Sub 3? It's a BFD.

I want to make sure that everyone saw the great commentary that Runner’s World Magazine’s Mark Remy provided about Congressman Paul Ryan’s fabricated marathon time. He really captures what a lot of us are thinking. 

Here is my humble, lengthy (and perhaps unworthy) take...

Did the Congressman think he could say something in passing and dupe the American people? Does his P90x bedazzlement give him the right to make claims about an exceptional marathon time, and - when called to the carpet - the gall to nonchalantly say he “misremembered” it?

I don’t think so.

As a political animal, I freely recognize that I’ve jumped all over this year's GOP ticket for their treatment of workers, the middle class, and especially women. I get that candidates aren’t perfect people, and that it’s really hard to control the message all the time in a vicious, grueling 24-hour news cycle. What I don’t get is how Ryan’s interpretation of sportsmanship isn’t more of a commentary on his honor.

I will say that at this juncture, I care more about his integrity than his campaign, and here’s why:

Completing a marathon says a lot about a person. It displays a level of dedication that many don’t possess. He could have easily said that he ran a 4:00 marathon and we’d have been impressed. Really.

And even when we found out his time wasn’t what he said it was, he ever-so-casually brushed it off as if it wasn’t a big deal.

Well, it is.

As Remy so eloquently put it, a sub-3:00 marathon is a "big freaking deal." My husband needs a 3:05 for a Boston Qualifier and I am constantly in awe of his athleticism, determination, and dedication to becoming the best athlete that he can be.

As marathoners, we fight tooth and nail just to inch closer to a BQ (or a certain time goal). It could take years to reach it. We change our lifestyles to accommodate daunting training. We endure the pain of disappointment and... well.. the pain that comes with enduring a 26.2 mile race.

After my 3:36:26 in Philly last year, it would have been so easy to tell friends I hit "about a BQ" and that I (for some reason) wasn’t able to do Boston this year. But that would be very, very wrong.

Those 94 seconds represent so much more than time. They’re the difference between earning a highly coveted distinction and a running a great marathon. The accountability of the recreational competitive running community is - for the most part - built on honesty, regardless of whether the outcome is good or bad. Not, as Remy puts it, the hubris displayed in deflating one’s time so much.

I’ll step off of my soapbox now and share something on a lighter note: 

My husband is awesome.

He surprised me with Springsteen tickets for Sunday’s show at Citizens’ Bank Park. Under the guise of taking care of some work before the holiday, we cut our weekend trip short, piled into the car and headed to Philly. Little did I know he had hidden tickets in the map pocket and even stashed poster board and sharpies (for the ubiquitous request signs)! It was such a wonderful surprise and by far the best date in long time. 

This was our fourth show and the first time we’d gone into the General Admission pit. It was the single greatest concert experience of my life. He didn’t play our requests (I asked for “Blinded by the Light,” my karaoke favorite which is NOT by Manfred Mann; he asked for “Kitty’s Back”), but gave the show his absolute everything. And it was lovely to see Big Man’s nephew owning it on sax... he really honored his uncle’s legacy.

Backstreets.com estimates that Sunday’s show had a whopping run time of 3 hours, 43 minutes. That’s 33 songs deep. He’s 62.

So, since Bruce is pretty much in constant motion for the duration of his show, I plugged his time into the Paul Ryan Marathon Calculator. Turns out his effort is worth a 2:41:39.

Nausea, Downpours, Bloody Knees... Oh My!

Last week, in the span of 24 hours, I managed to overcome uncontrollable vomit, torrential rain, and some gnarly skinned knees. You know you want to hear this story.

Let's flash back to two Sundays ago...

Woke up on a humid morning to some drizzle. That’s nothing new for this time of year, so my husband and I got ready to set off on our 20 milers.
 
