Wednesday Wrap Up: Ho, Ho, Ho-ly Crap

The title above could reference a number of things, including, but not limited to:

• my diet of late.  All crap, all the time. Shockingly, a steady diet of baked brie hasn't been kind to me, my digestion, my self-esteem, or my running.

• my sense of astonishment when I realized the time to start training for what I plan to be my first 50 miler starts, like, now.

• my feelings of discouragement, when I just left my (windowless) office and went into the hallway, where I had a great view of the blustery, snowy, generally unpleasant, and already quite dark conditions outside.  At 3:57pm.

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 29.  Despite having 2 double-digit runs last week, my mileage was on the low side.  Food and booze got in the way.  I don't feel bad about it, though, since as I mentioned, spring training is basically here.  I'll take a little food coma now while I still can.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: 12.  I think.  

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Bud Light, Guinness, Brooklyn IPA, Sapporo, Blue Point Oktoberfest (this was actually really good, even though I swear I don't drink Oktoberfests, and also I seldom like anything from Blue Point), Bear Republic Peter Brown Tribute Ale, Smuttynose Robust Porter, Victory Prima Pils.

Moving right along...

As I mentioned above, spring training season - of the running variety - is upon us!  Based on my usual Training Peaks marathon plan, Day 1 of Boston training kicks off on 12/30.  But if I'm really going to tackle this 50 miler (for which I have yet to register; I will, but I'd rather first spend all my money spoiling my nephew at Christmas...) in May, training for that kicks off on 12/15.  That's on Monday.  Shit.

My training for my first 50 is really with finishing in mind.  Granted, I want to finish strong and not have a sad-sack, woe-is-me, I-am-literally-broken pity party along the way (a la Connemara Ultra).  To that end,  I conducted a somewhat exhaustive Google search for a training plan, during which I kept displayed on one computer monitor several tabs, including my work calendar, my personal calendar, and the wedding websites of everyone I know getting married in 2015.  

In addition to schedules, here's some of the other criteria I took into consideration:

• Given that all my training for everything to this point has been mileage-based and not time-based, I knew I wanted to stick with mileage-based training for my first 50 miler

• My weekly mileage during Chicago Marathon training this summer peaked at 77 miles.  This felt heavy, but manageable.  Some "just finish" 50 mile training plans called for peak weeks of 50 miles, which felt much too low for me.  Conversely, 90 miles felt too high; I want to finish a race, but I'd rather not wind up single and jobless from spending ALL my time running as a result.

• I did not want to run two-a-days.  I take a lot of time to get ready, where ever I'm going. My view is: what's the point in heavily investing in nice clothes (which I do, to a fault...) if you wear them with wet hair and no makeup?  As a result, I'm only showering once a day.

• I did not want a plan with prescribed paces.  While this is my first 50 miler, it's not my first ultra, and I'd like to use own my (admittedly limited) experience to gauge how fast I should be both training and racing.  I didn't want to be locked into 35 mile weekends if those 35 miles were meant to be run at a 12-15 min/mile pace - ain't nobody got time for that.  Also, I will actually be running a marathon during the course of this training, and while I have no intention of racing it, those Athlink results are forever... 

With all that in mind, I found a training plan that seemed like a good framework from the Ultraladies (I don't know who they are).  The original plan looked like this: 

Source

5 days a week of scheduled running left me a day to either cross train or add another run, which I appreciated.  Further, a three week taper is both what I'm familiar with, and also allowed for the running of the Boston Marathon the week before if I cut other workouts.  Lastly, midweek mileage seemed manageable even with a job that has frequent travel and late-night events. So far, so good.

However, closer examination revealed the mileage looked to be on the low side, peaking at 62 miles. So I made myself a little spreadsheet and started making some changes.  And kept making some changes. In fact, the last change I made was 30 seconds ago when I went to upload this and saw I should be running 16 miles this Saturday, event though my longest run in a month has only been 12 miles.  Anyway, here is my very much still under construction plan right now:

In the 30 seconds since I first hit publish, I already had to
 go back and make another change...

While the peak mileage is still only 70, I have two 70 mile weeks in there, two 60+ mile weeks, and five 50+ mile weeks.  That should, hopefully, get my legs good and used to running tired.

So, that's the plan.  Any thoughts (besides "don't run Boston the week before," because I know that seems like a foolhardy move, but it's done)?  Any tips?

Monday Wrap Up: Crowd Sourcing Race Advice

In the month since the Chicago Marathon, I've said to quite a few people that, if I never ran a faster marathon, I'd still be happy and content. Sure, I might not feel that way 2 years from now, but in the immediate aftermath of the race, rather than thinking about how I could have gone 3:10 if I'd eaten better/slept more/worn shorter shorts, I'm mostly thinking "damn, I am really psyched with that performance."

That said, I don't intend to retire from the marathon anytime soon. I'm registered for Boston in April already, and see no reason why I wouldn't also run a fall marathon next year, as I'm in the habit of doing.

But as someone who's motivated by goal setting, and who finds the most satisfying part of distance running to be the chipping away at a training plan en route to those goals, it's somewhat unsettling, when people ask if I'm going to try to PR in Boston in April, that my answer is "no." I want to have something to work towards, but right now, another marathon PR isn't it.

Naturally, of course, I've been thinking about ultras. I've long said (haha, distance pun) there's plenty of room for improvement for me in ultras; my last ultra, 39.3 miles through the Irish countryside, was not the race I hoped it would be. And both of my other ultras have been afterthoughts following goal marathons. I'd like to take some time to train specifically for an ultra.

I haven't made any firm decisions yet (don't freak out, Mom), but I've done a little research into races that might work for me, considering my travel schedule, my role as permanent wedding guest, and the fact that I have a boyfriend whom I'd like to be able to see from time to time. I think I've targeted a 50 miler in May that fits the bill, and I've talked it over with TG, who alleges he won't break up with me if I add a long run to my weeks on Sundays in addition to Saturdays (on the plus side, he anticipates his squash game will get very good). The race in question is the week after Boston, which means I wouldn't be dragging out my race season either.  Basically, I have Ultra Sign Up open in another tab as we speak and am just trying to work up the nerve to register.

On the one hand, 50 miles sounds like SO MANY MILES. That's nearly twice the length of the marathon! On the other, it's less than 11 more than I've already run (with a broken foot), and the training plan I found isn't really that much more running than the 60-70 mile weeks I put in for the Chicago Marathon.

