Thursday, November 30, 2006
Saturday, November 18
Scheduled workout: 10 pace, 8:25 per
Pre-run snack: Something unwise, maybe a cupcake; then again, I waited 1-1/2 hours before running, thereby avoiding any ill effects
Weather: 50ish
Route: Miles 6-16 of the NYC Marathon route [up Fourth Ave., right on Lafayette, onto Bedford, Manhattan Avenue, Queensboro Bridge...]
Real workout: 10 faster-than-pace, averaging 8:15s
Comments: I just couldn't get myself to slow down today. Even though I knew I was going faster than was the plan, I felt good and strong, and kept challenging myself to run the next mile 'a few seconds faster.' I can't recall what exactly was my fastest mile, but I think it was around 7:50, which isn't ideal for a medium-length run (for me). I slowed down significantly toward the end, even w/ the downgrade of the second half of the bridge--an indication that I can't hold such a clip for all that long, and that I'm better off staying closer to race-pace, w/o all the variation. Tomorrow's 10 (swapping my Friday run for Saturday's, as an 11:00 AM Saturday brunch in Manhattan w/ Uncle Bob does not favor a 10-miler beforehand, especially when Progressive Snack 2006, Round I is on the books for Friday eve) is another pace run, and I plan to shoot for consistency.
Anyway, even w/ fleetfeet, it was a pleasant run. I admired the tree-flanked Lafayette as it took me through sleepy Fort Greene, and memories of two summers ago came flooding back as I entered the Hasidic section of Williamsburg. (Wouldn't you know it: noon on a Saturday. It not being summer and all, I was less offensively dressed.) Bedford Avenue held all the familiar spots, many of which I do not miss, some of which I do a little. Next up, Greenpoint, where I stayed the course on the seemingly endless (hadn't realized) Manhattan Avenue and sidestepping dozens of Polish-speaking women/men/babies/dogs/rats. Man, the bakeries en route looked and smelled fantastic. Next time.
Once in Queens, I had an ounce of trouble finding my way up to the pedestrian bridge, even though I'd run Queensboro more than once. No worries. I eventually succeeded, and while I was ready to be done by this point, I could still appreciate the views of the approaching Manhattan, not to mention Roosevelt Island (which incidentally has a nice-looking trail encircling it) as I ran directly over it. I was wishing I'd taken my camera along, but there'll be others.
Once in Manhattan, I realized I was too late for Pilates class at the shmancy Midtown club where I had a guest pass courtesy of my generous boss. No matter; I don't really like Pilates.
Besides, missing the class meant that I'd reach my second destination that much sooner. Yes, so it was on to the 52nd Street Norwegian Seamen's Church that I'd happened across earlier that week. Wouldn't ya know it, my timing was excellent: Their annual holiday bazaar was a mere four days away.
I walked in and was at once greeted by two kind old gents and the sweet & spicy aroma of glogg. Further in, the ladies and their crafts materialized, including the trademark sweaters, scarves, and mittens. There were handmade greeting cards, books on Norway, and a decent assortment of CDs. There was a little of this and a little of that. There were Christmas ornaments, handknit children's clothing, food... lots of food. Mostly chocolate and homemade baked goods, but I spotted some gjetost and pickled fish, too.
What struck me most about this event was the visibility of community. Everyone knew everyone else, and there was an easy liveliness to the conversation around me (almost all of it paa Norsk; I understood some). When I went to pay for the few items I'd picked out, I was tempted to speak the language, but my insecurities won out in the end (my accent--so bad!) and I went w/ what I know best. I did tell the nice kvinne at the register that I'd studied Norsk in college, had been to the country, etc., and she mentioned that the church offers a few language courses that perhaps I'd be interested in. We'll see. Not for awhile, anyway. (Recall failed attempt #1 earlier this year.)
I lingered for an hour, exploring the upstairs library then making my way back downstairs for an adorable performance of the Christmas story (again, in Norwegian). Jesus was 'played' by the sweetest little month-old baby; one of the angels repeatedly ran off the stage, calling out "Mom, are you watching?"; and the shephards kept trying to get naked. Classic.
I walked out of there feeling warm (although technically I was freezing in my shorts & tee) and holidayish. Very soon after, a small potted tree was purchased from our neighborhood Home Depot.
There was a final stop: this. It was huge! All sorts of independently published books and 'zines: arty, comic, political--you name it. If I hadn't been so cold/tired/ready for a shower, I would've stayed longer. As it was, I lasted about an hour, walking out of there a winner.
