Baby It's Cold Outside

I love this time of year. The leaves are still on the trees here in D.C., but falling freely. The air is crisp. It smells like Thanksgiving, woodsmoke, and fresh starts, overlaid with a hint of winter.

What I don't love is trying to figure out what to wear for early morning runs, when the temps can range from the 30s (F) to the low 50s.

You think I would know by now, but I don't.

Lucky for me, I have this handy-dandy temperature chart (Excel file), from a post on dressing for winter running by blogger Joe Ely, over at my old pasttime, CompleteRunning.com.

The chart tells you what you need to wear for temps ranging from 63F to <10F. Of course you can customize it to suit your preferences, but I think Joe pretty much nailed it.

I downloaded this chart when it was first posted back in 2006, and it has saved me from having to think many times over.

And that my friends, is always a good thing.

Hope it helps you.

Marine Corps Marathon 2009, Spectating Part II

Marathon day dawned bright, cold, and clear.

In all the time we spent together on Saturday, I cleverly made sure never to ask Dianna what she'd be wearing. I guessed something orange (she is the running chick with the ORANGE hat, after all).

More fail.

I climbed up out of Smithsonian Metro station just past mile marker 19, hoping I hadn't missed her, and taking a wild guess that she'd be wearing something orange. At least I had the foresight to ask her what pace she'd be running: 8:30s.

As the crowd streamed by I asked a few marathoners what pace they were running, and pretty much every one of them looked at me like I was nuts and said, "Don't know." (I guess I forgot that you can't answer questions while running a marathon.)

I asked the spectators if they knew what pace these folks were at. No one knew. But on one of those occasions as I was busily chatting up spectators, my back turned to the streaming crow of marathoners someone yelled out, "There goes the 3:30 pacer!"

Dianna was on track for 3:40.

Sure enough, like clockwork, a few seconds later, she saw me.

Yes, she saw ME, and called my name!

We rushed toward each other, gave a quick hug and she was off. And

More fail.

I hurried back onto the Metro, joined the throng and headed for the finish. It took forever to get there, but I fought my way through with minutes to spare. I took up my post at what I thought was around 25.5, and decided to start taking pix to test my readiness,









I am so ready!

Very soon, Dianna approached. I tried the old running backwards—at an 8:30 min mile—while talking and snapping photos. I think you can guess what happened. But just in case you are in ANY doubt...





Sigh.

Turns out I was much closer to the finish, a brutal bit just past mile 26 that is straight uphill. I heard the announcer call Dianna's name. We soon caught up with each other and I asked her if she made Boston. She had! But she was in a world of pain. You can read all about it here.

I took some more crappy photos at the end. Unless you were a stranger and then? Perfection!

If you'd like to contribute to my camera fund, or maybe to the send the photographer to photogaphy school fund, you know where to find me!

It was a fabulous weekend, and I don't know how I manage to know so many fast runners. I enjoy basking in reflected glory, I guess!

Marine Corps Marathon 2009, Spectating Part 1

Last weekend was a whirlwind.

My bloggy (and now real-life) friend, Dianna, was coming into town to BQ at the MCM (I love it when I talk like that) and I was lucky enough to watch her do it.

I'd met Dianna (aka the running chick with the orange hat) in the flesh only once before, when she ran Boston in 2007, like this:
I think this was around mile 9

And prior to that, I had only talked to her once, as I was slogging through mile 21 of the 2006 Marine Corps Marathon, when Susie handed me the phone and Dianna wished me well and I blubbered back, "I love you!"

So it's not like she went into this thing blind!

Dianna was staying in Crystal City (Arlington, Va.), near Number One Daughter's domicile. I decided to spend the night at NOD's place so it would be easy to meet up with Dianna on Saturday morning and get to the race expo early. (Also gave me the excuse I've been waiting for to spy on spend the night at NOD's. Turns out? NOD is ridiculously neat and organized. The apple apparently does fall far...) Anywho, I had to get 7 miles in on Saturday morning, so resorted to using the treadmill in NOD's exercise room at 6 a.m.

