Rumute

(That's "run" and "commute," and also evidence that I was not an English major).

National Running Day may not be until tomorrow, but I got a head start on the celebrations after work today with my first ever run home. I had intended to drop my stuff at the gym in Chelsea, run a few miles on the West Side with fit, shirtless men and their French bulldogs (French bulldogs:Chelsea::Strollers:Park Slope), but decided rather spontaneously that I'd just leave everything at the office overnight and run home. A Tuesday night adventure!

When I stepped outside about 6:15pm, I reconsidered my adventure. It was still very warm and sunny, and would be for awhile, given that my office and thus my starting point is on the West Side. But I had some water, and no real objectives other than just try something new, and I had a MetroCard if things got very dicey. So off I went.

The first few miles sort of sucked, and by mile 2 I was playing the count down game ("Only 8 miles to go."). But as I hooked around Battery Park and back up the East Side, a cool breeze started up and I was able to enjoy myself a bit more. "Hey! Look at me! I'm running a route I've never run before in a city I've lived in for years!"

Things got a little hairy as I made my way from the East River running path to Canal Street to cross the Manhattan Bridge, since it was both rush hour and the start of tourist season (tourists love fake Fendi). I lost my bearings somewhat and ended up on the north side of the bridge, as opposed to the south side, where I'd run with the Bridges Crew before. But I knew roughly where I was headed, and figured I'd just read street signs until I found what I was looking for when I got across the bridge.

This only works if you know where what you're looking for is in related to where you are. I ran a few blocks out of my way before I saw signs for BAM, which I knew I needed to pass in order to get home. I had a fleeting moment of panic when I realized that some neighborhoods in Brooklyn aren't particularly safe, and I didn't know exactly where this "Bed-Stuy" place was, beyond its permanent place in the New York Post Police Blotter (that's what I get, growing up in Westchester). But in the end, I just followed the tons of other runners who looked like they were going someplace that wasn't, say, away from the scene of a crime, and ended up at my apartment 10 and a half miles later, and with a much better sense of Downtown Brooklyn.

In preparation for tomorrow's run for National Running Day proper, I'm now fueling up with Butternut Squash Ravioli Lean Cuisine. Judge me all you want; this shit is delicious. Though I'm pretty sure if you eat two packages of it, it's less "Lean Cuisine," and more "Food."

I hope everyone has a chance to enjoy even just one mile for National Running Day. Yes, Nina, I said enjoy. I swear it is possible.

Monday Wrap Up: How Did I Live Before Park Slope Ale House?

I had big plans for my evening upon my return to the City after a weekend in Connecticut; not only was I going to grocery shop, but I was also going to write both my weekly wrap up and my Reach the Beach report. And then I walked in the door of my apartment and Nicole said "Hey, wanna go to the Frying Pan tonight?" and I said "okay!" and then it was 10:30pm and I was eating a turkey club from Park Slope Ale House in my bed. And yes, I called ahead to order it. On the phone, the waitress said, "Well that comes with fries; do you want another order?" and I almost said yes. Almost.

Anyway, the risk of spilling ketchup on my comforter is grave, so rather than regale you with tales of Reach the Beach, I'll just give you the weekly wrap up and hope maybe you're also drunk and therefore won't notice this is short and not that substantial. That's what he said.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: As is always the case on holiday weekends, the "week" in question is Monday to Monday, since I can never bring myself to run long until the last available day of freedom. With today's run, that brings us to 38. There is so much bacon on this turkey club that next week I need to run 88. In all seriousness though, today's run i decided I would just run with no respect to pace, but just go out and enjoy it. And since I have no time goals for this training cycle for San Francisco, it worked! Even though it was 437% humidity, it was nice to run just for the sake of running. Especially because the heat and humidity gave me an excuse to wear short shorts.

Number of Beers Run Last Week: 14. Nothing says "summer" quite like drinking outdoors, and if we can't do that in abundance, then the terrorists have won. For real, I know you probably celebrated Memorial Day with a beer and a BBQ, but you should remember to thank our troops for enabling that. In the spirit of transparency, I'm eating French fries as I write this, but I'll call them Freedom fries for the rest of the day.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Magic Hat Wacko - it's pink!, Kelso, Amstel Light, which I swore I hated in my youth, but tastes exactly like any other faux Euro artisan beer (see: Heineken), Founders Red's Rye, which was on tap here in Brooklyn even though it's from Michigan, and PBR, which is always served in a can in any Brooklyn establishment.

My runs over the last several days have served as a terrific reminder that I really, truly hate humidity, and further, that I very much suck at adapting to it. I think it's because, when it is humid, by baseline level of discomfort is so elevated that I'm scared to push myself any further past the point of discomfort. Or maybe it's that I'm already dehydrated from beers, and therefore at a disadvantage to my sober compatriots. One thing I have discovered is that I am exceptionally skilled at eating turkey clubs in my air conditioned bedroom, so I must focus at the task at hand. Happy Memorial Day, kids!

