Happy 50 Days!

Hugs and Quiches

If you would have asked me at 10 years old where I would be at 27, other than saying "on Broadway" (oops), I definitely would have said married with kids. I had a plan for these sorts of things, and I'm way off schedule.

And if you would have asked me at 10 years old if I would ever be training for a half marathon to start my life over again at 27 (let's assume I knew what a half marathon was at 10 years old), I would say HELL NO. I had crayon wars to think about, books to read for CARP, and many meatballs to consume. Honestly, I would have said HELL NO at 26, too.

So there you have it. The moral of the story here is not to distrust your 10-year-old self. It's the bigger picture - that sometimes life throws you curve balls. Things you can't always predict will happen, but you have to genuinely believe were meant to happen for a reason.

Not everything in life is linear like this painfully relatable, grossly realistic list of the 26 Stages of Taking Up Running. And even then, I'm torn between 23 and 24, and forever fixated on 21 because you might mistake my foot x-rays for the claws of a jacana. I may or may not be able to walk on lily pads...

So, stuff got real in my last post. Then I fell off the blogosphere for a few weeks. But the good thing is I was busy doing things that made me happy. Developing an addiction for horse racing, going on vacation with my godson (ironically to Hersheypark - uh oh, that place is hilly!), lots of good music, a perfect wedding, doubleheader tapas and margs (with my 5-year NYC crew), a long overdue home GRUNCH, a scenic tour of a rebuilt city #STTS (you're welcome), and a solid 4.5 mile group run...

And amongst all of that pure joy, I actually opened myself up to someone else for the first time in a long time. Someone patient and kind that I will be forever grateful for. Someone I may have been resisting for being too far, but I've also let closest to my heart. But more to come on that, I've still got 60 days ;)

Forget plans, just enjoy your hugs and quiches... YOLO.

Rapid Fermentation

My apartment smells like Jolly Ranchers.

That's not necessarily a good thing. You see, tonight I was "shaking well" some delicious V8 V-Fusion goodness, when... POP!

Not only did I scream as if I was watching a red wedding and my heart skip a few beats, but there was Acai Mixed Berry something EVERYWHERE. And then I go through the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief in approximately 30 seconds:

1. DENIAL: What the F just happened?!
2. ANGER: I'm going to sue Campbell Foods.
3. BARGAINING: What if the bottle was facing my eye?
4. DEPRESSION: This isn't going to clean itself up.
5. ACCEPTANCE: Life goes on. 

I've got a lot going on in my life right now. No more than a lot of other people, most likely less. I've always had a problem dealing with stress, but the one thing I lose sight of in a sharknado (yes, when it rains, it pours sharks in my life), is that I always make it through. Life goes on.

Running has been a GREAT stress relief for me. Yesterday, when I was thinking about an impending job move and debt and coordinating transportation to a funeral, I decided to just run.  And 30 minutes is all you need. There's nothing like pounding the pavement to shake off the feeling you might have been poisoned.

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8/1/2013

Today is one year from the day I left him. Another setback for the 180, seeing that I actually went a complete full circle... the funeral mass happened to be in the one place I haven't set foot in for exactly one year. Borough Park.

Borough Park was an interesting coordinate in the map of my life. Moving in was the most exciting thing I've ever done. I'll never forget searching for apartments together, or the signing of the lease that I thought was with my roommate for life. I would come home to him sweeping with a huge, goofy smile on his face, just because he "wanted to keep the place nice for us." And I would go grocery shopping and easily drop $100 to supplement the pounds of meat he would consume, yet finally felt fulfilled because I was capable of taking care of someone. But it didn't take long after the custom-ordered couch and wood panel blinds were delivered that the rose colored glasses turned to defective transition lenses.

And each day after that continued to suck the life out of me until I had nothing to look forward to on my walk of shame back to our place but the marble countertops. I call it the walk of shame, because I had to literally walk back with my head down since I couldn't make eye contact with any of my neighbors. I was trapped in a cultural divide, as he was sucked into the zombie land of his profession. I had more cabinets than things to store in them, but my heart was bursting. I was a Stretch Armstrong reaching further than my arms could possibly extend, and he was a rare Quackers (without wings) Beanie Baby with a tag protector that I could never touch.

So yeah, today sucked. But every day is a realization that I am better now than I was before. I mean - if you like it, than you should have put an onion ring on it...

"I am better than I was yesterday, but not as good as I will be tomorrow." - UNKNOWN

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.

Beginner's Hurdles

Three things happened this week that took me to the next level in running rockstardom. I'm not talking about breaking records for distance or crushing pace. I'm talking:

1. Group Runs
2. Morning Miles
3. Fanny Packs

All three are attainable, my friends. I'm not sure about sustainable, but I'll report back.

GROUP RUNS

I love people, I really do. But running with them? Before this weekend, I couldn't imagine liking that so much. Picture me sweating bullets while the person next to me indiscreetly stares up at the sky to see if it just started drizzling. Or me panting so hard the person next to me politely adjusts their headphones to omit the background noise. Or me running at such a slow pace that the person "running" with me is really speed walking... backwards, like a tour guide. Well, turns out all of those things were irrational fears of mine. And by the time we hit the ground running at the first occasional Running of the Mules this weekend, I realized I felt comfortable. I could laugh and talk and run, all at the same time. Not to mention having a support system to answer all my awkward running questions. By the way, 25% of us were running commando. 

MORNING MILES

Today marked my first morning run. I set my alarm for 5:30am. Disgusting. Um, this is why I moved to New York - to never see those numbers on my non-iPhone again or hear that painful sound that makes my circadian clock bleed. But once I actually got out the door, it was pleasant. No one is out, except the runners. And as your eyes lock on the uneven sidewalk, you send telepathic thoughts, "Yeah, we're up. We own this block. We built this city with our own two quads..." Or maybe just "I hope I don't fall and break my ankle.  Is this guy going to go right, or do I have to go left? Do I have a wedgie?" Many questions arise. But the real best part about running in the morning is the simple fact that you don't have to again in the afternoon. Or the night. It's like a "Get Out of Jail Free Card" for running even though you already did it. Let's not overlook the fact that I'm still equating running to being in jail. 

FANNY PACKS

Running is not cheap. The registration fees, the tech wardrobe, the gear.. the FANNY PACKS. I always appreciated a good fanny pack. But after someone so generously loaned me theirs over the weekend, I realized why so many people opt to wear the scary blood pressure cuff instead. I guess my hips don't lie when I'm running, because that fanny pack became a second bra every other step. So immediately following the run I made my way back to the running store to purchase an arm band. And my life has never been the same since. Granted it's only been three days, but they've been a pretty solid three days. 

So grab a friend, wake him/her up early, and tighten your fanny pack if it suits your fancy. It's go time.