Sometimes when I'm traveling for work and am slammed with meetings, the easiest way for me to adhere to my training plan is to just hit the treadmill; no mapping out routes in unfamiliar cities, no budgeting time in case I get lost, no waiting for satellites to load. It's boring and somewhat depressing, but also, work isn't paying for me to sightsee on foot, so it's not really their problem if the only sights I see are the inside of conference rooms and my own reflection in the mirror opposite the hotel treadmill.
Luckily, my schedule in San Francisco this week has left my mornings mostly open, and coupled with jet lag, I've found myself with ample time to run outside before conference sessions and cocktail functions. My familiarity with the city has also meant I didn't have to do too much research into where to run, so for the last three days, I've tossed on my Kinvaras and headed to the Embarcadero.
The Embarcadero is a great place to run, and I'm certainly not the only person taking advantage of it. An uninterrupted sidewalk along the bay, it's filled with runners, walkers and cyclists in all directions. Facing the Ferry Building, you can make a left and run towards the Golden Gate Bridge, or make a right, and loop around AT&T Field. Despite its hilly reputation, San Francisco along the water is pretty flat, which makes for some pleasant miles. If you venture far enough west, you'll hit a few hills at Fort Mason, and then plenty more as you enter the Presidio. But from the Financial District where I'm based for the week, you can get in a solid 10 miles to Crissy Field and back without too many climbs.
Below are a couple of shots from my morning runs this week. Thanks for the sunrise views, jet lag!
I was in Kismet, on Fire Island, this weekend for my friend
Liza’s bachelorette party. I had ample
running opportunity. Most of it entailed
running from the bar back to our share house to pee when the bathroom lines
were too long. But some of it was actual,
sneaker-shod running. Running on the
beach is no joke, and I’m thankful I had the foresight to do my long run on
Friday morning in Manhattan before I left.
Both because 10+ miles on sand over the weekend would have probably
killed me, and certainly enhanced my already significant sunburn, and because I
drank so much on Saturday night I thought I was paralyzed, which would have
made for challenging workouts.
Let's get a little closer, shall we?
I’m so sad because I forgot how to work my legs. Sincere apologies to Liza for ruining the
only group photo from her bachelorette party weekend.
But yes, miraculously despite the sunburn, psychosomatic
paralysis, and Bud Light intake, I did a little running in Fire Island. Our first morning there, I ran onto the
beach, thinking I would find some hard-packed sand near the water’s edge and
pound out a few out-and-back miles. I
made it 0.8 miles in sand that came up to my sock line before I thought I’d
better look at a map and see if I could find an alternative. Kismet is closed to cars, so there weren’t
exactly roads on which to run, but there was, parallel to the beach, a sandy
path that was a bit firmer than the actual shore. I earned myself a blood blister nonetheless,
but was pleased to at least have gotten my prescribed run in.
My second run of our stay (not counting those aforementioned
bathroom jogs) was fueled by 60 Bud Lights and a blister pack of Advil, but
when I finally got myself out the door, I at least had already identified a
route that wasn't soul-crushing nor calf wrenching. Best of all, I finished in the ocean, stopping
only to remove my socks and kicks before taking the plunge. A better hangover cure does not exist.
You'll note the red "end" point is in the ocean
Number of Miles Run Last Week: 28. Week
one of Chicago training is in the books!
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 13. I have a firm “no shots” policy (Turn down for
what you ask, Lil Jon? Quite a few
things, including being 30 years old.
Also oh my good God I’ve never watched the video at that link before, but I
recommend it, as it features a man breaking pottery on his sweatpants-clad
weiner). That said, I have no policy against rose or sangria, all of which are available
in abundance at a bachelorette party.
Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Brooklyn Lager, Coronado Islander IPA, Tiger, Tecate, Bug Light, Beach Haus Pilsner, 203 Lager, and
Mosaic Session IPA.
This week is a shorty before another weekend away (#soblessed #willberentinguntilIdie). TG and I are going canoe camping, since our first foray into paddling went so well. Canoe camping is unlikely to involve any running at all, so I'll try to get another mid-week long run in before we depart. Once we're there, I'll be switching things up from the norm and using my arm muscles a lot, both for the canoeing (and portage...) and also for slapping away mosquitos. The more I think about it, the more this sounds like a wonderful trip for which I am definitely adequately prepared...
