Art of Disguise: Sneaking Vegetables Into a Carb-Lover’s Diet

I might as well be watching Game of Thrones, blasting EDM and owning a cat I so hardly recognize myself: for the last several months, I’ve eaten ZERO vegetables. (Fine, zero may be an overstatement, but it’s been capped at, like, six total bites.)

Once a staple of my diet – I’ve literally been known to call kale chips my favorite food – vegetables have totally lost their luster for me this winter. And you can’t really blame me: New York City isn’t particularly known for its farm-fresh produce this time of year.

The farmers’ markets have been hawking nothing but cabbage, onions and last fall’s potatoes, and the perfect summer tomato is still a full fiscal quarter away. (Don’t @ me. I know its actually a fruit.) I even asked my west coast bestie to stop sending me salad recipes calling for “fresh spring greens” out of crippling jealousy. Bib lettuce may be paving the streets of San Francisco but it’s still an unattainable luxury in this concrete jungle where it definitely doesn’t yet feel like May.

But I’m wearing my spring bandana!

But (wo)man cannot live on carbs/meat/dairy/fruit alone, and I know I’ve got to find a way to add more veggies into my diet whether or not the arugula seeds I planted in my upstate garden ever poke through. Even if the off-season variety is boring as all heck, they’re still crucial for the fiber, nutrients and reduced risk of chronic diseases they provide, and I’ve got to convince myself to eat some.

So I’ve been doing everything I can to add more vegetables into my diet, or — let’s be honest — treating myself like a four year old in a bid to disguise all the healthy stuff I’m sneaking past my lips. For example:

  • To trick myself into eating carrots, I made this “carrot cake” smoothie, which, weirdly, was surprisingly good.

  • To trick myself into eating cauliflower, I made this cauliflower-crust pizza, which would have been better covered in pepperoni and/or build on top of a real pizza crust.

  • To trick myself into eating kale and sweet potatoes, I doused my Dig Inn “salad” in mac and cheese (no regrets.) 

Fortunately, my local upstate farmers’ market reopens on Sunday after a dark four-month hiatus, and hopefully it inspires me to love green things all over again. But in the meantime, at least I’ve been getting my green in other ways…

How do YOU sneak more vegetables into your meals?


Yes, All Women Runners

Heads up: this isn’t a blog post about puppies and daisies and fireflies and food. This is a blog post about how two of the characteristics that define me most – being a runner and being a woman – sometimes together mean that I feel extremely unsafe on my own city’s streets. If that’s too heavy for you, I recommend you click out to this link instead and spend the next 5 minutes reflecting on how bad my niece looks as a lion. Cause it’s about to get real.

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for some time, but today just felt like the right day. I can’t be sure, but mayyyybe it has something to do with someone on deck to possibly be the most powerful person in the world saying it’s OK to grab women’s bodies without their consent. Ah, the power of the live mic.

As a runner, I spend sometimes upwards of 10 hours a week on my own in New York City’s streets, often in the early hours before sunrise or as dusk settles after a full day of work. Since I’m usually running in the dark, I stay on the sidewalks, follow the traffic patterns, leave my music at home and always look both ways – even on one-way roads. So you could say I’m a pretty safe runner.

But I don’t always feel safe. That’s because every now and then, as I’m sweating up a storm during my much coveted solo time, I get harassed.

That harassment takes any number of forms. Sometimes it’s a leering old man yelling “Nice legs!” as I make my way up the Queensboro Bridge. Sometimes it’s a “Damn, girl. Wish you’d run to me that fast” as I cruise down the East River Promenade. Once (hey, I warned you I’m not sugarcoating this), it was a “Hey you! Come sit on my face!” from the driver’s seat of a white delivery van standing between my apartment and Central Park.

And that wasn’t even the worst one. The worst was when a well-dressed man on 1st Avenue reached out and groped me just two blocks from my building. I slipped away and sprinted home, but not before his hand made contact with my lower body. I hadn’t realized wearing spandex on a marathon training run meant I had given up the right to the physical privacy of my body. I guess I should read those clothing labels better.

Now, it’s not always so extreme. Sometimes it’s honking or whistling or crude gestures or catcalls, i.e. “locker room banter” that some defenders will say are meant as complements and I should take them as such. You know, since I’m getting older and at some point, the positive feedback on my appearance is going to stop coming my way.