Whoa.

<sidebar>
I kind of forgot how utterly totally miserable 7 miles on a treadmill, in a windowless, airless soul-sapping mirrored exercise room, with some horrible Britney Spear-like videos blaring from the TV, can be. After 1 mile I was swimming in sweat. I could feel the skin rubbing off certain tender parts of my body. HAVE I MENTIONED BEFORE HOW MUCH I HATE RUNNING?
</sidebar>

God knows how, but I hung in there, 7 miles all told in 1:20 (11:30 min. miles). My biz done, I washed up, suited up and met Dianna at Pentagon City metro at 8:30 a.m.

I was full of warnings about lines wrapping around the block. Instead, we got there and waltzed right through packet pickup. So much for having the inside poop.

I had, however, cleverly brought NOD's camera with me, instead of my old utterly reliable one, because her's is compact and you can drop it and it won't break. I was going to document Dianna within an inch of her life.

And...fail.

Here's my BEST SHOT of the Expo experience:


Although this isn't too bad:


Pretty funny:


Where's Dianna, you ask??

Um.

Right.

How about some sexy Marines, at least??

Errr..

Well, we left the Expo and went on our merry way. First order of business, score some crack:
Chinatown's (D.C.) Starbucks

We toyed with going to the Spy Museum (if you're ever in D.C., definitely go, it's worth every penny), but decided to stay low key and headed instead to the free Smithsonian American Art Museum, where we fooled around in this excellent exhibition. (It never ceases to amaze me how little I take advantage of this city's abundance. Thank God for friends coming to town to pull me off my couch of doom.)

We had some fun there. I took some more excellent photos of inanimate objects:
This is an amazing piece of folk art--an altar composed entirely of tin foil!

Next, we met up with Dianna's travel companions (her friend K was running MCM, and had her husband and two adorable kiddies with her) for lunch, which I conscientiously chronicled thusly:

Kids: one is a boy and one is a girl.

Dianna. I think.

It was right about here that I noticed that just possibly, something was wrong with the camera...

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion!

Water Water Everywhere But How Do I Carry It?

Mon Dieu, 24 comments on a post bitching about water-bottle belts?? Apparently I struck a nerve. Marketers, heads up: Unmet Need Awaits Breakthrough Invention!

I tried to summarize and tabulate from the comments (although some people had trouble committing):

But here's the final tally (as best as I could sort it):

The handsdown winner: Various configurations of multi-bottle fuel belts--7 votes
Runner up: single-bottle holder--4 votes
Handheld--3 votes (I am secretly jealous of people who can run with handhelds because I think they are bad-ass.)
Camelbak--2 votes
Small camelbak--1 vote
Leave cooler by the side of the road--1 vote

There were some equivocal comments left on Facebook, too. One kind soul (thanks Lynn!) even offered to let me borrow her multi-bottle one, although the thought of wearing it makes me cringe.

Finally, a few of you referred me to the excellent Running and Rambling hydration 101 series.

This is obviously a field of study that needs more ... studying. Someone should offer a Ph.D. in fuel bottles/hydration systems/water carriers (first item of business: decide what to call these things.)

The bottom line is: I will have to move out of my comfort zone, and try something new!

Which one will she choose??

What Color Is Your Water Bottle??

Stand back, I'm about to revitalize our sad economy: I'm buying a new water-bottle carrier.

I'm sick of mine. Sick, sick, sick of it!

(Who knew a water belt could garner so much passion??)

The problem with my current carrier, (which holds one-bottle at a rather jaunty angle in the rear) is that the bottle is always bouncing around, the velcro fastener never works right, and the zipper is broken. A trifecta of fail.

But possibly the worst sin of all: It really makes me look fat!

I've tried several makes of water bottle carriers. I'm not a fan of those multi-mini-bottle ones, you know, like this:



I'd rather not publicly identify the maker of the one I currently use, so as not to unintentionally offend anyone longing to send me some belts to test (FTC blogger review rules notwithstanding).

