Sunday Wrap Up: Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

No, this is not a post about periods (I thought the poop commentary two weeks ago was enough). But it is a post about turning points. Milestones in a runner's life. This is a post about growing up. Well sort of.

Today I had an 18 miler on the agenda. And something weird happened when I went to run it: I didn't freak out. Sure, I whined a little before I set off about how I didn't want to do it, but I wasn't struck with terror and dread. With each mile Carl beeped off, I thought, "great! Keep going." There was no, "17 more miles?! I can't go on!" "13 miles left? I should just turn around now." In fact, for the first time ever, I felt good enough to go on. I mean, of course I didn't, because I'm not an idiot, but I could have. Maybe, with 9 marathons under my belt, I'm finally maturing. Probably not, and next weekend I'll have a full blown anxiety attack when I'm staring down 20 miles, but it's a nice thought.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 43. I've never been more thankful for a Sunday night in my life. Until I think about how after Sundays come Mondays, and I have to do it all over again, only worse because next week I have Yasso 800s and a 20 miler, which makes me recommence the Sunday depression spiraling. So that's cool.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 10? How much time is left in the week? Because I was serious about the Sunday depression.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Brooklyn Lagers, the McNeill's, and some Sam Adams Noble Pils, which I think is way overrated. This time of year is a dry spell for beers, in my opinion. You're sick of winter beers, but nothing else is quite seasonal.

And speaking of seasons, we had a taste of Spring weather this morning (after it snowed overnight, I mean), and it was awesome and got me fired up for the racing season. And just in time, since we're about to kick off March: the month in which I can say "I'm running Boston next month." February: The Month of Claire was good while it lasted, but I have big plans for the coming weeks and months. In the meantime, with tomorrow a scheduled rest day, let's say goodbye to February, and the 159 miles I gave it. I'll want those back eventually, Feb. How about you take 139 and spot me 20 next Sunday, deal?

Brew Review: McNeill's War Lord Imperial IPA

Hello there, Thursday. Delighted to make your acquaintance this week. Let's hop right to it, shall we? (That was a beer pun, get it?! Cut me some slack, as I may be a little drunk. Also, a tool, but just go with it).

Tonight I finally cracked into the McNeill's War Lord Imperial IPA I snagged last night. Based in Brattleboro, VT, it's weird that I've never had a brew by McNeill's before, but I certainly started big. As soon as I cracked open this 22, I could smell the citrus hops. More orange zest-y than Lemon Pine Sol-y, which is a plus when you're evaluating things you will be ingesting.

As an Imperial IPA, War Lord and its brethren are known for huge, tongue-numbing hops - something I used to steer clear of, but now sort of view as a challenge, the way some people look at eating really, really spicy food, which I never understood at all, until I drew this parallel right this minute; beer is awesome in that it helps you see things you never could have wrapped your head around while sober - and this did not disappoint. The first couple of sips, all I could taste was the bitterness. Which is a shame, because I'm simultaneously baking cookies, and would have liked to be able to taste chocolate chips some day... But at 85 IBUs, it's no wonder I couldn't really taste anything else for awhile.

Eventually, though, I was able to get a little more insight into the flavor profile. The citrus smell is pervasive throughout the hops taste as well. Brewmaster McNeill describes this beer as being well-balanced in spite of it's crazy-high rating, but to be honest, I'm not refined enough to taste the caramel malts beyond the hops. Which were good, to be sure, but if you start your night with this beer, you'll a) not be able to drink anything else afterwards and get any flavor, and b) be blacked out by 10pm, on account of the 8.5% ABV.

As for pairings, now that I've had this beer, I've lost all interest in chocolate chip cookies and instead have demanded burgers for dinner. Meaty ones. With juicy flavors. Of animals. Bleeding ones. Jesus Christ, they were serious about this War Lord thing...

Inappropriate Ways to Celebrate

I don't want to toot my own horn (or quote a known pedophile with a penchant for bathroom fetishes), but in the words of R. Kelly, can I get a toot toot? Lemme hear that beep beep. I ran mile repeats last night and smoked 'em. 6:48, 6:43, 6:48, 6:48.

