Tuesday Wrap Up: Blown Off Track

So, yeah. While Hurricane Irene was sort of a bust in New York (from where I evacuated), it was sort of nuts in Connecticut (to where I evacuated). You may have gathered by the abrupt discontinuation of my exemplary hurricane preparedness strategies presented in this blog that we lost both power and cell service thanks to Irene. So much for those ZOMG HURRICANE!!!! Facebook albums I was preparing to upload.

The Walsh Family Refugee Camp, which ended up housing both me and IMan, after he received evacuation orders on Saturday afternoon, has been cut off from power since about 5:00am Sunday. Worse, though, is that they're marooned; a tree fell (onto the power lines) directly across the driveway, barricading them in.







Thankfully, IMan parked his car in a lot about a mile away during the storm, so we were able to walk down to get it and contact the outside world (I found a 3G hotspot halfway down the street that became my lifeline during an otherwise exceedingly boring Sunday afternoon). I think more than anything else, my parents were glad this meant that I could get in IMan's car and leave; I'm extremely whiny when marooned.

It took until Monday evening for trains to be running back into the city, but I decided I'd rather spent one more night in suburbia where I could watch the Giants game with friends (I relocated to Ryan's house to prevent IMan from breaking up with me; I'm also extremely whiny when the Giants lose. While I was glad I had my jersey in my evacuation kit after all, I'm beginning to think I should invest in a David Carr jersey, and bench the Manning jersey. Tom Coughlin, perhaps you should do the same.

Anyway, after much hype, little electricity, many beers, few miles, and sleeping in 3 different beds (thanks for the Monday night slumber party, Ryan!) I'm back in New York. And I need to get back on track.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 21. Ouch. Missing this weekend's 20 miler hurt. I still got in a fast 11, and with my San Francisco race and other good, long workouts under my belt over the last 6 weeks or so, I'm not too worried, but it's discouraging to see a low number. I also probably should have run yesterday to make up for missing Sunday's run, but between the refugee status, the need to actually get some work done (hello, everyone else being in the office), and the mental preparation I needed for the Giants game (also, the beers and fish tacos I needed before the Giants game...), it didn't happen. I need to get it together for the next two weeks, until the taper hits. Also, I need to lay off the beers and fish tacos. And the appetizer sampler we ate after that...

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: If Monday night counts, we're looking at 18, easy. I don't want to play this game this week because I'm feeling guilty for not running much.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: One of the things I wanted to blog about before our connection to the outside world was destroyed was hurricane survival beers. For example, if you're going to be stuck for awhile, Stout is an obvious choice, but don't forget about a Scotch Ale, or even a hearty Brown Ale. I went with Smuttynose Old Dog Brown Ale, and Stoudt's Fat Dog Stout (also, I like dogs). Another survival strategy for beer would be if you're without water. Then you'd wanna go with something cheap, that has a lot of water in it. My personal preference is Bud Light, but IMan went with Miller Light. Something I wouldn't recommend in a survival situation would be a light "craft" beer, which sounds like an oxymoron in itself, but I recently learned that it does exist - sort of. My dad's been all about Sam Adams Light of late, and while I have to hand it to him in that it does have a decently robust flavor for a light beer, there's a lot of controversy over whether or not Sam Adams still qualifies as a craft brewery, a designation which is made based on production numbers - fewer than 2 million barrels/year earns the craft designation. Sam Adams lobbied to raise the production limit to 6 million barrels/year. In any case, I wouldn't recommend this beer in a disaster situation; it's more pronounced flavor makes it less "drinkable" than its mass-market light beer counterparts, so you don't get the rehydration benefits, but it's status as a light beer means you don't get the caloric intake you get from a hearty, bold beer. Nonetheless, I tried it over the weekend. Just to see.

And yes, I put far too much thought into that analysis.

Anyway, this concludes my autobiography as a refugee. Hopefully my parents will get power again soon, otherwise I fear the Walsh Family Refugee Camp will have to move to Brooklyn.

Dispatches from the Disaster Zone

Coming to you live from Fairfield County, Connecticut...

- The gas stations here are out of regular gas. Which is weird, since so many people here drive cars that cost more than four years of college, and therefore take premium gasoline. Though I suppose those aren't the cars you're driving in a hurricane. You're probably just filling up your beater with regular gas, in case of the apocalypse. Though wouldn't it suck if the last memory people have of you is of your fleeing town in, God forbid, a Suburu?*

- It was already humid and a little rainy when I woke up this morning (heretofore known as "my potential last day on earth"), so instead of running outside, I went to the gym. I spent 90 minutes on the treadmill, running 11 miles while watching BREAKING HURRICANE COVERAGE the entire time. If the power goes out, I want to feel like I used up my fair share of electricity in the days leading up to it.

- Which is part of the reason why I'm going to blowdry my hair after my shower. Also, because I want to look cute in the ZOMG HURRICANE!!!! Facebook photo albums people post on Monday.

- There were lots of other people at the gym this morning. Not sure if they are unconcerned about hurricane preparedness, or they are preparing by readying themselves to outrun the hurricane. In which case, they're doing it wrong; everyone knows you need a taper that's longer than one day to be at your racing peak.

- I think I left my laptop on the floor in my apartment. Can laptops swim?

- The Giants game has been reschedule to Monday at 7pm. I'm pissed because watching football was an integral part of my hurricane preparedness action plan. And also, because I packed my Manning jersey in my Go Bag, but now it turns out I could have packed something that would actual be useful in a hurricane. Like season 4 of South Park on DVD.

Those are all the updates so far. Rumor has it the hurricane will have passed through the region by dinnertime tomorrow. Probably every single tree that hasn't already fallen on the road will be hanging by the tiniest little root, so a run outside probably isn't going to happen, but maybe we'll have power and I could even hop on the treadmill. Which is in the basement....

So maybe I'll swim tomorrow!

*Chill - my mom drives a Suburu.

In Case of Emergency

Well, shit. What a start to the weekend. Lower Manhattan was evacuated at 2:00 this afternoon, and all public transit will stop running by noon tomorrow. Mayor Mike told us we have to stay inside between 9pm Saturday and 9pm Sunday. Thank God I just got a new umbrella, which I'm sure will be useful in hurricane-force winds.
So I'm evacuating myself to Connecticut, where they'll still lose power, but someone else (Dad) has already purchased all the pantry staples for an emergency situation: snacks, and beer.

Obviously, as a refugee, I'm now an expert in what needs to go into your "Go Bag." Here's what's in mine:

- Sneakers. I'm meant to run 20 miles on Sunday. That's probably not feasible, since Irene is meant to slam into us Sunday morning, but I'm hoping I can go long tomorrow before she hits. There is still a tight window: the Giants' game got moved up to 2:00pm tomorrow, so I can't fritter away the day.

- Gu. If anyone survives this, it's gonna be us runners, since we're used to eating disgusting shit as fuel for survival.

- Fully charged iPad, iPhone, iPod. Blogs, eBooks, Twitter, the NYTimes, crossword puzzles, texting, and tunes. You might also suggest I use these tools for one other thing: porn. To which I'd respond, "I'm going to my parents' house tonight, creep."

- Digital camera. You don't want to be the only asshole without a "ZOMG HURRICANE!!!!" album on Facebook.

