The Marathon Ate My Shoes

It's official: The Boston Marathon chewed me up and spit me out...but swallowed my shoes.

I lost my Mizuno Nirvanas at the marathon when I put on my Crocs.

I want to go for a run, but I can't find my good shoes. Anywhere.

It would figure that shoes called "Nirvana" would teach me a lesson about impermanence.

Hell.

Better win a bike.

Recovery Zone

Recovering from a marathon can be some crazy-making business. Last Thursday I tried a recovery run to "jog out the lactic acid," as a colleague suggested. I shuffled for about 10 feet, my quads feeling like their muscles had been shortened to about three inches. So that didn't go so well.

Then I went for a short run in the pouring rain on Monday, I was so desperate to burn off energy. My hips were still tight and my toes a bit cranky from the blisters-turned-callouses so I'm clearly still in recovery mode.

I'm not the only one going stir crazy during recovery (I'm looking at you, Nitmos). Instead of wasting my energy daydreaming about my next marathon, I've looked for new ways to channel my excess pep.

A few options:

To substitute for a tempo run: The Hand Jive Workout (how fast can you do it?)


To substitute for a hill workout: The Step-In-Time Workout


To substitute for a long run (repeat as necessary): The Gym Mambo Workout (partner strongly recommended)

Technically Speaking

Alert: Giant hypocrite on premises

Have you ever gone to the doctor, weighed in, and made a mental note that you don't really care about your weight? Then, you get home, step on your own scale, see that you weigh 5 pounds less and do a little happy dance?

So, my Boston marathon finish time was 4:01:22. Not too shabby for me, seeing as my previous marathon finish time was 4:50. I was hoping for under 4, but I wasn't disappointed with my result because I really wanted to run it well more than run it with a time goal in mind.

Fast forward a week..................

I check out my Garmin record from the marathon for the first time:

Distance: 26.6 miles

Time: 4:01:29

Avg pace: 9:05

Time at mile 26: 3:55

Click with caution (and volume set low):


This would clearly put me under four hours at 26.2. Yes, the BAA holds sway here, without a doubt. But 26.6 miles? Huh? A 9:05 pace? I hereby declare that everyone in this race gets to shave at least 90 seconds off their time.

Henry at the Tot Trot: Guest Blogger Race Report

Hi. My name is Henry. Last week I was Ruth Rose, yesterday I was Tigger, and this morning I was Oliver. I'm three and a half, and because my mommy has the disease Running Blogger by Proxy, she's making me do this race report for the Groton Road Race Tot Trot. She made me run it, too. She makes me do a lot of stuff, but what's a kid to do? She washes my jammies and wipes my bottom, so I throw her a bone every once and a while and actually agree to do stuff.

I ran the race last year, too, but when you're two, you do it for the Gogurt. When you're three, you do it for the glory. And the ladies. We went to see a race last week when some of the ladies ran in their bathing suits. They were almost nakey. No luck today. Three-year-old girls run in track pants and big race t-shirts. Oh, well.



When my mommy isn't running or whining about running, she makes me run. Today, she made me run in the rain. She doesn't know how much this will cost me in Paxil some day, but since I don't plan on moving out before I'm 30, I figure it's fair.

It wasn't that bad, actually. Before the run, I made my dad carry me from the car to the race; I had to save my energy. Then, I got good and muddy playing Duck Duck Goose with my neighbors and running laps across the field.

Before the race started, this kid started talking smack. He was all like, "Hey, I bet you still wear a size 5 in pull-ups." And I was all like, "Step off, dude." And so he goes, "How fast did you run this last year?" And I was like, "I run for the experience, man." Then I totally smoked his ass.

The race went down ok, too. I was happy with my splits, even though they didn't let me use my iPod. Seeing my parents cheering at mile .0005 really pulled me through that last .00025 when I started cramping.



The finish line was a mad scene, what with all the moms and dads trying to find their lost and crying kids, and it was a bummer no one wrapped me in tin foil. Plus, no timing chips means no PR but I was really happy that this was the first I ran without falling down. Not even once.

Anyway, so after the race, I hit the goody bag to refuel on my Gogurt and then I soaked in the adoration of my fans.