After spending just one of 16 nights in my apartment over the past several weeks, I'm finally back in New York for the foreseeable future (well, until Sunday, when I'll go to Connecticut for Mother's Day). My watch (and body clock) is still on Pacific Time, my coffee table is piled with mail, and my dry cleaner had forgotten my name by the time I dropped on my clothes on Tuesday, I was away for so long. But finally, I'm back. I had a great, if hectic, trip to the West Coast, and enjoyed awesome runs in San Francisco (you've already heard about those) and Portland (I'll get to those in a minute). I did no running whatsoever in San Diego, but I also did not get sunburned, which is a tremendous personal victory on the health and well-being front, so I'll call it a wash. Best of all, while I was enjoying perfect weather in California and Oregon (and California again), it seems spring finally sprung back here at home. I say this about every single season in New York, of course, but I mean it this time: Central Park is made for spring. But I'm getting ahead of myself, because I'm here to wrap up last week. Number of Miles Run Last Week: 8. Hahaha whoops. I guess in retrospect, that's not as lazy as it sounds, since it was my first full week post-marathon. It's still pretty lazy, though. I ran 2 days in Oregon, around my sister's neighborhood, but once I got to San Diego, running gave way to walking on the beach, shocking my internal organs with cold Pacific Ocean water, aggressive dancing, and talking about surfing without actually doing it. Also, I was at one point rendered breathless because the sea lions in La Jolla Cove smell so bad, so it felt like I was doing a hard workout.
Walking on the beach in a black cardigan and a cup of coffee. Such a New York asshole.
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: Probably about 12. At one point, I walked into a bar in La Jolla and said "I'd like 10 Bud Lights, please." But I didn't drink all of them. Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Well, I did drink some of the Bud Lights. Also, a Hop Ottin IPA, Seven Brides' Crooked Finger IPA, Laurelwood Free Range Red ("The best red in Portland," the waiter told me. "Just like you!" My sister said. Now is a good time to mention that everyone who has known me since childhood considers me a redhead despite the fact that the "strawberry" part of my "strawberry blonde" designation is generous at best.), Calapooia Paddle Me IPA (thank goodness for the "Made in Oregon" store in the airport - I really stocked on on quality pre-wedding libations), and some Red Trolley Ale. Good showing, Walsh. So here we are, the wonderful time of year before it becomes so hot and humid you have to change your clothes when you get to your office because you've sweat through everything. Also, the time of year when I'm not training for anything. I generally try to hit about 25 mpw in the off season, and with a half marathon at the end of next month, have some incentive to keep a weekly long run in the mix, but I'm also looking forward to walking, hiking, and not spending time indoors on the treadmill just because I haven't done a tempo run this week. Running is my fitness pursuit of choice, of course, but for the next few weeks anyway, I'm looking forward to having a wandering eye when it comes to how I stay active. An exercise spring fling, if you will. I will.
I'm coming to you live from San Francisco International Airport today, which I think is Thursday. I'm pretty sure. It's hard to say exactly, and I've actually been in this airport three times in 8 days, so bear with me as I try to remember what in God's name even happened last week.
Number of Miles Run Last Week: 42. Holy shit, last week I ran a marathon? You're kidding! That seems like a billion years ago. I had two great runs along the Embarcadero in San Francisco last week, and then was resigned to the treadmill at the Westin for the last run of my stay.
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: Not zero! Finally. I had two on Monday after the race, two on Wednesday after I arrived in San Francisco and needed to do something to stay awake until 8pm, which I deemed an acceptable bedtime despite the fact that the sun was still up, one on Thursday during a meeting (those are the best kinds of meetings, right?), one on Friday, two on Saturday, and one on Sunday. 7 whole beers! And I have to tell you, it only takes one to get drunk now! Unfortunately, it also only takes one to get hungover as well. I need to rethink this strategy going forward.
Types of Beers Consumed This Week: My first beer back was a Harpoon IPA. I followed that up with a Sam Adams, then spent my time in San Francisco drinking Anchor Steam because that was what was in the hotel mini bar. I also had a Faction Pale Ale, and a Sierra Nevada of questionable integrity. Well, I didn't question it. Beer doesn't go bad, in my opinion.
