An Early Thursday with B, and the New Blog Look

I've decided that even though it stinks, there's something to be said about getting up before dawn to get your run in--you're essentially done for the day. The problem is that if you get a late start, you can't run as far, as you have a timeline for the day already. Also, once you're up that early, you don't want to "waste" having lost all that glorious sleep--meaning even if the weather is crappy you'll run in it.

That's basically how my run with Brenda went on Thursday morning. A late start in the rain meant just over 3 miles rather than 5, in soggy, drizzly weather. Kudos to B, though, who didn't complain as we bumbled our way through my dark and mysterious new neighborhood, as I used babble to keep her from noticing our meandering course.

Still, we made it home in one piece, after some quality conversation. I promise I'll actually map a route next time...

Next up, 6 (or so) with Jared as we start a post-vacation cram for the Seacoast Half in November...

In another news, you've surely noticed the "new look" of See Abby Run! I thought a new marathon year deserved a bit of a makeover, but would love to hear your thoughts--check on the poll in the left sidebar, and please leave a comment letting me know how you think things could be improved!

Shoes, shoes, and shoes

Though I admit to being passionate about many things (books, running, doing a job well, JRod, cheese, zombie movies, 30s love songs, hoops, Sam Adams Octoberfest...oh, how the list goes on), there is one item that my tomboy/girl self adores, especially at this time of year.

Shoes.

My gleaming new Nike AirMax Moto 5's (yes, its my third pair of this shoe) are, quite simply, a delicious treat. The soothing blue detailing has been replaced with a zesty near-red pink. That's right. Pink. And I'm not ashamed. (With a new pair of red laces, they're seriously bad ass, anyway.)

More exciting, I am using this pair as a test--sans orthotics, that is. The short history: A nasty case of plantar fascitis my sophomore year of college began with me dreading the foot pain getting out of bed, going up stairs, playing ball, and well, walking a whole lot. At the end of the year I started wearing corrective orthotics, which helped, though likely not nearly as much as my hard-won acceptance and understanding that the body if a machine--like any other, sometimes it breaks down. Unlike modern machines though, the body is self-healing, and if you listen to it, even just a little, it will tell you what it needs. Understanding this affects my running, and the rest of my life today, and allows me to stay healthy and happy.

Shoes...

But back to the shoes. Two pairs ago (my first Air Max's, and the shoes I trained for the 2008 marathon in), a nice salesman at Marathon Sports was watching me walk around the store, and suddenly asked "Why the orthotics?" He went on to say that if I'd ever had a foot imbalance it appeared to have corrected itself.

Still, fear prevailed, and I kept wearing my increasingly worn set (this was not the original set from college, of course).

This time, on new, neutral, cushiony shoes, I'm easing myself into it. A toe in the water if you will--just over 2 miles on Sunday, a little over 3 on Monday--and so far, so good. I am FREE!

Shoes?

The second shoes referred to in the title are my beloved's. Having caved to my good influence, Jared began running as I tapered for the marathon. He was promptly rewarded with ITB Syndrome, and near the middle of the summer, after weeks of PT, rolling, and stretching, was forced to give up running. After six weeks, he was raring to come back, after purchasing himself a new pair o' shoes. He joined me on the two aforementioned short runs--and for him also, so far, so good. (In fact, he one-upped me by banging out a quick 2 miles today, whereas I drove home from work and ate half a chocolate bar.) Again, though--new shoes=new freedom. Freedom to be active an agile, and more importantly, gain back some confidence.

These shoes rule...

Shoes #3: Every year, I buy myself a birthday gift, a ridiculously overpriced, completely impractical pair of shoes. They may be snakeskin stilettos (2006), frilly black dancing-style shoes (also 2006; a good year), or houndstooth-patterned heels (2007), or they may be an as-yet unpurchased pair of halfboots. This is the lone pair of shoes, per year, that I buy whatever catches my eye. Ridiculously high and obviously going to be uncomfortable and tough to walk in? Doesn't matter if they're pretty. Doesn't match with anything I own? My lust for them only increases.

I mention this now because my birthday is a little over a month away. Which means its time to start window-shopping for the perfect pair.



This year, I'm seriously considering plaid. Or something in the electric color family. Hmm...must discuss this with Brenda during tomorrow's early morning 5.

Running to...the altar??