The (Hungover) Food Guide Pyramid

This is the food guide pyramid:







And this is what the food guide pyramid would look like if it were developed by a bunch of hungover, late-twenties faux scientist athletes:







That base level is your breakfast sandwich: egg, bagel, American cheese, bacon. Next up, you've got your coffee, and your Gatorade. Above that, you have smaller servings of Doritos and ice cream. And then there at the top, you've got beer.

Be advised: this is only the hungover version. Obviously the day-to-day pyramid would have beer as the base level. Which I suppose is how I came to find myself modeling my diet on the hungover pyramid in the first place...

Seen on my Run

I spent the night in Connecticut last night, and with 7 miles of hill work on the agenda today, I had to get up even earlier than usual. But I was handsomely rewarded for my efforts; it was an absolutely perfect morning for a run. Clear, cool, not too humid, and I didn't see a single other runner out there. I was so pleasantly surprised with the weather and the fact that I had the roads to myself, I almost didn't mind hill work. Almost.

While I didn't see any people out this morning, I did see many other interesting things:

- 5 turkeys. I can't decide if I really like it or really hate it when I come upon some turkeys and they start running the same direction as me. On the one hand, turkeys are hilarious to watch, and funny animals are among my top three favorite things (others include good beers and Hall and Oates, which counts as one band and not two people for the purposes of making lists of top three things). On the other hand, turkeys seem to be able to run fast, and being outrun by a turkey makes me want Thanksgiving to come sooner.

- 2 bunnies. Fun fact: my friend Maddy once received, as a gift from her then boyfriend, a pet rabbit, which for some reason she really, really wanted. Its name was Lionel, it had its own room in their apartment, and did all kinds of weird things which were entertaining (see first bullet, re: funny animals). But I asked her then-boyfriend, Ryan, why he would allow, nay encourage, Maddy to have a bunny with its own room in their apartment. Dead serious, he told me, "Because she's spent two years commuting three hours a day for me, and she deserves to have something that makes her happy." And right when he said it, I knew they were going to get married. And they did! Bunny love!

- 3 deer, one of which I swear to you I though was a donkey when I saw it from behind, just wandering up someone's driveway. I've been in the city too long.

Save Yourself From Sitting

First, I started my Reach the Beach race report last night. I wrote everything up to the actual start, which doesn't seem like I did very much work but a) a lot of things happened between Thursday and Sunday, and b) writing the report is making me very nostalgic, so every third paragraph, I have to take a break to look at pictures from the weekend and then excuse myself and go to the bathroom at work, where I lock myself in a stall and rock back and forth while weeping silently. Which, incidentally, is exactly what I do when I'm hungover at work, but with the addition of a nap with my head rested on the toilet paper dispenser. In any case, I hope to finish that up in the coming days.

Now, to the task at hand: last week, I told my boss that sitting is killing us. We spent 9 hours a day, 5 days a week (except me, since I've somehow finagled a whole string of short weeks, thanks to races and travel. Next week I'm working two days) sitting in a chair, typing and talking on the phone, in roughly the same position the entire time. If that doesn't sound like a recipe for death and destruction (and ample dicking around on the Internet) then I don't know what is.









Source

And it's true: sitting is making us fat; it's increasing our risk of heart disease and all kinds of cancers and maybe even gingivitis or something. And, worst of all, sitting is giving our bodies that unfortunate upper thigh/lower glute shape known as "secretary spread." Do. Not. Want.

So when I told David last week that every hour we spent sitting in our desk chairs is bringing us closer to death, I was hoping he'd tell me to work from home, where I could lie down. No dice. Instead, David decided our whole team was going to start sitting on exercise balls. Yes, really. Immediately, I suggested we get the kind with handles so that you can bounce from place to place. Again, no dice. But he did allow me to spend an entire morning researching the benefits of exercise balls, what sizes each of us would need based on height, where to buy them, and how much they cost. And for the record, I highly recommend having your boss be your best friend in the office.

So I set off for work yesterday, reeling from the special kind of depression that only comes after a really awesome weekend and absolutely dreading the day ahead. Until I remembered: Monday was the launch of the exercise ball!

We spent the first 40 minutes of the day inflating our balls, which was next to impossible. I whined the entire time, and considered the fact that death by sitting would at least be painless, whereas death by overuse of triceps from pumping air into an exercise ball was probably agonizing. But after fake outs where we thought the balls were adequately inflated only to sink like a stone when we sat on them (sitting is indeed making us fat), we finally did it. I bounced out of David's office to my own and prepared myself to have Kara Goucher's abs by close of business.

No dice.

The whole point of sitting on the ball is that you allegedly have to engage your core the whole time. Except that, as mentioned, I sit in the same position for 9 hours a day. The only time I engaged my core was when David walked by and kicked my ball from behind, causing me to go bouncing into my desk. He did that no fewer than eleven times.

