Difficult but Doable

The past few days, I have been afraid of two moment's in tomorrow's race:

Moment #1: When I start to feel that the qualifying pace is too hard. When I run smack into the proverbial wall. That wall that I have never run into before during a race. I am afraid of that moment when it starts to hurt. To really fucking hurt.

- AND -

Moment #2: That point in time when I realize I am either going to make it to the finish in 3:40 or that I am going to totally miss my mark. I am afraid that I will have to keep running knowing that I'm not going to qualify for Boston. I am afraid that the pain of those miles will surpass anyting I felt earlier on in Moment #1.

So, I am afraid. Very afraid of these moments. But I think it's just because I so easily complicate things. Running is so simple, though, really. Putting one foot in front of the other, and then the other foot in front of that one. Repeating. Again and again and again. Over and over and over and over. Again. And quickly. Quickly quickly quickly quickly. "Fast as you can..." It's simple. And races? Why, the course is mapped out for us. Every mile is marked. With a clock, even. Just listen for the gun and then get going. And don't stop until you break the tape. Easy.

So I shouldn't be so afraid. That pending pain? Well, I'm ready for it. Because I've felt it before... And I've lived to talk about it. As the ad says, "Pain is weakness leaving the body." (So get the hell out. And hurry!) But thank you, HEG, for reminding me that even though THIS may hurt, and likely won't be easy, it is no less doable. And CO, you are right - that wall doesn't even exist! And I promise not to believe in it for a second.

And that moment of doom? When I'll learn if I'm going to hit or miss a Boston qualifying time? Well, I shouldn't have to worry about that moment. Because I'll have a pace band on my left arm. Right next to my watch. So I'll always know where I stand - in relationship to the 2006 RNR Finish Line, as well as in relationship to the 2007 Boston Starting Line in Hopkinton. So there's no need to obsess about that moment of realization.

Thus, the hardest part, is right now. Before the race starts. When my mind gets to race but my body doesn't get to follow. Yes, the hardest part is now. Because I am ready. So far this year, I have run 748.5 miles. I have gone long for 20, 21, and 22 miles, recovering each week with an *easy* 16. And I have intervaled, completing Yasso 800s in 3:40. I have climbed hills. And mountains, even. With speed and grace and lightness. My performances are consistent. And my easy pace has quickened. My legs are freakishly strong. I am Ms. High Mileage. And I am ready!

But Dad - it would help a LOT if you could yell, "Go, 'Cole!" at about 10:00 AM PDT tomorrow morning. So loud that I can hear you all the way from Philadelphia. I know what you're thinking... Difficult, but doable, right?

Yeah... Just like qualifying for Boston.

Believing Is Art

I can no longer tell you how many nights I have spent in a hotel by myself. Because it's a lot. With travel for work being what it is, and driving cross country by myself, I am the queen of the King Bed Good Night Sleeep.

But tonight, I wouldn't mind sharing a double with a good buddy. I am feeling pretty lonely.

And fat. I am feeling SO effing FAT. I had a brownie on Wednesday night at O'Hare whilst I waited for hours and hours and hours for my plane to take off. I know, it was just ONE brownie. But why do my little running shorts feel SO god damn LITTLE?!

I have also been a total dumb ass, today. Turns out, it was my flight BACK to San Francisco that was rescheduled to one hour earlier not my flight DOWN to San Diego. So I woke up at 5:00 a.m. for nothing. And I thought I forgot Wilson Jr. (My Nano) at home while riding to the airport and nearly had a heart attack before finding him deep in the OTHER pocket. And then I thought I forgot my wallet while checking-in for my flight and nearly had a stroke before finding her in the OTHER other pocket. And if those near-hospitalizations weren't enough, I also dropped my cell phone getting on the plane without realizing it. Yep, nearly threw myself out the window after that one.

But I am here now, in San Diego. And I am SO ridiculously nervous. My heart has been pounding in my throat pretty much all day. And I cannot sit still. I keep hearing myself take these deep cleansing breaths, too. What the hell is wrong with me?

I hope it is just that I am so tired. I still haven't caught up on sleep from the 22 hour day on Wednesday. So I am going to bed soon. And I am hoping to wake up with a better attitude... It's just really hard to believe in yourself when you are a total mess.

I did get in a three miler tonight. In 25:37. Which is about goal pace. And it felt OK, I guess.

"It Depends It Depends And It Comes Back Again.
Yes Things That Everybody Would Say.
Believing is Hard.
Believing is Art."

"Believing is Art," by Spoon. From the album, Girls Can Tell.

3:40:59 - The Playlist

Feet don't fail me now...

Name	Artist	Album
Square One	Coldplay	X & Y
Bang a Gong (Get It On)	T. Rex	Electric Warrior (Remastered)
The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth	Clap Your Hands Say Yeah	Clap Your Hands Say Yeah
Mr. Blue Sky	Electric Light Orchestra	Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind
Angels of the Silences	Counting Crows	Recovering the Satellites
Mother We Just Can't Get Enough	The New Radicals	Maybe You've Been Brainwashed Too
Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)	Arcade Fire	Funeral
One by One All Day	The Shins	Oh, Inverted World
Runnin' Down A Dream	Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers	Greatest Hits
Day Tripper	The Beatles	1962-1966
Another Travelin' Song	Bright Eyes	I'm Wide Awake It's Morning
Black Tambourine	Beck	Guero
Small Stakes	Spoon	Kill The Moonlight
Everlong	Foo Fighters	The Colour And The Shape
The District Sleeps Alone Tonight	The Postal Service	Give Up
Goodnight and Go	Imogen Heap	Music from The O.C.: Mix 4 (Soundtrack from the TV Show)
Pictures of Me	Elliott Smith	Either/Or
Where The Streets Have No Name	U2	Joshua Tree
Finding Out True Love Is Blind	Louis XIV	The Best Little Secrets Are Kept (Bonus Tracks)
Diamond Dogs	Beck	Beck - Miscellaneous
California Waiting	Kings of Leon	Youth & Young Manhood
I'm Always in Love	Wilco	Summerteeth
Death Letter	The White Stripes	De Stijl
Harder to Breathe	Maroon 5	Songs About Jane
They Never Got You	Spoon	Gimme Fiction
Paint It, Black	The Rolling Stones	Aftermath
Unglued	Stone Temple Pilots	Purple
Do You Want To	Franz Ferdinand	You Could Have It So Much Better
Just a Ride	Jem	Music from The O.C.: Mix 1
My Name Is Jonas	Weezer	Weezer
Even Better Than the Real Thing	U2	The Best of 1990-2000
Shameless	Ani DiFranco	Living In Clip (Disc 2) [Live]
The Bends	Radiohead	The Bends
Mr. Brightside	The Killers	Hot Fuss
Bigger Than My Body	John Mayer	Heavier Things [Dualdisc] Disc 1
Fight Test	The Flaming Lips	Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots
Can't Stop	The Red Hot Chili Peppers	By the Way
One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces	Ben Folds Five	Whatever and Ever Amen
Motorcycle Drive By	Third Eye Blind	Third Eye Blind
Blue Orchid	The White Stripes	Get Behind Me Satan
Here It Goes Again	Ok Go	Oh No
Just Like Heaven	The Cure	Galore
I Summon You	Spoon	Gimme Fiction
First Tube	Phish	Farmhouse
Happier	Guster	Lost and Gone Forever
Red Rain	The White Stripes	Get Behind Me Satan
Fast as You Can	Fiona Apple	When the Pawn
Let Go	Frou Frou	Garden State
Look Good In Leather	Cody Chesnutt	The Headphone Masterpiece (Disc 2)
It's The End Of The World (And I Feel Fine)	R.E.M.	The Very Best Of
The Hardest Button to Button	The White Stripes	Elephant
Jonathon Fisk	Spoon	Kill The Moonlight
Precious Things	Tori Amos	Little Earthquakes
30 Gallon Tank	Spoon	A Series of Sneaks
The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song...(With All Your Power)	The Flaming Lips	At War With the Mystics

It's the Humility

It's not the flight. It's the damn delay.
And it's not the work as much as it's the RIDICULOUS clients.
It's not the early six o'clock wake up call. It's the freaking Central Time Zone.
And it's not the meeting as much as it's the lost time spent sitting through it.

It's not the running. But it's everything else about training, at this point.
The 8 hours of sleep a night I haven't been getting the past few weeks.
The healthy meals I haven't been eating while living the life of a Road Warrior.

As for the race, which is now a little more than three days away...
It's not the 26.2 as much as the 3:40:59.
Not the distance. I know I can GO THE DISTANCE.
I just don't know if I can keep up that effing 8:24/mile average pace.

Really - it's not the heat. I can handle the heat. It's the humility that is keeping me up right now. After a 22 hour day in Chicago, exhausted as all hell, doubting that I'll even be able to pull myself out of bed tomorrow let alone complete my day at the office, on the trail, and in the laundromat before heading back to the effing airport AGAIN.

Next time, though, on my way to San Diego...

Climb Every Mountain

I've done some pretty cool things in my life. Many of them during Phase Five, of course. This past weekend I added another one to the list.

Don't get me wrong. Lying on a towel in a bikini atop sand at the Jersey Shore is a great way to celebrate the arrival of summer. And if you can upgrade from the Jersey Shore to a locale clad with Palm Trees - well, GO FOR IT. (Unless you happen to be from Philly and absolutely LOVE overcrowded beaches, 60 degree water, duplex housing, and REAL Boardwalk Fries. In that case, to hell with Palm Trees, I'll see you at Mack and Mancos.)

