Relief

Last week, during our vacation in Western Canada, I was able to put in a marathon training effort. I ran a cumulative total of 45 miles over seven days, a sum that ranks up with some of my longest training weeks at the peak of my marathon plans, and despite the fact that there is no race in my future. Remarkably, though, it felt wonderful, liberating, and mostly easy. After trudging through three months of sticky, searing hot weather in the Big Apple, the cool mountain air and sunny, crisp mornings were a welcome relief.

I was shocked to find that, outside of New York City and even at a much higher altitude, my pace per mile dropped a solid minute. Although I had to confirm it several times on mapmyrun.com to truly believe it, it gave me some hope that perhaps I haven’t permanently lost whatever speed I may once have had. Indeed, last night after work Zdenek and I ran almost five miles in 31 degree heat, and my pace was once again tortoise-like. I hadn’t fully recovered when we headed out for a ride this morning, and I spent the first two laps drafting off Zdenek 95% of the time. Yep, it helps to have a strong training partner who can carry the load.

I’ve always gravitated towards spring marathons because, frankly, I don’t see how anyone can train properly through the summer months. (I did run the NYC marathon in November 2008, but I cut my preparation from 17 weeks to five.) Looking ahead, I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to run a race this coming spring, though I’d sure love to try. As several people now know, Zdenek and I will be +1 come 2011, and this will impact my ability to train to a degree that I can’t quite yet comprehend. Fortunately, with eight marathons and several more halfs under my belt, I feel like I can finally enjoy running for running’s sake, rather than needing to prove anything to myself.

Perhaps this newfound contentment will relieve any pressure to meet a particular time goal when I do eventually pick my next race in 2011 (if anything, the number “9” in front of per-mile pace has started to feel strangely normal). Or perhaps I'll switch tactics altogether and combine my passions into one by training for my first triathlon. But as for the +1, he/she already has already completed one marathon -- a feat that took me almost 27 years to tackle. It turns out that, as in cycling, running is definitely easier when someone else carries you along.

In case I need another reason

This is the best thing I've read in a while.

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.

Murky matters

Early yesterday evening, after seeing an IMAX film at the American Museum of Natural History on the Great Lakes, I was inspired to put on my swimsuit and head to the pool. Going into taper week, my schedule called for only a modest 35 minute cross-training session, so I figured I could use a nice, easy swim. My gym’s pool is always a bit of an adventure: flippers and snorkels abound, few swimmers know proper lane etiquette, and the water is much, much too warm. But such is life in Manhattan, where we take any 25 meter pool we can get.

I jumped in the “fast lane” (again, a sign that the pool is really for novices, since I’m anything but a fast swimmer) and was surprised to find the water moderately cool. So far, so good. My lane was shared by only two other relatively good swimmers, which was also a positive sign. Maybe the conditions were right for a solid workout? Unfortunately, when I pushed off the wall on my first lap, I found it next to impossible to see through the murky water. I asked my lane mate if it was my goggles or if he was also having visibility issues, and he confirmed that it was indeed cloudy water. Yuck.

I tried to ignore thinking about what was really in this water and continued my swim, taking it lap by lap. This seemed to work pretty well, except when the wall would suddenly come into focus without warning -- there were definitely a few awkward flip turn moments when I realized the end of the pool was only a few inches from my face. But I managed a one mile swim before heading home to make one of my favourite Jamie Oliver recipes.

Last night’s swimming experience is probably a sign of what’s to come on May 2. Just as I decided on a whim yesterday to go for a swim, I finally registered Zdenek and myself for the marathon today (registration closes tomorrow, and this is definitely the longest I’ve ever waited to register for any race). The conditions for my marathon are murky: Zdenek has been battling some sort of illness for the last few days, and just today I woke up feeling that a cold is imminent.

So I’m trying to decide whether I want to run hard and try for a solid marathon (if not a PB), or whether I should make having fun my top priority and run without any concern for time. I figure I’ll take it mile by mile and see how it goes. If I feel good, maybe I’ll lay it all on the line. If it seems more appropriate to just treat the day like a 26 mile long run, maybe I’ll do that.

