On Workouts

One of the biggest changes to occur in my running over the past several years (and the one that had the most significant impact on my marathon performance) has been the introduction of the workout.  I don't mean that in the sense of "I exercised today - I worked out." Though yes, going from not exercising to exercising will indeed have an impact on marathon performance... When I say "workout," I mean a specific set beyond (and, generally speaking, far more painful than) just "going for a run." 

I am by no means an expert in workouts - for instance, the fuck is a ladder workout? - but there are a handful of workouts I encounter every season, thanks to Training Peaks: mile repeats, Yasso 800s, and any combination of goal marathon pace miles are all familiar foes.  More so than weekly long runs, as soon as the workouts start cropping up, I know I'm in the thick of it as far as marathon training goes.  Yesterday I tackled the first of these workouts: 2 mi warm up, 2x1 mi at goal marathon pace (GMP), 2 mi cool down.  For my purposes, GMP is 7:30 min/mi or thereabouts.  Kill yourself.

I happen to be in Washington, DC for the moment for work (unrelated to running and drinking, but it was a pretty auspicious and bad ass time for me to be in DC yesterday, since what I was doing here was speaking about the importance of LGBT equality and inclusion, and, what do you know, the Supreme Court seems to agree with me.  Except for Scalia.  That guy sure is a dick, eh?).  Washington, DC is, of course, the only place on earth with worse summer weather than New York.  I returned to my hotel after my meeting, flipped on the news, and was alerted to the fact that a severe thunderstorm warning was in effect, with risk of high winds and hail.  Don't worry though; the risk of tornadoes was only "mild."

Despite my general interest in 'Murica and seeing the sights of DC, I was short on time and long on desire not to be struck by lightening, so I sent a few emails, threw on running clothes, and headed to the hotel gym.

I haven't been on one of these in so long.

As I watched continued coverage of the Supreme Court rulings, the 2 mile warm up passed by pleasantly enough.  Then came the GMP miles.  I haven't deliberately run anywhere near 7:30 in probably 7 months.  That's not even an exaggeration.  I certainly wasn't working on my speed ahead of the Connemara Ultra, so I suspect the last time I ran in the neighborhood at 7:30 was during the Rehoboth Beach Marathon.  In 2012.  Suffice it to say, I was pants-shittingly moderately apprehensive.

I ratcheted ye olde 'mill up to 8.0 mph and slogged away.  It was not exactly comfortable, but I had some confidence I could do it for 2 miles.  Thinking that thought, however, ended up undermining my confidence severely, since thinking you can do something for 15 minutes is very different from thinking you can do something for 3 hours and 20 minutes, and the whole point of GMP miles is that your goal is to keep that pace for the duration of the marathon. Half a mile into the first GMP mile, I thought "well, if I just do one, that's better than none, right?"

At this point, some hotel staffers came into the fitness center and turned on the overhead lights, which (in my mind) instantly increased the ambient temperature by 35 degrees.  Ever, the narcissist, however, I didn't want these individuals (total strangers I'd never see again, who weren't working out at all, but inspecting the water cooler...) to see me struggle, so I feigned an effortless stride for the next half a mile, until they left, turning off the lights behind them.

"Fine," I thought.  "That wasn't THAT bad."  I nudged the treadmill up to 8.1 mph and pressed on. I immediately regretted this decision.  I tried to distract myself from the pain by watching the news, but they kept cutting to marriage proposals and I kept getting all choked up, which made breathing next to impossible, which made the running hurt more.  Finally, finally, the treadmill clicked over to 4.0 miles, and I cut the speed down (like, to 10 min miles...) for my 2 mile cool down.

So, my first real workout of the season is in the books.  I just wrote nearly 800 words on what was essentially two miles of running.  It's going to be a long season...

Brew Review: Humala IPA

Hola! (That will be topical in a sec). It's 97 degrees here today, and will be again tomorrow as well. I ran to SoulCycle Union Square this morning. It was a 2 mile journey at 5:25am, and mostly downhill. By the time I arrived at the studio, my tank top was completely soaked through from shoulder to hip.

