Day Thirty: Lottery #479965

Well, it's day 30 today. Holy crapper! An entire month of living like I mean it...

I had an early morning flight to Chicago today for work and will be in focus groups until 9pm tonight, followed by a group dinner. There won't be any running for Mimi today... But that's OK. A day of rest a week has been prescribed by the Oracle, as you'll recall.

To kick off day one of a new month tomorrow morning, I've asked my friend Allison to help support my superstitions. Now, I do not believe in being superstitious at all - please!! But just in case, I figure, why not. Since I started my training off with a 5 mile walk with Allison, she has agreed to get up early with me and walk before work. We can't actually walk together because she's in NY, and I'll be in Chicago; but we'll walk and talk on the phone! Based on her recent fb updates, I'm pretty sure we're going to have a lot to talk about!

As I prepare to enter month two, I'm also thinking about how to up my training. I will need a second pair of sneakers. There's that Nike technology that tracks your mileage and pace through your iPod - maybe I'll get that. I'm never going to run less than a mile without stopping again - ever. And tonight, I signed myself up for the lottery for next year's Marathon! Special thanks to Andy for giving me the heads up about that. I am lottery # 479965 and I'll find out in March whether I made it in. Until then, I'm training like I mean it, baby! Wish me luck!

Day Twenty-Nine: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

I barely thought about running today. I wasn't tired, or overly busy, or afraid; I just woke up uninterested. They say it takes 30 days of repetition to make any behavior a habit. Today is day twenty-nine of my training. So close to that benefit... Was I going to falter just shy of the mark?

Sometime in the late afternoon I sat down at the computer and logged in to blogger.com. I selected "New Post" and typed "Day Twenty-Nine:" in the title. As I was about to finish with, "Day Off," because I had no intention of working out at that point, I noticed I felt a twinge of guilt. There was still time left in the day to get a run in. Yes, I did have a boatload of work I needed to do for a class I'm taking - an advanced bartender course that my company is requiring I complete - and the exam is next week in Las Vegas - but surely I could carve out 30 minutes for a sprint if I really wanted to.

My eyes fell down the page to previous days' posts, and comments left by friends from all parts of my life. New friends, old friends, former bosses and colleagues, neighbors, ex-boyfriends, cousins... So many people I care about have been showing me their support. Not just here, but on facebook and gmail, too, and with calls and texts. And even more amazing - so many have told me that I am inspiring them to get off their duffs and run again, or try running, or just think about getting in shape. The benefits I feel are so tremendous; if I can help someone else realize that feeling for themselves, well then, I don't know what more I could ask for out of all this.

I had a little talk with myself, put the shoes on, and took myself to the gym. I felt like I needed to play a little game with myself, to keep my own interest; so I decided I wanted to test myself - and see if I could run one mile straight, without stopping, and faster than my pace in yesterday's race. While my overall pace had been a 13:30 mile, I'd completed my first mile in 13:13, so I decided to try to beat that.

In the gym I was running next to a man who looked like a trainer and I glanced at his speed. He was running at 7 mph! Oh geez. Funny thing was I thought initially we'd looked like we were running the same pace. I think I just looked like I was working as hard as he was!

I cranked mine up as high as I could stand it (5.8) and kept it at that speed through the whole mile, just until the last 10th of a mile when I had to drop down to 4.8 because I simply could not breathe. In the end, I ran my mile in 12:20! A whole minute faster than I'd run it yesterday! Then I got off the treadmill and did some small arm weights. My body's getting a little weird... stronger in some places - and not stronger everywhere else. I definitely need to start doing sit-ups. Oh dread. I think I might hate sit-ups more than I hate running, which is - as you know - a pretty strong dose of hate!

Quote of the day: "Now that which don't kill me, can only make me stronger. I need you to hurry up now, 'cause I can't wait much longer!"

Day Twenty-Eight: 5K (uphill) in 41:55

I placed #362 out of 399 runners in the race today! The whole thing started out so badly that, really, I am just thrilled to have finished at all.

I had to sleep at my childhood home last night in order to make it to the race on time. In the morning, as I dressed, my mother stood there watching from the doorway, hysterically crying, "Oh my G-d! It's awful out there! You can't go!" "No negatives!" I screamed back at her and struggled to drag the sliding door across the carpet and between us. From the other side I could hear her still whimpering, "What will happen! Oh no! This is dangerous! My car! Be careful with my car..."

She wasn't wrong, the weather was a bit harsh, but I didn't want anything stopping me so I literally ran out of the house without saying good bye, leaving the front door swinging! I called her from the corner and told her I was on my way, that she should lock the front door. "I thought I was coming with you," she whined, though we had already agreed she wasn't. Then she suddenly turned chipper, "Well, have a great time! I'm so glad you're doing something you love." "Mom!" I laughed back, "This is not fun! Remember? I hate running!" "Oh right, right..." she said, "I know. Your blog. You hate to run." "Yes! I hate to run. Now, wish me luck!" and she did.

I checked my BlackBerry as I drove myself to Bedford, my mother's Honda swaying in gale force winds the whole way. I had to stop twice en route as Police cars directed traffic around huge fallen trees. I had my amazing new Sugoi pants and fuzzy Nike hat and gloves on though and was pretty sure they'd keep me warm in the 42 degree weather; at least I wouldn't die of heat stroke. The other thing I had on was my lucky T-shirt. It's this ghastly heather grey XL synthetic fiber T-shirt that used to say Williams on it, but hasn't for years. I got it during the summer of 1987 when I was at Bennington College for the July Program and visited nearby Williams to scope it out before applying. I don't know why I love that shirt so much but it's been with me now for 22 years so I figure it has the kind of fortitude I need in a situation like this. Physically, I was feeling pretty good except for a knot in my left hip, which I assumed I'd fix with a little stretching at the start line. I wondered how many people would be there.

When I got to Bedford, there wasn't a soul in sight. I was an hour early. I decided to drive around town and see if there were race course markers because while I'd seen the start and finish lines yesterday, I had no idea where the course actually went. I was curious about this "big hill" everyone was talking about. This was horse country and there sure were a lot of rolling hills; but how big could this big hill be?

The course started out by the Bedford elementary school with a steep hill right away. Could this be "the" hill? I wasn't scared yet! But it wasn't. The course stretched out for half a mile on a slight incline, then a slight decline, and then a right turn onto Indian Hill Road. If you don't know Bedford, let me tell you about Indian *Hell* Road which slopes upwards at an angle of 45 degrees for close to a mile. If you think I'm kidding, I'm not. At the precipice, it then shifts into 45 degree downhill hairpin turns for about a quarter mile, and then the rest of the course was up and down, up and down, at 5-15 degree angles. Honestly - ridiculous! I've only ever run on flat surfaces but for the slight ups and downs on the Lower Loop, which I'm embarrassed to remember I've ever bitched about! This was going to be impossible. I was scared.

I headed back to the parking lot feeling deflated. A crowd was forming. The first person I encountered was, as luck would have it, an old friend and former colleague from days at JMCP, Cindy Pomroy! We haven't seen each other in 10 years! It was such a joy to see her and so fun to catch up, I almost forgot what I was about to be going through! Cindy wasn't running, she was just handing out T-shirts and goodie bags.

I got my number and tried to figure out how to pin it to my chest - above the boobs, below the boobs, on the Tshirt or on the jacket. I looked at the other women for some guidance but most of them were pretty flat chested and it didn't matter. I expressed my concern about over/under the jacket to a teenage girl who was accompanied by her obese but very proud parents, who kept taking photos of her while she giggled, "Stop!" and she said to go with over the jacket - that there wasn't any way I'd get so hot I'd have to take my jacket off. I did as she said. She looked like she knew what she was doing. She and the rest of the Fox Lane Cross Country team were there and you have to assume the kids were getting some intelligent coaching. This was Westchester. Only the best for the children.