I just hope I have time to see the wall and adjust accordingly before it smacks me in the face.

Nine sleeps

A couple of years ago, Reebok came out with a series of ads telling people to just “run easy,” rather than “just do it.” At the time, the ads were mocked for encouraging people to strive for mediocrity, and I kind of agreed. Today, though, I seem to be looking at these ads a little differently and a bit longingly. Not necessarily a good sign when the race is only nine sleeps away.

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.

It's a date

This is not as exciting as planning a vacation, but it will have to do.

After weeks of training for a “May marathon,” I finally have one to look forward to. I originally wanted an early May date since this allows me to do the bulk of my training during the colder winter and spring months, and it wraps up my running season right around the time that I’m ready to get back on my bike again. In the past, I’ve run spring marathons in Ottawa, Cincinnati, Boston, Virginia Beach, and Mississauga (Toronto).

I seriously considered doing Cincinnati’s Flying Pig again this year -- it will always hold a special place in my heart as the site of my first BQ. But the flight to and from Cincinnati is a pain, and it makes for a busy weekend. I really should be running Boston this year but I failed to sign up and so missed the deadline. Mississauga was also tempting (especially since it allows a trip to the homeland and a potential visit with the in-laws), but again, the travel is a bit much for 36 hours. New Jersey seemed to be the most sane choice. It is nearby, around the right time, and mostly flat. But on the other hand, it’s two loops of the same course and it is, well, New Jersey.

And so, after poring over MarathonGuide.com today, I’ve selected my race: The Cox Sports Marathon in Providence, Rhode Island.
+ It’s within three hours by Amtrak.
+ I’ve never visited Providence.
+ The course is mostly flat and along the waterfront.
+ The rail station, Westin hotel, and start and finish are within a few short blocks of each other.
+ It’s May 2.

I am looking forward to it already, and I hope it will provide sufficient motivation to get me through the final and most difficult six weeks of marathon training. No offense (and I'm sure it's a great race), but New Jersey just wasn’t cutting it.

A great place to run

I have a confession to make: I did not end up running my 8 mile OMP (that’s “ordinary mortal pace,” or basically a comfortably hard run) after work yesterday evening. I did, however, come very, very close to it. So close, in fact, that I had my Clif bar in hand and was almost changing into my running tights, but Zdenek (who, to his credit, was fully willing to do the run) reasoned that we’d be better off having dinner, getting to bed at a decent hour, recovering from our lingering hangover, and running the OMP Tuesday morning instead. We would then shift our workouts around slightly (choice b) to schedule our difficult tempo run (at 30 seconds per mile faster than the OMP) on Thursday. Ideally, this would still leave us rested enough to run 18 miles on Saturday.

So that is what we did. Except that we didn’t.

This morning’s run started off questionably. It took us almost a full hour to get out the door (due to delicious coffee and a few too many trips to the bathroom); once we did, I realized that my heart rate monitor had gone totally wonky and was reading 199. While I normally rely on my heart rate during training runs to ensure my effort is hard enough but never too hard, this morning I was forced to simply go by feel. And I felt great. So great, in fact, that by the time my monitor kicked in again about 1.5 miles later, I realized that my heart rate was in tempo, rather than OMP, territory. But I didn’t slow the pace. Climbing Cat Hill around mile four, Zdenek commented that we might as well be doing our tempo run today. I suggested slowing down, but he retorted, “Finish what you started.”

And finish we did. I ran a perfect tempo pace for a full eight miles (which is 2.5 miles more at tempo pace than required by my training plan), and my resulting heart rate was spot-on (if not lower than anticipated). It was an exceptionally good run for me. I felt fantastic completing it, and even better knowing that Thursday’s run will be a more relaxed effort. This made me think of an interesting interview with Kara Goucher that I recently read, in which she talks about following an unscripted training plan and running by feel (which is, apparently, the Kenyan way). If she feels good, she trains hard. If she’s having a rough day, she backs off. She aims for a certain number of miles each week and a few key workouts, but the rest is decided on the fly.

