...
Been staring at this draft for a while, now. Not quite sure where to begin. For starters, I'm in San Francisco. NOT Chicago. The meeting I was supposed to have in Chicago next week - the meeting to deliver my most recent project at work to the client - was cancelled. On Thursday afternoon. And with it, my flight to Chicago on Saturday morning to run in the Chicago Marathon.
Since Thursday afternoon I have been angry, and sad. Frustrated and stressed. Irritated with my project. My client. My job. And, if I'm being honest, my life. Because it always seems to work this way. Up and down and up again and down again. Hurry up and wait. Get it done yesterday turned, eh, it's not really needed anymore. I am overwhelmed and exhausted and tired. I am so tired. I really have never been this tired in my entire life. And I need... well, I don't know what I need. Or want, at this point. Other than to figure it out. I need and want to make some changes.
But admist the fluster and aggravation and disappointment, I am relieved, too. RELIEVED!
Because I'm not prepared. I'm not prepared to run this marathon. On such little sleep and so few long runs. Through rain and 40 degree temperatures. I'm not ready to attack the physical challenge of the marathon. Furthermore, and more importantly, I'm really not ready to attack the mental challenge. For so many reasons...
So I didn't buy my own ticket to Chicago. And I am not running this race tomorrow. I'm not going to push myself through something else that's been on my list of things to do just to cross it off. I'm not going to run myself down any more than I already am. I'm not going to just, "make it work."
It is 80 degrees and sunny today in San Francisco. I am going to take a long walk to the bridge, and I am going to read my book, and I am going to clear my head.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Let Me Work It
It's not quite "3:40:59." That was a killer list. This one borrows from "3:40:59" here in there, but I'm trying a new approach, this time. I'm hoping it at least gets me there in 3:54:00. WORST case. 3:50:00 would be better.
At any rate, finishing - it is worth it. So now it's time work it...
At any rate, finishing - it is worth it. So now it's time work it...
| Name | Artist |
| Marching Bands of Manhattan | Death Cab For Cutie |
| Utilitarian | Spoon |
| Mother We Just Can't Get Enough | The New Radicals |
| Bang a Gong (Get It On) | T. Rex |
| Outsiders | Franz Ferdinand |
| Small Stakes | Spoon |
| Everybody's Got Something To Hide Except Me And My Monkey | The Beatles |
| Kissing The Lipless | The Shins |
| Neighborhood #3 (Power Out) | Arcade Fire |
| Bury Me | Guster |
| Little Ghost | The White Stripes |
| Gravel | Ani DiFranco |
| Piper | Phish |
| Paint It, Black | The Rolling Stones |
| Steady, As She Goes | The Raconteurs |
| Let the Cool Goddess Rust Away | Clap Your Hands Say Yeah |
| Nausea | Beck |
| Scrap Metal | Bitch And Animal |
| Barely Legal | The Strokes |
| The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song… | The Flaming Lips |
| Jonathon Fisk | Spoon |
| Look Good In Leather | Cody Chesnutt |
| All These Things That I've Done | The Killers |
| Novacane | Beck |
| Crazy | Gnarls Barkley |
| Come Again | Saigon |
| Beware of the Boys | Panjabi MC |
| 8 Miles and Runnin' | Freeway & Jay-Z |
| SOS | Rihanna |
| Notorious Thugs | Notorious B.I.G. |
| Sexyback | Justin Timberlake |
| California Love | 2Pac, Dr. Dre & Roger Troutman |
| Dirt Off Your Shoulder | Jay-Z |
| My Humps | Black Eyed Peas |
| Bring the Pain | Method Man |
| How Do You Want It | Tupac Shakur |
| What You Waiting For? | Gwen Stefani |
| Lucifer | Jay-Z |
| Gone Daddy Gone | Gnarls Barkley |
| Party Up (Up in Here) | DMX |
| Just Lose It | Eminem |
| Nasty Girl | Nitty |
| In da Club | 50 Cent |
| Triumph | Wu-Tang Clan & Cappadonna |
| Fire (Yes, Yes Y'all) | Joe Budden & Busta Rhymes |
| Hotel | Cassidy & R. Kelly |
| Method Man (Skunk Mix) | Wu-Tang Clan |
| Work It | Missy Elliott |
| Stop Being Greedy | DMX |
| Lose Yourself | Eminem |
| P.I.M.P. | 50 Cent |
| Feel So Good | Mase |
| Good Girls, Bad Guys | DMX & Dyme |
| My Love | Justin Timberlake |
| 30 Gallon Tank | Spoon |
| 8 Mile | Eminem |
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
8 Miles and Runnin'
I have just launched the largest software system I have ever built. And I am 100% exhasuted by the last six weeks of my life.
Not that I'm 100% recovered from the twelve weeks of business travel I endured from June through August. Every now and then, I still wonder if my watch is programmed for the correct timezone.
I am somewhat cranky. And sleep deprived. Stressed, and anxious. I am tired...
But I can't rest yet!
Because my flight for Chicago departs from SFO on Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. And I'll be flying First Class (Oh, business travel does have its rewards!) headed for an arrival at ORD by 12:00 Noon. And then it's off to 2301 South Martin Luther King Drive.
I've got a Race Packet to pick-up!!!!
So this Sunday, October 22, find me in Chicago, IL. In the Preferred II Start Corral.
It's Chicago Marathon time, Baby. I'm not making any promises, as I have not put in the level of endurance training I put in prior to Rock N Roll back in June. (Really? A 20 miler?) But I have churned out a few 16 milers. And quite regularly - for whatever reason - I have complete brick cycle/run workouts. So it shouldn't be too much of a surprise that my new average 8 Mile pace is sub 8:00.
Throw in the fact that my friends from DC and UVA (LGA, EMI, ESB, and CCE) are all going to be in the crowds to cheer me on and that I know - really, I KNOW - to never, ever, drink PowerAde. Again. And, shit, the fact that I'm running with Walchka, and I realize I'm pretty effing excited to run this race. And it's about effing time!
I feel a playlist coming on...
Not that I'm 100% recovered from the twelve weeks of business travel I endured from June through August. Every now and then, I still wonder if my watch is programmed for the correct timezone.
I am somewhat cranky. And sleep deprived. Stressed, and anxious. I am tired...
But I can't rest yet!
Because my flight for Chicago departs from SFO on Saturday morning at 6:00 a.m. And I'll be flying First Class (Oh, business travel does have its rewards!) headed for an arrival at ORD by 12:00 Noon. And then it's off to 2301 South Martin Luther King Drive.
I've got a Race Packet to pick-up!!!!
So this Sunday, October 22, find me in Chicago, IL. In the Preferred II Start Corral.
It's Chicago Marathon time, Baby. I'm not making any promises, as I have not put in the level of endurance training I put in prior to Rock N Roll back in June. (Really? A 20 miler?) But I have churned out a few 16 milers. And quite regularly - for whatever reason - I have complete brick cycle/run workouts. So it shouldn't be too much of a surprise that my new average 8 Mile pace is sub 8:00.
Throw in the fact that my friends from DC and UVA (LGA, EMI, ESB, and CCE) are all going to be in the crowds to cheer me on and that I know - really, I KNOW - to never, ever, drink PowerAde. Again. And, shit, the fact that I'm running with Walchka, and I realize I'm pretty effing excited to run this race. And it's about effing time!
I feel a playlist coming on...
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Stifled
Everyday, it weighs on me. Because I really want to do it. I want to have the time. I want to have something to say. I want it to flow and be good. I want to finish and review and redo and finish again. And again.
And I want it to feel good. I want to enstill pride. With a touch of fear. Of what people'd think. I'd want the feedback... As long as I wanted to want it, though. Yeah, that's what I guess I really want.
