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.
_______________________________________________

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.
___________________________________________________

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.
___________________________________________________

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.
_________________________________________

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.

I made my first goal

Never, never, never quit

I'm channeling Winston Churchill for my final hours before the starting gun at Fairfield. I'm about to head out for an easy 30-minute run around the 'hood. But before that, I want to get all my thoughts down before they swirl out of my head as they tend to in the hours leading up to a race.

Goal Times

• Goal 1 (attainable): Come in close--but under--my PR of 1:53:42. Completely doable because my Half-Mary PR pace is 8:41 and most of my training runs have been faster than that. (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.)
• Goal 2 (challenge): Come in at 1:50. That would shave about four minutes off my time. It's within the realm of reason, but it won't be easy to maintain that 8:24 pace.
• Goal 3 (pie in the sky): Come in at 1:45 (essentially an 8:00 pace). This would be exceeding hard because it's hard enough to maintain this pace for a six mile run. Can't imagine how I'll do it tomorrow.

Weather
Oh New England--your weather patterns are horrible. This week was beautiful. Every morning I woke up to a chill in the air, puffs of clouds in the sky, and glorious sunshine. However, tomorrow's weather for Fairfield calls for light showers leading into scattered thunderstorms. While the rain sucks (I've never actually run in the rain), it does guarantee cool temps (high 60s) and plenty of cloud coverage. The rain also spoils the beach plans we had for the rest of the day. Boo.

Travel
The lovely seaside town of Fairfield is just one-hour North of New York City. I could actually take the commuter rail to the race, but that would mean getting on the 5:35am train out of NYC--I just can't bring myself to get to Grand Central at 5:30am. So we'll be renting a car tonight and driving up at 6am tomorrow.

I've never stayed this far away from the race starting line, so hopefully it turns out alright.

Race Day Strategy
I've been good about this race and studied the course quite a bit over the past few weeks. The hardest part of the race seems to be the hilly midsection. Although I've heard from people that have run this race in the past that there are some surprise hills at the end.

So my plan for the race will be to take the first two miles easy, which shouldn't be a problem because with 3,000 runners there will be a lot of people in my way those first couple of miles. Miles 2-4 I want to settle into a good pace, trying to get toward my goal pace. Miles 5-7 have the biggest climbs and downhills, so there'll be some speeding up and slowing down--which I anticipate will completely mess with my pacing. After mile 7 it looks to be pretty easy, with a few rolling hills--which I like because little hills help get the blood pumping without taxing me too much and can really boost my mood if I tackle them well. After the hill in mile 11 I'll be going through my gravvy songs and hopefully just feeding off the excitement, making a mad dash to finish line.

I'm really hoping to be smart about this race and not just attack it blindly like I normally attack a race. But I'm sure come tomorrow morning I will be suffering from level 5 runner's brain and all this good thinking would have gone to waste.

Music
There have been a few changes to the playlist for Fairfield, I've updated Tuesday's post with the new mix. I had to switch out some songs that just didn't feel right.

Final Thoughts

• It's been over a year since I've raced at this distance, it's going to be a good time to returning to my favorite distance
• When it starts to hurt and suck and the world starts crumbling around me I will just think: Does it really hurt that much? The answer is always no.
• It is quite possible that this race, as much as I've prepared for it, will go bad. I'm not going to lie: if all does go horribly wrong I will be upset. If my GI tract acts up, as it has lately, I'll have to stop to get that out of the way. If I break out into stitches, I will have to combat them and probably have to walk. If my IT Band flares up, I will have to stop and stretch and inject walking breaks. But, I know I will finish. It might not be the time I want or the beautiful race I had hoped and dreamed about, but I will get my shit together and get to that finish line. I will never, never, never quit.

