Race Report: Harrisburg Half Marathon (September 9, 2012)

Sweet photo courtesy of my mom, who
joined my dad and husband at the finish line!

Folks who know me well are [probably more] aware [than they care to be] of my inability to close in long races. A smattering of innocuous ailments typically combine to create some late mile issues that preclude a strong finish. In my determination to change this before Marine Corps Marathon, I decided to throw a half marathon into the training mix.

I talked to the awesome Runner’s World Challenge folks about integrating the Harrisburg Half Marathon into my plan. On Sunday I was scheduled for 20 miles with a fast finish (meaning that we could throw in some race pace miles if we were feeling good), so I thought it would work out.

It was an absolutely perfect morning:  clear and cool with a lovely breeze to counter the sun.

Despite the idea conditions, I knew it would be foolish to try to PR. The trainers (rightly) had cautioned that if I raced too hard, I could risk significant injury during high mileage weeks like these. So, instead took the trainers’ advice and ran the balance of the mileage easy and made a realistic race plan. I started with a nice run up to the Civil War Museum in Reservoir Park and made my (roundabout) way to City Island. On the way, I went over the target mile times in my head a few times. Miles 1-8 would be easy pace, and then I’d take 8-13 to race pace to see how it felt. Today wasn’t about a PR... it was about the three Ps:  practicing patience in early miles, maintaining proper pace, and managing pain in the later miles.

By virtue of this plan, I would be doing something I’ve never successfully done in a long distance race: finally nailing a negative split (running the second half faster than the first).

I got to the start loose, excited, and kind of nervous. I ate my first round of Clif Shot Bloks and waited. I wasn’t sure how everything would go. 80% of the course consists of miles I run regularly, so I knew what they would feel like, but I was most nervous about the psychological impact of pushing through on those late miles on tired legs. I’ve bonked more times than I care to admit, and I refused to choke on such a beautiful day.

The scenic course shone on such a gorgeous day. After a lap around City Island, we ran into the Shipoke neighborhood and eventually turning onto the Capital Area Greenbelt’s trails, which made quick work of slowing down the pack. Upon exiting the trail, we entered Riverfront Park’s lower path, which runs right along the river. The path isn’t in great condition, but the crowd support was wonderful. We then took the first Midtown-area ramp up onto the park’s upper path for our second out-and-back section.

Despite the variance of terrain, the first miles clicked off with relative ease. The jitters settled when I saw a high school classmate who was running his first half marathon (congrats!). He understandably didn’t seem keen to chat, but we kept pace for at least an hour.

With my mantra in my head and someone to follow, I felt myself easing into my plan. Sure, the excitement of a race makes me want to let loose, but this time I knew I had to nail those splits. Each time I felt myself speed up, I made a deliberate effort to slow down and instead focus on good sportsmanship, commenting on especially good spectator signs, or thanking a volunteer for helping to direct traffic on the open course.

We hit mile 8 on the upper path in the Uptown area, and the real work began. I brought my pace up to the 7:50-8:00 range and settled in. I was amazed at how fresh I felt. Sure, I was tired, but I knew deep down that I had more than enough energy to cover the distance at the accelerated pace.

I grabbed a gel (they served Carb BOOM!, which was more fun to say than eat) at mile 10 and continued down the home stretch. I know it sounds terrible to say, but especially given the fact that I was now in miles 17-20 of my workout, it felt so great to be in a position to have the energy to accelerate and pass others. The folks at Runner’s World are definitely right about the benefits of negative splitting, and I’m going to try to continue that in the marathon.

We made our way to the last mile, and were directed back down to the lower path and up a mean little ramp to get to the Walnut St. bridge to the finish line. Springsteen’s “Rosalita” came on, and I shifted gears, moving up to a 7:15 pace for the last effort, and putting in a final sprint to the finish where my mom, dad, and husband were.

Choking back a little bit of nausea, I collected my medal with great satisfaction. I didn’t puke. I didn’t bonk. I didn’t fade. Something had finally gone right! 1:46 wasn’t my best time ever, but given the nature of the day, it was the best I could have hoped for.