I could feel my nerves starting - and the knot in my hip wasn't abating. I grabbed a hard, plain bagel and ate half a banana from the hospitality table, hoping food would soothe my nerves. 40 minutes to race time. Runners started to load into the buses taking us to the start line. I went to one for warmth! When we got off the buses, everyone piled into the elementary school where a local trainer led about 200 of us in some warm up exercises, which I was actually quite grateful for. I was exhausted by the end of the warm up, though, which only made me more concerned! I considered asking the trainer about the knot in my hip but didn't want to risk his telling me I shouldn't run.

I got in line for the ladies' room along with 20 or so others and happened to be behind a woman wearing a thermal jacket with an Absolut vodka logo on it. I was wearing my Proximo jacket - partly chosen because I figured if I had to ditch it, I wouldn't mind losing it! ...and party chosen because it's warm, it fits me perfectly and I love it. (Kind of symbolic of my whole experience there.) I asked the woman if she worked at Pernod Ricard and, wouldn't you know, she did! We actually have emailed each other but we hadn't met in person yet. I felt happy to know one more person.

With 5 minutes to start time, we were herded out into the street, at the bottom of the first short hill. A few if the girls and I compared "first songs" on our iPods. One girl couldn't get her iPod to work for a minute and we all swooped in to help her fixt the problem. OH MY GOSH! Such a relief we felt for her when it was all over. 4 of the 5 girls had "Empire State" as their first song... I thought of Brian at the office - and how we joke about this song coming on every hour on the radio - and about how here I was running the freaking Turkey Trot and he'd told me before leaving for break that he wasn't actually going to run his this year. Ugh!

The gun went off - or someone yelled "Go!" - I really don't remember - but suddenly we were all running. Within SECONDS people were passing me in droves. It was as if I were standing still, and they were all running. Were they pacing themselves? What!? Was I really this slow? I put my head down and focused on my music, my breathing, my path to the Marathon. OK - then I looked up and felt bad about myself and notice that my hip was KILLING me and that I couldn't catch my breath, and I needed to blow my nose and was thirsty. Was it too soon to stop and walk already at 2 minutes? YES! Go, Go, Go, Michelle! Parents holding children of 7 and 8 years old on either hand were passing me. A round girl in a head-to-toe emerald green workout suit passed me. NO WAY! I sped up. That girl was not going to beat me.

I can barely remember Indian Hill Road. I remember looking back and noticing I wasn't last and feeling somewhat grateful - and then looking up to the top and feeling hopelessness wash over me - and then talking to myself and saying just look 3 feet ahead. Do not stop. Walk. Walk big and fast. Pick it up, Sanders! Move! Move! I remember being grateful that it was so cold and the sun was shining on my face. I smiled the whole time because even though it was miserable, as soon as I hit the 2 mile mark I knew I was going to finish - and that was all I cared about. Finishing and not getting injured. I noticed my hip suddenly stopped hurting.

As I came down the last 1/4 mile towards the finish, Cindy was waiting at the corner of Route 22 cheering people on. I called her name out when I saw her! The sound of my own voice surprised me - I was still alive - still breathing! Then something magical happened. I've had some magical moments in my life when something in nature has surprised me with its beauty - overwhelmed me and totally captured my attention. As I ran down the road next to St. Patrick's I looked down and there was a strip of tar that ran out ahead of me in the kind of ordered chaos one sees at the molecular level in nature. A man had clearly laid the path, but it was feathered and artful. Its black surface was shining in the sun, leading me along the last leg of the race, seducing me with its beauty. Eminem was in my ear telling me about his mom's spaghetti and I thought of 8 Mile in Detroit, where I've been - and even been to some of the seediest strip clubs on tequila market surveys. Eminem got himself out of Salem's Lot and I was going to get myself out of this race! Almost there!

I turned into the parking lot and saw the finish line! I was so excited, I sped up. I glanced ahead of me to see who was in their moment of glory and there she was - the girl in the emerald warm up suit! Oh no!!! There was no way I could speed up and beat her now - she was already crossing the line. I thought I'd left her in the dust around mile 2, when I was in my prime! That sneaky girl! But I was too happy to be mad at myself for not beating her. We were both finishing. She could have her emerald green moment of glory and... I was going to have mine.

For the record: http://results.active.com/pages/searchform.jsp?posted_p=t&numPerPage=100&page=4&rsID=87558&queryType=division&pubID=3

Day Twenty-Seven: Smalltown USA

Tomorrow I will be running my first race, a 5K Turkey Trot through the town of Bedford. I decided to take a spin over to make sure I knew where to park the car in the morning, and where to go and pick up my race number and shoe chip. Bedford is all of one block long - no traffic lights - and I lived one town over for about 20 years, so I probably could have winged it but I felt compelled to go as part of my mental preparation.

I stopped into the Post Office to ask where the start of the race was but they didn't know. A woman there asked me about my running - turns out she was Bobbi Mazer, the owner of La Cremaliere, easily the best French restaurant in Westchester. Bobbi sent me to the Fire Station where she said they'd surely know where the race would start. Three doors over, I rang the doorbell to the Fire House. The Fireman invited me inside - my first time in a Fire House since I was about 4 - and since he didn't know where the race started, he talked to the Fire Chief who pulled out his iPhone and called the Police Detective at home to ask him... You've got to love a small town!

While the Fire Chief and Police Detective discussed the logistics of the race, I poked around the station. They use this cool software called Fire Tracker to record all of their activities. Three huge, shiny fire trucks were at the ready... and two ambulances! It occurred to me that if things went crooked tomorrow, I might be very glad for one of those ambulances. I pictured myself suffocating on the side of the road - EMTs rushing to my side - the ambulance pulling up. The transfer to Northern Westchester Hospital. The call someone would have to make to my mother, "Your daughter's going to be OK..." The Fire Chief interrupted my dreaming and pointed me to the starting line on Court Street.

I drove the 25 feet down the street to the starting line - that's what you do in the country - and noticed a gift shop that looked cute; so I parked the car and went in. Turns out the proprietor, Robin Fallon O'Brien, was originally from Armonk, my home town, and was a few years ahead of me in school. She had been friends with my next door neighbors, Holly Hoechner Farrington and Nancy Cox, growing up - and I used to play with both girls all the time. Holly was was like a big sister and my #1 role model - she taught me to write in "bubble," which - if you're a girl of the 70s - you understand is perhaps the most important skill you learned before age 10. The proprietor was a runner herself and had donated a prize for the winner of the Turkey Trot - a Simon Pearce bowl! The winner... Funny how until that moment I hadn't even thought for a second about the race being a "race" - something that some people were hoping to win! I'm just hoping to finish! Robin warned me that there's a really big hill at the beginning of the race and even she has trouble with it (oy vey!) but that if I can make it up that, it's literally down hill all the rest of the way.

I came back to the city after visiting Bedford and got on the treadmill and ran 2.2 miles. I'd planned to run 3.1 (which is 5K) but time didn't allow. I'm over-scheduled, even on a holiday. Sigh... The 2.2 was challenging but doable and at the end I thought I could probably have walked some and then run a bit more. I do see progress, but it's slow, and running still sucks.

Now I am lining up my gadgets and outfit options for tomorrow, worrying about what to eat or not eat, what to drink, what the weather will be like... and psyching myself up for that hill.

Quote of the day: "They were all impressed with your Halston dress... and the people that you knew at Elaine's."

Day Twenty-Six: Snoopy

I had such a simple plan for training today but Snoopy almost tripped me up. It's Thanksgiving and I had a party at my place last night; so, this morning, I slept a little late, got up to unload and reload the dishwasher, made a fresh pot of coffee, and then turned my attention to the day's mission. I wanted to get a nice long run in - maybe an hour. I've got the big 5K Turkey Trot looming on Saturday and I've still never run longer than the 1.7 miles on the Lower Loop, and I've certainly never run it without stopping. I've been cross-training joyfully... but running? I'm getting good at avoiding that.