The final countdown

As the Fairfield Half-Marathon approaches and I go through the pre-race rituals, I'd thought I'd share my playlist (also, this was a request from Laura). With that, I'd like to set the mood with arguably the best techno-rock song to come out of Scandinavia in the mid-80s:



Great, now that we're all totally stoked about bad music, let's get onto the playlist. Here is the process I've developed over the years:

1. I get excited! And why shouldn't I? It's a week before a race and the end of training is within sight.
2. I set aside an hour (although it sometimes becomes two) to go through all the music on my computer and pick out only the best of the best running songs. Those songs go onto the playlist. (I've also learned that I gravitate toward newer songs that I haven't worn out yet.)
3. Now that I have a short list of songs to play with I start the delicate process of ordering them and weeding out the songs that just don't work. To do this I assign a rating to each song on iTunes according to the following system:

• One star - The starter songs. These songs help set the pace early in the race because they are fast and really fun. These songs make me happy--which hopefully carries over on race day.
• Two star - The ease into the groove songs. These songs are a slower pace than the one star set, but equally as important in maintaining pace as the initial energy wears off. They also help transition to the next set of songs.
• Three star - The workhorse songs. At this point in the race I'm well into the miles and need to just concentrate on keeping one foot going behind the other. These songs are slow and remind me that it's ok to slow down because by this point I've established a comfortable pace and just need to maintain it.
• Four star - The "ok, let's start picking it up" songs. These songs are scheduled to start about 75% of the way into the race. When I hear these songs that means that the finish line is getting closer and that I should start pushing out of the comfort zone. No fireworks, but just a slight increase in pace.
• Five star - The gravvy songs. If there is anything left in me, these songs can get it out of me because they're just that inspirational/bad ass. When I hear these I know that I have to whip out the gravvy and start pouring it on.

4. Once the songs are in these five groups, then I order them according to what songs lead well into the following song and what is appropriate for that approximate point in the race.
5. Once the playlist is done I try to take it for a test run. (Didn't happen this time around, oh well.)

Yesterday I went through this process and here is the finished product, ready for racing--and maybe even a PR--in Fairfield:

• One Star songs
• Proud Mary; Tina Turner (this is always my first song and I only listen to it on race days, it just gets me in the right mood--no idea why)
• Rhythm Bandits; Junior Senior
• Let's Dance to Joy Division; The Wombats (I am currently obsessed with this song)
• Out Here All Night; Damone
• Reptilia; The Strokes (Good choice for this section since it contains the line "don't slow me down if I'm going too fast")
• Soulchaser; Caesars
• Two Star songs
• Coconuts; Junior Senior
• Check Yes Juliet; We the Kings
• This River Is Wild; The Killers
• Your English Is Good; Tokyo Police Club
• Take Me Out; Franz Ferdinand
• Can I Get Get Get; Junior Senior (maybe this should be renamed the Junior Senior Half-Marathon playlist--they are the only band on here thrice [yes, I said thrice])
• Three Star songs
• Only You; Caesars
• Freedom 90; George Michael
• For Reasons Unknown; The Killers
• Save Room; John Legend
• My Moon My Man; Feist UPDATE: replaced with Barracuda by Heart
• She Don't Use Jelly; Ben Folds Five (I always laugh at this song and by this point in the race I'll take anything that can make me happy)
• Wreckless Love; Alicia Keys (Alicia seems like a really slow choice for running music, but some of her songs have a very fast beat if you listen for it) UPDATE: replaced with Roxanne by The Police
• I Turn My Camera On; Spoon (I first heard this song on a Jaguar commercial and haven't been able to get it out of my head since, it has an easy beat to match my pace to)
• Four Star songs
• Black Cadillacs; Modest Mouse (Nothing says get your ass in gear like Modest Mouse screaming "Done done done with all the f*** f*** f***ing around")
• Sea Lion Woman; Feist
• Steven's Last Night In Town; Ben Folds Five UPDATE: replaced with Shockwave by Black Tide
• Times Like These; Foo Fighters
• Juicebox; The Strokes (This has become my "passing" song because there is a line in the chorus that screams "Why won't you come over here?" Well, if you won't come over here I'm just going to have to pass you, aren't I?)
• Five Star songs
• I Don't Feel Like Dancin'; Scissor Sister (Because I indeed don't feel like dancing by now) UPDATE: replaced with Stronger by Kanye West
• The Devil Went Down to Georgia; The Charlie Daniels Band (It's cheesy, but it works)
• The Pretender; Foo Fighters (awesome song, it immediately got Five Star designation the first time I heard it)
• Move Along; The All-American Rejects

_______________________

Updated: 6/21

Cross training...on a trapeze

On Sunday, wifey, a friend, and I went out for a bit of cross-training.

