Monday Wrap Up: I Missed My Chance

You probably don't know about this, since no one tweeted/blogged/Facebooked about it, but ZOMG you guysssss it snowed in New York this weekend!






That's actually snow in Connecticut, where I went this weekend because I love free laundry  my parents and boyfriend. But it was the same in NYC, only with more rats and people occupying Wall Street.

I don't mean to get all "when I was your age" on you people, but I spent 4 years in college in Maine, where we'd routinely see flakes in October, so relax about this "freak Snowtober!!!!!!" stuff, people.

That said, my tenure in cold and snowy Maine meant that I missed out on dressing as a Sexy Something or the Other for Halloween at a time in my life/physical build/daily level of intoxication of myself and those around me that it was marginally acceptable to do so (One year I missed out on Halloween altogether, having spent my Junior year studying in South Africa, where I'm pretty sure if I'd worn a mask and gone door to door asking people to give me their food, I would have been shot). Alas, my plans to be a Slutty Lobster (okay, I was just going as a lobster, but IMan suggested I made some alterations to my costume) were foiled again this year. Between the snow and my second cold of the month, I spent much of my Halloween weekend doped up on Nyquil.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 22. I had hoped to get in at least 13 as a longer run this weekend, but between the weather and my illness (and the drugs), the longest I managed was 7.3. Not sure where that puts me in relation to the Knickerbocker 60k, which is in 3 weekends. If I'm entertaining it as a possibility, I need to do something substantial this weekend. Beyond eat candy corn at post-Halloween sale prices.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 6. The illness put a damper on my beer drinking whilst football watching yesterday.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: I had a few Long Trail Brown Ales this weekend, but honestly couldn't even taste them given my congestion and the cough drop permanently lodged in my gullet for the last 3 days. But I should get credit for trying.

So, the running and the beer drinking were both pretty weak last week. I've already addressed what I'd like to accomplish, running-wise, this week. And as for the beers, come back tomorrow for the promised Halloween-themed beer tasting! Maybe I'll even wear my Slutty Lobster costume.

P.S. I can't not mention that my sister got engaged on Saturday. I love love, and my sister, and my new brother to be! And, for the record, she was dressed as a non-slutty Zombie Pumpkin.

Come On, Man

It was 37 degrees this morning and the sun wasn't up until I was fully 3 miles into my run.  As they say on Monday nights, "Come on, Man!"


On the plus side, the cold weather did provide impetus for indulging in seasonally-relevant treats last night, including bacon-wrapped dates and mulled wine. 


Is there any season where the relevant treats coincide with things that will actually make me a better runner and not a hungover fat ass?  No?  Come on, Man!


Happy Friday, kids.  

A PSA From WRFB

It's the end of October, kids! Not only does that mean my Halloween dreams of being a lobster are close to being realized (assuming my claws ship on time; they may not be delivered until Tuesday, which would mean I'd have to resort to being something I can make out of the gear in my closet, like... A runner), but it means that winter running is fast approaching.

Even if it's not exactly cold yet (still in shorts and a tank as of today, though snow is in the 5 day forecast for NYC), it definitely is pretty dark. And it's only going to get darker for the next 2 months. As we've read 430,000 times, a runner should wear reflective gear in times of low visibility. Like 8pm in late October. And yet, tonight on my run I was the only runner in Prospect Park wearing a reflective vest.

People, are you stupid? It's nighttime. Unless you're conducting special ops by the Prichard Square playground, you're gonna wanna be more visible. Put on a reflective vest! And maybe don't wear the 2010 NYC Marathon shirt, which is a color that can best be described as "8pm in late October grey."

Yes, Prospect Park is well lit. And yes, Prospect Park is closed to most cars in the early mornings and late evenings. But do you live in Prospect Park? If so, you probably should have thought of that before you shelled out $300 for a Garmin. I didn't realize the homeless valued GPS over, say, a bed that wasn't a bench. But if not, you're going to have to run on roads, open to cars, to get to and from your apartment. Those cars can't see you in your grey shirt.

Also, Prospect Park is very much open to bikers, who are going just as fast as cars. Do you know how badly you'd get jacked up if you were hit by a bike going 40 mph? Furthermore, do you know how pissed the biker who hit you would be? Bikers are uniformly dicks and think they have the right of way at all times. If they nailed you and your monster runner quads totaled their carbon frame, which costs more than 6 months of my rent, do you have any idea what would happen to you? You'll wish you had been killed.

(No seriously. Bikers are dicks.)

Lastly, people who step out of the shadows dressed in all black are rapist-murders. Don't be like them.

Runners of Brooklyn: put on your reflective vests. They are cheap. They are lightweight. You won't even notice you're wearing it. Some even have flashy red lights! It's like a nightclub - but without music or alcohol. So, it's not like a nightclub. Whatever.




(That's a note from my mom, which says "Treat yourself to a spinning class!" and came with $30. It may mean my mom thinks I'm a fatty, but I went to spinning last night anyway. Then ate leftover Chinese food. The best of both worlds).

So get one and put one on. That way I'll know who's in the Park for exercise and who's there as a rapist-murder.

Thanks for your attention. You may now return to your regularly scheduled Wednesday evening intoxicants.

Sunday Wrap Up: I'm Not Proud

Ladies and gentlemen, last night I was overserved. And, much as I like beer (and hyperbole), I don't actually achieve this level overserved often (thank God).  I'm not talking just "wheee I feel funny!" overserved.  Not just "where is the nearest diner? I don't care that it's 2:00am" overserved.  Not even "please God, make it stop spinning" overserved.  Last night, I was "on my knees in front of the toilet" overserved.


I'm not proud of this fact.  And while I'd like to claim that I got sick from "a bad glass of champagne," I'm pretty sure it was 4 perfectly fine glasses of champagne, on top of 5 also just fine beers, that did me in.  Okay, and pizza possibly put me over the edge.


Anyway, I tell you all this for several reasons.  1. Champagne hangovers are truly the most unpleasant type of hangovers, and I consider myself to be something of an expert in this field.  I swear to you, I thought I was having a seizure this morning because it didn't seem possible for a normal, healthy, functioning brain to feel as badly as mine did.  2.  Throwing up is just as bad as it was in college.  And as an adult, you don't even have 3 other also vomiting girls to keep you company in the bathroom.  If you ever take any advice from me, let it be this: don't drink yourself sick.  3.  I believe in the medicinal qualities of black coffee and fresh air.