But I can't seem to find the words let alone write them down.
It doesn't choke. But it does kind of stifle, a bit. However it isn't angering. Actually, it just makes me feel incredibly tired. Too tired to find the patience to do a whole lot about it.
It'll come back...
And I want it to feel good. I want to enstill pride. With a touch of fear. Of what people'd think. I'd want the feedback... As long as I wanted to want it, though. Yeah, that's what I guess I really want.
But I can't seem to find the words let alone write them down.
It doesn't choke. But it does kind of stifle, a bit. However it isn't angering. Actually, it just makes me feel incredibly tired. Too tired to find the patience to do a whole lot about it.
It'll come back...
Sunday, October 01, 2006
How Stella Got her Groove Back
I just found this link.
And for the first time in a long time, the thought of running the Chicago Marathon is actually making me smile.
I'm bouncing my knee.
I'm nervously grinning.
I'm enjoying the feeling of my heart beating in my throat.
I'm cracking my knuckles.
I'm stretching my hip flexors.
I'm confidently tightening my pony tail.
I'm donning my tights.
I'm lacing my Asics.
And I'm getting off of the couch...
NOW.
And for the first time in a long time, the thought of running the Chicago Marathon is actually making me smile.
I'm bouncing my knee.
I'm nervously grinning.
I'm enjoying the feeling of my heart beating in my throat.
I'm cracking my knuckles.
I'm stretching my hip flexors.
I'm confidently tightening my pony tail.
I'm donning my tights.
I'm lacing my Asics.
And I'm getting off of the couch...
NOW.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
The Least Complicated
I think we always know what we're getting into. Deep down, we know.
It doesn't take much for that gut feeling to take shape. It comes together, and then sinks down, nice and low. So low sometimes that we can't feel it. We can't hear it. For the rest of the night, the weekend, or the month. Sometimes for two and a half years. Yes, sometimes we ignore it for that long. But all along, we know.
We know when we justify. And make excuses. And omit key details of stories to our friends. We know when we don't ask them to meet our parents. When we don't call. When they don't call. When we don't go to breakfast in the morning.
He asked for my number on Saturday. He emailed on Tuesday. And he called tonight. And tomorrow, we're... Do I have a date tomorrow night?
SHIT! What am I getting into?
Deep down, I don't know this time. On the surface, it's a little complicated. No, really, it is. Or is it? Deep down, does it really matter? I don't think it should. Maybe at first it will. But deep down, we all know. I mean, it's not that complicated. Number. Email. Call. "Date."
SHIT! I just GIGGLED!
The ones that work are always the least complicated. Hardest to learn, but least complicated.
It doesn't take much for that gut feeling to take shape. It comes together, and then sinks down, nice and low. So low sometimes that we can't feel it. We can't hear it. For the rest of the night, the weekend, or the month. Sometimes for two and a half years. Yes, sometimes we ignore it for that long. But all along, we know.
We know when we justify. And make excuses. And omit key details of stories to our friends. We know when we don't ask them to meet our parents. When we don't call. When they don't call. When we don't go to breakfast in the morning.
He asked for my number on Saturday. He emailed on Tuesday. And he called tonight. And tomorrow, we're... Do I have a date tomorrow night?
SHIT! What am I getting into?
Deep down, I don't know this time. On the surface, it's a little complicated. No, really, it is. Or is it? Deep down, does it really matter? I don't think it should. Maybe at first it will. But deep down, we all know. I mean, it's not that complicated. Number. Email. Call. "Date."
SHIT! I just GIGGLED!
The ones that work are always the least complicated. Hardest to learn, but least complicated.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Where (Heart and) Soul Meets (Mind and) Body
They talk to one another. Oh, sure. All the time. That much I know. But sometimes, I have no idea who initiates the conversations.
Since my body can't move without my mind sending it signals, I'm inclined to think that my mind is in charge. But I think The Body can take over sometimes. For the past three months, I think my body has been trying to control my mind. The result is that my boyd was telling my mind what to go back and tell my body. And what's worse is that my mind seems to have always been following orders!
Throughout the entire summer, my mind has known that it should have been running. And my mind knows how fast each run I actually did complete should have been ran. How long each run should have lasted. When to have pushed through and when to have pulled back. My mind KNOWS. She has done her research.
However, for an entire three months, my body - this LAZY body - has dominated the daily debate:
I haven't been able to write much this summer. Again, it has been a couple of weeks since I last wrote. And while it is true that I haven't had a lot of time to say much, it is also true that I haven't had much to say. And while I'm sad that I haven't had a whole lot to say, I'm more sad about my lack of initiative to really do much about the situation. I didn't take very many steps to get my life back in order this summer. To be true to my priorities, and to make time for what really matters. Something that is both difficult and disturbing for me to admit.
...Today is September 26. SHIT! It's already the end of September. That fact is also both difficult and disturbing to admit, to realize; but it is also comforting. A new season, and a new start. (I know that the current season is autumn, and that autumn isn't normally used in metaphors for starting again, but have you ever seen a San Francisco autumn?) I am pretty that the fall air has inspired my my mind to again rn shop. And I think she's running pretty strong! Because we ran well today. Me and the roommie, AER. We ran to the Golden Gate Bridge and back, for 8 miles in 65 minutes. At an average pace of 8:07/mile. And we felt great.
It is a homecoming that is drastically past due, but nevertheless much appreciated. I am so glad to be back. To that place where my thoughts and actions collide, my intentions and responses synchronize. Where I do what's right instinctively. When my spirit begins to sing and my heart begins to dance. In that place where my heart and soul, along with my mind and body endure.
Since my body can't move without my mind sending it signals, I'm inclined to think that my mind is in charge. But I think The Body can take over sometimes. For the past three months, I think my body has been trying to control my mind. The result is that my boyd was telling my mind what to go back and tell my body. And what's worse is that my mind seems to have always been following orders!
Throughout the entire summer, my mind has known that it should have been running. And my mind knows how fast each run I actually did complete should have been ran. How long each run should have lasted. When to have pushed through and when to have pulled back. My mind KNOWS. She has done her research.
However, for an entire three months, my body - this LAZY body - has dominated the daily debate:
- Run? Don't run?
- Fast? Slow?
- Give it your all? Give it all up?
I haven't been able to write much this summer. Again, it has been a couple of weeks since I last wrote. And while it is true that I haven't had a lot of time to say much, it is also true that I haven't had much to say. And while I'm sad that I haven't had a whole lot to say, I'm more sad about my lack of initiative to really do much about the situation. I didn't take very many steps to get my life back in order this summer. To be true to my priorities, and to make time for what really matters. Something that is both difficult and disturbing for me to admit.
...Today is September 26. SHIT! It's already the end of September. That fact is also both difficult and disturbing to admit, to realize; but it is also comforting. A new season, and a new start. (I know that the current season is autumn, and that autumn isn't normally used in metaphors for starting again, but have you ever seen a San Francisco autumn?) I am pretty that the fall air has inspired my my mind to again rn shop. And I think she's running pretty strong! Because we ran well today. Me and the roommie, AER. We ran to the Golden Gate Bridge and back, for 8 miles in 65 minutes. At an average pace of 8:07/mile. And we felt great.
It is a homecoming that is drastically past due, but nevertheless much appreciated. I am so glad to be back. To that place where my thoughts and actions collide, my intentions and responses synchronize. Where I do what's right instinctively. When my spirit begins to sing and my heart begins to dance. In that place where my heart and soul, along with my mind and body endure.
