Three's a crowd

Zdenek and I have a pretty awesome marriage, or so we like to think. Sure, we have our usual fights and disagreements, but generally we are best friends day in and day out. We share everything from habits and likes and dislikes to a single bathroom. I’ve been flattered to have several friends tell me that they aspire to a marriage like Zdenek's and mine, and I know that a few of his colleagues have told him the same thing. Of course, I also know that our marital bliss isn’t all our own doing, and we’re fortunate that our lives are generally stress-free: we don’t typically have financial issues (unless you count the stress over apartment hunting); we’re both healthy and fit; and we lack children, which I’m told is the quickest and surest way to put any relationship under strain. I’m certain the future will bring its fair share of challenges. But for now we’re content to be coasting along pretty easily, including those times that we’re running or biking in tandem.

On Friday, however, our marital bliss was challenged at around mile 10 of our morning ride. After seven consecutive days of pretty tough running and biking workouts, my legs were feeling a bit worse for wear, and so early on in our ride I tucked in behind Zdenek to ease my workload. Zdenek is an excellent teammate -- he’s always looking around to see where I am, and he’s careful to ease the pace if he senses that I’m falling behind. I don’t typically ask him to do this, but I obviously appreciate his help and attention. Of course, if he does happen to drop me (which is most likely to occur on a hill climb), I’m usually not that bothered, either. The way I figure it, we both suffer: he will have to eventually slow down to wait for me to catch up, and I have to work that much harder without the benefit of his slipstream. And occasionally (as on Thursday's third loop), Zdenek will make it clear that he just wants to go for it and really work to his maximal effort; this is also fine by me, because I can fully appreciate his desire to test himself from time to time, and it’s fun to watch from behind as he races away.

All was going smoothly on Friday until just past 100th street. As I followed Zdenek into the descent, we passed an extremely fit woman on a very nice road bike. She looked great (though I’d say, dangerously exposed) in a tight, small cycling jersey. Her arms and legs rippled with just the perfect amount of toned muscle, and her long, blond ponytail waved behind her as she rode. She was definitely a triathlete and no doubt a very competitive one, too. But as I followed Zdenek down the hill, she caught up and overtook me, and then moved in between my bike and his. Because I generally try to avoid crowds when descending at 30 mph on a curvy road, I held back a bit and let her go. Unfortunately, this meant that by the time we reached the uphill portion, I had lost most of my momentum and was unable to make the climb at my usual pace. And by this point, Zdenek was already 10+ meters ahead of me and gaining by the second, so I decided to just spin my way up alone. Meanwhile, Miss Rippling Muscles latched on to my husband’s wheel and let him carry her halfway up the hill!

Upon realizing what was happening and seeing me struggling near the bottom of the hill, Zdenek slowed down to allow the blond bombshell pass and me to catch up. A few minutes later, when he and I were again riding side by side, I commented, “I bet you didn’t fail to notice the absolutely killer body on that woman.” And suddenly, Zdenek became upset! I, unclear as to what I had said wrong, erupted back. We then proceed to yell at one another over the next three miles as all the other runners and cyclists turned to see where the ruckus was coming from. It was both frustrating and unusual. Finally, somewhere in the middle of loop three, we identified the source of our misunderstanding. Zdenek assumed that I had deliberately slowed down to prove some sort of point -- no doubt something related to the fact that a fit, blond woman was competing with me for my husband’s back wheel. Alas, the truth was far less exciting: I simply wasn’t brave enough on the descent to maneuver my way between the two of them, nor was I powerful enough on the climb to keep up. (And my comment about her body really did come from a place of awe and envy.)

Once we sorted out our misunderstanding, it was smooth riding again. I figure if our biggest disagreements revolve around cycling and hill climbing, then we’re doing pretty well. In fact, I think that all of the running and cycling Zdenek and I do together has taught us a lot about mutual encouragement, respecting one another’s abilities and limitations, and that an important part of any happy marriage is alternating who has to get out of bed first for coffee brewing duties in the morning. Most importantly, cycling with Zdenek has reinforced that whenever I should fall behind, he can always be counted on to wait for me -- and it will take a lot more than toned muscles and a nice bike for someone to come between that.