Then I went home and did nothing. :)
Thursday, November 30
So much to catch up on. Clearly my plan to document each and every run, even just skeletally, is failing. I'm going to try and get back into it, but for now I'll focus on a few of the recent, particularly outstanding ones. I'll go in reverse order.
Schedule called for 10 today, and for some reason, I felt a surge of excitement (a full 20 minutes after dragging my tired ass outta bed, that is). Since time was of the essence, I decided on a simple out-and-back. (Actually, this is all of my weekday runs.) I figured I'd make my way down to the Belt Parkway, which has sort of become my standby.
Come to think of it, I don't have a whole lot to report on this one, just that I got ridiculously hot/sweaty in the humid conditions (62?!) and that I really enjoyed the view between miles 4 and 5: thick a.m. fog obscuring most of the Verazzano, leaving only the faintest of outlines and making this huge feat of architecture appear to be hovering above the water. As I got closer, it showed itself in full: as usual, the equivalent of a Peanut Buster Parfait (Wiki has an entry for it? hilarious!) for the eyes. Man, I miss DQ.
Another noteworthy (me, to me) aspect was my music of choice. Blend a little Kenny Rogers w/ a pinch of Billy Joel, a pile of Magnetic Fields w/ a dash of Morrissey, and there you have it. But these weren't unusual selections. What was: Dean Martin! On the morning of November 30, I officially welcomed Christmas to my running playlist. I chose to start gradually, w/ a single artist. I believe this was crucial to my embracing the change, as a flood of Martin/Brenda Lee/Nat King Cole/Elvis while running would've no doubt thrown me for a real loop. I might've looped right into oncoming traffic. Trust me, it's better this way.
Low point: when Martin's version of "White Christmas" started up. I hate you all. (Really I'm just jealous.)
Scheduled workout: 10 easy, 8:45ish per
Pre-run snack: Bite of cookie, slice of whole wheat bread w/ pb
Weather: 62 degrees, gray, foggy, HUMID
Route: Toward the Verazzano via Belt Parkway & back
Real workout: 10 easy, 8:39 per [1--8:50, 2--8:50, 3--8:30, 4--8:20, 5--8:00, 5-10--8:40ish]
Comments: Mind was pretty freed up today, not thinking about much of anything in particular. First three miles didn't feel so easy, something reflected in my split times. The last mile had me renewing my hate for hills, thanks to four avenue blocks of them. Legs felt tired here. In the end, I was pleased w/ my splits, although I'd secretly wanted to run 8:30s. Also, I'm head-over-heels in love w/ my Garmy.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Cheers
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Thursday, November 16
Scheduled workout: 5 miles easy [8:45ish per]
Pre-run snack: Handful of Cheez-Its, granola bar
Weather: 63 degrees, cloudy, some wind
Route: To Red Hook(ish) & back
Real workout: 4.5 miles easy (got up late), 9:00 per
Comments: This one was supposed to be 10 easy, but was out late last night thus slept in. Will have to run the 10 tomorrow instead--not ideal as I'm hoping to run the 20 on Sat. rather than Sun., but we'll see what happens. Anyway, this workout felt... just okay. Coming back up the hill toward the end felt harder than usual, and I kinda felt like I was running closer to an 8:30 pace early on, but no. Part of the explanation could've been my distractibility, as research suggests that by dwelling on non-running-related stuff, as I very much was, one tends to compromise one's pace. Really not that big a deal w/ these short workouts, but I would like to stay closer to 8:30/45, the more I think about it. (I suppose that's precisely the solution: to think about it.) Better luck next time.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
New training tool
I've decided to be more diligent about logging my workouts, and what better way to do so than by turning to the ol' blog? Basically, I'm talking nutrition, weather conditions, pace, cognitive process... just anything and everything to do w/ the, and that 'the' I mean 'my,' running experience. That said, most will be bored to tears, which is fine.
Scheduled workout: 5-mi tempo [1 easy/warmup mi, 3 8:00 mi, 1 easy/cooldown mi]
Route: To Prospect Park, once around, back home
Pre-run snack: Handful of Cheez-Its, 1 slice whole-grain bread w/ peanut butter
Weather: 58 degrees, cloudy, no wind
Real workout: 9:30, 7:10, 7:50, 8:00, 9:00, respectively
Comments: A smidge apprehensive going into this run, as I haven't done much by way of speedwork in prep for January marathon. Felt good early on, although got tired (breathing labored) soon into mile 2. Knew 2 was going to be fast (nice long downhill here), but not 7:10-fast. Clearly not a pace I can maintain for long, judging by miles 3 & 4. Fun to test my capabilities, though. Next time I'll shoot for 7:45ish per--consistency. Mile 4 meant one long uphill, and although I definitely slowed, I was willing to push/had plenty left. Thought entertained: Think how much harder will be mile 25 come January 14... Actually worked. :) Overall, thought process was internal/external associative--not surprising for a tempo.
