Getting in the way.

(Molly likes Audrey. A lot.)

I worked from home yesterday in hopes of getting a little better, but to no avail. I'm coughing up colors that would make pastoral painters jealous, and I'm just generally feeling like crap. I'm looking forward to tonight's massage not for working on my sore legs but for trying to pull the sickness out of the lymph nodes on my back. This is not how 18 weeks of work should end.

My current outlook is, I'll walk to the finish line if I have to. But it's frustrating. I know what I can do, I just can't do it like this.

#183, back on the road.

I got an email notification yesterday that said that of the ~20,000 people running the Flying Pig, I'll be #183. Yup. I mean, I did register like last fall or something-- gotta do it to get motivated-- but still.

So, unit 183, reporting from Little Rock, where my decision to join Audrey in "edge" this week (a last ditch attempt to lose a pound or two before Sunday) meant free time after work to fill. I stopped by the Clinton Presidential Library, which is a gorgeous space that integrated an old rail line and train station beautifully. Then, after eating at the only Indian restaurant in town (voted "Best Ethnic Food" several years in a row) I stopped by Central High. Which, I should mention, is just a lovely, well-landscaped high school that's still in use. Inspirational.

Naturally I finally got Ben's cold though. I sat through my delay at O'Hare yesterday terrified that some stranger would run up, pointing and shouting "SWINE FLU!!" and I'd end up in quarantine. It took Ben about a week to shake it; I have till Sunday.

Ran to the riverfront path, down to Clinton's place, and back again this morning. Got caught in a torrential downpour, but at least it broke up the soupy humidity.

trashed.

Photo: Amy.
Yesterday's race report is here. Unfortunately I can't say whether or not road racing is for me, since I rode alone the whole time, missing the pack riding experience. Another off-the-back experience for the slowbike. I know now that I'm stronger than the "just quit" instinct, for sure. But I can't help but wonder where my riding is. I know, running isn't the same, but I'm pretty damn fit (for me) lately... I'm frustrated that it's just not translating at all.

This morning called for 8. Last night I had one too many though, and the nausea came in waves alternating with the pouring rain as I ran. Molly and I met Ben at the beach, where he threw a ball for her and she swam. She's having an awesome day.

My legs are done. I'm taking this week's runs-- super short because of the taper-- really easy. One week till marathon day and my thoughts on it are, "meh."

2PD: Chicago

One of my two best friends from highschool, Portlynne, came to visit me. I took a half day off on Wednesday and all day off yesterday and we played tourist. It was sunny and warm and we did EVERYTHING. Like: drink at noon, see the bean, drink at 2, eat Vosges chocolates, drink on top of the Hancock, eat tapas and drink sangria, go to a show at Second City, sleep in, play frisbee with Molly, drink at 10am, take an architectural boat tour, lunch and drink at the original Billy Goat, shop for lingerie, have a banana split at Margie's, drink at 3pm, relax the afternoon away, eat deep dish pizza. Did I miss anything? It was busy. And fun.

Today it's back to reality though. Like, job. Harumph. Either way, I'm wearing 5 shades of blue today and staring out the window at the sun. I've been running faster this week, and things are generally on the up and up.

recovering from disappointment.

So, as I sit here bashing myself for being so darn slow (hey, aren't I the one who chose the "slowbike" moniker?) I watched the live feed of the Boston Marathon yesterday. While I'm far from being a "real" runner, I have bought a few copies of the worst magazine in the sport at airports and I've come to really love Kara Goucher.

Kara's this awesome Minnesotan girl who after going buck wild winning some serious collegiate races moved to Portland and got a job with the Evil Empire as a full-time runner. She trains 2x most days, capping her weeks with a 22 miler where she wears a weight vest for the last 5 miles or so. She takes 2-3 ice baths a week. She's hardcore... but also cute. And goofy. And a midwesterner.

Anyway, she's trained for months, full-time, for Boston. She was very public about her hope to become the first American woman in more than 20 years to win. She went all-out, cards on the table. It was all over the news.

Then, she got dropped 400m from the finish. And placed third. And collapsed crying into the arms of her husband. And then had to sit in front of a press corps and relive it.

So, today I'm telling myself to harden the fuck up. Seriously. So I lost miserably in some crappy little mountain bike race- which I'm so serious about that I hadn't even BEEN on a trail before it this year. Who the hell thinks they can show up to an event they haven't even DONE in months and do decently (much less, racing against the experts?) And then Kara, who not only actually tried, but made her entire life about it... came so close... she has the right to be upset.

