted to do less than spend my time in line at the DMV, but after returning to the bar where I had lost it (at 4:00pm on a Tuesday, which as it turns out is a great time to visit bars. No lines!), I was resigned to my fate. Until I came home from work on Thursday night and leafed through the mail. There, I found a notecard from someone named Debbie in Yonkers, who found my license and mailed it back to me! Miracle of miracles: the remix!

Some may say this is fate; after doing a good deed in returning someone's ID to him, I am being repaid. Those who say that don't know that once I also left a Blackberry in the back of a cab, and the man who found that also returned it to me. So really I am the one who owes the cosmos something. But whatever the explanation, I am delighted to not be spending my Thanksgiving holiday at the DMV, and instead will be spending it drinking. And I hope you will join me! (How's that for a segue?)

Please don't forgot about Sunday's planned "We'll Run For Beer" event. Details can be found under the "Beer Runs" tab on this very blog. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to reach out to me. If you don't, just show up at noon on Sunday in Central Park. It'll be a good time. And I won't even have to use a fake ID. Though speaking of which, I wonder what ever happened to "Cassandra Bujarski," 5'2" with brown eyes from Maryland...

Product Review: Injinji Socks

True to my word, I am indeed getting back to VFF running (I mean in addition to that time I ran to the bar dressed as a turtle). So on Friday morning, I headed out the door for 2.5 miles of “barefooted” goodness. I was a little nervous about how my legs would feel following the run, given that it’s been so long since I’ve really worked all those forgotten foot and calf muscles, but by some miracle that can't possibly have anything to do with my own biomechanical efficiency, I felt great.

In all seriousness, though, I do think that having made significant changes to my stride this spring when I started using the Vibrams prepared me well to get back into them. As a forefoot striker now, I had to make very few changes to my stride to run comfortably in the Fivefingers. What I’m saying is, Shalane Flanagan ain't got shit on me. (You'll note I'm not using my go-to professional runner reference, Kara Goucher, because ever since she emailed me, I feel weird that she's, like, a real human and stuff).

One thing I did change, however, is how I wear my Fivefingers. Since I first tried them in February, I’d always worn them barefoot, since duh, you can’t fit socks into the toe pockets. Imagine wearing mittens to go bowling. Also, imagine going bowling – weird. Anyway, while my forays into the barefoot running movement were always… barefoot, this was not without consequence. Time after time, I was plagued with blisters and hot spots on the soles of my feet and toes. Specifically the pad of my foot below each pinky toe became a water bed, if water beds were made of footskin and filled with lymphatic fluid. And, that’s revolting.

So wasn’t I delighted to discover Injinji socks!

In truth, I’ve actually had a pair of these since August, when I bought a couple pairs at my favorite outdoor gear shop in Maine. But since I am only just getting back to my Vibram running, I’m only just getting around to reviewing these socks. Here is what their website says about the logic behind them:

The key design principal in the development of the Tetratsok was to create the best possible interface that allowed the entire foot to perform naturally and freely inside our shoes, just like being barefoot. Everything about the conventional tube sock works against your feet’s natural form and function.

That’s all well and good, but my principle concern is “how can I squish a socked foot into a shoe with toe slots in it?” Interface, shminterface, what matters is that these socks work with Fivefingers!

In short, they’re extremely comfortable, and made Vibram running infinitely better for me. By eliminating the pressure and friction on the ball of my foot with a little layer of comfort, I am proud to report I am blister-free today! Best of all (and this fascinates me, since I don’t quite understand how it’s possible) these are seamless; if I were making toesocks, I would make two pieces and sew them top to bottom with a seam running between the toes. Obviously that would be highly uncomfortable. Which is why I am not in the business of sock manufacturing.

Injinji socks are marketed not just to Vibram runners, but to everyone, and as such, can be worn (I presume, though I haven’t tried) inside your regular running sneakers. As socks go, the fabric is about the smoothest and most comfortable I’ve encountered (a blend of that CoolMax stuff with some Lycra), so I see no reason why I couldn’t wear these as regular, all-around socks. I mean, I have been known to wear Under Armor socks with Frye boots to work (classy), so why not toe socks with sneakers? The world is my oyster!

But I'm drawing the line at flip flops...

Sunday Wrap Up: I Should Spend More Time Reviewing Maps Instead of Gear and Brews...

