Endurance run number 4, finally!

I think I ran 17 miles today. Ish.

I looped my two 4.5 mile runs together and then did the 3.7 mile trail out and back, then ran the connecting distance, which I estimate at, well, I don't know.

I had planned on doing the run yesterday morning early, so I set my alarm for 4:30, figuring I could take my thyroid pill, give myself the required half hour before eating, then eat some oatmeal, then give myself the two hours of digestion necessary before a big run.

I'm much better at planning than execution.

I did wake up at 4:30 and take my pill. But I felt like ass. I was up later than I should have been Friday night and I spent the entire day (minus a couple of interviews) procrastinating on writing my stories. Procrastination, a.k.a. stalling on deadlines, more often than not equals anxiety-induced binge eating for me. Giving myself the excuse that I should carbo load for the upcoming run anyway . . . well, lets just say there's no more bread in my freezer or Japanese noodles in my pantry. And I was still feeling the effects Saturday morning.

Let the record stand: I should never, never load anything into my body, but especially not carbs.

I had read that there's no science to support the benefits of carbo loading for women anyway, but it was one of those days in which I didn't need science to support my behavior. Damn. Had too many of those days lately.

Which is why I gained 5 pounds this week. Doesn't seem possible. Until I think about all the ice cream, nuts and buttered toast I ate. Plus my period is due next week sometime, so hopefully that sort of bloat has something to do with it. But damn. 5 POUNDS!

I've also heard that carbo loading helps the little cells of the body hold onto water, one of the bonuses of doing such a thing before a long run. . . . so maybe it is mostly water weight, but . . .

Do you see how my crazy mind works? When it comes to my weight, it's been doing this since puberty--which was a long, damn time ago.

But the running.

So I didn't put in the 16 miles on Saturday as planned. But I was feeling so lousy by the end of the day that I did an easy 5-miler instead. And I instantly felt better. A-friggin'-mazing.

Today I had the same brilliant plan to wake up before the ass crack of dawn, take pill, eat, etc. Got up and took the pill, but . . . you know the drill. Finally got up at 8ish, had my oats and egg whites at 9, watched CBS Sunday Morning, read my favorite parts of the Times (front page, Travel, magazine, Styles, A&L dance stories), checked out Bob Schieffer, and at 11, headed out.

I knew the heat would be against me, but a lovely breeze tempered the hot. I also set off armed with a packet of powergel, Powerbar's version of Gu, complete with plenty of electrolytes, caffeine and whatever else that when combined functions as an adrenaline shot to the heart for endurance athletes. I sucked it down sometime around mile 10, when I was near a water fountain to help wash down that crap. It did occur to me at the time that it would probably taste pretty good coming back up, as far as those things go. (What? a girl can't get a little queasy after running 10 miles in the middle of an 85 degree day and sucking down slimy vanilla-flavored high tech goo?) (By the way, at the top of the worst-thing-ever-to-barf-up list has to be a tie between the infamous Guinness/Doritos combo and the Mexican fish stew/strawberry daquiri combo--that one actually wasn't from the drink, but from the dreaded Montezuma's Revenge.)

But that sweet, slimy shit did the trick. I powered through the next 7ish miles pretty well. No high speeds, mind you, but I ran the whole route, no stopping and walking. Hooray!

Including 4 water/stretching stops and cooling down the last half mile with walking, I finished in 3:23.

My hamstrings came close to seizing up late in the game. Them were sore. I blame TTT's butt blasting on Friday (leave it to my pancake ass to disregard the exercises and send them straight to the hamstrings instead). But I might need to add some pilates to my training so I don't lose my flexibility with all this pounding.

I also discovered the source of last week's chafing. The old pants (my favorite!) had a busted seam on the left inner thigh, leaving some scratchy, nylon thread to rub raw my skin. They went straight in the bin.

But I did pick up some Boudreaux's Buttpaste at Target, just in case. . . .

One other addition to my repertoire . . . I wore a bandanna around my head to catch the sweat before it dropped into my eyes. This was an excellent idea. It helped trick me into thinking I wasn't sweating very much. Not until I got home did I discover the salt crystals normally gathered on my face after such a lengthy run, were also present on my arms and legs. That's some serious sweating, my friends.

All in all, I feel moderately triumphant. Despite the weight gain and the ridiculous anxiety-induced chowing down this week, I did stick to my training. In fact, I ultimately put in more miles than scheduled. I also lifted weights and put in some serious cardio time at the gym three times. So in one respect I was disciplined. . . .

But if we look at me from an astrological perspective it makes perfect sense, really. As a Sagittarius, I am a wild, free spirit and philosopher by nature who loves athletics and the outdoors; with a Taurus rising, I have a deep love and respect for beauty and culture, a bent toward being stubborn, and a passion for (over)indulging my palate(s); with a Capricorn moon, I am a workhorse who craves discipline.