But this year, I did Memorial Day Norcal style, by heading out to Lake Tahoe. I had never been to Lake Tahoe before this weekend; and already, I can't wait to go back! We left early Saturday morning crossing the Bay Bridge and heading out I-80 East. We said good-bye to the San Francisco Bay, setting our sights on the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Our only stop was for Tasty Teriyaki Burgers from Ikitas. (Hmm... this IS a Tasty Burger...) Ikitas has GOT to be the coolest little store ever. Burgers, produce, pies, and mango salsa. Topped off with complementary salsa sampling!

Our cabin was in Norden, CA - North Lake Tahoe. Most of the ride was beautiful, however during the last half hour of the drive we went through both snow and hail storms. And I did panic a LITTLE about not having snow chains. But it wasn't bad at all, really. Our cabin was near the Sugar Bowl Ski Resort, and my car only got stuck in the lot where we parked our cars. Nothing two big guys and my roommate KT couldn't push me out of, though. And now I can say that my car got stuck in the snow in May!

After parking, we started to unload the car. We had to hike about a half mile to our cabin from the parking lot. Not an easy feet when it's snowing, there is no trail, there's already a good foot of snow on the ground, and 5 girls must figure out a way to carry $500 worth of food and beverage for 15 people for the weekend. Luckily, I have the following going for me: 1) Marathon Legs of Steel, 2) An amusement of snow on Memorial Day, and 3) A brand spankin' new BACK PACK! Like, a REAL back pack. So it wasn't too bad. The food, the beverages, and the girls made it to the cabin after only a few trips.

And of course, the men showed up right after our hard work was done. Smart men, don't you think? We put them to work in the kitchen whipping up drinks and planning the night's meal. Good food plus good wine and some really intense gaming made for some really effing good times.

A pankcake brunch started our Sunday, and then we set off to hike - IN SNOWSHOES! I had never done any snowshoeing before Sunday. And though this weekend marked the start of summer, in some ways, I am already looking forward to the return of winter so that I can do some more snowshoeing again. We started at the base of Mount Judah, part of Sugar Bowl Ski Resort, and headed around the lake and up what normally is a pretty decent ski trail. I will brag and mention that despite being a snowshoe novice, my Marathon Legs helped me trek up most of the mountain (really - The Mountain - this was NOT a dinky hill) in record time.

It took about an hour to get to the point at which the ski lift would normally drop off skiiers. But we weren't satisfied with only making it to the Ski Lift. We could SEE the summit at that point, but we wanted to see FROM the summit. So the real fun started. Because our mountain had turned into more of a wall, and there was no way to get up it without serious arm involvement. There was a lot of digging and toepicking. And gritting as I pulled myself up the mountain, a few tiny inches at a time. Cheers when it went well and little screams when I'd fall back down. A moment of doubt with, "JWC I don't think I can DO it!" Followed by squeals of delight to emit the RUSH of exuberance that flows when you dig in, clench your entire body, and CLIMB...

All the way to the top. A little bit of research leads me to believe the change in altitude from the base to the summit was 6883 feet to about 8383 feet for a change in elevation of about 1500 feet, and a top 5 on the ever-growing list of Top Life Accomplishments, for sure.

The trip back down was great, too. Lots of sliding down on our butts, which was still kind of scary for me, and a reminder of why I let the New Year's Resolution to Ski/Snowboard slide by the wayside. By the time we made it back to the cabin, it was time for Happy Hour. It had been warm hiking up the mountain, but by now it was getting chilly. Still, being from San Francisco, we know how to layer. So we sat out by the (frozen) lake, getting way too competive over Catch Phrase to stay warm.

More good eats, plus a dance party with fantastic beats. The crowning of Flip Cup Champions and WE LOVE YOU, JWC, YOU ARE NOT MOVING hugs. It was morning again before we knew it.

I remember crying as a little kid while my family packed up the house Down the Shore at the end of a summer vacation. I wanted to cry as we cleaned up the cabin and hiked back to the car with our belongings on Monday afternoon. The weekend was THAT GOOD. But, it was nice to get home and a) shower for the first time in two and a half days and b) pee in a toilet instead of in the snow.

Thankfully, we're going back in two more weeks. Can't wait! This East Coast Girl just can't get enough of the West Coast Outdoors! (Be sure to check out the pics!)

Beckoning

I'll admit that back then, when the plans came together, I was scheming. But only a little bit. Because on that first day that we met, we did bond over our mutual taste in music. Especially his music.

So, when I got an email announcing the show at The Fillmore (The Fillmore!!!!) in May, I emailed him and asked if he planned on going. He didn't even know about the show, though. But how do you say no once you know about it? Insider information like this is a CALLING.

So I got tickets, and we pined over them for 40 days.

And honestly, I was prepared to just go as friends. Because the only thing I can't seem to find in this amazing city is a real Guy Friend. And because it's less wierd to pine over a man and his guitar when someone else is pining over him and his guitar, too.

And so we pined. All day at work exchanging emails. Then after work exchanging voicemails. Throughout my afternoon run that I didn't want to do, but because of the SUMMONS I completed with relative ease. Yes, up and down four miles of some of the steepest and fastest hills of San Francisco, which I finished in 36 minutes. Almost stopping to walk on the way back up to Lyon but only almost. (Because when you're listening to him while knowing that you are about to SEE him - and HIM - you just feel like a total bad ass. No - you ARE a total bad ass. You are being summoned. And you don't stop to walk during a summons.)

The show was AWESOME. And HE is awesome. However I wish I could figure out if HE is a natural flirt or if he is trying to tell me something. With his eyes and his smile. And his lingering when our arms touch. His hand on my neck when we talk.

Dude, are you asking me to try to kiss you? AGAIN?

Oh, what I wouldn't give to hear a, "Hell Yes."

"I'm moving this way, I'm doing this thing.
Please enjoy.
Hell yes now I'm turning it on, I'm working my legs.
Hell yes now I'm calling you out, I'm switching my plates.
Peace and joy.
Hell yes now I'm cleaning the floor, my beat is correct."

But for now, it's just our song... (And my beat is SO correct!)

We Just Can't Get Enough

It's always nice to come back to something after you've been away. Reacquainting feels good.

Tonight I got reacquainted with an old friend. It felt good to get his email this morning. To hear his voice on my voicemail. And to finally see his name on my caller ID. I love talking to this friend. He doesn't tolerate my complaining or my excuses. And while he does indulge me with bragging priveleges, he doesn't make a big fuss about my accomplishments.

We couldn't talk for very long. He was boarding an airplane and I was heading out the door to run. (For the first time in a few days.) I was reluctant at first, but our phone call reminded me that it feels good to get reacquainted.

And after a couple of easy miles, "I get a feeling, you get a feeling, we got a feeling, like we're alive."

Planned Distance - 4 Miles
Actual Distance - 4 Miles (Treadmill, 0.5 Incline)
Total Time: 34:40
Average Pace: 8:40/mile

And now that we're back into the groove? Well, we just can't get enough.

- "Mother We Just Can't Get Enough" by The New Radicals. From the Album, Maybe You've Been Brainwashed, Too.

(I know, I know. But as cheesy as this song is, I really just can't get enough!)

Slothful

On Sunday I staggered. And it was fantastic.

On Monday I slugged. Tired and still hazy. But I only had a few more hours to enjoy with TLY and I had to make them count.

On Tuesday I shlepped. Down the hill to work and from meeting to meeting all day. And because I think TLY still has my bus pass, I shlepped up up up to the top of the hill to get home.

Slumberous, I sit on my bed right now. I can barely sustain open eyelids let alone a 9:00/mile pace. My legs aren't sore, but they're quite angry. At the ten miles of trail running I completed on Sunday out at Tennessee Valley in Marin County. And at the six miles of urban hiking from Nob Hill to the Haight and back that rounded out Saturday afternoon. Not to mention the trip from Bay almost to Breakers.

Who knew a seven mile walk could turn a marathoner into such a sloth.

Bare to Breakers

Well, I did it again. Another PR!!!! This time in San Francisco's most famous road race, Bay to Breakers.

Distance: 7 miles (Almost...)
Time: 3.5 hours (Or so...)
Beers on the Course: 2? 3?
Vodkas on the Course: 3? 4?
Things I Won't Admit to Doing on the Course: 1... 2... 11... 12...
Naked Women I Saw on the Course: 4 (Maximum)
Naked Men I Saw on the Course: 44 (Minimum)
Pictures Taken with Said Naked Men: 8 or 9

These are some tough records to break next year, but I gotta start somewhere!

Oh, if only I could post all those pics... (Beware, some are of the PG-13 variety.)

Joggling

Sometimes there are just too many balls. That are all in the air at once. These balls, which represent all of my plans for the weekend, are currently in the air. But they are falling. Quickly. And I am pretty sure that I am not going to catch most of them when they fall.

But at least these balls are not eggs.

I keep having to change my plans. Right and left and up and down and sooner and later... Doing my best to just keep on juggling and running with whatever comes my way.

Friday Stats:
Planned Distance: 7 miles TPO
Actual Distance: 5 miles Yasso (flipped with Tuesday / shortened to get into the office)
Time: 42 minutes
Pace: 8:24 min/mile

Bury Me

Even though I was at work until 8:00 PM tonight, I don't feel like I really got anything done.

