Riled Up Runner

Talk is Cheap

In most situations, talk is a good thing. Peace talks are the first step toward armistice in the Middle East. A pep talk is generally the best way to talk some sense into someone. Pillow talk is one of my favorite things to do in bed besides sleep and eat crackers. What can I say? I guess I’m just a romantic.

But while talking is generally a positive pastime, there are of course a handful of situations where that’s simply not the case. Sitting next to a chatty stranger at the movies? Not so fun. Getting asked about your summer plans mid-teeth-cleaning? A gritty mess. Building the tower of babel? I rest my case.

There’s at least one more place where talk isn’t a good thing: in describing my fitness and nutrition routine so far this year. Or, let me put it another way: despite all my good intentions, when it comes down to it, my getting in shape this new year has been nothing but talk.

Don’t get me wrong. I certainly entered the new year intending to run more and eat cleaner and sleep better/in fewer cracker crumbs, and to some degree, I’ve been successful. I’ve been to yoga twice since the Times Square ball dropped. I’ve brought my lunch to work at least a dozen times. I even donned my sweet new Maryland socks with short shorts and not an ounce of embarrassment in my first road race of the new year.

Another fun activity to do in bed: take photos of your running socks.

But if I know anything about myself other than the fact that I’ve never correctly squeezed a tube of toothpaste in my life, it’s that I will never REALLY push myself unless there’s a tangible goal in the not-so-distant future. Which is why I’ve gone and done the unthinkable in an effort to trick myself into putting my money where my mouth is: I’ve signed up for a March half marathon.

But you ran a full marathon in November. You might be thinking. How could a half be unthinkable? Also, how does one do toothpaste wrong? It’s unthinkable, folks, because I haven’t run more than 15 miles a week since early November. And because I’ve recently discovered Freaks and Geeks on Netflix and would rather ogle teenage Jason Segel than lace up my Asics. And because the specific race I chose is hands-down the hilliest course on this side of the Hudson River: the Sleepy Hollow Half.

Oh, you wanted the second question answered, too? Because I squeeze the tube with my fist like a monkey with a banana. Don’t judge me.

I’ve never before run the Sleepy Hollow Half Marathon, but I did complete a 10K race on part of the same course in October 2012, and it was a downright monster of a stair climb. Sure, I got to wear a Halloween costume, but I also missed my 10K PR by more than three minutes that day – and I was in the best shape of my life at the time. I can only imagine what shape I’ll be in when (if?) I cross the finish line on March 22.

Then again, I’ll be in far worse shape if I don’t even try. So let’s do this thing.

Who’s with me?

Resolution Revision

I could come up with a whole host of excuses why my first race of the new year was nearly six minutes slower than my 10K PR. The roads were icy. The humidity was harsh. I’d stayed out too late the evening before drinking cider, playing Jenga and forcing my friend Davy to wear a surprise t-shirt claiming he “had a ball” at his own 30^th birthday.

I hope we don't run into any bulls. — I hope we don’t run into any bulls.

But while any of those factors could have contributed to my leaden legs at this morning’s Joe Kleinerman 10K Classic in Central Park, I know deep down inside that the true root of my newfound sluggishness requires a little more number crunching. So, mathletes, grab your calculators and follow along.

849.9: Miles I ran in 2013.

That’s about the distance from here to Milwaukee. Sounds pretty impressive, huh? That is, until you crunch this number:

18.9: Percent fewer miles I ran in 2013 than in 2012.

Or how about this one?

11: Races I ran in 2013.

Also a solid performance. That is, until you compare it to this:

21: Races I ran in 2012.

Now don’t get me wrong. The year 2013 was a downright wonderful year for me, full of new love, new jobs, new countries and all the smooches a lady could ask for.

Oh how rude of me. I don't think I've ever introduced you to my brother's dog Keira. — Oh how rude of me. I don’t think I’ve ever introduced you to my brother’s dog Keira.

But while I was busy enjoying my 27th year to its fullest, I was also committing all lazy runners’ favorite fitness fallacy: believing I could get stronger and faster and better without actually training stronger or faster or better. We all want something for nothing in this world, but unless we’re talking about syphilis or the guy giving free hugs in Union Square (these two things are possibly related), I know in the bottom of my heart that that’s simply not the way things work.

