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.

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.”

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

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 ]

It’s not a real training schedule, with predetermined daily mileage and workouts. I just want to build my endurance and move through this final stage of injury-recovery, get in some ad-hoc basebuilding as I get closer to my training for the 2010 London Marathon.  The only set-in-stone workouts are my Saturday long runs, since I backed them out against the Ted Corbitt 15k on December 19th. The only other tenet of this training is to run five days a week, distance based on how I’m feeling that day. I do want to do some overmileage to prepare, which means today I had to run 8 miles so that I can build up by 1 mile each week until I am 2 miles over the race distance. I came to this plus-two strategy from my experience in the Baltimore Half, where the last two miles were the ones where I was running on fumes. I’ll just say it: I want to PR in a big way at the Ted Corbitt 15k. Two years ago, I ran a 15k at a 10:44 pace. Is it too much to say I’d like to cut that by two minutes per mile?

But for today, I set out telling myself I needn’t repeat last week’s long run performance. Long runs are for getting in the distance, easy; not for speed workouts. So I set out. It was a blue day, in the best sense of the word. Blue skies. Blue tights, blue socks, blue NYC Marathon long-sleeved tee–even my sunglasses (to protect my blue eyes) have blue frames. I ate a spelt bagel with Nutella and two cups of coffee for breakfast (I mention this because I believe it had something to do with the fabulousness of this run), and was on the road an hour later. Route 940, I will flatten thine hills and straighten thine curves! Thou art mine! (Sorry. I just saw a Shakespeare review on Thursday.)

Look, I swear I wasn’t going for speed. I accounted for 10-minute miles. I can’t help the fact that once again my body took over and said to me, “Lady shaddup! I got this. You just zone out and let me churn.” Mmokay!  But oh my goodness this run felt soo good. My thoughts swirled three feet above my body, over there, and with him, and five years ago. My brain was everywhere but where my body was, and on this particular morning that was a very. good. thing. I looked at Little G maybe twice, I barely cared. This one was by feel, this one was in homage of the blue skies, of my blue eyes that I knew would snap crackle and pop later with mirth once this was in the bag. My splits were tight; my pace remarkably even for such a hilly course–the fastest was 8:43 and the slowest 9:13. I wrapped up 8.26 miles in a quite unpainful 1:13:566. This is when I dare to think my time goal for the Ted Corbitt (while requiring work and focus) is not unreasonable; this is when I dare to say I am confident.

Songs I ran to: “Sabotage” by The Beastie Boys, “Sad Sailor Song” by The Waifs, “Sadly Beautiful” by The Replacements, “Safe Europeans Home” by The Clash, “Safety in NUmbers” by Joan Osborne, “Samba da Bencao” by Bebel Gilberto, “Same Old Thing” by The Streets, “Saturday in the Park” by Chicago, “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” by Big & Rich, “Save His Soul” by Blues Traveler, “Save the Best for Last” by Vanessa Williams (no this does not embarrass me), “Say It Ain’t So” by Weezer, “Say No Go” by De La Soul, “Scam” by Jamiroquai, “Sea Lion Woman” by Feist, “Second Hand New” by Matthew Sweet & Suzanna Hoffs, “See a Little Light” by Bob Mould, “Sei Volata Via” by Ron, Fiorella Mannoia, Francesco De Gregori & Pino Daniele, “Sell the Lie” by The Damnwells, “Sem Contencao” by Bebel Gilberto

Last night was a late one, as I spent the evening out in New Jersey at an author event with the publishing team. My head didn’t hit the pillow until after midnight, so I had no hesitation about taking the uberboss up on her suggestion for us to all “sleep in.”

It was after 7 AM when I finally lurched out of bed. This is so late for me that around 6:40 the dog jumped on the bed, whimpering and licking my face in concern. I was still wiped out, and unsure if I was up for a run–though if I wanted to hit my goal of five days this week, I had to get it in. I compromised with myself, You can run slowly, and just do a loop and a half rather than two full loops.