Here I am warming up:

Getting into starting position:

And then taking-off!!!



Yes indeed peeps, wifey took me to trapeze school as a birthday present and it was awesome!!!

As you can see from the pictures the facility is outdoors, but what you can't tell is that it on top of a three story building on a pier. So even though you climb 20 someodd feet to the platform, you're closer to 100-feet in the air with breezes from the ocean blasting from all sides. Needless to say, it reminds you that you're alive.

The first time I went up, I really had no idea what to expect. I stood on the platform and the instructor started rigging me up to the harness and that's when I realized there's only one way down. I grabbed the bar. I heard the call from the instructor. And then I hopped off.

In my head the only thing I could say was "ohshitohshitohshitohshit." I didn't even listen to the rest of the calls, I just got my feet up, got them down, and then let go of the bar.

The second time you go up, its worse because this time you know exactly what to expect.

But by the third time, you're a pro (see video above for proof).

The only problem is that even if you're careful you will probably leave with a scrape or a bump of some kind. I was careful and still managed to leave with: a cut on my left knee, chaffing behind both knees, sore calves, bruise marks on the palms of both hands, a mysterious bruise on my left tricep, and--perhaps most damaging of all--net burn across all ten toes of my beauty feet:

(Those purplely things are the burn marks. This was the good foot.)

It was great time--more fun than I thought it would be, and I had high expectations. If any of you come to NYC anytime soon I really recommend that you take a class. They're not horribly expensive ($47 for weekdays, $65 for weekends) and not challenging at all. The only sweat I worked up was from standing in the sun.
______________________________________

In running news.... The Fairfield Half-Marathon is only six days away!!! I am so excited that I wake up every morning thinking about it.

Preparations have already begun in the sRod household for the race. My race clothes (and back-up clothes) were washed in the load of laundry and are neatly folded awaiting race day. I've already drawn up the packing list for the drive up there. Tonight I'll put the final touches on the play list for the race and maybe start printing out documents (registration confirmation, rental car confirmation, directions, etc., etc.). So happy to finally be running this race!

Lessons I've learned but always manage to forget

Just a few running lessons I've learned over the past few years that I always manage to forget. These have all come into play at some point in the past week's training. I'm writing them down in hopes of remembering them in this final week (!!!) before Fairfield.

1. When you have to go while you're running you can combat it, but it takes lots of effort and concentration. And you only end up buying time until you find a bathroom--it never truly goes away.
2. Big breath in, big breath out. Repeat. That is my running mantra. Maybe I inherited crappy sinuses from my mom, but my breathing is not spectacular. No asthma, just inefficient breathing. So I always have to remind myself to do big breaths, drawing them in/out over two steps.
3. Always, always start off easy and you will be able to finish hard. I've done a good job of tempering the first mile of my long runs while training for Fairfield, but I could stand to improve my pacing.
4. No matter how good you are at this running thing, you always have to dig deep. Always.
5. You don't need to be hungry to have a GU while running.

Witty title

First, thank you all for the birthday wishes! The big 2-5 went very well. Wifey surprised me in the morning with breakfast in bed and a book of 25 things I've never done. First thing on the list: breakfast in bed.

Then we proceeded to the Central Park Zoo, had a picnic while on a row boat in Central Park, and we had dinner at this great seafood restaurant called The Mermaid Inn. Sunday, after the hottest 10 miles ever, we went to the Madison Avenue BBQ Block Party (yum!) and then went on a boat cruise all the way around Manhattan.

I've never done anything of these things before, but if you're keeping count, that was only six, there are 19 more events planned for my birthday. Some of which I'm looking forward to (wifey signed me up for trapeze school--SWEETNESS!). Some of which I'm not looking forward to (wifey also signed me up for a pedicure because she says my abused feet will appreciate it--yeah, right).

Stay posted for the continued celebration!

Second, I was tagged by Nitmos to fill out a little running quiz/questionnaire/thingie. Here are the rules:

Each player answers the 5 questions on their own blog. At the end of your post you tag 5 other people and post their names. Go to their blogs and leave a comment on their blogs telling them they've been tagged and to look at your blog for details. When they've answered the questions on their own blog, they come back to yours to tell you.

