My Life Is A Vacation

It's been two whole weeks since I returned from my last vacation.  So obviously, it's time for me to go on another one.  Or two.  Seriously, I don't know how people without 30 days of PTO get through life...

Tonight, I'm headed to the Adirondacks for a little R&R with my high school girlfriends.  We'll run and hike and kayak and also eat bologna sandwiches and sheet cake and drink Saranacs in bathing suits and sweat pants, and it will be awesome.  

Old Forge, New York

On Monday, I'll leave the girls and drive 450 miles (!) to Maine and my parents, where we'll run and hike and fish and also eat lobsters and pie and drink Shipyards in fleeces and sweat pants.

Camden, Maine

I intend to write a couple of blog posts while I'm away, so really the only point in my telling you this in advance was to make you jealous of my fabulous life.  

Anyway, I hope you have some sick plans that involve the great outdoors this Labor Day weekend.  If you're driving, don't drink.  That goes for boats too.  Even kayaks, though mostly because I haven't been able to figure out where to stash my beer without spilling it while I paddle.

Spectator's Report: New York City Ironman

Remember 3 weeks ago when I spectated the Ironman and told you I’d write about it?  Of course you don’t, because that shit happened three weeks ago and you’re like me and have the attention span of a goldfi- OOOH SHINY THING!

So, as a reminder: on Saturday, August 11^th, my friends Neal and Baker competed in the New York City Ironman.  Just as all marathons are the same, arbitrary and random distance of 26.2 miles, all Ironman events consist of 140.6 miles of activity:  2.4 of them are swimming.  112 of them are biking.  26.2 of them are running.

Meanwhile, I can’t commit to do one 35 minute yoga DVD once a week on top of my running. 

Because I’m a good and kind friend and not because I thought going to New Jersey* at 5:00am on a Saturday would be fun, I pledged that I would spectate not only the Ironman, but my first triathlon of any kind.  Because go big or go home, right?

Looking out from Jersey.  I'm pretty sure those are Springsteen lyrics, somewhere

As a relative spectating novice (also, selfish person who doesn’t love to give back to the running community by cheering at races in which I’m not participating) and total Ironman neophyte, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  Here are some things I learned:

• A lot of Ironman spectating is boring. Abbe warned me of this ahead of time, because this was not her first rodeo, but I just assume everything she tells me is a lie she's using to trick me into drinking more.  But she was right.  Baker and Neal, I don’t mean to belittle your accomplishments at all, but those 140.6 miles took you guys a pretty long time.  Yes, we had other people to watch and clap for and ring cowbells for, and we entertained ourselves by hanging out in a Dunkin’ Donuts in Fort Lee from about 6:00am to 6:45am, and we ran back over the GWB, and we went to lunch and drank beers (told you Abbe tricked me into drinking), but we did all of those things because there’s a lot of downtime in the Ironman.  I mean, not for the actual Ironmen, but for me.  And as always, this is about me.

• Speaking of me, I got really tired watching other people compete for 140.6 miles.  Like, exhausted.  Partially, that’s because we woke up so early to get Baker to the starting line on time (though we actually couldn't be sure until we saw him on the bike that he did, in fact, make it to the starting line, as Abbe and I were rudely prohibited from entering the transition area, hence the Dunkin’ Donut hang out).  But partially, it’s because even if you’re not bad ass over-achievers as we were and don’t use your time to go for a run, you’re on your feet all damn day. 

• So, rest when you can.  You didn't train for this shit like your Ironman buddies did.  It’s okay to take a breather.  Lie down for 15 minutes (in Baker's bed, while he's doing an Ironman, sucker!).  Sit down and eat some tacos.  Have a beer for crying out loud.  If you’re going to be out there just as long as the actual competitors and not even get a medal for it, you're entitled to take it easy when you have the chance. 

• Don’t just stand there.  Yes, you’re tired, but probably not as tired as that guy who's pissed in his trisuit 4 times and still has 14 miles to go.  Ring your bell, jump up and down, tell people you love them. 