So all that brings us to today, Thursday. Since I left San Francisco on Monday, I've been to Portland, Oregon, where I drank more great beers and ran in a third state in which I don't live, and am now back again, en route to San Diego for the weekend, where I hope to continue running and definitely anticipate continued beer drinking. I have a vague recollection of having an apartment and a cat (he's staying in Connecticut during my prolonged absence, and I have no doubt he is enjoying it much more than he enjoys our tiny home in Manhattan), but it's all a distant memory. I get back to New York on Sunday, 12 days after I began this cross-country, combination business and personal trip. Unless you're an exceptionally good packer, and excel at staying awake late, I don't really recommend doing what I'm doing, least of all immediately after a marathon, but I won't complain about going to three of the best cities on the west coast that happen to be having incredible weather.
It's time to enter airplane mode, so I'll be back to recap the running in Oregon and SoCal later. If you need me, I'll be coating myself in sunscreen, too tired to determine if I should be wearing a suit or a sundress for whatever cocktail party is next on my agenda. It's a hard life, people.
My last trip to San Francisco involved 26.2 miles of running (and one nearly catastrophic tumble on the Golden Gate). While that kind of distance is a bit ambitious the week after a marathon, I'm excited to be back in the City by the Bay and get in a few miles when I can. I'm here for work, which means my agenda for the week is pretty jam packed, and begins at 7:30am each day. But since I'm on East Coast time, I've been able to get up and run (slowly and easily, in deference to my post-marathon legs) before getting down to business. With some familiarity of the city to begin with, I knew I wanted to run along the Embarcadero, the path that hugs the water. But since I'm staying at The Westin, which is famous (on the internet) for having a "running concierge," when I asked for directions to the Embarcadero on my first morning here, I was handed a running map.
I followed the directions and headed down Market Street to the Ferry Building. The sun was rising over the Bay, and plenty of other runners were out and about, enjoying a gorgeous Thursday morning. I turned left at the Ferry Building and continued along the water, heading towards Fisherman's Wharf. When I got there, I hit stop on my Garmin and said good morning to the (smelly, noisy) seals and glimpsed the Golden Gate peeking out from the fog. San Francisco is just as expensive as New York, but the views are better - why doesn't everyone just move out here?
Bay Bridge
On my second run, I again headed down Market Street to the Ferry Building, and then turned right and ran along the Embarcadero, under the Bay Bridge, until I hit AT&T Park. The run in this direction was a little less scenic and a little more dicey, but it's hard to feel sketched out by a baseball park surrounded by palm trees.
Pretty much the only drawback about running in San Francisco is that you're perpetually inhaling pot smoke. Or maybe that's not a drawback for you, I don't know. In any case, I can't really find any other reason to not move here immediately, and commit myself to a lifetime of 55 degree days and soup served in a sourdough bread bowl. P.S. Thanks for your comments on my Blue Apron post. You sound like shitty cooks. The winner of the giveaway is Megan! Megan, I'll email you.
As you may have noticed, I travel kind of a lot. Between work trips and personal travel, I’ve
been out of town 4 of the last 5 weekends.
This has had a couple of implications on my training. Some of them aren’t great:
I’m tired. I met my dad for breakfast on Friday
before I skipped town, and he told me I looked the most tired I have ever
looked.And that’s with the recent addition
to my skin care regimen of anti-aging rohypnol .Or retinol.Whichever isn’t the date rape
drug.
I don’t do my laundry promptly.Or more accurately, the man who does my
laundry doesn’t do it promptly.I’ve
been out of town so often that I only have occasion to drop off my laundry every
two weeks.This has resulted in some
questionable fashion choices, and also a $25 bill for wash and fold the last
time I picked it up.
My hip hurts.I have every confidence my recent hip pain is as a result of sitting in
a car/plane with such regularity.
I skip runs.I’m way better about getting my runs in when I’m traveling for business,
but on personal trips, it’s hard to say “I’m so glad I came to visit you/decided
to go on a trip with you!Now I’m going
to leave to go run.”
