Guilt-Free Gastronomic Gorges

I totally forgot about a major benefit of running! Or at least...of training for a marathon.

The guilt-free pig out!

After yesterday's 20-miler and this morning's powerful mile swim, I was utterly ravenous all day long. It's that wonderful kind of ravenous; the type that only comes after extreme exertion. The kind you look forward to satiating with good reason and a clear conscience.

This evening, Matt and I went to Café Henri in LIC...one of our many favoured spots. I started by inhaling a scrumptious turkey breast, ratatouille and goat's cheese crêpe. When that felt like it hadn't even made a dent in the giant empty chasm that was my stomach, my eyes fixated on the chocolat-banane crêpe on the desert menu. OH, MY, GOD: homemade Valhrona chocolate sauce and banana slices wrapped in warm, exquisite, pancake heaven. It hit the spot like nothing ever has. And the best thing was, it felt like my body was practically demanding it! I NEEDED those carbs & calories! I really did!
I'm making Homer Simpson drooling noises now...

Follow that with a romantic walk down to the nearby Gantry Plaza State Park for the best-by-far night time view of the Manhattan skyline, and that rounds off the best work day I've had in a long, long time =)

Important Stats From Today's Run

miles: 20ish (this was my route)
minutes on the move: 173
minutes of stoppage time: 7 (traffic, tourists, water fountains, vending machine for Gatorade)

boroughs: 3 (Queens/Brooklyn/Manhattan)
bridges crossed: 3 (Greenpoint/Brooklyn/Queensborough)
other bridges visible en route: 5 (Williamsburgh/Manhattan/ Triborough/Hellgate/Roosevelt Island crossing)

culturally distinct neighborhoods in the first 30 minutes: 3 (Irish, Polish, Hasidic Jewish)
languages overheard: 11 (3 before I'd left my street)
wrong turns: 1 (exited Central Park at 72nd street thinking it was the SE corner - DOH!)

degrees farenheit: 80
percent humidity: 75

times the skies teased me with the promise of rain: 4
times it actually rained: 1 (ah bliss....)
minutes it rained for: 25 (darn)

outdoor swimming pools passed: 2
outdoor concerts overheard: 6

homeless people: 4
(obviously) crazy people: 2
clowns on penny farthing bikes: 1

water fountain pit stops: 3
fountains/sprinklers run through: 2

ml of fluid imbibed: 950
power gels consumed: 2

tourists who got in my way: approx 35
cyclists who nearly crashed into me: 2
pedestrians I nearly crashed into: 12

helicopters landing within feet of me: 2
trapeeze artists providing transient neck-twisting entertainment: 4

softball games briefly glimpsed: 3
soccer games briefly glimpsed: 1

runners I passed: 13 (?)
runners who passed me: 4

police officers yelled at: 1 (whoopsie - well she was waving cars on through a red light against my green light)

minutes spent worrying about the upcoming work week: 20
minutes spent thinking about Chicago: 30
minutes spent thinking about this blog post: 15

times I fell over: zero (yay!)
aches & pains: 3 (both knees, chafing on lower back)

tv/film crews I rubber-necked: 2
celebrity sightings: zero (boo)

rude, unsolicited catcalls: zero (!!?)

minutes spent stretching: 10 (about 9 more than usual)
18+ mile runs I've actually completed so far in lead up to Chicago: 3
18+ mile runs I wish I've completed so far in lead up to Chicago: 5
miles run this week: 46

hours I plan to sleep tonight: 9

Hold On To Your Hair

I could write a list as long as my arm of the benefits I personally derive from running. Recently though, I've been acutely aware of just one in particular, the one that is the most tangible and salient for me right now.

Running is my sanctuary.

There are some days lately, it seems, without running I may have pulled every last hair out of my head. But fortunately for me, absolutely anything, AN-Y-THING could be going on in the other areas of my personal or professional life; a run will almost always help. Any manner of uncertainty, sadness, frustration, confrontation, irritation, dissatisfaction...the trainers are always there for the wearing, and the pavement is always there for the pounding.

Unless, of course, there's injury. There are quite a few Hellgaters injured right now, and I really feel for them. They say there's nothing worse than an injured runner. Nothing worse than a runner not running. I've been there. We complain to our buddies about possible loss of conditioning, of having nervous energy with no release valve, of just plain missing the sport. I think one thing sidelined runners often fail to verbalize is distress over their lost sanctuary.

