blurry

I feel a little self conscious about how grumpy and whiny my posts have been lately, but this is the state of things and what's the point of putting on a happy face everywhere? Can the internet be the place where I get to put up a fuss and not feel sorry about it? We shall see if I drive my reader(s) away! So what I intended to say before freezing up is that yesterday's stress has bled into today and will continue for at least part of tomorrow. I've also managed to score a nagging sore throat/sneezing duo, which I blame on not being able to run OR, more likely, the coughing dental assistant who stood over me for 30 minutes. Although I still contend that not running has something to do with it because over the holidays we were around my niece who has been a vector for a series of terrible colds, and I didn't get sick. Oh, theories. Anyway, it's haiku time, after which I plan to shove tissue up my nose (for that lovely simultaneously stuffy and drippy situation that I can feel coming on) and go to sleep. 

head full of static 

clinging to outcomes I can't 

control or predict 

picture: a happy little tree taken at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden before I figured out how to really use my old german camera, July 2011, film, Agfa Optima (I wish portrait pictures looked better on blogger)

crusty

I went for a walk in the park this morning while Charrow did our usual Saturday long run. I thought it would be better than staying home and molding in the apartment, especially given the sunshine. I know it was the best choice, but it made me so cranky because I couldn't appreciate the activity. All those damn runners kept trotting past me, and it was all I could do to resist the urge to pick up speed. I'm sure at some point there will be circumstances that make walking my only option, but right now it feels like watching a movie in slow motion. Be where you are, observe the moment, blah blah blah. Easier said than done when it feels like less of a choice. But I did my best. Listened to This American Life and watched the birds, silently critiqued runners' forms and imagined little things about the people around me or daydreamed about things in my own life. I'm happy to have been outside on a beautiful day (although dressing for walking is different than dressing for running and I was cold the whole time), but I still feel mentally itchy, sluggish, and mopey. And now, a short version of the exact same thing I've been whining about all week (I promise I will write about something else tomorrow):

sometimes the hardest
thing to do is wait until
you can run again

//

patches of muddy
ground show through the snowy crust
watch out for the poop!*

*because sometimes the dog poops sinks below the surface of the snow, and you just can't find it before your hand gets too cold. I also think people become lazier in bad weather, so whenever there's a big snow melt, there are little sodden logs of poo all over the sidewalks.

picture: another view from the listening tower at Teufelsberg, Berlin, Germany, September 2010, film, Canon Tlb 

walk this way

I have the exercise memory of a goldfish. Worse: a gnat. I don't really know what kind of memory gnats even have, but if it's anything like their purported attention spans, then it's an accurate comparison. All of that to say, I am feeling antsy and annoyed at my current running moratorium thanks to my fancy free decision from yesterday. I went for a walk to our food coop this morning to get some fresh air and every step hurt, especially ones that involved any quick movements (e.g., trying to avoid giant ankle-sucking pools of brown slush). So it doesn't look there will be any running in my immediate future. As I've been told by several people, this will get better (thanks for the reminders). I just have to avoid driving Charrow crazy in the meantime with the whining and the constant favors (bending over to pick things up causes the most discomfort, even when done with proper form). It already feels like I haven't run in weeks, which is ridiculous because it's been 3 DAYS. Apparently I live in an exercise time warp. Here's a short take on what it's like to go through the subway system when you're in pain, but there's nothing apparently wrong with your body. People get so huffy! And I'm often one of them. oops.

i want to carry
a sign that says don't assume
you know why i'm slow*

*this is something I am guilty of all the time: seeing someone ambling for no apparent reason and assuming they are self-centered assholes when in fact I have absolutely no idea what they might be dealing with.

picture: view from an S-Bahn platform, Berlin, Germany, October 2010, film, Canon Tlb 

white out

Remember how I used the word allegedly when referring to that snow? There's no doubt about it now. The sky has been white since we woke up to about 6 inches of snow, which I'm guessing is now somewhere around 26 inches. Cars are useless white mounds and the streets are (or were, before nightfall) dotted with dark blobs that slowly transform into parents pulling their children in sleds or people walking with shopping bags or fellow dog owners forced outdoors by the call of doodie. We tried to take Red to the park this morning, but he curled his lower lip and hunched over as the snow pelted his face. It was pathetic, so we took him home.

