Riled Up Runner

Time Flies Like an Arrow (Fruit Flies Like a Banana)

As I made my way to the subway this morning without a line of sweat beading my upper lip for the first time since April (eat your heart out, boys), I was left in utter disbelief at how quickly this summer has passed me by. It seems just yesterday I was trading in my spandex pants and fleece-lined gloves for my summer running wardrobe of short shorts and singlets. With August coming precipitously close to a close, I can’t help but wonder where the heck this summer went.

Oh, that’s right. It went everywhere.

It went to five Major League Baseball games in five different cities (if you consider the Bronx and Queens different cities, which I most certainly do.)

bball2 — Rumor has it they’ve invented more high-tech software than Microsoft Paint, but I can’t be sure.

It went 257.6 miles on foot since June 1 as I ramped up mileage ahead of my first-ever marathon. The vast majority of these miles were logged on the Central Park loop, but a few dozen transpired in such far-flung locales as San Francisco, the Hamptons and this little remote oasis I’ll call Prospect Park. You’ve probably never heard of it. I sure hadn’t.

It went to rooftop bars and communal beer gardens, scandalous Texas tractor festivals and family-friendly burlesque shows. It went on first dates and second dates and the occasional something better. It went on fishing trips and brewery tours, outdoor concerts and IMAX films, lobster bakes and softball games, and, oh yeah, to Rio De Janeiro.

Psych! This picture was actually taken on Staten Island.

Most importantly, this summer went to show me I have some of the very best friends around: the kinds of friends who drop everything when you need them, whether that’s in the form of a late-night phone call from Baltimore, Boston or the Bay Area; a pint of soup or an Arnold Palmer on a particularly heartbreaking afternoon; a patient listener when my thoughts are on auto-repeat and a date to the latest Hollywood blockbuster when I’d rather not think at all.

So while the days may be shortening with each passing week, I’m not going to mourn the fact that this summer flew by faster than Rep. Todd Akin’s career prospects. Where did my summer go, you ask?

It went above and beyond my wildest expectations.

Thanks, everyone.

But enough about me. How was yours?

Redcoats and Relays

Yesterday morning, I ran a road race that really “got” me.

What does that mean? You ask. Was it a Pamplona-style running with the goldendoodles? Did Foreigner perform the post-race festivities? Did a circa-1998 Shawn Hunter – not to be confused with real-life actor Rider Strong – greet every participant at the finish line with his bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold charm and a Double ShackBurger?

Wow, readers. I’m flattered by your remarkably astute characterization of how a road race might “get me.” Flattered, and quite frankly, a little concerned.

No, this road race – the JackRabbit Battle of Brooklyn 10-Mile Relay – “got” me because instead of distributing to participants yet another XL cotton t-shirt, this race’s swag was (wait for it) a pint glass. Finally, something useful! But don’t believe me. Just ask my heightened hydration today at work.

The race itself – which took runners on three loops of Prospect Park – commemorated the first “major engagement” between the freshly formed United States of America and the British after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, I learned on Sunday. Fighting broke out on Aug. 22, 1776 and transpired from Park Slope to Brooklyn Heights in what was likely the most hipster battle of the Revolutionary War. The Americans lost, ironic eyeglasses and all, but Gen. Washington was able to escape with his remaining troops across the East River to Manhattan before proceeding to do some other less exciting things with the rest of his life that no one remembers. Poor Washington.

My race on Sunday fortunately did not result in 1,000 casualties, but it did afford me my first opportunity to run as part of a relay team. Ten miles can be daunting, but 10 miles divided up between three slightly hungover marathon hopefuls? Perfect. We crossed the finish line in 1:31.57 for an average team pace of 9:12 and then proceeded to refuel with steak and eggs as if we’d completed the entire three-loop course. And by “we,” I mean “me.” Intervention, anyone?

They didn’t break out the individual splits, but my Garmin clocked in at an average 7:59 pace, which I’d say is not too shabby considering I’d already lost a toenail during Friday night’s 15-miler. I never thought I’d say it, but for all of your sakes, thank God sandal season is coming to a close.