The sun was dazzling when I stepped outside, and I was glad I’d worn just shorts and a tee-shirt. It was like a morning from a month ago, not the week before Thanksgiving. Regardless, I was thankful, and I ran easily through my neighborhood. I dodged parents and kids walking to school, garbage men, office drones marching to the subway, and deliverymen dropping off crates of produce and cartons of paper goods. The whole world had come out to clog up my sidewalk, but I wasn’t concerned.

I ran up 43rd Avenue, the sun glaring in my eyes and wet leaves artfully speckling the sidewalks. I breathed quickly, I squinted at the horizon, and thought I am getting stronger.

JF is in town for a few days, catching up with friends and taking some meetings with her publishers. She invited me to lunch, and I countered with a morning run in Central Park. We met Wednesday in Columbus Circle at 7 AM. I was stunned at how light it was, since when I entered the subway from my gym in Rockefeller Center just 20 minutes earlier it was still dark. There was a promise in that sunlight, and I thought Let the day unfold.

JF is the author of Running from the Devil, a thriller set in the Columbia jungles, in which a female ultrarunner (and chemist) must rescue a planeful of passengers from the FARC and destroy the last vestiges of a deadly plant before it can be harvested for a chemical weapon. Finally someone has recognized that sprinters (the Flash) and ultradistance runners alike can be superheroes (Usain and Meb can both fight crime)! And of course, it is very refreshing to have a woman save the day, instead of the usual male ex-FBI agent, private spy, or rogue detective.

JF and I, while we are super women we are not Wonder Woman (sorry to have disillusioned you all), so we chatted and ran at a leisurely 9-minute-per-mile pace. JF is fast–she competed in the Indoor Masters Championships last year in the 5k–but graciously slowed it down for me. It was a chilly morning but after a few miles we were toasty. We talked a bit about her next book–Somali pirates and more chemical weapons–which opens with an exciting race to the finish of the Comrades Marathon in South Africa. It’s being published in Summer 2010, and I can’t wait.

Central Park is in glorious these days, her trees and bushes aflame with their yellow, orange and red leaves. Through the half-naked branches we caught glimpses of the Guggenheim, the Met, the Reservoir. I pointed out Cat Hill–we ran down it as we were moving clockwise around the lower 5-mile loop. We finished our run back where we started, just in time to avoid the morning rush of traffic that picks up even in the park.

I should have read my horoscope or my cookie’s fortune, because I was showered with gifts all day long.

First, a book relay friend RF recommended to me (and available only Down Under) arrived from my colleagues at my company’s Australian arm.

Then, I got home and opened an encouraging card from my mom. “Life Is a Balancing Act,” indeed.

Next, Brother had sent me a thank-you gift for being his “marathon mommy” — a tee-shirt with a hilarious logo. Husband pointed at the pac-man with the Z’s and exclaimed, “That’s me!”

After that, Husband sat me down on the bed and said he got me something that would help me keep my jewelry organized. (I have a pretty wooden box but prefer to scatter my baubles on the dressertop for some reason.)

But it wouldn’t be right if I received but never gave, right? Well here are two nifty things for you, my loyal and forgiving readers. A shortcut url — typing in pigtailsflying.com will now bring you straight to my blog! And (ooh bonus) I now have a “Contact Me” option on my profile page because I am after all TK @ pigtailsflying.com. I will admit that these gifts–while presented to you–are really for me. They are just so dorkily delightful, aren’t they?

It’s so quiet here during the day. Even when folks are mowing a lawn or using a chainsaw on their woodpile, the sound is never more than a distant drone, and certainly not nearly as loud as the weekend hum that accompanies life in Sunnyside, Queens. And at night, the darkness stays on the Poconos like a chaperone, only politely turning its head when the full moon insists. Day and night conspire together to lull me into an unhurried rhythm. I eat at strange hours, and awake later than usual. 

