Philly Marathon: Go Team Go!

I never thought a marathon was a team event. Until I ran one with Abby.

Leading up to the Philadelphia Marathon I had no goals. I knew I had the endurance to finish, thanks to a year of trail runs and adventure races. I knew, though, that I didn't have the speed to come close to a PR, let alone the new and improved BQ times.

Leaving me with what to shoot for? I was as aimless as humanly possible when it came to a goal. Prior to Philly, I'd run five other marathons -- Philadelphia in 2001, Steamtown in 2002 (at the time I had the goal of running a marathon a year, I failed), Columbus in 2009, Boston and New York in 2010. Goals were clear-cut to me (finish, finish faster than at Philly, qualify for Boston, have a shit-ton of fun at Boston, beat my Boston time at New York, respectively).

Abby was in it to enjoy it, and that didn't sound like too bad of a plan. We decided to cross the start line together and I had 3:45:00 in my head as a number to shoot for just to keep me moving forward -- a bit better than my average marathon time so I couldn't just mosey along but obtainable without feeling like hell, hopefully.

I didn't even hit snooze on race morning. I was up by 5, on my second cup of coffee by 5:15, decided against a third, stuffed an Eggo with peanut butter into my face, properly lubed, dressed, deoderized and was actually ready to go when Abby and her crew rolled by to pick me up at 5:40.

By 6:20 we were at the race site and were in the longest portapotty line in the history of the universe. Actually, the line itself wasn't too long -- the people in front of us were apparently giving birth and/or performing minor surgeries in there and were taking forever and ever. Finally I gave up, got out of line and peed between a rock and a tree while pretending no one could see me -- the start was getting close.

Abby and I parted ways with her people and headed to the start together. The plan? Run together until we didn't. Have a good time. And, for me, don't do anything stupid in the first half -- all my other marathons came with positive second-half splits of 7 to 15 minutes. Terrible. F.

We crossed the start about 7 minutes after the gun and dodged our way over, under, around and through other runners and walkers for the first mile -- hit the marker at right around 9 minutes. A little slower than I would have liked but, eh. The weather was great, the company was great, I was happy, the road was flat.

Just before mile 2 I had a cheerleader -- an old coworker from an old job out bright and early to push along the runners. I was amused and surprised to see her, so yay.

And then, another familiar face -- Abby's husband Brent. "Look, there he is," Abby basically whispered to me. Among the footfalls of a zillion runners on a packed course, he, oddly, did not hear her whisper.  "BREEENNNNT!," I yelled and then pointed at him and jumped up and down a bit. It worked -- he saw us.

Friends of friends who managed to recognize me and a drumline (my favorite thing during races) made the next few miles tick by. Abby and I chatted about nothing in particular as we weaved around more runners and held a comfortable 8:35 pace.

As we hit mile five, a thought popped into my brain. Should I share it? "Dare I say it?," I said to Abby. "I think I am actually having fun."

"I wasn't going to say it out loud," she said, "but I am, too."

As we approached mile 5, there was Brent again. This time he saw us and started snapping away with his camera.

I sort of love this picture -- we both look thrilled

to be running!

The crowd (that had already been pretty solid) grew thicker and louder. I knew that about mile 6, where I set up shop last year for my first cheering spot, would be the first likely mile where Bill would be on his bike. And sure enough, there he was.

"Bill! Bill! Bill! BILL! BILLLL!," I screamed (apparently I get very excited when I see people I know while running marathons). He saw us and waved. He knows better than to ignore my big mouth but we were so damn fast he wasn't able to get any pictures.

Motivated by the unexpectedly loud and large crowds, the next several miles flew by. We chatted about whatever -- mostly adventure racing, I think, and before we knew it we were smelling the Philadelphia Zoo. Barf. I don't do stink while running and the smell of caged elephants and monkeys and lions and tigers and bears and lemurs and aardvarks and whatever made me a bit gaggy but I kept that to myself. Plus, I had more important things to think about -- the only significant hill of the course was right in front of us.

Abby and I didn't increase our effort as we steadily climbed the hill. Some runners around us started to struggle but we'd run this part of the course twice on two of our longer runs. We knew it wasn't that long, or that steep and that we'd be met at the top by about a mile of flat followed by a short, steep downhill so we kept things in control.

"Man, I can't believe we've already run what, like 8 miles?," I commented. I hadn't been paying close attention to mile markers and would check in only occasionally with Abby and her Garmin about our pace. "Try 10 miles," she said.

Yep, the miles were flying by. We were running solidly and comfortably and were right on pace for a 3:45 finish.

As the course dropped us along the Schuylkill River, Bill found us again. This time he was ready with the camera.

We also saw something crazy -- people dressed like bacon, grilled cheese and pizza dancing around. Silly! Soon signs were directing people running the full in one direction, the half in the other. I couldn't believe we were almost at the 13.1-mark. As we peeled in one direction and the half runners peeled into the other, we hit the middle at about 1:52 and some change.

At the mile 14 water stop I was bolstered by two friends handing out cups. Damn, they were loud. Just past them a dude dressed like Batman was playing the theme song to Rocky on a trombone. Abby was absolutely thrilled by this. I, however, have never seen Rocky despite living in Philly for more than 15 years so I didn't know what was happening.

As we chugged along on the out-and-back I realized Abby was in for a huge PR unless something unhappy happened. I tried to be extra-careful to knock her down, trip or kick her or punch her -- didn't want to ruin her day.

Outward bound. Can you spot us?

Next up was a detour from the main out-and-back -- about a mile across a bridge, down a hill, around a cone, back up the hill and back over the bridge. I'd been mentally dreading this part all morning -- not sure why, but I was. Just as we were about to reach the bridge a friend of Abby's let us know that Brent was waiting for us at the turnaround cone. Yay! Something to look forward to. I zoomed down the hill and was eager to see another familiar face.

I don't remember feeling as dead serious as

I look in the top picture. 

As we spun around the cone I was elated. "I was dreading that part! And now it's over!," I must have repeated enough times to make Abby want to sprint far, far away from me. Mostly I was just happy that both brain and body were still into the race.

