Change of Pace

190 Drinks.... 596 Miles

I was supposed to meet in my lobby to share a car service out to Queens for the half-marathon at 6:30 AM. It is 5:30 AM now and I am at the opposite end of town in the East Village at a bar with a lot of other runners. Except that they happen to also be people I work with. I am not worried. I have plenty of time to get back uptown.

Suddenly I realize that it is already 6:35 and I have missed my ride to Queens. I feel bad, but am still not worried. The race is not until 8 'o clock and there's still plenty of time to get to the start. Everyone is leaving the bar now and they all seem to know how to get there...I'll just follow them. Only, the other girls on my team don't seem to want me to ride with them. They're polite, but when I ask how they're getting there, they just sort of ignore me.

Now I'm going through my duffel bag and realizing that it's full of laundry. I don't have my uniform and the only shoes I have are a pair of brand new, very heavy trainers. I try to think if I have time to go home and get my uniform, but then I still don't know how to get to the start of the race and it will be very expensive to take a cab. I would ask to borrow a uniform from one of the other girls, but they aren't speaking to me. I am starting to panic.

I finally wake up and recognize that I am in little danger of missing my ride, since it is still two days away, but I am sweating and out of breath and my heart is beating frantically against my ribs. It is 2 AM, Thursday morning. Then, 3 AM, 4 AM, 5:30, 6:30...the alarm goes off at 7:25. I am exhausted.

When I finally left the house at 8, I ran my seven miles very, very slowly. My right heel ached and I felt unexpectedly fatigued. But then when I got home, I asked my Magic 8 Ball if I will be able to break 1:27 on Saturday and it said, You May Rely On It.

192 Drinks.... 600 Miles

It's just a few small incisions. Nothing serious. And hopefully it will solve the problem, although there is always the danger of complications. Worst case scenario, I've just destroyed a $100 pair of shoes. Damn you, Running Company Joe, for assuring me that Asics run wide and convincing me that there was no need for me to stick with New Balance and their beautiful D width option. But alas, I should have realized...what can a naive 22-year-old boy know about bunions?

I took my doctored trainers out on my seven mile run yesterday and it was a palpable relief to be able to wiggle my toes again and I hadn't even realized just how much pressure the shoes were placing on the insides of my forefeet. Afterwards I didn't have any pain at all on the top of my left foot, so the shoes must have been pinching a nerve on the side where the bunion is. It's entirely possible that the shoes will now fall apart within the next two weeks, but at least they should be comfortable enough to wear for the half marathon tomorrow. So it's clear that my snazzy hi-tech racing trainers are flawed, but they do still make me feel fast.

192 Drinks.... 616 Miles

I've become accustomed to placing in the top 20's for women in these New York Road Runners races. I try not to take for granted that I am very fortunate to be running at that level. Nevertheless, it must be human nature to covet the talent of the 23 women ahead of me in a race and to forget about the 2641 that finished behind me.

I knew I was well prepared to have a good race this morning and I felt relaxed and confident when I lined up. They're trying out a new start system so that the faster runners won't get stuck behind crowds of slower people at the gun (like what happened to me in the last race), so I was feeling pretty studly for having a purple sticker on my number denoting me as local elite. Wasn't I just so special? Still, it added to my sense that I was ready to crank out that PR.

I started out very evenly, concentrating very hard on running comfortably and not letting the adrenaline of the start push me along with a faster crowd than I could handle. My first split was a 6:26, a little faster than the 6:40 average that I was aiming for, but it felt reasonably sane. I took a few slow, deep breaths and tried to take it down a notch. Mile two went by in 6:32 and I still felt like I wasn't pushing myself overly hard so I just went with it. 6:35, 6:32, 6:25, 6:26...hey, this was fun!

I passed my coach and he let me know I was the 6th woman. SIXTH?? Yikes. I have a history of crashing and burning around mile 8 or 9, so I started to worry a little bit at that point. I shook out my tense shoulders and really tried to relax and slow down a little bit...6:27, 6:24. What's a girl to do? It felt good, why not go with it? Besides, I'd slowly moved up on the woman ahead of me and was now officially in the top five. Make that top FOUR...the second fastest woman on my team was still recovering from her amazing Boston finish less than a month ago and her legs were feeling the pace, so she dropped back a bit and gave me a friendly "Good Job!" as I incredulously passed her by.