Well, I call bullshit. Because if these were complements, I’d run past feeling uplifted and supported. But instead, these strangers’ behavior always has the same effect: it leaves my heart racing, my skin crawling and me in an immediate fight or flight mode when all I actually wanted was to exercise in peace. And all because I had the gall to participate in my favorite pastime as a solo woman.

So if you read this and are now unsure what is and isn’t OK to yell at women running by you, let me see if I can help explain where to draw the line.

  • Telling a runner heading over a bridge that there’s a big patch of black ice ahead? OK!
  • Telling a runner heading over a bridge that you wish you were her sportsbra? NOT OK!
  • Spectating a marathon and encouraging the entire crowd with athletic-related things like “Great pace!” OK!
  • Spectating a marathon and singling out one runner with physical-related things like “Great backside!” NOT OK!
  • Respectfully nodding, smiling and standing aside when a woman tries to run past you in a small space. OK!
  • Taking advantage of the narrowing sidewalk as an opportunity to reach out and touch said runner. NOT OK!

I realize for certain people (cough cough, Drumpf), the distinction of what is and isn’t off-limits still isn’t clear. So all I can say is this: When it isn’t, I encourage you to always err on the side of not creeping out a stranger who’s just trying to stay fit. The women runners of the world, including this one, thank you in advance.


Anne Vs The Machine

If you’d been attacked by a lion in second grade and broken your leg and your parents thought you were faking it and made you walk to and from school on your lion-mauled limb for 3 days before finally taking you to the doctor and learning you’d fractured it, it’s conceivable you wouldn’t go out and buy yourself a new pet lion for many, many years. 

Substitute lion for bicycle, and you understand my plight.

I grew up in a bike-friendly Baltimore suburb, where I was a modestly confident cyclist after many afternoons looping the high-school track, exploring the neighborhood and cruising the Gunpowder trails with my Girl Scout Troop (whatup 1106!) But then my 8-year-old self took a turn too sharply in the playground parking lot and broke her left leg, and my confidence on a two-wheeled death machine has never quite recovered.

Don’t get me wrong — I’ve been atop a bicycle more than a few times since that early 90s downfall, from joining a casual college triathlon to taking the occasional beach-bike cruise — but I’ve never been enthused enough to go out and buy myself a new bike with the express purpose of, you know, using it.

And I DEFINITELY wasn’t about to get one and ride it in Manhattan, essentially one giant mini-golf-windmill constantly trying to knock cyclists off their saddles with opening car doors, turning motorists and potholes the size of De Blasio’s head. No thank you, Lance Armstrong. (Is he still a prominent cyclist? No? Whoops.)

But then I moved out of Manhattan, and suddenly the idea of cycling around the neighborhood wasn’t so terrifying. In Long Island City, the traffic is thinner, the roads have more bike lanes and — most importantly — my building offers indoor bike parking for just $10 a month. Above all, I’m trying to be more active in everyday life (running 4 miles in the morning and the sitting still rest of the day isn’t exactly balance), and I figured having a bike to my name might be just the trick to get me out the door.

So after several failed attempts to purchase a used bike off Craiglist, my fiancé and I went bike shopping last weekend, and I purchased a brand new blue Felt hybrid and all the token accessories. (I’m tentatively naming him Bagic Bike in honor of my favorite Steven Soderbergh film, but it’s a working title.) The bike salesman told me I didn’t need a “ladies bike” because that’s a myth we need a different frame, but my non-flexible leg could barely get over the high bar of the others I tried, so this was the baby for me.

My first day of bike ownership, Ben and I rode to Roosevelt Island and explored the Franklin D. Roosevelt Four Freedoms Park, a memorial I’d probably never have visited if the bike hadn’t made it so easy to get there. Then last night, I faced my biggest fear: biking over the 59th St. bridge and into Manhattan. Despite my worries my untrained legs would fail to get me over the incline, I made it over and back in one piece and not in tears, like I’d been expecting.

I’m not a strong cyclist yet, but I’ll get there with practice. And while I’d been nervous I wouldn’t remember how to ride after so many years off the saddle, I can assure you: it’s just like riding a bike.

Do you bike in the city? Any tips for a novice hoping to live through at least November?


Mama Mia

What did you inherit from your mother?