I decided it would be fun to walk to the park anyway, so we left Red in his favorite place (the crate with a fresh peanut butter kong), and trudged back out to see what we could see. There were more people out than I expected, and there were plenty of dogs romping in the snow. We even saw runners tip toeing around the drive in the park. Neither of us expected that. but... Challenge accepted! So we went home to change into running gear (think gaiters and 3 of just about everything) and joined the ranks of fools on foot. We made it about 6 miles along the various loops of Prospect Park. The first 5 were pretty fun, minus a seriously painful windy stretch near the ball fields. I stopped to take a zillion pictures, people were skiing, sledding, running, walking, flopping around, etc. But by the last mile, the snow had really started to fill in because it was coming down so hard. It was like running along the edge of the beach where the packed sand gives just enough to make all your leg muscles work twice as hard. Manageable, but the novelty had definitely worn off.

The rest of the day involved a hodgepodge of resting, more walking in the snow (much to the dog's chagrin), and watching movies. I'm thankful that we don't have any pressing needs, and we can basically continue on as shiftless travel-planning blobs until Monday when we have to figure out whether we're going to work. I assume the trains will be running by then, but it's still snowing, so who knows! In the meantime, here's a short take:

woke to howling wind,
sipped coffee as the snow swirled,
who's ready to run?

top picture: a slice of the activity we saw this morning in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY, iPhone 5 
middle picture: a very unhappy Red willing me to take him, Brooklyn, NY, iPhone 5
bottom picture: charrow about 1/3 of the way through our expedition, Prospect Park, Brooklyn, NY, iPhone 5

in short

it's been many hours
since I silenced my alarm
to run with the sun

picture: a double (possibly triple) exposure taken while running the Philadelphia Marathon, November 2011, film, Holga camera

who turned off the heat

Well, the weather is frigid. This morning during our run the temperature was 16 degrees F and the "real feel" was a whopping -4. Thankfully, we have enough fancy running gear to populate a small athletic store, so I layered up and actually felt a little overdressed. Running in that temperature range is like trying to sprint in ankle deep sand. Nothing moves quickly and breathing is difficult, but I will take those challenges over a gym any day (and for as many days as I can avoid it seeing as I don't have any health problems that prohibit outlandish running conditions). Birds chirped and flitted about. A woman jumped around like an orangutan goading her dog to play. Prospect Park lake sparkled like a disco ball and sported little dark lumps that turned out to be floating birds. The sky was bright enough to cast shadows. So what if my sweat froze to my face?? And now for a short version of our afternoon walk with the dog:

he pulls me over
with glee and the steam rises
from the christmas tree

picture: my mom's cat hiding in a pile of clothes back when she was a little fluffball, California, MD, October 2010, digital 

soggy

When we travel, we try to maintain some semblance of routine. Saturdays are normally long run days, so Charrow, my mother and I dragged ass out of a warm and dry house to go for an 8ish mile run in the rain. Well, more of a drizzle really, but it was still a struggle to motivate. Here's the short version:

through the misty streets
we ran in silence wishing
for sleep and dry feet

picture: main street of a village on Ilha Grande, an island off the coast of Rio, Brazil, September 2012, cross-processed slide film, Canon Tlb 

running on empty

And the answer is no, I cannot stay up too late drinking a whopping 2 beers (one which was 10% abv) and then wake up 7 hours later to run 10.5 miles after taking the dog to the park for nearly 2 hours and still consider myself a functioning human being after 4pm. The sun is down, my contacts are like little patches of concrete, and my head feels foggy. But we have fun on our to do list (cookie decorating party, so I have to get this haiku out the door and figure out how to prop my eyelids open long enough for more social encounters.

cotton in my head,
ice cream in my belly, and
too far from my bed

sophisticated business, isn't it? let's try again...

blustery time spent
running on empty with dreams
of warm grassy naps.

picture: a friend's parents' dog (whose name escapes me), Hartland, VT, June 2014, film, Canon Tlb 
additional fun fact: there's a worn spot in the wood from the dog's head resting there for years 

tonic

This evening I listened to Mary Oliver's interview from the On Being podcast while I made a batch of my breakfast "bread" (a.k.a. almond honey cake/bread thing that is hard to classify but is amazing with coffee). What an incredible person she is. I've started about 5 sentences and trashed them all because I can't capture the way the podcast made me feel. The closest I can get is that feeling I associate with the resolving note of a song, the tonic or "home note," as it's often referred to. It's the one that feels round and whole and like you've finally collapsed into your chair after an exhausting run up and down the stairs. She made so many seemingly simple but incredibly powerful observations. Knowing very little about her other than the weight of her name, I'm excited to learn that the natural world plays such a major role in Oliver's work. A quick google search reveals that me not knowing about her naturalism is sort of like not knowing that Oprah had a talk show. Oh well, at least I'm here now. And here are today's not-very-related haikus about running on a day when it feels harder than I want it to:

I imagine each
person having their best run
to get through my own

//

the cascade of leaves
glinted in the sun as I
hoped for it to end*

*more about this conflict in a future post

picture: a rangy tree at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, May 2012 (?), film, Canon Tlb 

cup or cone?

