So, you haven't heard from me in a week. I'll spare you the "OMG, I am SOOOOOO busy and important!!!!!1!" spiel, as very little of it relates to running and beer, except to say that having so many things going on in my life has meant my runs are all bare minimum and I'm probably drinking too much. I'll also suggest that hosting a bachelorette party, quitting your job, and moving in the same week-long timeframe is ill-advised. Trust me. Number of Miles Run Last Week: 28. Long run didn't happen, on account of bacheloretting and apartment packing. This was only week 5 of marathon training, so part of me is not terribly concerned, but as I expressed last week, I'm having some trouble getting my shit together. Moving and taking up a new job that requires much more travel (Bentonville, AR here I come!) means we may need to reevaluate what it means to be "racing" a marathon in December. But that's for another post. Now just as soon as I carve out some time to write it... Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: I've already used the word "bachelorette" three times in this post; how many beers do you think I drank last week? (A zillion). But that's not all:
This may officially be the first time I've had a drink in a martini glass
Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Bud Light, Tsing Tao, Sierra Nevada Tumbler... oh hell, I can't remember what I ate for dinner last night*, I have no idea what I was drinking 8 days ago. On the plus side, my sister - who lives in Oregon - surprised me with a bottle of Rogue/Voodoo Doughnuts Maple Bacon Ale. I shall do my best to consume this before I pack up my pint glasses. Stay tuned.
And that's my life. So far, I've assembled precisely one box and put nothing in it. And I have a wedding out of town this weekend. I can't see how anything could possibly go wrong with the moving part of all of this...
(In case you can't read between the lines, you probably won't hear from me again until next week, provided I can get the internet hooked up in my new apartment. Assume I'm running (a little) and drinking (a lot) unless you hear otherwise. And if you're a good packer, give me a call).
*I remembered. It was a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and half a candy bar. Good to know I'm maintaining proper nutrition through all of this.
One of my fondest marathon training memories is from this year's spring season. Abbe and I ran long on a Saturday morning in March, finished at her apartment, took quick showers, and then headed to a nearby bar with Baker to watch college basketball. That day, I was able to combine nearly everything I love: friends, running, watching sports in bars, alcohol, and food with cheese atop it (I ate chili). I bring that up because, now that my favorite season (football season) is upon us, I'm having some difficulty giving all of those loves equal attention. Take this past weekend, for example. Saturday morning, Abbe and I ran in Central Park. Friends and running: check. Saturday night, I watched the MSU game in a bar and ate cheese fries with Cate and Steve. Sports, bars, alcohol, and food with cheese atop it: check. But on Sunday, I was in a cheese-and-pitchers-of-Bud-Light induced coma and couldn't muster up a run before the Giants' kick off at 1:00pm, and then spent the afternoon once again drinking beers and eating food with cheese atop it (holy shit, get the beer cheese from Earl's Beer and Cheese. Run, don't walk. Wait a minute... maybe that's the solution to this problem!). I've spent a bit of time recently talking to Abbe about the importance of setting a routine in making you feel healthy and happy, and maybe I just haven't accomplished that as of yet, since we're only through week 2 of the NFL season. But whatever the case, I can't fully enjoy any of my loves unless I'm giving attention to all of them, and I gotta take care of this, stat. I already have to deal with the threat of concussions taking the fun out of bloodspot. Pretty soon, I'll have nothing left! Number of Miles Run Last Week: 25. That's 4 short of where I should have been for the week. It's also 19 short of where I was last week. Neither of these things make me feel good. Number of Beers Consumed Last Week:
There's really not much else to say. Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: On Tuesday night, I went out to Cookshop with my friend Peter, and we proceeded to drink our way through the entire beer list. Then we went out to Half King for more beers. I don't know what any of them were, since entering my beers on Untappd in the middle of dinner wasn't exactly a priority. I'm fairly certain I had some Stellas on Sunday, as well two Ommegang Scythe and Sickle. And that pitcher of Bud Light, above. I also spent my Thursday evening in The Pony Bar UES. I had one of everything. Thanks for participating in this little Come to Jesus moment with me. I hope to be back on track in this, week 5 of marathon training.
