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Saturday, January 31, 2009

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.

Sunday, January 25, 2009

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...

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

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.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

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.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

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.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

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.
 
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