See Abby Run!

Momma Needs a New Pair of Shoes

2011-06-05T17:47:00.001-04:00

And got them, admittedly a few weeks ago.

Easy Running

2011-05-14T15:05:00.002-04:00

I've gone on a number of short runs in the past week, including a great 4.5 miles today. Every day it gets a little easier, and I feel a little stronger. Don't get me wrong--I still take a break every so often, but those breaks are becoming more few and far between. My pace is improving (meaning it now outpaces a snail, though is at least getting closer to my standard mediocre pre-baby pace). I can feel the strength of my arms, chest, and legs, and the smoothing out of my gait and pace. My lungs are gasping less and easing closer toward the smooth, rhythmic in and out that all runners know so well...and I can't say that it feels like anything less than fantastic.

Today's mileage was two loops of Fresh Pond with Copley, while Jared and Eden walked a loop. We had dropped off my beloved's car at the nearby Honda dealership for a routine service, and it seemed like a great idea to cross the street to loop around the pond (I can't take credit for it; the idea was all Jared's).

It was a perfect day for running--cool at around 55 degrees or so, with a hint of rain laying in the air, but holding off for we fleet of foot. The breeze was light and refreshing, making it the perfect weather for shorts and long sleeves for the first mile, short sleeves for the rest. This is my ideal clime for running--warm enough for the body to reach and maintain an elevated temperature, but shady and cool enough to ease through any miles without feeling the strain that only heat and sun can bring on.

There's little enough to say about this run, other than that is was exceptionally good. For the first time since getting pregnant last June, I began to again feel like a runner, like my legs, arms, heart, and lungs were working in harmony, and that my body and mind were strong and united in what they both wanted to do and were capable of doing.

As the runners among you will know, there's nothing so intoxicating.

Three in the (Admittedly Small) Bag

2011-04-28T15:22:00.003-04:00

At long last, I'm able to get back to running, albeit not quickly or well. Since last Friday, I've gone on three runs--each of about 2 miles, with jags of running followed by jags of walking, then running, then walking...and so on. I'm certainly not up to just plain running yet. I've decided to consider it a fartlek, or interval run--as if I were training for something rather than getting my pitifully out-of-shape self back into at least decent running condition.

My better half and I have entered a 5K for May 7th, no less. He'll be walking with Eden in a Baby Bjorn, and I'll (ostensibly) be running, though again, in a drunken stuttering, start-stop manner. Ah well. It's still bliss!

All Aquiver with Anticipation

2011-04-11T19:06:00.005-04:00

It's a good day. Temperatures reached into the 70s, the sun made an appearance after all, and I was able to go for a (short) walk with the newly expanded family.

Eden, who joined us on March 16 (see her with my better half at right), traveled á la the über-stylish (and über-Swedish) Baby Bjorn. After only a short jaunt, she verbalized her displeasure with the Swedes and their contraption, necessitating a quick about-face back to the car to change a diaper laden with all kinds of horrible gifts.

Which is OK. Because, honestly, yesterday's 3-mile walk around the Wellesley campus wore me out. And my beloved can and does manage to get better and better every day--this time by stopping to pick up one of my favorite seasonal beers on the way home--Leinenkugel's Summer Shandy. (It tastes like sunshine in a bottle!)

Sadly, I'm not back to running yet. The good news is, though, that I'm healing from my labor/delivery very well, and should be able to soon. My better half and I have gone on several walks, most of which Eden was happy to join us for (in the aforementioned Bjorn). I've also started to do some (very light) strength training in the comfort of my living room.

Today's fine weather and admittedly somewhat aborted walk brought with it the heady smell of...anticipation. (Or was it body odor? These days it often takes longer for me to make it to the shower...no matter.)

It will at last be weeks, not months, before I'm back on the roads, even if it's a slow process. (Can stopping every block to gasp for air accurately considered "interval training" or "fartleks"? I say "Yes.")

In the meantime, here's a picture from one of our recent walks--this one at the Fells.

Running Update

2011-03-14T16:41:00.004-04:00

Today is just shy of the middle of March, and the highlights of this year, 2011, so far are less than stellar:

Miles run: 0
Miles walked: less than 15
Hours spent doing prenatal yoga: less than 5
Babies delivered: 0

That's right. A whole lot of...nothing much. 2010 closed out with a chilly 3 or 4-mile run on New Year's Eve leading to early contractions--nothing terribly concerning overall, but enough of a symptom that running was taken off the table for the rest of my (interminable) pregnancy. Pregnancy-induced hypertension popped up in late January/early February, necessitating a lack of much activity at all.

And yet. Here I am in mid-March--Still. Pregnant. (Happily though, it sounds like the finish line is in sight this week.)

That said, and the fact that this blog is meant to be about my running (egomaniacal, I know), just because I can't run myself doesn't mean that I'm not enjoying seeing everyone else out running.

New England's heavy snow is all but gone now, with only small piles leaving dirty traces here and there in shaded areas and alleys. And true to form, the fair-weather runners have emerged from their apartment lairs, pale-skinned and athletically appareled, peeking out of their doorways and gyms like so many wan, sun-starved gypsies on the lam from their holiday over-indulgences. I see them lurching around the river, up the side streets near my house, and I want to do as I've done every year at this time--mutter too loudly about their fair-weather selves, all while mentally congratulating myself for my myriad cold miles over snow, sleet, and salt-covered roads and sidewalks.

But this year, I can't. I ran a handful of miles up to and just after Christmas, and since then have hibernated in my toasty Medford cave. Instead of adding on miles, I've added on pounds, and instead of sashaying about feeling svelte in my running tights, I've waddled around in increasingly large maternity pants.

While I imagine this reads a bit like a whine, and at least in part it is that, I'm actually not terribly bummed about what I'm going to call my "lost winter of running." There are many miles to come, some of which I imagine I'll be pushing a stroller through. (If only you could stand on the back of the stroller on the downhills, as if a middle-schooler on a grocery cart.) There are medals and t-shirts to be collected, assorted shoe company coupons to be discarded, free energy gels to consume, and miles to be explored on new, and hopefully fast courses. There are many races yet to come, and countless finish lines yet to cross.

Added to that, the summer looms ahead of me in breathless anticipation--if I close my eyes, I swear I can feel the sun's heat on a long trail run, or the heavy rasp in my lungs upon reaching the top of a too-steep hill. I can feel the gloppiness of an overheated Gu sliding down my sweaty throat, and taste the post-run Gatorade, too warm from being in the sun, but refreshing all the same. I can fell that familiar ache in the backs of my legs and knees--the one that tells me it's been a good run, one that my very bones were craving.

Until then, though, I'll be focusing on my next event, even though it doesn't require any actual running...and keeping in mind that it wouldn't be any fun if all races were the same anyway.

Wish my beloved and I well, as we usher another runner into the fold and onto the road..

Training Season Begins! Or Does It?

2010-11-01T20:07:00.004-04:00

With its hint of bonfires and falling leaves, and just enough of a bite in the air to leave you pink-cheeked and runny-nosed, there's no hiding that fall is here, and winter just around the corner. And with it comes a plethora of bright-eyed and weary-tailed runners, recovering from a fall marathon, or just starting to increase mileage in expectation of a spring marathon.

Those of you who know me well already know that I've decided to yet again opt out of a spring marathon. That's not to say I'm not running, though, or that my reason isn't a good one...my beloved and I are continuing to log many a [few] mile locally in our favorite Fells haunt. The difference is that now it's Jared, Abby, Copley, and one extra teeny tiny future runner. That's right, there's a runner in the tank, a baby on board, a bun in the [Dutch] oven, if you will. (I really am Dutch, so this is technically an accurate description.)

Our latest addition, a girl to go with our first "baby" and Danish lady, is due March 12, only a little over a month before Boston's latest and greatest running event. The downside to this is, of course, that the marathon simply isn't an option. The upside is that not only do I have an excuse to gain those out-of-season lbs, but I'll be on maternity leave for marathon Monday, and won't have to take it off as a vacation day;)

So instead of logging mile after mile, I'm logging...walks here and there, sporadic (and I really mean sporadic, I've done it twice now) yoga, (really) short runs, and the occasional stint on an elliptical or other instrument of gym torture. A few people have asked about, or made suggestions for, my running during pregnancy. The upshot is this--I can run as long as it's comfortable for me, up to my due date, barring complications. The caveat is that it's harder, slower, and, well, harder. Some days a mile and a half at an 11:00+/mile pace is nearly impossible, and other days, 3 or 4 zips by at a decent (though certainly still not anything approaching fast) clip, as easy as pie.

My goal now is to run 3 miles 3 times a week throughout the next 19 weeks, or to at least make a legitimate attempt to do so. (I'm 21 weeks now; see Halloween fun run pot belly for reference.) Jared has been as fabulous as ever, logging slow miles with me, and taking a break anytime I need one, with nary a complaint. (I will say that, recently, while panting my way up a short hill, I turned to find him casually strolling next to me a the same pace--but he insisted that he wasn't mocking me in the slightest, and I believe him.) He's a good egg, that man, and has been incredible about my sleepiness, crankiness, weight gain, emotional tumult, slower pace, and taking on pretty much the full thrust of RunBoston work and tours.

I'm hoping to be better about blogging, but hopefully this happy news will at least partly explain my lengthy silence and the reasons my running plans have changed so dramatically. Happy news, and more miles to come, but fewer in duration and longer in pace, while my beloved and I get ready to welcome our new addition!

Summer Miles

2010-06-01T20:25:00.006-04:00

Six weeks covers a lot of miles, and a lot of interesting events. First, the miles...Jared and I ran our first race as the Mr. and Mrs. P on Sunday. Though our chip time was (or should have been, but strangely wasn't) embarrassingly slow at a whopping 2:14(ish), we worked our overheated cans off for it. Boston's Run to Remember was easily the BEST organized race I've ever run, and one I'd happily do again. It was a hot day, something the race organizers can hardly help. What they could and did do, though, was provided plenty of water stops (one every two miles), enough volunteers to man them, a convenient day of the week to run on (Sunday, when the scenic Memorial Drive is closed to road traffic), and gorgeous, varied, and familiar course to run on--through Boston's financial district, along the Charles River, through Chinatown and Downtown Crossing, and back to the docks near the Seaport Hotel and World Trade Convention Center. And lastly, I'm happy to see that I didn't kill myself on the (hot) hills, and nary a step was walked.

Leading up to this, my beloved and I had fantasticly huge amounts of family in town for our lovely wedding, signed an assortment of paperwork on our new house, and ran any number of fabulous miles, with each other, with friends, and with strangers visiting and traveling with RunBoston.

In two weeks, we move into our house in Medford, and from there we'll be plotting new courses, both in terms of our personal lives and our training--Jared will begin ramping up for an August triathlon, and me....well, there isn't a trail I've met yet I haven't liked.

Running for a Cause

2010-04-18T18:56:00.006-04:00

Though I haven't been running any marathon distances with teammates of old, this year I am particularly thankful for their efforts, and I am lucky, and happy, to know that of the miles I've run this spring, the majority of them have been joyful ones--ones that I've been lucky enough to count my blessings as opposed to chasing any demons. Its been a hectic spring, but a wonderful run, as RunBoston has picked up for Jared and I, the wedding is next week, and we've put an offer in on a house.

But with the Boston Marathon tomorrow, runners have been pouring into town by the thousands, reminding me of the many miles I've been privileged to spend with the Dana Farber team. And while I won't be physically there with those runners tomorrow, I'll be there in spirit. Running with them has been a gift in my life, and has changed me for the better--immeasurably so. It is astonishing what people can achieve when united around a common goal--and nowhere has that been more apparent to me than when being around the people of Dana Farber.

I've been involved with the marathon challenge crew through three seasons now, and my respect and affection for that group has grown exponentially. They are a group filled with novices, with experts, with slow and the fast runners, and young and old. But they are, all of them, philanthropists, filled with a hope that is overflowing in its scope.

It is impossible to be around this organization without feeling impassioned by their cause--a cure for cancer--and want to join it. There's is a common cause, one that would touch us all in the best of ways.

Right now, the runners of the Dana Farber marathon challenge will have finished their pasta, will have watched a slideshow of the children lost to cancer in the past year, will have gazed longingly at the cookies they know they probably shouldn't have the night before a marathon, and will likely be on the way home, for a good night's rest and to gear up for their race tomorrow. Together, they will have already raised more than $3 million for cancer research and care, and will be on the way to $4 million.

They are remarkable, and they, the organizers, the trainers, the volunteers, and the runners I know and have yet to meet, will achieve something remarkable tomorrow--they will instill hope in the hearts of thousands through their sacrifice and their efforts.

So to all of you running on Monday, for whatever cause you've chosen, whether it's for cancer research and care, or another worthy cause--remember that you are doing a good thing, a strong and good thing, and that every step you take is one of hope, and one of caring, of doing something greater than yourself.

So enjoy the miles!

RunBoston: 2010 Boston Marathon Charity Runners

2010-03-06T14:17:00.005-05:00

Thanks to all you DFMC runners, and to all other runners out there raising money for a cause, be it for cancer research and care, the research and care for another illness, sports equipment for underprivileged youth, boys & girls clubs, shelters, hospitals...whatever your cause, you are doing something important.

Jared and I aren't able to run the marathon this year, but if you are running on behalf of one of the many worthy groups that are out there, let us know at RunBoston, and we'll set you up with a half-price tour.

In the meantime, keep chasing that unicorn.

10.2 Miles of Dialogue

2010-03-06T13:37:00.004-05:00

At long last, I've signed up for a race. This means I've got something to train for, and something to make me get those dull weekday miles in. The long runs on yawning Saturdays and Sundays have never been an issue...take last week's 8 miles with Al and Jared (half on trails, half on streets) as a perfect example. During those miles, Al managed to talk me into running the half-marathon option at the Eastern States 20 on March 28. By "talked me into it," Al reminded me this morning of how the conversation, which happened earlier this week, actually went:

Al: Hey, you want to run the Easter States half marathon?
Abby: Sure.

She twisted my arm, in other words. I'm happy, though, to have something to train for. I feel as though my body and soul have been yearning for the extra miles these past few days. I don't know if it's seeing all the hopeful marathoners out there, my upcoming nuptials and a need to ensure the dress fits the same as when I bought it, or the warming spring weather--but whatever it is, I'm loving getting out there a bit more.

Today, I talked Al and her boyfriend, my friend Aaron, into hopping the T out to the Woodland stop, so that we could run the last 9 miles of the marathon course, then finish up another mile or so through the heart of Boston.

My beloved dropped me off before heading off to a wilderness first aid training course, and I waited at the T with jittery anticipation. When Al and Aaron arrived, we were off, and I was happily babbling away along the miles. Luckily both are fairly patient sorts, or at least tactful enough not to tell me to shut my trap as I'm cheerfully rambling while pushing the pace up Heartbreak Hill.

Abby: So the crowds are SO thick here--Aaron, you are going to have so much fun at the marathon! See, guys, this hill isn't so bad! Right, Al?
Al: Ugh.
Abby: Do you want me to just be quiet?
Al: Noooo.....
Aaron: [panting]

All in all, the miles were fantastic--today's spring weather has Beantowners near 50 degrees, and it was a beautiful set of miles (see my happy runner's soul at right). I fought to keep from pushing the pace a little harder, and Aaron was a good sport, despite what I think might have been a challenging speed for him at times (but then again, he did have to run another two miles after Al and I). The end result was a gorgeous, gorgeous run, and that dizzying and delightful runner's high that comes from having achieved a nice long distance (about 10.2 miles), and knowing you still have some left in the tank.

To top it off, Al and I swung by a Starbucks for a hot cup 'o' joe, then grabbed a tasty breakfast of bagel and over easy eggs at a local diner en route to the T. I was able to enjoy my delicious hot beverage (Black Gold! Texas T!) on the subway ride home--a ride punctuated by an odd conversation with an elderly stranger...

Man: Did you just go for a run?
Abby: Yes, I did!
Man: Did you run across the bridge? [the train was going over the Longfellow]
Abby: Oh, no. I met some friends at the Woodland T stop, so we actually ran from over there [pointing]. We ended at her house, and now I'm taking the train home; I live that way [pointing again].
Man: I used to run. I need to exercise more, start again.
Abby: It's good. Keeps me from getting stressed, makes me feel alive and alert.
Man: I walk across this bridge. I usually start smoking pot on this end, then when I get over to the other side, I smoke pot on the other end, before I come back.
Abby: [Beginning to think the conversation has taken a turn for the odd] Oh....well, that's not very good for you! [Nervous laugh.]
Man: No, pot's good. I don't smoke, you know. Pot's not so bad.
Abby: Well, to each their own!
Man: I'm going to Central with my art. [Gestures at his satchel, then at his bag] And some laundry.
Abby: Oh, that's really neat that you're an artist. May I see them?
Man: [Takes out art work with a flourish] I do abstracts.
Abby: Oh! Those are very nice. How did you do them?
Man: I did this one with marker. This one I did with pens. [Gestures at the first one, which I suspect had coffee spilled on it at one point] I did this one with markers too.
Abby: Well, they're very nice. Good luck with your art.

The conversation ended when the man, Michael, as he introduced himself, got off the train with his laundry and art satchel, and wished me a wonderful day. I can say that I've certainly had some odd conversations with people before, during, and after running, but this one might be right up there in the top ten. [Remind me sometime to tell you about the man who walked up to me at the end of a run to tell me he was wearing ladies' underwear...]

In any event, I had a fantastic run today, and was able to enjoy some good, albeit odd, conversation, and the company of friends in the sunshine of spring.

10 Miles and A Dog's Life

2010-02-01T21:29:00.007-05:00

Today is Monday. After a long day of work and commuting, I arrived home to find my gorgeous man, my gorgeous dog, and...another gorgeous dog, the lovely Frankie (her owner was there, too). A few hours later, full of a delicious spinach and sausage soup, and sitting next to my beloved (and one rather obnoxiously but adorably snoring Dane), yesterday's 10 miles around Boston seems an eternity ago.

Some runs seem so easy to blog about, while others sort of drift away in the ether of the hours between unlacing the shoes and settling in to type. I can't say that yesterday was necessarily either of those, though. I guess this will be a bit of a play-by-play for starters.

Jared and I slept in for a bit, which is always a nice way to start a Sunday. We were bundled up and out the door before we knew it, though, and running casually down Mass Ave toward Harvard Square. In that first mile, we both lamented that we'd opted for fleeces on top of wicking undershirts, though Jared (rightly, as it turned out) pointed out that we'd likely be cold when we crossed over the river into Boston.

Our route was a new one, a sort of modified version of the 12-mile route we plan to do a running tour on later this week. That course is 12 miles, beginning in Brookline. Our modified version had us heading out from our digs in Cambridge, running down Mass Ave across the Charles. From there we'd hop on Comm Ave, before taking a marathon right onto Hereford, then a left, and the last corner of the marathon, onto Boylston. After crossing the finish line by the BPL, we headed left on Dartmouth, but made a quick right to jog a few blocks of Newbury Street to the Public Garden and Common.

From the Garden, we planned to head by the State House...and we did, but only after stopping to meet a SOLID blue mass of Danish love named Maximus. The Golden he was with was in for it, I'm sure...

After the State House, we hit a few main and side roads through Boston and into the North End, where, though my teeth were chatting, and fingers numb, I couldn't help but think of canolis and cappuccinos. Jared and I traded comments on this and that Italian joint, and tried to think of points of interest along the narrow streets. Before long, we found ourselves back by the Garden, then the Museum of Science (I marvel anew that I still haven't managed to get there for the Harry Potter exhibit).

As we headed back home along Cambridge street, we both began to realize just how tired--and cold (thank you, fleece)--we both were. With a few miles to go, we (or at least I) had begun fantasizing about the coffee at the end of the (frigid wind) tunnel.

In the end, of course, we made it, as we always do. It's funny how much you see of the city when you think to look deeper at it. While Jared and I logged our miles, we both took another look at what's become our city.

It's hard not to take for granted the marvels that we see everyday--the ancient brick, the crumbling graveyards of America's founders, the 16th-century pasture. So, too, do we sometimes take for granted our lives and our loved ones, how great we have it.

If I learned anything from yesterday's run, and I think that I did, it's to take a second look at those wonderful, wonderful things, places, and people around you. Be thankful for your job, even when you have a bad day. Be happy for your car, when you get stuck in traffic. Be grateful for a home and someone (not just someone, but the right someone) to love you while eating soup and waiting for your sweatpants to get out of the dryer. Take a look at the things that are always around you, and just plain marvel.

River Travels with B

2010-01-16T16:37:00.005-05:00

Last night I was happy to log a few miles along the Charles with this year's favorite marathoner, the always charming and lovely B.

I've been trying to keep myself in the running habit, despite passing on this year's Boston Marathon with the DFMC crew. Though I'm not running with Dana-Farber this year, it's important to me (and to my beloved) to remain involved with this wonderful charity. It was to that end that we found ourselves standing outside for a few hours last weekend, bundled to the nines, pouring water and gatorade and trying to keep it from freezing before the runners got there. Let me tell you, though, that standing outside for a few measly hours in freezing temperatures is nothing compared to what the runners themselves are doing--both running a marathon, and raising necessary funds for cancer research and care. It's not easy, but they are doing it. And trust me--I know!

The course was an out-and-back, as usual, so Jared and I were lucky enough to see familiar and friendly faces twice. On the way back, B mentioned she was looking for some company for a 4-5 mile recovery run on Friday night--and I was only to happy to oblige.

Since I was hoping to log some longer miles this weekend, I decided to just tweak my running plan a bit--so I ran a mile and a half to meet B at the Mass Ave bridge first. Then the two of us enjoyed 5 chatty miles along the river and its bridges, filled with talk of running, training, weddings, dogs, and crockpot cookin'. It was lovely:)

After, I headed back toward the gym near the Longfellow, looping past it to the Museum of Science and back, logging a relatively comfortable 8.34 miles. I admit my course was a bit...er...shambling...but it was a well-enjoyed one, filled with good thoughts, good company, and later, followed by good Mexican food with my better half.

Next up--a review of what might have been the greatest trail "race" I've ever been to...the Fast Ass 50(k).

Treadmill Travels

2009-12-20T20:07:00.005-05:00

The last week and a half have been filled with those runs indicative of cold weather--the ones that travel miles and miles, while actually traveling nowhere at all. I've spent these days running exclusively on what I'd previously referred to as the "dreadmill," but now I see more in the light of a benevolent and understanding compadre, a partner in arms, a willing companion to the hijinx of my running effervescence.

Well, maybe not effervescence, exactly...I fully admit to having been a bit lackluster in my running efforts lately, as the seasonal hubbub wears on, and contract work, the care of Copley, and the kickoff of RunBoston have eroded the small amounts of free time I've typically carved out for running into a thin sliver of a nub--leaving me no option but to squeeze in runs in the early morning hours before work, something I've never been great at actually achieving, despite my pre-slumber plans.

This weekend, however, I not only managed to get a long run in, I enjoyed an entire day free of guilty feelings, and of work. I slept in, lazed over coffee and cheerios, and knocked out a comfortable 8.5 miles at the gym (thank you iPod, for allowing me to resist the temptation to throw myself over the small balcony onto the free weights below), topped off with a few planks and pushups for dessert. I shambled sweatily through a packed Whole Foods, lingered over pasta, cleaned the apartment, and played with Copley, all before even contemplating a shower to rid myself of the workout stink. When my beloved arrived home from an Adventure Club ski trip, I regaled him with the joy of my slow-paced day, one he agreed was much needed.

Today, on his birthday (32, you handsome stud!), we enjoyed all the perks of being cozily snowed in together. We shared a leisurely breakfast of Christmas bagels, fresh grapefruit, and lattés, cuddled on the couch over a morning showing of Turner and Hooch, and meandered our way to the liquor store in boots, to pick up the necessary ingredients for Tom & Jerry's. And though we spent several hours on our laptops to finish up the last of our weekend work, we'll be able to leave for North Dakota on Wednesday, with clear consciences and empty inboxes.

And with nearly two weeks of blogging checked off my list, I'm on to the next to-do--cuddling up with a book on the couch.

Got Rice?

2009-12-06T14:27:00.004-05:00

Another week, a few more miles, and too much in the way of eventful things.

Tuesday my beloved and I hauled our sorry selves to the gym, where we logged a couple easy miles on some brand-spankin' new treadmills at the CAC--one of many fabulous renovations/upgrades done recently. And I don't mean just new treadmills--I mean new treadmills that can calculate pace per mile, mile per hour, calories burned, and whip up a mean latté, all while also calculating the square root of pi and the fastest route to world peace.

There was a decided lack of miles for the entire rest of the week while both us ran back and forth from the vet's office (Jared even more so than I) with one very sick Great Dane. A stomach bug laid our normally rambunctious Copley low for a few days, and was followed immediately by the return of what we'd thought was a cured UTI. By Saturday, though, after two days of eating nothing but Pepcid AC, rice, and chicken, she was back to her vivacious self. After another trip to the vet, some last Christmas shopping, and several hours of RunBoston-related tasks, we were too zonked to even considering heading into the icy rain for any miles, let along long ones.

By Sunday, we were rested up and ready to rock. And rock we did, with 5.3 miles back to the CAC for a quick lift, then another almost 4 miles home. The icing of the cake was, as always, a hot steaming dark roast for me, and a latté for my better half.