Looking ahead: Figure it's worthwhile to squeeze a month or so of speedwork in: a tempo run each week plus more MP (marathon pace) work, the latter not speedwork per se, but a step up from the 8:40ish pace I think I've generally been running (before Garmy entered my world, had to estimate). I also want to eat better (I used to practice excellent nutrition! what the hell happened? cupcakes & pizza, that's what), and although I get enough fruits/veggies, I need to cut (way) back on the simple sugars in favor of the complex stuff. More water, too. Never enough water...
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Positive reinforcement
Talk about reward. Last Sunday's 19-miler culminated in a stop by Totonno's, a place that many believe turns out the best Brooklyn pizza of the lot. At any rate, it's on every 'top 10' list I've come across. My take: Very good, though in my opinion, their plain pie is wanting of the deliciously big basil leaves and the copious olive oil of the DiFara variety. So yummy! But the crust was great, and the sauce just fine. Thing is, in the name of accurate judgeship, I should probably hoof it out there a second time, as the hour that passed in between purchasing the pie and arriving home meant that it needed reheating, thereby leaving the fresh mozzarella on the crispy side. Dosed fresh, I have a feeling it'd gain points.
But the run. The run was a trial, in part because of all the power I'd given it before even stepping foot outside at ten in the a.m. It had been on my mind all day Saturday, as I worried about whether I was ready for it, how I'd feel throughout, how I'd deal if the outcome was less than respectable... It didn't ruin my day or anything, but its looming presence did have me feeling a bit anxious--actually, to the degree that it stirred up a nightmare of sorts just hours before my alarm was set to go off on Sunday. The story: I was in the middle of my run--a run that was, in my dream, my January marathon (Phoenix). I'd joined a pack of fellow runners, and I was feeling strong, well-tuned. Well, at some point the group of us lost track of the course, finding ourselves on some random road. Fortunately a race official spotted us and suggested we hop the train back to the designated course, assuring us that our finish times would be adjusted accordingly. This we did. But then, wouldn't ya know it, the same thing happened again. Frustrated but confident that all would be okay--that a Boston qualifying time was well within reach, even probable--I eventually crossed the line. Right about here was when I started coming out of the dream, yet I still wasn't able to determine whether what I was 'saying' to Pea was actual or dreamed. You know how it is: I pretty much knew it was a dream, but there was a last part of me that was refusing to let go. Dream: I asked Pea something like, "It'll be okay, right? They'll adjust my time and I'll have a stab at Boston still, right?" I was pretty convinced, but then Pea came back w/ something like, "No, sorry--and they're not going to give you a second chance." I was devasted. Totally heartbroken. All that training, all that hope... all for naught.
I eventually awoke, although in a rather strange place. Just felt weird to be starting in on such a significant run w/ a vision like that (absolutely a take on the old 'totally prepared for college final only to sleep through the exam' dream) fresh on the brain. But, what to do? Lace 'em up and hit the road, that's what.
The first four or five felt hard. Couldn't seem to fall into a comfortable stride--in part, I think, thanks to my nifty new training tool (borrowed from Pops, actually) that has me a little too clued into pace/time. I eventually found a rhythm, but I've gotta say, at no point during this particular session did I feel totally on. Happens sometimes. (You just hope it's not during the week's longest.)
What was neat was the range of this one. Since I had 19 miles to cover, and since I'd chosen against an out-and-back in favor of an out-out-out (taking train back), I crossed several neighborhoods in the two hours/fifty-three minutes I was on foot, following Third Avenue through Sunset Park before turning down onto Shore Parkway and continuing through Bay Ridge and beneath the Verrazano, putting Fort Hamilton, Bath Beach, and Bensonhurst at my back... Then came Coney Island, which seemed to me a long time coming. Disappointingly--illogically--the Parkway does not turn into the promenade that skirts Coney. Instead, you have to run up into the streets for fifteen minutes or so before turning back toward the water and meeting up w/ said promenade. This made for the most surreal leg of my journey: running across the longest, widest parking lot I've ever experienced. Seriously. Toys 'R' Us, Babies 'R' Us, maybe a Home Depot and/or a Linen & Things... I can't remember, it's a haze. But it was big, and it was pretty empty for a Sunday. I just remember going and going and going, sidestepping an industrial dumpster's worth of garbage as I went (speaking of garbage, a good stretch of Shore Parkway completely lacks trash cans, and it's sad because it's clearly not for lack of residents' concern, as one finds flimsy plastic bags blowing pathetically in the wind, tethered as they are to a railing that spans the parkway). A slow, haunting song entered my ears (music is often summoned during longer sessions), and it made the whole desolate parking lot experience kind of disorienting. Another factor could've been the fast transition between ocean views and the Big Box scene. Still, this is exactly what I've come to appreciate about my New York/Brooklyn runs--that I'm exposed to such variation w/in a relatively small region.