I went directly from the track to the gym to pick up my wallet, and then to Whole Foods, where I picked out two (hopefully) delicious new beers to celebrate my victory over the worst workout in the history of cardiovascular fitness. Moreover, I was really excited to get a couple new brew reviews down on ye olde blog, since I know that, in the thick of training, this thing leans heavily toward running, which is stupendously boring to most people. So, the first on the docket for review, McNeill's War Lord, is an Imperial IPA I picked because:

1) It was like I did battle with the track, and won, and

2) On account of my victory, I deserved a beer with big flavor, like an Imperial IPA.

The second beer I chose was Smuttynose's S'muttanator, because:

1) I enjoy a good malty Double Bock, and

2) Its name is S'muttanator. Duh.

I came home, put my two brews in the fridge to chill, ate some hard earned food... and passed out.

I know, I know. I'm both an old lady and a loser. 10pm on a Wednesday night with a fridge full of new beers to try and a reason to celebrate, and I passed out spooning my laptop. I'm sorry. And much as I'd like to offer to review them now, it's 8:00am on a Thursday and this is kind of a busy time of year for me at work. Yes, I know, I'm stupendously boring. I'll try to do better tonight. Come back for a brew review of the aforementioned - I promise it will be worth it.

In the meantime, feel free to scroll back up to the top there and marvel in my mile repeat splits. Seriously, those are, like, way fast.

P.S. - I ordered something AWESOME for all "We'll Run For Beer: Spring Edition" participants yesterday. You're going to want to be there...

Monday Wrap Up: Don't I Deserve Some Kind of Reward?

Once the initial shock (and the buzz from brunch mimosas) wore off, I was pretty jazzed about my race yesterday. Sure, every race is a PR if it's the first time you race the distance, but this one felt pretty bad ass. 7:40 average pace? 13th in my age group? I haven't placed that high since I accidentally registered as a 16 year old instead of a 26 year old at last summer's Pride Run (I didn't even win - some 14 year old smoked me). I think I may have just peaked.

Unfortunately, a quick check of the training plan for the week ahead indicates there's no rest for the weary. Or bad ass. The next 6 days feature, among other things, 4x1 mile repeats, 7 miles @ GMP, and an 18 miler. Also, it snowed last night. Spring marathons are the worst.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 38.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: I have no idea. 5? I got distracted by wine, mimosas, food, and naps. It happens.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: A couple Brooklyn's last night, which I ironically drank not in Brooklyn. As a Brooklyn dweller, I'm practically obligated to be ironic.

I now direct your attention to the "Beer Runs" page, where I have posted information on the next "We'll Run For Beer." I suggest you begin training immediately. I will do so by getting on the treadmill with a beer right now. Because how often can you do that at 5:00pm on a Monday afternoon? It's what our forefathers would have wanted. Happy Presidents' Day, kids.

Race Report: Cherry Tree Ten Miler

I wish more races happened in the afternoon. Or on Tuesdays. The weekend morning start makes it pretty tough to go out and get stinking drunk on a Friday or Saturday evening. After 2 paltry drinks last night, I was tucked into bed to get plenty of sleep ahead of this morning's Cherry Tree Ten Miler in Prospect Park. Don't get me wrong; I prefer the 10am start over, say 8am. But that's because you finish at an hour during which its more likely to be culturally acceptable to begin drinking. You see how we've come full circle on this issue?

Going into this race, I toyed with the idea of running at goal race pace: 8:00/mile. Of course, when I woke up this morning and it was windy inside my apartment, I suspected perhaps conditions weren't ripe for such an ambitious run. A quick check of weather.com confirmed a "feels like" temp of 15. I hate your rotten guts, winter.

I headed out about 9:30 to take some easy warm up miles and found Maria, Elyssa, and TK near the start. We shot the shit for a while and then headed down to the start, whining about how little we were looking forward to waiting in the cold and windy start corral.

On the walk, I talked with Elyssa about my goals for the day and was backpedaling on the whole goal marathon pace run. In my defense, I have a few goal race pace runs built into my training, and today wasn't scheduled to be one of them. Elyssa suggested I try to run negative splits; a three loop course, I'd aim to run each progressively faster, racing the last one. Strategy: crafted.

We didn't have time to whine any further about waiting in the start corral because before we'd even reached the start, the horn went off and the runners around us surged forward. Oops - gotta run!