Now for cookies and Tom & Jerry's...

Oh-Hi-OH!

2009-11-30T20:34:00.004-05:00

Last week my beloved and I traveled hither and thither, afar and yon. That's right, we drove. To Ohio. With the dog. In a Toyota Yaris.

While many a stalwart soul will quiver and quail at the thought of a 12-hour drive, I am here to say...it was kind of nice. Twelve hours of chatting, laughing, and teasing with my beloved. Twelve hours of cooing over how well-behaved Copley was in the backseat of the car, marveling over the fact that she not only fit, she fit quite comfortably.

We spent the next 2.5 days in Marietta, Ohio, where we visited with family--Jared's parents, grandparents, brother, aunts and uncles. We ate, shopped, visited, ate, slept, went to a movie, ate, visited, and...yup, ate. It was a wonderful, wonderful trip, and a great chance for me to get to know the future in-laws that much better. (They're good people, so easy to like!)

Saturday night saw us back in Cambridge, after another 12 hours in the car, most of which Copley spent dozing, with her head in my tote bag. After the days of eating too much with family, sitting inactive in the car, and countless stops for Starbucks...well, let's just say we were looking forward to Sunday's run.

Happily enough, the miles were easy and quick, and the weather divine--the sun shone and glittered on the river as we circled around from the Longfellow to the Harvard bridge. We took breaks when we wanted them, ran relaxed miles along the paths, and before we knew it, we were back at the gym for a quick lift before heading home. An excellent end to a lovely week.

For the Hill Of It

2009-11-22T19:40:00.003-05:00

Saturday my beloved and I were at last back at it--and in style. We snoozed a few times, and shamelessly changed the time the alarm was to go off, but ultimately we still found ourselves shuttling along the green line en route to the Woodland T in brisk morning air.

Taking the T out to the Woodland stop leaves you with a hell of a 9-mile run--along the familiar twists and turns of the marathon course. It's wonderful to ease through the miles, remembering past training runs and marathons, and not-so-surprisingly entertaining to window-shop the ritzy houses that line the first few miles. It's also always easier to run towards the finish line, something every out-and-back or loop course lacks for at least the first half.

Since we'd planned to hit the gym afterwards (hey, it was only another mile, and if you only work out once or twice a week, you've got to overextend to keep to the law of averages), our run took a few interesting turns, including one mistaken one. But the miles flew by, and we found ourselves marveling at how enjoyable running can be when you're just running for the sake of running.

It's not that I don't like training for a specific race--I do. But there is something exceptionally wonderful about running just because you can--because your legs and lungs are strong enough, and because you simply want to. (Though I have to say, it certainly doesn't hurt when your running companion is an intelligent, charming, and exceptionally handsome man for. And if said handsome man and you have recently watched the movie 300, it's highly entertaining to yell pithy one-liners with every mile, such as "THIS...IS...HEARTBREAK..." Check out the clip below if you aren't sure what I mean.)

300 - This Is Sparta! | SpikeTV | SPIKE.com

Of course, it wouldn't be a full blog if I didn't impart some recent, and exceptionally good news: the numbers are in for the 2009 Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team--that's right folks, together we 550+ runners raised

$4,025,688

For cancer research and care. Keep in mind, fellow runners, walkers, and human beings--the world is full of big and scary things. But together, with hard work, dedication, and enough hope to fill an ocean, we can achieve incredible, incredible things.

Happy Running this Thanksgiving!

Early November Hodgepodge

2009-11-20T16:45:00.001-05:00

What? Nearly two weeks after Seacoast and I haven't blogged yet? Sigh...

I admit it, I haven't felt that much like blogging lately. The fall is here, and with a crisp nip in the air, and an even busier than usual schedule, I've had little time to run, and even less to blog...

Still, Seacoast IS an annual event, and one I'd like to talk about at least a little. We were lucky as ever, and were met with a beautiful sunny day. As we ran our way through the first two miles, I commented to Jared how it was, strangely, the first time I hadn't been nervous for a half marathon.

Well, unfortunately, my lack of nervousness was a bad sign--it turned out it was one of those days where my brain had decided to interfere with my legs. I was tired. I was sore. I wanted a break. I wanted a drink. I was just plain grumpy. The beautiful day and the always wonderful company of my beloved kept me in relatively decent spirits, though, and we finished in an entirely respectable, if not quite blistering, shade over 2 hours, right around the same as last year.

I will, say, though, the post-race meal (clam chowder and cheese pizza) and the schwag (another nice wick-away and a bottle of jam) made the miles worthwhile.

This past week family visits and our own crazy schedules kept us from getting much in either...though we managed to squeeze in a short (4ish) birthday run on Sunday, and another 4 miles or so on Wednesday. Tonight we'll hit the gym for a quick lift, and then tomorrow we'll hit the road--and get back it, with a run along the last 9 of the Boston Marathon course. It's a long and chilly T ride out to Woodland stop, but the memory-filled streets (and hills!) leading back into Boston are worth it and more.

And did I mention there's a Starbucks near the finish line?

Saturday's 1/2

2009-11-02T21:06:00.003-05:00

At long last, with my beloved back in town, we were ready to head out for the last long run before Seacoast next weekend. Since we wanted to take another gander at some of the new proposed routes for RunBoston, we decided to map a meandering route through Cambridge, along the Charles, through Charlestown past Bunker Hill and the USS Constitution, back over the river (we do love that dirty water), past the Common, down Newbury and Boyleston, and then at last back past the Common and to the T.

Our original route included one last leg to Fenway, but a cranky Abby managed to whine her way out of that last mile. Overall, a good training run, and one that happily ended with Starbucks in Davis Square for the walk home.

Jared whipped up some breakfast while I changed into dry clothes--then it was a shower for him, and a car for me as I headed off for my second (and much shorter) run of the morning.

By 9:45, I was comfortably ensconced in an empty classroom with 7 FitGirls, B, and an expectant (literally) coach, Patty.

The miles flew by, as I was lucky to be passing miles with three charming, talkative, and energetic 5th-6th graders--Pamela, AnnaMaria, and Julia. The three of them kept me engaged and impressed, as they walked less than 3/4 mile of the 5K. They kept each other moving and motivated, and I was impressed to hear them openly discuss the importance of "running not winning" the race that morning. They reminded me of the openness that kids embrace the world with--one of the things that we often lose as we get older.

Tomorrow it's off to the Seacoast half marathon for us--and I am hoping we can channel some of that child-like joy, and enjoy the miles, and this late fall warm spell.

Solitary Runner

2009-10-25T10:46:00.002-04:00

This weekend was one "for the ladies." With Jared out of town on a 5-day backpacking trip, the house was done to just me and Copley, our Danish lady. Copley's needs are relatively simple: food, water, exercise, and some attention/affection.

Mine are just as simple, but without the presence of my beloved, some changes had to be made for the long weekend. First, food--I shopped, and actually cooked for myself for 5 days. (That said, keeping in mind, when cooking for one, there's always leftovers.) Second, water--easy enough, and it turns out that you can actually make a Tom&Jerry for one. It's just a little difficult to whip that small an amount of egg.

Three, exercise--and here's where we get to the blogging points. Wednesday I played hoops with my fellow Bayside Tigers (Zack Morris, eat your heart out). Unfortunately we lost to a decent team--one that wasn't 50 points better than us decent, but hey, that's how the cards fall sometimes, when the shots don't.

Thursday, I tucked a tired Copley into her crate and headed out for a quick 4 miles or so up and down Mass Ave, before heading out for groceries.

Saturday, at long last, I was willing and ready to head out for a long run, despite the weatherman's threat of rain. Luckily B and Noah were willing to join me for the first half of the run, and the conversation made the miles fly by. I was happy to spy George along the water's edge, and surprised, having thought he'd have long gone south to warmer climes.

The second 4-mile lap brought me running solo, with B and Noah heading back to Charlestown, and a sudden fulfillment of the weatherman's promise. The rain opened up at the onset of Mile 5, and continued unabated for the duration of my run along the river. By the end of the 8th mile, I was soaked through, with water running off my cheekbones, and along my neck and collarbones.

I wish, of course, that my beloved had been there with me for those rainy miles. There is something elemental about running in the rain, something that makes the miles seem like something more. I truly enjoyed this run, too--the rain was soft, but heavy, and warm, despite it being October.

But at long last, Jared will be back this afternoon, and I'll have my favorite running buddy back. I'll tell him about running this weekend without him, about cooking, taking Copley to the park in the rain, making a single Tom&Jerry, shopping for work things, and trying on my wedding dress.

It's odd--for years, 90% of my life, in fact, I was certain I was a somewhat solitary creature by nature. But it turns out (happily, I might add) that everything, running included, is better with a loved one. My mother describes it as "when sorrows are halved, and joys are doubled." Jared is this for me, and I know my runs of this weekend will have been all the better when I can share their details with him.

Runs, and Runs, and Runs

2009-10-18T15:44:00.016-04:00

Well, last week's 10-miler turned it into an 8.6-miler, due to an unfortunate (or fortunate?) miscalculation of the turnaround point of the Loch Ness Loop. Poor Lochie, turns out we docked part of the poor beast's tail--at least I hope it was his tail...though I suspect that end of the run is actually the head of the monster...

The first few days of the week were a hodgepodge of good intentions, and one cancelled hoops game for me. By Thursday, I was jonesing for a run, as was my beloved, and we clocked a quick 4 miles or so. Friday, we planned to run the 4 miles or so to the gym to play some hoops, but a long workday and the promise of delicious dinner out cut us short, at about 2 miles--though with Copley along for the ride, and a quick stop at Marathon Sports to stock up on Gu, the miles were good ones. (Note: The delicious dinner after took place at Bertucci's--a seafood medley/pasta for me, Chicken Saltimboca for JRizzle. Later we saw Where the Wild Things Are, and enjoyed a shared dessert of Swedish Fish and Milk Duds. Ah, bliss...)

Saturday was a day of rest, or at least a day of errands. By the time I'd picked up Jared from his pre-backpacking trip meeting downtown, we were both ravenous, but set on finishing up our errands. When we finally headed home, complete with a new set of hiking boots and a raincoat for my beloved, we were pooped. Even the dog was exhausted, as after leaving the dog park, she groaned and galumphed in a token manner, before finally burrowing down onto the cushiony pile of backpacking supplied in the back.

Sunday broke, and with it...the heavens opened. We crawled out of a warm bed only to find that our outdoor long run was going to be a no-go. Still, not to be thwarted, we bundled up and headed for the CAC, where we dutifully got into side-by-side treadmills and started banging out miles.

Within a few, we'd realized the "Random" setting would better be named as "Cruel and So Senselessly Hilly That a Flat, Rainy Run Would Be a Blessing." By 4 or 5 miles, though, I'd settled into my stride enough to start suggesting to my better half that we continue on for the whole of the 11 miles (our original plan had been to run the maximum time on the treadmill, 6 or so miles, then switch to an elliptical so we could do the reading for our Tuesday marriage course). Jared did not seem keen.

But by the sixth mile, he too, was enjoying the effort of our newfound tough setting, and was amenable to getting in the miles in the best possible training manner--after all, you have to run to run. (Deep. I know.)

The last mile was hard, harder than either of us liked, as last week's shortened long run caught up with us. When we finished, however, I turned to my beloved, and feeling great (if tired and sore), knew that we had made the right choice and at last gotten in a solid training run. He felt the same, and after a long stretch, it was toward coffee, home, and some leftover broccoli-cheese soup for the both of us.

Next week we taper--Jared is off for five days of cold wilderness hiking next weekend, where he'll be getting plenty of exercise (20 miles with a heavy pack), meaning it'll be just Copley and I on the home front. Then it's one more long run with my beloved, and it's on us--the Seacoast half. Wish us luck:)

Why Is That Bear on a Chain?

2009-10-11T09:03:00.002-04:00

It's been two weeks since I last blogged--but never fear, unlike the lazy summer months, I HAVE actually been hauling my sorry carcass out for some miles. Last week saw a few short runs during the week, and a surprisingly less than deadly dull 9 on the elliptical, as I rested my sore right foot.

This week, in honor the rest/discretion plan (and to avoid another long "run" on the elliptical) I didn't log too many miles--about 5.5 to be exact (though to be fair, as soon as Jared wakes up, we'll be heading out for the long one today). The first one was a short 1.5, and since we weren't going far, Jared manage to finagle me into bringing along Copley.

The highlight of this little dash was when we passed a group of tweens near the T-stop, only to hear one of them question another, "Why is that bear on a chain?" I mean really, Copley may be large, but anyone can see she's a delicate flower.

But that got me thinking about the odd or interesting things I've seen or heard on a run...

"Nice weather we're having." Me, to a fellow runner, while running along the coast in a sleet storm.
"Cam is a pothead." In the bathroom stall of a the movie theater in Arlington.
"I thought we were the only ones out here!" Two runners waving hello to us on Jared's 31st birthday, when I made him run 9 miles in a blizzard.
George, the blue heron we've seen several times along the Charles River.
"Look at the Gingerbread man!" Jared or I, to the other, at last year's Somerville Turkey Trot.
A man crapping behind a tree in the first five miles of the Boston Marathon.

Anything can happen, I guess. I'm sure that any number of odd things will pop up, too, as Jared and I kick off RunBoston, but that's part of what makes it interesting.

But now I hear my slumbering beloved stirring, and that means its time to get dressed and ready for some miles--10 to be exact, 10 miles we'll be logging on the Loch Ness Loop before heading off to the Garden for a Celtics game, then back home for chilli and football. A great day in the making...

Oops--An Inadvertent Speedfest

2009-09-27T14:00:00.013-04:00

Some days it just works. Some days I head out for a run, in this case, with my beloved, and the rhythm is found--feet pound the pavement in sync, and air comes to the lungs smoothly and easily.

Saturday morning, we slept in a bit, then headed out for an 8-mile jaunt. We hadn't planned a route terribly far in advance, instead deciding that morning to simply head for the Minuteman Trail, and continue along it until we'd hit four miles, easy to check when running with a handy, dandy Garmin.

Have I mentioned how much I love the Garmin? Granted, when I find out a run is slower, shorter, and all around poorer than I'd thought, I hate the Garmin. But days like Saturday, those harsh feelings melt away and something warm and fuzzy takes its place.

We ran along quickly and easily, chatting here and there, but mostly just running. There were enough people on the trail to make it interesting, but not enough to make it crowded. The sun broke through the trees in a smattering of sunlight, periodically breaking up the gorgeous cool shade. We were also pleasantly surprised to run through a street carnival in Arlington Center.

The miles slid by, faster and faster with each one. Soon we found ourselves gasping, panting, and at home--quicker than we'd expected. Our breakdown ended up as:

Mile 1: 8:38
Mile 2: 8:54
Mile 3: 8:40
Mile 4: 8:45
Mile 5: 8:19
Mile 6: 8:13
Mile 7: 8:11
Mile 8: 7:43

We'd averaged an 8:25/mile pace--Yikes!

Needless to say, I am tickled that we managed to wrap up a training run at such a great clip, and am hoping that we'll sneak by with PR at Seacoast. But at the same time, Jared and I are in agreement that sometimes booking it along like that takes the fun out of it. Because we were saving our breath for speed, we weren't able to have much of a conversation, which for us, is really part of what makes running together so enjoyable--as it is for most people who run with friends or loved ones.

So, what I think we'll do is what we've always done--just run, and not worry about how fast or hard we're going. We'll run, and enjoy each other, and the strength of our bodies.

And if we end up accidentally faster, as seems to have happened so far, well, I guess I won't mind TOO much.

EXTREME(ly sore and increasingly aging) ATHLETES

2009-09-26T17:10:00.003-04:00

Let's just say that the two-a-day plan has been taken out of rotation.

Abby: 2 cranking miles on the treadmill around 6:00 a.m.
Jared: 2.5 miles with his school's running club around 3:30 p.m.

Together: 2 miles through the Fells with Copley at around 6:00 p.m.

A whole ball of achy old folks later...

Survival of the fittest, bitches

2009-09-20T21:40:00.001-04:00

Success!

The Hunter and the Prey

2009-09-20T16:46:00.002-04:00

Runners around the world identify with the gazelle, the cheetah, and so on. Though our two weekly runs at the Fells were short and sweet, Saturday's longer run of 6.5-7 miles had us both at last feeling back in the saddle in terms of running.

The first mile left me bumbling around with the Garmin, which had somehow opted to add the day's mileage onto the most recent run. We got it reset, of course, but I wasn't able to figure out the pace for our first mile. I can, however, share our pace for the rest:

9:03
9:10
8:58
8:33
7:59
8:15

I like to think of that second-to-last mile as our tired cheetah pace. We then played a couple of less-than-predatory basketball games at the gym, before shamelessly hopping the train home...

Later that night, we found our hunter instincts put to the test though, as we both spotted a tiny gray mouse skittering across the stove...that's right, VERMIN, bold as brass, skirting merrily along our countertops as though it hadn't a care in the world.

After my midnight trip to the 24-hour grocery store to pick up two mousetraps (the spring-loaded kind--we don't mess around with slow-acting poisons or "humane" methods), and some minor efforts (including the application of a bit of peanut butter , stuffing the baseboard hole with steel wool, and Jared wielding an aerosol can of Mr. Clean Scrubbing Bubbles against the likely plague-infested critter hiding in the bathroom vent), we went to sleep secure in the knowledge that our superiority over the wee rats would yield results by morning. After all, even if the Mr. Clean didn't overwhelm the mouse's tiny nervous system, surely the lure of the peanut butter would prove too much.

And it did. This morning, we awoke to find two mousetraps still set to spring, sans the peanut butter--and no dead mouse. We re-loaded the traps, putting smaller amounts of peanut butter on, thinking the mouse would have to work harder to get it, thereby springing the trap. And work harder he did...when we arrived home this afternoon after picking some apples, we found both traps again licked clean of peanut butter--and still loaded to spring.

You can imagine my frustration. What began as a minor skirmish over household cleanliness and the crumbs surrounding the stove innards has taken on a new light--one of all-out war. I'm not sure what this has to with running, to be honest--really very little, I suppose. But I am pissed off at that little creature, and his effrontery in boldly sauntering along so visibly. So I am on the hunt, this time in a completely non-runnerly way.

I don't want to chase for the thrill of it, or anything else so highbrow--I don't want to be the cheetah sprinting across a savanna after a loping gazelle, in the timeless chase of nature's creatures and their need to eat. I want to be the tank, razing down a cricket with a fireball.

That mouse's days are numbered.

The Best of Both Worlds

2009-09-16T19:46:00.005-04:00

There is something in us that can't help but yearn for the familiar. I'm a happy woman--lucky in pet, lodging, and career--and most of all in love. Despite all of that, however, there are times that I just plain yearn for the home of my youth, with its open plains and empty streets, its unique cuisines and good souls. Every time I go back to North Dakota its tough to return to Boston. Both, however, make me appreciate the other.

I love that I was able to go for a Saturday morning run with my beloved, down empty streets. The roads were so empty that we were able to run on the ramp connecting to the interstate for more than a quarter mile. I loved that we were the only runners out, that we were such a novel site we earned no less than three nods--a honk, a whistle, and a yell of encouragement from a cheery construction worker.

But I love that in Boston I can run the full year round, even if clad in tights. (The -20+ January of ND prevents running even as a consideration.) I love that there are nearly always other runners out there--that the few of us still outside in the winter can salute another stalwart soul with a nod or a frosty-fingered wave. I love that I've come to recognize faces at road races, and that I will always meet someone new in the miles of a long race. I love the sheer number of race options--and let's face it, I love the schwag. (Where else can you get a medal for a Jingle Bell 5K?)

Jared once mentioned the term "dichotomous self" to me--meaning that there are always different pieces within one, I guess. Maybe it is the same with our concept of "home"--the place where I grew up, have countless youthful memories, and where my family is will always be my home--and yet it isn't, not quite. Home is a warm, cozy apartment with a too-large dog slobbering her excess drinking water on the leg of my jeans, where there is always a tree-lined hilly path to run, where I met my beloved...and yet it isn't home, quite.

It is hard for me to go back to the home of my youth, and harder still to leave. Though I know my life is undoubtedly here in New England, there are days, weeks, where the pangs of being so far from family become a tangible, painful thing. Unfortunately there is no easy fix--no clear solution to have my cake and eat it, too. I do the best I can, as we all do when loved ones are far away--and split my time as work, life, and finances allow. I play Scrabble in North Dakota, and have game nights with coworkers in Boston. I have steaks from the grill with my parents there, and fresh salmon here.

And I know, deep down, that I can count myself as lucky for being blessed with two homes--the home of my youth and of my past, with its golden fields, marathon Scrabble games, family slapping the table during card games, and homemade Tom&Jerry's at the holidays, and the home of my present and future, with Jared to cuddle on the couch and to laugh with, trails made for running, a dog to walk, and a wedding to plan.... and again, homemade Tom&Jerry's. (One shouldn't forget one's roots after all.)

On Seacoast and New Kicks

2009-09-07T11:40:00.000-04:00

Today I worked out a training program for my beloved and I for the annual November race--the Seacoast 1/2 marathon in Portsmouth, NH. Seacoast 2006, the inaugural year for the event, was my first long-distance race. It was my first half marathon, and the beginning of what's starting to look like what could be a lifelong love affair--albeit an abusive one. Seacoast 2007 was a bummer--after signing up I had to sit out, but not on, my sore can. 2008 brought the chance to sweet-talk my better half into a 13.1-mile distance--and so it was also the course where Jared ran his first 1/2 marathon.

Saturday was our first chance to run together in well over a month. Jared had taken a break for a few weeks to recover from his tri, and I...well, I was simply enjoying summer, lazing about, and banging out a cursory few miles hither and thither.

Our 4-mile jaunt around the river flew by, with both of us happy to be running together again. Afterward, we ran a plethora of terribly exciting errands (The mall! Cheese! Haymarket! Movie Rentals! The dog park!), before swinging by Marathon Sports, where wonder upon wonders, there was a sidewalk sale. I may have gotten an older model, but all the same, I managed to walk away with a new pair of running kicks (Brooks, I'm branching out this year) for only $40.

All in all, a lovely day with my lovely man. Next weekend we're off to North Dakota for a friend's wedding. We'll be knocking out a few miles there, on flat and easy terrain.

The Tao of Poo

2009-09-04T17:55:00.004-04:00

According to the all-knowledgeable folks at runnersworld.com,

The jostling motion of running sometimes irritates the intestines. And when blood flow that's needed for digestion is diverted to the legs, stomach cramping can result....Caffeine can speed the movement of wastes through your system, and artificial sweeteners (such as mannitol and sorbitol), which are often found in energy bars, can cause GI distress.

I don't know that I necessarily suffer from "GI Distress," per se. I prefer to think of myself as an efficient waste-management machine. Others marvel at my seeming inability to get through the shortest runs without a desperate dash for the nearest toilet. When we first began seeing each other, during the '07 marathon season, Jared started off with a concerted effort to "fatten" me up. He was amazed at how much I could consume, yet with no additional weight coming with it (Ok, outside of a couple post-marathon pounds--but literally, only a couple). Now, after cohabiting for a year, I think he's come 'round to my way of thinking--

Runners aren't thinner because they run a lot. They're thin because they crap at least three times a day, and are thereby unable to hold onto even half of the thousands of calories consumed on a daily basis.

It sounds, unfortunately, as though not every runner is so (ahem) blessed as to be an efficient waste-management machine. I've managed to train my system pretty well when it comes to long runs. As Dr. Bjorkman, our illustrious pal at RW says, "You can get your system to operate like clockwork, so that you can reliably go before a run."

Well, a well-operated system it is. For the most part, I'm gravy on a long run. It's the short or weekday runs that I haven't truly planned for that get me jonesing for a john.

Last week I enjoyed a quick 3 miles around the river. Last night I met with B for a nice 6 miles through the city (5 with B), though we took a break around 2...silly system.

After reviewing a humorous set of photos from Jared's recent trip to a scenic park with Copley, I got to thinking--how great would it be (theoretically) if we could just go wherever we wanted? How terrible (in actuality) would it be if we could both hear and heed the call of nature on the spot?

One of running's great questions, I suppose. I'll probably ponder it over the next few runs, possibly, though hopefully not, while taking a...

brief respite.

Growing Pains

2009-08-28T08:24:00.014-04:00

There are any number of ways that we grow--mentally, emotionally, and physically. I could blather on about an assortment of moments where I realized I've grown in one way or another, and provide a few anecdotes, some funny, some mind-numbingly dull. I could mention my 6th-grade perm, my navy blue glasses, my crooked teeth, ugly sweaters, and black acid-washed jeans (unfortunately in the picture I'm thinking of the fly is down), and the assorted eyecare, orthodontia, de-frizzing agents and zippers it took to recover from those days.

But what I really want to talk about is 85 lbs of gorgeousness--Copley. While her weight doesn't seem to have gone up much lately, something has changed. The once soft-eyed puppy face has lengthened, the snout becoming proud and elegant where once the loose jowls of a puppy hung over erupting adult teeth. The dainty legs have lengthened, and the hindquarters taken on a lean strength typically seen in the hindquarters of yearling or filly. The chest, round at 7 weeks, has deepened dramatically, tapering into the dainty, delicate hind end so indicative of the Great Dane.

