dealing with deferring

I guess I should have seen it coming.

After five weeks of not being able to run longer than about 3-5 miles without major pain to my right knee because of IT band issues, I've decided to defer my entry to the NYC Marathon until next year.

I'll still be able to transfer all the money I've raised for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society through Team in Training, and I'll still be able to run the race next year, but as you can probably guess, I'm pretty depressed about it.

I can only share what I've learned to hopefully help others dealing with the same thing, and of course, a few thoughts about what it means for me personally.

1. "IT Bands like rest." This was said to me the first week at practice I told my coaches about my knee/hip issues. I got a bunch of different responses from people who'd had IT issues, but this one stuck with me. With three long runs still to get in before the race, I couldn't rest--I had to keep going. But now looking back, I wish I'd just taken two solid weeks off my leg, and then tried to come back, vs. just running on it every odd day, just injuring it more.

2. Acupuncture works. Coach Ramon told me about this great sports acupuncturist Colleen Canyon. I definitely believe in Eastern medicine, but with my knee completely locked up, I was skeptical it would work. Amazingly, even after the first treatment of about 25 needles stuck directly into the parts of my knee that were hurting, I began to feel all the tension dissolve away. The next day at practice I was able to run about five miles without feeling any pain. Unfortunately I was on such a high that as soon as I did, I kept running for another mile, setting me back a lot. It continued to help my leg loosen up, but unfortunately not enough to allow me to run as long as I needed.

3. Trust yourself. This was the hardest and biggest lesson for me this time. Not wanting to give up until the very last minute, I asked just about everyone their opinion, and have literally run around going to five appointments a week to try to rehab my leg. Coaches, my physical therapist, my acupuncturist, friends, random people with IT issues. Each one had a different piece of advice. Some people told me just to keep going, that every runner has had injuries, and that if you keep training, any way you can, you'll get out there on race day and just feel enough pure adrenaline to carry you through. People who'd had IT issues told me to stop running, start rolling, and rest. How would I keep up my fitness for the race, I thought? Deep down, I knew that my body was telling me something this time around--that it wasn't going to hold up for 26.6 miles again this year. Once I finally made the decision to defer earlier this week, a weight felt lifted and I knew it was the right decision for me.

I still feel very guilty for letting everyone down who's generously donated to my running fund. And I worry that this backslide in not completing what I said I would says something, too. Like that first marathon--and my newfound resolve--was a fluke. But I do know that with a winter to rest up, and hopefully strengthen my leg, I'll go into next year's training even more reinvigorated than the first time.

Here's hoping.

the pros of pain

When I started this blog, I knew I'd be writing about the highs and lows, but I never realized how each leg of this journey would take me past all of the significant running milestones.

I've written about the great long runs, the not-so-great ones, the thrill of completing my first marathon, and the guilt of sitting on the couch when I could be running a race. I guess it was inevitable, but now it's time to write about the dark side of running...getting injured. And of course, it wouldn't be Unlikeliest Marathoner if I couldn't find a lesson or two nestled within the nebula.

So far, two Saturdays have passed since my longest run yet, 17 miles, and both I've tried to go out and run a modest amount. And both times I've had to stop at 4 miles because my knee has felt like it would collapse beneath me. I've tried to hobble run, run on the balls of my toes, and even a combo walk/run, and each time, my knee would just send shooting darts of pain up my thigh, laughing at me, like, you know this won't work. I've been going to physical therapy and doing my exercises and ice, and though my right leg feels much stronger, and I'm now able to walk pretty well, my body has gone on strike.

It's been frustrating to say the least, and as each day passes, and my leg still continues to give out on me, a dark thought keeps creeping in...what if I can't do my long runs, or worse, what if I'm going to feel this way the day of the race.

I hate to even think about it, and what it would mean. I'd have to tell everyone who's so generously donated to me that I had to back out. And not to mention that dream of crossing the finish line in Central Park that I've been holding onto with each run would disappear. Okay, maybe I'm being a little melodramatic, but for someone who until only recently was not so great at completing things, it feels like I'm back at square one.

But, still, in all of this, there have been a few silver linings. For one, I've encountered a whole new community: physical therapy. It's so weird as a person who's so in her head all the time to meet people so heavily focused on what their bodies can do that they'd be willing to devote three hours a week, and $40 copays, so they could compete. And the weirdest part? I am now one of those people. I've woken up for 7:30 AM sessions with my physical trainer, and actually enjoyed spending the better part of an hour trying to strengthen this funny part of my musculature. It's actually pretty calming, in a different way than running. Like, it's okay to be so body-obsessed and have someone else really care about my leg and my goal other than me.

Another lesson? In order to get through this, I have to be on my body's side. I can't run through the pain, and I can't curse my knee for giving out on me. I got my knee into this, and now I'm going to have to get it out. The more I get frustrated, the more my body seems to hold out on me, like it's taunting me...you think you're going to run long, heh, I can wait just as long as you can. So I have to seduce it back onto my side with plenty of special treatment: massages, ice baths, rest. I guess I owe it as much for getting me through the first marathon pain-free.

And the funniest part? I'm willing to do anything if it works. Today I even went to a sports acupuncturist on W. 20th street and had about 20 needles stuck into various parts of my leg today to try to release the muscle's trigger points. And you know what? It feels a whole lot better (even better than after the PT massages.)

So hopefully, I'll come out of all this soon--my next practice is tomorrow. The pain, just another reminder that taking it slow and steady always pays off.

diary of an injury

This post will go in reverse chronological order...you'll see where it's all going soon enough:

8:32 PM, Saturday, Sept. 21: Finished running 1.7 miles (my favorite, the reservoir, where it all began.) This time though, instead of the mild September air cooling me off as I ran charging to beat twilight, it was broken up into three segments: the amounts I could run without pain, coupled with walking.

3:30 PM, Sunday, Sept. 20: Ran 2 1/2 miles, from 83rd to Cat Hill, instead of running the Queens Half Marathon as I was supposed to, due to my knee locking and seizing. Silent prayers to the running gods spoken the whole time.

1:00 PM, Friday, Sept. 19: Walking to work, feeling my the sides of my knee inflame in pain, but at least it only started at 60th street this time vs. 72nd street.

7:20 PM, Thursday Sept. 18: Trying to run the reservoir, since my knee doesn't feel like it's going to break into pieces every time I step on my right leg. Nope, can only make it a quarter mile before the pain comes back.

1:00 PM, Wednesday Sept. 17: Brad, my new psychical therapist at New York Sports Medicine, tells me I've definitely got an ITL band injury after a quick inspection to my muscles, knees, and new lopsided gait. I should not run the Queens Marathon or any long run until things start to improve.

1:00 PM, Sunday, Sept. 14: I cannot move my right leg without it feeling like it's going to collapse underneath me like a dried out, dead tree limb.

1:01 PM, Saturday, Sept. 13: Hmmm, what's that feeling? My knee's locking up a bit--must remember to stretch a little more after 17-mile runs more often--but wasn't that awesome? I feel sleepy.