My race strategy lasted for all of one mile. I have no explanation for this. I felt good, sure, but not like "oh my God, hand me the bun huggers because I am Kara Goucher." But for whatever reason, I pushed it. When I hit the hill on the first loop, I was thankful for having finished those hill repeats earlier in the week; I was prepared for how long it would hurt. Better still, I cruised down the next hill and hit my first sub-8:00 mile of the race at mile 3.

I flew through mile 4 at 7:25 and wondered if Carl the Garmin was hungover, because that didn't seem possible. Immediately after Carl beeped for mile 4, my shoe came untied and I had to stop for about 30 seconds or so (note to self: you suck at shoe tying).

I decided to finish out loop 2 hard and reassess for loop 3; this was, after all, supposed to be a long, slow distance run. But I was still feeling good after nearly 7; what's another three miles among gals who are looking forward to complimentary mimosas at brunch following the race?

By the last loop, something weird was happening; I was ahead of goal marathon pace, and I wasn't hating it. The last pass of the hill was a challenge, but I knew that I could cruise home from there. I hadn't dropped a mile above 8:00 since mile 5, and with downhills between me and the finish, I was actually going to hit my goal.

I took the last mile neck and neck with a dude, and we silently pushed each other all out (unfortunately he took the win, but was a good sport at the finish, thanking me for making him work for it). Unofficial finish:1:16:40. That's a 7:40 pace. That's not something I could do over ten miles. Until now. Boom!

I was so surprised I wasn't even psyched. Also, I was wet, cold, and ready for brunch. Which ruled. Reconvened with Maria and Elyssa at the finish, and picked up Eissa as well and headed into the Slope for a dry clothes and a delicious feast. And unlimited mimosas. I guess Sunday morning races aren't that bad after all.

Planks: You're Doing It Wrong

I had PT bright and early this morning. I was feeling great - today is Friday, it's a long weekend, it's 60 degrees and sunny, and a hobo hit on me on the subway (who says legs that haven't seen the light of day since November aren't sexxxxy?) Mary, the masochistic physical therapist, got me right to work on strengthening work: lunges, squats, and planks. Lunges? Great - I can definitely do those (thanks, Mom, for investing heavily in Rye School of Dance). Squats? Not my forte, but I can hack it. Planks? Well sure! I've been those for ages!

Yeah, doing them wrong.

Mary the Masochist showed me exactly what I was meant to be doing down there on the floor. This is what a plank should look like:

This is what mine looked like:

(You can tell it's me by the hair, obviously).

I assure you, it's not physically possible to relax one's shoulders and engage one's core simultaneously in the plank position. I further assure you that I have no idea what the difference is between "engaging one's core" and "sucking in." Lastly, I assure you that those are the best pictures I have ever drawn using Paint. They could possibly be the best pictures anyone has ever drawn using Paint. I deserve some type of accolade for them.

That'll do.

"I Don't Hate It"

In an ironic twist, today's hill workout, my last before I switch from hill work to speed work each week, was also the first I completed outside, on real, live, non-treadmill generated hills. And it was a doozy: hill repeats in Prospect Park.

Here is a secret I'm a little ashamed to disclose: I sort of like hill repeats. Now don't get me wrong, I don't like hills in general. It's just that, as hard workouts go, I've grown rather fond of this one.

Hill repeats start with a couple miles of warming up, which is a synonym for coach-sanctioned slow and easy running. Can't beat that with a stick (or is it "beats a sharp stick in the eye"? Possibly both; like I said, I'm quite fond of this workout). After the warm up comes the hard part. Let me be clear: just because I enjoy this workout doesn't mean it's not tough. It involves running uphill. Repeatedly. But the part that I like is that it's different where ever you do it. A track is a track, so Yasso 800s are the same two laps no matter where you do them. Ditto for mile repeats. For each of those workouts, you know exactly what it's going to feel like before you start (it feels like shit). Moreover, you know exactly how fast you should be running. If I'm not hitting 3:30 800s, my workout is ruined and I'm spending the rest of the day shame spiraling and eating my feelings.