Well, that's not true, really. I did finish a few things. But for someone who values a clean desk, it's irritating to find yourself burried under mounds and mounds of documents and emails and meeting requests.

So I am working from home tomorrow so that a) I can pick up my friend from high school who is visiting from the airport and b) I can burry myself under the office radar and actually finish a few important projects.

...

OK, I am back. I just sat here thinking about all that I had to do tomorrow morning and started to panic a little bit. So glad that I'm running faster than I used to run. It's nice to be able to finish my runs in less time than they previously required!

Tuesday Stats:
Planned Distance - 4 miles (Easy)
Actual Distance - 4 miles
Time - 35:30
Pace - 8:53/mile (A little faster than easy...)

Wednesday Stats:
Planned Distance - 7 miles Tempo
Actual Distance - 7.7 miles (Oops. I really need a Garmin...)
Time - 1:02:30 (Negative split, though! 32:00 minutes out, 30:30 minutes back - UPHILL!)
Pace - 8:07/mile (Includes my warm-up. So it's pretty much on target for my tempo runs.)

Two good runs under my belt this week, and I have to be honest. I don't REALLY feel like waking up at 6:00 AM tomorrow morning to run AGAIN. I just don't. Maybe that will change after a few hours burried under the covers, though. Here's hoping!

Go Big Sur

This weekend marked another Phase Five first - CAMPING.

I have never been camping before this weekend. As someone who really enjoys spending a large percentage of her time outdoors running, walking, hiking, and even drinking, I find it odd that in my twentysix years, I have never once slept outdoors. Overnight. In a tent.

Until this weekend, that is. In Pfeiffer State Park, in Big Sur, about 150 miles south of San Francisco.

After my 22 miler on Sunday, I packed up the car. With my roommate's kick-ass backpack and tent. (And head lamp!) And I drove down the 101 to California's Highway 1. Winding back and forth and along the curves and then up and down over the rolling hills. Past Santa Cruz. And through Monterey and Carmel. Swerving and weaving.

And smiling. Because it was just like I imagined it would be. The way Dave Eggers said it was. With sky above and ocean below. And those soft, tall, green hills in the middle. And in the end, all I can say is what he said:

"...can you see this motherfucking sky? i mean, have you ever fucking been to california?"

(Take a look if you haven't...)

30 Gallon Tank

There aren't many words to the song. Actually, it's just one verse. Sort of. With a lot of repetition. It is so simple, and yet entirely overwhelming and complex.

Isn't that just like running? Very few words are required to describe the anatomy of my running. Right, left. Fast, slow. Long, short. Medium, too, I guess. And yet running is no where near as simple as this short list of words would lead one to assume. Running - and marathoning in particular - is entirely overwhelming and complex.

Just like this song. When I listen to it, I don't know if I'm invigorated or scared. But I am pulled. With each "c'mon" I am pulled. And when I hear this song, I can't fight the pull.

And on Saturday morning, I had to sing this song to myself. I needed to hear this song. Because I had to finish twenty-two miles Saturday morning. And I had to believe that I was a thirty gallon tank to do it. Up that long ass hill at mile 8. And 10. And at mile 12 when I was having some physical problems. At mile 14 when I was having some logistical problems, and at mile 17 when I was again having more physical problems. And especially at mile 20 when there was one more long, steep, hard hill. When my legs were soft and my mind was weak.

But I finished. By telling myself that I was a 30 gallon tank. Because 22 miles is nothing for the endurance reserve housed within a 30 gallon tank.

3 hours. 25 minutes. 22 miles.

- "30 Gallon Tank" by Spoon. From the album, A Series of Sneaks.

Mr. Blue Sky

I slept with my window open last night, so by 6:00 a.m. the 1 California Bus was busy making runs down my street, the ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ-ing too hard to ignore any longer. I slunk out of bed, and quietly crept to the kitchen. While waiting for my oatmeal, I stretched.

I geared up and headed out the door and down the street. 6:22 A.M. Taking long strides down the hill to really stretch out my hip flexors. By the time I made it to the Polk Street Basin, my heart was starting to pound. Not so much from the exercise, as from the fear out of what I was about to find out next. After I queued the playlist. And started the watch. And sprung off...

"Sun is shinin' in the sky... There ain't a cloud in sight... It's stopped rainin' ev'rybody's in a play... And don't you know... It's a beautiful new day hey, hey!"

Especially when your hip doesn't hurt!

"Runnin' down the avenue, (Pant, Pant, Pant)... See how the sun shines brightly... In the city on the streets... Where once was pity...Mr. Blue Sky is living here today."

I headed down Polk towards Bay, then a left and out to the Marina. Through Krissy Field and out to Fort Point, under the Golden Gate Bridge. I know I say this all the time, but really, the red of that bridge against the bluest of skies... Well, it doesn't get old. And for a moment, right before I touch Hopper's Hands to mark my half-way turn-around point, I wonder if anything is more beautiful than this bridge above this water and these rocks. Before these mountains and beneath this sky.

This beautiful blue sky.

- "Mr. Blue Sky" by Electric Light Orchestra. From the album, Out of the Blue. And the soundtrack from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

STATS:

• 8.5 miles round trip in 75 minutes for 8:49 average pace.
• I know, it's too fast... But it felt fabulous!
• On another note, time to retire these shoes... They've reached 293 miles. Wonder if they are the culprit to my hip issues on Tuesday? I alternate with a pair that's only got 140 miles on them, so I don't know. But I'd rather blame them than my crappy stretch job Monday morning!

Solve for X

We are taught to baseline. To incorporate additional factors one at a time. And to alter the ebb and flow of variables incrementally while effecting change. So that we stay in control. And ensure that our little experiments don't blow up in our faces.

I used to think I was a control freak. But lately, I find myself gravitating more towards chaos than order. Try as I may to develop a list, there is more to do at work than I can write down. I walked around in circles for several minutes this afternoon, trying to determine which ball to drop first. Only to crack up laughing as I realized people were staring.

My life, like yours, is probably best described with a differential equation. One with too many variables to ever solve, though... Despite precisely controlled science experiments! How can you ever hope to solve an equation whose variables are always changing? Quickly. Sometimes without reason. And many times, entirely accidentally.

Try as we may to keep our focus on something important, we will eventually tire. What is new, challenging, or exciting will become normal and routine. And though it will not always become mundane, what once caused our eyes to widen, our hearts to pound, and our stomach to drop, will cease to catch our attention the way it once did.

So far, one of the few conculsions I've come to make is that signifigance, in general, tends to wane. Even when we don't mean for it to do so.

But every now and then we are forced to shift focus. Causes to be determined, we identify new variables. And apply new constants. Detoured, we try to find the silver lining. We still can't solve for X, but sometimes, if we're lucky, we can solve for Y. We smile to ourselves. Not entirely there yet, it does feel nice to be a little closer to knowing the real value of X.

“I never, ever, ever take a race for granted until I cross the finish line.”
- Apolo Ohno

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek!

A few things about me.

1) If I dont' think I can finish something, I don't normally start it. Because...
2) I'm not that good at quitting.

The first time I ever quit a job I cried. Even though I was moving onto a better job, I hated leaving the one I had. The next time I quit a job, I cried BEFORE I quit. A lot. But not during the actual resignation announcement. (An improvement!)

I don't quit on my friends, either. To a sickening degree, I think. Not as much now that I'm better at picking friends, I guess. My friends now deserve me not quitting them. But some of the ones from the past? Friends of the boy variety, for instance... Well, I could have afforded to quit them much sooner than I did. Hell, I could still afford to quit some of them now.

But I'm not ready, still. (Sigh)

So, I like to think that not finishing my planned 7 miles tonight does not make me a quitter. Because I only stopped early when it was too impossible to ignore the shriek being produced by The Left Hip. The quiet eeek that began to screech at mile 2.25, which prompted me to seriously slow down. And the not so quiet piercing EEEEEEEEEEEEEK that yelped at mile 4 that prompted me to walk.

No, that was not quitting. Right? (Sigh)

Yesterday The Left Hip was singing. Scatting. Yodeling, even. I wish I knew what set her off tonight...

Four Fabulous Four

Have you ever waited six months for something? Really. Have you ever thought about it EVERY day for six months? Have you ever had to DO something about it for six months? Every day. Almost.

I have waited that long only for one other thing in my life. And waiting for that was NOT pleasant. At all. But I couldn't do much about it other than wait, so in that sense, these past six months, since they were full of proactive measure, haven't been as bad.

That's not to say that I'm not still SUPER excited that these six months are almost over, though. Because as of today, the Rock N Roll Marathon in San Diego is less than FOUR weeks away. And I can handle FOUR weeks. They will be FOUR focused weeks. FOUR killer weeks. But there are only FOUR now. FOUR!!!!

I started the Final FOUR this morning with a trip to the gym. Where I put up some SERIOUS weight on the bench press. FOUR sets of 65 pounds for ten reps on the flat bench, then FOUR sets of 45 pounds for 15 reps on the incline bench. Followed by FOUR sets of 45 pounds for 15 reps on the butterfly-thingy. Then I did some triceps work.