God, people sure get butthurt when it comes to talking about race medals. On one side of the argument are members of a vocal crowd who feel that you don't deserve a medal unless you win the effing race. Truth. On the other side are folks who want that medal as proof of their accomplishment, irrespective of how "accomplished" they may actually be. Myself? I actually do like a good race medal for the marathon (keep 'em if I'm running less than that). I put it on immediately after the race, and if I go directly for beers without showering (because who doesn't love going into social situation with a girl who's just sweat and pissed through 26.2 miles and hasn't cleaned up afterward?), I'll leave it on. If I'm lucky, this prompts people to buy me a drink. Or leave an extra bar stool of space between me and them, which isn't a bad outcome.
After the San Fran marathon. I looked pained because that was the race during which I tripped on the Golden Gate Bridge and ate shit, tearing up my arms, legs, and hands.
But after that, what are you supposed to do with them? Some people throw them in a drawer or box, never to be seen again. Some people wear them to work on Monday. (For what it's worth, the latter type of person is a douche, and I'm willing to bet, not particularly "accomplished"). I have mine hanging in my room, where they aren't on full display and begging to be acknowledged by every person who walks into my apartment, but accessible to me (and any dudes I bring home and want to impress, though obviously if they make it that far, they're already suitably impressed. Or intoxicated).
This positioning also allows me to slam my head against them every time I sit up to read in bed, which is terrific
But, they could be doing more.
For example, this morning's run was a tough one. I stayed out too late drinking beers and eating frosted animal crackers and gummy worms, and when I cracked open my eyes for the first time at dawn (actually, the first time was at 2:30am, when I thought I might actually die of dehydration), knew I had 6 miles to tackle and plans after work that made snoozing impossible. So I reluctantly got dressed, stepping over animal cracker carcasses and someone else's crumbled bank receipt indicating a balance of $101,607 in his checking account (regrettably we never did track him down last night, for those who followed this quest along via social media), and rummaged for running clothes. I winced as I put sneakers on my chewed up, high-heel wearing feet. I stepped onto the stoop where I had arrived home via yellow chariot just a few short hours beforehand. With the deck stacked against me, I headed to Prospect Park for my 6 mile recovery run. And I did it. You want to talk about accomplishment? I ran 6 miles at 6am after spending $60 at a bar that exclusively serves $5 beers last night. If anything deserves a medal, it's that. So here's my new plan for race medals: I'm going to start wearing them in my bedroom when I succeed at a particularly difficult work out. Of course, I'll also be the one who defines success and difficult in this scenario. But if I get home in the morning after slogging through a particularly strenuous run, or manage to knock out mile repeats after a long day in the office, I'm putting one of those babies on!
(If you're looking for something somewhat more productive than this to do with your race medals, you can donate them to Medals4Mettle, which provides race medals to children and adults battling debilitating illness. I have no affiliation with Medals4Mettle, and have never donated to them. But as you can see from the photo above, I have accumulated more medals than I foresee having success at difficult workouts, so I'll be making a donation myself.)
Registration for the 117th Boston Marathon opened today, for those with times 20 minutes or more faster than their qualifying standards. This is not me. At 3:24, my current qualifying time puts me 11 minutes faster than the standard. That means I’m eligible to register beginning Wednesday of this week.
When I ran my second Boston Marathon in 2012, I said I wouldn’t do it again, seriously. And I won’t. At least not in 2013.
A couple of factors went into my Boston decision-making process. First and foremost was last year’s Boston Marathon, which, in case you didn’t hear, totally sucked. This of course had very little to do with the race itself and very much to do with factors beyond the control of the Boston Athletic Association, such as the weather and the state of my life, but that doesn’t alleviate my PTSD. Last year’s Boston Marathon was hot and sunny and representative of dashed racing dreams and that wound is still too fresh. If that makes me a bad sport, so be it.
