So We Moved To Appalachia

In April of 2013, I made the big decision to move the family from our very comfortable digs in New Jersey to the North Georgia Mountains. For this native Brooklynite who had tried Maryland once but moved back North because Baltimore seemed too southern, this came as a shock to nearly everyone I know. YOU'RE MOVING WHERE? THE SOUTH? GEORGIA? Yeah, but in the mountains. THERE ARE MOUNTAINS IN GEORGIA? WHAT???

We packed up our apartment at one boarding school in lush and beautiful Central New Jersey, and headed down South to our new boarding school in the North Georgia Mountains. (Ok, it didn't happen that quickly-I stayed at my parents' in Brooklyn for the summer and did this, this, and this!) The day after my son got home from camp, which was coincidentally the same day that I did my last NJ Trail Series Race (Wildcat Ridge Romp-a must do), we got in the car and drove 15 hours to our new home.

We live in the part of Georgia that is surrounded by the gently (and severely) sloping old-soul Appalachians. There is a certain air of mystery that pervades the area-it's palpable even. Summer mornings can be quite foggy, and then the most beautiful and bright sunlight breaks through the mist revealing the most sweet and cantankerous appendages of the earth.

Part of what lured me to the South, because NOTHING ELSE WOULD as a born-and -bred New Yorker (ok, maybe the job offer did, a little...), were the mountains and the possibility of trail upon trail upon trail. It was always my intention to end up in the Adirondacks, in New York State. Ever since my first public school outing to those mountains, I have been hooked. Okay, so I'm not in my home state, but I am in the mountains which happen to be in Georgia, and they are scary, beautiful, enveloping, and comforting.

Each mountain, hill, valley, knob boasts a particular character. One may be forgiving, the other strict and unyielding. One may be quiet and unassuming, the other bossy and loud.  The wonderful thing about all of them is that they are all at my doorstep. Do I want to run a steep and windy road? Step out the door. Do I crave some gnarly, technical trail? Run a quarter of a mile down the road, enter trail.  Do I want to summit the highest mountain east of the Mississippi? Done.

After a fairly difficult transition period (including a bout of a weird Lyme Disease-like sickness), we are now nicely settled in a house that faces the eastern ridges of the Appalachians. Most mornings I am up early enough to watch the sunrise from my front windows (when it's -6 degrees out like, this ENTIRE winter), my front porch, or while I'm out engaging in my life-giving and -affirming early morning runs.

There are two serious negatives. I am far away from my family. For someone who is pretty well-traveled and has spent tons of time away from home (as in boarding school and then college) it has been really difficult to have to drive twelve hours just to see family. Now, I'll just have to settle for thru-hiking the AT, and visit them that way, because apparently that is an expectation if you are even remotely outdoorsy down in these parts. The other negative (ok, maybe this one is not so serious-but it is, I swear!) is that NOTHING IS FLAT. NOT A DARNED THING! Even the hallway where my classroom is located is sloped. Yep, I have moved to a no-flat zone and it's taking its toll on my legs, heart, and ego!

Running-wise, moving to Georgia has been a gift. I was afraid it would be difficult to meet new runner-friends, but is has been really easy, and I've even been able to convince some walkers that walking was boring and that they should be running! I've been fortunate to assistant-coach the cross country team, running twice a day most days in the cool mornings and scorching afternoons. 

I get to run by expansive cow-grazing fields, corn fields, evergreen forests, old-growth forests, lakes, rivers. I get to climb over cow-gates, run in snowstorms, do burpees in the mud, and challenge my own perceptions of what it means to be alive, and well. 

I have much to learn about Georgia. The people, the customs, the culture, the ethos. Running here has brought me closer in an organic way to the birth-state of my maternal grandmother. It has deepened my spirit of adventure and has proven that stepping or running out of the box has great rewards. For that, I am grateful.

You Can Call Me 5 Chainz: MCM 2013 Race Report

This name was given to me by a student who thought it was appropriate since I am now the proud owner of 5 marathon medals.

