The compulsory playlist post

As I mentioned in last weekend's post, one of my running neuroses that comes out in the two weeks before a race is to carefully craft a new playlist specifically made for the race. Unlike the my other 20ish playlists where I pick a fun group of songs and hit shuffle on my iPod, I actually mix (I use that term loosely) my race playlists to make sure each song flows into the next and somewhat corresponds with my need for musical support at that point during the race.

After realizing that there may be a flaw in the way I mix (once again, loose usage) my race playlists, I've attempted a different musical progression. Originally, I would (using the iTunes rating stars) follow my mental pattern during a race and start out with a very ambitious high energy group of songs. After the initial burst of energy, I'd move to the second group of songs that were slightly slower. Right in the middle of the mix I'd have the slowest songs, corresponding to the slower, uninteresting miles. Then I'd pick it up a bit to a faster set of songs before going onto a powerhouse set of songs that would carry me through the home stretch.

This progression of music kinda backfired during Fairfield where I was getting lots of fast songs on slow uphills. Because of that I've switched up the methodology and instead of following the intuitive route I've stacked songs according to what my pacing should be: start with slow songs and move onto faster ones (i.e., negative splits). So now, instead of using the iTunes stars to define song categories, I used the stars to identify pace.

After about an hour of working on this playlist--which is actually pretty quick for me--I finished Half-Marathon 7.0 (VT). (Yes, I do name my playlists that way; when you have 20 bazillion playlists you stop being creative and resort to practicality.) I'm actually pretty excited about this playlist, probably because I've bought a lot of new music lately and I haven't played the hell out of it yet.

So here's the finished product, in all it's eclectic beauty. There may be one or two tweaks between today and race day, but I'll note any of them.

• Proud Mary; Tina Turner (per usual, this is my first song, it starts off the race with something very familiar and really, at this point it's just tradition)
• American Boy; Estelle (I actually saw the video for this song at the gym several times, the problem was that I was listening to my iPod and never actually heard the song. After seeing the video on mute for the umpteenth time I YouTubed it when I got home and bought it quickly thereafter.)
• Stuttering; Ben's Brother (this was actually the song from a commercial that wifey and I kept on singing around the apartment; I had to buy the song because we only knew the five second chorus from the commercial, and that got annoying real fast)
• Eleanor Put Your Boots On; Franz Ferdinand
• See the Sun; The Kooks (The Kooks are one of my newest additions: I've been playing their album non-stop for about a month now)
• No One; Alicia Keys (see what I mean about slow?)
• Hang Me Up to Dry; Cold War Kids (Wifey hates this band because she insists that they don't sing, they just whine into the mic and call it music. I can't say I disagree with her.)
• Dog Problems; The Format (The Format are another of my newest additions, I had to resist the urge to put the whole album on the playlist)
• Santo Santo; Gloria Estefan
• Mr. Maker; The Kooks
• Teenage Love Affair; Alicia Keys
• Read My Mind; The Killers
• She Doesn't Get It; The Format
• Tears Dry On Their Own; Amy Winehouse (I figure at this point I'll need to channel my inner crack whore or bar mop, I get both with one with song)
• Can I Get Get Get; JUNIOR SENIOR
• Dead End; The Format (See what I mean having to resist puttign the whole album int he playlist? Three The Format songs in the past nine songs.)
• Down to the Market; The Kooks
• Touchdown Turnaround (Don't Give Up on Me); Hellogoodbye (my jury is still out on this band, but I'm giving them a chance on this playlist anyway)
• Sea Lion Woman; Feist (I did some research on this song, turns out it is actually from the 1930s and has a little bit of controversy about it)
• I Kissed a Girl; Katy Perry (...this time no one can say they don't know at least one song on my playlist)
• Barracuda; Heart (and for those of you who don't know I Kissed a Girl, this is one you probably know from 1) hearing the original on vinyl or 2) the current Honda Odyssey commercial)
• Time Bomb, The Kooks (apparently I have the same problem with The Kooks that I have with The Format)
• Here (In Your Arms); Hellogoodbye
• Reptilia; The Strokes (my hipster finest)
• Shake Your Coconuts; JUNIOR SENIOR (wifey is disturbed by this song, so I take every chance to sing it in front of her)
• The Phrase That Pays; The Academy Is (proof that you will buy music that you hear on Pandora)
• Out Here All Night; Damone (my second favorite free iTunes song)
• 25 Miles; Edwin Starr (I know, you're thinking daaaaaamn, where'd he pull that one from? Well, I'm thinking the same thing.)
• Juicebox; The Strokes (this is the start of the gravvy songs)
• Stronger; Kanye West
• Let's Dance to Joy Division; The Wombats (my most favorite free iTunes song)
• Shockwave; Black Tide (my third favorite free iTunes song)
• The Pretender; Foo Fighters
• Move Along; The All-American Rejects (much like how Proud Mary is my traditional opening song, this song is quickly becoming my traditional finishing song)

Rants and raves

RAVE: Yesterday was a beautiful day for a run. A little warm (high 70s) but I stayed in the shade most of the time so it felt cooler.

RANT: Where the hell is runner etiquette in New York? On the Brooklyn Bridge my running brethren forced into the biking lane several times. WTF? Protect your own NYC runners, protect your own.

RANT/RAVE: Yesterday was the last day of Summer Streets. I hope it comes back next summer.

RAVE: Finally found the water station set up for Summer Streets at 23rdish Street and Park Ave--I was really counting on it yesterday.

RAVE: I purposely made yesterday's run hilly to prepare for my next races--both of which will be very hilly, why do I always do the hilly races? I went over the Queensboro Bridge (130 foot climb), the Brooklyn Bridge (135 foot climb), and Harlem Hill (130ish foot climb). I ran through all of them and felt great except for my knees who weren't happy with all that climbing.

RANT: My knees, still in pain from the 400 feet of climing, coordinated with my stomach to stop the run. On the easiest part of the run--the pancake flat loop around the Central Park Resevior--I got a rumble in my stomach that went straight, um, south. It stopped me dead in my tracks, caused me to make a half-mile walk to the nearest bathroom, and generally f'd up my run. After the bathroom break I tried to get back on track to finish the run, but then I got hungry (huh? again?) and started to get stitches. Ended up doing 18.7 miles. Sheesh.

RAVE: Yesterday was the two week mark until the Maple Leaf Half-Marathon. What does that mean? At this point all my running neuroses heighten and I start my slow decent into obsession about the race. I check the race's website for updates everyday. I print out a small forest's worth of car reservations, race confirmations, and directions. I create my playlist (you know how long a process that is). Usually about a week before the race I separate out all my race day clothing to make sure I don't use them that week. As wifey can attest, by race morning I am a different person: I don't talk, I just eat and get out the door and expect anyone that's going to the starting line with me is following. It's the type of craziness that I thrive in.

It hurts

I've never wanted to cry as a result of watching sports until tonight. To paraphrase Lauryn Williams: someone out there has a voodoo doll of the whole US Track & Field team. What hurts most is that both blunders were not for lack of talent. Both teams had world champion runners and both teams were leading the heat when the dynamite went boom.

Now I'm watching the women's 10m platform diving, featuring Laura Wilkinson's slow crawl into retirement. It is not a good night for team USA. At least we're ahead in the medal count, well, depending on where you get your information.