I started the new year on this blog by writing out a list of my top five new years resolutions, but there’s one more I meant to include: I resolve to train more intentionally in 2014. With the exception of triathlon training last June and marathon training in the months leading up to November, my running strategy in 2013 was of the simple variety: lace up your shoes and go. It was flexible and it was fun, but “easy” miles with no set goal does not a faster runner make.

That’s why in 2014, I intend to be more mindful and goal-oriented every time I hit the road. I’d like to run at least three days a week on average in the 12 months ahead, but instead of simply logging miles, I’m going to challenge myself to the following:

One tempo run each week at an 8:30 pace or faster.
One long run each week (of 6+ miles, which, sure, isn’t long by some standards but – well – I have notoriously low standards. Just kidding, Ben!)
One speed workout each week, be it hills or sprints or intervals or fartleks. Tee hee. Fartleks.

Are these goals going to help me achieve one of my other 2014 resolutions of running a new PR? I hope so, but even if they don’t, at least I may feel like my running has a purpose again. And after a year without direction, that would be a welcome change.

So here’s to the real resolution of 2014. May the rest of the year be as glorious as the evening that rang it in.

Two weeks in, how are you maintaining — or editing — your own resolutions?

January Firsts

The year 2013 brought a lot of firsts for me.

I traveled to India.

And experienced my first Indian-wedding-caliber hangover.

I started a new job.

The view from my new building is the pits.

I taught a goldendoodle the ways of the force.

Er, taught a goldendoodle the ways of the force I did. — Er, taught a goldendoodle the ways of the force did I.

I went to my first NBA game, ran my first color run, went on my first pirate booze cruise and marched in my first New York City parade. And let’s not forget that epic birthday weekend in New Orleans, a city I visited this year for the first time since my conception. Thanks for that piece of information, Mom and Dad. Really made the trip special for me.

Unfortunately, 2013 also marked another first for me: It was the first time in recent history I failed to achieve my New Year’s resolutions.

I’m sure there were plenty of years in the not-too-distant past when my January resolutions also went unfulfilled, from that time I resolved to meet Harrison Ford to that time I resolved to marry Harrison Ford to that time I resolved to have my restraining order lifted by Harrison Ford, not to mention every single year prior to 2011 when I resolved to lose weight in the year ahead — and failed.

Not keeping my resolutions is nothing new for me in the long term, but at least during the past few years, I’ve been on a bit of a successful streak. In 2011, I resolved to lose 30 pounds and did; the following year, I wanted to run a marathon and accomplished that, too. I also vowed to floss in 2012, and — against all odds — have managed to keep that dream alive.

It helps when your niece goes in to get whatever you missed. Wait, was that joke too gross? Yes? Ok, delete it from your memory. — It helps when your niece goes in to get whatever food particles you missed. Wait, that joke was gross. Let’s forget I said anything.

But 2013 was different. Although I never actually put in writing my New Year’s resolutions, I know what I wanted to achieve in 2013: a marathon PR in New York City. And not just any PR. I wanted to finish in 3:45.

Looking back now, I realize how silly that resolution really was. I’d finished my first marathon in just over 3:51, and while shaving 6 minutes off a multi-hour race may not sound like much, finishing in 3:45 would have required me to maintain an 8:35 pace the entire race — or almost 20 seconds per mile faster than my first marathon in October 2012. Add to that the fact that I trained less this year, with fewer long runs, virtually no speed training and a couple extra pounds on my frame, and hitting that elusive — and very arbitrary — 3:45 mark was simply not in the cards.

So with last year’s unresolved resolution in mind, I’m setting my sights on more achievable and measurable goals in 2014. Rather than setting up one lofty target for the new year, I’m going to target a series of self-improvements that I should be able to squeeze in even with my more demanding work hours and my rediscovered passion for sloth.

So without further ado, here’s what I’m aiming for in 2014:

Run a new PR. It doesn’t have to be a marathon or a half marathon or even a double-digit race. It could be a new 5K or 5 miler, or even a new distance or type of race altogether. Takes some of the pressure off each individual event if I have 12 whole months to achieve this.