She is quite simply, no longer our dainty flower, but a young, and beautiful example of her breed.

That's not to say that she isn't still really our dainty flower--she still buries her head in my nearby leg, still sleeps 18 hours a day, still tries to lean into me in the morning while she's bleary-eyed and shaking off sleep. She still huddles next to me when it starts to rain at the park, still runs to hide behind or next to me when she's scared or nervous.

We all have growing pains. We all grow up and outward, but are still comforted by the familiar--the foods our parents made us when we were sick, the comfortable sweatpants we curl into on a cold, rainy day, the movie that reminds us of when we were kids, and witches and warlocks were both terrifying and impossibly wonderful at the same time.

For me, the growing "pains" show up as seasonal ones, at least when it comes to running. I've always tended to slack off on my running in the summer months, preferring to sleep in, and ignore the hot, muggy days. My running totals for the summer, somewhat embarrassingly low amounts of mileage, are obvious indicators of that.

Towards the end of the summer, though, I start to get the "itch." The creeping, crawling itch that winds its way into my brain, reminding me that fall is a good time for racing...a good time for training...simply a good time for running. With that, I suddenly begin to feel sluggish, and to recognize that tangible need to get out and hit the road.

The itch is back. It's been back a week or two, and I've been trying to ignore it a bit, but suddenly, I just want to run more. With that increase, and yearn to run, however, I feel those growing (i.e., aging) pains anew, as though they are more than what they've always been--an old friend returned after a lengthy vacation in warmer climes.

Friday's early morning 4 miles left me with an aching foot and a sore knee, a sure sign that its not only time to get back to running, but maybe also time to get a new pair of kicks. But oh, it felt so good anyway. The road was there to meet me, as it always is, and my aches and twitches settled into the well-worn grooves of their usual seats. I meandered my way through the assorted squares and to the Charles, then turned and logged a quick mile to the gym as the sun rose over the city.

And at last, it felt like time to run again, growing or any other pain aside.

A 3.75-Mile Trek to...?

2009-08-28T08:24:00.004-04:00

I've mentioned my problems with new routes before--and needless to say, most of those close to me know that I couldn't find my way out of a one-way straight on a cloudless day.

It all begin with what seemed like a good plan, as so many ultimately terrible ideas do. My beloved and I would head out to the Blue Hills, to one of my favored running routes, the 4+ mile Ponkapoag. Though Jared isn't running for another couple weeks while he rests and heals up from his recent triathlon, he would come along, with the dog, and the two of them would hike an alternate trail while I ran.

We split ways at the parking lot, in a haze of early mugginess--Jared heading out of the parking lot to the right for a "blue" trail, me heading out to left, toward the "closed" bridge that bridged the gap over the interstate to my much run trail.

Lugging my suddenly 12-pound Nalgene of water, I bolted off toward the bridge, switching my load from hand to hand, while using the other to mop away the heat-induced rivulets of sweat snaking down my facial angles. I hopped the concrete pile-on the construction fools had placed, jogging sedately past the "No pedestrians" sign that had been erected. At the second fence, however, the place where I had squeezed myself through only a couple weeks earlier, I met with a sinister surprise. Where earlier there had been construction equipment and tools laying scattered on the paved bridge under construction was...well, not exactly a bridge, but perhaps a bridge in the making--support beams crisscrossing and obvious work under way, though abandoned for the weekend. A pair of skinny two-by-fours snaked from my end of the bridge to the other, providing the only route across to Ponkapoag.

Though I considered tight-roping my way across for a millisecond, in the end, practicality won it. After all, I could run back the lot, figure out where this blue trail was, and catch up to my beloved and dog. Maybe not a lot of miles, but at least some company, right? Wrong. After making my sweat-soaked way back to the parking lot while juggling my 15-lb. Nalgene, I decided to ditch the water under the car. I tripped (literally, not figuratively--the trail was boulder-strewn and horrendously steep, so running was out) a tenth of a mile or so up a trail labeled as blue, before realizing that I was about to find myself in the middle of the woods, lost, and nowhere that Jared would have a clue to come looking for me. I was, quite simply, asking to be eaten by wild ferrets.

Did I mention this happened after a ran a quarter mile down the wrong "blue trail"? Twice? I next spotted a sweet little roadside trail, and thinking I could follow it out and back for a few miles, I attacked it with renewed vigor. When the trail ended less than a half mile later, I trudged back to the parking lot yet again, where I met with my frenemy, the repeat-offender park map.

Hot, sticky, and increasingly grumpy, I ultimately decided to just run the one-mile loop around Houghton's Pond, where we were parked.

This run by the numbers is wholly depressing:
Miles run whilst knowing where I was going: 1.75 (the pond, and the run to the non-existant bridge)
Miles run (or walked, trudged, etc, but overall generally lamented): 2
Pace: somewhere north 10:00/minute miles

Here's a map of my route, should any of you brave souls feel up to repeating it:

3x the Carrion

2009-08-18T20:06:00.002-04:00

I've decided recently to just blog about whatever the hell I feel like. To give up the ghost, and at least sometimes admit that running isn't always a metaphor for life (though most of the time, it is--not my fault, sorry folks). To sometimes just ramble.

I could blog about last week's sweaty 3 miles around the Charles in what seemed like excruciating morning heat. I could blog about yesterday's 3 miles around the Charles in what actually was excruciating morning heat (I think today topped out at 95 degrees). I could even throw in a pithy blog about actually hauling myself out of bed to lift with my beloved this morning.

Or, I could talk about vultures. Let me start with a couple of comments on vultures:

The turkey vulture has a V-shaped wingspan and a white head. Unlike eagles, vultures tend to glide for longer periods of time.

When they fly around in a cluster, it's called a kettle. If there's a whole colony of vultures, that's called a vulture venue.

-Henry Harnish

There's a lot of interesting information available on these flesh-eating creatures of carrion--they are scavenging birds found on every continent outside of Antarctica and Oceania.

Though they typically eat the already dead, they're known to pick off the wounded, injured, or starving creatures for a meal.

According to Wikipedia, "[Vultures] gorge themselves when prey is abundant, till their crop bulges, and sit, sleepy or half torpid, to digest their food." To that end, vultures have been found in droves in battlefields.

Though many are unaware of it, vultures also possess a dangerously strategic mind. Indeed, they are some of nature's most brilliant tacticians, and are known for mental machinations, such as the most famous maneuver, in which the vulture or vultures appear to have consumed all the carrion they need and fly away, leaving only a wounded animal. What the poor creature does not know, though, is that the vulture is only biding its time. This strategy is meant to lure the wounded creature's herd out into the open, thereby providing a larger feast for the deadly scavenger. This is only one of several tricks up the vulture's sleeve.

It's enough to make a runner start speedwork.

Run (and Bike and Swim?! You've got to be crazy!)

2009-08-12T20:13:00.002-04:00

For me this week, nothing but a hot and muggy three miles around the river.

For my beloved, however, nothing more than a 5+ mile run...one that followed a .6 mile swim and a 10-mile bike. To read my awesome stud's recap, click here.

To see the photos of the event, click here.

Great job!

Miles by the Hour

2009-08-12T19:23:00.010-04:00

Sometimes it's good to get away. From it all--from our work lives, our financial and economic woes, our personal responsibilities--and from our fixation on the minutes it takes us to run our daily miles.

Last week Jared and I headed to Katahdin. I won't give you the details (you can get them on his recap), but the short and dirty of it is that we had to abort, to turn around and head back the way we'd come. Those of us that run know there's nothing worse than having to change your plans mid-way through. This blog, however, isn't about that--it's about not running. It's about changing your plans, re-mapping your course, and stopping to smell the greenery around you.

It took us about two hours to hike up Pamola Peak. Along the way we crashed the aptly named roaring brook, and spotted tiny red flowers popping out of the deep green of their plant base like miniature brilliant rubies. We reminisced about last year's hike, where we spotted a young moose less than than 25 feet from the path we were treading. We inhaled the clean, damp smell of earth and rain. We hopped over fallen trees, and clambered over boulders large and small, pointing out the perfectly shaped stepping stones we happened upon. We took beef jerky and water breaks.

At the top, or at least, very near the top (though granted we couldn't see it through the heavy mist), we ran into a driving rain with a sleety edge. The wind and frigid rain necessitated an about face, and a hurried scramble back to the shelter of tree line.

Drenched, but still in good spirits, we began the 2-hour trek back down the mountain. Along the way, we chatted and joked and laughed. We paused for a change into dry clothes, admired the view when we spotted it through the trees and mist. We used our hands and arms to gently ease ourselves down over bigger boulders and continued our hopping path down the trail. We laughed at each other tripping, and when I managed to get back at one of the rocks with a well-placed knee-ing. We rinsed our mud-soaked shoes in Roaring Brook, and admired the small teal-colored whirlpool near the opposite bank.

When my beloved and I got back to the car for our long drive home, we were sweaty and damp from rain, bedraggled and dirty, but in good spirits.

There is something about being out in nature, something that is primal but also soothing, something that just feels right somehow. I wonder sometimes if this is the reason that I favor running in the woods, too--this sense of quiet solitude but of fitting in at the same time. Is it something in our genetic makeup? Some kind of evolutionary survival skill that, even as we live and exist in our metal cities, causes us to lean and yearn for the great outdoors?

I'm not sure, to be honest. So I'll keep hiking Katahdin with my beloved, and I'll keep running my favorite paths in the Fells and Blue Hills. Maybe someday I'll find an answer--but if not, I'll have a lifetime of beautiful days to remember.

Nature's Eightfold Spendour

2009-08-03T19:45:00.004-04:00

Why is it everything seems more legitimate when spelled using the British variation? Ye Olde Taverne, Towne Hall...Nature's Spendour?

Well, all etymology talk aside, yesterday the Ponkapoag nature was, in fact, spendourous. (My literary résumé also allows me to make up words at my every whim.)

Early on, it seemed that nature would be difficult to reach. My beloved and his coworker and soon-to-be fellow triathlete had brought their mountain bikes to hit the trails in the Blue Hills. The plan? Drop me at Ponkapoag for some solitary miles, then bike a quick 6 miles, before coming back to meet me for some leftover hoof time.

A road block across the bridge to my happy little trail proved only a temporary stymie to my nature-ed plans. After analysing the situation, I found myself jaunting over concrete pile-ons and to the side of bobcats quietly resting along the curb, as I made my way to the wooded nature awaiting.

The miles that followed were langourous and peaceful. I sped my way along trails still soft and damp with the night's rainfall, brushing heavy green leaves away where needed, leaning my way past the rain-filled hollows in low spots. I brushed away bugs with barely a handful of curses, and loped past the golf course, before heading up my ancient nemesis, that last three-turn hill, which, it turns out, is only .15 mile. Seems further than that to me, every time I run it...

With a little over half a mile to go, and my mental wooing fully established (C'mon...just a little further; no big deal after 7 and a half, just another 4-5 minutes...watch the feet, now...), I ran into Jared and Sean, who'd jogged in to meet me. A few minutes later, I ran into the threesome walking 5 or 6 dogs--for the third time. Energetic dogs, I think!

Later at home (after going halfsies with my beloved on a ham croissant and a blueberry scone), I had Jared upload the statistics of the run (see below). Not too bad. A thoroughly respective 9:38/mile caper.

But now, all efforts are done. The work day is over, and I'm lounging on the couch, watching dog shows with Copley. Nothing left to do now but shut down, relax, and wait for the working girls to come out. Copley likes those the best, being a "working dog" herself--though I don't know that chowing down a rawhide hoof counts as much work.

All in the Family

2009-07-30T21:20:00.007-04:00

Another hodge-podge set of runs....

Last week's cranky Thursday morning 3 was around the river with my better half, who luckily didn't mind taking a pit stop at a local boathouse. (Seriously, how I've ever managed the hour-long commute without stopping to take a crap boggles the mind, as I certainly can't seem to make it through a run.)

DOWNLOAD IN HD

The past weekend, Jared and I headed to Ohio for some quality family time (see the new background that came out of it above!). First up, my cousin Pat's wedding in Columbus. After a rehearsal dinner with a ton of food, cold beer, and cornhole in the backyard, we were feeling pretty replete with a sense of right in the world. The wedding day brought more of the same, plus some 4-on-4 MarioKart with my mom and dad, cousin Kenzie, Uncle Cory, Dr. E-Lamp, and Jared and I taking turns at the controls. I think I got third once. That was my high point, unfortunately.

Sunday rolled along, and with it our plans to run while on mini-vacation slowly dwindled. Instead we picked up my parents and headed out to meet Jared's, along with a plethora of other family members on his side--his little brother Christian, Grandparents George and Helen, Aunt Penny, Sue, and Sheila. Happily, it couldn't have gone better, as everyone seemed to enjoy meeting everyone else, and conversation flowed.

After this meal, we headed back to Columbus to my Uncle Steve's house, having convinced Jared's folks, Jan and John, to join us for some more en-masse family time. While there, Jan was treated to a 20-minute soliloquy on milk, proving her capacity for patience and tolerance--important traits for tying in with my charmingly nutty family:) Again, all could not have gone better, and Jared and I were thrilled to see our parents and extended families getting along so wonderfully. (Not that we'd had any doubt they would!)

With all this happiness in the air, you'd think that Monday would have broken the dawn with two runners hungry for the road. Not these two, I say! Instead we headed out for Caribou coffee, and earthy-crunchy (and delicious) version of Starbucks, shoe-shopping (pale gold strappy sandals, fab-u-lous), and some Barnes & Noble browsing.

By Tuesday, a full five days from our last run, we were both feeling...well, a little bit gorged. We'd spent the last four days with family, talking, laughing, dancing--and eating and drinking nonstop. (What is it about traveling, anywhere really, that makes you consume half again, or twice, as many calories, while engaging in half, or less, the physical activity that's normal for you?!) We at last dragged ourselves out for a post-work run at the Fells with Copley.

With nighttime quickly approaching, and the sun sinking lower than seems possible for this time of night at this time of year, and our bodies still a little dazed from the long break, we kept it short--a jaunting, panting 2 or so miles through the sticky, sweaty air. Still, it was a victory, getting back at it.

Last night, Wednesday, I managed two basketball games in the heat (both of which we lost), giving me a legitimate excuse for the half-hearted way my dull and heavy legs carried me through another 3 miles with Jared this morning.

But at least I didn't have to stop at the boathouse this time.

For your enjoyment, a melting pot of photos from the weekend:

1. My parents, Vicki and Dave

2. The groom, Pat, with my cousin Cory's wife and daughters, Kenzie, Connie, Tylen:

3. My beloved, Jared, and my favorite cousin, Dr. E-Lamp himself:

3x the Charm + a 7.5-Mile Fruitcake

2009-07-19T18:12:00.003-04:00

Not much to report the past two weeks, but a quick recap:

3x the Charm: It was the perfect menage a trois, three times the fun--that is, three times the three-mile run. Two threes with Jared, and in between a lingering three miler along the river with just me, myself, and I--the three of us.

A 7.5-Mile Fruitcake: Yesterday, after managing to sweet talk Jared into an extra 32 minutes of ZZZ's, I crawled out of bed. A peanut-butter coated piece of toast later, I was wishing Jared well on his 12-mile bike at the Fells, while I locked up the house for 6+ miles 'round the 'hood.

A mile or so in, tripping past the projects, I was lucky enough to hear the sweet morning sounds of an early pianist tickling the ivories. My feet kept the beat by, as fingers flew over keys in melody that was bright and trickling. The sounds fading behind me, I turned onto the Alewife Brook Parkway, squeezing myself between the guard rail and verdant foliage. I emerged damp through on the right side, but happy for the quick cool off from the humid morning.

By time I reached Mass Ave to head along my winter route, I was panting, and wondering how I'd ever made it 5 miles, let alone 26. I promised myself a break at the halfway point, to force myself to keep running.

At Pleasant Street, my halfway point, I headed across the street, and at last, feeling loose, decided there was no reason to keep going--I could always stop for a quick stretch and breather later if I needed to. I slowed slightly as I passed the Starbucks, taking deep whiffs until I at last caught the delicious scent of roasting beans. Refreshed, I picked my pace back up (granted, only to the fairly relaxed trot it had been before).

Two German Shepherds and a russet Golden Retriever later, I found myself bounding down College Ave, only a few blocks from home. A quick jaunt through Davis, and I was soon at my door, ready to grab Copley and head to the Fells to meet my beloved.

We hit the Fells parking lot just in time to find a sweaty JRod just having finished his bike. Minutes later the three of us were heading down the trails in the usual loop, Copley gamboling through every puddle she could and herding her owners from side-to-side of the winding trails. Jared, having worked out a fairly ludicrous amount already, was unfortunately plagued with a stiff hip that necessitated us calling it quits after about a mile and a half--when both of us were happy to walk the rest of the trail, and cool off in the damp, drizzling air.

All in all, a nice little fruitcake of a run, and one that made me realize that I do miss those longer runs when I don't get them in!

Vicki's Update #2: Lessons Learned the Hard Way

2009-07-14T21:19:00.003-04:00

I know like me, you've been waiting impatiently for an update on my mom's 8 weeks to a 5K. Here is update #2--like many of us, she's found that sometimes the best thing to do is listen to your body--unfortunately by doing something else most of us do--neglecting to do so.

Lessons learned the hard way: be realistic, listen to your body, and don’t forget your phone.

I tried. The first week of my 8-week Walk to Run a 5K plan went perfectly. I did the Mon-Wed-Fri Run 1 minute/Walk 3 minutes intervals. I weight-trained, did Pilates, and rode a bicycle on three alternate days. It had been well over 20 years since I rode a bicycle and I had to out and BUY a bicycle in order to ride one, but it’s true, you don’t forget how.

Then Week 2 arrived; did I read the instructions correctly? I should suddenly run 3 minutes and walk only two? And I had to follow this sequence eight times? Was it even logical to triple the running but still reduce the walking part? But the plan said it was safe for non-running women over 40; I was determined to follow the plan. That will now be known as “Mistake #1.” (Following instructions exactly has gotten me into trouble before; sometime you should hear about my efforts to make wine in the basement – and the explosion.)

By the end of the third run cycle, my calves were starting to hurt. They hurt constantly, EVERY step of the 4^th 3-minute run interval, which happened to be UPHILL (I’m sure it was on a scale with Everest) the whole way. I walked my allotted two minutes and then started to run my 5^th 3-minute interval – very slowly. Thank goodness for level ground. But my calves were really sore now. I walked the same wretched hill, blissfully down this time, and started run interval #6, inabsolute agony. Surely I should be able to run through it? Don’t coaches always tell you to run through the pain? I made it less than two minutes when a sharp stabling pain in my right calf literally put me on the ground. I couldn’t even walk. After hobbling over to the fence down in the ditch, I tried stretching. No good. The pain didn’t let up at all and NOTHING was going to stretch. I started to limp home but the problem was that I was nearly two miles away. By the time I limped a mile, I was willing to accept a ride on the handlebars from some 10-year-old kid on a bike. But where are all the 10-year-olds when you need one? None to be found, I’d forgotten my phone, and I gritted my teeth and limped the last mile. Mistake #2: I should have stopped running after the 4^thinterval which was so painful. Mistake #3: take my phone next time.

Today marks two weeks since my abortive effort and today for the first time I managed to walk two miles. My right calf is still “there,” and it was tight when I came in. But at least I’m moving again. I couldn’t walk at all the first week and no more than one mile at a time the second week. I’m not giving up. I’m walking this week on the advice of my coach (Abby) and should be able to re-start, back at Week 1, next week. And Week 2 will be more of a Week 1.5; I’ll try just 2 minutes of running instead. If that version goes well, THEN I’ll try 3 minutes. I’ve been told that all beginning runners have trials. At least it makes for an interesting story….

What's Next?

2009-07-05T20:49:00.002-04:00

All spring and summer, I've been telling people I want to do more trail races. Well, it's July, and the only race I've done all summer was the Covered Bridges Half, on paved roads through Vermont.

So I'm finally getting off my can and doing some research. Here are a few options--input appreciated!

August 23 Moose On The Loose 10M Trail Race and Relay
Pros: The word "moose" is in the title. Race registration is a steal at $16. Nashua is less than an hour's drive.
Cons: Haven't run 10 miles on trail in a few months (ever?). Unfamiliar terrain.

August 23 22nd Annual Mt. Toby Trail Run (14 miles)
Pros: Completing more than a half marathon on trails would definitely be a new challenge. $15 race fee (I love these cheap trail race fees!). Picnic lunch after race.
Cons: Lack of website makes it hard to see what others thought of this race (though I did find this blog). Two-mile ascension to kick off the race (essentially an out and back, or an up and down course, with 1900' elevation gain). Drive to Sunderland, MA is 2+ hours.

Even better, my search for a race led me to find a new blog of interest, Breakheart Trail Running, one I'm sure I'll be checking back on.

7 (or 8) Of the Most Circuitous Miles This Side of the Arc de Triomphe

2009-07-05T19:55:00.008-04:00

I've never been great with directions. Put me on a straight 1-mile-long road--and yes, I will get lost. The first year I ran with Dana-Farber, I went to a first-timer's meeting that was 4 miles from my apartment. It took me nearly and hour and a half, and two different towns, plus a project, to get there.

My better half, on the other hand, seems to be a whiz with directions. Here is an approximate of our conversation on Friday afternoon:

Scene: The Fells
Props: Jared's sweet new mountain bike
Players: Jared, a handsome and brilliant directional tactician, mountain biker and trail runner; Abby, a trail runner whose sense of direction is best described as "challenged"

Jared (about to jump on mountain bike for a 6-mile jaunt o'er root and rock): So how far are you going to go?
Abby (about to embark on The Incredible Journey, sans talking domestic pets): I don't know, probably two loops.*
Jared: So you'll be back here in 45 minutes or so?
Abby: Better plan for an hour, in case I get lost.
Jared: No, no. You just need to not turn left where we usually turn left, then go left by the place we went right on Tuesday, and then make sure the water's on your left.**
Abby: Er, Ok...if I'm not back in two hours, come find me.

Well, you can imagine what happened. I didn't turn left where I was supposed to turn left, I missed the other turn completely, and was nearly run over by some mountain bikers (who turned out to be very polite, and not at all murderous in intent). Though I tried to keep the water on my left, I lost it for a couple miles in the middle. Despite recognizing that it was the worst thing I could possibly do, I followed my instincts, and turned onto the paths it told me to turn onto. Bad idea.

At a particularly confusing fork in the trails, I decided I had to face the facts--I had no idea where I was. So, in the middle of the woods, with no idea of direction but for up and down, I asked for directions. The biker, who seemed friendly at first, turned out to be a bit of a sadist, something I realized while gasping my way up the too-familiar Skyline Trail, albeit on a route I'd never seen before.

Upon arriving at the bottom of the other side of the trail, I realized that, despite my efforts (in both admitting my folly and in climbing that damned vertical monster), I was no better off. I had no idea where I was. With my hour of time dwindling, I knew I needed to hustle it back to the predetermined meeting point, or my beloved would a.) start worrying, and worse, b.) realize I'd gotten hopefully lost, and quite possibly tease me mercilessly.

Luckily I happened upon a woman with a stroller and a dog, who pointed me in what turned out to be the right direction. I arrived back at the car in around 57 minutes, to find Jared packing up the bike, and ready to run another 2 miles.

And this time I had my navigator with me.

*Note: About 5-6 miles
**Note: What Abby actually heard was, "Don't turn where we usually turn, turn the wrong way where we turned the other way that one time, then make a loop in the shape of an origami crane. Take two lefts by the tree that looks like a coffee mug handle, a right by the stump, the one after the 3.5 other stumps, make a cloverleaf by the trail that breaks five directions, then keep the water on your left."

Tuesday Trails, Thursday Speedfest

2009-07-05T19:35:00.004-04:00

Tuesday after work, I met with my beloved at the Fells, to continue in our quest for the 8:00/trail mile. He'd brought Copley with, so as we careened around corners, puddles, and along the beaten trail, jumping over root and rock, we also evaded her attempts at herding us closer together. (Good dog:))

This time we took a bit of an oddball route--looping right at a usual left, which took us to Copley's favorite haunt--Sheepfold Dog Park. She trotted around merrily for a bit, but within a few minutes we realized there was one of those dogs there--the ones who play a little rough, play snarl a little too realistically, and in general, terrorize our 75-lb. flower. No matter to us, though, as we headed back into the Fells, and onto the trails.

A longer than expected break happened then, as our dainty lady decided to get her feet wet--figuratively and literally--by running headlong into the water next to the trail, in chase of a golden retriever and his ball. A big deal--as Copley's barely been willing to put a white-spotted toe in the water before! (They grow up so quickly....sigh.)

After a few minutes of gamboling in the cool water, Copley was lured away by Jared and I, eager to get back to our run. A handful of sweaty minutes later, we were back at our cars, and happy with an 8:18 pace. Now to just do it without stopping for one reason or another...

Thursday was our next planned outing. Jared texted me around the middle of the day, though, to let me know he'd been asked by a friend to fill in at a basketball game. Not about to go sprinting around the Fells by myself in the evening, I decided to head to the courts with him. I'd run while he played, and meet him back at the gym afterwards to head home together.