This is not where I run. This is not my place. These are the kinds of things I fantasize about on my long training runs in the park. The imaginary scenarios that make my heart beat a little stronger...the daydreams that keep me going and make me pick up the pace. That's exactly what it felt like and I was terrified that at any moment I was going to blink hard and realize that I was just out on the bridle path wishing and hoping to be doing exactly what I was apparently really doing.

The next two miles didn't go quite as smoothly. I was running about 25 yards behind a pretty big pack of runners that included the number three woman and I was just concentrating on keeping my pace even with theirs. I heard some hollering behind me, but didn't know what it was about, so I ignored it. I thought it was a little odd that I never saw the nine mile marker, but I was working so hard at that point to stay focused that I just let it go. I hit my watch at the 10 mile mark, while attempting to simultaneously slurp down a gel, drink a cup of water, turn a sharp corner AND listen to what my coach was screaming at me. I never saw my mile split, so I didn't worry that it was telling my that I'd just run 6:15's for the last two miles.

My last three mile splits, for people who care about these things, were 6:43, 6:36 and 6:27. I crossed the finish in 1:25 and high-fived the guy I'd been pacing off of for the last three miles, exhausted, but very happy and satisfied, four minutes faster than my old PR. Our top runner, who won the race with an amazing 1:19, came over me and congratulated me and complimented me on my hard work. I was definitely floating on air and still not convince that I wasn't making this all up.

I was brought quickly back to reality when my other teammate finished and asked me, 'Did you know you made a wrong turn?' Ka-thunk. What?? It was true, that's why there hadn't been a nine-mile-marker. There's nothing to be done about it now, no one has said anything about it being a problem and it apparently didn't affect anyone's finishing place, but that's what all the yelling had been about. I still finished fourth woman and I still had a huge PR, but now I don't know if I ran exactly the 13.1 distance or not. Those two miles were very fast for me, but there was also a long down hill in the middle of them. A long down hill that I guess the other runners didn't get. I don't know. My coach says not to worry about it, but I kind of feel like now there will have to be an asterik by this time. It's a bummer that everything couldn't be perfect, but I refuse to let this technicality take away my fabulous moment.

I finished the day with hardware and war wounds, but my scissored shoes felt okay during the race. The boy that sold them to me ran the thing in 1:13 though. I've got to get the shoes he's wearing!

Oh, and I forgot to mention it before, but lots of thanks and wishes for a 3:10 marathon to Derek who gave me a ride back to Manhattan after the race. A good thing, since I had only the vaguest idea of where I was in Queens!

I can not describe how my last two runs have felt without sounding like a complete whiner. It hurts, that's all. The evening after my race it hurt to simply breathe, but my legs felt okay. Now my breathing is back in order, but my legs feel as if they might abruptly snap into pieces if I tread too firmly. My arches, my calves, my quads...they're all very unhappy with me right now. I'm very pleased with my race, but it wasn't without a price.

I've also decided that the drinks-to-miles ratio has gotten a little old and isn't really relevant anyway now that I've pretty much destroyed my reputation as a drinker. So I'll update my yearly mileage once a week or so, but it won't be the lead anymore. For the record, I'm at 630 miles for the year.

And speaking of records...the new PR chart: (updated April 26th, 2008)

As in, Gender. I've just been thinking that men and women are very different creatures. I might be the first person to realize this, I know.

There are obviously all sorts of stereotypes about those differences and what we each are better at and how we each perceive the world. Equal, schmeequal...humans are hopelessly analytical organisms and we just love to pick apart our differences. Men are taller and stronger and faster than women; women are delicate and sentimental and far more interested in relationships and romance and commitment than men. But really, aren't the exceptions always more interesting than the rule?

I thought it only fair that I also include photos of me getting whupped by a guy at the end of the half. He ended up finishing a good 3 seconds ahead, so at least I know that pushing just a little bit harder wouldn't have helped.