Photo credit: Erica, who has a great Facebook album from the day, if you're lucky enough to be her friend

• Think carefully about what you’re cheering.  For a good portion of the morning, my crew and I were camped out at about mile 2 of the bike.  When they came upon us, these people had 10 hours of exercise ahead of them.  They would be on the bike alone for another 5 or 6 hours.  And they were about to climb up a tremendous hill.  Obviously, you’re a dick if you say “almost there!” at any point, in any race, ever, but especially mile 2 of the bike during an Ironman.  You deserve to be thrown up on if you say that.  But “Looking good!” is not a helpful cheer at this stage either.  Of course they were looking good; they’d barely done anything.  I went with “Ride your bike!” which people seemed to like.   Later in the day, we moved to miles 20-22, and then 25, of the marathon.  The final push.  By and large, when we saw people at these points, they looked like absolute hell.  Ice packs shoved into every opening of their trisuits, Gu crusted to their faces, looking like that pirate from Family Guy (minus the beer bottles at their feet.  That was later.  Or earlier, if we're talking about me).  

       

          At this stage, my cheer of choice was “YOU ARE SUCH A BAD ASS!”  And it’s true.

• Speaking of bad asses, go to the finish.  You wanna see tired?  Holy shit, Neal, you far surpass me in athletic achievements (even though I am an ultramarathoner), but I have never seen a human being so tired as you were at mile 25.5 of the marathon.  That said, I’ve also never seen a human being so happy.  I cannot say it enough - Go to the finish. It’s a crazy cross section of humanity: astoundingly fit people who've just accomplished something actually incredible stumbling around in what can only be described as conscious comas. 

• Buy your friends beers when it’s over.  This one should go without saying, but when your Ironmen are done, they shouldn’t have to ask for beers.  You should escort yourself to the nearest bodega while they change out of their pissed-in trisuits and take showers and sit the hell down, and you should return with a sampling of brews.  They paid almost a grand to put themselves through actual hell.  Cough up a couple twenties and treat them to drinks.  They’ll be total lightweights at that point anyway.

In all seriousness, I’ve never been more awestruck by just how determined, talented, and somewhat crazy-stupid my Ironfriends are, and I couldn’t be happier or more proud of their incredible accomplishments.  Neal and Baker, congratulations – you are Ironmen!

*Even though this was billed as the New York City Ironman, approximately 130 of the 140.6 miles took place in New Jersey.  This was a scam.

Sunday Wrap Up: I Almost Died This Week

I had big plans this week: write recaps of the Beer Run and the Ironman; write some musings on running in Colorado; drink a lot of interesting beers; hook up with at least five different dudes.  Unfortunately, I didn't accomplish any of those things (though it's only 4pm on Sunday afternoon, so as long as I can find... five different dudes, there's still hope) because I was pretty sure I was dying.

On Tuesday, my stomach starting hurting.  On Wednesday, it was both my back and my stomach.  By Thursday, I couldn't sleep through the night, spent the day doubled over at my desk with a heating pad, and had made both Tums and Advil their own food groups.  Eating seemed to make my ailments worse, and while giving up solids would probably make me smokin' hot, it wasn't the most realistic option for someone who loves running.  And eating solids.  Specifically cheesy ones.

Oddly enough, I discovered on Friday that moving actually made me feel better, and was able to finally get a run in Friday morning.  Then I spent 24 hours with an abdomen so distended my sister got mad that I was potentially going to give birth on her wedding day, and was surviving on popsicles and white wine (which, oddly enough, made me feel better).  

And then just as suddenly as it came on, my ailments were gone today.

So I ran 14 miles and played tennis for an hour, then ate curly fries for lunch.  Because learning from your mistakes is for pussies.

Anyway, I'm sorry that I didn't write recaps of jack shit or musings on anything, that I drank precisely 1 beer, and that I was scared to hook up with any dudes due to the pain associated with Donkey Punching and my vulnerable kidneys (Dad, don't google "Donkey Punch).  Suffice it to say, this has been a really weird week.  I hope next week is better.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 30.  Marathon training week one complete!  I actually ran more than required this week, because I have a long run route in Connecticut that I love, and I went out there when I was pretty sure I was dying and needed to take inventory of the assets which I planned to bequeath.  Turns out, I have no assets.

Number of Beers Run This Week: I was serious; I only drank 1 beer this week.  Distended abdomen + carbonated beverage made of wheat and yeast = sexiest beach body ever.

How fitting that Instagram has a filter that knows exactly how sunburned I'll actually get?
And no, seriously, I'm not pregnant.

Types of Beers Consumed This Week:  Well at least it was a new (and good) one.  My parents went out to Port Jefferson earlier in the week and brought me back a souvenir: a 22 of Port Jeff's Dead Ryes Ryes-n-Bock, which was pretty good and malty and (thank God) didn't have detectable banana overtones, despite what the brewery claims.