Garmin-clad, and just having watched the end of the first game of hoops, I was, frankly, raring to go. Added to that eagerness was a couple week's worth of missing a long run, and...well, you get the picture. I bolted out the gym door, thinking I'd run to wherever seemed convenient--and easy to find my way back from.

My legs stretched and my stride lengthened, and I soon found myself gasping a brisk pace down Cambridge Street, past bars, restaurants, gas stations, and C-stores. I sped past trees, leaping on and off curbs as needed to pass oblivious walkers (couldn't they see my need? My need for speed?). Within a half mile, I'd decided to RUN--to just run, to see how fast my legs and sadly out of shape lungs would carry me. At a little under a mile, I realized I'd have to run a creative route to even make it a mile straight out from the gym--as the road looped and curved in an assortment of directions. I curved around an oddly-shaped corner, doubling back on a side street until I hit the 1-mile mark--8:00 minutes. Ok, not bad, I thought to myself--this is how to learn the pace we need to hit on the trails.

A quick 30-60 seconds of stretch and shaking of already looser legs, and I was off again, back to the gym, tracking my candy-cane shaped loop in the opposite direction. By the time I arrived, sweaty and panting, I felt great. Looking at the Garmin made me feel even better, as the second mile had been a sleek 7:29/mile. I could barely stop myself from sprinting inside to tell my beloved.

Now to just duplicate it on terrain that's 3x more difficult, for a little over twice as long.

Easy, right?

Trails and More Trails

2009-06-28T17:23:00.002-04:00

With Jared's tri coming up in less than 6 weeks, we've agreed its time to hunker down and start killing some trail runs. My beloved's figured out the ranges he needs to be in for each event of the tri to be competitive with the other participants. Here are the ranges for each:

Swim (0.6 mi): 19-32 minutes
Bike (12 mi): 1 hour to 1:50
Run (6 mi): 30-60 minutes

After a week of swimming, he's already going the distance in 22 minutes, so has no worries there. The mountain biking could be tough as his bike isn't really equipped for the kind of pounding it's taking on the trails. That leaves the run.

While we both enjoy trail running, the philosophy behind it has always been that we just run--ignore any attempts at speed, and travel the distance. Because trail terrain is so much more varied than streets, it's tough to map out what a comparable speed would be from one to the other. On top of that, trail running tends to require a lot more side-to-side, as rocks and roots necessitate occasional shifts and leaps--and frankly, a lot more effort per mile. In the past, I've tended to think anything around or below a 10:00/mile was a solid trail run. A 10:00/mile, however, would put Jared in the back of the pack at his tri.

Tuesday was our first attempt at increasing our speed on the trails. I met Jared at the Fells after work, and we were off like a shot, shooting for an 8:30/mile pace. Well, we ended up right around there for our approximately 2.25-mile loop, but we also stopped for three gasping breaks (all my doing, I admit it), where I (naturally) stopped the clock. Not bad for a first try (tri, har de har har).

Thursday was another planned running day, but a late offer to join a hoops game ultimately took precedence. Sorry, running, for the stand-up.

Saturday morning we headed back over to the Fells, this time planning to run strong, but not at a pace that would force breaks. Copley, recently cleared by the vet, and in dire need of some exercise, joined us on the 2.15-mile jaunt. We ran a crisp, cool pace through already muggy woods, with her gently herding us the first mile. I careened around her loping hindquarters at first, before figuring out how to watch her, and anticipate her capering turns along the path. At a mile, we paused for a minute for her to drink, and again at just past 2. The miles, at an 8:45/mile pace, were still a lot faster than what we typically run, but were comfortable. It felt like a pace we could hold for longer, and one we could improve on for that distance.

After arriving back at the car, Jared unloaded his bike and headed out for some more miles, while I loaded the dog and headed for the park. An hour later, a tired dog, a tired JRod, and a tired Abby headed home...full of plans for the next attempt.

It's Never Too Late to Start...

2009-06-22T21:39:00.008-04:00

As many of you know, from time to time, I post a "Guest Blog"--a blog written by someone else on running, or on their thoughts on the same. So far my only guest bloggers have been my beloved, and Dr. E-Lamp...today, though, I managed to convince my mom (that's her at right, trying to learn Guitar Hero), who walked her first half marathon last month, to do some guest blogging. With the half under her belt, she's decided her next goal is to run a 5K. Look for an update every two weeks--and enjoy today's, the first!

WEEK 1: THE STARTING LINE

Hi, my name is Vicki and I’m Abby’s mother. After walking my first half-marathon in May in 3:28 and envying all those runners whizzing by me on the double-loop, out-and-back course, I ran across an “Walk-to-Run” plan in Prevention magazine a couple of weeks ago. Specifically designed to be safe for would-be runners over 40, the 8-week plan has one converting from a walker to running a 5K. Now, at 53, I estimate that it will take closer to 14-15 weeks to accomplish the 8-week plan; some of the increase increments seem a little steep to someone who hasn’t run regularly since 1973. I waited until today to start as I decided to take the ABATE motorcycle classes this last weekend. (Note to all those considering riding a motorcycle for the first time ever: they tip over really easily and you get LOTS of bruises and scrapes, even wearing heavy jeans, when you crash and fly over the handlebars. I was, of course, the only student rider who tipped the bike over not once, but three times during the two days. But I digress.)

Today marked Day 1 of Week 1. After walking 5 minutes to a nearby bike path, the plan required me to run one minute, walk three minutes, and repeat the run/walk cycle 13 times total. Unfortunately the Timex 100-lap Ironman watch I ordered from Amazon just last night has yet to arrive and I can’t see the numbers or second hand on my wrist watch without my reading glasses, so I had to guess at the time. I jogged 170 paces (85 per foot – that’s how I count) then walked 180 paces per foot for the 3-minute part, and just kept repeating the cycle. At one point, a nice elderly couple crossed my path and I’m sure they wondered about the under-the-breath counting, but I was sweating too much to worry about what they thinking on this humid morning. For those of you who can’t imagine anyone counting steps like that, I should say that I’m an accountant, so it sort of happens whether I mean it to or not. Finally finishing the 13th cycle, I was just 5 blocks from home and walked in for my cool down. The plan has me doing this 3 days this week, with weights and low-impact cardio another 3 days, and one day off. I can handle the weights; I’ve been doing that part for years. Week 2 looks to be quite a bit more difficult, with eight run 3/walk 2 intervals. If it takes a couple of weeks to master it, that’s what it will take. The college where I teach has a Homecoming 5K Fun Run on October 3, and that just happens to be my birthday. So it’s a good goal date.

So why start all of this at my age? I envy those of you that run; you look so strong and healthy to those of us who don’t. In addition, my physical this spring indicated an elevated cholesterol level and an extra 20 pounds that have crept on during the 2 ½ years I’ve been in my doctoral program. Yes, education is broadening, although I always thought it was meant figuratively rather than literally. Turns out it was both! My goal is to get the weight off and reduce my cholesterol before Abby and Jared’s wedding in April. Maybe NEXT May I can RUN the Fargo Half-Marathon with the rest of the gazelles. I’ll send Abby periodic updates. If anyone has advice, I’d love to hear it.

Saturday's Double Feature

2009-06-21T21:36:00.003-04:00

This Saturday, I ran what seems to be becoming a weekend habit--a double feature.

The first run was with my buddy Aaron, one of the first friends I made in Boston after moving here in 2002. Not too long ago, Aaron, after some soul-searching, ditched cigarettes--and took up running and healthy living. Now, with his first half marathon under his belt, he appears to have caught the running bug.

Despite a hangover and the steamy, overcast sky, Aaron was game when I phoned him late Saturday morning to suggest a run. As we headed out from my place down to the Minuteman Trail, the sun decided to break free--and bring the heat. Sweating profusely and panting in the sultriness of the trail, we jogged along at a sedate pace. It was after two miles before I remembered that I hadn't actually confirmed whether Aaron was OK with the 5 side of the "3-5 miles" I'd suggested. When I let him know this was an out-and-back course, not exactly a loop, he quickly agreed to making it an even 5.

With the miles falling behind us, and the conversation quick and catching up in nature, the miles flew by. By the time we finished we were both drenched in sweat. A large glass of water and fruit smoothie later, I was able to treat Aaron to the real reward for his efforts--Copley puking in the backseat while I took him home. Sorry about that, buddy....

The next few hours were spent in miscellaneous errands and tasks. My beloved was off in Vermont, taking a spin on the trails he'd be biking for his upcoming trail triathlon. When he called from the road to suggest we hit Ponkapoag for another 4+ miles, I was happy to oblige. Far be it from me to say no to one of my favorite trails!

I met him there around 7:00 p.m., and the timing couldn't have been better. The forecasted rain held off long enough for us to run, but it's looming presence cooled the air to a soothing, speedy temperature. We chatted about our days and careened along the empty paths, stopping once--and then only to marvel at the total isolation we'd found ourselves in. The woods around us were thick with the noises of nature--birds, breeze, water lapping the shoreline. Gorgeous.

All in all, it was a beautiful day of running, with good company for both runs. Next up for me is a bit of speeding up--Jared's triathlon distance is about 6 miles, and since we can both do it, it seems the next thing to do is...well, do it faster.

Tuesday's Surly, Grumpy, Grumbling 3 with JRod

2009-06-21T21:31:00.002-04:00

Thursday's commute from work came in at an earth-shattering 1 hour and 45 minutes--plus. By the time I got home (at 7:00 p.m.), I was less than thrilled with the state of the cruel and heartless universe, surely a fickle creature whose instincts were less than trustworthy.

Jared, sensing my grumpiness (and having received numerous texts along the lines of "Traffic. Boo." and "I can't even idle. I have to brake, I'm going so slow."), suggested a quick run. After some token whining, I agreed and we headed out the door.

A quick and easy 3 miles later, and I'd come around. The universe, while still fickle, is not against me. It does not hate me. It's actually been pretty good to me. Just not from 5:15 to 7:00 p.m. on Tuesday.

She Who Won't Be Running Anytime Soon...

2009-06-14T18:26:00.007-04:00

This past Thursday morning, my beloved and I dropped our dainty flower (66 lbs. of love) off at the vet for a duathlon of surgeries. The first, a fairly standard spay job. The second, something called a "gastropexy," in which a part of her stomach would be attached to something stationary--usually the abdominal wall.*

Two surgeries in one sitting mean a couple of things. Here they are, by the numbers:
1: Giant cone for Copley.
2: weeks she'll be wearing the cone.
9: inches, the length of her incision.
18: hours a day she is currently sleeping (possibly more).
17: times she howls, barks, and/or whimpers when forced into her crate with the giant cone on.
6: times a day she falls asleep snuggled up to her people, whether it be with a paw or head on the lap, or foot, of those who keep her safe and comfort her.

And lastly:
2: weeks she won't be doing any running, jumping, playing, or otherwise cavorting with her canine buddies down the street.

A bummer for such a long-legged sprinter.

*Note: the -pexy is not an aesthetic surgery--it's designed to prevent bloat, an ailment common in bigger dogs with a shape like Copley's--a shape that's indicative of a "free-floating"stomach. Since the stomach isn't attached to anything, if the dog is too active after eating or drinking, it can get twisted, and flip. It's a painful, painful, thing--and often kills the dog in the end, even if the dog can make it to the vet for emergency surgery. See Marley & Me for further reference.

10.1-Mile Victory Lap

2009-06-14T17:50:00.004-04:00

This weekend, I spent 5.1 miles with one of the best local charities around--FitGirls, and another 5 supporting a friend.

I've run one race, last October, with FitGirls. The program is geared toward young girls (10-13 year-olds, by my estimation), with an eye toward teaching them necessary goal-building, and life, skills. The program does this by combining reading about strong female heroines with training for, and running, a road race. The girls can thus discover their inner heroine.

Saturday I logged a 5K with Nicole, a 10-year-old from Chelsea, MA, running her first ever road race. She soldiered through the first part of the race pretty well, before turning to walking. A couple of water stops, and one giant Gatorade later, though, her spirits returned and she finished the race, amidst the clapping and cheering of her fellow FitGirls.

Sunday was the Battle of Bunker Hill Run--2 miles through historic Charlestown. Katora, running her first ever race, and I bounded off from the Charlestown Navy Yard. Our first blocks began with me having to stretch my legs to keep up with her beginning sprint through heavy rain. Katora ran very well, with only periodic stops to walk and rest--before she would take off again. Over the course of the 2 miles, we discussed our mutual like of running in the rain, and the importance of having police officers along the course to protect the runners (there were many today, which is always great). I saw in Katora a future sprinter--one of those girls who will someday put her "need for speed" to the test around a track, and one who will come out of it smiling from the effort and reward of running against herself.

With both these races under my belt, there was one left to do--the second race in Charlestown was an 8K. Jared's good friend Mike (aka, the Mixtape) was planning to run this race--and in fact had run it the two previous years. His telling of last year's race seemed to improve on every telling--and by this point, we'd heard about his stopping for a beer at a friend's place along the route, and the point at which a grandmother passed him. His finishing time last year? Around an hour and a half. He was the dead-last finisher--and the race crew had already put everything away, including the water.

This year, Jared and I were committed to getting him through the race, happy and content with his pace, and definitely in time for some post-race refreshment. (I admit that I "bandit" ran this second race of the day...) We settled into a comfortable pace, with Mike setting the bar for speed and for any necessary drink or stretch breaks. And while we did see a bunch of Mike's friends, he took the Solo cup of beer for the road this year, and there were no grandmas in sight. The three of us turned the corner, with Mike holding strong, and slogging the last few blocks. I hopped out just before the finish (it seems shady to cross the finish line when running bandito-style), and was able to watch them finish in Mike's Bunker Hill PR--57 minutes. He was shocked and giddy with his time, and thanked us profusely, before heading back to let his wife know of his 30-minute improvement.

All in all, it was a great weekend of racing. I didn't go out to set any records for myself. What I did do, though, was help three people cross the finish line on the power of their own legs.

I'll call that my own 10.1-mile victory lap.

Covered Bridges Half (and the shorties leading up to it)

2009-06-07T17:16:00.004-04:00

My better half and I spent the days leading up to the Covered Bridges 1/2 Marathon were spent much the same as any other weeks--a couple runs, but short ones, squeezed in where we could. A quick 2 or 3 before a hoops game Wednesday, and a 4-mile dash to the gym for Friday night pickup. Still, the short runs with basketball combined for a not too terribly inactive week, so it was with trepidatious hope that we headed to Vermont on Saturday afternoon. (Incidentally, this was the first time we'd left our dainty flower alone overnight--very taxing on new dog owners. We came home to find Copley happy to see us, but pooped--methinks she had a fabulous, playful 24 hours!)

Our digs? The charming Casa Bella Inn, a bed & breakfast near Killington. The owners, Susan and Franco, were as wonderful as ever--and dinner (by Franco) was absurdly delicious (we shared a chicken parmesan, and a sausage rigatoni with cream sauce, before moving on to chocolate mousse and vanilla gelato).

The next morning, I dragged myself from bed at 6:00, after some gentle verbal nudging from my better half. We arrived at the drop point alarmingly early, and managed to squeak onto the back of the first shuttle--that's right, the FIRST shuttle. At the start of the race, we were met with glorious oldies blaring from a speaker set, no lines at the bib pickup, and even better--clean porta-potties. Ah, bliss.

Later, B showed up, making our little party 3. (She unfortunately missed my wild, frenetic dancing to the golden oldies, but hey, you can't win 'em all.) The three of us seemed to have a similar race strategy, one necessitated by our mutually half-assed training for the race--go out strong, and stay strong as long as possible. When the steam ran out, Jared and I agreed not to sweat it--to slow down as needed, and enjoy the lush scenery surrounding Woodstock.

We wished B luck at the start, and planned to meet up after. At the gun, my beloved and I settled into a fast, loping gate. We churned out mile after mile, recognizing by 7 that we were, despite our doubts, having a pretty good race! Though we knew if we could keep our current pace, we would PR, I had a sneaking suspicion that my "tank" wasn't quite full enough to do that.

At mile 8, we met our beast--a sharp incline of 1/8-mile. The heat got to me less than halfway up, and I begged Jared for a quick breather, which he was happy to grant. We ran/trudged our way a few more miles, stopping here and there as needed. With a couple miles to go, we committed to digging in and at least finishing the damned thing in under 2 hours.

At our last quick break, Jared was adamant that we finish the last mile+ with no stopping. I gritted my teeth, and despite my lagging strength and spirits, sucked it up and ran it out with my beloved, finishing in around 1:58. (We later agreed that both of us wanted to stop again during that last mile, but felt like we couldn't do that to the other.)

I think, given our relatively lackluster training and the heat, we actually ran this one pretty well. A PR would have been nice, as it always is, but overall, I'm still happy about the way the day turned out. (The free beer afterwards was a particularly nice touch.)

Next year, though, we kill this one--those yawning uphills and careening downhills are a fast race just waiting to happen.

On a side note--Jared, despite being as pooped as I, had committed to a basketball game, and had to bolt out the door to his league within 15 minutes of arriving home. You'd think that most people (at least me!) would play terribly, dragging their sore and tired legs up and down the court. Jared, on the other hand, dropped 47 points.

New Route: Copley's (11.5-Mile) Scourge

2009-05-31T19:52:00.004-04:00

On Memorial Day we managed to sneak ourselves away from the slumbering (little) giant (61 lbs of Danish love!) for a quick 3-mile loop through the lovely, lovely Fells. Sadly our second trip of the day didn't end so well...

For the rest of the week, I did little (OK, no) running, outside of a Wednesday night hoops game. But after the rigors of a long day of work, and an even longer week of the same, I was raring to go by 5:30 p.m. Friday. Jared mapped us a route that took us past Marathon Sports for a quick pitstop to pick up Gu for the road, before heading over to the river. The loop took us along the Charles River, past George's digs, over to Watertown and by the gym where many of the DFMC runs started and ended. It curved over and around, ultimately culminating on the back side of our little street.

It also looked a lot like a drawing of Copley with her head out the car window, ears flying back in the breeze. Hence the naming of the new route...

During our 11.5-mile runfest, I had a chance to try my (borrowed) Garmin, the 205 version. While I think the "actual pace running right now" feature is a bit wonky, overall, I think it was definitely accurate--the whole satellite in space thing, monkeys and all, probably had something to do with that. The best part was being able to tell (exactly!) the distance we'd traveled along the way. No questions about when to Gu, or take a quick break. No chance of accidentally shorting ourselves on distance, then being disappointed when we mapped it later. Unfortunately, this was also the worst part--as those middle miles that feel achingly slow only seem slower when you're checking your mileage with every tenth traveled.

The last mile, a cruising, loping one, had both my beloved and I marveling over how nice it was to at last have gotten in a good, solid run, and how nice it was to be done with it so early in the weekend. The air was heavy with the smell of recent rain and moist earth, and the drawing evening made for a cool temperature--perfect for longer miles.

Home at last, we made a quick dinner, and fell into bed within an hour and a half. The next morning's sleep-in has never felt so good, or so deserved.

One week to Covered Bridges!

Do Two Past Half-Asses Equal One Good Run?

2009-05-24T09:59:00.003-04:00

Having managed to get my sorry self out for a few short runs this week to remind myself how to do it (surprisingly, I do seem to forgot how exactly to put one foot in front of the other sometimes), I was strangely excited--and anxious--to head to the Fells this weekend for another long run with my better half.

The Covered Bridges is looming only two short weeks away, and both Jared and I can admit that our training has been, well, half-assed at best. (Don't you wonder what half an ass looks like? I do. Though that would also mean half the RAP. Intriguing.)

So, we hauled ourselves out of bed, and drove the short distance to the Fells, ready to run by 7:00 a.m. The woody area was cool and quiet, still damp with the night's dew, and a faint wind whispered through the lush green leaves and brush. As we turned along path after path, running with easy, loose gaits, I marveled anew that such a gorgeous slice of nature could be found just outside of Boston, in what is essentially the heart of Suburbia.

We looped once, twice, three times around a reservoir, before turning onto what I knew was a challenging hiking trail, the Skyline trail. It's steep inclines arched harshly up and down, and the small rocks and roots jutting from the earth made it clear that this was a trail for hiking, and, just maybe, one for a couple of crazy morning runners. Gasping, at least we arrived at the crest, and looked out over the tops of the trees of the Fells. The air had begun to thicken and grow heavy, with what seemed to be impending rain, and the light breeze had increased to hold the occasional mellow gust. After a short break to grab a drink, we headed back down into the heart of the Fells, and found our way to a soft beaten path that took us back to the parking area.

After a long stretch, Jared popped his bike out of the trunk, and with a friend who'd just shown up, headed back out to the trails to get in some mountain biking miles in preparation for his upcoming triathlon. I, on the other hand, settled myself into the driver-side seat with a book and a bottle of water, wholly content with the 9 peaceful miles of the morning.

Three Times A Runner

2009-05-23T21:15:00.003-04:00

Sigh...and I find another week has passed, with nary a blog from this silly runner. Still, at long last, this is one of the first post-marathon weeks that I've actually gotten out and about to DO some running--they may not have been long or highly adventurous runs, but the proof is in the pudding. Getting outside is really all that matters at the end of the week.

The first of these was last Saturday--the Dana-Farber reunion run. Though I was disappointed at the relatively small number of runners present, I was happy to see several of my favorite faces--B, Jim, Gordon, and co, along with two friendly volunteers logging some miles--Mary Ann and my own beloved. Though we'd planned an easy, loose 5ish miles around the Charles, we soon were dancing away the miles at a brisk and unfaltering pace. Jared, Mary Ann, John and I, along with a few others, turned around to make our run a quick and snappy 5 miles. B and several others continued another bridge to make a sleek 7ish. Jared and I chatted a few, then headed out to the Fells, where we'd planned to do another 5 for an even 10 miles of training. Upon hitting the trails, though, we rethought our decision, and after a somewhat haphazard 2 more miles, called it a day at 7.

Monday I managed to finagle the lovely Alison Ruhlman into a happy three along the Charles, where we caught up on each other was up to.

Thursday brought another 3.5ish with my better half, as we abused some fast loping miles that did the trick--clearing away the day's bad mood for me.

Last year I had an excuse to ease back into running in my body's faltering recovery from the marathon, but this year's torpedo-style recovery means I need to be out there, left-foot, right-foot-ing... which is OK. I don't know that I'll be running many long runs outside of on the weekend, but its nice to get out there three or so times a week and feel alive again.

Not to mention, it's a great excuse to justify some high-caloric summer foods and an extra cold beer.

6 Miles + the Doyler Dash 5K

2009-05-10T22:14:00.002-04:00

At last beginning to get over our mutual 3-week cold virus (and quickly running out of the assortment of prescribed goodies), my beloved and I suddenly realized that the Covered Bridges Half Marathon was looming--and we were again in the position of needing to cram.

Last week's attempt at 8 miles turned into a hacking, wheezing 4--though on the mend, we found ourselves simply coughing too much to attempt the second of the two four-mile loops we'd planned to do.

This weekend we were determined to achieve a scheduled training run--at at 8:00 a.m., we dutifully began running from our house. Our plan? To aim for Fresh Pond, and shamble around the lake, before heading in to Harvard Square. Since I had my fuel belt, there was no need to worry--we had all the water and Gu we needed, for the first leg of the run--and the last--the Tommy Doyler Dash, a 5K race from one Tommy Doyle's Irish Pub to the other (with funds going to breast cancer research). Our total distance would end up the pre-requisite 9 training miles, and we'd have the added perk of the last 3 being a bit more fun, and followed by a free Irish breakfast--and cold beer.

When we got to Harvard Square, we had about half hour to kill (good, since I was feeling lazy--typical for the summer months), and agreed that after 6 miles, we should just run easy. With 30 seconds to gun-time, however, Jared looked at me with a smile and said, "Want to run this?" I couldn't help but agree...and we were off. While I can't say that we were our fastest (we weren't) or that we didn't stop (we did--twice), we still managed a highly respective 8:20/mile pace--not bad after having cruised out 6 miles already. Good enough to make me forget I looked somewhat like an idiot--cruising along in a 5K with a fuel belt on.

Afterwards we were rewarded with the aforementioned full Irish breakfast--complete with eggs, black and white pudding, Irish bacon, homefries, bagels, french toast, fruit, and coffee. Having consumed most of the deliciousness by the time we thought to grab our free beers, we lamented over the chill air on our sweaty selves, and the lack of travel mugs to take our beers to go. (The thought of leaving them never crossed our minds, of course.)

Luckily a stroke of genius hit, and 10 minutes later, we were on the T on the way home...happily drinking Sam Adams out of my hardy fuel belt bottles.

Who says you can't have your cake, and eat it, too?

40 Minutes (or 5) with My Mom...

2009-05-10T19:24:00.002-04:00

As noted in my most recent post, my mom walked a half-marathon yesterday--her first! She'd anticipated her total time being around 4 hours--with an average pace of 17:00/mile, and factoring in time for bathroom or stretch/drink breaks. I promised her I'd head out for a few miles with her--but having to take the gorgeous (and growing!) Copley to obedience class from 11:00-12:00 meant that I'd catch only the tail end of her travels.

Still, hopeful that I'd be able to "see her home," I headed out as soon as I could--at about 12:30. I spent the next 40 minutes and one second thinking hard, motivating thoughts in the general direction of my mom (a lot of "You can do it!" types of things).

Little did I know that my mom was kicking the ass of the last of the half marathon--in only the first five minutes or so of my run.

