Mad Mission

Unlike last week's long run, I had no willing company for the route. I did, however, manage to run a mile more holding the same pace. I came in at 1:20:14 at the 8.49 mile mark fresh off the Minute Man Bike Path. A shout out to Arlington despite their silly blue laws. Good stuff but I can't believe that I once ran 18 miles- not to mention that April attempt at 26.2. A co-worker and runner extraordinaire just ran 16 miles this weekend: I'm in awe. I'm happy with how I feel and I'll know I'll get there in November, but I envy her determination.


We see what we want to see right? (right now I'm envisioning VT home of sweet childhood memories- see left.) So it's fitting that I feel like I've been slacking off. I ran once last week. 4.1 door to door because I was busy most mornings and running here and there in the afternoons. When I did run on Wednesday morning, it was a great run. A personal run to remember. I felt strong and confident. There is no better moment than the pride that comes from finishing strong. Heh, who knew my motto during college was "just finish. Often done is better than good!"

Which is something to convince me that I signed up for this Mission '09 #2 with reason. To attain personal satisfaction at the end of the day is a beautiful thing and running is one of the few ways I'm conquering these days. I am more determined, each time I set out, to run my own race.

Sure I'm competitive but it's on my own terms. H gets pumped each time there's a race. He loves the excitement and thrill of running with the pack. As noted in a previous post about the F Road Race- more often, I am inclined to kill the pack. Still, there is something to be said for having a running partner, signing up for some summer fun runs (I've done five short races this summer and had a PR in a 5K-this decade at least). But most days, I don't want to run with anyone, I don't want to talk. I don't want to gab. I don't want to listen to someone else's huffing and puffing, I don't want someone to say "good job" at 6:30am as I run up one of the god forsaken somerville mountains.

Some insight on the psychology of sport please? Envious as I was of Taylor's FH team (see photo of team's biggest fan) and the sense of team, my personality is that of a runner. The team may be stronger than the individual but I'd rather have my own shit rubbed in my face than that of 12 other teammates.

Hmm if that's the case, I better get to on the training. As for a time commitment, this upcoming week will again be challenging BUT I'll be hitting the path in Cape Cod several times at the end of the week to make up for lost time at the beginning of the week.

With the lack of sticking to a solid schedule, I wonder why it was so important to me that I run a marathon, no matter how "fast" of a course, but that I ran a marathon, so that I could say I finished with a respectable time. And now, I can't seem to stay on track. Of course, while the psychology is something to explore, there's also a physical opposition. I'm finally going to the MD to see about this hamstring situation.

I suppose, if nothing else, this Mad Mission will just keep raising the bar. Heck last time this year I was having fun in VT but I didn't look as sexy on the beach. (last year berry picking & sitting happy) Just sayin'. It's all relative baby. Today is all that matters. (eww I'm just throwing dogma at you 2 weeks in a row!)

Bikes not Bombs! &, Adventures in Boystown

The year was 1988. At least, that's what I imagine it to be. In actuality, it could have been any time from 1987-1992. These moments are hard to pin down.

I was riding with mom on a hand me down pink bike with a banana boat seat from Kellie. It was amazing. The seat was white with a pink stripe down the middle. I recall adding streamers to the handlebars and those florescent color spoke accents on the wheels. Those were the days.

Instead of riding around the block or pretending the bike was a horse when we played "the olden days" or a car when we played "soccer mom," or a cab when we played "when I grow up I will be an architect," that pink thing was a bike. And I was pedaling quickly as my mother in a bandanna and shorts was running over the overpass near Good Intent Road.

Gloucester County has really good street names like Break neck Road that flies through Mantua or Good Intent Road in Deptford. When I was older I always thought, hmmm where are we going- The path to Hell is paved with Good Intentions, so maybe Hell was really, after all, the Mall. Now I think, maybe maring the failure of actual success with a good intention was speaking to all of this suburban madness. But, at the time, I was young and I lacked the cynicism that makes me who I am today.

I was just biking and mom was just running.