  • Your affinity for peanut butter?
  • Your sun-kissed complexion?
  • Your entrepreneurial spirit?
photo (1)
Anne & Claire say DRINK THE KOOL-AID.

In my case, all of the above, plus something practically guaranteed to extend the length and quality of my adult life: my dedication to health.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t think I’d have been able to maintain the new healthy lifestyle I adopted in 2011 all these years if not for my mother’s influence. A woman who hits the gym several days a week, gets enough sleep, eats well and still understands the importance of a glass of wine, my mama is just the kind of balanced and sustainable fitness role model a young woman needs.

Of course, it took 25 years of me being out of shape to realize that, but better late than never, right?

At 60 years old, my mom is in the best shape of her life (and she was a leggy 16 year old), and I attribute her success to something most of us forget to prioritize in fitness: variation. That is, she doesn’t always go to the gym and always get on the same machine and always log the same 30 minute cardio routine. She shakes it up, from the elliptical to BodyPump, and her most recent routine shake-up was one particularly near and dear to my heart: she trained for and raced a half marathon.

Game time.
Game time.

The race, the More/Fitness/Shape Women’s Half Marathon, took place last Sunday in Central Park, and it was a mother-daughter success. I logged a 1:52:54 time, or exactly where I wanted to be given a winter off the race course, and my mom finished in 2:21:22, or ahead of more than 3,000 other runners who were surprised to see a speedy 60 year old runner picking them off one by one.

Bragging rights: My mom’s faster than your mom, unless you’re a Benoit Samuelson. Or one of my siblings.

As mother’s day fast approaches, how are you celebrating your mom this year?


Get a Move On

The Sharks and the Jets may no longer pachanga down the West Side, but don’t let that fool you: New York City is still a cutthroat place.

We push on the subway, we death stare at tourists, and according to reports from the trenches, we are the meanest online daters in the history of the world. Right, and we committed 8 murders in the last week alone.

None of that (well, except the death toll) compares to the city’s most brutal experience of all: apartment hunting.

Welcome to my nightmare. Also, welcome to my spring.

Our lease is coming due June 1, and with the management company hiking our rent 12 percent next year without having ever fixed a single problem, my boyfriend and I are weighing our options.

Do we stay put and grow increasingly resentful that our dining room dimmer light is nothing more than a frayed wire sticking precariously out of a broken electrical socket, even though we first reported it last May? Or do we barrel head first into the ruthless world of NYC real estate brokers, fees, debt and tears?

Option C: We skip town and live off the grid in Maine.


The downside of moving is literally thousands of dollars down, a lot of weekends searching, and no guarantee we’ll find something better, within our budget, that’s still close to work and running paths and Ben’s favorite basset hound neighbor.

The plus side is the possibility we find a real runner’s dream of an apartment with a washing machine to clean all my sweaty spandex and a giant tub for taking icebaths and an elevator for post-long runs and a dishwasher to collect the cups I leave around like I’m in the penultimate scene of M. Night Shyamalan’s Signs.

What would you do? More specifically, do you have a NYC apartment you’d like to give us on June 1?


Like Night and Day

There are several core truths about myself I hold to be true. I’m right handed. I’m a dog person. I’m afraid of ET. I’m team Peeta, team Jacob and team embarrassed to have read so many novels originally written for 12-year-old girls.

One more core truth: I am a morning runner.

For as long as I can remember, fitness has been a morning activity for me. I mostly chalk it up to my disciplined mother’s standing 5:30 a.m. date with the YMCA, but even without her good influence, I understand the appeal of daybreak workouts: I’m well rested, I don’t have a full stomach, I’m not exhausted from a day at the office, and the roads before sun-up are mine alone.

Setting a pre-dawn alarm clock isn’t always fun, but it’s rewarding to finish a workout before your first cup of coffee.

That’s why this week has been so darn challenging: because of a shift in my work schedule, I haven’t been able to work out at my usual hour. For the first time in Lord knows how many years, I’ve discarded the core tenet of my fitness routine and logged my miles at night.

And you know what? It wasn’t that bad.

I had been bracing for the worst situation imaginable, from being so full from a day’s worth of eating that I’d cramp up at mile 3 to being so hungry before dinner that I’d pass out mid-loop. (Yes, most of the scenarios I pictured involved me being carted out of the park on a stretcher. Another core truth: I have an overactive imagination.)