- Receipt from the dentist this morning. This isn't a survival tool; it just happens to be in there. I hope the world doesn't get washed away over the weekend, because my insurance company owes my hot dentist $720 for a filling, and I'd hate to be at all responsible for unsettled debts. That shit will get you into Purgatory. I bet it rains all the time in Purgatory.

That's really it. There's boring stuff like clothes and a toothbrush, and also some wellies and a raincoat. Stilettos, since I obviously wore slut shoes to the hot dentist this morning.

People were all "you need water!" Hello, have you heard of hurricanes before? Their principle identifying factor is rain. Go outside, open your mouth, swallow (that's what he said).

They say "you need batteries!" I own 2 things that run on batteries. One is the TV remote, and If we have cable and electricity at all, I can get up to change the channel, which will help me to ensure I log all my miles this weekend despite being trapped at home. The other is... In the same category as porn, so I didn't bring that to my parents' house either.

People said "but what about a flashlight?!" Obviously those people have never dropped something in a dark bar. Do you have a cell phone? Then you have a flashlight.

So basically, I'm a Boy Scout.

Be safe this weekend, everyone!

Race Report: 10 Dollar 10K, or My Accidental Win

In an effort to continue my streak of running a race every month, and with the number of days left in August rapidly dwindling, I decided on Monday to race tonight's 10 Dollar 10k, put on by NYCRuns. I'd never run an NYCRuns race before, but I follow them on Twitter, and the fellow in charge, Steve, is funny. That's really all it takes in terms of race directors (and regular people) to win me over. Plus, this race cost $10. Which is $23 less than NYRR races. I was sold. Never mind that it was in a park I'd never been to before, let alone run in, and it was on a Wednesday evening. I recruited a work friend, Nathan, and we snuck out of the office a few minutes early for the 7:00pm start.

$10, as you might imagine, doesn't buy you too many fancy perks, but I was impressed with what it did get me. A bib, a timing chip, an accurately measured course, "bag check" (really just a bench under which people deposited their bags. I left all my things, like my iPad, at work just in case, but no one reported any problems), volunteers, water, and even some potato chips at the finish (I declined, owing to stomach pains, owing to the fact that I grazed at my desk all day long, not for one second considering the fact that I was racing a 10k tonight).

The field was small - I think I read on Twitter there were 120 registered by late afternoon, so figure not many more than that turned out - and I got to see TK at the start (she easily found me, though her ever-present pigtails would have attracted my attention eventually). We even joked that we could start literally on the starting line, since there was room upfront. We didn't want to be those people, however, so we started a few rows back. Promptly at 7:00, and with a "3, 2, 1... GO!," we were off and running.

Nathan and I started together, and chatted as we set out. Less than half a mile in, he said (squealed, really), "Claire, we're the first girls!" Immediately after he said it, we veered to the right and faced a mountain. It sucked.

We stayed together, with the leaders in eyeshot, for another mile, alternately wheezing and joking about how weird it was to run a race where you could literally get lost; the field was thin, and it was getting dark, especially in the woods.

(That's what we writers call "foreshadowing...")

After about 2 1/2 miles, Nathan and I separated. I was still the lead woman, which was so, so weird and unintentional, and I anticipated getting blown by eventually. Still, I tried to keep a 7:30 pace, and kept my eyes peeled for Girl Number 2 to see how much longer my 15 minutes of running fame (in my mind) would last. Coming into a curve around 3 miles, a course marshal yelled "first woman!" Oooh, he's talking about me!

I stayed close to three guys a little older than me and we came through the start/finish for loop 2. I figured I'd hang on and let them pull me along. When we got to the mountain for the second time, I wanted them to literally pull me along.

About 4 miles in, still the lead woman, I started to think "well it'd be cool to actually win; what's a strategy to make that happen?" I worked as hard as I could on the uphills, and decided to recover on the straightaways, so I could cruise downhill as well. I usually like to recover downhill, but in racing with men tonight, I saw they all used the downhills to their advantage and to get some distance between us (no one likes to be chicked).

Coming back up into the wooded area from the water the second time, the same marshal told me "still the leader!" With just one other guy, I headed into the last turn. Or what I thought was the last turn.

After the turn, the course spit us back out onto the straightaway towards the finish and I thought we were in the clear. I was leading this guy now, and had no one visibly in front of me. At the last second - I'm talking, nearly break an ankle turning so hard, last second - a course marshal sent us to the right, into the woods again. Though there were bright orange arrows on the ground, I was so focused on the finish I had stopped looking for them.

Thankfully we made the turn together and tackled a few rollers, trading places. Finally, dude told me to take it, and that his hip was hurting. I told him to hang on, we had half a mile to go.

We veered left again down a slight hill and I could see the finish chute. And then, I could see the backs of the shirts of two (two!) guys blow by me. Sneaky bitches (no one likes to get "duded" either. I just made that term up, but the sentiment is true)! But they raced a good raced and deserved it. And they weren't girls.

One final push (hardly a push, as I was feeling pukey), and I crossed the line in 46:52 by my watch. Not a PR, but good enough to be the first woman over the line. I won a race!

All the dudes I'd been running with were super gracious, and we thanked each other for the race. Hip hurting man came in maybe a minute later, and I was glad to see he was able to run across the line. Maybe 2 or 3 minutes later, the Number Two Girl came across the line.

Shortly thereafter, Steve from NYCRuns came over to a group of finishers to chat. Apparently, some of them missed a turn somewhere - I assume the spot where I nearly missed the turn myself, but it was hard to figure exactly where, since there were so many loops and turns on the course. I was a little scared maybe I'd missed it somewhere, but my Garmin seems to think I ran a full 10k. But of course, in the only race I've ever been the women's winner, people got lost. So I guess I only "won." In any case, there seemed to be no hard feelings about it, from racers nor organizers.

I kept my eyes peeled on the finish chute and spied TK come across the line, the third female overall. And shortly thereafter, Nathan.

We grabbed water and chatted for a few minutes, and Steve updated recent finishers with the news about the unintentional detours. He apologized and said he wasn't sure how it happened, since all the course marshals were experienced volunteers. My interactions with all of them were great - they were both supportive and informative (I only wish I hadn't been sucking wind so hard I could barely thank them). I'm sure it was just an issue of running out of daylight. In any case, Steve said he wasn't sure what it was going to mean for timing, but results will be posted online tomorrow. Lest my victory turn out to be fleeting, I better celebrate tonight!

It was approaching 8pm, so I said my goodbyes and got ready to leave. "Are you running back to the office?" Nathan asked. Crap. I forgot I'd earlier considered knocking out my 8 miles at race pace tonight, since I'd be doing 6.2 ahead of race pace anyway. "Nah, I don't need to. I won the race; I deserve a break."

Thanks NYCRuns for a solid, no-frills event. I'll definitely be racing another event with you in the future. Hopefully I can be the legit women's winner next time.

But until then, this totally counts.

Guest Post: Twenty-Six and Then Some

Do you know Page over at Twenty-Six and Then Some? I don't really either. But that didn't stop me from offering my guest-blogging services to her while she's on her honeymoon. And, because she also doesn't really know me, and therefore is unaware that I'm crass in language, slow in running, and drunk in bars (and other places), she agreed!