But that’s not the only reason I’ve decided not to vanquish the beast of Boston in 2013. On April 7, 2013, I’ll be toeing the line at the Connemara-thon. That’s Connemara, Ireland.
Just in case you were worried I was experiencing a dearth of vacations...
I’ll actually be running the 39.3 mile ultra (marathon plus half marathon), but it’s more difficult to make a compound word out of Connemara and ultramarathon.
Though the race is measured in miles, the elevation profile is in meters, and the registration fee was in Euros, so I’m not entirely sure what kind of race I’ve gotten myself into, nor how much it’s costing me, but I’ve got plenty of time to figure that out. Which is nice, since I’ll also need to figure out how to train for it.
39.3 miles will be my longest ultra event to date, beating out the Knickerbocker 60k by about 2 miles. The chief difference, however, will be that I ran the Knickerbocker almost immediately after training hard for a marathon. Same goes for my 50k in April. The Connemara Ultra falls a whole 4 months after my next marathon. Which means I’ll need to do some ultra-specific training. Which means I’ll need to Google “ultra-specific training.”
Labor Day has come and gone, and while the autumnal equinox is still a few weeks off, my favorite season is upon us. Football season.
No, it hasn't gone very well for me thus far. The Superbowl Champion New York Football Giants are currently... last in their division. But there is nothing I enjoy more than running long on Sunday morning, then settling in with football (and alcohol) for the rest of the day. So despite the Giants' piss-poor showing this week, I've had a great day. 11 hilly, cool, feels-like-fall miles, followed by my return to Brooklyn and unpacking from vacation while watching the games. I look forward to the next 15 weeks. But first, let's recap my last vacation of summer.
Number of Miles Run This Week: 44. Okay, let me reiterate something I've said before regarding Maine vacations: when I go to Camden, my training plan goes out the window. But not in the way you might think. When I'm in Maine, I toss the spreadsheet and instead run as much as I can. I do this for a couple of reasons. Firstly, because I view vacation as a time to do whatever you want, and what I want to do is run. Secondly, because Camden, Maine is my private, happy place, and running long there means getting to spend time with that place. Sorry if that's too existential and shit. Anyway, chalk this up to "do as I say, not as I do." If you're running your first marathon, maybe don't get in the habit of ignoring your plan and increasing your mileage from one week to the next by 45%. If you're running your 14th, and this is week 3? Don't mind if I do. Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 17. Plus a good portion of the 4 bottles of wine I bought at the New Hampshire State Liquor Store. And an Irish Coffee. Mmm, vacation. Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Baxter Stowaway IPA, Andrew's Pale Ale, Pemaquid Ale, Rising Tide Zephyr IPA, Shipyard Monkey Fist IPA, Shipyard Summer Ale (I found the one place that hadn't switched their kegs over to disgusting Pumpkinhead), and Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, which isn't from Maine but traveled there all the way from my parents' house in Connecticut, so I felt obligated to drink it. I also brought home 2 bottles of Maine Peeper Ale, and one each of Mean Old Tom Stout and Lunch IPA. Stay tuned for a brew review, don't wait for an invitation to taste them with me. You'll be shocked to learn that I'm not going on vacation again until November. I don't know how I'm going to survive.
Played tennis for an hour. Walked around town for an hour.
This view also never gets old, from Camden Harbor
Took a nap for an hour. And now, it's cocktail hour!
Drink local!
