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I know I promised y'all some poignant reflections and real deep shit ahead of tomorrow's marathon, but I actually don't have any. Must be the aforementioned low expectations.
I actually have pretty lofty expectations for the marathon experience tomorrow, if not my own performance. As I did in New York, I'm planning on running with my camera to take pictures along the course. How could you not, when it looks like this?
That's from my pre-race shake out this morning, which turned into 4 miles because I got lost. Genius.
Soon we'll head to a pasta feast, then bed at approximately 4pm because the race starts at 5:30am. Plus side? Beers with brunch can start by like 9:30am. Win.
The slogan of the San Francisco is "Worth the Hurt," and given the hills I've encountered just walking around, I don't doubt that running this is going to be more painful than not. But I'm also pretty confident it's going to be worth it. Well, maybe not for Megan and Ralph, who have to get up early just to see me run by. But a chance to see a beautiful city, in perfect weather, on my own two feet, supported by people I love? Worth it to me for sure.
Coming to you live (this actually won't be live by the time you read it, since I declined to pay for Delta wi-fi) from somewhere over Indiana, according to my HeadRest TV (it's like Taxi TV, but doesn't make you car sick). It is, no exaggeration, astonishing that I didn't kill myself or those around me this week, but by some miracle, I actually lived through yesterday, managing to:
- pack for this trip (this might not have been as successful as I think. San Francisco is apparently not warm, and this race starts at 5:30am. I planed to race in a singlet. I did not plan to render all race photos NSFW due to cold-induced nipple erections.)
- move everything in my apartment down the hall to my new room (which I learned the hard way is more of an undertaking than it sounds. IMan didn't seem to know why I was stressed about this. Perhaps that's because when IMan moved earlier in the month, his dedicated and thoughtful girlfriend provided ample assistance and bagels...)
- get all my work done (Well, technically I'm not quite done and I'm working on the plane, which blows, and which means the elderly man next to me is inching further and further away from me as he reads over my shoulder and spies the words "men who have sex with men" and "HIV prevalence")
- get to the airport (this should be a non-issue, but I'm me, so naturally it was a process. One that involved waking up at 4:00am, standing in the pouring rain looking for a cab to no avail, getting on the bus instead, missing my stop even though I was looking out the window at the street names, waiting 20 minutes for a LIRR train that never came, and then going back out into the rain to hail a cab, which I did manage to find, and which still cost $50, which means that with the added expense of my unused train ticket, it was even more expensive than usual. Fuck frugality. Oh also, then I went through the security line with the TSA agent on her first day of work ever, which resulted in my sprinting through JFK to catch my flight. To a marathon. I'm not doing striders on Sunday morning, and anyone who judges me for it can be destined to a lifetime of nothing but in-flight breakfast sandwiches. Seriously, it smells so strongly of egg farts on this aircraft, I think the terrorists are winning.
So far, this is a rockin' vacation.
But onward! There's lots to look forward to in the days ahead (aside from emailing grant proposals, I mean). Megan sent me a very comprehensive list of things to check out while I'm on the Left Coast, so I can't wait to get cracking on those with her upon my arrival. Most of them involve hiking or drinking beers, neither of which are activities typically recommended in the days immediately before a marathon, but when in Rome. California. Whatever.
Ooh, we're over Illinois now!
I'll give y'all the traditional pre-marathon deep thoughts tomorrow. In the meantime, send any can't miss San Francisco sights my way. Hint: I love looking at the insides of bars.
Sorry for the delayed Wrap Up this week; there were some technical difficulties with Blogger, which stem no doubt not from Blogger, but from my own inability to use the Internet. Onward!
While I was standing in the kitchen last night grazing (side note: "dinner" was cous cous, then some beans, then some dried berries, then some yogurt covered pretzels; I kept opening the cupboard, expecting something delicious to have appeared. It didn't work, but that did not prevent me from eating), I felt a shooting, stabby pain course through my shin. Inability to feel full? Phantom pains? It must be race week!
Number of Miles Run Last Week: 24. Ahh, the ole "fewer than I'll run in one day this week." You never like to see that. It would have been more, had I not excused myself from the treadmill on Saturday to invest heavily in Pepto Bismal.
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 8, plus all the great beers we sampled at the Madison Wine Exchange "From Hops To Hope" event on Sunday. So that equals 534. Give or take.
Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: I'm keeping this one a secret until I have the time to give the Beer Event a full report, and I don't have that time now. What I do have now is the urgent need to both pack for a marathon and 5 day trip across the country to a place 30 degrees colder than New York, while simultaneously packing up my apartment so our new roommate can move in while I'm gone. If you want a sure fire way to secure raging insomnia and unrelenting anxiety (two more signs of race week, incidentally), that's a pretty strong combo.
I will, however, reveal that I drank two Pacificos on Saturday night because I was very dehydrated from salty margaritas. I asked the bartender for a "real watery beer." I fear I may lose my beer blogging credentials for admitting that, but at least it wasn't a) Coors Light, or b) actual water.