That said, travel isn’t entirely detrimental to my
training. In the past 5 weeks, I’ve
gotten to explore Chicago, Atlanta, New Hampshire, and Virginia by foot, which rules. In fact, yesterday’s 20 miler on the
Washington and Old Dominion Trail in Northern Virginia may have been my best 20
miler ever (aside from the part where I nearly impaled my ass cheeks on a rose
bush when I ducked off the trail to go to the bathroom at mile 16).
For this run, I ran the first 5 miles very easy and then
thought to myself “well you would spend less time away from the friends you’re
here visiting if you ran faster.” So I
did. I aimed to increase my speed about
20 seconds per mile for the next 5 miles, and another 20 seconds for the 5
miles after that, and then cool down for the last 5 miles. Here’s what happened:
Not perfect, but I’m quite pleased with the results, and I
had a ton of gas left in the tank (hence the GMP final mile). My hip felt fine throughout, and while I
spent my Sunday night eating pizza in sweatpants with my cat while talking shit
about celebrities’ poor Oscar fashion choices, I felt slightly less pathetic
than that sounds for having gotten such a great run in.
Best of all, I have no more trips planned until Boston.
Number of Miles Run Last Week: 40. I nixed speedwork last week to give my hip a
chance to recover.
Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 14.
Types of Beers Consumed: Bell’s Smitten Gold Rye Ale, Brooklyn Lager, Miller Lite, Yuengling, Goose Island 312, Schneider Weisse, Sapporo, and
Asahi. So multicultural!
Greetings from the Midwest! As you might have heard, it's cold here.
But cold or no, I had a 16 miler to run this week, and with a snowstorm expected to hit tomorrow, and the hotel fitness center thermometer locked at 300 degrees, I decided to brave the great outdoors and run long today. At first, this proved difficult.
Normally, that white stuff is a combination of concrete and lake. Today it was neither, which made the first (and last, since I ran an out-and-back route) 2 miles of my run somewhat treacherous. Eventually, however, I reached a long stretch of the Lakefront Trail that was free of snow and ice (and most other people), and I was able to run 16 miles without fearing for my life.
(Except for the part where I accidentally ran a little too far South, where the trail borders the real murdery parts of Chicago. Don't worry Mom; it was daytime and I'm fast).
After my run, I had only enough time for a quick shower before I had to head to a lunch meeting with clients, all of whom were then exposed to post-long run hunger. You weren't going to eat that bread/French fry/porterhouse steak, were you? Great, thanks.
I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday with family and loved ones. And alcohol.
I don't hate the beers available in the Pacific Northwest. I also don't hate drinking as early as 9am, because it's noon according to my New York-based body clock...
You know what they say about even the best laid plans? Actually, I didn't know what the end of that idiom was and had to google it. So for your edification, what they say about the best laid plans is:
The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.
Turning an idiom into reality: nailed it!
I set off from Maine at 6:30am yesterday and touched down at 4:15pm local time in LA. With 8pm dinner plans, I was confident I'd get my run in and continue to be on track with my workouts. If you've ever been to LA, perhaps you can already see the flaw in this logic.
I collected my bags and headed to the rental car desk, where I entered my own personal episode of Seinfeld:
"You see, you know how to take the reservation, you just don't know how to hold the reservation. And that's really the most important part of the reservation: the holding. Anybody can just take them."
Luckily I was able to snag at upgrade because they were out of compacts, and I'll be pimping around LA in a sweeeeeeeeeet Mitsubishi Galant for the weekend.
Finally, I hit the 405 (I'm lying - first I got lost in Inglewood. If you've heard of a place because it's mentioned in a rap song, you probably don't want to get lost there...) and proceeded the 7 miles to my hotel. It took almost an hour. As it turns out, people aren't kidding about LA traffic. Which is weird, since the highway ("freeway" colloquially... because of course LA people need to have their own special name for a highway...) has 6 lanes in each direction. How do you pick which lane to be in when there are six?!
The point is, by the time I finally arrived at my hotel, dirty from 13 hours of travel, it was 7pm and I had a dinner at 8pm. The run was not to be. This, naturally, left me feeling resentful towards LA, because WHY WOULD IT TAKE 3 HOURS TO GET MY BAG, GET MY CAR, AND DRIVE 7 MILES? HOW DO PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS?! Luckily, my rage was placated by my hotel, which is not terrible:
I feel like I'm on Spring Break! I should wear a wet t-shirt to work!