Okay, full disclosure: I drank this beer the other night; my cocktail hour beverage of choice is actually a glass of sauvignon blanc, since I had a beer at lunch (Andrew's Pale Ale) and we have a fridge full of wine we need to polish off before we leave tomorrow. But I did indeed drink this 22oz on vacation, and since I haven't done a brew review in awhile, figured I'd tell you about it. We picked up the Big Claw, by Bull Jagger Brewing Company out of Portland, Maine, down the street at the local market, along with a 22oz of Rising Tide's Zephyr IPA (spoiler alert: that beer was delicious, and I intend to get more to take home). It's worth noting that the local market (Megunticook Market, for any Midcoast Mainers out there) also had bottles of Maine Beer Company's Mean Old Tom American Stout. I nearly had a heart attack at the prospect of finding bottles of Peeper Ale, but it was not to be, seeing as though it's September. Anyway, so I picked up a bottle of the Big Claw because I liked the label, and because it would do me some good to bring home the occasional non-IPA every now and then. It poured a cloudy straw-color with a super fluffy head that took awhile to dissipate (I may have overfilled my glass and had a chance to see what that head looked like when splashed all over the kitchen counter...). The aroma was dry and grassy, like hay (is that what hamsters eat? You probably don't want your beer associated with hamsters...). The first sip was nice and malty, with a grassy-hop finish. At 5% ABV, I had no problem downing this, but actually wished for something stronger, as I was drinking it during the Giants' game, which did not go my way. This was more complex than I expect a Pilsner to be, but that's probably because I'm no Pilsner expert. Overall, it was a perfectly fine beer, but a little boring. Probably not one to take up precious backseat real estate on the drive home tomorrow. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be getting back to cocktail hour.
So remember when I ran the Boston Marathon this year and even though it was held inside an oven, I still secretly thought I'd be a total bad ass and kill it and humblebrag about the whole experience? And then instead I crashed and burned as expected? I did not learn from that mistake. I went to Boulder last month thinking that, while running at elevation was going to be challenging, I'm a g-d ultramarathoner, so how hard could it really be? I figured I'd get there and leave Rafter at the trailhead while I bounded up the side of the mountain, barely breaking a sweat, with him sucking wind and thinking "damn, what a bad ass chick Claire is, and also her butt looks pretty good." What happened was essentially the exact opposite: I stood with my hands on my head, trying to suck every last oxygen molecule out of the air and begging Rafter to share his water with me since I'd finished mine within the first 4 minutes, watching him hurdle check dams and thinking "damn, what a bad ass dude Rafter is." Well, I'm pretty sure Rafter still thinks my butt looks good, but you'll have to ask him for confirmation.
This is not posed, and my butt is covered
Confidence knocked down more than a few pegs, and with nothing to humblebrag about besides the fact that I made it 3 full days without use of a hairbrush, I actually spent a fair amount of time in Boulder thinking about running and its physical and mental limits. And also about ways I'd like to kill Rafter if he made me climb any higher.
Show off
When I run in New York (or Connecticut, or Maine, or Boston, or Chicago, or anywhere that isn't up the side of a mountain, really), it's not always easy. Particularly on hills, I get winded, and the lactic acid burns in my quads until I'm worried my skin and flesh might actually be melting. But running is not supposed to be easy, and I'm generally pretty certain I'm not going to die from it, so instead I develop certain strategies to deal. When I'm running Harlem Hill repeats, I push harder the closer to the top I get, knowing that I'm almost done, and soon enough it won't feel so shitty. Even when I'm climbing the beastly hill that runs by the convent near my parents' house ("oh God I hate this" has never felt so apt), I'll tell myself, "just keep going," knowing that as soon as I crest the hill, the pain will lessen. And so I do. What I don't ever do is stop to walk.
This isn't because I'm some superior athlete and human. I guess it never really occurred to me that walking was an option when I was running, and so I never made a habit of it. But more than that, or maybe as a result of it, I had difficulty understanding why other people did.* Like, yes, this is very hard. Slow down? Sure. But stop altogether? That seems extreme. I'm not a total asshole, so obviously if I'm running with someone and they say they need to stop and walk, sure, yes, we're stopping and walking. But if I'm being honest, I've always had difficulty understanding the idea that someone literally cannot continue running.
Then I went to Colorado.
On our first run, I made it about 6 minutes before I really wanted to stop and walk. More than I have ever felt that way, ever. Of course, I didn't want to be embarassed, so I kept running. For about 4 more minutes. At which point I actually did need to stop and walk.
"I'm sorry," I said to Rafter. "I seriously just can't run."
"Yes you can." He said.
Well then.