Training check-in

I realize that I haven't really noted anything about training for Manchester and Newport since I started training back in June, but that is mostly because it's going so well that 1) I don't want to jinx it and 2) I don't feel a need to discuss it because it is going well. (If training was going bad, then I'd be bitching and complaining all over the place.)

So far I haven't had any major mishaps with training: I've finished all my runs and have only skipped one run (and that was only because I had a race the next day). Really, the only problems I've had on runs were weather and that darn erratic GI tract of mine. And even at that, I've been able to reign in my stomach enough to hold out until the nearest bathroom. (Actually as a byproduct of this, I have an eerily thorough knowledge of the public bathrooms in New York and which ones are cleanest.)

This is the second Marathon I'm training for, so I have to credit some of the ease to the fact that Marathon training is always easier the second time around. But still, my endurance has been going up and so has my speed. Last weekend's 18-miler wasn't brutal at all--and that was at a pace faster than my Half-Marathon PR by 20 seconds. Craziness. I know. Come race day(s) let's see how it all pans out.

Summer crusing

As I've mentioned before, I have a love-hate relationship with New York. The city oftentimes brings out the worst, basest, least human behavior in people. But there are other times, like yesterday, when the city, in an astonishing display of altruism, manages to do something so generous that it even makes an 18-mile run appear somewhat easy.

Yesterday was the third weekend of a new NYC program called Summer Streets where the city shuts down Park Avenue from 72nd street down to City Hall. That's about a four mile long corridor through typically congested streets from Central Park to the Brooklyn Bridge. For me, who has 1) already run everywhere in the city and 2) needed to run 20 miles--this was right up my alley.

I mapped out a course with 1.25 loops around Central Park, exiting the park at 90th street, crossing over to Park Ave, then going all the way down to City Hall and then back up to 72nd. Of course, for some reason when I mapped this out I forgot that this run was supposed to be 20 miles and actually mapped out 18--but I didn't realize this until after the run.

When I got on the subway to head over to Central Park I could already feel myself getting hungry--which is not the best way to start off your run. I downed a GU and hoped that it was just my stomach acting funny and not actual hunger. As it would turn out later in the run, it was actual hunger, I guess and PB&J don't cut it anymore for a pre-race meal. I tore open a GU every 45ish minutes, not because I felt the need, but because I was feeling hunger pains.

I started at my usual spot near the 6th Ave entrance to the park. I take off and I instantly notice that I'm going out fast and spend the first couple of miles trying to reign in my speed, but when I pass a mile marker for a running race and notice that the elite runners will be passing me in a few minutes, I can't really concentrate on slowing down--it's just not acceptable. Also, I realize that this might be the race that The Laminator is running, so I try to keep an eye out for his bandanna.

After about three miles the runners break off from my route and I'm alone on the hilly northern quadrant of the park. However, I am feeling really good--unbelievably good. Even the 100ft+ climb at Harlem Hill doesn't slow me down. I'm actually at the point where I'm whistling (sometimes singing) along with the music. This, I know, is good.

I round out the park and exit at the runner's gate. After snaking through some 20 blocks I make it to Park Ave and 72nd street, where I can start running on the street. At this northern end of the closed streets the crowds are pretty thin. I hear a mom with her son riding in a seat attached to her bike say "The street is closed? All the way down? Isn't that fantastic?" And in my head I agree with her.

As I run down the street toward the Met Life building I think "why doesn't the marathon go there here?" The view is stunning and the high buildings provide ample shade. My immediate answer is that if the route went through Park Ave, there is no way to re-route the course to keep it going through all five boroughs of the city. My second response, which my knees alert me to a few minutes later, is that Park Ave is heavily banked, with the center of the avenue raised higher so that rain water will drain off to the sides. It made for a painful 1.5 miles before the Met Life Building.

On the other side of the Met Life Building, the streets were flat and much more populated. I was enjoying this down hill portion of Park Ave and was waving hi/thank you to all the volunteers along the route who were carrying big-ass "Caution: stop ahead" signs before each live cross street.

The run was going great partly because I was in shade the whole time and partly because I was getting to see the city from a new perspective. However, there were two problems I anticipated having along the way. First, once I left Central Park I knew water would be scarce. Park Ave, oddly enough, does not pass by any parks (technically it becomes 4th Ave at Union Square, but even then I would not brave the Saturday morning farmer's market to look for a water fountain). So I filled up my water bottle as I left the park and crossed my fingers that there would be a water-fountain at the turn around point near City Hall. When I got to the turn there there was indeed a water fountain--but it wasn't working!! So I resorted to my backup plan: Starbucks. I dashed in, ask for some water, and dashed out.

Starbucks was also the solution for the second problem I foresaw: lack of bathrooms. The bathrooms at mile 7 were my gastrointestinal "point of no return." After that point there would be no more bathrooms along the run unless I start a Starbucks along the way. Fortunately--and uncharacteristically--my bowels stayed in tact for the whole run. No need for the bathroom at all during the run.

I get to the end of the run, counting the blocks until I can finally stop. At 69th street there's a bit of a hill that I trudge over and use the downhill to break into a sprint before I stop at 72nd street. I look at my watch. 2:30:00. My first thought is that I must have done something really right today because 20 miles should have taken me three hours. I celebrate uneasily while I walk to a convenience store. As I walk, I try to do the math in my head and realize to do what I just did would require a sub-eight minute pace. Actually it would require a pace faster than my 10K pace and probably faster than my 5K pace. And then I remember mapping out the route only to 18 miles. Damn it.

I was upset--but not at my performance. I was upset that even though I told several people I was running 20 miles this weekend that I still managed to map out an 18-mile route. That was just a dumb mistake. I am, however, very proud of my run--and being able to separate performance from planning is a significant step for me. First, I ran at an unbelievable pace of 8:20 (which makes me second guess my tempo pace and what my goal pace should be for these next two races). Second, I was able to keep in my bowels in check the whole time (yea!). Third, if I had run all 20 miles I still would have come in about 12 minutes faster than my projected finish. Go me!

After this great run I went home, took a cold shower and went out for power breakfast with wifey and The Laminator (who is in good spirits post-Marathon). After shopping a bit with wifey we went home and spent the rest of the day glued to the TV watching an amazing night in marathoning (WTF Deana and Paula?), men's 100m (WTF 9.69?), and swimming (WTF greatest athlete ever?).

A rare 1983 vintage

I went for a 70-minute run this morning. I don't know if it was the hill work or ceiling fans that weren't on, but I was sweating like a fat man in a cake shop. I mean this was a ridiculous amount of sweat. The pooled up sweat from my shorts was splashing onto my calves and the rivers of sweat coming off my elbows were showering the treadmill. I actually started to wonder if I was splashing the people around me.

But then I got a whiff of something. It was subtle at first, but over the course of the run it grew stronger and more fragrant. Now, I know where your mind is going with all the fart and poo talk that I like to throw around, but this wasn't FOM or a sign for me to visit Miguel. I smelled, of all things, wine--white wine to be exact, perhaps a chardonnay.

I looked around at the handul of other runners, they were too far for me to smell them, so it had to be me. I smelled like chardonnay? No, correction: my sweat smelled like chardonnay? What dark magic was this?