I had big plans for this weekend; I woke up early on Saturday (which was no small feat considering my Friday evening adventures) to take care of errands before setting off for Central Park to do a test run of next weekend's "We'll Run For Beer" event. In addition to mapping out the route and ensuring there were no road closures or construction issues, I also wanted to introduce myself to each bar manager and explain that I'd be back in 8 days with 20 other sweaty and thirsty runners. I would have liked to have a beer at each establishment, as a showing of good faith, but I seem to have mislaid my drivers license on Friday evening sometime between dancing on a banquette to Miley Cyrus and going on a pizza hunt with Caroline, and I didn't think that it would be best to begin my relationship with each of the barkeeps by drinking without identification.

Regardless, all four establishments are on board for next Sunday! Though it would appear that my geography knowledge is somewhat lacking. Here's the route I took on Saturday afternoon:

While I managed to make it to each bar along the way, things got a little sketchy when I came out of the Park in the Upper West Side, 6 blocks north of where I thought I'd be. As such, I'm still working out the kinks of the route, to best ensure that no one else has to be propelled to run because of aggressive cat-calls of "heyyyy, Blondie!" It's strawberry-blonde, dick. Anyway, expect an update from me tonight or tomorrow with a finalized map and any other instructions for next Sunday.

Let's go to the wrap up:

Number of Miles Run This Week: 20. Why yes, I did run a marathon last Sunday and still managed to log 20 miles this week. And 2.5 of them were in my Vibrams!

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 10 sounds accurate, but also insufficient. Have I mentioned I ran a marathon last weekend? And another one five weeks before that? Just thinking about it makes me thirsty.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: I was in Brooklyn on Wednesday night, so I drank a Brooklyn Lager. Hipster. I also went to a new (to me) liquor store yesterday that had a great beer selection, so I'll have some treats to try out during the Giants game this afternoon. And if they suck against the Cowboys, of all teams, then all the more reason to imbibe...

I made an interesting and horrifying discovery today after my run. I uploaded my data to the Garmin website and was reviewing it when I noticed that tab at the top of the screen labeled "Explore." So explore I did. Evidently, one can review not only one's own data, but also that of other Garmin users in your neighborhood. For example, if you, like me, ran in Central Park yesterday, and wanted to review other runners' Central Park routes, you can just enter the relevant zipcode and voila! Here are the workouts of perfect strangers:

Each link takes you to a map, an elevation chart, and the mile splits completed by that individual. At first, I was terrified; now stalkers not only know where I am running and when, but also how fast I am going, and therefore how fast they need to go to catch, rape, and murder me. (I might watch too much CSI...).

But then I realized I could use this complete lack of privacy to my benefit. For example, this morning on my run in Connecticut, I was nearly run off the road by a (fat, balding) man speeding by in a sports car. So when I uploaded my data, I added a special message to him at the top of the post, should he happen to come across my data. I'll let you take a look for yourself: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/56664670. Enjoy that while you can; I'll be changing my privacy settings shortly...

Action Shots

It's official: Boston training starts on December 27th. The good news is that means I have a full holiday season to eat and drink my face off. The bad news is, I'm celebrating the holidays starting... now.

Anyway, here are a couple of the (68!) official race photos from this weekend. This first one is my favorite. So serious!

It would appear in this next one that the girl behind me in purple is texting someone. So clearly we were working really hard...

Here I am, crossing the line of what constitutes an appropriate mid-marathon pose.

And here is my face superimposed on the legs of a male weight lifter...

Lastly, this is me as a mime. Climbing a ladder.

Don't hate me because I am beautiful. And lanky. And inappropriate in social settings...

Race Report: New York City Marathon

The past two days have been such a blur with work, I’ve already sort of forgotten I ran the New York City Marathon on Sunday. When I woke up this morning, my first thought was that I was sore from Monday night’s gala, where I stood in heels until after midnight (not the best post-marathon recovery plan, for the record). The only reminder of Sunday’s endeavor came when I was getting into the shower this morning and I saw in the mirror a gash on my lower back from chafing. It looks like someone tried to steal my left kidney to sell on the black market. But before we get into battle scars, let’s start at the beginning.

The Expo: After demonstrating a complete inability to concentrate on Friday afternoon, I finally left my office early to make my way over to the Marathon Expo at the Javits Center. The Javits Center is near absolutely nothing (except New Jersey) and transportation options to get there are… none. But it was a sunny afternoon and I had flats on, so I set out to make the trek to 11th Avenue on foot. I left my office on 24th Street and turned right onto Seventh Ave, where I promptly dropped my phone and shattered the screen. Because this has been the least stressful marathon season ever!