Coming up: marathon training, week 2.  We can only go up from here!

Monday Wrap Up: And So It Begins

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first day of training for marathon number 14.  On the agenda for today? Rest.  I effing love marathon training.

In all seriousness, I do love marathon training, and I’m excited to get down to business.  Dicking around for the summer has been super fun (possibly too much…), but I definitely feel ready to be accountable to something besides my hankering for day beers. 

Things I’m also accountable for: my Ironman New York spectators report, final thoughts on my trip to Boulder, and a recap of yesterday’s “We’ll Run For Beer: The Fourquel.”  Good thing I like writing…

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 24, but I deserve extra credit because 10 of them took 3.5 hours, on account of the elevation in Colorado.  “Time on your feet” is a legitimate training strategy, right?  Should I just stand up all the time?

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 19.  Untappd, sometimes I wish you didn’t reveal these things to me… 

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week:  Damn, I did well here.  My flight to Colorado on Tuesday was delayed, so I started with a Smuttynose Old Brown Dog in the airport.  And it only got better from there.  Green Flash’s West Coast IPA, Mountain Sun’s FYIPA, Avery IPA, Deschutes’ Hope in the Dark, Port’s Summer Pale Ale, Avery’s Joe’s Pilsner, Lagunitas’ IPA, PBR (oops… a misstep), Wild Mountain’s Hop Diggity IPA, Upslope’s Craft Lager (the only beer I drank all week that I didn’t like – this tasted like Cheerios, which is also what my sister says my pee smells like, which isn’t wrong, and which doesn’t make for positive associations when it comes to beer drinking), Oskar Blues’ G’Knight, and Left Hand’s Sawtooth Ale.  Then I came back to New York, where I did more damage in the form of Reade Street Ale, Southern Tier 2xIPA, Tommyknocker Hop Strike Black IPA, Peak Organic Summer Session, and whatever summer seasonal was being poured at the Frying Pan last night. 

The preceding paragraph listing the beers I drank last week was 168 words.  Which is 3 more words than all the other paragraphs in this blog post combined.  That says something about me.  And that something isn't "this girl is ready to tackle marathon training again."

Back From Boulder

I'm back from Boulder, which I'm pretty convinced is among the most fun and beautiful places ever, not counting the dressing room at J. Crew.  I drank approximately a trillion new and delicious beers, went running, went hiking, rode a bike to a bar, went back to college, ate grilled cheese from a street cart at 1am, saw 2 moose, and flew back to New York sweaty, muddy, and sunscreeny in my running clothes and trail shoes because we wanted to maximize our time on the trails, even if that meant minimizing the number of fellow air travelers who wanted to sit next to a girl who smelled like she'd spent her morning running in the mountains.  It ruled.  

Do you have any idea how big moose are?  Also, I really wanted to get out of the car
when we saw them.  Thank God for seat belts.

One thing on Rafter's Boulder packing list was "camera with video," which sounds creepy and pervy, but it actually turned out to be an awesome suggestion because we took some fun action video on our run at Indian Peaks on Friday morning.  

Our total elevation gain over 2 miles from the trailhead to our turnaround point was almost 1,100 feet.  Is it any wonder I want no part in being filmed slogging up a mountain?

Here's one of us splashing our way back down.  I've conveniently edited out the part where I twist my ankle at the end and very nearly slide 11,207 feet down the side of a mountain.  Don't worry, Mom; I made it home in one piece.

Anyway, I can't recommend Boulder enough, and hope I get the chance to go back soon.  Even though I told Rafter I hated him 5 to 6 times per 50 feet of elevation gain.

I didn't mean it.  Usually.

Monday Wrap Up: Of (Iron)Men and Mountains

My buddy Neal gives me a lot of shit for constantly needing to mention that I’m an ultramarathoner.  Which I am.  And thank God for that, because this weekend, I really needed to draw upon my ultramarathoning experience, to really dig deep when I was exhausted and sweaty and sore and sunburned, when I had been on my feet for 12 hours, to find that fifth gear.  I did it, you guys.  Claire Walsh from New York, New York – you are an Ironman spectator!

Photo credit: AbbeLew, who thank God isn't scared of me despite the fact that
this is what I look like sometimes.