12:59 PM, Saturday, Sept. 13: I did it! I just ran 17 miles! And just like last time, the trek over the GW Bridge into NJ was a magic run, the kind that remind you why you are a runner. The miles floated by as I found myself deep in thought, or well, not really thinking about anything, which is the whole reason I started running to begin with.

7:37 AM, Saturday, Sept. 13: Okay, a little nervous. Haven't run in, well, about 10 days, after a seven-day trip to Panama. Maybe I should have just toughed it out down there and got in a few short runs to keep my muscles firing. Well, we'll just see how this goes. I should try to do about 15 miles today, not push myself.

12:30 PM, Monday, August 30: Just ran 14 miles and they actually felt good! Training is paying off, finally! I ran all the way from my apartment down the west side highway up the east river to Central Park. I need to update everyone on unlikeliest marathoner because my last post about my running malaise was pretty grim.

And there you have it, folks. In the past three weeks, my running track record speaks for itself. I've overdone the long runs, skimped on the short ones, and have gained one ITL band injury. It's feeling a little better thanks to PT every other day, and I'm hoping it will continue to improve with daily muscle strengthening exercises. But right now, my first 18-miler looms ahead this weekend, and if my throbbing knee has anything to say about it, I might be forced to make some difficult choices.

Stay tuned for freakout post coming soon.

Wish me luck.

ups and downs

Okay, so I wish I had some good news.

Like, for example, training to run my second marathon is miraculously easier than the first. It's like I'm this Olympic marathon runner. And every long run feels like running through a field of wheat in the sun on a mild summer day.

Well, yeah, actually it's the exact opposite.

The past few long runs have been pretty hellish. To be exact, the past three long runs (11, 12, 13) have felt like torture. Each one, worse than the previous one. Yes, I've completed them, but like the Bronx run, it's been tough. Not a magic run by any means. The kind of run where you start already wondering when it's going to end, and the subsequent next few hours are an exercise in patience, mental toughness, and sheer will power.

I'd heard runs were like this--the kind where it's all about pain, not pleasure. And I'd experienced a few. But not for the most part. So this time feels a little scary. And the fact that today I was supposed to run 14, and I didn't thanks to hurricane Danny, makes me worry a bit about my overall commitment this time. Will I catch up? Will I have a bad second marathon?

I guess these feelings of doubt are normal, but as an unlikeliest marathoner, I guess it's not necessarily a given each time. Could it have been a fluke?

Any encouragement would be greatly appreciated.

xoxo, Meg

take that, President's Challenge!

If you're a child of the '80s, you probably remember the President's Challenge in gym class. And if you were unathletic, like me, you probably feel a twinge of dread even now just thinking about it.

I'm sure whichever administration created the twice-yearly fitness test probably wasn't trying to traumatize a whole generation of young people by the sheer thought of running around the track, but unfortunately, for me at least, that was the end result.

At the start of every year in gym beginning in the sixth grade, fresh from spending my summers sitting in the sun at Preston Beach in Massachusetts, leisurely biking or rollerblading around town, all doughy and soft, the first thing we'd have to do in gym class was take a series of fitness tests ending in running four times around the track to complete a mile as fast as we could. And to top it off, our gym teacher, Mr. Roland, would urge us to make it under 10 minutes, clocking each loop with all the empathy of a boot-camp drill sergeant preparing us for battle.

Of course the track stars and skinny guys and girls usually made it pretty easily. I, on the other hand, usually came in last or in the last group, pains in my side, red-faced, and in one particularly awkward stage, ready to puke on the grass. You'd think if they'd at least let us train up to it, say, maybe having us do once around the track, then twice, then three times, leading up to the fourth week where we finally were asked to go all out, but no--they threw us into the deep end to see if we'd make it, or die trying.

It wasn't pretty, and thinking back now, it's probably why I hung up the running sneaks for the last 20 years.

So I kind of chuckled today at practice when they told us we were going to run the mile, as fast as we could, twice, just to find out our best times.

No fear shook through my bones, thankfully, since after having run a marathon, nothing in the realm of running scares me that much anymore. But as I talked to my fellow teammates, they had the same stories of being last in that gym class 1-mile test.

Maybe in every marathoner, or at least of the unlikeliest variety, there's a 11-year-old girl or guy trying to redeem themselves and prove that yes, they too can run a fast mile, or 26.

So I ran today, as fast as I could, clocking in my first mile at 8:54. Not bad considering I'd usually run 11-minute miles and the fastest I'd run in a race was 10:08 in the recent Scotland 10K. The next one was a little slower: 9:56 or so, but still not bad. Take that, Mr. Roland, with your knee-length tube socks, short shorts with your tee-shirt tucked in too tight!

On the outside, I was still panting and red-faced, but my inner tween wasn't breaking a sweat.

second time around

It's good to be back, training for my second marathon--the ING NYC marathon, on November 1. Well, sorta. Let me explain.

The Great Part:
*Seeing teammates from Rome at practice, like my buddy Van, and Coach Ramon.
*Getting excited to accomplish something big again.
*The familiarity of running in the park, and even the training sessions.
*Telling people I'm running a marathon (never, ever gets old).
*Looking forward to the Saturday afternoon long-run high.
*Running in warmer weather than I'm used to.
*Getting to eat anything and everything again.

The Scary Part:
*Realizing four miles feels more difficult than the last 20-miler before Rome.
*Feeling the familiar itch to skip practice, and finding myself actually skipping--eek!
*Worrying the training sessions will feel too familiar, lack newness.
*Telling people I'm running NYC and knowing they will be watching.
*Giving up summertime Friday night happy hours with friends.
*Running in the dead heat of summer.
*Worrying that my body's some how acclimated and slowed down my metabolism.

Yes, I have doubts, but like I learned the last time around, running a marathon is about seeing the positive. I can't wait to slow jog through all five boroughs, slapping friend's and stranger's hands, hearing "go Meg," feeling the strange/amazing yin/yang of the runner's high and sheer exhaustion, and of course, crossing the finish line and the after-party that awaits.

Think it's too early to book the back room at the Parlour (86th and Broadway!) See you all there!

xoxo, Meg

back in the saddle

In the months after you've just run 26 miles and completed your first-ever marathon, there are two ways things could go:

A) You stick with the long-run Saturdays, sign up for a bunch of races and make sure to get out there at least a few weekday mornings to keep up your speed and endurance. You find yourself clocking your best times yet!

B) You email every last friend you missed over the past four months, start scheduling regular happy-hours, and generally sit on the couch, catching up on DVR'd Gossip Girls and How I Met Your Mothers. You discover your best takeout pad thai restaurant yet!

Guess which one I chose?

Aw, that was too easy. Yup, pathway B, which, made it all the more fun to get back to my very first Saturday practice this past week, since I've now, gulp, signed up for the ING NYC marathon this fall. Not only have I promised to again beg all my friends for money for charity, but they'll actually be there cheering me on this time, making sure that I actually go through with it!