We both started to get a bit bored about a mile or so later. "Talk to me about something," Abby requested. Do you know how hard it is to think of things to talk about when someone asks you to say words? Uhhhhh...

All I could think about was racing. I peppered Abby with questions about the race she was most scared of at the start line, her favorite race, her first race, her last race, her thoughts on race relations, race race race.

As we slogged into Manayunk the crowds grew louder and drunker. And we started to pass a lot of runners. People were starting to struggle. I felt a bit bad too, but, surprisingly, only a bit -- Abby started to pick up the pace and I was happy to tuck behind her. Then we passed a group of people handing out little cups o' beer and I dry-heaved. I like beer as much as (ok, probably more than) the next person, but not at mile 21.5 of a marathon.

"Oh, God, there's beer, I am going to puke," I said, as I darted as far away from the beer as I could. Fortunately, I didn't actually barf.

The course dumped us back alongside the river and I realized we only had four miles to go. Four miles? That's a prologue in an adventure race, a distance I can manage on a treadmill, 32 minutes and some change until the finish, depending on how well I was able to keep it together.

Let's go! I was feeling better than I ever had at mile 22 of a marathon. Usually at mile 22 I am wanting to cry and contemplating burning all running shoes/shorts/shirts/tights/hats/gloves/gus/water bottles/etc. and never running again.

This time ,though, was different.

I started to run a bit harder, not so much that it hurt yet but enough that I knew that it would before I crossed the finish line. Gradually, Abby and I began to pull apart. I peeked over my shoulder a few times -- she was still right back there but I decided I wanted to be done and I knew she would finish with a nastyhuge PR with or without me so I dropped my pace into the high 7s/low 8s, hoping to hold that for the duration.

Bill found me again. I wasn't smiling quite as big as I had been -- slowly but surely I was starting to hurt but I really thought I could hang on. I was actually passing people and the fact that I didn't seem to be hurting as much as many of the runners around me gave me a bit of motivation -- I apparently wasn't going to shit the bed with only three miles to go.

I passed my buddies at the water stop again -- they seemed to be having the most fun of all. Bill rode on the path just off the course and snapped a few more pictures.

 So many spectators!

I have no idea who I am smiling at in this picture.

I wasn't sure what to do -- most of the people around me were grumpy and many were walking. A few were crying and a few were saying "fuck" a lot. I needed someone ungrumpy and unhurting to motivate me. I scanned the runners around me and settled in on Purple Shirt. She looked like she'd been at mile 24 of a marathoon before, and looked like she wanted to finish strong. I made myself promise to myself that I wouldn't let her get more than 15 feet in front of me.

And then she picked up the pace a bit. Purple Shirt, were you trying to kill me? I hung on, barely, and managed to convince myself that I could hang on for the 18 or so minutes of running still ahead of me.

Thank you Purple Shirt, whomever you are.

I am not going to lie -- mile 24.5 to about mile 25.5 sucked. My lungs were unhappy, my legs were tired and my brain was starting to go. But then the crowd got huger and louder and I started smiling like a bobo. Suddenly I was so happy again. I didn't notice the last little incline as I rounded a bend to find the finish line staring me in the face. I ran as hard as I could for the last 100 meters or so, and that was that.

Chip time: 3:43:46. Fine by me. I worked my way to the gear check truck, threw on some warms (although the day was actually sunny and quite warm for Philly in mid-November) and met up with Bill, Abby, Brent and Abby's family before slogging about a mile to brunch/beer/breakfast/coffee.

Abby had a 9-minute PR. Nine minutes. NINE MINUTES. I would sell my soul for a PR like that. And she seemed to have fun while doing it, too. My big achievement for the day was a negative split -- only by a few seconds, but I fianlly didn't crash and burn in the second half of a marathon.

A nice little Sunday.

THE END

Treadmill, I Beat You

I loathe treadmill running. So much, in fact, that I tend to run as fast as I can just to get off the damn thing. Not wise, I know, but I do it anyway.

Over the past week, however, late nights at work, my everlasting hatred of getting up early to run and a winter blast over the weekend led to far too many miles on the mill.

Today after work I headed for the gym for four miles. As I shed my work clothes and pulled on running stuff I realized I forgot a headband. Fortunately I just got most of my hair chopped off so I decided I could handle a few sweaty strands in my eyes.

Then I reached for my iPod. Dead battery. Unacceptable. I depend on it to make the miles tick by. Depend completely. After contemplating bailing and going home to eat some chips and slug some beer I decided to do a two-mile time trial and then get the hell out of there.

Hopped on, cranked the POS up to a barely tolerable speed and stared at the clock on the wall in front of me. After a mile I was surprised that I felt like I was jogging -- I was running comfortably and my breathing did not sound like the normal sweaty beast I turn into. I picked up the pace a bit more. As I neared the two-mile mark I decided to go for a 5k treadmill PR. I was well on my way when I hit the 2.5-mile mark.

Then the gym started looking bizarre. A bit foggy. Smoky, you might say. "That's weird," I thought to myself. "Runrunrunrunrunrunrunrunrunihatethetredmillhatehatehatealmostdonealmostdone."

And then, a smell. Sawdust mixed with campfire. Followed by quite a sound -- a squeal of brakes mixed with dial-up-modem.

The treadmill came to a grinding halt. Because it was on fire. Not a complete inferno, but smoke was pouring out from under the belt.

Hmm.

I looked around. People were looking at me. I pretended that nothing was happening. The treadmill screen alternated blinking "fatal error" and "no signal."

I hopped off and headed to the guy at the front desk. "The treadmill third from the end is ablaze," I said. But he knew that already. Ok, ablaze was overstating things, but there was some serious smoldering action happening.

Unsure of what proper gym etiquette called for in such circumstances, I thought about grabbing for the sanitizing wipes and making sure my sweat was off the machine. But that seemed dangerous. Instead I grabbed a magazine and hopped on the elliptical for a bit. While I ellipticalled I watched the guy at the front desk unplug the treadmill, squirt it with water from a squirt bottle, scribble "Out of order" on a post-it and stick it to the machine. I started to giggle. Then laugh. A lot. Like a weirdo. So I went home.