Anyone want to try to talk me into or out of this plan? Take to the comments, please.

Number of Miles Run This Week: 44. That was an accident. I ran longer than I would have otherwise on Tuesday, since I had the day off work, and then I ran both Wednesday morning and Wednesday evening.  It's unclear if I'll ever run again, though, since this morning the doorknob fell off my front door and I'm currently trapped in here with Dorito... 

Number of Beers Consumed This Week: 6.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Bell's Best Brown Ale, Bud Light, Dale's Pale Ale, Shipyard Monkeyfist IPA.

Race Report: Connemara Ultramarathon

What feels like a lifetime ago, but was actually three weeks and one broken foot ago, I ran my longest ultramarathon to date: 39.3 miles in Connemara, Ireland (I finished in 6:46, if you're just skimming for the results).  I traveled there with 7 other runners, and we stayed together in a house in Galway.  Find out what happens when runners stop being polite and start being real...

Just kidding, everyone was polite, and also that wasn't where we stayed; that's just some random spectacularly beautiful castle in Connemara.  You know what else they have in Connemara, besides castles? Spectacularly beautiful scenery:

And also?  Spectacularly large quantities of sheep:

Photo credit: Abbe Lew

Lots and lots (and lots) of sheep.  So many sheep.  And mountains.  Sheep and mountains and lakes and not a lot of coverage from the wind...  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  This was a long race, so I'm going to try to keep this report as brief as possible.  Ready?  (I wasn't, and I wound up with a broken foot, so I definitely advise you prepare yourself.)  Let's do this.

Pre-race:  After getting drunk in the airport yet failing to time my intoxication to coincide with a night of sleep on a trans-Atlantic flight (true story: passed out on the runway at JFK.  Woke up 20 minutes later and spent the duration of the flight awake, watching Zero Dark Thirty, which is a great film but maybe not one to watch on an airplane...), we arrived in Dublin on Friday morning to a legit hail storm, the likes of which I had never seen and wished never to see again, least of all not on Sunday when I would be attempting to run 39.3 miles.  Thankfully, as we drove out of Dublin in our siiiiiick 10 passenger non-predatory van, the skies seems to brighten.  

Non-predatory van.  Also, I'm not actually driving, both because I was probably drunk, and because the steering wheel is on the right.  Photo credit: Elyssa

Or so I'm told; I slept the whole way.  In any case, we disembarked from our van for a full Irish breakfast at Maura's sister's home.  I ate 14 different kinds of sausage and was happy.  Then I went back to sleep.

Lo and behold, when I woke up, we were on the other side of the country!  Seriously.  Here is a map:

Though this was my fourth trip to Ireland, the was my first time on the West Coast, and it was pretty awesome.  Galway itself is right on the water (I can read a map too!), and a paved pathway runs right along the shore.  (Fun fact: according to a plaque, this is Ireland's longest seaside promenade walk, which sounds a bit like my saying I'm the tallest Claire from my hometown who likes running... No offense, Galway).  

After we got situated at our house for the weekend (thanks to Maura again for using all her personal and familial connections to find us a place to stay and many places to drink beers) and popped in to say hello to Maura's mom and brother, we got lunch.  And beer.

I should mention that I ate nothing but clotted cream, sausages, and fish and chips for the entire lead up to this race.  I also finished a 39.3 mile race, so do with that information what you will...

We spent much of our first day sorta tired and sorta drunk, so anything else that happened that day either escapes my memory or wasn't that important.  Moving right along...

We woke up on Saturday and headed to the promenade for a shake out run.  Already grappling with a stress fracture, this was to be my first run of any distance in about 10 days.  I don't know if it was the healing power of the motherland (and her food...) or the thrill of being on vacation in a new place, or just the joy of running with friends again, but my foot felt pretty okay.  Not awesome, certainly, but it held up over 4-ish miles.  At least I would make it to the starting line.

We showered up and then headed out to Connemara to see the area at a time when we weren't grumpy, hungry, and tired (though after several hours of driving, we were all of those things even a day before the race).  The scenery truly was remarkable, and unlike anyplace else I've been.

I don't go to a lot of places where cows block the roadways. Photo credit: Elyssa

After our trip to the Kylemore Abbey, which was fiiiine, I guess, if you're into beautiful Gothic architecture and the prospect of a man building a castle for you, we headed back to Galway to pick up our bibs at the race expo.  It was somewhat more difficult for me to find my bib number than it was for others, as I was one of 46 Walshes.

My people.  Photo credit: Bojana

Bibs were collected, groceries were procured, beers were consumed, a feast was prepared, and as always, a bib person was laid out.

After probably a few more beers than were necessary, I tucked myself into bed and tossed and turned until my 5:15am wake up.

Race morning: Because I was the only idiot who was running the Ultra, I was the only one who had to wake up so early.  The course was a loop, you see.  The 39.3 mile runners ran for 13.1 miles, to arrive at the marathon start.  The marathoners ran 13.1 miles to arrive at the half start. The halfers ran for 13.1 miles and arrived at the collective finish, which also happened to be the 39.3 mile start.  Which means that while I was already running, the buses taking the marathoners to their start passed me by. 

It would appear that the bus is VERY close to me. Thanks for that, guys... 
Photo credit: Abbe, from inside the bus

Anyway, I had some coffee and toast and fretted a bit about not going to the bathroom before I left, then got bused out to the start/finish, which meant I had the incredible opportunity to get ready indoors at the finish line hotel.  I will admit that my nerves on race morning were on high-alert; between the broken foot and having never run 39.3 miles before, I was pretty anxious about the prospect of DNFing in the rural Irish countryside, and mentally rewatched that episode of that Bear Grylls show where he has to sleep inside a dead camel so he doesn't die of exposure overnight.  "Can a  girl fit inside a sheep carcass?" I wondered...

The pre-race meeting (Ultras make you attend pre-race meetings so that they aren't liable if you die from running so much.  I'm only half kidding...) also made mention of a bag drop, so I jumped at the opportunity to leave a bag of gear at the 26.2 mile mark.  Into it went:

- Cheddar goldfish, mostly crumbs, from having traveled from New York in a ziploc bag
- Swedish fish
- Immodium
- Dry shirt
- Dry socks

On my person, I carried 1 handheld, filled with water, which I intended to refill along the way, and 4 Gus of all the flavors I dig.  I finally hit the bathrooms just before it was time to make our way to the start.  