For such serious (for me) lifting, I am not really seeing any results. And that just doesn't seem fair. I don't really enjoy lifting all that much. And yet, I have incorporated it into my little *training* plan. And sure, I guess I do FEEL stronger, but I can't SEE the strength. And I think I deserve to see the strength. In the form of smaller, less flabbby. But I can still sqeeze my tricep flab. I'm doing it now, actually. I have definition, yes, but alas, I also STILL have sqeezable triceps flab. But my biceps are looking pretty good, actually. GUNS! And I guess the armpit flab is harder to find. Yes, armpit flab. Men know nothing of this irritating womenly troublespot. But armpit flab hangs over your strapless dress, negating all sex appeal of said dress. And while I'm sure men only look at our cleavage when we're in a strapless dress, we women only see our armpit flab. It sucks, but there are very specific cases that make us men and women and what we focus on when strapless dresses are in the picture is one of them.

With my time battling the big boys for a bench in the gym to lift my *SERIOUS* weights over, I headed outside for my recovery run. Down Polk Street towards the Marina Green and Krissy Field. Trying to maintain a 9:15/mile pace. Trying. Really. I really was trying. So hard. But there were so many other runners out, and I just kept wanting to catch up with them.

And honestly, I'm so bad at pacing myself without mile markers and clocks, these days. What used to feel hard, now feels like nothing. My frame of reference is all jumbled. It's kind of like when you've lost weight, and you go shopping to buy a new dress. Perhaps a strapless dress, now. You're in the store, looking at dresses, and you keep reaching for your old size. Because you look at the new size and wonder how your TOE will ever fit into that tubular fabric, let alone your stomach, thighs, and armpit flab. That's kind of how my running is right now. I still feel like this respectable but not super talented runner inside the body of someone who is actually pretty good, and very capable of hauling ass. Her own ass, even. Sans armpit flab.

So I get back to the gym after what I thought was my out and back 4 mile easy recovery run. And since it took me me 37:45, I figured I did an OK job at attempting to maintain 9:15/mile pace. But later, while playing around on Gmaps Pedometer, I learned my 4 miles was really 4.5 miles. Which means my easy recovery run was really more of a GOAL MARATHON RACE PACE run, done at an average pace of 8:23/mile. Oops.

I'd still give it four stars, though. (****) For effort and performance.

And so, with four being the number of the day, I thought it would be a good time to share with everyone that I received my race information last week while I was in Chicago...

Race Number: 4425
Corral: 4

FOUR!!!! I'm in Corral #4!!!!!!!!!!! HELLO WORLD!

And already I have butterflies. Because I don't think I could have picked a better corral for my fourth Marathon. FOUR Fabulous FOUR. It's gonna be a great race!

Personal Investments

Being thousands of miles apart, we have to devise other ways to stay connected. And invested, in all that what we're both doing.

She sends me emails asking me to PLEASE hurry up and post again. And sometimes, our telephone conversations remind me of the small Discussion Sections for those really big lecture classes we took in college. Because she is prepared. Equipped, even. When we talk, I envision her lying on her bed, laptop open, notebook in hand, chewing on a pen with a highlighter behind her ear. Ready to analyze, she submits requests: "Can we discuss what you wrote on Tuesday?"

The latest is my favorite, though. And I'm sorry, AFS, but I am just so touched by this one that I have to share.

----------------
Hi Nic!

How are you... hey, is there a link on your blog to your training schedule that week? For some reason I think that would be interesting, too. I really like numbers and time (a pretty unwellknown fact, I think), and would like to see how you do. And I feel invested in your goal of Boston.

Thanks!
----------------

No signature. It kind of feels like she she's just asking me pass her the ketchup. And that's what's so great about AFS. She can make you feel so important. Without all the hoopla.

And so, AFS, I have posted my training for you, below. I follow a program that I found on Nike.com. I can't export what I've logged for the first 20 weeks of this program for you to see. (Hey, Mike, wanna talk to the developes about adding that feature? Hee hee.) But I will tell you how I do each day moving forward for the rest of my training. There are only 120 miles until the big day.

Anyway, I am so lucky to have you invested in this goal, and in me. It makes me "... [feel] so good, like anything [is] possible." I can practically feel you squeezing my hand in support right now. And I know I'll feel it on the course. It really is much easier to run after your dreams when you know that someone like you is running along right behind me. I am sure I will feel you throughout all 26.2 miles on June 4.

- "Runnin' Down a Dream" by Tom Petty. From the album, Full Moon Fever.

Runnin Down a Dream

Here it is... When you lay it out like this, it doesn't look nearly as time consuming. Or intimidating. Or does it?

Week	Monday	Tuesday	Wednesday	Thursday	Friday	Saturday	Sunday
Dec 19	4 mi EZ	Rest	5 mi EZ	Rest	3 mi EZ	8 mi LSD	Rest
Dec 27	5 mi EZ	Rest	5 mi EZ	Rest	3 mi EZ	10 mi LSD	Rest
Jan 2	5 mi EZ	Rest	6 mi EZ	Rest	3 mi EZ	10 mi LSD	Rest
Jan 9	5 mi EZ	Rest	5 mi IVL	Rest	2 mi EZ	12 mi LSD	Rest
Jan 16	6 mi EZ	2 mi EZ	6 mi IVL	Rest	3 mi EZ	10 mi TPO	Rest
Jan 23	3 mi EZ	6 mi IVL	3 mi EZ	Rest	5 mi HLS	14 mi LSD	Rest
Jan 30	6 mi EZ	3 mi EZ	5 mi IVL	Rest	3 mi EZ	12 mi LSD	Rest
Feb 6	3 mi EZ	6 mi IVL	4 mi EZ	Rest	2 mi EZ	10 mi TPO	Rest
Feb 13	6 mi EZ	3 mi EZ	5 mi IVL	Rest	4 mi EZ	14 mi LSD	Rest
Feb 20	7 mi EZ	3 mi EZ	7 mi IVL	Rest	4 mi EZ	12 mi LSD	Rest
Feb 27	4 mi EZ	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	Rest	6 mi HLS	16 mi LSD	Rest
Mar 6	3 mi EZ	5 mi YSO	3 mi EZ	Rest	3 mi EZ	10 mi TPO	Rest
Mar 13	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	6 mi TPO	Rest	5 mi HLS	18 mi LSD	Rest
Mar 20	3 mi EZ	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	Rest	6 mi HLS	14 mi LSD	Rest
Mar 27	6 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	7 mi TPO	Rest	5 mi HLS	18 mi LSD	Rest
Apr 3	7 mi YSO	3 mi EZ	6 mi TPO	Rest	5 mi HLS	16 mi LSD	Rest
Apr 10	7 mi YSO	3 mi EZ	10 mi TPO	Rest	5 mi HLS	20 mi LSD	Rest
Apr 17	3 mi EZ	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	Rest	7 mi TPO	16 mi LSD	Rest
April 24	4 mi EZ	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	Rest	7 mi TPO	21 mi LSD	Rest
May 1	4 mi EZ	5 mi YSO	3 mi EZ	Rest	2 mi EZ	10 mi TPO	Rest
May 8	4 mi EZ	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	Rest	10 mi TPO	22 mi LSD	Rest
May 15	4 mi EZ	7 mi YSO	4 mi EZ	Rest	7 mi TPO	14 mi LSD	Rest
May 22	4 mi EZ	6 mi YSO	3 mi EZ	Rest	2 mi EZ	10 mi LSD	Rest
May 29	5 mi IVL	2 mi EZ	4 mi EZ	Rest	1 mi EZ	26.2 mi RACE	Rest

Here's a summary of my training paces...

• EZ - Easy Runs, done at an average 9:15/mile
• TPO - Tempo Runs, done at an average 8:00/mile
• IVL - Interval/Speed Runs, done at 6:34/mile for the speed intervals
• LSD - Long Slow Distance Runs, done at an average 9:30/mile
• YSO - Yasso 800s Runs, done at 7:20/mile pace per 800

I hope to finish the marathon on June 4 in 3:40:59 or less to qualify for Boston. 749 total miles, plus the training paces above, should get me there. Of course, pending good nutrition, rest, and a whole lot of heart.

They Never Got You

He gets her. HER. But he doesn't GET her. She is OK with that. And they get me. ME. But they don't GET me. And I am going to work on being OK with THAT.

A last minute trip to Chicago, with a bottle of wine and several Mandarin and sodas in, we both got that. We GOT THAT.

Not everyone is comfortable in the realm of what they don't know. It's a pretty fucking scary place, actually. But that's where we LIVE. We seek the intersection of that which we know we don't know, and that which we don't know we don't know. We can't imagine being anywhere else.

She is proud of my "skills." And for having big dreams. But mostly for using my "skills" to make those big dreams happen. I love her for not having to ask why I insist. On everything.

I am proud of her vision. And for never settling. Despite every compromise. Her big dreams are coming. Their reality is just a few hardworking days, up all nights, and beautiful mornings away, too. I know it.

Having articulated everything I haven't been able to say to anyone in person the past few months, I realize I miss her most when she is sitting right next to me. Nodding in agreement. Calling a bluff. Indulging bad habits. And reminding.

"You
when you were breaking up
they was just waking up
and back in that place where you come from
did it pay to play along
that's where I'm coming from
I'll roll it myself or just let it be
cause I never got them and they never got me."

- "They Never Got You" by Spoon. From the album Gimme Fiction.