Am i actually comparing myself? Yes, but obviously not in pace or achievements, but in investment vs returns. I have no right to complain - or hate myself for it - when I didn't come anywhere close to preparing or truly even trying. I had it coming. Kara showed that sometimes you can put it all out there and still come up short. But when you don't put anything out there, you can't complain, because you'll always come up short.

So today I thought about Kara when I ran, and I turned in a run 45 sec faster than marathon pace. As much as I hate admitting it, right now I'm a runner, not a rider.

race report: dfl.

(Photo from Erica of Amy, Erica, and Audrey after their race.)
For the first race of the year, it's a dfl.

Let's start, though, with how a race can set a girl up for failure. Because, while the men had three categories, the women had two categories. Having just upgraded to sport/cat 2, I was in the combined sport/expert, all thrown into one cat. When we lined up, I recognized several women from the Cat 1/2 UCI cross race in Iowa City, and I knew they were fast. I was the only one on the line with body fat to speak of, and they were all so... pro. (And not very friendly, I'll add.) Only one woman actually talked to me. This time when I joked about taking last, they sort of ignored me- probably because they knew it was true. We started 5 min behind the guys.

I hadn't pre-ridden the course. In fact, it was my first time on singletrack this year. It had been raining for about an hour, and during my race it started to outright pour. There were short steep climbs and tight turns all over the place, and a few nasty slick off-camber sections, but it was a fun trail, for sure. Each lap the course felt completely different, and as the rain poured on, it went from pretty ok to a deep mudslick. The first lap I was off the bike alot- I had no confidence- and by the end of the lap I had the bike patrol dude who was bringing up the rear as a riding buddy. With no sign of the race in front of me, there was no carrot, so I just poked along. No doubt if I had a train to stay on I would have been faster, but once it's gone, it's hard to drive myself.

By lap two I was getting into a groove, though, and most of what pulled me off the bike last time I just rode right over. I know how to do this! I even passed two guys. But 2/3 through that lap, the men's leaders came around me. I crossed the finish and the official said my race was over- she was pulling me- and I wasn't supposed to ride one more.

I spinned over to our tent. I almost cried. I was heartbroken. I was going to lose it, or... I got back on my bike and got back on the trail. I wasn't supposed to be out there, and conditions were getting reaaaaaly nasty and with those cross mark tires it was more ice skating than biking, but I had to. I rode slow and careful- not worth getting hurt on a dignity lap just two weeks before a marathon- and finished my third lap. I mean, after all, a few sandbaggers who had a 5 minute head start and weren't even in my race shouldn't be able to determine the finish for me, should they?

So, there you have it. DFL, though one woman only finished two laps (though faster than mine) so I'll be placed above her. The gnarly trail and mud puddles were that serious.

60 degrees, sunny, and stuck in an airport.

Contrary to what the Kayak phone application said, there wasn't a 6:40. Just an 8:00. So here I sit. And sit. And sit.

Last night, I should have prepped myself mentally for the hills of Bloomington, but I didn't. Instead I mentally whined my way through this morning's five, which was gorgeous, perfect weather, during dawn-break, and HILLY.

I realized today that the simple conclusion of "in Cinci, i'll make up the time on the downhills" is outright foolhearty of me, and that I need to relax a little on that marathon pace goal.

I haven't talked much about what my pace is lately, and there's a reason for that. I'm working really hard and I'm still slow, and honestly it's embarrassing. I'm not some super-athletic-spunky-skinny girl who can wake up in the morning and - ta da! - just decide to run a 7 minute mile marathon. At a party this weekend, a teammate asked, "What's your pace? 8 minutes?" Aaaaargh. I know he meant nothing by it, he was probably just acknowledging the time I put into this training crap, but it still kind of kicks the wind out of me. I'm slow, godawfully slow.

On the bright side though, I have moved from "tragically slow" to "godawfully slow," an improvement that I've been celebrating completely silently, since it's sort of like improving from an F to a D-. But last year it was 5:01 and 11:30's, this year it will be 4:45 or faster and 11:00 or faster. The 'marathon pace' I write about is my goal of a 10:30, or 4:35. And back to what I was saying, I think the hills might foil that plan.