Running is the place we go. Without it we have no adequate refuge. No comparable place where we can put the rest of our lives aside for a while, and focus entirely on something else. Something we love. Running gives us the time, however brief, to wipe away our problems and stresses. Our minds have a chance to be cleansed of all the day's polluting stimuli.

As well as this sanctuary though, at the end of the day I have the satisfaction of knowing I've done something good for me. I've made my heart and lungs that slight bit stronger. Allegedly, I'm helping to guard against a wide array of cancers, and I'm strengthening my bones to prevent a later life condition of osteoporosis. I've helped to balance out the junk food or beers I may have consumed the prior weekend. I've fought another small battle in the defense of my relatively new-dress size 4-war.

I've spent time with friends who share my passion; those who understand me on this very core level. I constantly meet new people from all walks of life, whom I never would have met were it not for this strange, bonding interest. We share stories and gripes and support and a lot of laughs.

My day had a structure, a purpose, a reason. I didn't just get out of bed...go to work...go to bed. Unlike my other goals in life that go forever neglected, I've done something about this one. Every night, I gain extreme pleasure from seeing my workout written down in my diary. Perhaps I've helped secure a future PR, or an age-place award, or maybe even one more open win if I'm really lucky. I've banked some more precious miles for Chicago. One more step on the road to what is probably the most ambitious goal of my life: the 12-month marathon hat trick.

I have combated the lack of confidence that plagues me in the workplace.

Perhaps it's the satisfaction of having realized the things on this list (& probably lots more besides) or perhaps it's just those famous endorphins, but running makes me happy. And, as we all know, a happy person is so much more pleasant to be around than a miserable sod.

OK, so if you laid those benefits end-to-end they would stretch further than the length of my rather short arm. All I need do now is review this blog post after the next race letdown =)

From Major To Minor

In the thick of this morning's race line up, Chelle scolded me for failing to post more frequently. I left you guys staring at my gruesome bloody limb all week, and for that, I apologize. The problem is, I had been waiting for a time when I could post about something positive and upbeat. Unfortunately, that time has not yet come.

After putting in yet another grossly below-par performance in the NYRR Club Championships this morning, I reckon I've got two choices. I can wallow in self pity and doubt or I can soldier on, while trying to figure out what the heck's happening.

I know the summer is killing many runners, but honestly. I could accept the heat and humidity as a valid excuse if I were racing 10-15 seconds per mile slower than my best effort, but 30+ seconds? There must be more going on. Right?

Or wrong? Trying to pinpoint the offending variable is perhaps a futile exercise. Maybe there is no answer. Maybe it's down to biorhythms or the alignment of the planets. Who knows?

What I do know is this:

1) My attitude is in need of a serious overhaul. I recall running with tremendous 'heart' earlier in the year; I tackled every race believing I was invincible. I'm convinced this approach facilitated the pile of hardware that now sits, mockingly, in my living room. But it's a chicken/egg situation isn't it? A positive disposition only comes after I do well at something. Maintaining the PMA is a serious challenge when performance nosedives. And then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.
2) As I mentioned last week, there's scarcely any speedwork in my schedule (but there wasn't when I made all those PRs either)
3) I'm hauling around excess pounds, I'll admit (but I don't think my bulk is straining the scales any more than it has all year)
4) I'm swimming a greater distance at a greater intensity now than ever before. Could my swimming be negatively affecting my running? Seems unlikely. Besides, I've really grown to love it, (why? because I've gotten good at it, of course!) and it's the only thing I do for upper body strengthening.

I am curious and impatient to discover if fall will bring an automatic drop in race times. Or (as I fear), months of running poorly will effect a struggle to get back on form. Can I expect this summer's training to pay dividends come October 9th, or not?

Anyhoo, I will end on a few positive notes. First, that my beloved team turned out in great numbers this morning, and once again held its own against the substantially bigger and professionally coached Manhattan clubs. GO HELLGATE!

The Boston Marathon Racers' Record Book finally arrived in the mail last week. Nostalgia and pride swept over me when I saw my name sandwiched between Maritza's and Suzanne's in the Open Team results page. And we placed just ahead of the Central Park Track Club to boot! ;)

And, providing I complete the 20 with Suzanne tomorrow, as planned (well, I really have no choice), my week's mileage totals a very satisfying 53.