So today was my big day. I put the outfit on and headed to the Park with the intention of running 3.4 miles, or twice the Lower Loop. That would over-shoot my mileage for the race, and give me confidence that running 5K would be "no problem." As I approached Broadway, Mickey Mouse floated down along the Thanksgiving Day Parade route up in front of me. Children, teenagers and adults lined the sidewalks, gawking. I wormed my way to the front of the crowd to see where the cross-through was but couldn't find one. Then I had the idea to go under ground, through the subway; but I didn't have my MetroCard so I couldn't actually make that transverse.

I walked up a few blocks to what seemed like it might be an opening, but I was stopped by two policemen who told me no way was I getting through to the Park today. I tried reasoning with them but they were glazed over, probably exhausted from having said the same thing over and over all morning to the people in tight pants and shorts... the weirdos... the runners... people like me. I looked down at myself for a moment and wished I were in street clothes and escorting a toddler. I could maybe have made some excuse... She needs to use the restroom over there in the Park, officer... It's an emergency! Can't you please just make this one little exception? We'll be right back - I promise! Then once I'd made it to the Park I'd pull my street clothes off, ditch the kid, and take off like a professional! Or maybe it would just be a blow-up kid. Do they make blow-up children? Could be useful for occasions like this, as well as for carpool lanes. Must look into that.

I stopped and watched the crowd for a minute. The parade really is quite thrilling! There were far more adults than children, and I noticed a lot of parents with very small, sleeping children; clearly, the grown-ups where using the kids as an excuse to hit the parade! Snoopy was crossing then and I thought of my 3rd grade birthday party when my little friend Sarah gave me my treasured Snoopy doll - in an Austrian lederhosen outfit. Since then I have always had a passion for Austria so Snoopy has really had a big impact on my life!

Just next to me there was a mother who was attempting to pose her young child quickly for a photo before Snoopy passed. Maybe we shared a passion for the dog... Her little girl was squirming, as little girls do, not understanding why her mother kept backing away to try to capture the moment. I quickly stepped in and offered to take the picture and the mother looked so relieved! I was careful to frame the kind of shot I'd want - clear faces and plenty of Snoopy. The woman thanked me profusely and then I somewhat reluctantly headed back to my building to take a turn on the dreaded treadmill. At least my mileage would be controlled and trackable. Snoopy wasn't going to foil my plans!

But when I got to the gym in my building, it was closed. There was another girl there discovering the same thing and we shared a moment of panic. "I'm training for a Marathon," I told her! She said she was training too! Should we go outside? We waited 10 minutes for the next elevator - it's Grand Central Station in my building from now through January with everyone's parents and in-laws it seems in to shop and enjoy the building's good position - talking running talk all the while.

In the lobby, the girl and I went our separate ways. She was going to try for a more northern entrance to the Park and I ran down to the River. My run was tight and much shorter than I'd hoped, and I walked a lot of the way back. I had about 15 minutes of continuous running before I stopped for a big stretch. I could feel the muscles in my feet and legs tensing and straining. My sneakers weren't laced tight enough - or maybe they are stretching out. Either way, they seemed dangerously floppy.

I don't feel really great right now. In fact, I feel a little scared and disappointed. There won't be another opportunity today to run - and tomorrow I'm going to have to be super organized to get a proper run in.

I may not be able to complete the Turkey Trot on Saturday. I'm coming to terms with that. I will try - and if I fail, then it's just a failure at the beginning of a long haul - and I have to remind myself it doesn't mean anything about my long term prospects for success. I was just hoping to avoid it so early. If you know me at all, then you know I really like to fail closer to the end of things, when all my cards are on the table and I have everything to lose! Much better dramatic effect!

Quote of the day: "My rats come in packs, like Sammy and Dean Martin... and I've got so many keys they think I'm valet parking..."

Day Twenty-Five: Day Off

Day Twenty-Four: Affirmations in Arkansas

I'm in Arkansas today on business. It's raining here and cold; a run outside wouldn't be prudent. Since I was able to squeeze in a game of night tennis with my colleague Louis last night, I wasn't feeling too bad about having to resort to the hotel gym for my morning churn.

I opted for the stationary bike today - the weight loss course. I just felt like getting the maximum sweat in. The bike was positioned right in front of the TV and on the wall below the TV there was one of those "affirmation" posters you see in offices outside major metropolitan areas... the kind of poster that I think probably inspired a show like, "The Office."

This one was a picture of a woman running in a desert with huge silhouetted mountains in the background and scrappy looking brush in the foreground. The whole thing had been colorized red, presumably for artistic effect. The headline read: PERSISTENCE, and below that, the affirmation: The race doesn't always go to the swift...but to those who keep on running.

Not a bad way to start the day.

I noticed the hotel is offering biscuits and some kind of creamy, white gravy with chunky bits in it for breakfast. This is what they mean when they say biscuits and gravy? So gross! I'd been envisioning it all brown and yummy! I wish there were some egg whites...

Quote of the day: "I didn't eat yesterday. I'm not gonna eat today. And I'm not gonna eat tomorrow. 'Cause I'm gonna be a supermodel!"

Day Twenty-Three: Ellipti-cize Me!

I felt completely uninspired this morning. It was pitch black when the alarm rang and I pulled the drapes across to see the twinkling lights of New Jersey across the Hudson. I just wanted to snuggle back down into my perfect, soft nest of a bed. How ever will I get through winter - and keep training? One day at a time, I reminded myself.

A pair of shorts sat on the dresser next to my bed and since they were closest, I pulled them on. Guess I'd be working out in the gym this morning. Not much of a long range training strategy in that... but better than the alternative - rolling over and hitting snooze.

When I got down to the workout room, I was shocked to find it still closed. Apparently, it doesn't open until 6:30 AM. I haven't been in such a long time (4 years?) that I didn't even know they'd changed the hours. My friend (and former colleague) Robin was already there, waiting outside the door for the monitor to let her in. She said it's important to get there early if you want to get one of the two coveted elliptical machines. I hadn't thought of doing anything but the treadmill but, "I break for trends," so suddenly I felt excited - I was going to get in early on something good!

I talked to Robin for about 6 minutes while we pushed and pulled and stepped side-by-side. Then I couldn't talk and ellipti-cize any longer due to reduced oxygen supply, so I turned my iPod up and strained to hear the TV news at the same time, and read the closed captioning... I also kept an eye on the live show across the way; there I was in the mirror, turning redder and wetter with each passing minute. With all that distraction going on I was mostly able to ignore the little girl in the back of the classroom in my head - the one sitting there patientily with her hand up. Will I ever call on her again? Maybe not! But she's going to keep that hand raised, I can tell. She wants to know: "Why are we doing this, again? And when is lunch!?"

After 20 minutes total, on L2, I was drenched and done. I can't say I "get" why people dig this machine the way they do, but I also don't get running so... maybe it just takes time to understand. Robin said eventually I'll need to work out every day. People say that. I hope desperately that they're right. The only thing I need right now is a shower.

Quote of the day: "Don't you dare - stare. You'd better move! Don't ever compare!"

Day Twenty-Two: Tennisism

Yesterday, the noises in the dining hall here at tennis camp were happy, chirpy and excited. New people to meet, common interests, and an appreciation for gourmet cuisine bound us together in joyful fellowship. We were all devout Tennisists, and away we'd come from our various parishes to fully immerse in the holy gospel of Tennisism.