So on Tuesday October 29, when I waltzed (I mean, shuffled-grimacing every step) into class wearing my newest bling, some of my students still hadn't grasped the notion of running a marathon. "Wait, so you ran how many miles?" Or, "Why would anyone run that much?" "How long did THAT take?" When I said 6 hours and 24 minutes, the response was "WOW! What was the winner's time?" When I told them that the winner ran the race in two hours and 21 minutes some gasped and asked "Is that even possible?" We then got into a discussion about how one trains for a marathon, why (again) anyone would want to run so much, why would I drive 9 hours to (again) run so much, and well, did you take pictures of any hot marines?

Training

How did I train for MCM 2013? I ran a bunch but I didn't get in as many 16 mile+ runs as I had wanted during the 7 or so weeks preceding the marathon. I moved to Northern Georgia from New Jersey at the end of the summer, and although it was the move I was meant to make, changing venues came with its own set of challenges, like mountains and really serious hills (oh, and adjusting to a completely different lifestyle and schedule.)

I ended up doing only 1 full 20 miler 3 weeks before preceded by a 17.5, 15 and 13. Over the summer I managed to get a 23 mile run in, but that was really early on so it doesn't really count as a training run.

Fortunately, I got in a lot of my weekday runs with the cross country team that I assistant-coach. Many times I did two-a-days, running 2-4 miles in the mornings, and 2-3 miles in the hot Georgia afternoons. I cross-trained a lot, swimming twice a week for 30 minutes, spinning, and doing lots of boot-camp type plyometric workouts.

I did some serious carb-loading the week before. Because, you just have to. And it tastes good. My awesome cousin who I stayed with helped me on that front, spoiling me with pasta, garlic bread, French toast....and numerous other goodies on Friday and Saturday. 

Marathon Day!

This could have been a perfect photo...

Parachute Jumpers 

The morning of the marathon was crisp, though not cold. And thankfully, there was no impending hurricane to worry about. The sky was a perfect array of muted dawn colors. This was the perfect backdrop for the American flag-waving parachute jumpers. How cool. How friggin' cool. 

Miles 1-3 (Here we go again! WOOT)

Smiling-at the beginning, of course!

I learned from last year that I needed to move over to the left side of 110 so that I could get to the start line quickly without tripping over people. Beating the Bridge is a SERIOUS AFFAIR and is not to be taken lightly. I started out doing about an 11 minute pace, which for a marathon is still too fast for me. I felt it in my lungs and in my legs that had not quite recovered from the weird flu-like virus I had suffered from 3 weeks prior to event. At the 5K point, I seriously doubted that I had it in me to finish the marathon. First inkling of tears. I didn't feel up to the task, but I had been talking about it for months to everyone who would listen so I would have to finish regardless or I would look like a fool. More tears. 

Miles 4-9 (Ok, this is totally normal)

These miles are usually my sweet spot in long runs, and were my sweet spot during MCM. I usually am warmed up by this point and the running feels easy almost. I even got to see my super-motivational and awesome friends as they were running in the other direction on Rock Creek Parkway. I WOOT-WOOTED them, and continued on quite happily even though that part of the course lasted for years.

Miles 9-13 (Ok, I can get through this, maybe...)

I was still running at an okay pace, not great, but not terrible either. My legs and feet started hurting at this point. For me, it is unusual for the appendages to be in pain so early on, but again I attribute this to flu-like virus/infection that attacked my ankles, knees, neck, feet and hands with arthritis like stiffness and pain. Maybe it was in the stars, or maybe it was Providence but as soon as the pain started to really bother me I spotted someone holding a sign that said "RUN WITH GRATITUDE". I will, I mouthed to myself.

This is when the second bout of tears came on suddenly. I was in a lot of pain, but I was still able to move my body. I had no business doubting my ability to finish this physical and mental (and emotional) endeavor. No business. The tears were from a combination of pain, a deep feeling of gratitude, and the realization that I had 13.1 more miles to go. It was never going to end.

Miles 13-15 (Oooh, another sweet spot!)

Somehow I regained energy after a yummy (relatively speaking) Mint Chocolate GU, some water and the first quarters of oranges. Thank you Marines and volunteers. I really needed that nutrition. I was able to run these two miles fairly "easily." Everything is relative.

Miles 15-17.5 (Why am I doing this again?)

Miles 15-17.5 take you by the various Smithsonians and the Gauntlet, apparently. I still don't know what or where the Gauntlet is...but there are excellent vantage spots for very expensive photos here.