So, I missed a workout, despite all of the advanced planning I did to make my workouts happen. But you know what they say about good intentions? (This one I did know ahead of time). The road to hell is paved with them. I was going to hell anyway, so here's hoping there are water fountains along that road, in which case I'll run there and make up those missed 7 miles after all! How far is it to hell, anyway?
(I did actually make it to the hotel gym this morning before I had to come into the office. The hotel gym is an Equinox. So I'll save "A Love Letter to Equinox" for a separate blog post.)
Greetings from Vacationland! That's a not-at-all-apt nickname for this state, since I'm actually not on vacation anymore, but working remotely, and unfortunately not the kind of "working remotely" where you check your email three times and call it a day. But nonetheless, I am in Maine, and did indeed vacation for 3 full days before I planted myself in a chair at the kitchen table and watched with longing as the rest of my family left me to eat blueberry pancakes.
Here is how this trip has gone thus far:
Friday: Spend 7.5 hours in the car with my sister and brother-in-law. The novelty of being reunited with them wears off somewhere around New Haven. 6 subsequent hours spent in silence (just kidding - they're my faves!)
Arrive in Camden (not New Jersey) around 11pm, after having made the tragic discovery that Red's is not still open at 10:15pm. With lobster rolls not an option, have "dinner" of cupcakes, potato chips, and beers. Go to sleep.
Saturday: Wake up and run 20 miles. I have to say, despite my pre-run fueling choices, this was a great run. I've said many times that Camden is my happy place, so while I'm not usually enthusiastic about my long runs, I was perfectly happy to get this done. Except for everything after mile 15, which is where I ran through town and found my family eating breakfast (without me) and stopped to make them all tell me what they'd ordered. That was fairly depressing with 5 miles left to run.
Here's the farm I run by.
Eat things that live in the ocean (but not sea lice) and drink local beers (Geary's). Do a puzzle. I hate puzzles, but also hate not doing puzzles, so our time was spent alternately swearing and cheering.
My sister and a lobster roll. I am a purist and eat mine sans mayo.
Sunday: Wake up and run 8 miles. Play mini golf and beat my brother-in-law, which might be my proudest accomplishment, athletic or otherwise, in my entire life. Eat more sea creatures and drink more local beers. Turns out the beers don't help with puzzle completion.
Rockland Harbor
Monday: Wake up to pouring rain. Go to movies to avoid having to do the puzzle, despite the fact that everyone knows a puzzle is a perfect rainy day activity. Drink local beers (Shipyard Monkeyfist IPA, Andrew's Pale Ale). Eat alarmingly caloric seafood creations and thank God I'm not lactose intolerant. Lobster and heavy cream go together like... Doritos, fudge, and ice cream cones. I am the picture of health.
"Eventually everyone shows up at Cappy's"
Tuesday: No longer on vacation, I drag myself out for another 20 mile run before everyone else wakes up and starts having fun without me. Return home and open laptop. Everyone starts having fun without me.
So as you can see, I've mostly (Maine-ly, if you will. I will) been running, followed by eating and drinking with reckless abandon. As usual, I've had to do further reshuffling of the schedule I mapped out for myself, thanks to weather and work obligations, but I'm on track to hit all my workouts for the two week stretch. Two 20 milers in four days wasn't ideal, but I feel okay right now (must be the calories are speeding up my recovery).
As good as it feels to have my long runs out of the way, there's something to be said for finishing that last 20 miler, arms raised above your head in triumph, and declare the taper to have begun. I finished my last 20 miler and still have 5 days of workouts left this week. Plus that goddamn puzzle.
If you're paying attention, you may have read the title of the post and thought to yourself, "Wait a minute; I thought her race wasn't until September 28th. What's this final push business?" You are indeed correct - I still have five weeks to go before race day.
