One small goo later

This morning I was awake at 4:22 am -- about 20 minutes before our alarm went off. (A day trip to Washington DC necessitated that Zdenek was up and out the door by 5:20 am, which meant, of course, that I was also out of bed at this hour.) Despite the fact that the sunrise was still a long way off, I figured I might as well make the most of my extra morning time by heading out for a run. After gulping down my usual cup of coffee and my customary bowl of yogurt and cereal, I decided at the last minute to tuck a gel into my pocket before slipping out the door.

It was a cool 24 degrees Celsius this morning before 6 am (trust me, this is cool for New York in the summer), but the humidity hovered around 90%. The Park was surprisingly crowded at the pre-dawn hour, especially with large packs of fast-moving cyclists yelling drills and tips at each other. I plundered along, taking the odd water break, trying to forget about the stickiness through which I was running. I didn’t feel particularly energetic for most of my first loop. But then, after about six miles, a little emptiness in my tummy indicated that it might be a good time to rip open that gel.

Within about 20 minutes of having said gel, my energy levels began to climb. I decided, since it was still so early and I was feeling pretty good, to go for another five miles. And then a few miles into that, I opted to tack on an additional mile and confront Harlem Hill at the Park’s North end. Just after 7:30 am, I concluded a 12+ mile run feeling tired but satisfied knowing that I can, perhaps, skip my long run this weekend (which will definitely help, considering we’re flying out to Canada early on Saturday).

I don’t plan on getting up before 5 am again anytime soon, but nor did I regret it this morning. It was nice to have almost two hours of running all to myself long before the work day even got underway -- a rarity when I'm not training for a race. And I’m thinking that perhaps I should pack a gel on every mid-morning run. It was just the packet of goo to get me through.

The price I pay

Yesterday in New York it rained long and hard. Though the drizzly weather tapered off sometime during the night, the roads were still wet and marked with puddles when Zdenek and I headed out for our ride this morning. We cycled our first two loops hard, making good time and then even better time. Zdenek took the lead for the majority, and the wet conditions caused his back wheel to kick up a lot of slimy dirt on my legs, arms, and face. No bother -- I kept my eyes glued to his tire and drafted as closely as I could to maintain the pace. On the third loop, we eased up a bit and rode side by side, and I mentioned to Zdenek that I had taken a lot of muck to the face on the previous two laps. He apologized -- as if there were something he could have done about it.

Fortunately, eating dirt wasn’t the most memorable part of this morning’s ride. That came near the end of our third loop as we rode together casually, and I, without a back wheel on which to concentrate, was able to look around at the Central Park runners making their morning miles. I noticed one woman in particular simply because her legs were outstanding -- long, muscled, and lean. She moved quickly, smoothly, along the bridle path. I looked again. It was Paula Radcliffe, the women’s marathon world record holder. No surprise there -- Paula is known to be in New York this week to take part in the Mini 10K race in Central Park on Saturday (which Zdenek, Caitlin, and I will definitely be cheering on). She’s also currently ~6 months pregnant (along with Kara Goucher, who is also running in Saturday’s 10K), and sure enough, her round belly protruded a bit under her white shirt. But with her impeccable posture and smooth stride, she made carrying the extra weight look effortless.

And as Zdenek and I rode on, rubbernecking, watching the world’s greatest female marathoner out for her morning warm-up, once again I felt so lucky to have the world’s greatest playground at my doorstep. Eating dirt is a small price to pay.

A place to move

Once again, it’s been a while since I’ve had the motivation to post anything here. The fact is, apartment hunting seems to have sapped every last bit of energy from me (and sadly, it’s still not over). Any free time I might have between traipsing around the UWS looking at too-small, too-run-down apartments seems to be better spent outdoors on my patio than indoors on a laptop. Indeed, it won’t be much longer before I have to give up that treasured little piece of Manhattan real estate forever, and I’m already mourning the inevitable loss.

And frankly, my running and cycling have been sub-par of late. I’m still putting in the miles and getting out there six or seven times a week, but my paces have been slightly “off.” True, the 25oC+ weather and 75%+ humidity are not doing me any favors, but I’m used to demanding -- and usually getting -- so much more out of my body. When it comes right down to it, aside from my impromptu purchase of Lady Gaga tickets in the middle of my run last weekend (long story, but the most important point is that we now have tickets to the July 6 show at the Garden), there just hasn’t been much to say.

But yesterday, I slept in longer than usual and found myself running in the Park, sans Zdenek, at a slightly later hour. Despite it being my third consecutive day of running and fifth consecutive day of early morning action, I felt surprisingly decent. My stride seemed smooth, the warm weather didn’t feel too horrible under the shade of Central Park’s leafy canopies, and I easily fell into a groove. So much of a groove, in fact, that somewhere along the west side bridle path, I almost (literally) ran into Caitlin before I recognized her as the girl waving her arms in front of me and trying to get me to stop. At the last minute, I did, and she and I enjoyed an early morning catch-up session before heading off our separate ways (I ran through my several current apartment options with her, and, in typical Caitlin fashion, she formulated a logical evaluation on the spot). It was the perfect mid-run break, and it got me thinking that Caitlin and I should really schedule the occasional run together -- in the same direction, of course.

Today, I rolled out of bed as the sun was rising, tired and somewhat cranky from a very poor five or six hours of sleep. But Zdenek and I haven’t been on our bikes since Sunday, so we were long overdue for a spin. I wasn’t expecting much out of myself, and said to Zdenek as we were heading out the door, “If you want to cycle on your own, please feel free.” But I had spoken too soon because, once again, I surprised myself. We rode three laps today, each one faster than the last, and I managed a good portion of the ride without any assistance. In fact, for some of the time, I even lead the way. I returned home happy and satisfied, and so pleased that my cycling legs may have returned.

