Day 181: Skipping

In 181 days I haven't skipped a day of blogging about running. Not once. But today (rather yesterday - because it's already 1:20 AM) I am skipping. This all sort of falls under the "burned out" umbrella I talked about yesterday. I just need a little vacation from it all. In retrospect, I wish I'd scheduled a whole week off from running and blogging. Enough time away that I'd miss it, and really appreciate coming back to it. But as things stand, I'm still pretty tired, and reluctant to make the sacrifices I need to sustain the balance and effort I put in for 6 solid months; so today - was another day off.

See you tomorrow.

Day 180: I *Heart* Drek

There are different philosophies on how to recover from a big race. At the Expo I heard you’re supposed to rest one day for every mile you’ve run. That doesn’t mean no running at all, just that you shouldn’t go fast, or stay out there too long. My Marathon training schedule doesn’t “know” that I’ve just run a Half so I was up and running and cross training right away, with a long run scheduled for this weekend. I was scheduled to run 4 miles today.

Well, I’m tired. I don’t want to run today. I’m not ready. I’m physically ready, but emotionally, I need a break. I just want to watch some TV or something! I don’t even want to blog, sorry to say… I miss my life before all this. I miss cooking, and sleeping, and talking about drek. I mean, I don’t miss them a lot! Just a little. All I need is one night to reminisce… And I’m going to take it.

Right now I’m catching up on Crate & Barrel catalogues. Yeah, that’s how I roll over here when I’m living large. I made my own dinner too - healthy fried brown rice with shrimp and veggies. Not a single sip of protein shake, or power bar. I’m not doing any laundry, or downloading new tunes, syncing my Nike+, filling a water bottle, snacking on Sport Beans, or planning a route. I’m just being a regular person tonight. A runner on a break. And I’m not spending any more than 5 minutes on this entry, either! All of it – I want a day off from all of it!

Tomorrow, I’ll make my 4 miles up in the Park. It’s been a long time since I ran outdoors in the morning before work. It’ll be good for me to shake my routine up and get a high-energy start to Friday. I’m excited just thinking about it! Ahh… back to the beautiful side of running, the anticipation, the challenge… I’m definitely looking forward to tomorrow... but right now? Pass me that “US Weekly,” will ya?

Day 179: Abundance

Tonight was the last night of my intenSati workshop. I knocked myself out during the workout hour and felt totally connected with all the affirmations. I noticed how much stronger I’ve become, and that was exciting. I’m pushing really hard right now to strengthen my body and sharpen my mind, to be awake to myself, and my power. What’s my motivation? Abundance.

The great lessons of intenSati are many, but if I had to boil it down to four key messages, they are 1) to be in touch with your desires, 2) to trust you will receive what you need, 3) to be available “right now” for what you want, and 4) to be open to getting an abundant amount of whatever you want.

It’s interesting stuff because what you realize the minute you’re asked, “Are you available?” is that you aren’t. It’s nearly impossible the first time you hear the question to yell back, “Yes! I am available!” We’re taught (especially women) from an early age that we should never seem available. Not good to look like you are free; someone opportunistic might take advantage. Then there’s also the matter of life's just being incredibly hectic, and the practicality of really needing sometimes to shut newness out as a means of controlling demands and preventing overload. Telegraphing "available" in NYC means literally having opportunities come at you from every taxi driver, cashier and random person in any elevator. Think I'm kidding? I am not.

But being unavailable, the alternative, is death. Sure, you protect yourself from some potential dangers, but you are also closed off to any new possibilities that might arise. Things stay firmly the same. It's a struggle to move ahead in any area. We end up feeling trapped and can't get a grasp on why… (You know what I mean.)

But, if you’re available, that means you're open to letting new things naturally flow in. All you have to do then is stay in touch with your desires, so you can use them as a gauge by which to measure newness and decide what you want to keep, and what you want to toss back. With trust, if there's nothing good coming along for a while, you don't have to be afraid: something amazing is coming your way soon enough; it's coming... so don't stress out and grab at rotten fish! And on the flip side, with trust, you also have the courage to take on something amazing that comes your way that looks different from what you expected; in time, you will figure how how to handle so many opportunities and so much love.

When you get all this down, and practice it for a while, you might start to notice a new kind of joy, and contentment, and confidence building inside you. You might start to wonder, like I do now, is there a quota on good? Is the other shoe going to drop? Or rather, when is the other shoe going to drop?

Well, what if, once you got into a routine with all these new ways of being, the other shoe just simply stopped dropping? What if, when you are truly in touch with what you desire, and trust it's coming to you, and make yourself available, goodness just piles up in towers?

Well that’s what we call abundance. And, if I had to say what the hardest lesson I've had to learn since starting intenSati was, it would be figuring out how to cope with the kind of abundance I've been experiencing. I just made one simple little shift in availability in my life back in November 2009 – I decided to experience running, whatever that was going to actually be like – and from that single open door has flowed more abundance than I could ever have conceived. And now, I don't quite know what to do with it! But I do realize, there could be worse problems than watching your dreams begin to materialize. And I trust, in time, that I will figure out how to handle it all because abundance is my destiny.

Day 178: Fortune Cookies

Today was the 1st day of my 28-week Marathon training program. I was scheduled to run 3 miles but only managed 2 before work because I was rushing to catch a train to Philadelphia. I’m not going to beat myself up about it. It isn’t a harbinger of sloppiness to come. It was just a shorter run than planned and I’ll make it up later in the week.

I went to Philly for focus groups and our sessions ran through dinner, so we ordered Chinese in before heading back to New York. The delivery came with a pile of fortune cookies. I’m a little bit weird this way, but I believe G-d whispers to me through fortune cookies. I know… quirky. I’m a freak. I never said I wasn’t!

I paused over the bowl, picked, and then moved to an unoccupied spot in the anteroom of the focus group facility to take my message in. I like to be alone, or at least quiet, when I read the word of G-d. I wondered what kind of directive I would be receiving. Would it be about work, romance, writing, or maybe running…? I hoped about writing or running.

I cracked my cookie open and read, “If you can’t excel with talent, triumph with effort.”

And there you have it. Do not worry, Michelle, about becoming the best runner or writer there could be. Just show up every day and work hard. Keep going. Be humble. Don’t be a baby or expect success. Expect hard work. The sincerity of your effort will be the measure of your triumph. Thank you Suzie’s Happy Village of Bala Cynwyd, PA.

Day 177: Bookmark Between Chapters

I am exhausted, stiff and starving today; but I don’t feel let down. That’s a big shift for me because in the past, whenever I’ve finished an intense project, I’ve dropped into a bit of a depression almost immediately after… washed over with feelings of emptiness and purposelessness. You know, now what do I do? I put all that work in, for so long, and what have I got to show for it? Was it worth it? What will I do next?

But running feels worth it… A day after having finished my first Half Marathon, all of the training hours I logged haven’t just disappeared. They are still mine, and they now become the foundation for my next goal… I have a 10K coming up, and then another Half Marathon scheduled… and of course, the mother of all goals, the 2010 NYC Marathon, which I haven’t got a number for yet – but I’m working on that. You see, there’s a layering going on here that rolls out ahead of me, with one race building to the next, distance and speed climbing gradually, and naturally, with continued effort; and this progress could carry on indefinitely, if I want it to.

And why wouldn’t I want it to? I get to be outdoors when I run – and I love being outdoors; this sport lets me be independent and compete with myself – but it’s also surprisingly social – and attracts the kind of people I enjoy and respect; and compared to other activities, running is delightfully cheap. That’s a winning formula, if you ask me!

So, I’ve got a 10K race coming up next, but believe it or not, tomorrow will kick off the first day of my training program for the NYC Marathon, which is exactly 194 days away! I’m using a 28-week progressive schedule recommended by Nike. I may follow that for 13 weeks and then switch to one of the other 15-week programs I’ve reviewed and thought seemed to have merit. There are many to choose from. I happen to especially like the NYRR 15-week program because it comes with fun tracking tools that include pie charts and bar graphs outlining one’s progress. I’m a sucker for a visual metaphor… But we shall see how the Nike program goes; if I’m comfortable with it, I may just stick with that from start to finish.

So today has been a day of rest, a bookmark between chapters, a moment to pause and appreciate all that went into accomplishing a big goal now completed. But, today is also a day of preparation for a new beginning tomorrow – when it will be “day one” all over again – the first formal, tracked day of my training for the NYC Marathon!

Half Marathon: Torrential Success (2:38:36/12:06 Pace)

I rocked it today at my first Half Marathon! It was magic. The conditions at the race were abysmal (47 degrees, heavy rain and wind – out of 10,000 signed up for the race, only 60% showed) but I found the source of my power out there in the elements.

From the minute I crossed the start line I was zoned in and focused. It was as if I were the coxswain, perched slightly above myself, watching the pacing and making directional adjustments as needed. How’s my breathing? How’s my posture? How’s my stride? Can we go faster? Then let’s go faster... Good girl. Do not stop. It’s worse when you stop. Are you really that cold? I didn’t think so. (It was so cold I literally wore a white plastic garbage bag over me for ¾ of the race!) You know what you are doing. Get into the motion. Enjoy the music… Do not stop. Keep your eyes down and look at those glistening puddles shining up at you from tar worlds below. Pretty, no? This is your Park. I said, do not stop. Go!

