Narcissus at the Narathon: Me and My Race Photos

I got the email today that the race photos were available from the photographer, so I hopped on over to Captstone's web site, only to learn that there are about 10 shots of Brian and 1 unflattering picture of me in an awkward point in my stride. Sure, I don't think I have the most graceful gait out there, and I rarely see a race photo that I really like and would consider buying. But 1 lousy picture? For real? And 10 shots of Brian, 6 of which I'd briefly think about purchasing before seeing the outrageous cost and asking Brian to do a screen-shot of the image for free. My husband is a good-looking bloke, and I'd take 10 shots of him, but I would have liked to have at least two crummy shots from which I could critique my ham-hock legs and my unattractive stride. (Please don't give me grief about stealing photos; it's a picture of me, and I shouldn't have to pay $60 for a digital copy of it.)


Brian looks strong and focused and self-propelled.


I look like the road is covered in hot coals that are pushing my feet off to avoid the burn. And the shadows, people! Cut a woman a break! A note to future race photographers: I wear all black for a reason, and it's not for the poor and down-trodden like Johnny Cash; don't ruin it by capturing me with a vast shadow over the widest point on my body.

I know that races are not about the photos, and I got a PR so I should shut up about looking good while doing it. And I sound like I'm 12. Blah, blah, blah. I just want to be pretty. If I feel like I belong in a Title 9 catalog while running a great race, the photo should damn well look like it, right? Next time I'll invest in some Spanx.

I'm a Mama, You're a Mama

I've added this new design to my Cafe Press shop, Marathon Stuff. The money I earn from the sales of all Stuff goes to Dana-Farber, so pop on over to browse the merchandise--t-shirts, caps, stickers, and mugs.

Clicking on that mug on the sidebar will take you straight to my Cafe Press storefront.

Goods that do good. Thanks for supporting my run!

My Two Worlds Collide at the Hyannis "Narathon"

You know I can be a tad anal when it comes to the English language, and I take a bizarre masochistic pleasure in finding typos in published material. It both bugs and thrills me at the same time to see proofreading errors. So imagine how excited I was when a friend told me I'd actually received a medal for the Hyannis "Narathon," which she also ran (and achieved 8th place and 3rd in her division--I keep good company, no?). Good eye, Jill!

Check it out:



With a PR and a typo on the medal, I don't think my experience of this race could ever be matched. I knew seeing that guy in the kilt at the start was a good omen. I know you don't believe that I could really have seen a kilted runner so soon after my post about men's running skirts, so here he is in all his tartan brilliance:



Hopefully I'll have some pics up of us running the Narathon soon.

Welcome Home

For my sister, who arrives from India today after 6 months away. Hope this helps with your adjustment back to the States:



Get well soon, Sarah; Henry wants that rickshaw!

Hyannis Half-Marathon Reenactment: One Year Later

Henry at 2.5


Henry at 3.5

Hyannis Marathon Relay: Full Race (and Hotel) Report

Now that the Rocky music in my head has been turned down, I can report more coherently about the race, hopefully keeping the superlatives to a minimum (I'll try). The whole experience can be broken into three categories: Henry's First Sleepover; The Inauspicious Hotel; and Vital Race Stats. Now you can skip over the categories that don't interest you and read the ones that might.

Henry's First Sleepover
The kid could have cared less that we were leaving him for a night with a good friend of ours. He was giddy with excitement beforehand and barely greeted us when we showed up to get him more than 24 hours later. I hope this means he's secure and not totally apathetic toward his parents. He had such exhausting fun that in the car on the way home, he said little aside from, "We're all very tired."

The Inauspicious Hotel
Saturday night was spent at the hosting hotel, which was under renovation. Our hallway consisted of bare sub-floor and exposed wires and pipes, and we needed a member of the staff to open our door for us anytime we needed to get in. They--with straight faces--advised us to pound downward on the door handle and hurl ourselves into the door if we wanted to get in on our own. Once inside the room, we were treated to a toilet that would run like Niagara every 8-12 minutes and a heater with all of its interior exposed and two modes of temperature control: Arctic and Burning Inferno. After a night of pushing the on-off button every 90 minutes or so, the hotel made it up to us by charging us $2.50 for 6 oz. of crappy coffee. When we complained about the conditions, which by then included paint fumes, and declared we wouldn't stay there next year, they sweetly replied, "But the renovations will be done by next year!" I bit my tongue, but my expression was clear as to what she could do with their renovations. The one perk of the hotel was that we were treated to the most hysterical TV commercial for treatment for erectile dysfunction--the one with the--oops!--prematurely spraying kitchen faucet.