Attend one group fitness class a week. Ideally, this would be yoga, but if I can’t get out of work in time, any strength training or even cardio class will fit the bill. This should help keep my cross training alive during racing season and make my $80 a month gym membership feel slightly less like a farce.

Eat five fruits or veggies a day. Let’s be honest, all five are probably going to be fruit. Chocolate-covered doesn’t count.

Stop ripping tags out of clothes instead of walking three steps to get the scissors. I mean, seriously. How many holes do I have to rip in new pairs of underwear before I realize my lazyman’s approach to tag-removal should probably be retired?

Go to at least one cultural event a month. Despite the plethora of museums and shows and art in this city, it’s easy to spend your entire weekend at the gym, at the bar or, let’s be honest, in bed with your sister’s Netflix account. At least once I month in 2014 — and hopefully more — I’ll step out of my comfort zone with a gallery visit or Broadway performance or musical act. It doesn’t have to be highbrow, as evidenced by my January activity that’s already lined up: bull riding. Stay classy, New York City.

What are your 2014 resolutions?

All I Want for Christmas is Food

Certain things happen once a year like clockwork – New Years, tax season, another Peter Jackson installment of The Never Ending Hobbit – plus the one annual tradition flooding the internet as we speak: holiday eating blog posts.

From Facebook to HuffPost to probably Pinterest (which I was recently disappointed to learn isn’t an online draught beer community), the world wide web is rife with tips this week on how to exit the holiday season healthy and trim and ready for bathing suit season.

Only one of us is nude. — Helpful hint: You can avoid having to get bathing-suit ready by purchasing a convenient summertime cover-up. Warning: this one made with real fur.

Unfortunately, most of the advice on the subject of holiday eating is downright hogwash. And not the good kind of hogwash, that ends with a plate of clean, sizzling bacon.

Don’t get me wrong – I think it’s smart to go into the indulgence-laden holiday season with a game plan in order to kickstart January able to squeeze into more than just your elastic-waist Christmas jammies. But with so many of the so-called tips circling the ‘net silly, arbitrary or downright ridiculous, it’s tempting to ignore them altogether and eat for two (turtledoves) straight through Epiphany.

Take, for instance, these “healthy holiday eating strategies” I found on usually worthwhile website realsimple.com:

At a cocktail party: “Stand more than an arm’s length away from munchies, like a bowl of nuts or chips, while you chat so you’re not tempted to raise your hand to your mouth every few seconds.” (When has an extra foot of space ever stopped me from getting another cheese and cracker, honestly?)

At dinner: “Keep visual evidence around of what you’ve consumed so you don’t forget. Leave an empty bottle of wine or beer in view and you’ll be less tempted to drink more.” (Because hoarding shrimp tails and olive pits is so in this season.)

While Christmas shopping: “Avoid fast-food places that emphasize red in their color schemes. Red has been shown to stimulate the appetite more than many other colors, and many restaurants add it to their decor, in everything from the flowers on the table to the squiggles on the plates.” (Yes, because I’m sure it’s the red advertising, NOT THE FACT THAT YOU’RE GETTING FAST FOOD WHILE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING, that’s behind that holiday weight gain.)

Or my personal favorite ridiculous Christmas eating tip online: “Eat with a small group when you can. One study found that dining with six or more people can cause you to eat 76 percent more, most likely because the meal can last so long.”

What if you have 24 first cousins like I do, huh? Realsimple.com = the anti-Catholic.

But while most tips I found online made me cringe at their absurdity, there are a few pieces of advice I’d say are, in fact, worth keeping in mind as you enter Christmas Week. They’re not going to see you shedding the pounds, no, but keeping them in mind as you rock around the Christmas tree could help you do the only thing you should be aiming for weightwise between Advent and New Years — maintenance.

So without further ado, here’s my list of achievable, sustainable, non-misery-inducing holiday eating tips.

Indulge in your seasonal favorites, but skip the snacks you could have any time of the year. Seriously, which of these sounds wrong to you? “I really shouldn’t, but it’s Christmas Eve, so I’m going to treat myself to a piece of Gram’s mincemeat pie.” vs. “I really shouldn’t, but it’s Christmas Eve, so I’m going to treat myself to these Cool Ranch Doritos.” Skip the extra calories without any seasonal significance, and save room for that favorite fruitcase instead.