Every weekend we do a long run. This usually happens on Saturdays and is sometimes part of a greater training plan and sometimes it's just a reason to feel accomplished. If there's no required distance, we shoot for an 8 mile loop through Prospect Park. Then we run through a host of Saturday errands (e.g., compost drop off, dealing with library books, getting odds and ends at the grocery store, etc.). In the past couple of months, I have added "get ice cream at Ample Hills" to that list because the traditionally wired part of my brain says, "run more = eat food you normally avoid." The more open-minded, less fatphobic part of my brain knows that if I want ice cream, I can eat ice cream whenever the hell I want. There are other reasons I tend to avoid it, namely the craptastic way I feel afterwards, but it would be dishonest to omit the calorie-driven nonsense. Anyway, here's today's bite-sized version:

sugar headache comes
on quick, but it's worth every
last bite of goodness

top picture: an old Breyer's Ice Cream sign near California, MD, June 2011, film, Canon Tlb 
bottom picture: Charrow at an ice cream pit stop during a bike ride, Laurentians, Canada, July 2010, film, Canon Tlb

Moving on up

Another year, another apartment. That's right: for the third year in a row, we are moving during the holiday season. On Friday, we will move from the 2nd floor to the 4th floor of our current building. Yes, another intrabuilding move! which makes 2 in 5 years. Clearly we do not like change and will try our damnedest to stay as close to "home" as possible.

I've been toying with the idea of doing one of those "year in review" posts, which I imagine is just a sneaky way to avoid the pile of empty boxes in the corner. Real time update: I tried to write the review, but I got as far as April before I realized I do not have the blogging stamina for that kind of exercise. I got about 5 hours of sleep thanks to the combination of an enjoyable New Year's Eve party, an exercise-hungry dog, and off-leash hours that end at 9am. I can't muster the energy needed for such an excavation, but I can give you a few highlights.

1. I already revealed this, but it counts as a huge adjustment, so let's say it again: we got a dog! a young, energetic, cat-crazed tank of a dog that has introduced major amounts of guilt and joy into life.

2. I survived the first semester of my mental health counseling master's program. There's no accompanying picture because you can't capture the insanity wrapped up in such an endeavor. Let's just say the workload was WAY more intense than I expected, and the class participation proved to be exhausting, but ultimately gratifying.

3. We ran two half marathons. The Annapolis half in May with my mom and the Hamptons half in September with a couple of friends from Brooklyn. Running over huge bridges is one of my favorite things to do, and the half marathon is a great distance.

4. We ran the Philadelphia Marathon for the 3rd year in a row. I won't share our actual time because pace is a touchy subject in my book, but I will say that since our first marathon we have shaved off over an hour from our total finish time. I still can't believe we run marathons because at one point in my life I expected to be relegated to the world of biking and swimming forever. The picture is near the halfway point of the race, at which point I always wonder why in the world we decided to run the whole distance.

5. I went to what I like to call "banjo camp" at Warren Wilson College, which is near Asheville, NC. It was a week of musical highs and introverted lows because of the cafeteria style eating arrangements and the social atmosphere. At every single meal, I forced myself to sit with new people or to find people that I'd already met. This may sound like nothing to some of you, but for me it was a collossal effort, which proved to be totally worth it because I made some great friends. I also got a chance to visit an old friend that I hadn't seen in almost 7 years by taking a circuitious route to VA beach on my way down to the mountains of NC. It was worth every extra mile.

6. Charrow took me to see Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers at Town Hall in NYC. It was one of the best concerts I've ever attended. It fell on the heels of reading Steve Martin's autobiography, so I felt like we were BFF's for the whole show.

7. I turned 33, and I realized that I should only plan nature-based events for my birthday. Charrow traipsed around Manhattan with me like the supportive and good-natured person that she is, but I had a lackluster day that left me feeling aggravated, overfed, and exhausted. Next year: a hike!