*On June 4, I'll be running that 2/3 mile for you, EMI.*

Hungry Like a Wolf

Every time my friend from high school, TLY, used to come over to my house, she'd walk in the front door, say hello to me, and then to my parents, and ask, "Whatcha got to eat in here?"

She'd open the pantry door and crouch down to see what was on the bottom shelf. Every time, she'd select the Bite Size Sourdough Pretzels. Or she'd stand on her tippy toes to see what was on the top shelf. Cereal. She'd always go for either Bite Size Frosted Mini Wheats or the generic Cocoa Rice Krispies. Which were appropriately named, Cocoa Munchies.

These stories don't get old for TLY or my father. Or me, actually. That girl could eat for days.

I've been feeling a lot like TLY today. Because I have had the munchies all damn day. But not the cocoa kind, or any other kind of muchie that could be considered fun. Today, I can't seem to get full. I've been eating all day. Protein. Fiber. Fat. Other complex carbohydrates. I've consumed them alone and all together. Every couple of hours... Every couple of minutes. And I've washed it all down with copious amounts of water. GALLONS, even!

And yet, I am still hungry. Really effing hungry. Even now, at 11:12 PM. I am starving. I'd eat something else, but you see, I'm out of food!

It was a pretty big day, I guess. 13 official miles of movement logged. 1 mile to the gym. 7 miles of 800 repeats. 1 mile from the gym back home, uphill, because I forgot to pack a bra to wear to work. (And while I'm kicking ass on the job, I'm not kicking nearly enough ass to show up without strapping in the twins.) 2 miles to work. Who knows how many miles running around the office. Then 2 miles home, uphill. And seven or eight trips up and down the stairs doing laundry.

Seriously, what do wolves eat?

Blast Off

A few months back, we whispered about it. It was just a rumor at the time. We didn't know what was going to come of it.

Then we got a phone call. We high-fived and started to talk about it. Out loud. On the phone and in cubicles. In conference rooms. This thing that we couldn't describe in complete sentences. Each thought spurring another thought until The Parking Lot was a four lane highway.

There were white boards and dry erase markers. Notebooks and pencils. Tables and wireframes and mock-ups. Pages upon pages upon pages of "the system shall." And then a faxed signature.

Kick-off! There was a meeting. Me, my manager, and my team. I was so nervous before that meeting. My first team meeting. I wanted it to go well. And I wanted them to like me. I wanted them to respect me. Even more, I wanted them to not see how nervous I was.

"Oh, wow. Cool. Yeah, that will work! Nice. This is going to be good. Pretty complex, but it will work."

Nice. My nerves calmed. And we got started. Designing. Specifying. Refining. Building. Coding. Running. More coding. Compiling. Debugging. Posting. Testing, testing, testing. Unit. Smoke. Bash. Integration. Picking it apart and putting it back together. Over and over and over again. Prodding. Questioning. Thinking. Deciding. Answering. With a side of coffee. Lots and lots and lots of coffee. Plus a green tea for good measure. Or two.

Documenting, documenting, documenting, documenting, documenting... There were emails and phone calls and Instant Messages. Mostly there were instant messages. And they are all sent at the exact same time. Seven windows at once, almost all day. Everyone's question the MOST important.

"Wow. This really is complex. But it's working! Can you believe that? It's working."

Another post. And a presentation. Again, the nerves in an excited state. But it's a GO! And so we launch. I wait, making sure that everything is perfect. I sit. I pace. I communicate via instant messenger with seven people at once again. I get more coffee. I bring my cell phone everywhere I go. I ping and plink and "sorry to bother you" but I just want to know where we stand!

When it is finally complete, I emit a loud, long sigh. I instantly feel the exhaustion that has been building these past few weeks surge from my eyes to my toes. I am so tired I can barely type. But also so content, and so proud of the accomplishment. Of OUR accomplishment.

The fun has only just begun...

(Really. I get to do this all again next week for Great Idea #2!)

The Leader of the Pack

It's hard to figure out why some days are better than others.

The last time I went to Happy Hour the night before a long run, and had a few beers, I felt like shit for 16 miles. There wasn't a single point in the run that felt good. Perhaps it was because I forgot to use those beers to wash down dinner. All I had to eat was a bag of Doritos that night. Not so healthy...

Last night, I had a few beers. But I remembered to eat dinner. A whole wheat crust veggie pizza. I went to bed early. Like, EARLY. Earlier than I've gone to bed every other night this week. Which is kind of sad, because last night was a Friday, but that's part of the game, I guess.

I woke up feeling fantastic. And when we started to run this morning, I just took off. Running fast. And strong. All the way down Great Highway. And all the way around Lake Merced. I turned around at one point and realized that there were only a few other people with me. And half of the group was pretty far behind. We looked at our watches. They read 70 minutes. Then we checked the route map. It said we'd gone almost 9 miles.

HOLY SHIT.

Luckily, one of the guys running with us had a Garmin, for GPS tracking. And the Garmin confirmed that we'd gone 9.1 miles.

Again, HOLY SHIT.

That is not my normal long run pace. But it felt fabulous. So I have to wonder, why ISN'T that my normal pace? Was today just a good day? Or do I normally just let the others lead and settle into what someone else thinks is a good pace for the day? Should I be running at this pace more often?

We kept the 8:00 pace up for a few more miles, even running a 7:30 at one point, which honestly, I'm not sure I've ever done before. We eventually slowed a little when we turned up MLK Drive and up the hill into Golden Gate Park. But only down to 9:00 pace, which is still a great pace for the weekly LSD run. Most of the group dropped off at 16 miles, so I ran an extra 5 today on my own. Hauling ass all the way to a strong finish at Mile 21. 3 hours after we started.

Nic, the Leader of the Pack.

Vrooom. Vroooooom Vrooooooooom!

Dream Boy

My Dad says that the most important information in the newspaper is found in the comics. Yes, snippets of life's most treasured lessons and commentary on the state of the world can be found somewhere between Doonsburry and Cathy. (I cannot STAND Cathy!)

If only "Calvin and Hobbes" was still in publication, though. I'd probably still read the newspaper A1 to E16 every day if I could stop on E15 to catch a flashback of my youth in this adorable child.

Seriously, though. Isn't it pretty impressive how one can apply a Calvin strip to nearly every aspect of my life? Dude, he's even got TRAINING covered!


And again...


I miss Calvin so much it hurts, sometimes. It really hurts.

On the other hand, if Calvin is no longer in print, that means he's getting older. Do you think he's in his late 20s yet?

I wonder if he's figured out a way to make that Transmogrifier really work. I could probably help him out with that. And I bet if we put out some fliers, we could pull a Calvin Ball team together in no time. Hopefully he's over that morbid snowman phase. That was quite a clear cry for therapy. As long as Susie's not around to ruin things, and he's given up on being Dictator for Life of GROSS (the Get Rid of Slimy girlS Club) I'm pretty sure I have a good chance with Late 20s Calvin.

Ooooh, this is going to be AWESOME.

Shameless

It always starts as a soft shuffle. But it always builds. Slowly at first, but consistently. It swells, rising up from my feet until it settles. In my heart. A silent, steady beat crescendos. And an average pulse becomes the impetus for conquering all.

"I cannot name this. I cannot explain this. And I really don't want to. Just call me shameless."

These moments cannot be described. They can only be felt. And they can only be felt by those who dare to push. To prod and poke. Into those layers of oneself that have never had the opportunity to show. To shine.

"I can't even slow this down. Let alone stop this. And I keep looking around. But I cannot top this."

Faster and faster I go. Forging ahead into The Zone. That place where I am simultaneously unaware of anything going on and yet entirely in tune. With my feet. My legs. My butt and hips. My arms and shoulders. My back. My posture. My lungs. My body...

"If I had any sense. I guess I'd fear this. I guess I'd keep it down. So no one would hear this."

Because it doesn't always go this well. And on those days, when failure seems more likely than success, I often wish everyone didn't know about this.

"I guess I'd shut my mouth. And rethink a minute. But I can't shut it now. 'Cuz there's something in it."

The hairs on my arms and neck begin to stand on end. I am warm and cold and hungry and full and thirsty and refreshed. I can't think about anything except that finish line and that clock. Within these minutes I am not afraid of 3:40:59. And within these minutes, I can barely restrain myself from screaming.

"...I got to divide my emotions. Between wrong and right. Then I get to see how close I can get to it. Without giving in. Then I get to rub up against it. Till I break the skin. Rub up against it. Till I break the skin."

I never think about quitting. But I think about backing off. Slowing down. Or making an excuse to settle for something less. But I can't bring myself to do it. Not today! Even though it sometimes starts to hurt. Badly. It sometimes starts to hurt quite often.

"They're gonna be mad at us. They're gonna be mad at me and you. Yeah, they're gonna be mad at us. And all the things we wanna do..."

And so they tell you to take it easy. That you don't have to put yourself through it all. It's not necessary. And it could be bad for you. But it's just because they have never attempted something so big. So difficult. So demanding. Or so empowering. And so rewarding.

I want this. I am not embarrassed by it. "Just call me, Shameless."

-- "Shameless," by Ani DiFranco. From the Album Dilate.

NOTE #1: Yeah, so Ani's interpretation of the song and the one I described above likely don't jive. That's not to say I'm not allowed to apply my interpretations however I chose. Nor is it to say that I've never felt something else when I've listened to this song. In essence, it's just about wanting something so badly and giving into that desire. Who knew giving in could feel so good?