Once I finally got myself out of bed, with the help of approximately 300 Advil, I slapped on a pair of sunglasses and shoes headed straight for the coffee shop.  No bacon, egg, and cheeses could cure what ailed me today.  I needed copious amounts of coffee.


It was actually a gorgeous morning (okay, fine, it was afternoon by the time I finally made it outside...) and I decided then and there that, if I survived this hangover, I was going to celebrate with a run.  So I downed the coffee, took care of a couple of errands, took a deep breath full of fall air in, and determined I would, in fact, live through this. 


I ended up covering 11 miles - my first double digit run since the marathon 3 weeks ago - and felt resolutely cured by the time I finished.  I am by no means thankful for the horrifying hangover that was the impetus for this run, but it was a nice way to celebrate my survival.  


Number of Miles Run This Week: 27.  Nice to see I'm continuing to build back mileage after the marathon.  I'm aiming to run between 20 and 30 miles per week until Boston training starts.  For the record, I am also aiming to throw up zero times per week, but I guess I'll have to work towards that goal next week...


Number of Beers Consumed This Week:  I don't think I'm ready to talk about this yet.


Types of Beers Consumed This Week:  My demise came after a night at the Standard Hotel Biergarten, where I drank whatever medium they were pouring last night (not sure what it was... or what it tasted like...) and the dark they were pouring, which was an Octoberfest (only about a month late...).  I've been working through Avery Brewing Company's Ellie's Brown Ale, because I am a sucker for beers with dogs on them, and I've still got a few Copper Bell Lager's in the fridge.  Oh God, and I had an Amstel Light (?!) when we sat down to pizza at 12:30am.  Because that was necessary...


In the grand tradition of being a functioning member of society, I'm now going to shower and clean my apartment.  And not throw up on anything.  I advise you to do the same.  

Pilates Bodies

Remember when I said I was going to do cross training and core work and you were all “yeah right; you’re going to get drunk and eat cheese?” Well, I did get drunk and eat cheese. But! I also did core work on my own accord one morning this week after my run! Planks and crunches! And not only that, but today I went to Pilates. Which I’m pretty sure, despite my limited knowledge of exercises that aren’t running, rhymes with “bodies,” which is why that’s the title of this post. If it doesn’t rhyme, then this post is actually just called “Pilates.” Pee-layts.

Anyway, you know I was committed to Pee-layts because I went to the NYSC at 36th and Madison, which is neither near my office nor my apartment, to attend tonight. Okay. That’s not a sign of my commitment so much as it is a sign that I didn’t want to run into anyone I knew during my first foray into an exercise which is described as follows:

Developed over seventy years ago by Joseph H. Pilates, the focus of this discipline is to strengthen and stretch the abdomen and torso by solely using the body. Technique involves proper breathing and control over various muscles

Abdomen and torso? Never heard of ‘em. Proper breathing? Well it seems that everytime I do yoga, I am exhaling at precisely the same time the instructor wants me to be inhaling. And control over various muscles? Um, do Kegels count?

I got to the gym a little early and, seeing that the NYSC at 36th and Madison has about 400 treadmills - though each is in some state of disrepair - decided to do a quick 2 miles on the mill to kill time. Then I also decided to take a picture of myself, showing my apprehension ahead of this so-called Pee-layts.



What I should have done was leave (and not just because the picture is actually horrifying).

(That was subtle foreshadowing. Its a hallmark of my writing style, really).

At the appointed hour, I made my way into the designated studio. I pretended to have very important business to attend to on my phone until a few people arrived and set up their mats before me. Having never done pilates before, I needed to take cues from others about what equipment I needed (just a mat) and what direction I should face (whichever way I wanted, as the room was L shaped and people oriented their mats in all directions). And no, I wasn't about to ask for help.

The instructor - who was the epitome of "cute as a button" and looked as though she weighed about as much as one - asked if everyone had done pilates before, and I just mumbled some noises that sounded like agreement. Immediately I realized "that was dumb; you have no one to impress, plus what if this is impossible and it becomes obvious you have no idea what you're doing?" But then I thought "people always group yoga and pilates together, and I've done enough yoga in my day to look like I know what I'm doing; how different can this be?"

Very.

Very, very different.

In fact, the only similarities are the mats.

And the fact that, just as in yoga, I was breathing exactly opposite the way I was meant to be breathing.

As it turns out, pilates is indeed about the abdomen and torso. And nothing else. Just 55 minutes of teeny tiny movements designed to strengthen your core. Except that my core is made of beers and cheese, and those things can't get stronger, so instead my body compensated by working my back, neck, and other non-abdominal parts. Like, you know when you are leaning back using your abs and you look down and your stomach is shaped like a loaf of bread?



That was me, for 55 minutes.

The button instructor was actually really friendly and non-judgmental and struck a good balance of correcting my form and leaving me alone to suffer in silence. The class was a mixture of 20-something babes and older women, none of whom were housing a bakery in the midsection. And me. The moves were all straightforward enough: lots of planks, V sits, s-l-o-w-l-y rolling down onto your back and then back up to a seated position. Basically, all the core exercises you've heard of or seen on an infomercial when you've been too hungover to change the channel. It's hard to say whether or not everyone else found this class hard too, because I was too busy looking at my own form (and bread loaf) to pay attention to other people. Judging by the heavy breathing and "oh God!"s that went around the room towards the end of class, I'm inclined to think I'm not the only one who's abs are more "of mashed potatoes" than "of steel." But it is truly astonishing to me that my legs can carry me over 26.2 miles of hills, and yet my abs can't allow me to hold a 15 degree recline for longer than 11 seconds.

So, final verdict? That was hard. Not "I'm pouring sweat" hard, which was confusing to me, as that's the only kind of hard I know, but "I am experiencing full-body spasms in public" hard. But I really think I needed that. In the 2 times I've done concerted work on my core in the last two weeks, it took approximately 4 minutes total. If I don't have someone telling me to do it for 55 minutes, there is just no way I'm going to make myself. Unless it's running, it is very difficult for me to find the motivation to dedicate myself to a specific work out. You may say I have no self-discipline. I say you're a virgin who can't drive. Either way, I think my running and my midsection could improve if only I could make a consistent effort with core work.

And with that, I feel like having some toast...