This past week, a week of vacation in a tropical paradise, was a momentous one, full of firsts:

My first:
Trip to Puerto Rico
Chance to swim in the azure waters of the Caribbean
Time snorkeling
Chance to meet Jared's friends Jose and Elisabeth
Sailing expedition
Swim in a bioluminescent bay, every drop of water sparkling like a diamond

But the most important thing of this past week, a first and only, and by far the most exciting--Jared and I got engaged last Saturday :D

No plans to set a date, so no actual "running to the altar," but this was far too exciting a development not to broadcast it all about the blue nowhere and phone lines (and once to a checkout girl at the grocery store, who obviously didn't speak English).

And also very exciting (though I admit it to be secondary to the first, something for which I think I can be forgiven), today received the news that I'll be back at the Boston Marathon in 2009.

See you there, fellow runners. I'll be the one in running shoes, still smiling ear to ear with my incredible luck at landing such an incredible man.

Once a runner? Or something...

Though many of you may already know this, there are surely some who don't--and I delight in telling you. The truth is...in my past life, I was not a runner (at least not in the sense that I use the term now), I was...a basketball player.

Lately, my parents have been cutting out clippings from the local newspaper, notes and blurbs on my past glory days--that's right, from the "10 Years Ago Today!" Sports section. Sigh...I have become that woman. I can't quite decide if I am painfully aged and decrepit, or feel just a little bit badass for having made the highlights a few times. (Totally the second, by the way.)

Saturday, I banged out a solid 12 miles with Brenda--her quest to train for the BAA half continues, as my penchant for self-abuse, it seems, as I am, quite simply, doing the training work, without nary a race scheduled until November.

Sunday, my regular womens' basketball league, a scrappy affair that began at 7:30. The post player? Well, let's just say that it was easier for me to push back when I was less a runner, and more a basketball player--with the extra 20 pounds of muscle to prove it.

BUT. It was a feisty, uber-competitive guard who took to the halfcourt floor with me in teh second half. End result? Well, I think I got the ball. I KNOW I got one massive bruise on my right knee, and some serious floor burn on my left. )Seriously. It's a rec league. What the hell was I thinking?!)

Jared arrived just after the opening minutes, and snapped some soon-to-be-classic images of the epic battle in the wall ball arena. In the end, we got the game, and I got a high-five from my sweetheart, plus a home-cooked meal after.

SIDE NOTE: One of the girls on the other team, Tara Kelly, is also running the Seacoast Half in November. Looks like I'm not the only basketball player come runner.

Q: Does one far, slow run coupled with one short, fast run a week make you faster?

A: Totally beside the point. Running for me is about pleasure. Sure it's hard (REALLY hard), but it's also soothing, calming, and somehow invigorating. Don't ask me how--it's the great paradox.

Today's Blog, a Q&A.

Saturday's fresh cool morning began with me sneaking away from my warm and slumbering JRod--off to meet Brenda for 11 at 7...that is, 11 miles, beginning at 7:00 a.m. En route to my car (the poor, dilapidated Green Monster, complete with new AC Compressor, dome light, and brake lights), I realized I had spent nearly every cent to my name on said car.

Q: What's a runner to do, when faced with the knowledge that sheer calamity, in the form of an unfilled parking meter, faces her?
A: Use the spare key given to her by warm, slumbering (and thankfully unconscious) JRod to gain entry to his treasure-filled ashtray--a veritable cache of quarters.

$2.25 richer, pocket jingling merrily, I continued on to Brenda's, snagging a great parking spot right on the running route. By tucking the extra quarter, plus one from the Green Monster's cupholder, into my hidden shorts pocket, I was ready for the loop past the car--in case the run went slow, and more than 2 hours in length.

Brenda and I regaled each other for miles--her telling me about work, romance, and life in general, me blathering on about the ongoing battle to paint our apartment trim.

Q: Can trim possibly be a worse color than an aged white turned pale vanilla custard by the passage of time?
A: Yes. (As exhibited by our baby blue bedroom windows and floorboards.)

While running the flat miles of Judith's 5:30 a.m. route, I reflected on how we remember the people that others tell us about. I have very clear pictures of people in Jared's life that I have never met--take Jared's mentor Shelia, who is going to be honored next month at the college that Jared went to. Keep in mind, I have never met this woman--and Jared's never described her physical appearance to me. However, I can picture her in my mind--she is a woman who Jared describes as changing his life, turning him around, helping him to find a purpose, to find himself. I picture her as a lover of books (she IS the director of the University Library and Media Center, as well as a professor, after all), maybe with spectacles. I picture her as a woman of fierce intellect, with a keen gaze, but a soft heart. I hear her voice with an edge of wit, and touch of quirky humor. Do I know if any of this is actually no? Nope. (LATE ADDENDUM: Jared found this picture for me. Turns out she's blond, no glasses. See woman in middle. Note, however, that there are in fact books all about!)