NOTE #2: I decided tonight that I will be running with music at San Diego. Yes, even though there is a band at every mile or so, I'm going to don headphones. If I'm running sub 8:30s I really won't get to hear each band for more than 30-60 seconds, anyway! But since I've received some requests about what music I listen to when I'm running, I promise to publish my Marathon Playlist - "3:40:59 or Bust" - when we get close to the race. In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for some of the important songs that will surely be on that list...

Monday's Gone

I love Monday Night.

Yes. A lot of why I love Monday Night has to do with the fact that I normally spend part of the evening glued to HBO OnDemand, watching the episodes of The Sopranos and Big Love that I missed from Sunday night. (When my roommates preferred watching those shows on ABC...)

And yes, I also love Monday Night because I normally have a stockpile of food to eat for dinner on these evenings. Having just been to the grocery store on Sunday afternoon. The veggies are fresh, the chicken didn't have to be defrosted, and there is still milk in the carton!

But, if you really want to know, the reason why I most love Monday Night is because it is just SO far away from my next round of Manic Monday (Morning) Madness.

Monday's gone with the wind! Good (Monday) Night!

Head in the Clouds

This past week, which was supposed to be a recovery week, ended up being a week of negligence. I have been unaware, inattentive, and spacey. It was a week of ignorance.

In other words, it was pure bliss!

Save the cold, of course. My head has been clogged for a few days now. And it's been pounding. Not that it was much better before the cold set in. Wracked with my terrible attitude about this *race* that is only 42 days away now.

So, I just stopped. I haven't run since Wednesday. Thursday, Friday, Saturday... NOTHING. Today, I eased back into physical activity with a hike at Pinnacles National Monument, about two hours south of San Francisco. We hiked to North Chalone Peak, covering about 9 miles and an elevation change of 2500+ ft.

At the top of the summit today, I thought about how good it will to get back to training this upcoming week. Only six weeks left! Amazing what I was able to figure out with my head up in the clouds... instead of up my ass, right?!

Inquisition

OK, I admit it.

I've not only been thinking about you - forever by now - but I've been wondering if you think about me. For a while, now, I guess. Yes, I've been wondering.

Maybe when you go out for a run. Do you think about me then? Or when you listen to certain bands. Strangely enough, I wonder if you can listen to The White Stripes without smiling. Or laughing. And thinking about me.

Do you still wear those sunglasses we bought while walking through the open market? And do you think about me when you put them on?

I wonder what you think about when you wait for your lunch at the sandwich shop. Do you ever catch yourself staring at that table in the corner? The one that we sat at for almost four hours that day. I will never forget that sandwich. That table. That conversation. Will you? Shit, I hope that sandwich shop survived the storm.

Do you still wear that Texas shirt? I can't think of a time when you looked more adorable.
I wonder if you kept that book I gave you. And I wonder if you stayed up late at night reading it over and over again. Because it's an awesome book. And/or because it was from me. I wonder what you say when someone asks you where you got it. Because people surely ask. It's such an awesome book... Do you say that your "friend" gave it to you? Or "some girl"? A girl from DC... A girl you used to date. Sort of. Or do you tell them that I gave it to you? Do you refer to me by name? I know that they know who I am. So I wonder, what do you say?

Do you ever re-read our emails? Do you have any of our text messages saved? I didn't want to get a new phone because of those text messages.

I think about you every time I hear that song. And I think about the last time I saw you when I hear it. The last time we were together. When you said that you hadn't been that happy with someone else... ever. That song is exactly us. Except that I don't want you pounded out of my head. I don't think I could bare to not have you in it.

I just can't believe you called last week. Well, I can, but I can't. I've been really glad, though. Glad that you called. I think that since then I have been allowing myself to wonder more about you. And I am remembering what it is like to actually miss someone. Not just a body, but an entire person. To miss the good and the bad. The easy and the difficult. I miss you.

But then yesterday... If only you could have seen me smile when I saw your name on the screen.

Hey Self Defeater

I have powerful legs. And really great calves. My lungs are strong. Hell, tomorrow morning I am planning on adding five pounds to each side of that forty-five pound bar I've been bench pressing the past few weeks. So it looks like my arms and chest are developing strength, too. And my heart is healthy.

My mind, though? My mind is fucking weak.

I felt great on Saturday morning. I finished those twenty miles and felt like I could have run 6.2 more. Yes, even after running the majority of my twenty miles in the pouring rain, I felt good. So on Sunday, I rested. It felt wonderful to sleep in, eat a nice breakfast, and relax all afternoon.

But then I had to go and put on a bathing suit. And I winced at my reflection in the mirror. This is not the body of a Boston Marathon Qualifier. I spent parts of Marathon Monday reading and hearing about the Boston finishers. My roommate's friend ran at 6:50 pace for the entire race. Shit! I don't run that fast... I'm worried about sustaining 8:30 pace. And that is not the pace of a Boston Qualifier. And then, on Monday afternoon, ANOTHER cold hits my head and chest. WHY is this happening? I felt too weak to even run three easy miles that afternoon. So I left work early and napped on the couch. This is not the immune system of a Boston Qualifier. Come Tuesday morning, I gave my three miles a shot. I finished, but it was terrible. This is not the running of a Boston Qualifier.

And so I've spent a lot of time since Sunday afternoon moping. Second-guessing this goal and doubting my abilities as a runner. Surmising that I am not really THAT good if I wheeze during an easy three mile recovery jog. Back pedaling. And retracting my proclamations that I will run 26.2 miles in three hours and forty minutes on June 4 in San Diego.

And Why? Because I wish my butt looked better in a bathing suit. And because a girl I don't even know (just like lots of other girls I don't know) can run 6:50 miles at Boston. Because I keep sneezing. And because I had a hard time completing a run while I kept sneezing. And all in all, because I think too much.

Hands down, this season's schedule represents the most intense marathon training I have attempted to date. And last week, I ran more miles than I ever even remotely CONSIDERED running in one seven day period. My legs hurt. My arms hurt. BodyGlide has failed me, as I have cuts all over my chest from my sports bra. I also have a random cut on my neck from the chafe of the jacket I had to wear throughout all twenty miles of my Saturday run through freezing downpour. But amazingly enough, I have all of my toenails. And only small blisters on my pinky toes.

You know, this blog wasn't supposed to be about running. It was supposed to just be about... ME. It started the day I had the guts to admit that I wasn't happy in DC and that I wanted to start a new life for myself in San Francisco. It started when I accepted that beneath this external englineer lies a wannabe high school English teacher. It started because I had been wanting to write for so long but wasn't doing anything about it.

But running, I have learned, is a huge part of what makes me ME. I think about running every day. I have running ads pinned to the wall above my desks. And I have a race number with my name posted on my door. I put it up as a joke, but I can't seem to take it down. I have more playlists on my iPod for different running routes than other genres of music. I get teary in the middle of the gym reading a Runner's World. And when I meet people who have run a marathon I say, "1? Only 1? Don't want to run another one?"

Down on myself, I spent a lot of time today listening to Mark Mulcahy's "Hey Self Defeater."

"Wishing and thinking..."

And I've come to the conclusion that I do love running. Even when it gets ugly, as this training, which is fucking hard, has. And I'm not really ready to quit, because I am not one to propagate mediocrity. I was reminded yesterday that I chose this goal. The Boston Marathon is a huge fucking deal. It is the pinnacle of MY sport. And I really want to be a part of it. I have to go for it - there really just isn't any other choice. I couldn't move to San Francisco without planning. I couldn't start this blog without writing. And I will not qualify for Boston without running. Without a lot of quality, difficult, fast, hilly, slow, recovery, long running.

"Hey Self Defeater... Your underrated by yourself so quick looking down..."

Tonight after work I ran 7 miles in under 56 minutes. Outside, into the wind in both directions. Leave it to San Francisoo to make that, and walking uphill both ways to the grocery store, possible. At any rate, I think I'm pleasantly sick of myself by now. Thankfully, right?

"You're underrated so quit looking down, and look up..."

Bean with Envy

The winner of today's Boston Marathon finished in two hours, seven minutes and 14 seconds. Three years ago, it took me about that long to run HALF of a marathon. Now, though, I can easily run 14 miles in that time. And I can probably run 15 miles in that time. And if I'm racing, I'd like to think I can also complete 16 miles in that time.

Throughout the past three years, I have certainly become a faster runner. But I have also become a smarter runner. A lighter on my feet runner. A runner who is more optimistic. More dedicated, and more happy. In the three years since my first half marathon, I've become a better runner.

But this year, I've started to think that I'm not just a BETTER runner. What if I'm a GOOD runner?

With only one way to find out, I've started thinking. These days, I spend a lot of time wishing, and hoping, and planning - not to mention training - for the Boston Marathon. I think about running Boston on Friday nights, when I opt out of bar hopping to go to bed early. And early on Saturday mornings, when the alarm goes off before most of San Francisco has woken up. Later on Saturday mornings, when I start out on a long run, trying to settle into a comfortable rhythm.

I think about Boston at mile 14 of a 20 mile training run. When most of the group peels off and heads home. When I'm kind of hungry and tired. And when I think about how respectable 14 miles before 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning is. When I think that 20 miles is a little - or a lot - ridiculous. I think about Boston when I make that choice to continue on to miles 15, through 19. And I think about Boston again at mile 19.5, when I feel FANTASTIC. When I decide to sprint the last half mile.