Today, however, the air was very different - still sociable, but quieter and more humble. We'd seen the power of our maker on Saturday, and today, we were fully at his mercy. Fit looking men wearing slick tennis outfits hobbled across the dining room to the egg station. Women sheepishly asked the chef for a ZipLoc bag filled with ice. There were confessions all around. "I didn't sleep last night." "Everything hurts." "I can't sit down." "I lied - I actually haven't played in a year." "I feel like the walking dead." On the reception desk outside the dining hall, there sat an open 3,000-count bottle of ibuprofen gel caps. We all silently took our communion, washing it down with cups of slightly metallic water.

My group was called for the first session starting at 8:30 AM. There wasn't a chance in hell I'd be running before that, or doing anything besides putting my clothes on; and today I wore a lot less clothing than I did yesterday, simply because I couldn't bear to bend and add the extra layers. I'd rather suffer the cold walk to the courts.

With the weekend now coming to a close, and ten hours of tennis behind me, there's a certain sense of peace. At this moment, toxins and metabolic waste may course through my body, adhesion may bind my muscles, but through the power of Tennisism, I just know my soul is going to be saved.

Day Twenty-One: Net Benefits

I've temporarily extracted myself from the hellish monotony of my running regime in the big city and I write to you this weekend from the rolling hills of Saugerties, NY, where I am at tennis camp. Here, every second glistens. Muscle memory awakens. With each new lesson, I drink pear-gold soma from the tennis god's chalice.

I've been on quite a few tennis camp weekends before and even when I've been in better shape, they have been extremely physically demanding. By that, I mean, most people are on a steady stream of ibuprofen and, by the end, pretty much everybody is limping.

Today we have 5 hours of tennis scheduled, and then there's a round robin at night that's 3 hours long, plus Scrabble, drinking and table tennis. My dad was once reportedly table tennis champ of NYC, so I try to represent; and in this environment, that means matches where you're hitting the ball off the ceiling and walls...nothing is off limits.

I haven't completely forgotten about running. I wasn't sure if it would be a good idea today though considering the the rest of the day I was in for. Since breakfast here is at 7:30am and tennis starts at 8:30am, I set the alarm for 6:15... I'd see how I felt. But as it turns out I didn't need the alarm. My body woke its little self up unaided. We goin' running today, Miss? Ugh! Shut up, body! 20 minutes more we can sleep! My mind felt a little bit snubbed.

I lay there waiting for the sun to rise. It's dark up here in the country and I didn't feel safe going out on the road yet by myself. I put the glass of iced tea I'd swiped from the dining room at dinner last night out on the ledge of my balcony to chill; the air was cold enough that I could see my breath. By 7:00 AM the mountains in the distance began to appear - a layered silhouette, with purple, gray, green and white tiers.

While I'd been waiting for the sun to rise, I'd checked my BlackBerry. My cousin in England had dropped a line and I got caught up replying to him on that cruel little nail-splitting BlackBerry keyboard. He has written a new play that is being read for press and potential producers tomorrow and Monday in London. For years he served as Governor of a school for special needs children in Sunderland, and watched with horror as the UK went on a national rampage to close schools such as this - and promote "inclusion." His play, "Death of a Nightingale," is fictional but based on the real experiences of students, administrators and parents he knows. I hope his noble play gets the wings it deserves...

At 7:00 AM I decided not to run. I switched shoes and my outfit. I didn't want to front load the weekend too much, and jeopardize a strong finish on Sunday. I'm here for tennis. Tennis first. (I hope I don't regret this decision come Turkey Trot time next weekend. But tennis does involve a lot of running - just not boring running, in a straight, hideous line, like training for the Marathon does.) I'll see how I'm feeling tomorrow morning; if fine, I'll hit the road for a mile or two. I hope we have a later start on Sunday; that would help.

Anyway, the morning of tennis was amazing. I have the best pro here, and at mid-day I had a private lesson. I have a respectable backhand but a lame forehand, so we worked on that. In the middle of the lesson he stopped and said he wished all his students were like me, that I have a very high tennis IQ. I said, "By that do you mean it's all up in my head - and if only I could put it into action I'd get somewhere?" "No," he replied, "I don't mean that. I mean that you have strategy and you get the mechanics of the body. [I do?] It's easy to teach you," and then he got a little serious, "You are actually very athletic. You don't look athletic, but then you come out of nowhere."

I'm coming out of nowhere! That's going to be my new mantra. Watch out for me... Here I come! White lightning on a summer night! One minute we're sitting together on the porch sipping a Julep, the next I'm a Marathon-running tornado all up in your grill! I wonder if I'll ever "look" athletic and lose my power of surprise...

In the afternoon session, I started to feel my body complaining. Dogs barking - blisters starting, arches aching, toenails rubbing up dangerously against the inside of my shoes. Hips tightening - muscles cranking up their grip on home base bones, "Whoa, Nelly! Reign that range of motion in when you round those corners. Don't you realize this is a stage coach, not a Lambo?"

I'm not the only thing breaking down over here, either. My racquet has staged a protest. I actually popped two strings - something I've never done in my life! And my grip has started disintegrating into tiny, sticky, leather balls in my palm. The whole bit is in the pro shop right now being refurbished and I can't stop singing to myself, "Take, these broken strings... and learn to fly again, learn to live so free!"

I love tennis so much, I hardly notice the negatives. If I were suffering like this while running, I'd give up in a second! No question. So, maybe I should be grateful that, for the moment, with whatever I am doing to train, I'm really not suffering. For sure, I'm bitching and moaning, but I don't think I'm hurting myself; whereas the way I'm pushing myself at tennis I am surely doing some critical damage - and you can't stop me.

I'm about to go for some ice, a hot tub, and then a massage. With my newly restrung racquet in hand this evening I'll be back in charge. They all think I'm down right now. They don't see me coming. But, BLAMO - just hose me down and prop me back up again. Here I come - out of nowhere.

Day Twenty: Welcome to Suck Town

Well, today really sucked like the mother of all Suck Town. I am tired. I am distracted. I didn't even bother to lay my running clothes out last night. There wasn't any iced coffee in the fridge this morning, and I still haven't washed the pot from the last brewing, so I couldn't make any more. (At 6:00 AM, I considered taking a nip of the Kahlúa Coffee Cream in my fridge. That’s when you know you might actually have a coffee dependency problem.) The weather looked like it would be cold, so I layered - but it was actually hot, and wet. I didn't put my hair in its clip right so it kept falling down in my eyes. My iPod played bad songs that didn’t drown out the negative self-generated soundtrack in my head...

From the minute I set foot on the Lower Loop I was telling myself how unhappy I was. I hate to run. I really do hate this. Why am I doing this? How will I ever run 26.2 miles? This is ridiculous and now I'm setting myself up not only to fail, but to fail in a big and public way, with people flying in from foreign countries to watch me fail! Whaaaa...

I ran all the way to the magic tree without stopping, which sustained my achievement from Wednesday, but did not extend it. I hadn't planned to extend it, but I've been thinking about what my next appropriate challenge should be and I really don't know. But I do know that I'd better make some major advancement in the distance I run because last night, I did something very stupid...

For about two weeks, my neighbor Brian at work has been talking about the "Turkey Trot" he is going to be running this year in his home town on Thanksgiving. His dad's an organizer and Brian's looking forward to the race. I've listened with curiosity, wondering what it would have been like to have grown up in a household where parents and kids went off exercising together.

We did do lots of things together in my household growing up and it was supremely fun. Actually, we did almost everything together – we were the three musketeers. We went to temple every Friday night, took shopping trips to Waldbaum’s and Caldor, lunched at Burger King (for the toy in the Happy Meal of course, I wouldn’t eat the food!), visited old cousin Rose at the Manor Inn on Sundays, ordered roast beef on rye with Russian dressing and coleslaw at Cook’s, subscribed to an “all Broadway all the time” lifestyle, painted together, organized radio nights where my mother would play a radio announcer, my dad would record the session, and I would be interviewed as some assigned character; there were 3 week car drives to Canada, endless Mad Libs marathons, Scrabble, charades, and when we were desperate for something to do, we’d play my mother’s favorite game - “coffee pot.” But running? Not so much!