So as you'd expect with my strict adherence to plan b these past coupla months, this past Saturday was kinda funny (see, I'm even getting lazy in my grammar!) Though the four-mile run was surprisingly hard, the air felt great (so fun now that it's not minus seven!), and my stress levels about actually completing it were pretty much non-existant.

They say sophomores are wise fools, and I'm guessing that this time for my second effort, I can see myself being overly confident in what I can accomplish, but that's all part of the fun of practicing something til you get it just right, right?

So watch me as I take on Unlikeliest Marathon II: Sex in the City...hee hee.

xoxo, Meg

rethinking perfect

Okay, I'm going to admit to something now that may be shocking. I'm not proud of it, and you probably won't believe it when you read it.

Okay, here goes.

I am not perfect.

Phew. That was hard. You see, up until March 22, 1:01 PM Rome time, I believed that I had to be. In work, in life, in relationships and now in running.

Okay, the reason why I say you probably can't believe it, is because I come off far from perfect in all the above-mentioned areas. But it's my little secret that I'm always trying to be, end up not being, and then spend a fair amount of in-my-own-head time berating myself for it.

So with this whole running thing, from the start I went into it with a set of beliefs that in order to be able to pull off running the marathon, I had to complete the training schedule exactly as it was written.

And then, I started, and what invariably happens with everything, I missed a long run day (as written about earlier), then I wasn't able to make it to a Tuesday practice, then I gave up a Sunday run here and there, and had a bad run in Bronx.

But a funny thing also happened. Because seeing myself as a runner was always so foreign to me, such a huge improbable feat, I wasn't as hard on myself as I usually am. Instead of bagging the whole thing and giving up, I kept going.

I went to about 75% of the Tuesday practices, all of the Saturday practices, and did most, but definitely not all, of the week-day practices on my own. I'd say I gave it a solid B+ effort. I gave up perfection, and instead, went for completion.

And so on the big day, I was a little nervous that I hadn't put in 100 percent of the work, but I trusted the process and gave it my personal best. And it worked. Much to my surprise, in the end I completed the marathon with an even better result than what I'd expected.

Wow. Big lesson.

So many times throughout this training process I've learned that I'm capable of a lot more than I thought, physically and mentally, but this realization changed a whole set of beliefs about life in general. Like a too-young dress from my 20s that no longer fit my more mature, 30-year-old self, it was time to give up on this perfection-seeking mindset. I now see that you accomplish something pretty amazing with a "good enough" effort, and that "perfect" does more to hinder you than help you.

And I can see that instead of now skidding between the dual poles of "perfect" and good enough for government work that's created more dissatisfaction than I care to admit, a new default has been set (hopefully.) Through experience, I've seen how putting in your best effort and calling it a day can work in running, so now I'm going to see how it plays out in life, love and work.

I'm hoping that just like the results on marathon day in Rome, things will turn out better than expected, and I'll accomplish some pretty amazing things.

the non-runner's guide to running a marathon

It's been a few weeks now since I completed the marathon (saying that never gets old!), and I've found myself telling the non-runners among my friends pretty much the same thing: how I, a former non-runner, could have ever done this. So here's a basic guide of tips and tricks I learned along the way. Yep, magazine-style bullets coming right up:

1. Don't think about it, just sign up. If you've ever felt the tiniest pang of inspiration or its alter-ego, jealousy, when a friend runs a marathon, that means it's something you might want to do. The only way to move from the "thinking about it" stage to the commiting stage is by signing up for a race. If a marathon is too dauting, do a 5K at nyrr.org.

2. Start running. Yep, it's that easy. I would have never believed this before, but no one starts out able to run 26 miles, and most NR (non-runners) can't even run a mile. Just pick a reasonable goal--and by reasonable, I literally mean a half mile or mile if that sounds like a lot to you, and just try it and see how it goes.

3. If you can't or don't feel like running, walk. This was my key to success. In the past I've pushed myself to try to make the three-mile mark or whatever goal I've set. If it's too much, I end up feeling winded, and dread doing it again. I always thought I "should" be able to run three miles, so I'd set my self up for failure. This tactic set me back years and years and made me believe I wasn't a runner. In contrast, just doing however much you feel like does the exact opposite. Each time you work with your body instead of against it, so you always remember the run as a positive experience. And on good run days when you find yourself able to do more than you ever have before, it propels your confidence even higher, so you can't wait to get out there again.

4. Go SLOOOOW. This is another biggie. They always say you should be able to carry on a conversation when you're running, and it's true--that's the pace you can sustain for long periods--like marathons. But what it actually means is that when you start running at what you "think," you should: you start to feel like your heart's pounding, your breathing becomes panting and you can hear it, and you immediately start thinking about when it will end--that's too fast. Drop it down a few levels until your heart feels good, you can breathe silently and if you're with someone you. can. get. words. out. like. this. to the beat of your running pace. Running at this new, slower speed will help you run farther, and make the whole experience actually enjoyable, which will make you want to keep it up.

5. Figure out your three-day-per-week schedule. Yep, that's all you need at first. Just do one day during the week where you run about 3-4 miles, but at medium effort, one day a week where you run 4 miles at easy effort, and make Saturday your long run day. That means each Saturday you schedule time to start running a little longer each week (I liked starting at 8:30AM so it was out of the way by noon). If your race isn't for a good 4-5 months, you can build in a mile or two more every other week, dropping back in mileage every fifth week. Three days is all you need at first, and then you can start adding in a fourth easy run day as you grow accustomed to running, and your long runs get in the 7+ mile range. Beyond this, it's best to check out the tips at Runner's World, since I'm no expert, but I will say that doing a 3-4 day schedule really helped me not get burnt out, and not have to make excuses to myself about it not fitting into my schedule and dropping out completely.

6. Last but not least, suit up. Yep, it's your excuse to go out and buy a whole new running wardrobe. After running in whatever old cotton T-shirt and cotton leggings I had around the house and flattened out sneakers, I can honestly say the stuff they sell in running shops makes ALL the difference. When you're wearing materials that wick away sweat, it's one less thing you have to worry about in the cold or heat, plus, they really prevent chafing, and of course, make you feel completely AWESOME.

Optional: find a running buddy who's training for the same event you are. Some people love running alone, or at the very least, don't think they'll be able to keep up a conversation while running, but others, as I found with myself, love the distraction of talking about whatever, especially during long runs. In the last month before the marathon, the month where I clocked a 13, 15, 17, 18 and 20 miler, having my running buddy Jen right there with me to remember to eat, drink and, of course talk about guys, helped me make it through.

Good luck and of course, hit me up with any questions and I'll do my best to answer!

done and done

I did it!

Someone please cue Chariots of Fire!

I really did it! I completed my first-ever marathon. 26.2 miles of cobblestones and courage (that one's for you WDers!)