Offer to contribute your own dish. If you aren’t hosting the holiday party or dinner yourself, plan to bring along an appetizer or side to add to the spread — and make it something on the healthier side. That way, as you’re overfilling your plate because you have more than six friends (ahem), at least you’ll know one dish along the buffet won’t completely undo a year’s worth of good eating. Could be a plate of crudite and hummus, or a side of roasted Brussels sprouts, or even a healthier version of a holiday classic, so long as you know exactly how many sticks of butter went into it.

Commit to getting out and moving every day. You don’t have to sign on for a holiday streak like this stubborn runner, but resolving to do one active thing a day between Christmas and New Years is a great way to undo the previous night’s damage. Whether it’s taking your younger cousins sledding or playing some touch footfall or walking the dog around the block, getting your heart beating again is the best way to counteract that gallon of gravy you drank the night before.

The truth is, the holidays come once a year, and they’re a time for celebration, not calorie counting. But I know from experience laying in bed holding your stretched-out stomach in agony isn’t the best way to ring in the new year either, which is why I advocate exercising a little (but not too much) moderation this holiday season. That, and getting a fur cover-up before spring break.

What is your best tip for maintaining healthy habits during the most gluttonous time of the year?

Ice Ice Baby

There are a handful of things I’m afraid of all year long – giving blood, centipedes, the monstrosities that will be the new Star Wars trilogy – but at least one of my top trepidations only pops up on a seasonal basis: ice.

Don’t get me wrong: There are plenty of appropriate uses for ice, from ice cream to ice baths to the Mighty Ducks’ epic triumph over Iceland in D2’s climactic result. Without ice, there’d be no polar bears, no bobsledding and nothing to avoid in third world countries, plus rapper Robert Matthew Van Winkle would be just plain vanilla.

But while water in a frozen state may have its place, when it comes to covering my city in a slick layer of danger, it’s simply not welcome. Unfortunately, it’s three days in and it doesn’t seem to be getting the hint.

I imagine nearly everyone isn’t a big fan of ice covering his or her sidewalk, but this petrified New Yorker in particular slows to a crawl as soon as the temperature drops below freezing. Blame my terrible eyesight or my terrible balance or my terrible luck, but if there’s ice within 10 feet of me, history shows I’ll always locate it and always slip on it and always teach the neighborhood children a new string of expletives during my fall from grace/a standing position. You’re welcome, Upper East Side moms.

Strap ice-skates to my feet and I’m still shaking in my (sharp) booties as soon as I step onto the rink. Don’t let this apparent smile fool you. This, my friends, is what you call sheer and utter terror.

Also the face I made when Disney bought LucasFilm.

During the icy weeks of winter, I’d normally hang up my running shoes and bask in the glory of my unsprained ankles as far from the sidewalks as possible. But with this being the penultimate week of my holiday running streak, throwing in the towel simply isn’t an option. Ice or no ice, the run must go on. The question is how.

Over the weather-filled weekend, I initially tried to run outside, and found my cautious self moving slower than a Terrence Malick film. So I did the unthinkable: I moved my workout inside. If you’ve been reading my blog awhile, you know I hate the treadmill more than I hate 30 Rock at Christmas, but with my ill will toward ice even stronger, the machine somehow won out.

And you know what? It hasn’t been that bad. Sure, I haven’t been logging the mileage I’d like – in fact, I’ve yet to run more than 2.2 miles in one session since I’ve been forced indoors – but at least I’m maintaining my streak this frigid week without the neck brace to prove it.

It may not look like much, but this, dear friends, is visual proof that in the battle of man vs. ice, man has won. And that’s something worth celebrating with an ~~ice-cold~~ lukewarm beer.

How do you maintain fitness when the weather outside is frightful?

A Sick Joke

As I enter the second full week of my first-ever running streak, I’m beginning to feel increasingly like Job. No, not Steve Jobs, the American entrepreneur and inventor who I understand dates Mila Kunis. We’re talking Job of biblical fame, who encountered one setback after another (stubbed toe, mass family burial, etc.) at the hands of infamous Steelers fan Lucifer B. Satan.