I was compassionate, smart and determined, and then when it got tough, I was unrelenting. In the end, I beat my targeted time by over 4 minutes (targeted 2:43:00/12:27 pace) and finished strong.

I’ve been waiting nearly 6 months to be able to tell you I understand why people love to run. Today’s the day. My moment’s right now; because I have become one of them. I loved running that race today. I love to run... and I don't ever want to stop. There's so much ahead to learn and see and do. And here I am, at a total loss for words to describe why. It’s just not what I expected. It’s better. And I sort of understand now why nobody has been able to explain it to me. It’s kind of unexplainable.

I do want to say a few thank yous. I had a big group of supporters who saw me through the race today. First the friends who braved the elements even though I told them not to! Sarah H. met me at 7:30 AM in the pouring rain and freezing cold to send me off, and then waited along the finish line to watch me cross. Jolynn and Rob stood on East 86th Street, and Jill on West 86th Street, to cheer me on, and then also met me at the finish. And finally, Amy and Alex came to watch me finish; and all seven of us went out for brunch afterwards to the official post-race hangout... Le Pain Quotidien.

Thanks to Jaime for her nutrition advice that has taught me a new way to fuel – both in training and on race day. She's turning my thinking up side down. I owe my 4+ minute gain to Jaime because I ran today on literally 2 hours of sleep, with a head cold; but my energy was never higher! Radical.

Then there were all the calls and texts and IMs and emails before and after… from my other friends, my colleagues, members of my intenSati Creativity Workshop, all excited for me and believing in me. Even my mother, who never remembers anything at all ever about my life, called in the afternoon to see how it had gone.

If I weren’t so tired right now, I might actually be embarrassed by all the attention! But I am ridiculously tired. I went to try to write this at 3pm today and ended up falling asleep for two hours snuggled into the warmth of my laptop! Right now, I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m going to sign off for now, content about the race, and excited to have found an elusive seat at the table...

Photo Credit: Rob Jaekel "Michelle running in a plastic trash bag, at East 86th Street, at approximately mile 8."

Day 175: T-Minus One Day

Have you ever tried to eat 120 g of carbohydrate in one sitting? Nearly impossible! That's what my nutritionist instructed I ingest for breakfast, along with 20 g of protein, and less than 30 g of fat. Now, I know I'm a bit of a protein whore, and who doesn't like a little fat, but 120 g of carbs? What to do!?

I sat down and started to try to sort out some combinations. I ran through Post-it after Post-it note, surprised every time by the math. I thought an egg would be nice, or two; but that shot me up way too high on the protein scale and did nothing for me in terms of carbs. Scrap the eggs. And definitely scrap the soy cheese I was going to put on them. Bagels would be high carb... I looked them up on line. Only problem, I didn't have any bagels and wasn't so interested in leaving the house. (I've got a wicked head cold and congestion that just won't go.) What else could I find around the house?

There was a can of fat free vegetarian refried beans - yum - and a few whole wheat pitas I could spread the beans on. Delicious! But a half a cup of beans only went so far... There was a damn pita left. I added a tablespoon of peanut butter... and that tapped out my protein allotment for the morning and I was still painfully short on carbs. I added two tablespoons of jam. I have a suspicion that wasn't the kind of carbs I was supposed to be eating but really, what the heck! I've never felt so force fed in my life! When all was said and done, I was still short 20 g of carbs so I told myself I'd find a sports drink someplace, but I never did.

Then I went down to the big pre-race Expo. I've never been to one, so I wasn't sure what to expect. It was held at the Roseland Ballroom. Every time I go there I think of the first time I went in HS to see a Nine Inch Nails concert. Trent Reznor had pulled me up on stage from the pit, and then he sang "Head Like a Hole" to me while I sat there on my knees in front of the entire theatre; and then spit coffee on me. Really, a highlight of my teen years! Says a lot, doesn't it!

Later, after college, I was living in LA and met Trent at a party in the Hills. I didn't recognize him with his unassuming broad rimmed Amish-style hat but I'd been told in advance who he was. Since we had nothing else to say to each other, I filled the void by telling him about the spitting incident. Clever of me! When I was done, we just stared at each other and I remember thinking he looked so small and sort of sad, not the dominating rock star who had dazzled me at 17. "Sorry," he finally said and I said back, "It's OK," and then we both looked out across the grid of streetlights below, quietly taking sips from our red Solo cups filled with Sprite.

Anyway, today, Roseland was transformed into a "girl power" emporium for the Expo! I picked up my race number, and my goodie bag filled with samples of panty liners, deodorant, and teeth whitener, and perused the booths. I bought a few last minute things, but nothing major.

There was a talk being given then by a panel of running stars, and as I sat down to listen, I realized it was being moderated by my very own Gordon Bakoulis! The panel was interesting and I got a ton of tips about stretching before the race, how to handle fear and sleeplessness, what pain medicine to take (Tylenol - NOT Advil - for 24 hours before a race), and anecdotes that made me feel part of an amazing community. One surprising thing I heard was the women's answer to the question, what's the most important thing you need as a woman who runs. The answer from everyone, with a bit of a giggle, was, "A good husband!" Making running part of your life in an ongoing, serious way - not just as a competitive runner, but even as a novice - really requires serious support. If you're going to have a family, you just can't do it if everyone in the house doesn't think your running is a priority. That came across loud and clear.

After the talk was over, I waited in line to say hello to Gordon and thank her for the training schedule she'd made, and I'd followed. I was thrilled when I first introduced myself and she said, "Of course! I'm following your blog on facebook!" So exciting!

So, tonight I'm doing laundry (I feel like I'm always doing laundry...) and organizing my things for tomorrow. I'll be getting up at 5 AM to take my synthroid, then eating at 5:30 AM, then leaving the house at 7:20 AM to get to the Park for the race's 8AM start. Sarah Hine is meeting me at the start of the race to pump me up and tell me it's gonna be OK! Then Jolynn, Rob and Jill are all going to be staked out along the route to cheer me on. It's possibly going to be raining, and cold, so I guess we'll see how it goes tomorrow but just knowing my friends want to be there means everything to me. I might not have a good husband, but I've got the best friends anyone could ask for. It does take a village and don't let anyone tell you it doesn't. I only wish I could get my villagers to help me with my laundry too but that might be asking too much...

Day 174: Say My Name!

There's suddenly the matter of my name, again. The year I was born, Michelle was the #4 most popular name for a newborn baby girl in the US. There were 5 of us in my middle school class of 110, two of whom were in my best friend circle. My college roommate was yet another Michele. I've been in two weddings where the bride was named Michelle or Michele. In short, I never identified much with my name because it felt quite ubiquitous.

Over the years, I've picked up a number of nicknames. As a kid, I was mostly just Michellesanders - first and last name said together as if they were just one long name. All the Michelles were like that because none of us had proper nicknames that the teachers or our parents would call us by. So we were Michellekline, Micheledamiano, Michellebrill, Micheleirosi... We had little pet names we'd call each other, but they were mostly variations on Michelle, like Mich, Mush or Michka.

In college, for four solid years, everyone including professors called me Chelle (Shelly). It all started when my freshman year roommate Erin, who was a California girl, thought that Michelle was boring and didn't suit me. I rolled with it - never having been too attached to my given moniker anyway. I didn't like college much so in a weird way, being somebody else while I was there, made me feel less bad about wasting so much money and time on an ill conceived commitment.

After college, I lived in LA with high school friends so I went back to being Michelle. At my job in Hollywood, everyone started calling me "M." A few friends still call me M and I often sign things with just an M. Then came the Mimi years. My best friend in my late 20s was dating and eventually married a French man who dubbed me Mimi. I loved it! Finally, a nickname with pizazz! You see, I was named after my grandmother Mollie, and always wished my parents had just gone with that instead of watering me down to a more "normal," sanitized name that didn't sound ethnic or cutesy. My mother also always told me, "I couldn't imagine yelling at you and saying, 'Now! Put that down, Mollie!' because I'd feel like I was yelling at my mother." Isn't it interesting that she was envisioning yelling at me even before I was born! Anyway, her fear got me stuck with what she thought was the vanilla, Americanized version of Mollie. Not sure I get it but... that's what happened.

Since I didn't hate it, the nickname Mimi lasted quite a few years. I can't even remember how it got retired - probably a combination of drifting from the friend with the French husband, and breaking up with a boyfriend who had particularly liked it. But anyway, I've been just Michelle or M now for about 6 years, and I've been learning to appreciate and connect with Michelle for really the first time. There aren't any other Michelles at my job right now either, so for once, I get to own it! Now and again I'll say my name is Mimi when I am at Starbucks or something, just to hear it roll off my tongue and know I could go back at any time. But I often think for a flash when I'm at the register of giving some other totally random name, just to see if I could pull another quick change off. What would I choose next? Do other people think about how their own name effects their lives? I do - all the time.

So, with the Half Marathon coming up, a friend reminded me I could write my name on my shirt, and people would call it out to me as I went by. I asked another running friend who has run 9 Marathons and completed countless triathlons how I should do this (hesitant to write on my nice shirt with a Sharpie!) and she gave me some suggestions (masking tape - but if it's wet out, which it probably will be, that won't work - so I may have to figure something out with duct tape or iron ons!) and I said oh great, I hope I can fit "Michelle" on there! And she said, no - I shouldn't write my first name, because then I wouldn't be able to differentiate my friends' cheering from general crowd cheering - that I would keep looking for friends every time I heard my name called! Hmm... I'm not going to have THAT many friends on the side lines. I don't want to miss anyone!