When we got outside, I was unpleasantly surprised at how hard the wind was blowing, and was somewhat nervous that my attire of tank top, long sleeved tee, race jacket, gloves, and capris was not going to be enough.  After standing around shivering and making small talk long enough for my hands and feet to go numb, we were off.

The race (finally... I'm getting tired of writing...): The starting line was about a mile uphill from the finish hotel, so it was nice to know that at least our final mile would be downhill, if nothing else was.  And mostly, nothing else was.  With no real finish time expectation (and no actual expectation of finishing at all, on account of the foot), I decided to mentally break the race down into 5 mile chunks.  Three 13.1 mile chunks sounded horrible to me, but 5 miles at a time, in 8 pieces, seemed reasonable.  I wasn't wearing a Garmin and had only my digital watch, but tried to remember to hit the lap button each mile to get a sense of effort.

About 2 miles in, I had already warmed up enough to take off my jacket.  I tied it around my waist for awhile, thinking I might want later, but ultimately that got to be a hassle and I ditched it in the brush alongside the road.  

THIS IS CALLED FORESHADOWING.

About 4 miles in, a girl ahead of me stopped to pick up something she'd dropped and ended up running right behind me.  She spied my Surf City Marathon shirt and asked if I was from the states.  Kristen was also a Yankee, and California dweller herself, and a friend of one of my travel companions, Lisa!  Her husband was running the Ultra as well, though well in front of us at this point.  She was also managing an injury - plantar fasciitis - so we fell in step together.

The first 13.1 miles were by and large downright pleasant.  The hills were rolling, the breeze wasn't too tough, and the scenery was breath-taking.  I was having some mild stomach issues, but mostly they could be avoided if I didn't eat any Gu.  I figured things would sort themselves out and wasn't too concerned.  Kristen and I had plenty to talk about, and were pleasantly surprised when we arrived at the full marathon start.  I was smiley, even!

This is stolen.

We also picked up a few Irishmen at this point, and our little group grew to about five or six.  We were chugging along, having hit the 13.1 mile mark in 1:56, but my stomach had been churning for awhile.  Every time I tried to take a Gu, the churning became potentially pants-shitting.  Unfortunately, the "aid stations" on the course had only water, and the only calories I had on me were the Gus, so I decided I'd have to keep going to 26.2 and my salty snacks and Imodium without any fuel.  Not ideal, but certainly doable.  Hell at this rate, maybe we could break 6 hours!  

THIS IS ALSO FORESHADOWING.

I don't know where, exactly, but what felt like shortly after the marathon start, the wind picked up.  And so did the terrain. Kristen and I went from chatting about running to telling each other stories to take our minds off the fierce winds and climbs (admittedly, she did most of the talking, for which I am deeply grateful, Kristen!).  We had to use our hands to hold our hats on, and were nearly blown off course more than once. We'd done more than 3 of those eight 5 mile chunks.  Sadly, completing 3 of anything doesn't feel like all that much, and as we continued plugging away into the wind, my morale was dropping decidedly.

The Ultra profile isn't even offered online, so where this says mile 0.00 was my mile 13.1.

Looking back at the elevation profile, miles 16 to 22 (4 to 9 on the elevation profile above) were indeed uphill, and by the time we hit mile 20, normally a moment of "fuck yeah, almost done with this bitch!" in the marathon, I was feeling pretty low.  The climb into the wind had taken a lot out of me, and I'd been running for close to 3 and a half hours without consuming any calories.  Kristen's plantar pain was also beginning to ache.  She had a drop bag at mile 22, so that became our new goal: get to 22.

(I don't know why we runners set these goals.  Get to 22 and then what?  And then keep running for 17.3 more miles, actually.  But if you're a runner, you know how these mental games work.)  

In any case, 22 was miraculously the top of the hill, and not only did we find Kristen's drop bag there, but we found her husband as well.  He'd been suffering from food poisoning and decided to ease off the pace and run with his wife.  Lucky for him, she'd made a friend who had Imodium 4 miles ahead (me!).  New goal: get to the 26.2 mile mark.

While the next 4 miles were downhill, they were brutally windy.  We all ran single file, trying to stay tucked in behind anyone ahead who might offer a draft.  At this point, we weren't even speaking, both because the wind was so loud, and because we were feeling pretty defeated.  I hear the scenery continued to be beautiful, but we didn't do anything except look at the ground in front of us, since looking up with cause our hats to be ripped off our heads.  We later discovered gusts were up to 40mph that day, which isn't awesome...

At some point, I think when we got to Kristen's bag, I hit "stop" instead of "lap" on my watch, so at this point I had no idea what our actual time or splits were, but I guessed we hit the marathon split at about 3:50.  If I'd had the faculty to do any math, I would have realized that was nearly impossible, since there was no way our second 13.1 miles were faster than our first.  In any event, official results indicate we hit the marathon split at 3:59, with a 2:03 second 13.1.

When I got to the bag drop table at 26.2, I tore into my stuff.  I tossed the shirt and socks and went straight for Imodium and Goldfish.  I also stuffed the baggie of Swedish Fish into my SpiBelt, though I was skeptical they'd help, since they are basically Gu in solid form.  I shared Imodium with Kristen's husband Chris, and we turned a corner to conquer the final 13.1.

I'm going to redirect your attention to the elevation profile up there.  See where mile 13 is?  That was mile 26.1 for me.  See what comes immediately after that?  Truly, I don't think I've ever been so demoralized in a race in my entire life: I have just spent 10-ish miles running uphill into a fierce headwind, I haven't been able to eat anything in 4 hours, I have a broken foot, I have 13.1 miles left to run, and I was facing a mountain.  Really, the only thing I had going for me was those cheddar Goldfish, which I could actually keep down, and which - no exaggeration - possibly saved my life and definitely helped my mental game.  Thank you, Pepperidge Farm.  I tried to channel my inner ultramarathoner, 26.2 miles too late, and decided to walk the hills.  I bid Kristen and Chris adieu and began hiking.

For awhile, actually, this strategy was indeed effective: I hiked everything super steep and ran everything runnable.   The Irishmen Kristen and I had met earlier were still around and using the same strategy, so we took turns leading and checking on one another.  Truthfully, the fun part of the runner camaraderie had given way to some straight up survival stuff: buddy, you hydrating?  Need some Swedish Fish?  Are you warm enough? 