I’ve been to a great many marathon expos, including both Chicago and Boston, and I assure you, this was the biggest expo I’ve ever seen. The Javits Center is gargantuan space, and even filled with 45,000 runners and their loved ones, it was cavernous. Despite that, the bib and packet pick up was fast and efficient, and within minutes of my arrival, I was equipped with number 18-796 and a race bag that easily weighed 10 pounds. Gatorade and water?! No wonder this cost nearly $200.

After a quick spin through the expo, I headed home to engage in my usual pre-race preparations: packing, unpacking, and repacking, along with printing, cutting, and taping my pace bracelet (3:45). At Leslie’s suggestion, I also did a test run of taping my name to my shirt.

No, that’s not a banana in my sweatpants; I’m just happy to run this marathon

Marathon Eve: After an easy 3.5 miler on Saturday morning, I made my way back to the city for an epic and awesome brunch with tons of running friends. Tossed back two mimosas and a breakfast burrito – extra beans. Fun run for me, maybe, but best of luck to those running nearby...

I spent a restful afternoon spent keeping up with the Kardashians at Liza’s apartment, before we met up with the girls for a pasta feast – and was surprised and delighted to find Leslie, who had made a special trip up from Philly for dinner! As always, we had lots of laughs at the table and were generally offensive to everyone else in the restaurant. I resisted the urge to have a glass of wine with everyone else. It was exceedingly difficult.

This is everyone pretending to run. Naturally, Kelly is competing to be best pretend-runner

After dinner, Liza and I bid adieu and headed back to her place for a pre-race slumber party. There was much clock-setting and Seinfeld-referencing before I finally settled in on the couch for a couple hours of sleep. “It’s a marathon, you know!"

Getting to the Start: I was slotted for the 6am bus from the Library on Sunday morning, and assigned to the first start wave at 9:40, so I woke up at 4:30 to make some coffee and get ready for the day ahead. Liza was an amazingly patient friend and didn’t execute me while I proceeded to smash and bang everything in her kitchen and bathroom. After two cups of coffee, and the sad realization that athletic tape doesn’t stick well to fabric and I’d have to wear a name-less singlet to race, I suited up and headed out the door. 4 hours and 20 minutes ahead of my scheduled start time.

I arrived at the Library around 5:45 and was shocked to see that the line for the buses already stretched the entire block between 5th and 6th Avenues. I was even more shocked, however, at how quickly and efficiently the boarding process was. Buses were lined up in two lanes as far uptown as 49th Street, and it took me less than ten minutes to hop aboard one, peel off my layers, and get comfortable for my ride to Staten Island. It’s worth noting, for anyone interested in cheating the system, that there was no check to ensure we were using our assigned transportation. While you did have to show your race bib in order to board, no one checked to make sure you were assigned to a bus and not the ferry, nor what time your transportation was scheduled.

The energy on the bus was awesome, even at such an early hour. I heard dozens of languages and how-do-you-dos as everyone got to talking with their neighbors on the ride. I sat next to a lovely woman from London by way of Australia who was in New York with her family and running her first marathon. She asked about running in New York and I excitedly pointed out my East River bridges. As soon as we got out of Manhattan, however, I was completely useless and offered her absolutely no insights as to what we were seeing out the windows.

All told, the trip took about an hour. Once Fort Wadsworth was within view, the traffic slowed a bit; between the buses and the cars racing over the bridge before it closed, there was a lot of dropping off going on around 6:30. I felt like I should have been anxious to get off the bus and into the start village, but given that I wasn’t starting for more than 3 hours, I was happy to sit in a warm and comfortable seat.

Soon enough, though, it was time to get off, and the moment I stepped onto Staten Island and saw the Verrazano, it hit me: today was the day of my victory lap!

In The Athlete Village (Whose Name Made Me Feel Like an Olympian): Having never seen the Verrazano Narrows Bridge from any angle except as a passenger in a bus that had just gone over it, the view from the Athlete Village was pretty incredible. As such, I took a ton of pictures, each of which is essentially the same thing.

I had a lot of time to kill...

And speaking of killing time, I was impressed with how resourceful people were while waiting for their waves' corrals to open. Some played cards:

Some played games:

And some took advantage of the amenities offered in the Village - by far the most comprehensive I've ever experienced:

In addition to coffee and hot water for tea, there were also bagels, bars, gels, water, and Gatorade, as well as Dunkin Donuts reps handing out complimentary fleece hats. I took full advantage of this extra layer:

One of the smartest things I did all day was to bring a blanket to sit on in the village. Not only did it keep me warm and dry while I was camped out sitting in the parking lot, but when the time came to check my gear (8:20, still an hour and 20 minutes before the Wave 1 start), I gave up my sweats but was able to wrap the blanket around my legs like a skirt to stay warm.