Once I realized I wasn't really working that hard just sitting there, I decided I needed to be more active. For example, while waiting for a meeting to start, I decided to do sit ups on my ball "until the rest of the team arrived." I made it through 25 sit ups before I started screaming "Guys, please hurry up and get in here we need to start the meeting now ow ow ow ow ow!" Still, that's more sit ups than I've done since the Presidential Physical Fitness Tests in elementary school. By the time I left work, I could hardly wait to get home and examine my newly chiseled abs.

No dice.

They looked exactly the same. "Well, I'll probably be sore tomorrow."

No dice.

I went for an easy, post-race recovery run this morning and virtually the only part at wasn't sore was my core.

The bastion of all reliable knowledge, the Internet, assured me that sitting on this ball would force me to engage my core, thereby making my body work harder and differently, thereby saving me from certain death from plain old sitting. It should be like a 9 hour workout, which means I'd not only be working my core all damn day, but I'd probably burn 8,000 calories. All I needed to do was sit on it. And yet, I was no closer to looking like Kara Goucher this morning than I was yesterday. Which is to say, I don't look at all like Kara Goucher.

I decided I needed to do more. I was not going to stand for sitting and its inherent risks. I got to the office this morning, determined to make full use of the handy sheet of exercises enclosed in the packaging of my exercise ball.

I got to work, practically tossing my desk chair out of the way to roll my ball out from under my desk, and positioned myself atop it. And howled in pain.

Yesterday, I wore pants to work, but today I'm in a dress, which means that all the skin on the backs of my legs is exposed and at the ready to be ripped from my limbs by the rubber ball. Think of those really hot days when you get stuck to your subway seat. Times a million.

A quick check of my exercise sheet indicates there are several exercises I can do that won't require skin grafts, but as I'm in a dress, and at work, I don't know that the Abductor Leg Lift is really for me. I should be able to find something to do, though.

Sunday Wrap Up: I Can't Even Be Sure It's Sunday

In the spirit of the honey badger, and in the words of Randall, I am "that sleepy little fuck." My whole body is hurting and my internal clock is totally out of whack. I ran 25.9 miles on 1 hour of sleep and a steady stream of Graham crackers and Gatorade. I didn't even brush my teeth for 36 hours. But it was absolutely worth the fact that I very nearly developed dreadlocks by Saturday afternoon - Team Honey Badger finished 26th overall in the inaugural Reach the Beach: Massachusetts relay and, more importantly, had an amazing time doing it. And I'm now an expert at driver a child molester van.

This weekend was incredible and fun and hard and I'm too beat to write a full report tonight, so in the interim, I offer you photo. Picture this, but with actual ass exposed, while running, multiple times, in full view of anyone who wanted to see. And many people who did not want to see.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 30. 25.9 of them were part of Reach the Beach. I've been a little bit of a slacker recently, finding it hard to find motivation because of the knowledge that I don't have any real goals or time objectives for the San Francisco marathon, so I feel I don't have to work as hard. But Reach the Beach this weekend really fired me up for racing again. Every leg, I'd say "I'm going to take this one easy," but then I'd get out there and just want to race and go for kills. And expose my bare ass to anyone who happened by.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: I think 11, but my brain is so addled from lack of sleep and calories that I couldn't get a single answer to the Sunday crossword, so I really can't be trusted to recollect and accurately add my weekly beer tally.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: While I was highly disappointed that Reach the Beach didn't have a beer tent at the finish (not for lack of trying), my amazing teammates stocked the cooler while I was running my extra leg, so we were indeed able to celebrate with the local brew (Wachusett Quinn's Amber Ale). And then another New England fave, Shipyard Summer Ale. And then (it was 200 miles long, so there was a lot of celebrating to do...) Blue Moon. We also had beers in New Haven on the way up to the race (because we're hardcore, and my beer-friendly teammates served as enablers... Or maybe at was me) - Elm City Lager.

I tried to take notes after I finished each leg so I'd remember what to include in my race report, but I'm sure that won't do it justice. Also I have no idea whether or not the notes I wrote are even in English. But now I need another beer (make that total 12), clean clothes, terrible television, and delivery of any food that isn't made of electrolytes and designed to be easily digested. Though I assure you, after the third leg of a relay, nothing is easily digested. But I'll get to that tomorrow in my race report. If that doesn't entice you to come back and read it, I don't know what your problem is...

And We're Off

Yay, it's Reach the Beach weekend! Actually, it's Thursday, and for you suckers, that means it is not the weekend. But for me, this afternoon marks the start of my journey (by van) to Wachusett, Massachusetts, and then my journey (by foot) some 200 miles away to Westport, Massachusetts.



You'll note one of the few things I haven't packed in a Ziploc is my Body Glide. That's because I need a quick draw for the anti-chafe products. Sexxxxy. But otherwise, packing in Ziplocs is sort of fun (and, yes, horribly wasteful, but I already did my environmentally friendly good deed for the week when I saved a turtle's life yesterday, so I'm allowed to indulge). And apparently it'll be useful, when we're 30 hours into our relay and on our third set of running gear and everything smells like something that shat itself to death. If anyone on my team accidently bought those "breathable" Ziplocs meant for vegetables, and not for nasty ass used running gear, you deserve to get mauled by a bobcat.