What a great song, the one by Rickie Lee Jones, not the Sondheim one. Though I'm sure that one is good too. I just love the wistfulness to it and the sweetness of it... I'll remember you too clearly But I'll survive another day Conversations to share When there's no one there... I'll imagine what you'd say

At any rate, I've been lucky enough to have wonderful company for my runs the last two mornings. Alison is down from Massachusetts on NYRRC business, so it's been great fun to touch base with a fellow blogger-runner and compare notes on running and training and life. She claims to have been intimidated to run with me after my out-of-the-blue monster PR last Saturday, but I was just as intimidated to run with her! As it was, we both seemed to run very comfortably at an even, easy pace and both yesterday and today, the seven miles just flew by.

I'm having to scrounge around a little to find company for my last couple of pre-marathon long runs as my team's regular ridge run distance-fests have been put on hold for a while. One of our team members is struggling with some very serious health problems and until she is out of the woods with her latest medical crisis, a lot of the coach's time and the team's emotional resources are going to be directed to that cause. Considering how alone my teammate must be feeling as she's forced to consider her possible prognosis, it suddenly doesn't feel like such a hardship to deal with a little boredom on a long run.

You get to know the usual morning crowd when you run in the park everyday. There's the two tall, skinny guys that look really fast, but seem to train slower than I do. The hippie mom walking her two little girls to school, all three of them with the most beautiful long blonde hair. The old lady with the sleek shorthair pointer that likes to carry his own leash in his mouth. I have no idea if any of them take any notice of me, but considering the blank looks I've gotten on the few occassions that I've nodded hello, I kind of think they don't. Nevertheless, I felt like a pretty serious stud this morning after what I thought was a close brush with some elite runners.

There was a Kidney Foundation race this past weekend that drew some big names into the area and when I saw these guys fly by me, I thought they might be real somebodys. There were about six of them and they looked like they were really fast and they looked like they could be North African and a few of them had United Arab Emirates track suits on and I'd heard that a number of Ethiopians had immigrated to the UAE to run for them. Anyway, on my second lap of the park, I realized that I'd tucked in right in front of a group of these guys and they didn't seem to be running that fast. I picked up my pace a little thinking that I'd put off the inevitable whooosh for a few more seconds, but they didn't pass me. I finished the loop more than a minute faster than I'd done the first one and still, they were right behind me. Feeling a little like I was running in a parallel universe, I stayed ahead of the little pack of scary looking runners for yet another lap (it was an italics-filled run) and this time cut another thirty seconds off my time for the loop.

Obviously the guys were just on an easy long run or a recovery jog, but once I got to work I found out a little more to explain the encounter. This past weekend's race was sponsored by the Embassy of the United Arab Emirates because the former UAE president Sheikh Zayed Bin Sultan Al-Nahyan was a kidney transplant survivor. I looked up the finishing times of the UAE runners and while the first guy wasn't exactly slow, running a 33:03, he wasn't anyone really famous either. And the slowest of their guys barely ran faster than I would have!

Still, deluded though I may have been, I nevertheless got a good workout from my little fantasy.

Alison of blogging fame took this photo...my UAE pals are all off to the right of the guy in red.

And because I miss keeping the tally: 201 Drinks.... 701 Miles

Not much else to say. I ran nine miles in the drizzle this morning, missing my rain jacket which I left in DC this past weekend. I took it with me in case it rained for my 22 miler on Saturday and it was sunny and gorgeous. Now I'm back here without the jacket, so of course it's cold and rainy. My left knee seems to be giving me some worrysome twinges now, both when I run and when I go up stairs, but I'm going to try and placate it with Advil and a couple of easy days. Less than four more weeks now...body, don't fail me now!

I guess I'll have to chalk this one up to poor planning, but this particular quandary kind of snuck up on me. I originally planned on doing Grandma's Marathon with a friend of mine who had a friend with a marathon-running sister who lived in Duluth. Friend-of-a-friend kind of thing, which was great, since the marathon weekend housing shortage in Duluth is somewhat legendary. But then stress fractures took too long to heal and iliotibial bands caused problems and it quickly became clear that I'd probably be doing this race solo. Still, I didn't worry too much, figuring that the housing situation was still pretty much secure.