You can read my extremely serious and useful marathoning advice on her blog today here. Spoiler alert: there's an excellent Microsoft Paint depiction of my Boston Marathon finish. Enjoy it!

Brew Review: Brooklyn Weisse

While I'm known for being very modest (see short shorts, opposite body dismorphia, speed work), last night, I thought of something that was, in my estimation, pure genius.

I was headed out to the 'burbs for a little bar trivia (and cheese fries!), which necessitates an hour-ish voyage on Metro North, which necessitates beer just to get through it (commuting is for the plebes). Normally, I'm relegated to drinking Bud Light, because that's what they serve in the bar car (also, because it costs $2.25 in Grand Central. Cheapest beer in New York, right there in Midtown). Believe me, I have no shame when it comes to drinking Bud Light. But I was craving something with a little more umph. I'm having a very busy couple of weeks, and needed a treat. Enter: the Saloon at the Oyster Bar.

I've mentioned in the past the best-kept secret I learned from my dad about the bathroom in here (I know I have, since I remember once blogging from the bar, but I can't find the link to it. In short, the bathroom is clean and full of products like lotion and hairspray, and not full of homeless people, and you can sneak in the back exit to the Loon to get right to the bathroom, thereby avoiding dirty Grand Central bathrooms. But don't tell everyone and ruin tit for the rest of us!), and since I both had to pee, and had some time to kill before my train, I decided to pop in for a pint. Some people think going to bars alone is weird and possibly the first step towards needing 12 Steps; I think the occasional solo bar excursion is relaxing, and we have enough technology in our arsenals to look like we're busy doing something very important and not drinking alone on a Tuesday. Even when we're just drawing pictures on our iPads with Adobe Ideas.

In any case, I took a look at the beers on tap, and went with the Brooklyn Weisse, which I can't remember having before. Though I live and drink in Brooklyn, I don't much care for Weisse beers, so I usually opt for Brooklyn Lager, or Brooklyn's summer ale, which is named something baseball related - either Pennant Ale or Pinstripe Ale. Well if I don't much care for Weisse beer, why did I order it? Though there was a pretty solid number of taps, nothing else really ticked my fancy:

Brooklyn Lager - drink it all the time

Checker Cab Blonde - had it once and hated it

Sunset Red - pretty sure I already reviewed it, the last time I blogged from the Saloon

Palm - already reviewed it

Chimay - already reviewed it

Blue Moon - the Bud Light of summer seasonals. I don't mean that in a flavored water way, but in a "often consumed (by me), in mass quantities" way

Guinness - the Bud Light of Ireland. Ditto to the note above. Not that it's flavorless and cheap; just not the new and exciting something I was looking for.

Bud Light - Bud Light. In the flavored water way.

So I ordered the Brooklyn Weisse, with lemon. At first sip, the fresh-squeezed lemon was way too overpowering - it tasted like drinking Pledge. But eventually the flavor mellowed and I think the lemon really enhanced the subtle citrus flavors, while countering the undercurrent of Weisse that I hate - banana and bubble gum. (Ugh, can't we try a different flavor profile. Anything! It's revolting.) However, this was well balanced, while a nice acidity to it, so neither of those yeast characteristics were too strong or obvious. This was also served very cold, which contributed to that refreshing, this-is-why-people-drink-this sentiment.

In short, I was pleasantly surprised by this beer, in that it was highly drinkable. That said, it was also sort of uninspired. When I'm trying a new beer, I want to sip it, ponder it, then be compelled to sip it again and ponder more - what is that flavor? What is that smell? This was sip, ponder, chug, burp under my breath, draw attention from midtown dudes in suits - not the good kind of attention, either. This beer is aimed at seasonal beer drinkers, who want that "I am refreshed!" feeling.

After my pint, I paid up and headed for my train. Where I drank a Bud Light. Which was both great for my beer blogger cred, and great for that 10k race I have tonight. Not as great as the cheese fries and sliders I had... Oh this race will be a delight.

Non-Running Rant: Football Season

Some may say we're lucky to have a football season at all this year, after a seemingly interminable lockout that chopped training camp in half. I'd say it's only lucky if you're not a Giants fan.

Here's some of the "luck" we've had so far this season (hint, it's not good luck):

- Prince Akakakakamara (possibly not his real name) broke his foot. This was day 1 of training camp. Day 1. Also things with a 1 in them? The round of the draft in which he got picked up. So that was totally useful...

- We were already paying (decrepit, old) people enormous sums of money, which left us no room to negotiate, so we had to let go of people. Hot ones, like Kevin Boss. He was one of Eli's go-to guys. Also, he was hot.

- Also lost? Steve Smith went to NFC East rival Philadelphia, of all places. Remember that late season loss to Philly last year? And remember the playoffs? No, you don't, because we didn't make them.

- And let's not forget everyone's favorite gunman, Plaxico Burress, who escaped from Alcatraz and went to the Jets. Anyone watch that game Sunday night? Cool...

- The possible upshot of this is that with Smith, Burress, and Boss all gone, Manning won't have many of his favorite receivers. Maybe he'll be forced to throw the ball less. Which would be a delight, since he lead the league in interceptions last year. 25.

- And the icing on this cake? Last night, Jean-Francois Phillipe Pierre-Paul (that's also possibly not his real name), a Giant himself, got tangled up with Terrell Thomas, among the only Giant defenders who isn't like 45 years old (I'm looking at you, Osi...*), and tore Thomas' ACL. Out for the season.

Tom Coughlin, I see you have new glasses. "The better to watch this season go straight to shit, my dear!"

Granted, the Giants still beat Chicago last night, but this is only because Jay Cutler is still mending a broken heart after breaking up with that chick from the Hills who posed in a magazine in wedding dresses the week before she got dumped. Awkward.

Now you're saying, "this has nothing to do with running or beer." Oh, but you're wrong! Every Sunday between August and February, my day is carefully structured: 1) Running 2) Football and Beer. It's not a very complex structure, but still; sometimes I throw in some bar snacks. The point is, I don't mean to be extreme, but this is what I live for. Run long, reward self with football and beer. It just looks like this season, I'll be drinking much, much more beer...

* Umenyiora will actually be 30 in November. I feel like a dinosaur.

Sunday Wrap Up: The Lazy Long Distance Runner

I garner some raised eyebrows when I tell people I'm lazy. They're surprised not because I come across as some giant-sized Kelly Ripa, bastion of ceaseless enthusiasm for everything (also, I don't have an outie, thank God), and certainly not because I have a body that looks like I'm always on the go. But people tend to think long-distance running requires a certain element of... industrious. Totally wrong. Long-distance running only requires stubbornness. The principle motivating factor among long distance runners of my ilk (that is, those with a penchant for cheese fries and craft beer) is the perverse, unyielding need to demonstrate to myself and others that yes, I can run long even if I'm tired/hungry/dehydrated/not exactly Shalane Flanagan's body double/mortally wounded. I run long every weekend not because I'm some kind of super motivated self-starter, but because if I'm supposed to log a certain number of miles, I'm going to do it come hell or high water (or hangover).