Vital Race Stats

The night before...
Meatballs consumed by Brian at the pasta dinner: at least 10
Children whose parents placed them at our otherwise vacant table while they sat elsewhere: 5
Minutes before Brian and I switched tables on our first night away from parenting: 2

Race Start...
Runners we didn't know who knocked on our room door to use our bathroom: 2
Temperature on race morning: 30 degrees Fahrenheit (approx.)
Runners at the start: 3,000
Relay teams for the marathon: 75
Number of men in kilts: 1!!! (not Brian, though)
Number of runners on the vast majority of relay teams: 4
Number of runners on our relay team: 2
Timing chips given to our team: 1

Kristina's Half-Marathon...
Mile at which Linn subtly pointed out Kristina's overzealous start by saying, "Are you trying for a negative split because you're going kind of fast?": 4
Miles it took to catch up to the Hoyts: 5
Seconds spent running uphill next to the Hoyts in total awe and admiration: 5
Number of Springsteen songs that serendipitously showed up on Shuffle: 5
Mile at which I realized I could beat my PR: 10
Overall pace: 8:09
Pace for miles 10-13.1: 7:45

The Baton Hand-Off...
Minutes consumed to get the chip off my shoe and onto Brian's at the half: 3
Words shared between members of Team Henry: 6
Kisses shared between members of Team Henry: 1
Mile at which Brian realized he should slow down and pace himself because he isn't the rockstar his wife is: 6 (sorry, honey, I couldn't resist)

The Finish Line..
Brian's overall pace: 8:35
Team Henry marathon time: 3:35ish
Medals given to our team: 4
Donuts consumed by Kristina at the finish line: 1
Donuts consumed by Brian at the finish line: 0 because "The non-runners ate them all," according to the Dunkin Donuts kid.
Hot showers Kristina had afterwards: 0
Cold showers Kristina had afterwards: 1 (and not intentionally)

Another great race at Hyannis, and I'm still glowing from that PR. I'll go back next year, since it seems to be my best race, though we won't stay at that hotel and we'll definitely be due for foul weather after two years of perfect conditions.

KA-CHOW!

Hyannis Marathon Relay Stats
Team Henry's Performance by the Runner (according to Garmin)

Kristina: 1:45:40 (shaved 7 minutes off my last PR)
Brian: 1:54:01

Full race report tomorrow...

p.s. BEST race ever!!

Nike Women's Marathon, Part 3: Last Post About This Race Before April 1

I promise not to belabor the Nike Women's Marathon beyond today, but since people continue to read my blog posts about this race, I thought I'd share what I noticed this morning when I popped over to www.nikemarathon.com.

First, the website has changed dramatically since the last time I (and probably you) visited. They now give all the information you need to register for the...drumroll...random drawing that might get you into the race. It's all by lottery this year, ladies, due to the insane 3-day sell-out last year.

Here's the lowdown from Nike:

All interested participants must register for the random drawing online thru Active.com between March 4th and March 18th. We will randomly select runners to meet our cap of 20,000 participants. Only selected participants will have their credit card charged for the registration fee. Random drawing results will be posted on the Nike Women’s Marathon website on April 1st. An email with results will be sent to each applicant on April 1st.

If you've run the race all 4 previous years that it's been held, you're guaranteed entry again this year. And if you're willing to raise a minimum of $3000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society through Team in Training, you're also guaranteed entry. Raising over $10,000 in two years for Dana-Farber has kind of tapped out my friends and family, so I'll be in the lottery with the rest of the hopeful masses.

Good luck, everyone, and I hope to see you there!

I'll be back on Monday with a race report from Hyannis, where they've hopefully brought out the plows and sand trucks.

Running Through Satellite Shrapnel (or maybe just snow)

This morning I went for a final run before we go to Hyannis this weekend for the marathon relay. Despite his funky ankle and now the near frost-bite from icing it for an hour last night (seriously, his foot is RED), Brian has declared that he won't be laid-off from running, too, and will complete his half. I even offered to run three legs of the relay (to total almost 20 miles) if he wanted me to, but he's determined to do it.

The weather forecast for Sunday looks cold, but dry, which is a relief, since we're in the process of accumulating up 10 inches of snow at this very moment. When I got up this morning, I wanted to get in a last short run before Sunday's race, so I threw on my hat, gloves, and blinking safety light and set out as the snow started to fall. Or was it snow?

While I waited for my Garmin to make contact with the little green men in the sky who measure my distance, I looked up for wayward satellite shrapnel. While I now know how to deal with quicksand on a run, no one has bothered to address what runners are supposed to do if we find ourselves in the middle of a downpour of fragments from that satellite. And what if they shot down the one that directs my Garmin? That would really piss me off.

