82

They say we've been rebuilding since '92. They say tonight ended the long, national nightmare. They said we were a lost cause. 

Maybe. 

But not this year. 

82

An open letter to the Pittsburgh Pirates

To Our Dear Pirates,

Before things get crazy, I just wanted to write a note of thanks for all that you've done over the last few seasons. I know it's been hard to come so close, only to fall short; but I know that it will all be worth it soon enough.

Perhaps I should introduce myself before I say much more. My earliest memories of sports involve sitting on the glider of my grandparents' back porch listening to games on an old transistor radio. I heard stories from my mom and grandfather about the glory days of the 70s. It was quite some time before I knew what baseball looked like, but the sounds of the park have always brought me to a place of fondness.

I was just six years old the last time that you had a winning season. (Lisa Frank. Nirvana. No front teeth. Truly floppy disks.)

My grandfather taught me everything I know about baseball (and how to be a total huckleberry). He taught me that through the ups and downs, you're a fan no matter what. 

He's been gone for more than half of this sub-.500 streak, but he would love this season and this team. Your pluck and your scrappy, by-the-bootstraps outlook would have resonated with that former steelworker.

He would yell and scream and whoop and holler because he knew that you could do better. He carried losses like Atlas; he smiled a little more after wins.

He would heckle batters for swinging on the first pitch and then sit there with a twinkle in his eye and a smile as big as the Allegheny when they knocked the next pitch into the river.

My mom likes to watch me watch games because she sees my grandfather in my reactions. Truth be told, I think he's been watching this season with me, patiently counting to 82 and beyond.

As you look for this pivotal distinction - and end the streak that could have turned old enough to drink itself out of its own misery - my hope is that a city of sports excellence continues to surround you with support. That old fans welcome the new fans just catching the fever and let them know that there's plenty of room for everyone on our ship.

I don't want you to think that you’re carrying the hopes and dreams of two decades of sorrow, frustration, and parody on your shoulders. Instead, know that we’re standing strong with you, ready to support you through each inning.

We’ll scream and shout at our TVs. We’ll tweet and post and hashtag our love to you. We’ll do special loads of wash just to have black and gold to wear to work or class. We'll spout gibberish about Zoltan, beloved sandwiches, shark tanks, and bulls as if it were common English. We'll be those crazy fans who do you proud.

The joy of baseball has seen us through good times and bad. With each trip to Florida for training, hope springs eternal. And when we see that last out or walk-off that gets us to 82, may we know and hope that the best is yet to come.

So, stand up tall, Buccos. This may be the year we pillage the postseason.

Love,

Rachel Moore

Unrepentant, Illogical, Loud, Heartfelt Pirates Fan

P.S. - Z

(Bucs fan? New to baseball? Lost your faith? Feel free to leave a comment to wish the Pirates well or share your memories!)

In the long run...

14 miles this morning. Normally, this would feel like nothing, but this is my longest run yet in the Hansons Method plan. I would feel freaked out about being "behind" on long run mileage, but traditional training logic doesn't seem to apply here. Why? Because. I. Felt. So. Tired. 

Granted, Mr. Run on Sentences and I picked a beefy, hilly course (a stalwart favorite for that distance), but today felt different. I actually - forgive me- felt what happens when the rubber meets the road. 

I've said in previous posts how this plan is built on cumulative fatigue, with the idea that long runs feel like the back 14 or 16 miles of the marathon, as opposed to the first 20 or 23 miles. I've got a laundry list of epic latter- mile breakdowns, so today felt like the first real push to work to a strong finish. 

I finished mentally strong, having enjoyed the beautiful weather and amusing quips of Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me, but definitely felt really tired. And hungry. 

You know, my PR from the Philly marathon is getting a bit old, and I'm ready to claim a new on soon. Battling all of the issues I've had in the last 10 miles of the marathon is a training unto itself. Staring down getting rushed to the ER, all of the vomit, the cramps in the chutes that blew a BQ, the heat stroke... It's a mental chore. 

But here's the thing, mental toughness - like physical ability - can be built with practice and hard work. I'm learning to treat each long run, each speed session, each mile, with the reverence and love that it deserves. I'm so blessed to lace up each day, and learn how much I can push myself. 