And away we go:

1. How would you describe your running 10 years ago?

Oh, God. Running wasn't even an inkling in my head at that point. I was a freshman in high school and felt extremely uncomfortable in my body. That summer I reached my max weight of 230 pounds and I remember looking in the mirror when I got out of the shower and trying to find some sign of my body losing weight on its own. I was caught in one of those teenage cycles where you want to change yourself but you don't feel like you can.

Exercise wasn't even something I did back in '98. It was something I wanted to do, but I just felt like such a fool doing any kind of physical activity. I also had no coordination, athletic skills, or desire to participate in sports.

This is quickly turning into something I'll have to elaborate on in a different post, so let it suffice to say that running wasn't even a thing to me 10 years ago.

2. What is your best and worst run/race experience?

Best: The Long Branch Half-Marathon. I don't think I've ever run as well as I ran this race. I felt spectacular that morning and all the elements were in my favor (dense cloud coverage, no rain, perfect temps, no heavy wind, pancake-flat course). I blew away my PR expectations, which still amazes me to this day.

Worst: The Disney Half-Marathon. It's a tough enough race with the 2am wake-up call, all the waiting, the crowds, the humidity, and the hills that you don't expect. But then I was the hot shot coming off his first Half-Marathon who only trained the four-weeks prior to the race. Yeah, genius defined.

3. Why do you run?

I run (say it with me now) because it makes me feel superhuman. And that is superhuman not in the Superman sense, but more in the "only .0000000001% of people have run long-distance" sense.

Although I've discovered that in talking with other people that running has become my hobby. It's what I do on the weekend instead of tinkering with a car or building bird houses. It's what I do for fun.

4. What is the best or worst piece of advice you've been given about running? (I'm reinterpreting this as the best and worst ideas I've had on running.)

Best: focus on breathing, everything else will follow.

Worst: just run through the pain.

5. Tell us something surprising about yourself that not many people would know.

The acronym for my blog (SSR) is the same three-letter combination as my monogram (SSR). And that was not intentional.

For my tags, I'm going to follow Nitmos's lead and mercifully tag only one person. The Laminator: you're next.

Baby cows

I picked-up the June issue of Men's Journal from my work mailbox earlier this week. (Free magazines: one of the few reasons I stay in advertising.) I start flipping through the magazine on my way home today and start reading an article titled "Six-pack abs, made to order." The article is about this new high-definition liposculpture surgery--it's basically super precise lipo that can sculpt fat to look like muscle.

I roll my eyes.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind being all cut up like some Abercrombie & Fitch model, but I wouldn't do surgery. Come on, is anyone in such dire need of a six-pack that they would undergo an $8,000+ surgery? I don't think such a person exists. Not in my world.

But wait, it gets better.

I continue reading and get to a diagram where they list the top plastic surgery procedures men choose to undergo. Nose and eye jobs account for nearly 50% of all male plastic surgery--ok, you might snore or you might have developed those skin flaps that impair your vision. Next on the list are hair transplant (ok, understood), chin implant (odd, but understandable), male breast reduction/implants (sure, I could use those too), penis enlargement (hee hee, they said penis--and now I've said it too!), and calf implants.

Calf implants.

WTF? Calf implants? People want to make their calves bigger? This is a thing? This is something people lose sleep over (I assume you're losing sleep if you're willing to undergo surgery)? I mean, how often do you even see a guy's calves? They're usually covered by pants.

The article writes: "Calves are notoriously hard to develop." That's it--that is the justification provided for getting calf surgery, which starts at $5,500. Can't $5,500 get you a personal trainer that will not only make your calves bigger, but your entire body healthier?

I then take a look at my calves. I'll be honest: my calves are pretty sweet. I have received very few genetic blessings when it comes to my body, but well-defined calves I did get. There was even someone who told me in high school (when I was overweight and not exercising) that my calves should be used in an anatomy class. (I'm pretty that was intended to be a compliment.)