I hadn't considered finding a Turkey Trot of my own to run, though many have suggested it. My feeling is, it's too early for me to take on anything organized, especially a race! But last night I was talking to a friend who has been particularly insistent about my trying a Turkey Trot. Usually his ideas seem a bit far fetched – what part of “bad runner” and “not ready” is he missing? But he’d made it too easy for me to reject this time, identifying a precise Trot about 3 miles from where I’ll be for Thanksgiving, and I was tired, and frankly probably feeling a bit bullish after finishing a really productive day at work. The trifecta: clear instructions, low emotional barrier to entry, and an efficient mind-set. All horses fire at once to get me through the gate. Does me in every time.

So I am now signed up for the first race of my life. It’s a 5K Turkey Trot in Bedford a week from Saturday. As I dragged myself around the Loop this morning I thought about how I’d soon have to run more than double my current course – and would have to finish it in under an hour, a requirement of the race. I have no idea how I’m going to train up to that by next Saturday. I’m off to tennis camp this weekend. Not sure if I’ll have the strength to go running in addition to the 8 hours of tennis a day this will involve. Usually I come home from tennis camp unable to walk. At this moment, I never want to step on the Lower Loop again but I know I’m going to need to change my tune by Monday morning!

Quote of the day: "They've got an awful lot of coffee in Brazil. You can't get cherry soda 'cause they've got to fill that quota. And the way things are I'll bet they never will."

Day Nineteen: According to the Oracle...

I've been advised to take one day off a week from training. It's supposedly important for your body, yet no one has ever successfully given me a scientific, bio-dynamic reason for this so-called "essential" pause. I tend to suspect it is more a matter of practicality than proper practice.

When you're in training, you simply can't go out as much. Sleep deprivation and dehydration are enemies to the cause; but life calls for some late nights, and drinks happen. So, I postulate that somewhere along the way, the great running oracles of yore invented the "day off" rule, because, frankly, even oracles like to party.

Think about it... The day off isn't really about the day off; it's about the night off - the night before; and who am I to argue with protocol. For the record, last night I made the most of my night off. There was tequila. Someone fell and hit their head. If you're only going to get one ridiculous night a week - advisable to pack it all in when you can. Not missing the Loop right now.

Day Eighteen: Mousetraps

I don't snore, but insomnia and nightmares have plagued me most of my life; and this morning when the alarm rang it interrupted an extremely vivid nightmare. In it, I'd had two pet birds, but apparently I'd neglected them, forgotten to feed and water them entirely... and now they were dead on the floor of their cage and under siege by mice. To make the scene even more gruesome, some of the mice appeared to be dead too, "frozen" in place, with their mouths open, as if screaming, and with their front paws outstretched dramatically attempting to break into the cage to get at the bird meat.

In my youth I actually had a pair of birds (Max & Pom) who lived forever in a cage. I still feel incredibly guilty about this; so I couldn't help but think this dream must mean something... but what? Did the birds represent my inner child... or freedom...? The mice - were they my "doubts" about being able to accomplish this running goal... some now dead in their tracks, others alive and hungry for flesh? Or was I just having a reaction to the two bags of chips I consumed on the airplane last night?

I tend to really fall deep into the emotions of my dreams and sometimes it takes me hours to shake it all off. This morning, the last thing I wanted to do was get out of the bed, put clothes on, and be in Nature - with birds and mice potentially crossing my path! I took my time, though, trying to get psyched about my established big test - would I be able to run more gracefully to that magic tree past the stretching bridge? Not that enticing... I poured some iced coffee and opened the paper, checked email, brushed my hair, considered outfits for the day... the sun was rising out there; I'd better get a move on. Finally I dragged myself out the door.

I really can't underestimate the power of a good song to get you motivated. I know I'm not unusual in this way but I'm mentioning it mostly for my own sake - as a reminder. I think I need an "emergency mix tape" of songs that never fail to make me want to pick my feet up. (Taking song suggestions, by the way!)

I made it SHOCKINGLY easily to the stretching bridge and then right up through to the magic tree... on the wings of a song that I'm going to have to make my #1 go-to tune in emergencies. (See quote below.) I even felt tempted to keep running past the magic tree (because the song wasn't over!) but decided not to. Instead I walked to a traffic light or two, and then ran straight through to Bethesda Fountain (ah, a real landmark that you can judge me by - go ahead - judge me - I'm not afraid!). That second stretch was significantly harder and as I came down around the bend a familiar feeling washed over me - nausea. I tend to get sick to my stomach when I push too hard with exercise and once it starts, it's pretty hard to make it stop without completely lying down and elevating my feet. Since I hadn't eaten anything, I just told myself there was nothing to throw up, the end was in sight - finishing the small goal was more important than a non-life-threatening "feeling."

Made it to the Fountain, walked a traffic light or two, and then ran the rest of the way out of the Park. I can now clearly see the day when I might actually run this Lower Loop without stopping. Not next week or anything - well, who knows. I even noticed for the first time how the road also has a path north at 72nd Street - how have I missed this until now? I was so singularly focused that I it didn't even occur to me that the Lower Loop connected to other parts of the Park's running paths! There were options. I might not get bored of this...

Tomorrow I'll be taking my day off and I can honestly say I feel a bit sad about this. Running is grounding my days. I am seeing some improvement. The mice in my dream will just have to retreat because I'm going to revive those birds and set them free. You watch me!

Quote of the day, from the song I'll be playing as I run the last minute or so of the Marathon next year: "Success is my only motherf*cking option - failure's not."

Day Seventeen: In the Buff

I trained in the Buff this morning - Buffalo, NY, that is. (I know - cheap trick.) What a gorgeous 2 mile journey I had down historic Delaware Avenue. The homes, most now converted into schools and NGOs, are nothing short of grand.

I was a little curious about how it would work today - whether I'd be able to run outside or have to resort to a treadmill in the cramped hotel gym - but when I checked in last night, I simply asked, and wouldn't you know there was a map and a route and an encouraging word from the desk clerk. I remain surprised at how normal and common an activity running seems to be amongst the general population. I still have my doubts.

In case you aren't impressed that I rallied this morning after a late evening of work drinks and a steakhouse dinner last night, I will also mention that it was 32 degrees in the BUF this morning, and still dark out when I hit the road. My fuzzy hat, gloves and all weather pants were more than decorative accessories and I was glad I'd come prepared.

I listened to Dixieland music today while I ran (which somehow felt appropriate as I passed big mansions) and those lyrics are simply too ridiculous to report back on - things about funky chickens and mamma down by the river with a fying pan - so, no quote today!

Day Sixteen: Mother May I

Today is the first day of the second half of my first month of running; but who's counting! I realize with some shame that I've begun to depend on others' support to propel me through this process. What started out as a completely independent mission - I literally wouldn't accept help from people who said they'd go running with me - has begun to shift.

I now look at my fb page for feedback, or the comments on this blog, and talk about running in real time, with amazing frequency. I think I heard myself say yesterday, "You should check out my blog!" What? Then I couldn't remember the URL to get to the site, was it "blogspot.hatestorun.com" or "blogger" something? I thought passingly of creating business cards with the address, to give to people who might ask... Oh my gosh! Stop the madness! It's not about the blog, Michelle! This made me wonder if I'm already starting to lose focus... or maybe, it was something more malevolent - self sabotage.

As an example, I have the most lovely, loving, adoring mother on earth - but she sometimes kills me with her kindness. She doesn't mean to be unsupportive but her desire to protect me from literally everything in the world is in such sharp contrast with my need to experience life fully, that most of the time it's better I keep the details of my life to myself. Not to say I'm doing anything particularly wild or interesting, but pretty much anything outside of sleeping (at home) or eating (at home) might be construed as "dangerous" in my mother's world, and produce a strict litany of not so nice warnings, and criticisms, intended to snap me sharply back in line. So, the range of motion is, a bit snug. Somewhere along the way I got tired of guessing what would set her off, scare her, and produce a dynamic where I had to constantly try to make her feel better about my normal activities - like, say, traveling for business; so I just stopped sharing entirely.