I set out on my run with a playlist full of podcasts* and started my Charity Miles app (I run for Feeding America when I use it). I clicked off the miles steadily and then went to take my next dose of Clif shotbloks at mile 16 and felt terribly wrong. I leaned over to heave a bit, tried to take some water and couldn’t get it down. I tried to run a little farther, but my jelly legs said to turn around and get back to the YMCA as soon as possible. Making it with about 30 seconds to spare - just enough time to get my earbuds off - I was head in toilet for what seemed like an eternity.

This happens more than it should on humid days. I don’t know why, but it does. I’m even retooling my hydration and nutrition strategy to get my stomach more accustomed to processing the carbs I need on the run. But something on Sunday didn’t sit well, and I ended up 2 ½ miles short.

All afternoon, I felt a nagging. (I don’t leave well enough alone.) I needed to finish those miles, if for no other reason than to complete my Charity Miles goal. So, when I got home from a grad school function, I changed and went back out. Just as I got three blocks into my run, the wind changed and the clouds moved in. And then torrential rain came crashing down behind me. I tried to outrun it, but the problem is that I had to run into it to get home.

At first my body felt too weak to endure such hard rain. It was like running into cling film - like I’d eventually get snapped back and tossed to the ground. But eventually, I was relishing in the rain. It had cleansed all of the toxins from the earlier run. Soaked to the bone, I arrived home and made a scrumptious batch of sweet potato waffles with chorizoed kale.

All was well. I got up on Monday for my 5 miles with 5 strides, thankful that I had overcame the previous days' setbacks. Careful to dodge puddles, I sailed through my out-and-back course. That is, however, until I hit a muddy patch and pounded into the sidewalk.

I got up straightaway and examined for serious injuries. Thankfully, they were all just flesh wounds. But my poor pepper spray now looks like it belongs in dented tin can section of a discount supermarket. 

I'm convinced that my kneecaps will
eventually become two big scars.

 
Even days later, my knees still looked pretty bad. It served as a constant reminder of failure. So I looked at my training log ahead of Saturday’s long run and saw the great miles I’ve clocked already, and perspectives immediately shifted.

After a particularly great marathon pace run on Thursday, I realized that so often we succeed far more frequently than we fail, yet we always seem to focus on shortcomings. I’m especially hard on myself this time around because I want to run Boston so much that I can barely contain my emotions enough to talk about it. But with all of this pressure, how can I possibly enjoy the amazing gifts that running has bestowed on my life?

I thought of all of this on Saturday, as I set out for a 16 mile tour of Allison Hill, Paxtang, and Harrisburg’s Riverfront. The course was brutally hilly and I had some initial doubt about my readiness for such a tough go of it. But I kept thinking about how bad last week was, and how grateful I was to have a fresh podcast playlist, a fueling strategy that may just work, and another shot at exceeding my potential.

And as I pushed up those long steep slogs (seriously, I think I ran 11 of 16 miles uphill), I smiled... and huffed and puffed until I conquered the next hill.

*My podcast rotation regularly includes Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!, How to Do Everything, This American Life, Fresh Air, Planet Money, Here's the Thing, Snap Judgement and Real Time with Bill Maher (all available on iTunes).  I like to learn while I run and save music for race day.

How have you overcome self-doubt after a couple consecutive tough runs? I'd love to hear from you in the comments!

Run on Sentences: 5 April 2012

In which the author rambles about obsession and losing her Garmin in the river...

Oh, hello, blog. It’s been a long time. Sorry to neglect you. I was busy training for my latest marathon, getting into grad school and doing a bunch of things that I can’t even remember (like everything - save the run - that happened this week).

I’ve also been suffering from allergies. Running helped me get off my prescription for dog, cat and every-pollen-under-the-sun allergies, but NOTHING can save us from the very unpleasing sneezing and wheezing that is Spring 2012. I’ve managed to deal with the flowering trees (my kryptonite) better than I had originally thought, but yesterday morning I couldn’t stop itching on my 6 miles with 6 strides. By mile 2, I was scratching so much that it looked like I had been attacked by a colony of junkyard cats.  By mile 3, my face was swollen and covered with a disgusting concoction of mucus and tears.