Warmth was definitely starting to be a challenge.  The wind continued blowing furiously, and now that I was moving so slowly, it was hard to stay warm. I had been aiming to keep my pace around 10:30, but when I crossed the 32 mile mark, the pain in my foot went pretty suddenly from dull and tolerable to sharp.  I pulled over to check it out and untied my right shoe entirely to allow for swelling.  I tried running a few more steps, but each resulted in a sharp pain.  With 7 miles to go, I was pretty much unable to run.

I plodded forward, eating Goldfish and thinking about my options.  Really, there was one: finish the damn thing.  There were no spectators, no medical tents, hardly any other runners around.  If I quit, I'd have no way to get to the finish line.  So I kept on hiking.

My pace was now down to about 12:30/mile.  Normally, 7 miles should take less than an hour, even late in a race.  I realized I was looking at almost 90 more minutes of hiking in the freezing wind and had long since ditched my outer layer.  I kind of freaked out: I could actually wind up with hypothermia. 

Plus, I was feeling shitty about myself.  I don't ever walk in races, and here I was, walking the last 7 whole miles of this one.  Yes, I was making the right choice for me, given my foot, but my foot was injured in the first place because I had half assed my training.  I had no one to blame but myself.  You can get to some pretty dark places when it's just you and sheep and 7 miles of climbing...

At mile 35, I arrived at the base of the infamous Hell of the West, the steepest stretch of the course and nearly two miles straight uphill.  The runners (hell, they were all walkers at this point) near the top were barely visible.  But I knew this was the last push before the finish, and if I'd made it this far, no freakin' way was I going to give up and die of exposure.  I chanted "hike the hills" to myself (even though I'd also been hiking the flats and the downhills for the last 3 miles), and powered my way to the top.  It took close to 30 minutes to go 2 miles.

From the top of the Hell of the West, the course is downhill to the finish, and the wind was starting to die down (37 miles too late...).  I tried running immediately, but unfortunately my foot hadn't magically healed in 5 miles of walking (weird, right?).  I walked another mile.  Finally, I decided that I wanted the race to be over, damnit, and if any of my friends happened to be hanging around the finish area, they were absolutely not going to see me walk there.  I ran the world's slowest mile and crossed the finish line of my first 39.3 mile race in 6:46.  The last 13.1 miles took me 2 hours and 45 minutes.  

This is also stolen. And that half-grin is definitely fake.

I stumbled into the designated Ultra finisher area where the race director came over to check me out.  I fumbled around in a daze for a few minutes, accepting a couple cups of Coke and my checked gear, then made my way into the hotel.  I quickly found the pub, and in it, my friends.  Baker saw me first, raised his glass, and exclaimed "Walsh!"  I burst into tears.

All my friends came around to hug me, the whole pub started clapping, and strangers came up to congratulate me.  

Thanks for the Guinness, Baker.  Photo credit: Elyssa

I don't know why I was so emotional, to be honest.  I was tired, for starters.  I had been running for 6 hours and 46 minutes.  But I was also pretty emotionally drained, not just from the mental challenges of racing in tough conditions, but from the lead-up, will-she-or-won't-she drama with my foot.  I've done enough marathons at this point that I don't really struggle with the mental games, but I definitely did at Connemara, and that took a lot out of me.  I was at once both proud and surprised that I finished at all, and disappointed that I didn't train better or race smarter.  It's a weird sensation to experience accomplishment and regret simultaneously.

But it was nothing a couple pints couldn't fix.

In conclusion: I have a lot of thoughts, and future plans, related to the Ultra.  I think part of what appeals to me is that I still have so much to learn, and so many ways to improve.  I still want a sub 3:20 marathon, but I also really want to get better at Ultras as well.  "Better" is subjective in Ultras, of course, but I'm definitely not done exploring what "better" is.

For the time being, I have another week in the boot.  I didn't cause any grievous injury to myself in Ireland, and knew going into it I'd likely wind up with a boot upon my return, so in that sense, I have no regrets about running in Ireland.  As I mentioned before I left, I don't think it's been a terrible thing to be banned from running for a few weeks, as someone who's obviously struggled with motivation for the last few months.  Part of me is hesitant to make big plans for the fall race season, since I don't know how much my fitness will be impacted and how susceptible I will be to another injury.  But part of me - the post-race part - wants to make huge plans: a sub 3:20 marathon AND a 50 miler!  And drinking all the beers!  I'll be sure to keep you posted as it plays out.

As for Connemara in particular, it was disproportionately more difficult than any other race I've run.  That is to say, it wasn't just more challenging because it was longer, it was more challenging because it was longer, and steeper, and windier, and I struggled with my foot, and with fuel, and with my mental game.  None of those things make for a "good" experience, but I can say without hesitation that I'm so glad I ran the Connemara Ultra.  Runners are weird people like that.

A PR is a PR

Well, that was the most grueling 406 minutes of my life.

Between the mountainous climbs, the 40mph wind gusts, the busted foot, and the fact that it was nearly 40 fucking miles long, the Connemara Ultra Marathon was far and away a more demanding physical challenge than any I've ever encountered. The mental game was no cake walk either. In fact, I was so overcome when I stumbled into the finish line pub - with exhaustion, with emotion, with adrenaline, with fear, with surprise in myself - that when I saw my friends and they raised their pints and called out to me, I broke down in tears. And then the whole pub cheered. It was actually pretty awesome.

There's much more to tell than that, but the quick and dirty is: I finished 39.3 in 6:46. My stress fractured foot held up through mile 32, and I run-hiked from there. I'm tired, I'm filthy (from plane travel - I did indeed shower post race), and since Sunday I haven't seen a pat of butter I didn't want to make sweet, Irish love to.



Also, clotted cream.  Why are you not a thing in New York?

Anyway, I'm going to do something about those conditions right now. Come back later this week for a full race report.

Game On

I spent last night in very high heels on the deck of the Intrepid, which isn't the most forgiving of conditions for any foot, let alone a stress fractured one. Nonetheless, after my morning of (doctor prescribed) cross training, I headed back to the Hospital for Special Surgery brimming with optimism. Not because my foot felt good - seriously, heels on that concrete and steel floor are terrible -  but because no matter what the verdict, I'm headed to Ireland tomorrow. I was just waiting to hear whether or not I'd be packing my Kinvaras.

I have been to the Intrepid 4 times. 3 of them have been for fashion shows.