So while my pursuit of indoor space continues to frustrate, I can at least be thankful for the renewed sense of energy in my outdoor pursuits. Once again, I've realized that New York is best enjoyed when moving quickly. It is a very poor place, however, in which to move.

Why we do it

As everyone is no doubt aware, New York was blanketed by snow yesterday. This followed several days of snowy weather in DC, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey and, in the opinion of one Canadian girl, a laughable inability in these areas to cope with a bit of the white stuff. As my brother appropriately asked me yesterday, “I heard that NY shut down cause of snow. What kind of snow do you guys get there? Are there three foot snowflakes that weigh 40 pounds each?”

To be fair, yesterday did bring a considerable dump of snow (with icy cold winds to boot) in only twelve hours. The snow began falling in Manhattan just before sunrise, right as Zdenek and I were getting ready to head out for our run. Because of the media build-up to this “severe winter storm,” we were amused to see only an inch of snow on the ground when we rolled out of bed. We almost decided to go ahead with our scheduled 10 mile tempo; only because we weren’t sure whether we’d have adequate time did we opt for a five mile run instead (reserving the 10 miler for today). And it’s probably a good thing we did.

By the time we got to the park 30 minutes later, it was almost impossible to run. The snow/ice/rain was coming down hard, and I could barely open my eyes facing into the wind. The roads were covered in icy slush, making it impossible to do anything more than a very easy run. (God bless the Central Park crew who were already out there, salting the roads and plowing the snow as fast as it was falling. It is no lie that Central Park is home to the most well maintained six miles of asphalt anywhere.) It was one of those mornings that made me ask myself, Why am I doing this again? I could be at home with a steaming cup of coffee right now or, better yet, still in bed. Passing one lone runner in a green sweatshirt on the West side, we asked him (rhetorically), “How are you enjoying this run?” “Great!” he replied, much too enthusiastically. “This is why we do it!”

This is why we do it? Really!? We run because of the snow and sleet and wind and rain? Perhaps we run in spite of those things, but definitely not because of them. I’ll admit, a tough run through terrible conditions is a sure way to make me feel like a hero, but I’ll take sunny days and calm winds any day over the satisfaction from triumphing over adverse conditions. What in the world was that man thinking? I can only conclude that the ice pellets hammering his head had left him in a temporary state of delirium.

This morning, we awoke at 5:30 am to the sound of our pre-programmed coffee machine (so “very suburban” of me, as one of my coworkers recently mocked) and soon made it to the door to face our ten mile tempo. Outside, the winds were absolutely howling on our little corner of the UWS, and I opened the door only a crack before quickly shutting it again. Zdenek muttered something about “going back to bed” and then commanded, “Just open the door! You’re psyching me out!” And off we went, onto our icy, uneven, ankle-twist-inducing sidewalk and through the empty streets in the pre-dawn light. It was slow-going.

But upon entering the park, we predictably found ourselves running in almost complete solitude on a (mostly) cleared road (the Central Park snow removal team are not miracle-workers, after all). The majestic elms of Central Park were covered down the lengths of their north-facing trunks in a full dusting of snow (one positive side effect of strong winds, I guess). The ground was blanketed in fluffy white. We saw snow-men, a snow-woman, and even a rather impressive snow-dog. Zdenek and I both commented to each other at least once, “This is so beautiful!” And under breaking skies, over occasionally slippery roads, I ran a solid 10.3 miles. (Remarkably, I even hit my target paces.)

If I were not so accustomed to heading out no matter the weather, and perhaps if five miles weren’t a perfectly manageable run to me, then I would never have found myself in the necessary shape and with adequate motivation to run ten miles this morning in the prettiest of winter conditions. Perhaps that runner in the green sweatshirt was right, and yesterday’s conditions are the reason I run, after all. Perhaps every run in abysmal weather is just preparation for the real thing.

A sweet surprise

This morning, Zdenek and I ran the Manhattan half-marathon.

We were intending to treat this as the practice "race pace run" that was in our training plan, anyway, and to run it about 20-30 seconds faster than our usual weekend long runs. Indeed, the course covers two loops of Central Park's rolling hills -- not exactly PB-friendly terrain. And we haven't really trained for a half marathon (we're only finishing Week Three of our marathon training plan), let alone tapered for a race. So this morning, Zdenek and I rolled out of bed at 6 am, tired from dinner and a few drinks the night before, not really expecting much out of our race. I was just happy to be running with 5,000+ other like-minded people in one of my favourite places.

For the first loop, Zdenek tried to run alongside me, but he constantly found himself several meters in front, looking back over his shoulder to see how far behind I'd fallen. But I refused to be pushed today and was determined to run my own race; my biggest concern was to finish strong with a steady pace. At the seven mile water station, Zdenek put considerable distance between us and then finally waved goodbye from up ahead. Now on my own and knowing that I had several big hills to contend with over the last 6.1 miles, I tried, as much as possible, to stay within my limits and watch my HR. Only when I was mid-way through the rolling hills of West Drive did I realize that I had only three more miles and plenty more energy to go; at that point, I decided to gradually bring it up a gear at every mile marker. About 1.5 miles from the finish, I became even more energized by the fact that I was passing everyone in front of me and only very rarely getting passed myself. I hit the 13 mile marker in a 7:20 pace and then made a sprint for the finish.