But when you run hill repeats, you never quite know what to expect until you've started. And time is relative. Splits are compared to the repeats before and after, and not some pre-determined pace. That's not to say I'm not pushing so hard on my last repeats that I finish doubled over and dry heaving (and today, with a bloody nose. Again. Anyone remember reading "A Summer to Die" in elementary school. It was about a dying girl. I'm not sure what was wrong with her, but I do remember that she had chronic nose bleeds. This is... concerning). But I'm the one who determines how much pushing with leave me doubled over and dry heaving. I am the master of my domain!*

Today's workout called for using a hill that would take approximately 2 minutes to climb. I picked Nellie's hill in Prospect Park, which is interminable and takes about 47 minutes to climb, all told, so I just used a portion. I ran 3x half repeats (about a minute of climbing), 3x full repeats (the full 2 minutes), and 3x half sprints, which took about 50 seconds and resulted in the aforementioned dry heaving and bleeding from the face. Unfortunately it wasn't until I finished all 9 repeats that I realized the way to get home from the base of Nellie's hill was to run back up again. Extra credit?

*On a related Seinfeld note, Uncle Leo died yesterday. Sadness.

Ch-ch-ch Changes

So, as you may have heard, the Boston Athletic Association has responded to the registration issues for this year's Boston Marathon, which caused so much anguish, frustration, and self-loathing back in the Fall.

In short (and it's so complicated, it isn't all that short, so maybe get a pen and paper handy to take some notes, maybe map it out in chart form. Also probably get a drink and a snack), here's what they said:

For Boston 2012, qualifying times remain the same. That's still 3:40:59 for me. BUT! Registration opens on a rolling basis, depending on the amount of time by which you exceeded your qualifying standard. Try to follow this:

-On Day 1 (September 12th, 2011), registration opens for those who exceeded their qualifying time by 20 minutes or more. If that were me (and I assure you, it will not be), that's a 3:20:59.
-On Day 3 (September 14th), registration opens for those who exceeded their qualifying time by 10 minutes or more - a 3:30:59 for everyone's favorite strawberry blonde beer lover.
-On Day 5 (September 16th), registration opens for everyone who ran at least 5 minutes faster than their BQ time. For me, that's a 3:35:59.

What's that? You don't remember what I ran to qualify? Oh, I'll remind you. It's a 3:36:59.

Registration opens for the rest of the field - those who just plain old ran their qualifying time - in Week 2. If there are still spots available at that point (a big if), they'll be awarded based on how applicants rank in their age and gender, compared with other applicants (as opposed to first come, first serve). The faster you run, the more likely you'll get in.

But wait! There's more!

For Boston 2013, in addition to the rolling registration process outlined above, everyone's qualifying times will also be sped up by 5 minutes, 59 seconds. So mine will go from 3:40:59 to 3:35:00. But, since just meeting the standard only gets you the chance to register in Week 2, at which point there likely won't still be spots available, interested runners should really be aiming for a time at least 5 minutes faster than their revised qualifying standard. For me, that would be 3:30:00.

What's that? You don't remember what I set as my goal for Boston 2011? Oh, I'll remind you. It's a 3:30:00.

Or did I just BLOW YOUR MIND?!

I know, that was a lot to process. I'm still sorting it out myself. The whole rolling admissions thing is, as I said to E today, like college applications for grown-ups. Except I don't have a guidance counselor to offer me sage advice. (Just kidding - in high school, I asked my guidance counselor if she had finished my letter of recommendation for my application and she told me, "Oh yes, I have the Columbia letter all ready to go!" Which was a shame, since I was applying to Colby. Sage advice, my ass).

I'm also interested to know why registration was pushed up a full month, knocking out early Fall races, when the temperatures are starting to come down and conditions are ripe for PRs. I wonder if there will be push-back from traditional Fall qualifiers, like Chicago (or Wineglass, where I BQed). And I wonder what this all means for people like me, who work hard to comfortably qualify, but certainly aren't stepping up on the podium at the finish line. Will there be a place for them (us?) at future Bostons? I think there should be. I haven't even run the damn thing yet, and my first Boston has already ben a crazy/special/once in a lifetime experience. I think if you earn it, you should get to feel that too, at least for the first time. And while there is a mechanism built in to ensure streakers (runners with 10 consecutive Boston finishes) can still get in, there isn't anything like that for first timers. So if you didn't get in to Boston in the Fall of 2010, there's no guarantee you'll ever be toeing the line in Hopkinton, racing past wasted BU frat guys, and pounding beers on Boylston at the finish, even if you do qualify.