No doubts

One of the things I most enjoy during marathons is the crowd support. A few funny antics or encouraging signs along the way can mean all the difference, especially after mile 20. Nothing quite rivals New York City for fans, but many of the marathons I’ve run have had their own memorable moments courtesy of the crowd. At the Cincinnati Flying Pig marathon in 2006, the entire course from mile 18 onwards was filled with silly quotes and banners to distract the runners from the burning pain in their legs. During the Virginia Beach Shamrock marathon a year later, I ran through army barracks, past men in uniform shouting, “Left, right, left, right…” And yesterday at the Providence marathon, I saw a few great signs that made me smile: One poster (held by a man ringing a cowbell and wearing a short, midriff-exposing sweater and what I hope was a wig) read, “Doubters can suck it.” Another said, “26.2 miles + 80 degrees + 2 kids = 1 hot mamma.”

I was also one hot mamma yesterday (minus the two kids). The weather in Providence was far from ideal for running. It was 90% humidity and hot by 6 am, and I knew I would need to scale back my expectations for setting anything even approaching a PR. About 500 m in, I waved to Zdenek to go ahead, and then I plugged into my iPod and spent the next 25.5 miles just trying to enjoy myself. I didn’t run hard. I walked to thank volunteers along the way. I removed my headphones on several occasions to encourage a few fellow runners who looked like they were struggling toward the end. At mile 23, I stopped, pulled out my iPod, found Lady Gaga, and put my iPod back in pocket. And then I grooved.

I ran the last few miles easy, with a smile on my face, taking time to wave back and say “thanks” to every spectator who shouted a word of encouragement. It almost felt like a victory lap of sorts. It was my eighth marathon -- what was I trying to prove? Even if I had run a Boston Qualifier, what would have been the point? I knew the conditions would never allow me to run a PR, so why hurt myself over 10 or 15 minutes? Yesterday’s race seemed like a celebration of the fact that I am a runner, and that I can treat a marathon just like another long run.

As for Zdenek, he ran over 20 minutes faster than me and finished in a phenomenal time considering the conditions and the fact that he’s really been running at my pace for 90% of our training over the last 17 weeks. I think he enjoyed himself, though I’m not sure. I found him at the finish line (literally one step behind the timing mat), teary-eyed, saying that he was so worried about me that he thought something must have happened (I’m flattered that my running anything over 3:40 is now cause for concern, but I think he was mostly delirious). He hasn’t yet said that he found it “fun,” and he’s made no mention of wanting to try another one. He did say, however, that it was the hardest thing he’s ever done in his entire life. There's some chance that Zdenek will go back to being my biggest supporter and waving to me from the sidelines, but I’m not so sure. I believe he’s got a 3:15 in him yet.

Doubters can suck it.

A confession

On Saturday, Zdenek and I ran what will hopefully be the most difficult run of our training plan: 22 miles at sub-8 min/mile. This took approximately three hours out of our weekend morning (going into the early afternoon), and constituted four loops of the Park. This (very) long run gave me opportunity to consider just how funny a running couple Zdenek and I have become: We don't listen to music, but yet we rarely make conversation. We just stick to our pace, watch the road ahead, and run side by side -- in silence.

Or at least, we're usually silent. One other thing I've noticed, and which I must confess, is that when I run with Zdenek day in and day out, I tend to complain during the run a lot. (I know that any one of my friends reading this is bound to say, “Jodi -- complain? Not our Jodi! She never complains about anything!”) But it's true. I confess. I complain that I'm tired. My legs hurt. It's hard to breathe. My feet hurt. It's too windy. It's too hot. It's too rainy. It's too sunny. There are too many people in the Park. The Park is too deserted. I'm tired!