Marathoners have to reach this point by 12:30. I was able to do this with time to spare-but I still wasn't playing with the possibility of not reaching the bridge by 1:05. I ran-walked, alternating light posts. Run three, walk one. Run one, walk three. Whatever the legs and feet thought was appropriate, I did. At this point, I had to shut the mind off.

Miles 18-20 (BEAT THE BRIDGE, DAMMIT)

There's a point in which you know that you'll reach the bridge but you cannot relax until you actually see the drumming ladies JAMMING it up. They looked and sounded awesome. As soon as the slight incline of the bridge came into view, I exhaled like Whitney Houston in Waiting to Exhale. I also looked desperately for members of the Red Felt Running Club at the foot of the bridge. True to their crazy and awesome nature, they were there cheering everyone on and handing out treats that weren't gels. THANK GOD! I scored a Twizzler and a bag of Cheezits (so much for 10 months of GF eating--I didn't care, I couldn't fathom any more overly sweet gels) and continued on my way.

Mile 20-21 (I HATE THE BRIDGE)

This part of the course really is a death march. This may actually be the longest mile ever. No, really.

Many people are stooped over, some are walking in a daze. 

Others are stretching. Some are just sitting, barely moving, on the pavement. The bridge lasts forEVER. And it is hard on your feet. And it is boring. And you have nothing left to think of, because you've thought of everything already, you know, in the last 20 miles. Also, you are just numb.

Fortunately, I had already reached the dreaded wall during mile 3 so I knew I was golden (even though there was still 10K left). Some may ask, what's 10K after you've done 20. Everything. It is everything and it takes everything to continue. Anyway, there was no turning back. I soldiered on (pun intended), speed walking just so that it could be over. 

Miles 22-24 (THESE FLAGS ARE TOO BRIGHT AND CHEERY AND I'M NOT FEELING CHEERY)

The flags of Crystal City, the donuts. That's all I remember. Green to green flag. Walk to yellow. Red to Red flag. Walk to purple. Blue to blue flag. During these miles, I discovered some energy reserves. Where they were at mile 3, I don't know. But here they were offering themselves to me. Okay. Let's do this. And thanks for the Sports Beans that I'll stuff in my bra for now since nothing else with sugar will be going in my mouth. 

Mile 24-25 (REALLY?)

This may be the second longest mile ever. I think they intentionally made it longer just to make me mad.

Mile 25-26 (Almost there!)

I started running again. Some other reserve perhaps? I need to get this done. REEL THOSE SUCKAS IN, I thought. 

When I could see the 26 mile time, there were MORE tears. I am generally not a crier. But these tears were free flowing. 

Almost there! 

Last .2
I made the left turn onto that hill. A marine yelled DIG DEEP. YOU GOT THIS. YOU. GOT. THIS. And I did. I hi-fived all the beautiful, wonderful, and brave marines right before I was knighted ceremoniously with my third MCM medal.

I GOT THIS.

Great Alaskan Marathon Cruise 2013: Part 1

ALL FEET ON DECK

Running on cold and metal-grey , briny sea spray mist in your face, the early morning sun appearing slowly through wispy cirrus clouds, blasts of cold wind pushing against you at every turn...

No, I'm not the Black Jesus of the North Pole gliding on water in old, bright green Mizunos (Wave Inspire) and Under Armour Cold Gear. I'm FATGIRLRUNNING on the Promenade Deck of a fancy cruise ship, complete with ELEVATORS! (Think OPRAH VOICE).

This past summer I had the opportunity to participate in the Great Alaskan Marathon Cruise hosted by John "The Penguin" Bingham and Coach Jenny Hadfield on the Holland America line. A trip like this is the only way to cruise, I am convinced. How could you do it any other way? You get MAD exercise in with friendly, well-known people in the running world,  ALL the food you could ever eat, and a chance to run in great cities and towns in the the Last Frontier. Way cool, I say.