As the New York Times headline reported, An Errant Satellite Is Gone, But Questions Linger. Indeed. What's a runner to do?

I enjoy the crunch of acorns under my feet during an autumn run, so maybe crunching on satellite pieces would be kind of fun. I do not, however, appreciate being knocked in the skull by acorns, so the crunchy satisfaction would be offset by having NASA literally smack me upside the head. I'm not about to put on a helmet, so I guess I'll have to take my chances and trust the government when they say it all went according to plan. Trust the government?

Maybe the elimination of some satellite traffic will actually help me to get a signal on my Garmin as I do the little stretch-and-shuffle Garmin waiting dance. I just ask that the Pentagon not repurpose the Forerunner satllite so that we're all receiving covert military data when we just want to see if we're on pace for a PR.

The Day After the Marathon

In case you don't read Kristin Armstrong's blog, here's a very true and funny ad she posted from YouTube:



The only bit of realism missing is that none of those folks were wearing their medals or race t-shirts. Am I the only one who does that the day after a big race? Still a novice, I guess.

p.s. It's not typhoid! Yay! Still no diagnosis, though...

Running Skirts for Men: He's Too Sexy for His Kilt

It occurs to me that if I am to retain any readership at all, I better get myself out of this funk and pick up my mood. I've been kind of a downer in the running blog world. Did you know that smiling can actually make you happy? Let's give it a try.

I'd like to introduce you to the next big thing in must-have running gear. Running skirts for women are almost cliche at this point, and there might be nothing more demoralizing for men than being chicked by a gal in a little flowery number. There's even a Chasing Skirts 5k, at which the women begin to race just ahead of the men, who then chase them for 3+ miles. That one borders on offensive, but if the men at this race were to seize on the latest in athletic fashion, I'd be much less bothered. Banning skirts from races isn't feasible, so let's make everyone wear them.

Some very secure fellas have produced a running skirt for men. As the web site says:

Pants suck. And so do shorts. The Spartan Utilikilt is built to take all the sweat, aggression and action you can give it. Half kilt, half boxing shorts (with some basketball styling thrown in), if the Spartan isn’t the most comfortable, breathable, most active thing you’ve ever worn, then you must be dead below the waist.

You don't want to be considered "dead below the waist," do you, guys? Too bad for Brian that we're trying to save money, because he'd be totally rocking the Spartan at the Hyannis relay this weekend if I had an extra $110 to blow.



I do actually think the utilikilt would give a guy an edge in the race, what with everyone else stopping dead in their tracks to stare. It might even help with chafing issues. Besides, if you're already wearing tights, you might as well save your dignity and throw on a kilt.

UPDATE: My mother has suggested buying one for my dad for his 60th birthday. This is a funny prospect for many reasons, not the least of which is that my dad does not play basketball, nor is he a runner. My dad plays polo. On horses. Ouch. I'm encouraging her to rethink the gift.

Did I Mention My Sister Might Have Typhoid?

You can imagine what state my parents are in these days. At some point, you just have to laugh, out of fear, out of helplessness, or because you just fell on your butt in a giant puddle.

My sister's been in India for 6 months and is due home next week, but she's been sick with a Velveteen Rabbit-level fever for 2 weeks, and her doctor suggested yesterday that she might get tested for typhoid. I didn't even know that people can still get typhoid, especially with all of the inoculations one must get before traveling to somewhere like India.

With my month of suck spreading to others, I needed to strap on my shoes and head out for a run yesterday, even though it was raining and foggy and just icky outside. Imagine the love-child of Houston and San Francisco. That was yesterday in northern Massachusetts.

I made it 287 feet, according to my Garmin, before being faced with two options: run in the river coursing down my street, or run on the ice that bordered the river. I chose the ice. "You have chosen...unwisely," said the ice as I slipped and landed on my ass in the river. Lovely. So I walked the 287 feet back home with a wet bottom and ran a miserable four miles in Tread Hell.

I realized I haven't run outside in two weeks, aside from the long weekend runs, which is at least something, but I'm a big believer in the principle that if I am to race outside, I need to train outside consistently. Today, I needed to GET OUT. So I turned right out of my driveway instead of left and pounded out 6 miles.

"You have chosen...wisely," said the road. A windy winter run has never felt so needed.

Ultramarathon Kid

It's February vacation week. Why does Massachusetts insist on giving the kids a week off in the dead of winter, when they're sick of snow and the indoor playgrounds are a petri dish of flu germs?