To be fair, I haven’t watched everyone I love die in agonizing hellfire this week, but I have encountered challenge after challenge as I aim to keep my running streak alive: My workday began to start an hour earlier (but I kept streaking), then I had a terrible bout of insomnia (but I kept streaking), then winter weather blew into the Eastern Seaboard, making it increasingly tempting to stay curled up in bed.

But I kept streaking.

Each time I battled the odds and made it out the door to run, I started to feel a little more like Lt. Dan hoisted up in the lines on Forrest’s shrimping boat as Hurricane Carmen battered the Gulf Coast. The world was throwing everything it could at me, and I just kept on streaking. I could practically hear my battle cry: “You’ll never sink this boat!”

And that’s when it hit me: the 24-hour stomach flu. We’re talking painful cramps, projectile vomiting and an entire night shivering on the bathroom floor. Not quite what Shaggy had in mind.

My stomach had calmed itself by Wednesday sun-up, but the illness had already wrecked havoc on my hydration levels, leaving my poor head feeling terribly hungover without any of the social perks from the evening before. I slowly added water back into my diet around 9 a.m., then Gatorade around noon, then bland food in the early afternoon, but I was left pondering the inevitable: Would my streak at last be broken?

In our age of digital crowd-sourcing, I decided to seek out some help as I struggled to answer that question. As I began to feel better as early evening approached, I started to think a run was possible and my streak need not be broken, so I first polled another diehard runner in hopes she’d give me the advice I was looking for. Her thoughtful reply was just what I expected:

“Do it. Bring some water with you. One loop around the reservoir. Or run to the park, walk the reservoir and go home. The fresh air will be good for you. Worst comes to worst, you puke on the side of the road and you run home. Still counts, right?”

It’s probably the same advice I would have given, and it’s exactly what my stubborn self wanted to hear. But as I found myself feeling increasingly worse as I slowly went to lace up, I decided I needed a second opinion. So I reached out to my very sympathetic and occasionally procrastination-prone sister, who suggested a postponement might be in order:

“I’d imagine you don’t get to doctor’s note yourself out of a streak, but I heavily support the Saint Nicholas Eve Dec. 5-Epiphany Streak. (a.k.a. the Wise Man Dash.)”

With one yes vote and one motion to table but my body suddenly wanting a plea bargain out of my contract, I decided to seek out the one voice I knew would instruct me to take it easy — my dad:

“It would be unwise to do so and unfair to sidewalk people upon whom you vomit for the sake of principle. The Father absolves you from your running today.”

I had collected input from all sides of the table — or so I thought — when one more late-breaking text came through: a two-line reply from a very dear friend to my earlier wails of misery.

“Feel better!” she wrote. “A one-mile day?”

I hadn’t yet used any one-mile days since beginning my streak, but suddenly, that compromise suggestion seemed like just the solution. So I got dressed, ran ten comically slow blocks south, did a 180, and slowly jogged home, where I treated myself to some victory pepto before high tailing it back to bed.

Was going for a run — albeit a very short one — 24 hours after a stomach bug a smart move or a stubborn one? Maybe both. But I knew if I broke it once, I’d be hard pressed not to cheat on my streak again, and that wasn’t a risk this hard-headed runner was willing to take.

Of course, I’m not the only stubborn one in this family.

How is your training faring this illness-prone season?

Rule Breaker

I tend to think of rules as falling into two distinct categories: the unbreakable vow variety of Severus-Narcissa fame and the bendable, grey-area ones that are more like suggestions than hard and fast canon.

Deciding which rules are breakable and which have some flexibility is a very individual choice, but for me, the line falls somewhere around here. No intravenous drug use? Unbreakable. No swimming less than 30 minutes after eating? More of a suggestion. No infidelity? Unbreakable. Not eating cookie dough for breakfast? More of a suggestion. Vowing never to see another Tolkien film? Unbreakable. Keeping your dog well groomed in the off season?

Clearly a suggestion.