In the past, I’ve always been on my own -- no one was along for the run to listen to me whine about my tired legs or to hear my heavy breathing. I felt like a champion for just getting out there and running 5 or 8 or 22 miles all by myself, and by the time I returned home, it was satisfying to just exclaim, “Boy, that was hard!” and leave it at that. But this year, despite the fact that my times are pretty consistent from one year ago, every run just feels so much harder.

I’m not sure why this is. Do I prefer to be a solitary runner? It’s possible, but I know I love the company on hill repeats and intervals. Can I not stand running with someone who’s just slightly out of my league on every single run? There could be some truth in this. Does running with Zdenek remind me too much that cycling season is just around the corner, and so I can’t concentrate on the task at hand? Definitely maybe. Do I just love the opportunity for a good whine session, whenever, wherever? Hmmmm.....

Whatever it is, I don’t think I’ll have to worry about it too much longer. Zdenek says time and time again that we’re crazy for doing this and that he really just prefers a solid 7-10 miles a few times a week, though he seems to be enjoy the training if only to prove to himself he can do it. As for me, running must now compete for my affections with cycling and, lately, swimming. After the marathon, I don't imagine I'll be running too much. Indeed, come May 3, I’ll have to find something new to complain about. I'm sure I'll manage.

You meant "hotel," right?

Zdenek: I’m happy we’re doing the Providence Marathon; Providence is supposed to be a very nice city.

Jodi: We could take the later train back on Sunday so that we can enjoy it a bit after the race, but that all depends.

Zdenek: Depends on what?

Jodi: On whether we’ll be able to have a shower after race or not.

Zdenek: Maybe you should try to arrange it with the hospital ahead of time.

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.

Hangry

Week Two of marathon training concluded today with an excellent 2000 m swim and a 45 minute session with a personal trainer immediately thereafter. My swimming has improved considerably in only two weeks and, combined with my love for endurance running and my new found passion for cycling, I'm starting to get an itch to soon train for a triathlon. (A girl -- about my age -- at the gym today was wearing a Brazil Ironman shirt that read "Finisher" across the back. It made me jealous.) Running-wise, the weekend has also been a success. Yesterday morning, Zdenek and I ran 16.5 miles together in sunny weather. That represented Zdenek's longest run of his life, and for me constituted a welcome return to the long, slow runs of marathon training.

I marvel at how much our running routine has changed over the last year. Before Zdenek trained for his first half marathon in 2009, Saturday mornings would look something like this: we'd both get up and head to Central Park, running slowly together for about six miles. At that point, he'd turn off and head back home, and I'd continue on for ten or more solo miles. When I'd finally return home, the pancake batter would be prepared and waiting, the coffee would be hot and freshly brewed, and I had only to take a five minute shower before settling down to replenish my stores.

These days, however, Zdenek and I both return home together, equally exhausted and hangry (i.e., the irritable state induced by low blood sugar). We usually shovel a small bowl of yogurt into our mouths as quickly as we can while simultaneously trying to enter that day's mileage, pace, and weather conditions into our respective logs on runnersworld.com (it seems that I'm not the only anal runner in the house). Suddenly, as soon as the bowls are empty and the logs completed, we both get the chills and can't wait another moment to jump in the hot shower. A back-and-forth ensues about who will get the shower first. The winner inevitably ends up taking far too long while the loser stands outside yelling, "Are you almost done?!" to which the winner replies, "Why don't you just get breakfast started?" And so on.

I love my husband and I treasure the fact that we are now swimming, biking, or running together on an almost daily basis. It's awesome to have a training partner and best friend next to me on every lap, loop, and sprint. But there are some days that I wish that I was the only one coming home from a hard workout. There is only room enough for one hangry person in this small apartment.

Fifteen miles: Czech!

During our recent time in Europe, Zdenek and I ran only three times, but I was impressed that I never had to ask him twice to run with me. His extended Czech family complimented him repeatedly on his recent slimming, and I suspect this provided strong motivation for him to get in a few pivo-burning miles. Running tends to have this kind of self-reinforcing effect. I was also amused to find that Czechs, on average, seem impressed and/or bewildered by runners. Our early morning miles were greeted by strange stares from passers-by, and Czech friends and family were eager to introduce me as a runner and to confirm first-hand that I really do complete marathons.