And now, if you'll indulge me...a looooong, emotional post-race recap:

After a carb-filled dinner and Team in Training pre-marathon ceremony (full of encouraging words from inspiring people who've raised tens of thousands for cancer research), I went to sleep more than a little wary of what was to come the next day, but more or less calm.

It's true. I wasn't nervous. Which, OK, made me a little nervous. But really, I felt remarkably calm about the whole thing, managing to fall right to sleep, despite the jetlag and sharing the room with a team member I'd just met. For once, which is not usual for me, I was filled with trust. Trust for my coaches and trust that the training process had worked, and that I'd be able to cross the finish line the next day without crazy amounts of pain in a reasonable amount of time. I'd done the long runs. They weren't soooo bad. And now it was time to do it again.

When I woke up, instead of a surge of adrenaline, I felt sleepy, and hungry, and in need of coffee. I pulled on my gear, making the last-minute decision to stick with the same, ankle-length tights that had gotten me through my last five long runs in training. I fretted over a long-sleeve vs. short sleeve tee under my singlet, but only for a few minutes, and then went to join my friends for breakfast.

Maybe it was pre-traumatic stress syndrome (is that a syndrome?!), but at breakfast I was more excited than scared. I just wanted to get to the start line and get the show on the road. As we made our way the half-mile or so toward the Colosseum, where the race would begin, it started to hit me a little that we were really going to do this. We got to the baggage checks, handed over our post-race affairs, and tried to make last-minute bathroom runs. (No lines--Europeans prefer peeing outside to porta-potties.)

But still, no butterflies. Really all I could think about was whether my running buddy, Jen, might want to go slightly faster to make her 5-hour time goal, and that meant I'd have 42 kilometers worth of in-my-own-head time to fill. My head was filled with logistics rather than nerves.

But as the gun went off, even those planning anxieties quickly began to evaporate. Running felt good. Feet hitting the pavement felt good. Arms felt good. Clothes felt good. Even the crowds hurtling quickly past Jen and I to get to faster time blocks felt good (the race wasn't exactly as well organized as New York, and anyone who wasn't an elite runner was just coralled in all together at the start, so there was the elbowing I was expecting.)

We careened (and I say that word very purposefully because of our turtle-like gait), down avenue blocks out toward the north of the city, trying to best set our pace. We noticed the 4-hour pacers run by, then the 4 1/2, then finally the 5, and then there we were, at the back of the pack, trying our best to determine whether to try to keep up or not. Go slightly faster? Or not. I could see more purple-shirters (fellow Team in Training teammates) than Euros, but I was determined not to let any outside influences get to me.

For the first six miles, a bunch of thoughts finally, quickly, came rushing to my head as all the pre-race calmness began to subside. "Look," I started saying to myself, "The five-hour people just ran by, and Jen wants to be in that category, should I speed up? No, don't. You promised yourself you wouldn't. Does she think I'm going ridiculously slow? Is she getting mad I'm holding her back? I hate that feeling; maybe I should tell her to go ahead. But I need her. On every long run, she's been at my side, telling me when the hours have passed and eating our gels together. It's been the magic ingredient to all the great long runs I've had. The least I can do is try to keep up with her. But if I do, I might break down at the end." And on and on and on the thoughts went.

Then, a prickle than ran through my knee. And the terrain was…ugly—this part of the stretch was all highways and over-passes and post-war industrial buildings. This wasn't what I'd signed up for? And where were the crowds cheering us on, and saying our names like in New York? Every so often there'd be a meek little old lady or 50-something man squinting to make out the writing on my jersey, but before he could get it out, I'd already have flown past him. Just one real "Uh, go Meeg" was all I'd gotten so far.

It was only mile five and half and my brow was starting to furrow. Uh oh, was this going to be a...bad run?

But then something major happened. Lost in my own quickly downward-spiraling head, I didn't hear her at first, but then Jen said it again, "Want to stop and have a goo? We're almost at the one hour mark?" "Wow, really?" I replied. Usually we'd been chatting for the whole time and this marker would have come with more warning. But either way, it came, and having our first gel signified one thing to me: We'd managed to run a quarter of the way already, and soon we'd be feeling high from the just-right mix of chemicals. The worst was over.

Almost as if the city of Rome itself knew it was time to give us a break, the six-mile mark brought us back into some of the most beautiful areas of the city--the Villa Borghese, and other beautiful monuments. Now we were cruising past giant, sweeping willows and 17th-century palazzos. It was like the Italian version of Brookline in Boston--all old, moneyed beatiful mansions on either side, the perfect eye-candy for mid-race runners.

Then, something else incredible happened. We met a fellow American, and by some amazing stroke of luck, he was a talker. He was 37 and had quit his bank job in Massachusetts (my home state) and gone back to school to study Italian at UMass Amhearst. He was currently studying abroad in Sienna, and wanted to give us a rundown of all his exploits. We could barely get a word in edgewise but before we knew it, we were rounding mile 13. Just right before—and we almost missed it talking about the Red Sox—St. Peter's Basicalla and the Vatican came up right before our eyes. Since it was Sunday, a priest or bishop was out saying mass, and secretly, I began to feel a little bit blessed. We'd been running just under 2 1/2 hours, and not a phantom knee, foot or side pain was to be had. I felt good—high. We almost had to force ourselves to take a five-minute break at the water station to knead our muscles, loosen up and do a salt shot. Our friend found a nice semi-private bush to do his business and we were off again.

After more than an hour-long survey of all his partying and mid-life realizations, he found a pretty girl who'd unfortunately shot her knee to slow down and walk with, and we were left alone again, but it was all worth it. We checked in with Ramon, our head coach (how did he know to find us on the least-crowded area of the race). He told us we looked great (I was still all smiles!) and said the words that probably saved me, "You should now be running at a pace you could run all day long and not get tired." Jen and I could honestly say that we were. He ran off to find other purple-shirts, and we remarked how great we were feeling. Then Jen raised an eyebrow at me that signified a whole lot more. Maybe, just maybe, at this rate we'd come in in under five hours.

Miles 13 to 18 weren't the most fun, running basically on highways with nonexistent crowds to cheer us on. But we didn't really know what to expect, and in hindsight, that was probably what kept us going in those lackluster upper teens. Luckily, the sponge and water stations dotting each 3-kilometer marker were well-stocked and crowd-free. As always I love a good lost-in-translation moment, and seeing "liquids," "salts" and "solids"—signs that meant "water," "Gatorade" and "orange slices," was amazingly fun to remark on time after time.

Finally, we rounded the 18-mile marker uphill, which meant we were heading back into Rome. Jen and I had slowed to a silent, yet still lockstep, rhythm. I'd run a little faster ahead, then slow down, then she'd catch up, going a little faster, then slow down. It really wasn't intentional at this point. I'm pretty sure our bodies had taken over, calculating for themselves the exact best pace to run, factoring the sun, wind, incline, effort and remaining energy. We'd started hunching, and mildly musing at petty annoyances (OK, complaining—but only a little). But then we'd look at one another at every water or sponge station cautiously, like, "Does this mean we might not hit the infamous wall?"