8. I spent an inordinate amount of time posting pictures to Instagram, which is something I resisted for a loooong time. There are way too many pet pictures and mr. Pear cameos, but I don't care because it makes me happy.

9. We took a short, but fun-filled trip to visit friends in PA that involved chickens, friendly neighbors, and many, many walks in the woods with the dogs.

10. I became an aunt! And then promptly had absolutely no time to visit my new niece, but I stalk her on the internets, and I try not to think about how I'm not around to make sure her first word is "poop."



11. I stopped procrastinating. Who knew that was even possible? But I managed to work on every assignment I had throughout the week instead of pulling all-nighters or waiting until the absolute last minute. It was a strange and liberating experience, and I realized that I don't need the pressure of timing to do well.

It's not comprehensive by a long shot, but those are the events of 2013 that stick out in my addled mind. Now it's time to get lost in the box menagerie for awhile.

get out there

I often see the same older Asian man walking in Prospect Park.  He carries a cane and contends with a robotic hitch in his stride.  Last week I went running on a wretched winter day.  At the beginning of my loop around the park, I saw this walking man (not to be confused with crazy walking guy whom I will save for another post).  I was surprised to find my cane-toting acquaintance out on such an unpleasant day, but there he was: hugging the far edge of the drive, bent into the wind, making steady progress.

Some days he carries his cane high off the ground and some days he leans on it for support, but more often than not, he's out there.  Motoring along.    

mosquito montage

I had to hand write a receipt for someone at work today (after they signed the iPad screen with their finger - oh the collision of technology and a lack thereof), and when I wrote "9" for the month, it made me weep on the inside.  September.  I hate what it represents, even though the month itself is quite nice. More comfortable temperatures, theoretically.  Fewer mosquitoes, maybe.  A sense of renewal and change that feels more logical than New Years, which can also be a source of angst for those of us who are prone to such wastes of effort.  But it's also the first step on the mud spattered spiral staircase to winter.  Effing winter.

But we're not there yet.  It's technically still summer, damn it.  Which I love, even though it comes with high electricity bills and the smothering odor of big city garbage days.  It's clear that I have not been spending my summer in blogland, so I thought I'd do a little photog summary to commemorate the joys of sweating and eating ice cream.

We did a LOT of running.  Some of it over bridges and into greener (and unfortunately hilly) pastures:

Some of it by the beach and into labyrinthine, mosquito-infested marshes:

We went canoeing and dog coveting with an old college friend and drank beers with names like Mean Old Tom:

We went to my mom's and got to spend time with her ridiculously cute dog:

We did the NYC Color Run, which was most decidedly not in NYC:

Then we took a birthday ferry ride on the East River, and I ate a carrot cake donut but there's no evidence of that because I ate it too quickly to be seen by the naked eye:

This is just a slice of the summer squash pie, but I've already made this into too much of a list, so I'll stop here.  I'd say we did an okay job of filling in the cracks of a work-filled summer.

Portland Marathon: the slog

The first seven miles of the Portland Marathon went by pretty quickly.  We got caught up in the atmosphere (complete with musical groups around almost every corner) despite the unwelcome chainsaw in charrow's stomach.  But eventually Charrow got pastier and had to walk more often than planned.  I tried to get her to eat something a few times, but she took a microscopic bites and immediately handed the snacks back to me.  Around mile ten, she finally made the decision to stop.

The next 16 miles were long and lonely.  I felt mixed about leaving Charrow in the hands of volunteers,  but I knew as soon as she said she was quitting that I really wanted to finish the race.  She dropped out a little ways before the half marathoners split off towards their finish, so I had about a mile with a moderate crowd, but at the split things thinned out considerably.  Part of what makes a marathon manageable is distraction, be it through a running partner, music (live or otherwise), podcasts, whatever.  When you're running alone, you have everyone around you to act a surrogate partner, but when the field consists of a speed-walker and a distant trickle of other runners, you get bored quickly.  Boredom equals time to focus on other things, like how much you hurt.  Thankfully it took a long time for that feeling to settle in (mile 22 to be exact), but I was definitely sad to be out there doing this huge thing on my own (oh, co-dependency, how you thwart me).  Granted, I was not nearly as sad as Charrow, but hey, this is my blog so I can cry if I want to.