So, what name should I put on my shirt, then? I could put my last name. Or one of my nick names from the past... or I could pick something entirely new. Like people have a poker name, or a stripper name, maybe I need a running name! I mean, Beyonce is Sasha Fierce when she goes out there on the stage to perform. Why can't I have a running name?

I'm really not sure yet but whatever I write on there, probably just "Michelle," I hope people yell it out for me the whole way through. It's supposed to rain on Sunday, and be cold. Even with my solid training and conviction, I'm going to need all the encouragement I can get. So if you see me out there, please - as loud as you can, say my name!

Day 173: New 3M PR (30:03/10:01 Pace)

I am SO excited. Tonight I achieved an unexpected PR! I ran 3 miles in 30:03, netting a 10:01 pace. That's :15 faster per mile than my last 3M PR, which I achieved back in March. I had a couple of advantages tonight.

First, I've been tapering my running down (only 10 miles in the last 5 days) and so my body wasn't exhausted, for once!!! Oh happy, joy. Second, I've been preparing for the Half Marathon nutritionally for a while - no alcohol in 2 weeks, I've been taking iron and multi-vitamin supplements, and today I started carbohydrate and protein loading. Mmm... pasta is so yummy! And then third, I had last night's intenSati lesson on my mind - the one where we were asked to consider the idea that you can't be in two places at once? Powerful stuff...

The treadmill is the ultimate test when it comes to trying to just be where you're at. It's quite a frustrating torture apparatus! You're running - signaling to the body, "We're going somewhere!" - and yet, that's a lie! You are actually going nowhere. The sights stay the same, the grade stays the same (unless you change it, which I never do!). It's horribly boring. That's why there are TVs in there, to help you be in two places at once! Even the mirrors around the gym let you stare at yourself - outside of yourself. Interesting, isn't it?

So tonight, I tried very hard to focus on being exactly where I was, not get too interested in "Access Hollywood," not watch myself in the mirror and issue commentary; but to really be there, in my experience, at the gym, on the treadmill, doing my work. I looked at the machine itself. The buttons. The flappity belt that probably needs to be replaced. Then I got into my body - and the motion of running. Arms swung, legs kicked back, and breath came in and out.

From time to time my mind would wander some other place, and that's when I'd feel the urge to slow down, or stop. When I was completely present, in one place, and "with" myself, I was fine. As soon as I tried to be in two places at once, I'd break down and want to stop.

I wasn't expecting a PR today, but it sure is a confidence booster for Sunday. I have no PR for a Half Marathon, of course, since I've never run one! I think my goal is going to be to do it in 2:45:00 (12:36 Pace). I'd been thinking I'd try to do it in under 3 hours, but I don't want to give myself an easy goal. This isn't about burning a nice chunk of calories; it's about pushing myself. I'm training for the Marathon, after all!

Day 172: A Sense of Place

I really lost my cool today. It started the minute I woke up. What was I supposed to be eating to be ready for the big race? Was it more carbs or more protein? How much and when? Then I checked the weather and saw it's supposed to be cold and raining on Sunday. Why am I doing this, again? I felt a kind of desperation wash over me...

I fired off an aggressive email to my poor nutritionist Jaime asking her to be specific about my diet. Help me! This was before work, and by the time I was en route to the office, I was already manically checking my Gmail for her reply. Nothing. Refresh. Nothing! Refresh!! Refresh!! I noticed myself panicking and that made me lose even more confidence. How lame am I? I know I can do this and yet, here I am falling apart!

After work, I had my intenSati creativity workshop for two hours. I walked through the workout portion of the class because I can't risk exerting myself right now. I actually bounced around more than I wanted to; but it's pretty hard to resist joining in when the class gets going. It just feels SO good.

Today's creativity lesson was on the importance of understanding that a person can only be in one place at a time. This got me thinking about ambivalence. In the context of place, ambivalence equals the space between the things you are dispassionate about. You avoid choosing any of your obvious options by choosing something there in the nebulous abyss, between options. Being wishy washy on two things makes you specifically dead nowhere.

So tonight, post class, I'm opting to drop my lingering ambivalence about the race. If before I was afraid I'd be lost out there in a sea of strangers, now I see things in the context of place. I will be visiting familiar points in the Park - places I know and love - for three lovely hours on a Sunday.

I can picture myself by the Magic Tree, and the Stretching Bridge, and passing Kadija at the Boat House, and that crazy scary cat on the rock. Then by the most fragrant flowers just before the Met. Then that quiet corner where I once waited for my first race in the Park to start on my birthday... Then past the 102nd Street transverse, and the big hill down past the hockey rink, and then along Adam C. Powell Boulevard, where water freezes on the rocks in the winter and looks so stunning. Then the bitchin' up-hill. I'll be walking then... And next that place where the man who looked like Julia's dad told me to giddy-up and go, and then the blessed downhill where I always think, "I can't wait to go to Shakespeare in the Park this summer!" Then, past the 72nd Street transverse... I'll visit all those places. And then I will do it again because the race loops the Park two times.

I think when I was so nervous before, part of it was not knowing where I would be and how I would fit in with all those people running around me. What would they be thinking about? Why would they be running? But all I need to know is exactly where I will be; and I do know - every step of the way. I'm going to be in my Park, visiting all of my favorite places - one mile at a time.

Day 171: Perfume & Darkness

I ran 3 miles in Central Park tonight, just before sunset. The air was hung with rich perfumes from waxy flowers dripping off soft spring branches. Waving in the breeze, the trees released their scents which all descended on me like a blanket in dizzy colors. I was enraptured.

Then the darkness started. Slow, slow, slow… Is it coming, I’d ask myself, and then there, I’d just be able to make out a shift in my seeing, and know yes, it was coming. I’d notice the bronze statue, and then I’d see the blackest flat man on his horse, where the statue had been. Park lights into pin spots. Theatre in the round and my eyelids like velum curtains, open or shut – no difference.

Runners around me made movable points of reference. The women, in huge packs, led by yellow vested teachers, brought up fears of training with a group… but then the feeling washed away with the dying of the light, as the throngs became buffering ripples on a cool, flowing current. Yes, it’s going to be OK. The men, before the last of the sun, paddled by, beefy and wet, pulling their arms through the air, fighting, groaning, feeding me cupfuls of inspiration; and then fade to dim, they pounded past, my driving protectors, ready in any moment to shield me from dangers that might emerge from the textured and curious landscape to our sides.

I know. Don’t run in the Park in the dark. But what a loss not to have been where I went tonight, and so many others out there with me; was it really so much of a risk? Into a dollhouse of sights and sounds, altered to near psychedelic expression, where the runner runs as she always does, at a similar pace, on the same path, in her place, and yet every glistening drop smells and looks like an untold fantasy.

I was slow today. 3 miles in 35:10, at an 11:43 pace. My allergies were raging. My throat was sore. I’d eaten dinner first and felt like a garlic bomb might explode up out of me any minute. But I went out there and ran because it was on the schedule to. And I ran because I wanted to feel good. I felt bad before I went out; and I felt good when I came back. Really, it’s just that simple. Even I’m starting to believe it.

Five more days until the Half Marathon. Today there is combination of fear and excitement. But mostly fear. I need to make a strategy for getting through this thing or I’m going to freak out!

Day 170: Forever

Like, oh my G-d, in 1985, I had this killer bob haircut that was beveled on the sides, and I brushed and teased it up and out so it was really big like a giant mushroom cap; and when I see photos of it now, I’m like totally embarrassed? But back then? OK, I like, looooved my bob haircut and braces so much. I used to, like, stand in front of the mirror, for like hours, with my can of mousse, and my round hairbrush, and my red Conair Styler Dryer 1200 with fold away handle, and worry that my hair might not always look this perfect; and that would be, like, so totally sad… So I would close my eyes and wish really hard that my hair would stay exactly the same as it was in 1985 – FOREVER!

Thank goodness that wish didn’t come true! Or so many of the other wishes I’ve had for myself over the years – and there have been some wacky ones! I think, the whole of a person’s life story can actually be told through a list of his wishes. You don’t need to know where a guy lived, or worked, or whom he loved, to know who he was. None of that really matters. You only need to know what he desired. Right? I mean, to really know him. What we want is who we are.

The thing about desire, which I’m just learning now, is that it isn’t dangerous. What can be dangerous, however, is ignoring and subjugating desire, because that’s when it has a chance to warp, calcify and mutate. But pure desire is as natural and essential a food to the heart as oxygen is to the lungs. Without “wanting,” the heart slows down into a kind of dormancy, where it’s hard to even know when a desire is emerging. Lots of things feel confusing in this place.

But the good news is, even if a heart has been left to sleep for a while, it easily opens again with just the slightest nudge. It never forgets how to warm with excitement, or fixate on a wish. It also never holds a grudge about wishes unfulfilled. The heart’s happy to move on…. One wish rises up, another falls away. (The head? That’s a different story!) In my case, I know one thing my heart and head are aligned on. They both, like, totally agree, we are leaving that bob haircut behind – FOREVER!