Gorgeous visual, right?

After the turnaround on Harrisburg’s Market Street Bridge, even my watch band was causing disrupting itching. So, being the genius I am, I decided it was a great idea to loosen my watch band and scratch underneath of it. With sweaty, slippery hands. On a bridge. With wind. Genius.

I got the strap of my Forerunner 210 lose and dug my stubby, navy blue nails underneath and finally got a bit of relief...

And then it fell. It happened in slow motion. I shrieked. A cyclist passed me with a quizzical face. The Garmin fell and fell. The wind caught it and it bounced...

In those seconds, my entire running life flashed before me. All of my running memories would be lost to Davy Jones’ locker! Don’t I hate my Garmin? Don’t I threaten to throw it in the river on mornings when it takes 10 minutes to sync? What about those fantasies of a running chip implanted in my brain to measure my stats? But how would I measure splits? How would I know my distances? How would I remember to put right in front of left? Would I still be a runner? Will my existence as a human be validated without statistics of every single step? HOW WOULD I GO ON WITHOUT MY GARMIN?

Mercifully, it stopped about an inch and a half short of being a swimming watch. I bent down, shaking, and attempted to steady my hand to put it back on my wrist. This time, I put it a bit looser to leave room for scratching space. It took about a quarter mile before my palpitations stopped.

I had a revelation in the wake of almost losing that terrible, wonderful piece of rubber and computer:  I’m obsessed with stats, but I hate them. I resent that since I missed Boston by just over a minute and a half, I’ve been engrossed with every split, trying to get faster and faster. I don’t always live and die by my times, but numbers push me to work harder and harder at it. 95 seconds is all I need and each well-documented (if not undependable) split I clock puts me a bit closer to Beantown.

I know I’m not alone in this sentiment. We’re all inextricably tied to our watches. It’s a sense of pride when it goes well. It’s a motivating sense of shame when it goes poorly. It’s probably a pretty terrible vice in the scheme of running... but in the scheme of life, I guess it’s not so bad.

And hey, at least I’m not one of those obnoxious Pittsburgh Pirates fans who paints their nails yellow for opening day... oh wait... LET’S GO BUCS!

Run on Sentences: 17 January 2012

In which the author shares a recipe for turkey pot pie... Or, "Will run for food."

Fact:  Some runs are harder than others. We’ve all had those days were the miles clip off with little effort. Last Sunday’s was not one of those days. What was to be a nice 14mi LSD (that’s a long, slow distance run in Runner’s World nomenclature) turned into a battle to finish. Not even the adorable 12-week old English Bulldog called Lulu could make it totally bearable. 

Now, I’m no weather girl, but any runner learns how to dress for certain conditions. The temp was 46F with 10mph winds and partial cloud cover. Right. About 100m into the first bridge of the course, I nearly lost my hat... and, more importantly, my breath. The headwind felt like a constant, swirling gust of shards of glass slicing through my lungs and chest. No matter where I turned, the wind seemed to morph into a wall intent on slowing me down. 

With each laborious breath came increased pain in my chest, I cut my run a mile short (taking the rest nice and easy until my heart rate finally recovered). I met my husband at the YMCA to stretch and do weights and learned that he also had problems with the conditions. We were cold and tired and needed some serious comfort food. My husband - albeit sheepishly due to my fatigue - mentioned doing a pot pie. Sold.

No, we didn't eat it straight from the pan. But that was mostly out of respect for Le Creuset.

Typically, I refuse to buy pie crust or puff pastry (unless I’m in a serious bind). There’s something so fun about getting into a big bowl of butter and flour and working it together just like my French ancestors did. It’s a soothing, methodical and incredibly satisfying technique that’s been passed down from generation to generation. I would hate to swap out its simplicity for some expensive packet of preservative-filled concoction. 