Miles 13-18 were pretty dismal in terms of scenery.  The musicians scattered along this part of the route were obviously getting bored and the roadside attractions included cement mixing factories and storage facilities.  The weather was holding steady at a 100% chance of gray and a 20% chance of drizzle.  I plugged along, care of my 8 song playlist that I whipped up just in case I decided not to listen to podcasts.  That's right, 8 songs, over and over and over.  Hey, when they're all your favorites, it's okay to hear them 20 times while you wonder what in the world you got yourself into.

As required by all sadistic marathon course planners, mile 18 marked the beginning of a very long, very steep hill heading up to the St. Johns Bridge.  I do love me some bridges, but after 18 miles, I would have been happy to stick with something a little less dramatic (I know, I just complained about being bored, but bridges don't slake boredom when they come with hills).  I suppose it was worth the effort because this was the view from the top.

After crossing the bridge, it was literally all down hill from there, which was good and bad.  The purple spot on my big toe nail says it was bad.  The rest of my legs were happy for the break.  The neighborhood on the other side of the water was quirky and way more interesting than pretty much the rest of the course.  Sad, but true.  A smattering of fans were sticking it out to cheer us on, and by "us" I mean me and the walkers and the old guy about 100 yards ahead of me that I pegged as my running beacon.  People were handing out homemade baked goods (thank you for the banana bread, it was just what I needed) and holding signs that said "dear complete stranger, you're doing great."  Everyone cheered me on using my full name because that what was listed on my racing bib, so I pretended that everyone was my mother because she's one of the few people that still uses my given name.  It was actually pretty comforting.  Every so often my run/walk ratio had me approaching a group of spectators at the walk phase.  It always seemed to coincide with the cheerleaders (as in uniform wearing, pom-pom toting) and not the silver-haired smilers.  I couldn't bear to stroll by gaggles of teenagers so I would start my run right before I got to them and then resume walking after I covered a respectable distance (i.e. 30 feet past the echoes of my name)

Somewhere around mile 22 the pain kicked in.  My knees started to feel like they were being squeezed by rose stems and my feet were under the impression that I had filled my socks with Nerds.  But I followed my old guy and put "Dog Days Are Over" on repeat to keep me going.  It's a fantastically motivational song, but if you listen too closely to the words when you're feeling swamped by exhaustion, it may cause you to cry, which I almost did like 5 times between mile 22 and the finish.

Eventually I passed my beacon, which was both triumphant and kind of sad because he was really keeping me good company.  I picked another secret friend and followed her to the end because that's what you do -- you just keep going.  It didn't really occur to me stop.  I managed a feeble kick as I rounded the last corner and made it across the finish line without falling on my face.

Stay tuned for the Aftermath.

Fair warning to other runners planning to do Portland:

- If you run slowly, you will miss most of the music acts in the second half of the course.  Race planners should consider hiring 2 sets of music acts so that the people at the back of the "pack" have some entertainment.  Bring a friend, your nerves of steel, or an ipod to keep you company!

- The Portland course was significantly drearier than the Philadelphia course, regardless of the weather.  It was very friendly in terms of walkers and slower runners (hugs!), but don't do it for the scenery unless industrial is the cream in your wheat.

- There are some amazing post-race snacks.  All I have to say is white pizza.

- There are tons of water stations and a decent number of bathroom stops.  I brought water with me, but I barely made a dent in it.

- There may be awesome older men playing accordions under the tents that probably housed other musicians at the beginning of the race.  Smile at them and they will nod their head while they get their groove on.

- Same goes for the bluegrass band that was still going full steam when I passed them around mile 21.  Those guys were awesome, and it took some willpower to run away from them.

*all pictures from the race were taken with a plastic fisheye camera (thanks steve & liala).  I should have considered my destination a little more carefully because I used 100 speed film for a city that is notoriously gray.  oh well.  

you have now entered Crazytown. Population: 1

I think marathons may cause brain damage.  That's the only logical explanation for running two of them in a span of 6 weeks.  The first one must have knocked some important decision making cells ajar.  Perhaps the jostling screwed up their inhibitory and excitatory reactions so that instead of saying, "maybe running another marathon so soon isn't the smartest idea," my brain said "do it!  run another one!  you're made of cogs and wheels, and it won't hurt."

Let's step back for a second and paint a clearer picture of the crazy.  It's been awhile since I've written anything so maybe you're confused.  Or maybe you're new to this little splotch of awkward in the internet abyss.