This stubbornness does not preclude my laziness. In fact, the laziness actually tends to enhance the stubbornness. For example, this morning I had to run 20 miles. That's, like, far. I could leave my apartment and run for 20 miles, over the Brooklyn Bridge and down the East River and through Battery Park and up the Hudson and finish it all up with a loop in Central Park. But then I'd be 20 miles away from my apartment, where food and beers and a shower live, and I'd have to get myself back. And since I'm lazy, that was really unappealing. I couldn't even put in the energy to think about getting home, on fresh legs; I'd never be motivated to actually get home after 20 miles.

But my bullheadedness meant that I did have to run 20 miles today, if only to demonstrate to everyone at the party I left at 11:00pm last night that a) I really did need to leave early, and b) I really did consider those Yueng Lings as carbs. So what is the lazy long distance runner to do?

I ran 20 miles entirely in and around Prospect Park, 2 blocks from my apartment.

For those who aren't familiar with the crown jewel of Brooklyn, one loop in Prospect Park is 3.3 miles.

For those who aren't mathematicians, that means it takes 6+ loops of Prospect Park to make 20 miles.

For those who aren't cartographers, that's 2 loops inside the park, 2 loops of the park perimeter, and 1 more loop inside the park.

For those who aren't long distance runners (lazy or otherwise), that was a terrible idea. It was beyond tedious.

But I finished the run at my front door, where I hopped immediately into the shower and promptly filled my gullet with food. Laziness rules!

Number of Miles Run This Week: 42. There was some kind of organized long run in Prospect Park today, maybe in conjunction with Team in Training. The good news was that this meant there were lots of people outside cheering, which was weird since it wasn't a race, but also sort of nice. The bad news was that the participants were running 10 miles. On my second loop of the Park, I passed the 1 mile marker for their run. A girl next to me said to her boyfriend "ughhhh, I can't believe we still have 9 more miles." Girl, try 15. Also, one of the participants was carrying a musket, wearing a powdered wig, and asking people if they'd seen the British. That's a true story.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 9. But good news - preseason football means my Sunday night beer intake will be bolstered!

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Yueng Ling, Bud Heavy, Brooklyn Lager, Abita Harvest (not to be confused with the Chapstick-like Abita Strawberry Harvest, but also not that good), Smuttynose IPA, and Kingfisher. Thank God for Kingfisher, because I was like Ben Stiller's character in Along Came Polly (minus the diarrhea) at an Indiana restaurant on Wednesday night. If I didn't have that beer to cool me off, I would have taken my top off at the restaurant. Which is definitely what you want to do when you're full of rice...

I just realized I've been watching Forrest Gump on Telemundo for the last 20 minutes. The scene that just played was the one in which (spoiler if you've never seen it, but given that this movie came out in 1994, I can't imagine anyone would be that mad if I revealed a plot point) Forrest is trying to flee the bullies and he discovers he can break free from his leg braces and run. As it played, I thought it was weird that what his girlfriend said wasn't actually "run, Forrest, run!" Turns out that's because in this version, what she said was "corre, Forrest, corre." I don't even speak Spanish. I'm just too lazy to change the channel.

Victory!

(You see what I did there, with the exclamation point this time instead of the question mark?)

The GMP (that's goal marathon pace, for those of you who don't do TLAs [that's three letter acronyms]) run is one I truly dread. Sure, Yassos and mile repeats instill in me a good bit of anxiety, but during each of those workouts, you're thrown a bone in terms of recovery segments. The GMP run is mile upon mile of hitting pace, no sprints, no recovery segments, nothing to break it up. It's tedious, and more than any other workout for me, it's a mind game. If Iim struggling to get through 8 miles at this pace, how will I get through 26.2?

What a difference a week makes. I tried to tackle 7 at GMP last Sunday, after running long Saturday, and had to break it up with slower recovery mile every mile. But last night, with fresh legs coming off Thursday's yoga-only workout, I knocked out 8 on the treadmill just ahead of GMP: 7:47/mile.

I'd like to thank everyone who contributed to this success, including the TBS network, which broadcast two episodes of Seinfeld to get me through my run; the fine people of Starbucks, who supplied me with caffeine throughout yesterday afternoon and therefore got me to the gym; the girl running a 7:30 pace next to me, who kept me running fast because I didn't want to "lose" to a chick who was older than me; and the ladies who wash the gym towels - sorry about the boogers.

Oh and as for the eye chafe? Seems to have healed on its own. But I hope I come down with another mysterious ailment soon, because the eye chafe prompted my mom to send this outstanding bit of digital communiqué:

"If you're eye doesn't get better, go to the doctor. Don't screw around. That's what she said."

Lamest Injury Ever

So eye chafing is a thing, apparently? I don’t know how this is possible, since I don’t wear glasses, and a Google search of various combinations of “chafing, outer corner, eye” yielded information about boating, but I assure you, my eye is chafed.

It burned like a thousand fiery suns towards the end of my 800s this morning, but frankly most parts of my body burn towards the end of track workouts so I wasn’t that concerned. Also I thought perhaps I was crying (tears of joy, from surviving track work) and the stinging was inside ye olde ‘balls. I had a hat on when I came in from the track so I didn’t get a close look at my face before I hopped in the shower (probably for the best, since I definitely didn’t wash my face before I went running, and the glorious NYC humidity has left me looking like the “before” picture in a Proactiv commercial – “It moisturizes my situation, and preserves my sexy.”) But as soon as the shower water – that Telltale Heart of post-run chaffage – hit me in the eye (uh, that’s what she said?) I knew: (I also crashed blindly into the shower wall, a tall person stumbling around a very small enclosed space, swearing. Seriously, the shower plus raw skin combo is agonizing every single time). Eye chafe.

Like all chafing, the pain subsided after a few (endless) minutes under the stream of the shower. But unlike with other kinds of chafing, I got out of the shower and applied several types of acids directly to my face. Resume agony.

I know this is getting off topic, but can we talk about this for a minute? Acid. FOR THE FACE. Salicylic acid. Alpha hydroxy acid. Does anyone even know what those things do? Haven’t we found more 21st century ways to moisturize our collective situations and preserve our mutual sexy? Doesn’t it seem a little archaic to put things with acid RIGHT IN THE NAME onto our FACES?!

In any case, this was a rather unfortunate aspect to my morning, and I suspect it stems from the fact that I sweat so much (definitely not a result of my being too lazy to wash off my mascara at night. Definitely not…). Conveniently enough, tomorrow is a rest day, so I don’t have to sweat (beyond the regular dirty subway-, humidity-, annoyingly slow moving tourist-induced commute sweat). Here’s hoping my eye doesn’t swell shut before my next scheduled run on Friday. If it does, someone ask my friend Cate what to do. Given the kinds of stuff she gets into, that actually happens to her kind of a lot (HEYO!!!!! Sorry if your mom read that, Cate. And even more sorry if she read it, but didn’t get it, so now you have to explain to her that I was making a joke about bedroom antics. Man, do I have second hand embarrassment for you right now!)

No but really, she has a lot of problems with her eyes.

Victory?

The good news is, my (comically overinflated) confidence in my legs has returned (my how long and lean, and yet also muscular they are!), thanks to this morning's track workout. I started out conservatively, running the first 800 a hair slow. No way I was going to blow up on the first repeat again this week.