My appointment today was approximately 30 seconds of pressing on my foot an 10 minutes of talking about risks and treatment and possible outcomes.  Dr. Metzl asked where my head was, I said I was inclined to at least start the race and risk a DNF. Furthermore, if I was going to do anything, it was going to be the ultra I signed up for, not 26.2 (not like that'd be any easier on my foot), and not 13.1. He told me if he were in my shoes, he'd feel the same. If we were dealing with a stress fracture in my hip, he'd pull me from the race without question. But for the metatarsal, he thought I could give it a shot.

Let me be clear: Dr. Metzl was by no means cavalier about the current state of my foot, nor the potential for further damage. In fact, he pointed out in his post-appointment orating of notes (he tape records some notes at the end of the appointment.  The first time it freaked me out and I thought he was just talking to me and indicating what punctuation went where, which is a super weird way to talk to people.  Turns out he must have someone else transcribe his medical records) that it was less "potential" and more "probable." And he told me if I went ahead with the race, I'd be paying for it on the post-run end. But he also explained that right now, I'm looking at 2 additional weeks to recover. If I run this weekend, it'll be more like 4-6. The latter involves more time off (in case you didn't get how integers work...) but not substantially so.  And if I'm being perfectly honest, an additional of 2 to 4 weeks of time off to someone who's been burned out since Fall marathon season doesn't sound as terrible as it might to someone in the throes of passionate runner love.

Oh, the good doctor also reiterated that while, yes, it was possible that my foot shatter in some horrifying Kevin Ware-type bloodbath, that was extremely unlikely.  Which was nice to hear, since I've already seen enough video footage of compound fractures to last me a lifetime.

So with that, Imma get back to work, since I'm leaving tomorrow to go to Ireland to run a 39.3 miles race on a sort of broken foot.  Peace.

Them's The Breaks

I haven't been around these parts in awhile, and my return today doesn't come with good news.  To make up for all that, here's a cute picture of my cat (related: I got a cat.  It's been a weird couple of months for me, just go with it).

So, part of the lack of blogging stems from a lack of running (spoke a little too soon on that "I'm not still sad and unmotivated!" post...).  But obviously, with a 39.3 mile race approaching, I realized about 2 weeks ago that I'd best get my ass in gear and log some long runs.  Twice-weekly SoulCycle is great and all, but 45 minute spin classes weren't doing a whole lot for my running endurance.  

So, with the company of some lovely gals, I knocked out a 20+ miler.  And then the very next day, on legs that should not have been as tired and sore as they were considering how close I was to a 39 mile race, I did another 11 miles.

And then the following weekend, I did another 20+ miles.  This time, faster, and feeling stronger.

And in the grand tradition of long runs, I came home, showered, put on compression socks, and ate a sandwich.  And it was glorious.

Until it wasn't.  I went about my business that afternoon and evening, drinking and eating like someone who ran 20 miles and gives precisely zero fucks about calories, and had a lovely time.  Until it came time to leave, at which point I raised myself from the couch and was in significant pain, not in my tight calves, but in my right foot.  It was a struggle to walk one block to hail a cab.

After 5 days off from running and no real improvement, I bit the bullet this morning and headed to Dr. Jordan Metzl at the Hospital For Special Surgery and Place Where Hot, Talented Athlete-Doctors Are Employed.  That might not be the facility's actual name.  In any case, Dr. Metzl poked me a lot, sent me for x-rays, and told me he'd be writing me a prescription for a pedicure because "what is this shit?" (Actual quote from a licensed medical professional).  Then he gave me the bad news: I ran myself right into a stress fracture.

Oh hey.  You're dreamy. Also, you sent me to a store that displays your book prominently.
Coincidence?

Shocking, right (read: not at all shocking)? I quickly upped volume and intensity, and wouldn't you know it, my foot was not that psyched about it.  My stress fracture is on the third metatarsal - the middle finger of the foot - effectively flipping me off for being so careless (and lazy...).  The good news is, it doesn't seem to be particularly severe or to have progressed significantly; pain only began on Saturday afternoon, and the good doctor said things like "developing stress fracture" and not "AMPUTATE IMMEDIATELY."  According to him, my Ireland ultra plans might not be a wash.  I'm to take a fuckton (not an actual dosage amount) of Advil, cross train, increase my calcium intake, and do no running for the next week.  Next week, I'll go back to Dr. Metzl for follow up.  If the injury has not progressed, I can "use my judgement" and "run the ultra."

BUT.

If I get to the starting line, I'm to do so having already come to terms with a DNF.  Because the moment my foot starts to hurt, I'm to drop out.  Here is how that conversation happened:

Claire: So worst case scenario?

Dr. Metzl: Your foot shatters.

Well, that pretty much sums that up.  Thanks.  Considering I very much do not want for that to happen, I'm saying here and now: I'm okay if I DNF next weekend.

Dr. Metzl also sent me off to get orthodics for my sneakers, to take some of the pressure off my injured bone.  This is the brand he recommended:

Don't those people look like athletes you'd like to emulate?...

My foot actually hurts quite a bit right now, but that's probably due to the fact that a doctor poked at it all morning and then my cab downtown from the hospital didn't want to drive across 42nd Street so I had to sprint 4 blocks in boots to get to my office.  Anyway, now you know where things stand.  A stress fracture isn't exactly a great diagnosis to receive 1 week before a transatlantic flight to a 39.3 mile race, but considering the prognosis, it's not the worst either.  It's not like I was diagnosed with gluten intolerance and have to swear off beer.

Any foot stress fracture sufferers out there?  Anything else I can/should be doing or asking my doctor about?

P.S. Sorry for real about not blogging.  I haven't had a lot of interesting running/beer shit to say lately, and the internet is already at capacity for uselessness.  Consider it a public service.

Sunday Wrap Up: That Was Fast

Connemara Ultra Training Week 2: Fail.  I know, I know: that's pretty quick turnaround from the naive optimism I was feeling after a successful week one.  But unfortunately, Tuesday's sick day morphed into Thursday's birthday pity party which became Friday-Sunday's full blown flu, complete with a cancelled birthday party and 40 straight hours without leaving my apartment.  Thank God I mustered a trip to my usual Soul Cycle class on Friday morning before I realized how sick I was, because I imagine walking from the couch to the bed in a tiny one bedroom apartment can't do much for endurance or calorie burning. (Also, because something awesome happened there, and it was both the highlight of my birthday and also an eye-opening fitness experience that will get a post all its own.  Stay tuned...)

