A Year in Review

My favorite year-end summaries are always the photo essays in Time and the New York Times because of what you can glean about the year just from pictures, so I'm going to summarize 2008 in 12 photos instead of writing it up. Also, I'm lazy.

January
I was diagnosed with early plantar fasciitis, but once I started a love affair with ice, it cleared up.


February
I ran the Hyannis "Narathon" Relay with Brian and fetched a PR of 1:45:40 and a strong dislike of race photos not taken by my husband.


March
A winter of record snow accumulation made running very unpleasant, but I never missed a long run.


April
I completed my second marathon, in Boston, with a PR of 4:01:22 and a ridiculous grin at mile 17.


May
My new job exhausted us all, and I resolved to run faster in order to maintain the work-family balance.


June
We went to Cape Cod, and I stared at the ocean in one of my last moments of calm contentment before I got a coach who embarassed me in front of some Kenyans and then told me to run 24/7.


July
To impress my new coach the week I signed on with him, I pushed a 5k and got an unexpected 3rd place age group finish; I also made a mental note to stand up straight.


August
Running was inconsequential this month because I had an imaginary affair with Bruce Springsteen while Brian took Henry camping. I did, however, quit that job to write a book about mothers who run.


September
I found out I really, really don't like hot trail races, but later in the month I PRed in the Maine Coast half-marathon with a 1:43:34 after a pep talk from Kathrine Switzer.


October
I ran part of one of my 20 milers at the Lowell Sun Half-Marathon; Henry appreciated the foil blanket far more than I enjoyed that day.


November
I found out I really, really don't like watching races from the sidelines, but I was proud of my dad's 2:01 half-marathon nonetheless.


December
The month was marked by losing power for several days after an ice storm, but I'll prefer to remember that on the last day of 2008, I taught my son to x-c ski and snowshoe.


I was planning to write my resolutions with this post, but on second thought, I don't feel like my next year in running can begin until I finish out this marathon season. After Phoenix on Jan 18, I'll come up with some resolutions, but right now, all resolutions are channeled into my resolve to run that race as well as I can.

Happy New Year! I'm going to bed--yes, at 8:15: I have speed work on the mill tomorrow morning.

Back For Reals

First we were kicked out of the house by a 4-day power outage. Then we came back, unpacked, and three days later repacked and left again for 8 days in PA. But now we're back for keeps, or until they foreclose on the house because we spent the mortgage to pay for Henry's Christmas.

With only one kid and few friends who don't think my name is "Henry's Mom," the holidays are rarely a swingin' social scene for me. So I was surprised that I felt overwhelmed by merry making and couldn't find my way to Blogger for a few days. My first resolution for 2009? Reprioritize so that holidays of love and cheer with my family don't take the place of the spiritual fulfillment of watching blog comments roll in.

It wasn't all hugs, rum balls, and nog toasts last week, however. (Although eating the rum balls did take a lot of quality time.) I deposited another 20 miler in the training bank--a 21.5 miler to be precise--with a knitting buddy of my mom's who ran 3 marathons in 5 weeks this fall. Not something I'll aspire to, but impressive nonetheless. I also don't think I'll ever be a runner who will agree to do 20 miles with someone I've never met just to be nice, though for all the people who have done that for me this year, I'm feeling the karmic pressure to pay it forward down the road. I have one more biggie (22 miles) left before the taper, and we'll see who I can sucker into running with me.

It could be dear sweet Brian, who's back to running and pulled the stunt of all stunts on Sunday by running a solo half-mary under 1:50 after not running further than 8 miles in almost a year and never running 13 miles that fast. While I may have quite possibly told him the act was really stupid, what's more stupid is that a) he did my speed workout for this week (13 miles @ MP), b) he told me about it afterward, and c) said he felt good doing it.

"Hello, Babysitter? I need you for 2 hours so my husband can pace 13 miles for me on Thursday."