So when I think now about my desire to finish the Marathon, or more immediately, to finish the Half Marathon, I try not to worry about where this is all going, and what I'll do with myself on November 8, 2010, the day after the Marathon. I can envision the giant letdown, or I can trust that new desires - maybe an evolution of my running adventure, maybe not - will rise up and get my attention. I'm pretty sure I won't give up running forever; but I might beg off for a little while and drop it down a notch. I just can't know. All I do know now is that running and writing have opened my heart up again - or maybe for the first time ever - to how exciting and abundant life really can feel. I have no idea what's in store for me, but I know now never to let go of my desires. That is, after all, who I am.

Day 169: New 7M PR (1:19:44/11:23 Pace)

Today I did my last long run before next Sunday's Half Marathon in Central Park. The schedule called for 6-7 miles and I was determined to go that extra mile... literally. Not because I haven't been working hard this week; but because I felt like I needed the exercise and I needed to prove to myself that I could do better than I did last weekend, when I was crying every two miles, had to stop and turn the freaking clock off at the half way point, and only delivered a 12:28 pace.

Today there wasn't any crying at all. I put it down in 1:19:44, netting an 11:23 pace. Respectable considering my history - and also considering I'm pretty bruised (hip and shoulder) from my fall earlier in the week. I wanted to quit a couple of times today and walked a bunch of the hills; but there were also many moments when I realized I'd been running up a hill and was so zoned out I hadn't even noticed! That made me think about how I'm obviously "able" to run the hills; so the next time I wanted to walk them, I should try to push through at least a little longer each time. And I did that. I also let myself dream of all the possibilities ahead that I hope for myself, and for the people I care about. I dreamed about the book I might write about running, and the movie, and the songs playing on the soundtrack. I came up with a killer hook today! Can't wait to put that pen to paper. I thought about which charity I might affiliate with for the Marathon. That's something I need to decide soon.

I also thought of the jealousy I felt earlier today when I read that my friend posted a great time in a race - and how surprised I was to feel jealousy of someone I care so much about. I worked through that, and came to a place of joy for her, and realized I had just lost sight of my own progress, and how personal each of our journeys is. My friend Amy was instrumental in helping me reframe that jealousy, too. Before I ran, I confessed these feelings to her and she immediately "saw me" and reminded me what running means to me, and how the only person I am to use as a reference is myself. Oh, thank you, Amy! I almost went astray... I really took the time to imagine my friend running her fast pace that she achieved, and let admiration and respect take over the jealousy. I was on the 102nd Street transverse when I finally felt peace about it. The sun was shining on my face and I was smiling into it, thinking, G-d is good! I'm not sure why I was thinking that since I'm not a religious person but, running's doing all kinds of weird things to me so I won't bother to question it.

Unfortunately, today I was under-fueled because all my sport gels fell off my fuel belt somewhere along the way before I could consume them! Ironic, because I was just talking to Jaime my nutritionist about how I planned to fuel for the run, and she approved. So, I did it with a pretty heavy Indian lunch and a latte 2 hours before I set out, and then one watered down sports drink during the jaunt! The hydration belt was annoying today and I started to wish I could run the Half without it. I may not be able to because the sports drinks they give out through the Road Runners are "tainted" with yellow dyes, which I'm allergic to. Ugh! I can't go 13.1 miles without a sports drink. I lose way too much sodium. I need to think about how I'm going to do this and whether I'm going to maybe just risk the yellow dye side effects and drink what they're giving out.

I'm not 100% psyched up yet for the Half Marathon next Sunday! I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do to prepare mentally. I've done what I could do to prepare physically. I've followed Gordon's schedule as closely as practically possible - the whole way through. This week I'm to do 2 x 3M runs during the week, and that's it. I'll try to get lots of sleep, and eat lots of protein and carbs, without over eating. I'm taking iron supplements and a multi-vitamin with everything else. I'm pretty sure I know what I'm going to wear, but I guess I'll have to see what the weather's like. Not sure which orthotics I'll use - the "lollipops" still suck. Wore them today. But for double the distance? Could be brutal! That said, I know I need them. Argh. Choices.

Day 168: 3M with Closet Purge

I almost didn’t run today because I am still feeling sensitive from my big fall Thursday night. Instead, I spent the day cleaning my closets and hanging with a friend. But by late afternoon, I started feeling guilty about deviating from my training schedule, and so I headed down to the gym, hopeful I'd manage 4M.

Instead, I managed 3M, in 36:56, at a 12:19 pace, and it was so hard. I was tired and bored, and everything hurt. I stopped and stretched things a few times along the way but mostly, the experience just scared me even more for the Half Marathon next weekend. Maybe I’m really not ready. What has possessed me to take this ridiculous challenge on! I'm not an athlete. I'm an exhausted, pathetic blob! Wah...

Oh, right. I'm not. I'm just having a moment. And the reason to run isn't the running, anyway; it's the after running part that makes it all worthwhile - the balance, the fitness, the lessons. Sorry - I've snapped back into place now. I mean, even today’s closet-cleaning mission wouldn't have been what it was if not for running. Most springs, my closet cleaning amounts to nothing more than a closet swap. I move the woolens to my mom’s house for a few months, and cart the cottons out for a showing. But this year, in line with my reevaluation of basically everything, closet-cleaning went well below the surface...

There was heavy scrutiny of every single thing hanging, folded, or balled up there. I started on the left and moved straight through to the right, examining each garment. If I’m going to wrap my body in it now, it’s got to reflect something about the “me” underneath. Here’s how decisions were made:

BASIC BATCHING
All running gear: exempt from purge
Anything size XL/14+: gone (see “HUGE” for exception)
Anything size M/L/8/10/12: subjected to an all-points analysis (see below)
Anything size XS/S/4/6: subjected to all-points analysis and then put in holding section of closet for future wear

POINTS SYSTEM
Sentimental value: add 1 point
Sentimental value but over 10 years old: eliminate, unless could be sold on eBay as 80s costume
Anything solid black in color: one point off
Solid black but faded: eliminate immediately
Large pattern: one point off
Small pattern: one point off
Plaid: if communicates “farmer,” eliminate; if communicates “lesbian chic,” one point off; if communicates, “I party in Williamsburg,” keep. (Even though I don’t party in Williamsburg.)
Has a hole in it: eliminate, unless sentimental value
Hole in crotch: eliminate, regardless of sentimental value
Has shoulder pads sewn in: eliminate!
Double breasted: eliminate
Unflattering color: eliminate
Boxy: eliminate
Pilled: attempt to use shaver thing but if takes more than 3 minutes, eliminate
Unlined: one point off
If HUGE: consider keeping for fantasy “comfort” weekend wear
Fabric shining from over-dry cleaning: eliminate
Borrowed from someone: if nice ex-boyfriend’s item of clothing, keep; if bad ex-boyfriend’s item of clothing burn in hot furnace; if appropriated from friend, ask if it should be returned and, if not, release to the universe
Outfits my mother has complimented: eliminate
Skirts that are too short: add a point!
Plastic pants: eliminate (don’t ask…)
Pants and shorts that produce camel toe: eliminate
Skorts, overalls, and culottes: eliminate, unless true vintage, then sell on eBay
Anything made by “Theory”: add a point
Turtle necks: bag and put away for next year – will decide later
Socks that look dirty, despite being clean: eliminate
Underwear that isn’t flattering, fancy or functional: eliminate
T-shirts: with brand logo, men’s silhouette, or too large – one point off; if armpit stains, cut neck (a la 1989 “Flashdancer”), or advertising something rude – (a la Colgate T-shirt that reads “Now and then we all need a good pump!” …Oh gawd, did I really wear that in public?) – eliminate; sentimental value, running trophy or purchased in last year – keep
Anything stained: if yellow, brown or red stains – eliminate; if green, blue, purple, orange or pink stains – take one point off
Washed when it should have been dry cleaned, and is now puckered: eliminate
Needs to be ironed right now: eliminate

TALLY IT UP
So, items with fewer than zero points were then eliminated and put in a pile for Housingworks. Items with zero or more points, kept. And this leaves me with exactly one pair of pants, three short skirts, four Theory T-shirts with holes in them, and a 25 year old skort, which I’m going to try to sell on eBay.

Getting dressed for work on Monday morning is going to be interesting. Thank goodness I have my running clothes. Nothing says "ready to do business" like compression shorts and a terry cloth headband.

Day 167: Fallen Woman

I'm a klutz. We know that. So, last night I had a really good wipe out that wasn't even my fault. I was leaving Blue Smoke - stone sober I'd like to add - and slipped like something out of a cartoon. There was a grease slick on the floor and I guess I walked right into it. My heels couldn't take it and my legs flew out from under me. I went down in slow motion.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I thought, now where would I like to fall? I've heard not to soften a tumble with your hand, because you're liable to break a wrist. I didn't want to land straight on my tail bone. Doesn't everyone learn that hard lesson when they're roller skating as a kid? So I twisted a bit, mid-air, and managed to come down hard on my right side. My hip and shoulder felt like they made contact first. After that, my knee and head crashed down into the cement floor.

It wasn't until I was already lying there prone that I thought of running, and whether this would mess me up for the Half Marathon. People were asking if I was alright. I said yes, because in the moment that seemed like what I was supposed to say; but then when I tried to get up, I couldn't. I lifted my head because I had a sense that my urge to nap immediately probably wasn't a good idea. Eventually, I reached up and took somebody's hand, mostly to make them feel better. I really wanted to just lie there.