I've never tried a hand-held, but I have a feeling that would also make me crazy.

What I really need is a guy on a bike riding alongside me, handing me various things as I need them (water, gu, bandaids, sympathy, wine, cookies, etc.)

Until that happens, I need to find a fab water-belt carrier.

What we need is a water-beltoff.

Discuss:
What kind of fuel belt do you use, and why? Do you love yours? Why, or why not?

The comments are open!

The Secret to Life

In other news: I finally found the perfect apartment on Capitol Hill. (My grand plan is to move into the city, and rent out my condo in Bethesda). I've been looking pretty much every Sunday afternoon.

So I finally found the perfect place: a gorgeous one-bedroom basement apartment with a fireplace (working!) and loads of light, on a much sought-after block.

See? Who would ever guess this is the basement??!

Silly me, I figured that owning my own place and working at the same company for 12 years would make me a shoo-in for any apartment I wanted. The world was my oyster! (Within a certain price range.)

Not so much.

I got turned down.

Yep, REJECTED.

It's not enough to get rejections from match.com, now I'm not good enough to RENT TO?

Sigh.

I don't think the owners even checked my credit, because they said they'd charge $35 to do so, and I never heard from them.

I'm so naive.

Apparently, they just did not like me. (I know, it boggles the mind.)

Some days I wander around thinking that I'm the only one who doesn't know what the answer is.

I wish someone would spill the beans.

Feel free to leave it in the comments.

We used to have to get up at six in the morning, clean the paper bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down t' mill, fourteen hours a day, week-in week-out, for sixpence a week, and when we got home our Dad would thrash us to sleep wi' his belt.

Satan, Thy Name Is Procrastination

Maybe it's the time of the year? Or maybe I have finally found the thing I excel in? Wasting time?

Saturday is "long run" day, but because I'm not running with any particular group (there's no more Trail Snails, sniff!), and no one is waiting for me, this is what happens:

7:00 a.m. Wake up, make breakfast. Get on computer. Read e-mails. Cruise the New York Times.

Look! It's only 7:30! I can get out to the trail by 8, home by 9:30, perfect. Whole day in front of me. I'll just quickly check out the comments on this Washington Post article...

...I can't believe people actually believe that the H1N1 vaccine is a mad pinko Communist gummint plot to take over the world!!! Must lower blood pressure. Let's check Google Reader.

Time: 8 a.m. No problem. I can get on the trail by 8:30, be home by 10. Whole day in front of me. Meanwhile, let's check out Crooks and Liars.

Maybe cruise over to Andrew Sullivan.

There's PLENTY of time to check Facebook.

Just, you know, to see if anyone posted anything interesting.

Wouldn't want to be left out.

WTF!?! How did it get to be 10 a.m.?!?!

And, etc. Like that.

Until it's noon. And then my day is messed up.

Even better is Sunday morning, when I actually DO have to be somewhere by 11ish, and the morning starts the exact same way, with GOBS of time to go for a nice long bike ride, right up until it's 10:30 and TOO LATE to go.

I'm a menace to myself.

Why do I do this?? I didn't used to be like this. Apparently, I cannot be left to my own devices.

Do you do this? How do you stop it?? Cuz it's starting to screw up my life!

In other news, I ran 7 miles on Saturday, which is the farthest I've run since last spring!

It's all coming together!

Uno, Dos, Tres...Cartorce?

I have a perfectly good reason for not blogging.

I've been reading.

No really.

I come home from work, make dinner, curl up on the couch and read.

For like HOURS.

It's AWESOME.

But I know you've been wondering.

And the answer is: YES.

YES, I have been running!

You can read all the gory details right over there --------->

in my little workout log.

After some dithering around, I finally settled on a half-mary training schedule. (As my friend LBTEPA is wont to say: All hail the schedule!)

Runners' World has a nifty little tool called SmartCoach (thanks for the tip, Adam!) You plug in all your numbers and out pops a training plan.

My training plan calls for three runs a week. (That's not enough, is it? Oh well, it's a start.)