Clock time: 3:36
Actual (chip) time: 3:28.

Awesome!

It's All in the Family...

2009-05-08T20:33:00.003-04:00

The best part of running is sharing it with others...

Here's me in my sweet new t-shirt from my cousin Dr. E-Lamp:
And, more importantly, a shout-out to my mom...who's walking her first half marathon tomorrow! Think some motivating thoughts in her direction (from about 9:00 a.m. EST to 1:00 p.m.)!

562 Runners Can't Be Wrong--2009 Boston Recap (Part II)

2009-04-21T23:07:00.010-04:00

Another day, another 13.1 mile report...Tuesday's admittedly long blog covered the first half of the 2009 Boston Marathon, and today's will cover the rest.

Mile 14: Before I knew it, I was crossing over the half-marathon mark, the chip pad beeping as I crossed it in 2:02.08, a 9:19/mile pace. I gave myself a quick break to stretch and drink, keeping to my standard every 3-mile plan, and knowing that at my next stretch break, I'd be coming up on the first of the Dana-Farber cheering sections, and my beloved. I tossed back the water thoughtfully provided by the BAA folks, washing down a decaf strawberry-banana Gu to replace some of my lost calories.

Mile 15: With more than 14 miles in the hatch, I couldn't help but realize someone was looking out for me. The sniffles of Thursday morning had held off from becoming a full-blown cold, thanks to a steady diet of FortiFense TheraFlu. The 2-inch gash across the bottom of my right foot, compliments of Copley attacking the vicious "Sweatpant Leg Monster" on Saturday night (right before she ate part of a Magic Eraser and I had to call poison control) was covered with a blister coating band-aid, and had I not know it was there...well, I wouldn't have known it was there. I was feeling healthy and strong.

Mile 16: By 16 I was starting to run out of steam. To keep myself going, I alternated between reminding myself that Derry had been fine, and that was 16 miles, and that as of a couple hours before the race, the Dana-Farber team had raised more than $3 million for cancer research.

Mile 17: At last, at long last, I was at the first of the Dana-Farber cheering sections, and my beloved was jumping in to run me the rest of the way home. I was ecstatic for a break, and ecstatic to see my favorite running partner whose enthusiasm was infectious, and just the spark I needed.

Mile 18: My bladder full, and more importantly (at least to me at the time) needing a quick rest, I was glad to realize the Newton firehouse was coming up. While the few people inside seemed surprised to see a bibbed runner, they graciously let me budge in the line for the bathroom.

Mile 19: Easing into Mile 19 brought me through thicker and thicker crowds, and past a set of speakers blaring "Eye of the Tiger." Jared started smiling and shadow-boxing, and I couldn't help but do the same, remembering my montage-like cross-training workouts.

Mile 20: Fatigued, I pulled Jared to the side of the course so I could stretch my aching legs. Knowing the big hill was yet to come, this seemed an ideal spot to grab a few minutes and ease the kinks out. Another runner coasted by us, and felt the need to ask me did I know that the medical tent was just up ahead? (WTF?! I was tired, not dying.) Jared gave him the stinkeye, and muttered, "thanks, but there's only one way to the finish line."

Mile 21: Heartbreak Hill was just ahead, my Everest, my wild ocean, my last big hurdle. The truth is that the Boston Marathon is exactly the way everyone describes it. After cresting the last of the big hills, Heartbreak, the hard part would be over for me, and at past 20 miles, I would only have to make it through a few flat miles to be done. I knew this, and with Jared encouraging me to keep going, to begin running after every tired walk, I made it up and over.

Mile 22: Spirits flagging a bit, and the strength of my legs, flagging in tandem, I started to slow again. A runner passing me tapped me on the back and yelled, "For Nathaniel!", who is my 4-year-old patient partner. Nathaniel is four years old, and after having had a neuroblastoma tumor removed at 3, is cancer-free. I looked at my beloved, and nearly started to cry. He and I like to joke that by his volunteering at Children's Hospital, and my fundraising for Dana Farber, we are building up good karma, and that we won't have to worry about our babies getting sick. Jared says I turned into a "werewolf" with that tap and statement. I'm not sure about that, but I did buckle down, and we got back to some running. Still, I wonder how I'd look as a medaled female teen wolf?

Mile 23: My beloved, recognizing my flagging energy, wasn't certain what to do, or what to think of the strangers high-fiving me. Soon, though, he got into the spirit, and began yelling and fist-pumping, pointing at me, and getting the crowd to yell and cheer even more as we passed. He nudged me over to high-five, and snatched orange slices for me to enjoy along the route. His enthusiasm was contagious, and I found myself digging deep to hash out the last few miles.

Mile 24: At last, the Citgo sign above Fenway came into sight. I knew with this that all I had to do was reach it, and there'd only be a mile to go. A mile to Fenway, and a mile to something even better...

Mile 25: At last! There it was! The sight I'd been looking for. As I bumped my aching legs up over the bridge before Fenway, my beloved at my side, I saw them--the Dana-Farber cheering section, complete with Jack, Jan, and the crew from the patient partner program. I found myself buoyed by their shouts of encouragement, and the smile that sprung from deep within me felt as though it could crack my face with its happiness. This group was the single most beautiful sight of the whole course--and I knew when I saw them that I could, and would, go on and finish strong. With a wave, we trotted on past, easing out of 25, and into what would be the last long mile of the day.

Mile 26: My beloved had pushed me through the last 8 miles, and all too soon it was time to part ways. We mapped out a plan of where to meet afterwards, and then he was squeezing my hand, and telling me not to quit, not to walk--that I was almost there. And I was, as soon enough the Hynes Convention Center was visible, the marker for the last turn onto Boylston.

.2: There it was, the finish line, with its curves of blue and gold arching above Boylston Street. I kicked in, wheezing out the last few block, from Hereford to Gloucester, through Franklin and Dartmouth, and at last, across the chirping chip pads, the sound of the announcer rattling off my name ringing in my ears.

The rest is pretty standard... I more or less staggered down the street with the other runners, where a quiet youth threw a silver "space blanket" over my shoulders. I kept walking along the runner's chute, stopping next to put my foot on a wooden block so a very nice, older man removed the chip from my shoe, before dropping a gloriously heavy medal over my neck. After picking up my bag from the bus, and a bagel and banana from the BAA volunteers, I was ready to head over to the Copley Marriot to meet my better half. After the squeezing and murmuring of lovers, I snagged two cookies and we hit the road for home.

Two free T rides later, we were drinking coffee, ordering Chinese food, and lounging on the couch. Ah...a day well spent.

Last year, I enjoyed running the marathon for Dana Farber, but this year...ah, this year, I fell in love a little.

562 Runners Can't Be Wrong--2009 Boston Recap (Part I)

2009-04-21T17:26:00.009-04:00

About 27 hours ago, I finished my second Boston Marathon...and after 4 hours, 36 minutes, and 53 seconds of running (and some walking), I was...pooped. But happily pooped. There are so many things that made this year so very incredible, so many that I'm opting this year to cut the blogging recap into two posts...so here is the first half, with more to come!

Mile 1: Having discarded my secondhand, gray, old-man style sweatpants (which after their two-day $5 "rental fee" were a steal), and clad in the perfect combination of long-sleeved Under Armour, shorts, and bedazzled singlet, I was ready to run. B, John (right), and I settled into a steady pace, Jim having bolted ahead at the start, shooting for a 3:50 total time. We agreed that the best tact was to settle into a slow, steady pace of 9:15/mile, saving ourselves for speed in the later miles. As we passed the Mile 1 sign, B noted our pace, just over 9 minute/mile. Hmm. We agreed it would be best to slow down a bit for the next mile, as the excitement bolstering us here was sure to fade.

Mile 2: The three of us happily cruised up and down the rolling hills, our feet flying, and our chatter markedly in tandem (a lot of "Can you believe we're doing it? The marathon snuck up this year!" and so on, and so forth). We waved at fans alongside the road, and inhaled the heady scents of barbecue and beer. It was a glorious day for running: upper 40s, overcast, and the rain had held off. Strange, though, despite our efforts to keep to the plan, we'd slid in around 8:53 for pace. Curses.

Mile 3: Despite John's warnings, and my trepidatious feelings about what the speed combined with the downhills (those sneaky downhills got me last year), we continued on at a pretty good clip, though at least above the 9:00/mile mark. The scent of charcoal grills and hamburgers was a feast for the senses, though, sadly, not for the stomach.

Mile 4: At long last, the stiffness eased out of my joints, and I found myself just...running. I high-fived some younger spectators (and tomorrow's runners!), and with renewed spirit, not to mention a big grin, sailed into Mile 5.

Mile 5: The fifth mile passed as much the same as the first four...but come on, is there anything better than running the Boston Marathon? I couldn't help my glee. We were at last again chasing the unicorn.

Mile 6: The three of us trotted together over the 10K mark, Brenda and I yelling excitedly about what was the first text message update to our families. What were they thinking? Were they tracking our progress? I know, now, that my dad's poor cell reception meant that he wasn't--but that my mom was getting my updates, and calling my dad on the landline every time she got one, so that he would know where I was and how it was going.

Mile 7: Somewhere near here, B and I lost John. He'd been grumbling lightly about the quicker-than-anticipated starting pace, and the secret part of my mind was agreeing--had we gone out too fast? I suspected so, and the lack of a quick break to stretch was beginning to wear on my knees, chronically stiff from the six months of training. John had not, however, fallen behind, but had bolted ahead. As we passed knots of people, they cheered our names, and for Dana Farber, some thanking us for what we were doing on behalf of cancer research.

Mile 8: At last, I called a break for a much-needed stretch. Since Brenda doesn't like to stop while she's running we agreed that I'd stop to stretch, and she'd carry on, albeit slower, until I had time to stretch and run to catch up with her. The plan carried off to perfection, my legs thanking me for the stretch.

Mile 9: As we ran, the spectators grew more and more interesting, with a man dressed up as Elvis hip-shaking as he serenaded the runners passing him by. Needless to say we hooted, hollered, and clapped, but did not throw our undergarments at him. (I can't imagine the chafe that would have ensued.)

Mile 10: B and I continued knocking back the miles steadily, slowing down slightly as passed a Mexican restaurant, where the air was thick with the smell of fresh enchiladas, and filled with the sound of loud Latin music. Spectators milled in the parking lot outside, eating and drinking as they watched us go by.

Mile 11: In which I had a running epiphany. Knowing that I needed another stretch of the quads to release the building pressure in my much-beleaguered knees, I told Brenda to carry on, and that I didn't really have another sprint in me to catch her--so she should carry on. This was the truth, but there is also another truth I'd come to realize in Mile 11--we are very different runners, Brenda and I...though I adore to run with her, she prefers to keep herself moving at all times. I, on the other hand, run stronger, faster, and happier, if I can get a stretch and a quick rest in every 3 or 4 miles. Potato, potato, but we both had to run our own race, and thus far, I had been blithely running Brenda's--and I knew I'd come out too fast.

Mile 12: I trundled through Mile 12 merrily, smiling and waving at fans on the sides of the road. Strange, it felt normal to be running "alone" again, though not as much as I'd have thought--but then I'd run large portions of many of the training runs solo. I remembered, too, we are, all of us, never running alone... My mother was at home, walking her long miles in preparation for her first half marathon, my cousin Evan was surely running with me, and there were 561 others running 26.2 miles for cancer research, at the exact moment that I was. We were buoyed by our common goal, our faith, and the wings and fleet feet of those that had come before us, those that had begun the goal that we'd carried on, and that had raised more than $20 million for cancer research.

Mile 13: Halfway into the thirteenth mile, I heard it--the Wellesley Scream Tunnel. I passed a walking runner, tapped him on the shoulder, and yelled, "Come on, the girls are waiting for ya!" He smirked and responded, "I know...I'm just resting up for them!" I grinned ear-to-ear as I ran past the hundreds of screaming co-eds, who screamed all the louder as they saw those of us so obviously renewed by their enthusiasm.

More to come tomorrow:) I know that my three loyal readers will be lying in wait with bated breath...

Pre-Marathon fashion

2009-04-19T21:17:00.009-04:00

1. My newly bedazzled singlet:
2. True love = running with your beloved a few days before the marathon in trouser socks when you forget your running ones. Woops.

One Hell of an Exciting Week

2009-04-18T21:55:00.009-04:00

This week's was one thrilling drift of taper and taking care of my much-beleagured body, with an hour of cross-training (run replacement, nearly as satisfying as low-fat chocolate--Ha!) on Monday, and an admittedly short (2.8 miles) run on Thursday. Today, I should have run another lazy, slow 2-3 miles, but I skipped it, after spending two hours walking around the marathon expo, picking up my number and my bag of Dana Farber goodies (the two cookies shaped like feet didn't even make it down the escalator, by the way).

Many may argue that I should have done the short miles today, and many might be right. But I am enjoying this last little break before the big dance on Monday, and I think my knees, which I'll ice again tonight and tomorrow to get them into prime punching form, will thank me for it.

The expo was full of many delights:

1. I met Kathrine Switzer, the first woman to run the Boston Marathon with an official number. She had entered the race under her initials, K. V. Switzer. She was nearly attached by race director Jack Semple, who was convinced she was making a mockery of his race. Later the two became fast friends, however, and she pioneered the women's running movement, and was integral in getting the marathon added to the Olympics as a womens' event. When faced with such a creature, I held out a book for her to sign, and nervous and emotional...turned into an asshole, blurting "Make it happen!" WTF?! Of course, I followed up by blathering away in a complimentary manner, informing Ms. Switzer that I did already have a copy of her book, but wanted another for her to sign...and likely making no sense at all. That's right, I'm an idiot asshole savant.

2. I realized the marathon motivational poster of an elderly fellow had a time posted that was (sigh) faster than mine. Luckily when I stood next to him, I realized he was much bigger than me, likely explaining how he could finish 3 minutes faster than me last year. (It's all in the legs.)

3. The finish line is fully painted and glorious, near the Boston Public Library in Copley Square, a place of so many delights: a) the library being where my beloved and I realized our feelings for each other; b) the finish line, where at long last, my tired body will get to stop its fiendish torment, and c) proximity to a Starbucks. Last year I was afraid to stand on the finish line before the marathon, worried that it would "nix" me. This year I made that thing my b*tch, and not only stood on it, I hung out for a while and loved up on it. (I'll be seeing you Monday, you sexy finish line, you...)

4. The Old South Church. On Sunday morning, at 11:00 a.m., there will be a special service, the "blessing of the athletes." I didn't make it last year, but will go this year. On the front of the church, every year a biblical quote is hung, one of my favorite running-related quotes:

May you run and not grow weary
Walk and not faint.
--Isaiah

Now there's nothing to do but drink water, carb-load, and bedazzle my Dana Farber singlet!

Wish me luck on Monday, an as always...if you haven't donated, there is still time! Just click on the Dana Farber link in the right sidebar of my blog.

10(ish) Breezy Miles with my Beloved and B

2009-04-12T22:36:00.005-04:00

With 9 days to Marathon Monday, I was due for my last "long" run...a taper run of 10-12 miles. Due to an assortment of busy things to do on Saturday, one of them being my better half's need to be at work by 8:30 a.m., we'd agreed to run an early, early run. When B (Brenda) got in touch Friday to suggest just what I had been thinking--one last meander along the marathon course, and a desire to get the miles out of the way early, I was ecstatic.

At 5:30 a.m., however, when we pulled in front of her house to pick her up, Jared and I were both feeling a bit differently about whether the early morning miles were, in fact a brilliant idea...Still, we parked the car at Mile 17, the Woodland T-stop, and off we went, clad in rain gear and fuel belts, prepared for the elements, dehydration, and (yes, I admit it) the potential need to hail a cab.*

The first couple miles were as they always are--a bit stiff. But by the time we'd hit five, we were turning to run through Cleveland Circle, having killed the Newton Hills, and running easy--chatting all the way.

When we hit the bridge to cross into Harvard Square, B and Jared broke into a sprint as they raced to the curve turning to cross the Charles River. I muttered a somewhat beligerant "You're going too fast..." but tried to kick it in to keep up with them. Despite all three of us slowing down to cross the bridge, by the time we found ourselves in Harvard Square itself, Jared had cajoled us both into finishing the last mile at a faster clip.

A much faster clip. As we arrived at Starbucks, having all but sprinted the last half mile, I found myself happily panting, happily fatigued, and happy, with the knowledge that despite what had been a truly hard run, I had some "left in the tank."

I have high hopes for the marathon. That's not to say that I plan to achieve any great time goals, or even be walking that well on Tuesday. But I feel stronger this year--in body, mind, and soul, and I can't help but feel at least a general sense of hope regarding the outcome a week from tomorrow--and that's really what its all about, when running for a charity--keeping hope alive.

*One should always be prepared, with money or card, should the need arise for either a cab, or an immediate post-run 6-pack and/or pizza. The latter has been known to occur with alarming frequency.

Easter Island 5

2009-04-12T22:23:00.008-04:00

Thursday night brought the promise of more actual miles (Tuesday's were logged half on an elliptical, half on a stationary bike, for the sake of my mortal knees). JRod's ex-roommates were having a barbecue, and while we had to do some miles (or at least I had to, with JRod a willing accomplice), there was no reason we couldn't circle over in that general direction...

So, before heading out, we modified our potential route to loop by the Central,* so that we might be able to swing in and enjoy some grilling and the company of friends. The miles were easy and loose after the first initial stiff ones, and we were there before we knew it, enjoying some meat and vegetables on a stick. After 1/2 hour or so of hanging out, we headed the mile and a half home, walking a bit, running a bit, and mostly enjoying the company of each other.

I'm looking forward to more runs like these in the summer--runs where I can go wherever I want to go, where there is no minimum or maximum mileage, and my runs with Jared can be driven purely by whatever new shape we can get our routes to take...this one was the "Easter Island 5," with a sideways version of our route appearing an awful lot like these stone monoliths.

*The Central is the name of Jared's old apartment building. Not only is it located on Central Street, the words "The Central" have been stenciled above the front door.

On Life, Love, and Running: A 47-Mile Melting Pot

2009-04-04T11:15:00.000-04:00

It's been a full two weeks, and 47 miles, since I've blogged, and here are the titles I'd have chosen for a blog on each respective run:

Grumpy, Grumbling 8 from Mrs. Belligerent Face
22 Miles and One Hell of a Fundraiser
A Sweet and Sultry 5 with JRizzle (and a Followup Six-Pack and Pizza)

and lastly, yesterday:
Whew! At Long Last, Some (12) Good Miles!

The quick summary of these, though probably apparent from their titles, is this:

Grumpy, Grumbling 8 from Mrs. Belligerent Face (March 26): I admit the last few weeks have been troubling in terms of my running--I grumpily did this solo 8-mile run last Thursday purely because my training schedule called for it. As is my wont, however, I did arrive back home slightly less surly than when I had left. (Good, running, good.) Some days, and more so now that my training is nearing its close, it's hard to motivate to get out the door--mostly because I've logged a LOT of miles just since Christmas, but also, I'm sure, partly due to the ever-dwindling days to the marathon--just 13 days now! AH! And it doesn't help that my beloved, and my pooch, would be a nice way to spent the evening...this picture is of us at our PR at the Hyannis Half in February.

22 Miles and One Hell of a Fundraiser (March 28): Saturday came along with a busy day planned--22 miles with Dana-Farber, an out and back course from BC, culminating in one last ugly stretch up Heartbreak, in the morning, and my fundraiser at Tommy Doyle's Irish pub in the evening.

The run was a rocky one for me--plagued with an upset stomach, and an achy left knee. I grumpily (I know! Two grumpy runs in a row?!) conceded the day and logged the miles, though. I've decided to view this one as a victory--if I can 22 miles not feeling just the thing, and grumpy to boot--well, the 26.2 on Marathon Monday should be a cakewalk. Which is good, since I don't mind walking, and I do like cake. The best part of this run was the first 10 miles--complete with the good company of fellow DFMC runners Jim, John, and Brenda. The last 12, the solo miles--well, I survived them just fine in the end! It doesn't hurt when your better half is available at two water stops for a quick pep talk and shoulder squeeze...

Later, my mood much restored after half a pepperoni pizza, Jared and I took care of the last details before the fundraiser that night. The folks at Tommy Doyle's in Harvard Square were extremely accommodating, and the best of hosts--both helpful and generous in their time and efforts to pull of the evening.

The great news is that a lot of people showed up--friends, fellow runners, and large numbers from the gym (likely less due to the fundraiser, and more so to the fact that it was "League Night Out" as well, but c'est la vie...), and I raised over $800 for Dana Farber! This brings me perilously close to the fundraising minimum of $3,000, but not quite as close as I'd like to be to my goal of $5,000--if you haven't feel free to donate--the quick and easy link is on the right of my blog...hint, hint:)

A Sweet and Sultry 5 with JRizzle (and a Followup Six-Pack and Pizza) (April 2): Thursday night rolled around, and it was time again, to stop putting off running--which I've managed to do for the last several Tuesdays...very bad, Abigail, very bad. With my better half's sore hip on the mend, I was itching to get out and enjoy some easy, loafing miles with him. We planned our course to take us by Tommy Doyle's to pick up the fundraising money, with the total mileage from home and back somewhere in the neighborhood of 5.25. Taking into account our discussion of pizza and beer and ultimately, our stop to pick up the latter before walking home the last few blocks (perhaps consuming one of the aforementioned beers en route), I'm thinking it ended up more along the lines of 5 miles...I'm not sure what it is about the post-run pizza, but twice this week, it seemed just the thing, as upon arriving home, we called in an order for delivery.

Whew! At Long Last, Some (12) Good Miles! (April 4): Ah, at long last, I am up to yesterday--and at long last, back to an enjoyable, strong run. There is something in training for a marathon that begins to consume much of your life--fitting the time in to run, and to fundraiser, and to also keep the time you need for yourself. This last is where I struggle the most, as its easy for me to push aside my personal to-do list in favor of all the other bits and pieces of life--the work deadlines, the miles that need to be run, the time I want to spend with my beloved. This weekend I had decided to just relax...to take the time I needed for myself, to do some of the things on my list, to try to get back to where I need to be in my running and in my life--more at peace with all of the wonderful things about it, rather than being caught up in the granular task-by-task deadlines and things to do. I am a very lucky woman, in life, in love, and in fact, in nearly all ways--and at long last, the run on Saturday, one filled with sunshine and strong miles, served only to reinforce that feeling.

The rest of the weekend has been the same--viewing the tasks I want to do for myself as less than insurmountable. While I have chipped away at them, in the absence of my beloved (off on the last winter trip with the Adventure Club), there is, of course, something missing--my better half to share it with. Copley and I (and as you can see, Chester the Cheetah) have spent our time this weekend wisely, with equal parts getting things done and sheer relaxation, but we're both ready for JRizzle to be back home now...

And now, to close what is surely the longest blog post I've written yet--a reminder to myself, and to my handful of readers that still check after this lengthy, lengthy absence...only 14 days, 23 hours, and 3 minutes until the big day...

All's Fells that Ends Well

2009-03-23T21:11:00.002-04:00

There is something so incredibly...luscious about these taper weeks. This weekend was no different, with a happy 12-15 plotted and planned for.

After another admittedly lackluster week of running, with 5.5 or so with JRizzle on Thursday, and a solo 3 on Saturday, I was well-rested and ready to run come Sunday. And where better to do it than at the Fells? Who better to do it with than my better half?

And so it was after a nice rambling sleep-in and fruit-loaded breakfast, we found ourselves having put the pup to sleep in her crate, driving to the wooded wonderland.

As always, the first few miles were slow, and aching--our feet and ankles sadly out of practice on the uneven terrain, cosseted by the flat asphalt streets of winter. Within the first hour, however, limbs and joints loosened by the continues ascents and descents, our feet were tripping happily up and careening jauntily down, making the occasional hop over felled trees, or turning along the meandering paths of long-gone mountain bikes and hikers.

Having taken the rocky Skyline Trail, there were, of course, several short sections physically impossible to run. We slogged our way up these, running where possible, walking where not, and occasionally pausing in search of the scenic vistas sure to be visible over, around, and through the still-naked trees of spring. It was, by far, one of the most carefree and happy runs I've had in a long time--and how could it not be? The scenery was glorious (if sparse), the miles were challenging but relaxing and loose, and the company remains, quite simply, my favorite.

7 Hours with Dana-Farber

2009-03-15T21:10:00.003-04:00

The quick version, today's run by the numbers:

Time Jared got out of bed: 6:00 a.m.
Time Jared forced me to get out of bed: 6:15 a.m.
Pieces of peanut butter toast consumed: 2
Cups of tea for the road: 2
Warehouses visited in Waltham to pick up DFMC materials: 1
DFMC materials: 4 tables, 12 bottles Gatorade, 1.5 cases of water, 150 paper cups, 2 bags M&Ms, 1.5 boxes Fig Newtons, 3 DFMC signs, 3 plastic bins*
Miles run: 19.5
Time taken to run said mileage: 3 hours 12 minutes
Minutes spent helping pack up DFMC materials, heading back to the warehouse to unload it with Jared and DFMC head honcho of the day Steve: 78
Frolicking runners in said warehouse: 1
Total time spent in DFMC activities: 7 hours

I'm pooped.

*Approximates only. There's no way I can remember the exact amounts...