Then, we were out into the cold night, grabbing a taxi home. Nothing felt broken. I looked down at my shoe. The heel cap had broken off in the accident. I figured I'd take an Advil and be up in the morning to do my 4M run. I was just in shock, right? Unfortunately, that's not how it went down. I woke up with a massive headache the next morning, and a swollen arm. My hip felt weird Achy. Tender. Vulnerable. I was so fuzzy I actually went to work on a freezing day without a coat and put the same shoes on from the night before - the ones with the missing heel cap.

At lunch, I ran out to the shoemaker who gave the heel a curious review. He showed me - there was a problem. The metal post had snapped off inside the heel so he'd have to do some heavy extraction work before a new cap could be inserted. Kind of like root canal. The shoes were a pair of Prada low pumps I've had for at least 6 years. I bought them second hand at a consignment shop for about $150, never worn. Over the years, they've been resoled, polished, heeled, tapped, and relined more times than I could possibly remember; and they always come back looking simply perfect as new. This might have been the fall that ended our "value" party. And let me just say - I don't know if Prada still makes a well constructed shoe, but in 2004, they sure as hell did.

I waited patiently, checking my email, balancing on one foot, periodically peering in at the team taking to my heel with cobbler's tools. "How's it going?" I asked after about 10 minutes, suddenly wondering what this would cost. The guys just smiled at me and then one disappeared into the back. When he came back, he was holding... a power drill. Um, wait a minute!

One held the shoe down while the other braced himself against the bench and pushed down with the whirring drill. Even this didn't make the job easy; they toiled for what seemed like another 10 minutes. Maybe it was. I started writing notes in my BlackBerry about things I had to follow up on later in the day. I made a call. I checked Gmail. They were still working! "No luck?" I asked. "Oh no! We'll get it!" the shorter of the pair chirped back confidently. It suddenly occurred to me that this was probably the most fun they'd had all day. All signs of "Prada" have been wiped from the shoe with the various sole and insole replacements, but I think they could tell this was a pair worth saving. "It's Italian. We know what to do!" the lead guy reassured me. And they weren't kidding. Finally, the metal pin was worn down to dust, and the second in command finished it up with a new heel cap and a polish. Good as new. For the grand total of $5. Oh, the Prada...

As for my right side, I'm sure I will be fine in a day or so, but even now, I'm feeling fragile. No matter all the work I'm doing to bolster my construction - to be Prada-like on the inside - I'm still a big old klutz. Right now I want to curl up and be safe, quiet and still for a long while. I will try to make my 4 mile run up tomorrow; but then I've got 6-7 scheduled for Sunday. Looks like this might be just another reinforcement of the intenSati theme we're exploring this month: "Sit. Stay. Heal." (or "Heel" as it were!).

Day 166: Dirty, Dirty

I'm blown away by the amount of laundry I'm able to generate with running; and it seems to increase exponentially by the month. Back in the winter, I really only had one pair of warm running tights; so every time I wore them outside, I had to soak them and rinse them out immediately afterwards. I could let my other garments (socks, T-shirts) go in the basic laundry pile for weeks without any trouble. They didn't require a special load.

But now, I'm running for literally hours and hours a week, and everything touching my body has to be high performance: anti-chafe, anti-stink, breathable, cushioned, and snugly fitting. I can't just rinse these things out and hang them to dry. I slather sun screen and Body Glide all over myself and this eventually runs into the fabric. Whites get a rusty cast to them. Darks are smeared with snot, spit, blood, running gels and unidentifiable streaks. Left to marinate in the hamper, they develop a real, longstanding odor that defies description. "Teen boy" is all that comes to mind; but really, it's worse. The clothes I run in today need to spin, in an industrial machine, with warm water, and a special sports clothes detergent, for over 30 minutes. There are germs in there that I know wouldn't die in my Tide alone!

I think a lot now about what I want from my next apartment. It's time for me to buy. Sunshine, position, and safety have always been the key priorities, but new qualifications arise... Proximity to the Park, or some park I should say, and having my own washing machine and dryer have moved to the top of the list, bumping "position" to the side. Amazing the way one's perception and needs can shift in a relatively short time period.

Day 165: Obfuscatory Behavior

Tonight was the second night of the intenSati creativity workshop I’m participating in, where we bring mindfulness to hardcore aerobics, and get inspired. Everyone in the workshop is an artist of some sort. After the workout, we meditate, and then write and intellectualize our journeys.

Tonight’s lesson was about sitting with discomfort… or rather, identifying what we do to avoid sitting with our discomfort. Our teacher Erin named the series, “Sit. Stay. Heal.” and said her own tendency, when emotional pain comes up, is to get really busy fixing it. It couldn’t be possible that she’s failed to accomplish what she set out to, so she hires coaches, goes to therapy, and takes action to remedy the situation. That’s her instinctive way… but she knows that’s also a way of avoiding the pain and not really the most productive approach; so she tries, and encouraged us to try, to just be with ourselves, and get to the underlying emotion, or fear, and then give that little girl or boy version of ourselves the nurturing it needs.

Erin posed the question to the class – what do we specifically do to avoid the pain? Everyone opened up their journals and started writing. I took the cap off my pen and wrote the shortest (but maybe most powerful) sentence of my life. I didn’t have to think about it; it was right there.

I closed my pen again and looked around the room. Everyone was still writing. What were they writing? I’m usually the last one to finish something like this. I write for as long as they’ll let me! But wasn’t this one incredibly simple?

Erin asked who’d like to share their obfuscatory behavior. Hands shot up. Some people ate, others drank, or slept around. There was a lot of jealousy, and finger pointing. Keeping busy was a real popular one too. With each proclamation came a bit of a personal explanation. I had my hand raised the whole time but Erin didn’t call on me until the very end.

When she did, I said, “I tell the story of what happened. Over and over and over.” I felt a wave of empowerment come over me. An epiphany even, maybe. The room burst out in what felt like a chorus of, "Ahhs" and "Oh yeses." They don't know me. They were nodding to their own tendencies to hide beneath a report. For me, I can say, the storytelling numbs me. It soothes away the loneliness and isolation. With acknowledgment from an audience, I feel a little bit less stupid for my mistakes. But what I realized tonight was, separating from my mistakes distances me from the emotions in them, and that makes it awfully hard to get the lesson... Instead, I need to “Sit. Stay. And Heal.”

So now when I feel myself launching into an animated tale of what’s gone down, I’m going to try to stop, check in with myself, and notice what I'm feeling. Being with discomfort is the only way to grow; and in fact, you can almost use your level of discomfort as a measure of benefit you can expect. Isn't that so true with a physical workout? No pain no gain! Well, damn. Once again the rules of the physical body are strikingly similar to the rules of the emotional body. The number one rule is to guard against serious injury, but without pretty regular tearing and testing... there simply can't be any progress.

Day 164: 4M and a New Frontier

I'm proud of myself for getting to the gym today! I ran 4M in 46:31, at an 11:38 pace. Nothing special about that time, but it wasn't easy, so I appreciate myself for doing it in spite of stiffness and chronic boredom. Also, I had to prioritize it over many things I would rather have been doing, as well as chores that desperately needed (and still need!) attention. It really never gets easier. Every day I have to actively choose to put running before the other things I might want.

I was talking with a triathlete friend last night about how she balances it all, and specifically, her social life. She was telling me about the community she's part of and that, after a while, it's just easier to hang out with other athletes because they understand why you aren't drinking, and why you have to go home early. They don't plan parties that start at 9pm on a Saturday night because every runner is doing his long run on Sunday morning.

I feel like making athlete friends is the new frontier for me. That, and appreciating sporting events in a new way. I used to only focus on the "entertainment" aspect of the show. How it all came together... what was done by the organization to retain and recruit fans... the business of it. But now I'm curious about the muscles and the training behind the show. Can I please see footage of the players working out, eating piles of protein, and going to bed early before a game? And what about a list of choices they've made to get them to where they are in life now? And what about hearing from the players how bored they are with their teammates, probably the only people they can socialize with because who else is on the same schedule?

The point is, there's a huge difference between being a sports fan and appreciating the athletic accomplishments that put any particular player on a team. I may never have related to the guy in the Rangers jersey I saw walking around Penn Station after a game, but that doesn't mean I couldn't relate to someone who appreciates athletics, or who is an athlete. There are a lot of places to go with this new found hobby of mine. New personal challenges, but also new people to meet, and fun to experience. Just think, one day I might look forward to going to MSG for something other than the au just sandwich!

Day 163: Hashimoto's

I never thought I'd talk about this in any kind of public forum. Not because it's embarrassing, or incriminating, but because I've typically downplayed it to myself, so why now would anyone else care? But maybe it's important for you to know.

I've got an autoimmune disease called Hashimoto's which - without getting into the mechanics of it - makes my body act like it's hypothyroid. It's estimated that 3-5% of the population has Hashimoto's, so more than likely, you know someone else who has it too; or, maybe you have it.

Anyway, it's got a set of "constraints" that come with it and I'm here to say, fuck that. It's nothing you can't get past if you want to. It isn't contagious, but you also can't be cured of Hashimoto's. All you can do - and must do - is take a pill every day for the rest of your life. If you do that, you won't die. But you also may have other symptoms such as difficulty (near impossibility) losing weight.