One thing I didn’t give up when I checked my gear was my digital camera. I decided that, if ever there were a race to really take in, complete with photographic evidence, this was going to be it. Not only was it the biggest marathon in the world, but it was going to be my first opportunity to run without keeping my eye on the clock the whole time. I might as well enjoy that to the fullest.

As I sat in my start corral (Green 18, baby!), not at all nervous for the 26.2 miles that stretched between me and Central Park, I started wondering if perhaps I was disrespecting the distance; I had run a 17 miler a few weekends earlier, but otherwise hadn’t trained for this race nearly as diligently as I had for Wineglass. Was I even prepared to run this race?

But Green 18 moved toward the start, so I hardly had the option of backing out now. I exchanged war stories with the folks around me, all of whom were friendly and chatty, and we positioned ourselves just in front of a Jumbotron screen that displayed the start. The crowd went CRAZY as first Geb and then Meb were beamed onto the monitor in front of us, which was a weird sensation since they were standing in the flesh just a few hundred yards ahead.

The National Anthem was sung, but I only knew that because I could see people with microphones singing onscreen. There were no loud speakers at all, and the only reason I knew the race had officially started was because a cannon went off. Well, either the race was starting, or we were under attack. Either way, it was time to run.

The Race (Sorry It's Taken So Long to Get to the Part About Running):

Staten Island

The first two miles are across the Verrazano, taking runners from Staten Island into Brooklyn. Obviously, going over a bridge means going uphill - not the easiest of terrains to start on. Runners were channeled into either the upper or lower level, depending on your bib color. As a green runner, I was on the lower level. I had heard at brunch on Saturday that the lower level is not preferred, on account of the dudes on the upper level who didn't make it to the porta potties at the start and therefore pee over the sides. At the start, we heard many announcements discouraging this behavior, and I tried to stay away from the edges of the bridge to be spared from any rogue drops.

Even on the lower level, the wind was fierce coming across the bridge, and though I still had on a throw away wind breaker, I was really cold. But I was too excited to care. I even risked a golden shower to snap a picture of the Manhattan skyline as we crossed the bridge.

Brooklyn

After feeding off the energy of our fellow runners in our first borough of the day, Brooklyn brought the first spectators. Almost as soon as we entered, supporters lining the overpasses above us shouted down "Welcome to Brooklyn!" The new energy, combined with getting out of the shade on the bridge, warmed me right up and I tossed my jacket early on.

The further into the borough we got, the more cheering fans we encountered. I couldn't believe how many people came out to watch, especially given how early in the race we were. I remember watching Boston last year around mile 21, and even there I was able to get right up to the road and even jump in to run for a few dozen yards. By the time we got to Fourth Avenue in Brooklyn, the crowds were several people deep, and I'd already collected about a dozen high fives.

The miles flew by faster than I ever remember in a marathon, and I couldn't believe it when we hit mile 7. I also couldn't believe that, for the second consecutive marathon, I had to stop to pee in between miles 7 and 8. Thankfully the porta potty I picked had no line, so I was able to make my only pit stop of the race quickly.

As we turned the corner at BAM, I knew I should start keeping my eyes peeled for my colleague Krishna. The sidewalks on both sides of the street were absolutely packed along this stretch, but up ahead, I spied a sign with my name on it. Just after 8 miles, I stopped for a hug and a photo opp.

Of course, Brooklyn is also where I saw my previously pictured, like-minded new best friend with her Beer Run sign.

Around this point, I noticed that the sole of my left foot was getting hot and sore. I first had this issue come towards the end of the Nashville Half Marathon this year, when I basically had to be dragged to the finish line (in my defense, I was also epically hungover). It also reared its ugly head in Corning last month, where I was able to black it out with the most singular focus I've ever had on anything ever ever (sweet life balance, Claire...). But with nothing and no one to convince me to push through, the foot pain was front of mind for the next several miles.

Queens

Crossing into Queens, we had to make our way over another bridge, which further eroded my mental state. I was still in this for fun. I just hadn't envisioned "fun" being so painful. But the continued onslaught of cheers in Queens kept me moving forward; I was particularly encouraged by some enthusiastic cops just across the bridge.

I took my first Gu between miles 13 and 14, hoping that it would kick in just in time for the push across the Queensborough bridge into Manhattan, where I could mentally refuel with the cheers on First Avenue. I focused on taking it easy over the next few miles and just getting myself across that bridge.

My favorite picture from the day, and perhaps my favorite moment came as I made my way across (and up. And up. And up...) that bridge. Quite a few men stopped to pee into the East River, which only served to reinforce my belief than anyone who fishes out of that river has a death wish.