In The Papers

Every morning, local broadcast network NY1, which I sometimes accidentally watch if I’ve turned off the whole cable box and not just the TV when I go to sleep, does a segment called "In The Papers," where they do a quick recap of what is written in the local papers for those viewers too lazy to read an actual newspaper or even enter the 11 keystrokes required to visit nytimes.com online (you could even save a whole keystroke by visiting nypost.com instead). Because it’s a local broadcast, the "In The Papers" segment recaps crappylocal papers, including (my beloved) the New York Post, the Daily News, the New York Observer, and USA Today. In their defense, they also review the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times, but I mute those sections because I don’t want to know any spoilers when I actually do sit down on the train to read the newspapers (I only read the Times. I mute the WSJ section because business news is boring.  You can Occupy That!).


Anyway, I figured there are plenty of you out there who are also too lazy to bother looking up running and/or beer related news on your own, so I might as well do it for you. This won’t so much be a regular feature, as I am also too lazy to read running and/or beer news every day, but from time to time as cool things crop up, I’ll let you know about them. Deal? Great, let’s get started.

First up: My friends at Draft Magazine compiled a list of beer and/or running apps for the iPhone and Droid (or, if you want a Windows phone app, I happen to know just the bearded fellow to create one for you). They are a mix of location based mapping tools for endurance sports and finding a drink, workout logs, beer rating tools, and social networking apps. I only personally use one (Electric Miles, the iOS complement to Daily Mile), but people have been suggesting Untappd to me for months and perhaps it’s time for me to bite the bullet. The full article is here.

Next: An article in the Health Section of the Times reports on a study that suggests we all may have a “set point” for exercise. Basically some British kids got tired or something after they had to go to gym class, so it meant they didn’t move around after school nearly as much as kids who didn’t kick ass at dodgeball during the school day. So at the end of the day, the gym class heroes had done the same amount of physical activity as the chess club kids (disclaimer: I am not a scientist. Or that skilled at reading comprehension…). This would, of course, suck for me. Instead of running marathons for 3 hours and 24 minutes, I could just stay at home watching TV, but according to this study, I’d get up to walk to the fridge for a snack or a beer, or just move around in my chair enough to for it to constitute the same amount of movement. This study was based on movement, not energy expended. That makes no sense; what if I happen to be a very smooth and efficient runner? What if I happen to have a seizure disorder? This is the dumbest. (Further disclaimer: I can’t believe the people who conducted this study are scientists either). But if you want to read more, it’s here.
Third: City Running Tours is offering a beer-and-running tour of Brooklyn on November 12th. You can register here. But fair warning: it costs $30, which is precisely $30 more than what it will cost you to participate in the Third Edition of “We’ll Run For Beer,” which is happening three weeks later.


And lastly: Every Tuesday, Deadspin contributor (and Colby alum) Drew Magary answers questions or reflects upon the musings of those who write in to his Mailbag . Yesterday, a particularly poignant thought was posted:


Matt:


Ever fart on the treadmill or at the gym with headphones in? Absolutely terrifying since you have zero idea how loud it really was. It is truly the "most dangerous game".


No, you're looking at it all wrong. If YOU didn't hear it, then clearly no one else did. You can just blissfully assume you got away with it and keep on exercising. Meanwhile, around you? DEATH AND DESTRUCTION.


I’m not suggesting I spend my treadmill runs ripping ass and then praying no one notices, but… I’m not not suggesting it either…


And that’s your beer-and-running round up for today, kids. I expect to be replacing Pat Tiernan on NY1 any day now. Who’s morning doesn’t need some fart jokes?

Sunday Wrap Up: I Love You, Weekend. Don't Ever Change.

This weekend was sort of perfect: cool and sunny weather made outdoor running, wedding attending, football watching, and beer drinking all ideal activities. Scratch that long list of Running-Related Things To Which I (Was) Looking Forward; I want it to be mid-October forever!

Number of Miles Run This Week: 20. Respectable. I hit the 'mill a few times this week after work. I'm actually looking forward to daylight savings so it'll be a little brighter in the mornings.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 14. Also respectable.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: The Founders I mentioned earlier this week, a few cans of Copper Bell Lager, which I found in cans at Whole Foods, and which might be Bud Light packaged in hipster cans labeled "organic," Sawtooth IPA, which was served at the wedding I went to on Saturday night, and props to couples who serve good beer at their weddings, and some tailgating beers (Miller Light/Sam Adams Light) today at the Giants game.

Number of Times I Deliberately Cross-Trained This Week: 2. It's an October miracle!

Number of Times I Deliberately Did Core Work This Week: 1. That makes a total of 1 time I've done core work since I took the Presidential Physical Fitness Test in 5th Grade. And to address the inevitable next question (Abbe), no I did not also do the sit-and-reach. Maybe next week.

Number of Awesome Foods Eaten This Weekend: 4 - A really delicious turkey sandwich after my run yesterday that was so good it's getting a shout out on my blog, Indian food at the wedding, and props to couples who serve Indian food at their weddings, my Mom's homemade chili at the Giants game today, and cupcakes my dad made for his own birthday.

Number of Days I Slept in the Weekend: 0. Woke up at 6:30 this morning, after a wedding, to meet my parents for the game. Running and the Giants are the only reasons to wake up early on the weekends. Uh, I mean, running and your father's birthday. Totally why I woke up today. Totally.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm staging a protest up here in Connecticut for the evening. Occupy Whatever Space My Parents' Cat is In. She is the 99%.*


*I have no idea what that means.

Now What?

After every marathon and every milestone, I feel fully entitled to have people fawn over me for a certain amount of time. Unfortunately, my designated allotment of time doesn’t always jive with that of the very people I expect to be fawning over me. For example, while I was sitting down to a feast at the Cracker Barrel (holy God, why did I waste the first 27 years of my life not eating at the Cracker Barrel?!) just a few short hours after the Smuttynose Marathon, rehashing the race over a plate of biscuits, my pal Cate texted me. “Congrats friend!! So what’s the next goal?” Can I never please you, woman?!