On second thought, screw you guys. Those frat boys and brewskies have my name on 'em. At least this year.

Sunday Wrap Up: More on Feces Than You Probably Care to Read

I just took the the subway home from Manhattan, where I capped off my 16 miler with a croissant and a hot chocolate with the crew (more on that in a minute). I sat down in the middle of a pretty crowded bench on the train. About 3 stops into my trip, the people sitting on either side of me got up. Not because they were getting off the train, though. Both of them got up and moved to different benches in the car. I must really smell like I ran 16 miles.

As for the croissants and hot chocolate, we had a solid showing by the Runner Army this morning for a run to City Bakery. I logged 9-ish miles in Central Park beforehand, then met the crew for the run down to 18th Street. Special thanks to Sharon, who is going to kill it in Austin next weekend, for running with me. And to Susan, who took an extra spin around the block with me when we got to the bakery so we wouldn't come up short for our mileage. That kind of bad assedry deserves hot chocolate any day.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 41. Boom! Neither niggle nor IT band bothered me on my long run today. You know was did? My stomach. As per the planned experiment, last night I feasted on such treats as: beef shoulder, jalapeno cheddar sausage, corn bread, corn pudding, mashed sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, mac and cheese, a cupcake, and approximately 11 buckets of PBR. And that is not an exhaustive list. As you might imagine, waking up with the meat sweats was the least of my problems ahead of today's run.

At one point, about 8 miles in, I trotted out of the Park to the headquarters of the New York Road Runners, to use their bathroom. Which got me thinking: imagine how many famous shits have happened in that bathroom! I mean, the pre-marathon shit is something of a hallowed tradition among runners. And think of all the world class runners that have gone through the New York Road Runners' building while in town for the New York City Marathon. Meb. Ryan. Kara. Paula. That bathroom has seen some of the fastest asses in the world! I feel honored to have desecrated it myself.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: In the neighborhood of 15. Plus this week I even cooked with beer too! I made steak with stout pan sauce, which sounds way fancier than it was. I used Samuel Smith's Oatmeal Stout, which was good, but I think this would have been even better with a chocolate stout. What other foods can I put beer in? Spaghetti? Cereal? The possibilities are endless.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: For the past several weeks, I've been (unintentionally) focused on quantity over quality. That needs to stop (for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that I'm not at racing weight. Like, at all). Once again this week, I settled: the aforementioned PBR, some Bud Lights, a Stella, and a few Guinness. It's the month of Claire, damnit, and I should treat it with some respect!

One parting thought before I leave you this weekend: the Spring Edition of We'll Run For Beer is a month from today. You better start training, people!

These Miles Aren't Gonna Run Themselves

I hear a lot of runners use this line, as a way to indicate they better get a move on their scheduled run. Like me, right now, for example. I should really drink this coffee and then get cracking on this 16 miler - these miles aren't going to run themselves. But here's the thing: why not? I say, this is a terrific opportunity for someone to invent something that does the running for you. Like a treadmill, but with less effort put in by the would-be runner.

I'm a little busy right now, digesting the slabs of beer shoulder I ate last night (more on that in the Weekly Wrap Up), so it would be really helpful if these miles could just run themselves, and leave me with approximately 2 hours and 20 minutes of "me" time. Doesn't that sound nice? With all the technological advancements we've made over the years, I'm honestly rather disappointed in you, science-minded inventors, for not addressing this sooner. You've come up with all kinds of wonderful and beneficial advancements for the runner: you've invented "food" that comes in gel form, packaged in foil envelopes we can take with us on the go. You've given us wrist-sized GPS units. It seems to me that the next logical step would be to invent miles that would run themselves, leaving us to sit on the couch eating our gel "food" and confirming our global position as stagnant. This seems like a straightforward objective, and frankly I don't see what the hold up is.

Anyway, I have to go. These miles aren't going to run themselves. See you for the Wrap Up later.

You're Welcome, America...

And the Bahamas... And swaths of continental Europe...

