Sunday, August 28, 2011

"Take care of yourself."


Last Thursday I pushed myself.  Hard.

At 6:30AM I was on top of the Art Museum Steps taking a very low budget (read: want-to-be) Crossfit Class.  We jumped, climbed, ran, skipped, high-kneed the hell out of the warm-up and hit a lot of different pushups.   Aside from the obvious similarities to a high school track practice, lack of creativity and disregard for actual stretching, the setting was the perfect combination of fountain/sunrise/city hall and historic landmark; the weather crisp and light; the steps manageable and parking convenient.  I will go back at least once more.  

At 5:00PM I was aching (from the lack of stretching) and in the elevator down from my 19th floor center city office debating whether I had it in me to take my stiff joints up a few hills through UPenn.  A deep breath with closed eyes and a small "you can do this" later, I was on my way through "Move-In Day" on the campus.

After a mile, it became clear that this two-a-day was a bad idea and I was focused only on putting one foot in front of the other, my iPod was turned up as high as it could possibly go and keyed into the fastest, most ridiculous songs available.  I was a woman on a 2.5 mile, hilly, out and back mission and god help you if you crossed my path or tried to run me over as the case may be.

At approximately mile 1.9,  I was trucking at a 9:15/mile pace, approaching the turnaround and oblivious to how many driveways and parking lots there actually are between Spruce Street and CHOP [Children's Hospital of Pennsylvania].  Needless to say, I was centered by Zac Brown's "Chicken Fried" and the CHOP sign just ahead when I almost got hit by a Black Honda Civic. And when I say "almost," I mean I respect the brakes in that car and the fender was a little warm against my knee.  It was one of those moments when "what could have happened" doesn't so much enter your mind as it just invades your entire system and nocks you down.  As I ran on from that spot toward my turn around, a quiet "Hey Jude" was the next track.   A few steps later, mid-30's Doctor in scrubs and a long white coat accentuated by dark hair and eyes and a thick accent took his own earbuds out, looked right at me and said, "Take care of yourself."  

Note:  He didn't ask if I was alright or admonish me to stop being such a stupid runner and pay better attention; he didn't shake his head or tell me to take "better" care of myself; he made eye contact, got my attention with that simple gesture and spoke to me the way the universe tends to - directly and without pretense.  For the next 2.5 miles back toward my beginning, all I thought was that doctor was more than just a guy waiting for a bus after work.  He was there, at that moment to remind me of something.  And so I will...take care of myself.  

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Glee!

According to Wikipedia, Glee is  an American musical comedy-drama television series that airs on Fox. It touches on the high school glee club New Directions competing on the show choir competition circuit, while its members deal with relationships, sexuality and social issues.  More importantly, the Glee soundtracks are the backdrop for my runs these days - from treadmill to UPenn and in between, the eight Glee soundtracks tap into a level of peppiness not usually attainable by an otherwise cranky 30 year old at 4:30AM.

However, like a cloudy martini under an umbrella on a hot Friday afternoon, this music does the trick and snaps my stride up to a higher tempo than normal.  Maybe it's my closet obsession with a cappella groups [complete with a desire to be a member of one], my love of high school musicals or just the way the songs sound all sped up, broken down and unwritten from their origin.  Whatever it is, I'll take it and ride on its back until it can't carry me any further.

Although my runs remain largely the same, treadmill days included, my mental trips (meditative and not so) are all new and full of a 16-year-old's energy and optimism.  Just as I'm climbing the incline of the South Street Bridge with 30 year old aching hamstrings, a completely re-worked, peppy and ridiculous cover of "Poker Face" comes on my ipod, the pain subsides for a moment and I seize the hill.  And the soundtracks go on: There are the typical broadway songs - mainly from Rent - and otherwise recognizably empowering; there are the Eddie Vedder ballads set to a disco ball's lights; and there are those songs, names long forgotten, that can take you back to such a precise moment a decade ago that it threatens to stop your stride.

The overall effect of this music has transformed my attitude, woken me out of a long mile with unconscious lyrics sung out loud and propelled me forward toward my own imaginary finish line.  As training continues steadily and the days between me and my first marathon disappear, I find myself ever the more grateful for new experiences, methods, support and tips - Glee tops the list this week.  So, thank you, random featured runner in the August Runner's World, for this suggestion and for getting me one week closer.





Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Swimming 12 Miles [or just dramatizing a humid run].

Runner's World [August 2011] swears or affirms (as the case may be) that training through (not around) heat and humidity will pay off in the Fall Marathon season.  Here's hoping that's true and the last 90+ days of maxed-out, moisture-wicking, soaking wet running clothes, dehydration, exhaustion, frustration and whatever other -tion words you want to use, will have been for the betterment of our bodies and our mental strength.

On my long runs,  recently 12 miles through Center City, Fairmount, out East River to Manayunk and almost deep enough into Wissahickon to lose the city altogether, it's been difficult to muddle through the heaviness in my lungs and the weakness in my body.  Yet, somehow, by the grace of the running gods and my cheering sections of wild geese parked alongside the river, the trusty old Garmin does not get clicked to an abrupt stop; rather, the run fights me mentally and I win.  Time and time again, the higher the stakes (humidity + new, challenging run + time trials) the better my mind performs, the deeper and more methodic my breathing becomes and the steadier my attitude is.

On such a run, when it is 6AM, 89 degrees and thick air surrounds you, there is no room for nerves; no time for "I don't want to," no patience for doubt or pity or the dangerous valley between them; there is only time for reaction, method and positive energy propelling you forward.  It is you and a giant beast of a day running at each other until one falls down and the other goes on.  While I have yet to put RW August's proclamation to task in cooler weather, I will say this:  training in humidity, heat and horrible made me strong enough to be the one to knock down the day and not look back.

And so, for this crazy summer, I am all the better for your hot days, thick air and surprisingly strong will.  Until we meet again. 






Tuesday, August 23, 2011

These Streets

I moved to Philadelphia in the Summer of 2003, BA in hand, salt water still starching my red hair and scared to death of getting lost despite the city's grid.  Quick to appreciate cabs and the art of being driven, my car moved only down 95 to my law school and back; my body moved at a gym approximately 100 steps from my apartment; and my anxiety hit levels of tension beyond my wildest dreams.  I moved to the suburbs in the Summer of 2004. 

Now, back in Philadelphia since 2006, I am not afraid.  Of getting lost, at least. Running has given be the remarkable opportunity to learn and to know  - I mean truly know in the approximate amount of miles from the Art Museum to the intersection of 20th and Market sort of way - more than a few exceptional areas of this city.


Such a transformation from the wide-eyed, overwhelmed girl I was is hit home by Paolo Nutini in "These Streets."  He reminds me that we can get used to most things, if we embrace the change.    

"These streets have too many names for me
I'm used to Glenfield road and spending my time down in Orchy
I'll get used to this eventually
I know, I know."


For instance, on one of my recent 6 mile morning runs down East River Drive, I realized I knew how many boathouses there were, where certain fell among them and what I would likely see on the porches [laundry hung out to dry at the Vesper club, etc.] that wrap them.  I know where Lemon Hill takes you (and where it doesn't: back down to east river drive quickly).  If called upon, I could even tell you how to get from UPenn to the Please Touch Museum (the new location) and back downtown via West River Drive.  My world, simply, is more open now because my footsteps fall over this city without hesitation.  I have almost twenty months of miles logged through these parks, over the hills and under the bridges, down East River and up West River, through campuses, alive and ghostly, and back to where I started. 


And once again, this freedom is why we run this city - one mile or twelve - rain or shine - dusk or dawn. 

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Treadmills.

There was a time in my life during which every day ended with 60 minutes on the treadmill at a slow pace watching Sonny and Carly dance around epic tragedy on General Hospital.  No matter the time of year, the crowd (welcome, Shoobies), the practice I'd had after school or the dinner waiting at home, there was always those 60 minutes that were just mine.  

Since then (high school), I moved away from the treadmill's perfection - in stride, time, pace, incline and calories - toward (1) walking/nothing (college) and (2) trails (law school).  And while I'm still an outdoor girl - whether snow or 100 degrees and humid - runs like today's, on a treadmill, for 81 minutes, running 9 miles while staring blankly at the same building in the distance that overlooks my favorite park, was a reminder that there is something to be said for steadiness and meditation.  

Runners often speak of the transcendent properties of a great run - whether a marathon or a 5k.  The 9 miles that I ran today, while they did not take me anywhere, they didn't take me from anywhere either.  They kept me right where I was: in a gym, focused on the archaic beauty of a building in Philadelphia's skyline, with controlled breathing and a free mind.  I was very much in a moment and in that moment there was clarity without anxiety and feeling without thought.  