Jen made fun of me for it, but at this point, I'd long since learned my defense mechanism of choice was distraction. Any chance I'd get, I'd strike up a conversation—with French guys, with a U.K. guy, with Scottish ladies. Even if they wouldn't engage for very long, it made getting to mile 20 possible.

And then there it was: Mile 20. I'd never run farther than this before in my life. Jen, who'd run two marathons previously, had, but not for a long time. We were entering the home stretch, and heading back into the touristy part of Rome, and all of a sudden it hit me: I knew I was going to finish strong.

Then it started. My smile. It started growing even wider than it had been all race until I was almost beaming. It's not like I'm trying to brag here—I really don't know where the grinning cue came from because at this point my brain had become as soupy as the now-familiar goo I'd grown to love, and synapses, though they may have been firing, weren't creating any new thoughts that could be uttered or acted out.

My coaches, perched strategically at 21 and 22, noticed, and their encouragment gave me a new wind. I'd say it was my second, but probably closer to third or fourth. I had taken the time to stop and stretch out one last time around 19 or so, and take another hit of salt (thanks, Lenny's), and maybe it was that, or just sheer desire to be done, but I found myself speeding up.

We ran past the Palazza Navonna, and I saw my dear friend, Ali, cheering me on. Saw was loose, since really, my eyes were focused narrowly on the cobblestones trying desperately to find the straightest, smoothest path to follow. In a blur, I ran by a few other coaches, and the 37 km sign, and at this point, I wasn't about to translate to miles, but it seemed promising. I think I heard an announcer call me Principessa Meg, which seemed very apt at the time, and I heard police whistles urging pedestrians not to cross. I describe the sights and sounds, because now, nothing was being put into any larger context. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other. I felt like a cross between an animal and a machine.

Pump right fist as left foot touches pavement. Pump left fist as right foot touches pavement. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep fists low. Bring shoulders down. Breathe through nose. Out through mouth. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. F***ing cobblestone. Repeat.

At this point, it was me, other purple shirts and the faster runners who'd shot their knee. They were all walking, like ghosts trying to find a way to the white light. But not me. The pride I felt that at mile 23 and 24 and 25 to be running was the last little bit of motivation I needed. As I flew past the Spanish Steps, and then the Trevi Fountain and toward the Boulevard XX Septembre, I sped up, knowing there was one, final thing that could get me through....

duh, duh, nah..duh, duh, nah...dunun nah dunnun nah dedudduh nan....yep, that's right, the Theme from Rocky.

I started wheezing/chanting/singing it as loud as I could without completely freaking out my fellow runners, and then a few steps later, there it was right before me...the Colosseum. The end.

It was now kilometer 40, and that meant only a mile and half left. As I got closer and closer, the Rocky theme had gone through about three run-throughs and it was time for something else: Yep, Gloria Gaynor.

"At first I was afraid, I was petrified, kept thinking how could I ever live without you by my side, and I spent oh-so-many nights thinking how you did me wrong and I grew STRONG, and I knew how to get along..."

And at that, I lost it. I choked up completely. They say many people start crying and huge waves of emotion hit them as they're crossing the finish line, but still, this feeling welling up took me completely by surprise. It was like finally, after a day and a half, my body, mind and heart all fell into alignment and a surge of feeling came flooding through like a shock wave.

I. Was. Going. To. Do. This.

Memories came flooding up. I thought about the past eight years living in New York. The early hard times in New York... getting laid off, and September 11, and being broke and Erik, and family hardships and everything I'd gone through. I went back even deeper, to that little girl in gym class who couldn't run the mile without getting all red-faced, and teased. I thought about how far I'd come since then with all my training, but that even still, I hadn't really believed I could do this. But I was about to prove that I could. And then a new song came to mind...

WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, my friend....WE'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING, til the end. WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS, NO TIME FOR LOSERS, WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS...of the world.

And, of course, out of no where, up pops my coach Ramon. He commends me once again on my huge smile and tells me how proud he is of me. I tell him thank you, I would have never done this without him and the team, and he tells me that I was the one coming to practice every week, and that he knows how hard I worked. And that really, all that was left now, was to figure out how I was going to cross the finish line, and of course, how I was going to misbehave at the end.

As I coasted the four minutes toward the finish, I could make out something in the distance. It read 5:01, which meant, subtracting my 7-minute start time, I could potentially cross at just about five hours. I didn't care about the exact time, so I just kept my pace (it was what had gotten me this far) took off my feul belt, and crossed the finish line just like I'd run this whole time, with a huge smile on my face, singing one of my favorite songs, "All you need is love."

To be honest, when I crossed over, it was a little anti-climatic. I'd parted from Jen and my fellow purple shirts were ahead a bit. I hobbled around in a daze, looking for anyone I could find. Then my legs began to turn into wood. And really, the rest is history. No thoughts went through my brain. I was in a state of pure, sweet euphoria. Well, OK, there was maybe one thought:

When could I do it again.

Postscript: Thank you, so, so, so much for all your kindnesses, words of encouragement, Facebook comments, donations, and most importantly, your friendship. This has been one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and I couldn't have done it without you. So if you're reading this, and have been a supporter from the start, or even just along the way, know that your face, your words, and your thoughts came up in my head at least a few times during the race, and each step I took, I owe it to you. To be continued....

xoxo, Meg

closing in

T minus 13 days and counting.

I've finished all my long runs and now begins the tapering period. (Imagine freaking-out noises here). I actually bought the Rome portion of my trip, meaning there's no backing out now. As a way to soothe my anxiety-ridden soul, I'd like to dedicate this post to all the words of advice I've so far gathered along my way about the big day and what to expect:

1. You've put in all the work, and now just trust your coaches. This great piece of advice was given to me by a fellow Rome runner and cancer survivor. He's always at practice, always smiling, and he's completed countless triathlons and marathons since beating cancer a while back. He seems to know what he's talking about, so I'm going to take his word on this one.

2. Don't let any negative thoughts enter your mind. This one was given to me by my friend Weatherly, who's run two marathons so far, NYC and Chicago. She's one of those people who makes training seem easy. She's completely dedicated and disciplined and she embodies the "just do it," thing I mentioned earlier.

3. You can always run double your longest run. Not sure who said this, actually. Maybe it's a training urban legend. I'd like to believe it's true, and think it must go back to the days when hunter-gatherers would find themselves far away from home, and in order to survive, they had to be able to run the same distance back that they ran out. Who knows, but if the logic is true, then right now I can run 18, so I can really run 36?! That must mean 26.6 is no probs, right.

4. You're going to hit the wall at 18, then start bargaining with yourself about stopping when you reach the 20s. This one came from my friend Jess, who also ran a marathon. She, like me, was doing it to prove it to herself that she could as kind of a one time deal thing, and more realistically, I can see myself falling into this camp over the Weatherlys of the world.