I worry, though, that I might not feel so strong and blessed when we get into 60+ mile weeks...

In other news, here's a fun but from last week's Harrisburg Mile. The 93F, oppressively humid, shoe melting mile from hell. Finished 3rd in my age heat at 5:49, which is a great new PR. Shows the track workouts are really helping. 

...Or was it running to my parents, Mr. Run on Sentences, and my little pup, Bunk? Might have had something to do with it!

Meet The Bunk.

There are times where you swing for the fences and invariably strike out. Thus far, this is the story of my work week. Despite my best intentions, each day has brought new opportunities for mistakes, missteps, and failure. 

Our Hansons Marathon Method workouts this week should be the hardest part of the day. 4x1200 repeats at 30 seconds under marathon pace on Monday; 10 miles with 7 at marathon pace today. In the muggy Central PA conditions, they've been killer. Yet, I've managed to ace both. If only the same could be said for other portions of the day.

The Bunk is strictly suit and tie... and Penn State!

The week's challenges have been made better by great workouts and my new friend and future running buddy, The Bunk (yes, like in The Wire).

Mr. Run on Sentences and I adopted our little guy on Saturday from Whispering Woods Animal Rescue. This 12-week old Boston Terrier/Boxer mix is the sweetest little guy (even if he has sharp teeth and cries when he thinks we may leave him). 

As I sit here on my lunchbreak, he's curled up next to me expressing all the unconditional love I could ever need. I can't wait to clip off some easy miles with him when he's grown, spend time with him under the Christmas tree, and celebrate life's blessings with his little tail wagging constantly. 

The Bunk will become a frequent guest of the blog, no doubt. He'll also be cheering us in at tonight's Harrisburg Mile Road Race. 

Prepare for cuteness. Lots of cuteness Seriously. Just look at him!

Do you have a dog? Did you adopt from a rescue? Like to run with your four legged friend? Leave a comment with your adoption and running stories or advice for new puppy parents!

The Body Issue and Issues with Bodies...

This past week, one of my favorite issues of any magazine arrived through our mail slot: ESPN Magazine's Body Issue.

I pour over every photo of this issue. Friends of the blog know that my academic passions lie in studying representations of the working body, so for me this is a celebration of what humans can achieve. There have been some controversial ones (including Lolo Jones, who was the topic of some research I did last year), sure, but for the most part, it's a really cool issue.

More than any of the photos, there was one piece in particular that struck me. It's about the barriers facing (traditionally speaking) well-endowed female athletes. The article outlines the history of athletic breasts and perils of the large-chested athlete:  finding appropriate support and coverage; objectification; pain, reduction, and the opportunity costs of surgery; female commentaries; etc. I can't speak to the pain that many women associate with breast movement in exercise and the piece really highlighted the plight of the curvaceous athlete. I have friends who have shared with me how much their bodies can interfere with athletics, and I truly feel for them.

But, for me, that wasn't what struck me about the article... The fact that we have to talk about it at all struck me.

One thing that always gets me is the level of judgment that both males and females pass on the female athletic form. Women who elected to obtain reductions were decried by women for eschewing their femininity and chastised by the men who ogled at them. Small chested athletes decry nature's way of streamlining us. It's like nobody wins...

My female athletic form:  Slight, but built for the long run...

The place of breasts speaks to a larger theme of representations of the female form in athletics. Being inhibited by a gender-specific body part represents adherence to a longstanding, arcane tradition that women just aren't built for sports (and, some would argue, nor should we be). But the entire conversation is a commentary on the paternalistic view of the working body. Taken out of the context of our conceptions of "nature" - or that which is traditionally held - female athletic bodies (from Serena to Shalane) can be a rather unsettling and subversive topic for men and women. 

I've had my own body issues over the years. Having experienced about 30 pounds of weight loss since I began running, I watched my body change from a somewhat overweight, curvy figure, to a streamlined, sinewy figure. I make jokes about being built like a little boy, but despite my figure, I'm in awe of what the human body can do and how it adapts to suit needs. 