The bad news? Well, besides getting up at 4:50am do to this workout (for real, these early early wake ups give my goldfish anxiety. He doesn't do well with bright lights and noises at 5:00am. Me either, Four, me either...), I still ran these too fast. Now to some, that sounds like a problem akin to "my diamond shoes are pinching my feet," or "my wallet is too small for all my money." (See also: "first world problems;" "white whine"). But the takeaway lesson from last week's speed workout (also, from life) was meant to be "develop a plan and stick to it," not just "go hard and fast" (that's for later...). Last week showed the worst-case scenario when you don't stick to your plan. Just because I didn't crash and burn again this week doesn't mean I did this workout the way in which it was intended.

The dirty truth:
3:31
3:24
3:23
3:22
3:23
3:23

Now, some of you may look at those and think "well great! You're on your way to running a 3:23 marathon in October!" You idiots. This workout isn't just about speed. Even with my (stratospheric) confidence in my racing ability (see ya in Wave 1, Corral 2 in Boston, just right behind Kara...), I know that, rather than indicating a forthcoming 10 minute PR and guaranteed entry into the NYC Marathon, these splits tell me I worked too hard this morning. My plan was to run 3:30s, but I put in more effort than I needed to, so I was ahead of my target pace. And while I'm all for hard work, working too hard on one run means you won't have as much energy as you should for other things. Like Friday's goal marathon pace run (my purgatory). Or this weekend's long run (possibly while water-logged, which requires even more energy than usual, both to carry my soggy body all those miles, and to bitch about the weather in New York in the summer). Or, bone dancing (sorry, IMan).

So while I wish I could tell you I had a perfect workout today and applied every lesson I've ever learned, I can't. I made some progress over last week, but I've still got work to do if I want to execute a good strategy.

(That said, I'm still hot, skinny, smart, and funny. Restored confidence is the coolest!)

Once More Unto the Breach, Dear Friends...

...Or close the track up with our Brooklynese dead!

(And here you thought all I ever learned in school related to highly-scientific anatomical studies and the medicinal uses for craft beer. Well, I am something of an expert in anatomical studies, but I digress...)

Tomorrow morning, I'll be confronting my demons once again at the East 6th Street track. Unlike last week, I won't be there for mile repeats, which is a good thing because I'm still highly traumatized (maybe I would have been faster or more consistent if I'd worn shorter shorts...). Instead, tomorrow I'll be tackling Yasso 800s.

I feel a little better about tomorrow's workout for a few reasons, chief among them being that an 800 is a whole 800 meters shorter than a mile (actually, it's 799.8 meters shorter than a mile, if you wanna be a dick about it). But I'm also going into tomorrow's working knowing exactly what split I'm trying to hit for each 800, right from the get-go, which means there's much less risk for the trial-and-(grave, catastrophic) error process I went through for mile repeats last week.

As for reasons I'm still a little nervous? That target split for each 800 is 3:30. Whelp.

Yasso 800s also strike the fear of - well maybe not the fear of God, but like, the fear of the hangover associated with drinking a case of Milwaukee's Best Ice (yes, it's that bad. Both the beer, and the hangover) - in me because they're renowned for being marathon-predictive. If you can run 10x800m in 3:30, for example, odds are good you can run a marathon (that's 1x42,164.8 meters, for those who are so neurotic as to require consistency in units of measure. Or, just, like, Canadians or whoever uses metric.) in 3:30:00. So while I'll do this workout several times between now and October 2nd, I still feel like the pressure is on to get this right.

To combat the stress associated with this workout, I Googled "relaxing video":

Annnnnnd, that just seriously freaked me out. I'll probably be abducted by aliens at the track tomorrow. Awesome...

Monday Wrap Up: Let's Try This Again

As I predicted, that whole "increase my training 30 miles in one week" thing wasn't the most pleasant, or productive, training trick. You already know mile repeats sucked, and yesterday's Goal Marathon Pace (GMP) run wasn't much better; rather than 7 miles at an 8 minute pace, I ran 4 at GMP, interspersed with 4 that were 20 to 45 seconds slower than GMP. While my long run on Saturday went smoothly, last week was eye-opening in terms of what I need to do over the next 7 weeks. And "what I need to do" is pretty straightforward: run faster.

Lucky for me, I'll have the chance to try again this week. Yasso 800's, 8 miles at GMP, and a 20 miler. Thank goodness I'm getting the week off to a good start. By going to happy hour tonight.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 44. That was actually 33 miles more than the previous week. That's also the number of pieces of bread I had at dinner last night. Before my pasta. I think the reason I can't be one of those "I just listen to my body; intuitive eating is what keeps me looking waifish" is because my body screams for bread and Klondike Bars at all times. Also, because I'm not a self-important asshole. I'm looking at you, Gwyneth Paltrow.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 9.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Sankaty Light, Allagash White, Blue Moon, Smuttynose IPA, Victory Golden Monkey, and Yuengling. Diversity - I embrace it.

Looks Like I Need To Pay a Visit to PA

So this happened...

Apparently those Pennsylvanians need to be educated on the finer points of beer running.

Also, Runner's World: "Jogging under the influence! Is that even a thing?" I don't think we've met. I'm Claire.

The Next Great American Marathoner

The talking heads of the running world are always bringing up the fact that no American has won Boston in more than 20 years (1983 saw the last male American winner; 1985, the last female American), and that we, as a nation, are due up for a champion. Ryan Hall, Meb Keflezighi, Kara Goucher, and Desiree Davila have all shown promise, but so far, none have broken the tape at Boston.

That's all gonna change in 2012. And if my Garmin is any indicator, I'm going to be the one to change it.




You'll note, I ran 15.88 miles in 37 minutes tonight. I could run the last 11.4 miles of the marathon at a 10 minute pace and still beat my nearest competitors by half an hour. Even more impressive, my fastest mile splits during today's run were miles 12 and 13, each of which took 1 second! Alas, they also burned zero calories, so I don't know how Kara stays so thin...

Also, I don't know what the hell happened to my Garmin tonight, but suffice it to say I couldn't accomplish my marathon pace run without an accurate sense of my pace. I think 1 second per mile is a little off. Still, my average pace of 2:20 would put me across the Boston finish line in 1:01, or 2:22 faster than I ran it last year. It could totally happen.

The Blame Game

I could point a lot of fingers when it comes to figuring out why my speed workout today was so abominable (and in the interest of schadenfreude, I'll detail that workout for you in a moment): it was hot, it was sunny, it was early, I just ran a marathon, I ate pizza for dinner.

None of those are the reasons why I sucked this morning, though. The blame for this one rests squarely on my shoulders; I was prideful and greedy, and those two charming traits lead me to make a series of rookie mistakes and pay dearly for it.

(That sounds very dramatic reading it back, like I might have lost my legs during my track workout. I didn't).

Let me lay the scene for you: the alarm went off at 4:55am this morning (I know!) and I got dressed and began my somewhat tedious journey to the track: train to Chelsea, walk to the gym in Gramercy, warm up with a 2 mile jog down the East River to the track.

The scheduled workout was: 2 mile warm up; 4x1600 with 4x400 recovery; 2 mile cool down.