My efforts did not go unrewarded. I ran only seconds slower than my official half-marathon PB this morning (Zdenek, too, was only seconds off his half-marathon PB, but if he wants to gloat, he'll have to get his own blog), and I did it on a relatively tough course with neither proper training nor taper. I am immensely pleased with how this morning went (and think that training and taper may be over-rated).

Because I hope to both replicate and improve upon these results in the future, I have tried to derive a few valuable lessons from the experience:

• Know yourself. I didn't have any time expectations going into this morning's race, and for the full 13.1 miles I tried hard to tune into my body. It seems that my body knows what it's doing if I only give it a chance, and together, we make a pretty good team.
• Know the course. This morning's two loops of the Park followed hundreds, if not thousands, of such loops over the last four and a half years. I know every bump, every turn, and every incline by foot and by bike. I know where I can safely pick up the pace. I know where to move to the middle of the road to avoid the steep bank. I know the exact spot at which the grade of Harlem Hill suddenly increases by 3%. This morning, I was running in my own backyard.
• Negative split. It's the mantra of elite running, but I've always had a hard time believing that I could knock 15 seconds off my per-mile time halfway through a race. And yet, that's precisely what I did today. I can finally appreciate what it's like to finish a race fast, strong, and, most importantly, upright.

Earlier this week, I made dinner reservations for tonight at Dovetail (one of the nicest spots on the UWS), and Zdenek had joked that we better run fast if we are to earn that extravagant dinner. Mission accomplished.

Lessons learned in 2010

It is never too early in the year to assess one's own situation and actions and to learn valuable lessons with which to move forward. 2010 is barely underway, and already I feel wiser for it. Here, then, are a few lessons for the New Year, some of which I learned the hard way:

1. If you are going to do a run at midnight, be aware that whatever you may eat or drink in the five hours prior is sure to affect your ability and comfort on said run.
2. It is best not to eat a three course meal, complete with a cup of guacamole per person, before a midnight run. It is also wise to avoid alcohol, and to cease drinking or eating several hours (i.e., not 60 minutes) before commencing running.
   
3. If you must run at midnight, it is best to do it with friends who are not terribly serious about their running speed. This will make the run much more enjoyable.
4. On any midnight run, it is advisable to bring along Dave, because he will dress inappropriately, get extremely drunk beforehand, pour gin and tonics (with a lemon twist -- no kidding) 15 seconds before the starting gun, run in some hilarious fashion with the group for a few minutes before disappearing, and then arrive at the finish line 45 minutes behind the rest of the group because he walked most of the course and drank an entire bottle of gin along the way.
5. Central Park on New Year's Eve is a great place to run, because the fireworks are spectacular and there are many inebriated supportive spectators to cheer you on.
6. It is advisable to charge your camera battery before heading out, because a dead battery may make it difficult to take many photos during the actual running portion of the evening.
7. Fifty-one minutes (including the 5.5 minutes it took to actually cross the start line) for four miles is a great way to start the New Year, because it leaves lots of room for improvement during the rest of the year.
8. Not every run will make you feel good (in fact, it may make you feel like throwing up), but those tend to be the most memorable. And when you are laughing so hard during a run that you can barely keep going, you know it was a very good idea indeed.

A happy ending

Another year is almost over. I'm not one to get sentimental about the transition, but 2009 will definitely mark the year that I found a new training partner and enjoyed some of my best running yet. From this perspective, the last week of 2009 has been near perfect:

• When we returned to New York early Sunday afternoon after flying nine hours across the Atlantic on very little sleep the night before, it was less than two hours before we found ourselves running once again in Central Park. Apparently exercise is meant to be the best cure for jet lag -- I remain somewhat unconvinced that this actually works -- but in any case, it was a great feeling to be running in the late afternoon sunshine.
  
• Monday evening after work, the idea of running was completely unappetizing. But, while I don’t want my running to ever feel like a chore, I also know that I have never once regretted a run. Ignoring my pounding sinus headache, I tied up my laces and headed out into the cold wind. When it was over, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had run a sub-7:45 pace, and once again I did not regret my decision.
  
• Tuesday morning found us again facing frigid temperatures and icy winds, but still we ran just over six miles in decent time. (Zdenek tried to allow me to “draft” off of him when the wind was the strongest, but alas, this strategy is best reserved for cycling.)
  
• Wednesday morning, though I continue to battle a cold and am still apparently on European time (falling asleep around 9 pm and awaking around 5 am), we ran a 7:40 fartlek in downright cold weather. During the “hard” portions of the fartlek, Zdenek ran a much faster pace than me and was able to put considerable distance between us within 30 seconds. He allowed me to catch up again during the two minutes of “easy” running interspersed between, but it’s obvious that he could have run even faster had he not been forced to wait for me.
• This morning, I'm fighting every urge to not head out for a playful three miles in the falling snow. Big, fluffy, white flakes are coming down quickly outside of my window, and this represents some of my favorite running conditions. But we're scheduled to run four miles in Central Park at midnight with eight or more friends, so I'll save my energy for the late-night jaunt and the dinner for eight that I have to cook beforehand. (I even forced myself to stay up until 10:45 pm last night in attempt to reset my clock!) 2010 is only hours away, and I'm excited to ring it in by doing my favorite activity with a few of my favorite people.
  

Happy New Year's!

Blown away

Zdenek and I are both suffering from illnesses at the moment, and when the alarm went off this morning in the dark hours before sunrise, my head throbbed as though I had been punched repeatedly throughout my sleep. We stumbled out of bed to brew our usual cup of Tim’s (stores have been replenished following our trip to Canada last week), but questioned whether a run was really the best idea.