I went through the rest of my run convinced I was sweating wine--although I've haven't drank the stuff in a week. When I got home I eagerly woke up wifey and told her to smell me. She gave me one of those "I am waking up just now and you're asking me to do what?" kind of stares that she has perfected over the past few years. I explained to her that my sweat smells like chardonnay. She continues her half-eyed look of death, but braves a sniff. She confirms that I indeed smell: it is funky and rank and I need to shower that stink off.

Huh? But when I was on the treadmill I swore I was an oak barrel and there were several gallons of fermenting grape juice inside of me. What the hell? I take a whiff and sure enough, I now stink. I guess the wine smell is only when I'm actually running. Good thing I'm not an alcoholic because this would have posed a really big issue otherwise.

8 on the 8th--Extra Challenge Division

Many thanks to Nancy for organizing yet another virtual race--although I still have the same complaints that there are far too few aid stations and mile markers are not clearly marked (or marked at all for that matter). As usual I registered for the Extra Challenge Division and did ten more miles than the required eight. That's right, 18 miles--Manchester is 27 days away and Newport is just 42 days after that. Here's how it went down.

After many and many weeks of saying "we're going to Philly to visit family" wifey and I actually went to Philly to visit family on Friday--which meant that I had to draw up and memorize an 18-mile route on Friday morning. I've run around Philly a couple times already, so I'm pretty familiar with the major running paths (and their lack of bathrooms and water fountains) and quickly put together a route going through some of my favorite places.

I woke up at 6:30am on Saturday and started getting ready for the half-mile walk to the subway from my grandfather-in-law's house. I was not looking forward to it. Then, just before I headed downstairs at 7am my very excitable and energetic uncle-in-law knocks on the door to the room saying that he'll drive me to center city so that I don't have to take the subway. Yes!!!! It's like looking at your training schedule and realizing that you only have to run 10 miles instead of the 14 you thought you had to run.

While eating toast with jelly I had to keep on defending my choice of running routes to my uncle-in-law. He keeps on trying to tell me that I shouldn't be running in center city, that there are runner-friendly parks around the city. And what I keep on trying to explain to him is that I will be running through the runner-friendly parks (i.e., Fairmount Park) but that I will still have to snake through downtown Philly to reach 18-miles. On top of that I've already mapped out 18-miles from Center City, so if I run elsewhere, I would have no idea what I've run. Of course, the whole time I'm trying to be exceedingly nice because he means well and he is offering to drive me at this crazy early hour on a Saturday. Eventually, though, he does give in and drives me to Market and 2nd Street.

It was a beautiful day, high 60s, bit of a breeze, the only thing I could ask for was some cloud coverage--but I'll still take the cool temps and be hapy. I started out on an incline in an effort to regulate my pace from the beginning--which works perfectly since I felt myself going too fast by the top of the incline. Immediately after that I faced a small detour from my originally planned route since it was so early and the gates to Penn's Landing weren't open yet.

After that, the plan goes according to schedule. I make a preemptive stop at Starbucks before Mile 5--since I know of no Miguel in Philadelphia--and then a water stop at Mile 8.5ish, another water stop at Mile 14 (also meant to be a bathroom break, but no need for it, bowels were rock solid after Starbucks!), and then a 30-second walking break at Mile 14.5 to stop a stitch from tearing apart my abdomen.

I did make one other stop along the way and that was to tie my shoes. I noticed early in the run that my right shoe was a little loose. I figured if it was really loose, then the bow would untie itself and I'd have to retie, otherwise it would be fine as is. Turns out I was wrong. The shoe was really loose, so much so that I developed a good sized blister by Mile 11. At Mile 12 I retied my shoe so that it was snugger, but the damage was done. When I looked at my foot after the run I had a blister half the size of a penny. It was annoying, but if I get a blister like that once every three years (yup, three years without major blisters), I think I'll be just fine.

As I rounded the corner at the end of Rittenhouse Square I looked at my watch and realized I was going to finish a few minutes under my goal pace of a 9:00. Sweet! I tried to pick up the pace, but really, I was just happy to be having such a good run without any major problems (not so for the last time I ran in Philly). Also traffic was picking up so I found myself stopping at every intersection thinking that I'd never make it to Independence Hall.

I made my final lap around Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell (how's that for an inspirational finish?). I stopped my watch at 2:38:13 for an 8:48 pace. The best part of it was that I felt like I could run another eight more miles--and that's the most important part, isn't it? It was a great run, which only makes me feel better about the Manchester/Newport combo that is so close.

--

Interesting to note: last week's New Yorker and September's Runner's World have the same cover story. Both are covering Ryan Hall as he gets ready for the marathon in Beijing. I just finished reading the RW story on the train back from Philly and will probably get through the NYer story tomorrow during my commute. I'm interested to see what approach the NYer takes, since the RW story surprised me but was otherwise poorly written.

Slacker

I have over 50 unread entries on my blogroll. That is depressing. It's 8pm on Wednesday and I'm still reading about stuff from Friday. I think this is a clear sign that I've been really busy lately. Half-Marathon/Marathon training is starting to ramp up so I'm exhausted when I get home at night. I've been busier at work, so I don't have time to read during my down time. On the weekends I barely have time to sit, let alone write.

So life is busy--which I enjoy. But that also means that I can barely keep up with everyone I read--which sucks. So if you've noticed that I'm not leaving comments as regularly as I used to, don't take offense. I am still reading. I just don't have time to think of witty comments.

My goal tonight is to get done to 30 unread entires...which may get me through the weekend.

I did it anyways

The rain held out for the first 13 miles of yesterday's run, but then there was a sudden and intense string of showers. I ducked into the nearest subway just as the rain died down. Turns out the whole day would be on and off storms. I ended my run at 13 miles, but felt really good--I completed all the hills by this point and had a pace just under my goal of 9:00.

What I'm really happy about is that I'm not beating myself up about the short run. Normally I'd be upset the whole day for not finishing a long run, but I'm trying to be a better runner and understand that you don't have to complete a trianing plan to the letter to be prepared for a race. I was extremely tired on Saturday, so the fact that I even went out was a big accomplishment.

Off to enjoy the big new sofa. It's soooo comfy. I've fallen asleep on it every night since we got it.

I don't feel like running

Bit of a predicament today: it's supposed to start thunder-storming at 10, which doesn't give me much time to get my 16 miles in (since it's 6:50 right now). Also, I'm tired: it's been just one of those weeks where I can't sleep and end up being awake before the alarm goes off. On top of that, I had taken Thursday morning off so I had to do my hour-long hill work session Friday morning (I hate running on Friday mornings).

But, I'm supposed to go to the beach tomorrow, which is an all day affair and wouldn't leave room for any kind of running in the morning. And tomorrow looks like a perfect beach day. And I would definitely enjoy just resting on the beach for four hours tomorrow after running this morning.

Just felt like bitching. I know I'm gonna put on my sneakers in a few minutes.

The life domestic

After yesterday's 14-miler (at a 9:08 pace, well done sRod) wifey and I got our domesticity on.

At the end of my run, I called wifey to tell her that I was on my way bach home. It was already 10:45am so she was going to head over the farmer's market with some friends and I would meet up with them there after I showered.

Let me take a minute to explain what just went down there. First, wifey loves to food shop. She is one of those people that will go down every aisle of the super market--even the aisles she will clearly not be buying anything from. She just enjoys going to the grocercy store and spending hours there. And the farmer's market? If wifey had her way, she'd talk up every farmer about their growing technique and what is in this sausage and how are these plum tomatoes different from those plum tomatoes. I, however, do not have this love for groceries. I am surgical when it comes to food shopping: get in, get your list, get out. I try to make it as brief a process as possible. Now, combine that with the general fatigue from running 14-miles in late July, and you will understand why I was ecstatic when I found out I would be spending minimal time at the farmer's market.