And yes, I am fully aware that the fact the damn thing caught fire had nothing to do with me running -- I am not so fast at all -- and everything to do with the fact that my crazy inexpensive gym is so cheap because the equipment is junk.

Marathon Meh

Here's what I've learned this year -- I like off-road racing more than road racing. Give me an adventure race or a trail run any day. My marathon training has been mentally painful and physically slow. Why do laps around the block when you can bound up and down trails and rocks, you know?

Regardless, my final race of 2011 will be the Philadelphia Marathon. I hope to cross the finish line before Christmas.

Training has been a bit meh. I've been putting in the miles, mostly (if adventure racing counts as a long run) but I haven't been doing the speed work. I know I have the endurance to finish, barring something unforeseen, but I don't have the speed to do anything special on race day. And, honestly, nor do I have the desire.

My lack of motivation this training cycle has impressed me. Why go run for three hours on the road when you can bound around on a trail? When you can get your feet wet? When you can get your legs muddy? A 50k sounds less daunting to me right now than a road marathon (and, speaking of, will someone please do this with me?).

As I am running for the Philadelphia Ronald McDonald House, though, it is only fair that I at least put forth some effort in training, even if I am not feeling particularly passionate about the race. There's neither chance nor desire to qualify for either Boston or a PR and I am struggling to latch onto a time goal that will keep me motivated on race day.

On the upside, yesterday's 20-miler with Abby (read her account of it here ... Personally, I plan to read it before every 20-mile run for inspiration) didn't suck at all. Not entirely sure why, but it didn't. Some guesses as to why it wasn't terrible:

1.  It was early in the morning, at least for me. The shock of such an early wake-up call got me going a bit.
2. There were a ton of other runners out. I commented to Abby no less than 10 times that I couldn't believe how many other runners there were. She was all "Welcome to the world of adults who get out of bed before noon and get their long runs in before dinner time" and I was all "Geeze, it's a whole different world out here before 3 p.m."
3. The weather ruled. Thank you, Nature, for that gift.
4. Nothing really hurt. A few pings in my right ankle toward the end but I woke up today feeling fresh.
5. Company! Usually for long runs, Bill will go for a bike ride and we will meet for a few minutes at pre-determined points so he can give me fuel and water. This time, though, the conversation with Abby about everything from adventure racing (shocking) to future travel plans made the miles tick by quickly. I am still sort of convinced that her Garmin was off and we really only did about 5 miles, but if she insists we hit 20, then I guess we hit 20.

I did about 6 miles of recovery today along a flat path and felt fine. Legs were a bit heavy but nothing hurt or was sore and I had to make a concerted effort not to go hard so that was a bit uplifting.

The race is only 4 weeks away. Hopefully next weekend will bring at least 25 miles between an organized group 20-miler on Saturday, possibly an orienteering meet on Saturday night and another group run on Sunday. Toss in another 20 miles or so the following weekend and then it is taper time already.

Maybe this marathon thing isn't so terrible after all.

Sweatfest 2011

Sorry for the lack of blog action as of late. I've been too busy turning myself into a date or a prune by sweating every ounce of hydration out of my person.

Bill and I headed down to my parents' in Maryland for a large chunk of the weekend. With Storm the Shore two weeks away (shit!) we knew we had to get some training in between sleep, tailgates, Navy football and play time with the fam and the friends.

Bill is well on the mend from a foot booboo and wants to stay that way so we lugged the mountain bikes down with us to get some time in the saddle. I hadn't sat on that saddle since the finish line of the Equinox almost two months ago.

POP QUIZ:
What kind of an adventure racer am I? Circle all that apply.
     A) The awesome kind.
     B) The short kind.
     C) The lazy kind.

I know you leaned toward A but, in fact, the correct answer is both B and C.

We headed down to a small park about 20 minutes south of my parents' digs near Annapolis. Only one real trail -- a 9.5 mile loop. We thought it would be boring and, based by the quality of the riders and bikes in the parking lot when we rolled into the park bright and early I was worried I was in for a day of hot mess technicality.

Instead, an awesome roller coaster of buttery single track, some short climbs, tight turns and only a few rocks and roots. I always forget that the Wissahickon, my usual riding spot, is one of the more technical spots to bike within a few hundred miles.

It was pretty stellar. We did a lap and a half and then found ourselves unable to stay away from the awesome -- we headed back to the park the next day for a few more hours of riding.

Bill likes to mountain bike, a lot. He also happens to be pretty good at it -- pushing the pace and the more technical, the better. This park was a bit beneath the technical junk he prefers so we decided to make the ride a bit more of a challenge for the both of us. I'd get an 8-minute head start on the first lap and then the last one to the end had to buy gas and Wawa hoagies to get us through the ride back to Philly.

I was off, zooming the best that I could up and around switchbacks, through tight turns, wedging between trees and splashing through a few streams. I could ride the whole thing -- only had to unclip when I'd go around a turn to find another rider zooming right toward me.

So yeah, I suck at mountain biking. Just past the half-way point I heard someone come up behind me, fast. It was Bill. We rode together for about two miles and then he was off, making it to the parking lot almost 20 minutes faster than I did.

I was a drippy, muddy, sweaty mess as we sat in the parking lot for a few before heading out on the trail again. Sweating so much that the sweat was actually rinsing off the mud on my legs. How damn nasty is that?

My new bike shoe make my feet look extra gigantic!

We rolled back to Philly at around 9 p.m. and I was up again at 8 to meet Abby for a longer trail run in the Wissahickon. As we chatted about whether our run counted as marathon or adventure race training, my new found obsession with The Hunger Games and whether we should really try to race the Philly marathon or just make sure we cross the finish line I found myself basically melting.

My entire person turned to sweat. I had a small pack on with about 60 ounces of water that I was chugging. It might have been more efficient just to dump the water directly onto my person. Every few minutes I'd grab the sides of my shirt and wring them out, sweat leaving a trail behind me. My hair looked like I'd gotten caught in a downpour. My shoelaces were so drippy they started whipping my ankles as I meandered along the trail. Blisters? I got them on my feet, thanks to the fact that my socks were so wet that I wrung them out when I got home.