Overall, this was a really nice race. The YMCA’s race director did a great job in organization and execution of a lovely course. Sure, we could always use more port-o-potties and it’s tough to find a way map out a start, but the volunteer support and crowd presence made it a great time. (And, I’m in for any race were I don’t have to worry about parking and can walk home after!)a

If scheduling permits, I’m planning to be back next year, but for now, it’s on to Marine Corps!

Coming later this week:  Recipes for fueling the night before and replenishing after the race!

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.

13 August 2012: A 'Bitchin' Poutine for the Rungry Crowd

Because sometimes a dish comes along that's just too good to resist...

Hello, world. It’s been a while. I’m not keeping my New Year’s Resolutions like I should. Except for that 19:17 5k I ran. That’s gotta count for something.

Anyhow, another busy summer breaks through the halfway mark. I had eye surgery (not fun) and have been training again with the Runner’s World Challenge (fun) to take another crack at a BQ at the Marine Corps Marathon in October (OORAH).

I’ve been really trying to reinforce good eating habits this time around. About 90% of what I eat comes from my kitchen. Partly because I adore cooking to the sounds of NPR, but also because it’s so much better for Victor and me.

I like to do a big batch of something on Sunday, so that we have nutritious food for the week. I typically tailor one key dish to the kind of training week we have. In the beginning, it’s lighter fare, but as we get into what the Challenge calls, “Monster Month” I do heartier  - but still healthy and balanced - dishes.

I’ve realized, though, that as much as I cook, I should really be keeping tallies of what works and didn’t work, since I like to adapt recipes for runner’s needs. 

Over the coming weeks, I'll be sharing my recipes for the curious folks among us. If you have ideas, feel free to post them in the comments!

Here’s the first go of it for this training season...

There’s a show on the Cooking Channel called Bitchin Kitchen that I’ve been watching a lot for the past year or so. The host, Nadia G combines snarky sketch comedy, killer shoes and some crazy good recipes. It’s a winning combination.

The other week, we saw a recipe she prescribed for hangover cures:  Sweet Potato Poutine. My mind was blown. My husband was salivating. We needed this. Now.

Only problem? It was wrong for runners in all the ways it was right for hangovers.

Undeterred, I adapted to suit. I baked the sweet potatoes (which are a super starch source) to save on fat, made the gravy the way I like to, and used Monterrey Jack cheese pieces instead of curds (because that’s what I had in my fridge). But still, credit where it’s due... this is a Bitchin recipe. Here’s how it worked...

For the oven fries:

• 2 sweet potatoes, cut into ¼ inch fries
• a couple tablespoons of olive oil
• 1 tsp paprika
• 1 tsp cayenne (optional if you’re sensitive)
• kosher salt
• black pepper

Preheat oven to 375F. Cut sweet potatoes and let soak for at least 30 minutes. Drain and lay them out on a kitchen towel and dry thoroughly.

In the bottom of a large bowl, combine oil, paprika, cayenne, and salt and pepper to taste. The mixture should form a paste-like consistency when combined. Toss potatoes in the mixture, adding oil and more spice as needed (the amount will vary depending on the quantity of potatoes you use and your own personal taste). Each piece should be thoroughly coated.

Place potatoes on baking sheets, being careful to allow for space between each piece. Bake until golden brown on each side, checking in 15-minute increments and rotating trays as needed for even cooking. Fries are done when they are tender inside and crisp on the outside.

For the gravy:

• 2 tbsp butter
• 2 tbsp flour
• 2 cups chicken stock
• 2 tbsp mustard
• Worcestershire sauce
• Sherry (NOT cooking sherry. The stuff that posh folks drink in the drawing room after dinner.)
• salt and pepper to taste
• cayenne if you like

Melt butter on medium-low heat and add flour, stirring constantly to combine into a uniform consistency (I like to use a wooden spoon, but if your pan allows a whisk, go for it). When the mixture is golden brown (in 2-5 minutes depending on your pan), reduce heat to low and gently stir in chicken stock. Bring heat to a simmer on medium and allow to reduce, stirring frequently to ensure that all the lumps are out.