If you're interested in tracking our progress, you're a tremendous loser. It's the weekend (possibly your last on this earth, according to the subway preachers, which is why I'm listening to Britney Spears' "Til The World Ends" on repeat. The rapture has a pretty bad ass soundtrack). But if you have your heart set on spending your Friday and Saturday refreshing your Twitter timeline, you can follow us at @RTBHoneybadger. We don't give a shit.

I'm Basically Heather Mills

(That's awkward, since this blog is about running, and she is an amputee. So in case you needed any further confirmation, if the world does indeed end on Saturday, I'm definitely going to hell).


I finally went running this morning for the first time since Saturday, because apparently since last summer, also known as "The Wet Season" here in New York, I've developed a fear of rain. Or perhaps since Boston I've developed laziness. Either way, I dragged ye olde butt out of bed this morning for an easy run in Prospect Park to help get the legumes ready for this weekend's relay.


As I was running, I was thinking about what I'd blog about. I thought about how, in my 3 day absence, I'd apparently forgotten how to dress for the seasons and was sweating like a whore in church inside my Boston jacket, a long sleeved tee and a short sleeved tee. I thought about how pissed I was that the town of Westport, MA has put a stop to the planned beer tent at the Reach the Beach Finish. I thought about how I was pretty hungover, so maybe the beer tent wasn't such a good idea for me anyway, but all the sweating was leaving me really dehydrated. And obviously I thought about Four (who is still alive. Thanks for asking, jerks).


While I was deep in thought, something caught my eye. Why was there a big rock in the middle of the road in Prospect Park? That could really jack up someone's car. But as I got closer, I realized it wasn't a rock - it was a turtle!


SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!! ANIMALZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!


My first thought was "can I fit this in my pocket and take it home?" Unfortunately, he was too big (that's what she said). Next I thought, "I wish I had my phone to take his picture." But then I realized he was just chilling in the middle of a road, which was open to auto traffic. My calling was clear: I had to save this turtle.


I scooped down to pick him up and he immediately started getting all wriggly and squirmy. "It's okay, my man! I'll be careful!" My soothing voice apparently offered no comfort, however, and so the turtle sucked up his arms and legs into his shell.


Carefully, I carried him across the road in the direction he had been facing and deposited him on the grass, away from the road, foot traffic, and horses (I'm not Amish; there just happen to be horses in Prospect Park sometimes). As I waved goodbye and headed back to the road to finish my run, I said (aloud, because I am a tremendous loser and also love animals), "This is the best day ever!"


In case that anecdote didn't paint vivid enough a scene, I took the liberty of literally painting the scene. MS Paint is the greatest tool we have in our computer arsenal. Artifical intelligence be damned!

Stage one: Claire is running (I have orange hair and neon sneakers. You can't tell from this depiction, but I was also wearing short shorts. Obviously.)

Stage two: Claire is surprised to find a turtle.

Stage three: Claire carries the turtle, who is very wriggly, across the road.

Stage four: The turtle is safe. Claire runs off in the distance (you can tell it's the distance because I made myself small. That's called "perspective." Trust me - I took studio art in 9th grade).

Not pictured: Claire receives humanitarian (turtletarian?) award for her diligence as an animal rights activist.

Also not pictured: As Claire ran into the distance, she saw a water logged, run over rat. It was beyond saving, but Claire probably wouldn't have tried to save it anyway. Rats are gross.

What's Your Secret?

To the man in blue this morning, who smoked me up the big hill in Prospect Park, coming from behind (hehe) to blow by me while much of the climb was still in front of us, leaving me to suck in the dust and pollen you kicked up by going by so fast I couldn't even catch you on the back side of the hill:

How do you do it? I'm not looking for "smaller steps, faster turnover, faster arm pumping." I mean, how did you make all those things work? Are you doping? What is your secret?

Does it happen to be grilled cheese and beer at 10:00pm the night before you run? Because I tried that last night, and it didn't seem to work out nearly as well for me on that hill this morning.

Tomorrow: same time, same place. I'll bring a wagon. Get ready to pull.

(That's what he said).

Love,

Claire

Tuesday Wrap Up: Let's Call it a Taper

As I've mentioned, I really have no idea what I'm doing in terms of prepping for this weekend's race. (Also, given that it starts on Friday, it's sort of a moot point by now). But let's just say that the reason I ran zero of Sunday's planned 13 miles is because I'm tapering. Yeah, let's go with that.