After a post-race tantrum in the middle of the field, I was all stretched out and good to go home to nap for 3 hours.

Boston Marathon, Part 3 of Who Knows How Many

There's a reason Brian doesn't want to talk about next marathons, and his experience traversing Boston during two major sporting events on Monday has a lot to do with it. We both knew I'd have the simpler job going into it; after being chauffeured to the Start, all I had to do was run west to east, following whoever was in front of me and accepting water and encouragement from throngs of people.

Brian had to negotiate the throngs of people.

With a hyperactive three-year-old and a mother-in-law who devotes 80% of her brain to knitting patterns. Both of them also like to eat at noon and nap at 1:00, or there's hell to pay. Neither one particularly enjoys overly crowded public transportation.

Uh-oh.

After finally parking at Copley despite city road closures and a Garmin that couldn't understand how the turnpike was not an option, my three intrepid fans hopped the T to Woodland to meet up with the rest of my squad. As noted in Part I of this infinite series of race reports, they were all in place to see me at mile 17. This would be the 20 seconds of fun in their otherwise hellish day.

They waited for an hour to get back on the T at Woodland because apparently, I wasn't the only person with a master plan to see family at mile 17 and the finish line. After finally getting on a train--along with everyone else in the free world--they sat. And sat. By this point, around 1:30 pm, Henry had not yet had lunch and was asking for food and a nap. With all of the people on the train, it was about 95 degrees, and my hot, exhausted, and starving child fell asleep. He slept while the train went nowhere for whatever reason. He slept when they stopped to laugh at the Sox fans who also wanted to get on the train after the game. He slept through lunch with his uncle, cousin, and grandmother at Longwood, when Brian and my dad stayed on the train to get to the finish line.

When Brian and my dad made it to Copley, I was waiting for them. I ran 9 miles faster than they could travel the same distance by train.

Suffice it to say, Brian did the real work on Monday. "Marathon spouses have a hard job," he said yesterday when I asked what kind of exchange we could make to allow me to train for another one.

"How about one night per week when you get to go out by yourself?"

"Nah."

"How about a bottle of good gin a week during training?"

"Nah."

"How about this: the Miami marathon in January. Race starts at 6:15 a.m., so you'd be eating breakfast when I'm halfway done. The finish line is near the Start, and you don't have to race around to see me on the course. It's flat, so I'll be done earlier. And then we have a beach vacation for a few days afterwards."

"I'm listening."

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Boston Marathon, Part 2 of Who Knows How Many

The thing about races--at least for me--is that when they go well, they tend to be incredibly boring to detail for others. If a race makes for an interesting story, it probably went badly. As could probably be inferred from my last couple posts, my marathon went as well as it possibly could have. Very little drama, and no excruciating pain. When my running takes care of itself, I kind of go on autopilot to endure the fatigue and don't have any notable tidbits to share.

Don't get me wrong: while the hills presented no surprises (and actually felt less difficult than in training), miles 17-26.2 weren't a piece of pancake. I definitely
felt beyond tired, and I didn't run a negative split to come in under 4 hours. Plus, while the exhaustion is already fading in memory, I do remember several thoughts I had in the last few miles that point to how much I wanted the whole ever lovin' thing to be over:

"Never again. Never again. Never again."

"How hard would it be to change my blog to The Half-Marathon Mama, and would I lose readers?"

"Why does the city smell like my freshman dorm on a Saturday night?"

"How come if I can see the finish line, it is so freakin' [except not "freakin'"] far away?"

"Mother freaker, mother freaker, mother freaker" [you know what I mean].

So the miles passed. I missed a water stop early in the 20s because I'd been stopping on the lefthand side, and all of sudden there was only a stop on the right. This made the mile until the next water stop suck royally, but that was the only phase of despair. Until I got my finish line photo and saw that I shared the image with the woman in front me:


ARGH!!!

The Dana-Farber cheering squad at mile 25 was like a giant shove on my back (in the best way), making the last mile tolerable. I am eternally grateful for my DFMC singlet and the scores of people who cheered for us. I never needed my iPod for that reason, not that I had energy to plug it in by the last few miles anyway.