The week of the 20th (one week after Nation's Tri) I put in 14 miles.

Last week, I ran 15 miles.

And so far this week I'm up to 9, with 7 on tap for Saturday.

I LOVE IT. I love having structure. I loves me a good plan! I am ever-so-gradually getting a teensy bit faster.

But mostly I'm trying to help myself learn to like running.

Cuz, you know what?

This s*** is hard!

Harder than cycling, where you're at least sitting down!

Harder than swimming (except for open water, nothing beats that for hard), where you get a wall every now and then!

Sheesh.

Who knew?

And speaking of swimming and hatred, I dragged myself back to American University for a structured swim class (sort of pre-Masters') on Sunday nights. This is led by the same evil swim coach that I had in the spring. (Remember "Can you FEEEEL the water?") Yes, Coach Tammy is happy to once more be kicking my ass.

So, I'm starting again, again.

I have many more adventures to tell you about, plus kind of a big story to tell. But that will have to wait.

First, I want to wish great good luck to Adventures-in-the-Thin-Trade-David, who is running the Hartford marathon on Sunday, and Now-the-Plan-Is-This-Allison who is running the Melbourne martathon, her first! Better you than me!

Meanwhile, I'll leave you with this video of my boyfriend, the awesome-if-egomaniacal Bono, who was in town to see me a few weeks ago, and who I dragged my friend Sandy to see at a nice intimate concert for 100,000 people at FedEx Field (rant about massive and overpriced, overproduced concerts held for future post) and she has the incriminating photos to prove it (so she says, anyway; ¿Dónde está?, Sandy??!):

Back to Basics

I tried a little experiment last week. Instead of scheduling workouts and then blowing them off and feeling guilty, I decided to just take the entire week off. No early wake ups, no swimming, no biking, no running, no spinning!

The result? I felt like crap. Plus? I still felt guilty anyway.

Sigh.

I took off Monday through Friday, and I can't say I recommend this lethargy thing as a strategy, though it did hold a lot of promise. Every day I still felt like I had climbed a mountain. My legs hurt. And of course I still woke up at 6 a.m. And I was kind of miserable. Post-tri season depression? Maybe.

If I have a choice between not working out and feeling guilty, like crap, and gaining 10 lbs in a week, OR working out, feeling guilty, like crap, and not gaining 10 lbs in a week? Well, I guess I might as well work out!

But we all know that I can't workout unless I have a goal. So, after much thinking and tossing and hemming and hawing, I decided that I need to get reacquainted with my oldest blog companion: Running.

But you knew that already.

Yes, I'm going back to basics. Again!

My initial target is the Fredericksburg, Virginia Blue-Gray Half Mary on December 13, which I have run twice before.

But I decided to up the ante a little and sweet-talked Number One Daughter into doing a half-mary with me (her first! Her longest race to date has been a 5k! Bwahahahah!) However, clearly she was going to need something more compelling than a trip to Fredericksburg (no offense).

Disney is closed, sadly.

I looked at Austin. (I do love Austin!) But it's not until Feb. 14. I'll need to be at home fending off all my admirers that day.

So, we looked near Austin: Dallas! (Whatever. I don't really do Texas geography.)

We put the call out to our favorite Dallasian: Runner Susan.

She responded: How about you guys can stay with me? I have plenty of room. I'll heat the hot tub and serve you wine. (Deirdre to me: "Do you think she'll take us shopping?")

So, we found the Dallas White Rock Half-Marathon, Jan. 30, 2010.

I'm going to try to actually stick to a plan. It's a been a long time since I had a plan. I loves me a plan. I'm looking at good old Hal's intermediate, or good old Jeff Galloway's half.

Today was Day One of the get-yourself-ready-to-run week. I ran 3 miles in 34 minutes.

I'll let ya know how Day Two goes!