It's February vacation week, and it's pouring with rain, so even though we're nearing 60 degrees, here we are stuck indoors looking for stuff to do.

And then it occurs to me that most sports stars begin training as wee children, and I've already missed 3 years of drilling my son into shape. So let me introduce you to Ultramarathon Kid:





Dean Karnazes, watch your back, dude, because Henry's got your number. Sure, he thinks a marathon is "26 miles and 48 dollars" long, but you don't need to measure the course to win. That's what the USATF is for.

Hottest Ticket in Town: Nike Women's Marathon (Part II)

According to my google analytics I get about 100 viewers of my blog every day, but there is one post, in particular, that has been viewed more than 500 times. This strikes me as kind of weird for a small-time blog like mine, especially because it was a fairly blase and noncontroversial post about the Nike Women's Marathon, which I've not even run. If you do a google blog search for "Nike Women's Marathon," my silly and uninformative post comes up third, so apparently Nike Marathon wannabes crave just about any insight they can lay their eyes on.

It seems this race is a hot little ticket, though I suppose any event that combines Tiffany jewelry, chocolate, and firemen is a sure thing for many of the XX-chromosomed.



In fact, a recent article claims Nike "wins the gold in marketing to women." We are such suckers. It begs the question, why hasn't Hooters sponsored a men's marathon, at which the participants receive sterling bottle openers from waitresses when they finish? But I digress.

The Nike race website hasn't posted any news about registration, though the date is set for October 19, 2008 in San Francisco, and rumor has it that the line for registering opens sometime in March (or April, who knows?). You can sign up for e-mail updates from the organizers, which I've done, but so far, the director is mum.

I'm sorry my post didn't have any tidbits about how to get into this hot race, and frankly, I'm kind of intrigued that there are so many women who are desperate to run that far, beginning at 7 a.m. on the cusp of northern California's wet season. I, too, reject the logic and would love to get into the race, though my circumstances in March (or April, who knows?) will dictate if I even try to register.

So for now, ladies, we wait impatiently, as we've learned to do outside the restroom of just about any large event.

16 Miles, 4 Cookies, and A Kind Friend on a Friday

It's supposed to be a high in the 20s tomorrow, which means the Saturday group run would take place at a temperature that would just put a cruel exclamation point on my week from hell. I had no interest in out-clevering Nancy with a triple whammy of 16 on the 16th in 16 degrees, so Anne and I conspired to run 16 this morning, opting out of a [insert very bad word here] cold run tomorrow.

Despite my sluggishness and the not-so-friendly wind that harassed us the entire way back, we had a great time together. My legs felt like lead, which I attribute to my bad habit of cranking up my consumption of baked goods when under duress. The stress-chocolate has not treated my condition well this week, though you don't see me changing my ways: I've already had 4 cookies so far today and God-willing, I'll make it to a half-dozen by the time it's acceptable to start drinking.

Even though Anne probably felt like she was pulling me on a leash the whole way, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that the Newton fire station is staffed by some lovely gents who keep a clean bathroom, as well as a water fountain and M&M dispenser for only 25 cents a hand-full. Next time I'll stash a quarter (or 6) in my pocket.

The company was just what I needed today to distract me from all of the distress I'd been harboring, and we're both ecstatic that we don't have a long run ahead of us this weekend. It was a real test to do two 16-milers in a span of 6 days, but I finished them tough and was reminded again that if I can voluntarily withstand this kind of test, I can take whatever is thrown at me, even if it's beyond my control.

Running Rhythm for February 14: On Poetry and Feet

Clearly my life has derailed somewhat this week. As we try to get ourselves back on track, my running plods along as a valued constant in my life. Regardless of its ability to solve problems, it is there, and I find myself running toward my running. The week has been cold and wet and really wet, perhaps the worst possible combination of snow, rain, and frigid air. I do like to test my runner's spirit by venturing out into nasty weather, but the downpours (literal as well as figurative) of the week have given the roads about 3 inches of slush to trod through, and I just won't do it.

So on this February 14th, as I sit indoors with the sun finally streaming in: poetry and feet. Did you know that sonnets are measured in "feet?" English rhythm, called Running Rhythm is measured by feet of two or three syllables. According to poet Gerard Hopkins, each foot has one major emphasis, and the syllable on which it falls is known as the foot's Stress. The other, unaccented syllables are the Slack. This actually sounds like the way I run, hence the injuries to the right side of my body and the orthotics that should arrive any day. Poetic feet and their rhythms that begin with the stress are known as Falling Feet and Falling Rhythms. On the other hand, feet and rhythms that start with the slack are called Rising Feet and Rhythms. When the emphasis falls between two slacks, you have Rocking Feet and Rhythms. "These distinctions are real and true to nature." Sounds familiar.