I considered telling my mother that I've begun running, but it seemed complicated. You might think, what could she say about a noble effort like this? But this is a woman who has literally never been on a treadmill, thinks driving the trash down to the can at the end of the driveway is an activity, and unfortunately now, walks with a cane - albeit very enthusiastically - as a result of her latest surgery. Nobody would fault my mother for being lazy, or under-active. She is quite active for her age, and always has been, but formal exercise just isn't "for ladies," in her mind. It's boring. It's painful and difficult. Why would you do anything you don't enjoy? (Sounds a little familiar!) She'd rather putter around nipping low branches, or walking her dog Scruffie, both of which are lovely ways to spend time, but neither of which produce any level of athleticism.

Since I don't think she's ever really seen me exercise, if I told her, she would have free range to envision this "exercise" as fantastically as she'd like. When I was growing up, my mother didn't come to watch me play sports at school. I guess it just didn't interest her. And when I had that year in High School when I did the Jane Fonda workout tape two times a day, I did it behind closed doors in the playroom - and she and my dad never knew what was going on in there. I remember feeling great during the Jane Fonda year; but I was afraid if I told them why, I'd have to stop. Shouldn't I be practicing flute, or piano?

So, telling my mom was a little out there, and questionable in terms of how measured it was on my part. It started out OK. Her first response sounded positive... How great that I was doing something that I enjoyed! Um, no - I had to explain to her again, I hate to run. "Yes, well, but you like getting the exercise. It's fun!" Um, no - well, yes and no. I could feel the tension building on both our ends. She wasn't understanding me. I was confusing her... Then came the hardest part to hear, "Well, if it's too hard you can always stop! I mean, please Michelle, don't push yourself!"

Don't push myself! There it was! The anthem I've lived by my entire life when it comes to exercise, coming straight from the most important person in my life. Danger! Warning! Sirens. Lock-down! I clutched my Paragon bag filled with new cold weather running pants tighter to my chest and darted my eyes around the crowded bus I was sitting on. I was about to get loud! I pitied the elderly lady sitting next to me who had until now probably been thinking I seemed like a nice girl.

But I caught myself before I might have exploded into the cell phone - and took the patient route. I just explained it over and over again until at the end she said, "Oh I get it. You hate to run. That's the name of the blog. That's funny!"

My mom's a poet and said she would write a poem about me because she is so proud of me right now. Could there be any nicer reward? She has actually never once written a poem about me - in her entire life - and while she gave up writing for some 30 years, she's back on now, and this is something I encouraged her to do, so the idea that she'd now write about me has a special quality of mutual-appreciation that's very special.

I'm not sure if my mom will read this blog. She's anti-technology with a fervor and would never own a computer, let alone a calculator. Computers are evil. I did mention she might be able to check it out down at the local library... but she sounded hesitant. Then I accidentally gave her the wrong URL address which in some small way might actually have been an act of self-preservation on my part - though completely subconscious, I promise.

Today my challenge was to run without stopping to a specified tree beyond the stretching bridge, and I did it; but it was much harder and felt longer than I'd expected. I also hadn't noticed when I set that goal that the entire route beyond the stretching bridge is on a slight incline. As I maneuvered through it, I picked smaller goals, telling myself I could quit if I made it to this nearer tree, or that nearer traffic light.

When I was almost there I realized the problem wasn't my mind, for once, I simply wasn't getting enough oxygen - as hard as I tried to pull the air in and out - my heart wouldn't circulate it fast enough. I pushed and pushed and dropped my running down to a baby-step jog, and in the end, I made it - but just barely. I'll be running out of town tomorrow morning but when I'm back on Wednesday, I'm gonna try it again and see if I can do it a little bit more gracefully. I did accomplish what I set out to achieve today, though, so I'm just going to have to be happy with that.

Today's quote: "...naw eat no yam...no steam fish....nor no green banana."

Day Fifteen: intenSati

Today my cross training continued with intenSati. I was invited by my dear friend Jolynn Baca to take a class she was teaching down at Equinox on 19th Street. IntenSati, for anyone who doesn't know, is basically a high impact aerobics class, combined with lunges, punching, air drum-beating, yoga poses, and self-affirmations which you scream out loud, on command, military style, throughout the workout. It's freaking insane! ...And it's amazing.

Exercise guru Patricia Moreno designed the program and a number of my friends are devotees. At the start of each class, the instructor shares something inspirational with the students. I didn't know this before today, since it was my first time, so imagine my surprise when Jolynn opened up to the crowd of more than 40 students with a story about... me!

As background, in order to be certified to teach this course, Jolynn had had to mentor someone for a month - someone who would be willing to set a goal, and then take measurable steps towards achieving that goal. Jolynn made me her test bunny and my goal was to "move more" every day. This was about 6 months ago. We kept my goal really vague because at the time I was still in my miserably oppressive job where I simply wasn't leaving the office before 10 PM any night. Going to the gym was not an option. So my goal was just to "move more" whenever I could.

Because I couldn't carve out a lunch, or leave at a decent hour, the answer was to just walk home from the office no matter what time I got out. I'd text Jolynn at 10:30 PM to report in, "I'm moving!" I'd be in the airport and not take the people mover, "I'm moving," or walk home with heavy groceries on the weekend, "Doin' it!" At the end of the month, I'd built up a real appetite for my blocks of moderate exercise. I had new thoughts when I was out there on the open road (actually, Park Avenue, and then a left on 57th Street). When I stopped, I noticed I really missed it.

The whole experience gave me a tiny taste of the happiness I was missing so chronically in the rest of my life - a reminder that I wasn't living in a balanced way - that I was naturally a very active person, and always had been - but had bent over WAY too far this time for my career.

I decided that the only way to make space in my life would be to extricate entirely from my suffocating job. Very Western of me, I know; but in this case trust me - definitely the right decision! Cut the tumor out!

So, I set that intention, found a new job, and today I am starting to remember who I am. I feel alive again... almost giddy. Running the Marathon came up as an unexpected wild card dream - because someone inspired me. I encourage you to be open to your own dreams. Notice the old ones, and keep a look out for the new ones that may be budding... New dreams will teach you about who you are and how you're growing; because even when it feels like life's been moving backwards, or the space for dreams has been usurped by work, family, and a million tiny burdens, I assure you that your dream-making capacity isn't dead. It's just dormant... Please revive.

Day Fourteen: Balls

This is a cross-training weekend so you won’t hear me talk about the thrill of the trail for two days. Instead, I’m going to tell you about what I did last night and today to remind myself of how much I’ve atrophied, and how truly far I still have to go before I could ever call myself an “athlete.” It’s Day Fourteen already. Just 351 days to go! Chop, chop!

Last night I played tennis with a clinic I haven’t been to in nearly a year. The players there are typically 4.0 and better. I’ve been a 3.5 in my lifetime, during seasons when I was playing 2 or more times a week; but at the moment, I’m a 2.5 – which translates into “occasionally bats it over the net.” I went to the clinic figuring it would be a disaster but knowing the only way back in is through the door – so, hand on handle and twist.

I got a nice surprise. For some reason last night the clinic had a bevy of poor players in attendance. I was elated! We’d suck together! I was grouped with 7 others – 2 girls who were slightly fatter than I, three athletic looking girls, a 50-something Chinese woman whose arms hung limp in her over-sized T-shirt, and one hot 25 year old stud boy. The funny thing about Stud was, he was almost cartoon-like in his physical perfection. His waist and tush were tight and small, and his chest, arms and shoulders just blossomed up and out from there, like an inverted triangle. We were all staring. He was too muscular to be a model, but he had a really pretty face.

