Do Yo Thang

Another half-marathon training session is nearly done.

Since January 1...I mean, January 2...I mean...well, sometime around the beginning of January after I got over the epic sinus infection, we started up training again. This time for the DC Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon  coming up on March 17. Switchfoot is headlining. I'm not a huge Switchfoot fan. I just like live music.

This eleven-week training course was a little different than last time. First off, because training in winter is far different than training in summer. We were lucky this year and blessed with a freak El Nina (El Nino? Global Warming? 2012 Mayan-Calendar End?) stream that kept temperatures well above freezing most of the time. I think I wore my Arctic Under Armour compression shirt that I got for Christmas (thanks, family!) less than a handful of times. Don't worry - I'm sure next year we'll be back to regularly-scheduled frigidness and it will get much more use. 

Secondly, and this was a shocking moment for me, I realized that my body is now used to 8+ mile runs. Even 10+ miles. While I slacked off a bit in the intensity training for short runs, I still got the scheduled long runs in and, for the most part, was surprised to find that muscle memory is a very real thing. I felt like I did far less this time around then last time, but I'm still getting in the long runs without too much fatigue. It makes me think that I might finally be ready for the dedication of training for a full marathon. Because, after you've run 13.1 miles, what's 13.1 more? Ask me again after the race, and we'll see. Especially if I puke again. No toenails lost this time so far, however, which sort of makes me feel like a slacker, to be honest. But then I think about where I was a couple of years ago when thirty minutes on an elliptical a few times a week constituted a "workout routine." How very far we have come.

The basics:

Eatin'

An important thing I've learned in training for a half marathon is that you don't really need to do anything too drastically different in terms of eating. A common mistake is to think that you need to "carbo-load" or take in more calories. Mistake.

I'm hungry all the time, but I'm hungry all the time anyway. The difference now is that if I don't eat regularly, I get dizzy and irritable and am subsequently likely to eat too much because I feel famished. I eat every couple of hours. Small meals. And you really don't need to consume too many more calories in training than normal. You just need to eat, and often. Breaking up three meals a day into six smaller ones worked well for me. As for carbs, everything in moderation: I find that I do much better, energy-wise, if I stick to primarily lean proteins and fiber and try to keep the carbs to a moderate amount. This doesn't mean I eschew carbs, just that I don't eat extra. I do tend to eat more protein, because it keeps you fuller longer, and because women tend to not get enough protein as it is. 

Things I consume regularly: tuna (canned and ahi), salads with oil + vinegar, turkey burgers in whole wheat pitas, brown rice, chicken, lots and lots and lots of eggs (yolks included - but I try to do 1 yolk for every 2 eggs), Kind bars (possibly my favorite post-run treat), Muscle Milk light (the 100-calorie chocolate kind), spinach, tomatoes, hummus, carrots, oatmeal, white fish, blueberries, Wasa crackers, black beans, Vitamin Water Zero, Power Bar energy gel chews, Gu, garbanzo beans, and dark chocolate whenever I can get my hands on it. The last one because it's awesome. I also like to combine food groups whenever possible - fiber with protein, carbs with protein, etc. And sushi is and forever shall be a wonder food to me.

Sleepin'

My sleep. I am no longer of any use to anyone after 10pm. But I wake up around 6:15 like clockwork every morning. This habit is disruptive only on weekends, when I want to be a functioning human being past midnight and sleep past 9am the next morning. All of these healthy habits are wreaking havoc on my party life. Bummer.

Energizin'

As long as I'm eating and sleeping the way my body wants me to, I've got energy to spare. Unfortunately, my schedule rarely allows me to eat and sleep the way I'd like to, so I do feel like I get tired out more easily. But those days when I magically hit the hay early after a full day of healthy eating - there is nothing in this world that feels better. During training last time, I cut my caffeine intake by half. I'm no longer on that bandwagon, but I am much more conscious of it and try to limit it to before 2pm. And no more lattes or large coffees. Smalls or mediums only, and medium has to have at least a few fingers of decaf in it.

Overcomin'

When I feel overwhelmed, when I feel small, when I feel like my problems are insurmountable, it's a pretty freaking amazing thing to say to yourself: remember when you thought running a mile was an accomplishment? Now you regularly run more than five, and sometimes even more than ten. Your body can handle 13 miles. It just takes time, dedication, and passion. Don't forget the passion part: if running just ain't your thang, it ain't your thang. Personally, I can't think of anything worse than swimming long distances. I have no desire to do it, and the few times I've tried it has not felt good. It just ain't my thang. You gotta find your thang. Because when it hurts, when you're tired, when you're running out of steam, you're gonna need that drive. 

Now, excuse me while I do and do my thang....

Domesticity

So, after the whirlwind of the last couple of months, I finally woke up on Sunday and realized that I feel like I can breathe again.