Anywho, so I get home after the run to find that wifey has left out everything out for me in bathroom (deodorant, q-tip, etc.) and even took my favorite shorts out of the laundry (the clean laundry). All this was in the effort to get me out of the apartment as quickly as possible, but I did get a smile across my face when I saw all this laid out.

After showering I headed over to the farmer's market and eventually found wifey and two friends bobbing around the sea of people that had flooded Union Square just in time to have brunch! Score! I love brunch after a long run. We went to a place called the Farmer's Friend Country Cafe where I ordered the Boomer Special: scrambled eggs, ham, home fries, and two pumpkin pancakes. Sooooo good! As you can imagine, the food did not last long.

After the feast, we walked around a bit and eventually left our friends and headed uptown to the land of furniture stores. You see, we have had this couch for three years now:



There is one major problem with this couch: it is a love seat and not a couch, therefore it is tiny and can't really be used for couchy things, like laying down to watch TV or seat more than two people comfortably. We have had our good times with it, but it's time to move up to big people furniture.

Since it was only about 4pm we decided to browse through some of the furniture stores in town to see if there was anything we liked. After a store or two we get to the good ol' Crate & Barrel. Halfway through the furniture department we found this guy:

This picture isn't flattering, but it is a really nice couch: it's wide and deep, and is made of some space age microfiber velvet concoction that is allegedly able to repel everything. Which is good, because very few things stand up to the sweaty runner test. Not that I would sit on the couch drenched in sweat, but there have been occasions that I don't get to shower before eating Saturday morning breakfast on the sofa.

We poked around the store a bit more, but we were really in love with this couch--so we bought it! Woo hoo!! And thanks to the fact that we live so close to the shipping center, it'll only cost $79 to deliver it to our apartment. So this time next week (actually, by Thursday of next week) I'll be blogging from a new couch.

Fresh from our couch purchase we started heading over to the subway and realized that our new couch is a very similar color to the walls of our apartment. Which means we get to paint! Yeah for big people arts and crafts! We stopped by The Home Depot and picked out Embellished Blue for our living room. (Now you know what we're doing today.)

When we got home with our paint cans, rollers, and veggies (yes, we were carrying around produce all day), we noticed a moving truck parked outside our building. Ooooo, new neighbors! I look inside our building and notice that they are taking the unit right underneath ours--which is fantastic, because the people that lived there before were not happy people. So we struck up a conversation with our new neighbors and turns out that they were really cool people. They were excited to be moving to Astoria after spending a couple years in Washington Heights.

When we finally got in the apartment we plopped down on the soon to be replaced sofa. We ordered in Greek food and watched Dan In Real Life (eh, it was alright). I was passed out halfway through the movie--I was pooped.

Gym carnies: Miguel

Gym Carnies an irregular series about the curious characters and intriguing individuals that people my local gym. WARNING: this entry contains vivid recounts of bowels movements.
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Miguel is my favorite gym carnie. Sure, he doesn't have the most interesting nickname, but one time I think I heard someone refer to him as Miguel and since then that is what I call him. I also respect Miguel and so have purposely not given him a funny nickname. He doesn't have a peculiar mannerism or curious trait. He doesn't embarrass himself by wearing a neon 80's track suit or grunting loudly while lifting weights. Actually, Miguel doesn't even workout at the gym. Miguel happens to be the janitor assigned to the men's locker room on weekday mornings.

I love Miguel. I have never spoken more than two words to him, but I love him none the less. He's at the gym often before the sun rises sweeping and mopping and moving towels around and putting up with the manager's crap--it's all pretty thankless. Then, on top of that, Miguel has to deal with me.

What, pray tell, does he have to deal with? Take Thursday of last week for example:

I go to the gym to run for 60 minutes with some inclines sprinkled in. By the time I get there the GU and gallon of water I had at home kick in and I take a pre-run bathroom visit. Great idea because it turns out that I had more waiting at the back door than I thought. I get out of the stall and guess who's there in the locker room collecting the dirty towels? That's right, Miguel. He makes immediate eye contact with me, says "Hello." I say "Buenas dias" (because I'm respectful of our mutual heritage that way) in return and walk out because I have a look of "I just did very dirty things to the toilet you're about to clean" written all over my face.

I hit the treadmill and start going. I feel great for the first 45 minutes of the run, but right after I finish a "hill" at mile five my stomach starts growling--it is not happy. It is not happy at all. I look at the timer, only 12 more minutes to go, I can
hold out...I can so hold out. But my stomach has a different idea.

I have to fart and it is not going to be a silent one. I can just tell. It's going to be loud and quiet possibly a little messy. But I only have ten minutes left! I keep pushing through, concentrating hard on making sure nothing comes out my rear. I feel extra sweat roll down my neck as I try to make it go away. And then it's gone. I won! I won! It's gone and I can take it easy for the rest of the way. Or so I thought.

A fierce tremor rips through my abdomen. If my shirt was off I would see the flesh move. The fart is gone, this is true. But now comes the poop. I have just five minutes to go--less than a mile!--and I will be off the machine. Just hold out sRod! So I'm buckling down trying to do everything to calm down my stomach: shorter strides, regular breathing, straight posture. But no matter what I try, the sensation doesn't get weaker: my stomach knows that this is the end of the run and it is not going to let a thing like public decency get in the way of poopication.

Five, four, three, two, one. I slam on the "stop" button and get the hell off that machine. I left my water and keys on the machine: I can come back for those, but this poop is coming fast. I'm hobbling over the empty treadmills, behind the ellipticals. Come on sphincter, down fail me now! I pass the first desk and round the corner, walking as nonchalantly as you can when you feel like a cantaloupe is about to fall out of your shorts.

I'm halfway down the hall when a big wave comes down from my stomach and I stop dead in my tracks. Oh no--I'm so close, just 30 feet away. I pretend that I got a "cramp" and that I need to "stretch" and look way too concerned to notice the people passing me. But really, if I take another step a cantaloupe will fall out of my
shorts.

I stayed there stretching my "cramp" for about 30 seconds. The wave passes. Whew. Onward to the bathroom. I dash for the first stall I can find--I can feel another stomach wave building up, but I'm here! I've made it! I'm free and clear (and clean)!--and as I'm about to close the stall door someone says "it's wet." What's wet? Are my shorts wet? Did I lose the battle with my stomach???

It's Miguel. He's cleaning the stalls and hasn't finished the stall I ran into. I get out of the stall and he quickly jumps in and wipes the seat dry. He can tell I am a man on the verge of pooping his pants, he knows that no wet toilet seat can stop me, he knows that I just need a toilet. But he insists on it being a clean toilet. I thank Miguel and then rush in, lock the door, and...well...you know: test the plumbing, drop a deuce, release the hostages, drop the kids off at the pool, purge the cache, talk to a man about a horse, take the Browns to the Super Bowl.