Nation's Tri Race Report: How One Woman Turned an Almost-DNF Into a PR

Nation's Tri, Sept. 13, 2009
Total: 4:02:36 (2008: 4:08:27)
Age: 52
Swim 1.5 K: 46:56 (2:52/100m) (2008: 48:07)
T1: 6:05 (2008: 5:11)
Bike 40K 1:44:59 (14.2 mph) (2008: 1:45 /14.1 mph)
T2: 4:26 (2008: 3:49)
Run 10K: 1:20:12 (12:56 min/mile) (2008: 1:25/13:49 min. mile)
overall place: 3762 out of 3933
division place: 65 out of 71
gender place: 1313 out of 1453

I'm like the boy who cried wolf: I always say I'm not ready, so people tend to tune me out. But this time, I was really not ready.

I haven't been sleeping well. My training wasn't what it should have been. I wasn't mentally prepared. Plus, Saturday I had an argument with the kid so I was a wreck emotionally.

I just wasn't ready.

I got to transition at 4:45 a.m, for my 8:33 a.m. start (this was mostly so I could get a decent parking place). I was in wave # 31, the very last wave.

I seemed to spend a lot of time before they closed transition just staring at my set up. Maybe I was asleep on my feet. It was weird.

(Sidebar: Big shout-out to TIM! an underground reader who recognized me from these pages. HI TIM!!!)

The ladies around me were unfailingly nice and kind, although one had a little trouble with which way to rack and then where to put her stuff. Luckily, this guy is now an official and was on hand to strong-arm her ("hey I think it might be easier if you put your stuff on the other side..." Adam was fresh from a stellar performance at his first SECOND half-Ironman, the day before. I don't even know how he was standing up!)

Soon transition closed and me and 5,999 of my closest friends moved into the holding pen.

I was feeling jittery, like I was hepped up on caffeine, even though I hadn't had any caffeine. I was cold and tired, and my susceptible brain was busy remembering every swim scare story I'd ever heard. I was trying hard to counter all of that by remembering how many times I've done this, and my new favorite line heard the day before at packet pick-up: Swimming is when you get to lay down!

There was a slight breeze, and the water temp was a refreshing 72F, so wetsuit legal.

Into the water, wait 3 minutes, the horn blew and off we went. My legs felt constricted in the wetsuit. I swam for maybe 10 minutes, trying to loosen up and relax. No go. I suddenly knew that I was done. DONE. I wanted no part of this. I was exhausted, I was upset, I had zero confidence, and the buoys just looked too damn far away.

I looked around for a kayaker, and waved to her. She quickly paddled over, and told me to hang on to the end. I told her I was DONE, it was OVER, I wanted OUT. She told me I could rest and then go on if I wanted. No, I said, I am DONE. She had to keep shooing me back to hanging on to the end of the boat; I guess I thought I was going to climb in with her, but no, she had to signal to the jet ski guy. I was so relieved that I was finished. I told her how I'd swum this distance many many times, and I didn't know what was wrong with me. I told her this would be my first DNF. She (cleverly) said it didn't have to be, that I could still start up again if I wanted. Nope, I'm done, I said again.

I hung on for a few minutes, waiting. I starting thinking about all your comments, and about how I was going to explain this to everyone, and how I was going to feel getting my bike and going home. I thought of AJ, and I actually thought of that cheesey saying, "Pain is temporary, quitting is forever." I thought, well, what the hell, if I have to wait, I might as well swim while I'm waiting. I asked "my" kayaker if she would stay besides me while I tried again, and she said sure. So I started.

Major suckfest. I'm not fast but I'm usually pretty steady. Not today. I ended up doing a lot of breast and side stroke on that first leg, which made it seem like I was swimming on a treadmill.

At some point my kayak escort judged that I was going to make it, and took off. I looked around and realized I still had plenty of company.

After about 10,000 years I made it to the first turn and starting swimming across the river, parallel to the bridge. I think it was here that I finally finally FINALLY got into a rhythm and starting swimming freestyle, counting strokes to try to focus my mind. And from then 'til the finish I passed people like they were standing still. Damn, I'm a good swimmer!

It was a miserable, horrible swim. I was pleasantly surprised to see my watch reading 45 minutes when I finally exited.