When the mixture has reduced by a quarter, add mustard, cayenne, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper to taste. Allow to simmer for another 10-15 minutes.

When the mixture is thick enough that you can drag your finger across a coated wooden spoon and the line doesn’t immediately fill back in with liquid, add a few tablespoons of sherry and allow to simmer on low for 5 more minutes.

When the fries are done, place them onto an eating receptacle, cover in gravy and smatter some pieces of cheese (or curds!) and enjoy. But pace yourself and be sure to actually taste it. 

We recommend good beer with it. Like splitting a bomber bottle of DuClaw Black Lightning (a black American Pale Ale from Maryland). Yum.

Run on Sentences: 27 October 2011

In which the author finds this subject matter apropos in light Tuesday’s “National Married to a Runner Appreciation Day”...


About a week after the Steamtown Marathon, I returned to my alma mater for our homecoming weekend. A small, private liberal arts school, Lebanon Valley College is tucked into a quaint little town surrounded by rolling hills. With another 26.2 under my belt, my college years seemed so far away, even though I only graduated in 2008. LVC was that special place where I became an adult… and a runner.


Upon returning from my semester abroad with some extra pounds, I decided that when I got back on campus, I would get fit. So I joined in on some fitness classes and – more importantly to this author – got on a treadmill. I’d load music onto my listening device and resolved to walk less and run more. I’d go early in the morning or before the dinner hour and catch a news program on the gym TVs. Before I knew it, I could run a whole mile in under 10 minutes. A WHOLE MILE. It felt amazing.

Summer rolled around and I took to the trail loop around the church by my home. An approximlately 1.5 mile oval, I’d aim for at least two loops twice a week. In those summer months, everything started to change: I was breathing easier, stressing less, I shed some pounds, and my allergies started to recede. I also met my future husband and running partner, Victor, who was working on a campaign in the same building where I was interning.

I returned to LVC and took to clipping off miles in town. I became faster, fitter and more focused in class. Under the guise of me organizing our campus to get out the vote for the political campaign on which he was working, Victor and I began chatting regularly. And before we knew it, the bulk of our discussions turned to running. Building a friendship around campaigns and miles, I finally had someone with whom to share aches, pains and achievements.

Victor and I worked together on the Governor's 2007 inaugural ball and by spring break, we were dating. Now I had a reason to stay fit. That May we entered a 5k race on campus. It was a hot, pollen-laden morning and I was all nerves. Victor told me he’d stay at my pace and we’d cross the finish together. We got out of the gate and started plugging away, taking it a step at a time. By mile 2, my allergies got the best of my breathing. We walked until I caught my breath and then we picked back up with his encouragement. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to sit. I was in agony. But I wouldn’t quit. So I started shuffling and got back to a decent stride. More than a half an hour later, we finally finished.

It may be counter-intuitive for a feminist-leaning woman to say, but I couldn’t have done it without Victor. It was one of the most physically difficult things I’d done, and he never left my side. Three years later, we exchanged vows in April and ran a marathon in November.

Strolling along my old running route (and part of that very 5k course), so many amazing memories of college came flooding back. Exams. Football games. Snowstorms. Falling leaves. Cherry blossoms. Butterflies (both kinds). Your alma mater always stays with you wherever you go. It’s that place that ties you to such a special time in your life... and some things far more difficult than a 5k. You can come home to it and everything possible may have changed, but it will always be hazed with that soft-focus familiarity. LVC was so much more than an education… that place where I laced up, changed for the best and fell in love. 


And that’s something worth coming home to...

Run on Sentences: Originally Posted 24 September 2011

 In which the author sends profuse apologies to the three or four (or however many) readers who’ve gone without a new posting for so long...