It is now 7:15pm. I'm sitting on the couch in my underpants, in direct line of the air conditioner. Even Dorito is too hot to bite and scratch me with his usual vigor. It is times like these that call for the most delicious and refreshing of beers. Enter the IPA.

Okay, I know I always drink IPAs, and some would argue that summer calls for Weisse beers or pilsners. that might be true on your average, breezy, 78 degree day, when you can leisurely sit outside and throw back a few. But when it's really hot out, I think there's nothing better than a bold IPA that can hold its own in the most unpleasant of conditions. It's like flipping the bird to the Weather Channel.

As I'm the only human and beer drinker in my home (Dorito drinks toilet water...), I appreciate greatly places that sell beer either in individual bottles or in 22s. This way, I'm not stuck drinking the same beer 6 nights in a row (ha. Like a 6 pack lasts 6 nights...). While many a neighborhood bodega in my old hood (Park Slope) had a great beer selection by the bottle, midtown is sorely lacking. Save for Whole Foods.

Gripe all you want about my yuppie haven neighbor, but I've found it meets my beer drinking needs to a T. They even carry Maine Beer Company brews! Be still, my heart! I've taken to browsing the beer aisle every time I go into Whole Foods (ugh, nightly...) to see what treats I might find.

Recently, I came upon the Humala IPA. It piqued my interest because I'd never heard of it before, and upon further inspection, I discovered why: this beer is from Spain (hence the "hola." Told you we'd get there). I thought the Spanish alcohol industry was wine centric, but it seems not entirely. In any case, I picked up a bottle of the Humala for the bargain price of $6.99. Yes, for one bottle. Related: I swear to God, I go into Whole Foods for "just one thing" and spend $60 every damn night.




Yes I do read Martha Stewart Living. And yes I did get this beer because of the cat cartoon.

Let me cut to the chase and say: this beer does NOT disappoint. With a super citrusy aroma, the Humala IPA has a much bolder hops kick than its 50 IBUs belie (for reference, Dogfish Head 60 Min IPA has 60 IBUs). The taste is grassy and crisp, and it finishes pretty dry. Which is ideal, because as soon as you swallow, you feel like you should have another sip. At 7.3% ABV, this beer isn't messing around, and you won't be either if you drink too many (#whiskeydick?).

On another day, the Humala IPA might be trying too hard: between the citrus and the hay, it's not at all subtle. But I'm a girl sitting on the couch in her underwear, so right now, neither am I.

Monday Wrap Up: This is Not a Race Report

Yesterday was the Fairfield Half Marathon. For the first time in seven years, I did not run it.

Most everyone hates the Fairfield Half because it invariably falls on a day during which it is 97 degrees out. Also the course is uphill both ways, and there is no shade. While I, too, hate all those things, this race holds a special place in my heart, and I was disappointed not to run it yesterday. I was even registered, but ultimately decided tackling 13.1 on a tough course, even at a snail's pace, isn't how I should be preventing another stress fracture.

As it turns out, the decision to DNS probably prevented an embarrassing DNF, since I made it a whopping 3 miles yesterday before calling it quits in a sweating heap of hungover frustration. Summer is the worst.

I do have a bit of good news, though: I actually ran enough last week to make a weekly wrap up somewhat worthwhile! Sort of. If you have exceptionally low standards. Still, baby steps!

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 21. Alas, my longest run was only 7 miles. Fingers crossed I can find the sweet spot between hangovers and heat waves to get in at least 10 at some point this week...

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: More than 21...

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Polestar Pilsner (pretty good, and I'm not a huge pilsner person), Racer 5 IPA (I actually don't much care for this, despite loving IPAs), Victory Summer Love (I don't hate it), and approximately 1,000 Bud Lights. I know.

The Right Idea

Sometime in the past 2-ish weeks, I seem to have turned a corner in my injury recovery. First, there was a 5 miler that didn't leave me feeling like a contestant on the Bigger Loser, week 1. Then my weekend "long" run was a full loop of the Park - 8 miles total, and my longest run since 39.3 on April 7th. I even managed a hill workout without barfing on my Kinvaras!