While not a sonnet, here is a verse for you as to run that hill this week:

From Helen by Euripedes:

Look at us and release us from our evils.
As we drag our misfortunes up a steep hill,
reach out your hand to us. If you just touch us with your fingertips,
we will reach the good fortune we want to have.
Enough of the pains that we suffered before!
I have often called upon you, gods, to hear both good things
and painful. But I cannot always be having bad luck,
and I need to walk upright. Just show me one act of grace
and you'll make me fortunate forever.

(Transl. Bella Zweig)

Valentine's Day Gift Ideas for My Running Husband

a. Health insurance
b. What Color is Your Parachute?
c. Cheap booze. Lots and lots of it.
d. A new fuel belt ... filled with lots and lots of cheap booze
e. Ramen noodles (carbo loading on the cheap)
f. Running tights, since his boss already handled the emasculation earlier in the week
g. A law degree (you can buy them online, right?)
h. Chocolate filled with booze
i. all of the above (on credit)

Forecast

Partly Sunny

Black Monday

Unfortunately, there are some life events that cannot be helped by a good run. I'll be in a blogging mood again soon. But not today. Thank God for good health.

9 on the 10th Plus 7

I think I bastardized the criteria for this race so much that I don't even know if I actually participated. I did my 16-miler this morning, using the first 9 miles as my Sweetheart Shuffle. Sarah's a much tougher chick than I am, since we did more or less the same route, and she used the last 9 miles, which I can tell you were super-dang hard. So props go to Sarah for her inevitable win of the 9 on the 9th, and extra snaps because she did a 9-mile warmup and climbed Grossman's Hill as part of her race mileage; that's the hill around mile 12 of my route below. Let's buy that gal a virtual beer for her near-certain virtual race win.



Oh, wait. This is supposed to be my race report. I overslept this morning, awaking to the call of the wild: "Mommy!!! I dropped my teddy bear!" He doesn't sleep with a teddy bear. He sleeps with a sheep. Fortunately, though, his animal confusion roused me from the dead so that I could see the freshly fallen, give-me-a-break!-do-we-really-need-another-2-inches? of snow on the ground. Also fortunate that I parked at the bottom of the driveway, so I didn't need to shovel before driving off to the group run.

The run itself was surprisingly tame weather-wise, despite the threats of snow squalls and wind, but I know I started off way too fast for the 16 miles because of the Sweetheart Shuffle and my need to save face when I post my time. I had a great team of pacers for my niner, though most of the time they were warning me to slow down and save myself for Heartbreak and Grossman's on the way home.

At about mile 6, we got into a great debate about which is worse: childbirth or marathon running. This consumed a good few miles, and the mothers among us agreed that marathons are far worse because there's no Mile 20 epidural stop and instead of a baby, you get bananas and bagels. If you're a man, marathon running is definitely worse than childbirth, though sleeping in those hospital room chairs does look pretty painful.

Anyway, I turned around halfway into my 16 with Matt, and my pacers went on. By this point, neither of us were much for conversation, so we popped in the headphones and just kept step with each other. By the mile-10 water stop, we were smokin'. Seriously, the atmosphere's relation to our own temperatures must have hit a ratio that allowed a mist to rise from our jackets. I felt like a steamy mess.

We plodded up Grossman's Hill and let out a little yelp when we finished it. It was at this point that I hit my high-mileage-every-sign's-a-pun phase. I don't know if I'm the only one who does this, but when I've been running long enough, I start interpreting street signs through running.

Body Shop
Form Single Line
Speed Limit is 20 MPH
No Standing
No Idling
And so on.

They just start to crack me up, and I know I've gone to a pathetic level of fatigue. I had the good sense not to draw Matt's attention to my idiotic observations because our conversation was limited to "Watch out for that car!" and "Hey, turn left!" If I'd started making bad jokes, I think he would have "forgotten" to navigate me back and let me run off alone.

We made it back without any theatrics, other than the comedy in my mind, and exhausted, he let out a well-deserved grunty whoop. It seemed appropriate to our level of exertion, but I had to think, if I attempted that sound, I would seem like an injured moose. I know I couldn't have pulled it off, but coming from my otherwise quiet running pal, it sounded just right.

My time was 1:17:45 for the 9 miles and 2:22 for the 16. Insert injured moose noise here.