5. It'll be over too soon. Kind of the opposite of number four, but I'd like to believe the adrenaline and endorphins will kick in and any minor aches and pains aside, I'll be high on life that day. Here's hoping this is the case!

ULM Hot List

Things about running I'm loving this week:

1. New Jersey. Seriously. Running over the George Washington Bridge to the beautiful trails along the Hudson on the Jersey side reinvigorated me this weekend. Before I knew it I'd run six miles, then another seven, then 17. Crazy!

2. Hills. Again, counterintuitive, but I think I've realized in running, and in life, like that old lady in Parenthood said, I prefer the highs and the lows of the rollercoaster. Running up is hard, but then you get to run down.

3. Painted brown wooden signs with the wording carved out. Just a random observation, but the '70s-style signage takes me back to my childhood of summers at Girl Scout camp.

4. Secret beaches. Who knew there'd be a quiet little spot along the Hudson River where you can lay out and take in the sun. Need to go back there.

5. Running alone. I'd never run a long run without a jogging buddy until yesterday morning. I think I was afraid the boredom would derail me, but it turned out to be just the opposite. I kind of fell out of my head yesterday, and besides coming up with the idea for this post, not much else was going on for three full hours.

6. Brain mush. I love the feeling of not being able to think for up to 24 hours after a long run. I can barely get words out, but the ones that do get spoken seem to be the ones that matter.

7. Sharing. Doesn't matter what type--sharing advice, sharing water, sharing encouragement--I've just noticed runners tend to do more of it.

8. Saturday nights. There's nothing better than destroying all the good work you've done that morning with a few celebratory glasses of whatever.

9. Pretzles and cranberry juice. I may have found my perfect running nutrition mix.

10. Magic Runs. Okay, this is really just an addendum to number five, but I'm so grateful for those days when a three-hour run seems to go by in minutes. You're just enjoying the scenery around you, the air hitting your face, and the feeling of your body moving on its own. It's like you've found a secret running worm hole.

Just doing it

It's so funny how you can hear something over and over, and never really get it for years and years and then one day, a whole new meaning snaps into sharp focus, like a camera lens adjusting from background to foreground.

Of course, like most iconic ads, the Nike slogan had taken up residence in one of my brain files, and like most people, I always associated it with sports and training. But recently, all the running's made me see it in a whole new light.

Instead of looking at like a command to start something, make a vow, take the plunge, jump right in, etc. I'm now seeing it in in the meditative, repetative sense. Like, "you've gone all in already, now finish what you started."

You see, for me, the "just do it" part has always been the hardest. Starting, or coming up with the big idea, is easiest, and trying it out for the next 24 hours, second easiest, but the period between that and the finish point, the mastering part, not so easy.

I usually either get bored, and procrastinate until it gets done in a long, drawn-out painful way, or give up.

So, it's been kind of miraculous that I've managed to not bail out on the day-in, day-out training, and have instead, sucked it up, and continue to "just do it."

Like, last night, we were running the last part of a six-week series on hills. The first week we had started out at the easiest, most modest inclines in Central Park, near the west side of the resevoir, moved on to Cleo's Needle, and the East side hills, then, went to the Hill on the east side near Harlem, and finally last night was the long, drawn-out, steep Harlem Hill.

The plan was to start running up at full effort, then half way up, switch to practicing good form. The goal was to completely tire out by the time you reached the top, then regain your energy levels with a slow jog down. Then, repeat. Well, I thought they'd have us do it three, maybe four times, then jog back to 90th and Madison. But after five times, with my head coach Ramon giggling as I huffed and puffed by, I started to think, hey, he doesn't look like he has any intention of ending this pain anytime soon. (Little did I know we'd continue on for 10 full mile-long jogs up and down!!!)

But instead of panicking like I would have before, spiraling into thoughts of my legs or lungs giving out after one more, they-must-be-effing-kidding-me uphill run, my brain switched into foreign territory. Just as I usually do now when entering a difficult, but familiar challenge, like editing a service article, or stepping foot on foreign soil and needing to navigate the transportation system, my brain registered an obstacle, but bypassed stress mode, and clicked into simple solution mode. "Just do it," was the cue that came up. Not in an angry tone. More like a shrug-your-shoulders, resigned voice. Like, "You've got this. Now, just do it. Whatever."

"Okay, I thought, "I will." No stress. No sweat. Just put one leg in front of the other and keep breathing. Simple solution.

After 10 or so weeks, I've moved out of the freshman, wet-behind-the-ears phase, and am now in execution mode--auto-pilot--where the real work occurs, just doing it until it gets done.

And it's fun.

a prayer to the running gods

Are you there God? It's me, Meghann.

I know I haven't been in touch for a little while--I'm so sorry about that and I promise to be better about it, but I think you know what I've been up to these days.

And yes, I'm about to hit you up for a few things. I know, I know. Everyone does that. Why don't they thank you once and a while too? Well, first of all, thank you very, very much for sending me that Team in Training brochure, making me check off Rome, sending me amazing friends to help me raise the money, legs that don't seem to be giving out on me yet, and that sale at Running World last week--that was awesome, thank you.

Okay, now for the asks.

Goos. I love them, and thank you for making the chemical plants that somehow make slimy liquid taste like espresso, that is wonderful. (You should probably close down all other chemical plants making things that are bad for us--just keep the espresso-goo-making ones open until March 22.) But, can I ask that you make ones that taste like cookies or cupcakes or brownies or what about pizza-flavored Combos? Just keep mixing it up. Thanks.

My legs. I'd LOVE it if you could keep the left one in good working order until March 22. That locking/seizing feeling in my knee is no good. I'll do my part by keeping up the lunges and squats, but Lord--and by Lord, I mean you--Lord knows how much I hate them. So, actually, what I'm asking is for you to create a new form of leg exercise that gives you the results of lunges and squats but feels like your head softly hitting the pillow...

Saved By the Bell. Can you somehow finagle the crew to reverse in age, go back to their high school, and pump out new episodes. I'm really enjoying watching it at the gym while I do my treadmill runs on Thursday mornings. This one might be tough, but really, what are Tiffani Amber and Marc Paul doing anyway--Mario Lopez might be the only hold out. Can you do this with the Golden Girls, too--those ladies are so funny. That cheesecake bit will never get old.

Fundraising ideas. I am doing great with it, but it's coming down to wire and I don't think I can ask my friends to do any more drinking for me. It just feels so wrong to turn them into a bunch of alcoholics (especially my pregnant friends.) Pizza, pasta, come on, let's brainstorm...throw out any ideas, don't worry if they're bad.

Popular Music. Okay, "All the Single Ladies" was inspired, and Britney's comeback--beautiful, but please, please can you get our favorite popstars to raise the bass up a notch? It's like, what happened to '90s-style Ace of Bass, TLC, House of Pain, anything hip-hoppy that can serve as my new anthem. I don't care if it turns my brains to soup it's so manufactured--I just need something that will get me past mile 15. Is that so much to ask?