7 weeks to go.

Not For The Squeamish

This past week of 'running' has been a laughably disastrous one for me. In fact, it ranks among my worst weeks ever.

Last Sunday was my last good day, when I completed a very comfortable 3-hour, 3-borough, 3-bridge workout in bearable weather conditions. But then it all went pear shaped.

Looking back in my diary recently I was a little horrified to realize that I have barely put myself through any structured interval work in over 6 months. With less than 10 weeks to Chicago, I decided I really wanted to get back into it. Major stupidity. While my body is capable of doing 3:05 800s if that's what I demand of it, I am in NO shape whatsoever to recover from this and still put in a 50 mile week with a long run at the weekend. Three days after the session, my legs were still dead.

In spite of this, I insisted on trying for a 15-miler yesterday morning. I should have taken it as a bad omen that sweat was already dripping down my back at 6am in my apartment. In the background as I dressed, a NY1 announcer cheerfully informed me that is was going to feel like 105F.

Setting off to meet my running buddies, my dead legs and the suffocating mugginess caused me to barely lift my feet up off the sidewalk. Consequently, I tripped on an uneven slab and fell headlong, smack onto the hot, hard concrete. Wonderful.

I have fallen 3 or 4 times in the past, landing on exactly the same spots each time (left knee, right elbow). Any hopes I'd harboured of the existing scar on my left knee not becoming permanent are now dashed. Each time I've taken a tumble, immediately leaping up and continuing has worked out well. I think the endorphins produced by exercising must act as a powerful anesthetic. It was winter, however, when I fell all those other times, and I had a good few layers of clothing between me and the ground. This time, the pain and damage are much worse. I limped on to the park, fearful of being late. After procuring the requisite first aid and sympathy from my clubmates, we set off on our 15 miler.

Hahaha. After an hour I quit. Time to admit defeat. Instead of loosening up like I'd hoped, my knees became stiffer and stiffer. A day later now, I can still hardly bend them.

I'm going to write off this week as one big mistake. Let's pretend it didn't happen.

Fortunately, I don't have to pretend today's events in Helsinki didn't happen. Paula came through for Britain of course, winning the marathon soundly. I have no doubt that the national tabloids tomorrow morning will presume to bask in her reflected British glory, in spite of their entirely unsupportive past. I hope all her prior detractors have taken a good look at the medals table for these World Championships. British athletics is in a bit of a sorry state. With a small number of exceptions (yay for the women's 400m relay team!), Paula is pretty much all we've got. We should be exeptionally grateful that virtually our sole talent happens to be the world's best.

Fin(n)ishes

Despite going into the 10K World Championship race with the best PR in that distance, and despite leading the pack at the one, two, three, four, five and eight thousand meter marks, Paula failed to win or even place in Helsinki this Saturday (coming ninth.) She has however, delared herself satisfied with the result. I hope she really is, and I hope she can maintain a totally positive outlook over the next week. I'm going to keep everything crossed for her marathon.
____
It was 9am on Wednesday 27th October 2004. I was sitting in my cramped grey cube in an ugly office building in middle-of-nowhere Uniondale, boring-as-hell Long Island contemplating another dreary day of work. Suddenly, my day took a surprise turn for the brighter when I opened and read an email from my step dad. Being without fail on top of such things, he was writing to inform me that Paula Radcliffe had decided to run the New York Marathon on the 7th of November.

Hold on there. Halt everything. Let me get this straight.
My all time hero; arguably the most outstanding female distance runner ever to have graced planet Earth, is coming to run New York. Coming to my town, to run the same route on the same day as me, on the day I run my first marathon. What other sport is there where average Joes like me get to take part in the same competition as the world's greatest? My Brooks could potentially fall in her very footsteps - albeit a number of hours later - but still...you get my point.
I almost fall of my swivel chair, I'm so excited.

The instant I read Scott's email I knew, without a shadow of a smidgen of a hint of a whit of a doubt that she was going to win. There was just no way she would have made that decision, were she not 100% confident of success. To lay every on the line - just 11 or so weeks after her Olympic disaster - to risk a repeat onslaught of the despicable cascade of abuse she sustained from the moronic fair-weather-friend British press (& from a number of other people who should have known much better), took one hell of a lot of guts.