Our running route in the Czech Republic was an extremely hilly 3 km loop in the woods and river surrounding Zdenek’s grandfather’s cottage. In all, we managed to find time for only fifteen miles; considering the amount of heavy food and drink in which we indulged, this was about thirty miles too few.

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!

Breathless

The past few weeks have been eventful ones and the next couple promise more of the same: holiday parties seem to be happening every other day; Christmas shopping has infringed on most of my weekend time; we’re taking a red-eye flight to Paris on Friday that is sure to be stressful and tiring (even though it will constitute my first ever trip on a double-decker airplane). Most importantly of all, I’ve been absolutely awestruck by the fact that one of my dear friends, Jessica, became the proud (and most capable!) mother to a beautiful baby girl five days ago. Lately, I’ve been left breathless with all that I have to do and think about.

It was therefore a bit of sweet relief to run alone this morning (something that I rarely do these days) and, with no offense to my husband, it was a nice change of pace in every sense of the word. Zdenek has gone, in about six months, from being slightly less fit than me over distances longer than four or five miles, to matching my every stride on runs up to 10 miles long, to being a faster, stronger runner than me over distances from 100 meters up to 15 miles (we’ve yet to run further than that together). I shouldn’t complain -- it was me, after all, who gently encouraged his running habit over the past five years -- but I am often left to feel like a weak girl who can’t keep up. Our runs together frequently leave me tired, frustrated, or both. To make matters worse, lately my legs have begun to feel lead-like and sluggish. Though I’m sure I’m just in need of more rest, a day off seems to make little difference and I find my breathing labored and my muscles stiff almost every single run.

But this morning, as Zdenek nursed his hangover and requested an extra hour of sleep, I ignored the achy feeling in my legs and quietly slipped out of bed to brew a cup of coffee. Thirty minutes later, I was in Central Park on a clear, cold December morning. For almost 60 minutes I ran in solitude, never looking at my watch, slowing down when I needed to, pushing the pace when the mood struck me (which wasn't that often). (And as it turns out, I didn't run that much more slowly than I do with Zdenek by my side.) To be sure, it was still a difficult run -- I barely moved up Harlem Hill and had a hard time finding my stride against the strong winds -- and today's seven miles left me breathless. They were, however, the perfect antidote to a busy few weeks.

(Congratulations, again, Jessica and Adam!)

It's here!

Neither of us slept very well last night at all. We went to bed at midnight and were up by 5 am. Could it be the excitement for today's race?

Zdenek and I ran a fast 15 miles yesterday. Later (I believe in contemplating if or when he'll ever run 26.2) he started a sentence by saying, "Now that I'm a runner...", which made my heart go pitter-patter.

The sun is shining, the air is cool, and I'm heading out for short run this morning before my spectating and cheering duties commence!

Welcome to marathon morning!

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.

A cold reality

I can pinpoint the day I realized with certainty that Zdenek had fallen in love with me. It was a Sunday morning in Toronto, back in January of 2004. I was training for my first long-distance race, the 30km Around the Bay Road Race in Hamilton, Ontario (which, incidentally, is the oldest road race in North America). As part of my training program, I was participating in scheduled "race pace runs" with my local running group. These runs, meant to simulate race-day conditions and allow the opportunity to practice pacing, nutrition, and other race strategies, were staged in rain, shine, or (being Canada) the freezing cold. That particular Sunday, I was scheduled to run 16 miles. My running partner, Siobhan, was off visiting family in sunny Florida.

As Sunday drew closer and the mercury plunged lower, it became apparent that I was in for a miserable 16 miles. The temperature for that morning was predicted to hit a high of -31 degrees Celsius (which, for my American friends, translates to about -24 degrees Fahrenheit). I'm not sure if I asked or he offered, but somehow, in a stroke of both genius and true love, Zdenek and I decided that it would be a good idea for him to keep me company on this run. Since his maximum mileage in those days was about 11 short of what was called for that day, he agreed to ride his bicycle next to me along the route, carrying extra water (ice) or Power Gels (frozen goo) as needed.