I know the universe appreciates grattitude, so thank you for taking care of all this in advance.

xoxo, Meg

back to basics

It's fun to feel sorry for yourself sometimes, but after a day or two of wallowing, it's time to take stock of what happened, figure out what went wrong, then come up with a plan so it won't happen again.

This past Sunday's run wasn't my best ever, but after a good e-mail exchange from my coach, and a few encouraging words of advice from friends, I've managed to put it into perspective.

First of all, bad runs happen to everyone. "It's totally normal to have off days and off runs," says my Rome head coach. "A lot of it has to do with sleep. Not the night before before, but the two or three nights before."

This past week I wasn't feeling so great, and kind of just pretended it wasn't happening (I never like to admit that I'm having a cold.) I thought loading up on Thera-Flu every night would do the trick, but I can see how my sleeping wasn't the highest quality or quantity.

"It also has to do with nutrition, like how much salt you took in before the race, since salt helps hold onto water in your body."

Thanks to daily toast and eggs, and a mac and cheese with ham dinner the night before (thanks, Weath and Noah), I'm not so sure this was the culprit, but I did feel like try as I could, I couldn't satisfy my thirst that morning.

"And when the course is different or the weather's different and you're not expecting it, it can throw you for a loop."

That was definitely the case--I thought I'd be excited to run on new terrain (and see the Bronx!), but the course was full of street hills, and I hate to say it, but made up of two long, straight sloping roads that were kind of soul killing.

And today at practice I learned that 8, even 10 miles, isn't so hard on your legs, but mileage after that run on legs whose muscles aren't built up enough can be damaging, since after the quads give out, it's like running on sneakers that have been worn too long and that have gone flat--you're really just pounding on the joints around your knees and ankles. Regular cross training to build them up is the only thing that keeps that from happening...

Okay, I get it, I get it, it's time to bust out the squats and lunges at least once a week from now on.

But the best advice came from my friend Greg, who reminded me (sweetly) that I still finished, and that if the "me" who was just beginning were to ever come face-to-face with the "me" now complaining about the fact that my time was four minutes off my last 1/2 race time, she would laugh in my face. Thanks, Greg.

Plus, some apt words of wisdom he borrowed to prove his point made me realize I am taking myself waaaaaay too seriously right now...

"Ladies is pimps, too, go and brush your shoulders off."

bronx bombing

Eh.

Okay, it's more than just eh.

After a few great weeks of runs feeling fun, easy and progressing upward in mileage, this morning's half marathon in the Bronx was not good. The kind of bad run that starts iffy, gets a little better, but then at the half-way point, you're realizing you're not going to make your fastest time, and you might even half to walk you're in so much pain. And you're so far behind the main group, it's just you, the frat guys who way overshot their fitness levels, the grandmas, and the guys in funny costumes. And then something new happened (I hesitate to even admit this for fear of jinxing myself), but my knee started to hurt in that funky way you definitely do not want it to. I was supposed to complete 15 miles today, my longest so far, but even making it to the finish was pretty rough, so I just kept it at the 13.1.

And after feeling so much love from my friends and family this week, words of support, people telling them that I inspire them, this morning's run wasn't just physically painful, but it made me feel like a phony.

I should probably not do these post-mortems while I a) haven't even eaten yet after the race and b) my brain is still a little mushy and not thinking logically, but I have to get it out there.

I'll be back in a few to go through all the reasons why this could have happened this week.

clear headed

Running long distances does funny things to your brain.

Big picture thinker that I am, whenever I take on a new project, or come up with a big idea, my brain starts spiraling into the future. What are all the possibilities? How could I make it bigger, better? On good days, this enthusiasm gets me inspired. On bad days, it can me me feel totally overwhelmed.

So with this marathon, it's been one of the biggest lessons, hurdles, challenges, whatever, to try not to do this. Running 26 miles in a foreign country could play out many different ways. On those happy run days, my projections predict that it will life-changing. On not-so-great run days, I don't even want to get into where my mind goes.

As you can imagine, all this overthinking does not always make for a fun training experience, but it's hard to shut my brain off.

So, I'm thankful when miraculously it does. And through no effort on my part besides lacing up and putting one foot in front of the other. Usually it happens at the last mile before I'm done with my long run. Today, my running friend Mariel and I were trying to calculate our pace for 11 miles, and funnily enough we couldn't do it. For some reason, figuring out what six miles at one hour and six minutes plus five miles at 56 miles was was an impossible challenge neither of us could work out. We literally couldn't do it. We laughed for a few minutes, and then focused on what we could: the very next thing we were going to do when we got home. For Mariel, it was a big coffee. For me, it was bath tub filled with the hottest water my pipes could pump out.

That's it. Nothing more in our brains. It was so peaceful. I felt high. Maybe that's the definition of living in the moment, so elusive to most of us (to me, at least): a literal light-headedness where suddenly what's really important becomes abundantly clear. Whatever our bodies were craving was all that really mattered. Only that next step, not the millions that would come afterward.

And that bath sure felt good.

what thirteen means

I just finished running my first half marathon: 13.1 miles of hills, downhills, leg cramps and gatorades, cheers and tears. Here are 13 things I learned. Count down with me:

13. Suprisingly 13.1 is actually no harder than 10. Once you're in double digits, they all turn your upper legs to petrified tree stumps toward the end.

12. Banana-Strawberry Powerade Gel realy works. Well. At mile six, it was like a shot of adrenaline, and I had at least one mile under 10 minutes. Amazing.

11. You need to go at your own pace. Sometimes too slow is just as bad as too fast. Feeling like you could be running faster, pushing yourself just a little more can mentally take you down just as a sidesplitting too-fast-start can.

10. People still continue to amaze you. Again, today, I saw a man running with one perfect leg, and one titanium version, covered in the American flag. I saw him just as I started, and then just as I was finishing. I don't want to say I took it as a sign, but okay, yes, I took it as a sign.

9. Expectations and "realistic" assumptions usually don't end up happening. Trusting yourself, faith, holding out hope and lucky coincidences usually do.

8. On the way up Harlem Hill, a well-placed and loudly chanted "woo hoo" keeps you going like nothing else can.

7. '90s techno and Cher songs never will ever sound as good as they do at mile 12.

6. Some people cough. Some people spit. Some people sing to themselves. When I'm hurting, sad to say, I get cute, Palin-style, blurting random, but unneccessary observations like, ""do you believe in life after love," sounds good right now, right ladies?!? Can I get a 'woo hoo'?!?" Yeah, I'm working on that.

5. Bootcamp-style army chants sung by volunteers trying to make you smile are the best.

4. People yelling at you to stay to the left, over and over, are the worst.

3. I'd love to say I had a big realization today, at this significant marker of half-waydom, but really all I could think about was the Bloody Mary I'd be handily downing at Freds this time.

2. It's not a sin to take a taxi from 72nd Street home to 83rd St. when you've run for two and a half hours.

1. Speaking of, you just ran for two and half freaking hours. Say it with me now...Woo....hoo...

my new crushes

Move over Don Draper.