By the time I shuffled out of the bedroom today and pulled back the blinds from the sliding glass doors and windows in the great room, the sunshine was doing that “look at me!” thing that never fails to make us smile. I acknowledged it by tugging on my running shoes and heading out for a slow recovery run through the neighborhood. 

It was warm, too, but not so warm that the streets had begun to dry off from yesterday’s steady misting. I ran easily along a ribbon of shiny black asphalt, taking in the leaf-strewn woods on either side. There were the mountains, rising up brown, blunt and homely without their summer foliage. The neighbors’ dogs ran out to greet me, and for a few minutes I shared a court with a little boy riding his bike in circles. I felt the solitude, which I scooped up and put in my pockets to bring back to the city.

It was supposed to rain like the dickens all weekend, a bit of fallout from the Atlantic storm that has buffeted the MidAtlantic. I must be far enough inland here in Pocono Lake, PA–all we  had was rain last night and some misting today.

Even though I haven’t signed up for the race yet, I am in training for the Ted Corbitt 15k.  The timing is perfect, as the December 19th race date creates just enough motivation for me to stick to my basebuilding phase leading into the training for the London Marathon. Additionally, my PR for the distance (1:40:01, from 2007) is something I could have bested even while injured. I’m not too proud to admit I’d like to be able to say I set a PR this year. I have enough time before the race so that I can build up my long runs to overmileage. This is a strategy I was hoping to employ for the Baltimore Half-Marathon, but an aggravated hamstring put the kybosh on that plan. Today the schedule called for 7 miles; tomorrow I’ll recover with 4.

There are two routes I know of here that can be adapted for 7 miles. One is the Lake Naomi Loop; the other is an out and back on Route 940. I didn’t want to leave Matilda at home for any longer than necessary, so I chose the out and back as it only takes 10 minutes to get to my usual starting point, in front of a used car dealership. Running on Route 940 meant I would have to contend with cars whizzing by at about 45 miles an hour. That’s usually not a problem (unless they honk, which always scares the shit out of me), because the shoulders are wide and smooth. But today the roads were wet, so I was anticipating that the cars would leave me misted by their wakes.

So I’ve decided what I’m gonna do now.
So I’m packing my bags for the Misty Mountains
Where the spirits go now,
Over the hills where the spirits fly.

It’s hilly, Route 940. The way I go, the first mile is nearly always my fastest as there are some fabulous downhills. In an out and back of course that means that there’s the potential for the last mile to be the slowest. Since yesterday’s workout was run at a speedy 8:40 pace against nearly constant headwinds, I told myself to go easy and not rush through this “long” run, thinking 9:30’s would feel about right.

Right. Mile 1 — 8:40. Slowest mile? Mile 3 in 9:13. Fastest mile? Mile 2 in 7:50. Oh yeah, sure, I was taking it easy alright. I relented at the turnaround and decided I would just listen to my body and run by effort. It was harder to try and slow down than it was to maintain a sub-9 pace. My new goal was to keep it moderately intense, at that far edge of a sustainable push. Somewhere in the middle of Mile 5 (8:45) I realized I was close to completing my 7 miles in under 60 minutes, but I knew the hills that still lay ahead of me and I didn’t think I had it in me to hold the speed necessary to come in under 60 minutes. Well, now we all know how this story is going to end. Mile 6 — 9:02. When I had four-tenths of a mile to go, I looked at Little G and knew it was going to be very, very close. Eh, just go for it. So I did. There was no sprinting going on, just deliberate, constant acceleration.

I didn’t believe I could do it until I clicked off Little G at exactly 7 miles. My final split was 8:16, and my final time was 1:00:00, for an 8:39 pace–one second faster than I averaged during yesterday’s 5-miler. There is no bragging going on here; I am, as I told Miss Joy, happily–and damply–befuddled at what happened out there on Route 940.  I’ll take the pace, and the mist, today; I’ll also take it on December 19th.