I was NOT that into spinning at 6am on Friday.

The good news is that being incapacitated by the flu left me with an insatiable desire to get my run on - burnout be gone!  And (knock on wood), I don't have an injury, and after 6 days of on-and-off ailing, I'm on the mend.The bad news is that we're now only 8 weeks from 39.3 miles and my weekly training looked like... this:

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 5.  I felt pretty bad when I woke up on Thursday morning, but really wanted to run on my birthday.  Good thing I did, since that was the only run I had in me this week.  While I'm normally of the opinion that sweating out the sickness is actually possibly, I spent all day Tuesday and all day Saturday, as well as Friday from 5:30pm on, under a mountain of tissues in a Nyquil coma.  Luckily for the one run I did manage, running itself requires very little head and neck movement: my lymph nodes have been so swollen I haven't been able to turn my head.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week:  Not nearly enough.  I had grand plans for a birthday bash at Bier Kraft this weekend, but had to cancel on account of being on my death bed.  Incidently, I think I ended up on my death bed as a result of drinking aggressively while I was already under the weather on Thursday...

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week:  Whale's Tale Pale Ale, Heineken, Stella, Mission IPA. 

I'm probaby the only person who is now looking forward to turning 30, if only because it can't possibly be as lame as 29 has been.

Monday Wrap Up: She's baaaaaaaack

Week one of my ten week Connemara Ultra training program is under my belt, and no one is more surprised than me that I actually did it. By Friday morning, I was really sore and starting to think maybe I was making a huge mistake by diving into training feet first after taking January largely off, but a day of cross training and not running seemed to put me back on track. I was pleasantly surprised to find that, after a 2-hour Saturday run in Central Park, I wasn't sore on Sunday and was able to knock out the final 90 minutes of the week without a problem. Best of all, the runger kicked in right as I was sitting down with Ryan to watch the Superbowl with chili, corn muffins, cookies, chips, and beers.



Oh look, it's a wrap up!

Number of Miles Run Last Week: 45. As compared with Number of Miles Run in January: 63. Please don't do this to yourself, because it's a terrible idea to increase mileage so drastically. Please also don't wish bad things upon me for continuing to do it time and time again. Anyway, January was the lowest mileage month I've had in approximately 28 years aka ever. And in just a few weeks, 63 miles will become weekly mileage. Again, assuming I don't suffer crippling injury from ramping up mileage.

Number of Beers Consumed Last Week: Yikes, waaaay to many. Like 20. I had my first beer shortly after noon on Saturday and drank straight through to 11pm. In that time I also wrestled a dog, went out to
dinner twice, and thought we were under attack when I felt cold things stabbing me in the face, only to be told it was snowing.

Types of Beers Consumed Last Week: Guinness, Peak Organic IPA, Belfast Ale, Heineken, Whale's Tale Pale Ale, Lake Placid Nippletout Stout, Magic Hat Heart of Darkness, and two Polish beers, which I learned are generally named for the city in which they were brewed. Drinking is educational!

Connemara Training, Revisited

Workouts 1 (rest, and yes that counts as a workout) and 2 (7 miles with 5x1 at half marathon pace, and yes it sucked): done.

I know you didn't believe I'd actually come out of my rut (or was that just me?), but I'm checking in to report that so far, so good. In fact, I'm particularly proud of myself, considering I ate filet mignon and drank wine at lunch today (it was for work, promise), and still managed to drag my (ever expanding) keister to the gym, in the rain, tonight. Unfortunately, on account of the wine during the day, I should probably not reward myself for this accomplishment with alcohol, but I'll have many more opportunities for that. 68 workouts to go...

UPDATED Let's Do This: The Connemara Training Plan

After a full month of dicking around, I can't say I'm OMG100%SUPERPSYCHED to dive into ultra training.  But with 39.3 miles looming less than 9 weeks from now, there's no time like the present.  And those plane tickets to Ireland aren't refundable.  

The good news is that, once I find the motivation to get out the door, I still freaking love running.  And as I mentioned, I think I'm inching closer to loving not hating the get out the door part.  Close enough that I've officially given myself a deadline: Next Monday, I'm re-starting training in earnest. 8 weeks 10 weeks* to 39.3.  Bring it.

*Really?  No one was going to tell me I can't even count to ten?  What kind of snarky internet people are you?

I've devised the following plan based on the 50 Mile Training Plan I cited a few weeks ago.  There is one additional column I didn't include here with some notes about things that might impact training or require a little shifting of the schedule (for example, 4 days in Colorado the week of 2/25).  

Click to enlarge, unless you have x-ray vision

I've actually never made my own plan before and have always followed something someone else has prescribed.  I've also never run 39.3 miles.  Due to both of those facts, definitely don't trust me on this.  But essentially all I did to revise the 50 mile plan was:

1) Cut back the total miles on the Tuesday speed work: 9 with 6 at half marathon pace became 7 with 5.  Because I said so.

2) Cut back on the total time for the long runs: 4 hour Saturdays and 5 hour Sundays became 3 hour Saturdays and 4 hour Sundays.  Because 5 hours seems like a really long time, and I'm not running the full 50 mile distance.  But mostly because 5 hours seems like a really long time.

3) Changed Friday rest days to cross-training.  Because I like Soul Cycle at 6am on Fridays.

So there it is.  I'll be back to Weekly Wrap Ups, and running mileage that makes Weekly Wrap Ups worth it, next week.  Wish me luck...

Yet More Thoughts on Ultrarunning

Did you know I'm an ultramarathoner?  Probably not; I never mention it, and it's not on my resume.  So to bring you up to speed:


I am an Aquarius, wearer of short shorts, drinker of good beers, reacher of things on high shelves, marathoner, and ultramarathoner.  I ran my most recent ultra in April, where I came in second woman overall because I am also awesome at running, in addition to the above mentioned attributes.  And I'm modest.

I'm so good at running, my feet don't even touch!

Anyway, in case my post-race high and my glowing race report from that most recent notch on my running belt weren't enough to convince you not only that ultras are where it's at, but that the Jack Bristol Lake Waramaug Ultra Marathon is a terrific entree into ultra running, I wanted to share one last anecdote.


Imagine, if you will, that Dave McGillivray of the Boston Athletic Association sent you an email today.  It said, "Hey runners, did anyone leave their arm sleeves in the Athlete Village at Hopkinton?  And also, do you want pictures of the race?  Let me know and I'll send them to you on a CD."