How is your fall marathon training progressing? Acceptable units of measurement include miles-per-week and toenails-per-foot.

I’ll Take the Long Road

If every evil villain subplot in the history of Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s that there’s always an easy way and a hard way, and the hard way makes for significantly better entertainment.

(Spoiler alerts ahead, although, honestly, you really should have seen all these movies by now.)

Why destroy Gotham in one fell swoop when you can detonate a fusion bomb with a five-month countdown? Why use your superpowers to cripple The Avengers when you can devise a roundabout plan to get Bruce Banner angry? Why kill infant Simba when you can exile him from the Pridelands with the hope he doesn’t make a triumphant third-act return as an adult lion to retake his place as rightful king?

Likewise, there’s an easy way and a hard way home to my apartment after work. The easy way involves three stops on an express train for a total travel time of about 18 minutes. The hard way involves multiple treks across Manhattan’s suspension bridges for a total travel time of about 145 minutes. Last Friday night, I opted for the latter, and tomorrow, I’m planning a reprise.

What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.

That, and I’m eight weeks into marathon training. Though really, I think we can all agree those are pretty much the same thing.

My past experiences with run-commuting – awkwardly dubbed runnuting by this wordsmith – have been largely negative: changing at work, weaving through tourists, regretting my stomach-annihilating lunch decisions. But with enough planning, I’ve learned a double-digit post-work runnute is not only achievable; it’s actually preferable to a Saturday morning long run. That’s because a Saturday morning long run destroys an entire weekend – early to bed on Friday night and exhausted on Saturday night – while a Friday long run preserves the promise of a real, honest-to-god Saturday night on the town.

Or Sunday afternoon on the town. Whatever.

Both of these extra-large beers may or may not have belonged to this girl. I’ll let you be the judge.

For anyone else considering making the switch, here are my tips:

PACK AHEAD. You’ll want to bring the bare minimum with you to work and wear clothes you don’t mind leaving in your desk drawer for an entire weekend. Last Friday, I arrived at work with the following in a reusable bag:

Metro card/workplace ID/license/credit card/$20, all cinched together with a hair tie, instead of a full-blown wallet.
Running shorts/tank/bra/socks/shoes/headband.
iPhone.
GUs.
House keys.
Running belt with small pocket to hold all of the above while I made my way home.

EAT THOUGHTFULLY. Traditionally a morning runner, I’m not used to logging miles with anything more than the previous night’s dinner in my stomach. That means I had to remain mindful as I snacked throughout the day ahead of my evening long run. I opted for a normal breakfast; an early, carby lunch; and a light snack about an hour before the workday ended. When I got home at 9 p.m. after logging 14 miles, I also proceeded to eat the entire contents of my refrigerator. No big deal.

PLAN YOUR ROUTE CAREFULLY. Running up Lexington Ave. or down Wall Street or through Times Square at rush hour is a surefire way to ruin your life. Opt instead for the East or West Side highways or the less-traversed avenues like 1^st Ave or 10^th Ave. And whether or not you have a Garmin, plot your course before leaving the office, or you may find yourself 14-miles in and still in Brooklyn. And I can imagine no worse fate.

PARTY HARD ON SATURDAY. Seriously. Make it worth the hurt.

First Things First

As Curiosity touched down on Mars’ surface last week—marking the fourth NASA unmanned surface rover to explore the red planet since 1996—I was struck by how few firsts my generation has experienced.

Sure, Generation Y has lived through some momentous and empowering firsts, from the United States’ first black president to the country’s first legalized same-sex marriage to Cory and Topanga’s first onscreen kiss, but when compared to the series of subsequent firsts lived by my parents’ generation, the Millennials’ cut seems pretty paltry indeed.

Take my father, for example. Born in 1953, this man has lived through cultural first after first after first, from the civil rights movement to music to breakthroughs in technology. Just considering the space race alone, the Baby Boomer generation was awarded one first after another for decades.