Oh and also it’s worth a passing mention that Neal, and also my buddy Baker, are actual Ironmen, but they already got recognized with medals and champagne and hugs and pizza for that, and I got nothing but blisters from ringing a cowbell for my efforts, which is total bullshit.

Obviously, I’m kidding and Neal and Baker are huge bad asses, but they, and my first Ironman spectating experience, will get a blog post all to themselves.  Mostly because I’m still too tired from the effort to type very much at this juncture.  These bell-ringing blisters are legit.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: Ha!  17.  I only ran 3 days last week, mostly because I got drunk approximately 8 days last week.  I did, however, run a whopping 5 miles from New Jersey to New York during the Ironman.  While I was doing that, my friends were swimming, biking, and running 140.6 miles, which makes me feel really excellent about myself.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: Oh God. 20.  Yesterday was a beautiful, beautiful day.  I spent it indoors in a dark bar. 

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week:  One of the best parts of the Untappd app is that it takes the difficulty out of remembering what it is I’m drinking, which is useful given the volume at which I’m drinking it.  Related: I think Abbe roofied me yesterday.  Anyway, according to Untappd, I drank Peak Summer Session, Allagash Curieux (this is 11% ABV.  Maybe Abbe didn’t roofie me after all…), Magic Hat Elder Betty, Sierra Nevada Summerfest, Brooklyn Pennant Ale, Blue Moon, Pacifico, Bear Republic's Red Rocket Ale, Clown Shoes’ Supa Hero IPA, Wachusett Green Monsta IPA, Bud Light, and Two Brothers’ Cane and Ebel.

As for the mountains piece: I’m off to Colorado tomorrow through Friday.  My packing list, per my buddy Rafter’s suggestions, includes: road shoes, trail shoes, a fleece, a rain jacket, a headlamp, and short skirts and low cut tops, which is what happens when you ask a dude what to pack for 3 days in the mountains.  I should probably see if I can scrounge up an oxygen mask, since I made it through precisely 3 hill repeats this week, for a total elevation gain of 259 feet.  If you need me before I leave, I’ll be busy brushing up on this. 

Shoe Review: Saucony Peregrines

1. No one asked, because you're heartless, competitive bitches who hope I have an injury so that you can be faster than me (and no I'm not projecting or anything with that statement), but my weird plantar fasciitis pains from Friday night seemed to have been an aberration.  I did run twice on Ye Olde Mill* last week, so perhaps that was a culprit.  Or perhaps I really did have an itchy sole.  Or, maybe my body was like "woman, it's 9:00pm on a Friday night; get off the treadmill and get thee to a bar full of Olympic-loving dudes!" and rebelled.  Either way, I spent 23 miles on the run this weekend and didn't have any issues.   

2. I mentioned in passing on my way up to Cape Cod that I was headed on (yet another) vacation this month.  For three days next week, I'm Boulder-bound to run, hike, drink, and participate in the Semi-Occassional Meeting of Red-Headed Nursery School Classmates.  What I mean is, I'm going to visit my buddy Tom.

In preparation for three days of trail running (I'm taking bets now on whether or not that actually turns out to be one day of trail running, at which I fail miserably, followed by two days of heavy drinking at altitude, and one day of aggressive mid-flight booting on my part, and if that doesn't sound like a dream vacation, I don't know what is), and in recognition of the fact that packing just minimalist trainers was not an ideal footwear decision in Portland in May, I procured myself a pair of Saucony Peregrines.  

These shoes are basically a super-stiff version of the Kinvara, which I wear every day, with extra sharp pointy parts on the bottom (that's what she said?).  I picked 'em because they're just about as close to a regular running shoe as a trail shoe can be, and considering the fact that I'm probably the only runner alive who purposely selected the only two road ultras known to man, I'm not sure how much hardcore, bad ass trail running I have in me in the near future.

New Peregrines, new Kinvaras, and used Kinvaras.  This is three fifths of my active
rotation.  This is also 100% of my disposable income.

Anyway, I already knew all about the Peregrines because I can read and have internet access (if you don't already know about trail shoes but can in fact read and do in fact have internet access, Running Times did a trail shoe review here; the Peregrines, however, are not included), so I essentially walked into Jack Rabbit, asked for a pair in men's 9.5, thereby terrifying the sales guy, hopped on the treadmill to make sure they felt okay, and forked over my credit card.  Then I realized I should probably run on actual trails in them before I fly all the way to Colorado, lest I end up coming home with stumps on the end of my legs.