On October 9th, Charrow and I were slated to run the Portland Marathon together.  The day before the race, Charrow wasn't feeling great, but it didn't seem worthy of too much concern.  We figured an early bedtime and lots of water should do the trick.  Sometime in the middle of the night, she morphed into a squirming, stomach-burning, vomiting, explosive mess.  When I woke up at 5:30 to get ready for the insanity, she was doubled over on the bed and couldn't stand straight.  After two panicked phone calls (one to each of our respective mothers) and a botched attempt to eat, we decided that she would just give it a shot.  If she had to drop out, at least she would know that she tried.  And she gave it a valiant effort.  She went from walking with a noticeable lurch to running 10 miles before she called it quits. Her inability to eat and drink water are what finally made it unsafe.  If you can't eat, you can't run.  Too much water on an empty stomach while incinerating calories equals major disaster.  So we stopped at an aid station that had medical staff and explained the problem.  I asked her about 17 times if it was okay for me to leave her there and she said yes every time, so I took her at face value and walked away.  It felt incredibly wrong, and I'm still torn about whether it was the right decision.

The rest of the run deserves its own post, but long story short, I finished the marathon at glacial speed without causing bodily harm to myself or anyone else.  Considering my inability to walk straight after it was over, the second half of that sentence counts as a feat.

Charrow was absolutely miserable when I got back to the hotel (for multiple reasons, some of which will be explained in the "how I survived my first marathon" post).  At some point during the day, she heard from her sister that the Philadelphia Marathon was still open.  Charrow was determined to have her mulligan, and the minute she said she was running Phillie, I firmly said "Well you're running it alone because I can't do that again."

Apparently the neurological injuries don't present until several weeks after the incident.

About a week before Charrow's race (November 20th) we were out for a routine run in Prospect Park, when I felt this surge of optimism (first sign of serious injury). I said to Charrow, "what if instead of running a section of the race with you, I just run the whole thing??"  She didn't talk me out of it.  And she repeatedly said that I wasn't going to steal her thunder if I ran with her, so when we got home from our run I did a little craigslist search and found someone to buy a race bib from.  We agreed to keep it under wraps so everyone would be excited for Charrow and not get distracted by my decision to be psychotically supportive and somewhat selfish (because I partially just wanted to see if I could do it).

And that is how I ended up next to the Schuykill River this past Sunday with Charrow and about 25,000 other people who decided to traipse through Philadelphia for several hours.  Pictures and details to follow after a short and sweet Thanksgiving visit with the Charrow clan.

one popsicle at a time

If you're not one of those people who can scamper out of the house and go for a 20 mile jaunt because it's just the natural distance your body wants to go (yes, these people do exist), you should consider NOT doing any of the following before you plan on running 17 miles for the first time ever:

1. hiking 5.5 miles on a 100 degree day with less than adequate amounts of water & food

2. spend 4 hours floating down a scenic river on another 100 degree day with less than adequate amounts of food & water

3. plan to return home around 9pm the night before your run and then have to make all of your neurotic running preparations at a time when you should be banking extra sleep

I survived the 17 mile plod yesterday, but it was quite possibly one of the hardest runs I've ever experienced. Harder than that one time I ran 12 miles down a country road and completely ran out of water and had to ask an old man mowing his lawn if I could trouble him for something to drink. Not quite as hard as that one time I ran 10 miles in rolling West Virginia hills and then proceeded to spend the next 3 hours in and out of the bathroom with horrible stomach cramps.

Here's what I saw at the start of the run in central park:

Needless to say, I should have started earlier. Please see the aforementioned list for reasons that made waking up before 6 am seem like more than I could handle. Things went okay for the first 10 miles. And by okay, I mean I didn't feel like I would keel over, but I also noticed that the heat was making life much harder than it needed to be.

Around mile 6, I stopped for an overpriced popsicle and spent a luxurious 5 minutes walking while I ate it. But before the stick ever hit the side of the trash can, I felt like I'd never even heard of popsicles. Do you remember that feeling of infinite running misery that I mentioned? It descended not long after I finished the popsicle and continued to ride on my shoulders for the remainder of the run. At any given point after mile 7, I could not imagine ever being done. I tried to busy myself with podcasts, but I was so distractible that I can barely remember what I heard. I do know that Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me has the perfect hodgepodge of information and fast-paced antics to keep me interested for more than 2 minutes at a time. This American Life: forget it. I love you Ira Glass, but you were not meant for torturous situations.