No one can ever say the Boston Marathon is easy (and if you can, well, whooppee for you), and I have no interest in doing those hills again in the near or distant future. But I am really happy with my race. I realize that is a total non-statement and that my race reports lack the drama and humor that others use to describe it. But if anything, I strived for my marathon to be banal. After a DNF last year, I wanted to run this one smart: to run it not for time, but for a solid and positive experience from start to finish.

I didn't post any goals prior to the race because my disappointment was so sharp in 2007. But I still had goals: to finish the damn race; to run the whole time without walking; and if possible, to beat 4 hours. I was disappointed in a 4:01 for about a nanosecond, and more competitive folks who care about time might infer that I need reassurance with that result. It was far more important for me to run the entire race than it was to beat 4 hours, and I always prefer to run well than run fast. I got 1 minute and 22 seconds more to soak up a scene that will never be matched.



At this point, Brian has blacklisted the M-word in my house for the time being, but he'll come around. I did bear him a child after all (desperate times, folks, call for such points to be made).

Boston Marathon, Part 1 of Who Knows How Many

Last year, just getting to the pre-marathon Dana-Farber meeting spot was an adventure: I caught a ride to Hopkinton with a friend and took the BAA bus to Athlete's Village, then walked a circuitous route to the church. In the process of digging through my bag for a map in the rain, my precious paper ID bracelet dissolved off my wrist, and I had to smile my way into the church. This year, I made the better decision of dragging Brian out of bed to drive me to the church at 6 am, before the roads closed. It went so well that we arrived a half hour before the runners were technically allowed to be there, and while I had my bracelet this time, arriving so early didn't exactly endear me to the powers that be. If I run this race again, maybe I'll get it right and show up without breaking any rules.

We were there so early that I had a whopping four hours to hang out (i.e., stress out) before the race would start. I listened a bit star-struck to a pep talk by the very Uta Pippig, who promised the last four miles would be "a piece of pancake" if we went easy up to mile 17. I held fast to this advice and would find that while no piece of pancake, the hills weren't the mythic test they're made out to be. The last four miles, however, were more like being smacked in the quads by the cast iron pan than the cakes they cook. Uta's advice calmed me into delusion for 20 miles, though, so it was worth it.

At the church, I also stretched, peed, ate, and repeated those activities ad nauseum. Most of all, I engaged in a debate with myself and whoever was around about whether or not to wear a long-sleeve shirt under my singlet. I am indecisive about what to wear almost every morning and often change my clothes during the day. (Case in point: I had Brian buy my new work clothes because I couldn't decide what I needed.) But in a marathon, you're more or less stuck with what you've got on, unless you don't care about throwing out your most comfortable running clothes, so this was a make-or-break decision. I went back and forth about it, took a survey of other people's clothing and ultimately decided to wear the shirt. Oopsy daisy. I ended up ditching the shirt with a DFMC volunteer in our corral (as did several other runners--a big thanks to Lora for taking our clothes), and while I'm sad that I might never see my sacred black running shirt again, it was the right move because I was hot before the first water stop.

My pockets loaded with caffeinated jelly beans, mini Luna bars scored from the Expo, and my iPod (just in case I was desperate for it at the end--didn't use it once!), we left for the Start around 10:10. I started the race with three of the friends I'd trained with most, and we held together until just about mile 17. The marathon ended up being two races for me, the one done with a pack up to that point, and the one run without them for the last 9 miles. We'd agreed we be on our own around the hills, and sticking to my own pace would be essential to my surviving it without cramps or stabbing pain anywhere.

Compared to last year, the crowd was mammoth, so I never felt like I was running on my own. There were few places--even in the beginning--without spectators. And goodness do the locals love them some Dana-Farber. It was unreal how much admiration that organization has earned in this community. I was so proud to be associated with them, and so grateful, since cheers for Dana-Farber followed the entire team the entire way.