While the 2 hour mark was a little soon for me to be thinking about next goals (I texted Cate back: “Goal is to get stinking drunk.”), nearly two weeks have gone by, and I’m starting to get a little itchy (well, maybe that’s from sitting on a bike seat in sweaty shorts for 45 minutes on Tuesday). I need something running-related to look forward to. Getting to watch the Chicago Marathon on a gorgeous day (and not having to run it) was a good start. But that has already come and gone. And my little trip to the gym tonight wasn't really something I was looking forward to (though my trip to the beer store afterward was). And so I present to you Running-Related Things To Which I Am Looking Forward:

1. A Beer Run. You got it, kids. The “We’ll Run For Beer” series is back again later in 2011. I’m looking at the first Saturday in December (12/3), which I know seems both far away and cold, but a) October is halfway done and I need a little lead time to map a route and work with the bars, b) Every weekend in November has some conflict, including NYC Marathon, my Mom’s birthday, the Knickerbocker 60K (more on that below…), and Thanksgiving (favorite holiday ever), and c) according to the historical documentation that is my own blog, it wasn’t cold and blizzard-y until late December last year, and in 2009, it was rather cold but not blizzard-y the first weekend in December. Do you own a pair of sweatpants and a jacket? Great, then you’re prepared for a beer run in early December. Save the date, and if you aren’t already on my email list from past beer run events, drop me a line at willrunforbeerblog at gmail dot com to tell me you want the info when it’s available. Or, take to the comments, if you don’t mind every weirdo on the internet having access to your email address.

2. The Knickerbocker 60k. So. I’ve never done an ultra before. In fact, I even made a T-shirt that said “I don’t do Ultramarathons, I do an Ultramarathoner.”


Then I accidentally put this shirt in the laundry at my parents' house, and my dad did my laundry and he wept for his hooker-daughter.

But I’ve been tempted to tackle an ultra. And as it turns out, there is one right here in Gotham City each November. The Knickerbocker 60k is 9 loops around an abbreviated Central Park loop, for a total of 37 miles. That sounds sort of… fatally boring. Remember that time I did a 20 mile run in Prospect Park? I don’t, because it was traumatizing and I therefore repressed that memory. But as ultras go, the Knickerbocker seems like a decent entrée to that whole scene: it’s local, it’s all on roads, it’s cheap, and it’s close to bars. Abbe even volunteered to hand me a beer after each loop! Plus, I have a good mileage and fitness base right now, so if ever there were a time for me to tackle 37 miles, it would be now, when I’ve just recently tackled 26 miles. I’m not committing to it just yet (another beauty being that I can wait until I know what the weather on 11/20 will reasonably be before I register), but it is an idea I’ve been kicking around. If you’ve run the Knickerbocker, or have a first-time ultra experience to share, take to the comments!

3. Cross training. Okay, so I know I’ve gone to precisely 1 spinning class, but without a running training plan for the next twelve weeks (more on that next), I actually have the time and flexibility to try other activities. Am I threatening to become a triathlete? Absolutely not, unless my arsenal of J.Crew bikinis can double as race gear. But would I give cardio kickboxing/urban rebounding/trapeze/an actual sit up a shot? Why not? Got a class or workout to recommend? Take to the comments!

4. Boston. Yes, I’ve got quite a while before training even starts for Boston (the first day of training is 12/27 – it’s a Christmas present to myself! Because I’m a total loser…), but I’m already starting to think about what that training will look like. I’ve used the Training Peaks’ Runner’s World Marathon Training Plan for Intermediate Runners for my last 3 target races, and ran PRs and BQs in each of them. Part of me thinks “if it ain’t broke…” But part of me is interested in what else is out there. That's the same part of me who is sick of typing put so many words just to reference the name of her training plan. Runner’s World offers a Boston-specific training plan (interestingly enough, it’s 25 miles less overall than the intermediate plan, and $10 more expensive… so maybe I’m not that interested in it…). Had a good (or bad) experience with a specific plan? Take to the comments!

5. Halloween. This has nothing to do with running, but I’m going to be a lobster for Halloween and I’m very excited about it. I don’t actually have any Halloween plans, but that doesn’t mean I won’t still dress up and sit on the couch watching TV and drinking a beer in a lobster costume. Actually, I may have to stand, because the costume I plan to craft involves plastic plates as a crucial element in my lobster tail, and I think they’ll crack if I sit on them.

Also, I’m going to carve a pumpkin, and it will have a beard.


This is all actually relevant to this beer blog, because I've also already been stock piling some resources for a Halloween themed brew review. Suggestions for beers I should include? Take to the comments!

I also stock piled some Founders Centennial IPA, but that stock pile is dwindling somewhat on account of the fact that I decided to have Founders Centennial IPA for dinner.



This? Is a good beer. Also, it left a condensation mark on that table, which I wiped up with the above pictured T-shirt. Efficiency at it's finest!

Anything else I should be looking forward to? Take to the comments!

On Spinning, Revisited

As you've probably gathered by this point in our relationship, dear reader, I don't always follow the recommended guidelines for cross training. Which are: do some. Where as I? Do none. Maybe a bedroom yoga session (not that kind; IMan isn't very flexible anyway) every now and then. A couple of hikes through the warmer months. Some downhill skiing when I can get a weekend away (also known as: when my Dad is looking for a ski partner and is footing the bill). But the whole lifting/elliptical/biking/any type of core work ever thing? Not on my watch.

On Train's watch, though? A different story.

You remember my friend, Train. She tricked me into going to Bikram yoga, where we spent 90 minutes being yelled at by a grown man in a Speedo and praying heatstroke wouldn't be a painful way to go. Train is great about cross training. If a gym in New York offers a class, Train has tried it. But even better, she's stuck with it. Train actually went back to Bruce the Torturer and his too-small briefs after that first foray into Bikram. Total Body Conditioning? At this point, Train might as well teach it. Pilates Reformer? Train uses that contraption in place of a bed in her apartment. (Maybe she knows more flexible fellows...)

Lately, Train has become something of a spinning guru. If you've been reading this blog for awhile (hi, Mom!), you may recall that I'm not that into spinning. In fact, I may have waged a public campaign against it. But Train is a passionate advocate for SoulCycle, and her invitation to join her for a class at the first timer's rate of 20 bucks, including shoe rental, came at precisely a time when I was 1) done with marathon training for the season, 2) unbuttoning my ever-tightening jeans in between handfuls of candy corn, and 3) not infected with the plague. So last week, I RSVPed to join her for Nick's 7:30pm Tuesday class at SoulCycle.

As I mentioned yesterday, I caught diphtheria or dysentery or diverticulitis (pretty sure I've actually be vaccinated against the first two, and the third may be a birth defect and not something you can catch...) over the weekend. I went for a run to try to sweat out some toxins when I got home yesterday afternoon, but by today, I was contemplating an early departure from work (no such luck). But an RSVP is an RSVP, so I did my best Lance Armstrong (minus the HGH or whatever) and geared up in all my spandex glory after work. I even tweeted about my impending date with a spin bike:

willrunforbeer: On my way to SoulCycle, which I'm pretty sure will kill me.