We live on a rather gusty block of the Upper West Side due to our proximity to the Hudson River. In the summer the strong breezes off the water offer a welcome respite from the otherwise stale and humid air, but wintertime typically finds us running to the shelter of our doorstep to avoid the icy chill blowing through us. This morning, however, we were greeted by an unseasonably warm wind (18 degrees Celsius!) as we stepped outside, and my shorts and t-shirt seemed strangely appropriate for December 3.

The skies above hung low and dark, but in the East -- towards Central Park -- the first rays of the morning sunrise poked through. The clouds, tinged with silver, moved eastward at a formidable clip; we chased them, the wind at our backs. And then, ten minutes into our run, I looked up to find that half of the sky had cleared. By three miles, the sun had risen and the clouds were entirely blown away. Manhattan was bathed in blue skies and fresh, warm air -- as though the rain clouds had never passed through at all.

Today’s 10k turned out to be respectable but too difficult (and hours later, I still feel like crawling back into bed). But bearing witness to this morning’s skies -- and the extraordinarily quick turn of events overhead -- made it worth the effort. I treasure runs like today’s. If only my sickness would change course as quickly.

Multitasking

With the slight uptick in temperatures this week, I've been pleased to get in as many extra cycling days as possible. It has, of course, come at the expense of my running, and by the time Friday rolled around, I had only logged five miles all week long. On Friday morning, because we opted to take advantage of the warm weather and cycle yet again, Zdenek assured me that we'd go for a run after work. When we wrapped up our work day at 6:30 pm and headed home to the Upper West Side, we did so under dark skies that threatened to open up and drench us at any moment. The air was cool but humid. The winds were strong. The sun had set. I asked Zdenek if he still intended on going for a run, to which he emphatically replied, "No!"

While most other New Yorkers headed out to bars and for dinner in celebration of the work week's end, we had no formal plans, and I was determined to get another five miles into my log before the weekend officially arrived. I had only to say to Zdenek, "That's fine, I'll go by myself," before he was rolling his eyes and lacing up his shoelaces alongside me. (Truthfully, I'm not sure I would have gone by myself, because Central Park after dark is no place for a lone girl, but thankfully, Zdenek never called my bluff.) I sweetened the deal by offering to tuck my ID and credit card into my running shorts so that we could multitask by finishing our run at our favorite Upper West Side wine store. (Runner's World has often suggested combining a run with errands, though I'm not sure running to a liquor store is what they had in mind.)

After weaving through the crowded sidewalks and questioning our sanity for attempting a run on such a miserable evening, we entered Central Park. Within minutes, the rain (that, according to the weatherman, was not supposed to arrive for several more hours) began to fall, and for a moment we may have grimaced. Over five miles, we passed no more than 15 other runners -- together we represented the small cohort of New Yorkers for whom a Friday night run is synonymous with "happy hour." I'm certain that I have never seen Central Park so deserted. Zdenek and I had no big date planned for yesterday evening, but yet we found ourselves on an unexpectedly romantic one. We ran side by side in the quiet darkness of the Park, into the rain and wind, while the rest of the City carried on a few miles away.

Six good reasons

In spite of all the work I have to do, and even considering that I could have used more sleep this week than I have obtained thus far, I am in an extraordinarily good mood right now.

1. It appears that I may be close to tying out a major project (or, at the very least, the first iteration of it) that has been a long time in coming.

2. It is a beautiful, sunny, warm autumn day!

3. I had a super-duper fun time riding my bike today and yesterday, and an equally super-duper fun time running on Tuesday. In fact, Tuesday night's run in the unseasonably warm fall weather was smokin' fast (for me), and all of my troubles seemed to melt away in the first 1/2 mile. Our bike rides yesterday and this morning required only booties, and we're taking it a bit easier, enjoying the scents and sights of fall in Central Park.

4. There is only one more day until the weekend.

5. There is only one more weekend until the New York City marathon!

6. My salad at lunch was delicious, and the deli guy gave me a sixth topping for free (I chose asparagus).

A very good thing

It's been a rather stressful week and I'm juggling a few too many things. Yesterday, the accumulated effects left me too tired to get out of bed for a run; today, I promised, things would be different.

In the rain, cold, and darkness of the early morning (I even had to pull my winter running gear out of storage!), I managed a quick and energizing 10km. When it was over, I reflected aloud that it was "definitely a run worth getting out of bed for." Despite the miserable conditions, it was a treasured 50 minutes of sanity and peace in the day. No wonder: a recent study in the Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health that is being widely quoted in the popular press today has offered an explanation:

The annual prevalence of anxiety disorders for those living in a residential area containing 10% of green space within a one kilometre (0.62 miles) radius of their home was 26 per 1000 whereas for those living in an area containing 90% of green space it was 18 per 1000.

For depression the rates were 32 per 1000 for the people in the more built up areas and 24 per 1000 for those in the greener areas.

Central Park lies exactly 0.93 km from my doorstep. And that is a very good thing.

In clover

It took some time to get out the door this morning. Once I was dressed in my leg warmers, booties, and new cycling jacket, we headed out into the early dawn for our usual three loops of the Park. Bundled up in my fuzzy warm attire, I wondered how long I'll be able to continue cycling before running will become the warmer, and therefore only, option.