It was a good thing that support begins at the Start and doesn't wane until after you're home free (I was even congratulated by random shoppers in the mall afterwards on the way to meet my family) because my legs started out stiff and it was hard for me to find a gliding rhythm. Starting out at such a steep decline probably had something to do with it, as well as nerves. My ankles felt kind of tight and I was only able to keep a solid 8:50-9:00 pace because I had my three friends there. It took me until Wellesley to loosen up, but those Wellesley girls did their thing, and I felt great between the college and the hills.

Around Newton-Wellesley hospital (around mile 16.5), Caitlin and Anne stopped off to greet family and fix a shoe, so I kept on because my family would be near mile 17, at the Woodland T stop. I got to the T stop, and they weren't there. I kept going, and I didn't see them. I didn't see them. Dang it, I thought, I missed them (or they missed me). So much can get in the way of seeing family when they have to rely on city parking and public transportation to get to you in this kind of scene, so I wasn't terribly surprised when I thought we'd missed each other.

But then there they were! And it was the most needed, most amazing, most everything superlative to see my boy nearly asleep on my dad's shoulders, waiting for me to come by. The picture I posted Monday night? That was my face when I saw them, the only photo Brian was able to capture as I ran up to them. That joy was about 20% marathon and 80% family. Seeing the people you love and who have given the most to your marathon--in terms of time, money, and energy--was better than any Gu or bar or bean or weird chewy Blok. Half of my cheering squad is pictured below: my dad, Henry, and my niece. (Not pictured: Brian, my mom, and my brother-in-law, who were also there.)



The Newton hills were ahead after this emotional charge, but frankly, I was so high already that they wouldn't be nearly as hard as I'd dreaded...

More later...

4:01:22

The Drop-Off

Howdy, all. This is Brian, just dropping in to let everyone know that I just dropped Kristina off in Hopkinton on this beautifully cool (mid 40s) and overcast morning. All systems appear to be go for a wonderful race day. If you're interested in following Kristina's progress, I just might be posting quick status updates here a few times today.

Good luck to everyone racing today! I'll be out there in my DFMC shirt and cap, cheering you on!

2008 Women's Marathon Olympic Trials

Spectators



Blake Russell, Third Place


Magdalena Lewy Boulet, Second Place



Joan Benoit Samuelson, holding strong at age 53


Deena Kastor, running with the pack for at least the first half of the race


Magdalena Lewy Boulet, being passed by Deena Kastor at mile 23.5



Deena Kastor, rockin' her way to first place


Thanks to Brian for working the camera today. See more photos of the Trials on his Flickr page.

One Out of 22,000 Eager Beavers

This morning I unrolled the poster from Adidas that has all 22,000 marathon runners' names shadow-printed in something like 2-pt. font and showed it to Brian. Then I went for a lazy 2-3 mile run (I forgot my Garmin), which was a great chance to settle myself as I wait anxiously for Monday. By the time I got home, Brian had found my name (and nearly gone blind in the process) towards the bottom, but dead center:


It was awesome to see my name on that thing. I'm chomping at the bit. Raring to go. Eager as a beaver. Revving my engine. Choose your anticipation cliche, and that's me.

Henry has these superball running shoes (a total gimmick), and that's how I feel: like I have superballs in the soles of my shoes and I just want to get out there and do this thing. The weather forecast for Monday is darn near ideal, and I am going to soak it up--every wonderful and agonizing moment.

Tomorrow morning I head in to Cambridge to watch the women's Olympic trials for my last infusion of energy and inspiration. I've never seen the elites running, and I'm dying to see just how fast they go. I have a feeling it will be one of those things where you can't appreciate just how hard they're pushing and how fast they're going because they're so good at what they do. When experts do their thing, I find it always looks effortless. And that's just what I need to see. Self-deception? Yes. But confidence always has an unrealistic element. And few of us who take at least 4 hours to run 26.2 miles are totally in their right minds.

My mom also arrived today (my dad got here last night) so I've got a great cheering section, full of support. My mom even brought me a pre-race pep rally in a mug, the contents of which will be consumed post-race. It's tempting to take a bite out of the Heartbreak Hill cookie for good luck. She also included a "26.2" and runner charm necklace that I'll wear on Monday.





Let's go, let's go, let's go. This is worse anticipation than any Christmas I waited for as a child.