Coming off of a difficult week, running felt good again - the way it did when I was 17 with 10 minutes left in my workout, waiting for my dad to pick me up from a gym his buddy owned to take me home to a dinner my mom made.  And so, while the thought of a treadmill workout may seem like a dark cloud on most days, I remind myself that there is a simple safety in crossing the finish line there.    

And I thought the comeback was the hard part...

Marathon Training Week Two:
5 mornings that began at 4:30AM;
guilt over a lost hills workout;
hydration to the point of broken sleep;
3 times in the gym lifting and stretching;
a welcome home party for two-a-day workouts;
26 miles, 17 outside and 9, just recently, all at once, on a treadmill;
an aching hamstring (deep and subtle, not when running);
1 Extend Barre Pilates class; and
no wine to take the edge off of a bad day.

That said, on Rest Day Eve (Friday), after a run perfect from sunrise to to the uphills, I felt beaten.  Not beaten in the sports massage way either - this was more of a baseball bat to the quads, hamstrings and core kind of beaten.  Looking at "Week 2" and realizing there are twelve more to go was a game changer.  And so, for as hard as I've worked to get back, I've come to realize that now the real grit of the journey takes hold.  I'm hanging on to the side of a mountain, making the decision to keep going.  Up. Over. And through.





Sunday, August 7, 2011

9 Perfect Miles

I am a closet lover of rounded numbers and even things.  This does not mean I am forced to wake up at 4:22AM because it's perfectly even or listen to the radio or TV on an even volume - what it does mean, however, is that 9 miles in 81 minutes, flat, makes me happy for several reasons - above and beyond how great the actual run felt.

This morning fit Nine, 9 minute miles into an almost effortless stride.  Few runs ever feel so right.  That said, I'm a big believer in embracing them when they do.  When you're perfectly hydrated, fueled by a banana and rising above the ridiculous humidity left behind by a nighttime storm, it seems that nothing can get in your way except you (and a few over-the-top rude bikers - by the way, guys, the path is there for all of us, I don't wear an ipod so I can hear you coming, I don't appreciate your horns or whistles, as the case may be, nor do I deserve your screams of "left" and "watch out." And to the one female biker that actually skimmed my left side today, some day you'll pull that nonsense with the wrong runner and I hope I'm there to see it).

As always, miles 1-4 were slower than miles 5-9.  I've found lately that, no matter the run (or day) I'm having, my body is slow to warm up and fall in love with an early morning run.  But once it does get loose, I've really been able to throw down steady and strong times without the aches and pains of last summer.  Peas & Carrots, while still in my freezer, remain a constant reminder of what could happen but are ultimately untouched.  On today's run, this turning point came on just after I crossed the Falls Bridge from East River Drive down to West River Drive.  Aided by the She Rox Triathlon participants, cheers and music, I picked it up, lengthened my stride and drove my pace down by about 20 seconds per mile.

The crowds, as they always do, sent me to daydreaming about what the Marathon will feel like in November; how it will feel to have such support from thousands of strangers and a handful of very important people following me through Philly with signs (not that I've thought about it).  Through the tents and water stations, however, West River Drive became what I love it for - silent.  Past the Three Mile Green House and the Waterworks, around the Art Museum Steps and toward the completion of my 9 perfect miles, I was consistent with my breathing and ready for more.  And therein lies the most important difference between August 2010 (immediately pre-injury) and August 2011 (almost one year out): last year I would have gone until it didn't feel good anymore; this year, I stopped on top of my run, still owning it, still in control.

Apparently, I've learned a few things and that is my 9 mile miracle.

"...let it rain down and wash everything away."

Whenever I run in the rain, which given the summer of six heat waves, admittedly I haven't done much of, the aptly named Creed song pops into my head and suddenly I'm chanting, "I feel it's going to rain like this for days - so let it rain down and wash everything away - I hope that tomorrow the sun will shine - with every tomorrow comes another life - I feel like it's going to rain like this for days," to myself as I head down the path.

Weird? Probably.

However, it captures my optimism about rain - especially what it feels like to start and end a long run in the rain.  There is something about knowing that you're walking out of a perfectly dry house into a storm when it's barely light out to run for at least an hour, sucking it up and doing it.  Instantly not dry, chilly and still waking up, it takes a bit of mental knowhow to move beyond the elements, accept them and run with them and even more focus on the journey.