It took me a few miles today to get over the fact that I was supposed to be running an OMP but was instead hammering out a tempo. For the first loop, a small battle played out between my mind, which wanted to follow the script, and my body, which wanted to write its own rules. Thankfully, I let my body win, and I was rewarded with the most perfect eight miles. The best place to run is in my element.

Tired and restless

Around 4 pm yesterday, I found myself increasingly nervous and anxious. By 6 pm, I wanted to leave work and get home as quickly as possible; once home, I ate my dinner and gulped down a glass of wine in record time. When I settled in at 9 pm to watch the State of the Union address, I had a difficult time concentrating and instead prepared for bed at around 9:45 pm. By 10:20 pm, I was under the covers while Barack Obama's voice boomed in from the other room; at 10:30 or so, I finally asked Zdenek to turn off the television so that I could go to sleep. I think I was zonked out by 11 pm, but then I awoke several times during the night and had difficulty falling back to sleep. When my pre-programmed coffee machine started brewing at 5:45 am, I had already been awake for 15 minutes or more.

My heightened state of anxiety yesterday wasn't just because I was feeling crummy (though I was) or wanted to get an extra hour of sleep (though I did). I was nervous because of what lay in store for me this morning. I was stressing over the fact that I've been teetering on the edge of a full-blown illness all week long and that every night I've only added to my accumulated sleep deficit. I was doubtful that I would be able to concentrate and find sufficient energy to perform well this morning. But I wasn't facing a test, an important meeting, or even a job interview today. Rather, I was up against a scheduled tempo run that called for a sustained, hard effort, and I wasn't certain that I would be up to the task. I was worried that this run would feel terrible, and in turn would make me feel terrible, and that it would forever leave a black mark in my training log.

I recognize that this probably sounds silly to anyone who might read this (does anyone actually read this?) -- I feel silly even writing it! I know that I'm not competing for anything (now or in the future) and that I'm so far away from the ranks of even the semi-elite that I should just be happy that I can even train for a marathon at all. But when Zdenek and I headed out the door this morning, I told him that I had been dreading this run all week (to my annoyance, he casually replied that he hadn't even given it a moment's thought until then). I was still doubtful that I could rally enough energy and focus to meet the prescribed pace and distance laid out for me in my training plan, at least not without overshooting my target heart rate by five or more beats per minute.

Happily, when all was "said and run" today, I had a fantastic tempo. My pace was a full ten seconds per mile faster than planned, and my heart rate was bang on. I worked hard but felt strong. Even better, it was a bit snowy and wintry, which made it all the more interesting. In retrospect, I should never have worried about this run at all, and I certainly shouldn't have stressed unnecessarily about it for the twelve hours prior. I should have gone to sleep looking forward to a good night's rest, and left it at that. And even if the run had gone poorly -- even if had gone extraordinarily poorly -- would that have been such a big deal? In the grand scheme of things, no, but it would have left me dreading next week's tempo even more than I surely will. Stress can be a good motivator, but I'm thankful I have at least a few more days before anxiety kicks in again (and even more thankful that tomorrow is a rest day).

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.

Necessary evils

Over the past week I made the decision to up my training a notch (or two) and put all of these hard miles towards a concrete goal: I'm planning on running my eighth marathon this May.

On Monday I kicked off Week One of training with a solid six miles in the Park. My pace was good, my heart rate better than expected, and I finished feeling strong and refreshed. Unfortunately the same cannot be said of Tuesday's workout, which called for 43 minutes and 44 seconds of aerobic cross-training (at an average heart rate of 150). Indeed, Tuesday morning's trip to the gym was a bit of a debacle.

To be sure, I despise cross-training (unless it's cycling, which is unfortunately not possible this time of year), and it's definitely the worst part about a marathon training plan: the elliptical trainer may be the dullest exercise machine ever invented; the stationary bikes in the gym are not positioned at all like real road bikes; swimming takes too long when you count the extra 45 minutes it requires to get to and from the pool. I've yet to try that seated thing that works only my arms, but someday if I suffer a serious leg injury I may have to consider giving it a go.