This was my first track workout in 5 months, having focused on hill work (and drinking beer) instead of speed work in the run up to San Francisco. It had been so long, in fact, since I'd done my last session of mile repeats that I had to check back through my training logs to find out what pace I'd last run them in. 6 weeks out from Boston, I ran this same workout. My mile splits were: 6:48, 6:43, 6:48, 6:48. Like a metronome! A really fast, cute, thin metronome.

Anyway, I knew that I should be fairly conservative this morning, but was pretty (brazenly) confident in my ability to knock these out. I decided I should aim for 6:55-7:00.

Okay, but then I secretly decided I should aim for 6:50, which is 2 seconds per mile slower than the mode (oooh, high school math term) from my February repeats. When I was in great shape and about to PR at Boston. 2 seconds slower. Conservative, my foot. And amateur mistake numero uno: goal-setting not based in reality.

I ran the first 400 of the first repeat and looked at Carl, who told me on his digital face that I was running a 6:42 pace.

Are you paying attention? Because here is the most crucial of the amateur-hour aspects that was my undoing:

Instead of saying, "Whoa Clairence! Take it easy. You've got 15 laps to go here. No need to come out guns blazing," I said "See, I'm still in Boston shape." I got greedy and tried to take those extra seconds to which I was not entitled. Or deserving.

I am not still in Boston shape.

I finished the first repeat in 6:43 - the same split as my fastest pre-Boston repeat - and knew I'd never be able to hold on.

So for round two, I told myself "Drop down to your original goal. 7:00 is respectable. You can do 7:00."

I ran number 2 in 6:57, finishing doubled over and gasping for air. Even though I was 14 seconds slower, I'd used up so much energy on the first one, I felt even worse by the end of the second. And I knew I was further going downhill.

At this point, I considered throwing in the towel, since I obviously wasn't going to get out of this workout what I should. You're meant to finish interval work feeling like you could do one more. I felt like I couldn't do any more, and I still had 2 to go. But I realized this was my own doing, and if I needed proof that no one has ever found success in going out too fast, this was going to be it.

Number 3 went down in 7:09.

Number 4: 7:13.

By the time I finished, I almost couldn't hear Carl beep off the last mile because my breathing wheezing was so loud. I felt like shit, but worse, I was so embarrassed. I was out there alone; no one else on the track knew what workout I was doing or what pace I was supposed to be hitting. But I was ashamed that I made a mistake I know better than to make: I went out too fast.

In a most ironic twist, the average of those 4 splits is about a 7:01 - right about where I should have been aiming from the get go.

So, my children, let this be a cautionary tale to you: we're all human. No matter how great or fast or smart a runner you may be, sometimes you'll do idiotic shit in the name of your ego. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but once you do, you'll remember for the next time.

At least I hope so, because that really, seriously sucked.

Dear Cat Lady

I'm sorry; my public mockery of you was unprovoked and a result of my own jealousy at your having achieved fame. I hope you have lots of normal, healthy, non-feline fetishy sex. Unless feline fetishy sex is your thing, in which case, I support that as well.

Warmly,
3:59:59. Bitches.

What Lies Ahead

Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I forgot how hard training with an actual purpose can be. Of the 5 workouts scheduled this week, 3 of them totally suck. (What was I saying about being fired up and in a good place mentally to lay down the hammer for the next 8 weeks?)

Wednesday: Mile repeats. 4 of ‘em.

Friday: Marathon pace run. 7 miles worth of 8:00/miles. Don’t forget those warm up and cool down miles.

Sunday: 18 miles. Kill yourself.

Total weekly mileage: 41. No big deal – just 30 miles more than I ran last week.*

*Disclaimer: I hope to God if you’re a reader of this blog, you know not to take training, nutrition, or general lifestyle advice from me (if you don’t know better, you’ve likely already died of alcohol poisoning or cheese fry overdose anyway), but I feel I need to go out of my way to point out that it’s totally unsafe to make a nearly 300% jump in mileage from one week to the next. Don’t follow my lead, unless you’d like to expedite the stress fracture process. I’m doing it because I have a solid mileage base already, coming off of the SF Marathon and training, and put up 40+ mile weeks throughout July. As they say on Mythbusters, "I have years of experience keeping me safe."

That said, wait til you see how much I complain about this afterwards...

Who Took The Under?

If you took the under on my bet earlier today, you win; I only had 4 beers tonight. In fact, it would have been three, but my dad peer-pressured me into having one more. Related: my dad doesn't have to be on an Amtrak train at 6:20am to be at work in New York tomorrow.




I also had ice cream in a batting helmet.


So actually, I win.

For those of you keeping track at home, my Sunday beers were Bud Lights (2), Shock Top (1), and some local New England extra pale ale I'd never heard of, but looking back, think might have been called Steel Reserve, which concerns me because I'm pretty sure that's malt liquor that comes in 40 oz increments. So I may have ordered a 40 in a hotel bar in Copley Square in Boston.

Maybe I don't win after all...

Sunday Wrap Up: Cat-Lady Sex

I was watching CBS' Sunday Morning today, and they did a segment on doghouses. During the segment, they interviewed a blogger with her ear to the ground in terms of pet trends. She blogs at moderncat.net. Yes, really. That moderncat.net can get a shout out on CBS while Will Run For Beer is read by approximately 4 people, all of whom are either my blood relatives or the person I have sex with, makes me sad at the prospect of my future as a world renowned beer-running enthusiast. But it also makes me sad for the editor of moderncat.net, since I'd be willing to bet she's never had sex.

Let's move on...

Number of Miles Run This Week: Ahem. 11. Ouch. In my defense, I did do plenty of active things this week, including a hike in Muir Woods, 2 days of yoga, and plenty of walking around in San Francisco. Also, let's not forget I ran a marathon a week ago (can you tell I'm defending myself to myself right now?). Still, 11 miles is not awesome.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: I was still on vacation through Tuesday this week, so I continued drinking beers in scenic places, including AT&T Park, the Beach Chalet, and a delightful bar called 21st Amendment, which we think was the amendment that repealed prohibition, because that seems more fitting than, say, the amendment that prevented laws affecting Congressional salary changes from going into effect during that session of Congress in which they were enacted (Note: that one is 27th). Where was I going with this? Oh right, beers. So yes, Monday - 5, Tuesday - 0, Wednesday - 1 (needed something to take the edge off being back from vacation), Thursday - 3, Friday - 1, Saturday - 0. And Sunday? Well I'm actually en route to Fenway to see the Yankees maim the Red Sox tonight, which will of course involve many celebratory ball park beers. In fact, my dad already bought me one on the train! I'm saying the total will be 6 - want the over/under? That's 16, with tonight's projection. 16 beers is awesome.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: The Beach Chalet is actually a brewery, so I had a chance to drink their California Kind. AT&T Park has Sierra Nevada on tap, which is awesome and also implies that far fewer people brawl there than in New York, and therefore they can be trusted to drink real people beer and not just Bud Light. (That said, I had one of those too.) At 21st Amendment, I don't remember what I had. Some in the group definitely drank watermelon ale, but I don't like beers that smell like Chapstick, so I picked some random IPA. Back in New York, grappling with post-vacation depression, I threw back a few Victory Golden Monkeys (they're growing on me, actually, and quite nice for a one-beer kinda night), some Blue Moons, and some Yuenglings - the lasting legacy of my former roommate Nicole, who moved to DC at the beginning on August but left behind a few bottles. I thought of you while I drank them, friend.