Still and Always a Runner

From Kristin Armstrong's most recent blog post:

"What I want to tell ... anyone else out there struggling with injury, illness, delay, or disappointment of any kind is that even if you are healing or taking time off... you are still, and always, a runner."



Have a good long run this weekend, everyone.

Gearing Down for 9 on the 9th

This week has been so atypical, what with the snow days and colds, that I forgot about Non-Runner Nancy's 9 on the 9th (wow, nice alliteration, Nancy). It's tomorrow! The fabulous Nancy has organized another race for running bloggers: we run 9 on the 9th, write a race report on our blogs (including a finishing time), post a comment to Nancy's blog post that day, and she pulls together a fun uber-report and results from the finishers.

You'd think I'd already be slathering on the body glide and digging out my little racing bikini to defend my time from the 8 on the 8th. Not really. Here's why I will be knocked out of first place:

1. Sarah now keeps a blog (it's great: literature + running), and since she's a running blogger, she should participate in the 9:9 fun. And if she participates, she will win. She is wicked fast. She qualifies for Boston, probably even in the first wave of runners that take off before the rest of us slowpokes. So, there's Sarah, and then there's the rest of us.

2. I won't be running it until Sunday, when I have the group run, which means Nancy will have to add 24 hours to my time.

3. I'm running it as part of a 16-miler, so my pace will be considerably slower.

4. I'll be running Heartbreak Hill(s) twice (Sunday is an out-and-back course) plus climbing that bitchin' Wellesley mountain on the way back, so I'll be lucky if I manage to actually run all of it without taking breaks to walk.

5. The water stops have peanut M&Ms, which tends to prolong my hydration breaks.

6. It's supposed to be 30 degrees, if we're lucky.

7. Two words from the National Weather Service forecast this morning: snow squalls.

8. I run with some lovely chatty gals, who I adore because they make the miles go by so much quicker, but I kind of adhere to the philosophy that if I can't chat, I must slow down, not to save my energy, but to keep the conversation going.

9. I always forget to hit the Lap button on my Garmin, so my 9-mile time might be an educated guess.

Winning isn't everything, for sure. In fact, I take comfort in being lost among the middle-pack runners. Look for my "race" report on Sunday. It will probably include phrases like "miserable winter Hell," "who will teach Wellesley how to shovel?" "they forgot the M&Ms!" and "when's the next one, Nancy?"

How to Run on a Treadmill While The Baby Naps Upstairs: A Quandary

Is there a way to calculate distance by just running in place? Do miles run around my stir-crazy brain count toward my training? Will I burn in Hell for letting my son watch Surf's Up this morning so I could get some work done?

Between the two days off school and the subsequent inability to get a run in, I am going to LOSE MY MIND. Henry disagrees. He thinks this is bliss. I just proposed a trip to the grocery store because we are now down to eating snow, and I threw in the incentive of bringing home some kind of activity. His response? "I have enough toys, Mommy. We don't need to buy new toys every day." Damn. I knew that lecture would come back to bite me.

Nirvana eludes me, yet again. I'm nervous to do the treadmill during his nap, since he coughs himself awake these days, and if I can't hear him while I'm on the noisy machine downstairs, we're in for some serious abandonment-related trauma. Baby monitor? Or how 'bout I tie a long string to his thumb and the doorknob of Tread Hell, so that when the thumb comes out of his mouth, the string shakes? My dad, with his MacGyver skills, would have a solution I'm sure, but it would probably involve epoxy, and I'm fresh out. If only I could get to the grocery store. What to do, what to do...

UPDATE: I actually sunk to a new low and asked a three-year-old for permission to use the treadmill during his nap. After I promised (uh-oh) to be back up here before he wakes up, he granted permission. Yes! Then he asked for an early nap. Things are looking up...

UPDATE #2: Five miles on a treadmill never felt so good! And not just because of the shoes; I was going nuts with cabin fever, and now I've settled down a bit. So glad we still had the baby monitor around! Incidentally, I spent the miles watching Big Love and came away with my quote of the week: "I hope you find your AWOL sister-wife."

8,000 mg of Vitamin C and the Power of Positive Thinking

I will not catch Henry's cold.
I will not catch Henry's cold.
I will not catch Henry's cold.

And, somehow, so help me God, I will find a way to run today, even though Henry has a snow day! Dang morning preschool. Remind me to sign him up for afternoon preschool next year.

I will not catch Henry's cold.
I will not catch Henry's cold.
I will not catch Henry's cold.

This is what I get for not grocery shopping on Tuesday. Now we have nothing more than a quart of OJ, leftover Chinese food, and 3 eggs in the fridge. Great.