That would obviously never happen; Dave McGillivray has many more important things to do than mail you sweaty arm sleeves, and Brightroom would much rather charge you $49.99 for that 8x10 of you vomiting in Natick.


Last week, I received the following email from Carl Hunt, race director of the JBLWUM:

I now have all of the pictures from the race and am currently making discs... To keep costs and time expended down, I am asking that anyone who would like to receive the discs reply by email with the address to which you would like the discs mailed. A huge thank you Kate Stoker, Jill Siladi from the Monkey Station and Glen Teitell from Freeze Frame Photo in Hackensack for both taking the photos as well as for getting them to me.  Kate and Jill run the Monkey station and do a great job on pictures every year. Glen, well, he happened to be there in support of his favorite runner and got roped into taking a lot of shots that he may not have planned on. It is great to have folks out there that are so willing to give and help out for the benefit of everyone...

There was an usually low number of personal items found after the race. The only item that I have left that is looking for its owner is a green, lightweight, fleece type jacket with the initials JTS on it. If it’s yours and would like to claim it, please let me know.

Now obviously, Dave McGillivray is dealing with vastly largely numbers of runners at the Boston Marathon than Carl Hunt is at the JBLWUM, and Dave McGillivray has done a spectacular job of it.  But that doesn't mean Carl's job is any easier.  Some of Carl's runners are out there for 12 or 15 hours running a 100k.  To keep those people safe, Carl isn't just dealing with Gatorade and Gu; he's making grilled cheese sandwiches and unwrapping packages of pretzels.  He's keeping the moleskin people in business.  He's driving around a lake all day personally asking his runners how they're doing.  He's finding volunteers who will commit to staffing aid stations from 6:00am to 9:00pm on a Sunday.  Hell, apparently Carl even put some people up in his house the night before the race!  And then he's emailing them and offering to send them photos.

I don't mean to get all political about racing (except when it comes to New York Road Runners; I'm on the record as saying that operation is a racket), and to be sure, Boston is a well-oiled and highly effective machine, but damn if Carl Hunt isn't a race director who goes so far above the call of duty to ensure that all of his runners have an awesome experience well after they cross the finish line.  

Run this race.

I believe this was our 50k winner.  You can't see from here, but he's wearing a Western States shirt.

All photos thanks to the aforementioned JBLWUM volunteers

Race Report: Jack Bristol Lake Waramaug Ultra Marathons

Guess what! I figured out what that weird acronym in the email subject I received stands for! Jack Bristol Lake Waramaug Ultra Marathons.  Or something close to that.


Some general race info: I registered for this race in February or March, when I realized I had a conflict on the day of the NJ Trail Festival.  I checked out marathonguide for nearby 50ks on weekends I was available (rapidly dwindling...), and found JBLWUM in Kent, Connecticut.  Lake Waramaug State Park is actually in three adjacent cities in Connecticut, but Kent was the only one I'd heard of.  The race offers three ultra distances run simultaneously: 50km, 50 miles, and 100km, with each race consisting of increasing numbers of loops around the lake, each of which is 7.6 miles.  The 50k cost $55, and all races ended up selling out by early April, so get in early if you're interested.  And you should be!

The course is breathtaking: paved, with minimal traffic, around a picturesque lake, with gorgeous real estate, and some cows that add to the "rural Connecticut" feel but don't even smell!  The website describes the course as "rolling," and I was a little apprehensive, since I couldn't find an elevation chart on the website, but that description is generous.   Here's the elevation chart from my Garmin:

I don't think that's 100% accurate, since the course was 3 loops with a bit tacked on at the beginning and end, and I don't see three repeated segments, but it's close enough.  The undulations were minimal.  Though it was 3 loops, each was long enough so that a) you didn't get bored - a big fear of mine, since at the Knickerbocker 60k I stayed sane over so many loops only because I had friends join me for each of them, and b) you weren't lapping or getting lapped by the same people over and over, which can be discouraging.  It was sort of weird to be running with 50 milers and 100 kmers, because it made it difficult to gauge whether or not you were running at an appropriate pace, especially for someone like me who was running her first 50k; obviously I was hauling ass a lot sooner than someone who was running twice as long as me.  But it was fun to chat with other runners and learn about their ultra careers, and every participant I encountered was more than happy to do so.  


One of the only marks against this race is that it's not very easy to get to.  I went out to Connecticut on Saturday afternoon and spent the night at my parents', and still had to be out the door by 5:15am to get to the park with time to pick up my bib and do whatever it is we pretend to be doing when really we're all just milling about the start area.  In addition to being far from any major city (even Danbury, which is only a major city by Connecticut standards), the park is also only accessible by local roads; my drive was 48 miles, and only 4 of them were on a US Interstate.  It's really hard to read directions and street signs when it's still dark out.


That said, once you get there, parking is a breeze; I pulled into the State Park lot at 6:45am, easily found a spot, had access to running water and flushing toilets in the park facilities, and was a 3 minute walk to the start area.  I waited in line for approximately 15 seconds to get my chip, bib, and race t-shirt.  There was a tented bag drop at the start/finish, so runners had access to whatever of their own stuff they needed, in addition to everything offered at each of the four aid stations.  


And I mean everything.  Water, Gatorade, Coke, ginger ale, Goldfish, Saltines, cookies, jelly beans, pretzels, oranges, bananas, chicken soup, eggs, bacon... and that's just what I spied or was offered.  Volunteers were over-the-top helpful; I had barely pulled into one aid station before someone was taking my handheld to fill it up and checking to see what else they could feed me or give me.  Aid stations were about every 2.5 miles, and while I did run with both my own fuel (2 Gus) and liquid (Nathan handheld), you could certainly run this race relying only on aid station support.


Even the race director, Carl, was super hands-on.  During the first loop, he drove passed the runners and at each of us, he stopped and said "How's it going out here?  Everything okay so far?"  Though to be honest, I had a soft spot for him already because he has the same name as my Garmin. 


About my race: As for my own personal race experience, it was a terrific one.  Not just because I performed well (though, duh, I did), but I really enjoyed myself as well.  I had no time goal in mind, this being my first 50k, but did want to feel like I was putting my Boston training to good use and run a hard effort.  While not nearly as challenging a course as Boston, this was, obviously, 5 miles longer.  