On Miles, Sore Knees, Cellphones, Guilty Feelings--and a Little Thing Called "Big Hair Thursday"

2009-03-12T22:30:00.005-04:00

Today's blog post, covering 10.5 miles in two runs, will be in the styling of my beloved's Christmas Fruitcake.

1. Miles: 4.5 on Tuesday, traveling to the gym, getting in a good lift, then running to the mall (see item #3), then running to the T for a quick ride home. Another 6 this morning, with me grumbling, grumpy, and growling the whole way to the river and back. At the turnaround point, I stopped kidding myself about trying to squeeze in 8 vs. an extra cup of pre- work commute Joe.*

2. Sore Knees. Stupid running. Stupid sore knees. (Not to fear, not terrible--just a little achy from recent overuse.)

3. Cellphones, or more specifically one cellphone--my black-screen one to be even more specific. It still dials, and I still get calls--but there's no screen--meaning no texting, no photos, no seeing missed calls, no caller ID--and no ability to troubleshoot. Tuesday's mission to the mall yielded two interesting conversations--one at apple, and one at Verizon. Time will tell.

4. Guilty feelings. Ok, so I shorted myself this week--AND this weekend, running a few miles less than the suggested minimum. I know I'm in great running condition, and strong, and this won't exactly kill me. But this is the time of the year when most normal people running an abnormally far distance being to...well, get a little tired. It's the physical and mental tiredness (not to mention the irrational hunger) that makes me feel guilty. And then I feel guilty about feeling guilty. It's a vicious circle, in the shape of a Rubix cube. Perplexing, and ridiculous.

5. BIG HAAAIR THURRRSDAY! The one good thing about running in the morning is the special little treat that I give myself for the workday--big hair. No blow-drying, no straightening, no ponytail even. I rock the big hair in all its air-dried, dehydrating winter air, frizz-inspiring, half-assed wavery glory. And though at times the shadow of my head is startling, and an accidental look in the bathroom mirror gasp-inducing, I revel in it. Biiiig haaair thurrsday. Yeeaaaah.*

*Mmmm, yes. So good.

**On one particularly memorable big hair Thursday, no less than three people commented on the size of my normally groomed follicles within five minutes, ultimately leading to a round-robin cubicle conversation regarding the unruly mop.

Sweet, Sweet Taper...

2009-03-08T10:54:00.002-04:00

Ah, bliss....

This week marks something truly delicious to every runner nearing the end of the training season--a taper week. With no group run planned for this weekend (scheduled mileage 14-16 miles), my beloved was in alt over the opportunity to log some long miles.

After sleeping in a bit on Saturday, we gleefully tripped into long sleeves...and shorts! At a balmy 55 degrees, there was no other way to do it. Fuel-belt equipped, we headed through Harvard Square and to the Charles, heading toward Watertown. The fair-weather runners, out in mass, provided endless amusement to us both, and Jared admitted that he had to agree with my somewhat surly response to them ("Where were YOU when it was 15 degrees and sleeting, fair weather runner?!"). Unfortunately when we got to Arsenal St in Watertown, near where many of the DFMC group runs begin and end, and near to where my first Boston apartment was, we couldn't make heads or tails of where to go. The route I'd mapped earlier showed us clearly staying on a road along the river for another two miles out, then another two miles back--the problem being that once we actually arrived at Arsenal Street, there was no more road along the river...

No worries, though--we simply turned around, and planned to tack on an extra bridge or so at the other end to try to add some "makeup mileage." We happily ran along, chatting merrily, and spontaneously shouting "SPPRRRING!" with open arms embracing the warm air and blue skies.

The run went well overall, and tiredness didn't begin to set in until we were nearly at our turning point to head back through Harvard Square--a mile and a half from home. Though we both agreed it had felt like around 14 miles, but definitely not 15, we found when we got home and verified the modified route that it was actually closer to 13 miles.

Ah well. Still a good run, and still with good company. Per the plan, we leashed up Copley, and headed out on our cool-down walk--to the Davis Square Starbucks. Our lovely young lady was admired by many along the way, and was a very good girl--eliciting many happy noises from her owners...or maybe that was the dark roast?

This Week's 17

2009-03-08T10:40:00.002-04:00

In a happy turn, I actually managed to get the week's running in--including two (little) lifts, and one day of cross-training--the first time I've been able to do so since we got our charming little mongrel.

Sunday's 3 miles, the day after 20 with the team, was a slow, screeching affair--as those loosening runs post-long run tend to be. I slugged it out on the treadmill on Sunday night, forcing myself the bare minimum distance before calling it a day and hitting the shower.

Tuesday was scheduled for 6-8, and with a stiff knee, the shorter distance seemed the better part of valor. With no group run scheduled for the weekend, Jared planned to run some longer miles with me--14-16 scheduled, and the farthest he would ever have gone--so he was also more inclined to run some shorter miles. Again, I spent some quality time on the "dreadmill", this time due to the snow drifts and salty streets left from Monday's 10-12 inches of snow. We settled into a decent clip for 6, chatting all the while. Post-run, an abbreviated lift proved just the thing, though my body had noticed the lack of the past weeks, knees screaming gently at the pull of lunging.

Thursday rolled around, with scheduled mileage of 8-12, and again, we opted for the shorter distance of the range. With the weather warming slowly to a brisk but relatively warm 35+ degrees, we shambled our way the 4+ miles to the gym, where we enjoyed another lift, and some "nutritionally balanced for women" (sorry, Jared) pomegranate and watermelon Luna chews, before heading the 4+ miles home to throw a pizza in the oven.

With 17 miles in the bank for the week, I was a happy camper. "Cross-training" on Friday was a couple friendly games of pickup hoops--maybe not great for the training runner's body, but good for her soul all the same, and much more inviting than 30 minutes on a machine...

Running Etiquette (or What My Mind Wanders to Over the Course of 20 Miles)

2009-02-28T19:01:00.012-05:00

Today was the first of the "Big Three"--that is, the looong three training miles before the marathon, which are, respectively, 20, 20, and 22 miles.

I love to run, and make no secret about it. But let me tell you, that is a LONG way. There is no escaping the sore muscles, in aching butt and calf, no escaping the thirst, and irrational post-run hunger (no matter how much you eat or drink during the run itself), no escaping the utter fatigue that eventually will set in.

And for me, especially when running alone, as I was for the majority of today, there is no escaping the odd paths my brain sometimes rambles down. While running, I somehow got onto the mental topic of running etiquette--or, at the very least, the differences in runners.

The first, and already a hot topic (profiled in a recent Runner's World), is waving, or acknowledging in some way your fellow runner. The article I read last month basically grouped people into the wavers--and the nonwavers. Now, I sometimes wave, but not always. When I do wave, it's more like a low, one-handed hold slightly to the side of my body (always on the right), and near my stomach. This wave says, "Hi. How are you. Good job running, fellow runner." This wave, while acknowledging, and I would say, encouraging my fellow runners, does not invite conversation, but does invite a reciprocal wave--which I get about 75% of the time.

My second version of waving is the "Good morning!" or "Nice Job!" verbally shouted (or muttered) while passing someone traveling in the opposite direction. This is also typically reciprocated, though again not always.

What I discovered today was what I suspected--we all turn into nonwavers the more tired we get. About 14 miles in, I'd switched to a brief nod and "uh" as I passed fellow runners, and near 17-18, I started to duck my head, while trying to mentally suck the energy away from other runners and into myself.

The second topic I spent some time reflecting on (I had time to reflect, as I crawled along sedately--negative splits, HA!) was to iPod, or not to iPod. An alarming number of runners wore iPods today. While I understand many people prefer to run to the tunes of their favorite musicians, it's not for me... partly because I don't think a beautiful spring day is the kind of day you need a distraction from. Treadmills? All about the iPod.

On Thursday night, as I was about to leave work, a coworker somewhat randomly asked me what I thought about iPods. (Well, maybe not so random, as I'd spent the entire week gloating about our awesome Hyannis performance, to anyone who would listen, and to some who obviously didn't want to.) When I said they weren't for me, he said what I think is the #1 response from the pro-iPod'ers: "I just can't imagine not having one. I mean, I can't work out with out one." What I wanted to say (but didn't) was "Well, you have to become comfortable with being alone with yourself."

The truth is that there is no hiding from yourself in running in silence, with only the smack-smack of your feet, the breeze on your face, the occasional car driving by, and the "uh" or "Good Morning" of another runner (see above) as your soundtrack. Your brain goes where it will, and settles on those things that are most present and forefront in it--be it work, upcoming event plans, health, a to-do list, or a sticky situation with a friend. For me, at least, running remains a catharsis of sorts--a place where everything slows down, and everything becomes clearer, a place where I can often find my true self, even if its a tired true self.

I finished my run today content with my miles, and happy to feel no more bodily woes than the expected aches and fatigues that come with such a long distance, and relaxed after some much-needed time with myself.

So I guess whatever each runner prefers is what they should have--be it iPod or no iPod, waving or not. The road rises up to meet all of us just the same--its how we each look at it, and treat it, that makes us unique.

Run, Run, Run...An Uneventful 9

2009-02-28T18:54:00.003-05:00

Nothing much to report for the weekly miles. On Tuesday Jared and I drug ourselves from the comfort of home, visiting family, and dog to hit the streets for a fairly lazy four...spending most of the time chatting rather than worrying about the run itself. After that, it was a quick shower, then on the Mongolian restaurant Fire & Ice, for my parent's last supper in Beantown... a lovely visit overall:)

Thursday, with Jared at a late-night meeting, I hit the streets solo style, and cruised out around five miles up and down Mass Ave, bolting home to let out our poor crated mongrel, who proceeded to try to eat my tights--while they were still on my legs.

It's good thing she's so cute...and that her potty training is going well. Here's the mongrel, helping me "work" on Friday. (Note: these are old to-do lists, rather than new ones, thankfully.)

Who Has Two Thumbs and Loves PRs? This Girl!

2009-02-23T17:22:00.004-05:00

Last week was a bit of a(nother) guilty week, with only two runs in the bank--the first, a blisteringly fast 6-miler with my beloved (Tuesday), the second, a dull, mentally elsewhere, slogging 4-miler (Friday) with my beloved, before we rushed home to shower and pick up my parents for a long weekend visit.

Yesterday (Sunday) was the Hyannis Half Marathon--in Hyannis, MA, on the Cape. Jared and I had been talking over and over on recent runs about our goal to run a sub-2:00 (hr) half--the last half I'd run without Jared was around 2:02, and at the Seacoast half, which we ran together, we clocked a 2:01.36. It seemed that little extra effort would be needed, but knowing there is no guarantee in running, we stressed, as runners are wont to do...and in our biweekly runs, we started trying to come out of the gate (i.e., yard) a bit faster to ensure we wouldn't end up trying to make up for the early slow miles we both tend to log.

We dutifully climbed out of bed around 7:00 a.m., then woke the parents for the long drive to the Cape. After arriving, I stood in a 20+ person line for the ladies', while Jared was off to pick up our race packets. While we waited for him, I told my dad the ins and outs of chip timing, and we got to chatting with a marathon runner sitting next to us--later, he modestly mentioned that he'd won the marathon the last 4-5 years, but that it wasn't a big deal, as it wasn't a competitive field....sure. (I say things like that all the time too, or I would, if the average pace of all racers was over 9 min/mile.)

At last, we were off, waving at my folks, and dutifully lining up in the 9:00 min/mile pace section behind the starting line. At the shouted, "Ready, Set, Go!" we were off, cranking left and right to pass by slower runners when we could, the pace as best can be expected in a crowd, and not a bad overall pace.

At mile 5, we took a quick break for Gu--a revolting, decaf lemon-lime for me, a less revolting, caffeinated plain for Jared--and a much-needed stretch of the legs, hips, and butt. A few seconds of hedonistic rest, and we were off again, cruising back at our hard pace within minutes. At just before the 9-mile mark, Jared managed to cajole me into holding out for 10 for the next stop, with the suggestion that we just take an easy mile instead. Sheer trickery, I say, as neither of us gave mile 10 any quarter, and panting, at last slowed to a stop at the marker. Another decaf Gu for me (strawberry banana--these two offensive flavors seeming to be the only decaf options for my finicky stomach), another caffeinated plain for Jared, a hip and butt stretch for Jared, hamstrings and butt for me, along with the somewhat sick realization that we'd taken our rest at the bottom of a hill.

No matter, though, as we kicked our legs into gear, sure in the knowledge that we had only a small distance to go. The next three miles passed much the same as the first, with limited conversation, both of us saving our oxygen for faster miles. At long last, the finish line was in sight. We kicked in as much as we could at this point, and sprinted (sort of) across the finish at 1:54.45.

Hoorah! Just shy of a seven-minute PR. Not too shabby:)

21.5 Miles in Two Runs + One Gorgeous Mug

2009-02-15T17:20:00.005-05:00

After last Sunday's 18, there was cross-training for Monday, and a surly, if also short, 4.5 miles with Jared along the river. Unfortunately, life caught up to me for the next several days after that, and I'm embarrassed to say that not only did I not run for those 4 days, I did no working out of ANY kind. Shameful.

Today, however, another 18-miler loomed. Yesterday, having been confined to the car for 8 hours,* I restricted my water consumption, never a good thing the day before logging long miles...

Jared also needed a long run before next week's Hyannis Half, so the two of us trotted out about 10 miles (later found to be closer to 9) along the newly named Loch Ness Loop--ending at our corner. With a smooch and a wave, I was back off down Mass Ave to finish off my mileage, which ultimately ended up around 17.

And ick, it was NOT fun mileage. I'd like to blame it on any number of things, but I did, after all, take four days off...not to mention last week's 18-miler was in the best possible weather. But via a sad combination of run hobble walk stretch run hobble walk stretch, I made it back home in one piece, to play with....

*Copley. The lovely, playful, precarious Dane puppy we spent 14 hours in the car for this weekend, as we trekked to Buffalo to get her and back. She is asleep now at the feet of my beloved and I...after much playing, eating, and of course, more sleeping.

18 with Me, Brenda, and Myself, and a Soliliquoy on Friends

2009-02-10T21:09:00.006-05:00

A gorgeous 48-degree morning had me hopping out of bed last Sunday for some planned long miles. Still pining the absence of my beloved, out of town hiking, I hurriedly got dressed (two layers on top! Shorts on bottom! Hoorah!) and headed out of my lonely house.

On the road, I could barely believe my luck. Within the first mile, I'd stripped down to a thermal top and my shorts, and was chugging merrily along, waving and nodding at the runners in my path. I happily cruised along, slipping and sliding on the occasional icy patch, running down the Charles River, then circling it near Elliott Bridge, before heading towards Boston.

At 7 miles in, on the corner of Dartmouth and Stuart, I met Brenda, fresh out of her warmup on the arc trainer, and ready for 7 miles as a duo. After realizing neither of us had mapped a route (It's so sunny! What a gorgeous day! Where should we run? Didn't you map a route? No, didn't you?), we headed towards an old favorite, our 5:00 a.m. Thursday route from last year's training season.

The miles went quickly and easily, and were filled with chatter of work, life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. Seven miles later, we parted ways, again at Dartmouth and Stuart, and I started my 4-mile trek home. The last leg was uneventful, if its unsurprisingly tough self. I was more than happy to make it to my allotted stopping point, and walk the last two blocks home for the planned cooldown.

Later that week, a friend mentioned to me an argument she'd recently had with some other friends--an argument stemming from her commentary about how friends often move and in out of our lives. She is, of course, right. The conversation got me thinking about my friends--about the friends from high school, the friends from college, the friends from two years ago, the friends of today. I feel very fortunate in my friends, to be honest--who are made up of an ecletic mix of personalities. There are the running friends, the ex-roommates, the friends I can sing loudly in the car with, the literary friends, the listening friends, the friends who always have a funny story to share.

But the friend mentioned earlier was also right--her comments centered on how its important to understand that each of our friends brings something different to our lives, and at different times of our lives what that is can become more, or less, important. This is most visible when great life changes occur--when we go into or exit school, when we pair up with someone, when we have our first child. My friend's point was that it's OK, and natural, for friends to come and go in our lives, and that we can't help but do the same with them.

One of the reasons this struck me running was that I've been lucky the past several years since I started running to never be short of a friend to run with. With training season underway, I've been logging a lot of my long run marathon miles with Brenda, and with the Hyannis Half Marathon on 2/22, I've logged most of the rest with my other half. But when I first started running, it was mostly just Kate and I--though we slowly converted many of other friends over time. Next month, though, Kate will be leaving our dirty water, and heading for the Big Apple, as she and her husband head out to start new jobs and be closer to family.

Look for her to be logging some fabulous miles in Central Park, happy pup Bodhi in tow...

Amen(orrhoea)

2009-02-07T11:39:00.003-05:00

Well. Verdict is in, and next week will most likely bring the third month of the absence of my "little friend," the old "Aunt Flo," She's been gone since around Thanksgiving.

That's right. Amenorrhoea. Here's what Wikipedia has to say (and Wikipedia don't lie, folks):

Exercise amenorrhoea

Female athletes or women who perform considerable amounts of exercise on a regular basis are at risk of developing 'athletic' amenorrhoea. It was thought for many years that low body fat levels and exercise related chemicals (such as beta endorphins and catecholamines) disrupt the interplay of the sex hormones estrogen and progesterone. However recent studies have shown that there are no differences in the body composition, or hormonal levels in amenorrheic athletes. Instead, amenorrhea has been shown to be directly attributable to a low energy availability. Many women who exercise at a high level do not take in enough calories to expend on their exercise as well as to maintain their normal menstrual cycles. [1]

A second serious risk factor of amenorrhea is severe bone loss sometimes resulting in osteoporosis and osteopenia. It is the third component of an increasingly common disease known as female athlete triad syndrome. The other two components of this syndrome are osteoporosis and disordered eating. Awareness and intervention can usually prevent this occurrence in most female athletes.

Last year, having skipped the menstrual cycle from Thanksgiving through April, I had been at times, a bit concerned...this year, having spoken at length with my doctor, I was a bit less so.

So. Here we go...again. While part of me finds amenorrhoea to be a side affect of marathon training that remains a little concerning, the other part of me rejoices...

...and says "Amen."

15.5 with My Other Half--as Jared's Patience Is Tested

2009-02-07T11:15:00.006-05:00

Slacker blogger--Check.
One early morning run--Check.
One miserable run--Check.
Sweet new shoes (even if sans fancy red laces)--Check!

This week brought some of the usual, with a few mild adventures thrown in. Tuesday's late night and flat tire precipitated an early Wednesday morning run--4.5 miles with my beloved, who was willing, but less than happy about the 5:00 a.m. mileage.

Thursday night brought the scheduled moderate/long weekly distance, with Jared and I scurrying to the gym to avoid the frigid weather. A miserable 11 miles for me--despite my fabulous new kicks--and likely miserable also for Jared, who had to put up with my griping--I was tight, my can was sore, my calves were uncomfortable, my knees were aching, I was thirsty, I was hungry, I was tired....all can be summed up with the simple fact that I had decided, for some reason, that I was going to have a "bad run."

Once you've told yourself "I'm having a bad run," that's exactly what you do--and no amount of stretching, loosening, hydration, good conversation, or encouragement can talk your mind out of the funky dark place it has wandered into of its own accord.

What is it in us that does this? I know full well that my body is willing, is in fact, stronger than it has ever been. I know that my legs will usually loosen up within a few miles. I know that 2 liters of water is enough, that the amount of calories consumed is on the shy side, but still sufficient. I know that the treadmill is, in fact, easier than running outside, and that the distance is shorter than my weekly long runs.

But none of this mattered on Thursday, when I was having a "bad run." None of it mattered at all, as I climbed into that dark place, and shamelessly wallowed in my self-imposed self-misery. No amount of gentle teasing by my other half, no chatter about picking up the new puppy next week, no discussion of news, work, and life could pull me from the deep well of grumpiness I'd rolled directly into.

These runs for me fulfill only one purpose, and perhaps this is why they exist at all--they serve as a reminder of how much we should appreciate the other runs--the runs that leave our minds singing, our legs turning, and our bodies feeling fast, strong and capable, as though there is no distance too great, no hill to high, no turn to sharp, no end to the possibilities incarnate.

As we finished our 11 miles, Jared having pushed me to it, I was happy--happy we were finished, happy to have done the distance, and happily, looking forward the next, better run.

Special props to my beloved on both of these runs--on Wednesday, though cranky about it, he got out of our warm bed, and slugged through some cold miles. On Thursday, he not only ran next to me for 2 hours on the dreadmill, but also forgave me my surliness, and pushed me to go further than I wanted to...gently, but firmly, ensuring that we'd both feel good about the day's miles. This run will likely be our last long run together before the Hyannis Half Marathon on February 22, as next week will likely hold a taper. Wish us luck!

The Jolly 17'ers

2009-02-01T19:18:00.003-05:00

Saturday was a clear, crisp morning for running, and run I did--17 miles with the DFMC crew.

I spent the first mile chatting with 2nd-time DFMC marathoner Megan, celebrating this year with her dad's five year anniversary of being cancer-free (colon), and also his 60th birthday. Miles 2-3 were solitary miles, my mind wandering where it will. (Often it wanders in the direction of the smell of fresh coffee, but that's neither here, nor there...more's the pity.) Miles 4-6 were spent chatting with Beth, who lives surprisingly near me. Beth also works for Dana-Farber, and is in charge of the DFMC designs, including cards and singlets. I was dying to ask her what this year's would look like, but saving myself the thrill of anticipation, I resisted. Barely. Miles 7-8.5ish were again solitary miles, and it was with a slight sense of dread that I found myself at the bottom of "Grossman's Hill." Slugging along behind an elderly teammate, though, I found that, well, it just wasn't as hard as I had thought it was. Do I blame Derry? Not sure. Either way, the hill went smoothly, with my legs feeling strong, carrying me to the top with no trouble.

At the top, enough energy left for a smile for my other half and his fellow volunteers, I took a brief break for some Gatorade and pomegranate Luna chews. The first mile back was partly solitary, partly spent with Jeff and Jenny. Jeff and I had also shared a quick chat during the hills at Derry, as he chugged along up them, and I power-walked myself up and over.

The remainder of the miles were spent with this pair, chatting about the miles to come. Both of them are running Boston 2009 for the first time. It will also be their first marathon. Until Saturday, Jenny had never run more than the distance of a half marathon, 13.1 miles. As soon as we got past that, Jeff and I made sure to remind her that at that point, every step was another victory. She hardly needed our encouragement, though, as the three of us finished the run strong.

After a quick shower and snack (provided by our extremely generous running host, the Mount Auburn Athletic Club), I jumped into the car with Jared and we headed for Vermont for some wedding location shopping. Now, it's tea, and what's truly a pitiful attempt on my part to pretend that I'm watching the Super Bowl. (I mean really, where's the basket? It doesn't make any sense.)

Side Note: The Jolly 17'ers are the name of a sort of social club that my paternal Grandmother (Anne) belongs to. The only requirement? You had to be born in 1917. This large group of women would write a round-robin letter, with each woman adding a paragraph or two, then mailing it on to the next woman on the list. The letter would go from one person to the next, round and round, and each recipient would receive a long, newsy letter, with bits from everyone else on the list. Every few years, the group would plan a reunion, with the group of them putting on funny skits and shows for each other. It is with sadness that my grandmother has had to see this group of friends, that she has made and had for many decades of her life, as age and sickness claims them one by one. She, however, is lucky, as she is a well-loved woman, by her family, and I am certain, by all the remaining "Jolly 17'ers."

The Birth of a Cambridge Creature from the Deep

2009-02-01T18:45:00.008-05:00

Thursday was moderate/long(ish) run for me, long run for Jared day, as we continue our path to the Hyannis Half on Feb 22, and I continue mine to the 2009 Boston Marathon.

Per usual, Jared mapped a route, showing it to me in the evening. The plan? 9-10 miles around Cambridge, traveling over our route from last week, along the MinuteMan Trail, and back home.

Tighted up and loaded with fuel belt and Gu, we headed out. Upon reaching the trail, we discussed whether modifying our route might be a good idea...as Wednesday's snow turned "wintry mix" had left portions of the trail with a thin, crunchy layer of ice and snow. Still, many spots seemed perfectly clear, so we decided to carry on.

Bad idea. By 3 or 4 miles, we were skating along a sheet of glaze ice, flat

and dark, melting perfectly into the sidewalk below it--barely visible and glaringly hazardous. In the dark of the trail, we were at last forced to admit we'd made the wrong call. Unwilling to backtrack along the path we'd slid along, grasping at each other here and there to avoid a fall, we popped out of the trail at our first opportunity, near a startlingly large Greek Orthodox Church.

We shambled left, then arched back toward hom

e at what we hoped would be an appropriate turning point. Eventually, back near our home ground, it was into the supermarket for fresh fish, before jogging home with our booty.

Upon arriving home, Jared immediately calculated our milage. Looking at our strange, 9.3-mile loop, he uttered the name, one that would be talked about for the rest of the weekend:

The Loch Ness Loop.

See the neck of the beast, arching away from our perilous path. See the ancient, sinewy shape of the monster's torso, the point of its tail near our home.