Q: When my friend starts seeing someone, and mentions us running together a lot, what would be the easiest, most prevalent way that he remembers me?
A: The "girl who pooped in the pizzeria." (Note: Brenda didn't actually TELL him this. Apparently my reputation, via blogger, preceded me.)

The first 7-mile-ish loop completed, we fed the Monster's meter and carried on toward the Museum of Science, for the next 4+ miles. It was a beautiful day for running, and by now, even before 9:00 a.m. on a weekend, the people of Boston had begun venturing out on the Charles, walking, running, and shambling next to dogs.

Q: When you've decided you really want a dog, but you really can't afford one at the moment, and you aren't sure what breed you want, what do you do?
A: You make a list of breeds, plan to research them, and plan to window shop them for a year. You do not change your mind every time you see the next breed, and fall in love with it. (Sorry, Jared. I just like them all.)

Q: When you've discovered you have that sort of temperament, what's the worst that could happen?
A: You run across three beautiful specimens of their respective breeds, thereby throwing your inner self into turmoil.


11 miles, a fawn-colored Great Dane (ignore strange woman above--she came with the dog, compliments of Google images), a gorgeous, primarily black German Shepard, and one slightly chubby Burmese Mountain Dog later, I'd picked up Jared.

Q: What's the best course of action when your beloved immediately teases you about having raided his quarter stash?
A: Mentally damning his random morning errand to the car, smile sweetly, give him a kiss, and tell him you brought him a latte.

Running Hair and There

This past Thursday, I trotted out for a quick run (total mileage somewhere between 4 and 4.5).

With an ulterior motive.

Having moved to Cambridge recently, and having already decided that the hike to Andover for a definitively overpriced coif was bordering on ridiculous, I was faced with a momentous decision--a new salon. It needed to be many things--a salon where the following requirements were meet (Ladies, I know you'll agree):

1. The stylist to cut my hair must have her (or his) own, at least somewhat dashing cut. (And no strange highlighting.)
2. The prices must be reasonable--we've all been there--the trim for $65...
3. It needed to be walking distance from my house. (If possible, at least!)
4. The stylist need to be understanding, and perhaps somewhat visionary, as she/he was to be faced with an Amazon blond/brunette with wildly overgrown hair and no sense of what to do with it. Possession of pruning shears perhaps a plus.

And free beverages and/or fruit/cookies would be a definite bonus.

Thus I set out in my tired Nike Motos, trotting up and down Mass Ave, in search of a salon.

The first I ran into, out of breath, sweaty, and my irascible mop covered with the trusted, if faded, Red Sox cap, was Novita Salon. A woman with nicely arranged blond hair (layered, and full-bodies, but not big, as humidity is known to make my own) looked at me in slight confusion, until I panted " I just moved to the neighborhood..." She quickly sized up the situation, and announced, "I would LOVE to cut your hair. Here's my card." Good woman.

Card in trusty inside running shorts pocket, I continued on down the street. The next salon I found was entitled simply "M". Immediately upon entering, I wondered if I had fallen into a special kind of hell--the kind reserved for sorority girls and women who'd at one time or another made fun of another woman's haircut. Several older women with short, spiked haircuts stood inside, along with one shorter man in a very tight, sleeveless red t-shirt--I assume to be the obligatory salon 'mo. The ladies were, however, very nice, and dug a card from a dusty box below the counter. As I left, I noticed a giant sparkling fairy in the corner of the window.

A few doors down, I stumbled into Floyd's Barbershop. I knew by the blunt, dyed black bangs and messy bun of the first stylist I saw (is that a studded bracelet?) that I had officially ventured too close to Harvard Square. I snatched a card, and scurried out.

Acknowledging that any salons further from home would likely be too hip for this jive cat, I turned around to check the other side of the street. Sadly, only one salon on that side--Judy Jetson hair. I can't say that I took in too much of this salon. After shoving my way past the heavy castle dungeon style door (lift with the legs, Helga!), I was too tired to do more than glance around.


The next day, I made the call--and at 3:45 p.m. yesterday, I sauntered back home with my snazzy new 'do--courtesy of the fabulous Susan at Novita. Here is a photo of the full effect upon immediately waking up this morning. Be aware that it may not be entirely accurate, as I did go to sleep with it wet.

Decisions, Decisions...Part Deux

Ok, I cracked.

I'm filling out the marathon application for Dana-Farber now.