Yesterday, Diana and I reshot the scene on a 7.5 trek along the waterfront. Let me tell you, that girl can bike slowly and as much as she was impressed with me for fighting with the wind for 1:11:34, debuting the first run of the season with barely sub-10 minute miles, I was impressed with her skills, too.

It was a glorious morning that turned into a glorious day. Running through parks, by the triathletes training, the volley ball players diving in the sand, the roller bladers and the marina we later stopped at the farmer's market. mmmm. running and eating ain't bad.

I also finished Three Cups of Tea, which I highly recommend. Books Not Bombs...Bikes not Bombs...it's all the same. Let's stay away from the bombs, friends, even if you're just eating your way to peace after a good run. Five words: Practice Loving Acts of Kindness.

Another Kick Off to Summer Fun Runs

I've been getting it on the pavement even though I've not been consistent here.

This weekend we ran on the bike path towards Woods Hole after breakfast. That proved to be a very stupid idea. Somerville had sent an advisory to its constituents, warning us of a heat advisory and asking us to check on our elderly neighbors. But still, wanting to get miles in, I thought, only the elderly without central air or ocean breezes might suffer from the heat. Ha, I was young and ignorant. It was sweltering- like sweat droplets everywhere. and by everywhere I mean everywhere. The chaffing heros would have given a standing ovation.

Hans, his sister and I ran the bike path, passed the ocean, and then into the shade before turning around. We set a good pace, all of us running strong. I ran solo the last stretch but only because I told myself that I could turn around only once I got into the shade. Mind over common sense: I'm seeing how well I can manipulate this psychology of my sport.

Yesterday, I ran after work. Running after 10AM is kind of kicking my ass and is, without apology, flipping obnoxious. No wonder you see men with their shirts off and gut hanging out, across the Charles and cutsie girls, the collegiate type in their pastels looking more cute than than buff out at 5pm.

Tonight there's another local race on the Charles to be followed by a nice cold beer and then I'd like to promise myself to get my ass out of bed and run in the morning. That is when running is quite, quite, nice. This weekend in Chi-town will be a start. My first "long run"... I have a half marathon coming up at the end of next month. I gotta start kicking it.

Follow the Red Brick Road

Sometimes, when I wake and think about getting up for a run, my body feels like a bag of bricks. Mostly it's my eyes, and the bad voice in my head saying I can sleep five more minutes.

When I get up, I'm generally okay as long as I don't think too much and just leave the house. If the process of leaving the house takes longer than 6 minutes, it's basically a done deal.

Then the warm up. Now the run. Pavement, a pedestrian bridge, more cement. Brick path, to asphalt path to more bricks, sidewalk and then dirt. They say varying surfaces is good for your knees by building strength and allowing for recovery. They say. I actually like the brick. It's mostly level and gives for a dynamite stride. The shock absorption? yeah, well I don't know about that.

This course, does make me long for company. There are so many turning points that make it convenient to cut the trek short that having company helps extend the run mindlessly. A running buddy is much nicer than a race. Even if your speeds are slightly different, there's no rush. Sometimes, for me, racing feels like a panic and a pray for a happy ending. The advantage to the course is that there are always runners out. Mostly women around my age or slightly younger sprinkle the course when I get up; when I've run earlier, they're mostly older men.

What is it about the demographics of running?

And beyond that, why is running so darn attractive to some people? My mother ran. But she ran when she met my father (who is not, to any of my experience a runner, walker, trotter. He is most definitely a stroller, rather, a st-roool-ler. hear the undulation in the pace).

I love to run. I love the way my body feels after a run. I love the middle of the run when the cadence of my breath and my feet are the only things of which I'm conscious. There is no thought. I also love the sense of accomplishment. They way the entirety of the day that follows is so simple, so relative. And, that I own it. I own the good runs, the bad runs, the difficult mornings and the late nights.

My sister hates to run. And for some folks, it's harder than it is for others. Some bodies are not meant for running - fast or slowly. The chemistry lacks. And then there are the die hards in which every day is a race, every moment is a competition against the clock, against their self worth.

All I know is that I'm doing what I love and trying to do it well. (oh. and getting ready for Philly. right.)
There's no use doing anything else these days.