I wrap up my business--and what business it was, thank God I made it!--and get out of the stall. I hate those "I know what you just did looks" when you come of out the stall, so I try to avoid eye contact with anyone. But who do I see first as I come out of the stall? Miguel. He looks at me and instead of steaming with resentment for facilitating the defacement of his work he flashes me a smile. A genuine, "thank you for pooping" smile. I kid you not. There was no hiding what I did in that stall. Even people in Alaska were waking-up from their sleep wonder what that sound and God-awful smell were. But here is the man entrusted with keeping this stall clean smiling at me as if I were his best friend.

So Miguel is my best friend, mostly because he puts up with my shit (pun intended). He keeps the bathroom clean, so that when I bust in the locker room ready to explode on the spot, I have a dry seat to sit on. Thank you Miguel--whatever your real name may be.

Ultimate pain weekend

People, it hurts. It all hurts.

• I got sunburned. Saturday we went to the beach with a couple of friends. My sunburn from Independence Day weekend had soothed away and most of the peeling had subsided--which I took as a clear sign that I could go back to the beach and be fine. Wrong. Even though I applied generous amounts of sunblock before even going outside I still managed to not only get sunburned on my shoulders and stomach again, but it appears that since my skin hasn't fully recovered it has turned an alarming shade of red in those areas.

• I got stung by a jellyfish. While at the beach getting said sunburn, we went in the water. And what was in the water? Jellyfish. But I didn't need to go in the water to see that: the carcasses of dead jellyfish lined the entire beach, and momma always said "when there's dead jellyfish on the sand, there's live jellyfish in the water." Ok, momma didn't always say that--but I'm sure she thought it once or twice and meant to tell me. But amazingly the water was also full of people, so I thought that maybe they were the non-stinging variety. Also wrong. Every time I came out of the water some part of my body would sting for a couple minutes before gradually fading away.

• I ate really hot Thai food. The menu said that drunken chicken was only two stars. One star = mild spicy. Two stars = medium spicy. Three stars = hot spicy. Oh Jesus, medium spicy is not medium. Medium spicy is opening the front door to hell hot. I was sweating out of every gland on my body. I went through two napkins just in padding down the sweat from my face. So good, but so spicy.

• I saw "Be Kind, Rewind." Why do I keep on watching Jack Black movies?

• I was running afire. Running in July is just asking for pain. It's hot, it's humid, and there isn't a cloud to be found. Now compound this with the sunburn from above and you have a catch-22. While I was running, the wind blew my body's heat away from my sunburned (and super-senisitive to heat) skin. However, I was getting fatigued faster because of the high temps and high humidity. But if I did stop, the heat emitting from my body wasn't being away and would set my skin on fire. So I didn't want to keep on running, but I couldn't stop.

• I chafed my man-parts. Oh yes, I did--even sRod Jr. got caught up in the painfest. I was wearing new shorts and I noticed they were a bit snug when I put them on before the run. Nothing was uncomfortable, just not as loose as usual. Since I had never worn this brand before (Insport) and they were my usual size, I just figured that was how they were supposed to fit. I mean who's ever heard of shorts running small? Anywho, I proceed to stuff the shorts pocket with my phone (in it's plastic baggie) and a bag of Clif Bloks--which only serves to make the shorts feel more snug. I don't notice anything unusual until I hit the shower after the run. At which point I let out a scream like a Catholic school girl and shouted some words that a Catholic school girl should not know. It felt the same way that my nipples feel when I forget to put Body Glide on--ouch! Could you imagine if I was running for more than 12 miles? What if this was a 20 miler? Oh Jesus. Let's not think about that.

I think I'm done. This is enough pain to merit the hair on my chest. Now to go lube up in aloe vera.

Do this now

I just saw The Dark Knight (many thanks to my sales rep at Parade magazine for getting me in).

Oh sweet Jesus.

You must go see this movie. Skip work. Drop off the kids at mom's. Tell your friends you came down with the scarlet fever. Find a way to see this movie.

I don't rave about movies to like this--ever--but I just could not believe what a good time I had and what a quality production it was. My expectations were high and they were all surpassed. You will not be disappointed. Here, I'll even help.

Running through the country

Wifey and I decided to be spontaneous this weekend. We were supposed to go visit her family in Philadelphia and rented a car to drive down there, but when we called on Friday night it turns out that everyone was suddenly busy and wouldn't be able to spend time with us (they had legit excuses, or so they sounded). So now here we were with a car and a weekend suddenly to ourselves.

No plans + car = road trip!!!

We decided to take the scenic route upstate (i.e., no expressways). It was a pain to get out of the city, but once we did, it was a really nice drive. It's hard to remember that outside of New York City the rest of the state is 1) pretty rural and 2) very picturesque. We took Route 9 straight north. It twists and turns around hills and forests. Every now and then the road would come up against the Hudson and you'd see the river lined by lush green hills.

We appeased our nerdier sides and visited the Home of FDR and drove around the Vanderbilt Mansion (the house was closed by the time we got there). The FDR house was very interesting--definitely not the stately manor I expected it to be. I also learned that during all the years that FDR was in politics he never considered himself a career politician and he always put down tree farmer as his occupation (since that's the trade he learned on his parent's farm).

We drove around a bit more and made it to Woodstock (still the hippie capital of the world) before we decided that we needed to find a place to stay for the night. Eventually we found a B&B in the tiny town of Saugerties.

The next morning I went for a run around the town. Oh man--that was an experience. The cool dry air was a welcome change from the heat and uber humidity of the city, but there was one major problem for this city dweller: no sidewalks! Most of the run I was on the shoulder of the road and constantly listening for cars. I was freaked out for the whole run because I kept on thinking: I'm going to get hit by a car and fall into a bush and then never be seen again. That's probably why I managed to finish the 10 hilly miles in an 8:48 pace when I was trying to come in at 9:00.

Back at the B&B we had delicious French toast and headed off into the Catskills. We didn't get too far when it started to rain, which flushed out all of the outdoorsy activities we wanted to do. We headed back to the city, making a quick drive by Mohonk Mountain House to find out what it was all about (pretty fancy place).

When we crossed into Westchester we loaded up on groceries at the Super Stop & Shop. Man, I miss having big-ass grocery stores like Winn-Dixie and Publix. After that I managed to get completely lost on the expressway in the Bronx and went from the east side to the west side and down to the south side before finally getting onto the bridge to Astoria.

It was a great weekend with Wifey. Lots of fun and no rush to do anything whatsoever. I love it when we get to have these weekends.

Independence Day Weekend, Part Two

I'll be taking two looks at this past holiday weekend. Part One will be a recap of the eventful runs of the weekend. Part Two will be meandering on subjects non-running related.
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Going home is always easy when home is Miami and a short drive away from the beach. But beyond the climatic comforts, there is the comfort of being home with family.

We spent most of Thursday at my grandparents house trying to learn how to make my grandmother’s frijoles, natilla, and flan. I have to say that it is the most fun that I’ve had with my grandparents ever. We were cooking (and eating) from 9am until 5pm and ended up making delicious home-cooked food for an army.

We sharing a bunch of stories. Wifey got to hear about the time when I was three years old and backed into the pool, the time in Madrid that I tried serrano ham (it has been a love affair ever since), and how I was mislabeled as a girl in the hospital when I was born. We got to tell them about our trapeze adventure, my failed attempts at making frijoles myself, and the horrible smoking habits of the people in our Greek neighborhood.