A ten year old on a bicycle just crashed into me while I was running through Prospect Park. Children on/in wheeled vehicles (strollers, bikes, skateboards, and/or scooters) are the quintessential Park Slope accessory for early thirty-somethings, so this was really not remarkable. What was, however, was that this particular child was distracted by a quintessential hipster-spawn accessory of her own: a cell phone.
Girlfriend was checking her texts with one hand while steering her big girl two-wheeler directly into my lower extremities. I'd be more mad, if it weren't sort of adorable watching her try to navigate her cell phone out of the pockets of her Osh Kosh shorts while keeping her bike upright. And failing.
He wants his weather back. 
(click to enlarge)
Looks like I better make Friday a rest day, and take advantage of the cooler temps today and tomorrow. When it'll only be in the 90s...
I've talked a lot on the blog about my medical/scientific/academic/astrological qualifications. I've already offered you, the Reader, a great many wondrous factoids/tips/peer-reviewed (that means I had my doctoral candidate friend Caroline proof-read) studies free of charge. Well, ladies and gentlemen, this next nugget of truth is going to blow your runner mind: I've discovered the cure for Taper Madness.
I shouldn't share this with you. It could, after all, make me rich, like the revered Doctor Harold W. Penicillin (I could be getting his name wrong here) or That Guy Who Invented Silly Putty. But I'm not in this for the money (unless any editors out there reading this are looking for quick-witted, freelancing sports enthusiasts, in which case you can email me at willrunforbeerblog at gmail dot com, subject: You're brilliant and hilarious, and also skinny and hot). No, Reader, I do this because I love running and beer and I want you to discover how happy these two things can make you as well. And for all you hard-working marathoners out there, staving off Taper Madness is crucial to enjoying the marathoning life. And so it is with this in mind that I share with you the cure for Taper Madness:
Low expectations.
Trust me when I tell you, I've dealt with a lot of Taper Madness in my life. Not only have I suffered from mild to moderate symptoms many times since 2007; I've grappled with particularly aggressive strains of this disease three times now: in 2009 in the lead up to Chicago, Taper Madness almost impregnated me; in 2010 before Wineglass, I threatened to break up a wedding; and who could forget the 2011 Pre-Boston Taper? Not me... Or the pet goldfish I ended up with as a result.
But what's important to note about these three bouts with Taper Madness is that they were all before big races in my illustrious (yes, I said "illustrious") career (again, you read that right) as a marathoner: my first sub-4 hour marathon; my first Boston Qualifier; and my first Boston.
And yet, my 20 miler this past weekend marked the end of the mileage ramp up for San Francisco, and the beginning of the taper. And here I am, cool as a cucumber (well technically I'm sweating violently at the knee pits, but that's because New York City is like a giant, fish-smelling greenhouse in the summer). After my long run, I didn't concern myself with an ice bath or adequate rest or rehydration. I walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, stood online for an hour at Grimaldi's, ate 4 slices of pizza, and drank beers. And I feel awesome. And do you know why?
Because I have set low expectations for the race. 4 hours? Sounds great! I'll take my sweet ass time up those San Franciscan hills, letting those trollies just blow by me. Screw sour dough; I'll fuel up with Ghiradelli chocolates the night before, wash 'em down with Napa wine, maybe even have a few Sausalito cookies for dessert (did I get enough touristy San Francisco references in there?) I'm going to San Francisco to see my buddy Megan and have a good time, and that doesn't have to mean "chip time." So I'm going to enjoy the next two weeks before I get there. A little running, sure, a little chilling, and plenty of ice cold beer. Just like heaven.
(BOOM! That Cure reference was spot on!)
Number of Miles Run Last Week: 40. Only 4 days of running, instead of the usual 5. I spent yesterday stand up paddle boarding, which was super fun and made me feel like I was getting a celebrity workout in. After 2 minutes, I asked IMan if I had Cameron Diaz's body yet. He pretended he couldn't hear me over the roar of the ocean.
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 10.
Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Mostly Brooklyn Lagers and Shock Tops. Saturday night, I had a Left Hand Stranger Pale Ale. I even managed to stifle my laughter when I ordered it. It took a lot of willpower to not blurt out "Get it?! I want to give myself a Stranger! With my non-dominant hand!" I'm perpetually a 15 year old boy. And just imagine how bad it was when I actually was 15, and we read Camus' "L'Etranger" in French class.
Well now I'm off to enjoy my taper. Maybe go for an easy run, then see what new beers the bodega at 7th and Berkeley has. Can't forget to feed my goldfish, though...
Recovery runs are a key tool in any runner's arsenal. They allow our bodies and minds an opportunity to restore themselves while still being active, preparing us to be better able to deal with the rigors of our sport. But what, exactly, are we recovering from?
- Yesterday's difficult run?
- Yesterday's happy hour?
- A tough week at the office?
- The terrifying experience of being chased through the park by a bloodthirsty dog?
- The indignity of being passed by a unicycle on a hill?