Sounds like a good road race to me...and were we to plan it appropriately, might be a nice taper run for many a marathoner. We could round to 15K or 10 mile, start and end at the Burren in Dizzle Squizzle...though so far the best idea is a keychain/tshirt or tiny monster with the words "I defeated the Loch Ness Loop" marked on it.

Thoughts?

Ahh...

2009-01-28T18:55:00.001-05:00

That's right, folks. I haven't run in three days. I haven't lifted, cross-trained, or done any other form of exercise.

Though I did stretch one day of the three.

2009 Derry Recap

2009-01-25T18:30:00.006-05:00

This morning was the equal parts dreaded and beloved Derry 16-Miler, officially termed the "Boston Prep." Though I denied to myself, I hoped to run a best time--it didn't have to be by much--even a minute or two would do. That said, I've run this race before, and was fully aware of what it takes to complete it--survival instinct. The course is winding and hilly, and at 16 miles, no joke. Nor is the weather usually a treat, as last year's snowstorm and this year's cold proved. (Zero degrees before I hit the road for the drive to Derry, though it did warm up some.)

I ran into several fellow DFMC runners pre-race, and was happy to see some familiar faces. I'd packed Jared's iPod in one pocket, just in case I found myself both alone and tired somewhere on the course. Some good conversation, a lot of stretching, and a quick trip to the ladies, and we were off. Here's my recap, and thought process of today:

Mile 1: Settle in with fellow DFMC runner, chatting about last year's snowy miles, my muscles and joints protesting the early efforts, lined with early sloping hills. A little sadness set in as I checked the split on my watch: 10:20. Boo. Still, the lack of wind brought more warmth than expected--or should I say less cold?

Mile 2: As I ran by a fellow wheezing, I turned to ask him, "Hanging in there OK?" He responded that he was, that he'd had surgery two weeks prior to fix some hernias--as in multiple. He went on to say that this year would be his first attempt at the Boston Marathon, that it had been on his "Bucket List," and that he was committed to putting in the training to make it happen. Wishing him well, but reminding him to run smart, I continued on.

Mile 3: Fresh off a water stop, I ran along alone for this mile, looking about in wonder at the snowy tree-lined paths, the clean road, and generally being happy about life and running. Eavesdropped on three women chatting about the apparent abundance of single men in Colorado. Chipped in my two cents that I'd read Denver was the #1 singleton city, and that I personally knew an eligible bachelor in Boulder. (Evan--there are some ladies in Derry who'd really like to meet you...and guess what? They like to run.)

Mile 4: Astonished at the miles completed already, I merrily slugged through Mile 4, much like Mile 3, cruising up and down hills. A woman near me commented to her companions that the pace so far averaged 8:50. (What?! Where did I lose all that time from the 10:20 mile? Gift horse, gift horse...)

Mile 5: Fresh off Vanilla Gu, I somehow found myself chatting with Susan and George. Susan, the leader and coach of the GoKids marathon team, and a past competitive runner, told me about a bad experience with water poisoning, and how after a 20-year hiatus, she'd decided to get back at it, with the 2007 Boston Marathon.

Mile 6: I babbled away about my charming fiancé, our running endeavors, in a generally doe-eyed manner. (What can I say? I wished he was there--though to be fair, I always do.) They asked about the wedding plans; I filled them in on where we are.

Mile 7: George filled me in the his glory days (cross-country), the 20 years of inactivity, and his training so far this year, as he works toward completing his first marathon as part of the GoFit team. He told me about his daughter, a freshman in college, and a bit of a princess, but also Daddy's little girl, and his son, 15, and a "pretty good kid."

Mile 8: As we passed the mile marker, I couldn't believe how good my legs felt. Susan and George were committed to a 9:00 min/mile pace, and promised me they'd force me up the hill at 10.5. Little did they know that I was holding the pace with a bit of an ulterior motive--building up my "bank" of time, so that if I had, or just wanted, to walk the devastatingly steep Warner Hill, I could do so--without feeling guilty. Neither had ever run the race, keep in mind--and didn't know what awaited us.

Miles 9-10: I downed another Gu (chocolate, mmm) and continued to cruise with George and Susan, now with Susan yelling over what turned out to be her teenage son's iPod, letting us know what she thought of the curse words in some his musical choices. George and I tried to converse back, until we realized she couldn't hear us over the hip hop rhythms. As they sped up near 10, I wished them well, and kept to my own clipping pace, as they bolted ahead.

Mile 11: Halfway in, I hit it--my Everest--the long and steep Warner Hill. A quarter of the way up, my lungs, calves, glutes, and hamstrings screaming, I decided to take my option--and use some of the bank. I was surprised, though, to find that above and below me on the monstrous hill that more than 75% of runners were doing just as I was, ducking their bodies into a walk. The few runners scooting along kept pace with we walkers, or barely edged ahead.

Mile 12: As the fatigue of running 10 miles set in, I felt as though I had begun to move at half speed. I allowed myself one more hill of walking, and ran into a fellow DFMC'r, Jeff, whose wife volunteers, and had met Jared.

Mile 13: A water stop rejuvenated my flagging spirits, though I was bummed to find that my last race treat, Watermelon Luna, were frozen, rendering them inedible. Drat!

Mile 14: I realized, with surprise, that I was clipping along again, my legs feeling tight and tired, but retaining plenty of steam. Not so fresh though, that I didn't start to think about the water stop somewhere right after 14, and looking forward to a stretch. I forced myself to come to terms with the fact that my time would likely be approximately the same as last year's. Ah well.

Mile 15: Having come to the conclusion that I'd misread the map, I decided there must be water in mile 15, and pondered on the practicality of a water stop so close to the finish. Feeling tired, and a bit put out, I remember my beloved's perseverance at Falmouth, and decided to run on until I found it rather than stop.

Mile 16: Acknowledging at last that I'd misread the map and there would be more stopping until the finish (Wishful thinking? Maybe), I forced myself through last mile of flat and downhill running, letting my legs fly as they would down hills, taking no heed of the potential for later joint pain. As I took the last corner, I found myself with 20 yards to run, and the clock in sight--which ticked to 2:25 as I crossed the finish line, a full 7 minutes faster than last year, and a 9:04 min/mile pace. Hoorah!

The walk to the school, where Gatorade and chili awaited me, along with the ride to the car was filled with silly, happy grins, as was the exuberant phone call to my beloved to give him a play-by-play.

As before, a tough, tough race, but one I am happy to have run!

9(ish) With My Better Half--To Run or Not To Run?

2009-01-24T18:21:00.005-05:00

With Derry looming in the rapidly dwindling distance, and only one run left to do before it, I turned to my most attractive running buddy and fiancé--Jared. I told him the target distance for Thursday (7-10 miles), and he promised to take care of finding a route. With Jared yearning for the longer miles we used to enjoy together, it should have been no surprise that the route was on the high side--at 10 miles. (Though later, when we re-mapped at, after an early "detour" it came out to somewhere around 9.)
I headed home, and after patiently waiting the standard 15-minute decompression blather time, Jared led me out the door and down the street.

We turned left, running, stiffly at first, down Mass Ave. Upon reaching the MinuteMan Trail, one of the primary reasons we chose our apartment (location, location, location), we turned into it, striding along a tree and house lined path, every step bringing more ease in the now-familiar motion. A mile or so in, and we realized we'd somehow missed our turn--and ended up on the busy Alewife Brook Parkway. It wasn't until we met Chad, a sprightly runner dashing alone happily, that we were able to get back on track. (At our pleas for directions, he told us to follow him--the next 3-4 minutes were spent with both of us struggling to keep up with his blithely quick trot.)

At last we were back on the trail, and as we ran through shadowed paths along lines of trees and snowy open fields, we at last took some time to spend the miles talking over the topic of the day--whether or not Jared should run the 2009 Boston Marathon.

(Background: My beloved volunteers in multiple mediums--spending a night a week at the Children's Hospital, and spending time as a big brother in the Big Brothers/Big Sisters Program. This week he received an email from Big Brothers, asking him if he wanted to run the marathon as a charity runner for their team.)

We spent many miles discussing the pros and cons of his running. The cons being that he didn't want to steal my thunder (silly man), he would (potentially) have to give up this season of hoops league, it would be tough to raise the minimum charitable donation ($3000) in three months, and he'd always hoped to run for Children's Hospital if he did run.

(Background: As a once premature baby who spent time in his local Children's Hospital, Jared feels a particularly strongly about volunteering there.)

The pros: With the half marathon in November, and the recent group run cancellations for me, Jared's logged a lot of miles, and is physically in the shape needed to pick up a training program relatively easily. Waiting to do it another year would mean starting over from scratch. Another pro? We could both do our own group runs half the time, keeping touch with the charitable organizations we'd be running in honor of, and run with each other the other half.

Ultimately, Jared decided to see what Children's had to say, as though they typically field a team of runners, the application to run for them has long since come and gone. He emailed them, asking if they had any remaining openings.

With that settled, we continued our run, pausing only for a fast stretch and a slow embrace when a twinkling Orion suddenly showed himself in a snowy clearing. We eased the remaining few miles out of surprisingly fresh legs, discussing the merits of Tibetan vs. Chinese food. By the time we'd hit home, though, we'd agreed on pulled pork and ribs at RedBones.

It was Friday afternoon when Jared heard from Children's, to, I think, his disappointment--the team was full.

The Tortoise vs. the Hare

2009-01-21T18:48:00.030-05:00

Last night I had a running epiphany, just before setting out to run 6.5 miles with my beloved.

The day before, he had asked me if I was beginning to resent running--the time, the effort, the lack of delicious cold beer drinking. I responded that of course that wasn't the case...I don't drink much anyway, so there's no change there, and I enjoy discovering the potential of my own body, facing its running-related challenges. The time, though...this year, I've made a conscious effort to follow the training schedule--including cross-training and lifting, in hopes that I can prevent the left-knee gremlin from waking out of his slumber. The end result is, of course, that I am working out ALL THE TIME. I am running 3-4 days a week, and at the gym another two days (and sometimes one of the running days as well) for the alternate workouts. The lone rest day, Wednesday, is spent at a basketball court, keeping stats in return for my free gym membership.

When all I really want some nights is to have dinner, and canoodle with my sweetheart.

Despite my semi-glib response, the truth is that sometimes it IS hard not to resent the training schedule. I can only gripe so much, as I've made, and continue to make, the choice to train as I am. Add to the time constraints that I've been fretting over my pace (very out of character, but I blame that on this being the second go-round), and even the runs themselves have become a little less fun and de-stressful. Add to that--its hard to not feel guilty at these negative feelings, when the ultimate goals isn't really to train for or run the marathon--but to raise needed funds for a very worth cause.

With all of this in mind, and wanting to get back to what lures me to running in the first place, I slinked myself into my suddenly tighter-than-ever tights (how is that even possible, really?), my sweet Red Sox jacket, hat and mittens, and set out with Jared on a snowy river loop...where I proceeded to explain in great detail my epiphany regarding my of-late lackluster and less fun running.

Over casual, happy miles, he played the part of the attentive listener, as I questioned him about the inauguration, rambled about what was going on in my assorted friends' lives, waxed eloquent on why I think he's a 3-4 in basketball, and I'm a 4, rambled about running in general, complained about the way my tights were managing to bunch behind the knees while still managing to compress my thighs more and more with every step, babbled about our puppy, and soliloquized on the purity of the snow-covered Charles. Jared, seeming to know just what I needed, spoke back at length--on all of these topics, and more, reminding me of why I love to run in the first place, that it is an enjoyable endeavor, and one that doesn't have to be fraught with meaning and stress, or, in fact, be anything other than what it really is--just running.

There are runners that are happiest when they are constantly improving, running faster, better, stronger. I would be lying if I didn't say that I love a good PR, and I am fully aware that with my long stride and overall fitness level that were I to truly go for it, I could probably run a qualifying time--not this year, but maybe in 2-3. The truth is, though, that I don't want to be the hare. I want to be the tortoise-- plodding along perhaps, but but a happier and saner woman for it.

Running and Running...But Not Actually Getting Anywhere

2009-01-20T21:11:00.005-05:00

With a snowboarding trip planned for the long MLK weekend, I planned to skip the intermediate mileage on Thursday, in favor of a long run on Friday.

When takers were few (that is, zero) on my suggestions to run Friday in the frigid night air, I felt only a small bit of regret--after all, this was the perfect excuse to wimp out and run on the treadmill.

Clad in shorts and my favorite T, I hopped on the treadmill. Feeling a slight pang of guilt at what I knew might be an easy workout, I slightly overcompensated...by setting the treadmill on Hills, and increasing my pace to a 9:00 min/mile--thinking, "Well, this will surely get me ready for Derry next week."

As the late-night gymgoers came and went from their 30-minute elliptical and treadmill workouts, the treadmill from hell continued its sadistic up and down, increasing the incline now, decreasing the incline next, increasing the incline again...

By 7 miles, I was gasping for air, and in dire need of a Gu. Hopping off the treadmill, I meandered out to the nearby balcony above the basketball court, stalking Jared playing hoops (hey, he looks good in shorts), stretching, and taking my sweet time with the Gu. Within a minute or two, though, Jared noticed me, and immediately asked how many I'd done...forcing me to admit to myself it was time to get back on the treadmill.

Back to the hills, running uphill and recovering downhill. I took a 30-second breather for water and a Clif Shot with 3.75 to go, but recognizing my own desire to quit, got right back to it--though admittedly feeling a bit surly.

At 2 miles to go, I realized I had to face the facts--sacrifice the hills, or sacrifice the pace, as my body was in the process of crapping out on both. Feeling justified, and managing to convince myself that the worst of the hills are usually early in a race, I turned off the horrible hill setting, and slugged through my last two miles, watching every hundredth tick by.

The next day, I was surprised to feel GREAT when snowboarding with Jared and a group of friends at Pico (see photo at right, Nick, me, and EJ--just a couple of tools). Sunday, however, the miles and the riding caught up to me at Jay Peak, as my legs felt it on the very first run. I made it to about mid-afternoon before calling it quits (and frankly only my pride kept me out that long). Thirty minutes later, my beloved joined me, and we toasted our weekend with a couple of Jay Peak Long Trail--a surprisingly tasty local brew.

Funny, funny bloggers...

2009-01-15T19:16:00.003-05:00

Check this new find out, along with several other running blogs (left sidebar)...

Funny, funny stuff...my only complaint is that Helen hasn't enabled commenting, making this the only place I can praise a post!

The Early Bird Catches the Coffee

2009-01-14T19:26:00.004-05:00

Last night I forced myself to force myself to get out of bed today. The resigned mental pep talk must have worked though, as I dragged myself, and my hubby-to-be out from under the warm, cozy, fluffy covers at 5:00 a.m.

I slunk to the bathroom and back, haphazardly putting on two pairs of tights in a haze of sleepiness. It was only as I prepared to pull the second pair the rest of the way up that I realized the first was on backwards...Jared shuffled drearily around the apartment, layering up. We at last forced ourselves out into the cold, windy air.

The run started as a slow, awkward gait, but within a mile or so, we found ourselves cruising along relatively well, considering the hour. The steep hill at around a mile and a half seemed easy, helped along by the strong, gusty wind.

At a mile to go, though, we paid the running gods back for that push, as we found ourselves running directly into the teeth of the beast, the wind having become a living, wild thing. We muttered the occasional complaint, the occasional coffee comment laced with yearning, and at last, we turned into Davis Square, ending with the aforementioned treat--a latte and a dark roast.

Though I hate the early morning hour, I love to be done with the run...and I think Jared would agree on this one.

3 Miles of Refreshment

2009-01-11T15:55:00.002-05:00

After yesterday's 14 with B and Jared, I anticipated waking up with some stiff muscles. But after around 10-11 hours of ZZZ's, I awoke from some bizarre, Smallville-themed dreams to a well-rested self. I shuffled into the kitchen, put on a pot of coffee, and started some bacon and eggs. Within 15 minutes, I had settled onto the couch in my PJs, and was happily cuddled up with a blanket, my breakfast, and Eragon.

When I finished the book, I headed to the gym, for what's become a weekly, semi-agonizing 3-4 miles the day after a long run. But as I started running on the treadmill, I realized what I hadn't all morning--I felt great! No aching muscles, no sore bones, just a full rested, ready-to-run body. I banged out a quick three miles, and got in a couple good sets of my pro-runner lifting routine, feeling strong and capable. I finished with some solid planks, while humming along to Brick House, as provided by the iPod shuffle, in its infinite workout wisdom. While this kind of enjoyable workout isn't exactly par for the course after a long run, I don't plan to look a gift horse in the mouth...

Now, at home, I'm ready to hop in the shower and clean my apartment, so when my tired man and favorite running buddy gets home from a day of skiing with his school's 5th and 6th graders, he can do what I've been able to do most of today--relax, and enjoy the sense of accomplishment that comes from a weekend of hard work.

Who Says Running Isn't Rewarding?

2009-01-10T16:18:00.005-05:00

With every mile Jared and I run together, we put a dollar, for each of us, into what has come to be known as the Cincinnati pig.*

That money has just paid off for us, as we removed from it the deposit for this darling, who'll be coming home February 21.
*The Cincinnati pig was a gift to Jared. Right before a series of work trips for me, Jared and I played the game "Pass the Pigs" with some friends. Later, the two of us went to get ice cream at a local Ben & Jerry's, where I loudly exclaimed, "Look! A pig!" at the large, pig-shaped tip jar at the cashier. It wasn't until Jared started laughing and clutching his sides that I realized there were two police offices directly in front of us, paying for their ice cream...later, on my last trip, flying home from the Cincinnati airport, I bought Jared the piggybank.

22.5 Miles, and Two Special Treats

2009-01-10T15:37:00.006-05:00

I fully admit to sucking the big one this week on blogging. Quick summary of the two runs leading up to today's:

Sunday: 3 ugly, uncomfortable miles on the treadmill, then a lift. To be expected after Saturday's fast 13 with B and the Dana-Farber crew.

Monday: Cross-training and too dull to spend any time describing.

Tuesday: 5.5(ish) with Jared in our home haunting grounds. He chose a new route, one that was surprisingly hilly and difficult--and one I suspect would be good for both of us to repeat regularly, to my equal dread and delight.

This week's DFMC group run was scheduled for Sunday, so I had planned to take Wednesday and Thursday off--a hedonistic two full days of rest, with no running, no cross-training, no lifting. Just resting. Ahh...resting. Friday I planned to sneak in somewhere between 6 and 8, then 3-4 on Saturday, as a rest/preparation for Sunday's long run.

Well, Friday threw me into utter and complete turmoil, as around 4:00 p.m., I learned that the Sunday run had been cancelled due to projected inclement weather.

Change of plans. Fellow DFMC'er Shifter agreed to set up an informal, unofficial run for any who wanted to join Saturday morning, and B quickly RSVP'd yes. I, knowing my beloved was experiencing some serious running withdrawals, RSVP'd plus one.

Clad in tights, fleeces, hats, and gloves, we hopped on the T, loaded with a fuel belt full of goodies--$6, my debit card, our Starbucks giftcard, water, Gu, and a new (for me) Luna energy chew. This pomegranate treat, similar to a fruit snack and delicious as it was, served a far nobler purpose. The last two weeks of long runs have left me feeling ill for most of the day afterward--the kind of sickly stomach dullness that leaves you heading for the bathroom hour upon the hour, in hopes that the toxins inside will be released. Since my diet hasn't changed, and the short runs aren't a problem, I pinpointed my energy gel of choice as a potential factor--and decided to try omitting the mint chocolate Gu, in favor of one Gu of a blander flavor, coupled with an alternative energy source. (Side note: This worked pretty well for me.)

At the Hynes stop, Brenda popped onto the same train as Jared and I, and the three of us rode to Woodland, Mile 17 of the official course, where we hoped to meet other runners--all three of them.

Jared, B, and I headed off at a steady trot, heading straight for B's house downtown, about 9 miles, and also right on the course--in fact a short (.2 miles to be exact) trot from the finish line. A nice fellow runner, Matt, joined us for a while, but turned around at 5 miles, to head back to his car at the T.

The three of us carried on, settling happily into a solid, neither blistering nor sedate clip, banging out the miles with much chipper chattering, and the occasional grumbling at the hills.

Passing Brenda's house, we continued on down Comm Ave, to part ways at the Public Garden. Brenda continued her loop, and Jared and I happily turned around--and despite what we'd expected, found ourselves clipping along at approximately the same pace as we headed the 3 miles home.

With two miles ago, conversation dwindled to a minimum as my beloved and I fought through the cold and our rapidly fatiguing muscles. A dizzy spell by Jared at 13.5 brought up something I hadn't previously thought of--a heavier, bigger body needs more calorie replacement than a smaller, lighter one, and what was enough calories for me to keep me fueled to run wasn't likely to be enough for Jared, 35 pounds heavier and 5 inches taller.

Luckily, some leftover Luna saved the day, and we ran our way to our local Starbucks, where the reward of two lattes made it all worthwhile.

On a side note, though today was the longest run for me since last year's marathon, it was also the longest, and fastest run for Jared--ever. He remains not only a good sport, but also a supportive, and enjoyable running buddy.

Plus, if he ever gets too far in front of me, I can always just relax and enjoy the view.

Who Does #2 Work For?

2009-01-03T16:46:00.009-05:00

The past week was a surprisingly difficult week to get any running in, as the universe seemed determine to halt me in my tracks. Following the schedule, I dutifully scraped out a stiff 3 miles on Sunday--the day after a long, wet 11.7 in the rain--my body protesting the entire way. Monday was a cross-training day, and I got in a "token" workout, logging some time on the elliptical while reading my lone Modern Bride magazine--a Women's Fitness at hand in case I needed to hide my illicit paraphernalia from the other gym-goers.

Tuesday, our neighbor's roof lit on fire, derailing my plans to run with Jared. No worries, we could log some miles Wednesday.

Wednesday brought a blizzard, and me leaving work early only to drive 2+ hours in the snow and traffic.

Thursday, we managed to squeeze in some miles on the treadmill before the early gym closing--6.8 miles, and I didn't have to spend a single extra moment in the frigid outdoors!

Friday, more cross-training, this time on a stationary bike. (Note: I only made it 20 minutes, as once I finished the Modern Bride, I had nothing with me but a dullsville book club book to entertain me.)

Saturday, #2 of the Dana-Farber group runs, a semi-blistering pace set by B...with me gamely (on the surface at least) trotting along with it. We cruised up and over hills, with me (mentally) grumbling all the way. We careened down the back of the same hills, feet flying and smiles wide by the time we hit Jared's water stop for a high-five, a gatorade, and a quick smooch for me. We charged up Heartbreak, cresting the top with many a gasp and wheeze, before settling in for a smooth run back to the Mt. Auburn Club in Watertown.

With nearly every mile, I thought to myself how unlikely it was that I'd be able to maintain the pace for much longer. But the miles slowly fell away, and our legs moved even faster, topping out around 10-11 miles with one wildly fast 8:11-minute mile. Near the end, B jokingly noted I should attempt to qualify time for Boston 2010 with her...and suddenly I realized we were still running fast--after 12.5 miles.

We finished our 13 at a staggering average of 8:39 min/mile, with me astonished, and elated, at the possibilities of my own body.

Happy New Year!

2008-12-28T20:08:00.006-05:00

Well, another year is in the hatch, and with it, at least more than a full year of blogging--I started this blog last December, and what a year it's been...please help me to make a better blog of meanderings, deep thoughts, and occasional quirky humor by telling me what your favorite blog was. These are the ones that I think of fondly, for one reason or another:

#1: Last Run Before Monday...
#2: Derry Play-by-Play
#3: Divine 9? Not Really.
#4: 18 = Divine 9 x 2 (look ma, I can do math)
#5: Boston Strikes a Low Blow Against NYC
#6: Marathon Monday Recap
#7: Running to...the Altar?
#8: In One Fell(s) Swoop
#9: A Multitude of Runs, and Southie's Top 10
#10: Just When You Think the Worst Can't Happen...The Worst Happens.

So much can change in a year. Here's a thought--in 2007, I ran, as far as I can tell, 407.25 miles. In 2008, despite taking a rather ridiculous amount of summer days of, I ran, again, as far as I can tell, about 763 miles. Strangely, the highest mileage month was January, with 110.8; the lowest? July, where I'm pretty sure I barely ran 20 miles, and blogged only two of the runs.

Tell me also--what do you like, hate, enjoy, etc. about the blog? What can I do better?

Thanks, and Happy New Year to all--I leave you with this, a photo of two fellow runners--B, a fellow marathoner, and JRod, my beloved, on New Year's Eve.

11.7 Miles Saturday + 3 More on Sunday = An Excuse for A Big, Cheesy Pizza

2008-12-28T18:35:00.006-05:00

Having sweet-talked my beloved into logging some more miles with me--at least until DFMC is back on after the group run holiday hiatus--I was looking forward to getting in a solid long run on Saturday. We mapped out a long run,* just shy of 12 that would take us from our apartment, over the river to Boston, around the Public Garden and Common, past the Garden (Yeahh...C's!), over another bridge, past the Museum of Science (Mythical Creatures Exhibit looks pretty great, and now on my list of things to do), back to the river until Mass Ave, from Mass Ave to our street, then an additional little bump from home to Davis Square--ending us at 12 miles at the local Starbucks. Ah, bliss.
So here's what really happened.