Expotime: Bag Schwag

I took in the Boston Marathon Expo today after picking up my bib number and accessories. If Boston represents the granddaddy of all marathons, then the accompanying vendorrama (I invented that word--snappy, isn't it?) is the mother of all expos. I think they want to test runners to make sure they can handle the legendary race by seeing if you can survive the sprawling commercial megashow prior. It wore me out. The fact that I only bought a t-shirt for my son and mother (one for each, not to share) shows how well I've made economic restraint a new way of life in the last couple months.

Anything and everything that could possibly be related to running (and in every color) could be found in the Hynes Convention Center today. Gus, gels, bars, electrolyte concoctions, and anti-inflammatories of dubious effectiveness were at every turn. As were the peppy and solicitous sales reps that ironically send me in the opposite direction. My favorite moment was when a young rep for GNC tried to engage my friend in a conversation about some magic elixir or other by asking, "Excuse me, do you work out?" Bad line, wrong scene.

My second noteworthy moment was being able to see the Garmin Forerunner 405 in person. I got the 305 for Christmas, and Garmin announced the 405 weeks later, making me a bit disappointed that I'd just adopted the earlier version. But seeing it in person took care of that disappointment. The 405 isn't a whole lot smaller than the 305 and on a woman with smaller to average wrists, it would barely do as an everyday watch, which is one of the selling points. Case closed on the 405.

I actually self-diagnosed Expo Fatigue before I finished the second room of vendor exhibits and left to pick up my Dana-Farber materials. This year, I swear I won't lose the bracelet that will guarantee me entry to the DFMC runners' haven before the race (thanks to Jan for letting me in anyway last year). Those DFMC volunteers are tireless and always so nice. I even had a moment of microcelebrity when a volunteer said she reads my blog and was comforted to find another runner who DNF last year.

Part of my fatigue had to do with the fact that I was lugging my laptop on one shoulder and my precious plastic marathon shopping bag on the other. A bag that is the only BAA-sanctioned vessel in which to store my goods while I'm in the race. A bag that was full of a ton of stuff. Behold the evidence:




A Summary of Contents

Coolest thing: My marathon tech shirt, sized accurately this year

Least useful thing: Flyer for a DVD of me running the race; I've seen myself running and it ain't pretty, so thanks, but no thanks, for that offer

Nice new extra perk: The "26.2" keychain

Thing I wish was in the bag: Samples of this anti-inflammatory cream I got last year but can't remember what it's called so now I can't buy it

Free food I've already consumed: The DFMC foot-shaped cookies

Thing that I got that others didn't: An extra red bag to double-up and prevent tearing (and thus, loss of my stuff to the BAA school bus)

Thing Henry was most excited to have: DFMC rah-rah stick

"Hey, That's Mommy!"

Insert Kristina here:

Home Again

We're back from our visit to the South and Henry's TV marathon on the plane. I'm so happy to be in dry air that has yet to really manifest Spring in the ways that torment my air passages. I ran 4 miles today with clear sinuses and enough energy for a much further distance, but I'm trying to hold to the taper and save it up for Monday. When I run, I get so eager for the marathon that I actually get goosebumps, even when I'm hot and sweaty. It's odd to be excited for something so difficult. Things are starting to happen for the race...runners posting questions about minutia to the DFMC bulletin board...my parents arriving for the race...taking my singlet to have my name stamped on...and my last quiet short runs alone.

In Henry's terms, five more sleeps until the day...

Screwing My Head Back On

I've been MIA in Richmond since Friday and feel like I might have stripped the threads on my neck and can't get my head screwed on properly. It all started when a woman seated behind my husband appeared to have died on the plane. She had a seizure while we were landing, and at one point we thought she was gone. Fortunately, there was a doctor on board and she came out of the seizure as we made our way to the gate. Also fortunate for us, we flew Jet Blue so Henry was glued to a TV screen and was oblivious to the whole thing. I've never been so glad to see him zombie out in front of the tube.

We're in Virginia for a funeral, so that adds some stress to everything, further unscrewing my head.

And then there's the pollen.