But I also have two weeks of travel that will take me from New York to Connecticut to Maine to Philadelphia (apparently you can't fly directly from Portland to LA, even though I'm sure that's a highly desirable route) to LA and back to New York. In order to make sure I'm managing to log critical miles and workouts in the midst of that cross country and back nightmare, I had to do some serious rejiggering of the workout schedule. And while I didn't exactly reinvent the wheel or anything, because of when I'm traveling and when I'd be able to get workouts in, I ended up with two intense weeks ahead of me. The final push before the taper.
I suspect this is too small to read. Click to enlarge if you care (no pressure)
Some lowlights:
800s tomorrow morning. 800s are the worst.
22 miles on Saturday after driving to Maine the Friday evening before Labor Day weekend, which I'm sure will be a short and painless trip and which will definitely not result in my sister and me calling each other ugly/stupid/fat, because we're adults now (my Brother-in-Law is very much looking forward to this trip)
800s again next Tuesday morning on the local high school track in Maine. It's super depressing to be so old that high school boys no longer cat call me.
22 miles again next Wednesday, the day after 800s.
Traveling literally the further possible distance in the contiguous United States: Maine to LA, by way of Philadelphia.
3 days of treadmill runs or smog runs in LA on a work trip. Fielder's choice.
Taking the red eye home.
So, if at any point in the near future, you're wondering why I haven't responded to your email/Tweeted about the Giants abysmal preseason performances/updated my blog, there's your answer. Your patience is appreciated. (Not yours, Eli Manning. Stop wasting time in the pocket).
Oh, one last thing worth noting: when I realized my upcoming travel was going to be pretty tough on my body and psyche, I decided to ease up this past week (what was I saying about always doing all my runs?...). So last night, after I mapped this all out while drinking a beer and watching Hard Knocks and getting super fired up about athleticism and crushing things, I went for an easy run.
I'm not saying having a beer beforehand helped my pace. But I'm not NOT saying that either.
I'm back from Chicago and staving off Sunday depression, so let's recap my journey, shall we?
When I left New York on Wednesday, the weather looked like this:
I'm not really sure how the cab driver could see through that rain, but I made it to LaGuardia unscathed. Unfortunately my flight was delayed 17 days (approximately). Worse, everyone else's flight was also delayed, and the airport bar was already at capacity when I arrived. I passed the time sending tweets about how I hate people, and eventually made it to Chicago. I took a cab from Midway directly to a bar. All was right with the world.
I woke up on the Fourth and kicked off celebrations with a run, which looked like this:
It did not suck. I spent the rest of the day drinking every Midwestern beer I could get my hands on. You know what beer comes from the Midwest? Bud Light.
On Friday I had to work, which wasn't awesome, but eventually we made it to the Sheffield Baseball Club, which overlooks Wrigley and which looks like this:
Chicago is a place known for its hot dogs. Why I don't live there is beyond me. Anyway, in addition to eating hot dogs and watching the Cubs lose, I also drank more beers, as seen here:
I drank all those.
Now I'm back in New York, which feels like this:
Rude. I did manage a 10+ mile run to Brooklyn today, which was only horrible for the last 2ish miles, when I ran uphill in direct sunlight. Otherwise, it wasn't awful despite the heat, though I did inadvertently make a woman think I was a rapist murderer. I had been behind her the entire length of the Brooklyn Bridge, and was quite impressed by how solidly she tackled the expanse, especially in the heat and sun. When I caught up to her on the Brooklyn side, I meant to compliment her on her grit. Unfortunately I decided to extend this compliment by beginning with "I've been chasing you for a very long time," which was extremely creepy of me. I blame the heat.
Number of Miles Run This Week: 28. That includes a hill workout, a tempo run, and 10 miles in 90+ degree weather. I am psyched with my effort this week.
Number of Beers Consumed This Week: Jesus, I'm terrified to know the answer. Is it humanly possible to day drink without doing so to excess? No, it is most assuredly not. Related, don't go to Chicago unless you are well versed in frat culture. Which I am, bro. As evidenced here:
Sun's out, guns out, amirite?
Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Well, there were plenty of Bud Lights. Plenty. Also, Oberon, Green Line Pale Ale, 312, Daisy Cutter, Sunday Session Hopped Up Ale, Femme Fatale Brett, Guinness, and Brooklyn Lager.
Coming up: I'm in town for 13 straight days! It'll take at least 3 to thoroughly dry out from my last trip...
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.
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.”
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.
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