Run Before the Run

Yesterday marked the first of many races in my new life as a runner.

New York City had been experiencing a heat wave, but the temperature broke to a nice, comfortable... HOT AS HELL 80-degrees at Queens Flushing Meadows Corona Park for the NYRR 5-Borough Series: Queens 10K.

The most important takeaway from this post is that I finished the race. I wasn't doing it for the time, but I'm satisfied with my overall 01:06:23 (10:42 pace over 6.2 miles). Especially considering the way I was feeling one hour, six minutes, and twenty-three seconds earlier.

Let's recap, shall we?

"I'm nauseous." I kept repeating it over and over, as if the amazingly tolerant group of people I was running with might not have heard me the seventh or eighth time. It didn't help that our driver circled around the park twice before he dropped us off (he was never in Queens before), or the fact that I didn't have enough cash on me for the ride because I was in full-on panic mode getting ready at 6am that morning. I'm pretty sure the nausea settled in because I had no idea what to expect when I entered the sea of runners at the starting line, their rippling quad and calf and other muscles I've never seen before flexing in and out in one collective movement disabling my every ability to act like a human being. Was I late? Why are people running? Why is that girl doing jumping jacks on the line for the bathroom? Why is that man doing deep, deep-seated squats? Apparently, I wasn't prepared for the run before the run. WTF. I was having enough anxiety pinning my bib to my shirt in the correct position.

But when I finally got some stretching in and a few sport beans in my system, when I finally found my way to the brown corral (which is just a nicer way of saying slow runners), and when I finally hit the ground running (literally)... I found my groove. It wasn't until mile 5 that a little demon child sprouted from my belly like a scene from Alien. Or more accurately, I felt something like a blobfish. "I can't go left. I can't go right. I can't avoid people anymore. I'm just floating." But I powered through.

Here are my lessons learned (in no particular order) for first-time race runners:

1. Hydration belts are not an invitation to grab yourself a drink from a passing runner. 
2. You do not need to remove a sweatband from your wrist in order to use it. 
3. People will not understand why you are cursing off Flo from Progressive or Ben Benson Hynundai if they don't know you are listening to Spotify. 
4. At hydration stations, don't pour your cup of water over your head if you are wearing an arm band containing your smartphone.
5. Just because there's mud on the course, does not mean you signed up for a mud run. 
6. Do not sprint to the finish line... unless you actually see it.
7. Do not mess with the power walkers. 
8. You may or may not be offered a bag of "hungry size" pretzels at the end of the race, which are magically delicious/endless. 
9. Walking through Queens Flushing Meadows Corona Park is the quicker way to get to the Lemon Ice King of Corona (and no, Kevin James will not always be there with Leah Remini).

And most importantly... 

1. Professional photos will be taken throughout the race. Make sure you don't look like an aye-aye. Here's one of mine I just ordered from marathonfoto.com. Anyone want a copy? 

So, long story short - I have quite the way to go to being ready for this half marathon. Simply put, double the distance means double the training. But I'm halfway there, and I'm happy with my progress so far. 3 months ago I never in a million years would have thought I would be able to run 6 miles uninterrupted. If I can do it, so can you! Aye-aye!

A Pleasant Prospect

Happy 100 Days! 

Back in college, 100 days was a big milestone. Looking back now, I'm not quite sure why I was celebrating 100 days left until going to live back at home with my parents (and amazing sister, but let's be real, the "Lounge" wasn't built yet), no job, no money, no flex points, and no red doors of opportunity... but nonetheless, it was a reason at the time to celebrate.

Well, I couldn't have asked for a better observance today. A 4-mile run around the outer loop at Prospect Park, perfectly timed to coincide with the Belle & Sebastian concert at the Celebrate Brooklyn! music festival in the Prospect Park bandshell. Here's a treasure map for reference:

And because all the stars are aligned with the lightning bugs in July, what's the song that's playing as I roll up to the bandshell at the end of my loop? How about The Stars of Track and Field. Let's not over-analyze the fact that this song may or may not be about a lesbian who sleeps her way to college. What about the sheer motivation in making sure my training isn't just the same emptiness that girl felt?

So, GUT CHECK. Let's go back to the reason I started this journey. Is it "working"? Hmmm. Is it easier? Sure. Did I let go of the man? Nope. It still hurts, almost every day. Constant reminders on the streets don't help. I'm coming up on a really big anniversary at the end of this month. One year since the day I walked away from that situation... physically. Emotionally is a different story.

But before you (I) give up hope, what I can say is this. Each run is so much more than getting from Point A to Point B to me now. It's a reminder that I am capable of moving forward. And what a wonderfully exhilarating feeling that is. I don't think I could have set a better goal for myself. I can't thank the people in my life right now enough for being so supportive of me. And that finish line is not going anywhere. So I'll keep running until I find it...

Some would even say, this is what dreams are made of.

HardCORE

I've been joking to a few people recently that I feel like spaghetti. Let's not get caught up in the actual shape here... I'm talking about a heaping pile of soggy starch. Like I have zero muscle content, and at any moment two dogs are going to suck me into a slobbery kiss.

I want to be al dente!

And as it turns out, a little love to my core would also help me on the track. According to Active:

Think of your body like a car. If you put a Ferrari engine (your lungs and heart) in the chassis of a compact economy car (your muscles, ligaments and bones), what's going to happen?

So after I googled the word chassis, and thanks to one of my biggest inspirations on this journey, I decided it was time to go to bootcamp. It wasn't my first gym class. I've experienced my fair share of "Butts & Guts" and "Total Body Sculpt", but this one was different. I don't even know the actual name, but I'm going to call it "Sweat Your Ass Off, You F'n Weakling".  I was supremely frustrated with myself. I knew my strengths (the cardio), and I got to intimately know my weaknesses (everything else). It was a wake up call that I need to keep working on my core, because without a core, I'm just a noodle. And I should be doing everything I can to prevent injuries and delay fatigue as I start approaching these longer runs.

And because I want you all to know that I am human (and I'm not a changed woman yet), bootcamp was followed the next day by a shameful dinner at Guy's American Kitchen & Bar in Times Square.

Let it be on the record though that while it was "shameful" because I'm supposed to be training for a half marathon and not shocking my body with fat and sodium, I'm NOT knocking Guy's eats. We've all read the NY Times review. Even people who don't live in New York City or know how to pronounce his last name have read it. I don't know why I'm feeling particularly anti-Pete Wells today, or why I'm defending Guy Fieri like he's family (who knows), but I hate this review for a couple of reasons: 1) I can't get past the rotting pumpkin featured in the cover photo, and 2) Who talks in ALL questions like that?

So here's my retort to the review (because I'm pretty sure Mr. Wells is following my blog):

Were you really expecting anything different from a man whose biggest claim to fame is a show about greasy, fried foods? Is there really such a thing as too many dips, or maybe we should just pour "ruinous sauces" all over your bland personality?  If I owned Flavor Town, would I even have invited you? And are you as awesome as the "Awesome" Pretzel Chicken Tenders? No.

Funny thing is, there's no spaghetti on the menu.