- The disgusting discarded dead fish carcass/apple core/latex glove/other trash that presented a dangerous sidewalk obstacle?
Never one to skimp on a workout, I maximized my recovery run today by using it to recover from all of those things. Below, a breakdown in pie chart form, reflecting the percentage of this morning's run spent recovery from the above mentioned stressors: 
Author's Note: it appears this is 150%. Told you I really maximized my workout...
Last night for dinner, I had cheddar cheese popcorn. I slept for 6.5 hours. I woke up at 5:25am and ate two cookies. I put on my running gear and ran 8.76 glorious miles.
If I can feel this good from snack foods, imagine what I can do with a beer or two.
I think I have a new race day strategy...
This?
Not cool.
After ten hilly miles in direct sunlight, I stopped by the house to refill my water bottle, saw the thermometer (is that melted?!) and decided to wrap up the last hour of my run on the treadmill. After I finished, I excused myself to go dry heave in the driveway.
Number of Miles Run This Week: 42. It's like I'm a real runner person again! 17 miles today was the longest I've run in longer than I should admit. It was also a particular challenge after a Saturday that included helping IMan move (not as grueling as it sounds; mostly I folded shirts and offered the movers coffee and bagels), running, playing an hour of tennis, kicking ass at Cornhole, and balancing bottles of Bud Light while dancing and not throwing up. If a quintathlon isn't already an endurance sport, I've found the five disciplines. Anyway, I came away from the Sunday long run experience with a wicked blood blister on my toe, and an insatiable appetite. Are there any Klondike bars here?
Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 13. But if I can't find Klondike bars in the freezer, I know here are beers in the fridge, and I have many depleted calorie reserves to restore.
Types of Beers Consumed This Week: The aforementioned Bud Light, Heineken, Smuttynose Old Brown Dog Ale (purely for research purposes, given my fall marathon. Obviously), Shock Top, and Sankaty Light Lager, which I actually don't think is a "light" beer, but rather a reference to a lighthouse on Nantucket. Good marketing on Cisco Brewers' part; not the best name for health conscious drunks. Just kidding - those don't exist. Now, about those Klondike Bars...
Some people have a very tense relationship with their bathroom scale. To them I say: Stop! You're beautiful the way you are, and the number on a scale is just that - a number. It doesn't tell the whole story of how hot and fit and fast and strong and flexible you are.
(That said, if you'd like a different number, just move the scale around to different spots on the floor until you come up with one you like. I've lost 3 pounds in 15 seconds by using this method.)
For me, the scale isn't the enemy*, but a vital tool in my arsenal, providing insights into my training. For example, a scale can tell you about your hydration levels. This morning, I decided to conduct an experiment to this effect: I weighed myself before I ran, I ran 8 miles in very high humidity, and I came home and weighed myself again. In the course of an hour and 10 minutes, I lost 2.2 pounds. So yes, I started out at 100 and returned to 97.8...
This tells me several things. First, I need to replace more than 32 ounces of fluid. And beer doesn't count. That's a lot to have sweat out. Think about my poor laundry guy! And second, I'm only weighing myself dehydrated from now on. I can't wait until my next bout with the stomach flu!
*Except when I'm having a fat day, during which I'll actually smash the scale repeated on the ground while crying into a box of Klondike bars.
6 miles on the 'mill at the NYSC on Wall Street, after a cocktail reception downtown for work. Aside from almost getting on the treadmill in high heels instead of Kinvaras, I'd say this was a success. And I'm all for work events that involve craft beers (note to self: go to more downtown events, where the target constituency is dudes in suits. Because they drink beers, but also because they are dudes in suits! Squeeee!). But next time, remind me to hit the step and repeat before I hit the bar. Photos of me in a suit and a stein should not be serviced to any media outlets...
Number of Miles Run Last Week: 33. I ran about 5 of them with a random woman from Cooperstown I picked up on the road. She was on a 9 miler, and hopes to do her first half marathon in the fall. We had a great time talking (mostly she talked, I sucked wind - Cooperstown is hilly) and it made the miles fly by. Also, a tough 12 miler made me feel entitled to start drinking as soon as I returned.
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: I often make some flip remark, like "a billion" when I don't know my weekly beer count. I think a billion is actually pretty accurate for last week. A beer on Monday, 4 on Thursday, and 33 million each on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
Which reminds me: the funniest thing my Dad heard all weekend (that he remembers - he also drank a billion drinks) came from Steve's mouth, after the fireworks on the lake. We got back to the house, drunk and fully and sleepy from being in the sun and active all day, and Steve said, "I'm so tired; I can only stay up for 5 more beers."
Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Saranac! Ommegang! Cooperstown! Sam Adams! Yuengling! Wait, what? Whatever, those are all American.
Number of WRFB Koozies I Pawned Off on Friends and Family Last Week: 15! I don't even care what you drink out of them!
(Don't worry; I have approximately 100 left. Email me if you want one. Or email me for any reason, and I will send you one whether you want one or not)
Number of Klondike Bars Consumed Last Week: 4. I love America.