We all made our introductions and stated our experience levels for the instructor. I’d been playing the longest. Stud said he’d never held a racquet before so the instructor gave his grip a glance and made an adjustment. Stud focused hard on the lesson. “Got it,” he said, with his big, alabaster smile. Maybe he’s dumb, I thought. One of the athletic girls nudged me and gave me a bug-eyed “Is he for real?” look. He seemed too athletic to have never ever played tennis before.

At first, it seemed like he was for real. He sucked as bad as the rest of us. He missed the ball. He struggled to get his backhand over the net; but then out of nowhere, Stud started to improve - exponentially. He was whipping the ball into opposing corners, applying topspin and back slice. Of course, he could also run fast to meet any crazy return we sent his way… and he wasn’t sweating. He was Super Stud!

I, on the other hand, was sweating straight through my clothing. Like a moist sausage, I’d stuffed myself into last year’s newest tennis skirt and polo, which are about 2 sizes too small at the moment. The scene was obscene!

Next we were grouped into teams and I was placed with Stud who declared we needed a team name, and pronounced us the “Legion of Doom!” which spoke to his age ever so charmingly. Stud helped us take home some points, and my shots got better, but the girls and I started to titter a little with resentment that this person had obviously lied about his past tennis experience. He should have been playing with people his own level. He was dominating the court and totally wasting our time. Go play with the boys!

But then something happened. It was time to pick up the balls so we all grabbed hoppers or knelt to pile balls on our racquets and bring them to the basket. I happened to be by Stud and noticed him dragging his hopper around - but instead of pressing the basket down on the balls, to push them in from the underside – like you’re meant to – he was picking them up with his hand and tossing them one by one in the basket. I thought to myself, oh he just wants more exercise so he's bending down over and over; but he was watching me, curiously. “That’s cool. How are you doing that?” ...And I realized in that moment, Stud had not been lying. He had really never played tennis before. Anyone who has played tennis knows how to use the hopper. You learn that on the first day – even if you are 5 years old.

I asked him again, “Sorry. So, you really haven’t played tennis before?” He looked a little hurt. I was questioning his integrity. He was, after all, a very nice guy. I said I apologized because I’d doubted him, only because he was so good; but really, I should have been complimenting his amazing athletic ability. He said he had mastered pretty much every other sport but never knew anyone to teach him tennis. He’d looked on Craig’s List and found this group. The racquet was borrowed. Could I tell him what the instructor meant when she was yelling “volley?”

Stud made me think about physical fitness, and how being a good runner wouldn’t make me a good athlete; but how being a good athlete might make me a good runner. That’s where I want to be a year from today – in top athletic condition. That is my real goal. Running the Marathon will be achievable only if I can both develop running skills and build my athletic ability. I can't just run to prepare for the race.

For the last 30 minutes of the tennis clinic, I had a seismic shift of my own. Stella got her groove back. I was the undefeated queen of the court. After 25 minutes the two pros who run the clinic were brought in to try to defeat me but they couldn't! (Seriously.) I couldn't breathe - and I was redder than a beet - but I was on top of the world. My teammates were incredibly supportive and excited for me. I think the girls might also have been secretly happy to see Stud fall back in line. At the end of the night there were high-fives all around and Stud also wanted to shake my hand.

Today, every muscle in my body aches. I could barely walk when I got up. My feet are blistered in new places from my old tennis shoes and my right arm throbs; but I love it! Tennis is my favorite way to spend an hour. Chasing that fuzzy ball around makes me happy. You know that glazed look of bliss a dog gets on its face when it's retrieving a stick you sent his way; that's exactly how I feel when I'm on the court and the ball goes pop on my strings. Pop! The best feeling in the world.

This afternoon, I took to the pool, as scheduled, for more cross training; and it was a mildly unpleasant experience. The water was warm, soft and disconcertingly under-chlorinated, so that when I got a huge mouthful of it, I gagged hard. But I did my laps, leg lifts, kick-board and arm exercises. I didn’t love it. I’m glad I’m going to be running again on Monday. Did I just say that?

Day Thirteen: Rain Check?

It's Friday and I'm about to have an intense weekend of cross training - tennis tonight, swimming tomorrow, and then intenSati on Sunday morning. Lord help me! I didn't even pause to consider not running this morning though because yesterday, when I didn't run, I noticed the rest of my day lacked patina; and by bedtime, I will admit to you that I had the strangest kernel of excitement about the promise of putting the shoes back on again today. Weird!

The big question though: would I be able to run straight to the stretching bridge without stopping? Would I have sustained Thursday's progress or have suffered certain setback?

In the elevator down there was a man in running gear. We smiled, nodded. He saw my gloves and cautioned, "It's raining. Indoors today." Nature hater! My English cousins do just about anything in the rain. Outdoors bridge game? No problem. Just pack your cagoule, waterproof trousers and wellies! Carry on! They have taught me something. So, with the fall colors' "raging against the dying of the light," I wasn't into missing a moment of their poetic finale. "I'm going to give it a shot," I said and his face dropped ever so slightly, "but... you never know; I might see you in a few minutes!"

This man, and all the other people I see now in the mornings are members of an underground city I never knew existed. It isn't a social world, where people talk and meet while they're on the course, but there's a strange sense of community nonetheless. I've actually stopped carrying my cell phone with me when I run because it occurred that if I were to take a tumble and need help along the way, many people would pass and someone would help. The challenge of training might be all mine to bear, but I am not entirely alone.

I made it to the stretching bridge without stopping and set a new goal to carry on until a particular tree next time. I can't wait. Then the rest of the run was fairly smooth as well. I had moments of physical pain starting in places where I've been injured in the past, and the shin splints flared for a moment so I switched to running on the grass alongside the path; but overall, I managed OK and can envision a day when I might actually run the Lower Loop without stopping at all. YEAH!

NTS: "I'm missing my shepherd's pie, like a high maintenance chick missing her diamonds."

Day Twelve: Day Off

Day Eleven: 3.014% of the way there!

Only 354 days left to get ready for the race. People have started asking me how I will secure a number - will I do the 9-10 pre-races required to qualify beforehand, align with a charity, or take my chances on the lottery? Imagine the irony... that I might actually manage to train all year long, get up to a level of physical condition that would be conducive to running, and then not be allowed to do it!

The truth is, when I started out on this path I didn't even know one had to pre-qualify. I'd heard of the lottery, but I thought that was just for people who didn't want to pay the entrance fee. I'd figured there was always a way in for a well meaning person... such as myself; but "well meaning" doesn't get you very far in an arena like this and for that, I'm very glad - because that's exactly why I'm doing this. I want to be living right in the truth of my credentials.

So what's my plan now? I have no idea. I guess we'll just have to see how I progress; I might not be able to do this after all. Hello, doubts! I mean - look at the situation! Already 3% of my training is behind me and today, my great accomplishment was running all the way to what I've fondly dubbed, "The Stretching Bridge." Why? Because I regularly stop there and kid myself that I need to stretch already. Obviously, I'm just stopping there for a lazy break. I won't tell you were the stretching bridge is because it's embarrassingly close to the start of the path I take. Before today, though, I was never able to run all the way to it without stopping to walk. On my first day out, I actually think I had to stop and walk three times before getting there. So, I've seen progress.

This morning I was in a rush, though, because I have an early morning business meeting. The alarm rang at 5:45 AM... and I started running right from my door - and didn't stop. There was a good song on. I was lost in thought... and suddenly, I realized, I was almost at the stretching bridge. The first 5-10 minutes of my runs are really the hardest to push through, mentally. There's a childlike quality to the hysterical resistance my body exhibits. No! I will not do as you say!! I'm stopping! And you can't make me do otherwise! I'll drop to the ground? I'll go limp! I... can't... hear you! But today, the child inside went where it was told to, kept in motion, got into the routine, as if realizing finally that all independence and autonomy might not actually be at stake. There might be a freedom somewhere inside the security of this structure... Or, maybe there was just a good song on.