In a sense, this is good news: I (maybe) won't be fat and slow forever! Unfortunately, however, it also means that I'm rapidly running out of time during which I can use "I'm coming back from an injury OMG MY FOOT WAS BROKEN YOU GUYSSSS!" as an excuse for poor performance. Luckily enough, my comeback coincides with the onset of another legitimate excuse for suckage: the weather.

Summer in New York is sort of the worst. People seem to forget this year after year. Next Memorial Day, imma direct you people back to this blog post, where I lay it out: all summer long, it is in the 80s and 90s, with 600% humidity. It also rains almost every day. Happy Longest Day of the Year, bitches!




Insert gratuitous photo of me, scantily clad in hot weather running gear. I have to do these things to maintain readership, since I don't post very often. Also, pro tip: if you tilt your pelvis super far back, your legs look hella skinny. If you looked at a side angle of this shot, my torso is virtually parallel to the ground.

Anyway, so, running in the summer in New York isn't awesome, on account of the weather, but it's also fun because people do crazy ass shit when they're in heat. No literally, Central Park is TEEMING with people just humping willy nilly in the summer. I saw a LOT of that going on tonight. I also saw a huge raccoon, and I don't know about you, but if I'm going to get a disease from doin' it, it sure as shit better never be rabies. Jesus. But anyway the best thing I saw all night was much more PG than hobo hookups and rodent STDs:

I'm dragging my sweaty, short-shorted ass up the West Side rollers, periodically looking up from my feet (best running form ever...) to take in the sights. I'm surrounded by other nubile young things, in similar states of undress, with heaving breaths and glistening flesh, when I come upon a man, nattily dressed and about 65 years old. This fellow has brought with him, alone, to the outskirts of Central Park, far from Summer Stage and other organized activities, a camp chair, a cooler filled with what appeared to be some meats and cheeses, a bottle of wine, and an actual stemmed wine glass. No red Solo cup; my man was staying classy. And pervy. Just having a Friday night cocktail party of one while checking out the runners, like we were all in some weird fetishy burlesque bar or something

I made eye contact with him as I approached, gave him the ole Power Point, and said "you have the right idea!" And with a smirk, he raised his glass.

Not Dead, Just Transient

In the grand tradition of summer, I haven't been in my apartment in the Big Apple for three consecutive weekends. Very little of my time away has been spent running (fun fact: I went to Cape Cod last weekend and packed a sports bra and shorts, but no running sneakers. Oops?), but lots has been spent drinking beers.




Mmmm, Cascade hops.

Here are a few updates:

On running: I'm up to about 5 miles at a time, about 3 times a week. It still feels horrible. Jesus why would anyone take up running? It's so hard! This week I'll aim for 4 days of running, for a total of about 20 miles. Not quite the 36 miles called for in this, my first week of fall marathon training, but I'm trying to look at the big picture. The picture of me toeing a starting line neither burnt out nor broken footed. Speaking of which...

On my foot: How it is that oral contraception, from which I don't benefit nearly as much as I'd like (hubba, hubba, and also ugh, sorry Dad...), is free, but two rounds of x rays (which were demanded by my doctor and revealed nothing) and a surgical boot cost me more than $500 out of pocket? I don't claim to be insurance savvy, but what the actual fuck is it for if not covering my necessary medical expenses? Is this Teen Mom's fault? It's Teen Mom's fault.

On beer: I spent last weekend in Portland, Oregon hiking and hanging out and generally enjoying the great outdoors with my sister and brother-in-law. We drank many delicious beers, including Oakshire Brewing's Line Dry Rye, which I really, really love. Try to get your hands on it, and then give it to me. We also popped into a little brew pub in Hood River after a hike, where I drank their Big Horse Browncoates brown ale, which was incredible. Equally balanced piney hops and smooth, caramel malts. Plus the 7% ABV made for an excellent post-hike car nap (I was not the designated driver). I can't find it online, but if you're ever in Hood River, Oregon, go to Big Horse and get it.