I wasn't diagnosed until I was about 29. For years, I was complaining to doctor after doctor that I was dieting and exercising, but couldn't lose weight, and that I was so tired. They tested me over and over for Mono, but nothing else. Of course, I was working long hours, partying like a rock star, and indulging in late nights so... kind of hard to say exactly where Hashimoto's was to blame, and where my lifestyle might have been the culprit. But I remember the moment I realized it wasn't all the latter.

It was a hot summer eve and I was out for drinks with the ad sales director for GQ magazine at some swanky rooftop bar. He was wooing me. He wanted me to spend half a million on 4th covers. Such was my every lunch and dinner at one time in my life... a string of steaks, lobster salads, and Tanquery No. TEN and tonics. Perhaps I romanticize it a bit now but isn't that the luxury allowed with the passing of time?

So there we were, bubbling over with gossip and flattery, partying for free on someone's generous expense account. We should have been having the time of our lives; but instead, I felt like my head was going to fall into a chemical stupor. I could barely hold my martini glass. I drooped unfashionably. The sales guy who knew me well looked at me and proclaimed, "Girl! Something's wrong with you!" as if to snap me back into style! But I simply couldn't. The next day I went to my doctor and demanded a broad spectrum blood test that eventually revealed the issue.

I was immediately put on a high dose of Synthroid, and spent months going back for blood tests to try to figure out the right level. The news came as a relief on one hand, there was a problem and we were going to fix it. But on the other hand, finding out I had an autoimmune disease was scary. I've always liked the idea of needing nothing - and knowing I could survive on a deserted island indefinitely if I got stranded there; but now I had to face the fact that I would die on an island without my Synthroid. I'd just fall asleep while cracking open coconuts one afternoon and burn to a crisp in the blazing sun!

So, a decade after my diagnosis, I don't think a thing of it. I go for a blood test every 3-6 months and take a pill every morning. My doctor has always encouraged me to exercise regularly as a way to boost my metabolism, "...if only marginally," she'd say, which wasn't very encouraging. I just kind of accepted my energy level where it was - pretty good, and that my immunity was a bit fragile. I'm allowed to get things like flu and swine flu shots with the old and pregnant folks! See, there are upsides to this thing!

When I started running, it wasn't at all about losing weight, or overcoming a symptom of Hashimoto's. It was simply about understanding this peculiar sport. Along the way, I've gotten physically stronger, lost weight, and I also notice - I've improved my immune system. Every year around this time, in the past, I've been leveled for at least a month by debilitating allergies. I've taken pills, gone for shots twice a week, used inhalers... I've tried everything. The one thing I didn't try was running right through the Park, past the flower blossoms, fresh cut grass, dust and insects. Turns out the fastest way to defeat the enemy is to run right into his camp!

Hashimoto's doesn't define me as a person, or as a runner, but as a person with this particular disease, I must tell you - running has helped me immeasurably, and most unexpectedly. If this is something you or someone you love has been diagnosed with, running shoes might be something to consider.

Day 162: 8 Sloppy Miles

I ran really poorly today. The slowest I've gone in ages. I did 8 Miles in 1:43:30, at a 12:28 pace. There was tons of walking and more crying than usual. I even had to stop and sit a couple of times because I couldn't catch my breath. That's never happened to me before.

I also ran without enough fluid. I didn't have any sport drinks at home and was too lazy to stop at the store on my way out. So I made do with one bottle of water, and some sips from the city's water fountains which have finally been turned on again. I didn't get enough sleep last night, or food yesterday, and had nothing to eat this morning. I wore the lollipop orthotics which dig deep into my high arches. (I need to break them in! Miserable!) Then I started out too late, so the sun was blazing, and I'd conveniently forgotten sunblock.

I'm sure none of these things in isolation would have thrown me off quite so much; but all of it together had a cumulative effect that nearly sunk me! The funny thing is, when I left the apt to go for the run, I was feeling so strong I thought I might hit a PR.

I've gotten a bit nonchalant, perhaps. My fear has dissipated. And with that, so too has my edge. I might run "on point" but without something to prove, seems I get soft with my drive. I need to work on this in the next two weeks as I taper my mileage down and prep for the Half Marathon. A little fear is a good thing, I see. In the absence of it, I'm just a sloppy mess.

Day 161: On Point

Today I went to a store called Road Runner Sports in NJ where they have a shoe fitting system called, “Shoe Dog,” which reads your foot type and analyzes your trot. My foot type was exactly as expected. High arches with a semi-curve and normal pronation. I need orthotics and a neutral shoe. The pair they suggested is literally the exact pair I wear.

Next they videotaped me as I ran barefoot on the treadmill. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quite wearing the right outfit for a jog… I had on a skirt and silk top with a mostly decorative bra. Zero support. I almost knocked myself out!

The woman operating the machines and analyzing the results was a professional athlete. She came in second in her age group in the most recent NYC Marathon so I was looking forward to her reflections. I put my shoes back on and went over to her where she was in front of the monitor, giggling and oohing and ahhing through the playback.

“What?” I asked, a little bit nervous.

“Very interesting! Amazing! You have amazing feet. Look at you! Are you a dancer?”

“Um, a dancer?” I asked thinking, look at me – do I look like a dancer? But remembering I did take years of dancing as a kid I said tentatively, “No, but I took ballet when I was little...”

“Do you wear high heels a lot? Sometimes we see this in people who wear high heels. Because really, you have the most amazing little gait. It’s perfect. Don't change a thing. You run the way Ultra Marathoners run – on the balls of your feet. I wish I ran like that.” I scrunched my nose up and gave her a confused look. “Come here,” she said and drew me closer to the TV, rewound the tape, and pointed at my heels as I ran, “See. Your heels literally never touch the ground. It’s amazing! I can’t run like that!” She was right. Weird!

I’ve read about Ultra Marathoners, and running on the balls of your feet, and even running barefoot. It never occurred to me that I ran that way. I’ve never been trained to run. I’ve never had a coach watch me, or even a friend watch and analyze my gait. This made me feel for a moment that I might be special… possibly even gifted! How could this be? If only the rest of my body would go “ultra” I’d be all set.

The marathon woman told me to keep going. I beamed! To be thought of as a person with potential, in a field where just a few months ago I felt only hatred, fear and disassociation… what a good moment. I hustled around the store and bought up three new tank tops and two pairs of good shorts. It’s really a fine store with highly functional clothing that’s fashionable but not over the top like Lululemon can sometimes be with its ruffled running gear and wild prints.

Upon returning to the city I called a few friends and proudly told them about my experience. My head swelled a little bit… so I decided to take myself outside for a quick run, to enjoy the sunshine and appreciate the uniqueness of my gifted twinkle toes. I really needed to clear my head today. I considered running 5 miles but I haven’t been sleeping or fueling right for days so settled with once around the Lower Loop.

I started out fast and focused on my feet. Funny, my heels felt like they were touching the ground with every strike. It didn’t feel like I was running on the balls of my feet at all... But I’d seen the videotape. My run got challenging pretty quickly. I’d over-dressed in a hat, gloves and 2 layers. When I stopped to take most of it off and try to hang things from one another, I lost interest. I managed to drag myself to the finish but must say this was a pretty lame day for running.

Tomorrow I’m going to be running 8-9 miles and I expect to channel my ballet best, and be on point.

Day 160: Sweet Charity

I'm out of my funk. I'll be running the 2010 NYC Marathon regardless of the darn lottery. All I have to do now is narrow down which charity I'd like to affiliate with and fund raise for.

I'd like to pick one that has personal significance; but the problem is, I'm passionate about so many causes. I do nothing to support them in my day to day life though, so really, whatever I choose to do will be better than what I'm doing now... But still, I find myself wishing for one singular charity that could take my donation and work it! I hope I'm not asking for too much but the results I'd like to see from my $2,500 include:

1. End Homelessness in New York City. Everybody deserves a safe, clean bed to sleep in and a hook to hang their hat on.
2. Fund a breakthrough campaign and tactical activation that forever ends ritualized smoking among adults and teens. We can make anything cool. Why don't we use our power for good?
3. Feed healthy, wholesome food to hungry adults and children, and give them an ongoing resource to do the same for themselves. We are what we eat. We are a rotting nation.
4. Provide emotional and logistical support for victims of domestic violence (abuse by others) - a ball of string that can be unraveled if handled carefully. Victims are salvageable.
5. Find a cure for chemical depression, the most misunderstood, underfunded disability that is a blight not only on our social system, but also a threat to the future of our nation's advancement.
6. Improve the adoption system in the U.S. so that couples and individuals who want to adopt can connect more easily with pregnant women who need a plan.
7. Encourage local and global cross cultural and political student exchanges. My semester in Italy forever changed my capacity to empathize; and that wasn't just because of the $3 bottles of wine.
8. Clean up the animal rescue system in the US and make it humane. Right now, despite strong efforts, it's still an over-run horror.
9. Equalize the arts element of public education across the socioeconomic continuum through enrichment programs, mentoring, tutoring and scholarships.
10. Give girls and boys who haven't been encouraged to exercise regularly a safe, social club to go to and learn about the benefits of running and then support them with coaching that brings the lessons of running into other parts of their lives.