Since the proof is always in the pudding, here is the pudding:



Ok, this picture makes them look scary. I swear, I do look like a normal human when I walk around...just don't ask me to flex my calves. (Also, you can't imagine how silly I felt running back and forth across the living room to take this picture. Where is wifey when I need her?)

_______________________________

Nitmos, I'm honored to be the sole victim...um...no, wait, victim is the right word--the sole victim of your tagging. That will be this weekend's post.

Gym carnies: Yeti

Gym Carnies an irregular series about the curious characters and intriguing individuals that people my local gym.
_______________________________________________

There are certain telltale signs of a runner: a sweaty old race t-shirt, dirty-yet-loved sneakers, an air of humility earned from running races, an all too wide grin that comes from the high levels of endorphins. We all exhibit these outward signs as a result of running. However, what if you exhibit all the signs of a runner, but never in fact run? Such is the problem with the Yeti.

Similar to his namesake, there are many signs that Yeti is a runner, yet to this day no one has produced hard evidence that Yeti does run.

The first time I saw Yeti I took him for your average male gym type. He looks to be in his 40s and is probably the most fit middle-aged man I've ever seen: muscular, very lean, probably about 6'5", and could easily pass for a model. He executes every lift, pull, and push with exacting precision--the type of flawlessness you gain by performing the same movement over and over. He walks around the gym very upright and always has a way of appearing to look down on things.

I really took Yeti as just your regular iron-pumping gym type, except for one thing. Without fail he always comes to the gym in a coordinated spandexy running outfit and spiffy running shoes.

I'm all for spandex--as a runner I own several pieces of spandex clothing--but I don't wear them to the gym. Very few guys come to the gym outfitted to run a race, and even fewer dress like that every time they go to the gym. Also, very few people at the gym wear Brooks or Saucony--these brands are typically reserved for runners. This leads me to believe that Yeti is a runner, because no one else but a runner would invest so much in spandex or fancy shoes.

Additionally, I've overheard Yeti mention something about "races" and "an injury" to another Gym Carny. I've also noticed that Yeti does some pretty intense weight training on his legs. Just more fuel for the legend that Yeti is a runner.

But this all brings us back to the initial problem that in order to be a runner you must run. You can't have symptoms without first having a disease (right, Laminator?). And I haven't seen Yeti run.

I've seen him on the elliptical and the bike at the gym, but never the treadmill. I have run around this neighborhood at least once a week for the past year and have never spotted him. His shoes are always clean. And because of Yeti's endless supply of spandex, he doesn't wear race t-shirts.

Now, in the name of fairness, I have to say that I have had some reported Yeti sightings of my own, but nothing has conclusively proven to me that he is a runner.

Reported Yeti sighting #1: during the Healthy Kidney 10K, as I was cresting over Harlem Hill (Mile 2) I saw someone bent over stretching a leg muscle. As I approached the figure in the bright morning light I could tell the person's clothes would surely be in Yeti's closet--and the person's physique seemed very similar to Yeti's. However, in a second I was past him and didn't get to see his face. There were 8,000 runners out there that day, it really could have been anyone.

Reported Yeti sighting #2: as I was sitting on the subway on Sunday morning waiting to head out for my long run I saw what I could have sworn was Yeti. He passed the car I was in, but I think he was wearing running clothes and headphones. But of course, I wasn't sure it was him, and even if it was, I don't have anyway to prove that he was going running, even though typically the only reason anyone would be on the subway at 8:30am on a Sunday in running clothes is because they are going to go running.

Reported Yeti sighting #3: this morning I was doing 5 x 1000m at the track instead of the gym. I rarely go out to the track on Tuesdays, but I want to acclimate to the warmer weather as quickly as possible, given that Fairfield is just 2.5 weeks away. As I rounded the turn during a recovery lap, I saw a tall, muscular, very lean runner running away from the track. From a distance, it looked like it could have been Yeti, but I was too far to tell. And this runner had on some non-spandex shorts, obviously it couldn't be him.

One day I hope to have proof that Yeti exists--I mean runs. Although I have no real reason to want to see him run, because I guess techinically at that point he will stop being a Gym Carny and start being a normal person. And where's the fun in that?