So, that's me in a nutshell. And I think it explains my week. Now I just need to work on reshuffling the tendencies while remaining true to my nature. That's what real health will look like, I suspect. Regardless, I hope to find out.

Slipping a bit

. . . although it could be much worse.

I didn't run the three miles as planned on Wednesday, although I did meet with TTT and do cardio at the gym. Later in the day I received a bit of news that sent me straight to the nuts and stale dark chocolate in the depths of my pantry. Bad, very bad. My ex announced he's coming for a visit.

Yesterday I ran 9 miles instead of the six called for, thinking I could just combine the two days' miles. The beauty of this was I went out and ran for an hour and a half and it felt good. Breezy, fine. It occurred to me what a big deal it is that I can just lace up my sneakers and go out and run and run and run and then feel better.

It is true that you can choose to be at peace even when the world around you is nothing but chaos. That choice requires an awful lot of resolve and determination, however. Neither of which can be found in a jar of peanuts, I've discovered. That hole I tried to fill was not peanut-shaped. Dammit.

Life would be so much easier if problems could be fixed with peanuts.

Or running.

Or Ben and Jerry's.

Or writing.

But I guess we ain't here for it to be easy. What would be the point of that? Not that I'm sure what the point of this is. . . .

I've also been swamped with work. I know, I know. I act like it's all summertime and the livin's easy and all I do is take in the fresh air and run around like a hippie or something. But I can't say no to my editors and I ended up with 5 stories to report and write this week. Peanuts didn't help me get those done, either.

I'm not buying any more nuts. They're fucking useless.

Today I did a "butt blast" workout with TTT and did some time on the ARC machine. Tomorrow's a 16-miler and I don't know where the group is meeting, so I'll just go it alone. Well, the ipod and me, that is. We're a good team.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Imagine you are an Oompa Loompa.

And you just dived into a big ol' pot of bubbling split pea soup. Your feet hit the bottom and you begin to run.

This was me today from 9:38 a.m. to 10:50 a.m. But slightly taller, less musical, and not wearing plastic, red pants.

8 miles of running to beat the rain clouds.

By the way, I didn't stop sweating until a little before noon, thanks to the A.C. in my car and at my destination.

My hip sockets are achey. I think I need to visit my chiropractor. I haven't seen him in two months. It's time.

It's also time to say goodbye to Ben and Jerry. I love them too much for my own good. A woman who loves too much tis I. Beginning a hot Tuesday with an 8-mile run and ending it with a fistful of cashews and a pint of Brownie Batter B&J does not equal balance. It's just crazy.

I might have to switch back to vodka martinis. For my health.

Sweating.

And I'm not even running today.

Fans don't help. Sitting still doesn't help. The sweat gathers in the folds of my neck, drips down my side beneath my nightie and gathers into a puddle in my belly button.

The cicadas buzz, buzz, buzz. I feel like I'm in the South. Maybe it will improve my storytelling.

Yesterday I put in my three miles. Slow. My body needed an easy recovery after the hilly, long run Sunday. I think I'll keep it up with that group--it made the long run much more endurable. Sometimes it's nice to have people by your side.

Sunday's run gave me my first brush with chafing. Argh. Not nice. But the French neosporin I picked up in Paris has already healed the hot spots that appeared where my ass meets my leg. That part of my body never really occurred to me before it was rubbed raw Sunday. Oh, the joys of marathon training.

I'm glad to have a day off. I'm fixin' to jump in the lake.

Later I think I'll head to the gym for some weights and a spinning class. It's like doing hill intervals without the impact. San Francisco would have killed me without the spin classes.

I'm drinking more than a gallon of water a day. I think this is what's keeping me going.

That and the Ben and Jerry's I picked up Saturday. . . .

Pooped.

I thought I was in good shape.

Running 13 miles around a lake with 100 other runners put an end to any inflated sense of fitness I might have had. This is a good thing, really.

So I managed to meet up with this crowd a little before 7 this morning. Someone in charge made the announcement that the course was a little hilly, so we should take it slow. He wasn't kidding.

You'd think a loop around a lake would be pretty flat, but these hills were constant and unforgiving. There were more hills than not. Downhills were fun, though.

I took some Gu at mile 10. I needed it. That stuff did the trick. And of course I stopped for water every chance I got, a total of about 5 times.

I also ran with a very nice lady, KT, who teaches 4th graders how to write, went to Italy for 17 days in June with a group of girlfriends she plays soccer with, was born in 1976, and graduated from college the same year I did. We saved each other's runs today, cuz we both would have pooped out and walked at several points along the way, we confessed to each other at mile 13, which we reached at 9:30.

Knees and hips got a little sore, but the weirdest thing: my shoulders hurt more than anything. This happened last week, too. I guess they're just not used to all the movement, but dang. I'm going to ask TTT to show me some rotator cuff strengthening exercises again. She said anyone who does anything athletic for any sustained period of time ends up with a rotator cuff injury. I'm hoping to beat that stat.