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Empty Your Pockets Until They're Full
I can already feel it before I'm even there. The fear. The pain. And a little bit of dread. But mostly the fear. And as I get ready, the fear only mounts. I open that door and I feel the nervous energy take over. The heat is on. Literally. I swallow the fear that is perched at the back of my throat.
It starts and I am quickly reminded of why I come here. Because with every breath, I am a little bit taller. My head a bit higher, my shoulders less slouched. With every breath, I am a little more confident. A little more hopeful, with every breath. Less fragile; instead, more flexible, easygoing.
I am a little less afraid, with every breath.
Of the pain. In all its shapes and forms. That I am feeling right now and that which I feel all the time. I am a little less afraid of it. Because, I realize, it doesn't last. Not for long, forever. Once I let it in, I can confront it and allow it to pass. So that it ebbs and flows such that my tears well but then subside.
It hurts, it does. For 60 seconds or 60 months, either way. But we can come out of it. We do come out of it. We inhale deeply and we sigh slowly. And we release all that made us clench and twist and wince. We let go of the bite and the snap. We reach that point when we lick our lips and nod our head and move on.
For 90 minutes. For 90 years. We suck and we suck and we suck it all in. We hold it and carry it and too often, refuse to let it go. We strain and we wear down. We hold our breath and we purse our lips. Our hearts boom and we let them.
Until we burst. Until that time when our only remaining option is to let go. To blow it out. To blow it all out. Until there is nothing left. We sigh and we laugh and we cough and we sing and we scream and we sweat and we cry. Until there is nothing left. Until we are empty.
We empty our eyes and our minds and our mouths and our ears and our hearts. We give all that is left of ourselves. We don't stop for 60 seconds or 60 months. For 90 minutes or 90 years. We empty ourselves over and over and over again.
Until we are full.
It starts and I am quickly reminded of why I come here. Because with every breath, I am a little bit taller. My head a bit higher, my shoulders less slouched. With every breath, I am a little more confident. A little more hopeful, with every breath. Less fragile; instead, more flexible, easygoing.
I am a little less afraid, with every breath.
Of the pain. In all its shapes and forms. That I am feeling right now and that which I feel all the time. I am a little less afraid of it. Because, I realize, it doesn't last. Not for long, forever. Once I let it in, I can confront it and allow it to pass. So that it ebbs and flows such that my tears well but then subside.
It hurts, it does. For 60 seconds or 60 months, either way. But we can come out of it. We do come out of it. We inhale deeply and we sigh slowly. And we release all that made us clench and twist and wince. We let go of the bite and the snap. We reach that point when we lick our lips and nod our head and move on.
For 90 minutes. For 90 years. We suck and we suck and we suck it all in. We hold it and carry it and too often, refuse to let it go. We strain and we wear down. We hold our breath and we purse our lips. Our hearts boom and we let them.
Until we burst. Until that time when our only remaining option is to let go. To blow it out. To blow it all out. Until there is nothing left. We sigh and we laugh and we cough and we sing and we scream and we sweat and we cry. Until there is nothing left. Until we are empty.
We empty our eyes and our minds and our mouths and our ears and our hearts. We give all that is left of ourselves. We don't stop for 60 seconds or 60 months. For 90 minutes or 90 years. We empty ourselves over and over and over again.
Until we are full.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Chain Two
Well, today it happened. Finally. I got sick.
I woke up to a sore, dry throat. And a headache that should only be felt on a Sunday morning after a fantastic wedding. 16 hours, 16 glasses of water, and 8 advil later, I still can't seem to evade the pounding in my head.
It seems as if the summer has caught up with me. Of course! One day after I finally woke up on the RIGHT side of the bed. And had a calm day at work. One day after I developed new ideas for how to overcome my lack of ambition... (More to come, naturally.)
And so, I sit on the couch. Crocheting a blanket. Trying to focus on something other than the hammer that is pounding against the back of my left eye.
Single crochet, chain one, single crochet, chain one, single crochet, chain two...
I woke up to a sore, dry throat. And a headache that should only be felt on a Sunday morning after a fantastic wedding. 16 hours, 16 glasses of water, and 8 advil later, I still can't seem to evade the pounding in my head.
It seems as if the summer has caught up with me. Of course! One day after I finally woke up on the RIGHT side of the bed. And had a calm day at work. One day after I developed new ideas for how to overcome my lack of ambition... (More to come, naturally.)
And so, I sit on the couch. Crocheting a blanket. Trying to focus on something other than the hammer that is pounding against the back of my left eye.
Single crochet, chain one, single crochet, chain one, single crochet, chain two...
Saturday, September 09, 2006
The No Ambition Tour
I just can't seem to pull myself out of bed in the morning. And I can't seem to escape from my desk in the afternoon. Er, evening, really. I haven't been getting home until well past the start of Prime Time television shows. Good thing the new seasons have yet to start.
I've been away from home weekend after weekend after weekend since... SHIT! I don't even remember the last time I sat on my couch on Saturday morning. And while I still do love to travel, I am realizing that I love it a little bit less these days. Since I have a great apartment and a fabulous roommate and an adorable cat...
I just haven't felt myself lately. I can't focus. On anything. As soon as I give my attention to one project another one starts screaming at me. And quite often I find that I am only half listening to people when they're talking to me. I'm walking into walls and bumping my head on doors. I keep losing my keys. My wallet. My cell phone. My mind...
I feel like I am falling apart.
And I'm pretty sure the only way to fix this feeling is to rest up, eat right, and exercise. But I can barely bring myself to lace up the Asics or roll out the yoga mat. All I want to do at this point is stare at my ceiling.
So that's what I'm going to do... Thus, my ambition-free weekend continues.
I've been away from home weekend after weekend after weekend since... SHIT! I don't even remember the last time I sat on my couch on Saturday morning. And while I still do love to travel, I am realizing that I love it a little bit less these days. Since I have a great apartment and a fabulous roommate and an adorable cat...
I just haven't felt myself lately. I can't focus. On anything. As soon as I give my attention to one project another one starts screaming at me. And quite often I find that I am only half listening to people when they're talking to me. I'm walking into walls and bumping my head on doors. I keep losing my keys. My wallet. My cell phone. My mind...
I feel like I am falling apart.
And I'm pretty sure the only way to fix this feeling is to rest up, eat right, and exercise. But I can barely bring myself to lace up the Asics or roll out the yoga mat. All I want to do at this point is stare at my ceiling.
So that's what I'm going to do... Thus, my ambition-free weekend continues.
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
26:37:36
5:00 PM Friday August 25. It was Happy Hour throughout the rest of the West Coast, but for me and my 11 teammates, it was time to get things started.
Hood to Coast 2006:
All teams are required to finish the race by 9:00 PM on Saturday. So I have to admit, getting the late start time was both exciting (hell yeah, we're fast!) and nerve racking (but are we THAT fast?) We only had 28 hours to finish, meaning we had to average 8:30 miles the entire time. Could everyone on the team do that? For three legs? On zero sleep? In the middle of the night?
We'd soon find out. Van #1 blazed down the slopes of Mount Hill and through the first six legs in approximately four and a half hours. So at 9:35 PM, it was time for Van #2 - The San Francisco Contingent - to begin our journey.
Running in the afternoon can be difficult for me, so to say that running at night - er, EARLY morning - is difficult is also an understatement. I ran my first 5.9 mile leg of Hood to Coast form 1:00 AM to 1:50 AM. Sure, I averaged under 8:30 minutes/mile, but it was painful. I think everyone in Van #2 felt that way, too. We finished our legs, but it wasn't always pretty.