Dummy. But a debonair, witty, intelligent dummy whose dinner I "cook" (fine. "heat") nightly and to whom I gave this cherub:

Glad Tidings and Whatnot

We've been in Pennsylvania since Saturday, after deciding it best to get out of Massachusetts while we could. We left--we thought--between storms, but it turned out that we drove through heinous snow until New York and arrived in southern PA to beautiful town void of the white stuff (snow, not 10X sugar--they have plenty of that).

I was supposed to run 20 last weekend, but begged Nate to let me ski instead on Saturday before we left. I didn't get to ski because we couldn't leave the driveway until Brian argued with the snowblower for an hour and then got bit by the neighbors'
dog. We had to skip town before ths driveway was covered by powder (snow, not cocaine) again, so the skiing didn't happen.

When I got up Sunday morning, what to my wondering eyes should appear but a greenish lawn and ice-free roads. Damnit. I knew I had to suck it up and run my 20. Suck being the operative word, I struggled through the hellaciously windy run with a particularly hyper bladder, shoes that were chafing my left foot, and some cranky hamstrings. I did the run--with the company of Brian for the final 8 miles--at an average 8:45 pace, which made me happy and now I've got a solid 20 in the bank. I reminded myself of this strong run today when I blew off my speed work in early celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus. Oh yeah, I'm religious now.

I'm to run another 20 with a friend of my mom's on Saturday. She's another of those hard core people who will run 20 miles with me "just cuz."

Since I'll probably not post before that run, I'll wish you all a day of gluttony and lethargy tomorrow.



...because Peace Joy Electrolytes was taking things a bit too far.

Happy holidays, everyone! Wishing you health, wellness, and your personal best in 2009.

Makes Your Run Taste Like Pie

So I have a small confession to make to the Roctane people: I'd already tried their Gu before they offered to send me some to review. But the fact that I was willing to "test" it already shows that I endorse the stuff. I didn't use gels much before this year but decided I needed to try them again because the jaw action of chewing those beans was wearing me out, and no one wants to bonk from jaw fatigue.

I went to the running store and asked the owner about Roctane, and he looked at me and said, "You know it has twice the stuff of regular gels, right?" He hadn't tried it but thought it might not be the best option for someone of my size, implying that my constitution was better matched to cotton candy or something equally fluffy. His raised eyebrows and suggestion that it was too powerful for me of course meant that I bought three of them, thinking I'll show him how well I can handle bowels lined with concrete.

I brought it on a sultry 16-mile run this summer and took one at mile 13. Suffice it to say, it was the run where I averaged marathon pace for the entire distance.

The stuff is good.

I had begun to flag when I downed the Roctane, but within a minute, it was like my battery had been recharged, and I ran the last three miles of that run like the prior 13 hadn't happened.

The stuff is that good.

There were no concrete bowels, so I've used it ever since, even though it costs more, and now I will use it more often because I have a whole lot of it for free. I might even describe the little packet of goo as beautiful, if that isn't going too far, which it might be, so I will stick with "really, really good."

Now "good," of course, can mean different things. Roctane is good fuel, quicker to take effect and more powerful than beans, Bloks, or other gels I've tried in the past.

Does it make me gag like the other gels? A smidgen of a thick-throated hiccup may have occurred, and it still takes me three gulps from the envelope to get it down, but the results are worth it. Besides, the gagging may have more to do with the blueberry flavor's allusion to the clinic scene in Juno where the receptionist associates the condoms with pie. Sorry to share that, but there you have it.

The vanilla-orange flavor conjures no such images and so it has been my preference, though if you have a powerful enough imagination, your mind will probably take you to a similar place. Sorry again.

So, Roctane people, I love your product, regardless of what it makes me think of because it is powerful, awesome stuff and it makes me like running when I otherwise would hate it. More flavor options would be appreciated, maybe something that makes me think of frosting on a doughnut. Of course then I might actually just eat it for a snack when I'm bored, and that might not be a great idea.