So if anyone out there knows of a single charity I can sign up to run with that has those particular values in mind, please advise. Otherwise, I'm really in a bit of a quandary.

Day 159: "Dear John"

So, when you don't make it into the lottery, they send you a Dear John letter. And in my case, for some strange reason, they sent it twice. Basically it confirms the fate you already knew, but now in no uncertain terms. You did not get in.

My letter started like this... "We’re sorry, but you were not selected in the ING New York City Marathon 2010 lottery. We appreciate your commitment to running with NYRR, but we must limit the size of the field to make this race safe and enjoyable for participants."

I reviewed the charity options and was sorry not to find the American Lung Association listed. Any charity would be a good one, of course, but I'd sort of like to pick one that has some kind of meaning to me. I'm really quite undecided - and the deadline for some of them is actually tomorrow! Feels a little bit like sorority rush! I'm supposed to pick what letters I want to wear for the next six and a half months and I haven't even met all the sisters yet! Yeesh.

I will keep you posted.

Day 158: Victim of Odds

I never play the odds. I rely on intuition when I'm gambling and like to think I come out on top. I guess that's why I believed for a minute that I might get into the Marathon through the lottery. Well, I didn't. I'm not in.

I'm just sitting with the feeling for a day or so before I decide what I'm going to do. Of course, there's still the possibility I'll get in through the lottery eventually; but I do need a backup plan now.

The lead path is to go in through a charity. This isn't as easy as it seems, but it's doable. More work ahead though to vet the options, apply to a charity, and start fundraising. I'm not good at begging for money. I'm much better at spending it. So you'll forgive me in advance if I do ask you for help, and am an awfully awkward mess about it. Just the thought of it makes me cringe.

But mostly, I feel hollow. Disappointed, of course. Tired. Intimidated by the thought of having to beg. Resentful that I've worked so hard already with the running, and have so far to go with the running, and now I have this other new layer to worry about. Couldn't there have been some divine intervention? Wouldn't that have made a fairy tale moment out of this very real, very raw experience I'm living every day? Yes, it would have.

But maybe that's the lesson - and I needed to hear it again. There's no fairy tale. You reap what you sow. And the reaping doesn't come right after the sowing... it takes time. It takes time, and certain weather conditions, the ongoing care, and even then, sometimes the crop is bad, or freezes before you can harvest.

I took a class tonight - an intenSati workshop intended to boost creativity. www.intensaticreativeworkshop.com The instructor, Erin Stutland, had a fantastic analogy for us. She wanted us to think of our creativity, our potential, as seeds to be planted. And that we should plant those seeds very carefully, and tend to them every day. She pointed out that so often in life, we plant a seed one night, and then wake up and look into the flower pot the next morning exclaiming, "Hey, where's my fuckin' daisy?"

We'll that's how I feel right now. Where's my fuckin' daisy. I planted this seed, and I want to see some sprouting. I want some encouragement that new things are about to bloom, and all my sowing wasn't in vain. But all I have is my sweat encrusted body from the hardest workout of my life. A pile of running shoes scattered around my desk, making it hard to sit forward in front of the computer. A credit card bill riddled with running related expenses... entry fees for other races, clothes, sports drinks. And now, a new challenge to tackle: winning permission to be one of the lucky 40,000. If I do win it, I assure you, I won't take the privilege lightly.

Day 157: 3M in 31:28/10:29 Pace

Today's one of those days. Was up at 5:30AM, at my desk by 7AM, running a meeting from 9AM - 2PM, then more meetings on the hour until 6PM.

The thing is, around 1PM while I was standing for the fourth hour in heels, I noticed I started to shake my leg a little. Not a nervous shake... just a shake, like, it wanted to MOVE. By 3PM I was consciously thinking about running, and even checked my calendar to make sure I'd scheduled it in. By 6PM I was obsessed... could think of nothing else. Must - get - home - and - run.

Dashed home on the subway, reading a book to distract myself from wishes that I'd have time to run outside - I wouldn't. Got home and threw my shorts that chafe the worst on - because nothing else was clean. Ran 3 hurried miles on the treadmill, with bad songs. Showered. Blogged. Now off to dinner.

All this, quite literally, on five hours of sleep. I think this is what they mean when they say running is addictive.

Day 156: My Own Private Marathon

One day and a few hours left until the start of the lottery for the 2010 Marathon. It begins on April 7 at 12:30 PM. They're doing a live streaming event of the lottery itself, and there are lottery parties going on all over the city. Way to build the drama!

What exactly is a lottery party? I'm not sure I understand. You go to someone's house, or a bar, or a running store maybe, and stand there holding a protein drink, sipping nervously, and wait until G-d knows when to find out if your number has been picked? If it has - hurrah! If not, sorry, go home and sit on your sofa for a year and wait for the next lottery. You don't have to train until 2011. Might as well soften up a bit now... Pass the ice cream!

Well I don't think I'm going to look at the live streaming event. I'm going to just keep training as planned, and act as if I got in; and then when November rolls around I'll check my status and find out the truth. If I got in, great - I'll be ready to go. If not, well, I'll have my own private marathon maybe the day before, when the streets are all clear and nobody's expecting me. I'll provide a service to the runners by scoping out the route a day ahead. Then I'll blog about it - and by then I'll have 40,000 readers - and they'll all log in to read my tips about the terrain. I'll be their marathon bloodhound.

If I don't make it in through the lottery, there are other options. There are charities I could run through. The fundraising demands are high though - in the thousands. Or my company might buy a sponsorship - but that would only get us 10 numbers total and there's a high demand at the office. Running seems to be the hip sport these days among executives in the adult beverage industry! I also have the impression that the lottery is a rolling one, so if you don't get in right away, you might get in later, if say someone chickens out and gives their number back. But I find it hard to believe that happens very often.

Anyway, it's starting to hit me that within a day and a half I'll have more information about what I may or may not be doing on November 7th, 2010! And can feel my heart racing even as I type this. What if I don't get in! What if I do... I don't know which of those outcomes is more terrifying.

Day 155: 12M with Instructions (2:24:33/12:03 Pace)

I like checklists and instructions. They give me a point of reference. I don't ultimately follow them much when it's time to take action, but just knowing what I was supposed to do, or what someone else did before me, puts me in my personal power zone.

I thought I'd use today to just share the mechanics of how I do a big run. I had a great time out there today. The Park was in its full glory. I had a PR. I didn't get injured. I got a good cry in. I'm grateful for what I've got. Not suggesting you should follow any of this if you're looking to run 12 miles yourself! But if you want to know what goes on behind (and in the middle of) the scene with me, here's a peek under the kimono.

Day/night before:
Bought more gel packs, sports drinks, and waterproof sun block. Picked out outfit. Washed shorts and hung to dry. Drank protein shake. Ate 1 cup of pasta for dinner. Drank water. No alcohol.

8:30 AM
Woke up. Drank 1 cup of cold Kombucha tea. Putzed around. Read. Got worried about 12 miles. Made schedule for the day – and decided I still had time to keep putzing around and procrastinating.

9:30 AM
Put hair up and running clothes on (Lululemon two layer running shorts, Adidas performance tank, Moving Comfort sports bra, Nike headband that makes me look like a Jujitsu master). Ate breakfast (1 egg cooked in olive oil, slice of soy cheese, multi-grain tortilla, iced coffee with lactose free extra protein milk).

Checked outdoor temperature online (55 degrees) – no second layer needed. Good. I hate clothes. Packed for run: filled hydration belt with one bottle of sports drink and set out second bottle to hide along route, charged iPod, strung 3 gel packs on hydration belt, grabbed clean towel to hang over hydration belt (old Aquis hair towel cut into 4 makes a great sweat and snot rag! …I know, stop with the sexy talk - I’m turning you on.).

10 AM
Planned route. 12 miles so could easily do 2 x the big loop but wanted to see if the cherry blossoms were out along the Reservoir so will go small loop x 2 (5.2M) + Reservoir x 1 (1.58M) for a total of 11.98… and then will run back to my apt to make it a neat 12. This will also allow me to pass the Boat House bathroom, and I can easily tuck my water down along the lower loop.

Set time goal. Last time I ran 12 miles was in Miami, and I did it in 2:34:05/12:57 pace. Would like to beat that if possible, even though that was flat terrain. Applied waterproof (30) sun block to face and top of arms. Applied Body Glide to inner thighs and floppy lunch lady under arms. Brushed teeth and applied chap stick. Drank more water.

10:30 AM
Easter phone calls, checked email, waited for breakfast to digest… This is why I usually don’t eat before I run… tick, tick, tick…

11:15 AM
Put Wigwam socks and Asics shoes on, with old comfortable orthotics on. Can’t bear the lollipop orthotics for more than 5 miles. Ate one gel pack (25 mg caffeine) and drank 1 cup of water with fresh lemon squeezed in.

11:30 AM
Tucked sports drink under some leaves by a bridge and started running listening to mash mixes from Fozz.

12:30 PM
Nearly 6 miles down. No cherry blossoms around the Reservoir but the perfume from all the other flowers made today’s run the most amazing run of my life! It was simply delicious out there. The colors, the smell, the sunshine, the people promenading in Easter finery. I love New York! Ate a gel pack with 50 mg of caffeine and filled my water bottle with the second sports drink as I passed it around mile 7.