Checking in

I'm in the midst of what is quickly becoming a super month. My birthday is this weekend--the festivities for which have been kept in the strictest of secrecy. Then there is my company's annual booze cruise. Then there is Fairfield. And then there is the cooking class coupled with Eddie Izzard on the same weekend.

So I have to keep it brief today: yesterday's run was hard. Twelve miles, 79 degrees, no cloud cover, three bridges, and one headache that started before I left the house. Then throw in periodic stitches (they're back!) and some walking breaks and you get a run clocked in at a 9:10 pace. I think the last time I went that slow was MY FIRST MARATHON EVER.

But it's all down hill from here. Whaaaaaaa hooooooooo! It's time to taper!

Stay posted for a new Gym Carny profile.

Hot mess

I often cite runner's brain as a source for silly mistakes made while running. Such as when you think it's a great idea to charge up an uphill two-miles into your 10-mile run and then wonder why you don't have energy in mile five. Or like when I ran MY FIRST MARATHON EVER and was clocking an 8:30 pace during the first quarter of the race, even though I was training to run at a nine-minute pace. Such moments of non-brilliance are scraped up to runner's brain.

Yesterday though I had so many instances of runner's brain that it reached a new level--runner's fever perhaps? I just don't even know. Let's discuss.

First, I miscalculated my goal time. I met up with the Laminator at the Super Runner's Shop (getting closer to free shoes!) for the Saturday group run--although we had plans to break off from the group because the Laminator had an 18-mile run and I had a 14-mile run scheduled for the day. During the first mile or so I calculate my goal time for the run to be 2:04 for an eight-minute pace. Now if you whip out your calculator, you'll easily find out that eight minutes times 14 miles equals 1:52. Where I got 2:04 from, I have no idea--I can't even replicate the math.

Next, as I mentioned before, the Laminator and I planned on breaking off from the group at one point to go exploring different parts of Manhattan, since no one wants to run high mileage in Central Park (those hills will destroy you). I mapped out a great 14-mile route from the group's starting point heading south and committed it to memory. Just in case, I quickly mapped back up route for if we headed north since the group likes to alternate between directions. Of course, we head out northward, so I have to use the back up route that I didn't remember so well.

We exit the Park and say goodbye to our group leader, letting him know we won't be returning to the store. I start leading the way through Morningside Park and Teacher's College. We get to Riverside Drive and it's basically a straight shot south from there. I love this stretch of Manhattan and it's pretty cool sharing it with another runner, pointing out all the landmarks and the different ways you can go through the park. We plug along through Riverside Park, then Death Valley, then Battery Park, and then the final stretch along the seaport leading up to my finish line at the Brooklyn Bridge.

I wish the Laminator good luck on his last four miles and I head toward the subway. I look at my watch. 1:51:30. Huh? If I was supposed to finish in 2:04 at an eight-minute pace then I must have been hauling some serious ass. That is suspicious, but I'm so happy to be done with the run that I don't even think twice about it.

I get home and start mapping the route I just ran. Turns out that I messed up the route. We were supposed to exit Central Park at an entirely different point to make sure we hit 14 miles by the Brooklyn Bridge. But we exited the park way too early, which cut an entire mile off the run. So my fantastic run, got a lot less fantastic. Then I entered my time and saw my pace instead of being sub-eight minutes, was actually 8:34--way off from the 8:15 pace I had for 10 miles two weeks ago. Around this time I also realize my time miscalculation from early in the run. Damn, damn, and damn.

But wait, there's more. This morning I go to check off yesterday's run from my training calendar. I open up the Excel sheet and find the 14-mile long run...under May 30. Yesterday was May 24. WHAT. THE. HELL. The running gods were obviously out helping someone else yesterday.

P.S. - The Laminator suggested I buy a Garmin yesterday citing that it has helped him tremendously with his running. I shrugged it off saying that Mapmyrun.com is all I need. This morning I have seriously reconsidered his suggestion and will be adding a Garmin to my birthday list (less than two weeks away!).

P.P.S. - And in what is clearly an early sign of a terminal bout with runner's brain, I realized TODAY that I misspelled gravy as gravvy every single time in my post from WEDNESDAY--even though I used spell check on the sucker. The extra "v" is for "vroom" you generate in your final kick, so there.