Despite the torturous climb going over the Queensborough, there was something special about struggling across in silence, the only sounds coming from the other runners struggling across with you. This was the only spot in the entire course without spectators, and my fellow runners and I took the opportunity to savor that moment and brace ourselves for the wall of sound we were about to hit on First Avenue.

As the bridge met 59th Street, I prepared to be deafened. Maybe because turning this corner is the hallmark of the New York City Marathon, and the part everyone talks about, but I was surprised it wasn't even more intense. The crowds were huge, but the noise level was on par with Brooklyn. That said, First Avenue certainly didn't disappoint, and I ran this entire stretch with a huge grin on my face. I deliberately ran in the parking spots on the west side of the street to be close to the crowd, and was thrilled to see so many familiar faces.

Around 78th Street, I spied my dad and stopped for another hug and photo opp.

And then, another dozen blocks, another hug and photo opp with Kelly and Juan.

I would have stayed to chat even longer, but Juan told me I should probably get going. I made it another block before I heard Brennan screaming. I looked to my left and saw her racing up the sidewalk, pushing past grannies and chasing after me. It was one of the best sights of the day.

Seeing so many people I love gave me renewed strength and my foot problems were all but forgotten. But because I'd been so eager to spot familiar faces, I'd skipped the last 2 water stations and at this point I was thirsty. I took a Gu at mile 18 and snagged a cold bottle of water from an awesome spectator doling them out from a case. He was a life saver.

After the adrenaline rush from First avenue subsided, I realized I still had another 2 boroughs to cover: the Bronx, and Manhattan round 2. And the Willis Avenue Bridge was looming.

The Bronx

By this point in the race (mile 19.5), the course undulations were just cruel. First Avenue was full of ups and downs, and the prospect of crossing yet another bridge was not appealing at all. I put my head down and just focused on getting to mile 20. As I made my way up the bridge, a lone spectator stood on the side of the road with a jug of water and a sleeve of cups, shouting "Good job" to everyone who passed. Thank you, sir, for getting me into the Bronx.

We passed under the Mile 20 Jumbotron, which I had remembered from escorting Leslie through this stretch in 2008, and made a series of turns to yet another bridge. You've got to be kidding. One last push to Manhattan.

Manhattan

The northern most stretch of Fifth Avenue was tough for me, and seeing the runners ahead of me climbing yet another hill was discouraging. The crowds (and runners) dancing in Harlem, however, was not. I tried to read the street signs and count down the blocks left until the Park entrance.

At mile 23.5, I saw the girls again, and this time was joined for a few hundred yards. It could not have come at a better time. I wish I had snapped another few pictures, but I was really low on energy and thought better than to risk it. We chatted for a few blocks, they told me I looked good ("hot," actually, which in my book is even better than "good," especially 24 miles into a marathon), and that I was headed for the best part. "The entire park is lined with crowds, it's going to be awesome," Kelly told me. Here we go.

She was right. The place was packed, and I broke out into another huge grin. Feeling comfortable on my own turf, I even tried to pick up the pace a little. I saw and heard my family just after 24, which gave me another burst of energy. The downhills were brutal at this point, as my quads were toasted from all the climbing earlier in the race, so I did everything I could to keep moving forward and not fall.

As we left the Park, I was nervous; I wasn't all that familiar with the course, and without the visual cues I know in the Park, I wasn't sure how far from the finish I was or what to expect. As we cut across Central Park South, I spied the "800 meters to go" sign. "This is for you, Bart!" I said out loud. We headed back in at Columbus Circle and, of course, finished uphill. With a final push, I crossed my ninth marathon finish line in 3:48:18.

The New York City Marathon course is among the hardest I've run. But I can say with certainty that it's also the best race I've ever run. Certainly not from a competitive perspective, but in terms of overall experience, nothing comes close. I've never run a race where so many different kinds of people have been among the faces in the crowd. This wasn't just a chance for twenty-somethings to day drink (not that I don't support any excuse for that). This was about the entire city coming out to help 45,000 strangers overcome physical and mental obstacles to get across the finish line, no matter how long it took. The energy and excitement, the atmosphere in the days leading up to the race, the distinct neighborhoods you run through and the specific ways those communities lend their support, the spirit of generosity among those watching, the spirit of camaraderie among those participating... it should be illegal to enjoy oneself during a marathon as much as I did on Sunday. If you consider yourself a marathoner, run this race as soon as you can. If you don't, become one. This 26.2 mile party is absolutely worth it.