I recited what I could remember of my favorite short poem to myself as I went along, even though the flowers I was passing weren’t cherry blossoms:

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
- A.E. Housman (written in 1896)

Bathroom Break with Kadija
Oh, my dear friend the bathroom attendant Kadija! What a joyous moment it is each week when I see her in the ladies’ at the Boat House. She’s so proud of me. Today I learned she speaks French so I attempted a little conversation with her. “Merci de me donner l'inspiration!” And she said back, “Et le courage!”

There were lots of girls on line behind me in Lilly Pulitzer for Easter. One my age burst out, “I just ran a 15K last week! It was my first race!” We chatted. There were little French girls on line with us and hearing my broken attempt they said back to me in French, “Why are you running?” I said, “Je m’amuse. Ca, c’est tout.” They looked at their mother and giggled. Did I say something funny? My French has limits! Or maybe they were just giggling at the red faced American lady in spandex!

Then a toilet was free so we all stopped talking. I splashed water on my face before I left Kadija and the warm welcome of the bathrooms at the Boat House. You know, I turn my Nike+ off when I go in there. The line’s too long. So – if you want to call that cheating, I wouldn’t blame you.

1:00 PM
Around the 10th mile, I was flagging. It was the up-hill before the down-hill on the west side of the Park. There was a guy in front of me, about 50. He reminded me from the back of my college friend Julia’s dad, Mr. Beck. No idea why but that’s what flashed in my mind. Then, as if he’d felt my eyes on him, the guy suddenly turned around and waved his hand, like “come on, get going!” He stopped jogging then and I started, and passed him. I went about 20 feet and turned and yelled back, “Thank you.” He gave me a thumbs-up. Now he was walking. I was fine. I could run. I’d just gotten a little bored and strangely he’d seen me, and known what I needed. I love the running community. They don’t bother you unless you really need the help.

So I jogged on and then started thinking about how funny it was that this guy was reminding me of someone’s dad, and yet he was only 50; I’m at the age where I could easily be dating a 50 year old. Then I was thinking about dads, and my own dad, and the Half Marathon, and the Marathon… and I burst out crying. (Hey – last week the song “Disturbia” made me cry! You never know what’s going to set me off.) I couldn’t breathe while I was crying and so I had to walk for a bit. I really wanted the run to be over because my calves were burning so much. It was hot. I couldn’t stop crying and I tried not to worry what people would think if they saw me bawling.

Then the Mr. Beck man came up behind me and was looking strong again. We had a moment as he passed, but I couldn’t run yet. By the time I started again, he was off in the distance. Finally, I was ready to go and the path was down-hill so it was easy. I passed Mr. Beck for the last time and we waved. This might qualify as my first attempt at running with someone! It really did help.

As beautiful as the day was, I was very happy when my run was over. I went back to my sports drink hiding place and picked up my trash, which I’d left there, plus some dirty napkins someone else had left on my pile, and headed home.

1:30 PM
Drank 1 cup of high protein drink with acidophilus and lemon scented fish oil mixed in. Drank 20 oz of water with fresh lemon. Stretched – but barely.

I plugged my time into coolrunning.com and was excited to see I’d really run at a nice average pace, in spite of the many patches of walking. 12:03 per mile for 12 miles? Not too shabby, Sanders! That’s nearly a minute faster per mile than I’d run in Miami. I achieved my goal! Woo hoo!

Day 154: Sippy Cup

I'd said I was only going to have a little sippy of wine last night at dinner but then it was so good with my steak, and I was really enjoying the conversation... it all just got away from me.

I didn't wake up hung over or anything. I mean, I only had one full glass of red if you were to add up all my little sippies! But on principle, I don't want to be drinking the night before a big run. So I took the day off today and didn't worry about it. That's all. Not gonna dwell...

Day 153: Suffocation in Parts

Yesterday would have been my father's 90th birthday, if he were still alive. But he's dead and gone. He died in 1989 from emphysema that got complicated by pneumonia. Those two together give you a few days on a respirator and then you're out.

I try not to think that I killed my father, but the truth is, he got the pneumonia while cleaning the swimming pool for me, so that I could have an end-of-summer party. I'll always feel guilty about that. I didn't get him addicted to the smoking - that happened during World War II, when he was stationed with the Army Air Corps in Guam. Then the damage was done over 35 more years of four packs a day, and he eventually quit smoking when I was 8 because the doctor told him otherwise he wouldn't see me graduate from high school. So I suppose I could look at it that I actually gave him a few extra years to live. But barely. He did see me graduate from high school and then a month later - well, that was when he got the pneumonia.

So I grew up in a house where breathing was a privilege, something for the young and healthy, and not to be wasted frivolously. Everything we did as a family was modified to make sure my dad could participate. That meant as little walking as possible. My mother - the exercise hater - gladly complied. Me? I resented everything back then, so it's hard to tease out now what part of me objected to the imposed limitations on exertion and what part was just generally disagreeable.

Life comes in parts. I learned that before most kids did because I knew growing up that my dad had had another life before us. He'd been married in the 1940s and 50s to someone other than my mother. They'd lived intellectually illuminated lives, surrounded by smoke and appetizers. They were good looking, had lots of parties, and they'd hung meaningful art on the walls. Two brilliant daughters eventually came around, my half sisters Beth and Ellen. All that living and breathing... It was fiery! One day then it all broke up in a mess and nobody was the same after. Especially my dad.

The next part of my dad's life wasn't fiery. There aren't any photos of him from that time. No friends that lasted. It seems even his family played a recessed role. What do you say to a once active man - who'd played tennis and baseball and ran - but increasingly couldn't breathe? He lived in Manhattan, someplace off of Park Ave, nothing posh, but not the Upper West Side either, on 81st Street and CPW, where he'd first lived with wife #1 before they did what people did and hightailed it up to suburbs. I'm sure he socialized, charmed the ladies in the secretary pool, and passed the time... but it was a lonely decade. Not his best part.

Finally, the last part came when my dad met my mother. She was sparkly and fun and changed everything. People say my mother knew when she married my dad that his emphysema gave him an expiration date, but she married him in spite of it, because of love. I'm not so sure of that. When you're fantasy prone like my mother is, sometimes you don't see that life is in parts; you perceive it all as one long dream sequence with the characters staying constant throughout. My mother still talks about her parents as if they were around today, though they've been dead for nearly 50 years. And as a child I'm sure she talked about her fantasy prince, as if he were already with her then. My dad just dropped in to play the role in 1968, but he was there before, and he's still there now, in her mind.

When you live your life in a dream state, you get a lot of circular references. Children are born and become like parents. Each house is a downsize or an upgrade of the former, filled with the same lamps and letter boxes. You do what you can to keep your surroundings looking and feeling consistent over time. Life is one long story. I think maybe I was living my life like that for a while. I can relate to the symptoms, at least. Bumbling along, holding on to characters, never getting a clean break, trying to link places and circumstances that really have no link at all.

Life's gotten a lot better since I started living it in parts. I learned the pacing for "life in parts" from my father, as I watched him suffocate during his last one, and compared that in my mind to what I knew of him when he'd been able to live under different constraints. Forever I'd been neglecting my own constraints... maybe trying to fix them, to live the perfect life, and have the fantasy in my mind build to an exciting climax. But as soon as I let myself notice the real constraints - not the made up ones, it all changed.

You might think that I'm going to say that the new part I'm in now started when I started running, or that running pushed me along to a better place. It didn't. The start of my new part really happened a year ago. Family and work stress had finally gotten to me. How could I love what I had so much, and still feel like it was killing me. I started to look at things more objectively, more strategically, and decided to take a chance and let go of some of my old attachments. My methods were very tactical. I changed my job and I started acting true to my priorities, and was vigilant about it, even when I was dying of ambivalence or fear.

In my dad's case, as his disease progressed, the tactics he utilized to move from part to part were things that inevitably made him less dependent on breathing. He made a life where his suffocation wouldn't glare up at him, and remind him of his mortality at every turn. When I met him, he was barely breathing at all. Which meant I could barely breathe at all too. Not his fault, just the nature of some families - you have to drop to the lowest common denominator if you want to remain a part of it.

When I made my decision to evolve last year, one of the things I let go of was my own shallow breathing. I'd still been living in the family of my childhood, a place sympathetic to the needs of my father's final part. Running now isn't so much a thing that defines me, as it is evidence that I'm not suffocating any more. The world around me seems at once smaller and bigger as I whiz by. Sweat flicking off my skin, lungs stretching to take in the air, spitting... There is no circular reference; and so I know I'm in my second part.

Day 152: I Quit!

The jig is up. I quit. I've always hated to run and I still hate it. In fact - you know what? I'll finally tell you the truth. I haven't run a single day since I started all this. It's a scam.

I've been blogging... and blogging... and you people keep believing me! What a rush! I'm lying to you and getting away with it. Over and over and over. For 152 days? Shame on you! I'm actually starting to have a conscience about it - and wonder about your ability to reason, frankly.

Nobody has ever seen me run, have they? You know me - do I seem like the kind of person who would ever run 15 miles? Come on! When I said I'd run 3 or 4, OK... maybe conceivable. But 8, 9, 10... 12... 14... and then 15 miles? That's like, ridiculous! I could never, and would never, want to run 15 miles! You got punk'd. I don't even want to drive 15 miles. Seriously people.

(OK, OK... April fools!)