I read two magazines cover-to-cover each month:  Runner’s World and Vogue. I’ve been reading Vogue since I was strong enough to lift the infamous September Issue and have always revered its artful images. Ever entranced by the masterpieces of fashions vanguard and newcomers alike, I always had inspiration for morning dressing and felt a passion for amazing design. Unfortunately (like many averaged-sized folks), I’ve frequently felt very uncomfortable with the magazine’s advertisers’ use of the ultra-thin model. Body image plagued me growing up and Vogue didn’t always help. It’s a familiar story of muscular girls seeing photos of a 5’ 10”, 100 lb., endlessly airbrushed model - her gaunt face oozing a vapid, frigid form of distorted sexuality. The clothes are amazing, but the skin-and-bones human coat hangers were, are, and will be anything but.

I will always love Vogue for opening me up to the beauty, creativity and mastery of the art of fashion. I now put aside grapples with body image to be exposed to its celebration of gorgeous self-adornment at its best. I will always get a little giddy each month on delivery day and eagerly pour over each and every page.

Runner’s World and I have a much newer relationship; however, as I perused the October issue, I had a revelation:  What would happen if that gorgeous woman on the cover of Runner’s World  put on haute couture? She’s muscular, sure, but she’s still super lean, tremendously powerful and natural. I’m no fool, she’s probably airbrushed, too, but they sure didn’t contour her figure until she looked like she had a BMI of 13.

This got me thinking about what runners find attractive. Are we privy to another aesthetic  because normal for us is sweaty, dirty covered in synthetic fabrics? What is beautiful to us?

One morning this summer, I opened up my favorite political blog and found a spin-off on The Hill’s “Most Beautiful” list, adapted for Harrisburg. A largely subjective spread of adulation from doting spouses and inside jokes from co-workers, it’s usually a good source of a few chuckles. I got halfway through the entry and found a photo of none other than yours truly. After the blushing and heartwarming, I noticed the photo my husband posted with it:  me at a race on one very hot Independence Day. No makeup. Wilted. Unflattering blue shorts. Ick, I thought, grimacing at the photo in comparison to the glamour shots next to some of the others. Of all the photos he chose, why not one where we’re all dolled up? Like from our wedding, maybe?

But then I thought about it some more:  I don’t think – even at my sweatiest – that I’ve ever been embarrassed by my appearance while running. Never worried that my hair is out of place (it typically is). Never thought about sliding makeup or lack thereof. Never worried what the size on my shorts said. It didn’t matter:  I was running.

Many of us probably grew up with some form of body issue or dysmorphic disorder wherein we became entirely too preoccupied with our body composition. But I’m certain that most of us lose that self-consciousness when we step off. We’re making something of ourselves. We’re becoming beautiful, inside and out.

Runners may have a strange aesthetic, but we can agree that what’s beautiful to us is natural. Some of us are brawny and muscular, others are compact and a bit bony in places. But we believe that we were meant to be out there, huffing and puffing through mile after mile without makeup.

When we finish a run, we may be bug bitten. We may be dirty. We may have frozen or disheveled hair. But our hearts are warm and our spirits are full, even when our tanks are empty. This is beauty.


Beauty is the contour and movement of strong muscles pushing through to the end.
Beauty are the rosy cheeks that follow a hard sprint.
Beauty is sweat glistening on skin tanned from the sun.
Beauty is crossing the finish line.
Beauty is the run. And we are beautiful.

Run on Sentences 24 October 2011: Greeting from our new blog home!

In an effort to streamline posting and expand the community, Run on Sentences is now inhabiting a little section of blogspot. I hope it works out. Post - as I remember to do so - can still be found at the Loop, the Runners World community page.

For those unfamiliar, Run on Sentences is this author's musings on, about, surrounding and during the run. I will try to expand its breath as we take this journey together.

The goal is to enlighten the world (or waste its time) every Monday and Thursday as I'm able. But not the Monday after big Sunday races. Unless there's bragging to do.

There'll be no Monday entry, but to get you started, I'll be reposting the first three entries this evening.

Welcome. Come run with me...