Before the run I ate a Zone Perfect bar, which is exactly what I ate before the SF half marathon. It seems to work for me.

After the run this morning, I stopped at the farmer's market seeking apricots. I left with apricots, cherries, green beans and lettuce. The cherries are overripe and the apricots are slightly softer than rocks (based on the few I ate on the way home) but they're still pretty dang tasty.

Filled up on a little bacon and eggs (that's turkey bacon and egg whites, mind you) and oatmeal with raspberries once I got home. Then I had a bath, put on my white, cotton nightie, read some, and went back to bed for a good, long sleep. Now I'm happily relaxed, but shit. That kind of physical exertion has got to lead to that kind of melted-down relaxation. Especially if no endorphin highs come of it. Damn.

You know you've run hard when your pony tail is tangled just from moving around so much and the tip of it is soaked from dipping into the sweat pouring from your neck and back. Not to mention the salt crystals on your face and arms.

Despite all the hills, I didn't walk a step. As long as I'm getting better in some way every week, I'm happy.

Here's what doesn't make me happy: the place through which I booked my hotel for the marathon emailed me and said, oops, that hotel is sold-out and we're not giving you the hotel room we already charged you for. They said they will reimburse me, but I made the reservation weeks ago. It's unlikely I'll find another hotel in the city. My options now are: to beg someone to let me crash on their couch; to book a hotel in the 'burbs and take the el in; to wake up ungodly early and drive in on the morning of the race; or, hope that Sid does her magic and books a flight/airfare combo that rawks and lets me stay, too. This last option has happened twice before--to hope for a third might be pushing it. . . .

Whatever happens, I'm there. Laced up, ready to go, untangled pony tail ready for the beating.

Oh, and the reason I'm not still in bed right now is I was awakened by several piercing, children's voices emanating from the little people splashing about in the lake three houses down. Let me take a moment to express my gratitude that I do not have any children. As much as I enjoy other people's kiddies from time to time, I LOVE having my life to myself. I LOVE that I can fuck off in the middle of a Saturday and sleep for two hours because I spent the morning running around a lake. I LOVE that I do not have to spend the majority of my money and time trying to find other people to look after the little people just so I can do things like work and play. My friends with kids seem to manage these things and love each other at the same time--a phenomenon to me--but they do work their asses off ALL THE TIME just to make it happen.

Gratitude expressed. Selfishness acknowledged. Irritating little screamers down the shore forgiven. As long as they're just visiting this weekend.

Change of plans

I got an email from the local group that does long runs together, and they're scheduled for Saturdays. This throws off my training schedule a bit, but it might work out for the better. This way I can do my lifting on days off. And I can enjoy my Sunday morning routine of NYT, CBS Sunday Morning and relaxing on the deck with coffee.

This makes so much more sense all around. Why didn't I think of it?

So this means I'm not doing my 6-mile strides workout today. I'm soon off to meet TTT and I'll do the long run tomorrow with the group. We're running around a lake. Fun!

. . . and I'm back

To recap:

Tuesday--
a delightful day off from running. Clear, warm, NOT humid.

So I spent the afternoon in a beer garden with some people whose company I particularly enjoyed, including one of my favorite small children on the planet whom I was able to entertain endlessly with a black rope. Don't ask. I drank two beers. And ate a pickled egg. Didn't know they served such things in these parts. Thought it was a strictly Wisconsin thing. But apparently the Scandinavian influence flows through these parts and my never satiated craving for all things pickled was pleased.

But so here's the thing about losing weight and clean living: beer, somehow gets stronger. I was good and buzzed for a couple of hours on two beers. yay! I'm a cheap date. This is particularly good news since it's only me taking me out these days.

Also, in researching the latest story, I discovered there's a local group training together for the Chicago Marathon and they do their endurance runs together on Sundays. I can join in for $5 and they'll water, gatorade, gu and powerbar me to my heart's content all along the way. Plus I might meet some funcrazybuthealthy folks. Shake off some of the boozehounds I'm used to killing time with. Naw, I'll always be a pubclubgirl at heart. The running can only enhance my drinking/dancing endurance, right?

Made the mistake of watching Fat Actress on DVD. Made the mistake of continuing to watch it. How can something so bad be so hard not to watch? Damn.

Watched Million Dollar Baby. Inspired.

Wednesday--
met TTT for a good, hard upper body workout. Still had a 6-mile pace run to get in. It's hard to know which to do first. When I run first, I'm pooped for the weights. When I do the weights first, I'm pooped for the run. Ideally I should lift on days off from running, but it's not working out schedule-wise.

So. I decided to try out the treadmill.

Hate it. Can only stare at the wall for so long despite the terrific music on the ipod. Did a 2-mile pace run on the treadmill without pulling out my hair. Then switched to the ARC machine and did 3 miles of intervals while reading useless but entertaining magazines. Burned 700 calories according to the machines and gawdknowshowmany with the lifting.