Allow me to digress for a minute to ponder the following: WHY IS THERE SO MUCH FOOD ON CRUISES? I enjoy eating. In fact, it's no secret that I will go to great lengths to partake in the consumption of haute-cuisine. But even I was baffled at the sheer amount of comestibles available pretty much all day for the duration of the voyage. Fortunately for me, the whole time I was on the cruise I battled some sort of stomach bug that wasn't norovirus, but some other nasty stomach flu thing that was like an annoying friend that you think is gone, but at the most inopportune moment decides to knock on your door, with a big toothy smile. So, I literally could not eat all day.  In retrospect, I'm glad I didn't.
Back to this trip, which was pretty amazeballs:

What a crew! (Pun intended.) If there are two better people to lead running excursions in Alaska, I don't know who they could be but John and Jenny. With a winning combination of wit, generosity, sagesse, availability, and good old-fashion coaching and advice, it was the best of many worlds-a luxurious cruise experience with some of the most fun and challenging runs many in the group had ever done (and did I say we got to hang out with John Bingham and Jenny Hadfield for 7 days?)

The Great Alaskan Marathon Cruise is a staged race in which several runs over a few days in different ports add up to 26.2 miles. Now, for some of you die-hard-core runners, maybe you won't call this a marathon. But a marathon it was-just a different type. Cut us some slack! The race consisted of four runs: a deck run, a trail race in Juneau, an "amazing race" in Sitka, and a final trail race in Ketchikan.

The first day at sea, on our way to Juneau, I woke up at five in the morning to check out the first stage of the "course" which was a 3.6 mile deck run--that is, 11 loops around the beautifully paneled teak-wood deck, damp not from sea spray, but from a recent cleaning. (Really, it would have been much more literary had it actually been sea-spray.)  The winner of the deck run would be the person that correctly guessed their race time. My plan was to run it so that I could get a better idea of my time. Is that cheating? NOPE, since after a couple of loops I lost track of time anyway.  Instead I decided to take in the different views and enjoy the cold air against my face: From AFT, the starboard side, FORWARD, and port side. (I am now vaguely familiar with nautical terms. However, I still don't know what the heck a knot is or why nautical miles even exist.)

The ship moved along, in harmony and against the small swells of the ocean.  Sometimes it felt as though the floor had disappeared for a second and I was floating. Other times the floor pushed me up, causing my legs to tense up-- a weird but not unwelcome sensation. I dodged/jumped over water hoses, deck scrubbers, squeegees, crew members and the occasional other guest stumbling upon the deck.

The actual timed deck-run was a blast. The 35 of us ran in two waves, so that our partners could time us and so our group wouldn't create too many traffic jams amongst the other guests who were out getting their early morning walks and runs in. Every loop was a party. Each time ANY of us passed our loud and rambunctious marathon group there would give loud cheer. We even cheered for those folks not in our group. (Some of them came to expect cheers from us, so we spread our joy to them, too.)


Jenny had us doing waves as each person passed. John cracked jokes. We took pictures, high-fived our new friends from all over the US and Switzerland, ran our own races and simply enjoyed the experience of running on deck, AT SEA. So cool. 

Stay tuned for PART 2: Stage 2

Who Let The Cows Out? Moo.

Finger Lakes 50s: 25K

July 6, 2013

So even though my second stab at the Finger Lakes 50s 25K was SLOWER than my first, I still had an awesome time. Most importantly, my mom came with me to beautiful upstate NY to camp out IN A TENT for her very first time! There was no Thermarest, no camp-stove. There was a privy, though. She didn't really appreciate that part...but lived to tell the story. We camped out with a view of the campfire and within earshot of the cowbells that would be clanging at 5AM the next morning.

Mom and I at the start of the race--I convinced her to go camping for her first time EVER! 

After race director Chris Reynolds gave the requisite pre-race talk (in trail races, these talks/directions traditionally are filled with self-deprecatory tongue-in-cheek jokes, warnings about potential animals out on the trail, information about trail conditions, and special commentary to hard-core road-runners who will potentially become angry and aggressive later on about missing a turn and getting lost, thus destroying their carefully developed negative-split plan...well that never happens) someone counted down and our seriously motley crew began a nice, long downhill on Potomac Road.

Big smile BEFOREhand...

The Motley Crew!

I didn't have to try to not overdo it, since overdoing it is not in my body's physical lexicon/muscle-memory. At this point I was the penultimate runner, and though intellectually I was okay with it, emotionally I wasn't okay with it.  In the end, you're still last. But at least you finished. I was thinking this the whole way, along with enjoying the course.