As I mentioned in my San Francisco Race Report, Fall racing season is here! In fact, I'll be toeing the line at my next marathon 8 weeks from today. I'm actually looking forward to digging deep for a few weeks, spending a little QT at the track, and preparing for my 3:30 attempt. There, I said it. I'm chasing 3:30 again, and I feel good about it. I was close in Boston on a difficult course, and Smuttynose is built for speed (the course, not the beer, though I'll probably have to drink more of it just to be sure). 8 weeks is, I hope, just the right amount of time to work hard without getting burned out. I have a great mileage base (minus those whopping 11 miles this week...) from prepping for San Francisco, and I'm going into the season with confidence after my performance last week on a hilly course having done no speed work. I'm going to kick ass in New Hampshire in October!

But not before I eat hot dogs for dinner at Fenway tonight. I'm sure that's exactly how Kara Goucher prepares for her season...

Race Report: The San Francisco Marathon

What day is it? Thursday? Then I have Thursday Depression.

Have you ever taken the red eye and gone to work? Don't do it. Especially if your job involves either writing coherently, or clean hair.

The rest of my San Fran trip was AWESOME and involved animals, beers, beaches, baseball, more beers, hiking, yoga, and taco salad, which is my new favorite meal (spoiler alert - it involves Doritos). Hump Day was less palatable, and involved 4 hours of airplane sleep, 202 unread emails, and coffee. Lots of coffee.

But let's not dwell on the negative, and instead discuss the San Francisco Marathon, in all its hilly, early-morning, bridge-crossing, hilly, scenic, hilly glory. With hills.



Pre-Race: As you've heard, my trip from New York on Friday morning was nothing short of harrowing. Thankfully, getting to Megan and Ralph's apartment from SFO was a non-issue. Oh, except I went to the wrong apartment first. But once I got there, Ralph strapped me onto the back of his scooter (so California!) and we headed downtown to meet Megan for lunch at the Ferry Building Marketplace. I only had to almost get off and push us uphill three or four times on the way.

Post-lunch, I took the free shuttle from the host hotel, the Hyatt Regency, to the Expo. Bib pick up was smooth, and the "virtual race bag" meant I wasn't toting around a trash bag full of race fliers and samples of that weird shaving gel that comes in that little plastic squirt package with a yellow index card that is always in race bags. Anyone know what that is? Anyone ever used it? Didn't think so, so I was fine with a "virtual" bag of coupons for things I will never buy anyway.

I needed a few cold weather articles of clothing for what I was imaging as 5:00am San Francisco weather, so I took a loop of the Expo and stocked up on race day essentials. I also got to meet Bart Yasso, who told me I had to run negative splits on Sunday. No pressure; just the Chief Running Officer of Runner's World demanding something that nearly every marathoner on earth struggles with on race day.


After taking care of everything I needed at the Expo, I met up with my friend Paul to catch up and go for a walk. Just a nice, easy pre-race stroll, taking in the sights and - what's this? We're lost in the Tenderloin, the worst neighborhood in San Francisco? By "nice, easy stroll," I meant "Olympic-caliber race walking." And "the sights" were "hobos selling crack."

Thankfully we got our bearings eventually and had a pleasant afternoon walking down Market Street, talking race day strategy, both of ours being "run easy and have fun." And speaking of fun, it was almost happy hour!

I headed back to Megan and Ralph's place for a shower and a couple of beers before dinner and a house party in Oakland. House parties are the new tapers. Alas, I'd been awake approximately 23 consecutive hours by the time we arrived, so mostly I nursed a beer in the corner and held my eyeballs open with the fingers of my free hand. Best party attendee ever.

We woke up Saturday and I was sad: a whole day without drinking delicious beers I can't get in New York? Marathons are so lame. But I managed to occupy myself with brunch with the whole crew (Megan, Ralph, IMan, Chaz, and Beth) in Pacific Heights and walking all around San Francisco. The weather couldn't have been better, so Megan and Ralph humored the tourist in me and took me to Pier 39, Fisherman's Wharf, and Ghiradelli Square, where I made an excellent pre-race hydration decision:



Chocolate, coffee, and whipped cream. They'll have Porta Potties on this course, right? Also, I don't know why I wouldn't let myself have a beer, something I obviously know my stomach tolerates exceedingly well, but I'd drink this, which was essentially a prescription for Type 2 diabetes...

We relaxed a bit before meeting IMan, Chaz and Beth for dinner, so I packed up my overnight and race day gear, and Megan and Ralph drank beers because they are cruel assholes. We headed to Franchino's in North Beach for a pasta feast/early bird special. Oh yes, did I mention the marathon started at 5:30am? It did. So we had to eat dinner at lunch time in order to go to bed early. Thanks to Megan, Ralph, and Chaz for indulging us on that one.

So we ate, we drank (water), we talked about assisted suicide - just your standard pre-marathon dinner table conversation - and then parted ways with Megan and Ralph and headed to Pacific Heights (Pac Heights for those in the know) to go to sleep. IMan had the Jimmy Legs and so I didn't sleep as well as I could have, but am a nice person and didn't punch him in the ribs.

Race Morning: The alarm went off at 4:15am. Disgusting. Except I act like it's Christmas morning and I'm six on marathon mornings, so I jumped out of bed and got dressed while wolfing down a Clif Bar. I didn't have my usual cup of coffee, which made me a little anxious, but my bowels and I apparently have an unspoken agreement about what needs to happen on marathon mornings regardless of stimulant intake, so it was all good. (August 4, 2011: Claire makes her most blatantly pooping reference on the Internet to date).

Chaz got up at 4:45am and drove us to the start, which was amazing and made my life infinitely better. BART - San Francisco's version of the subway - doesn't run all night, so public transport wasn't an option. Luckily most everyplace in SF I visited was walkable. "Luckily" for the poor shmucks who had to walk to the start of the marathon, I mean. I got door-to-door service.

Bag check was a breeze, though the trucks didn't appear to be in any logical order. Still, they were well-labeled, and IMan and I had plenty of time to check our gear and hit the Porta Potties before the start. We parted ways for our separate corrals and start times - IMan was right behind the elites in corral 2, while I was back in 4 - and I was left to entertain myself.


The first half marathon runners started with us full marathoners, so I started chatting with a fellow from Utah running the half. He'd done the full several times before, so I had a chance to pick his brain about where the worst hills were. Answer? Miles 1 through 26.2.

My corral started at 5:52am, so we slowly inched forward as the Ferry Building clock ticked down. My old buddy Bart Yasso was doing emcee duty, and the field was small enough that I could see him standing on the sidelines. In shorts and a t-shirt. Maybe those cold weather clothes from the expo were unnecessary. I was almost too warm in a long sleeved top over my singlet, and all I'd done thus far was bounce up and down in place a few times.

The Race: We started right on time at 5:52 and made our way along the Embarcadero in the near-darkness. Less than a mile in, I ditched my long sleeved top, but decided to tie it around my waist in case it was cold and windy going across the Golden Gate Bridge. The out and back across the bridge was close to 4 miles - plenty of time to get cold and wet.