Lo and behold, SoulCycle tweeted back!

SoulCycle: @willrunforbeer No way -- if you run marathons and drink beers, you'll fit right in! :)

Love.

I rolled up to the Upper East Side studio approaching panic mode and found a fancy, schmancy, all-white reception area with a jar of ponytail holders and packs of gum and tissues and hand sanitizer all for the taking. Also, ear plugs. Concerning.

The lovely SoulCyclers were super friendly and not at all judgey about my spinning virginity. They hooked me up with spin shoes (required for the class; they're the clip in kind, which are both terrifyingly hardcore in appearance and make you feel like a badass) and volunteered to set up my bike for me. I awkwardly almost wiped out in my spin shoes as I skated back to Train's waiting arms to chill until class began. Note to spin newbies: walk on your heels, not on the balls of your feet.

The doors opened to a booming bass line as the class ahead of us let out and the SoulCyclers went in to clean everything off. Train and I had reserved bikes next to each other, towards the back, in a corner; thank God for Train's SoulCycling experience or I would have awkwardly been, like, on the stage in the front. The SoulCycler fitted me for my bike (seat should be hip high; handlebars should be as far away from the front of the seat as the length of your forearm, elbow to fingertip), taught me how to clip in and clip out (and assured me if I couldn't get out at the end, I could just take my feet out and leave the shoes clipped right in and they'd deal with it for me), and explained the positions and terminology: first position meant hands together in the middle of the bars; second was hands wide, and third was hands up high. Here is a diagram I made:












So easy you don't even need opposable thumbs to do it! Actually you do; I just can't really draw.

Train helped me set up my water and towel for easy access and showed me my hand weights. Oh I'm sorry, hand weights? I thought this was spinning? Like, with the legs? "Don't worry; they're just 2 pounds."

Foreshadowing...

So, I'm on, I'm clipped, I'm ready. Let's ride. The music starts bumping and Nick the instructor tells us to ride. It's largely straight forward. To everyone but me, who didn't understand that you aren't supposed to just ride as fast as possible from the outset, nor that the beat was relevant to what your body was meant to be doing. So I started sprinting away, proud of myself because the only muscle groups I ever work are the big ones in my legumes (calf raises? Who needs calf raises?). Nick then tells us to lean our butts and bodies back, so that our torsos are basically parallel to the bike, and then straighten up again. Here is another diagram:













That actually came out a lot better than I expected... Minus the arm situation happening in the second depiction... And that's my tongue hanging out of my mouth. 2 minutes into class.

Anyway, so Nick was telling us to pulse back and forth between these two positions, neither of which involved our butts touching the seats. Everyone else seemed to manage this just fine. I, however, was pedaling maniacally like some possessed Wizard of Oz extra. My legs were moving so fast that they had no ability to sustain any weight. So, when I tried to pulse back, my right foot became unclipped, flew out to my side, was smacked and dragged by the pedal as it continued to turn at 748 RPM, and ended up wedged in between the seat adjustment knob and the bike frame.

Holy shit, who breaks their ankle in spin class? Was that even possible?

No. Or at least I hadn't managed it yet. I looked over at Train, who graciously pretended she hadn't noticed I'd nearly taken down our whole row of bikes, and clipped back in.

Once I figured out that these crazy maneuvers were possible if my legs moved in time with the rest of my body, things got a little easier. Which is not to say I wasn't absolutely pouring with sweat. But unlike so many other fitness classes I've tried, there were no individual moves I couldn't do. It was more the culmination of moves that left me shaking. My legs were pretty strong throughout, but, as it turns out, spinning is a full body workout. We did bicep and tricep work, pressing and dipping and leaning in various positions on our handle bars. We did core work, contracting from one side to the other (almost fell off the bike again while that was going on). And then came the free weights. For about ten minutes at the end of class, our legs kept pedaling while we did arm and shoulder work with 2 pound weights. Trust me: after 40 minutes of supporting your body on your arms over a flimsy set of handlebars, 2 pounds feels like 57. THOUSAND.

For a 45 minute workout, the class seemed to fly by. The music was great (and not so loud you needed ear plugs), and Nick the instructor was super nice and motivating, and didn't make you feel lame if you accidentally crushed your own limbs in the mechanisms of your bike. Also, at no point did my crotch hurt (likely because there was very little actually sitting in the saddle; most of the class was standing/squatting/leaning/hovering). And I can't say enough about how much more inclined I am to go to a class if I know I can actually accomplish all of the moves without collapsing or crashing into my fellow participants during some kick-ball-change sequence. Hell, the only reason I've stuck with running so long is because who can't run? Best of all, I came out of the class totally pumped up (emotionally speaking. I don't think the results of all that arm work are quite so immediate) and plum forgot I even had a cold. I was awkwardly shouting at Train as we walked to the subway: THAT WAS FUN, I LOVE SPINNING, YAY THANK YOU, GLORIOUS HOORAY!

The quick and dirty: SoulCycle was awesome, and that means a lot coming from someone who thinks cross training means drinking oatmeal chocolate stout in the summer. First timers can ride for $20, including shoe rental. Subsequent classes are $32 a piece, plus $2 for shoes. The studio I went to was the 83rd and Third location, and the instructor was Nick, but there are several other studios throughout the city, and in the Hamptons and Westchester. Celebs are also pretty into SoulCycle if Us Weekly is any indication ("Stars: They're just like us!"), though I didn't see any last night.



Source.

But go see for yourself. Tell them my friend Train sent you.

Monday Wrap Up: Precipitous Decline

My health is dwindling: since sometime Saturday, I've suffered from a sore throat, headaches, sniffles, sweats, loss of appetite and lethargy. Sleeping the entire flight home from Chicago was awesome. Sleeping the entirety of Sunday afternoon while visiting friends was less cool.

My command of restraint is also on the decline, as evidenced by the breakfast of bacon-chocolate chip pancakes, followed by the lunch of chili cheese fries, yesterday (the loss of appetite thing didn't really start until today. Obviously).

Worst of all, my discerning taste for good beer is all but gone. I drank from a 30 rack of Busch Light this weekend.

And I'm the one who purchased it.

I appear to be in a perilous free fall on all fronts.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 11. "Whoaaa, take it easy, champ. 11 whole miles?! Damn, you're a machine." I'm actually cutting myself some slack for last week, given that my marathon was only 8 days ago. And I even managed to get a run in while I was on vacation in Chicago. I only did it because I like running through the zoo. Whatever gets you going, amirite?