So, after meeting up with Van #1 at the exchange, the SF Contingent piled back into Van #2 and headed down the course to the second van exchange. During this time I had the *pleasure* of riding in The Stinky Seat, which not only sucked, it smelled. Needless to say, I did not get much sleep during this rest time. But I'm pretty sure feeling nauseous due to a lack of sleep, a smelly van, and an overdose of Cliff bars is all part of the fun of a distance relay...
Four hours later, it was time to run again. The sun was coming up now, and I must say, Oregon is really quite beautiful. RN, our first runner, had a pretty difficult 6-mile leg. Up up up up up lots of hills in time to pass off to DC, our second runner. He averaged 7 minute miles through most of his legs, and was a great last minute addition to the team. DC endured 6 miles on a dirt road for Leg #20. He passed off to EZ, another 7 minute miler, who killed his leg before SS climbed a mini mountain and picked up 17 road kills for yet another 7 minute mile performance on Leg 22!
The hand-off from SS to KT was just as fast, transferring enough momentum to KT to keep the speedy paces going. KT finished 4 miles for Leg 23 in 30 minutes! An average pace of 7:45 minutes/mile! She was going so fast she almost couldn't stop to do our transition dance. (You laugh, but relays are SO much better with transition dances...) I shouted, "Come on KT - MAKE IT WORK!" To which she replied, "Go Nic! CARRY ON!" (Yes, in our best Tim Gunn voices. Not going to lie, the crowd loved us.) A quick do-si-do and I was off on Leg 24.
It was starting to get warm by now. And although Leg 24 was flat, there wasn't time to slack off in cruise control. I flew out of the transition and onto the long, winding road. It felt good to be running in daylight. The team drove ahead to meet me 2.5 miles into my leg, but I reached them a little less than 20 minutes into the leg. No one saw me. To be frank, they weren't even LOOKING for me yet. I guess they thought I'd be running 8:30s again. Turns out, though, I was running a little faster than 8:00 minute/mile pace. And it felt good. So good. But not good enough to stop for water! I decided to keep going for fear that slowing down would bring me to a standstill.
Instead, I said I'd meet them at the transition, which turned out to be easier said than done. Because by now, there was a bottleneck of vans trying to make it to the van exchange. I passed our van and realized there was a chance I was going to make it to the handoff before they did. And that's almost what happened. Except luckily, SS and RN jumped out of our van and sprinted almost an entire mile to the exchange, just in time to see me finish 4.9 miles in 39 minutes. (With 15 road kills!) Under 8:00 minutes/mile average pace - a PR for Nic, and the start of a very-well deserved rest period for all of Van #2.
Thank goodness. Because by now it was pretty effing HOT. It took a long time to drive to the next van exchange. The traffic was terrible and there were runners everywhere. I don't think I have ever seen so many runners. It's just amazing to think that for two entire days, 200 miles of Oregon was covered in runners.
The heat slowed Van #1 considerably during their final legs, so we had to wait a little longer to run again. This extra time made us realize how tired we were. So by the time we met up with Van #1 at the final exchange, we weren't looking good. But we were so close! And Van #1 was done!!!!! So Van #2 embarked on the final legs of the race. Tackling rolling hills and cruising through well-deserved flats. In a lot of pain but with a lot of heart, everyone blazed through their final legs. Until it was my turn to run Leg 36...
I was nervous at the handoff. I was just so tired. And nervous. And tired. I really HATE being last! For almost 26 hours I had been dreading this final leg. Leg 36 had nearly two miles of climbing at the start. And I just haven't been training very consistently, lately. And I certainly haven't been running too many hills! FUCK! I'm tired! And petrified of that hill!
But eventually, it was time to face the incline. I took off at around 6:58 PM, climbing my first mile up mostly trail. Up! Push! Leap! Spring! I dodged right and left around boulders. I scurried past other runners. I pushed and propelled and forced my way to the front of the pack. Once I reached the road, I didn't quit. I continued to grind out the climb, and I made it to the top of the hill in 16 minutes.
Which meant that it was all downhill from there! Downhill for the fastest, most beautiful mile of my life. Winding right and left and down and right and left and down through the tallest pine trees under the clearest blue sky. Never stopping or slowing, only thinking of that beach. That beach that is only a few more miles away! And before I knew it, a H2C volunteer directed me to turn right and said, "Only a half mile to go!"
"WHAT? ONLY A HALF MILE TO GO?"
My watch read something around 37 minutes.
"HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"
I ran as fast as my little 5'3" body could carry me. I smiled. I cried. I soared. I fucking booked it down that promenade. I high-fived small children. I high-fived their parents. I said hello to doggies. I looked out at that Pacific Ocean and BEAMED with pride and excitement.
And I crossed the Hood to Coast Finish Line at 7:37 PM on Saturday August 26.
And I couldn't remember the last time everything felt so damn good.
Hood to Coast 2006:
- 2 vans.
- 12 runners.
- 36 legs.
- 197 miles from Mount Hood to Seaside, Oregon.
All teams are required to finish the race by 9:00 PM on Saturday. So I have to admit, getting the late start time was both exciting (hell yeah, we're fast!) and nerve racking (but are we THAT fast?) We only had 28 hours to finish, meaning we had to average 8:30 miles the entire time. Could everyone on the team do that? For three legs? On zero sleep? In the middle of the night?
We'd soon find out. Van #1 blazed down the slopes of Mount Hill and through the first six legs in approximately four and a half hours. So at 9:35 PM, it was time for Van #2 - The San Francisco Contingent - to begin our journey.
Running in the afternoon can be difficult for me, so to say that running at night - er, EARLY morning - is difficult is also an understatement. I ran my first 5.9 mile leg of Hood to Coast form 1:00 AM to 1:50 AM. Sure, I averaged under 8:30 minutes/mile, but it was painful. I think everyone in Van #2 felt that way, too. We finished our legs, but it wasn't always pretty.
So, after meeting up with Van #1 at the exchange, the SF Contingent piled back into Van #2 and headed down the course to the second van exchange. During this time I had the *pleasure* of riding in The Stinky Seat, which not only sucked, it smelled. Needless to say, I did not get much sleep during this rest time. But I'm pretty sure feeling nauseous due to a lack of sleep, a smelly van, and an overdose of Cliff bars is all part of the fun of a distance relay...
Four hours later, it was time to run again. The sun was coming up now, and I must say, Oregon is really quite beautiful. RN, our first runner, had a pretty difficult 6-mile leg. Up up up up up lots of hills in time to pass off to DC, our second runner. He averaged 7 minute miles through most of his legs, and was a great last minute addition to the team. DC endured 6 miles on a dirt road for Leg #20. He passed off to EZ, another 7 minute miler, who killed his leg before SS climbed a mini mountain and picked up 17 road kills for yet another 7 minute mile performance on Leg 22!
The hand-off from SS to KT was just as fast, transferring enough momentum to KT to keep the speedy paces going. KT finished 4 miles for Leg 23 in 30 minutes! An average pace of 7:45 minutes/mile! She was going so fast she almost couldn't stop to do our transition dance. (You laugh, but relays are SO much better with transition dances...) I shouted, "Come on KT - MAKE IT WORK!" To which she replied, "Go Nic! CARRY ON!" (Yes, in our best Tim Gunn voices. Not going to lie, the crowd loved us.) A quick do-si-do and I was off on Leg 24.
It was starting to get warm by now. And although Leg 24 was flat, there wasn't time to slack off in cruise control. I flew out of the transition and onto the long, winding road. It felt good to be running in daylight. The team drove ahead to meet me 2.5 miles into my leg, but I reached them a little less than 20 minutes into the leg. No one saw me. To be frank, they weren't even LOOKING for me yet. I guess they thought I'd be running 8:30s again. Turns out, though, I was running a little faster than 8:00 minute/mile pace. And it felt good. So good. But not good enough to stop for water! I decided to keep going for fear that slowing down would bring me to a standstill.