This is why I felt no guilt about eating turtle ice cream pie and a half slice of chocolate cake with dinner to celebrate my friend's getting married next month. Hey! I ate salmon, asparagus and a glass of white wine for dinner. I needed the carbs. Plus, it was fookin' delish, man.

Thursday--
woke up and put in 6 miles instead of the 3 called for by the training schedule. Guilt from not properly doing the 6 yesterday and the two desserts caught up with me. Glad I got up at 6 and ran early. Cuz it was hot as a muhfuggah. Then rained like mad.

Madly met deadline on shoes feature. Shoes, I said! How did I get so lucky?

Went downtown for lunch and perusal of the sidewalk sales. Watched a naked man sporting a mohawk get cuffed and hauled into a police car at approximately 1 p.m. Ringside seat from the outdoor patio at the restaurant. I wanted to grab my notebook and interview the folks so I could file the story quick. Then I remembered nobody pays me to be on top of stuff, so I enjoyed my lunch instead. Later felt sad for the naked guy, the delusional look on his face and his tiny, little, leaping package hanging all out, fixin' to get a sunburn.

Saw Wedding Crashers. Laughed shamelessly. Fell in love with Vince Vaughn in all his creepy- and wackyness. Note to self: giant, goofy guys might be worthwhile. Must move beyond my attraction to compact men. Yes, I have a gift for spotting potential; however, I can only realize my own. And nobody's getting any taller past the age of 20, no matter how big they feel on the inside.

What the hell am I talking about? Oh. Myself again.

Dang.

Looking forward to a proper workout tomorrow. TTT and 6-mile strides, here I come!

Heat index: 100

That is why I put in my 3 miles at 8 a.m. It was already like a sauna out there.

Remarkably, the run went fine, and I actually feel better today having done it. I mean, the dull aches I had in my hips and knees from yesterday's brutal pounding have disappeared. Uh-oh. It's like I need the running to stay well oiled. Or something.

Does that make it an addiction?

Is there anyone out there who isn't addicted to something?

Can we find a new word for whatever it is that each and every one of us finds to distract ourselves from the pain that comes from being alive?

'Cuz I don't think it all has to be unhealthy, does it? Smokingdrinkingsexingdrugging to excess, beating up other people, cutting ourselves, starving ourselves, gorging ourselves, gambling . . . what else? These things are not good. Fun for a while--some of them--yes. But sometimes it's just whatever gets you through the night, as John Lennon so wisely put it.

But in the end, don't we want to get through more and better quality nights? Don't we simply want to have more fun and help others have more fun? Isn't that what it all comes down to after the essentials are taken care of? It's seeking whatever is the opposite of that pain . . . and what we have to come to terms with is the opposite of pain isn't numbness. Being numb is worse than pain; in fact, it's probably just a couple steps closer to death.

Let me be clear here: I have spent plenty, I mean plenty of nights getting by on all kinds of paths to numbness. I'm neither proud nor ashamed. In fact, I enjoyed the ride more times than not, because there's usually a kind of heightened awareness before it all goes numb. But there has to be a better way.

I'd rather FEEL. That way you open up to JOY as well as pain. Dammit.

But that seems to be what this here running's all about. Though I'm not sure I've hit that endorphin high yet. What the . . .?

I guess the joy's subtle at first.

14 miles

. . . is a long friggin' way to run. Especially when you actually run 15 miles.

Here's what I learned from endurance run number two:

Running midday is way different than running first thing in the morning, especially on a sunny, breezeless, hotter than muggy hell kind of day that falls after three days of heavy thunderstorms. And running in the midday heat is hard. So hard, in fact, that I believe without a doubt it can kill you. This is why people think people who run marathons are crazy. We are.

I hit the proverbial wall somewhere after mile 10, so I stopped for some slurps of water and stretching in the shade. I tried, but failed, to wet myself down with the water fountain. I would have jumped into that tiny hole from which the water was shooting if I could have. My right knee hurt. But I pushed on.

I listened to my entire running playlist on the ipod, then switched to a general shuffle. When those slow songs came my way, I couldn't help but slow down. So I took some "active recovery" breaks and walked in the shady patches of the trail. Then a few salsa numbers came up and I picked up the pace again. But I pretty much walked the last mile home. I figured I needed a good, long cool down.

So, I did the 15 miles in 2:49, a time not far from my half-marathon time last October. So, I feel good about that, especially considering the heat.

Next time I'll get up at 6 as planned, despite: the riveting (not) Lifetime movie keeping me up too late the night before; the party boat in the middle of the lake full of drunken, happy but still assholes hooting it up until 2 a.m.; the crazy hunger pains first thing in the morning. I ended up getting up at 8, eating at 9, watching Sunday Morning and checking out the NYT and heading off at 11. I don't know if I could have made it without eating something. But I really can't run unless at least two hours have passed since eating. Maybe this is where a power bar would come in handy. But I hate to eat anything I don't love, that isn't remarkably delicious. Harumph.