Less than a week into New House, I came home from work one evening to discover that my closet had imploded. Both cats were hiding under the bed, and I suspect they are still in shock. It seems the entire bar came out of the wall, bringing with it the upper shelf, all of my clothes, and a good chunk of drywall. So, while the rest of my room is beginning to take on an orderly fashion with books put away, desk set up, and even a picture or two on the walls, my closet remains a cavernous hole filled with hangers poking every which way and clothing lumped up in piles.

So the closet situation is going to require some heavy-duty fixin' and DIY'ing. Which means a lot of Googling and YouTube'ing. How did anyone get anything done before the Internets?

At least there's no mold.

All of this has caused me to suddenly be Domestic. The other day, I installed a towel bar. By myself. Using power tools. (That I borrowed from my parents.) I met with the cable and internet providers when they wired the house. I fixed the garbage disposal that had a stuck wheel. I took apart and put back together multiple sets of IKEA furniture. (Meaning I helped my boyfriend identify the various plugs and screws and held particle board in place while he orchestrated the actual decon/con. Semantics.)

And then I ran a half-marathon. Thousands of people running, and just as many lining the streets of Baltimore, cheering and holding out hands for high-fives. The most glorious moment was just before the finish when the route takes you THROUGH Camden Yards, with everyone screaming and photos being taken, bands playing, balloons a'flying. I crossed the finish line in two hours, two minutes. My goal was two hours. After the killer hills, I will take the additional two minutes in stride.

My dad stuck with us for the first 4-5 miles, and then paced back a bit. Catalano and my boyfriend and I stuck together until about the last mile. He finished in just over two hours, and Catalano finished just a minute behind me.

And then I puked. First time for that. I finished the race feeling pretty shaky, and decided that what I needed immediately was lots of fluids and something to eat. I managed to eat part of a bagel and a whole banana, and then we got into the beer line. I kept feeling worse and worse, but trying to convince myself that it would pass and I would feel better. Not even half a beer in, everything came back up. In front of everyone. Nothing like ralphing with friends and family looking on.

The boyfriend kindly convinced me that only real athletes puke, and recounted the number of times he's retched before, during, and after swim practices in college. I later found out that two of my trivia girls also let loose - one at a water stop, and one ON the finish line. Both of those seem far more epic than a Beer Garden Retch, to be honest.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in bed, and it was glorious. When I finally rallied around 7pm, all I wanted in the world was a bison burger. And I had one. With french fries. AND CHEESE. And it was divine.

I spent the next three days limping with insanely sore quadriceps, and didn't really feel better until I got a run in yesterday. This is better than Lee who, upon running his first half marathon a few years ago, went out on a marathon drinking spree and was unable to walk at all the next day. I, at least, had the use of my legs.

So now, I am looking for the next race, the next challenge. I know I'm not prepared - mentally or physically - to take on a full marathon yet, but ultimately I think I'd like to knock one out in the next couple of years. I need to get a few more halfs in first, however, ideally without puking.

In other news, in all of the chaos of work, moving, running, and the thousands of regularly-scheduled programs I have going on in my life anyway, I got a parking ticket. It was my own fault: I was unloading my car one rainy night after an epic Costco run, and parked illegally thinking I'd be out of there before I could get ticketed. No lie, an officer stuck me with a $77 parking ticket in the ten or so minutes it took me to unload my frozen foods.

I have inordinate amounts of rage when it comes to things like parking tickets. It's all entirely relative of course: I don't understand why meter maids aren't doing their jobs when I see someone else parked like an asshole, and I scream victimization when I myself park like an asshole and get a ticket. (Sort of like how I get angry at pedestrians when I'm driving and angry at drivers when I'm walking.) But with my sudden need for STUFF (who knew I was going to need a shower caddy AND hooks for my aprons in the kitchen??), I feel as though I'm hemorrhaging money, and racking up a $77 parking ticket in less than ten minutes feels agonizing.

Because I am naturally a very graceful person who is well able to mask anger and carry myself with aplomb, I of course didn't immediately get shaky lower lip and call the meter maid a name that would make a sailor gasp. I of course didn't do anything so rash and childish as then proceed to wave the ticket in the air and weave an eloquent tapestry of curse words while standing out on the sidewalk. I didn't call into question the intelligence of the assigning officer, and I certainly didn't bring Baltimore City Parking Authority into it.

Certainly.

My boyfriend, from whom I initially attempted to hide my proclivity for violent bursts of outrage upon feelings of victimization by unseen forces (and occasionally inanimate objects that trip me, hide my keys, or otherwise complicate my life), was privy to this obviously mature and logical outburst. He had that look on his face that's a cross between "Should I offer a distraction; say, an ice cream cone?" and "I have never met this person before in my life, Officer."

One thing that has arisen out of the mellowing that has come with my late twenties is that these outbursts are far shorter than they used to be. Within the hour, we were watching documentaries on Discovery Health about phantom pregnancies and weird phobias, and I was quite content.