Somewhere around Tavern on Green on the West side, and again by the Reservoir on the East Drive, the strong, warm, comforting scent of cloves was all around us. I've been enjoying Central Park on an almost daily basis for over four years, and I have experienced this a few times before. Today, it was an unexpected but pleasant surprise in the chilly air, and it made me want to wrap my cold fingers around a hot cup of cocoa and enjoy a slice of gingerbread (or two). (Appropriately, a coworker has just informed me that a slice of chocolate chip pumpkin loaf awaits me this afternoon. Three cheers for coworkers who bake, and especially for those who bring the fruits of their labor into the office the next day!) After my ride, I did an online search to see if I could find anything about the location or source of the Central Park cloves. I didn't manage to find any clues, but I was somewhat amused to learn that "in clover" not only implies a carefree life of ease, comfort, and prosperity, but is also synonymous with "cozy."

Perhaps due to the lingering scent of the cloves in my head, I selected my longest, coziest fall sweater to wear today. Walking to work, wrapped to my knees in wool, I began thinking about our plans for the next few months: My in-laws will be visiting us in the Big Apple this weekend to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving. During US Thanksgiving in November, Zdenek and I intend on making a trip home to Calgary for a few days of blue sky and fresh mountain air. And in December, we're off to Europe to visit Zdenek's extended family in the Czech Republic, as well as to connect with old friends for three days in Paris. Although I've been to Paris a few times during the summer months, something about visiting the City of Lights in the days before Christmas seems absolutely magical. This morning marked the beginning of what is bound to be a memorable and unique holiday season.

All in a day

Thursday was a perfect day. Three great men, all in 24 hours.

It started with a morning run in the Park that I almost skipped. Two miles in, just as I was reaching the top of Cat Hill, I saw someone running toward me who clearly looked different from the hundreds of other runners I see every single day. I can't say what it was about him that caught my eye, but he ran with a purpose and perfection that I have seldom, if ever, seen in a fellow Central Park runner. As he sped past me (at an estimated 5 min/mile pace), I immediately recognized America's number one marathoner. I grinned. I got goosebumps. I turned my head and watched him as long as I could, but at that pace, he moved away from me quickly and was soon out of sight altogether. It's not everyday that I share my running course with Ryan Hall, and this all-too-brief celebrity sighting motivated me to add an extra mile onto my morning loop.

Thursday evening, it was a different kind of runner who gave me gooesebumps. This one was in the center of 85,000 screaming fans, sporting tight black pants and a black leather jacket. He ran circles around the stage, singing and entertaining all the while. As a teenager, he was my obsession; today, he's simply my favourite. He didn't run quite as well as Ryan, but for two and a half hours he put a smile on my face as I belted out lyrics from fifty rows up. After all these years, U2 is still the greatest act in the world, and Bono is still the greatest frontman.

But the most outstanding man of the day didn't run at all on Thursday. (He did, however, bike in the morning, and later that day he chauffeured my friends and me to and from the concert.) He is my biggest fan and strongest supporter. He listens (though he also loves to talk!) and always gives me excellent advice. He is my running partner, my cycling buddy, and my favourite conversationalist. He is the one person to whom I want to tell everything, and the only person from whom I never need a break. He is the subject of so many different posts on this blog that I sometimes wonder what I would write about if he were not in my life. On Thursday, he and I marked our four year anniversary, and I am so excited to keep moving forward with him in the years to come.

Timbit*5=Donut

I feel as though the summer is quickly coming to an end and I have a limited number of days on which the weather will be warm and the sky bright enough to cycle. I'm trying to make the most of every weekend we have left, and since we'll be out of town beginning Saturday, I was looking forward to a long and enjoyable ride with Zdenek and his bro this past weekend.

I find that my body gets the best deal by cycling on Saturday and saving my long run for Sunday. For some reason, it's much easier to run, rather than cycle, on tired legs. Perhaps it's because I'm a better adapted (and therefore more efficient) runner, but more likely it's because I'm rather immune to the inconveniences and pains of running (e.g., it is difficult), while I can always find things to complain about in cycling: too much traffic; my butt hurts; my hands hurt; too many pedestrians; my helmet is too tight; my glasses fog up; my toes hurt; my pedals are too stiff; my knee hurts; my gears are shifting funny; my butt hurts (again). The slightest bit of fatigue is bound to make a cycle seem like much more of a chore than simply zoning out and plodding along, no matter how bad the weather or how tired my body.

New York City has been hot, muggy, and afflicted with impromptu thunderstorms over the past several days. On Friday, we carefully studied the weather.com forecast and determined that we had a better chance of clear skies on Sunday than Saturday. We thus reversed our usual order of events and put in a solid 11 mile run under Saturday's sticky conditions. It never did rain that day. On Sunday (after I made the classic set-the-alarm-for-pm-instead-of-am mistake) we woke up slightly too late for any ride in Central Park that would be unimpeded by hundreds of wandering tourists and meandering pedicabs, but because a risk of thundershowers made a ride to and from Nyack a bit of gamble, we opted to take our chances in the Park. My brother-in-law bailed. While we managed 36 miles at a respectable pace, the road was a bit of a zoo by that hour and my legs were far too tired from the previous day's run to fully enjoy the ride. After Zdenek dropped me for the umpteenth time and I pedaled as hard as I could to catch him, he turned to me and said, "You must be really tired today." I'll try to pretend that he meant that in a sympathetic way. (And to add insult to injury, the promised thunderstorms failed to materialize.)

After so many raw deals, Zdenek and I finally visited a New York City Tim Hortons location on Sunday afternoon. But from the logo on the storefront, to the inside decor, to the selection of food and beverages, it simply wasn't what we were accustomed to. Nevertheless, we purchased one pound of coffee, which, much to my surprise and annoyance, cost over a dollar more than up north. Because we had walked almost 20 blocks to get there, I rewarded us with the purchase of two Timbits. They were dry and flavourless (what is going on here?). On the upside, we didn't have to pay anything for them, and the kind man behind the counter even threw in two more, no charge. As he explained, the cash registers have "no buttons for one Timbit, two Timbits, three Timbits...,"nor any quantity of Timbits less than ten (but if you buy five, they charge you for a donut). So as far as I can estimate, the best deal I got this weekend was worth $0.68.