Beer Drinkers More Likely to Put Out on the First Date

More on Experimentation

As I mentioned in my previous post, I intend to conduct a highly scientific study into pre-run nutrition, specifically examining the impact of proteins, fats, sodium, and carbohydrates (meat, barbecue sauce, and beer). While the findings of this study will be important, one of course cannot use just one set of data to draw a conclusion. Which is why I conducted a related study on pre-run nutrition, specifically examining the impacts of day old dairy, this evening. I ate a slice of yesterday's pizza, straight out of the fridge, and then hit the treadmill.

Not only did I find this fueling method facilitated running endurance, but I was so energized and motivated at the conclusion of my five miler that I also spent time completing my assigned PT stretch and strength exercises. What's more, these findings are at odds with my initial experiment, whose results indicated that such epic pre-run feasts lead to near pants-shitting. This can only mean one thing: we need a larger sample. I must continue with my planned analysis of pre-run fuel on Saturday evening over barbecue.

People have called me a great many things over the years. Those who know me have alternately referenced:

- that I'm "such a dude"

- that I live "the bachelor life"

- that I embody "frat house ethics"

But what everyone has failed to recognize is that I am also a pioneering nutritional scientist. You can thank me when you start getting mozzarella sticks instead of Gu at the next race aid station.

Until my next experiment,

Dr. 3:59:59. Bitches.

PT: Painful Touching

Had my second session of PT this afternoon (apologies for not mentioning the first, but it left me with PTSD so I thought it best not to rehash it here). For those of you who've never had PT, perhaps you've been lulled into thinking it's pretty awesome. People talk about "massage" and "foam rolling" and "ultrasound." Those things sound so pleasant and gentle. Ahhh, massage. And ooh, soft foam. And ultrasound, gentle enough for a fetus. Let me tell you, these are lies. This is what the "massage" aspect of physical therapy actually entails:

Therapist, pressing on afflicted appendage: How does this feel?
Claire: Um, that's okay, I guess.
Therapist, moving to a different spot on same appendage: How about here?
Claire: That's a little tight.
Therapist, moving further down the limb: And how about he-
Claire: JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH, THAT'S AGONIZING! ARE YOUR FINGERS MADE OF RAZOR BLADES?
Therapist, throwing all of her weight onto the most sensitive spot: Okay, let's work this out...

Meanwhile, foam rolling involves putting all of one's own weight down on a firm foam cylinder and rolling back and forth on the floor. It's worth noting that:
1. As a birthday present to myself, yesterday I ate cookies for breakfast, cake at work, chocolate my sister sent me, and pizza for dinner. And beer. So my own weight isn't at post-stomach flu levels today.
2. In addition to pressing your ailing limb (in my case, leg) against a hard foam tube, foam rolling also engages your upper body; as your legs are immobilized by being pressed against the roller, you must use your arms to pull yourself along the floor to get the rolling effect. I realize this must be hard to visualize if you aren't familiar with foam rolling. You know in the Thriller video, when the zombies are crawling out of the graveyard and the manholes and where ever else zombies come from to go get MJ and his date? And they're dragging their sorry, half-dead selves along, with random body parts falling off and flopping on the ground? That's what it looks like.
3. There are other patients in the studio while this is going on.

Thus far, I haven't had to go through ultrasound in conjunction with this round of PT, but having had it before, I assure you, it's seriously screwed up. They lather you up with that gel stuff you see on A Baby Story on TLC, then press the cold ultrasound wand into you, spreading the goop all over your shorts, the towels, the table, and the hands of the ultrasound technician, who is without fail a creepy, overweight older man. Unlike a baby ultrasound (my understanding of which is based entirely on the bits of TV documentaries on birth and babies I catch when I don't have my hands over my eyes), there is no monitor to see what's going on in there, so for all you know, there's a little alien face living inside your quad. Horrifying.

Another weird thing about PT is that there are always old ladies there. Yes, I mean older than my 27 years, which I know is ancient. This surprised me the first time I went, because you wouldn't think old ladies suffer from many sports injuries. But I guess since they're old ladies, they have a lot of regular old lady type injuries. Sprained wrists from carrying groceries and what not. But it seems to me that the old ladies never get the kind of treatment that leaves them crying out in pain. I'm in there with my pants off, getting poked and prodded and bended and stretched, screaming (sounds like last weekend - HEYO! Sorry, Mom and Dad...), while Betty Ann with the blue hair is using the hand bike while watching The Price Is Right. Is it a Medicaid thing? Can I do something to guarantee my insurance only covers the easy, non-painful stuff?