And, at the end of the day, when women celebrate our working bodies, we become liberated. Liberated from the pressures of cookie-cutter ideals and airbrushed advertising. Liberated from the objectification of judgment from the dudes in the cheap seats who think it's ok to holler at us when it's hot out. Liberated by virtue of being on increasingly equal footing when we value feeling great about ourselves, no matter how we're built. Liberated to live healthy, active lives.

Feel free to post stories, or share comments to celebrate the female athletic body! We're all built for it!

Budgeting more time for writing...

For folks who don't know, I work as a communications staffer for a PA State Senator. For those of you from PA, you may know all about the craziness that ensues during our budget negotiations. While I can promise that I won't wade into political polemics on this space, I can tell you that it's had a lot to do with my absence.

The last two weeks have been completely insane. I'm so proud to say that despite the long days, nights, and weekends, neither Mr. Run on Sentences or I missed a single workout. Not one. Not speed work; not long runs; not easy jaunts. It was a tough to of it, but it was the only shred of sanity onto which I could hang.

I woke this morning - the first day of the fiscal year and the day after we enacted a state budget - bleary eyed and exhausted. And not too thrilled to see speed work on the menu. Nevertheless, I dragged myself out of bed and kitted up. No matter how tired I felt, somewhere deep down I knew I had it in me to gut it out.

The workout:  1.5 mile warm-up. 6x800m at 30 seconds below marathon pace with 400m recovery. 1.5 mile cool-down.

The gear:  Whatever I had clean (laundry wasn't a priority this week). Turned out to be a Nike PROCOMBAT top (seen in the previous post), UnderArmour shorts, and my Newton Distance trainers.   

The outcome:  Sluggish. It was humid and hot, but by the grace of whatever-it-was, I hit the times!

I've been having a lot of issues pacing myself over these past few weeks. The Hansons explain in great detail why the target times are assigned and what they mean for your fitness and rest. I understand the need for precision and adherence to their rules, but sometimes it's really fun to go fast.

Except for today, when it was hard.

Bottom line: Very much looking forward to summer slowing down a little bit. We are 3 weeks through training and while it may be tiring, slow, or hot, every mile is rewarding. 

Running isn't a chore; it isn't another sport's punishment; it's one of life's true joys. 

On track? Ehh, kind of...

Today's was the first serious track-style workout of the plan. I will say this Koch before my report: the Hanson brothers do not mess around. 

The workout: 1.5 mile warm up; 12 x 400m repeats at 30 seconds under marathon pace with 400m recovery; 1.5 mile cool down. Just about 9 miles.  

The gear: Nike PROCOMBAT sleeveless v-neck, City Sports 4" compression shorts, Puma bra.  PowerSox, and Newton Distances on the feet. Special shout out to Oiselle's rather apropos unders. 

The outcome: Encumbered by my own hubris, I stared off feeling pretty great, but had trouble adhering to the pace rules. By the time I hit my 11th repeat, I definitely felt the speed in my arms and legs, and felt Harrisburg's swampy heat hamper my lungs. Making matters more interesting, we don't have a readily accessible track in our neighborhood, so the Riverfront Park path works as a reasonable, distance-marked  alternative. It undulates just a bit, making for a couple of interesting feelings in my hamstrings, but the vistas and river breeze make up for it. 

This was by far the toughest track-style workout I've ever done.  Mr. Run on Sentences, long-legged speedster of the family, agreed, so you know it must be true. These guys are so serious about whipping you into shape and after today, my expectation for quick fitness gains have grown. I really like the idea of building significant speed at the beginning of the plan and having it work to build endurance as the weeks progress. It seems like it might be a (tiring, somewhat painful) good change. 

On the work front, we are into the long days and nights that come with negotiating a state budget, so running becomes the highlight of my day as much as work zaps my quippy snark (that's a lot for those playing along at home). I've been writing this during elevator waits and rides -stairs are treachery in heels- so you can sense how crazy it is. The sense of accomplishment, control over circumstantial outcomes, and catharsis of a good sweat help to make the days just a bit more manageable. Sometimes. 

That's all for now.