A stormy start

Some especially ferocious weather ripped through New York City on Tuesday evening. It lasted only about 30 minutes and started just as I was going to bed, but it was evident by the simultaneous thunder and lightning over our Upper West Side brownstone that we were in the eye of the storm. I didn't think much of it until the following morning when we arrived for a mid-week cycle in Central Park. The carnage of branches and leaves across the road made cycling difficult at best, and dangerous at worst, and by the time we reached Engineer's Gate at East 90th Street, we were forced to turn back due to a felled tree further up the road.

The extent of the destruction wrought by this storm really sunk in when I read that over 100 trees had lost their lives Tuesday night, and an estimated 500 more had been severely "injured." While the roads had been cleared by the time we returned Thursday morning to attempt another ride, the fields in the upper half of the Park looked as though an arboreal mass murder had taken place. There was something very sad about seeing my favourite playground so damaged, and in some way I mourned the loss of so many majestic chestnuts, oaks, and elms. I had not realized on Tuesday night just how devastating that storm would be.

I also received a bit of disappointing personal news on Tuesday that, at the time, didn't seem too severe. In truth, it really isn't severe, and if it represents the worst of my problems, then I am very lucky indeed. I know it's something on which I shouldn't dwell another moment. But as my mood gradually soured on Wednesday, I realized that Tuesday's bit of bad news was only beginning to sink in and was affecting me more than I would have anticipated.

This morning didn't help make things much better: it was 29 degrees Celsius and 87% humidity by 7 am, but for some reason known only to my inner psyche, I forced myself to run a hard-ish 3.5 miles. It sucked. I struggled. It was perhaps the first run of my life on which I actually felt nauseous and dizzy, and all that within the first 15 minutes.

But last night I read an intriguing article in Runner's World about the potential for our psychological pain to manifest itself in the physical, and to create injuries where there should be none. I have no time or patience for injury right now; I'm enjoying cycling and running far too much to be sidelined by some silly pulled muscle or sore joint. Lest I wallow in my bad feelings any longer and end up sidelining myself for the rest of the summer and fall, I am going to end today's post with three positive thoughts:

1. Zdenek and I cycled a fast and furious 18 miles on Thursday morning. We knocked it out of the park, and we worked as a team of only two. It was the best ride of my life (though admittedly it helps that I started from scratch only one year ago).

2. I've been glued to the IAAF World Championships all week long, but Usain Bolt's 200 m sprint yesterday was something that I almost feel lucky to have witnessed. Even better, the men's and women's marathons are on this weekend, so I have much exciting sports viewing to look forward to.

3. In one week and one day I will be back home with friends and family. It's Take 2 on the 2009 summer vacation. It will be filled with time in the mountains and around lakes, hiking and swimming, eating and drinking. I'll get to spend almost five days with my girlfriends in the Okanagon Valley (pictured right), where we'll get caught up with one another, tour a few wineries, and celebrate the "hitching" of one of our gang.

So while this week may have gotten off to a stormy start (and while it's actually storming outside my window as I type this), there are rides to be ridden, marathons to be watched, and vacations to be had. Injuries, stay away!

25 New York minutes

Yesterday was a bit of a bummer. It was the hottest and stickiest day New York City has seen this summer, work went less than ideally, my next-door neighbor has bed bugs, and my entire evening was overshadowed by a dull, but definitely present, headache. As one friend, who was born and raised in Brooklyn, exclaimed, "Why does anyone live in this city?" But when asked where he'd rather live, he replied, "Nowhere. That's the problem!" It seems that every New Yorker, no matter how long they live here, has a love-hate relationship with what is simultaneously the greatest city in the world and the one most likely to cause you to die an early, stress-related death.

It was therefore with some trepidation that I headed back out on my bike this morning. The sticky air remained and my legs did not feel entirely refreshed from Day 35's rest, but at least the headache was gone and I hadn't spotted any bed bugs during the night. About one mile in, rounding the tight corner on the southeast bend of the Park (where I have seen at least one cyclist hauled away in an ambulance this year), I heard the whirr of a large pack of cyclists approaching from behind. I moved to the far side to let them pass. As they sped by me in a flurry of blue jerseys, Zdenek commanded, "Get on their wheels!" And so I did.

What happened next was a very challenging, but very rewarding, 10 miles. Zdenek and I rode smack in the middle of this peloton -- around the corners, up the hills, down the descents. It was somewhat nerve-wracking -- all those wheels spinning in such close proximity to one another -- but even more exhilarating. There was only one climb on which my husband sped away (leaving me to feel like poor Kloden on this year's Stage 17), but after a glance over his shoulder and no doubt a feeling of pity, he slowed down and then returned me to the peloton like the good domestique that he is. When we clocked our first loop in the fastest time I have ever posted (by a long shot!), the expression on my face was one of both surprise and thrill. Drafting off one husband is an advantage, but riding in a pack of talented riders is a treat. My little red Giant did not go unnoticed, either: one fellow cyclist rode up beside me to ask if my awesome paint job was customized, because he had never seen anything like it.