How effing disgusting is that? On a scale of 1 to 10, please leave your score in a comment. Personally, I think it's a 9.

I don't weigh myself a lot, maybe a few times a year to make sure I don't have a tapeworm or that I haven't secretly been eating Big Macs and tubs of Crisco in my sleep, so I am not entirely sure what I weigh at any given point in time. But, I hopped on the scale once I got home from our 17.5 nasty (and, for me, sort of painful) trail miles.

I weighed 2 points less than I ever have in my adult life.

Not good. Kidneys, I apologize. Heart, I apologize to you, too.

I spent several hours sipping on blue-flavored Powerade, lemonade-flavored Nuun, water and chocolate milk. I never felt entirely terrible or death-like -- I just felt like the most dehydrated person in the tri-state area.

When I got on the scale this morning I'd put on five pounds. I felt fine today -- not sore, not dehydrated, not particularly tired, so I guess I didn't do any real damage.

But, fall, roll in soon. Please and thank you.

A Small Bit of Training

Marathon training is underway (sort of)!

Day 1: It's 108 degrees out. I am dumb but I am not that dumb. I head to the gym for speed work on the treadmill. It's bad, but not as bad as I thought it would be. Nor was it as boring as I thought it would be.

Day 2: It's 99 degrees out. Pull out the parkas and yank on the ski socks. I head out for the planned hill repeats. Tip: 16 ounces of water in a handheld won't get you through 45 minutes of hills, a warmup and a cooldown. I sat on an air conditioning vent for 30 minutes when I got home and the shower still didn't take.

Day 3: A fantastic run in the rain. It was sort of raining when I left but started pouring, pouring, about 10 minutes in. I got to splash through the puddles as I wove my way through the neighborhood for 5 or so miles. When I got home I looked like this:

My hair is serpentine.




Day 4: A mile on a treadmill at an absurd hour. More to follow.

Day 5: Seven steady miles on a flat trail. All was well until the last half-mile when a hill I run routinely decided to attempt to kill me.

Why am I doing this again? For the Philly marathon in November. More importantly, to raise dollars for the Philadelphia Ronald McDonald House. A place that I hope none of you ever have the need for but a place that benefits so many families at my job whose newborns are crazy sick. Fundraising so far is going well! I am only about $150 from my goal. At first I was surprised by this because I am bad at collecting dollaz but then I thought about the fact that I am fortunate to have kind and generous family and friends and I was no longer surprised.

If you want to peek at my fundraising page, click THIS!

The 1/2 Sauer, 1/2 Kraut 13.1: A Timeline

Sunday, June 26. Bright and early.

5:22 a.m. -- Alarm goes off. Hit snooze. Roll over and briefly think that there's something I have to get up for. Fall back to sleep.

5:29 -- Alarm goes off again. Remember that I have a race, and that I have to get three other people out of the house by 6. Freak out a bit, pull on my running clothes and hop downstairs to K-Cup the first of three pre-race cups of coffee.

5:33 -- Stare at fridge in a sleepy stare while coffee brews.

5:33:30 -- Hear Kate shuffling around upstairs. This is a small miracle because if there's anyone who hates mornings more than I do, it's Kate.

5:34 -- Make Kate a cup of coffee. See?

5:35-- Bill comes downstairs dressed and ready to go. Yay! Steve (Kate's husband) slept in his clothes so things were looking good for a 6 a.m. departure.

5:36 -- Bill decides he smells and takes a shower. Steve goes back to sleep.

5:38 -- Steve is awake! Bill is clean! Kate and I are fed! I have my second cup of coffee!

5:44 -- We all stand around and stare at each other. I have another cup of coffee.

6:07 -- We realize that we've been standing around staring at each other for a while so we decide to leave.

6:37: We get to the race site. We park 8 feet from the start line. With almost an hour to go before the scheduled gun time we stand around and take pictures.

This was Steve's first time seeing Kate run. Clearly, they are both
quite excited for their big day.

We met in preschool and look exactly the same as we did in 1980, I swear.

6:42 -- Realize the boys aren't as excited as we are about the race. See above for proof. At least Bill is faking a smile. Steve just looks like he wants to stab someone.

6:43-7:47 -- Do nothing other than realize that the race will be starting late. Finally the gun goes off (or someone just yells "go" and we all start running) about 17 minutes behind schedule.

7:53:40 -- Try to keep up with the girl in front of me. Hit the first mile marker at 6:40, a pace that I would be content to hold on a track. Knowing that I will crash, burn and then blaze bright enough to be seen from outer space if I try to stay with her I slow down quite a bit. She zooms away. But I am feeling nice.

7:53:31-- 8:28 -- I run. The course goes up and down a bit. I hate the ups more than I should.

8:29 -- The course zigs and zags through a small parking lot and field about 7 trillion times. I realize that there's a woman right behind me that is sort of flying and I know that she will pass me soon. Along one of the zigs I hear Kate cheering me on. I am starting to feel a bit gross so I shout a supportive "Grerrmpfhfaaaakk" in reply. I think about what a good friend I am. I am awesome.

8:35 -- The course had been along a paved bike path but now meanders onto actual trials. I love trails and I pick up the pace a bit. I pass a few dudes.

8:45 -- I am dumped back onto the paved path and am passed by the woman behind me within 800 meters. I don't care as much as I probably should. Mostly because I am happily surprised with my pace. I'd been aiming for about a 1:40 and realize I should be able to come in a bit under that if I don't shit the bed.

9:08 -- I hit the 11-mile aid station. "Only two miles left!" they tell me. I realize I am getting bitchy. "It's really two-point-one," I correct. "And that seems really far right now."

9:20 -- I haven't seen another runner in a while and the course is starting to feel long. Or I am just starting to feel tired. I contemplate slowing to a jog, then slowing to a walk. I peek over my shoulder every few strides. I see no ladies, no dudes. Am I off course? I don't want to be passed at the line just because I get lazy. I try to pick up the pace.

9:23 -- I see a friendly looking dude with a medal around his neck, sipping on a bottle of water with his feet in the creek, cheering me on. "Shit, dude, am I almost there?," I ask. "You are, I swear," the dude says and slaps me five. I decide to believe him. Because it is either that or I just flop in the creek and call it a year.