Spring allergies don't usually visit me in New England until late May, so I was completely unprepared for the fact that people south of the Mason-Dixon are already watching their sinuses expand like balloons. I went for my 10-mile run on Saturday morning, when it was warmer than I'm used to and way more humid than I've felt in 9 months or so. Once you add the green mist of tree powder that I found myself wading through, I was pretty much doomed. I did 7 of the 10 and just. crapped. out. I can't believe I've done every single lousy long run on the schedule since December and bonked on the last double-digit run before the marathon.

I'm trying to not let it affect my confidence for next week, but it sure woulda helped to not flake at 7 miles. Golly daybreaks (my mother's often used substitute for swearing).

Two days, one funeral, and a dose of Claritin later, I ran again this afternoon, when it was cooler and I'd rethreaded my neck to secure my wayward head. I did an easy five, at Jack's advice not to push myself to make up for the 10 today, and I feel much better.

Back to Massachusetts tomorrow to gear up for the big day. Looks like we'll be in shorts on Patriot's Day, and hopefully no brollies or Wellies (my mom has the best words, doesn't she?).

Gotta go blow my nose. Again.

The Charlotte County Road Gang and One Good Cupcake

As I strive harder to bolster my fat intake (I'm nothing if not assiduous in that department), I brought home cupcakes from this little pastry shop in Andover yesterday. Is it just my kid, or do all children turn into Cheech when cake appears? At some point while stuffing his face with icing, Henry usually says in stoned pleasure, "I love you guys."

Yesterday, he went the other way: "This cupcake is better than family." Indeed it was a really good cupcake.

You know what else is better than family? Bruce Springsteen. (Not really, but I needed a segue.)

It's not unknown that I have a slight infatuation with this particular rock star. Springsteen has carried me many running miles and the cadence of songs like Glory Days, Badlands, and Cadillac Ranch have helped me PR on several occasions.

So, I am launching a new virtual running (or biking, walking, whatever) club:

The Charlotte County Road Gang

No membership fees, no group runs, no real organization whatsoever. I know, I know, I'm a born leader.

The only requirements for membership is that you respond in a comment to the following questions:

1. Your favorite Springsteen song for working out.

Me: Cadillac Ranch

2. The pace you can achieve during that song compared to any other song. If you're not an iPod user, just run for the length of the song and figure it out that way.

Me: 7:35 vs. 8:35

3. The Freudian origins of your appreciation for Springsteen

Me: My father's name is Bruce.

4. Your favorite Springsteen line.

Me: "The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive/Everybody's out on the run tonight/but there's no place left to hide"

5. How much you'd be willing to pay (or have paid) to see him in concert.

Me: I've considered egg donation to pay for tickets.


Please don't make me look like a fool by failing to comment. I don't want to be the only member of my little running club.

Spring is Here...Bring on the Saturated Fats

I wasn't planning to run yesterday but the temp reached 55 by the afternoon--plus it was sunny--so I couldn't waste the afternoon fine-tuning a report for work that's due tomorrow. (If Mr. K is reading this, I stayed up all night writing.)

The run was spectacular, one of those "are my feet really touching the ground?" runs. Cars actually stopped so I could cross the road. I swallowed a bug--always a good omen that warm weather is here to stay. And the tulips! We will have flowers this year! Add to that, I got the final total for my fundraiser, and I'm now in spitting distance of $5,000 for Dana-Farber.

This was my rather unfamiliar euphoric mood before I read the following, after which I swear angels heralded:

"Women who run regularly should make sure they eat enough fat."



Hallelujah.

As one might intuit, female runners risk injury when they sacrifice fat in their diets to increase their speed by weighing less. This holds true for both elite runners and scrubs like me.

The researchers who published this study are in the running for the Nobel Prize, though only in my imaginary world where anyone who supports my entitlement to french fries is lavished with accolades.


Who'll help me buy Paula a sundae?

Not So Accuweather

Okay, so we're about two weeks out and it's time to start fixating on the weather, even though a forecast at this point would be about as accurate as the rhythm method is for contraception. Last year, the forecast at this stage in the game predicted a lovely day, not the muckety muck we ended up with.