When we finally parted ways with our impromptu peloton and continued on our own for an easier 10 miles, I was relieved to see clearly the road in front of me and to not concentrate so hard on avoiding a fatal bump of tires (or worse). This sport may never make a racer out of me. But for 25 minutes this morning, I was thankful to live in New York City. Things may move very quickly here, but it's sometimes possible to keep up.

Burning!

Last night I dreamt about a professional, although fictional, bicycle race. In my dream, this race was two weeks long, though it wasn't clear in which European country it was taking place. What was clear, however, was the daily play-by-play of all the cyclists and their strategies. The first week of my dream race was all mountain stages, and the second week was mostly flat with a few time trials (inexplicably, Fabian wasn't there). It was all very exciting -- like having my own little sports channel playing in my brain. Lance Armstrong was competing, and he adopted an unusual strategy of riding as hard as possible, burning up the course on every single stage until he had nothing left. This would probably be a poor tactic in a real race, though it would no doubt make for exciting spectating. In my dream, after one of the mountain stages, I interviewed Lance Armstrong, who only wanted to talk about one thing -- Lance Armstrong (likely an accurate representation). In any event, I'm not sure what all of this means, and I don't know why I'm mentioning it here, except for the fact that it affirms one thing: I have officially become one of the cycling-obsessed.

Zdenek and I have been burning up the roads ourselves lately, and if I owned more cycling attire, we might actually be out there every single day. It's been burning hot in New York, too, so the breeze experienced during riding is far preferable to the hot soup sensation during running. I'm enjoying drafting off Zdenek as much as possible, since this provides both of us with a challenging workout. But try as I might, I've been known to get dropped from time to time, especially on the hills. I don't like having to holler at him to slow down, since that makes me look like a bit of a lightweight in front of the Central Park riding elite. But Zdenek and I have now come up with a secret code word that I can yell out from behind whenever I notice that the gap between his rear wheel and my front one is increasing at an alarming rate: burning. (And nobody needs to know that this refers to the fact that my legs are on fire and I cannot possibly push any harder to catch up.)

Yesterday it was another scorcher in New York, but Zdenek and I rushed home in time for a five mile run in the Park. We tried to stick to the soft surface and cooler shade of the bridle path, but it was still an extremely difficult, uncomfortable 40 minutes. With about one mile to go, on the last big hill of our route, I looked over my shoulder at my hot and sweaty husband. It was obvious that he was enjoying this run very little and would not be happy to pick it up a notch. But then I just decided to go for it. I shifted to a higher gear. It was very Lance-esque of me. And from behind me came a sound: "Burning!"

Unscheduled playtime

This week got off to a poor start. After hitting the snooze button no less than five times on Monday morning, Zdenek and I dragged our groggy selves out of bed for a scheduled bike ride. We skipped our morning coffee -- a huge mistake given our lack of sleep -- and could barely keep our legs moving as we rode around Central Park at our slowest pace in over a year. It was truly pathetic, and one of those days on which we would have been better off just staying in bed and grabbing another hour or two of shut-eye.

Monday and Tuesday were spent in a picturesque setting at my company’s off-site retreat, and while there were a plethora of outdoor activities at our disposal (including hiking, running, and mountain biking), yours truly declined to take full (any?) advantage of the scheduled playtimes. On Monday I mostly paddled around the lake before retreating to the bar at 4 pm. By Tuesday I was feeling good enough to sit on a horse for a 45 minute trail ride. My horse, Fresco, was 35 years old -- which makes him about 102 in human years -- but he showed more spunk and energy than the lame 31 year-old riding on his back.

Back in New York on Wednesday, I was greeted by 98% humidity. Ah, the New York summer. Why people actually settled here instead of continuing on further West is something I may never understand. My Wednesday run was horribly slow and it felt similar to running through hot soup (or at least what I imagine running through hot soup to feel like), and the rest of the week has been much of the same. This morning found me once again desperately needing more sleep after another company party last night.

I really should have stayed in bed for another hour, but instead I forced myself to lace up my running shoes and suffer through it; I needed to make up for my slothful days earlier in the week. It was a pretty painful start to the morning, and cutting through the dense, humid air didn't make me feel any more awake. But about five minutes into my run, it started to sprinkle, and by ten minutes in, I was running through a heavy downpour in Central Park. It was the kind of warm, unrelenting thunderstorm that only a sticky New York summer day can bring. I continued on my five miles, drenched to the core, squishing water between my toes with every step. I tried to wring the rain from my heavy, sopping shirt, but this proved to be a futile endeavor. I had to wipe my eyes every few hundred meters to even see where I was going. I was soaked.

But as I ran, I realized that I was smiling, and then I noticed that most of the other soggy runners whom I passed were smiling, too. It was the kind of run that most runners would not actively leave the house to experience. If it had begun raining only 10 minutes sooner, I am certain I would have logged five fewer miles today. But it was the kind of run which made obvious the simplicity and playfulness of putting one foot in front of the other, splashing through puddles, feeling clean and alive. The only people in the Park this morning who didn't look very pleased were the cyclists.

Back home

When Zdenek and I returned back to the Big Apple on Tuesday, we were pleasantly surprised to find mostly sunny skies and a relative lack of humidity. This being quite unusual weather for NYC, and given that we had eaten and imbibed a bit too much over the last 10 days, we took full advantage of our last vacation day by going for a seven mile run in Central Park.

As we trod side by side through the ups and downs of Central Park's moderately challenging -- but always delightful -- course, we were bemused to find that (a) our pace was a pretty respectable one, and (b) it didn't feel half bad! This was surprising because, although we weren't total sloths during our vacation, the four (Zdenek) or five (me) short, relatively flat runs we did manage to squeeze in (we even get up at 6:30 am on vacation days!) had left us feeling tired and weak. So how in the world could seven miles on a somewhat more challenging course feel so right?