While I remember being cold that day, once I began moving, my body warmed up and I was able to maintain a pretty steady temperature under my three layers of pants, four layers of shirts, balaclava, and touque (sorry, American friends, you'll have to figure that one out on your own). Running has a nice way of making and keeping you toasty, even under conditions that no human should ever endure. Zdenek, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Sitting pretty much motionless on a bicycle seat for two and a half hours in blizzard-like conditions almost cost my future hubby his toes. At the end of the run, I complained that I was tired; Zdenek stuck his frozen feet to the car heater and feared that he would face amputation. Thankfully, as it turned out, his feet and all ten toes remain attached to his body. In fact, about two years later during a winter trip to Calgary, he again agreed to ride a bike next to me while I did a long run in Arctic-like weather. The man is a trouper and, if I haven't said it enough before, he is my biggest supporter.

I was reminded of these stories on this morning's ride in the Park. The mercury today hit a balmy 5 degrees Celsius (about 42 degrees Farenheit), making for idyllic running conditions. We opted, however, in another flash of genius, to bundle up and ride. I worked as hard as I could for 60 minutes, but my legs remained stiff and cold, my feet soon lost feeling altogether (even with my booties), and the tears streaming down my face kept blurring my vision. My best efforts to get my core temperature up were thwarted by the cold wind; in cycling, it seems, the harder you work, the faster you go. And the faster you go, the colder you are.

As we coasted down the hill at the north end of the Park, Zdenek commented that he'd "never ridden like this before;" a few minutes later, he conceded that our cycling season was "almost over." Freezing my bum off (literally, it's the only place on my body that wasn't protected by a fleecy layer), I appreciated a fraction of what Zdenek must have endured "riding" his bike next to me in the Canadian winter. It's a good thing for him that, this winter, his recently acquired running endurance will allow him to keep warm, too.

Bundled up this morning

And yet this was taken less than two weeks ago!

Excuse me, but are those Jawbones you're wearing?

Proof that my brother-in-law (affectionately known as "Litespeed") really has joined us for a ride

Training partners

Back when I was 10 or 15 years old, daytime track suits became all the rage for the couch potato elite. Moreover, it wasn't uncommon to see a husband and wife walking from the car to the store entrance wearing identical pants and jackets, as though they were only stopping off at Costco on their way to a 400 m relay race. I used to think to myself that I would never, ever wear the same clothing or accessories as my significant other. Unless, of course, they (both the significant other and the accessories) were really, really cool.

I've been in need of a new pair of sports sunglasses for some time. I lost my five year-old Cebe running sunglasses on my recent vacation (though they still might turn up in my travel bag at some point), and I needed to supplement my Bolle cycling sunglasses that are too dark and therefore hazardous on early mornings and/or cloudy days. In spite of the fact that my Cebes were scratched, had relatively poor clarity, and were terribly out of fashion, I'm still a bit sad to have lost them.

I recall the day I bought my Cebes; more accurately, I recall the day I purchased their predecessor. I had taken up running with some seriousness in the fall/winter of 2003 and, by the time April rolled around, I realized that my newly acquired running habit had morphed into a springtime one. Within weeks, I found myself in want of shorter sleeves, shorts, and shades. Zdenek and I had been dating for only a few months at the time and, freshly in love, we did everything as a unit (some things never change). When it came time to buy new sunglasses, he and I did it together by heading to Mountain Equipment Co-op, that Canadian one-stop-shop for all outdoor necessities. We decided on a pair of black framed Cebes that were, on his student and my post-doc salaries, a splurge.

