Math Class, 11.09

Happy December everyone! Just 31 more days and the holidays are OVER (yes!). I’m just sitting around as my turkey soup simmers, so I figured I’d put up some numbers for you (and me).

RUNNING
Total Mileage: 86.75 (+11.6%)
Total number of workouts: 18 (+28.6%)
Average distance per workout: 4.82 (-13.2%)

BLOGGING
Total Posts: 23 (+53.3%)
Total number of views: 4,071 (+12.4%)
Average daily views: 136ish (+16.2%)

TOP POSTS
(have opted not to include the “About TK” page as this is not an actualy post)
*the triumverate (again)
*a race report
*a flashback (again)

NY Rangers vs Pittsburgh Penguins

Through an odd alliance at the office, I was given a ticket to tonight’s Rangers game against the Penguins at Madison Square Garden. (The last time I’d been in the Garden? The Millrose Games!)

I haven’t seen a live hockey game since I was in the single digits and the NY Islanders were winning Stanley Cup after Cup. Mom and Dad took me and Brother to a game at Nassau Colliseum, which was A Big Deal. I remember being riveted, cheering my lungs out (for the Islanders, natch). That memory induced me to accept the ticket–that, and the tantalizing possibility of blood on the ice. Yes, I just wanted to see the gloves come off. MMA chilled, if you will.

Whoa. Rangers fans are really dedicated! And they all dress alike–hockey jersey and jeans. No variation on the theme. White guy, white guy, white guy, white lady, white guy, white guy. A lot of ‘em look like they’ve taken a frying pan to the face one too many times, too. I am not being judgemental–I’m just used to the suits who come to baseball games on summer nights.

Being a hockey novice, I had no idea of the rules and never understood why they were booing and shouting things like, “Fuck this!” I was determined to catch on, because I too wanted to contextually yell “Fuck this!” in public. Alas, it all moved entirely too quickly for me, so I mostly gave up trying to follow the game and instead paid attention only to see when and if a fight would break out. At one point in the third period it looked like there might be a skirmish, so I shouted “Smash him! Push him! Kick him!” but to no avail. The Pens won, and the Rangers fans drooped out of the arena. Me? I drooped out because I missed the Zamboni.

Head in the Clouds

I am very happy with the results of my Tweet Cloud (the words that have appeared in my tweets the most often over the past 3 months).

(If you are on Twitter I’d love it if you followed me!)

 

Duck Trot 8k

As Woody Harrelson says to Jesse Eisenberg in Zombieland, “Enjoy the Little Things,” (Rule #32) and even though my city is not overrun with a plague of Zombie Virus, I am still going to enjoy this little thing. This little thing being: I won the Duck Trot* today! (And I set a PR.)

Many caveats:

1. I was the first female finisher.
2. I was the 15th finisher overall. (The guy who finished 14th? Yeah he was 65 years old.)
3. There were 48 total competitors, and only 15 other females.
4. This is the first time I’ve ever run an 8k so no matter what it was gonna be a PR.
5. 8 kilometers equals 4.97096954 miles

But who cares! I still won! Whoo hoo! How did I do it? I ran as fast as I effing could. Which turned out to be 39:55, an average 8:02 pace. (That’s the official score. Little G gave me 39:54 over 4.94 miles for an 8:05 average pace. I did run the tangents well.)

These Long Island Road Runners Club races are a super casual thing. There are some middle-aged guys who organize the events, and a couple of nice ladies who collect the money (registration is on-site right before the race–$7 for non-members! What a bargain!), bunched around. Then they don orange “Race Official” vests a few minutes before the start, and make announcements. My favorite: “We just bought a chip timing system!”