Running 6 miles earlier this week in the remnants of a storm reminded me of humid, rainbow filled mornings and an uncertain struggle as I began my training 12 months ago - afraid to miss a step.  The difference now is remarkable.  I am not driven by fear of missing a workout or a tempo run or an appropriate time on my garmin, I am just driven.  Driven to breathe deep on the stormy days, keep my arms where they are supposed to be, lengthen my stride at the end, finish hard, start steady, embrace puddles and smile at other wet runners with the same ideas.  They may not be pretty, but these runs are what bring us back, humble us low and redefine our strength.

So the rain came, went and promised to return- washed a lot of the dust away and got me ready to start what I hope will be a seamless 14 week buildup to 26.2 miles in November.

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Tiny Dancer.

"Xtend Barre Pilates: An efficient way to create a strong and healthy body at any age - developed from a dance/pilates background - you'll enjoy the workout of a dancer and the benefits of Pilates all in one," says the Urbanfront Pilates website [www.urbanfrontpilates.com].

A 60% off Groupon, an internal dare and a constant search for fun ways to cross train led me to an airy Pilates Studio on the corner of 17th and Sansom with a wall of windows overlooking an intersection of Philadelphia's best - hotels, restaurants, people and pets - on a Tuesday night.

The beautiful imp of an instructor floated across the floor with such comfort the studio itself seemed to embrace her; an easy smile putting the room at an even calm against the rush hour below; and, of course, the stance of a dancer.  From her rhythmic demands for tempo and pulse to her happily non-pretentious pronunciation of "pliĆ©" and "arabesque," this place instantly came alive and brilliantly so.  Even in its perfection, it was subtle.

This is not a class for the feint of heart nor is it like anything you've ever done before unless you were a ballerina in a former life.  I was not.  More specifically, I was the only child of a small town sports legend.  And so I didn't do gymnastics, I shot a basketball.  I didn't wear tutus and prance off to dance class, I went to the batting cages.  I don't dance.  Yet somehow, I found myself, grip socks and all, in what looks very much like a ballet studio, barre and all, on a random Tuesday night.

The workout is fast and immediately intense.  A one pound weight in each hand is more than enough to have you meditating beyond the burn just 20 minutes in.  The warmup is rapid fire movements and constant adjustment from the window, to the middle, a bit above or behind - all toward the common goal of not whacking another student with your weights.  As acclimation sets in, however, you realize that you are, in fact, moving and responding to commands from the front of the class.  You are using the barre and approaching it correctly.  There is stretching and lifting and bending and your limbs suddenly do what you ask of them at the exact moment you ask it.  There is, dare I say it, a bit of grace.

And at the end, when you are on your toes, arms stretched out and above your head, eyes closed, balanced and breathing deep, you will feel accomplished and self-contained and you will be shaking.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

The Road Taken.

Robert Frost wrote of two roads diverging and the choice of "the other, as just as fair, and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that passing there had worn them really about the same, and both that morning equally lay in leaves no step had trodden..."

Each time I run on the Schuylkill River Trail, and these runs are many and the same, I come to a fork in the road.  This fork may fall at mile 12 or, like yesterday, mile 3.

If I go right, the path continues away from the river, behind trees and along the same well-marked/mapped course that appears clearly on the grid - whatever your grid may be;  If I go left, the river is a constant to my west with its Geese waking and occasional homeless fighting for final moments of peace.  To the left there are steps down, uneven cobblestones, steps up, an edge of water and action.  To the right are runners, silence and the kind of shade that holds you in its stillness.  The left has had waist-high snow from January to March for the last two Winters, a slip-n-slide of matted leaves every Fall, becomes a wading pool of April Showers and scorched earth in the Summer while the shade to the right is unwavering.  Yet still I go left.

Left is, perhaps, this runner's tribute to loyalty and a reminder that I don't always need to stay on the marked course when it presents itself.

Left is my choice to stay by the water because I feel land-locked in this City and, sometimes, on just the right run at the perfect time of morning, the river smells enough like the ocean to free up my feet a bit, lift my knees and return my youth - if only for a moment.

Left, I suppose, is the road taken and it has made all the difference - no matter the distance.