Oct. 4, 1957: USSR launches first artificial earth satellite.
May 5, 1961: Alan Shepard becomes the first American in space.
July 20, 1969: Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin become the first men to walk on the Moon. The moon!

Compare that line-up to my generation’s most memorable firsts:

June 2, 1992: Lisa Frank releases her first line of Trapper Keepers.

You get my point.

Living as a 26-year-old New Yorker with quite a few life experiences already under belt, I’m often struck with the same feeling on an individual scale: that the vast majority of my notable firsts are already behind me. First kiss? Hey there, middle school boyfriend. First drink? Hey there, Smirnoff Ice in some parents’ basement. First lady? Hey there, Michelle Obama.

Fortunately, this summer spent training for my first marathon has afforded me the opportunity to once again experience firsts on a nearly weekly basis. And it’s a glorious feeling.

On Friday night, I forwent a night on the town to run my first ever 14-mile run. I changed at work (note: applying body glide to your inner thighs while sitting in your cubicle may or may not be OK by HR standards), set my watch and made my way to the East River. And then I just ran.

My route took me down to 14^th St., over the Williamsburg Bridge and back, up 1^st Ave., back to the East River Promenade into Spanish Harlem and then home.

It wasn’t particularly fast and it wasn’t particularly pretty, but clocking in at a full 0.9 miles longer than my previous record, it was particularly new. And with 15 miles on the schedule this Saturday, working up to 20 by the first weekend of October, I can bask in the knowledge that this well-lived runner has at least a handful of more firsts in her immediate future.

And once these new firsts are behind me? Well, then I’ll just have to learn to take pleasure in seconds. Because if life has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes the second, or fourth, or fiftieth time around is even better than the first. And this 26-year old fortunately has a lot of fiftieths still ahead.

What notable first is coming up for you? Leave me a comment telling me about it, and then come back and let me know when you’ve accomplished it. If you do, I’ll toast you with a Smirnoff Ice, in some parents’ basement.

Running: Taking its Toll on Your Wallet and Knees

Somewhere along the line, we’ve collectively consented to accept a series of seemingly harmless lies as fact.

Swallow gum and it will stay in your digestive track for seven years. Daddy longlegs are the world’s most poisonous spiders but their mouths are too small to bite humans. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

One more myth to add to the list: Running is the cheapest sport around.

We’ve all heard it before. “All you need is a pair of sneakers!” Unlike any number of athletic pastimes that demand the purchase of rackets or bats or sticks or balls, running is said to be an activity that you can add to your collection of hobbies with little more investment than a quick raid of your existing shoe rack.

Oh, sweet, simple world. It’s time we stop disseminating these lies.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m fairly certain running is a cheaper sport than, say, equestrianism. But to contend that all you need is a pair of shoes is a bit of false advertising. Although there do exist minimalist runners, I certainly am not one, as evidenced by the piles of spillover spandex lining my window sills. From satellite watches to high-tech shirts to anti-chaffing body glide (stay sexy, runners), the sheer accumulation of gear quickly takes its toll on any runner’s (wicking) wallet.

And that’s in addition to the shoes. But just one pair won’t do. According to Runner’s World contributing editor David Kuehls, when it comes to pairs of $100+ footwear, an aspiring marathon runner needs – count ’em – three.

“To train for a 4-hour marathon, I recommend three pairs,” he writes in 4 Months to a 4-Hour Marathon. “You need two pairs to rotate during training. … Then, three weeks before the marathon, put (a) third pair of shoes into the rotation.”

I hadn’t been heeding Ol’ Dave’s advice, but with my ASICS Gel-Neo33s starting to lose their bounce after carrying me 485.8 miles since February (costing me 22/cents a mile, my nerdy running log calculates), I decided it was time to add a few new pairs into the rotation. My ASICS have served me well, so rather than gambling on a new model altogether, I opted for two new pairs of Gel-Neo33s in the most obnoxiously bright colors possible. Because we all know wearing neon makes you run faster. It’s science.