I spent the first 4 miles chatting with my Utah buddy, who advised me that the hill up to the Golden Gate was a bad one. He was correct. But he neglected to mention the hill between Ghiradelli Square and Crissy Field. Ugh. The San Francisco Marathon is lucky that is also the first place you can see the Golden Gate, because I'm sure they'd have an unreasonably high 4 mile drop out rate otherwise.



I stopped to take plenty of pictures coming towards the bridge, but nothing captures how awesome and bad ass it was to run over the thing. I've run some of the most scenic and famous marathons in the country, but getting to high five IMan on the out and back across the Golden Gate might be my best marathon experience to date. Here we are, 3,000 miles from home, running the same marathon with different start times and at different paces, and we find each other among literally thousands of other people and high five in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge on a day that happens to be perfectly clear? And it wasn't some rinky-dink, misfire high five. It was one of those "perfect contact" high fives that's so good, you want to high five again to celebrate the success of the first high five. Our hands were destined to high five at this exact moment. It's a sign!


A sign of what? Well perhaps a sign that I should stop daydreaming about making my marathon experiences into romantic comedies, because approximately 2 miles later, I tripped on a seam in the pavement on the Golden Gate Bridge and absolutely ate shit. Two scraped knees, one scraped elbow, not insubstantial amounts of blood, and miraculously no tears later (don't make fun of me. As someone with more mid-run falling experience than most, I assure you that it's the realization that you aren't seriously injured that brings on the waterworks. I choked them back, in large part because I couldn't see how hard I was bleeding, so I didn't actually know if I was in the clear or not), I was helped up by a kindly runner who saved me from certain death by trampling. I made quick stop to ask some toll booth attendants on the San Francisco side of the bridge how bad it looked (they actually said, "that doesn't look good," but stopping gave me a chance to see for myself that I was just a little scraped but not actually hurt) and the headed to the Presidio.

Remember how much I hated Newton during the Boston Marathon? Replace "Newtown" with "the Presidio" and "Boston" with "San Francisco" and then read that sentence again. The Presidio was up, up, up hill, then slightly less uphill, then more up, up, pump-fake plateau, up, up, uphill. Woof. Thank God, Megan and Ralph were waiting for me when I finally reached the top! Megan jumped in and ran with me for a bit while Ralph was our personal photographer. They said I looked good, which was a lie as I was still actively bleeding, but a great boost, especially after so much climbing. Also, they looked good, especially for having gotten up at 6:30am on a Sunday just to watch the stinking marathon! I cruised down a nice long decline stretch and evaluated: I was close to the half and feeling really good despite my injuries. But I was starting to get hungry.

A word on support: the San Francisco Marathon partnered with some electrolyte beverage I'd never heard of (and if I didn't have a "virtual race bag" I'm sure I'd have a flier to tell you what it was called). I avoided it for the first 11 or so miles of the race, wary of ingesting anything my body wasn't used to during the race. But even after a Gu, I needed some calories, so I caved and drank some. It was actually fine (unlike like Rock n' Roll's awful Cytomax) and I had no digestive issues, but mostly I'm using this as an opportunity to mention how annoying the cups on the course were. They were made of corn starch, which obviously meant they were biodegradable and easier on the environment - a green initiative I applaud. BUT. They were impossible to drink out of on the run. They were so brittle that you couldn't fold them in half to make a spout for yourself. Mostly I just threw liquid at my face and hoped some of it ended up in my mouth. That's what she said.

Moving on, we headed towards Golden Gate Park and the first half finish/second half start. This stretch was full of rolling hills and loops, and while pretty, it got old sort of fast. I did see some buffalo in the park:


Most important? At mile 15, I saw the local Hash House Harriers, who treated me to a beer! Finally made good on that NYC Marathon goal!


Miles 15-20 were pretty tough and steep, and after we left Golden Gate Park, there wasn't a whole lot to look at. I did get contact high from inhaling pot smoke along Haight Street. Good thing there was no finish line drug test.

More running, more hills, etc etc etc...

Mile 25! I see AT&T Park! And someone offering shots of whiskey! I love this city! I kept on keeping on, headed back towards the Ferry Building, when I spied Megan and Ralph just after the mile marker. It was just the boost I needed to get up over the highest curb I've ever seen and make my way along the Embarcadero toward the finish. Which was an interminable distance. Seriously, I think 1.2 miles lasted about 3 hours total. Think about how fast I would have run if those 1.2 miles didn't take 3 hours! Like, I would have run a 48 minute marathon! Hmm, next time...

The End: Just before the 26 mile mark, I passed the 3:50 pace group. I came across the line at 3:48:57. With the photo opps, the hills, and the bleeding, I'm quite delighted with my finish time, actually. I had a really great experience, doing exactly what I wanted to and at no point pushing myself into the realm of highly uncomfortable/potentially pants-shitting. Most importantly, I think my time on a tough course bodes really well for my Fall racing season. Which starts... Now.

And with that, I leave you with a couple official race photos, courtesy of MarathonFoto. Most were heinous and, as I predicted, NSFW in their erect nippleness. But this is my blog, so here are the ones where I look skinny and/or fast.





And, my attempt to point out my cut up knees to a photographer who was only taking shots from the waist up:



Creep.

Monday Wrap Up: The San Francisco Marathon Numbers Game

Number of marathons I've completed, as of yesterday: 11

Time I woke up yesterday for the race: 4:15am.

Time my wave started running: 5:52am.

People I bumped into that I knew during the race: 3.

People I bumped into that I knew after the race: 1.

Finish time: 3:48:57.

Number of times I tripped and fell mid-marathon: 1.

Number of appendages I scraped: 2 knees, 1 elbow, 2 palms, 1 hip.

Number of nice guys who picked me up after I fell and saved me from being trampled: 1.

Number of photos I took of the Golden Gate Bridge during the race: 8.

Number of pictures of buffaloes I took during the race: 1.

Number of times I saw Megan and Ralph cheering on the course: 3.

Number of times I stopped for a beer on the course: 1.

Number of pancakes I ate after the race: 2.

Number of eggs I put on top of those pancakes: 2.

Number of pizza slices I ate after the eggs and the pancakes: 2.

Number of strangers who complimented me on my medal, because yes I did wear it out to dinner and the bar last night: 3.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled weekly wrap up...

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 33. I did my worst job ever of running the tangents yesterday, and wracked up an additional 3 tenths of a mile on the course, so I probably ran closer to 34 miles for the week. But no one gives you credit for that extra running during the marathon, so I don't count it here. Though you'll note I felt compelled to tell you about it...

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 9. Plus the little sample I had during the marathon. Oh, and the two little samples I had at dinner last night when I couldn't decide what to drink and the bartender kindly allowed me to try a little of everything.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Whenever I'm traveling in a far away land, I always try to drink beers I can't get at home, and lucky for me, Northern California has some awesome beers. I drank Great White and Pyramid's Apricot Ale on Friday, and some Racer 5, Mirror Pond Pale Ale (that's actually from Oregon), and Rogue Brutal IPA after the race. I think the Hash House Harriers who hooked me up on the course had a keg of Sierra Nevada. Someone else was also offering whiskey at mile 25, but I declined.

I won't do a full race report until I'm back on the East Coast and can get all my pictures uploaded. I know you'll be waiting with baited breath. In the meantime, ask yourself why you think it is that I fall down so goddamn much. I myself am dying to know.