On Tuesday I picked the lesser of all evils and settled in on the elliptical (with upper body levers) for 44 mind-numbing minutes. To keep myself semi-distracted, I plugged my headset into the Today Show, which happened to be showing a story about a golden retriever named Angel who saved his 11 year-old master from a cougar attack in British Columbia. Watching this adorable puppy with all of his wounds being lifted on to the operating table and hearing how he almost gave his life to protect the little boy was a lot for me to handle while my legs whirled round and round. Suddenly, without warning, I felt an enormous lump in my throat, and then I was shedding tears on the elliptical machine in the middle of the JCC gym.

Fortunately, my allotted 44 minutes were almost over, so I was able to dab my eyes and get off the machine soon after my emotional meltdown. I then proceeded to do 2x20 lunges around the gym -- a workout I haven't done since last year's marathon training. It was somewhere around the third and fourth reps of the second set that I appear to have pulled all of the major muscle groups in both legs, and I figured this was the signal to get out of gym altogether. As a result of my pulled muscles, yesterday morning's six mile tempo was anything was pleasant.

All of this leads me to question whether exercise really does reduce stress like common theory would suggest. On further consideration, though, I don't think I've ever cried while doing a loop in Central Park (although the wind does cause my eyes to tear incessantly), and I rarely pull muscles during regular runs. This morning I had the perfect four mile fartlek around the Central Park reservoir: a quick, satisfying workout in clear, cold weather. I can only conclude that it must be the indoor gym environment that stresses me out. (At the very least, I could be subconsciously stressing over the fact that I go to the gym so infrequently and pay so much for my membership that every single visit averages to about $50). As if I didn't have enough reasons to dislike cross-training.

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

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!

New York City's finest

Today has been a strange mix of excitement and wistfulness. The New York City marathon is rolling into town this weekend, and the day is sure to bring sunny skies, cool temperatures, thousands of international runners, millions of cheering fans, and one exciting road race. I anticipate that we’ll be hopping in and around Manhattan to spot both professionals and friends making the five-borough, 26.2 mile journey. Watching any marathon is an inspiring and thrilling experience, and it always leaves me cheering on the sidelines, clapping and yelling, desperately wishing that I could be running it, too. But the New York City marathon is a different kind of race altogether. Though I’m excited to be a spectator on Sunday, I’m a bit sad that I won’t be sporting a bib myself.

Boston may lay claim to hosting the oldest and most prestigious marathon, but in my experience, the only city in the world that really knows how to throw a party around running is the one in which I currently live. I was delighted to gain entry to last year’s NYC marathon through the three-strikes-and-you’re-in policy. That is, any applicant who fails to gain a spot through the lottery for three consecutive years obtains guaranteed entry in the fourth year. 2008 was my year. During the summer of 2008, however, I had already committed to training for a September half-marathon and biking as much as much as my cross-training would permit. Once the 13.1 mile race was under my belt at the end of September, I had exactly five weeks to prepare myself for a race twice the distance.

NYC would number as my sixth marathon. The five that came before it were completed following 16 to 18 weeks of regimented training, during which I always ran at least three long runs of 20+ miles (and, often, 23 or 24 miles only three weeks before race day). Leading up to the NYC marathon, however, my longest run over the past four months had been a pitiful 15 miles -- plenty for a half-marathon; a warm-up for the marathon. My coach and I devised the “crash training plan” to get me in condition for 26.2 over five weekends:

1. Week one: 13 miles
2. Week two: a slow 18 miles
3. Week three: a slow 21 miles
4. Week four: taper
5. Week five: 26.2 in NYC!

While it was a bit of stretch for me to imagine how I could possibly complete the marathon on such poor preparation, for the first time in my running “career,” my goal for a specific time was replaced by a goal to enjoy the race. My coach urged me to stick to a pace that would clock me in around four hours. I bought a disposable camera to carry on the course so that I could force myself to look around, take it all in, and snap a few photos. I was determined to just enjoy the experience of running and racing in the Big Apple.