I could have been super proactive and spent Sunday up in Pound Ridge or Bear Mountain or Van Cortland or any of those places with actual trails, but I didn't, and so the next best solution was to run on the "trails" in Prospect Park.  To be clear, this involves: the bridal path; a dirt ditch immediately beside a paved road; or random wooded paths that may or may not be home to rapist murders, or at the very least, unfriendly dogs.  Tackling these was perhaps more adventurous than committing to running at 5,430 feet for a few days.  But in the spirit of adventure, I set out this morning in my Peregrines to trail-test them.

First impressions:  These are so stiff (again, that's what she said)!  In a trail shoe, apparently that's not a bad thing; a firmer shoe isn't going to give when you step on rocks, roots, or the carcasses of hikers who came before you, but died because they were more than a mile in the air, and who the hell engages in this willingly?!  But given that I like to train in a "responsive" (i.e. not cushioned) training shoe, these felt really weird when I first put them on, even though they're comparatively flexible for a trail shoe.  But to me, it was a bit like wearing ski boots with running shorts.

The Peregrines also weigh more than the Kinvaras, though not by much: 11 oz on the trail shoe versus 9 oz on the trainer.  Still, after 7.5 miles in the Peregrine, my legs were heavy and tired.  It is unclear if that's from the 2 oz weight differential, the fact that I spent 7.5 miles running uphill in woodchips, or the fact that my "nutritional" intake yesterday consisted of a donut, some cheese, and three glasses of wine.

From a traction perspective, the Peregrines definitely lock into the terrain far better than the Kinvaras.  If I were a running back, I'd be concerned about doing serious knee damage in these, but thank God, that's Ahmad Bradshaw's job and not mine, and I think these will probably save me from wiping out and eating it down a mountain more than a few times.

Soles: New Kinvara, new Peregrine, used Kinvara.  Pronate much?

Obviously to get from my apartment to Prospect Park, I had to do some road running, and the Peregrines were almost equally as comfortable on asphalt as they were on dirt and grass.  I did notice the stiffness and the weight more when running on the road, but it wasn't bad, just evident.

As for protection against obstacles, it's kind of tough to judge at this point.  First of all, both my big toenails are already black, and second of all, the most threatening obstacle I encountered this morning was a massive pile of horse shit (worth noting: I suspect shit is far more difficult to scrape out of the lugs on the Peregrines than it is out of the smooth sole of the Kinvaras).  In fact, the main obstacle I did discover, particularly once my legs were tired, was the sole of the shoe itself; every time I accidentally kicked the inside of one calf with the opposite shoe, it hurt like hell.  I suppose technically that's a flaw of my mechanics and not the shoe, though.

I certainly can't give these a final yea or nay without having used them on legitimate trails, but I figure there will be so many variables at play next week (elevation, hangover, distractions generated by pretty scenery and/or beards), I should probably at least offer some initial musings based on my faux-trail run in Brooklyn.  And: so far, so good!  At least as far as the shoe goes.  The uphill running on trails?  Not so much.

Just as I got to mile 4, I went up a hill, then a flight of stairs, then another hill.
Total elevation gain in 0.15 miles was 70 feet.
I would have cried, had I not been breathing so hard.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to schedule a bunch of meetings on the floor above mine at work, to practice breathing at elevation.  I'm basically Scott Jurek with my commitment to trail running...

*Not to be confused with the ride at Rye Playland of the same name.  

Monday Wrap Up: Why We Do This

On Saturday, I ran 15 miles.  According to Carl, I spent 2 hours and 8 minutes running them.  Also according to Carl, who keeps both a “moving time” and an “elapsed time” for every run, I spent an additional 1 hour and 43 minutes not running them, instead hanging out waiting for my friends, and then stopping for water, a photograph, a walk break, a stop light, a chance to determine whether or not any hot dudes were participating in the free yoga class going on at Astor Place, and a 15 minute trip to Home Depot.

I used to be (slash still am sometimes) a purist when it comes to running: I don’t run to do my errands, I don’t take walk breaks, I don’t stop my watch when I’m waiting to cross the street.  And generally speaking, I’m happy with my runs.  But on Saturday, I met my friends Erica and Abbe for a run over the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges and up Summer Streets, and in doing so, threw my running rules out the window.  Not feeling so hot?  Let’s walk for a bit.  Need to find light switch covers?  Let’s go to Home Depot.  Was it my most efficient long run, and an opportunity to simulate race conditions?  No.  Did the world end because of that?  Also no.