The Road to Nirvana

First, get on Route 495 towards Acton...

Yesterday, selfishness triumphed over responsibility and I shrugged off grocery shopping to go to the running store to present my list of shoe questions. When we lived in the city, I used to go to the popular and convenient running store favored by a lot of Boston runners. Since we moved, though, I've started going to Marx Running and Fitness in Acton, which is a much smaller outfit, but the owner and his staff are so freakishly knowledgeable about running that I probably won't go back to the popular and convenient alternative. While everyone who works there is like a Mensa-runner (my mother-in-law was assisted by Nate, who came in 7th at the Olympic trials, when she had questions about walking shoes), I like to go during the week, when the owner is there and it's quieter.

I've been running happily in my Mizuno Alchemy 6s, but the nagging heel issues and the podiatrist suggested I inquire about a softer ride. I also wanted to know how many miles should be on a pair of shoes before a marathon, and if the rumors about the Kayano were true (i.e., "heaven in a shoe"). While you might already know the advice I got, here's what I learned about shoes in the half hour I spent with Mark:

1. Don't buy shoes because they're pretty (e.g., Python shoes) or put too much stock in Runner's World shoe recommendations, because they often amount to advertisements paid for by shoemakers.

2. Shoes with more comfort features wear out faster for those of us with funky feet (high-arched overpronators), such as shoes with Gel or certain styles of Nike.

3. Stability shoes tend to last longer, but they don't have those squishy comfort features that make shoes feel like slippers (which is how several people have described Kayanos to me).

4. The Alchemy 7 iteration does not live up to the Alchemy 6, making the Mizuno Nirvana a rockin' good shoe for a wonky overpronator with high arches. (High-arched folks tend to supinate; low-arched folks tend to overpronate.)

5. The ideal mileage on a shoe before a marathon varies by the shoe. The folks at the popular and convenient running store advise about 150 miles on a shoe, according to a friend of mine. This might be a good rule of thumb, but if you're running in a comfort shoe (like Nike or Asics), you might want fewer miles on them because they wear down faster than the stability shoes. So while 150 is a good mean-mileage rule of thumb, you might want a newer pair of comfort shoes before a marathon, though a pair of Nirvanas with 200+ miles would be just fine.

I found all of this fascinating--don't you? Okay, maybe not.

But here I am with a snappy pair of Nirvanas waiting for me (how could I not buy them? They're called "Nirvana" and between the chi running and the yoga, it seemed like a foregone conclusion that these would be my shoes), and I can't go for a run. Henry is home sick with a cold, so instead of running, I'm overdosing on Vitamin C, making stamps out of vegetables, and trying to keep him from dancing too much.

Nirvana will have to wait until tomorrow.

2008 Blast-From-the-Past Donor

Last year, Jimmy Adams (sixth-grade boyfriend) appeared as if from nowhere to earn the 2007 Blast-From-the-Past Donor award. This year's award goes to Denise Previti (nee Wallin)! Denise is the sister of one of my good friends from high school, and thanks to the wonders of Facebook, I've reconnected with both of them. While I have countless stories about 11-year-old Jimmy and his briefcase, I have fewer nuggets about Denise. Denise, I recall, is the most bubbly girl in class--always smiling, always bold (in a good way). My most vivid memory is of the day there was this bright green sports car parked outside her house. She didn't know who parked it there, but she and her best friend bolted outside with their camera to take photos of themselves posing next to this car. For the sake of the story, let's even say they reclined on the hood (I could be totally making that up, though--only Denise could say if it's true). I don't think the driver caught them, but I remember being totally wowed by her giddy fearlessness.

Denise is a runner now, too (she was always athletic, unlike me), and we're going to run the Hyannis half-marathon together in a couple weeks. So, thanks to Denise for donating to Dana-Farber. I'll bring your award to the Cape.

Everything's in Working Order

I realized this morning that it's been a while since I posted about an actual run of mine, which is what my blog was originally intended for. In the last week, I've decided that I am definitely a winter runner. I don't like ice or wind, but I will happily run in just about any other winter circumstances. Give me freezing temps over humidity any day. This morning it was 27 degrees outside, and I barely noticed it as cold, which is a big difference from the me of a few years ago, when I'd find any reason to avoid running in below 40 degrees. It's true what the DFMC coach Jack says: it's all about how you're dressed. Now that I've assembled a running wardrobe that's become well-worn, I can pretty reliably know what to wear to be comfortable after a few minutes.