As I learned, the trouble with the NYC marathon is this: when almost 40,000 runners from almost every corner of the planet migrate at the crack of dawn to gather on Staten Island; when those runners line up at the Verrazzano Bridge with helicopters hovering overhead and Sinatra’s “New York, New York” blasting through the mass of shivering, excited bodies; when those runners then make the two mile journey over the bridge to turn a corner and find themselves greeted in Brooklyn by cheering fans holding “Welcome” signs; when those runners wind their way through the diverse neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Queens; when those runners cross the 59th Street Bridge, on which all that can be heard is the sound of feet hitting pavement until, gradually, the sounds of cheering fans in Manhattan drowns everything else out; when those runners make the turn off the bridge and onto 1st Avenue, greeted by a wall of screaming spectators five or ten deep; when those runners race up through Manhattan, across into the Bronx, and wind their way back through Harlem; when those runners continue down Fifth Avenue where, by mile 21 and 22, the ever-so-gradual incline is amplified to painful proportions; when those runners enter into the greatest playground in the world, Central Park, in all her autumn glory; when those runners make the final turn onto Central Park South, past Columbus Circle, and back into Central Park for the final few hundred meters; and when you are one of those runners, it is impossible to “stick to your pace!”

New York City was not my fastest race, but nor was it my slowest. It was, however, my most memorable. During the race, I spotted my friends and family around East 76th Street, and I made my way over to the barricade to give and receive hugs. I exclaimed at the time, “I will never run any other race except this one from now on!” Though that proved to be not quite true -- I’ve since run a marathon elsewhere -- I doubt I’ll run another one like New York. I’ve enjoyed a rewarding summer of cycling and running this year and, indeed, that was point of not planning for a fall marathon. And while I’ll be out there cheering in full force for the runners at the 40th edition of the NYC marathon this Sunday, I am, and will be, more than a bit jealous that I’m not one of them. New York may have crowds, bed bugs, and insanely high rent, but it also has the best 26.2 miles any city could offer. And for one day each November, nothing else matters.

Cheese-y memories

Is there anything more satisfying than digging in to a greasy, cheese-y, thin crust slice of New York pizza on a sunny, warm, autumn afternoon, after running 16.5 miles for no reason whatsoever than the want to be outdoors on a perfect morning? I'm not certain that there is.

To be sure, I exhausted myself over the last 48 hours. We rode a respectable 40+ miles in sunny, but somewhat chilly, weather on Saturday morning; my long run this morning could have gone even longer if only I'd brought another gel to power me through an extra few miles; and, peppered in between, we indulged in two decadent Italian feasts on the Upper West Side and in the West Village.

I didn't need to run 16+ miles today, especially after yesterday's ride, but I'm glad that I did. It's on weekends like this that I really miss the demands of hard workouts dictated by a training plan from which I dare not deviate. I miss the zone that's only entered after 13 or 14 miles of running; I miss the sore, tight legs that remind me of a job well done; I miss the sense of total exhaustion. I miss saying "goodbye" to Zdenek after running together for two loops, knowing that I'm on my own for the next one but that, when I meet him back at home, the coffee will be brewed and the pancake batter ready to hit the hot pan the moment I turn on the shower. I miss eating a breakfast (with generous use of Nutella) three times the size of that enjoyed on any other weekday, only to be complaining two hours later that I'm hungry. I miss heading out for a mid-afternoon slice of pizza.

On Friday, I received notice in the mail that my 2009 Boston Marathon entry has been automatically rolled over to 2010. I'm not sure if I'll return to Beantown in 2010, but it is tempting. I salivate just thinking of all the guilt-free pizza I could enjoy this winter.

The departure

I miss your pretty red polish. In your place, I'm left with only a very sad, pathetic, preemie.

You served me well.

But then you really screwed things up for me in the marathon.

Goodbye, fourth toenail.

The proof

We made it to the start in time for a warm-up

My running man

What does it take, Zdenek? Now he knows!

"My toe hurts!!"

Hooray!