I think about Boston a lot. And every time, be it on the road, treadmill, or couch, I think about how my little goal to run a marathon "one day" turned into somewhat of a hobby. Something I did in my spare time. For fun. A hobby that later turned into a passion and a way of life. I think about Boston when I realize that these days, I don't just aim to finish a training run. I aim to finish strong. Happy and smiling.

Today, when I thought about Boston, I was a bit of a green-eyed monster. A loving, admiring, respectful monster. Green with envy over all those amazing runners who braved The Marathon in Beantown today.

Great job, runners. I hope you had the time of your life on the course today. And I hope to see you there next year.

Kicking and Screaming

Why is a twenty miler so much more nerve racking than the actual marathon?

Is it because there won't be fans cheering me on at mile 19.5? Or is it because there won't be anyone waiting for me at the finish line? Is it just because there isn't an actual finish line? Maybe training runs are so much harder than the actual race because in between the training runs, I somehow have to squeeze in my day job. Not to mention grocery shopping. And cooking. And laundry. (And when you're training like this, there is SO MUCH LAUNDRY.)

Come to think of it, I've run more marathons than twenty mile training runs. That could be another reason why I'm so uncomfortable tonight.

Plus, The Legs are tired. And that is not alleviating this looming apprehension. Not one bit. The Legs are tingling, sort of. They feel a little heavy, and kind of warm.

Do you hear that, Legs? I really KNOW you're tired. Honest. But you can do it.

You can push through tomorrow. Push! For twenty miles. Yep, twenty miles. I know we've already ran 25 miles this week, but how much FUN did you have running those miles? We can re-live almost ALL that fun again tomorrow morning. For twenty miles tomorrow we can stride and dash and gallop. We can scamper up hills and then scuttle back down them. Because this is San Francisco, Legs - there will be hills. We can jog, or we can sprint, or we can trot. Hell, we can even SKIP if it makes us happy. We can kick and scream, too, as long as we're moving forward.

One step at a time. One mile at a time.

We will finish tomorrow. And we will finish strong.

Kicking and screaming, for joy.

The Drones

"Oooooh. Eeeeh. Aaaaah."

It's from a movie. When Harry Met Sally. Specifically, when? When Harry is on the phone with Sally before going to bed one night. He is not doing all that well since his divorce, and Sally, slightly irritated, tries to get off of the phone with him. When she says good night, Harry responds that he plans to stay up a little while longer just to moan.

"Oooooh. Eeeeh. Aaaaah."

That wasn't from a movie. That was me. DAG, YO! I am tired. Beat up. Broken-down. Done in and Tuckered out.

"Oooooh. Eeeeh. Aaaaah."

And today was a REST day.

"Oooooh. Eeeeh. Aaaaah."

But it sure does feel good to drone on like that.

"Oooooh. Eeeeh. Aaaaah."

The week is more than half way over. 20 miles down, 25 miles to go.

Oh, what the hell, one more for prosperity.

"Oooooh. Eeeeh. Aaaaah."

The San Francisco Dodgers

They come out after the rain. And stand in the middle of the sidewalks. Gazing upwards. Peering down - often at a map. Or staring straight ahead, waving, hugging, and smiling. Sometimes, you'll even find them in the middle of the street. (When that street is Lombard.) Squinting through a view finder, attempting to capture a snap of magic.

Oh, tourists. You transcend on San Francisco and actually pay $5 to ride the cable cars. And because you think it's going to be hot and sunny here, with it being California and all, you keep all those shops in Chinatown that sell San Francisco sweatshirts in business. Without you guys, I don't even what to think about how expensive this city would really be.

BUT GET OUT OF MY WAY I'M TRYING TO RUN HERE!

Right-left-right-left-SLAM - into a woman who stops to take a picture of Coit Tower without consulting with the masses behind her. Right-left-right-left-WAY RIGHT - around the family posing for a picture outside of Ghiradelli Square. Right-left-right-left-suck in you can fit through this clan of people who are taking their grand old time at Fort Point.

Dodge-her! Dodge-him! Dodge-them!

I sound like I'm complaining. I'm not, though. I love tourists. Their presence validates how awesome my city is. It also funds a lot of public works projects. And not to be underestimated, the presence of tourists guarantees that my running route will be lined with lots of public restrooms.

But I have no idea how many miles I actually ran today. Out and back and 'round and 'round. But I think I kept a pretty fast pace most of the time. No one passed me save three people. Who were taller than me. And male. Not counting the Dodgers, I passed about 20 different runners over the course of my ten miles. And some of them WERE taller than me. And male. I'd say I averaged an 8:30/mile pace.

If that pace isn't accurrate, I will at least thank all of the San Francisco Dodgers for providing me with an excellent, yet unexpected plyometric workout today. I am feeling powerful and strong.

Now Dodgers, go sit down in Boudin and have some sourdough!

Manic Monday

My first - CASSETTE - growing up was The Bangles, "Different Light." I used to play it on a pink boom box that didn't have a rewind button. Play, Stop, and Fast Forward only. Much to my dismay, no doubt. The year was 1986, I was six years old, and I was officially OBSESSED with my first songs and my first band.

Without a repeat function, nevertheless a rewind button, Dad made me Different Light #2. Walk Like an Egyptian was moved up to the first spot on the tape. Followed by Manic Monday, a couple of songs, Walk Like an Egyptian, a couple of songs, Manic Monday, a couple of songs, etc. With this setup, I could utilize my fast forward button to listen to the songs as much as possible while I choreographed new and improved MTV videos for the Bangles and held live performances from either the TV Room firelplace or a bench in the basement. (I was Suzanne, obviously.)

Back in 1986, my budding music enthusiast self did not know the definition of the word manic. Nor did I truly grasp the meaning of my favorite line in the song, "He tells me in his bedroom voice... C'mon honey, let's go make some noise!" However, at six years old, I believed in Manic Monday. How could you NOT believe in anything The Bangles sang in 1986? But oh, the Manic Monday. I was convinced that I wanted to have Manic Mondays when I was older. You know, like second grade older.

Now that I actually understand the lyrics, I realize my 1986 dreams, clad in pairs of slouch socks, side ponytails, and Keds, have come true. For now I really have Manic Mondays. And Sunday Fundays. Which, if we're going to talk training, also fall into the category of "I don't have to Rundays." But on Mondays, as well as othe weekdays, I have to be at work by nine. "And if I had an air-o-plane," well... you know. I'd still get there at 9:15 every day.

So in honor and denial of Mondays, I have decided to start doing my Yasso workouts on Monday mornings. Today I completed 7x800 repeats @ 7:20/mile pace with 800 recoveries at 9:15 pace for a total of 58:30. Because why NOT kick of a Manic Monday with some Manic Running? Run fast - Recover - Run fast - recover... It sure preps me for my day, anyway: Work hard - sit and stare in denial - Work hard - sit and stare in denial...

Yep... Just another Manic Monday.

My Inner Flaming Feminist

Sitting quietly in the chair next to my mother, I turned the pages of my favorite book: The House the Biff Built. Lover of all things Jim Henson, I could spend days with these books. Pointing out Big Bird, Ernie, and Cookie Monster, giggling at Oscar and Grover.

I was two years old, and I had accompanied my mother to her monthly exam with the OBGYN who would soon deliver a new bundle of joy to the family. In an effort to include me in on the discussion of the family's upcoming expansion, the doctor liked to ask me questions. "Are you excited to be a big sister? Are you excited to have a baby brother or sister? Are you going to help your mommy with the baby?" Etcetera, etcetera, and so forth.

Honestly, I don't recall feeling overwhelmingly strong in either direction about the situation. I don't think I enjoyed talking to the doctor too much, to be honest. But on this day, as I sat reading about Biff and blueprints, as well as cement and lumber, the doctor decided to not ask me about my pending siblinghood. Instead, he asked, "Do you want to be a 'builder' when you grow up?"

And at two years old I retorted, "No. I want to be an architecht."

So you can imagine my parents' surprise later that year, when in a similar situation, my response to, "Do you want to be a doctor when you grow up?" was NOT, "No. I want to be a neurosurgeon." Instead, it was, "No. Women can't be doctors. I want to be a nurse. "

Where the HELL did that come from? I certainly wasn't raised to think that only men could grow up to be doctors. And obviously, in graduating from college with a Bachelor of Science in Systems Engineering, I luckily managed to grow out of those crazy sexist notions. Well, most of them, anyway.

I still think men should take out the garbage. And up until tonight, I thought - or perhaps I simply always allowed - men to handle all aspects grilling. Charcoals. Fires. Steaks.

Spring is over a week old, I know. But today was the first day it really felt like spring. In a city without seasons, one needs activities to differentiate the end of 60 degree winters and the start of 60 degree summers. Today's activities included wearing flip flops, standing in line for concert tickets, scoring FREE tickets to a baseball game, and of course, dining on hot dogs and beers at said baseball game. What better way to end this day than to grill a steak?

And so I did. I cleaned out the grill. I lit the charcoals. Then I called my dad. And after that, I added paper to the pile of coals. Then I REALLY lit the charcoal. I marinated the steaks. I plopped them on the grill. Then I went back to the more "girly" of the tasks - chopping the vegetables, sauteeing the spinach, and browning some onions.

