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.

Reset

Last week's cross-country trip to Portland, Oregon was filled with an overwhelming quantity of good food, a copious volume of Oregon microbrews and Pinot Noir, and three runs (two fast, one easy) within 48 hours. Despite my initial hesitations, it turned out to be a great trip filled with many good laughs. (Favourite trip moment: returning to the hotel at 6:30 pm after a five mile run with a coworker along the Portland waterfront to find a free tasting of Oregon microbrews being served up in the lobby.) Unfortunately, by the time I returned to New York on Friday evening, I was stuffed, jet lagged, and hungover (not necessarily in that order).

When I awoke on Saturday morning, my strong cup of coffee did absolutely nothing to perk me up. And while the first six miles of my Saturday morning 13 miler were not exactly painful, I felt as though I was outside of my body and somehow unconnected to my legs. I was running in a daze. By about mile seven, though, things seemed to come together, and I don't think it was just the effect of my chocolate Power Gel 10 minutes earlier. I finished the 13 miles feeling suitably exhausted and entirely pleased. Twenty minutes later, I was showered, cozy, eating Zdenek's blueberry pancakes, and reading the NY Times.

By plane, train, automobile, and foot, I covered over 5000 miles in four days, and yet it was only the last 13 that really counted. Running has a way of making everything right again.

A tiring day

Today was a perfect day for a marathon, whether one was running it or cheering it on!

After watching the start of the race from the comfort of our couch, Zdenek, Peter, and I zipped across town to 1st Avenue and 69th Street, where we arrived in time to see the elite women and men sprint past at 16 miles. One hot chocolate later, we were lined up at the 25 mile mark in Central Park -- the ideal place to see the eventual winners breaking from the rest of the pack. Then it was time to meet up with Caitlin to yell, clap, and pump our fists for two straight hours. Caitlin and I, screaming and cheering in all our blond glory, encouraged at least a few men to pick up the pace. (Peter opted to cheer for anyone wearing a "Timex" or "PowerBar" shirt, while Zdenek moved as far away as possible to save both his hearing and his dignity.) While I didn't get to run 26.2 today, I did receive several propositions to accompany a few men on their last mile and a half, one tossed Twix bar, and an acknowledging wink from a smiling Frenchman.

By 2 pm we were cold, hoarse, and suffering optical illusions after watching thousands of runners go by. So just as though we'd actually run the marathon, we rewarded ourselves with pizza and beer at the end of it all.

Caitlin and I took a break from screaming to snap this photo

A loyal friend

This past weekend, Zdenek and I visited Washington, D.C. It was my first time to the nation's capital and, while I was excited to finally make it there, the more important reason for the visit was to catch up with our friends, Matt and Jena. When you live far away from everyone as Zdenek and I do, it takes some time and energy to visit friends and family in far off places. But, as in all relationships, you get what you give, and maintaining good friendships demands a certain investment.

Maintaining a good relationship with my body also requires an investment of time and care. The quality of my bike rides and runs are directly proportional to the hours of sleep I got the night prior and the amount of high energy carbs consumed beforehand. On the other hand, their quality is inversely proportional to the number of alcoholic beverages imbibed in the last 48 hours. This past weekend, there was little sleep and no running; I wore my Asics only to walk through Arlington National Cemetery and up the Mall. Moreover, I replaced every ounce of perspiration with an equal quantity of local brews.

When I headed out for a run this morning, I wasn't expecting much from my body. Indeed, I had pretty much ignored its needs all weekend long, and I'd only run it for a total of five lactating miles last week. The weather at 6:30 am was unbearably hot and sticky, and I had given it only six hours of sleep to go on. I started cautiously, not sure whether or not my body would actually tolerate the abuse and neglect it had suffered recently, or whether it would engage in some sort of protest by giving me lead legs or simply stopping altogether. But after five miles, it had still not staged any revolt, and so I tested it further by picking up the pace slightly. About 6.5 miles in, I became confident that my body was in it for the long haul, so I quickend my step a little more and opted to take it on one more lap of the bottom loop of the Park. My body obliged.

To be sure, the entire 9.5 miles "we" ended up running still averaged a pretty slow pace, but it was a heroic effort for my body under the circumstances. If my body were a friend this morning, I would have given it a big, long hug. I would have thanked it for giving so selflessly on what I know was a morning on which it would have preferred to stay in bed. I would have told it how much I appreciate its loyalty in spite of my bad behaviour. My body was a real trouper today. But I would probably not have told it that I will never treat it that way ever again; after all, a good friend doesn't lie.

We're here! It's hot!

Lincoln was one important guy! And my ice cream was delicious!

A cocktail break on the rooftop lounge of the W Hotel allowed me to scope out the White House. No President in sight.

A suit I will never own

Will ride for food

An unexpected consequence of my new cycling hobby has been my growing and rather committed interest in Le Tour de France. In years past, I feigned excitement as Zdenek tried to explain to me the tactical moves and gruelling terrain that make Le Tour so thrilling, but it just didn't make much sense to me, and 21 days of 3+ hour televised events seemed like a colossal waste of time. This year, however, has been different, and I've been a dedicated viewer since the start (and not just to ogle Fabian, either, although his presence in the Tour certainly doesn't hurt).