Mind you, both of my grandparents are old--in their early 80s--but man are they energetic. My grandmother spent all of Thursday on her feet in kitchen, grabbing pots, cleaning pans, climbing step ladders, moving stuff here and there. I--the 25 year old with the Marathon legs--sat more than she did that day. My grandfather, just a few months out of open heart surgery, was showing off his chest scar the same way a child shows off their knee scrape. He said how he gets his daily excercise walking around the warehouse of his business (yes, he still goes to work, everyday) and how he couldn't take being in bed for three days after the surgery.

It was wonderful to spend a day with my grandparents. They are full of wit and wisdom amassed from living long lives, facing hard challenges and wonderful triumphs. And they are infinitely generous with themselves: when wifey and I visit we are the only things that matters in the space of their world.

It always hurts to say goodbye to them because in the back of my head I always think "this could be the last time." And I don't want it to be the last time because I will feel robbed. Robbed of all the life lessons I have yet to have learned from them. Robbed of all the experience they have and are so willing to share. I have learned much from them already, but there are still many questions left floating in my head that I just haven't gotten to yet:

• How do you get to The Louvre?
• How do you leave everything you have and start over in a country where you don't even speak the language?
• How do you raise a child?
• How do you invest wisely?
• How do you deal with a family you can no longer see or talk to?
• How do you embrace change?
• How do you live on a prayer?
• How do you hold onto your heritage?
• How do you remember?
• How do you forget?
• How do you cook a turkey on Thanksgiving?
• How do you cook a pig for Noche Buena?
• How do you start a business?
• How does a marriage last for 10 years? 25 years? 50 years?
• How do you forgive?
• How do you age gracefully?
• How do you not fear the future?
• And on, and on, and on

Independence Day Weekend, Part One

I'll be taking two looks at this past holiday weekend. Part One will be a recap of the eventful runs of the weekend. Part Two will be meandering on subjects non-running related.
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A few days before heading down to South Florida to visit the family for a sun drenched holiday weekend Jess convinced me to run the Weston Independence Day 5K with her and Viv. A nice little blogging friends meet and race (vs. a meet and greet). Little did I know that Weston is the land of PRs! It's true: they were giving them away like water! I PR'd by default since it was my first 5K (yes, my first), but Jess managed to shave 20 seconds off her 5K best and Viv did some trimming around the ol' 5K hedge too.

I was actually sitting next to Jess and Viv for about 10 minutes before I realized it was them. Once we finally found each other we all chatted for a bit before heading over to the starting line.

I mentioned to Jess and Viv that I was discovering all the peculiarities of 5Ks this morning, but I had three major ones. First off, there are so many kids. The place was just crawling with them. Jess informed me that they are also called "hurdles" and that I should be careful around them because they are know to stop without warning in the middle of the road.

Second, the race felt so casual. The mood in the air was one of "good morning, it's turning out to be a splendid day, let's have 5K." By comparison, a marathon starting line feels like a funeral.

Third, there are a lot of casual runners in a 5K. Once again, I'm used to the months of preparation that Marathoners and Half-Marathoners have under their belt. I'm used to three miles being a warm-up. I'm not used to seeing people throw up before the one mile mark or walking before the three mile mark--yet I saw both during this race.

I crossed the finish line in a palindromic 23:32, a pace of 7:40 per mile. Whoa, not too shabby for someone who’s used to racing at an 8:30+ pace. I'm sure I left something on the table for my next 5K because by the time the race sarted the sun was high and beating down hard. If it was any longer it would have been torture.

Jess finished a few minutes after me and Viv and Shane showed up a few minutes after her. However, Viv and Shane managed to find the free food tent before meeting back at Starbucks and were holding the food of the gods: cranberry bagels. I think any bagel would have been tasty after the race, but there is something particularly delicious about cranberries baked into a circle of doughy goodness.

My other Independence Day weekend run was the very next morning. It was my first long run in preparation for my autumn double header: The Maple Leaf Half-Marathon and The Breakers Marathon. I woke up at 6:10 in order to start running before the sun got too intense. I was on the Hollywood beach boardwalk by 6:30, just in time to see the blood orange sun crawl out of the ocean. Fortunately, there were lots of clouds to keep me covered—but I knew in no time the mercury would hit 90 and the faint sea breezes would provide very little relief.

I headed south along the boardwalk. All the restaurants and bars that were exploding onto the boardwalk the night before were empty and closed. The stark contrast made the scene feel a little post-apocalyptic.

I crossed over the Intercoastal waterway onto Hollywood Boulevard and went to Young Circle and back to A1A (for those of you familiar with Hollywood). On the way back I started getting a rumble in my stomach...and not the good kind. I made it over the bridge back to the beach and knew that I couldn’t go much further without a bathroom break. I started thinking of what bathroom I could possibly use at 7:15 in the morning: there wasn’t a Starbucks for miles, all the restaurants were closed, and I would get lost in a hotel before I could find the public bathroom. I finally had to stop and walk the rest of the way to the amphitheatre (about mile 5.5). It was a bit further than I wanted to walk, but I knew there was an open bathroom there because I passed it on the way down the boardwalk.

I did my business and got back on with the run—which was much easier to do than I anticipated. I went up A1A to Sheridan Boulevard, hung a left, and did a repeat of two bridges as the sun emerged from the clouds and cranked up the heat from “uncomfortable” to “fry cooker." My shorts were soaking wet and sticking to my legs. My shirt felt like a mop. Then my remaining good earphone gave out. Kaput. Dead. I had sweated them to death. They served me well, but daaaaaamn they didn’t even last five months.

I finished the run staying just under a 9:00 pace--which is exactly what I wanted. And then I topped it all off with a dip in the ocean right afterward. The water was cool and calm (both rare for July in Miami) and I was able to just float for about 10 minutes. Every workout should end like this!

Then the bad news. I got out of the water, collected my shoes, shirt, iPod, and rather moist phone, and went to the shower to get the sand off me before going inside the hotel. After rinsing off I noticed that even the inserts in my shoes were sweaty--and that never happens. So I decided to check on my phone. I had been on several sweaty runs with my phone before so I wasn't concerned about carrying it in my pocket for the whole run.

What a mistake. What a BIG mistake.

Turns out that I sweated my phone to death. I turned it on and it started dialing all these crazy numbers. The screen turned black and I could see the drops of dew that had formed behind the screen. It was a goner. Monday morning I had to go to the Sprint store to buy a new one (yea for the new toy, boo for having to pay for it).

A few more thoughts that haven't yet fallen onto the page

Just some final thoughts on Fairfield and then it'll be stored away:

1. I PR'd! Yes, it was by one second, but as a few people have pointed out, my previous Half-Marathon PR was on a super flat course--actually the flattest course I've ever run. So the fact that this course was monstrously hilly and I still managed to come at just under my best time means that I have improved significantly.


2. No bowel issues! My body has this weird way of knowing that it's race day and puts the whole system on lock down. However, not so during training. There have been plenty of near misses on training runs, and even a few hits...but there has only been two races (Disney and Queens) where I've had to stop to visit the little runner's room. If only there was a way to harness that race day lock down.


3. No medal! I found out on race day that there would be no medal. That means yet another state that I have no medal for. Sigh. It seems a lot of the smaller races just don't believe in medals. Which I don't understand. How much are medals? $10 a person? Can't you just tack that on to the race fee and give everyone a memento of the race? Or use the money that you're using to pay for t-shirts to pay for medals instead--race t-shirts tend to be crappy anyway. But back to the point: I had originally stated that I would count a state as complete if I got a medal in that state. Well, from here on out I'm waiving that criterion: as long as I have a bib and finish the race, the state is counted. Although the NYC Marathon and Boston will stay on my list of long-term races because I feel I have to run them, some day.