I like to flavor my dough when possible, so I used some powdered mustard and sharp cheddar to compliment the leftover Thanksgiving turkey and gravy we froze and used for this. It’s a flexible recipe (the cheese and herb/spice idea came from this Epicurious gem), and I’ve had great luck with a number of sweet and savory additions. I loaded this up with veggies and - to my husband’s joy - saved half of the crust for another pot pie.

Crust:

2 sticks cold butter, cut into small cubes

2 ½ cups AP flour

6+ tablespoons ice water (median figure - how much you use depends on the day)

2 teaspoons dry mustard

½ teaspoon salt (I like sea or kosher salt; you may elect to add more depending on your palate and the sharpness of the cheese)

6 good cranks of black pepper (optional)

Butter, butter spray or egg wash for top

Using the coldest butter that you can work with, mix the butter and flour into a food processor or large bowl. If using a food processor, blitz the mixture until uniform bits form in a coarse sand/ small pea-sized consistency. If using hands (the way I learned), work quickly and with cold hands to rub the butter into the flour until the aforementioned mixture forms. You’ll likely have to toss the mixture intermittently to ensure that there aren’t big clumps. Pastry cutters also work well for this process. In all cases, add ice water - tablespoon by tablespoon - and mix until a dough forms. Form into a ball, wrap in plastic and refrigerate for at least a half an hour.

Since I only needed a top crust, I wrapped half in plastic and froze it to use later.

Filling:

About a pound of turkey (I had a packet of leftovers from Thanksgiving that I defrosted)

2 cups peas (I used frozen)

2 cups carrots, diced or cut into pieces approximately the size of peas (I had leftover baby carrots)

1 clove minced garlic

Mustard

White wine

Worcester sauce

Sage

Rosemary

Thyme

Black pepper

Salt

Flour

Chop carrots and turkey into pieces slightly larger than the vegetables. Set aside in separate bowls.

Preheat over to 375F.

Saute carrots in a cup of white wine until they become slightly soft. Add mustard, black pepper and any spices you like to taste. Simmer for 5 minutes. (You can pull the carrots at this point if it’s easier to work with just the liquid for the time being.) If you have any leftover turkey gravy in the freezer like I did, add 2-3 tablespoons to add richness and flavor (a small knob of butter might also work) and melt into mixture. Sprinkle 2-3 tablespoons of flour into pan, stirring constantly, allowing the sauce to thicken. Add peas (and carrots if you removed them) and turkey to pan. Allow to simmer, adding a few dashes of Worcester sauce, salt and/or other flavors to taste, if desired. Transfer mixture to pan.

While the mixture is simmering, remove dough from refrigerator and roll out to the size of the pie pan. When mixture is completed and added to pan, carefully place the crust atop the pan, cutting off excess dough from sides (it is not necessary to pinch the corners, as there is no bottom crust). Cut small venting holes into crust and brush egg wash, butter or apply butter spray to the top of the crust.

Place pie pan onto a sheet pan and bake for 25 minutes. If desired, raise heat to 400F for additional time to further brown crust. 

After removing, allow to stand for at least 10 minutes. Then, grab a spoon and enjoy (in moderation)!

Run on Sentences: 31 December 2011

On resolutions and races - or - in which the New Year's Baby author again falls into the trap of making resolutions...

According to my Garmin Training Center App (which logs each and every mile run wearing your Garmin), I’ve run over 1200 miles this year. Actually, that’s false. The treadmill and watch-free miles aren’t on there. On the road today, I figured that it’s likely closer to 1600. It seems crazy as a bulk sum, but during a run it never seams like it’s a tremendous undertaking (with the exception of marathons and the two 22 milers on the treadmill).

Since my Garmin reset to register 2011 runs, I have been on the receiving end of so many blessings. I stayed healthy enough to run some great races. I stayed strong enough to cross the finish line when it would have been so easy to quit. I stayed hopeful enough to push through on those days when the miles would never end.

In a year that’s felt like it’s had some especially prevalent downs, running has been the one constant that has helped me reflect, regroup and reinvigorate. I made it a point this year to be sure to remember that whatever happens in a given day, nothing will be as fulfilling and difficult as that last long run or that last tough speed workout. For the most part, it’s worked. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.