One of many beautiful single-track sections of the trail

We then made a right turn into the cool and dark forest on the Potomac trail. The first few miles (well the first 5.3 miles to be exact) flew by. When I reached the second aid station, I was surprised that I had covered this mileage without so much as a "when is this going to end" thought. I was huffing and puffing but feeling pretty okay at this point.

The lushness of the Finger Lakes National Forest is astounding as it weaves in and out of cow pastures and cool forest

Then the course weaves in and out of cow pasture and deeply wooded forest, some of it on the edge of a slightly precipitous ravine. At the 5.3 mile point you do 3 mile out and back using the same aid station. For some reason, that particular section of the course felt the longest. In your mind it's only three miles. But three miles is three miles, especially for a slow runner like myself. I sustained myself with Coke and Twizzlers, and ice in the sports bra. WHO KNEW?

My new friend, the Twizzler.

From then on you continue making a huge loop through the forest, entering cow pastures with pleas on the gates to CLOSE THEM lest you wish to be chased by herds of cows through the woods. Sounds eerily like a slasher movie.

Let's talk about the copious amounts of sole-sucking mud that slowed most people down except for the few annoying prancers who seem to glide over anything in their minimal shoes....shoot. There was so much mud in fact, that I seriously considering pretending I was in a spa, plopping down right in the middle of the trail and taking a mud bath. But wait, I did  take a mud bath, albeit unintended. Several mud baths.

This mud was pretty dry

And then there was this kind of mud. I lost my right shoe several times. Although it was really annoying having to tread through so much mud, this was when I felt my most hard-core. Yeah, cuz that's what trail-runners do.

On my left knee is probably the insect that basically tried to eat my entire leg.

In trail running, you get to hop over branches and fallen trees, jump over snakes, turtles and frogs, dodge cows and their steaming patties, and wade in really fun puddles. Trying to side-step these things is just plain, um, ROAD RUNNING. No offense, friends.

I was grateful for the mud-cleaning.

There were many points throughout the course that REQUIRED you to stop, breathe, and take in the scenery. This is why I love both trail running and road running in the country. There are endless scenes like this.

The dappled sunlight is breathtaking

At one point, a wilderness person told me to look to my left. I thought maybe there was a bear, or a herd of cows. But he was pointing to the excellent vista, making sure that in my alternating misery,   bliss, and incoherence I didn't miss nature's bounty. Thank you, Mister AWESOMESAUCE wilderness rescue guy!

I looked left and could see for miles

I can't get enough green. They should bottle this.

My favorite part of trail running is technical single-track. My least favorite part of trail running is beautiful single-track that goes on forever. And ever. And ever, under the unforgiving rays of  mid-morning, early summer sun. The last three miles of the FL50's course is half in cow pasture, half in the forest on a very straight trail. And because it is the last section of the trail, it seems like days until you can reach the finish line.

This literally went on forever, I think.

But I finished straight into the arms of the illustrious RD, Chris Reynolds!

And then mom took lots of pics that unfortunately were just tooooooo unflattering, So I'll leave it at this one! (But thanks mommy!)

Exhausted and feelin' wonderful

If you haven't considered trail running, you ought to. It can be some of the most rewarding, challenging, but satisfying running you'll ever do. You get to participate in everything that nature intended us to be doing. Just get yourself out there, dudes.

The Beginning Of It All

I  started running for the very first time in high school while I was played field hockey and lacrosse. I went to a boarding school in Westchester County where most everyone played sports. (The few who didn't had mandatory PE!!) I was excited to join a team since I had never had an opportunity to be on one in public school in Brooklyn. My friend KC and I chose to go out for field hockey, since we had looked over at the soccer tryouts in horror while their crazy coach was having them do 10 laps of the field, just to warm up!

We both looked at each other and made an instant but silent decision to try out for field hockey, since 1. we were closer to the field, and 2. they didn't appear to be running much at all. It looked a little like golf. We could definitely do this. Neither of us knew anything about the sport or what would actually be required of us. So naively, we shuffled over to the Field Hockey field, which looked to be shorter than the soccer field (score!). Plus, there was a woman coach--those were all good signs, right?