After commenting on what looked to be a threatening and potentially rainy sky, Jared ventured onto the front stoop to take a quick temperature read--relatively balmy. Clad in capri tights, a non-turtleneck Under Armour, sneaks, and fuel belt loaded with Gu, I scampered out behind him.

Within a block or two, a light sprinkling of cold rain began sluicing onto us. By the Mass Ave bridge, we were talking science, and barely noticed the increase of water streaming from a gray and ever more ominous-looking sky. At the Garden, we ventured a look up at what had become a steady downfall, and commented on the likeliness of it abating soon.

By the Museum of Science, we'd settled into a comfortable pace, running easy and smooth despite the still heavy rain. Despite teasingly commenting--multiple times--that he must love me a lot to be out there in those conditions--Jared seemed to be enjoying our gliding gait along the chilled, windy river.

As we reached Mass Ave for the last long leg of our run (about 3.5 miles to go), the rain picked up in intensity. Abandoning all pretense of avoiding puddles in our entirely too sodden state, we began racing for home, striding past MIT and Central Square, bolting around the few raincoat-clad pedestrians near Harvard, dashing across streets, and sloshing through the deepening puddles along sidewalks, street corners--with nary a single other runner spied.

With a mile to go, Jared pointed out what I'd been refusing to admit to myself--that if we ran to the Starbucks, we'd either end up walking home in the cold, heavy rain, or running with our coffees in hand, always a little awkward.** I agreed and suggested that we run to Rindge Ave, a couple blocks past our apartment, then back home, to get into the necessary distance.

As we neared the corner of our street, I realized that one more block wouldn't quite get us to 12. I mentioned this to Jared, who merely looked at me, water streaming down one side of his nose, unchecked by a drenched bandanna. We arrived home after our trip to Rindge and back (discretion did seem the better part of valor here--after all, the man did run more than eleven and a half miles with me in the rain, a week after running 9 in a blizzard on his own birthday). Despite our sodden shoes and clothing, we couldn't help but laugh out our own state, and at the elation of having had a good run in poor conditions.

An easy 3 today helped to ease out most lingering aches and pains, and we are both convinced that a pizza tonight should dispel the rest.

*Note: This was the route we'd attempted to do last week, in the midst of a blizzard, before ultimately crapping out at around 9 miles.
**But known to happen, with coffee, apple cider, ice cream, and once, two pizzas.

Merry Christmas 6, and a Holiday Tune

2008-12-26T10:01:00.002-05:00

Christmas day dawned bright, sunny, and happily, warm. Despite a bit of grumbling, Jared slid into some shorts and joined me as I all but pranced out the door for an early Christmas Day run on the nearly empty streets of Cambridge. The loop was standard, but the day unique--in fact, I think this is the first time I've ever run on Christmas. In honor of that, Jared and I composed this little holiday ditty (the tune may be familiar):

On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me:
Twelve cars a-driving
Eleven snowbanks melting
Ten people walking
Nine piles of dog poop
Eight Jared complaints
Seven dogs a-walking
Six miles running
Five chu-urch bells...
Four open coffeeshops
three Indian restaurants
Two Tom & Jerry's
And a lone marathoner in the street...

Post-run, we headed home to make brunch, coffee, and Tom & Jerry's, and opened presents and watched part of A Miracle on 34th Street, before heading to a friend's place, then off to see Marley & Me.

Surprisingly tough/fast 4 at the Gym

2008-12-26T09:46:00.004-05:00

On Monday, knowing I need to run, but hesitant to do it in the still-cold outdoors, I headed for the gym for the Tuesday scheduled mileage of 4-6 miles--my early workday Tuesday prevents morning runs, and Jared had gotten us tickets to a local theater's performance of "A Christmas Carol" (which, by the way, was excellent!).

At the gym, I lifted, then headed for a treadmill upstairs while Jared taped another basketball playoff game. Settling in on an incline of 2, at a pace of 9-something, I chugged away, running and running, but never getting anywhere. This is the problem with treadmills--they're boring. There is nothing to distract you from the difficulty of running. No clean air to pull into your nostrils, no changing sites or smells to tinker into your subconscious, allowing your mind to stretch and lazily browse around in a multitude of topics. On a treadmill, you are only moving forward--while strangely never actually moving forward.

By the time I hit a mile, I'd realized that this was one of those days where there was nothing to do it but get it over with. I took very little enjoyment out of this run, and increased the pace a bit to be done. Ultimately, I'm happy to have slugged out four miles in a little over 37 minutes, respectable enough. Though it may not have been an enjoyable four, these are the kinds of runs that make me appreciate the other kind--the ones that are alive and fresh, and leave my spirit soaring with the realization of the limitless possibilities of the human body and spirit.

I Say NO! to Running on Sunday

2008-12-22T16:32:00.001-05:00

I'm sorry, fellow runners, readers and supporters of my blog, but yesterday, after shoveling out my car while Jared did his and the sidewalk, I said "To hell with this," and headed out for a hot coffee instead.

Just Shy of an EXTREME! 9 Miles

2008-12-21T14:54:00.005-05:00

Though we'd hoped Saturday would break with a halt to the snowy, stormy weather of Friday, we awoke to a world cloaked in white...and only getting more so. Still, Jared and I had agreed to get in the allotted mileage (8-12), and had mapped a route from our apartment. The route ran down Mass Ave, across the bridge to the Boston side, left down Comm Ave, then the long way looping around the Public Garden and Common, sidled through Government Center and Downtown Crossing, before crossing back to the Cambridge side on the Museum of Science bridge. It then beelined along the river, back to Mass Ave, where we'd then meet up with a portion of the original route and head back home.

We bundled up, layered, and gloved ourselves, then headed down Mass Ave, planning to run a plethora of errands on the way--necessary, given the mountains of snow our cars were buried under. First a couple blocks to CVS to drop off a prescription. Next, a half mile to Marathon Sports for running gloves for me (I already lost the ones I bought last month at City Sports.)

Errands completed, we ducked our heads into the windy, snowy day, and aimed for the river, gasping when we at last hit the bridge. The turn onto Comm Ave was only worse, as what at first appeared a long, relatively sheltered straightaway morphed into a frigid wind tunnel, sucking the air out of our lungs. Pockets of slushy ice water added an element of adventure, as we leaped over them, tracked around them, and climbed snow banks to avoid them. By the time we reached the Garden, after 4+ miles of arduous obstacle-course running in frigid, wet weather, our faces burning and shoes dripping, we agreed we'd had enough...loop around the Garden be damned. We turned ourselves toward home, backtracking the way we'd came.

In a shocking twist, heading over the unplowed or shoveled Mass Ave bridge back to Cambridge was even worse than the first time, with the cold air forcing itself into our lungs, snatching at our very breath. With Jared charging ahead of me, I ducked my head, tucked my chin to one side and sucked at every breath of air the biting wind would let me. With every inch of exposed flesh stinging, we at last finished the bridge, to hear a runner ahead of us shout "I thought we were the only dumb ones today!" Nope, fellow runner.

By the time we'd slogged through the continuing snow into Harvard Square, we'd begun discussing whether we could justify stopping for a burger and warmup. Opting out, we continued toward home, wanting only to be done with the run I repeatedly referred to as "a HORRIBLE idea..."

We did however, cave, as by the time we reached the Starbucks down the street from our apartment, we'd both just had enough. Faces burning, noses running, gloves dripping, and limbs shaking, we ordered a couple of lattes and warmed up before walking to pick up the prescription and grab some groceries.

The rest of the day, Jared's birthday, was spent as it should have, with sweatpants, movies, baking (a pecan cheesecake for the birthday boy), and consumption of scotch (he) and Tom & Jerry's (she). Brenda swung by later, after her own cold 12 miles, and joined us for some much needed hot food and drink.

Today, after shoveling out my car in the continuing blizzard, I immediately rejected my earlier notion of getting in a couple miles. Now, drinking tea and sitting on the couch with my beloved, able to see the STILL-FALLING snow...I'm going to chalk this weekend up as a victory for getting any miles at all in, and be happy with the week's 21 total.

6 Lonely Miles...and the Miseducation of Abigail

2008-12-20T17:08:00.002-05:00

Thursday morning at 5:00 a.m., the alarm clock rang...and rang. I didn't even have the motivation to nudge Jared awake, after we'd both stayed up much too late the night before. So it rang...and rang. And finally, we decided to call a spade a spade, and reset it for 6:30.

Jared had a busy day planned, with school, then straight to volunteer at Children's Hospital, then from there to film a basketball game for the gym. With B out of town, and Kate having logged some morning miles, there was no one left to run Thursday night but me...

So, iPod in tow, and Jared's gloves on my less-than-femininely-sized paws, I head out, around, and along the 6.1-mile route that we'd planned to do that morning. With a few to go, I realized it was me against the dying iPod battery.

In hope of saving enough juice to get me home, I stopped shuffling, and just went with whatever came on--Jared' mix for me, what he called a melting pot of songs he knew I liked, and those he called "educational"--strange, educational seems to be a lot of Metallica and Trivium.

As I chugged in the last 1/2 mile at a sharp clip, the screaming guitars fading in my eardrums, I had to admit that it wasn't half bad...

6 Miles On the River, and Responsible Abby

2008-12-17T22:22:00.003-05:00

Monday, the day I'd allotted myself as a "day of rest" after running 14 miles in 24 hours, was unseasonably warm--near 60 degrees in fact! Tuesday, a running day, was cold. Damn the luck.

I scooted out of work right on time, and booked it to the CAC, the gym both Jared and are gainfully employed at in return for our membership, and, ironically, what ultimately caused us to meet. We bundled up at the gym, and headed out for SUPER!loop around the river.

"A SUPER!loop?" you say? Well, a SUPER!loop is when the original loop is just too short for the sheer boundless exuberance and athletic feat you've planned, and you're forced to add some extraneous running on at the end to hit your mileage.

Jared and I looped the river, up to the Mass Ave bridge, then back along the other side to cross again at the Museum of Science bridge. Back near the gym, we hadn't hit the targeted 6 miles yet, so we ambled back down to Mass Ave and back again. Happy to be done, we then entered the lovely warm gym, and, responsibly, stretched.

Yes, it's true. There was stretching.

Today we met at the gym after work again, this time with me bearing sandwiches. While Jared wrote out his next blog, I hoped on the stationary bike.

Yes, it's true. I cross-trained.

30 minutes later, we both got in a quick lift, before settling in to eat some Italian sandwiches on a thick crusty bread in the gym lobby. (Jared had to film the basketball league finals 30 minutes later, hence the brought dinner.) We followed up with a tasty trail mix, delicately sprinkled with the occasional delicious M&M.

2 Days, 14 Miles, and 'Tis the Season!

2008-12-14T21:31:00.004-05:00

SATURDAY:
Saturday morning saw me lurking under the covers, listening to Jared bustle around in the bathroom as he got ready for a morning volunteering at the first Dana-Farber run of the 2009 training season. At long last, knowing full while that he was hardly going to go without his runner fiance, I dragged myself out of bed and into two layers of tights, Under Armour turtleneck, thermal fleece, hat, and the borrowed gloves of my beloved, having lost my new pair after only two chances to wear them...

Upon arriving at the Mount Auburn gym we were set to run from, I was thrilled to see several familiar faces--fellow Midwesterner Laura, on- and off-road buddy B, Larry, with almost 20 marathons under his belt, and one of the first DFMC'ers I met last year, and an assortment of other runners I hadn't seen in more than six months.

How different this first run of the season was this time around. Last year, I was filled with a mix of emotions--50% glee at starting the training for my first marathon, 50% trepidation at the prospect of running for the next 4 months with a group of strangers, and 50% total and utter terror--at the knowledge that I might have bitten off more than I could chew.

This year, I came back with a whole different set of emotions--happiness to be back at it, comfort at running a now-familiar course, and a smidgeon of practical fear--this time I KNOW how hard the months of training will be, and how the marathon itself will suck at the marrow of energy and strength. I also know, however, that my body and mind are far more capable than I'll ever realize, and that they can go on much longer and farther than I know.

B advised me immediately that she planned to set a bruising pace in the cold weather. I admit I'd hoped for some slow, casual miles, but I wasn't about to do them by myself, so I tucked in with her, figuring that at some point, I'd lag behind as she bolted ahead.

At just over three miles, we crested the first big hill, decelerating to the first water stop, where I was rewarded for my work with a cup of Gatorade and a smooch from my obviously excited beloved. The break over, we continued our run, loping down more hills along the late portion of the marathon course, turning around 1/2 mile after the second water stop at 5 miles. We logged our miles back, kicking on a couple of superbad hills, realizing halfway up Heartbreak Hill where we were, in the following conversation:

Abby: [gasp] Is...this...Heartbreak? [pant pant]
Brenda: Umm...no, it can't be...[pant]...wait...It HAS to be.
Abby: Yup...[gasp]...definitely Heartbreak.
Brenda: Never gets easier...[pant pant]...does it?

Nope. It won't, either. But, as my grandfather would say about cottage cheese, it'll put hair on your chest.

Happily, I had another reward at three miles to go, as we came upon the last water stop. Jared jumped out into the middle of the road, hugged us both tightly, told us we looked great, and that he loved me.

We finished the 11-mile run strong and happy, if a little chilled from the headwind of the last half mile. Jared joined us a few minutes later, and we headed out as quickly as we'd arrived, on our way to brunch and a Santa-themed pub crawl.

After our early morning, though, coupled with my long run angry belly, we ended up dressed up at the first bar, and stayed there after everyone left for a relaxing brunch, before heading home for a three-hour nap.

SUNDAY:
Still stiff from Saturday's exertion (and my utter lack of stretching after it), I was in no mood to log any more miles today. We'd signed up for the annual Jingle Bell, a 5K fun run through Cambridge, in which runners were given monstrously ugly Christmas-themed t-shirts, and jingling bells to tie into their shoelaces.

The race start was only a few blocks from our apartment, a fortuitous circumstance when halfway there we realized we'd remembered to dress up festively and warmly, but had not remembered our chip timers or race numbers...back home we ran to get them, making it to Davis Square with time to spare as the start got moving late.

The next three miles were stiff, but hugely entertaining, as locals were out in their finest. Red and green abounded, with hats topped by antlers, ornaments, and white fringe on red. Runners wearing full Santa suits earned our pity, as the day turned surprisingly warm. Girls in shimmering gold and silver tights brought awe as we marveled over where one could even buy that sort of thing. Laughter was reserved for the top costume of the day, a tall gingerbread man running stiff armed and legged past us near 2.5 miles. And everywhere, bells.

All in all, a fun 5K, and just what was needed to start a day of Christmas shopping off right.

All this work, however, makes a couple of runners thirsty, and it must be time for Tom & Jerry's for two...

Quotable Moments from my Other Half

2008-12-10T19:39:00.007-05:00

Two quotable moments this week from my beloved...

1. While running last week, he suddenly demanded, "Where are we running? I mean, who's chasing us? After this, we just have to run more. We never get where we're going!"

2. Abby (referring to the stick muscle roller), "I want to get a roller today."
Jared's response: "Hellz yeah! Then I can make my scones, bitches!"

(To be fair, we'd also discussed buying a rolling pin earlier that day to do some baking.)

5 Miles of Turning Left, and Why Jeans May Be Good Workout Gear After All...

2008-12-10T10:59:00.006-05:00

On Monday, fellow marathoner Caitlin invited me to join her at a local speed workout--to be done on an indoor track.

Rushing around my apartment, I found myself faced with a dilemma:
1. Put my favorite soft sweatpants over my running shorts, acknowledging that the recent snow might make the cuffs wet and dirty, thereby destroying any chance I had to wear them at home post-shower that night.
2. Put an old pair of baggy jeans on top of my running shorts, acknowledging that I'd show up to a speedster workout looking like an extra from Good Will Hunting.

I opted for the second, knowing that nearly any amount of embarrassment is worth having soft, warm sweatpants at the end of the night.

Upon arriving at the track, I faced anther dilemma, when I realized that the 1.5-mile warmup was to take place outside--in just over 20-degree night air. My choices?
1. Take off my jeans, and run in my little green running shorts, hoping and praying that the movement would be enough to keep my bare legs warm.
2. Leave on my jeans for the 1.5 mile warmup, acknowledging that I'd look like a later, baggier version of Rocky Balboa, and understanding that first impressions often stick--did I want to be the woman that jogged in jeans?

I opted for the first.

After the tingling in my frozen thighs had subsided, we arranged ourselves into groups (I jumped in the target marathon of 4:00 to 4:20--a bit ambitious of me, as I'll be happy with a 4:30) and completed the track workout portion--an interval workout. Each interval was 9 laps, the first lap at 10K pace (63 seconds per lap), the second at half marathon (67 seconds per lap), the third at marathon pace (70 seconds per lap), then repeated twice more for a total of 9 laps. Then three minutes rest, and repeat. Then three minutes left, and repeat, this time backwards, so that we ran 70-67-63 x3.

Overall, it was a great experience, and with the warmup and cooldown, I think we got about 5 miles in.

The next morning (yesterday) I awoke a bit sniffly, but ready to face the day. By 4:00 p.m. though, I was on the road home, snotty, stuffy, sneezing, and lamenting my shorts decision of Monday night. Today, I find myself at home from work, a box of Kleenex nearby, and some Theraflu just consumed.

Rock(y)ing a Weekend Workout

2008-12-07T18:45:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, I hit the gym. Plagued by the gremlin gnawing on the inside of my left knee cap (albeit somewhat gently), I opted for...discretion. (They say it's the better part of valor, you know.) So, in the company of my beloved, I headed to the gym, via "THAT WAY." We started off our workout by pumping some iron, he lifting weights in his own manner, and I in my mine--a 2 x 12 circuit workout of lunges, squats, leg curls, push ups, and planks.

While Jared headed for some pickup hoops, I headed for the elliptical, dead set on getting my long run miles in (7-10) before physically running them at next week's first official group run. On the elliptical for 97 grueling minutes, I read the Glamour magazine kindly provided by the woman who cut my hair that morning, then last month's Runner's World. At this point, having been increasing both the incline and the level of difficultly with every 10 minutes, I ducked my head, gritted my teeth, cranked up the volume on the iPod, and dug in for another 35 minutes of rotating. With 2 minutes to go, Jared arrived fresh off the courts to check out my progress. Grimacing, panting, and dripping sweat from every pore, I grinned and told him my body felt like I'd gone for a long run--but with no joint pain. Success!

We stretched, showered, and headed off to Pemberton Market, a little local place down the street from our apartment, for gooey, cheesy, Sicilian-style sandwiches, thick with prosciutto, provolone, and lettuce.

Later, I thought about my workout at the gym, and how I could best describe it to readers of my blog. Unfortunately, there is only way to do so. Thus, I've hired Sylvestor Stallone of 1985 to do a semi-accurate representation of my cross-training efforts of Saturday. (Note: Though I asked Sly to wear performance gear, he insisted on tight black jeans and a leather jacket. But to each their own...)

Yeah, that's right. Boston (as represented here by Russian phenom "Drago"), you'll be my bitch come April.

Voter Results!

2008-12-05T16:20:00.004-05:00

The past week has been a bit ho-hum in terms of running...I played some hoop on Tuesday, after a sluggish Monday run. (We lost, by the way, ending the HDR dreams of finishing in the middle of the pack.) I'm taking some time now to take care of a sore left knee, in hopes that some good sense now will leave me logging some happy long miles with the DFMC at next weekend's first group run. So it's some quality miles on an arc trainer for me...ick.

Luckily, I have the promise of more Tom & Jerry's to keep me smiling, coupled with the cookies the other half and I are planning to bake tonight. Even luckier--the voters have spoken, and I have received familial approval to share the Tom & Jerry recipe. So without further ado...

TOM & JERRY'S

8 eggs
Lots of powder sugar
just a tich of baking soda
Rum (oh yum)
Brandy (oh, what a good wife she would be)
HOT water (Perrier is forbidden given the family history)
Nutmeg (occasionally she is)

(*Note: As there's only two of us, we've been making a 1/4-batch, which makes four Tom & Jerry's, or two each...just enough to get me slightly pickled.)

THE BATTER:
Separate the eggs (one in the living room, one in kitchen, one in garage, etc)

Beat the whites without being a racist. (Should look almost like meringue.)
Beat the yolks old country fogey style.
Make sure the beatings are thorough... like old school whuppin'.

Combine the beaten duo and add powder sugar to taste. Your goal here is a nice light and sweet batter. It is essential to poke a finger in and test a few times. I have always found one shot of rum sharpens the taste buds nicely.

At this time the tich of baking soda comes in. It is optional whether you whip it into the batter or toss it over your left shoulder. Whichever it is, you must say with gusto... "To preserve the batter!"

THE CUP
Fill the cup aboot 1/2 full with batter while remembering thy roooots.
Pour in one shot rum and one shot brandy (1/2 shot brandy if you prefer but it strikes me better to be balanced).
Add HOT water until 1.384567" below the rim.
Stir nicely with your favorite spoon.

Add more batter to fill the cup and you MUST drizzle a bit down the side (options A and B):
Option A. Drizzle... on the premise that many people spill anyway and just get it over with.
Option B. Drizzle... some people who are neat freaks need to walk on the wild side (help them).
A light nutmeg sprinkle to finish with that little special flourish (supposedly my grandmother used to call it happy dust).

Enjoy. Repeat. Repeat. Repeatfshjdhhbkvc.

Running builds character, and to share...or not to share?

2008-12-01T20:28:00.009-05:00

Running while its raining only builds wet character.

I logged a surly 5 miles with Jared today, my stiff muscles (honestly, who works out all four days of Thanksgiving weekend?) protesting through mile 3, the gremlin in my kneecap gnawed through mile 4, and with the last mile, the Dizzle Squizzle Starbucks in sight (that's right, on a weeknight--lushes, the both of us), the universe decided to add insult to injury--with a previously balmy night suddenly overtaken by frigid rain.

Bolting home, our coffees in hand, I could only reflect on the rewards to come. I've found that sometimes, in order to get myself out the door, like tonight, I have to promise myself a reward--in this case, a hot, steaming dark roast, with just a dash of half & half.

This past weekend, the joy of a lusciously foamy Tom & Jerry was my sweet reward for logging some long, hilly miles. Last night, I shared the goodness with fellow runner, B, who of course asked for the recipe...necessitating some debate with my family regarding whether or not the recipe should be shared.

Please, family, friends, and utter and complete strangers in need of a hot, boozy winter pick-me-up--vote.

8.6 Miles and Two State Borders

2008-11-30T15:16:00.012-05:00

Yesterday my beloved and I set off for Woodstock, Vermont--for no other reason than for a new place to run, a "destination run," if you will...it's been months since we've done one of these, and I admit to having missed the adventure part of seeking out and finding a new and scenic place to run.

With I in my thermal capri pants, Under Armour, and hat, and Jared in brand-spanking new tights (you read correctly--tights), hat, and a couple warm layers on top, we were prepared for some cold Northern weather. Luckily, though, we were blessed with a balmy, sunshine-filled day, that create dappled, tree-lined roads, the light sprinkling of snow in the fields bordering the road only making the beautiful day all the more miraculous.

On the first leg of our out-and-back course, we made note of miscellaneous interesting and/or entertaining sites--the first mile tripped above the road along a narrow gravel path, edged by a low rock wall. The second mile began with a strong smell of cow, as we reached and gamboled past a large farm. The third mile took us up and around low, rolling hills, past the "Suicide Six." The fourth looped along more hills, past a babbling river, and onto a silent, peaceful stretch, culminating at a large fir.

These sites greeted us along the cruising miles back, as we settled into what has become the standard, faster second half of our runs together--as we pushed ourselves and each other a little further and a little faster, our legs protesting, we joked about the poor choice to play three hours of hoops the day prior.

After logging our miles, we cooled down with a couple of hot (and hard) ciders at the local watering hole, along with a tasty shared lunch of chilliburger (he) and French Onion Soup (she), and fries (we), before heading to a little shop across the street for a cinnamon bun and a gift for my mother.

Later, on the drive home, we both blogged, happy at what may seem to many as a bit of a ridiculous trip--a 2.5 hour drive, to run less than two hours, then drive home--but what was for us an opportunity to get out of the city and appreciate the world and its nature beyond the Massachusetts' state border. This run had it all--beautiful, empty paths, an empty road to run on, friendly drivers who slowed or moved aside to let us pass, a light dusting of snow hinting of holidays to come, hills to challenge our legs and spirits, mountains jutting into a cerulean sky, and everywhere, tiny bridges looking like delicate sculptures over crystal clear brooks and streams. And of course, good company. A run such as this, on a day such as this, is all the better shared with a loved one--I can never put into words exactly how I felt at a moment of loveliness or sheer vitality experienced when running.

Luckily, though, I didn't have to, as my beloved was there to share it all. :)

Now, its off to decorate the Christmas tree, and to have what is surely the best post-run treat in the universe--and perhaps the best treat, period--a Tom & Jerry.

Should the secret family recipe for Tom and Jerry's be made public?
	Yes! Please! I beg of you! Change my hot toddy of choice!
	No, I prefer not to imbibe in the spririt of Christmas.
	Maybe? I'm not sure if I'm ready to learn to fish.
	(Unequivocal) YES! The fate of the free world rests on the cup rim of Tom and his good friend Jerry.
	No, you barbarian traitor to your own family.
	Don't Care--I'm a vegan.

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