Powerful, But Blue

We're home and powerful again. It took four days and an $850 windfall for our plumber, but we're happy to be in our house in time to watch 4 inches of snow delay my speed work today. I won't complain, though, because friends are still without electricity today and have no lights in their sights*. More snow is due on Friday, and I'll be running a frigid 20-degree 20 miler on the 20th this weekend. If not for the poetry of the triple-20**, I might have a hard time finding motivation to do it.

When I came home Monday to check on the house, I found a box from the Roctane people, who have asked me to test out and review their Gu. I gave a little insanity-giggle at the fuel on my doorstep, kind of like the laugh we got when the oil truck showed up Saturday morning to fill our tank while the plumber was blowing water out of our pipes so they wouldn't freeze. I opened the Roctane package to find enough Gu to see me through a dozen marathons (or kill me if ingested all at once), and I'll review it after my 4 x 3 miles @ MP on the treadmill this afternoon.

I'm just getting back to blog reading--62 posts in my reader kept me from commenting. I did see a post, however, that merits sharing. Dick Mansfield of Vitesse Press blogged a new book called The 8 Colors of Fitness, which uses a short personality quiz to determine your fitness style. I'm blue--committed and conscientious about my very boring fitness routine. I don't try wacky new trends like stripper aerobics*** and tend to be prefer straightforward and proven training plans. This all sounds pretty accurate, though I'd much prefer to be a saffron seeker of truth than a plain-and-simple running droid. My favorite quality of blue runners? "They'll have fun some other time." That sounds about right for me lately.


*I have proposed a January cocktail event so that we all might "get lit" to celebrate the survival of the ice storm. She who lost power longest wins an evening of free drinks. And perhaps a supply of candles, water, and batteries.
**That, and the expectation of a giant slab of red meat and a lot of liquor Saturday night to reward myself.
***Perhaps to the chagrin of my husband.

So How's Your Weekend Going?

This story begins on Wednesday in northern Massachusetts, when it was 60 degrees and raining. The story isn't over yet.

It rained nonstop from Wednesday to Friday morning. Very early Friday, around 3 a.m., I woke up to hear Brian bumbling around the house with a flashlight. The power was out. I wasn't worried because the power went out a couple weeks ago and came back in a few hours. He said he was hearing freaky noises--crashing noises. He couldn't see anything weird in the house so he came back to bed.

When we got up Friday morning, the house was frigid--still no power. We built a fire in the fireplace and I sent Brian down to the road to see what was up. Trees down across the road to the left, and a power line down across the road to the right. Not good.

This was the backyard.


Ugh.

Our neighbor intimated it would be days before the lines were repaired, so after Brian drove out to find coffee (yes, across the downed line and several others along the way), I went to find a hotel. Our town looks like a tornado blasted through. The rain overnight froze on the trees and the weight of the ice coupled with the wind brought down branches, entire trees, and the power lines they fell on. We were fortunate that nothing fell on our house, but we lost power, heat, water, phone, and cell service.



The thing is, a devastating ice storm looks and smells beautiful, like winter on crack. The smell of pine and sap is thick and the crisp air is cleansing to inhale. Neverless, we were disempowered and displaced.



I found a hotel on the other side of our town that had power, booked a room, and came back home to fetch the boys, who were letting the fire burn down. The hotel has a great gym that I used to belong to, so I was actually pretty upbeat at this point. I knew I could keep some normalcy just by keeping my running routine alive, and the hotel would be like a mini-vacation for Henry.

At home, I packed the most essential things: Garmin, running clothes, gels (I had a long run to do), and maybe some clothes for my kid. I grabbed a bottle of rum--wouldn't want to let that go bad--and a box of cookies, and we were all set.

We got to the hotel around noon and by 1:30, my watch was charged. The good and bad of running is that you can do it anywhere, so living out of a hotel, ice falling like shattered light bulbs, and power lines dangling from the sky like vines, I thought it would be a perfect time to do my long run.

Fourteen miles with the last three miles sub-MP later, I was back at the hotel. I didn't electrocute myself or fall victim to any crashing trees, but a couple cars in front of the hotel nearly hit me. Figures.