4. I will experiment with my playlist for the next race. I don't think I have the right progression of speed worked into my playlist methodology. For the next race day playlist I'm going to try starting off with a few upbeat songs to keep me excited through the first mile or two, then move onto slow songs gradually working faster until the 5-star songs.


5. Despite the hilliness of the Fairfield course I still enjoy hills, if they are spread out and not in immediate succession. Hills give me a short-term goal to work toward: I have to run hard, push, and concentrate to make it to the top. And then you get a reward with the downhill. It's like a purge followed by a binge...but not detrimental to your health.


6. For the many reasons I listed in my previous post, I will avoid driving to a race on race day morning. That should be pretty easy to accomplish since I've done every state within a three-hour drive radius.

In other news, wifey and I will be heading down to Miami for Independence Day weekend for a much needed trip to soak up the sun and see family. Might also get to run my first 5K and meet a RBF while I'm there. So if I'm MIA for the weekend it's because I'm in MIA. Oh God, did I really type that?

Speaking of family, two of mine have recently joining the endurance sports blogging world. About a month ago I got an IM out of the blue from my aunt that she and my sister had signed up for a century ride in October. While my aunt has always had the athletic bug, my sister, well, hasn't. So I didn't believe my aunt until she said that she witnessed my sister fill out the forms and turn them in herself.

Then, a few weeks ago, they started a blog. (Imagine that.) Within a few hours of posting a comment on their blog I was outed. Not that I was hiding my blog, but it just never came up. And really, how do you inject that into a conversation? "Merry Christmas mom and dad, I started a blog about running back in April." Ah no.

So now I've added the Cycling Divas (sister Sami and aunt Tia) to the blogroll--and no coincidence that the current post is about me. Give them a visit and if you have a few dollars lying around, donate in their name to Team In Training.

The PR that almost got away

This was a weird race, a bit unlike any Half-Marathon I've run before. It's taken some time to write it just because I didn't understand what happened during the race. I needed some distance between me and race day to properly write it up.
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I have wanted to run this race ever since I moved to New York just over three years ago. It seemed like the perfect little New England race: a quaint run on small streets that wound and twisted through a seaside town with beautiful mansions, the course lined adorable little children waiting for hi-fives and their equally adorable grandparents handing out orange wedges. A slice of runner Americana.

Because I've always missed this race for some reason or another I was determined to train hard for this race and make it spectacular. Every single one of my runs in preparation for this race was below my Half-Marathon PR pace of 8:45, I even squeaked out a 10-miler at an 8:15 pace. I introduced speedwork and increased the distance and frequency of the long runs. I adjusted pretty well to the intense training, so much so that I figured a significant PR would be in cards for race day. I had laid out three goals: (1) set a PR by at least one second (a minimum of 1:53:41), (2) finish in 1:50, (3) finish in 1:45. I figured goal 1 would happen by default of my training, goal 3 was really out there, and goal 2 would take a little work but was otherwise entirely doable.

Pre-Race
The alarm went off at 5:30 on Sunday. And so race day begins. I turned it off and shot straight up--if you resist waking up even for a minute you will inevitably fall back asleep.

I was still a bit groggy from the NyQuil that I have to take before a race because otherwise I will not sleep at all. I make my way over to the bathroom, do my business and then go to the kitchen. I make a PB&J. Yum. I know it's not the absolute best pre-race food, but it does the trick for me: gets the calories and carbs in, tastes like kindergarten, and triggers me to go to the bathroom. Yes people I make sure there is nothing left in the trunk before a race--there have been accidents and I will leave it at that.

At 5:45 I wake up wifey and by 6:30 we are out the door and in the rental car.

The snazzy PT Cruiser we rented was still where we parked it the night before--sweet! I am always nervous about street parking in New York ever since the one time my rental car was towed because I didn't see the No Parking sign that was no larger than an index card.

We get on the expressway and it's basically a straight shot on I-95 until exit 22 in Connecticut. The driving is fun because I rarely do it anymore and since there is no one on the roads it is mercifully stress-free. I'm feeling good, wifey is feeling good, and there doesn't seem to be a rain cloud in sight (even though the weather man said to expect rain all day).

At exit 22 we got off, made a right turn and immediately got lost. Damn Google Maps! Good for nothing!

Eventually we gained our bearings and found a parking lot five minutes from the start/finish line. It was the usual pre-race crowds: the super-stars doing warm up laps around the parking lot, the TNT people who always seem to be too happy, the casual runners who rolled out of bed this morning and decided today would be a nice day to run a Half-Marathon, among others.

I picked up my race number from a tent on the beach and then stood in the slowest moving bathroom line. Ever. There were only 20 guys in front of me, but still took 30 minutes to get through the line. Afterward I downed a GU, did some final stretches and went over to the starting line. Meanwhile, wifey was in complete caddie mode. She was pulling out my GU, took my sunglasses out of their case, untangled my headphones. What would I do on race days without her?

The starting line was a disorganized mess of people. No corralling, no pace signs, just a mass of 3,300 people standing on the street. I took a pre-race picture with wifey, gave her big thank you/love you/I'll be back soon kiss, and disappeared into the crowd.

It was about this point I started to realize that something was off. I didn't pay it much attention because I was too distracted by the crowds and the announcer and the course map running through my head and stretching and everything. And then very quickly the announcer gave the mark.

The Race
Mile 1: 8:24
In true sRod form I forgot to set my watch as I crossed the finish line, so this mile was really more like 9:00--which is exactly what I planned. I wanted to go out slow because I knew there were many hills to come and even though it wasn't as hot as it had been the past few days, there was still enough of it to wipe me out by the halfway point.

I ended up dodging a lot of people in this first mile. Funny, because I think this is the smallest Half-Marathon I've ever done and I started near the front of the pack, but there still a bunch of people I had to get around in order to be in the open.

Mile 2: 7:53
As the crowd thinned out I was feeling strong and trying to settle into a nice pace. But at the end of this mile (which included the start of the first hill of the course) I looked at my split and thought: What the hell? Is that a seven? What's that doing there? I better slow down and get back into the pace I wanted.

Mile 3: 8:57
This was a better pace. Especially considering that this mile had a 50 foot climb, 50 foot drop, 50 foot climb combo that I certainly did not appreciate so early on in the race. Well, let's be honest, I wouldn't have appreciated it no matter where it landed in the race.

What I didn't realize about mile three at this point was that we would be repeating it as mile 11. Oh man how I wish I had remembered this later.

Mile 4 & 5: 17:14
Oops, I missed the Mile 4 marker and didn't hit the split button. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever saw a marker for Mile 4. Anywho, both miles average out to 8:37. Not too shabby considering that Mile 5 was all uphill.

I had a race day first at this point too. Per usual I read and reread all the race instructions before race day. I saw the notice that "roads will be open" but didn't pay much attention. I figured that it meant that we would be in one lane and all cars would be directed into the other lane. That assumption turned out to be wrong, the note meant exactly what it said: cars would be using the street while the race was on.