But back to the news of the day... Ben and I have tickets to San Francisco for Bay to Breakers, where being short of COMPLETE slackers puts us in the B corral, second wave. Yes, toward the front. Finally an event where I don't bring up the rear. We'll run it as if we can, and then sit in the grass and watch the show behind us catch up.

just run.

I'm in a hotel on the fringes of Evansville, IN. It has more "perks" than the downtown hotels I prefer - including a hot tub, a hot breakfast, and a hot 3 free evening cocktails- but that means driving to somewhere runnable, and trying not to get lost.

I'm finding new love for mapmyrun.com - it's found me some decent routes in these sexy travel destinations. Today I went for this, slightly modified, and wrote the route on my arm. Mapmyrun actually has an iphone application where it works like my gizmo, but my gizmo's on my arm and sorta handier that way.

Evansville is a riverboat casino town with a riverwalk, but after entering the riverwalk I found it underwater and at the nearest exit back to the road I had to jump a fence to escape. Then out on 1st Ave I saw some amazing awesome homes- big ones with ceiling fans on the porches, all New Orleans style. I swear the model for the Addams Family mansion was there too. I ran on the cobblestone street and just wished the canopy of trees slouching over the street had leaves.

Still trying to find a way to get the iphone to give me directions aloud. I'm going to die in a car crash at the rate I'm going, trying to read directions.

Are you serious?

From the Flying Pig email list... "Today's tip is guaranteed to make you smile at the finish line. We'll be taking your photo there, and this year we want the ladies to look especially good at the finish. Cover Girl will provide a "Lipstick on a Pig" stop just before the finish line so you can look your best!" Did I mention that Cover Girl cosmetics contain cancer-causing carcinogens? Maybe drop them an email at info@flyingpigmarathon.com and let them know what your thoughts on this are.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. Just the idea of not only caring about looks after 26 miles but putting crap on my lips? My gawd.

Spent Saturday riding our hometown trails at Palos- mostly doubletrack since the single's still a bit wet- and had a great time. The team had a group of 7 out and it was a sunny spring day. Sunday went to MKE to be with the family, then stopped by to say hi to folks (completely overdressed!) at the Paris-Roubaix viewing. Poor Thor. This was his year.

taper. no, not the candle. the kind that involves drinking more beer.

Yup. Did the 20 this morning-- up to Humboldt Park, East to Halsted (for the "hills"), then drop off Molly and loop out to the lake via the riverfront, then home via Roosevelt (again, "hills"). It's always sunshine and rainbows in retrospect - nailed this one at almost exactly 30 sec slower than pace - but it started hurting at 12 and the hurt really didn't stop.

I am amused, though, at how thoughts go from complex and potentially deep to flat-out caveman-like the farther I run. At mile 5 I was thinking big-picture life stuff. At mile 15 it was down to five-word sentences. At mile 19, it was grunt-like two word directions - "go faster," "turn left," "half more," "need BloodyMary." I come home and try to converse with Ben and it's like I'm a freaking idiot.

Anyway, hay's in the barn. Now let's soak the barn in alcohol and burn it down, dammit.

just because you feel it, doesn't mean it's there.

I walk past this 3' tall fence twice a day. One day, I will impale myself on it. Today was not the day. It makes me glad I wear glasses, so that I am far less likely to lose an eye. (listening to Radiohead on my walk makes me think these things.)

Today's run was an epic failure. 5 miles, coulda done it in my sleep, but today sleep was the better bet. I made it barely a mile and a half before all plans were foiled. Credit to Indian food and Syrian Arak. You are spared the details.

Last night Kim and Joel came over. As part of our thinly veiled campaign to convince them that Pit Bulls Are The Best Dogs On Earth, we walked Molly and played frisbee and generally enjoyed some doggie company along with some Scrabble, delicious cheeses, and said Indian food. I think it's mission accomplished on the dog front. And Joel gets a superbig hug for being the first person ever to drink Arak with me and actually like it.

when it rains...

It's official. Nobody reads this anymore. Which is a relief, in a way... nobody to please but myself! Anyway...

I got a rain hat because I walk to work, and it's often too windy for an umbrella. I was in Omaha when it came so I asked Ben to model it. Isn't he handsome? Isn't the hat practical? I like practical. Hold the Long John Silvers jokes, please. Naturally I got it where any normal person would get a sea shanty-style hat from: Rivendell.