I’ve also recently stocked up on 100-calorie energy gels to carry with me on long runs and throw back after every 45 minutes of exercise. At $1.25 a pop, they’re not prohibitively expensive, but with 10 weeks of double-digit Saturday long runs in my immediate future, these sugar-filled bad boys are going to start costing a pretty penny. Luckily, they taste like cake icing, making the all-around experience a positive one.

Fortunately, although marathon training has started to become a rather expensive hobby, I’ve been able to largely counteract the added spend by doing awesome New York activities for free. Like going to city museums at no cost during the first weekend of the month as a Bank of America card holder (note: Visiting the New York Hall of Science without a small child makes you feel super creepy). Or making our own chocolate-covered frozen bananas instead of buying the Trader Joe’s ones for an exorbitant $1.29 a box (note: If you put me in charge of this process, very few actual bananas will make it onto the serving platter instead of my mouth). Or going to free outdoor Williamsburg block parties (note: Real hipsters wear Indian headdresses.)

Runners: Any tips for keeping the costs associated with our sport to a minimum? Non-runners: Start running! All you need is a pair of sneakers!

Negativity for the Win

The official race results are in, and while I’m pleased as heck to have knocked a full six minutes off my half marathon PR on what was undeniably the hilliest course of my life, the results show me something else that makes me even prouder: I negative split the course.

For all you non-runners out there, negative splitting — the less delicious cousin of banana splitting — is racing the second half of a course faster than the first.

As American Olympian Jeff Galloway writes in this Runner’s World column:

“Anyone can and should run negative splits. Unfortunately, most runners don’t. Instead, they start in a near sprint, hang on through the middle and resort to a survivor’s shuffle at the end. In contrast, those who opt for negative splits patiently run a bit slower for the first third of a run, pick up the pace in the middle and finish with strength and speed.”

Trust me when I say I know this so-called “survivor’s shuffle well.”

That is, I did until Sunday’s race. Don’t get me wrong: I wanted to go out sprinting, and even went so far as to begin my characteristic surge-weave tactics during the first half mile in proper novice style. But fortunately, I was not running this particular race alone, and my much smarter veteran running friend urged me to save my energy for when I’d really need it (i.e. climbing the incline of the Golden Gate Bridge, twice.) Eat your heart out Oakland: she’s beautiful AND wise.

But negative splitting wasn’t the only thing I learned during my four-day stint in the Bay Area. Here’s a brief selection of some other life lessons I internalized while on West Coast time:

1. All beer is made from four main ingredients. And all visitors to the Pyramid Brewery in Berkeley have to wear hairnets under their hardhats. Hot.

2. The Full House house is not, in fact, one of the official Painted Ladies. Also, Jesse and the Rippers are apparently not still on tour in the Bay Area.

3. Shirtless men in ram heads make any pre-race expo a memorable one.

4. Camden Yards is still the very best ballpark, but the views from AT&T aren’t too shabby. The black and orange uniforms don’t hurt for this O’s fan, either.

5. Going out for ice cream immediately after breakfast is totally acceptable when you’re still on East Coast time.

6. Brooklyn is to Manhattan 10 years ago as Oakland is to SanFran now. My investment advice: buy property in Oakland today and watch the neighborhood transform into Park Slope before your eyes. Don’t believe me? Believe this Brooklyn-esk cocktail bar — complete with indoor bocce — on Telegraph. Hello, Union Hall.

7. I tell the world’s funniest jokes, judging by this photo.

8. I need to make it back to the Bay Area stat.

What did you learn this weekend? “Redeye flights are the worst” totally counts, she wrote at 6 a.m. fresh off the plane

Be Sure to Wear Some Flowers in Your Hair

You know what I hate? When you show up at a party and some bitch is wearing the same exact outfit.