Anyway, I ran the (approximate) one-and-a-half mile, wood-planked promenade, surprised by the number of people walking about on such an icky-feeling morning (humid and sticky, storm on the way). Then again, I suppose that's the constant here, right? People, and lots of 'em. I spotted a single vendor open for business, and let's just say he didn't appear to be doing any. The rides were, of course, not in operation. Most folks seemed content to a) stroll leisurely, or b) park themselves on a bench and admire the view--in some instances solo, others w/ company. At this point--around mile 10--I was feeling heavy-legged, but energetic enough to fully observe what was going on around me.
Then... no more promenade. Again I veered streetward, running past empty storefronts, auto repair shops, and countless bodegas. Before long it became clear I had entered yet another neighborhood: Brighton Beach. I ran down a business-lined street and marvelled at some ambitious Christmas decorating (already!), then I saw more beach to my right. I joined up w/ promenade #443 (why can't they all just fuse already!) which took me past a few family-filled diners that were basically in the sand. I loved this part. Next up, Manhattan Beach, which soon gave way to Kingsborough Community College and my cue to turn back. (Okay, so not all of my miles were unique--I was at 15 when I turned.) Brighton was perhaps my coolest discovery, as I just really dug the cozy and established feel of the place. I was also impressed w/ that college: old and slightly worn, yet well-maintained and surrounded by a large, clean campus. And, you guessed it, it has its very own promenade--one that leads the way to Sheepshead Bay and an idyllic little marina. Never would'a guessed I was where I was.
The last four miles required that I dig pretty deep for inspiration to finish. I mean, not that finishing was/is ever really a question, but when your mind gets to messing w/ you, you start to think that maybe, just maybe, this is the one time you'll cave. But hey, what better inspiration than a top-notch, fresh-from-the-oven (fresh: the intention) pie? I made it to Neptune Avenue (or is it Street?) right as ol' Garmy sounded his alarm/displayed his message (beep beep/Distance Alert, Distance Alert), indicating that, yes Kristen, it's time for pizza.
So what if the train ride back was chilly, lengthy, and observant of a little intestinal stress? It still felt damn good to have that 19 under my belt. That I averaged 9:07 per mile--right about where my longest runs need to be in anticipation of a 3:40:00 marathon--has me upbeat and hopeful in thinking about this weekend's 20. Not sure where it'll unfold, but I have had my sights set on the GW Bridge for some time now...
Monday, November 06, 2006
2006 New York City Marathon
I've gotta say, after reading last month's RW in which Lance was the feature story, I sort of (I'm awful) wanted his performance to fall short of extraordinary. It's just that he sounded so nonchalant about the whole thing, about running 26 miles when his longest run to date had been like 12 (after the issue went to print, he logged a 16-miler pre-race) and his daily runs rarely exceeded 45 minutes. Like he was above the whole 'training thing' or something. And anyway, his goal of beating three hours (or 3:15, at least) seemed pretty far-reaching, even considering his top-notch cycling form. (Two different sports, different muscle groups utilized, different mental challenges...) Plus, at 180 pounds, he doesn't exactly have a runner's physique. So you know, I guess I sorta wanted to see him humbled, to have to acknowledge that, damn, you runners are really something else. I guess it's not so easy after all--even for me.
Ha! Fat chance. From the looks of it/him, it was far from easy, but the man triumphed in the end, earning every last high-five/rump-slap/"beer's on me." He left 99 percent of himself out there on the course, and I don't care who you are or what kind of game you talk, if you can swing that, you're my new favorite person--at least until the next one comes along. He's an amazing athlete, pure and simple.
But man, watching on TV his last mile through Central Park--stony expression, feet that barely cleared the ground, a rare glance at his watch--you knew he'd butt right up against the three-hour mark. Hopefully on the right side of it, but it wasn't certain. God though, to see him slow to a walk a few feet before crossing the line, completely spent, head lowered and hands on knees... Awesome.
Then again, maybe it was all a publicity stunt. Maybe he actually had six months of training under his belt, running 18-20-23 several times over. Haha, but no.