And we were off. The pack was small and I could start right up very close to the line, I had to remind myself to take it easy, not to dart out with all the fast guys right away. This resulted in the first mile being my slowest (8:20). From the start I was one of the leading women in the race, but I thought for sure there were others behind me just picking up steam; I tried to conserve some energy so as not to be the dumb outsider who burns up in the first few miles. Somewhere in Mile 2 (8:04) I passed the only other woman I thought was ahead of me, and focused on holding form and maintaining pace in the event that I needed to kick at the end. In Mile 3 (8:00), I picked off a few guys, and decided I llloved the pancake-flat course. Zippityzip, no hills to slow me down. By Mile 4 (8:06), it was just me, my panting, and the back of the older gentleman ahead of me. I kept my eyes pinned on him (he had a good lead on me) and even though I knew I wasn’t going to catch him, I didn’t want him to get any further ahead. My legs were getting heavy, but I knew it was nearly over. I liked the set up–two laps of the same crazy eight’s shaped loop; I could see the progress I was making by landmarks as well as by Little G’s calibrations. I decided to rev it up for the last 0.94 miles of the race (7:23), and sped up as much as I could. I felt my heart hammering in my chest (the minute the race started my heart rate monitor strap promptly slipped off from my ribcage so I ran with it around my waist the entire way). I crossed the finish line alone, with one of the race officials saying softly, “Huh. The first female finisher.” Talk about low-key!

I had no idea what the proper etiquette was as winner and didn’t know what to do next. So I just kind of got some water, walked in circles to catch my breath, and then begun stretching. One of the race officials posted the first batch of results–there was my name, #15 overall and #1 among women. Small smile to myself. I chatted with a few of the other racers, and then headed to my car. Called my dad and woke him up, told him about my win (paternal pride). Drove to my Nana’s house, told her about the win (she thought I was joking). Went to my friend DT’s house (we ran the Arizona Marathon together), told her about the win (high five). Tweeted the win, received lots of happy at-replies. Got home, told Husband. Big hug, then he came back from walking the dog and surprised me with a bouquet of flowers and a soy chai latte.

Everything is relative, and I am completely aware that today’s performance in a NYRR race wouldn’t even get me an age group award. I’ll worry about that some other day. Today, I’m savoring this little thing. Who knew victory tastes like a soy chai latte?

*The LIRRC calls this a Duck Trot instead of a Turkey Trot because Long Island’s unofficial mascot is the duck, which goes back to the region’s historical fame for their duck farms.

Friday Fourish

Kookily, I ran without Little G today. Just plain ole forgot him at home–I trekked into the city for a run around lunchtime and spaced on my green guy. Used my iPod instead to time the run, so I know I ran for 45:25 minutes. I think I ate too much for Thanksgiving; I think I’m retaining water (TMI?) from all the salt in yesterday’s food; I think I am looking forward to tomorrow’s 9-miler and Sunday’s 8k Duck Trot race in Eisenhower Park (put on by the Long Island Road Runners Club.)

Saw Zombieland tonight with Husband. I loved Shaun of the Dead, too. The appeal has to be the zombies’ innate stupidity (stupid is just straight-up funny) combined with the great fun of watching their heads get bashed in, bodies driven over, and brains blown out. Hey, I never claimed it was an intellectual delight. Zombieland provided a new mantra for tough spots in races or workouts: “Time to nut up or shut up.”  And, I extracted a promise from Husband: if New York City is ever overrun with zombies, he will protect me. Phew.

I really like what this running blogger has to say about Matt Fitzgerald’s interview with Kara Goucher about training by feel. In fact, I like Jaymee’s blog in general, there is great back-and-forth in the comments, too.

Here’s a picture of a place  on East 14th Street between 2nd & 3rd Avenues, where I nursed many, many Cosmopolitans with CB in the late 90’s. I was a poor grad student when CB and I would slink in and sit for hours, soaking in the absurdity of the other imbibers and sharing stories of our single girl lives. I snapped it tonight on the way to the movies because it made me happy to remember those times with my best girl.

 

Thanksgiving

At the risk of sounding like a predictable harpy to those of you who have been reading PF for a while, I will point out that Thanksgiving generally (and at best) leaves me cold; I protest holidays and these sorts of traditions on principle. This November, though, I couldn’t muster up my usual anti-holiday piss & vinegar. Even more remarkably, I am in a good mood! I didn’t lob one cross remark at Husband, didn’t snap at Nana or want to push anyone out of my way. I barely even cussed. I’d say it was a Christmas Miracle, ‘cept it ain’t Christmas (thank fucking god).