Whenever I’m training for a new distance or big race, be it the July triathlon that wasn’t or last month’s New York City Marathon, I always download a training schedule that I intend to follow exactly – no cheating! – and for the most part, do, especially for the first few weeks. I wake up early. I log every mile. I’m disciplined and focused and stick to the plan, with my workout routine falling into that first category of rules: unbreakable.

And then something inevitably happens – a hangover, a cold, a Property Brothers marathon on HGTV – and I allow myself to skip one scheduled workout. It’s just one 3-miler. I tell myself. You’ll get back out there tomorrow like you never even missed it.

Does my training suffer from missing one 25-minute workout three months before the marathon? Probably not, at least in the physical sense. But mentally, breaking that training schedule just one single time relocates it from that sacred, unbreakable category to a dangerous grey area. Suddenly, with that one act of flexibility, my training shifts from unwavering to bendable, and skipping another workout the following week becomes significantly easier. Breaking your own rules is a slippery slope, kids, and it can lead to missed PRs and hobbits. And probably heroine.

It’s with this idea in mind – that a once-bent rule is easier to break – that I begin my first full working week as a running streaker. Logging at least a mile a day during my four-day visit to Baltimore was easy, as the weather was clear, my schedule was clearer and I had the best darn running partner on that side of the Mason-Dixon Line.

But when I arrive back in the city tomorrow, getting out the door before sun-up every single day is going to be a far more trying commitment, and not just because I’ll be doing it solo. Some days I’ll be tired, some days I’ll be sore and – eventually, if I keep this up through Christmas – some days I’ll be lacing up in the snow. Streaking isn’t going to be easy.

But you know what? Easy or not, it might just be worth it. So here’s to relegating it to that unbreakable category and leaving it there, at least for the next 24 days. I might chicken out and do the bear minimum – one mile – more times this upcoming month than I’d like to admit, but at least I vow to do it, no ifs, ands or butts.

So here we go. 24 days and counting – both until I can stop streaking and until I get to see this beast again.

Of course, when I see her, I might want to take her on a Christmas morning run, and the streak might press on. If you give a mouse a cookie…

What rules won’t you break?

Naked Ambition

I’ve made a lot of questionable wardrobe choices since launching my running career, from cat ears to tutus to goldendoodle handbags.

But there’s at least one growing workout trend I’ve yet to try: Streaking.

“And it’s going to stay that way, young lady!” I hear my father saying now as he replaces the flattering spandex gear I requested for Christmas with ankle-covering, Mormon-approved, streak-free racing get-ups.

No, silly old bear, I don’t mean streaking streaking. I mean completing a running streak: or committing to run at least one mile every single day for a predetermined period of time — and then actually following through, regardless of weather, aches or professional obligations. If you ask me, this kind of streaking seems far more terrifying than the kind of the nudist variety.

I’ve heard about running streaks before — usually in the context of “Old Man Marley killed his family with a snow shovel and has run every day for the last six months! Six months!” — but I only started to consider doing one myself upon reading Marc Parent’s column in December’s issue of Runner’s World magazine.

The piece, which you can read in full here, chronicles his first running streak, in which he logged miles every single day between Thanksgiving and Christmas after a crazy neighbor talked him into it. “I’ll do it,” he recalls saying out loud to no one in the room. “A running streak is a deal you make with only yourself.”

And for Marc, the experience proved fruitful, particularly considering the lack of fruits — or plethora of fruitcakes — we all tend to devour in this month-long period each year.

“You do almost anything every day for four weeks and you start to get good at it. I no longer got tired on a run. I found out legs don’t hurt on days off when you never take a day off. You never feel guilty about the run you don’t take when you take them all. You don’t have favorite running clothes—you have whatever is clean and whatever works, which is whatever you happen to grab when you reach into the drawer. Individual runs are not important, but running as a whole feels more so. One morning I completed a long run without ever breathing faster than a resting pace. Once I came home after an exceptionally cold run and looked in the mirror at the icicles on my eyelashes and thought, I am officially as crazy a runner as anyone I’ve ever made fun of. Then I took a hot shower and dressed up and looped a belt around my waist and hooked the buckle on the smallest hole — a new hole on a belt I’ve had for more than 10 years.”