Now I’m not going to lie: it wasn’t easy coming home from an 11-hour workday and changing into Spandex instead of sweatpants. Every single day this week, I tried to come up with excuses to take a last-minute rest day, from it being too dark out to run safely to my Netflix being too lonely if I delayed our New Girl date an hour.

But once I got myself out the door, putting one leg in front of the other wasn’t actually all that different at 7 p.m. vs. 7 a.m. The biggest roadblock was my own mindset, and once I got past that, I was grateful to have gotten those miles in after all. They say the only workout you regret is the one you didn’t do, and even though I wouldn’t have chosen the timing, I’m glad I got those evening miles in.

I guess you can teach a dog new tricks. (Let’s be honest: you were all waiting for this.)


Running Training

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

The winter seems to be full of acceptable excuses not to workout. The days are shorter. The Central Park water fountains don’t work. Bathing suit season is still several months away. House of Cards won’t watch itself.

And of course, the most tangible excuse to skip winter workouts of all: the world outside my apartment today looks like this:

photo 4 (39)

Some runners appear unfazed by the snow and ice, lacing up anyways for a few loops of the park regardless of the precipitation. I, on the other hand, have little to no balance and appreciate the value of an unbroken ankle. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather keep my fitness routine and my storm systems separate. I think skeptical snow-dog Keira agrees.

photo 2 (62)


So what to do if you’re training for two spring half marathons and the snow it still falling by the foot come March? I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the art of maintaining peak fitness in the off-season or anything close to it, but I have learned a few tricks along the way to keep myself fitting into my skinny jeans (ok fine, skinny sweat pants) during New York City’s cruel five-month winter. Here’s what I recommend:

  • Time Your Workouts. Weather apps have come a long way in recent years, with most now offering a fairly accurate hour-by-hour forecast for your five-digit zip code. Check tomorrow’s weather before you go to bed tonight, and if the snow isn’t going start until after 8 a.m., squeeze in a quick pre-work run before the storm hits. Likewise, if you see the sleet is going to let up for 60 minutes at mid-day, see if you can hit the park at lunch. The same goes for weekend long runs: I moved my regularly scheduled 8-miler from Sunday to Saturday this weekend since I could see what today’s forecast would bring. Knowing when the winter weather will be lightest and planning your workouts accordingly will help keep you on track even with a nor’easter barreling your way.
  • Move It Inside. I hate the treadmill as much as the next athlete who was nearly murdered by a treadmill in recent history, but it can be a necessary evil during the first quarter of the year. In fact, I’ve even learned to enjoy it. Part of my past distain for the electric running machine was due to the fact that I was using it wrong: I was setting a single pace and plowing forward in unending tedium until the clock ran out. Up your fitness and your attention level by using your time indoors to practice important speed work skills, like tempo runs and intervals and even hill sprints. Put Guy Fieri on the TV in front of you and you’ll be guaranteed to run faster in an effort to end the torture sooner.
  • Stay Home and Workout. Some snowy days, even walking the two (long, uphill) blocks to my gym is a chore. That doesn’t mean you can’t still work up a sweat. Pull up a workout video like this one on your apple TV. Or do yoga in your living room. Or binge watch New Girl and do squats every time Schmidt makes you laugh. Find your favorite show here and follow along, courtesy of my good friend Arianna H.  You’ll have toned quads before Netflix can say “Hey, are you still watching?”
  • Stay Home and Don’t Workout. Some winter days, you’ll get in a workout. Some winter days, you won’t. It’s a tough time of year, and to be honest, you should be proud you’re even considering some self-improvement during such a dreary month. If you don’t workout today, do something else good for the body or soul: curl up with your loved one or a good book, cook a healthy meal, get a good night sleep, and plan to try again tomorrow. March is too cold for lingering guilt.

Don’t believe me? Just ask my snow-adverse mascot.

I'll work out tomorrow, I swear.
I’ll workout tomorrow, I swear.

How are you keeping at fighting weight this winter?


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 30th 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.

photo 2 (31)

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.
And experienced my first Indian-wedding-caliber hangover.

I started a new job.

The view from my new building is the pits.
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.

This. Is. As. Fast. As. I. Go.
This. Is. As. Fast. As. I. Go.

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?


Running Training

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.

Also, haircuts.
Also, haircuts.

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.
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?