9:24 -- The finish. Tadaa. I stagger a tiny bit and then, instead of removing my chip, remove my entire shoe and hand it to the volunteer collecting chips. I snag a banana and some water and then realize I have one less shoe than I should. I find my smelly shoe which is nice.

Bill missed me crossing the finish line but got me
taking off my shoe.

9:31 -- Kate finishes in just under 1:45. (1:44:44 I think). I am impressed. Here's why -- Kate has several PhDs, got a 2400 on her SATs back in the day where the highest possible score was a 1600 and was published before she was old enough to drink. The only B (actually, she just emailed me to remind me it was actually a B+) she ever got in her life was in fourth grade gym. She thought her academic career was over. But she really sucked at kickball, a lot. Kate apparently got winded in high school marching band and also runs with an inhaler. The first time she ever ran more than a mile at a time was about a year ago and then she busts out a 1:45 in her second half marathon. Silly overachiever.

9:45 -- Results are posted. I am 33rd overall, 3rd for the ladies and 1st in my age group. Kate is 7th for the ladies and second in our age group. Hoorah. But before you go around thinking I am fast please be aware that this was a small local race. And that the Philly Olympic-distance tri was at the same time so that's where all the fasties were.

11:10 -- We go to the weird German club (what's with Philly-area races and their affiliation with German clubs) for free beers and/or bratwurst (racers got either two free beers, two free bratwurst or one of each, how fun).

11:22 -- Best race awards of all time. I got another one of these at the last race I did put on by the same company. So now I have two Bavarian thermometers/barometers.  How fantastic.

This guy rocked out hard on his accordion(s). Just like
every other race out there.

THE END

Why the Philadelphia Ronald McDonald House?

When I started to get semi-serious about running I promised myself I'd only run for me. No running clubs, no teams, no fundraising. Just me. If I happened to make a friend or two, or a husband (we went for an 8-miler on our second date) along the way, fine, but heading out for miles on the road or on the trails was something just for me.

No sharing. ALL FOR ME!

Except I lied to myself, apparently. A few months ago the social worker at the Ronald McDonald House on the grounds of the children's hospital kind enough to employ me called to say that the house had been chosen as an official charity for this year's 2011 Philadelphia Marathon.

Here's how the conversation went:
Me: Ok, thanks for sharing that.
Her: Well,I know that you run.
Me: Yes, I do.
Her: And I know that you've run marathons.
Me: Not, like, every day or anything.
Her: Want to join the team? You only have to raise $900** and it will be fun. And the fundraising is for this specific house, not all of them.
Me: You mean you don't have to share the money with any of the other houses?

My interest was piqued. My hospital (like I own it) serves all sorts of kids from all sorts of places and all sorts of socioeconomic backgrounds. The Ronald McDonald House, as you probably know already, houses families who have to come from a distance of at least 25 miles in order to have their child receive necessary medical care.

Some babies in my unit remain inpatients for a year, if not longer. The RMH asks for a fee of $15 a night per family but never turns away anyone who is unable to pay. Some families pay $10, some $5, some nothing--whatever they can afford. All are given a giant private room, bathroom, meals and a beautiful house with a small staff of professionals and volunteers equipped to familes through what is likely the hardest time of their life.

I work specifically in the NICU. The average length of stay in our unit is more than a month -- we've even had first birthday parties for kids who have been too sick to ever leave the hospital. The RMH gives familes the opportunity to be with their kid every day, to not have to worry about housing, or food. These expenses add up, even for families who were financially stable before welcoming a sick little one into their family.

Take one family, for example (I am sort of changing some of the stuff because I like my job and don't want to lose it in fear of violating HIPAA). Mom and Dad couldn't wait to welcome their first child into the family. His nursery was ready, pregnancy, labor and delivery were as boring as could be, apparently. But as soon as the little guy tried to take his first breath, well, he couldn't. He was scooped up and brought to the NICU where I work when he was just a few hours old.

His parents stayed behind, choosing to come to the NICU to meet their son for the first time together as soon as Mom was released. The Ronald McDonald House immediately made room for them and Mom and Dad were able to spend hours and hours every day with their little guy. Mom and Dad got to know us, we got to know them and their kid.

One morning I came to work and the first person I saw was Dad crying in the hallway. His son had just died after two months in the hospital. I spent most of the morning with him and Mom. All they kept saying was that they were glad they got to spend so much time with their son, thanks to the Ronald McDonald House. Mom and Dad had cut back drastically on their work hours in order to be at their baby's bedside. Dad soon began to worry how he was going to pay for his son's funeral.

The RMH paid for everything.  

If this was the only family the RMH ever helped, I'd still run as part of their team. In 2010 the house assisted more than 535 families, all coping with caring for a seriously ill or critically ill child.

So what the hell, I finally figured. If so many families are helped by the RMH, how can I not suck it up, raise a few bucks and run 26.2 miles to help ensure that this help remains available?

If I get less lazy than I currently am I hope to have families who have stayed at the house write guests posts about the help and support they received. I probably won't get any less lazy or any less creative though so I will probably just sporadically post the link to the fundraising page I will eventually create in case anyone has extra dollaz that they don't know what to do with.

** Everyone on the team had to pay $100 to join. The Philly Marathon has donated 25 entries to the RMH team with the caveat that team members pay the entry fee as a donation to the house. I dig this because I like to run ... why should other people's donations pay for something I'd be doing anyway? The money raised by the team goes directly to the RMH.

I Felt Like I Was Running Naked. Fortunately I Was Mistaken.

I have an on-road dauthlon Sunday (someone remind me to spring the clocks forward) in Maryland. I've done a total of zero road runs since before the new year and the only two runs without a backpack for the year were both races. This morning I decided that I should probably go hard for a few road miles without a damn pack on my back to remind myself a bit about speed (that is, what passes for speed for me).

I actually woke up this morning before the alarm went off. On a Monday. At 6:30. 6:30 in the morning. Someone send me a major award. I dug a pair of road running shoes from the back of my closet and headed out for a 3-mile loop with some gentle climbs through the neighborhood.