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: Way more than 11...

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: DayQuil has really hindered ye olde thought process (or maybe it's the 3 different times I slammed my head on things on Saturday night. Two of those "things" were Nina...), if you couldn't tell from reading this, the worst blog post ever, so I don't really know what I drank this week. A Guinness in the LaGuardia airport bar (Abbe made me do it). 2 of Schlafy's APA in the St. Louis airport bar. A Smithwick's Sunday before I realized I was dying of the plague. A bunch of Blue Moons for my first post-marathon foray back into the NYC bar scene. And about a trillion Busch Lights, because apparently Chicago is College 2.0 and I'm 19 again. Minus the tolerance. And the over-plucked eyebrows. I was going through a phase...

Someday, when I'm a fully functioning human and have command of the English language and the Internet once again, I'll provide you with an adequate recap of my time in Chicago, including marathon spectating and Big Ten tailgating. I'll also tell you all about what I'm up to now that the post-marathon glow is fading. Those beers (and chili cheese fries) aren't gonna burn themselves off, you know...

Anyway, send healing vibes. I may be a wuss, but having a cold is pretty much debilitating.

In Which I Interview Myself

... Or did I just blow your mind?

Where am I?
The airport bar in scenic St. Louis, MO

Why?
Because I wanted a beer, duh (Schafly Dry Hopped APA)

But seriously, why?
Because I'm going to Chicago this weekend.

What for?
Lots of good stuff, including (but not limited to) watching football, drinking beer, seeing friends, and the Chicago Marathon.

WTF, woman?!
Slow your roll. I'm not running it; just spectating. Though I can't resist running through the Lincoln Park Zoo...

Well how has post-marathon recovery been?
Not too shabby, thanks for asking! After a few days of Frankenstein walking, I managed an hour of yoga on Wednesday and an easy run on Thursday. And I do have my Kinvaras in my bag. Sadly, not on my feet, which was how I managed to pick up that dude in the airport on my way to Michigan earlier this year.

You're creepy. Anyway, are there any other upcoming adventures you wanna spring on us?
Yup. Plenty. But you'll have to wait until my return to the Big Apple to hear about them. My beer is getting warm, and the dude next to me at the bar looks like he wants to start chatting, even though I'm wearing real people shoes... Score! See you next week!

More from Smuttynose

Ahead of last weekend’s marathon, I reached out to the fine folks at Smuttynose to warn them of my impending arrival and advise them to stock up on beer as necessary.  I had the chance to meet Robby Brandolo, National Chain Account Manager, in the beer tent after the marathon, and she was perfectly content despite having stood in the rain all morning long (happiness possibly attributed to the fact that, in her own words she “get[s] to drink on the job.”  Not a bad gig).  Robby gave us a quick run-down of what they were pouring: Star Island Single, a session beer picked especially for the post-marathon crowd.  

Session beers are by definition lower in ABV (less than 5%), which some say makes them a natural ally of the distance runner.  I myself prefer a high gravity beer after a marathon, because I think it’s funny to get drunk in places you probably shouldn’t be drunk, such as at the finish line of an endurance event, but that’s just my take…  Anyway, Robby explained that they serve Star Island at the races they sponsor because some non-beer drinkers enjoy it as a means to get hydrated.  Which is what I’m going to tell people I’m doing when I start drinking beer at my desk…

In any event, Robby also put me in touch with JT Thompson, Minister of Propaganda (that’s his real title) at Smuttynose, who was kind enough to answer some questions I emailed him.  I explained in advance I’d be doing a little recap on my blog (actually, I referred to it as “investigative journalism,” told him he couldn’t “handle the truth,” and vowed he’d “never work in this town again” if he didn’t answer), so I’ve copied his responses to my deep and probing (that’s what he said) questions below:

CW: Smuttynose seems to have a strong involvement in the local NH running scene – something we unfortunately don’t see much here in NYC despite having plenty of Brooklyn-made beers.  Are these partnerships driven by the brewery – are there runners in your midst? – or by the local races/running groups?

JT, MofP: We've got one runner here, Robby Brondolo and I understand that you met her this weekend.  She's done some 5ks that we've been involved in and she's our contact with LOCO Running with whom we partner on the "Will Run For Beer" series.   LOCO actually approached us about working together and it's been a great partnership.

CW: New England is blessed with a plethora of craft breweries – how have you been able to carve a niche for yourselves?  What do you think sets you apart? 

JT, MofP: I think a number of factors allowed us to carve a niche for ourselves going back to our earliest days.  Our Founder Peter Egelston had already opened two brewpubs with his sister before opening Smuttynose with another partner, so there was a certain amount of built-in recognition by virtue of Peter being involved. 

Secondly, I think that our beer line-up has given us the ability to keep one foot grounded in what we've always done, which is to brew a core line-up of full-flavored, naturally brewed unfiltered beers in the English Ale tradition while the structure of our portfolio has allowed us to experiment and brew more unique or limited beers for seasonal, Big Beer, or Short Batch releases.  We launched our Big Beer Series, a series of large format, limited-release beers in 1998, well before anyone else was doing that on a distribution-sized scale.  As the craft beer world has changed, we've found ourselves kind of straddling two different craft beer worlds; that of the hard core aficionado that's filled with barrel-aging, obscure ingredients, and perpetual limited releases and the other that's larger and populated by people who like to drink beer with character and flavor but aren't part of the die-hard, vocal minority.  This divide allows us to be both edgy, yet accessible.

Our label artwork really helps us stand out as well.  We're the only brewery I can think of that uses photography on our labels.  The photos we use are shot specifically for the labels; we don't draw from stock images, so each of our year round brands has a very distinctive presentation that stays with people.

CW: We do get Smuttynose here in NYC (Old Brown Dog is features heavily in my rotation.  And last year’s S’Muttonator was a doozy, and I mean that in the best way possible), and I see that you have distribution as far south as Florida and as far west as Illinois.  What does the craft beer scene look like outside of places like New England or Milwaukee, where it’s really taking off?  Are you seeing a lot of growth and interest, or are you distributing mainly to die hard beer fans as opposed to those just beginning to dabble?