I now realize that competitive cycling is rather difficult to appreciate without having experienced, first-hand, the joys of drafting or what a 7% grade really feels like; because I can finally relate in some small way, I view Le Tour as only a cyclist can. But one thing stands out about the professional riders, aside from their ability to cycle 100+ miles, day after day: their weight (or lack thereof). An interesting piece in this weekend's NYTimes highlighted just how regimented a diet these athletes keep to maintain their boyish, almost skeletal figures, and how post-workout beers are absolutely prohibited. In fact, the Tour riders sometimes need to be reminded or inticed to eat.

It is here that Zdenek and I part ways with the professional elite (assuming we hadn't already done so on a 7% climb). Eating and drinking may, in fact, be the two most important reasons that we run and cycle, rather than the other way around. This weekend was a case-in-point: we enjoyed a moderately difficult but gorgeous 55 mile ride with Caitlin and Adam on Saturday morning (which I hope will become our regular weekend event), and then rewarded ourselves with a bottle of wine, pizza, prosciutto, and pie and ice cream. Sunday morning saw us running a solid 12 miles, but spending the rest of the afternoon in the Bohemian beer gardens with friends, drinking Czech brew and snacking on bratwursts.

Athletes we might be, dieters we are not.

My first cycling picture

The peleton: Adam (l), me (c), and Caitlin (r)

Sexy Saxobank rider (just like Fabian)

By the numbers

Three provinces
Eleven days
2750 kilometers driven
23 miles ran
15 miles hiked
Ten days of no sun
One day of pouring rain
Four local microbrews
Two ceilidhs
Three moose
Two ferry rides
Countless bowls of seafood chowder
One lost Blackberry charger, so I need to sign off now

(Back in NYC tomorrow)

It's a small world!

Today Zdenek and I ran 10 km. The entire time, my stomach sloshed back and forth like the Bay of Fundy (you need to visit to get the joke). It's been only four days, but I have been ingesting insane amounts of food (most of it greasy and/or carb-laden) and an equally insane amount of drink. Isn't that what vacations are all about?

In any case, it's been a spectacular day, and this trip is getting better and better. We had a last hurrah in New Brunswick (through Hopewell Rocks and Moncton) and then headed into PEI. Wow. This island is simply stunning. At every turn we are amazed, and I just can't believe it took me 31 years to see this part of my country.

After checking in to our accommodation tonight, we took our 10k run down a lonely, deserted road (which basically describes most of PEI). It was tough and hilly and we felt like crap (and my stomach sloshed the entire time, which may have been due to the beer and pizza in Moncton three hours prior, or could have possibly been caused by the Tim Hortons I enjoyed along the Acadian coast just before crossing Confederation Bridge). Although it rained most of the time, it was completely cleansing. We both felt refreshed upon finishing, so we rewarded ourselves with another bottle of wine, a pound of PEI mussels, some Newfoundland cod cakes, and a bowl of fresh mussel chowder.

Did I mention that we're eating and drinking an awful lot?

Upon returning back to our B&B tonight, we arrived to find two lovely ladies who, of course, are friends of friends. Canada is small country. It is also a wonderful one. Tomorrow, we'll pay homage to all of it!

So far, so full!

We've been in Canada for just over 24 hours, but it's been a whirlwind adventure of sightseeing and eating thus far. Nova Scotia is simply gorgeous. Zdenek and I have been awestruck at every point along the "highway" (more of a secondary road, really). It is so lush, and there are so many lakes, and the entirety of what we have seen thus far has an earthy warmth to it that makes me feel, somehow, like I am home.

We spent a wonderful night in Halifax visiting the Garrison Brewery and getting to know a few locals over some PB&J (that's the raspberry wheat ale mixed with the nut brown). On their recommendation, we had dinner at the Five Fisherman (which served as the morgue for victims of the Titanic and which, to this day, is apparently one of the most haunted place in Canada), where we enjoyed a truly memorable seafood extravaganza. Too much beer and wine left me feeling a little worse for wear this morning, but we had a nice stroll around the Halifax Farmer's Market (apparently the oldest in North America), grabbed a light breakfast, and were off!

The rest of the day saw us in the picturesque fishing village of Peggy's Cove and then in Mahone Bay; the latter was unfortunately a bit too foggy to be properly enjoyed. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in Lunenburg, the UNESCO World Heritage site to which I previously referred. Tonight we dined at Fleur de Sel, named Nova Scotia's Best Restaurant in 2008. It was a culinary experience created especially around local fare -- Atlantic salmon, Lunenburg scallops, New Brunswick cheeses, and Nova Scotia ice wine, to name but a few. This is a restaurant that could certainly hold its own among the best we've dined at in NYC.

I've been saying to Zdenek that the wide open spaces, fresh air, and slower pace of life takes a little getting used to. Coming from the hustle and bustle of NYC, I almost feel out of sorts. But I think I am quickly adjusting. It feels so good to be here. There may be only one Canadian flag on a front porch for every 20 one might see in the US, but there's no two ways about it -- we are in Canada. And it feels like home.

Intervals: success
Pizza: hot
Beer: in hand
LOST: about to begin