Guess who else did swimmingly? Ol' Pops, that's who. Sure, his time wasn't exactly up to snuff, but the toll of this past month paired w/ a surprise nosebleed (you know, versus the planned kind) halfway into the race meant that the odds were kinda stacked against him. At any rate, he was able to take in/appreciate the diverse scenery the course has to offer, and well, there's no better way to tour the area. I think he'd agree that the lowpoint of the race was the five hour wait between arrival at Fort Wadsworth (Staten Is.) and the sound of the gun. Geez, I realize 37,000 is a lot of people to account for, and I know the logic of erring on the side of too-early, but come on race planners, check the math.
From my perch along Fourth Avenue at 16th Street--exactly two blocks from home (remind me to relay a most pleasant apartment story)--I caught the fast (women frontrunners are above), the not-as, and the in-between'ers. At ten o'clock it was still pretty quiet, but by 10:30 the block was crawling w/ spectators--four deep in some places. I can't tell you how (cliche coming) 'bursting w/ pride' I felt. Since I usually participate rather than spectate, it's not often I get to watch it all unfold from outside the race. It was a really cool experience, and I felt just as aligned w/ the sport and its adherents as I do when I'm in the thick of the pack. There was this 'I understand, I get it, I know what you're going through' component, and it was very affirming. I cheered 'em on for a good two hours (Pea joining up halfway in), unable to lose the goofy smile. Of course, a certain furry someone is partly to thank...
Haha. While I saw Lance and his small army (which included a video camera pointed at his face the entire way) approaching, I didn't have enough notice to steal a decent picture. Just imagine, if you will, that in the center of this group is a dark-green technical shirt. That's him--he really is in there.
At the last minute, Pea had the genius-idea to screw the boring posterboard in favor of an actual being. W/ those fantastically long arms, Petey was a real showstopper, dishing out the finest high-fives in town. You wouldn't believe how many runners went out of their way to slap hands w/ The Dude, some crossing the entire lane just to get a piece of that monkey-luck. The tabby on my head (a few meanies insisted on referring to her as a 'blender cozy'--the nerve), while she lacked Petey's wild animation, got plenty of attention, too. (Thanks Chad!)
Pea was a tireless supporter--of both Petey and the runners. 
One downside: As popular as he was, Petey likely stole dozens of hand-slaps from the pair of ten-year-old girls to our left. "That's the way the cookie crumbles," he said.
I had the hardest time snapping the Petey-pics. I couldn't stop cracking up long enough to do so.
Yea!
"Ouch!" yelped Petey. 
"Daddy, can we do this every Sunday??"
All sorts of costumery to laugh at. This guy, while dressed plainly enough, acted like a costume. So much for tackling the marathon challenge head-on. (Ohhhh...)
Why not?
Wigs were the least of it. Let's see, there was a guy non-stop juggling (not a slow runner, either!), a guy in a tux running w/ a martini glass ('here's to you, Manhattan'--the idea), several lephrechans, tons more... 
'Save the Rhinos.' Best of the best. Here's a better image (different race).
Not sure the intention.
Night before at Jenn's surprise 30th. That's her allegedly being surprised. I had my doubts.
At LES's Basso Est for, what else? Marathon Eve carbo-load.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Just last w/e he ran a 16:00 5K!
I've probably said these exact words before, but this assignment was maybe my toughest to date. Because it's just so dang short! I had all this great stuff on Sarig and his culinary background (for instance, he grew up on a collective farm in Israel, spent free time cultivating olives & figs and swimming & fishing in the Mediterranean), and to have to squeeze it (or not) into 200 words was agonizing. The phrasing of the recipe itself was also a little challenging, mostly because of the need to stay w/in a narrow word count. (But I liked this part, and think it'd be great fun to write a cookbook.) Anyway, I'm pleased w/ how it came out. Last night I gave my buddy Sarig a call at his restaurant, wanted to find out if he'd seen it. He had, and except for a minor discrepency in the appearance of the dish* (he generally presents the salmon skin-side up), he's equally pleased. Yay!
"Never skimp on chocolate." Now there's a man after my own heart.
*I prepared the Special for Pea's bday, and while it looked pretty enough, I, gulp, can't take all the credit. Maybe no credit. I bought the salmon already cooked & dressed! Bought it! It was done! All I had to do was heat it up and lay it atop the penne! There, I said it. (Are you reading, Pea?) I lied, I did. Mostly I thought you'd figure it out, but then when you didn't, I just didn't bother to come clean. I did, however, make that tomato sauce from scratch--obvs, given how bland it was.