His column spoke to me, especially since after crossing that marathon finish line earlier this month, I’ve found getting out the door in the mornings to be a major challenge. Part of that is my self-diagnosed runner’s knee that’s transforming each hard run recovery into an agonizing nightmare, and part of that is my new earlier start time at work, but I’m positive a not minor component of my post-race lethargy is just good old-fashioned letdown after the thrill of the race.

Don’t believe me? Just check out my November running log. Looks embarrassingly like Kansas.

The truth is, a running streak may be a terrible idea for me this December, since I know my work days are going to be jam-packed and my park precariously icy. On the other hand, a running streak may be just the kick I need to get my mind back in the game and body ready for the new year.

Either way, I’m definitely kicking off the holiday season with a 5K Turkey Trot in Maryland tomorrow, so I’ve already got one day covered. Here’s hoping I can pry myself out of bed on Friday morning, too — and for the next 40 days. It’s just like Lent, but colder, and without the promise of Cadbury Creme Eggs at the end. (Remind me why I’m doing this again?)

Ah well, it’s in writing, so I guess I’m committed. Let the fully clothed streaking begin! Who’s with me?

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

I don’t know much about orbits – unless you’re talking about the 1990s fad soda that I so desperately wanted to drink/chew – but my limited planetary background tells me the world has started spinning faster.

From take-out dinners edging out home-cooked meals to online holiday shopping replacing an entire day at the mall to each subsequent Vin Diesel/Paul Walker masterpiece, everything in our accelerating modern environment appears to be happening ever faster. And, in the case of the latter, furiouser.

Of course, that’s not always a bad thing. Speed has a definite place in our lives, from plowing through Times Square at rush hour to clocking a new PR in a road race to fast-forwarding through that eternally painful Laura Linney/Karl-our-enigmatic-chief-designer make-out scene in Love Actually. No thank you, Richard Curtis. I’ll just skip ahead to the Portuguese proposal scene, thankyouverymuch.

But while speed has its advantages, there are at least a handful of situations where it’s worthwhile to slow down. New relationships, for example, or learning to drive, or when participating in Pamplona’s annual running of the goldendoodles. That’s one stampede where it pays to get caught.

Slowing down is also crucial on the long-distance race course, as you may recall from volume two of things I wish I’d done differently during the NYC marathon.

But it’s equally – if not more – important in the days, weeks and even months after crossing that finish line.

If you’re anything like me, you took your marathon training pretty seriously for four solid months, from the tame Friday nights to the Saturday long runs to the daily all-you-can-eat bagel extravaganzas. Oh, that’s not supposed to be part of training until the final week? Whoops.

But while I was shockingly disciplined in the months leading up to my race, I can’t say the same about recovery. By some coaches’ accounts, runners should plan one day of rest for each mile covered, meaning 26 days without a hard workout after crossing that finish line. Other experts go further still, recommending a day off for each kilometer, or 42 straight days of low-impact fitness post-race. Both sounded a bit extreme to me – heck, some people run back-to-back marathons each week – so I laced up three days after the race in an attempt to log a couple of miles and get my running back on track. I figured I’d run a few miles Wednesday, a few more Friday, and that I’d be back to double digits by Sunday afternoon.

Still in race mindset, I felt fully prepared to go out fast when it came to my recovery. My body, however, had different plans. Primarily, converting my knee caps into burning orbs of pain.

As I retuned home from those first four post-race miles and found myself suddenly unable to make it up my stairs without howling in agony, I quickly realized that I was not, in fact, immune to the strain that a marathon reportedly puts your muscles and joints through. That first run post-marathon left my knees reeling, and with ice and ibuprofen doing little to ease the pain, I was forced to do the one thing my barely recovered body was so desperately seeking: I slowed down. And not just for a day. These aching legs took off a solid week for the first time since 2011.

Forcing ourselves to slow down in today’s fast-paced world is always hard, and hanging up my running shoes during the first week of crisp fall weather was even crueler still. But I knew a week completely off running was what I needed to get back on track, so all belly-aching aside, I did it. And just in case I might be tempted to change my mind and sneak in a few miles, I hopped a plane to the most indulgent, run-free city on this side of the Mississippi: New Orleans.