The first portion of the course is a 2.2 mile out-and-back, and after Mary introduced herself to me at the start area, we set off together.  We exchanged war stories about races and post-race antics, and ran at a comfortable pace.  I kept my jacket on for this portion, because it was still early, but by the time we headed back towards the start/finish area, I was ready to ditch it.


Mary and I drifted apart after the out-and-back, and I continued greeting the other runners as I approached.  Unfortunately, I never did find someone to latch on to and run with for any substantial distance, but it was still nice to exchange "Good morning!"s and "Looking great!"s with everyone I passed.  I was feeling good clicking off sub-8 minute splits, so I decided for that first full loop, I'd aim to keep all my miles sub-8:00, and gradually slow down with each loop.  Because positive splitting is definitely what most people plan to accomplish during a race...  As I came through the start/finish area, I was informed I was the second woman.  Well hooray!  Only 27 miles to go...

I had everything I needed with me for that first loop, so didn't stop at any of the four aid stations, but all the volunteers were super friendly, and I promised I'd see them again.  The first station (Monkey Station) was staffed by girls in leis and coconut bras.  The second was in a parking lot that also housed a hot dog and pulled pork truck, and I'm not sure if the two were related. The third station was staffed by one man who'd erected a sign listing "Marathon Legends Running Today."  He'd written about a dozen names, and how many marathons and ultras they'd run.  All were upwards of 200.  I told him I had some catching up to do.  The fourth station was at the start finish area, where all of the spectators were stationed (and there were actually quite a few), so it was always nice to hear some cheers.


I was a little slower than intended on that first full loop, averaging an 8:03 pace.  As I set out for my second loop, I decided I'd try to keep all my mile splits sub-8:15.  Once again, I breezed by Monkey Station without stopping, but when I got to the parking lot station, my handheld was refilled, I grabbed a cup of Gatorade, and was offered bacon and eggs, which I politely declined on account of having 15 more miles to run.


The stretch between the parking lot station and the Legends station was the main road, outside the state park, and because it wasn't protected, it was very windy.  I stuck with a long sleeved top and gloves, and was glad to have both.  I kept plugging away, chatting to some fellows who were doing the 100k, and counted down my miles.  I passed a few women in this stretch, but having had no idea what race they were running and what position I was in, I tried not to get greedy and just focus on running my own race.  I finished loop 2 averaging 8:09/mile.


For the third and final full loop, I was aiming for sub-8:30 splits, and could break the remaining mileage down into distance to 26.2 and then the five miles after that.  I grabbed Gatorade at the start line aid station and forged ahead, beginning to feel a little tired.  Gatorade at Monkey Station, pretzel rods at the parking lot, an orange at the Legends station... I was trying to take in some calories whenever I could without eating anything I wasn't sure would sit with me.  I had no idea where I stood in the rankings, but was pleased with my splits thus far and didn't want to blow it with stomach pains. Or full on pooping my pants.  


I came across the "26.2 miles" spray painted onto the sidewalk in 3:34.  Let's talk about that for a minute.  A Boston qualifying time in its own right, that's 16 minutes faster than I actually ran Boston.  Eff weather. 


Moving on, I had just 5 miles to go.  I was tired.  But as I do in every race, I was calculating how much I could slow down and still run certain times. "If I slow down to 9 minute miles, I could still run 4:25.  If I slow down to 10 minute miles, I could still run sub 4:30."  Again, while I hadn't gone into the race with a time goal in mind, now that I'd come this far, I wanted to set one, and then exceed it.  


I came through the start/finish having averaged 8:26/mile for loop 3, and then had to head to Monkey Station and back one more time.  With about 4 miles to go, the leader passed me going in the other direction.  He looked like he was flying.  I gave him a clap and a whoop and didn't see anyone coming behind him for miles.  Dude killed it.


With 3 miles to go, my left hamstring got very tight and started affecting my gait.  The only other time this has happened was with about a mile to go during the Smuttynose Marathon.  A mile was survivable, but I was concerned about doing serious damage by limping for 3 miles.  I spent about another mile considering what would happen if my leg suddenly just broke off out here in the middle of nowhere.  But I got distracted from thinking about that when runners 2, 3, and 4 cruised down the hill in front of me and blew by headed for the finish.  And one of them was a woman!  Damn her!  But with a 2 mile lead on me, there was no way to catch her.  Fine, I thought, then I sure as hell better finish as the second woman.


I passed Monkey Station for the last time, hit the turnaround, and pointed back towards the finish.  Naturally, this seemed like an interminable distance.  And there were a good number of people around me that I wanted desperately to stave off.  A friendly guy named Kurt started talking to me just after the turnaround, and we ran together for a few.  But when he reminded me "yeah we're about the 5th and 6th overall," I was like "you mean you're the 6th overall," and laid down the hammer.  Only I didn't say that, because ultra runners are super friendly and non-competitive.  But I thought it.  I pulled ahead of Kurt and gave it one last push.  I crossed the line 5th overall, 2nd woman (only 13 in the field...), with a time of 4:17:32, 8:17 average pace.  


That's 5 minutes faster than my first marathon time.


And Kurt was indeed 6th overall.

Also, the next woman was like an hour and 15 minutes behind me, so there wasn't tremendous need for me to gun it on the homestretch, but one never knows.

Post race, Carl (the race director, not my Garmin) once again checked on me, making sure I was okay, handing me my medal, and telling me where I could find food and anything else I needed.  I shook his hand and thanked him for a great race.  And it really was.  Beautiful day, scenic course, friendly people.  And hot dogs!

Sorry I ate most of it before I took this.  Also, sorry that there were like 4 pictures in this post and one is a mostly-eaten hot dog.  I didn't carry my phone on me to take pictures on account of it being a race.  Deal.


Oh also, deal with this.

Because I have to.


So anyway, did I like this race?  For sure.  As I mentioned, I borderline overdosed on endorphins on Sunday.  Exhibit A.

And so modest!


But provided you have a way to get out there, I would recommend this 50k to anyone.  My ultra experience is obviously severely limited, but this was exactly what I was hoping for: laid-back people enjoying themselves while spending a few hours in the woods.  Though I didn't know anyone, I hung around after the race for almost an hour, talking to other runners and their families and the volunteers because I was enjoying myself so much.  I am significantly more sore than I am after marathons, but I don't care.  That's what beer is for.


I AM GOOD AT ALL THE THINGS!