Throughout the day, and the rest of my trip, Rafter and I talked a lot (mostly he talked, because I was doubled over gasping for breath) about the mental versus physical challenges of running, and whether or not you ever really need to walk. Rafter was solidly in the "no" camp. I found myself, suddenly and surprisingly, not so sure.
Those hikers were like "your friend is WAY ahead of you!"
As that first day of running went on, I adopted a strategy many trail ultrarunners do, of running when I felt like I could - the smoother tracks with fewer obstacles, and the more gradual climbs - and hiking when I felt like I couldn't - steep, rocky grades. But throughout it, Rafter kept running, and I kept our conversation in mind. I tried to engage in a sort of trial and error to test his theory that I could in fact run by... running. I know, it was a very scientific study. And try as I might, there were still instances where I truly felt as though I could not continue running, even at a slower pace. I don't mean to overstate this, but having quite literally never experienced nor understood this feeling before, this was truly eye opening.
Now obviously, some of this can be attributed to the old adage that practice makes perfect; Rafter runs at 10,000 feet all the time, and I'm lucky if I gain 500 feet on my hilliest 20 milers. Just like ahead of the Boston Marathon, the big topic of conversation was acclimatization, here too, part of the difference in performance can surely be attributed to Rafter training in the same conditions. Physically, he's much better prepared for altitude and decreased oxygen saturation than I am. But it seems he's better prepared mentally as well. He's used to pushing his legs and lungs beyond the stress level to which I push mine, ultramarathoning be damned. And Rafter's point is that it's the mental capacity that matters much more.
So which is it? How come I can make myself run 37 relatively flat miles, or race a 3:24 marathon, (or perhaps a more apt comparison, a 3:50 in the death valley that was Boston 2012), walking never crossing my mind, but can't hang when it comes to a different kind of challenging run? How much of running is a mental sport versus a physical one? Does walking have a purpose in running? Is Kenny Rogers "The Gambler" a metaphor?
"Know when to walk away, know when to run..."
I don't know the answers to any of these questions, but if you do, feel free to weigh in. Rafter, you can also counter anything I said about you here in the comments. Except the part about thinking my butt looks good, because we all know it's true. *To be clear, I'm not talking about a formal Jeff Galloway run/walk strategy here. Edited to add: Since I'm wrapping up thoughts on Colorado, here are the last two videos we made (note: sorry, not sexxxxy videos. No seriously, look how horrifying I look redoing my ponytail in the second one.)
At least he's breathing heavily. Dude, this sounds like the Blair Witch Project.
Greetings from Vacationland! It took me 9 hours to get here from the ADKs yesterday, but the Shipyard Monkey Fist IPA is worth it. As you know, I'm here for the week. And as you also know, I was in Colorado for a few days last month. And I've had seven weddings this summer, which means I've taken 7 Fridays off from work. Some people get stressed out and anxiety-ridden when they are out of the office frequently. I am not one of those people. I excel at vacation. While I choke down some coffee and get ready for my run, let's get caught up to speed on last week, since it's already Tuesday. Days of the week don't matter when you're perpetually on vacation. I recommend it. Number of Miles Run Last Week: 30. I compressed this to four days instead of the prescribed five, because I kept staying up late to throw things at the television during the Republican National Convention and then was too tired to wake up and run in the mornings. Anyway, about 20 of those miles were run in the ADKs, which meant they looked like this:
Which meant that I spent a lot of time doing this:
Recovery is an integral part of training. Trust me. Number of Miles Driven Last Week: 721. I was in the car for nearly 16 hours between Friday night and Monday afternoon. And I didn't crash into a single thing. Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 16. Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Brooklyn Lager, Lagunitas IPA, Elder Betty, Heineken, Saranac IPA, Lake Placid IPA, Lake Placid Bark Eater, Bud Light, and Utica Club. Utica Club!
Now I'm in Maine until Saturday. I intend to run a lot, eat various chowders, drink only beers made in this state, and remind you that I have a generous benefits package that means I can go on vacation as much as I do. Have fun at the office this week, suckers.