WRONG. After doing a couple of laps around the field (I nearly died after every loop), we did a timed mile. I had NO IDEA what running a mile felt like since I had never had to run, for anything. (Childhood tag on city streets doesn't count and I'll talk about fence races another time.) That first mile ever was probably the most difficult physical thing I had ever done in my life. It consisted of 2 loops of the very hilly campus. The start of each loop was a short downhill followed by a rolling course around campus. The finish of each loop was a steady uphill until you turned into one of the school's main driveway, where even the stupid speed-bumps made me tired and angry.

My mile time was around 15 minutes--much of which I was walking and huffing and puffing and dying. When you have no idea of what a running a mile is like, or how long it is, or that a mile is like running from your block in Brooklyn to a block in another faraway neighborhood (like running from northern Bushwick to Bed-Stuy, for example), you believe you are going to be running/walking forever. I was disappointed to be the penultimate person, but ecstatic not to be the last that very humid, late summer day in the Hudson Valley.

After the mile-run debacle, practice started. We sprinted lengths of the field with and without our sticks, we practiced dribbling and driving field-hockey style, ran some more lengths of the field, practiced flicking the ball, and other field-hockeyish things.   KC and I were also introduced to the concept of the suicide, which on a basketball court might not be so bad, but on a FIELD HOCKEY FIELD was like someone pulling you from the sweet confines of restful death into purgatory over and over and over again. Two hours later I both couldn't feel my legs, my back, my neck AND then an hour later felt them very, very much.

What had we gotten ourselves into? How had we made this huge and STUPID mistake? Why was everyone better than us? How were these girls running up and down the field like it was second nature? They weren't even tired. KC and I were both kids from the city; she grew up in the Bronx and I had the honor of being born and raised in the borough of all boroughs, Brooklyn.

After the first week of practice, we still weren't accustomed to the demands of playing a sport everyday, let alone for two and a half hours a day. We endeavored to do better and decided that we would practice running so that we wouldn't suck so much at the sport.

This desire to be better took the form of early morning runs on the field of just a mile because that, we decided, was what was holding us back. So we practiced doing the 6 loops of the field hockey field, with its freshly cut grass and wild onion aroma. We stopped and started. Started and stopped. Bent over, breathless and chest heaving. We then would have to walk back up a humungous hill back to the dorms so we could limp into the showers before a much welcome breakfast.

At some point during the fall season KC and I started being able to run the warm-up loops continuously without stopping. We were able to dribble around the field without gasping for air. We could withstand the 2.5 hours of practice without keeling over face down. We could even make it through the rest of our typical boarding school evening--dinner, study hall, and socializing without being narcoleptic. That, my friends, is progress.

KC and I at our Senior Tea, after having survived several seasons of Field Hockey

The other thing that kept us going was simply being a part of a team and knowing that if we got better, if we worked on stuff, the team would also get better. During breaks, our coaches asked us to keep working out, and to try to run everyday. This was my first foray into running for the sake of running. I would don my best "workout" clothes, cotton and all. I mean, who knew? Into the front pocket of my heavy sweatshirt would go my SONY Walkman stocked with a cassette tape with a combination of Whitney Houston, Sade, and Simon and Garfunkel. (Later on in my high school career, it would be Puccini, Special Ed, and Indigo Girls.
Go figure.)

I would start timidly at first, because NO ONE in my neighborhood ran unless they were playing tag or stickball or racing up and down the block. People would stare a little and then go back to what they were doing. I would run up my street until it ended at a public school track CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC. Then I would circle the perimeter of the track, and continue on my street until it ended at a cemetery, and then I would be brazen and run through that. It wasn't until last year that I figured out the mileage of those runs back in the day. At the most, I ran 2, maybe 3 miles. Still, it felt epic back then. Just EPIC.

How freeing. How absolutely liberating! Especially in the confines of the grids of the real North Brooklyn, not today's hipster North Brooklyn. No hard feelings, guys......

This was when I discovered what running really was. To be able to move my body JUST BECAUSE was a pretty awesome feeling. That feeling continues today.

Deliciously Sore

My neck, my back..... Remember that awful rap/song by Khia? Obviously she was not referring to the weekend activity that I prefer to engage in. (The song is a disgustingly objectifying piece of crap non-music that no one should EVER listen to). Weekends are for running and er, recovering from  long jaunts outside in the sun, rain, snow, sleet, wind, etc. They aren't meant for other things. Maybe an occasional kayaking trip, or SUP lesson, or a bike race....