My intended route for the last 6 miles was to circle the reservoir for 3 laps then return to the main park drive for another mile and a half back to Columbus Circle. I couldn't face the rolling hills on the drive, so before I even got to mile 11 (right before hitting the reservoir for the 2nd set of laps around the shell track) I decided to just hunker down for an extra lap and forget about attempting anything than even closely resembled an ascent. Things that made this a wise decision: extremely flat surface, guaranteed bathroom (that I didn't end up needing), 2 water fountains, 80% shade, and a nice breeze coming off the water.

But even a view like that can feel like purgatory when it seems like you're running on a combination of hot coals and crushed glass. Okay, that's slightly dramatic, but my feet were really unhappy by mile 13, and I slowed from my respectable crawl to a miserable shuffle for the last 4 miles. I maintained my 4 minutes of running, but the walk breaks* went from 1:45 minutes to 2 and sometimes 3 minutes.

As I hobbled through the last 20 yards, I passed tourists eating ice cream sandwiches on a bench, and it was all I could do not to rip the ice cream out of their hands and smear it all over my face. The thought of eating anything made me sick to my stomach (which was actually a problem for the last hour because I had a hard time forcing down any food; can we say heat exhaustion?), but I could have really gone for a frozen facial. Instead, I huffed my way over to a vendor and squeaked out my order of a vitamin water and a popsicle. I paced** and forced down my snack and tried to keep myself from laying flat on my face in the grass.

The only down side to running in central park is that when it's all over, you have to get on a train with other people (unless you happen to have an endless supply of taxi funds). All you want to do is sit down, but so does everyone else, so you end up sitting next to people. I can only imagine how lovely an experience that was for everyone around me. I was covered in black dust from the shins down, there was a peanut butter explosion on my water pack that I hadn't had the energy to clean up, and I'm sure I smelled like roses soaked in hobo juice. But I consider the ride a success because I got a seat for every leg of the trip, no one actively moved away from me, AND I didn't puke or explode in any other way. Small victories, my friends. Teeny, tiny, graceless victories. That's how you train for a marathon.

*long story short, we're doing a run/walk program of 4 min running with roughly 1:30 min walking.

**I saw a t-shirt that said "marathons only hurt when you stop." Gospel, I tell you.

the promised land awaits

At the end of last weekend's long run, we were faced with not one, but two of the best food trucks camped out right next to each other. I'd tucked a $20 bill in the pocket of my running shorts for just such an encounter with the promised land. I was actually so blinded by the Yogo truck that I didn't notice the dumpling truck until we were standing in line for frozen yogurt. Charrow and I gave each other a conspiratorial look and decided that we should probably split an order of savory dumplings to go with our sweet treat. It's all about balance, right?

The combination actually made me feel a little sick when it was all said and done, but I would totally do it again. I would just wait about 30 minutes before eating any of said treats.

Also seen on our run: boat loads of balloons, most of which were pink.

frozen yogurt mirage

There's comes a point in every long run when I can't imagine ever being done. All I can think about is how many more times I have to put one foot in front of the other and how many more beads of sweat there are left to sweat. For last weekend's 11 mile run, that point came as I crested the hill near the Grand Army entrance of Prospect Park for the second time. Rounding off the 7th mile meant that I only had 4 more to go, but that kind of math doesn't really comfort the soles of my feet.

The course I mapped took me past the botanic gardens and the Brooklyn Museum where I took a pit stop to snap some photos of the fountain. I don't know if it was the extended break or the mesmerizing cascades of water, but when I started the next stint* of running, I felt less overwhelmed. I sank into a comfortable plodding rhythm and even managed to laugh out loud at Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me.

But somewhere around mile 10 I was faced with two long, gradual hills before the last quarter mile descent (I knew about one hill, the other one was a nasty little surprise), and the feeling of eternal running doom returned. The thing about running in Brooklyn versus training in Atlanta is that there are public transportation options everywhere along the route. This is both comforting and horribly tempting. Thankfully, there were no viable options for the last 15 minutes of the run. I don't know what it would take for me to stop running (besides the obvious answer of injury), but sometimes it's best to not even have the option of quitting.