Without my backpack I feelt like I was running naked. I felt like I was zooming and that I'd shed 15 pounds since my last outing on foot. Before I knew it I was back home. I felt like I'd cheated, running through the 'hood without the burden of a pack on my back. I now find myself with a bit of a craving for a road marathon at some point this year, not something that I anticipated.

That is all.

What I Did Last Night

After a day at work that sort of made me want to bang my head against the wall 4,562 times I fled and met up with  a friend for a beer, food and Scrabble. I knew we were at the right place when the bartender clapped when we busted out the game and then would stop by periodically to comment on our words (he was only impressed with "pithy" and "ova.")

At first it wasn't snowing at all. Then, a little bit. Then, a lot. And suddenly the roads were covered. Ran out the bar door, brushed off the car and slowly headed home.

As I walked in the door I said to Bill that I wanted to go for a run. We did some chores, sat around and then Bill asked me when I wanted to leave for a run. It was 9:45. We were out the door five minutes later for a 3-mile happy run through the snow. Cold, quiet and beautiful. Scrabble followed by running therapy is awesome for eliminating work brain.

Bill is in adventure race training mode. 

Snow + night + run = happy.

Can you see me?

Unfortunately we didn't get piles of snow dumped on us. Hopefully just enough to take the snowshoes out for a spin in a little bit, though. Also my goal for 2011 is to post 8,412 pictures of me in the snow. Hopefully more of it will fall from the sky soon.

Books! And a Tiny Bit of Running! And a Link to a Sweet Giveaway!

I like the mail woman this week!

First, she brought me A Year of Adventure: A Guide to the World's Most Exciting Experiences. Thanks to a giveaway from Abby** I now have a year-long guide to all the fun stuff I'd rather be doing this year.

The book is organized month by month, each month featuring outside funness in season throughout the world. At first I thought the book would make me sad as I clearly won't be able to do the more than 250 trips, adventures and outdoor endeavors in my lifetime, let alone in 2011.

Until I read adentures for the first week of January -- suggestion number two was bobsledding in Lake Placid. We've actually done this! Ok, just Bill, but I was there so it counts! He rolled in 2010 with a ride around the old Olympic bobsled and louge track. I was going to try skeleton (somehow they let you do this on your own with basically no training) but got a tiny bit nervous and didn't do it.

And then, yesterday, The Complete Idiot's Guide to Geography. After realizing I know even less about geography than I thought I hit up Amazon and decided to brush up on my world geography skills. So far I haven't even opened it but my one and only New Year's resolution is to learn all of the countries on Africa and Europe and their major landforms. What do I plan to do with this knowledge? Nothing, other than to hopefully feel a bit less dumb.

Unrelated: I finally managed to get in my first few runs of 2011. First up was 4 miles on the beautiful treadmill at the gym. I decided to go hard and felt like I was running at the speed of sound. Unfortunately my average pace was terrible for me. My marathon endurance is gone but unfortunately I have retained my sluggish marathon pace. Awesome.

Today I did 5 or so miles on the trails. I felt okay and was having fun until I got home. The clock said it was 11:54. On Wednesdays I work from noon until 8. Six minutes to stop being a sweaty mess, shower, get out the door and to work? Didn't happen. Not even close.

**Also unrelated, but way more fun than me rambling about running: Abby at Have Dental Floss, Will Travel is having a sweet giveaway, guaranteed to get you outside even on the snowiest and iciest of days. If you hate being outside in the cold, you can use the spikes to defend your home in case an intruder gets in.

Things I Did Outside in 2010

I don't have a year-end total of how many miles I've run, how fast/slow I have gone, average heart rate or elevation gain. I did take pictures from time to time though. 2010 was a pretty good year for me in terms of playing outside...

On New Year's Day I watched Bill bobsled ...




... and then followed it up with a cross-country ski.



The next day we skied at Lake Placid. Year is off
to a lovely start.



I slogged to the finish of the Boston Marathon with a smile
on my face.



Marshmallows outside of a ...

...tipi! We celebrated our second anniversary in style.



My best cheerleader (although my mom and dad are pretty
good too)...

...cheered me on to a solid finish at a beach duathlon.

My brother-in-law Kevin did the tri. Had a successful day as
he didn't have to be rescued from the ocean like many of the athletes did.

Followed one duathlon with another. Did OK but, thanks to my
beer gut, the chick behind me here passed me in the last half-mile.

I rode roller coasters with The Iceholes ...

... tried to cheer the Phillies on to another trip to the World Series (but watched
them get the boot from the playoffs instead) ...



...but did OK in an adventure race the next morning anyway.

I finished the New York Marathon...






...see? I did it!

I got to a race a bit early ..

... and ended the year soaking wet.




My Majors

Warning: Extra long, extra boring post about races I haven’t done ahead.


This is the first chunk of time in a while without a definitive race on the calendar. I’ve been training for marathons since I signed up for the Columbus Marathon in July of 2009. I think I need a break from marathons for a bit. They are hard, they suck away all my energy for all other leg-based activities and three 26.2s in 12 ½ months is plenty for me.

But, there are at least three more marathons sometime in my future (I hope). Potentially in my distant future – I ran my first marathon in 2001, my second in 2002 and didn’t do the third for seven more years so I don’t feel the need to cram in all the fun before my 33rd birthday (It is coming up soon. Send presents). Or even my 40th.

I hope to do the World Marathon Majors. Boston and New York are all done (although I think I want to do both again at some point in my life), leaving Chicago, Berlin and London. I think I can scrounge up a sofa or two in Chicago but Berlin and London might be logistically and financially challenging.

Before going to grad school, I worked at a job that I hated. Every Sunday night, every, I’d grow increasingly anxious and increasingly sad about having to spend 40 hours over the next five days sitting in a cube doing nothing except being belittled by a boss who thought awesomeness dripped out of his pores. Terrible.

But, multiple times a year, I got to flee from the cubicle for conferences around the country. I got to see places that I would never plan to visit on my own. Salt Lake City? Got to make DIY rusty nails by ordering shots of scotch and drambuie and mixing them myself. Did a sprint workout around the Mormon temple because a lap around it supposedly equals a quarter mile (I asked some official-looking gentlemen in suits outside of the temple if it would be terribly disrespectful to sprint around … “Well, not terribly,” they said.)