Anyway, I've now spent five paragraphs talking about PT without mentioning whether or not I think it's of any use to me and my thrown off legume alignments. Well. I made it through 8 1/2 miles on Sunday before I started to feel the jabbing pain and instability, which is an improvement over last week, when things started getting wonky 6 miles in. But 8 1/2 miles is still almost 18 short of a marathon. And while I managed to grit it out for the last 1 1/2 miles on Sunday, that's not quite the same. Which is unfortunate... But I'm optimistic and have been tackling the mileage as prescribed. This week's LSD is back up to 16 miles, which should be a good test of how my recovery is going. Given that I'll be celebrating Cate's birthday at Hill Country on Saturday night, it will also answer the age-old question: is barbecue and beer a good pre-run fuel? Yes, I realize I already gathered some fairly conclusive evidence on the matter (and nearly shat myself in the process) at the Country Music Half Marathon last year, but as Obama says, this is our Sputnik moment, and I'll be damned if I don't embody the scientific curiosity and enduring quest for knowledge that should define our nation. You're welcome, Mr. President.

I wonder how many before me have used "shat myself," "Sputnik," and "enduring quest for knowledge" in the same sentence...

Monday Wrap Up: Goodbye Football, and Mid-Twenties

I woke up this morning, it being my 27th birthday, and was pretty sure my body would resemble the Saggy Baggy Elephant: cellulitey ass, boobs down to my belly button, the whole shebang. Thank God, I seem to have been spared. For now. Yesterday's 10 miler was probably a good preventative measure, but today is a rest day. I'm pretty sure age waits until you've let your guard down to attack. Constant vigilance!

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 37. 6 of those happened on Saturday night. Post cheeseburger/Guinness/apple cobbler. What was I saying about vigilance against cellulite?

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: Just 7. I'd like to tell you I didn't have any beers during the Super Bowl last night in deference to my poor Giants. But mostly I just wasn't thirsty. I am, of course, terribly worried about the players' dispute and the possibility of no football next season. My Sunday depression would be raging, but on the plus side, I could really focus my efforts on drinking without the distraction of television or human company. Yeah, that sounds healthy...

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Meh. Guinness. Sierra Nevada. Bud Light. At what age does it become unacceptable to drink crappy beer after 2:00am? Let's go with 28.

If you haven't yet received the email with details on the next beer run, send me your contact info at willrunforbeerblog@gmail.com, or check back on the "Beer Run" page later in the week.

Month of Claire

Ladies and gentlemen, it's February. It is no long December: the month I hurt myself falling down. It's no longer January: the month I lost two weeks to a busted leg and struggled to get back on the horse (treadmill, actually, since January was also the month we had 45 inches of snow). It's February: the month I will start going to PT, stop feeling sorry for myself and stop having anxiety about things over which I have no control, and tackle my training with renewed enthusiasm. It's February, and Boston is 11 weeks away. It's February, the month I'll turn 25...for the third consecutive year... It's February: the Month of Claire!

I began the Month of Claire with an easy 7 miles on the treadmill. I would have loved to have run these miles outside, but it's snowy and icy again, and I am going to stop having anxiety about things over which I have no control (if I say it enough, it becomes true). My left (non-bone bruised) knee has been acting up since the Manhattan Half, but rather than feeling sorry for myself, I'm looking forward to starting PT on Friday and getting all my parts realigned. I will return to good working order, and I will run a 3:30 in April. I'm positively brimming with enthusiasm!

So yeah, I've been feeling a little bad for myself, a little frustrated that it seems like one weather inconvenience, injury, or daily annoyance after another keeps getting in my way, but whining about it is, quite frankly, exhausting. So I'm going to stop. Instead, I'm going to acknowledge that:

- 11 weeks is plenty of time

- PT was prescribed for a reason

- if training were all unicorns and double rainbows, then running marathons and qualifying for Boston wouldn't be especially bad ass at all.

In honor of the official closing ceremonies of January: the Month of Pity Parties, please enjoy the double rainbows. Never not funny.