Few things smell as good as pumpkin pie right out of the oven, which is a fortunate thing indeed since I was up at 5:30 AM to make mine. Its spicy aroma followed me out the door as I left to honor my Thanksgiving tradition–an Over the Bridge and Back 5-miler. Every fourth Thursday of November, I ritualize one of the sweetest runs of the year. Traffic is so light it’s surreal, and inevitably my spirits rise along with my elevation as I summit the Queensboro Bridge. It started last night, when my heart felt so full. There is an abundance of love in my life right now; I’ve done extremely little to deserve it but I’m trying my best to mirror it back at friends, family, comrades-in-arms, fellow runners, whoever needs it. The worst has past and I can feel it deep inside. There are beautiful things to come, there is pain on the horizon, surprise and dismay crouch around the corner. I can’t wait and I’m in no hurry; it’s all good.

This 5-miler is so familiar to me that I think my affection for it has turned into unconditional love. No matter the views, weather, headwinds, traffic or my pace–something along the route always speaks to me. This morning, the city’s skyscrapers were obscured as I ran towards them, cut off at the waist by white fog. Six different runners passed me and my blissed-out grin, surely everyone should run over my bridge today! The river ran smooth and cool, and somewhere on the opposite side of Manhattan teams of people were getting ready to parade down Central Park West to Herald Square. Thank you for my healthy body, thank you for running, thank you for all the strange and dazzling things that make me who I am. Thank you for my brother, and my dad. Thank you for Husband and Matilda, thank you for Nana (who was sweet as cranberry sauce today), thank you for my city and my age and music and wine and love and dancing and blue dresses and traffic and everything else that makes me stop and take it all in. Thank you equally for truth and for dissimulation; thank you for joy so intense I mourn its disappearance even while it is in its throes. Thank you for letting me see people I love grow stronger, smarter and whole; thank you for letting me play a part in that. Thank you for compassion (I love how it goes both ways). Just fucking thank you; life’s been crap and life’s been great and I’ve waited a long time to be able to say I am ready to be exactly where I am (which is, running away then running back).

• Thanksgivings Past (2006 and 2008).
• Vegan Pumpkin Pie.

Songs I ran to: ”Gone Country” by Alan Jackson,  “My Maria” by Brooks & Dunn, “Cowboy Take Me Away” by Dixie Chicks, “Blue Clear Sky” by George Strait, “Here for the Party” by Gretchen Wilson, “Heads Carolina, Tails California” by Jo Dee Messina, “Kiss a Girl” by Keith Urban, “I’m Alive” by Kenny Chesney, “When She Cries” by Restless Heart, “She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful” by Sammy Kershaw, “Where Do I Go Wrong” by Steve Wariner, “Bye Bye” by Jo Dee Messina, “Drive South” by Suzy Bogguss and ”Should’ve Been a Cowboy” by Toby Keith. Bonus Tracks: “Gettin’ You Home” by Chris Young, “Just Got Started Lovin’ You” by James Otto and ”Keep on Lovin’ You” by Steel Magnolia

Clockwise starting at 7: cranberry stuffing, cranberry sauce, gravy, turkey, salad, rolls, sausage stuffing, green beans, creamed spinach. Not pictured: yams with marshmallow and brussel sprouts with baby onions. Dessert: pumpkin pie and apple crumble.

Snoopy! Kermie! Spidey!

In a completely uncharacteristic move today, I headed over to the Upper West Side on the spur of the moment to see the inflation of the Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons. Admittedly, I imagined the balloons spending the night in Central Park, softly bumping against each other on the Great Lawn, patiently queued up along the 102nd Street Transverse, or all huddled together around the bandshell at Bethesda Fountain, waiting for the show to start. Nope. So much for the romance of my running routes being populated with chubby and dumb aircraft–they just close off 81st and 77th Streets at CPW, on either side of the Museum of Natural History. The sidewalks were jammed (and I mean jammed) with kids and mommies and strollers. Every child had a rubber balloon tied to their wrist, which was kind of cute. When I wasn’t taking abstract photos of these massive cartoon characters, I was cracking jokes (The Pillsbury Doughboy tethered face down on the street: “Okay hands on the car fatso! Spread ‘em, lard ass!”) and trying not to cuss out loud. Come on, you can’t expect me to actually be earnest about this holiday shit, can you?!