Well, I was wrong. Now I'm scrambling a bit to figure something out for the Friday night before the marathon. Apparently the hotels in the area raise their prices for the event and require a two night stay. Being a budget-conscious kind of girl, this creates a bit of a financial hurdle for me. I've already spent several hundred dollars on a plane ticket and rented a car for two days so I could take the cheaper flight option into Minneapolis. Spending the same amount over again to sleep in a bed for a few hours just seems silly. Besides, judging from the calls I made today, a lot of these places just plain don't have rooms available anyway.

Apparently it's pretty common for people to sort of camp out in the parking lot of the Duluth Convention Center the night before, so that's an option I'm considering. On the other hand, it's probably going to be cold out there and maybe not the best pre-race sleeping conditions if I'm going to go for that three-hour marathon time. Plus, if it's really such a festive fun thing to do, I'll bet it's not exactly quiet either.

Tomorrow I'm going to start widening my search radius and see what I can find an hour or two outside of Duluth. After all, I do have that car, so maybe I'll find something in lovely Biwabik or on the gentle shores of Moose Lake. Nevertheless, if you suddenly remember that your dear cousin in Twin Harbors, MN really owes you a favor or your favorite sorority sister just happens to be Duluthian...do let me know. I'll be happy to bring them lots of I HEART New York t-shirts and shiny new scale models of the Statue of Liberty.

Thanks to fellow Grandma's runner Zeke for hooking me up with a warm place to stay in Duluth. We might even be able to track down an actual cot for me to sleep on and he's promised that I'll be a regular Minnesotan by the time I leave. You betcha.

On a less positive note, my left knee keeps feeling like it's going to buckle, so I cut my run short this morning to try and give it a chance to settle down. It's a little bit of a worry, but if I didn't have any injury anxiety coming up to a marathon, I just wouldn't be me. Besides, there are other, more serious things going on around me to help keep it all in perspective. My sick teammate is really struggling right now and our coach has started giving us gentle warnings to prepare ourselves for the worst. It's so hard for me to get my head around the idea that I might never get to see my friend again. There's obviously no logic to it, but it feels like if I can just eliminate the possibility from my mind that she could die, that it can't possibly happen. On the other hand, now that it's actually been spoken and we're being forced to think about it, it's somehow less frightening than when it was left a taboo. Everything about it though still seems terribly cruel and pointless and profoundly unfair.

July 28, 1956 - May 26, 2005

Shantie spent her life taking care of other people. It was just her natural impulse to put other people's needs in front of her own and she drew great pleasure from feeding her friends and surprising them with thoughtful gifts. This is hardly to imply that she was a pushover. She had a quiet intensity and she could certainly play the tough guy when it came to coaching her running classes. She had learned how to push herself to excel and she wasn't going to let anyone else give up easily either. I will remember her sweetness and her kindness, but it is her strength that will stay with me the most.

As for my coach, his constant updates and stories have allowed all of Shantie's friends and teammates to be a part of her last weeks. He doesn't always have the gentlest of personalities, but the grace and sensitivity with which he shared Shantie's last struggles and triumphs were profound. He helped shepard us all through this anguished time, but most of all he was there for Shantie. I belong to a very special running team indeed.

That's how many miles I've run over the last four days. Up until recently I thought that a 50-mile week was more than my body could handle and here I am on pace to do 80. I won't though. Less than three weeks out from the marathon, it's time for me to start backing off a little and start thinking taper. Even so, it's still possible that I might end up with my highest mileage week so far.

Thinking about Shantie and talking about her and listening to all of her friends and families' stories about her at her funeral has really added a new intensity to my training. I'm really feeling a new awareness of my mortality and the importance of putting 100% of myself into everything I do. I know how hard it is to really do that, but it should at least be the goal.

I have worked so hard this time around, I don't want to feel like there is anything more I could have done. And I do feel that way. No matter what my time ends up being in Duluth, I know that I put in my best effort. Though, now that I know I'm capable of comfortably running consistant 60-mile weeks, I can't help but wonder what 70 and 80-mile weeks would do for me...