Yesterday my flight was delayed (of course) so I drank approximately 4 beers in the airport, and made friends the way you only can when shiney in an airport bar. The carb loading worked, though, and I turned in my pace run this morning at 30 sec faster than pace. This weekend's 20 should be staring me down but isn't. I'm just not focused on the running this time around. I do it, I'm still at 100% of the workouts, it's just not what I think about.

What I do think about is FOOD.

O!maha!

Second week of working without a contract, I have two more states dumped on me, I'm now working an assignment that adds up to 130% time, and my freaking supervisor doesn't even know my name.

Either way. This morning, running in Omaha. I was excited about this one - a new town, a real hill or two. A little riverfront path and an odd corporate office park lake next to the river. The town is filled with gorgeous old brick buildings and is quite scenic. It's about the size of Milwaukee, I'd say. But then today I'm getting this pinching on the front of my ankle that makes it hard to put weight on it. WTF is that about?

I do have a little good news. And that is, when Bank of America decided to send a letter saying they're DOUBLING the interest rate on my credit card (how is that legal?) I was able to call my credit union, get a card there with my original good rate, and transfer the whole balance... and the people on the phone who helped me with it were super awesome and kinda funny even.
Go screw yourselves, CEO scum. I have a credit union!

Imagine.

My run today was polluted with advertisements for the Chicago Olympic bid. It's annoying, really, those signs hanging everywhere and just thinking some of my tax money might have paid for it. Our city and state have superhigh taxes and huge budget deficits - why would we spend money on a giant international party? I hope those IOC people can figure out that it would be just cruel to ask a city that can't afford to patch potholes to pay for their gig.

The run went really, really well though. I was reading about how shorter runs can count for more if you make them harder. 7 miles into the 12 I started kicking the pace, and by 10 I was running a full minute faster than marathon pace. Wowsa, didn't know I had that in me. I got the high, I enjoyed the spring weather, and I'm having one of the days where I sorta believe I can hit my pace goal. Sorta.

Last night Audrey, Erica, Dacia, and I went to see the Feint and Ladytron at Metro. I felt sooooo old. Not just because most of the crowd was younger, but because of what I was thinking. Things like "this place is too crowded," "I'm glad I brought earplugs," "the sound mixing in this place sucks," and "I'm so glad I wore sneakers instead of something fashionable, this is lots of standing." Four years ago I was going to shows weekly and putting up with way worse. (smoking! though the sound at 9:30 is way better...) It was fun, but I think I'll probably not go to Metro again. I miss Backstage at the Black Cat, dc9, but especially The Galaxy Hut. (I could really use a grilled cheese with love right now.)

I dreamed of vultures.

(Photo: BohPhoto)
I'm a huge John Darnell/Mountain Goats fan. Have been for years (and years). He's one of the few artists who can really carry a live acoustic show, since he's smart and hilarious and we all love him. Last night Ben and I cursed the fact that the show was moved from blocks away from our house to about 5 miles away, but the trip was worth it. Ben even got to shout out, "make us cry!" Which John heard, and even later commented on. He also sang about a third of my favorite songs.
"I'm gonna get myself in fighting trim,
scope out every angle of unfair advantage.
I'm gonna bribe the officials.
I'm gonna kill all the judges.
it's gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage."
Oh, hell yeah.
Naturally I sat there and realized that I haven't been motivated, like really motivated, to do anything lately. Where'd all my fiery anger go? Don't you dare say it disappeared at 30. I need to run angrier, campaign angrier, feel determined. Cause more damage. Because not all damage is bad. It's the Steppenwolf problem. Screw contentment, I wanna go break something.

I ran fast this morning.

Audrey's tiling our kitchen, a fact that I forgot when we invited Ben's Mom over for dinner last night. We threw a quiche together and called it a day. I'm a half-assed daughter-in-law. We'll just have to make another attempt at it.

april, come she will.

(photo: Ben)My first piece appears on the CX Mag website today. Tell me if you like it.

My body is toast. I think I'm fighting off the flu bug that everyone around here seems to have gotten. My legs were fried this morning, and it was all I could do to finish the last weekday 8 miler of the plan. I hate Wednesday runs, they make me get up early and run through dawn. Won't miss 'em one bit.

Yesterday I was able to wrangle just about everything in my life back to order - getting thank-yous out for the races, paying bills, writing a letter to my Grandma, uploading Gizmo data, even getting myself a little gift from Rivendell (very little). So now I'm back to having my focus on training, and I'm getting exactly the same feelings I had last year at this time. Near burnout, wanting just to sleep in. "10 more days till taper, just get through."