Of course, by hate, I mean love. And by party, I mean half marathon. And by bitch, I mean best friend for almost 21 years. So basically, that whole sentence was completely incorrect. Like a former high school classmate of mine, English isn’t really my strong suit.

This morning, my lifelong friend Meredith and I woke up at the totally normal hour of 3:30 a.m., dressed in matching t-shirts, and made our way from Oakland to downtown San Francisco for our race‘s 5:30 a.m. wave start. Why? Because we are masochistic human beings and sleep deprivation sounded like the best way to spend my West Coast vacation. And because wearing matching outfits makes holding hands as you sprint across the finish line totally acceptable as 26-year-old women.

No? Moving on then.

This morning’s race was my third half marathon to date (and Mere’s ninth. No big deal.) The course took us out and back across the Golden Gate Bridge, making it 1. iconically gorgeous and 2. one hilly mother of a climb. Seriously, why doesn’t anyone ever tell you this city isn’t flat?

Despite our lack of sleep, the mountainous cliffs and my devastating loss of a jolly roger hair ribbon mid-course, we ended up finishing in under 1:55 (still waiting on the official results), meaning a new PR for me! (And just a jaunt in the park – literally – for my girl Meredith over here.)

I was feeling super proud of myself – that is, until a college classmate of mine who I didn’t even know was registered had to go and WIN the full marathon. It’s cool, Nate. I’m sure I taught you everything you know about running and marathons and stuff. If you need help spending your cash prize, I could chip in there, too.

Easing the pain of defeat? The Irish coffee being distributed at the finish line. Whiskey at 7:30 a.m. truly is the San Francisco treat.

We’re now fed, showered and back in bed, storing up enough energy to hit up a brewery tour in Berkley this afternoon. And by brewery, I definitely mean brewery.

Anyone else PR this weekend? Nate and/or Michael Phelps, I’m talking to you.

Summertime and the Livin’s Freebie

Don’t let my recent expedition to the Hamptons fool you: a born and raised penny-pincher, I’m a sucker for a good deal.

A wine-tasting groupon? No question. NYC Restaurant Week? Twice a year like clockwork. A three-pack of grand pianos? Count me in.

Fortunately, Manhattan and its surrounding boroughs in the summertime are a prime place to put my intrinsic frugality to good use. That’s because – despite what the Kardashian sisters* may lead you to believe – you can fill your social calendar to the brim in this city without spending a dime.

*inserted for SEO purposes.

Any New Yorker worth his weight in cab fare has spent an evening picnicking at the New York Philharmonic’s free summer concert series, but did you know classical music under the stars is just one of hundreds of low- or no-cost events hosted by Bloomberg and friends each year?

Don’t get me wrong: I love Tchaikovsky and condoned outdoor drinking as much as the next kid, but you know what else I love? 1995-era Paul Rudd. That’s right, folks. If you live in the city of New York, you can watch Clueless on the big screen at the Brooklyn Bridge Park tonight for absolutely free. (Unless you publicly tear up when Tai and Travis get together, in which case, it will cost you something: your dignity.)

And that’s just one night at one park in one borough. For a full list of city-sanctioned freebie activities, check out this helpful list compiled by our friends at NYC.gov. Or if clicking a link is too challenging, check out my compilation of highlights below:

Thursday, August 2: Watch Wet Hot American Summer at Brooklyn Bridge Park at sundown. What’s that? You’re already young-Paul-Rudded out for the summer? Shame on you.
Friday, August 3: Watch Jurassic Park on the deck of the Intrepid. Jump out of your seat in terror when the Dilophosaurus has her big scene.
Monday, August 20: Watch Raiders of the Lost Ark on the Bryant Park lawn during the HBO Summer Film Festival. In case you’re reading this, Harrison, know that you’ll always have my heart.

But – despite my apparent selection bias – it’s not just outdoor movies that make up the bulk of the city’s free summer events. This summer, my intra-city travels have taken me all over. Two highlights that you should be sure to check out:

Books Beneath the Bridge, an outdoor literature series featuring a New York author reading an excerpt from his book, answering questions and posing for awkward photos with book clubs.