I took an easy 4-miler this morning to make sure nothing felt off after the long run on Saturday (13.5 miles), and everything is in good shape. My knee's always a bit stiff, but it hasn't felt pained in a long time, and I'm trying to be good about stretching and foam rolling. My heel feels okay, too, for now, especially since I started wearing the Strassburg sock to sleep in (prevents both heel pain and sex appeal). I know I have to go find a large wooden block to rap against after writing all this, but sometimes it's good to pause and notice that things don't hurt.

The run itself felt great, and on my way home, I was bemused to see a sign with the following written on it:

BLIND
PERSON
BLIND
DRIVEWAY

It seemed to be a good metaphor for the Patriots' performance yesterday. Tom Brady, there's this great video of Paula Radcliffe on youtube that you should see...

My Hero All the More

Thanks to Christy for pointing us to this video, and thanks to Paula for being human.



Beautiful.

Paula Radcliffe Moves Me

She holds the marathon world record for women (2:15:25). She had a baby while training wisely (gave up coffee and seafood, but not running) and went on to win a marathon several months after giving birth. Before these feats, though, she crossed the did-not-finish-line at the 2004 Athens Olympics. That year, I wasn't really paying attention to marathon competition. I had my own first baby, which seemed all-consuming.

It wasn't until this afternoon when I read the cover story in this month's issue of Runner's World and learned that Paula, who has won 7 of 8 marathons she's entered, dropped out at mile 22 of that one other race due to an adverse reaction to medication for an injury.

Paula Radcliffe and I are not in the same universe when it comes to running. Let me just put that out there. Relative to our expectations of ourselves, the GRE analogy works:

Paula: winning; Kris: finishing

And while I can't surmise what she must have felt to quit something that is her pure God-given brilliance, the image of her disappointment feels familiar and comforting to me.



I can't imagine what it must be like to have an image of myself at my lowest spread around the world. I wanted to throttle my mother for lifting her camera when I hobbled in the door after quitting last year's Boston Marathon at mile 16, and I never want to see the photo.

Nonetheless, crossing the did-not-finish line was one of the most instructive lessons of my life, and I'm grateful for it. I am proud to be a quitter. This is a hard thing for most runners to admit because we develop a sense during training, and frankly, living in a country built by boot-strappers, that if we work hard, we will succeed and get the rewards we deserve. But it's just not always true in distance running and so, sometimes we must quit. And the failure provides us with a lesson so much more rewarding than a race t-shirt or the pride from finishing. Instead of a medal, you get some mettle.

In some ways, crossing the finish line would have been easy compared to the difficulty I found in crossing the did-not-finish line. For me, the challenge in running the marathon was not to be about finishing 26.2 miles but rather stopping before I got the mylar blanket that would envelop me with shiny pride. I dare anyone who has trained for a marathon to not finish and experience the confrontation with yourself. You will be so much better for it.

So go ahead, be a quitter. Cross the did-not-finish line. Get yourself some mettle. Paula's got some. I've got some. Wouldn't you like to be a quitter, too?

Shoe Queue

I've blogged before about my accumulation of old running shoes that I can't bear to throw out and was comforted to read that someone else actually has about seven times the number of shoes in our house. Still, if I don't purge my old ones every now and then, this place starts to look like a Foot Locker turned junkyard.

I have to confess that I ordered the Asics 2130s even though they felt weird at the store. Runners World said they were great, so I thought maybe they'd feel better once I started moving in them.



If I'm to be honest, I was hypnotized by that python print and my fingers typed in z-a-p-p-o-s without any control from my brain. Of course, less than 1/10 of a mile down the road, my feet said, "Function over form, woman!" So back they go (thank goodness for free return shipping, no?).

Now I'm a little entranced by the Kayano 14, which are the Runners World Editor's Choice for Spring 2008. Then there's the Mizuno Alchemy 7, also reviewed well by Runners World. (I wear the Alchemy 6 now, but they're stiff, so I wanted to alternate with a softer shoe.) Argh!

So you can see how I start to accumulate a selection of running shoes worthy of Dick's Sporting Goods. Then, you add in Brian's shoes. Fortunately, after a failed attempt to go Asics, he's as committed to Brooks Adrenaline as he is to Twitter, so he doesn't experiment with new shoes much. I think this is in large part to only putting about 30 miles on the 2120s before professing his undying love for Brooks. Now he's got these snazzy, barely worn Asics in the closet.

If you're in a similar situation with a pair of experimental, low-mileage running shoes (please tell me, we're not the only ones), you can actually donate them to organizations that give them away. One World Running, for example, collects and distributes running shoes to Third World countries.

Before you send them out, tell me how many pairs you own right now. I think I'm holding steady at five, which means it's time to visit my friend Zappo.