Las Vegas? Hated it. In front of a hotel replicating New York City, there is a moderately large (but obviously not nearly as big as the real thing) Statue of Liberty replica. As I walked past, woman stood near it, weeping. “All my life I waited to see her, Lady Liberty, and now I am here,” she sobbed. Get me out of here.

I managed to get lost on a run along the Las Vegas strip and ended up running for almost three hours. I’d left at 5 a.m. in attempt not to melt to death (it was July) and to get to the conference on time. Instead I ran 15 miles, the last 6 in temps in the high 90s and then spent the day in bed dry-heaving and sipping Gatorade, finally dragging myself to the ground floor of the hotel to play nickel slots. I won 45 cents.

And then the job sent me to Chicago! I loved it there. I think. Unfortunately I was working 14-hour days and had to spend after-hours with vendors and clients and blah blah blah. What I managed to see of the city was fantastic and now I want to go back. Seeing 26.2 miles of the city on foot sounds like a good plan to me.

I’ve been to Germany twice, once spending some time in Munich on a backpacking trip right after college with an old roommate, again in Wursburg in 2002 to visit a friend in the Army. She had to spend her days driving tanks around so I spent the days running around, over bridges, through forests and through farms. It was freezing outside and I'd only packed shorts, but the sights were beautiful.

So yeah, I’ve managed to make it to Germany twice, yet never to Berlin, apparently The Greatest City Ever. Everyone I know who has been there wants to marry it, thinks it’s the coolest and laughs at me when I say I’ve never been. My bud Kate, who lived there for a bit, swears she can find a sofa for me to loaf on if I run the marathon and says she will run Berlin (it would be her first marathon) if I do it too. Sold.

I have spent approximately two days in London but have never actually been to London. Between scheduled layovers, weather delays, missed planes and re-routes I’ve spent enough time stuck in Heathrow to officially become a British citizen. I know nothing about London but have always wanted to go. I think it has something to do with loving Bedknobs and Broomsticks. I hope the marathon route goes through Portobello Road.

That is all.

At Least the Gym is Cheap

To me, a bad day running/biking/training/playing outside is better than a good day at the gym. But, sometimes the reality of being an adult on planet Earth necessitates that I don’t have time to be outside during daylight hours (the whole employment thing) so I head to the gym.

Here’s the highlight of going there: It is $18 a month.
Here’s the lowlight: Pretty much everything else.

I don’t know what to do at the gym. Lifting? I sort of make it up as I go along while simultaneously boring myself to death. Elliptical? I swear that sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine burns more calories. I sometimes break out the dusty rowing skills from college and erg a bit but it’s just not the same without a coxswain screaming.

That leaves the treadmill. When I am on it the only thought in my head is this: When in the hell can I get off of this thing? I run 5ks at race pace, do 800 repeats faster than I can on the track and, during the 7 feet of snow last winter, did long training runs at sub-marathon pace. Such a chore. The motivation of getting the miles in as fast as possible in order to be able to stop keeps me going.

That, and the entertainment of the whacks who run/do something vaguely akin to running near me. Take tonight, for example. I was doing a quick 2 miles (after doing 6 crunches and 2 bicep curls) before going home to eat tons of home-made pizza Bill was making. The gym I go to has approximately 6,879 treadmills, all in working order, all exactly the same. Only 3 were in use at the time.

A dude stood in front of me just about the whole time I was running, asking me every 45 seconds if I was almost done because he wanted to use the exact treadmill I was on. I could have easily moved to the one next to me, but I didn’t wanna. Apparently the treadmill I used was the one he uses every day at the exact same time and now he thinks he owns it. Weirdo.

My other favorite thing: Dudes who are really, really concerned with the pace of people around them. Especially if the people around them are girls. My favorite: The guy who checked out my pace, jacked up his pace higher, and then STOOD ON THE SIDES of the treadmill. He didn’t run one step. After about 5 minutes he turned the machine off and went away. Ok, sir. Good exercising there.

Until I am willing to build my own gym in my pea-sized house, though, I will try to be a good citizen of the gym.

That is all.

I Am Dumb

I like to get to races early, never less than an hour before a race starts. Waiting around chills me out and gives me time to figure out what I am doing with myself.

Today, though, was absurd.

The Dirty Bird was what we thought we were waking up to do this morning. We drove and drove to French Creek State Park (about an hour away) and when we got there it was us and a bunch of hunters and shotguns. Did we sign up for The Most Dangerous Game by mistake?

When we got to the start area, nothing except an empty tent. And worms for sale from a vending machine.

Thanks to this convenient machine we
grabbed lunch after our run.

Looks like something fun might occur here at some point
But not on November 27.

We thought that we had maybe gone to the wrong part of the park so we drove around for a few minutes and I got out of the car to go pee behind a tree. During my misdemeanor, Bill (who was in charge of this outing) checked the race Web site on his phone. I got back into the car and he looked at me like he was a bit worried I would hit him with a hammer.

Bill: Hey, I love you.
Me: What did you do?
Bill: The race is tomorrow.

For about 4 minutes I was pretty pissed. And then I got over it.

Since we drove all that way we decided to run anyway. We ended up doing about 6 miles and had the entire park to ourselves except for the hunters in trees shooting at things.

When we got home, Bill checked his planner. In giant letters under Saturday, November 27, it said this: DIRTY BIRD 15k TRAIL RUN.

Why did we insist this race was on Saturday? Why are we dumb?

Tomorrow: The Dirty Bird. For real this time.

I Run So I Can Eat Mass Amounts of Mashed Potatos

Usually I like to sit around on Thanksgiving and be as lumpy as possible. At best I will go for a quick run and then resume lumping.

Today though, after nine years of racing and avoiding Turkey Trots, I did this. Not because I have had a change of heart and have decided to not be lumpy today, but because the race was organized, in part, by the fantastic Katy Otto whose full-time fun is supporting the good people of Face to Face, a very helpful community agency literally a few yards from our front door.