Predict, test, assess, repeat

Until a few years ago, I was a research scientist. My career wasn't very long, and it certainly wasn't very distinguished. I don't remember many of the details of what I "researched," but I know it involved a lot of stinky (and potentially deadly) chemicals and a lot of failed experiments. But such is science. The scientific method teaches that there are four steps through which scientists endeavor to construct an accurate representation of the world. Every experiment provides an opportunity to test a hypothesis and then reject or modify it. Eventually, through this iterative process, one comes to better understand the world and perhaps even develop a theory to represent it.

Yesterday I completed my seventh marathon, which, combined with the four half marathons and one 30K race I've run, comprise a nice set of data to analyze and develop a theory about my running: I run my best times when I don't go out too quickly (no surprise there). The data recorded in my running logs throughout my training period is a pretty accurate predictor of what I can accomplish come race day (whether I choose to believe it or not), and I could probably tell you within five seconds how fast I can run a half or full marathon. I prefer hills in the early part of my race. Lunges may not make me much faster or give me better endurance, but they certainly increase the amount of pounding my legs can bear and, in turn, decrease my recovery time. Anatomically, I appear to be pretty well-suited to running, if you omit my toes, which seem to take a beating in every race. Sometimes, running can be a lot more fun when I'm not worried about my time.

So there it is. Five years, twelve races, one unifying theory.

For the record, I did not run a PB. I did run my fastest ever half marathon, but unfortunately that doesn't count! I went out too aggressively and paid for it dearly when confronted by strong winds, big hills, and a blistered toe in the latter half of the race. Just when I was nearing total exhaustion around 20 miles (after fighting the hills and wind for the previous six miles), and just when I was digging deep to try to finish strong, I felt something dislodge under the top of my shoe. My toenail, perhaps? I limped/struggled/winced the last 5 km, desperately trying to not alter my gait too much, and though my toe didn't turn out to be as bloody as I was anticipating (I had Zdenek remove my shoe at the end because [a] I couldn't bend that far, and [b] I couldn't bear to look), that toenail is now on its way out for good. Fortunately, that's the worst of my injuries today. I was a little stiff getting out of bed this morning but am otherwise 100%, which would be a good thing, except now it makes me wonder if I worked hard enough. Perhaps I could've left more on the road…

To finish on a positive note, though (which I don't feel I did yesterday), here are the best things about Sunday's race:

1. Zdenek ran a great half marathon and thoroughly enjoyed himself. This makes me extremely happy, because if he had not enjoyed it (or worse, got injured), I doubt he'd be eager to run again. But he was all smiles after the race, and is even considering running the full marathon in NYC this fall.

2. I made it to the start on time, with plenty of time to spare. I managed to get in a 1 km (or thereabouts) warm-up, and I wasn't trying to squeeze into my corral or catch up with my wave or take a last minute pee as I have at almost every other race I've run. When the gun has gone off in other races, I have been in various places, several of which did not include the start line:

• Cincinnati - squatting behind a bush
• Boston - one mile away
• Toronto Waterfront - standing in line at the port-a-potty
• NYC - frantically weaving through 20,000 people, trying desperately to find my corral which had already closed several minutes ago

3. I didn't suffer any painful cuts or chafing. The half-stick of BodyGlide I applied beforehand must have helped.

4. In spite of my legs being in screaming, horrific, unbearable-and-never-before-experienced pain after the race, after 10 minutes of wobbly, stiff "walking" to the shuttle bus, the pain miraculously dissipated almost entirely. Even better, the shuttle bus was only about 500 m away.

5. I don't have to worry about running another race for some time. But I already miss running enough to know that I'll probably be back out there tomorrow. After all, theories can always stand to be tested and revised.

(will post pictures soon)

Is this a sign?

Got up this morning at 5:45. Got to Laguardia (otherwise known as America's worst airport) at 7 am. Been sitting here for 4.5 hours because our incoming flight was diverted to Newark (second worst airport). Fingers crossed that we get to Toronto today to put the last 17 weeks to the test. (Sent from Zdenek' blackberry)