It was only a few short months later that my previously referenced bicycle accident destroyed my new sunglasses. It was a good thing I was wearing them because the deep scratches across the lenses surely saved my eyes and face from the same fate. When I was barely mobile again, Zdenek and I headed back to MEC to purchase replacement glasses. And because Zdenek had developed a liking for my shades, we purchased two pairs that day. My replacement pair served me well during 5+ years of running, and, more significantly, represented the first in a long line of items for which Zdenek and I have purchased a his and hers set. Since then, our wardrobe has expanded to include identical running hats, Lulu jackets, Lulu pants, cycling shoes, and cycling socks, to name but a few.

In keeping with our motto that "if one is good, one for each of us must be better," this past weekend Zdenek and I headed to SoHo, that New York one-stop-shop for all things fashionable. We visited the Oakley store to purchase two pairs of Jawbones (popularized by Lance in this year's Tour). Zdenek took the white pair, I choose the black. Within 24 hours, however, buyers remorse set in, and I deemed the glasses too big and bulky for my face. Another trip to SoHo earlier this week replaced mine with this gorgeous pair of XLJ Flak Jackets (colour: "root beer"). For the first time in five years, Zdenek and I will be sporting different shades.

Last weekend, during our ride to Piermont, Caitlin apparently (I didn't hear it) commented to Zdenek that, to an outsider, it's obvious that he and I train together. I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I assumed at the time that it had something to do with the comfort with which I follow his wheel or the ease with which we ride beside one another. Thinking about it more, however, it occurs to me that there might have been an alternate explanation. At least we're now distinguishable from the neck up.

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.

90/10

Today Zdenek and I woke up, tired and groggy as ever, and a bike ride in the darkness of the early morning seemed very unappealing. With our flashing LED lights and extra layers under our jerseys, we headed to the Park. It was cold and blustery out, and I figured the ensuing ride would be a poor one indeed.

The winds were strong and the air was cool, but Zdenek immediately took the lead. I stayed right on his tail, and for eight miles we rode like this. But midway into our second lap, after a moment's consideration, I suprised him by getting into my drops, gearing up, and passing, thereby giving him a 90 second reprieve from the headwind. My legs burned and, even though I was soon tucked safely into his slipstream once again, I had to work especially hard on the next big hill to keep up. By the third lap, Zdenek wasn't too proud to ask me to move ahead and take the lead, and so I obliged, again for about 90 seconds. Fortunately, my short efforts allowed him to rest just enough to lead us to success: we completed today's ride in one of our fastest times ever! Today we worked as a fluid team.

What a casual observer might not realize is that, although Zdenek led for 90% of the time, the two or three minutes during which I allowed him to rest were instrumental to our success. As he said, he couldn't have done it without the 10% of the time that I led, and I certainly could not have done it without his 90%.

They say that a successful marriage is a 90/10 proposition. That is, you are giving 90%, and receiving only 10%. Crucially, though, as I realized on today's ride, the 90/10 probably refers to effort, and not necessarily time. We each have our strengths, and, depending on the task, our abilities and endurance differ greatly from those of our partner. But even the leader needs a helping hand from time to time, and that little bit of assistance can mean the difference between merely getting by and truly excelling. Today we each gave our own version of 90%.

Because no one told me to

I remember clearly the day that I decided to become a cyclist. It was in February 2008, and I was in the midst of training for the Shamrock Virginia Beach marathon. An unusually warm and sunny Sunday afternoon found Zdenek and me walking through Central Park; my designated long run had been completed the day prior. As runners weaved through us and around us, I felt smug and secure in the knowledge that I had already ticked that box for the week.

Suddenly, as if for the first time, I noticed the many cyclists, eager to take advantage of an early spring day, speeding past. It's not as though I hadn't seen hundreds, if not thousands, of cyclists over the last three years while running in Central Park. It's not as though it hadn't occurred to me many times that it would be beneficial (for both body and mind) to have in my repertoire an equally challenging and accessible cross-training activity to supplement my running. And it's not as though Zdenek wasn't already an enthusiastic rider and Tour-watcher long before I ever met him.