Which brings me to the good news: I lost two pounds this week. That means I'm 10 pounds down from when I started with TTT, 5 of which came off in the past two weeks. It's got to be the cleaner eating. Perhaps the intense running, too. But I was already running about 30 miles a week when I started. A mystery. But as long as I'm on the winning (or in this case, losing) side of things, I guess I don't need all the details. If it works, I'll keep doing it.

I also found a Bruce Springsteen Greatest Hits CD in my car and popped it in. "Born to Run" was the first track. I'm adding it to my running playlist on my ipod. It didn't work for John Kerry, God love him, but perhaps it'll do the trick for me. I always begin and end my long runs with U2's "Bad" and it really does something for me. I've been really into these mega-performer types. They've got something. U2 of course has been a lifelong love, soundtrack, inspiration. But I've been listening to Sting, Springsteen and lots of Coldplay, who I think we'll see added to the list of Anthem Rockers before long. It's the big music, but it's also the big, collective experience, I think.

Bono talks about this in the book that came out in the spring, "Conversations with Bono." When asked about the experience of all the adoring fans in the stadiums night after night, he refutes the notion of the adoring fan. He suggests the audiences are screaming their heads off for themselves. The band has provided the music that literally is the soundtrack of their lives, yes; and the energy of their live performance is undeniably magic, but in effect, a live U2 show provides an opportunity for tens of thousands of people to collectively relive the highs and lows of their lives. He's right--that's why the shows are so powerful for me. When I saw them in May, the experience was transformative, I was in tears for most of it. But the tears were for the life that I have lived, and for the magic of the moment in that moment. As much as I love Bono and the boys, the tears were not for them, although I am grateful to them.

How's that for a tangent?

Here's another one. "My Hometown" is on the Springsteen cd I'm listening to, and that song kills me. Killed me the first time I heard it--I think in 1984 or whenever "Born in the U.S.A" came out. I was 7 or 8, and couldn't possibly have understood the weight of the lyrics or even what it meant to have a hometown. Another song that has made me cry since the first time I ever heard it is the Beatles' "She's Leaving Home." Simon and Garfunkel's "Homeward Bound" does the same thing. Spotting a theme, yet? I don't know if it's just the archetypal experience, or if I somehow knew that I would have to leave home, and then return again--and what that really means and what a painful process that is.

Running is such a part of that for me, now. After nearly 28 years of trying to belong somewhere, to someone, I finally figured out that the loyalty has to be to myself. Always. And that is home. The running, and by this I mean the leaving the people I've loved, the travelling around, the seeking new people, ideas, the trying on different identities for myself, thankfully, has led me back to who I truly am. It all has built who I am in many respects. But the only way I can get to that essence is by pushing the limits, by going to the edge, pushing over that edge, and then--with a little luck and a lot of determination--taking flight.

But at the same time being present. Allowing myself the time and space to grieve the losses and to rest. That is what this summer is about, and the marathon training provides a remarkable balance for me. Learning, growing with every step.

What does one do

on a day off from running?

In my case, eat. I'm not sure why I'm particularly ravenous on my rest days but I am. Or maybe I was simply around all sorts of delicious things today, so it made me more conscious and anxious about food.

Started the day off with a mahvelous breakfast of oats, berries, almonds, cottage cheese. Then headed off to the farmer's market where I enjoyed the bounty that comes from Michigan's fruit belt in the summer. Made off with cherries, baby cucumbers, patty pan squash, currants, black raspberries and lovely ripe apricots that rival those I frequently bought from the farmer's market in San Francisco. I didn't think I'd ever taste such perfection again. But these people here know how to do fruit. I also picked up some thyme and sage to plant in the garden and a splendid bouquet of coral colored gladiolas.

Made my way to Marshall Field's to monitor the sale price of a muted green, strapless, knee-length dress with a black ribbon belt and black tulle I've had my eye on to wear to a friend's wedding in August. Tried it on for fun. Still $109, waiting for it to drop to $35. No one can possibly wear this dress but me, I've decided, so who will buy it but me?

Had a salad lunch at Panera, an afternoon veggie and cottage cheese dip snack, turkey burrito for din-din and sugar-free butter pecan ice cream for dessert. Now I just had a cup of tea and feel ready for bed.

More thunderstorms throughout the day have added to my lazy day. I feel weird about not doing any exercise at all. Wednesday was a rest day from running, but I had a gym workout. I think it's good to have a true rest day, but I'm thinking of heading off on my bike when the rain stops. I guess my body's used to moving.

I did take the down time to chat with my beloveds afar. All in all it's been a perfect rest day. I'm sure I'll be even more grateful for the time off once I'm into my 14 miles tomorrow. I'll admit I feel anxious about it. I have never run so far. Ever.

It'll be another first. Good thing I've rested up.

Summer rain

. . . is my new favorite thing about summer.

Here's another thing: I don't wake up until I have to. Well, I guess that's true for anybody. Let me rephrase: I don't wake up until I want to.