Instead, I said I'd meet them at the transition, which turned out to be easier said than done. Because by now, there was a bottleneck of vans trying to make it to the van exchange. I passed our van and realized there was a chance I was going to make it to the handoff before they did. And that's almost what happened. Except luckily, SS and RN jumped out of our van and sprinted almost an entire mile to the exchange, just in time to see me finish 4.9 miles in 39 minutes. (With 15 road kills!) Under 8:00 minutes/mile average pace - a PR for Nic, and the start of a very-well deserved rest period for all of Van #2.
Thank goodness. Because by now it was pretty effing HOT. It took a long time to drive to the next van exchange. The traffic was terrible and there were runners everywhere. I don't think I have ever seen so many runners. It's just amazing to think that for two entire days, 200 miles of Oregon was covered in runners.
The heat slowed Van #1 considerably during their final legs, so we had to wait a little longer to run again. This extra time made us realize how tired we were. So by the time we met up with Van #1 at the final exchange, we weren't looking good. But we were so close! And Van #1 was done!!!!! So Van #2 embarked on the final legs of the race. Tackling rolling hills and cruising through well-deserved flats. In a lot of pain but with a lot of heart, everyone blazed through their final legs. Until it was my turn to run Leg 36...
I was nervous at the handoff. I was just so tired. And nervous. And tired. I really HATE being last! For almost 26 hours I had been dreading this final leg. Leg 36 had nearly two miles of climbing at the start. And I just haven't been training very consistently, lately. And I certainly haven't been running too many hills! FUCK! I'm tired! And petrified of that hill!
But eventually, it was time to face the incline. I took off at around 6:58 PM, climbing my first mile up mostly trail. Up! Push! Leap! Spring! I dodged right and left around boulders. I scurried past other runners. I pushed and propelled and forced my way to the front of the pack. Once I reached the road, I didn't quit. I continued to grind out the climb, and I made it to the top of the hill in 16 minutes.
Which meant that it was all downhill from there! Downhill for the fastest, most beautiful mile of my life. Winding right and left and down and right and left and down through the tallest pine trees under the clearest blue sky. Never stopping or slowing, only thinking of that beach. That beach that is only a few more miles away! And before I knew it, a H2C volunteer directed me to turn right and said, "Only a half mile to go!"
"WHAT? ONLY A HALF MILE TO GO?"
My watch read something around 37 minutes.
"HOLY SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"
I ran as fast as my little 5'3" body could carry me. I smiled. I cried. I soared. I fucking booked it down that promenade. I high-fived small children. I high-fived their parents. I said hello to doggies. I looked out at that Pacific Ocean and BEAMED with pride and excitement.
And I crossed the Hood to Coast Finish Line at 7:37 PM on Saturday August 26.
- Team Total Time - 26:37:36
- Team Overall Place - 257/1032
- Team Overall Percentage - Top 24.9 %
- Team Overall Average Pace - 8:06 minutes / mile
- Leg 12 - 5.9 Miles - 49:45 Total Time - 8:26 min / mile pace
- Leg 24 - 4.9 Miles - 39:15 Total Time - 8:01 min / mile pace
- Leg 36 - 5.8 Miles - 41:29 Total Time - 7:09 min / mile pace
And I couldn't remember the last time everything felt so damn good.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
SOS Please
"Someone help me.
It's not healthy.
For me to feel this way..."
I am still at my desk.
I have a million more pages of documentation to pull together before I'm, "DONE." (Whatever that means.)
I don't expect to sleep tonight.
I am icing my left wrist.
Because I think I have carpal tunnel syndrome.
I have not had a good run in two weeks.
In fact, I have barely run three times the past two weeks.
And to prove it, I have a fucking WORK injury and not a RUNNING injury!
I am running in Hood to Coast on Friday.
Er... Saturday. Our start time is something like 9:00 PM.
And I'm running Legs, 12, 24, and 36.
So I probably won't be running until the wee hours of Saturday morning.
And even though this 195 mile 12 person relay race is supposed to be AWESOME, I just kind of don't want to do it.
Because I'm tired and cranky and stressed and overworked.
And because I'd kind of rather spend the weekend in San Francisco for once...
Oh, I am not ready for this race at all.
So if you thought I was dead, I'm not.
But I likely will be come Saturday evening upon crossing the finish line on the Coast in Oregon.
(HUGE EFFING SIGH)
It's not healthy.
For me to feel this way..."
I am still at my desk.
I have a million more pages of documentation to pull together before I'm, "DONE." (Whatever that means.)
I don't expect to sleep tonight.
I am icing my left wrist.
Because I think I have carpal tunnel syndrome.
I have not had a good run in two weeks.
In fact, I have barely run three times the past two weeks.
And to prove it, I have a fucking WORK injury and not a RUNNING injury!
I am running in Hood to Coast on Friday.
Er... Saturday. Our start time is something like 9:00 PM.
And I'm running Legs, 12, 24, and 36.
So I probably won't be running until the wee hours of Saturday morning.
And even though this 195 mile 12 person relay race is supposed to be AWESOME, I just kind of don't want to do it.
Because I'm tired and cranky and stressed and overworked.
And because I'd kind of rather spend the weekend in San Francisco for once...
Oh, I am not ready for this race at all.
So if you thought I was dead, I'm not.
But I likely will be come Saturday evening upon crossing the finish line on the Coast in Oregon.
(HUGE EFFING SIGH)
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Back in the US(S)...A
Well, I'm currently sitting at Gate C24 of the Philadelphia airport. Only 45 more minutes before I can board my flight back to San Francisco. If I don't make it home tonight, I am certainly going to die trying.
And as I'm too tired to work - wait, doesn't this travel time actually count as work? - I've decided to uploaded all of my pictures for everyone's viewing pleasure.
And guess what? I'm going to Chicago next week... Nothing says, "Welcome Home, Nic!" like, "Pack your bags - you're going to Chicago!"
(BIG Sigh)
And as I'm too tired to work - wait, doesn't this travel time actually count as work? - I've decided to uploaded all of my pictures for everyone's viewing pleasure.
And guess what? I'm going to Chicago next week... Nothing says, "Welcome Home, Nic!" like, "Pack your bags - you're going to Chicago!"
(BIG Sigh)
Me Gusta Correr
On Sunday, I attempted a run. It was 7:00 p.m. And I thought that it would have cooled down enough by that hour to attempt physical activity outdoors.
But I was wrong. True, I was already coming from behind with the jetlag. For all intents and purposes, by 7:00 p.m. on Sunday in Madrid I hadn't really slept since Thursday night in San Francisco. Except for a few naps here and there on the plane, coupled with a jolt to 9 hours in timezone changes, I was wiped. And my legs felt it.
But the heat itself was still pretty paralyzing. And the air? It felt like I was smoking every cigarette in the pack at once, while I was running. I mean, I was WHEEZING! I had to stop and walk to catch my breath! Now, I have certainly stopped running to walk from time to time, but it is normally out of mental weakness. On Sunday evening, however, it was because I couldn't facilitate a transport of oxygen from the air to my lungs.
It was a scary three miles. 10-minute pace, maybe. But not EZ...
I couldn't really fit in a run on Monday, because I spent the day in meetings. And then I spent most of Tuesday either working or exploring the city. Which left me only this morning to try one more time. So even though I went to bed extremely late, I rose at 8:00 a.m. I donned my little running shorts and packed my adorable little camera in my ID pouch. (And yes, Dad, I also packed my ID. And a few Euros for cab fare in the event that there was a repeat wheezing performance.)