So when Katy asked if we were running, how could we say no? I’ve known her since we were 13, she recently moved to Philly and she's just about the nicest person ever. I wanted to show her some luv.

Bill and I made the mistake of checking the weather report last night – 31 degrees, freezing rain. Hmm. I am cold all of the time. All. Unless it is 80 degrees, count on me being chilly.

Maybe I should be lazy and stay in bed, I thought. I whine and whine in the cold and have only done maybe 30 miles since New York.

The alarm went off and I actually got up. Mostly to look out the window to see if crap was falling from the sky, in which case I would have gone back to bed (Bill was going no matter what). No crap was falling so out the door we went.

Registered. Got shirts. And then I spent way too much time deciding exactly what to wear. It would snow, the sun would peek out, it would sleet, the wind would blow. Please, weather, decide what to do.

The course is a mostly flat out-and-back along Forbidden Drive, the main path through Wissahickon Park (pretty much my favorite place on Earth). I went out way too fast, as always, but decided to race it and hang on as long as I could. There was a dude in the race with a double-wide stroller and I decided that I needed to pass him. Sometimes my ego is a pain in my ass.

A woman and I were running side by side and she must live in my brain a little bit: “Let’s pass Stroller Dad,” she said. So we pushed the pace and eventually passed him (his one kid was singing Baaa Baaa Black Sheep and was pretty damn cute).

Hit the turnaround and knew that I would be running a positive split. Again, as always. Someone please teach me how to pace myself. I did manage to have a tiny bit of a kick at the finish (I usually don’t) so I guess I could have run a dumber race.

Finished the second half 45 seconds slower than the first but I was happy enough with my time. I’ve done the course five or six times before and I was about 11 seconds slower than when I PRed there in July. I’ll take it.

I spent the rest of the day with Bill and his extended family eating, drinking and napping. A day of running and lumping. Truly a reason to give thanks.

The End.

All Who Wander Are Lost

Would you like to see an incomplete list of people/things that have a better sense of direction than I do? No? Ok, then, here it is:

• The DVD case for North Shore
• My 21-month-old cousin
• George Donner
• This cat
• My copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare from college
• Kale
• Etc.

I missed an entire day of high school toward the end of my senior year because I got lost driving to school. I wasn’t the new kid or anything – I’d lived in the same house since 5th grade yet I took 8,897 wrong turns and ended up in front of the Washington monument, 20 miles from my school.

Things did not, unfortunately, get better as I got older. In college, with the help of a good friend, I went over the Ben Franklin Bridge six times in attempt to find The Spaghetti Warehouse, three whole miles from where I lived at the time. Total necessary trips over the bridge to get to The Spaghetti Warehouse? None.

Often, I contemplate which makes me more sad – the fact that I spent a Friday night going over the same bridge six times by accident or the fact that I spent a Friday night trying to go to The Spaghetti Warehouse on purpose.

Things haven’t changed. Whenever I go somewhere new I have an atlas (I am not kidding), MapQuest directions and at least one GPS ready to go. Yet still I get lost.

I am extremely fortunate that my lack of internal compass carries over to foot-based activities.

A few years ago I hung out in Oslo for a week or two, mostly because I am a dork and thus became mildly obsessed with the Vigeland Park. I went for a run one day through the park and toward some hills in the distance.

After about 30 minutes I reached the hills and ducked into the woods. Not too smart and no proper trails but it was beautiful and I wanted to explore. I reasoned if I went straight ahead and up I could easily find my way back by turning around and going straight ahead and down. Incorrect. Four hours of running/jogging/hiking/uh, will I ever see another human again/if I do will they have Gatorade?/I wonder if I can survive on the moss growing on that log over there/maybe I will at least find Viking bones later I made it back to the hostel.

Best unintentional long run ever.

A year or two later Bill was on a kick for a bit that I should know how to navigate in adventure races so we spent many early weekend mornings orienteering. We were surrounded by dudes with names like Thorbjorn and Vedmundr who wore outfits like this…



…and this …

I won't lie ... at first I did a bit of internal
mocking. And then I realized that these
peeps could crush me in all sorts of sport.

… while I wore running shorts. Each time. I never learned my lesson and ended up looking like Edward Scissorhands and Freddy Krueger played Pirates of the Caribbean swordfight on my legs. The lack of appropriate wardrobe was the high point of my orienteering career. Low point? Getting so lost at one meet that the dudes with names like Thorbjorn and Vedmundr had to come looking for me.

The fun continues. Last week I and my friend Christine headed to Columbus, Ohio, to meet my friend Annemarie’s new adorable kid.


Columbus, home of a marathon so flat with so few turns that even I can eek out a time just good enough to sneek into the Boston Marathon. The course is basically a couple of straight out-and-backs and a few loops and goes within a block of Annemarie’s house. The course markers are left up year round giving locals or bobos visiting from out of town the chance to train on the exact race course.

See? Doesn't that look easy?

On Sunday I headed out for a quick run. “I will be back in 20 minutes,” I told my friends. I quickly found the 25-mile marker for the race and decided to head to the finish line and then back to their house. Impossible to screw up.

Fourteen miles and 109 minutes later I made it back.

From the 26-mile marker I headed right when I should have headed left and ended up seeing most of Columbus on foot. At one point I ran onto the entrance ramp for a highway but realized my mistake before I had to merge.

“Columbus is the size of a pea,” I kept telling myself. “I will stumble upon their house sometime soon.” Thirty minutes went by. “Well, as long as I don’t see signs for Cincinnati I am ok.” I looked up and saw a sign for Cincinnati.

“Um, hmm,” I thought. “I am still in marathon recovery mode. This might not be good. Even more tragic, my iPod battery is low.”

Eventually I saw the mighty Columbus skyline and headed toward it reasoning that at least I knew I was in the right city. A half-hour later I saw signs directing to a landmark only a mile or so from Annemarie’s and finally wove my way back. I felt like a champion!

My buds admitted they were starting to get worried, but here is why I love them: “Well, I just guessed that you found the marathon route, followed it for a while, tried to come right back but went in the exact opposite direction,” Christine said. “I thought you would eventually come back.” And I did.

Together again.