If I’m honest, I’m waiting with bated breath until the year changes and the world seems anew. I crave that blessed point at midnight when all of the unfortunate occurrences that plague us officially take place in the previous year and there’s a real chance to take another crack at life.

At 12:00:01 on January 1, 2012, I will officially be in my mid-late 20s. In my late teens to early 20s, I’ve had some incredible experiences. I’ve lived and worked abroad, gotten a top-notch education, married my best friend, ran a winning campaign, finished 3 marathons... The blessings really do abound. But at 26, it’s time to get real about long-term goals and how I achieve them. Life is so unfulfilled when things “just happen” to me. It’s terrifying not to be in control of things, so in 2012, I pledge to regain that it.

In the meantime, I have some planning to do. I need to figure out how to make every day extraordinary. This starts by establishing some realistic, tangible goals to give each day purpose. Resolutions, if you will. Here it goes...

1. Qualify for the Boston Marathon

This is a big one. The biggest. Since I set my mind to going 26.2 the first time, this has always been what gets me through the doldrums that are long runs. It sounds lame, but I choke up thinking about that moment when I cross the line and realize that I’ve achieved that 3:30:00 or better. I came so painfully close in Philly this year. Just 95 seconds (that’s a 3:36:26 for those playing along at home). Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally proud of that time. It’s a 20+ minute P(ersonal)R(ecord), but the Boston Athletic Association doesn’t care. I had debilitating cramping over the last four miles and when my legs gave out and I took a spill in the chutes, I saw that minute and a half whiz by. Through off-season maintenance, improved nutrition and smarter training - combined with the right race - I hope to finally feel what it’s like to have made it.
I’d be lying if I said this was a sure shot - I’ve made that mistake before. I said in the spring that this would be the year I got my first BQ. I realized early on in training that I’d show a new level of foolishness and cavalier if I honestly thought that I’d easily BQ. In the UPMC Shadyside ER I learned that any race could go fanasticly wrong at any time. I thought for sure during the first half of the Pittsburgh Marathon that all would go well. And then the weather changed, I couldn’t get water fast enough, I overheated and got carted away at mile 17. That’ll teach anyone to show absolute reverence to the marathon. But if on that one day next year before the cutoff date, things go right and those 95 seconds are spent celebrating, I’ll be the among the most grateful runners to cross the line.

2. Run a sub-20-minute 5k race

Goals 1 and 2 really coincide, but yikes, this one might be tough. Speed training begets endurance and endurance begets being able to sustain speeds for a longer time. Strides, 5-k goal pace mile repeats, tempo runs, and a sweet flat course will be the key to this.  

This year, my best was a 21:37 on a course with about 800m of nasty uphill. I gave it everything I had and was the second overall woman. The first woman finisher was over 40 and went to the Olympic trials either last time or the time before. She was incredible and my inspiration for this.

Also, finding a race in a season other than summer would be smart...

3. Write more

I have this neat thing called a blog. It’s doing no good sitting there without new content. I must get into the habit of putting things in it. Writing and running have been some of the biggest constants in recent years. If I’m to continue to hone this craft, I need to put meaningful, honest pieces in this space...even if nobody cares enough about my life and my running to read it. The process of writing something for public consumption is tremendous for creativity. Heck, I even bought myself a nifty idea book. I really have no excuse.


My old pastor used to say that none of us knows what our days will hold. For some of us, there will be great triumph; for others the sadness of defeat. He was completely right. I may not fully accomplish these or another goal that I set for myself this year. But I learned ever so fully this year that it’s the work that we do leading up to the race that matters just as much - if not more - than what our chip time reads out.

May you and yours be blessed with the triumph that comes from constantly working to live more simply and better. And if you’re like me and still believe in resolutions, I hope a year from now you can look back and feel at least some sense of satisfaction in the ever-evolving goals of life.