So why, oh why, did I look at the accuweather forecast for April 21 last night? Because I love to fret. And I'm good at it. In fact, I think I'll add "fretting" to the "Other Skills" category on my resume, right after "shredding my split ends."

But I digress. Last night the forecast called for rain and--gasp--snow in the three days before a sunny marathon, which of course I interpreted to mean it would be raining and snowing on Patriot's Day because the forecast would shift as we get closer to the 21st. This morning, the forecast calls for sun in the days before the marathon and a rainy race day with temps around 60. To me, this means it will pour on us the whole time.

See how my cynicism plays out?

This far in advance, perhaps the most reliable prediction comes from Jill, my friend who claims that every year she doesn't run Boston, the weather is ideal. She ran last year: Nor'easter. She's not running this year. We'll miss you out there, Jill, but I so hope you're right about your role in the weather.

Are You Ready to Rumble?

Got a big race coming up? Perhaps this will put you in the spirit:



It's amazing that even though I knew how the race turned out, watching it for the first time still made me hope Beardsley could pull it off.

I particularly like the use of "Where the Streets Have No Name" as a soundtrack, since Boston streets, in fact, tend not to have signs.

Counting the days to Boston 2008...

(thanks to Jack Fultz--coach and 1982 marathon commentator--for pointing us to this video this morning)

Today's Hot Topics

This morning, I did my last long run (13 miles) before the marathon with 5 other DFMC ladies, starting in Wellesley and finishing on that exquisite yellow line outside the Boston Public Library.

We were led by Sarah, who kindly slowed her normal race-winning pace to join us. We did our best to speed it up for her so that her run didn't amount to a casual jog. It was an honor to run with someone who's featured in this month's Runners World for her work to improve the lives of others through running, with her Dana-Farber fundraising and her Fit Girls program.

When I see Sarah run, I think of a Mini Cooper--tiny, speedy, cool. Especially when she does donuts (i.e., running in circles, not the glazed rings of fat) at the top of a hill while waiting for us to catch up.

I was happy to finish the morning quickly since I had a 12:15 date with Henry for Horton Hears a Who, but I aggravated this wonky callus-blister thingy on my toe, and I didn't have time to stretch or load up on Motrin before the movie, so I actually feel about like I did after the 22-miler last weekend.

The pace and toe are no big deal, though, since the conversation was so fun. It was kind of like The View, except none of us were annoying.

Today's hot topics:

Running skirts: idiotic gimmick, practical alternative, or just plain fun? In a race, Sarah can pull off the skirt (not literally, boys, get your minds out of the gutter), since she's a speed demon. But at my pace, I just look like a dope who dabbles in running, so I tend only to wear them for training runs. Anne wears them so she doesn't have to shower after running and can still look presentable. Which brings us to...

Showering: Why take a shower when you're just going to run tomorrow? Thank you to Sarah for this new guiding principle.

Kathrine Switzer: legitimate feminist running icon or spotlight stealer with a good photo?

Favorite hills to run: Sign of a die-hard runner or oxymoron in need of psychological intervention?

Thanks, ladies, for your company. I'd run 13 with you over Joy Behar any day. Do I mean that literally or figuratively? You decide.

On the Verge...

...of being a two-wage family.
...of professional fulfillment after years of searching.
...of being consumed by guilt.
...of wishing for the 1950s when my life would revolve around a crockpot.
...of eating the entire half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer.

Act I: Scene 1

Brian: Henry, Daddy's going back to work.
Henry: So now Mommy won't have to work anymore?
Kristina: [gasping from the dagger in her chest] Oh, pumpkin. Wouldn't you like to be with your friends all day?
Henry: But I want to be with Mommy and Daddy.

Intermission for naptime.

Act II: Scene 2
TBD

And for After the Marathon...

I don't know how long it will take me to recover from the marathon--physically or psychologically--or when I'll feel ready to run again. There's such build-up to the event that I'm sure I'll feel sort of like graduating from high school without a job lined up. Or college. Or grad school. Do you sense a pattern?