Until a week later, when it suddenly occurred to me that I ought to check the due date on that parking ticket. Because I presumably owed SOMEBODY, SOMEWHERE some moolah for my egregious parking. While my life is cluttered and busy, I tend to have a photographic memory of where things are located (making it all the more infuriating when something gets moved and I can't find it) and I specifically remembered sticking the parking ticket in the middle of the front seats by the gear shift so that I wouldn't lose it. So that it would be staring me in the face and I would remember to pay it.

Except it wasn't there. It wasn't on the floor, in the seat, tucked carefully into the glove compartment or center console, and wasn't even in my bag or wallet. The thing had gone missing.

I assumed that the city of Baltimore just wanted its money, and I could go to the website, enter in my tag number, and it would spit back at me the amount I owed and tell me again what a horrible crime I had committed for "blocking an unmarked" (UN-FREAKING-MARKED, mind you) "pedestrian walkway." But still, losing things irks me to no end, and I wondered if perhaps in my fit of blind rage I had eaten the ticket or shoved it somewhere unsightly. Because my boyfriend was witness to everything, I casually asked him if he remembered what I'd done with the ticket and said that if I couldn't find it, I could probably just try to track it through my tag number.

"You could," he reasoned, "but it would be a waste of time."

"Why? You sort of have to pay parking tickets, it's kind of the law..."

"Well, maybe it was already paid."

Say whaaaaaaaaaat?

Lemme tell you about modern romance. You can leave the flowers, the chocolates, the love notes, the little gifts, and all those trappings of Hallmark flirtation and give me a man who steals parking tickets out of your car and pays them. This is also the guy who has filled my gas tank, fixed all of my electronics, helped me move twice, doesn't flinch when I spill red wine on his carpet, and doesn't mind touching my disgusting feet with the missing toenail when I am hard up for a foot rub. Swoon.

I did give him Portal Coasters a couple of weeks ago. That has to count for something.

So, settling into New House in New Neighborhood and resting my horribly-aching quads. There is a bit of a lull between now and the holidays where I feel as though I can finally catch my breath a bit, but somehow things never remain that quiet for that long, so I'm just trying to take advantage of the brief glimpse of down time. And figuring out how the hell to fix my closet.

Take Your Mark

Soooooooooooooooooooo.

The last couple weeks of life have been chaotic (but, really, when is life ever not chaotic?), hence the lack of posting. I feel as though I came back from vacation, packed up my life, and moved in the span of about two and a half weeks. Oh wait...that's exactly what happened.

Life is again a flurry of boxes and bubble wrap, only this time it's a more settled feeling. My new house is beautiful, the neighborhood is divine, and things are slowly but surely beginning to develop new patterns and routines. A week into the new house, and I can make my way from my room to the bathroom downstairs at night without the lights on. I call this progress.

Oh, and tomorrow I'm gonna run a half marathon. You know, no big deal.

Actually, wait; it is a big deal. I've been training for this thing for eleven weeks. And while I haven't had time to update the mileage to the right of this page, I know that I've put 175 miles on these feet since August in preparation for this.

Icing on the cake - my dad, my boyfriend, and Catalano are all running too. My lone hobby became a project for my boyfriend and me, and I will say that training with a partner was much, much easier than training alone. We did all of our long runs together, starting at 8 and working up to 12.5. We had difficult runs where we could barely pick our feet up off the ground, and runs where we finished before we realized. I have to say, I probably got the better end of the deal - training with someone who was a college athlete was a huge asset. I learned what to eat, how to stretch, when to rest, when to push. The best part: I had someone to rub my shins and shoulders and work the knots out of my calves.

What?! I cooked him dinner on many occasions!

So this half marathon will be a family-and-friend affair, and I couldn't be more excited. And a little nervous. I've been working towards this for the last few months, but also I feel as though I've been mentally prepping for this for the past year. Last year when I ran the relay, I knew this was something I wanted to do. The greatest physical challenge I've taken on thus far.

And one of those bucket list things: run a half marathon before you're thirty.

Shoot. I should probably make a list of all those things I was supposed to do before thirty. Because that's in like...7.5 months. Damn. I need to get busy figuring out world peace, writing a best-seller, and penning a Billboard top single.

But first...I think I'll unpack some more boxes. And run 13.1 miles.

New Record

Ran ten miles this morning before work.

You know; no big deal.

After an excruciating and embarassingly bad week of training last week (we're talking crawling uphill on a mediocre 6 mile run in a manner that left my spirit broken and soul empty) this is actually a very big deal. Not only that, but it's my longest distance to date. Not only that, but it marks nearly the halfway point in the training program, and is almost at the apex. Once we get a 12 miler in at the end of September, it's downhill from there with two easy weeks before the race.

Miles to date in training: 78.5.
Coconut waters consumed: small, tropical isle's worth.
Days until I am lying on the beach in Key West: 9.