After 2 full episodes of Peter Sagal** and company, I decided to cap off the end of the run with an episode of the Moth aptly entitled "Sloth." Sadly there was no frozen yogurt truck camped out along Prospect Park West. I was really hoping to drown myself in granola and natural tart, but alas, all I had to look forward to was a smooze in the freezer at home and a bagel concoction that looked something like this (peanut butter & jelly on one side. butter on the other. because I'm indecisive):

*we're doing the Jeff Galloway run/walk program. more on this in a separate post.

** Peter Sagal is a frequent Runner's World contributor so it felt appropriate to listen to him for almost the entire run. Plus, he's hilarious.

the slog

So we're doing it. We're running a marathon. Specifically, the Portland Marathon. We decided to do the Portland race because there are volunteers that hug you at every mile marker, they give you free sparrow tattoos at the water stations AND, wait for it... there are rivers of coffee that run through the city.

Okay, so maybe there are no coffee rivers, but I bet there are hugs!

I don't know exactly how Charrow contracted the marathon itch, but when the runner's world issue with the top 10 marathons came out, she asked me if I wanted to run Portland because it was touted as a good beginner marathon and neither of us have ever been to visit. Blinded by the promise of donuts, specialty coffee, and the potential for visiting a good friend that I haven't seen in years, I agreed.

And that's why I have to run (and by run, I mean shuffle) 11 miles tomorrow. Who's excited?

To be fair, I, too, have the marathon itch (although I do not have the Boston hives), but ever since our half marathon experience that resulted in a foot injury, I figured marathons were just not on my dance card. But we're giving it a go and so far things are fine. My feet are sore from working at the Very Successful Coffee Shop (henceforth known as "the shop" because that's a long nickname), so I'm doing my best to run on days that I don't work, and I'm icing the crap out of my feet whenever I can. In fact, I'm sitting in an ice bath right now.

Okay, I'm not, but I will be tomorrow after the slog.

*today's picture is an example of how I plan to look after we finish the insanity and have gorged ourselves on donuts and greasy food.

5 on 5

Today marks the beginning of the first (and only) feature on this blog: 5 on 5. In other words, on the 5th day of the week, I will post 5 things* I'm grateful for. The purpose of this feature is 2 fold:

Fold 1: expressing gratefulness is supposably** linked to an increase in happiness and well, it's probably a good idea for me to stack the deck in this department because I have a tendency to droop like a thirsty shamrock.

Fold 2: it will give me the opportunity to take stock of my photos and share a variety of images with you that you might not otherwise see. Browsing flickr seems to have become too much for our stimulation-addled brains, and I refuse to post every picture I take on Facebook.

Now that I've insulted everyone and indirectly expressed my hatred for Facebook's world domination, let's get started.

#1 Ice Cream. Specifically, a large cone chocolate, from Carl's Ice Cream in Fredericksburg, VA. When you order a cone at Carl's, it doesn't matter how you say it, the person taking the order will yell out to the people manning the huge vats of fresh ice cream, "large cone chocolate!"

#2 A Good Sandwich. (Maybe I shouldn't write this when I'm hungry because all I can think about right now is food). A well crafted sandwich gives me goosebumps. One of the better deli sandwiches I've had was a basic roast beef from the Candler Market (in Atlanta). The day I ate it, I was extremely hung over, and it was just the right combination of salty flavors to keep my stomach from churning (the chips played a key role in this experience).

#3 Picnic Tables in Quiet Places. It's hard to find a quiet place in NYC. One of the things that I found overwhelming when we first moved here was the fact that there are people everywhere at just about any time of day. Yes, you can learn to tune out the rest of the world and sometimes it's possible to feel like you're in a remote place, but it's just not the same. This picnic table is in a park by the Rappahannock River in Fredericksburg. Basically, I want to climb inside the picture and finish reading my library book.

#4 People who say Yes when I ask to take their pictures. I don't generally ask to take pictures. Instead, I attempt to be covert and usually end up with a crappy picture OR I start to take the shot, get spied by my subject and swing the camera in some other random direction, pretending to take a picture of something else. This woman was in a record store in LA and she was very agreeable when I asked to take her picture because of her awesome outfit (sadly, the focus is weird and I didn't stand far enough away to get her whole outfit, but you get the gist).

#5 Being able to run again. I've finally settled into a run/walk routine that seems to be agreeable to my temperamental feet. It's no half marathon training, but it has made a huge difference in my day to day sanity management. (corollary to #5: I'm grateful we're no longer running in the snow)

*things = I'm not sure how this is going to work so we're talking people, places, fuzzy concepts, gastronomic obsessions, etc.

**intentional misspelling