Look, I’m not advocating that you take 11 hours to complete your long runs by breaking them up into 2 mile segments and eating cheese fries in between; the notion of “every mile counts” only makes sense if you actually make the miles count, and frankly, you’re in for a rude awakening come marathon time if you think spending 2 hours and 8 minutes “running” 15 miles is the same thing as spending 3 hours and 51 minutes “running and also dicking around” for 15 miles.  But my point is, sometimes it’s nice to chuck the structure and remember why we do this:

We do this because we like being outside, and we like being with our friends, and we like sweating.  And yes, we like kicking ass on race day, but we also like running just because every now and then.  

And because of the air conditioning in Home Depot.  We really like that.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 41.  As I was running with Abbe on Saturday, I mentioned that, since my declaration of “base training phase” began and I committed myself to “between 35 and 40 mpw,” I’ve been steadily dropping miles every week:  42, 39, 38, 37.  So at least I’m on the upswing.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 10.  I’ve been working too much lately.  On Friday evening, I wished aloud that my desk had a treadmill in front of it.  Or a keg.  Or both.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Southampton Burton’s IPA, Lionshead Pilsner, Bud Light, Shipyard Summer Ale, and Founders Pale Ale. 

Beer As a Prevention Strategy

I hit the treadmill this evening (air quality alert and what not) and while I was on it, discovered I seem to have a touch of PF.


You know how it goes (or you don't, in which case I'll tell you): at first, you wonder if maybe the sole of your foot is itchy.  Then, as the feeling develops, you have that tell-tale stretched-out feeling.  For a few paces, you try to counter it by scrunching up your foot and bending all your toes under.  It works, except for the part where you're still trying to run, and having to put weight on your foot when all your toes are scrunched under is not at all comfortable either.  And then you start picturing it in your mind's eye, and it looks like the inside of your foot is made of a frayed rope, but made of human flesh, and that thought makes you want to throw up a little bit.  If you let it go for long enough, maybe you can even feel the pulling as it creeps up the back side of your calf.  If you're smart (or dumb enough to have stubbornly run through past PF flares), you stop running ASAP, since full-blown PF is a nightmare to get rid of.  Worse of a nightmare than the human rope imagery, even.  And seriously, that gives me the willies.


So, just 3 miles into a run, during which I had the Bourne Identity to entertain me and a miraculously free evening ahead of me, I hopped off the treadmill and made my way home.  Rude.


PF responds to an aggressive regimen of icing and rolling.  Lucky for me, I have just the thing to address this dual treatment prescription.

Don't worry; I have one for my mouth too.  That's what she said?

An August July

(Word play, drrrk.)


May and June were purposefully scarce on mileage for me; after a challenging and ultimately disappointing marathon training season culminating precipitating in the Boston Marathon, I ended April on a high note with a successful 50km debut.  But I needed a break, mentally and physically, from April (and March.  And basically 2012).  And also, I needed to recommit myself to beer drinking.  Which I did.


Anyway, when July rolled around, I decided it was time to get my act together and throw down some base training.  I ended the month with a much-improved 161 miles total.  It should have been about 171, but I moved Tuesday's planned 10 miler to yesterday, the start of the new month, when I decided I'd rather drink beer on Tuesday night.  Which I did.  


Now we're in August, the month during which important things start happening.  First, We'll Run For Beer: The Fourquel is happening on 8/19, and you should email me to tell me you'll be in attendance.  Second, immediately following that esteemed event, Fall marathon training kicks off in earnest for me.  Thank God day one is a rest day...


Between now and then, I hope to knock out 2 more solid weeks of base training for a grand total of 6 weeks of base, take one very easy week, host the most successful beer run to date, and then get down to business.  


As for how I think that "business" is going to go?  Well, I haven't been to the track since, oh, March, so that probably won't feel so good when training first begins.  And I threw in two GMP (currently 7:38) miles during yesterday's 10, which felt not-at-all excellent.  But I've aimed for one long (10+ miles; "long" is relative in the base phase) run and one hard run per week, plus 3 other days of running, so God willing, I won't get to 8/20 and discover I can't actually do this anymore.  Though I guess if that did happen, I'd always have the beer drinking to fall back on.  Which I would.