But there was not a repeat performance. Madrid in the morning is cool and breezy. The air actually feels nice! Not too many other runners were out, but lots of older people taking walks. I decided to explore el Parque de Buen Retiro one more time so that I could check out el Palacio Cristal. I had a little bit of trouble finding it, at first, until I was stopped by an old man who asked me if I like to run...
"Te gusta correr?" he asked.
"Si, senor, me gusta correr mucho," I replied. Kind of funny, I guess. I always just assume that people who are running enjoy doing so. I quickly realized that there was no way I could continue on my run without first stopping to talk this man, and so I did.
He told me about the park, and then asked me if I run here often, because he has never seen me before. To which I basically replied that I don't live in Madrid, and that this is only the second time I have ever ran in this park.
Of course, the man assumed I lived elsewhere in Spain. So when I replied, "No vivo en Espana, soy de los Estados Unidos" he repeated, "No me digas!" six or seven times. (For the non-Spanish speaking, he basically said, NO WAY!) So it turns out that this man's son lives in San Rafael, which isn't too far from San Francisco. It is amazing that I know this, however, as I am still not too familiar with the majority of the Bay Area.
We talked a little more, and he told me my Spanish was very good. (MENTIRAS!!!! - LIES!!!!!) He asked me what I did while I was in Madrid, and couldn't believe that I was only here for a few days. He then directed me to el Palacio de Cristal - my final tourist destination of the trip - and then we I was on my way again. But before we said good-bye, he kissed my hand and both of my (sweaty) cheeks. He said he is glad to know I will be returning in October, and that he will keep an eye out for me in the park.
With that, I was back on my run. Legs strong, breathing well, and a smile on my face, as I realized that I was pretty glad I was going to be back in October, too.
NOTE: I'm having trouble with accents and tildes. Lo siento!
But I was wrong. True, I was already coming from behind with the jetlag. For all intents and purposes, by 7:00 p.m. on Sunday in Madrid I hadn't really slept since Thursday night in San Francisco. Except for a few naps here and there on the plane, coupled with a jolt to 9 hours in timezone changes, I was wiped. And my legs felt it.
But the heat itself was still pretty paralyzing. And the air? It felt like I was smoking every cigarette in the pack at once, while I was running. I mean, I was WHEEZING! I had to stop and walk to catch my breath! Now, I have certainly stopped running to walk from time to time, but it is normally out of mental weakness. On Sunday evening, however, it was because I couldn't facilitate a transport of oxygen from the air to my lungs.
It was a scary three miles. 10-minute pace, maybe. But not EZ...
I couldn't really fit in a run on Monday, because I spent the day in meetings. And then I spent most of Tuesday either working or exploring the city. Which left me only this morning to try one more time. So even though I went to bed extremely late, I rose at 8:00 a.m. I donned my little running shorts and packed my adorable little camera in my ID pouch. (And yes, Dad, I also packed my ID. And a few Euros for cab fare in the event that there was a repeat wheezing performance.)
But there was not a repeat performance. Madrid in the morning is cool and breezy. The air actually feels nice! Not too many other runners were out, but lots of older people taking walks. I decided to explore el Parque de Buen Retiro one more time so that I could check out el Palacio Cristal. I had a little bit of trouble finding it, at first, until I was stopped by an old man who asked me if I like to run...
"Te gusta correr?" he asked.
"Si, senor, me gusta correr mucho," I replied. Kind of funny, I guess. I always just assume that people who are running enjoy doing so. I quickly realized that there was no way I could continue on my run without first stopping to talk this man, and so I did.
He told me about the park, and then asked me if I run here often, because he has never seen me before. To which I basically replied that I don't live in Madrid, and that this is only the second time I have ever ran in this park.
Of course, the man assumed I lived elsewhere in Spain. So when I replied, "No vivo en Espana, soy de los Estados Unidos" he repeated, "No me digas!" six or seven times. (For the non-Spanish speaking, he basically said, NO WAY!) So it turns out that this man's son lives in San Rafael, which isn't too far from San Francisco. It is amazing that I know this, however, as I am still not too familiar with the majority of the Bay Area.
We talked a little more, and he told me my Spanish was very good. (MENTIRAS!!!! - LIES!!!!!) He asked me what I did while I was in Madrid, and couldn't believe that I was only here for a few days. He then directed me to el Palacio de Cristal - my final tourist destination of the trip - and then we I was on my way again. But before we said good-bye, he kissed my hand and both of my (sweaty) cheeks. He said he is glad to know I will be returning in October, and that he will keep an eye out for me in the park.
With that, I was back on my run. Legs strong, breathing well, and a smile on my face, as I realized that I was pretty glad I was going to be back in October, too.
NOTE: I'm having trouble with accents and tildes. Lo siento!
Monday, August 07, 2006
Siempre Sola
I had friends in college who could not bear to sit alone at the dining hall. Moreover, they couldn't bear to know that on occasion, I myself would sit there alone. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Late dinner. They would always ask, "Why?" Or, "How?"
The answer was always quite simple, really: I was hungry. No one else was.
For the most part, these friends still can't comprehend the general comfort I have achieved with my solidarity. I think it is often because these are my friends who argue with boyfriends over what to buy while grocery shopping - Healthy Choice Frozen Pizza? Or Meat Lovers Digiorno? Wine? Or beer?
The answer, again, to me always seems quite simple: Buy both.
Maybe it's because my parents, still together after all of these years, maintain separate bank accounts. And pay for their own vacations that they take without the other. And prepare their dinners differently. The salad bowl on the dinner table at their house always has another little bowl of cucumbers next to it, because Mom likes cucumbers and Dad doesn't. They have maintained separate interests throughout their entire relationship.
Come to think of it, one reads my blog (guess who?) and the other doesn't...
Of course, I do often wonder how their relationship has made it this far. And I often wish they had more in common. But to be honest, I'm pretty damn proud of my mother for refusing to pretend she likes golf.
Because I am reaching an age when I am finding so many of my female friends conforming to the likes and interests of their boyfriends and husbands. At times it seems that many of them have forgotten to maintain a sense of self within their relationship.
I know I am not the best at listening to them work through the quibbles of their relationships. Perhaps that's because I don't understand why they don't just buy what they want to buy at the grocery store. Or go see the movie that they want to see on Saturday afternoon. Or take a trip to visit their friend without their boyfriend in tow...
It has been a long time since I had to ask Him what He was doing for dinner. For the weekend. For New Year's Eve. Perhaps I'm just insensitive.
But it does follow rather naturally that I am spending my first time in Europe, without a travel companion. Exploring by myself. Snapping photos by myself. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner, by myself. I am sitting at a cafe on the other side of the world with no one to tell how entirely exciting and simultaneously depressing it is to be in Madrid. Alone. Because right now, it would really be nice to share this bottle of wine with someone special.
But if I have to drink it by myself, I will. Salud!
The answer was always quite simple, really: I was hungry. No one else was.
For the most part, these friends still can't comprehend the general comfort I have achieved with my solidarity. I think it is often because these are my friends who argue with boyfriends over what to buy while grocery shopping - Healthy Choice Frozen Pizza? Or Meat Lovers Digiorno? Wine? Or beer?
The answer, again, to me always seems quite simple: Buy both.
Maybe it's because my parents, still together after all of these years, maintain separate bank accounts. And pay for their own vacations that they take without the other. And prepare their dinners differently. The salad bowl on the dinner table at their house always has another little bowl of cucumbers next to it, because Mom likes cucumbers and Dad doesn't. They have maintained separate interests throughout their entire relationship.
Come to think of it, one reads my blog (guess who?) and the other doesn't...