And today that meant 9:30, to give myself time for breakfast before heading to the gym for my appointment with TTT. I decided to forego the 6-mile strides workout until later, since last time I did it before lifting, I regretted it. The turbo-charged 30 minutes with TTT were hard to get through after such an intense run.

Here's the best part about showing up at the gym today: TTT told me 3 (count 'em. 3) times that I looked smaller today. Hot damn. Must be true. That lady knows bodies. I don't know whether it's all finally coming together, or if it's the cleaner eating or the more intense running, but something's working. Yay! Makes that 14-miler coming up Sunday seem like a good thing. . . .

So after lifting, I did 30 minutes on the ARC machine and according to the machine burned up 347 calories. I don't know if I believe those computers, but I certainly sweat a good bucketful.

As the day wore on, the temperature got closer and closer to 95, and I thought, dang, I don't want to run in the heat. Then, BOOM. About 5 :30 the heavens opened up, thunder rumbled, lighting struck (not far from here, from the sounds of things--I actually jumped), and as my college French T.A. would say, "How you say, 'it rained frogs and dogs?'" A beautiful sight over the lake. Lovely crisp sounds, too.

And yet I still hadn't gotten my run in. And I still had on my running clothes from the morning and I really wanted to go.

So, I waited for the electrical storm to die down, and off I went. Ran easy for about a mile then ran my heart out for 20 seconds followed by a 40 second recovery and repeated 20 times. Easy run home from there. Did 6 miles in 46:35.

Running in the rain is my new favorite activity for the following reasons:

1. The smell of the earth, the woods intensifies as the rain bounces off them;
2. The steam rising up from the hot asphalt as the cool rain hit it made me feel as if I were in the mountains of County Wicklow, Ireland;
3. If the sweat was rolling off me, I couldn't tell;
4. Heat? What heat?

Wildlife sightings: two jackrabbits. Love them. I have also seen several deer in the past couple of weeks. They are so majestic. And they give me the same look I'm giving them--that "oh my God, who are you, do you see me? Wow."

And a note to all y'all dog owners who only let your dogs piddle and poo in your little fenced in yards: please take those poochies for a walk. And then pick up their poo like the rest of civilization. For their sake, and for the sake of the determined runners out dashing about on rainy days. That stank makes our joyous nature runs even less pleasurable than running on 95-degree garbage days. Please and thank you.

I have another favorite summer first to report: I ate a zucchini I grew myself! Delish! It became a part of my new favorite snack that kept my tummy from rumbling for three hours! Here's the recipe: blend 1/4 cup cottage cheese with a little drizzle of olive oil, a spoonful of onion soup mix (I used Mrs. Grass's) and a good crack of pepper. Dip as many celery, cucumber, and zucchini sticks as you want and a couple of carrot sticks and grape tomatoes. Yummy and so much veggie fiberliciousness.

All right. Tomorrow's an off day, and I mean off. Unless I get a chance to chase a rainbow or two on my bicycle. . . .

3 mile-ish

I didn't want to wake up and run this morning. Poop. I guess there will be days like this, whether the cause may be hormones, the heat, whatever.

But I pushed on through.

Let me take a moment here to acknowledge how fun it is to have a blog and make myself the hero of it every dang day. No wonder everybody's doing it!

Anywho, back to the run. I had an 11 a.m. phone interview scheduled, so as I lazed in bed until 10, I knew I had to get up and lace up. I toyed with the idea of putting off the run until later in the day or this evening, but I intelligently talked myself out of that. I knew the heat and the general malaise toward movement that tends to develop as the day wears on would make it likely I won't run if I don't do it first thing.

Once I got out there and heard the first notes of "Vertigo" on my ipod, I was off. It was so fine that I even added an extra loop around the block--nearly half a mile, I think. I still came in under 27 minutes. By the end of this I hope to be running a 5K in 21 minutes.

Breakfast of cottage cheese and fruit, interviews, put in a load of laundry, and then into the lake! Did a hard swim for 15 minutes. I'll try to increase the time little by little. It's such a different exercise--harder than running in some ways. Just tires you out in a different way. And the triathlon starts with the swim, so I need to build my endurance and learn how to pace myself.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love summer? How we spend our days is how we spend our lives. My day-to-day life right now is absolutely ideal. I mean, can you beat a lifestyle in which the biggest dilemmas are which bathing suit to wear, which fruit to eat and which book to spend the afternoon reading?

I am in retreat, but building something. . . .

Did I mention the triathlon?

I might have discovered another cuhrazy event designed to push the body beyond its limits. Of course, I can't resist.

My friend Amelia told me yesterday that she's training to be the bicyclist in a relay team doing a triathlon in Grand Marais, Michigan on Sept. 5.

It's one of those compact triathlons: 1/4 mile swim, 13.6 bike ride, 5K. In that order.