I walked back into the lobby very happy with the run (despite the persistent arch pain) and saw something I was not happy to see. Lights out. Good God. Back in the room, I was told the power had shut down 10 minutes before.

We scrambled for a Plan B (C?) and after an early, MSG-rich dinner at the first restaurant we saw with electricity, we were back at the hotel to pack up our stuff. We decided that Brian needed to keep the home fires burning, quite literally, so the pipes wouldn't freeze. Henry and I dropped him off for a cold, dark prison sentence in our house, and Brian spent a loooooooooooong night without any contact with the outside world. He read and dozed and chucked logs on the fire from 7 p.m. to 10 a.m., when Henry and I drove back from our Plan C lodging in Somerville to liberate my scruffy, sleepy husband. I couldn't believe there was actually rum left in the bottle I'd donated to Brian for the night.

Saturday morning, I'd called the plumber from the road and he met us at the house to drain the pipes so Brian wouldn't have to spend another 48 hours imprisoned in our living room. While the plumber charged us God-knows-what for Saturday emergency service, Henry packed more clothes and we assaulted the utility crew at the bottom of the driveway with doughnuts and questions.


They knew nothing in terms of when power would be restored and had not seen damage like this in their 30 years of work for the power company. They appreciated the doughnuts, however.

I took Saturday off from running. Instead, I ate at Dunkin Donuts, MacDonald's, and Red Bones, a great bbq joint in Somerville.

After the pipes were drained and the house winterized, we considered hopping a plane to Florida for a month, but opted to stay closer to home. We spent another night in Somerville, where poor Henry reached the pinnacle of his disorientation after spending two days at home-hotel-home-Somerville-home-Somerville.



So we're still in Somerville, where Henry is tormenting a cat and playing princess. And we're drinking rum. I can't wait to feel empowered again.

To be continued...

Yoga Is Not Running

It's a Thursday blog post so what do you want? What I mean by the title is that yoga is probably the closest thing to the active inverse of running. It's the antidote.

After dealing with arch pain for the past month--even with 10 days off running in there--I finally decided to do something about it. Coincidentally, I was drinking cocktails with Life As I Know It when she revealed that bikram (hot) yoga was quite possibly a life altering experience when she used to take class from Baron Baptiste. Not usually one for hyperbole, Life's bikram encounters intrigued me. I, for one, would like my life altered, and even if yoga can't alter my entire existence, maybe bikram could alter the bottom of my right foot.

So I impulsively took a bikram class yesterday morning. The last time I tried bikram, I was classified as a top-quality privy, a compliment that gave me the confidence to try it again this many years later. After yesterday's 80-degree flex and sweat session, I am happy to report that I am just as much the brick shithouse I was at 25: unbending and still full of crap.

I'm pretty certain bikram will be the magic elixir to running's poisons. What running shortens and inflames, 90 minutes of down dogs would seem to tug out. After class, I was talking to the instructor about feeling the arch pain on the right-side balancing poses, and she shared the guiding principle of yoga: "Stop if it hurts."

Huh. What a novel idea. "You're saying that there's no pushing past the yoga wall?"

So yoga is not running. The stretching and the stillness, the Enya and the Moby. There are no baseball caps and no numbers. The only digits are the ones on the mat, through which my heart breath is supposedly flowing in response to the sound of the gong. While it's possible that my third eye rolled a couple times during class, I definitely dig the down dogs. And my body loved feeling the opposite sensations to running. My hamstrings might have whispered "hallelujah" at one point, which was sufficiently spiritual for me. I do think I'll get into the philosophy of it as well, eventually. I'm just in a phenomenological place right now.

And this morning I woke up with a little less foot pain. But my triceps hurt like hell.