One of the less consequential but interesting side effects of running makes you seek out like-minded souls similarly pushing themselves beyond their limits. Thus my new obsession with the men of Discovery Channel.

Again, I'm jumping in mid second or third season as usual, but right now I'm obsessed with Bear Grylls from Man vs. Wild and Les Stroud from Survivorman.

I don't know why but seeing these men make lean-tos out of camel carcusses (carcussai?) or scale glacial ice walls chimney-style (yes, I've picked up a whole new vocab), makes Anthony Bourdain (my last crush) just seem fey in comparison.

Yes, they're hot (well, Bear more than Les), and have sexy accents (again, Bear more than Les) but I think I just admire their ability to not freak out in the face of adversity, (as I've been doing that pretty much every long-run Saturday). Bear seems to take a few quick puffs of air in and out before doing something really scary like jumping into a Yukon river buck naked so wet clothes won't turn him hypothermic. Les, I think, calms his nerves by imaging the camera is actually a person.

Okay, I'll always be partial to whiskey-swilling '60s advertising execs, but these days something about a man enthusiastically tucking into fresh goat testes is just plain sexy.

half-way point

It's January 20. Amost exactly two months since I started training for the Rome marathon, and I've got exactly two more months to go. This past Saturday, I ran 10 miles. (Double digits in sub-zero temps, can I get a woo hoo?! I think I may have hallucinated a polar bear or penguin or two). This Saturday I plan to run my first-ever half marathon!

When I first started, I knew it wouldn't just be about running the distance, or raising the money, but I had no idea what realizations would be in store. At this mid-way point, I wanted to share the biggest and the best ones I've come to know so far.

First of all, successfully completing a marathon has less to do with that first, initial big jump into the deep end, where you sign your life away and tell all your friends, and more to do with a collection of a million small choices along the way. This is true of any big goal. You make one choice, then another, then another, and before you know it, you're half way there. Another little secret: Most of the time, it's about choosing the hard choice. You brave through your fear of not knowing anyone on the team, and choose to smile and meet new people, over caving to social anxiety. You put on your running gear instead of staying in your work clothes and head out to Tuesday practice even though it might mean a little career suicide. You turn down a friend's party invite even though you could have met the love of your life there. You decide to get up at 6:30 AM on a Saturday in minus seven and run 10 miles instead of sleeping in. Pretty soon though, the collection of hard choices produces the result you desire. And even more surprisingly, the hard choices actually start to become the easier ones.

Secondly, achieving big, improbable goals boils down to looking at what is, not what isn't. Seeing the downhill not the uphill that comes before it. Hearing Kanye West's "Stronger" click onto your iPod, not your breathing getting heavier as you struggle through mile 6 or 7. Hearing the beautiful ring of a coach chearing, "looking good," not feeling the little pins of pain in your side as you stride by. Seeing visions of the Colosseum, not the $4,000 you have to make to get there, or the 16 extra miles your still have to run on top of the 10 you've clocked in. Being thankful for a body that is and always has been cancer-free and legs and lungs that help you go a little faster and farther each practice, not cursing it for being one of the slow ones.

Finally and most importantly, you learn that marathons are not run alone. And I don't mean a bunch of other people on the course. I may be the one out there putting one foot in front of the other, but throughout this journey, it's been the thousands of little words of encouragement, support and kindnesses from everyone I know (and many I just meet) that have carried me to this point. The thing sealing the deal on those hard choices isn't me. It's not some steel-cut determination or point to prove, it's all the people around me. It's the staggeringly generous but completely unexpected donation from a good family member that gets me out there one day. The friend who listens to me go on and on an on about these mini a-ha moments on another day. It's the coworker who tells me about her own marathon experiences and how great it was on another day. It's the guy at practice who hands me his last goo on another. It's the nice guy at the subway station who calls me beautiful and tells me to keep it up. It's the words of encouragement from runner friends in e-mails that pop into my inbox just as I'm about to give up. It's the donation from a long-ago work colleague or very sweet ex-boyfriend that reminds me to keep at it, and it's the story from a woman, one Saturday morning before practice, who tells us that after years and years of dating at age 33 she found her soulmate, her heart, and then two years later, he learns he has chronic myeloid leukemia. And that if this were 10 years ago, he wouldn't make it until his next birthday, but because of a miracle drug called Gleevec, invented only a few years back, he's now in remission and still hanging on, and that thanks to all us who've made it out there in the freezing cold, she still has her man.

I'll be running the marathon in body on March 22, but it's all of you, all of this, that will bring me there.

best parts of the park

On my nine-mile run this afternoon, I cycled through all my favorite mind tricks, and they were working fine--up until mile 6. I was coming over the last hill near 84th, where I usually complete the full loop, and realized this might be my favorite part of the park. There is a nice steady decline coming from the resevoir to the 81st street entrance, and then just over the hill comes the satisfying completion mark. There's nothing better than that feeling and combined with a hill allowing you to run a little faster, it's pure bliss.

Other favorites include:

The downward hill at 110th Street and the East Side. I just love coming around the bend, seeing the pool/ice rink with kids playing and then coasting down along on the windiest, quietest stretch of the six-miler.

The flat stretch hugging the resevoir on the East Side. It's just long, straight, and I find myself able to zone out a little easier here.

The downward hill on 105th Street on the West Side. No surprise here. After the park's longest, slowest upward incline, this downward slope is one long self-congratulatory adrenaline rush.

The Hill at 75th on the East Side. What? One of the park's most difficult parts? I think it's because it was the first time I was able to run up this hill without stopping that made me think I could take on a marathon. Every time I conquer it, it's a mini success that reminds me anything's possible.

a new obsession: the post-race high

Some runners could tell you every race time they've ever clocked, other's, what gear or goo you need for optimum results, for me, it's been reading Runner's World, magazine editor that I am. But after this morning's race, I think I've found a new obsession: the post-race high.

I'm sure this observation might go in the category of "most obvious ones ever," but to me, running hasn't ever been about the race. Every time I run, it's more like a chance to see if I can prove that little voice in my head wrong, the one that says, even though you ran TK miles or TK pace last time, you'll never be able to do anything more than that. It's also about being in my own head for long periods of quiet time, observing whatever comes up, relishing the good stuff, not running away from the bad. Maybe it's because I'm secretly afraid of failure, but I've turned my nose up at time obessions and ultra-competativeness as something that's a little too type-A--something real runners do, not toe-dippers like me.

So this morning, running with my friend's Jen and Holly, I was suprised to find myself checking the time boards to see what pace I was running (58:55 for five miles); finishing the race at full steam, and for the first time, viewing my participation as something more than the soletary endeavor that's just about me and my goal, but as more; being part of a likeminded community, who had all come together for something bigger than themselves. And almost like a junkie, the post-race high felt stronger to me this time. I know I'll be needing another fix soon.

So yes, I'll let myself say it: I'm becomming a "runner," I think.