I'm addicted to the delicious soreness that remains and/or comes in full-force a few hours/days after a particularly grueling exploit. It is a constant reminder of the brute physical force and endurance required to carry one's heavy self miles across concrete, asphalt, dirt, gravel, rocks, and rogue tree roots. Even the stiffness that presents itself after a difficult exploit is welcome. It says "I did something EPIC." While the mileage I ran and walked this weekend wasn't what I would call EPIC,  it was enough to bring on the pleasant exhaustion and satisfaction that comes from that sustained effort.

This weekend, I endeavored to run 37 miles on the TGNY100 course. Why? Because one of my trail-runner friends had planted the seed in early June.  I was going to be in NY anyway training for my third Marine Corps Marathon in October and a possible September TNF Endurance Challenge in Georgia. What was I thinking? That I'd run my age, you know, just because I should. Actually, one of my Facebook friends and fellow trail runners convinced me to consider signing up for the TGNY100 because I had been looking for a way to train for the NJ Trail Series 6-hour Running With The Devil race at Mountain Creek in July. He suggested that I try the TGNY100, but I couldn't get my registration in quickly enough. So I decided that I would try to run some of the course anyway, unsupported. I admit that I had a lot of anxiety about pursuing such a long, unsupported run.  I didn't want to bandit the actual race so I made sure to start a good 20 minutes after the official start. This would ensure that I wouldn't get tempted to stop at any of the aid stations--they would be torn down after the last official runner passed through.


I woke up at 4 am, after having slept 5 hours (for some reason, it is essential that I not sleep too much before a long run. I think I run better and can go for longer on less sleep. Go figure.) I took the subway from Brooklyn with the early morning revelers who were returning home/headed for more partying. On the way I downed a Smooth Caffeinator Picky Bar, my favorite pre-long-run food, and a few sips of Lemon-Lime Heed (disgusting but effective.)

I exited the Times Square Subway station to be greeted by Broadway lights, and streets already starting to fill up with tourists. At 5:20am. The city that never sleeps. And this is why I love my hometown! I felt the energy of the city and the recently departed runners drawing me in and giving me the okay to get started.

I began running on Broadway at 47th, north to Central Park. Did you know that Central Park is uphill in every direction, even on the downhills? That's what it felt like during those first two or so miles. I remember thinking to myself that whoever was participating in the bike race that was happening in CP that morning had it easy; at least they had wheels!

The course then took me onto Morningside Drive with its beautifully verdant park on the right and majestic Union Theological Seminary/Columbia University-owned buildings on the left. As Morningside curved into 122nd, the first major hill stood before me. I made friends with that hill. After crossing Amsterdam and making a right onto Riverside drive then passing Fairway on 12th you enter the Hudson River Greenway on 135th. Um, HELLO? How did I not know this was here? Yeah, I'm one of those New Yorkers.

I ran and walked some on the Greenway for a few miles, getting spectacular views of the Hudson River and the George Washington Bridge. At some point I entered Fort Tryon Park in Inwood and after a mile or so (maybe two, maybe three, maybe .25 mile?) I crossed the Henry Hudson Bridge into my old neighborhood, Riverdale. It was really cool to be able to run from Times Square to Riverdale. Who knew that eight years after moving from my small one bedroom across from Van Cortlandt Park, I'd be running there from Times Square instead of hopping on the 1 train? I relished the opportunity to run through one of my favorite parts of the Bronx; I was especially excited to run in Van Cortlandt Park again, the scene of my very first trail race in the late 1990s (where I wore a too-tight pair of Brooks and couldn't walk for days) and the site of many a pre-marriage/pre-child run.







I passed the VCP ball fields filled with weekend cricket-players on my left and the tortoise and hare statue in the distance and entered the wooded part of the park, onto the well-groomed cross-country trail. The course then took me onto the John Muir trail (oh the fond memories!) and briefly onto the Croton Aqueduct trail. I love running in the woods alone, especially on tight single-track. However, I do NOT like running under dark and spooky underpasses. This is the case in VCP.  But I soldiered on, reminding myself that I had traversed this many times in the past and that there had been many runners here earlier, and none of them had been kidnapped I supposed...