In anticipation of the funk I'll likely sink into after Boston, I am so happy to see that (Non-)Runner Nancy has posted her next event in the running blogger series of virtual races.



This is just right for my first post-marathon race. Short. Free. Low-key. And the timing will be great, too.

Now where's my cave-person costume?...

The Day Before the Big Day

While I obsess about the marathon for the next 19 days, apparently there are other events taking place in Boston that weekend. If you're coming to town for the first time, you will be expected to:

a) foolishly quack like a duck on an amphibious vehicle,
b) avoid saying the name that must not be spoken (cough--Johnny Damon--cough),
c) correctly assign genders to Bernie and Phyl,
d) figure out how to get to the Orange line without leaving Park St. station, and
e) say the words "chowdah" and "Hahvahd" while we make fun of you.

Also, you might take in the women's Olympic Trials for the marathon, which will be held in Boston (and Cambridge) on April 20. The race starts wicked early (you'll also have to add the word "wicked" to your lexicon)--8 a.m.--but you'll already be getting up at O:dark hundred (as my FIL says) for the race on the 21st, so why not have a dry run waking up at the cracker dawn (as my husband says) the day before.

The course for the trials follows several loops on both sides of the Charles, with good spots for spectators on Memorial Drive (the Cambridge side) and Boylston St. (Boston side). Parking could be dodgy, but hell, you're in Boston, where parking is always dodgy. Besides, taking the T will help you to resolve item (d) above.

Personally, I can think of little that would be more motivating for my race on Monday that seeing these women kick it on Sunday morning. Weather permitting. Oh, yeah, you'll learn the climate here can be a real pissah.

UPDATE: New links added above to help you fulfill your mission!

Nike Hates Me

..."Not Selected" for the Nike marathon. (Cue Brian's giant sigh of relief.)

30,000 people entered. 20,000 people were chosen. I was in the unlucky third of rejects.

Sure it's random, but when I hype the bloody thing for months, part of me thought the poetic thing would be to actually run it. Perhaps the universe is punishing me for my longstanding unaccountable aversion to Nike products. I own several, but I still am not fond of Nike for some inexplicable reason. And hey, now I have a reason! So, thanks, Nike Marathon random lottery rejection!

It kind of feels like when I was rejected from 2 out of 3 grad schools I applied to. Except the one I got into turned out to be the best school (it's hard for me to name it without feeling I sound braggy, so I won't).

Which means...I am on to more suitable options.

One option is the Bay State Marathon, also on October 19, 2008.

A flat and fast Boston qualifier, the best Boston qualifier according to people in the know. Even though I don't necessarily want to run Boston again next year, I'd like to qualify for it. Does that make no sense?

So, here's where I can meet an alternative goal to procuring some Nike Marathon schwag.

No firemen. No Ghiradhelli chocolate. No Tiffany. No gimmicks.

Not to rationalize my rejection--a skill I've cultivated well over the years--but I was kind of getting anxious over the whole destination-race thing, and the logistics of giant races always make me panic for weeks before the race. Watch my anxiety soar in the next 20 days...

The Bay State Marathon is just down the street. If I weren't running 26.2 miles, I could jog to the start. So while I haven't clicked the "enter" button, I have a goal that will probably serve a better personal end than Nike would have.

Ahhhh...I feel much better now about my rejection.

Dear Morning Commuters,

I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize. You were probably counting on little more than your travel mug of coffee to perk you up on the way to work this morning and not hoping to see my two blinding, winter white legs running toward you on your drive. Since it hasn't climbed much higher than 40 degrees yet this Spring, I haven't broken out the self-tanner, but low and behold, it was almost 60 at 8:30 this morning! I just couldn't pour myself into those tights again, and hoping to increase my Nike Marathon lottery odds today, I went for my one pair of swoosh shorts.

The results of this decision seemed to frighten many of the drivers who passed my glow-stick legs. The two bright circles that made you politely flash your lights were not, in fact, high beams; they were my knees. After six months sheltered in fleece, the gams needed some air.

So, I apologize for the ghastly vision that appeared before you. At least you saw me coming from a great distance and did not have to swerve to avoid hitting my pasty butt.

Most sincerely,
Kristina