I’m not going to lie – I packed running gear – but I never even laid hands on it the entire weekend in the Big Easy. The only running I did all trip long was up to the counter to pick up my beignets.

Just kidding. They delivered them straight to my table.

My birthday trip to New Orleans was lazy and slothful and downright gluttonous, but it was also something else: just what my knees needed. I arrived back in the city yesterday with the hankering to run, and it felt just like it’s supposed to: pain-free, joyful and beignet-fueled.

It took a week away to know it for sure, but I’m finally starting to feel like I’m back.

How is your fall race recovery going? And more importantly, who is buying me this shirt for Christmas?

It’s Gonna Take Time/A Whole Lot of Precious Time

Any journalist worth her weight in ink knows clichés have no place in quality prose, but there’s a reason these overused phrases have such staying power: they oftentimes ring true.

Ever come on too strong and scared a would-be suitor away? Remember that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Felt let down after your plans fell through? Shouldn’t have counted your chickens before they hatched.
Found yourself slimed by an unruly goldendoodle after sneaking up on her mid-slumber? Best to let sleeping dogs lie.

The one that most rings true for me is from Clichés 101: Time heals all wounds. I don’t think that’s necessarily the case for shark bites or gangrene — seriously, Civil War surfer, you should get that checked out — but it certainly carries weight when it comes to love and marathons.

Let’s start with love, shall we? Because everybody loves a lover, and love makes the world go round, and it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Why yes, I do still have the webpage of most common clichés open on my browser. What gave it away?

For anyone who’s ever been through heartbreak — and that’s everyone, in one form or another — you know that while the beginning of a crush or romance or relationship is full of promise, the end is downright ruthless. No matter how amicably something may conclude, there’s no way around the fact that break-ups are about as fun as wrestling a pack of bears.

Which, actually, sounds pretty adorable to me. Let’s rephrase. No matter how amicably something may conclude, there’s no way around the fact that break-ups are about as fun as cats.

How do I know, you ask? Because 2012, may it live in infamy, encompassed for me two break-ups in as many seasons. Also, because cats are no fun.

When those relationships came to an end, I did all the things I was supposed to do — I got sleep, saw friends, ate ShakeShack, worked out — but the real elixir, I found, was none other than time herself. Watching a special friend go through the very same thing this week, I know I can throw all the ice-cream and wine her way I want (food fight!) but that there’s no magic cure to heartbreak save for the inevitable passing of days.

Fortunately, days pass quickly in the city that never sleeps, and I know she’ll be on her feet again by the time our trees are bare.

photo (88) — God, New York’s hideous in the fall.

Before she knows it, someone new and exceptional will be filling that void — inspiring her, grounding her, and smooching her sweaty post-marathon face — and the only thing between him and her is a little, silly thing called time. Trust me on that one: 2013 has been much kinder to me.

photo 3 (25) — “You smell terrible, darling.”

The tincture of time is also a powerful anecdote in another area near and dear to my heart – running. Physiologically, of course, it takes time after a marathon for your body to rebuild and recover, and these knees still haven’t forgiven me for putting them through 3:58.34 of agony a week ago today.

But more importantly, time is a crucial element psychologically when it comes to post-race recovery. The evening following my marathon, I called my sister to give her the play by play and asked her to remind me that I never, ever wanted to run another marathon again. No way, no how. I was through.

Three days later as the aches subsided, I told a colleague I was looking forward to taking off the 2014 marathon season and enjoying a real honest to god summer but might consider racing again in 2015.

Today, a friend asked if I was doing the New York Road Runner’s 9+1 again to secure guaranteed entry to next year’s New York City marathon, and the question gave me pause. The program, which lets local runners race nine city events and volunteer at one in a calendar year to gain guaranteed entry into the next year’s marathon, is how I secured my spot in this year’s race. I’ve only done seven races — I told her –– and I don’t think I have time to get in two more and a volunteer session before year-end.

But maybe I shouldn’t rule it out just yet.

And just like that, I’m starting to think about the New York City marathon again.

Olympic champion Frank Shorter once said: “You’re not ready to run another marathon until you’ve forgotten the last one.”

Turns out my short-term memory lasts one week exactly.

How is time on your side these days?

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