"Hands where we can see 'em, Chuckles!"

Snoops, lemme borrow your noise-cancelling headphones. This Lucy bitch won't shut up.

Miss Piggy once again practices taekwondo on Kermit.

This dawg is pumped, yo!

"How ironic," Spidey muttered dryly.

Ellipses…

I am grateful for YOU my dear readers, commenters and lurkers alike… How cool is it that Meb Keflezighi will be starring in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade tomorrow? Super fucking cool! (Suck it, Football!)… Followers of pro racing will love this fan’s condensation of the New York City Marathon elite field over the past few years. My friend TS is the same kind of emotional fan I am, do check it out… I added a few links to my blogroll this week. The first is a fledgling social networking site dedicated to NY Metro Area runners. If you’re in this area, do click over and register (and invite me to be a friend)… The second is RJR’s (aka Cowboy Hazel) new blog To Badwater. That’s right, my Green Mountain Relay teammate and newly-minted member of the sub-3-hour-marathon club (Philly), has his sights set on the Badwater Ultramarathon, and he’s agreed to let me crew! Suh-weet, we better start hydrating now… As for the third, I’ve only met her once in person, but she already has my admiration. ES is a super-talented endurance athlete, a generous coach and fundraiser for Team in Training, and now, once again, a blogger… A very strange thread on Twitter got my boasting up and somehow I am now running the Emerald Nuts Midnight Run on December 31 in Central Park in this costume… JG from Run Westchester sent me this link a few days ago. Ah, Kara. Everything she says makes perfect sense to me (except for the part about running 115 miles a week. That I know I can’t do.), but what’s most appealing to me is the flexibility she gives herself on her workouts. If she has a certain mileage or speed session scheduled for that day but her body’s not feeling it, she will shift things around in her week so she can tackle the harder stuff when she’s feeling fresher. I’ll call that “Intelligent Obstinance.”

The Runner’s Memory

Men do it so well, the way they spout off the statistics, records, jersey numbers and championship years of their favorite athletes in their favorite sports. For a brief window of time, I could rattle off the most recent good news or failures of the New York Mets. My first years as an office girl were defined by high heels, the Long Island Rail Road, lots of cocktails in dive bars, and baseball. It was one of the things that caught Husband–he escorted me home one day on the train and when he saw that the Baseball Weekly in the mailbox was mine (not my dad’s–I still lived at home, paying down the credit cards after a few months of debauchery in Italy), he was hooked. I knew all the players, their positions, and kept score when I’d go to see them at Shea. We sat in the upper decks right behind home plate, every nuance of the game within sight for $15 plus beer. I kept score, knew by heart the sequence for a double play (6-4-3). I’ll never forget when they beat the Reds in a one-game playoff for the wild card in 1999. TV-less, I listened to the game on the radio, and jumped up and down, hooted and hollered and hugged Boyfriend (who would become Husband) in my studio apartment on the other side of Queens Blvd (by that point I’d paid off the credit cards). Now though, I never read the sports page, and while I am glad when my team is victorious, it’s a tangential joy unseasoned by an investment of time or attention.