How To Get Money Out of People in a Recession

Sorry I've been MIA lately; I know how much I mean to you (sarcasm alert). The return to serious training* and a manic interview schedule** for the book have zapped my will to blog. On top of that, I substituted yesterday morning's short run with some cross-training for my index finger while I tried to register for the Covered Bridges Half-Marathon, one of the most popular half-marys in the country, I would guess, based on the number of times I clicked Refresh to get into active.com, which was impenetrable from runners skipping their morning miles to secure a bib number. It took me 40 minutes, but I got in. The race closed in an hour.

While I was doing repeats with my finger, I considered the option of running the race for charity if I didn't get in. I trained for Boston two years as a member of the Dana-Farber team, and while this may be the worst possible year for fundraising since 1922, I did figure out some ways to raise money that could still work this year if you're running for charity.

The first thing to know is that it is surprising how much money one can raise running for charity. I thought I'd have to hound my family and friends for months on end, and while there were isolated cases where someone pledged but never donated, the majority of people were amazingly generous with just one request. I thought my friends were cheapskates like me, but it turns out they're kind and giving.... And now I'm coughing up money for their fundraising, too, so they made me generous in return. Go ahead, shed a tear.

Lesson 1. Ask everyone you know, and don't feel bad about it.

The blog has also been an inspiring source for fundraising. Donors like to know how your running is going, and you get the random outstanding readers you've never met who donate. These people rock my world.

Lesson 2. Start a blog. Get yourself a web presence.

More specific ideas that I've used have come from thinking creatively and looking for opportunities to raise money everywhere. I hope other DFMC readers and charity runners will comment on this post with their ideas, but here's what I've done to raise $13,000 in two years of fundraising:

Ask your salon to host a cut-a-thon. The stylists come in on a Sunday, donate their time, and the salon donates all money from that day of services to your charity. It's a tax write-off for them and an easy fundraiser for you. I raised about $2500 this way.

Sell stuff on Cafe Press. The site is easy to navigate, and it's straightforward to set up a shop. Although Cafe Press takes a big cut, you can generate a nice little monthly cash flow into your fundraising without doing anything at all after the original designs. I raised between $100-$300/month this way.

Sell your old crap (er, antique rarities) on ebay and donate the money to your charity.

Create and sell notecards or holiday cards. I raised about $600 this way.

I also considered running people's dogs in exchange for a donation, though I didn't ever follow through on it. Seemed like an easy way to multi-task fundraising with training, though.

Lesson 3. Look for options everywhere, especially ways that give people something in exchange for their donation. This is huge, especially in a tough economy.

Another thing is to make it known to everyone that you're running for a charity. Seriously. I know it might sound pretentious, but if you look for ways to be subtle about it, everyone will know without thinking you're obnoxious. I think. Ask my acquaintances; they might tell you I am rather obnoxious for dropping it into conversation. Regardless, this is how you find out who your real friends are. Real friends like you even if you are a pain in the ass. The point is that people will often donate if they know what you're doing, even if they aren't close enough to you to receive a letter requesting money. Most people will be impressed and not annoyed by you.

Lesson 4. Make your training known.

Finally, if you can at all manage it, fail to finish your marathon. After I suffered my DNF from injury, I emailed people to let them know what had happened. An anonymous donor gave $1500 immediately to help me meet my fundraising goal. The outcome? You can't always get what you want, but sometimes, you get what you need.

Lesson 5. Fail.

So there you have it. It is possible to raise money for charity without knowing Bill Gates, turning tricks on the town green, or selling your kid's ADD meds outside the high school. But those are other ideas you might consider.

*Did my first Nate-ified speed session in a month today, and I feel like toasted crap, which could be good or bad, depending on how you look at speed work. Workout was 12 x 1 mile @ marathon pace (8:20) with 1-minute rest intervals and a 1 mile warmup = 14.2 miles in the treadmill torture chamber with morning TV. Take-away lessons: This Jesse McCartney fellow is a scary piece of adolescence, and I liked Darius Rucker much better as Hootie. Also, it's trippy to watch clips Kathie Lee Gifford play with a yodeling pickle after taking Roctane Gu.

**We've crossed the 20-mother mark with lots more to go. Thanks, gals, for running away from your children and telling me all about it.