So I proceed to spend my morning alerting every possible colleague to my news. It didn't really matter if I'd barely spoken to them in the past. It didn't matter if they weren't so much visiting me as just passing by my cube on their way to the bathroom. I'd shout over the cheap upholstery:

"Paula. Paula Radcliffe! She's running New York."
Blank stares.
"She's running the marathon. My marathon."
Nothing.
"My race. On the 7th. She's going to be in it."
Shrugs.
"She's going to win you know. She's the best."

I could hardly contain myself. But nobody shared my enthusiasm. My friends feigned interest but I could see their eyes glaze over. That did not deter me from continuing to harass people with my news for the entire day. Actually, for the whole of the remaining time leading up to the great race.

I fell across the finish line by Tavern on the Green that following Sunday afternoon, only vaguely comprehending through the pain and exhaustion that I had finally achieved my longest held ambition, in addition to qualifying for Boston (thank you BAA for the 59 second leniency rule!) I limped my way through the medal-giving and chip-clipping volunteers towards the baggage vans. I felt emotionally numb.

Suddenly, I remembered. Staggering up to the very next volunteer I clapped eyes on, I blurted,

"Did Paula win?"

"Oh... yeah" came the reply.

The flood gates opened.

Wasted

I was well into my adulthood before realising what my biggest pet peeve is. No, it's much more than a pet peeve. It's a highly pervasive facet of my personality that drives many of my attitudes and behaviours.

I hate waste.

I hate wasted money, wasted opportunities, wasted paper, space, food, water, electricity, talents, lives, youth, anything...I just can't bear it. I'm not saying that I'm never guilty of wasting any of these things myself, it's just that I suspect it bothers me a lot more than most.

For instance, I can't STAND it when those deli servers try to wrap my up breakfast in reams and reams of packaging. I'm going to step out of the door, immediately reach for the food, then throw the rest away. I lose count of the number of times per day I shout "No bag, NO BAG" to unhearing shop assistants over eager to put my pack of gum or can of soda into a giant brown paper bag. What did the trees ever do to you, damnit?!

Most of all of course, I HATE HATE HATE wasted time. I still seethe when I think of the 2 hours I spent watching The Lost World that I'll never get back! Life's too short! I no longer have the ability to just let time pass without feeling I'm being at least a little bit productive. These days I can't just sit down on the couch and watch TV. I have to simultaneously be writing in my running log, foam rollering, chatting on the phone, cleaning the flat, folding laundry...
It's an affliction, I know.

I recognise now that this tendency of mine reveals itself through my running habits. It's rare that I just go for 'a run'. Running takes up a lot of hours a week. Why spend all those hours doing just one thing when you can do two, or three?! I use running to get closer to friends, to make new ones, to catch up with gossip, to give and receive advice and support. I run to explore New York, or the new places I'm visiting. I now take advantage of the time spent pounding the pavement formulating future blog entries!

I particularly love to roll my run into my commute. The trip would take about 45 minutes anyway, right? So adding just 15 minutes or so to that while getting in my daily workout is my idea of efficiency. I look at it as if I run 7 miles in 15 minutes!

I have often considered listening to music while running. I could be learning about and appreciating those hundreds of artists Andre has tried to introduce me to. But it's never worked for me. I know that when I've used my iPod on those rare treadmill sessions, I have the unimaginative inclination to replay the same perfect song over and over. If a song's tempo, lyrics or tune isn't exactly right, it throws me completely off my stride.

So when I read Benjamin H. Cheever's "Words on the Street" feature in September's edition of Runner's World it was an epiphany! This article is of a far higher caliber than RW's usual offerings. Well written, funny, clever, but best of all - it offers a genuinely brilliant idea. Instead of listening to music or nothing at all while running - run to audio books. I never can find the time to read as much as I'd like to, and here's a genius solution. Expand your mind while strengthening your body!

Although I'm sure this wasn't quite the point of Cheever's article, "reading" while running sounds to me like the ultimate in multi-tasking =)
___
On a completely unrelated note, is anyone else getting as excited as I am about the impending World Championships? GO MY HERO PAULA! If anyone can pull the double, it's you.