In actuality, I spent more time on my feet on Sunday than 13 miles would have taken me, walking a 10k as part of AIDS Walk New York, so I don't know that I was any less fatigued than I would have been had I stuck with the San Francisco Marathon training plan and just run for 2 hours. But there's no time to wonder about that, since on Thursday, I'm leaving for Reach the Beach Massachusetts. Dear Claire, Your race calendar is overloaded. We don't know what we're doing anymore. Send more alcohol. Love, Your Legs.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 23. Taper? It's weird to see so few miles, given how tired I was after my little 3 runs in 24 hours experiment. It's also weird that I've moved to the apex of runner nerdiness in that I conduct experiments.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: I really want to try to get this right. 1 Sunday, 0 Saturday, 2 Friday, 3 Thursday, 1 Wednesday, 3 Tuesday, 1 Monday. 11! You have no idea how long that took me to recollect. I have my calendar open so I could look back and see what I did last week and who I boozed with (special thanks to this week's support team: Ryan, IMan, DeLoria, Nicole, and Liz).

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Smithwick's, Sixpoint Brownstone, Oskar Blue's One Hit Wonder (terrible beer - the fruity hops are truly revolting. This tasted like someone binged on fruit salad before getting so drunk they threw up), Magic Hat Aprihop (DeLoria kindly traded his beer for my fruity-vomit flavored one, which is weird because this is obviously also fruity, but in a different and vastly better way), Smuttynose Summer Weizen, Heartland's Harvest Wheat, PBR, and one beer whose name escapes me. Is it wrong to be as proud of a diverse week of beer as I am of the $6.2 million we raised at AIDS Walk?

GIven that it's almost 7:00am and I've been sitting in my running clothes typing this for the last 40 minutes, I best get a move on and squeeze a run in the morning. A short one, of course. It is a taper.

Update: Psyche! It's thundering and raining and cold out there. Looks like I'll be on the 'mill tonight. After I go out for beers. This should work well. How am I not a world-class marathoner by now?

Reach the Beach Prep

Sorry for the technical difficulties this week. I think Al Queda infiltrated blogger and took it down for a few days. I fixed it though. I'm like a Navy SEAL of the blogging community.

I've hardly mentioned it (or trained for it, as I've been busy still basking in the glow of my Boston PR and indulging in daily doses of beers and cheese fries), but my next race is next weekend. On Thursday, I'm headed to Massachusetts again for the 200 mile, Wachusett to Westport Reach the Beach Relay.

I've never raced a relay like this before. Actually, I think the only relay I've run is the 4x400. During practice. While that likely took me an embarrassing length of time, it was (hopefully) nothing like the approximately 36 hours my teammates and I will spend racing next weekend.

Team Captain E has tasked me with 25.78 miles of running total, over 4 legs. I'll be running at 4:49pm Friday, 12:52am Saturday, 7:45am Saturday, and 2:01pm Saturday.

12:52am? That's prime bobcat hunting time, is it not? As in, bobcats will be hunting me at that time.

Also, there doesn't seem to be much time for sleeping in that schedule. Granted, when you're not running, you can try to be sleeping. But good luck sleeping in a van full of foul-smelling fellow runners, eagerly awaiting their next turn to run. Also, when you're not running, you should be cheering your teammates on. Or at the very least, awake and actively engaged in changing out of your own foul-smelling gear. Is it weird that my own stench keeps me awake?

Sleep or not, it is an understatement to say we'll all be tired by our second, third, and fourth legs. But what, exactly, is "tired?" Like most runners, I generally aim to be not tired before racing, so I had no experiences to call upon to prepare myself. Did I really want to go into this with no understanding of what would happen to my body? What if extreme fatigue (like virtually everything else) gives me extreme diarrhea?!

So this week, I decide to test my limits a bit. In 24 hours, I ran 3 times. By choice.

Run number one happened Thursday morning. My usual 5-ish miles around Prospect Park. Unremarkable.

Run number two was Thursday evening, about 12 hours later. I ran the exact same route, and I felt awesome. Gone were the "I just got out of bed" creaks and stiffness (no, not morning wood), replaced instead by boundless energy from the workday, dying to be burnt off. I ran my second 5-ish nearly 2 and a half minutes faster. Maybe overnight racing would turn out to be my forte.

To celebrate 2 runs in one day, I went out for drinks with DeLoria Thursday night. We ate French fries and tossed back a few beers while watching hockey and Brooklyn hipsters. I tucked myself into bed sometime after midnight.

6:15am, I was up and at 'em for run number three. And I was not looking forward to it. In addition to terrible dry mouth (despite our attempt to rehydrate after drinking good beers by downing a PBR each... Because cheap beer is basically water, right?), my legs were so tired. To get through run number three, I was going to need some help. Enter compression socks.

So much (misguided) pre-run enthusiasm!

Compression socks are pretty sweet and really do work. I think they, like, flush lactic acid and muscle waste from your system by increasing blood flow. Or is it reduce inflammation by constricting blood flow? Whatever it is, they do feel awesome - like a hug for your calves! While the compression socks definitely helped get my lower legs work marginally better than overcooked spaghetti, they didn't help transmit the brain's signal to go faster. My legs knew one pace and one pace only on Friday morning. Thank God I only went 4 miles.

So much post-run anger!