While on vacation, I met a rather interesting Aussie (whose first name I cannot recall, but whose last name was "Shirley"). He didn't seem terribly interesting at first, mostly because he was sitting next to me on a bar stool reading a book. That's right -- a book in a pub, and just as the musical entertainment was about to begin. After a few minutes, though, I took pity on the guy and decided he must be very sad and lonely to be reading in such a venue, so I struck up a conversation to keep him company (who wouldn't rather talk to me than read their book?).

As it turned out, Mr. Shirley was a bit lonely, because he was on a business trip to Nova Scotia from his current home in California. After talking with him for some time, I was astounded to learn that he has visited fifty countries through work and travel. Fifty countries! I am not even sure that I could name fifty countries, and I think my own list numbers about a dozen. So I asked Mr. Shirley, who has seen far more of the world than most people, where he thinks is the best possible place in which to live. Predictably, he replied, "Oz."

Obviously this has a lot to do with the simple fact that familiarity breeds comfort. We gravitate towards the places we know best, because we feel best when we are there, hence the old saying that "home is where the heart is." I'm also realizing, however, that familiarity breeds success, at least when it comes to athletics. Stage 4 of this year's Tour de France was a case point: Team Astana whipped the competition, not on sheer talent alone, but because they had previewed the course extensively and therefore knew it better than any other team out there. There's also the fact that marathon runners are recommended to drive, if not run a portion of, the race course prior to race day. Knowing the twists and turns that may arise helps immensely to prepare appropriately and thus put one's mind at ease. In my own cycling, I'm finding that I can be a bit more aggressive and cycle a little harder each time out, because the roads to and from my apartment (including those in the Park) are becoming ingrained in my cycling brain.

Sometimes I feel that I know every bend and incline on the Park's loop better than I do the back of my own hand: the gradual rise by Tavern on the Green; the slight uphill by the merry-go-round; the fact that the first hill after the 102nd Street transverse is moderately more challenging than the one by the 86th Street reservoir. I know the placement of every water fountain; I know how many minutes to knock off my loop if I run counter-clockwise instead of clockwise; I know, to three decimal places, the exact mileage of every permutation and combination of the Park's myriad of routes. How else to explain Tuesday's run but to say that Central Park is home? I run well there (at least most of the time) because I run without thinking; I run well there because it is where I feel I belong.

Unfettered

It's been just over one month since the marathon, and I must say, flexibility is a wonderful thing. I think I've cycled and run more frequently than I ever have when on a training plan (though perhaps each individual workout is not as long), mostly because I don't need to worry about scheduled rest days or how one workout might affect the next. If I'm tired, I go slower. If I'm feeling good, I go faster. If I have time and the Park is empty, I go longer. It's been a relief to let go of all the rules and restrictions that come with trying to achieve a specific goal.

My entire weekend was filled with such moments of careless abandon, and I think this could explain why it was so enjoyable. On Friday night at around 9 pm, I decided, on a whim, that my stub of a new fourth toenail deserved some polish, and I headed out the door for a late-night pedicure. On Saturday, after a solid bike ride in the Park, I learned over my morning cup of coffee and newspaper that the Central Park Zoo has its first new exhibit since 1988 -- a pair of snow leopards! Neither Zdenek nor I have ever been to the Zoo, a somewhat odd fact considering that it is a 20 minute walk from our house. Though I knew it would be filled with tourists, baby strollers, and screaming children, we decided to have a go. And indeed, I'm happy that we did. The leopards, monkeys, and penguins did not fail to disappoint, and it was an unusual and refreshing way to spend the afternoon.

The main attraction

Saturday night was truly the icing on the cake. Zdenek and I enjoyed a three hour eating and drinking extravaganza at a neighborhood restaurant, Dovetail, that we have been meaning to try for months. The tasting menu, both in terms of quantity and price, was quite simply over the top. It was definitely an experience that comes around every few years, if that, because to do so more often would somehow detract from the luxury of the experience (not to mention put a serious dent in our pocketbook). The highlight of the evening was, without a doubt, the sautéed foie gras served with huckleberries, fennel, and a graham cracker puree, paired alongside a sweet chenin blanc. If it's possible to experience a food high, I did.

The next morning, during our 12 mile run (through which we may have just barely worked off the foie gras calories alone), Zdenek and I saw several extraordinarily fast men and women who were displaying rippling six packs and toned legs. As I trudged along in my oversized tank top and shorts, sweating like a pig in the 100% humidity, I knew that I will never look like those uber-fit speed demons (let alone run as fast as them). That reality didn't really faze me, however, because dammit, I can have my foie gras and eat it, too! The weekend was capped off with a Sunday evening rooftop garden party on the Upper West Side, where a few of the who's who of the literary, publishing, and fashion worlds mingled beside me in my Banana Republic dress. But I wasn't really bothered, because it's been far too long since I've sipped Pimm's outdoors.

I managed this weekend to also let go of something that's been nagging at my emotions for quite some time. I did this in a rather unexpected way -- I simply let go, and then didn't consider it again. I think this allowed me to truly concentrate on and experience the rest of the weekend's delights in a way that would not have been possible, for example, last weekend (or the one before that, or the one before that…).

I acknowledge that my entire weekend could be described as one of self-indulgent luxury, and, in case my mother is reading this, she should know that the fact that I am truly blessed is not lost on me. But while the foie gras and the Pimm's were a treat, they weren't absolutely necessary to reinforce that, by definition, letting go is liberating.