After some twists and turns, the trail brings you to the other side of VCP in the northeastern part of the Bronx. Contrary to popular belief, the Bronx consists of much more than Jonathan Kozol's South Bronx or the industry and tractor trailers of Hunts Point. This particular neighborhood has neatly groomed houses and clean streets. I stopped at a corner store (bodega) and refueled with some Gatorade and Lays chips. Good thing the chips are a lot saltier than they used to be.  The cashier asked if I was part of the group that had been in there earlier, because you know, "You're late." I told him that I wasn't technically part of the race and then he said, "Well 85 more to go!"  I smiled, nodded, thanked him and left knowing at that I wouldn't be doing 37.

I ran next to the Woodlawn Cemetery for a bit and then after crossing a few avenues (I think) and  entered the Bronx Park Greenway, which follows the Bronx River and then intersects the Pelham Bay Park Greenway. There were more than a few people out running, skateboarding, walking, and even a group heading out for a canoe trip taking advantage of this day that had started with a beautifully ominous cloud cover and then morphed into brilliant sunshine. Some gave me quizzical looks (most likely because of the bright yellow "Running With The Devil" t-shirt I wore), and others shot me a good morning nod. At this point I was about 18 miles in. My neck, back, feet, and hips started to hurt. And let's just say I should have had an extra supply of Body Glide handy.  This was also when the sun started to beat down furiously, roasting my already very dark skin. (And yes, black people can get sunburn. I am living proof.)

As you enter Pelham Bay Park, New York City's largest park, you leave an urban landscape, cross the Pelham Bridge over the Hutchinson River, where you stop and appreciate the noisy aquatic birds and the families out fishing,  plunge into lush greenery and begin smelling forest and the briny waters of the Long Island Sound.

And this is where I missed the turn into Orchard Beach (I'm sure it was well-marked) and ran over the bridge to City Island instead.  I made the decision to stop here. A Dunkin Donuts Iced Coffee sounded like a great idea at that point since I was boiling, had run out of water and Heed, and was pretty satisfied with the mileage I had done for the day. According to my GPS, it was a little over 23 miles. I took it.

The first 22 miles of the TGNY100 course re- introduced me to some of the awesome urban road and trail running that is part of what makes New York City so incredibly varied and exciting. I didn't finish the 37 miles that I had intended to do, but I am appreciative of the fact that I was able to run through two boroughs on a gorgeous summer day, and test my endurance in my hometown.

Next: Finger Lakes 50s 25K

I wanna be THAT runner.

Lately I've been envious of those runners who can bounce easily from one run to the next without much fatigue or pain in those areas of the body that are necessary for, um, moving about in general.

I'd like to be THAT runner. You know, the one who could run a trail marathon last week with a decent time under six hours, say, then the next weekend run an ultra of the 50M+ category, and then do an "easy 5 mile shake-out run" the following Monday. WHO DOES THAT?  Plenty of  people do, apparently.

I want to be THAT crazy. I want to actually be able to do it without any niggling injuries, with seamless incorporation into my life and work as a boarding school teacher and dorm parent, and without the huge time commitment. I would love to be able to wake up at 3:30am after falling into bed at 11:30, run a few hours by myself in the dark (and in the WOODS with nocturnal animals milling about), be back home in time for my son and hubby to wake up, send them on their way to work and school, drink my black coffee and have my eggs florentine that I prepared the night before, get ready for my own work day, work, run with my cross country girls, etc...and find an hour or two in the day to do another workout. Just imagining a schedule like that is EXHAUSTING.

That sounds eerily like ultrarunner and all around amazing woman Anita Ortiz who somehow manages to fit it all in with a family of four teenagers, a husband, and a FULL TIME TEACHING JOB. Wow. Here's a really cool article about her (Running Times) and here's another (Trail Runner Magazine). I don't have the genes, body mechanics or infinite amounts of energy to be able to to complete the amazing feats she does. But I can dream... She is a huge inspiration! Make sure to read about her amazing feats.

All this is to say that I am thankful for the things that I can do. I think I have finally reached a point where I can do successive runs and workouts of varying lengths and types without struggling with annoying things like plantar fasciitis, weird pains in my inner ankle, or excessive weight (still working on this!) that prevent me from doing more than a couple of miles. I've been without major damage to both psyche and physique for the past two years and I am grateful for that.

Thank you, body. I appreciate and honor you.