The good news is, despite little sleep and ample muscle fatigue, I did discover that I can physically run when I'm tired, albeit not particularly well. And, best of all for my teammates, I did not experience extreme diarrhea.

Now if only we had bobcats in Brooklyn, I'd really know what to expect.

Hello? Is this thing on?

Instead of Running, I'll Be Walking on Sunday

I see someone found me by Googling “AIDS Walk, beer.” Well, you’ve come to the right place. Sort of.

It’s true: I am very heavily involved in AIDS Walk New York, the 26^th anniversary of which takes place this Sunday, May 15^th, in Central Park. It is a cause near and dear to me, and one I’ve participated in for many years. And also, I know things about beers! Alas, I don’t know anything about beers at AIDS Walk, since a) it starts at like 8:30 in the morning, and b) professional obligations at the event mean I would not be drinking even if there were beers available. Sorry I can’t help you.

But, you can help me! If you’d like to make a donation to support AIDS Walk New York, it would mean a lot to me. This is the 30^th year of the AIDS epidemic, and while we’ve made tremendous advances in treatment and care, the fight is far from over. New York is particularly hard-hit by this disease; the New York City AIDS case rate is nearly three times the national average, and AIDS is still the third leading cause of death among New York City residents aged 35 to 54. AIDS reaches people across all walks of life, but disproportionately affects those who are already marginalized: low-income individuals, people of color, the LGBT community, and those with limited access to education and medical care.

Your donation will enable dozens of New York City social service organizations to provide direct services including HIV testing, hot meals, housing assistance, legal counsel, job training, mental health counseling, crisis intervention, and substance use counseling to tens of thousands of New Yorkers this year. Plus, we might even be able to buy a 6 pack or two for the 45,000 walkers participating! Feel free to give generously right here: http://aidswalknewyork2011.kintera.org/walshcc

An Ode to Prospect Park

Before I moved to Park Slope in December, I was very much the type who wondered why in God's name anyone would move to Brooklyn. My mom was raised in Manhattan. As a young married couple, my parents lived in Manhattan. My sister and I were born in Manhattan (Hers was an extended stay; admittedly I just took a day trip down from Westchester to be birthed). When I was a college senior in Maine, and my classmates scoured the Boston job market, there was no question I'd return to New York to begin my career. And "New York" meant "Manhattan." Like Jill Zarin of the Real Housewives of New York (and I shudder for having drawn such a parallel), I envisioned Brooklyn as being full of those who couldn't hack it in The Big City, and/or those who were married with children, aka, boring people.

But then my lease expired last fall, and I was going through a "say yes to anything" phase, and so when Nicole told me her roommate was moving out and was I interested in Brooklyn, I thought, "What the hell?"

No, really. I thought, "What the hell?! Wy would I be interested in Brooklyn? Where is Brooklyn?". My entire existence was between Union Square and Grand Central.

But I navigated my way out to Brooklyn on the F train, which you can even get in Union Square, and scoped out Nicole's apartment and neighborhood. I discovered that, in addition to Manhattan amenities I'd grown accustomed to, like a New York Sports Club, a 24 hour pharmacy, plenty of bars and restaurants, and hot dudes, Park Slope also had something desirable that I didn't have near my Gramercy apartment back on the other side of the River: a vast park, just 2 blocks away. And like that, Nicole's apartment and neighborhood became my own.

Since I've moved to Brooklyn, my quality of life has improved dramatically. And I had a pretty sweet life to begin with. But I can't overstate how influential Prospect Park has been in my happiness (and my pursuit of hot athletic dudes with beards). While I had always enjoyed my runs along the East River, or down through Battery Park and up the West Side, Prospect Park is like my running existence perfected. More green spaces, fewer cars, more athletes, fewer hobos, more dudes who recognize my bad-assedness, fewer Preppy Killers, more challenging terrain (okay, that last part isn't always my idea of running perfection).

I wake up every morning and have no reason not to run (except when I'm hungover); the Park is right there. And it's beautiful. And it's full of other people enjoying it. And there are so many dogs! And there are so many trails and paths, in addition to the paved roads, that there are innumerable permutations of routes. Gone are the days of out-and-backs to the Williamsburg or Brooklyn Bridges. This morning, I hopped on a path, passed horses, swans, ducks, dogs, bunnies, and bikers (and one dude peeing), and popped out 5 miles later.

What's more? I walk for pleasure now. That feels lame to admit, because New Yorkers are expected to walk only from apartment to subway to office and then spend our days inside, slamming down phones and aggressively pointing to various computer monitors before taking a car service home (I think I watched a lot of movies about 1980s stock traders growing up...), but it's true. I go for walks instead of watching Seinfeld reruns (unless it's a really good one, like when Kramer feeds the horse the beans). Mondays are rest days for me, but just yesterday I ambled around the Park after work for almost an hour and a half. So much exercise makes me feel entitled to an extra mid-week beer!