Of course, I do often wonder how their relationship has made it this far. And I often wish they had more in common. But to be honest, I'm pretty damn proud of my mother for refusing to pretend she likes golf.
Because I am reaching an age when I am finding so many of my female friends conforming to the likes and interests of their boyfriends and husbands. At times it seems that many of them have forgotten to maintain a sense of self within their relationship.
I know I am not the best at listening to them work through the quibbles of their relationships. Perhaps that's because I don't understand why they don't just buy what they want to buy at the grocery store. Or go see the movie that they want to see on Saturday afternoon. Or take a trip to visit their friend without their boyfriend in tow...
It has been a long time since I had to ask Him what He was doing for dinner. For the weekend. For New Year's Eve. Perhaps I'm just insensitive.
But it does follow rather naturally that I am spending my first time in Europe, without a travel companion. Exploring by myself. Snapping photos by myself. Eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner, by myself. I am sitting at a cafe on the other side of the world with no one to tell how entirely exciting and simultaneously depressing it is to be in Madrid. Alone. Because right now, it would really be nice to share this bottle of wine with someone special.
But if I have to drink it by myself, I will. Salud!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
There's No Place Like Home
Day 1 in Madrid is complete. And I realize now, as I am about to climb into my bed for an evening of well-deserved rest, that I really love my new apartment.
In fact, I'm a little homesick... and that NEVER happens!
Four star hotels in Madrid are great, but when it comes down to it, there really is no place like home sweet apartment.
In fact, I'm a little homesick... and that NEVER happens!
Four star hotels in Madrid are great, but when it comes down to it, there really is no place like home sweet apartment.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Livin' La Vida Loca
Buenos dias! Estoy in Madrid! En España!
Can you believe it? Two weeks ago my boss called me into her office to see how I felt about taking on a new project. I was getting a little bored again, as my other projects were under control. And since I apparently LIKE having too much to do, she noticed that when I actually have time to stop and take a coffee break, I become rather unhappy.
What else would you expect from me? I'm a marathoner! For whatever reason, I enjoy pain.
So to thwart my pending job dissatisfaction, she awarded me my first international project. OK, that's not the only reason why she gave me this project. And it's not the only reason I took it, either. But if you're going to work late at night and on weekends, well it just makes sense to put in those hours while residing in a foreign country.
So, I expedited my passport and picked it up on Monday afternoon. I had a busy week - running, spinning, and yoga-ing on top of dinners with friends and full days at the office. So on Friday afternoon I came home from work and did three loads of laundry. I packed my bags, and then went out until 4:30 a.m. with some friends. The Super Shuttle picked me up for SFO at 5:15 a.m. I boarded a plane to PHL and connected onto MAD.
I arrived this morning at 7:30 a.m.
Once through customs, I picked up some Euros, hailed a cab, and successfuly communicated where I needed to go with the cab driver. We conversed in broken Spanish while we rode to El Gran Hotel Canarias. I checked in, took a shower, and tried to go back to sleep for an hour. But I am apparently too excited. So I headed downstairs to the Desayuno Buffet before picking up an adapter for my laptop's power supply.
And here I am! Is my life not crazy?
So my kick-off meeting with the team is tomorrow. I have all day today to explore Madrid before meeting up with everyone for dinner at 9:00 p.m. (Not sure how I'm going to last that long...) Right now, I'm headed to el Museo Nacional del Prado, and I have no idea what's after that.
Deséame suerte! (Wish me luck!)
Can you believe it? Two weeks ago my boss called me into her office to see how I felt about taking on a new project. I was getting a little bored again, as my other projects were under control. And since I apparently LIKE having too much to do, she noticed that when I actually have time to stop and take a coffee break, I become rather unhappy.
What else would you expect from me? I'm a marathoner! For whatever reason, I enjoy pain.
So to thwart my pending job dissatisfaction, she awarded me my first international project. OK, that's not the only reason why she gave me this project. And it's not the only reason I took it, either. But if you're going to work late at night and on weekends, well it just makes sense to put in those hours while residing in a foreign country.
So, I expedited my passport and picked it up on Monday afternoon. I had a busy week - running, spinning, and yoga-ing on top of dinners with friends and full days at the office. So on Friday afternoon I came home from work and did three loads of laundry. I packed my bags, and then went out until 4:30 a.m. with some friends. The Super Shuttle picked me up for SFO at 5:15 a.m. I boarded a plane to PHL and connected onto MAD.
I arrived this morning at 7:30 a.m.
Once through customs, I picked up some Euros, hailed a cab, and successfuly communicated where I needed to go with the cab driver. We conversed in broken Spanish while we rode to El Gran Hotel Canarias. I checked in, took a shower, and tried to go back to sleep for an hour. But I am apparently too excited. So I headed downstairs to the Desayuno Buffet before picking up an adapter for my laptop's power supply.
And here I am! Is my life not crazy?
So my kick-off meeting with the team is tomorrow. I have all day today to explore Madrid before meeting up with everyone for dinner at 9:00 p.m. (Not sure how I'm going to last that long...) Right now, I'm headed to el Museo Nacional del Prado, and I have no idea what's after that.
Deséame suerte! (Wish me luck!)
Monday, July 31, 2006
The SF Half Marathon Numbers
The results are up. And now that I've slept on it, I guess I ran a bit better than I thought I did.
Bib: 17014
Name: Nic
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
Place Overall................................................... 523rd
Total Number of Participants....................... 3858
Percentage...................................................... Top 13.55%
Place in the Women's Division...................... 144th
Total Number of Women Participants........ 2114
Percentage...................................................... Top 6.8%
Place in the Female 20-29 Division............. 60th
Total Number of Females Aged 20-29....... 722
Percentage...................................................... Top 8.3%
Age Grade: 58.08%
Place: 444
(What the hell is this stat? Did I finish ahead of 58.08% of other 26 year olds?)
Total Time: 1:52:34
Overall Pace: 8:36/mile
(Not bad for a wicked hilly training run...)
First 7.4 Miles Time: 1:04:13
First 7.4 Miles Pace: 8:41
(Hmm, I think I ran the second part of the race faster than the first... Every 5 measily seconds/mile counts!)
So what's the consensus?
I might be too hard on myself sometimes. OK replace might with probably. And replace sometimes with most times. I have to remember that this wasn't a race. It was a training run. I didn't do a lot of running in June, mostly cross training. And throughout July, I fit in as much running as I could while I was on the road. A difficult feat, considering all of the time spent on an airplane and bopping from one time zone to the next. But my volume and intensity were definitely not where they were back in April and May.
So it is easy for me to feel a little discouraged with my running right now. I've barely been able to focus on it! How can I be happy with where I am when I'm not entirely sure I know where that even is?
Time to get out that map, I guess, and really start following the directions. Right after I admit that I did run pretty well yesterday. And right after I admit that I am pleased with that 8:36 pace. Right after I pat myself on the back, but only a couple of times.
There is still a lot of work to do!
Bib: 17014
Name: Nic
Gender: Female
Age: 26
Hometown: San Francisco, CA
Place Overall................................................... 523rd
Total Number of Participants....................... 3858
Percentage...................................................... Top 13.55%
Place in the Women's Division...................... 144th
Total Number of Women Participants........ 2114
Percentage...................................................... Top 6.8%
Place in the Female 20-29 Division............. 60th
Total Number of Females Aged 20-29....... 722
Percentage...................................................... Top 8.3%
Age Grade: 58.08%
Place: 444
(What the hell is this stat? Did I finish ahead of 58.08% of other 26 year olds?)
Total Time: 1:52:34
Overall Pace: 8:36/mile
(Not bad for a wicked hilly training run...)