JT, MofP: I think the craft beer scene is taking off all around the US.  In fact I tend to think of New England as a more mature market for craft beer along with the West Coast and mid-Atlantic.  Please understand that these markets still have plenty of growth potential but I think the real booming markets are in the center of the country, places where local beer is still relatively new.  I'm not sure who is buying our beer in all our different markets but I do know that I see a very broad range of visitors on our tours; everyone from early 20s Brooklyn hipsters, construction workers from our area and retired couples who used to go on wine tours.  Craft beer is an incredibly hot commodity right now and i think we're seeing growth across all different demographics.  I don't know of a single craft brewer who is down or even with last year's production and as a market segment, craft beer is the only section of the beer business that's really growing right now.

Very interesting stuff, JT, MofP.  I love to hear that the craft beer movement is really taking off nationwide; the whole thinking behind my own beer runs was that I wanted to get people to see how many different, interesting beers are out there, and realize that they really could find a beer for them, even if they aren’t a “beer drinker.”  I think Robby’s point in the beer tent, that some people seriously drank the Star Island to rehydrate, underscores this; there is a beer for every purpose. 

To Smuttynose’s credit, and echoing JT, MofP’s point about straddling (that’s what she said) the two worlds of craft beer, I think they do a great job of making actually flavorful, balanced beers that do have appeal to the non-hard core minority.  Stone, for example, is so focused on super high IBUs and burning your tongue out of your face with bitterness that it sometimes seems like they aren’t even trying to make a balanced beer; it’s all about being a “big beer.”  Smuttynose offers big beers (see S’Muttonator… seriously that knocked me on my ass for the evening), but they also offer totally drinkable beers too.. 

And they like dogs.

In summation, I like Smuttynose beers, and I like the people who work there, and they like runners, and so I suggest you go get youself some Smuttynose stat.  (According to craft beer lore, you can order one by saying “Make mine a Smutty.” IMan thinks that’s how you can order girlfriends too.  Heyo!  Wait did I just call myself a slut?  I’m confused…).  

Also, I shall heretofore be known as Claire, Minister of Badass MoFo Marathoning Times.  C, MofBAMFMT.  That should definitely be easier than writing out all 6 letters of my name.  You're welcome.

Race Report: Smuttynose Hampton Rockfest Marathon

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Claire who was running her 12th Marathon - her 5th in 12 months. Though she trained diligently, she was always left feeling that she could have done more, which undermined her confidence. As she approached the big day of the race, she looked back at her training for past marathons, and she was scared. For example, she had run 227 miles in the month before the Boston Marathon - her fastest to date. Conversely, she had only run 165 in the month before her 12th. She was very much doubtful that she could run another PR. If she's being totally honest, she was looking for an excuse not to.

But she traveled to Hampton, NH anyway, because it was said to be a fast marathon course. She picked up her bib and she drove the course and she thought, "this doesn't seem like a very fast marathon course after all..." There we so many twists, turns, and out-and-backs that she was sure she would be accumulating extra mileage here and there, not taking turns tight enough, not running tangents, and she did not like her odds of having a fast race. She wished she had not publicly broadcast her ambitions for the race, but such is the risk with being an Internet celebrity. Which she also was.









But she ate a pasta dinner, and laid out her race day gear, and got into a hotel bed which was shaped like a taco, and she went to sleep (or tried to, but her boyfriend IMan had the habit of exhaling his used breath directly into her breathing space, which made sleeping difficult), all the while unsure of herself and this whole marathoning business.

In the morning, she awoke and it was raining. Not misting or spitting or drizzling. It was torrentially down-pouring. She may even have seen literal cats and dogs dripping from the clouds. She was very scared (not of the cats and dogs; Claire loves animals).

She said to IMan, who was also running the marathon, but who has a much more even temperament when it comes to racing (let the record show he is psychotic about other things), "What are we going to do?" To which he replied, "we are going to run a marathon."

So they put on their race gear and lubed up with Body Glide and unfurled trash bags to wear over their clothes, and they ate granola bars and drank coffee and watched SportsCenter, and finally it was nearing the start time (which was 9am, which was quite late, but also meant they didn't have to wake up too early, which was nice). So they put their trash bags over their clothes and saw pedestrians walking by with their umbrellas blown inside out and they were not very excited to run. Claire even suggested that they skip the race altogether and go to the beer tent at the finish instead.








But instead they waited under an overhang to stay relatively dry, and when it was time, they went back out into the elements and headed toward the start. IMan, who is very fast, headed towards the front of the pack. Claire placed herself several rows back. The rain kept coming down. Claire said to herself, "Let's see how the first mile goes, but I'm pretty sure this is not a day for PRs."

At the gun, Claire stripped off her garbage bags and began to run. While most races necessitate a little bobbing and weaving to get through the pack during the first few miles, Claire found she had no trouble carving out some space for herself. Her pace bracelet said she should run a flat 8:00/mile for the first mile. She ran a 7:32. Fast. But it didn't feel that bad, and since she'd driven the course the night before and knew there were no major climbs in the back half, she thought "well, let me be a touch fast now, and see how I feel after 5k. It'll be just like that crappy race in Park Slope last weekend."

Mile 2: 7:23. Oops.
Mile 3: 7:32.

Claire was still feeling decent, though she had to pee pretty badly. So she decided to keep running a little fast in order to bank time in preparation for a bathroom stop.

Mile 4: 7:27
Mile 5: 7:39. "Is two minutes of banked time enough?" she thought. "Maybe I'll keep going to the next portapotty.

Mile 6: 7:30
Mile 7: 7:32
Mile 8: 7:26

By now, the rain had tapered off, and Claire was pleasantly surprised by how she was feeling. Minus being soaking wet and urgently needing to pee. But she figured she could hover around 7:30s through the first half, and that even on tired legs, she could run 8:30s through the second half, since that is the pace she'd been doing for her long run. If she could make this positive split strategy actually work, she would come in right at 3:30. But positive splitting isn't considered so much a strategy as it is a grievous error...

Mile 9: 7:37. Oof. Claire did not recollect this hill from driving the course...
Mile 10: 7:23
Mile 11: 7:28
Mile 12: 7:30
Mile 13: 7:41

As she came through the half marathon point, two weird things happened to our protagonist: 1) She set a half marathon PR at 1:38:XX, and 2) the course marshal told her she was "about the 6th lady." You really shouldn't set half marathon PRs during the marathon, and upon looking at her watch and seeing her time, Claire thought, "this is going to get very ugly." But she was admittedly buoyed knowing that she was among the top ten women. The man running with her was buoyed too, until he concluded aloud, "Oh, I'm not a lady."