Halfway through Mile 5 an SUV merged into the pack of runners ahead of me. Two minutes later, a pick-up truck came down the road--through on-coming runners. This is an established race that has been run for 20+ years, why can't they close down the roads? Or at least prevent cars from entering the course while there is still a hearty flow of runners. Sigh. Perhaps I expect too much?

Mile 6: 8:19
Leading up to Mile 6 was rough with all the hills leading up to it. My body was feeling the pain and my heart rate must have been sky high. But the downhills, in addition to giving my legs a much needed break, gave me a psychological second wind that was pushing me (very quickly, apparently) through this mile.

But I knew I had to reign myself in because Mile 7 was another entirely uphill mile.

Mile 7 - 8:56
My entire game plan for this race was built around the Mile 7 marker. This mile marker was the crest of the second, and last, big hill of the race--from what I could gather from the elevation map. I knew that if I made the crest of this hill in good shape that the rest of the race I would be coasting. So I may have slowed down for this mile, but I knew that I would naturally pick up the pace in the last six miles.

Mile 8 - 7:58
And so my theory held true. Here I was cranking out a sub-8:00 mile (granted, gravity helped a lot) but I was doing great, pretty smooth sailing.

Mile 9 - 8:31
By Mile 9 the course had flattened out and the sun was out in full force. I was trying to stay in the shade as much as possible, but I could feel my shorts starting to stick to my legs from all the sweat. I was feeling good, but the little demons that live in my head started to pipe up. They started saying things like "it's too hot, you should take a walking break" and "sheesh, you still have four miles to go, you'll never make it."

I have to really practice at shutting up these demons. What kind of training can I do for that? I guess just a healthy dose of concentration and out-right ignoring them should work, right? But when you're 9 miles into a race that is the hardest thing to do. Especially when your left headphone decides it wants to die (as mine suddenly did) and leave your right headphone to do all the work.

Mile 10 - 8:47
At this point I would like to point out a severe miscalculation in my game plan for this race: according to the elevation map, the Mile 7 marker was the crest the second big hill of the race. Everything afterward appeared to be all downhill or gentle rollers. THIS WAS NOT THE CASE as I soon found out. However, I used a good chunk of energy getting up to Mile 7 expecting the rest of the course to be easy. Mile 10 was not easy.

Right at the start of this mile was a steep uphill over some train tracks, then a dip under I-95, and then a long series of uphills. But I was so close to the end that I thought I could take them. I remembered passing the Mile 10 marker on the way out (just after the Mile 3 marker) and remembering that it was at the crest of a hill. So I figured I just had to make it to this crest and I'd be done with this surprise hills section. And as you can tell from my pace, I was attacking these hills harder than the previous uphill sections of the race.

Mile 11 - 9:22
As expected, the course turned downhill after the Mile 10 marker. As I was going downhill relieved to be over with the hills. I saw a water station on the bridge at the base of the hill...and then I saw the hill behind it. I had come down this hill on the way out and had forgotten that I would have to go up it on the way back. Sweet Jesus. I tried to maintain my momentum from the downhill, grabbed some water at the water station, and charged up the hill.

I went up hard. Even though I had used all my mental strength to get over the series of quick hills in Mile 10, I attacked that hill with everything I had. I slowed down and tried to regulate my pace. I controlled my breathing--big breath in, big breath out. I put my weight on alternating legs for four music counts (an old running trick I had up my sleeve). I tried to shut up the demons screaming in my head.

I got to the top of the hill, but the demons won.

As I reached the crest of the hill all my tricks and strength tapped out and my feet fell. Thump, thump. I couldn't even control them, they changed into a walk before I knew what was happening.

In the back of my head I was panicking because once you start walking you never remain your momentum (Nitmos, sound familiar?). I gave myself a quick little pep talk and tried to run after 10 seconds. I lasted a minute before my feet decided to walk again. I tried everything I could think of to keep going: run slower, breathe right, listen to my music, use the momentum from the downhill at the end of the mile. Nothing worked. I was like a car that would rev but not start.

Mile 12 - 9:26
This mile went on forever, block after block after block. More starting and more stopping. Usually I can channel some deep strength that seems to come from no where during the last two miles of a Half-Marathon--but it wouldn't come. I tried, I looked for my "energy stash" that I had hidden from myself and saved for the home stretch, but I couldn't find it. I had put too much into the previous set of hills and sucked up everything I had left.

And while I didn't notice it at the time, right about now was when I started to feel what was different about this race: I had no attachment to it. Every single other race I've run I have had some attachment to. I lived in Boston when I ran the Boston Half. I lived in Queens when I ran the Queens Half-Marathon. I had visited Philly a dozen times before I ever ran that race. Even New Jersey and Baltimore I drove around the city to scope out the course.

Not so with Fairfield. This race was through some town that I strolled into that morning that I had never seen before. I didn't know this place, I didn't know these people. The whole race day experience felt like I was put in a small room with a stranger who could only talk about string theory while I could only talk about occult German fetishes. It felt awkward and I was not enjoying it.

Mile 13.1 - 9:37
Here I was, still sputtering. I knew it was the final mile. I knew I was going to finish. I knew that at least my first goal (finish better than 1:53:42) was going to happen. But I couldn't get that glorious surge to the finish line that I've gotten in every other race I've run.

I didn't know what was wrong with me and I was too busy trying to fix the problem to try to figure out what the problem was.

I took my final walking break at the turn before the Mile 13 marker and told myself that there was to be no more walking--the finish line was too close and I was too good of a runner to finish a race in this manner.

I had to force every single step. Every footfall was a conscientious command from brain, down my spinal cord, through every nerve and fiber of my legs. This was not euphoric running. This was labored and punishing.

I didn't look for wifey, I didn't look at my watch, I didn't pay attention to anything except for the mats at the finish line. I yelled as I crossed the finish line because it hurt and I was happy to be at the end.

Post Race
I didn't realize it until a few days later, but I didn't tear up as I reached the finish line. I usually get emotional because racing is a cathartic experience, but not this race. In the exit chute I found a chair and took my timing chip off--they didn't have a chip removal crew like most races do. I waved at wifey, gave her a big smile for the camera. As I sat there taking off my chip, I was just beating myself up. I was upset at how I ran the first ten miles so well and the last three miles so crappily. I was upset that I didn't make 1:50.

I looked at my watch--1:53:29. That didn't matter because I had started my watch late. If added the 30 second delay to that I would be several seconds over my PR. So I just ignored it and waited to get home for the official net time.

I misjudged the course, didn't gauge the hills properly, and--as I've realized in retrospect--did not enjoy the race. Now, if we quickly look back at my last post before the race you will see that I purposely omitted that goal from my goal list. I believe my words were: I do realize that for humility's sake and out of respect for the distance that my attainable goal should be "to enjoy the race," but damn it, I am a cocky 20-something that always has something to prove.

Is it possible to unlearn something you've known for four years? Yes is the apparent answer. I think some deep introspection is needed right now, but truth is that I don't have any. I don't think I've fallen out of love with running--I mean I'm looking forward to today's long run and the upcoming marathon training. But I feel like something needs to/will change.

When I got home I looked up the official time--1:53:41. Yes folks, that is one second off my PR. So I can claim this race as a PR, but it certainly did not feel like one.

The race report...

...is coming. But taking a look at the preliminary results it seems that I started my watch late and my PR margin was very, very, (almost didn't happen) very small.