First 7.4 Miles Time: 1:04:13
First 7.4 Miles Pace: 8:41
(Hmm, I think I ran the second part of the race faster than the first... Every 5 measily seconds/mile counts!)
So what's the consensus?
I might be too hard on myself sometimes. OK replace might with probably. And replace sometimes with most times. I have to remember that this wasn't a race. It was a training run. I didn't do a lot of running in June, mostly cross training. And throughout July, I fit in as much running as I could while I was on the road. A difficult feat, considering all of the time spent on an airplane and bopping from one time zone to the next. But my volume and intensity were definitely not where they were back in April and May.
So it is easy for me to feel a little discouraged with my running right now. I've barely been able to focus on it! How can I be happy with where I am when I'm not entirely sure I know where that even is?
Time to get out that map, I guess, and really start following the directions. Right after I admit that I did run pretty well yesterday. And right after I admit that I am pleased with that 8:36 pace. Right after I pat myself on the back, but only a couple of times.
There is still a lot of work to do!
Onward!Monday Morning:
Recovery Run ~ 3.25 EZ miles ~ Total Time: 29:49 ~Pace: 9:07/mile
Weigh Training ~ Back, Biceps, Core
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The Half Way Point
All of a sudden, it was 5:17 a.m. And I was still lying in my bed! Staring at the alarm clock, wondering, "How the hell did that happen?"
I quickly threw on my gear and dashed out onto the street. I flagged a cab and made it to the start at 5:39 a.m. In time to hear them counting down the Wave 3 start. So I jumped in at the back of the pack, and I was off.
You know, I don't think I have felt good on a run since May. Seriously. My last runner's high was pre-Rock-N-Bonk-Marathon. Until today, that is. Even though I grinded out almost seven miles yesterday, this morning's very early 13.1 felt pretty good. Not the entire time, but there were moments. Moments when I remembered why I like to run. And that felt good.
I cruised through the first couple of miles. And then I soared up that hill between miles two and three. That hill that not even a year ago made me want to die. I glided down the hill and onto Marina Drive, where - get this - I actually saw the Golden Gate Bridge. Miraculously, even at 6:00 a.m., the fog remained perched high enough above the city ensuring a protective blanket from the sun while still enabling a stunning view of the area terrain.
With the cruise control set, I zoomed along through the first five miles. Dashing up yet another hill around Mile 5, I was able to position myself with a cruising altitude of 8:20-ish pace for the out and back over the Golden Gate Bridge.
It was kind of windy up there. And it was boring. So I slowed down a little on the bridge, as I remembered I technically wasn't supposed to be RACING this morning. Righ before the turn-around, I looked up and caught a glimpse of the city skyline. I puased as I enjoyed a few
seconds of complete happiness. This beautiful city, and this beautiful weather, and this great race... it's home.
And it was time to begin running back to it. I crossed Mile 7 and noticed that my watch read 59 minutes. "8:30s," I thought. "Cool. I should try to keep this up." So I continued to cruise back over the bridge. 2 more miles on the Golden Gate, followed by a rather difficult mile up Lincoln Avenue in the Presidio, before a long descent above Baker Beach to Mile 11.
This morning, I realized that the mile between markers 10 and 11 is my favorite mile of running in San Francisco. It was that beautiful. Really.
But all too quickly, the course rounded over to 26th Avenue. Where it upped and flattened and upped and flattened - repeatedly and painfully - for the next mile. But by now, I had made it to the front of the Wave 3 pack. Because each time we finished an up, I noticed that very few people were in front of me working on the next one.
I wasn't feeling particularly strong this morning. But the benefit of a Homefield Advantage can't be underestimated. I somehow managed to find a rhythm this morning. At times it was syncopated, and at others it was smooth. But it was enough to push me through every one of those last ups, such that I cruised into the 13.1 First Half Finish Line in Golden Gate Park near the DeYoung Museum somewhere around 1:52:00.
Hmm. Not bad... for a training run.
So I grabbed a banana. And a Cytomax. And a water. I stretched for a few minutes before I headed out of the park onto Fulton Avenue. I hailed a taxi and was home, showered, and back in bed by 8:16 a.m.
13 hours later, I'm still pretty tired. And although I'm pleased with the race/training run results, my reservations about a Boston Qualifying performance in Chicago have returned. Sometimes it just doesn't seem possible.
But it's too late to turn around. The goal of qualifying for Boston isn't an out and back course. I'm learning that it will likely keep getting harder and harder. But I'm halfway there... 13.1 miles down, 13.1 miles to go. It's too late to turn around. Time to see this thing through to the end.
I quickly threw on my gear and dashed out onto the street. I flagged a cab and made it to the start at 5:39 a.m. In time to hear them counting down the Wave 3 start. So I jumped in at the back of the pack, and I was off.
You know, I don't think I have felt good on a run since May. Seriously. My last runner's high was pre-Rock-N-Bonk-Marathon. Until today, that is. Even though I grinded out almost seven miles yesterday, this morning's very early 13.1 felt pretty good. Not the entire time, but there were moments. Moments when I remembered why I like to run. And that felt good.
I cruised through the first couple of miles. And then I soared up that hill between miles two and three. That hill that not even a year ago made me want to die. I glided down the hill and onto Marina Drive, where - get this - I actually saw the Golden Gate Bridge. Miraculously, even at 6:00 a.m., the fog remained perched high enough above the city ensuring a protective blanket from the sun while still enabling a stunning view of the area terrain.
With the cruise control set, I zoomed along through the first five miles. Dashing up yet another hill around Mile 5, I was able to position myself with a cruising altitude of 8:20-ish pace for the out and back over the Golden Gate Bridge.
It was kind of windy up there. And it was boring. So I slowed down a little on the bridge, as I remembered I technically wasn't supposed to be RACING this morning. Righ before the turn-around, I looked up and caught a glimpse of the city skyline. I puased as I enjoyed a few
seconds of complete happiness. This beautiful city, and this beautiful weather, and this great race... it's home.
And it was time to begin running back to it. I crossed Mile 7 and noticed that my watch read 59 minutes. "8:30s," I thought. "Cool. I should try to keep this up." So I continued to cruise back over the bridge. 2 more miles on the Golden Gate, followed by a rather difficult mile up Lincoln Avenue in the Presidio, before a long descent above Baker Beach to Mile 11.
This morning, I realized that the mile between markers 10 and 11 is my favorite mile of running in San Francisco. It was that beautiful. Really.
But all too quickly, the course rounded over to 26th Avenue. Where it upped and flattened and upped and flattened - repeatedly and painfully - for the next mile. But by now, I had made it to the front of the Wave 3 pack. Because each time we finished an up, I noticed that very few people were in front of me working on the next one.
I wasn't feeling particularly strong this morning. But the benefit of a Homefield Advantage can't be underestimated. I somehow managed to find a rhythm this morning. At times it was syncopated, and at others it was smooth. But it was enough to push me through every one of those last ups, such that I cruised into the 13.1 First Half Finish Line in Golden Gate Park near the DeYoung Museum somewhere around 1:52:00.
Hmm. Not bad... for a training run.
So I grabbed a banana. And a Cytomax. And a water. I stretched for a few minutes before I headed out of the park onto Fulton Avenue. I hailed a taxi and was home, showered, and back in bed by 8:16 a.m.
13 hours later, I'm still pretty tired. And although I'm pleased with the race/training run results, my reservations about a Boston Qualifying performance in Chicago have returned. Sometimes it just doesn't seem possible.
But it's too late to turn around. The goal of qualifying for Boston isn't an out and back course. I'm learning that it will likely keep getting harder and harder. But I'm halfway there... 13.1 miles down, 13.1 miles to go. It's too late to turn around. Time to see this thing through to the end.
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