It was a fine meal. And a great kick-off to what is going to be the most difficult week of my training to date. (Pics)

• Monday: 7 miles (With speed intervals)
  
• Tuesday: 3 miles (Easy)
  
• Wednesday: 10 miles (With at least 7 miles at tempo pace)
• Thurdsday: OFF
  
• Friday: 5 miles (Easy/Hill repeats)
  
• Saturday: 20 miles (LSD)
• Sunday: OFF

Are you kidding me? 45 miles? I might die. These workouts don't even include time on the bench lifting, or my plans to make it to yoga three times. Dude, I am so going to die. But at least, on my day of rest before this ridiculous week begins, I scored tickets to Beck, drank a beer at the ballgame, and feasted on a lovely steak dinner.

Now, since I do not cohabitate with a male, I must take out the trash. And finally, to bed. My inner flaming feminist is spent.

The Seven Stages of Marathon

I have an Adidas ad from a few years ago hanging on my wall. It reads...

The Seven Stages of Marathon:

1. Ritual
2. Shock
3. Denial
4. Isolation
5. Despair
6. Affirmation
7. Renewal

I woke up before the alarm this morning. Again. (#1) I thought I had a nice, short recovery run on the schedule for this weekend. Much to my surprise/#2, it was a *recovery* 16 miler. DOLT! I did NOT want to run this morning. Definitely in #3 of the race that will take place a mere eight weeks from now.

But I went. Met up with the Road Runners and felt OK for most of the run. Although I didn't really want to talk to anyone, today. I ran ahead of the pack for a while, avoiding conversation. I just wanted to get those miles done so I could go home and take a nap.

I have never hit the wall before. Before today, that is. At 13 miles, nonetheless. Struggling to keep up with the pack, I told them to go ahead without me. #4. For three very brutal miles. Alone, and full of #5, I couldn't shake my inner defeatist: I'm NEVER going to qualify for Boston at this rate. NEVER.

Post run, a good breakfast. And a few hours on the couch. A conversation with my dad. And an hour on the phone with New Orleans. I again look at this Adidas ad - which was for the 107th Annual Boston Marathon in 2003 - and sheepishly grin from the realization that I placed this ad on my refrigerator back in 2003 when I was training for my very first marathon. Back when I wasn't sure I'd be able to run 26.2 miles at all.

I obviously did achieve that goal. So why not this next one? Why shouldn't I be able to not only run another 26.2, but run it in 3 hours and 40 seconds? Why NOT?

I WILL QUALIFY FOR BOSTON. (#6)

So, time for a quick cat nap. Because I do have a bit of a headache. And my eyes are heavy. And when I open them again, it will be #7 all the way.

Buzzworthy

It's not like I was having a bad time. But I wasn't having entirely too much fun, either. I lived alone for two years and drove across most of this country with no one but my iPod, Wilson I. I can handle silence. Or rather, I have a knack for filling silence through conversations with My Self...

Self, if that bastard ever calls again, you better say *THAT* to him.
Self, try harder to be patient with Mom.
Self, stop reading Us Weekly already.
Self, stop talking to Your Self in the mirror in public bathrooms.

I listened to him talk about his welding, his sculpture, and his "haunted" apartment. (WTF?) I endured the story of how he almost-auditioned for The Bachelor. He did audition, actually. He completed the first steps. Just because he didn't submit a video doesn't mean he didn't audition. (And between you and me, that story was REALLY just the end of all hope.) I tried to broach interesting subjects. But he cited Metallica as the only music he really listens to. I can't really DO much with that. We debated a few philosphies, but it was painful. He didn't ask any questions that struck a chord. And I wasn't doing much better. That awkward silence? I enjoyed it. But he asked (nicely) if I wanted to grab another drink after dinner. I should have just flat out said no. Instead, "I have to train tomorrow morning..." To which he replied, "Just one more drink." I reluctantly agreed. And after that, he STILL didn't even ask me about my marathon. Isn't that just... well, INCONSIDERATE?

Conversations with My Self continued...

Self, I would definitely take you home to - as ACN calls it - play kissy-face.
And Self, I would SO date you.
Self, come to think of it, I would MARRY you.

I have met someone - actually, sometwos and threes - who made my heart race. Around whom I couldn't stop smiling. Our meetings made me talk faster and made him talk faster.We needed to tell everything and there was just not enough time! Because how is it possible we hadn't known each other all these previous years? Oh, we could not get enough of each other. SO fabulous. Awake until all hours, talking, moving,becoming closer. We'd entwine ourselves in each other for hours at at time to make up for the fact that we ever spent a second apart. When they are the only person you can think of calling when everything is right. And even more when nothing is.

This Guy? I saw that he called and let my voicemail pick up. I didn't listen to his message until the next day. I think I'm done with This Guy.

Because I want heart pounding. I want need wrinkle cream for my eyes because I can't stop smiling and laughing when we're together. I want conversations in the corner into which no one can interject. I want to be tired from staying up all night. I want to be perplexed. I want to be amazed. I don't want to be able to catch my breath. I want to call each other at the same time. I want long emails and secrets and forehead kisses. I want passionate fights. I want to spill my beans, and I want to feel that beautiful buzz...

New Orleans called yesterday. I was at work, and I missed his call. But he left a message. And just hearing his voice on my answering machine made me skip down the street. Warm and buzzing, remembering love.

Intent

I am dedicated. Also committed, devoted, enthusiastic, and hard-working. Purposeful, wholehearted, and zealous. I have the ability to set goals and work to achieve them. And I am probably the most loyal person thatn any of you will ever know.

However, I am also quite scatterbrained. In the most responsible sense, of course. Quite often, I quickly lose interest in what I'm doing. Apply positive spin to this cold hard fact, and I become Miss Multi-Tasker. Stop by my desk and you'll find me composing an email, updating a flow diagram, and ordering concert tickets online, while also talking on the phone and to the person one cube over. I have not yet figured out how to talk on my cell while also sending a text message, but come to think of it, my phone does have speakerphone and Bluetooth capabilities; so I can probably figure out how to do it. I'll likely get this done tomorrow on my way to work. Why just walk when I could walk, talk, and text? Oh, and chew gum. I'll definitely need some gum.

So it makes sense that the only way in hell I can get in all of my training workouts is first thing in the morning. Before the stores open. And before my roommates and friends are awake. Not that I haven't thought about calling yous guys on the East Coast at 5:30 a.m. while I treck to the gym, but most of you are trecking to the office and are underground at that hour, so I don't bother. But it makes sense. Because if I try to run any later in the day, I will likely see a newspaper, drink a coffee, realize I have to buy more toilet paper, walk to the store, stop and buy some flowers, call my mother, crave a stiff drink, walk back to the corner store, spot a cute guy, sigh that I have nothing to wear, stroll down to Polk Street and into some boutiques, buy a new pair of pants, notice I need to shave my legs, and then go home and take a shower.

And why run when you've just showered?

All this lack of focus means that I have a plethora of good intentions. So if my committed side is playful, I can get a ton of work done. But never by 5:00 p.m. I can't seem to get anything done by 5:00 p.m. anymore. Every day this week, I have found myself burrowed under a pile of emails and a stack diagrams at 5:00 p.m. My phone screams at me to return calls. And those effing Outlook reminders keep ding-dong-ding-ing.

So what I'm taking forever to say (because there are so many other things to talk about, too) is that while I have completed all my runs the past few weeks, including another seven miles of Yassos yesterday, I haven't been getting in much yoga. And it's stressing me out. I'm stressed out because I haven't been to yoga and I'm stressed out because I haven't been to yoga. Do you get the difference?

So, being a total scatterbarined-sure let's open ANOTHER window while I blog this entry-cheese-ball, I did some quote searching. Here's what I've found...

• "It is not good enough for things to be planned - they still have to be done; for the intention to become a reality, energy has to be launched into operation.” --Walt Kelly

Um, thanks Walt. I think I've learned this lesson. Just carrying around my yoga clothes doesn't mean I'm going to make it to yoga. I get it. I have to actually GO. Check.

• "All that is necessary to break the spell of inertia and frustration is this: act as if it were impossible to fail. That is the talisman, the formula, the command of right-about-face that turns us from failure toward success.” --Dorothea Brande

Dorothea, you rule! What you're NOT saying is that I need to find a yoga training schedule. Something that says I HAVE to go. Because all this yoga has just been icing on the cake I call Busting My Ass to Qualify for Boston. Sweet!

Luckily, I ALSO still know THIS quote by heart...

• "Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow. You're only a day away!" -- Annie
  

Except that tomorrow's Friday. So... Sunday. Yes, Sunday. I'll go to yoga again on Sunday. (Hm... So much for all that talk of intention...)

Threezy

Three miles. They take less than 30 minutes to run. 27 minutes, actually. Tops. And honestly, what's the point in running for less than a half hour? Most of the time, it takes almost an entire 30 minutes to actually get into a run. One that feels REALLY good, anyway.

So I don't understand the whole Three Easy Miles concept. Because for the most part, their not easy. They're long. And slow. And grueling.

For the most part.

This week, I don't have to heave-ho my legs around. And I don't wince when I get into and out of a chair. Actually, it doesn't even hurt to just sit and be. And yet again, at 5:59 AM, my eyes opened so that I did not have to endure the blaring alarm. Even this week's three miles were... EASY.

I don't know what's different this week, but something has clicked. And for once, it isn't my effing hip!