It seems weird revealing how strongly I feel about Prospect Park, and Brooklyn, because I try to maintain my robot status to the outside world, but its high time someone stood up for this borough, so often shat on by Manhattanites and overshadowed by Manhattan. We, too, are part of "The City;" we are not all hipsters/parents/lesbians; we don't all have beards; hell, you can even use the same currency as the rest of the boroughs (this was shocking to me when I moved). In short, Brooklyn has every desirable quality known to (heavy-drinking, running wo-)man. And I have no shame in a little PDA.

Sunday Wrap Up: COL-LEGE!

Remember how earlier this week I got on my virtual soap box and preached about necessity and invention and being ready to run at a moment's notice? I ran precisely zero times in Michigan. (Of course, I don't regret packing my running shoes, because they did help me pick up a dude in the airport).

Instead of running, I fully immersed myself in the college culture of binge drinking and late night eating. I do believe I even sent the following tweet, sometime early on Friday morning:

"In a twin bed, elbow-deep in a bag of Doritos."

Furthermore, I awoke pant-less in a borrowed t-shirt on Saturday morning, still wearing Friday's makeup, and had to put on the same dress I'd been wearing all day Friday to attend a barbecue. And then I flew home without changing or washing my face. Flight of shame.

If that's not cross training... Well, then I've been doing it wrong all these years.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 27. Despite missing 2 days of workouts this week, I was just a mile short of my mileage target this week, thanks to long-ish runs on Saturday and Sunday, back in Brooklyn. Fun fact: on my run today, I saw a man riding a bike, with his dog sprinting alongside him. A few hundred yards after they passed me, I caught up to them again. The dog had stopped to take a shit in the middle of the road. It took a lot of willpower for me not to tell the owner, "It's okay; running has that effect on most people."

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 13. In Michigan. Plus whatever else happened before I left. I hate it when my step-back mileage weeks coincide with my heavy drinking weeks. No, I don't hate it.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: I made an amazing discovery in Michigan: Bell's Oberon is the best summer seasonal I've tasted. I know, I know; that's a bold statement. And I'm sorry, Geary's Summer Ale. I still love you. But the Oberon is just so perfectly balanced; some summer seasonals are too faux-citrusy, or too yeasty. Oberon walks the fine line of seasonal without that weird underlying cotton candy. I'm now on the hunt for a Bells distributor in New York; I have high hopes for Bierkraft.

Other beers this week included Short's Soft Parade - very sweet, almost syrupy dessert beer. One was a nice post-dinner beer, but that's all I'd drink. Keweenaw Pick Axe Blonde Ale was pretty good, but not noteworthy. And the obligatory Bud Light. It was college, after all.

The good news is, besides diligently studying Michigan's finest microbrews, I did at least have running on the brain over the weekend. And not just because so many people I'd met when I was visiting for Halloween asked me where my Vibrams were and whether or not I'd be putting them on for the bar. One of my sister's MBA classmates is going to work for Nike next year. I told him I looked forward to receiving a box of Tempo shorts as soon as he was settled in at his new job.

Happy Mother's Day to the most excellent mom out there - mine. She may be hard to spot on the marathon sidelines because she's so small, but she's no less awesome as a supporter. Thank you, Mom!

Fleet Command

There is an article in the Times today about the Navy Seals team that stormed Osama Bin Laden's compound on Monday. With the article is a picture of an unnamed Seal, taken from behind. GOD BLESS AMERICA! Dude's body is siiiick.

And so in honor of our servicemen and women who are bigger badasses than any of us (with sicker bodies than even the Kara Gouchers among us, and certainly than the Ryan Halls, since he has the most awkward body ever), I invite you to download this delightful version of Battleship: Fleet Command

It's only available on Windows Phone 7, but if you happen to have such a fancy phone, it's pretty satisfying to sink some ships and pretend you're answering the call of duty to your nation, and not, say, totally pretending to be busy writing an important email in an otherwise thankless meeting.

(The FCC would probably like me to disclose that IMan made this app himself, and while I was not paid to advocate for you to use it, sometimes when he's drunk he does indeed put out. Just FYI.)

In Which I Abscond Running, Embrace Poor Fashion Choices

They say necessity is the mother of invention, and a lifetime of necessity (my love of running combined with my early 20s bed hopping, which I only partially mean as "whoreishness," as well as 6 weeks without an apartment this Fall) have meant I'm quite adept at planning ahead to ensure I can get my run in. Like a well-oiled machine, I can throw together a kit with indoor or outdoor clothes, sneakers, sweats, a ponytail holder, my Garmin, a gym lock, and some moisturizer faster than I can run an 800. So when my new Kinvaras (my third pair in 6 months; their only drawback being how quickly they wear out, though that is, thankfully, reflected in their price point) arrived at my door earlier this week, I assembled a bag and brought it to my office on Wednesday, determined to take advantage of any chance to get a run in during the end of my hellishly busy week. I needed a run, so I would invent an opportunity to have one.

And so I found myself, on Wednesday at 8:00pm, walking out of my office in my new Kinvaras. And a sheath dress...