But I had never had even the slightest desire to get on a bike in the last four years: in the summer of 2004, I rode a friend's bike for all of three minutes before landing myself a free ride in an ambulance. Since that day, I made no secret of the fact that I was not eager to repeat the experience and that I may never get on a bicycle again. Nevertheless, on that February day last year, something about the fact that I thought I would never be a cyclist made the idea of actually becoming one irresistably appealing. Around W 90th Street I announced my intention to Zdenek, who was rightfully shocked but no doubt thrilled (I still loathe golf). We purchased my little red Giant within weeks.

The point is, I am not the type of person with whom nagging or suggestion is effective. I decide, on my own terms, how, when, where, and what I will do. It's partly stubbornness, and partly an unwillingness (stubbornness?) to follow the crowd. I can cite numerous examples of times that I have taken the path less traveled simply to be difficult:

• When I was ten years old, I saw a lady playing the flute in church one Sunday. All the children I knew played either the guitar or the piano. I knew nothing about the flute, other than that I suddenly wanted to play it. I announced that day to my mom that I wanted to buy a flute and enroll in lessons immediately.
  
• I refused to attend my high school graduation, simply because (as expected) everyone else was attending it.
  
• I decided to pursue biology in university because I liked it but, more importantly, there are no other scientists in my family.
  
• I settled on plant biology because, among the 800 biology students in my year, only three others were registered in this major.
  
• I took up marathoning with gusto and zeal because I found it incredibly appealing that I didn't know many marathoners at all.

And the list goes on.

I'm thinking of this little quirk of mine because of an unusual thing that Zdenek said to me on around mile 10 of our 12 mile run on Saturday: "Thank you for turning me into a runner." The truth is, I never turned Zdenek into anything. I did, however, ask before almost every run over the past five years whether he'd like to join me, knowing full well that the answer would usually be "no." But somewhere along the way, the negative responses were replaced by an increasing number of nods, and suddenly I had a dedicated training partner and half-marathoner for a husband.

I never really turned Zdenek into a runner, just as he never turned me into a cyclist. But it seems that where most people would be attracted to things that others are doing and seemingly enjoying, I seem to enjoy being attracted to those things that no one else knows or cares about (sometimes for good reason). I'm not, of course, suggesting that I'm some sort of revolutionary or explorer or adventurer -- I still take comfort in the familiar and don't like putting myself in unusual or uncertain situations. I also know that most people get excited by trying new things. And it's not that I am uninterested in something just because it is or becomes popular among the masses. But when it comes to committing myself to something new, I simply am not one to be easily persuaded. Worse, if I ever feel like it might appear as though I am being coerced into something, I will do the opposite only to prove that I am not.

Zdenek had his good reasons for becoming a runner, and I had my slightly odder ones for becoming a cyclist. Either way, two things are clear: (1) resolve and dedication can come only from within, and (2) the next activity I dedicate myself to should come as a surprise to everyone, including me.

In orbit

Last night Zdenek and I watched a fascinating Nova episode called "Monster of the Milky Way." As we learned, there is likely a large (but not too large) black hole at the center of our galaxy. Luckily, our black hole is mostly in a "famine" state right now, and so it's not gobbling up everything around it and emitting harmful radiation in the process; it'll be another 10 million years at least before we all need to be wearing x-ray shields. Astronomers inferred the existence of our galactic black hole by tracking the velocities of stars orbiting the galactic center. As the stars approach the black hole, the immense gravitational pull speeds them up and whips them around on their elliptical orbits.

One of the questions that Zdenek and I pondered as we watched this show (and kept pausing it to argue -- it was like the blind leading the blind) was why orbits are so often elliptical rather than circular (although, to be fair, a circle is merely one form of an ellipse in with both axes are equal). My quick scan of the internet last night pulled up no satisfactory answers. Fortunately, I happen to work with dozens of PhD-level physicists, one of whom, in fact, previously studied and simulated the structure of the universe. Even better, he sits only four offices down the hall from me. As I suspected, he was indeed able to provide me with a clear explanation of how elliptical orbits are formed and why they persist, and he reassured me that the sun will likely burn out before we'll get eaten by a black hole. Apparently we have two or three billion years to go.