But here's the exciting part: the swim is in Lake Superior!!! They say it's at its warmest Labor Day weekend. I'm sure it's true, but ha!

If I can work it out with my schedule, find accomodation (perhaps stay with Amelia in her rugged family cabin near the two-hearted river) and confirm transportation, you just might find me swimming, biking and running in "da yoop" come Labor Day.

Say ya to da U.P., eh?

Restday Wednesday

Well, if resting means going to the gym and supersetting every damn thing at the request of Tiny Tracy the Terminator (from now on she gets an extra T). I'm hoping to be very sore for my three miles tomorrow. Feels like an accomplishment.

I also hopped on the ARC machine for 20 minutes, 'cuz why waste the elevated heartrate, right?

Had my new favorite breakfast of Irish oats with nuts and berries and an egg white omelette. Why does such a breakfast feel like a triumph?

Post workout I chowed on my new favorite snack. Bear with me, it is delicious, I swear. Mix 1 cup chopped celery, 1/2 cup chopped apple, 1 teaspoon lowcal mayo, 1 chopped walnut, 1 oz reduced-fat, grated, cheddar cheese. Crunchy, cool, creamy, marvelous. And I swear I have never, ever felt anything but repulsion for Waldorf salad, but this Zone version kicks ass. I got it from the Zone cookbook Sid sent me last summer. Thanks, dahlink!

Carlos has requested further explanation on the breathing technique I mentioned yesterday, but first I must address Sid's concern, because it is more pressing, so to speak.

I cannot emphasize enough the importance of a sturdy sports bra for the well-endowed who want to run. I wear a Champion model that costs $50 or so when not on sale. I think they call them "motion control," and they really do the trick. I could run without shoes, without sunglasses, without tunes, without water, without clothes, but I couldn't go farther than 3 steps without my jogbra. It's like armor: adjustable, no-slip velcro straps (no racerbacks, please!), hooks and snaps. Keeps the twins good and close, so no, there's no pounding against the lungs.

As for the lungs, breathing comes next in importance to the brassiere. What I described yesterday is rhythmic breathing that involves coordinating your breathing with your stride cadence such that you inhale and exhale over an odd number of foot strikes. For example, during a relaxed run, you want to inhale for three steps (left, right, left) then immediately exhale for two steps (right, left), then inhale immediately for three steps (right, left, right) then exhale for two (left, right) and repeat continuously. It might be an effort at first, but then it will become second nature. It helps you avoid injury by alternating which foot strikes at the beginning of an exhalation (this is when you hit the ground with the greatest force) and it damn near eliminates side stitches. You'll also know when your intensity is harder or easier than you wanted it to be, because the 3:2 pace is right for relaxed runs, and you automatically slip into a 2:1 pace when you run faster.

Hope that helped, Carlos. Let me know how it goes. I don't know how I'd run without the rhythmic breathing. Physiologically and mentally, perhaps even spiritually? The rhythm really helps me slip into a kind of moving meditation. . . .

First proper pace workout

I guess I've got more endurance than speed in my bones. Or wherever.

My six-mile pace workout today felt harder than my 10 miler on Saturday. I think I might be pushing it a little too hard, though. The aim is to switch from my 3:2 breathing pattern (inhale on 3 footfalls and exhale for 2--an easy, regular pace) to a pace that forces a 2:1 pattern, moving from aerobic to anaerobic. I think there may be a big range within the anaerobic pace and I'm pushing it beyond where I need to. And it poops me out. I can hardly keep it up for two minutes before I fall back to the 3:2 pace. I ended up doing several repeats of 40-seconds hard running with 40-seconds recovery. Then I upped it to a minute, then a minute and a half, then finally two minutes.

And it kicked my ass. I was still sweating after breakfast (oatmeal with bluberries and almonds and some turkey breast). Still sweating after my bath. Still sweating in the car on the way to work. But then I cooled off and haven't sweat since.

'Course, the ass-kicking could be because of my period. It just sneaked up on me. But thankfully, it explains the lower back pain.

Tomorrow morning I'm meeting with TT, and I hope she works me harder than I've ever been worked. I love the feeling of building muscles. I think I can see the biggest difference in my arms. There's still a long way to go, but I know I'm reshaping my body. My abs are crying to pop out, but I'm afraid I'll have to lose quite a bit of blub before anyone's gonna see the results there. But that's what I'm here for.

In TT's words, the marathon-training will help me "lean up." Isn't that such a nicer way to put it? Somehow it takes the emotion out of the weight-loss game.

Moderation my arse

Is it wrong to celebrate the start of marathon training with a few drinks?

Let me be more specific: Is it wrong to barf on your shoes before sunset on the day you begin in earnest training for a marathon? Is it wrong to begin a day in Michigan at 6 a.m. EST with a 10-mile run and end it in Chicago at 4 a.m. CST the following day crashed out on a couch in Franklin Park amidst several crumpled, empty White Castle bags?

Answer: not if you had as much fun as I did this weekend.