Claire still had to pee. Badly. "But if I keep pushing through 16, I'll only have 10 miles to go."

Mile 14: 7:40
Mile 15: 7:46
Mile 16: 7:50

Claire knew she was slipping. "Run 2 more miles hard. Just 2."

Mile 17: 7:54
Mile 18: 7:54. The course did a weird left turn onto a side street here, where runners went about 10 yards down the street, around some orange cones, and back out again. Claire was a few steps ahead of the man who was not a lady, and nearly took him the wrong way because the around-the-cones maneuver seemed so weird. Why couldn't they have just backed the finish line up 20 yards?

Course marshals said "the next woman is just 20 seconds ahead of you! Striking distance!" You know what, guy? Strike this, she thought. She'd been running with the man who realized he was not a lady for almost 5 miles now, but he had headphones on, so they didn't exchange anything but grunts.

It started raining again. Hard. But by this point, Claire had banked enough time that she could slow down a full minute per mile if she needed to and still come in at 3:30. This was unexpected, and Claire instead assumed her legs would someone break off in the next 8 miles. Her shoes were very squishy, and the Gatorade (extra credit for all marathons that serve orange Gatorade - not lemon lime, and not Cytomax - on the course) that spilled into her sports bra with every sip burned the spots that had been rubbed raw. "8 miles to go; that's just twice around Prospect Park from your apartment. And maybe it's raining hard enough you could just pee while you're running." Claire decided not to try that because of the chafing risk. But she did really consider it.

Mile 19: 7:51. She was passed by a woman, and became the 7th woman overall.
Mile 20: 8:09. That hill, again. The first mile over 8 minutes. "Here it comes," she thought. She was passed again. 8th woman now.
Mile 21: 7:59
Mile 22: 7:54. A big downhill back towards the ocean, and the finish line. Alett, who stood out in the rain and wind, with a cold, to cheer, spied Claire and snapped her picture. "I hear there's beer at the finish!" she told Claire. Claire wanted a beer. But she also really wanted to pee.










Mile 23: 8:07. "Just 3 and change. 3:30 is in the bag. See what you can do."
Mile 24: 8:13. Claire passed another woman, though not one in her age group. 7th overall. Marathons never have water this close to the finish, but Claire was quite thirsty here.
Mile 25: 8:13. "10 more minutes, 10 more minutes and you'll have run sub 3:30 and you can pee."
Mile 26: 8:19. Hamstring was completely cramped and form was going haywire. Stride, limp, stride, limp...

When she first spied it, the finish chute clock read 3:24 and change. Claire pushed. The hamstring pushed back. "Break 3:25," she thought. Claire screamed like a women's tennis player. The crowd cheered. The announcer said "Claire Walsh from Brooklyn, New York has gone the distance." The finish clock read 3:24:45.

"Don't throw up, don't throw up." Claire caught her breath, grabbed her metal (not particularly nice, but for a small local race, she'll take it; also, the criterium for deeming a metal "nice" are pretty subjective) and began stumbling back to the hotel a few blocks away. She chatted with a fellow finisher and exchanged congratulatory remarks. "7th woman overall, eh? You probably got an age group award!" But Claire couldn't think about that because, by now she was not only soaking wet, but also freezing, and if it hasn't been mentioned, she really had to pee. She returned to the hotel room with the bed shaped like a taco to find IMan showering. "Howdiditgoohmygodpleasehurryihavetopee."

"It was okay," IMan reported as he toweled off while Claire shoved him out of the way to get into the bathroom, "but that course sucked. I felt like it was all uphill. The wind was awful. I ran a 3:02. I think I was 9th."

9th place? Out of the whole marathon? Um, yeah, I guess that's okay...

"How did it go for you?" IMan asked. "3:24, 7th woman overall."

"Um, congrats on the 9 minute PR!" IMan exclaimed, though Claire barely heard him as she turned on the hot water in the shower.

She wriggled out of her sopping wet running gear and stepped into the shower (and peed! So much! Like, 4 straight minutes of shower pee!). The hot water hit all of her most chafed spots and was agonizing. She wanted to sit down, but the shower floor was covered with pee. But worst off all, she wanted a beer, and there were none.

"Get out of that bed, IMan!" she demanded as she dug through her bag for sweats. "We're going to the beer tent."

Showered and warm, Claire and IMan began to feel much better. IMan's feet were very chewed up from running the sandy roads in the rain, and Claire had a blister or two, but they were determined to walk those 5 blocks back to the beer tent. They ran 26.2 miles in the pouring rain. They were going to drink free race beers.









Pictured: 9th place finisher enjoying a Smuttynose Star Island Pale Ale at the beer tent. This is the first marathon after which he has actually put on his medal. Not pictured: delicious slices of Dominos consumed at the finish.

On their way back to the car, Claire and IMan took a look at the official results. IMan was indeed 9th overall, with a 3:02:54. Claire was the 7th female, with a 3:24:45. IMan also won his age group, and Claire took second in hers. (I'd link to the official results, but I'd prefer you didn't know IMan's real name and try to steal him from me because you love his beard and want to date a winner).

The moral of this story? Rain and wind make for pretty miserable racing conditions, and facilitate chafing and blisters. They are not, however, an excuse for a less than A+ performance, no matter how much one wants them to be. Trust yourself, trust your training, and don't make excuses. You're stronger, faster, and better prepared than you think.

That said, even seasoned marathoners psyche themselves out every once in awhile. It's okay to be nervous.

Also, don't hold your pee in for 3 hours and 24 minutes. It's very uncomfortable.

Sunday Wrap Up: A Plus. Plus.

I don't mean to be indelicate here, but...

Fuck. Yeah.

3:24:47 unofficial today. It absolutely poured rain, and the wind blew us in every direction except forward. And I PRed by 9 minutes and was the 7th woman finisher.

Then we drank a beer and ate a slice of pizza at the finish.

And then the Giants won.

Not a bad Sunday, really.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 40.

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 2, and counting. I was brokenhearted when I realized that, it being Sunday, I couldn't buy beers to drink when I got back to IMan's place tonight. Luckily, his roommates kindly shared their beers with me. I think this is because they don't know how much I can drink.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week: Smuttynose Star Island Pale Ale at the finish; Smuttynose IPA when we got back.

And what's that? You'd like to know how IMan did too? Oh, he came in 9th. Overall. No big deal... We're just a bad ass marathoning duo.