All of this is good news, because I'm supposed to be embarking on an elliptical orbit of my own on Saturday, and it would be unfortunate if some black hole or dying sun impeded my travels. We are heading home, and I can't wait. Leading up to this trip, I've been putting in as much running and cycling as I can find time for. It's been eleven days of consecutive runs or rides thus far, and my legs are starting to feel the burn. I keep pushing just a little bit more, though, because there awaits a ten day stretch during which cycling will be impossible and running will be limited.

Zdenek and I have commented several times in the last few weeks that only in the current economic climate would he have so much time for so much non-work-related activity. We keep watching and waiting, wondering when something big might happen to change our orbit, but in the meantime, we're taking full advantage. One might say that we're circling a black hole of our own right now, but so long as it doesn't gobble us up altogether, it only serves to make us go faster.

Milkin' it

There seems to be a lot of baby talk around me these days. I'm finally at the age (old) at which my friends are procreating with increasing frequency. (Judging by the profile pictures of my Facebook network, one would think that my friends are, on average, fourteen months old.) I never imagined that I would hear and talk so much about bellies, labour, breastfeeding, childcare, maternity leave, and much, much worse (and by "worse," I mean gorrier and more frightening). These discussions have been kept mostly between the girls, hence why I was a bit surprised to hear Zdenek say on Sunday that he, too, was lactating.

During the last two miles of our 10 miler on Sunday, Zdenek suddenly found some unusual reserve of energy and began to push the pace. I was still feeling the effects of the previous day's brick workout (or so I like to think), and so I told him to just go for it and meet me at the end. He took off more quickly than I had anticipated and I soon lost sight of him altogether. Later that evening, he told me that, while he felt good and was enjoying himself, he was actually lactating during those final two miles.

In fact, Zdenek meant to say that he was running at his lactate threshold pace, or the "running speed above which lactate (a by-product of glucose metabolism) begins to accumulate in your blood." He did not, I think, mean to imply that he was producing milk in any body part. After laughing at him (I mean, with him) for a good few minutes, we seriously pondered how one could properly convey that one was "running at LT pace." Lactating seems as good a word as any, really.

So yesterday, while running a very fast (for us) five miles, I asked, through shortened breaths, "You lactating yet?" "Yeah," he panted. "Me, too," I replied. Maybe some day that word will take on a different meaning (for me, at least; hopefully not for Zdenek), but for now, we are happy to be lactating together in our own, unique way.

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!"

Old

Le Tour finally finished today, which means that I might finally get a bit of my life back. I am a bit surprised at how engrossed I became in this 21 day bicycle race, but I think I've found a lifelong addiction that will now have to wait another year for a fix. Obviously Lance Armstrong's return to the Tour this year was the favourite subject among the American commentators, and even though I'm not a huge fan of Armstrong myself (I throw my support behind Fabian), even I must admit that it's pretty impressive for a guy of his age to make the podium, especially after a long hiatus from the sport.

It's funny to refer to Armstrong as an "old guy" -- even though among fellow Tour riders he most certainly is -- because I'm not that far behind him (and Zdenek is even closer!). I guess that makes me an old woman, or close to it. Try as I might, I'm rapidly realizing that I am having a tough time keeping up with the younger generation. This morning, with a throbbing head and pasty dry mouth, I conceded that our six hour East and West Village drinking fest last night (with a couple of friends who were born in the 80s -- believe it!) had taken a serious toll. With every hangover, I age a little more quickly, and I recover that much more slowly. It took me until 2 pm today to get outside for my run.

Zdenek, on the other hand, found himself reliving the moments of his youth on our Saturday bike ride. At the Piermont cafe where we stopped to get a smoothie, a cute blond girl started putting the moves on my husband. When we got back on our bikes, Zdenek commented that it had been a "long time" since that had happened to him, so I'm happy that he got to feel like a young stud again. It must have been his Saxobank jersey; maybe she mistook him for Fabian.

This seems like as good an opportunity as any to post a photo of my cycling heartthrob