After getting caught in the rain in the morning, huffing up to midtown for an afternoon meeting, being wholly unable to find a cab back to the office, forgetting to eat lunch until 4:30, when I nourished myself with Tasti D-Light and cookie dough bites, and missing an evening function to finish up a grant application, it was 8pm, I hadn't fed my goldfish in 36 hours (still alive - miraculously), and I hadn't started packing for Michigan. So my first Kinvaras' first foray in the Big Apple was as supporting actors for the remake of the classic film "Working Girl." My commitment to 1980s fashion was reinforced by the fact that my Kinvaras are the same neon yellow color as a tennis ball.

But I was determined! Wednesday had been a scheduled run (6 miles of hills), but today - Thursday - was reserved for rest. So as I packed for Michigan, I transferred my office running gear into my duffle bag, figuring I'd do the old switcharoo and use today's rest day to run yesterday's workout!

Ah,but there was a hitch! Running sneakers are bulky and awkward to pack, and I wasn't checking a bag (I didn't want to take a carry-on either, since Spirit airlines is a bastion of American greed and consumerism and demands its passengers pay $30 to bring a carry-on, but I didn't think my dress for Friday's graduation would travel well layered over running clothes, pajamas, jeans, a blazer, and a raincoat). So I invented yet another solution, yet again at the cost of my sartorial sense (and ability to pick up cute dudes at the airport bar... At 8am on a Thursday...):



I packed my Tory Burch flats, and wore my Kinvaras to the airport. With jeans and a button down. I feel like I'm 11. And because I still haven't worn these shoes running, the citron yellow is very prominent.

The worst part of all this (if you can imagine, the potential for being on "What Not to Wear" isn't even the worst part) is that because I'm chronically early for everything, I'm sitting at the airport, my Kinvara-clad feet resting apron the world's most expensive carry-on which contains my running clothes, with an hour to kill before my flight even boards. Alas, there are no hills here at Gate B6, and so instead of running, I'm sitting, blogging, and hiding my feet under my chair.

So we'll see how the whole running thing plays out. Last time I was in Michigan, the only running I did was from a party to a bar. But even if that happens, I'll be prepared.

Post Script: I can't make this up: I was busy drafting this whole blog post while sitting in the terminal at LaGuardia when the man sitting next to me looked down and said, "Those are some bright sneakers." We spent the next hour talking, and I walked away with his business card and his offer to connect my non-profit to his high net worth clients. I take back everything I said: SNEAKERS RULE!

Sunday Wrap Up: Business as Usual

I woke up this morning, with all the lights still on, hungover and dehydrated, dreading my weekly LSD run. 13 days after Boston, it seems I am exactly back to my old self again.

Observations from today's run:

- Razor Scooters are the principle hazard to runners in Prospect Park. Seeing a child on a Razor instills fear in me like nothing else. Those things can veer off course so suddenly, there's no way to anticipate that you're about to be run off the road until after it's happened. Which, by definition, is not anticipating it. Also, they position a child's helmet clad head directly at crotch level. Nothing like taking a plastic-encased dome to the junk 3 miles into a 12 miler.

- We all know texting and driving is dangerous, no matter how skilled a thumb master you may be. Also dangerous? Texting and horseback riding. I saw a girl very nearly get knocked off her horse by a tree branch while texting today.

- Drummer's Grove in the Park is awesome when it's filled with authentic African drummers pounding out beats on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Running through clouds of pot smoke emitted from weirdo Brooklynite hippies trying to be "authentic" while they listen is not.

- Hangover thirst is the most powerful thirst known to man. It can only be quenched by Gatorade. And more beer.

And now, to the wrap up!

Number of Miles Run This Week: 32. Post-Boston recovery is going well, though I am pretty sore after my 12 miles today, and my stomach felt a little wonky when I was finished. I'm not sure if this is because my body is out of practice at running for 90-plus minutes, or because I spent 8 hours drinking yesterday, and capped that off with Mexican food.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 10. Ish? I started to lose count yesterday afternoon, which is about when I switched to margaritas. Which was definitely a healthy choice.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Blue Moon, Smuttynose Summer Weizen, and Brooklyn Lager. Not a single Bud Light! Which reminds me: What the difference between Bud Light and sex in a canoe? Both are fucking close to water! Thank you for that, Caroline.

Big week ahead: on Thursday, I'm headed to East Lansing for my sister's MBA graduation at Michigan State. COL-LEGE! I plan to drink plenty of beers from Bell's Brewery, and egg Kalen Lucas' house. And while I'm busy reliving the glory days, I-Man will be running the North Face Challenge 50 miler at Bear Mountain. 50 Miles. On a mountain. With "bear" in the name. I am really sad I won't be there to crew for him/cheer for him/claim his body when he's mauled by a bobcat, so please send your most survivalist vibes his way.

God, Andy Rooney is insufferable. He drives me to drink. Looks like my weekly totally will be going up by at least one beer...