Swim 1.5 K: 46:56 (2:52/100m)

I'm guessing that my mental freakout meltdown cost me at least 10 minutes. But yay to the 10th power to me for finishing that swim. God must have been with me because there is no way I finished that by myself.

My heart rate was skyhigh. I took my time in transition

T1: 6:05

The bike course was beautiful and I tried to enjoy it but my legs felt like lead. Despite there being 6,000 people on the course, I spent a good deal of it by myself, right up until the last turnaround when I finally got some kind of groove going.

I spent a few miles leapfrogging with two guys, a son and his father. The son was FILMING the dad as they rode, which meant that most of the time they were either riding side-by-side, or drafting, and of course the son wasn't exactly watching where he was going. These guys were a mess, and a menace.

WHAT IS IT WITH PEOPLE WHO REFUSE TO FOLLOW THE RULES??

I told them to please move over, that they were riding dangerously, but they ignored me. I finally dropped them because I was really afraid to ride near them. Fear, ladies and gents, is apparently what motivates me to push.

In fact, I was pushing the entire way. Was there a headwind? It felt like it. The course was relatively flat. I concluded that that I was just undertrained. My long weekend training rides, with their long leisurely stops, were just insufficient.

When I start to look forward to running, you know delirium can't be far off. My back was hurting, my neck was hurting, my legs were hurting. This was not fun.

Bike 40K 1:44:59 (14.2 mph)

Despite everything, I managed to beat my bike time of last year (1:46), which should have made me happy. But by this time I was on automatic pilot, just trying not to think.

T2: 4:26

Last night I had figured out that if I ran 13-minute miles, I would PR on the run. Now, 13-minute miles sound quite doable in the abstract, don't they?? I mean I can WALK a mile in 15 minutes.

My heart was pounding as I left transition. The run out was right next to the FINISH line, where hundreds of spectators lined the finish chute, and tons of athletes who had already finished were milling around. It was rough.

And here is where 21st Century Mom gets a big shout-out for encouraging me to run after every bike ride, which I faithfully did. And thank God.
Run out, scarfing a gu. Thanks Ray!

No matter how bad I feel, stick a camera on me and it's all sweetness and unicorns.

Look, I'm really running!

I programmed my brain to make me run for 13 minutes at a pop. If I took a 2-minute walk break, I still had to run 13 minutes. This strategy actually worked.

11:54
12:15
12:45
13:29
14:19
15:24 1:20:12 (12:56 min/mile)

If I had a dime for every person who encouraged me and told me "looking good," I'd be a rich woman. My DC Tri peeps were at the mile 5 water stop, where I ran thru a gauntlet of high-fives. I love my peeps.

And then, ta-da, I was done.

I was dizzy. My stomach was a mess. Every part of my body hurt, but especially my shoulders. Carrying a bottle of water felt like carrying a 10-lb barbell.

Miserable as it was, props to the race organizers for moving the finish next to transition, which meant no 1.5 mile walk back, like last year.

I walked back to my bike and just sat on the grass for a while til I got the strength to pack up. I headed toward bike out, and stopped by an abandoned water table to fill up my water bottles when a volunteer yelled to me not to use the gallon jug of bottled water because someone had just taken a swig from it. "Dude," I said, "I just swam in the Potomac." I laugh at the germs on a water jug.

When I finally reached bike out, it was locked up. Last year this was one of two exits, but not this year. I almost cried. There were about five volunteers there, so they could have easily been checking people out. One of them, obviously a saint or an angel, or both, took pity on me and opened the gate for me. I think he could tell I was about to lose it.

And then I drove home, feeling sick to my stomach and weak, and just wanting to get into bed.

Verdict? I am one tough cookie.

Also: I have a the greatest friends in the world. Many many thanks to all my blog peeps for your encouraging words, and to my D.C. Tri peeps (Becky, Sandy, Julia, Tuan, Shannon, Lindsey, Carolina, Lynn, Jason, Alejandro, Neal, Hugh, Travis, and all the rest of you!) for putting up with all my bullsh**.

I couldn't do any of this without you.