Amor Towles, author of super lovely “Rules Of Civility,” is always cool around the ladies.

Smorgasburg, a Saturday afternoon culinary “flea market” on the Williamsburg waterfront.

This look says: “I may be a badass helicopter pilot, but I get angry when some hipster puts fermented fruit peel in my lemonade.”

Alright, New Yorkers: when it comes to must-do free summer activies, what am I missing?

Murphy’s Law

You know those weekends when everything that could possibly go wrong does?

Like you wake up early for your 11-mile long run and it’s excruciatingly hot out?

Or a surprise Nor’easter forces you inside for two straight days?

Or the friends you’re traveling with turn out to be absolutely no fun whatsoever?

Yes, you know those kinds of weekends? Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Because I don’t. The only bad thing about this weekend was that it had to come to an end. Seriously, the hardest choices we had to make in the Hamptons were whether to lay by the ocean or the pool (correct answer: both), how many kinds of meat to grill at dinner Saturday night (correct answer: five) and which version of ‘Call Me Maybe’ to get irreversibly stuck in our heads for 36 consecutive hours (correct answer: the one feat. Cookie Monster).

Oh, I guess there was one downside to my weekend in Amagansett with two of my best friends ever: none of us were able to get even remotely tan, you know, because of the terrible weather and everything.

Really though: Next weekend is going to have a tough act to follow. Luckily, something tells me this girl is up for the challenge. Bring it, SanFran.

How’d you make the most of your weekend? And can we all agree that “You, cookie-showing, and me hunger growing. Let’s get skim milk flowing. We’ll start this snack going baby.’ is even catchier than the original? Yes? Good. I knew I liked you.

Save the Date

I’ve always been a planner. When I was in grade school, I’d spend all day Friday planning my evening TGIF snack. (Let it be known that my nuclear family may have singlehandedly kept Klondike Bars in business from 1990 through 1996).

When I was in six grade, I’d spend entire school weeks planning my Friday free-dress-day outfit. (Let it be known that when you’re a 5’10”+ 11-year-old, pretty much anything you select is destined to be comically awkward.)

When I was five, I’d spend contemplative afternoons planning my dream wedding to Michelangelo of mutant turtle fame, which – oh yeah – actually transpired with a stuffed animal version of my betrothed in spring 1991 before a number of camera-bearing witnesses.

The blushing bride. Really though – where did I get a wedding dress in 1991?

(Let it be known that we’ve never technically filed for divorce, so sorry boys and/or Rafael: I guess I’m off the market.)

But while forward thinking has always been a part of my life, I’ve never before planned out a major life event a full 16+ months in advance. That is, until now.

I may be in my fourth week of training for the Marine Corps Marathon in October, but my sights are actually set on another race even further in the distance: the ING New York City Marathon.

But isn’t the NYC Marathon the weekend directly after the MCM? How are your aching legs ever going to survive two back-to-back 26.2 milers? And why are you pretending to write from your readers’ point of view? Is this some kind of lame literary device? Stop it. You aren’t Jim Gaffigan.

Let me clarify. The big race on my radar is the ING New York City Marathon – in 2013.

The idea of devising a race plan more than a full year in advance may sound like crazy talk, but to any other resident New York runner, the concept is a familiar one: run nine NYRR-scored races and volunteer at one during the course of a calendar year and gain automatic entry into the NYC Marathon the following year. The 9+1 program is a staple in most New York runners’ bag of tricks.

I’ve already completed my nine races for the year (show off), and on Saturday, I woke up at 6 a.m. to volunteer at the Central Park Conservancy Run for Central Park 4-miler. My friend Leigh-Ann serendipitously happened to be in the same volunteer group, and we happen to look killer in neon orange vests, making it a successful morning all around.

But more importantly, as of Saturday morning, I’ve fulfilled my 9+1 requirements. That’s right, folks. That means:

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