New blog feature today: Name That Song! Every day that I run with music, I'll post a quote from a song that has inspired, motivated or amused me in some way while running. You can only play if you promise not to judge my extremely eclectic taste in music. No Googling for the answer! I'm trusting you.

NTS: "Them cars, them hoes, them tricks, they go boom..."

Day Ten: Gadgets

Running sucked today. I had a lot of trouble getting out of bed when the alarm rang. I was super tired, stiff, and began to wonder exactly how bad I'd look if I wrote an "excuse note" here on my third day of blogging. Bad, I decided, very bad. I was about to hit snooze for the third time when I was struck with a little spark of inspiration. I remembered, my new gadget!

You see, I need to run with "stuff." It didn't start out that way. On Day One it was just my new pair of sneakers and a good friend to talk to. Such simplicity; but then when the friend wasn't there on Day Two, and I hadn't brought anything to distract myself from that rushing blood noise in my head, the pounding of my own feet slamming on the pavement, the screaming monkey thoughts, "Stop! Walk! This is not natural! No emergency exists! Abort mission! Abort! Evolve! Take a taxi!" well, my first instinct was to take along some "stuff" to distract myself.

First, it was the iPod, then a water bottle, then chap stick, tissues, a cell phone, a hat, gloves, heart monitor, notebook and pens, ID, MetroCard, pin money... So that by now, on Day Ten, I've literally exceeded the capacity of my jacket pockets (things fly out as I run) and really, to be frank, I could use a running valise. Is there such a thing?

I tell myself that these gadgets are good for me, that they're adding weight and enhancing my workout... But, don't fear, because today's new gadget wasn't actually anything incremental, but rather a replacement item. Last night I got... get excited with me now... a new chap stick!! It's a bit of SWAG from a benefit I attended - the Urban Arts Partnership and Working Playground's 24 Hour Plays on Broadway. My new chap stick is made of pure Swedish beeswax and is supplied by a company called LypSyl. It's so delightfully over-packaged it makes me want to cry. The button you use to push the stick up has a fully moulded bee on it!

So, armed with my new toy - and flashes back to performances the night before by Emily Rossum, Claudie Blakley, Rosie Perez, Rachel Dratch (will someone please write that woman a show - she's so talented!), Billy Crudup, Jeremy Sisto, Gaby Hoffman, Julia Stiles, Demi Moore (who is inconceivably petite), Diane Neal, Leslie Bibb, Liev Schreiber, Fisher Stevens (rocked it!), Amber Tamblyn, John Krainsky, Naomi Watts, Sam Rockwell, Ashton Kutcher-Sanders, Michael Ealy, Rosario Dawson, Tracie Thoms, Eva Mendes (...who isn't just hot, she's really shockingly talented), Jennifer Aniston (wafter thin, darling), David Cross (fucking hysterical), Brook Shields (funny!), and Anthony Mackie (knockdown performance) - I managed to put on a good show of my own and ran today - a little more than 1.7 miles.

Day Nine: Lower Loop

Today I managed to get out the door and head to the Lower Loop in Central Park by 6:30AM. The Lower Loop is 1.7 miles around and I only started running it on Saturday. Before that I was walking the path in Riverside Park, or running and walking haphazardly through parts of Central Park and down city streets. I'd come home and use Google Maps to try to measure out exactly how far I'd gone each day - usually between 2-5 miles.

On Friday of last week, a real runner I know told me to try the Lower Loop, and so I did on Saturday. It was a miserable experience. Not only was it a physical challenge that made me wonder if I'd been calculating my previous runs incorrectly, but the insult of better runners' (read: everyone) whizzing by me was almost too much to bear. I was running at the pace of a horse carriage, and so was followed along the entire course by the stench of horse manure. A portable nightmare.

If nothing else, you'd think that would have spurred me on to run faster, to get away from the manure, but I simply couldn't. I did my best to stop and stretch along parts of the route, and mid-way, at Bethesda Fountain, I even did some squats. (By the way, you know you really hate to run if stopping for squats feels like a break!) At the end of my run on Saturday, despite having barely run at all, I was so lightheaded and lacking in leg-to-brain coordination, that I actually crashed into a little girl who darted out in front of me at the exit at 59th Street. I saw her moving into my path, and yet, I had no reaction time. I couldn't stop! Kaboom! Fortunately my arm-to-brain coordination was still intact and I managed to grab her hood and pull her up before we both hit the ground, avoiding a hard spill that probably would have left us both really hurting.

So this morning when I ran and walked the loop in under an hour, and didn't injure any children, or myself, it felt like progress.

P.S. The mist on Sheep's Meadow is really lovely in the morning. I think I first saw a representation of it in the movie, "The Fisher King," which I saw in an outdoor amphitheater in Venice, Italy in 1991. At the time I remember thinking, "That's my NYC? How ironic that I am sitting so far from home and learning about a beautiful place in my own country." It's taken me 18 years, probably almost to the day now, to see that morning mist in person. Totally worth it.

Week One: The Mission

A week ago, on the day of the 40th NYC Marathon, I decided to take on what will surely be the biggest physical and emotional challenge of my life. I am going to train for next year's race.

I have always been, and am currently, a terrible runner; and I have never aspired to get any better. It just hurts too damn much. There never seems to be any progress and I'm not clear on the deliverable reward I should be expecting. The cracking knees, the burning arches, the achy hips and pounding heart... I have no ambivalence as I say this – I really hate to run.

There have been some critical shifts in my life in the last year, however, that have encouraged me to take a fresh look at all my choices, and now specifically, what the practice of running might bring to my life, in spite of all the very good reasons I have for hating and avoiding it categorically. In the last month, in particular, I’ve received encouragement to run from several important people in my life - friends, family, a doctor, and even a guy I started dating - who all really do have my best interest at heart. One of my great weaknesses over time has been thinking I know best and overlooking well-thought-out advice from loving friends and family. I’m trying now to pay attention.

My biggest obstacle might appear on the surface to be my current state of physical fitness which is, and I'm being generous when I say this, a zero. Training for the Marathon is going to require a massive and sustained shift in my behavior, and fast; 365 days might not even be enough time! But the bigger obstacle I'd argue is my powerful mind. How will I overcome a deep-seeded loathing for running, a disdain reinforced by years of rationalization? I will need to overcome it though, and learn to tolerate intense moments of miserable physical discomfort and self-doubt.

I decided to blog about my experience as a way to ground this thing I hate to do, in something that I love to do. I’ve kept a diary since the time I could hold a big fat red pencil; writing about my life is familiar and easy and where I feel competent. In H.S. I wasn't voted "most likely to succeed," or "best athlete;" I was voted "most likely to tell a story." Writing is a habit for me, so the hope is that, eventually, the energies will collide, and so too will running become a habit.

Those who have known me for a while and are familiar with my writing may be starting to wonder where my sense of humor has gone. This should tell you how important to me training for the Marathon is, that I am not joking about it. I actually waited a week to post because I was afraid I might have quit by now; but I haven't quit. I've been running, or cross-training, every day for a week, and I am determined to keep it up. I'm not saying I'll never write anything funny again but, I don't want to get lost in the words, or spend all day on a blog entry that's designed to impress you. It's the running I want to be proud of now. It's the experience of it - hard, easy, growth, setback - whatever it is, I want to be in that moment and the blog is here to keep me honest.

So to those who are already rooting for me, and believe in me, thank you very much; and to those who doubt this is something I will go through with, I understand your instinct but, I ask you to take me seriously regardless, take a leap of faith and lend me your support, because already... I am off!