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...

Posted by princess kanomanom @ 2:07 PM