From an airbrushed spider in the cleavage vicinity and a glass of wine at the Wrigleyville street fair, to many, many beers and a shrimp cocktail (sad attempt at a healthy choice) at Johnny O'Hagan's--my favorite Irish bar (so far!) in Chicago, to some other place with a beer garden and a really nice Weiss brew that was on the way to the Waterhouse where some tasty, tasty Sangria and nachos found their way down my gullet (and then back out, ew), to mowing on frozen pizzas and jello shots, and slapping asses and playing a mean game of drunken pool in a dive bar called the Fantasy Lounge (don't want to meet the person for whom that lounge is a fantasy) where my pals Woogie and Oogie organized an acoustic show, a good time was had.

Early on the strap broke on my sparkly orange top, which was fine at Johnny O'Hagan's where I could just hook the broken strap to the wrought iron fence behind me. Then the Brilliant! lass serving us tall, fancy glasses of Carlsberg suggested I break the other strap and tie the two together behind my neck. The lovely M, Boogie's friend who lives in W-ville, began her very kind role as looker-afterer of my progressively messy self by fixing my costume. God love the sisterhood. You meet a gal at 1:30, she buys you a tattoo and a beer, and by 8 she's waiting with a glass of water outside the bathroom stall, because when you excused yourself 2 minutes earlier "you had that barfy look on your face." God love you, M!

That tattoo--the one that began as a little black and red spider crawling toward my neck?--morphed into a squashed ladybug by the time I was hustling pool. A metaphor, perhaps?

Sunday kicked off at The Lincoln with Bloody Marys and pannycakes. How else is there to start the day? Oh right. A run. . . .

Woog and Oog brought me to Millenium Park where we waded in the water features and admired the gardens and gleeful children splashing about. Then Boogie joined me and we took a 2-hour stroll north along the big lake until we reached the gazebo at Oak Street beach and had a bite and a brew. It felt like we were on holiday!

A quick jaunt through Lord & Taylor and North Face and then home again home again on the train. I don't recall ever having a lovelier summer Sunday. And I didn't even get to the NYT!

This morning I arose and put in my 3 miles in 23 minutes. I guess all the drunken debauchery didn't negatively impact my running. Yay!

Boogie just called to let me know the big 10 10K this weekend is still open. Can my training handle another weekend in Chicago. . . . ?

One endurance run down

Although I think I may have run farther than 10 miles. Hard to say.

But I stuck it out, finished in 1 hour, 53 minutes, stopped for two water/stretch breaks, and I'm feeling fine. Well, my lower back is a little sore, but I'm sure it's nothing a hot bath, rest, and some stretching won't cure.

Now I'm off to Chicago for some fun! And more fun! My aim is to not get sunburned and try not to drink too much. The scale said I'm three pounds down from last week, and I'd hate to reverse that trend. My trainer said alcohol clogs up the liver making it impossible for the body to metabolize fat. Oy. But summer cocktails beckon. . . .

Moderation, right?

Something I've never mastered. Always a work in progress. . . .

And so it begins

Tomorrow officially begins the 13-week countdown to the Chicago Marathon--my first 26.2 miles in a row. October 9, baby!

I'm kicking it off with a 10-mile run in the morning. It'll be the longest distance I've run since the half-marathon in San Francisco last October. But I think I'm ready.

I've been running about 30 miles a week for the past few months and I've been working out with a trainer twice a week since May. She is tough as nails and I love her. When I ask her to kick my ass, she never hesitates to oblige me.

I'm following Budd Coates's "Silver" marathon schedule. It starts out with a 28-mile week and progresses to 40 miles a week, including one endurance run, one pace workout, one stride workout and two easy 3-milers per week.

As for nutrition, I am roughly following a Zone/glycemic index/40-30-30 diet, eating 5 times a day. So far so good. When left to my own devices I tend to carbo-load and the result is anything but pleasant. This is working much better.

I'm training for the marathon for several reasons:

I love to run. I cannot believe I've gotten to a point where I can honestly put that in print, but it's true. I've reached a level of fitness where running is actually enjoyable. Check back with me after my 10 miles tomorrow, though.

I love a challenge. God help me. This has been the bane of my love life, but now I think I can make it work for me in a positive way.

I want to push myself as far as I can. The marathon will do that. And not just the marathon, but the process of preparing for the race over the course of three months. I'd like to take my BMI from 27 to 22, drop 20-30 pounds, and reduce my 30 percent body fat to a number much closer to 20.

Now is the time. On my 10-year anniversary of having kicked cancer, I'm ready to take it to the next level. This is a way to celebrate another day, another year of living in all its glory and all its pain. I'm in the process of reclaiming my childhood, my life, my artistry, my essence, my power, my body. The process has been a long one--perhaps a neverending one. But as I move deeper into survivordom, beyond a 5-year relationship that pulled me away from myself, and toward the end of my 20s, I want to mark the occasion with something big.

This is it.