But what does a runner remember about their sport? We remember our PR’s, our most recent races and workouts, our injuries and our goals. Some of us remember races as spectators–I have visceral memories of the Men’s and Women’s Olympic Marathon Trials–and the World and American Records of certain distances, but most of us cling to our years of pounding the pavement through a journal–handwritten or online–tabulating our daily workouts. I started logging my miles when I was training for my first marathon, in 2007, which means that the bulk of my running years (2001-2007) has gone unrecorded. Some memories persist from that time (mainly of the oh-my-god-this-is-so-fucking-hard type), but most of my workouts are a blur, smudged into one another because of similar weather, choice of outfits, effort and location. If I truly want to snatch a run out of the air and put it in a bottle, I’ve got to put it here, on this blog. Races, those I tend to remember anyway. But my hundredth time around the Sunnyside Loop? What will ever set that apart? Perhaps it’s a westerly breeze, the moldy smell of Spring in the air, or an unshakeable sense of melancholy. My log notes don’t capture that, so I use this meandering, nostalgic, opinionated and breathy beast of a blog to pin the rest of it down. Running is my modern dance, my postexpressionist painting, my memoir. My legs pound out my life’s story, my blog provides the transcription.

Where were you a year ago today? What did that run say to the world about your life? What did it say to you about your life?

Me, 365 days hence.

Some other favorite passages from my memoir in motion:

A rainy day

A sunny day

A holiday

A bad day

A most excellent day

Hella Sound

Believe it or not, there are still a few purists out there who never run with an iPod or other music-providing device.  When I am training for a big race, I try not to run with music so as to mimic the conditions of race day (I am adamantly opposed to racing with headphones). Listening to music while I run is a treat, a way to entice myself out the door when I’m feeling lazy, or stubborn, or tired. By now we’ve heard about the studies–running with upbeat music tricks us into thinking we’re not working as hard as we actually are–but what about training with music with a specific tempo as a way to become a faster runner overall?

I first heard of Hella Sound through JF, author of Running from the Devil, when the site did an interview with her to help promote the book. JF told me about the site, and how John sold music designed to get you running at a certain pace. It seemed like one of those brilliant yet obvious ideas, the kind of idea where you wonder why someone hadn’t already thought it up. Since I was injured at the time, it wasn’t until months later that I downloaded my first tune, “How to Turn Around a Bad Day,” from Hella Sound.

One of the magical things about John’s music is that runners can download one of ten different versions of the same song. Each is recorded for different cadences, or how many steps you take per minute while running. But how many of us know our cadence? Certainly not I, so I had to count my steps during one of my workouts before I knew which BPM (beats per minute) was right for me.

What I like about running to John’s songs (I now own “As You Wish” and ”How to Turn Around a Bad Day”) is the consistency they provide for my shorter workouts. If I were to run to a playlist for 40 minutes, I’d probably hear anywhere between 10 and 16 songs, each with their own mood, tempo, style and set of lyrics. I know from experience that certain songs make me speed up, and others make me ease up. But when I run to music from Hella Sound, all of those playlist variables have been removed and what I’m left with is a smooth, interesting intrumental that keeps my feet moving with an even turnover, tick-tick-tick-tick.

John started Hella Sound a couple of years ago because “As a musician, I got frustrated when I started running, looking for music that worked well.” So he started creating his own extended, instrumental pieces–and now has three different ones for sale on the site. They are “original music, which is thoroughly and frequently ‘road tested’ during the composition process to ensure that all parts are good to run to.” (They are.) The site hosts a blog which offers tips and information for runners, as well as his monthly “Listening Party,” which presents a short playlist and then invites discussion. Another cool feature lives on this page, where people can send their tweets to be posted in realtime by sending a Direct Message to @GoRun.

Really, I just want to provide the soundtrack for people’s runs…I believe running to music that is synced to your stride is an incredibly beneficial training and motivation tool. I used the different speeds of our first release to improve my own cadence from 160 to 170, and knock 4 minutes off my 5k PR. It’s also a form of creative expression; I would be deeply satisfied if we, over time, were able to contribute in some way to the body of interesting, worthwhile music available in the world. A boy can dream, right? -- John at Hella Sound

I use Hella Sound’s music during my recovery runs, and on those days when I am just so tired I am tempted to cut it short (I have to run for at least as long the 30-minute piece). If you are new to running, making a comeback, or just starting a training program–I highly reccommend adding a Hella Sound workout to your schedule twice a week.

[ Follow John on Twitter @hellasound ]