Snaps for all the awesome racers last weekend: Jess, Aron, Jill. Jill's 2:58 at CIM means we will never share the same hour in a marathon PR. Oh, well. You're still my mentor in running and beautiful hair.

Dear Santa,

I have been very good this year. I raised $5500 for cancer research and donated to the NPR pledge drive. I also resisted the temptation to sell drugs to augment our dwindling 401k and made it through another year without Henry learning the F-word.

I know you usually reserve your efforts for the children, but I am very immature so I hope you'll consider my case. I also know that you're not God, but frankly you're pretty close to a deity in this country, so I think you might be able to give me the Christmas present I really want.

I don't need sparkly baubles or anything. And I know that like everyone, you likely need to cut costs*, so my request is more or less free.

I just want to stay healthy until January 19, 2009**.

I'm doing everything I can to make it happen on my own, but I figure it can't hurt to send a letter to someone who manages to stay healthy for the year's ultimate endurance event after a long season of sitting for photos with drippy-nosed youth. I've seen A Year Without A Santa Claus and know the kind of mayhem that ensues when you get a cold. Imagine all the hard work that would be wasted from walking pneumonia. Now you get me.

So, please, 6 weeks of health. It's all I want.

Unless you're feeling generous. Then, I'd like health and a 3:40 in Phoenix. And a gift certificate to the Sports Authority.

Thank you very much and good luck on your big night. Think negative splits, Nick.

Sincerely,

Kristina

**A subtle hint to my gift recipients this year: I hope you enjoy the poem and photo of Henry you're getting.

**To include cold, flu, running-related injuries, and injuries related to flying toys.

The Hills

I have almost 7 weeks to get myself ready for Phoenix, so this week I'm back in training mode again. How much do I hate that my 10 days off only came from being sick? It was such a waste of lethargy. If I'm not going to run, I don't want the reason to be that I'm already soaking my jammies with sweat lying in bed.

Anyway, to "ease" me back into his (evil) training plan, Over Pro Nate had me do hill repeats this week for my workout*. I had to do a 15-second hill 8x with the instructions that I should run them like I'm "chasing down a kid in the street."

I'm a literal kind of girl, so Tuesday afternoon, I told Brian and Henry we were going outside. While I ran a 2-mile warm-up, Brian put our clueless kid in his headlamp and light-up shoes (it's dark at 4:00 here). I got back from my jog to see a beam of light bobbing at the top of the driveway, so I told Henry to come down, that we were going to run the driveway 8 times.

Being four years old, he lacked the common sense and knowledge of gravity to refuse. I wish I had a video of me chasing my kid up our driveway, particularly the moment when he told me he'd rather run down than up, as if to say, "Mommy, you're so stupid to run up. It's much easier going down!"

By the eighth round, the poor kid only made it about 50 feet before dropping. The rest of the way up I had to imagine the effort of rescuing him from traffic, darn it. Some kids are so uncooperative. I wanted to say that Santa doesn't bring toys to kids who can't run a hill 8 times, but I didn't want the neighbors to call DSS. So we came in, stretched, and refueled with chocolate milk.

Nate's response to my workout was great:

Very nice, not only do you get the right effort level, but short hills are super for the development of young ankle tendons and hip flexors. You improve and you help lay the ground work for little Henry's future olympic glory. I'm giving you an A+ all around for the day.

I got an A+! Now I wish I hadn't registered Pass/Fail. And with that kind of encouragement, Henry and I will begin to work on his core this weekend to lay the foundation for next week's workout:

12 x 1 mile @ marathon pace

Good luck to the racers this weekend, especially Jess in Tuscon, who will cruise her way to a sub-3:40. Also, good luck to Aron and Jill at CIM in Sacramento. Jill is going to break 3 hours this weekend after enduring an incredibly arduous season with Nate, twice as hard as what I'm doing.

*Isn't it classic that my coach calls the speed work my "workout," suggesting that the rest of the week's miles are more or less the equivalent of a day at the spa?