Bahama Ma-Ma-Momentum

I have this nasty little habit of packing my running wardrobe whenever I travel, only to have my sneakers commandeer half of my luggage space without ever actually being put on my feet. Not even once.

But this time, being registered for my first marathon in 4 years (and only my second attempt at 26.2 ever), has put the FEAR OF GOD in me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Alright, well maybe that was a bit dramatic. But I really am deeply concerned that Race Day is just under 6 months away and I'm still wheezing my way through a piddly 3 miles on a treadmill. Having turned into a very adept couch potato over the past winter, my legs are feeling a bit jolted by the recent reanimation.

So that brings me to my little accomplishment of the past week. And I do mean little - it's all about the baby steps people!! As I was saying, I'm getting a little nervous about getting my body back on the fitness train. This past week Chad and I spent at a beautiful resort in the Bahamas that happened to have a tiny little fitness room for those crazy people that actually unpack their fitness gear while on vacay. Well - I finally became one of the crazies on this trip. Though it may have only been for one fleeting 3-mile treadmill jaunt on the very first morning of our stay, it still made the ritual packing of the ASICS a justified endeavor. Subsequently, I can attribute the calorie burn on said jaunt to have eradicated the negative effects of at least one Bahama Mama cocktail that was consumed in the making of that vacation (we don't need to discuss how many additional beverages were consumed during the week, I'll just assume they were burned off during my rigorous sunbathing schedule).

That's one small run for Travelling Michele, one giant long run for Michele-Is-Registered-For-A-Marathon-In-November-And-Needs-To-Get-In-Shape-Pronto-kind.

Motown Philly

It's official. Chad and I are registered for the 2011 Philadelphia Marathon.

Part of me is excited for what's to come. New shoes in an obnoxiously bright color. New wicking socks to keep blisters at bay. A renewed appreciation for tangerine-flavored PowerGels and the ability to suck them down with minimal gagging noises in front of horrified bystanders.

The other part of me only has one thing to say...

What the H-E-double hockey sticks have I done?!

Yelping about a run...

Here's what I had to say about the 2010 Surf City Half Marathon on the ubiquitous (and ofttimes controversial) review website - Yelp.com:

Rating = 3 out of 5 stars

I really enjoyed my race experience and would likely run another Surf City half, but I thought I'd give readers the skinny on some of the bad and some of the ugly.

-Gross bathrooms, as is usual at events with 20,000 participants (not counting spectators). Thankfully they had antibacterial sanitizer which makes your hands happy, but I was seriously wishing I could dunk my whole body in the goop after a harrowing experience at the mile 6 pit stop. Eww.

-The wave start for the half marathon took FOREVER. In trying to be respectful to the faster feet on the course, I found myself standing around for over a half hour waiting for our wave to start. The actual time from start to my wave was 24 minutes, but I lined up early with the expectation that the waves would roll in rapid fire. Hmm, not so much. My recommendation to race organizers would be to schedule out the wave start times so people can guestimate the appropriate "stand in line" time (and so runners can avoid the time crunch paranoia of ducking out for one last trip to the port-o-potties).

-The course was mellow and scenic, but I felt like I was playing Frogger (with racers in place of cars) for 98% of the run. The crowd just never thinned out.

-The stretch of PCH after the "hill" (around mile 6 and 7) was by far my least favorite part of the course. I just kept thinking, where the hell is the turn-around!? I was convinced someone moved the cones and proceeded to spend those two miles cursing under my breath and expanding the plot of the elaborate conspiracy theory I'd formulated while glaring suspiciously at the water volunteers.

-After the turn-around (and after abandoning my plans for revenge against the imaginary cone-moving conspirators), I was greeted with a big fat sloppy slap of sunshine burning directly into my forehead as I bore down on the finish. Another recommendation for race organizers, lose the water stop at Mile 1 and relocate it to Mile 11. The aid stations were a bit sparse in the last 4 miles of the half.

-One final thought- where were all the carbs at the finish!? I was craving a bagel but was surrounded by fruit, water and sport drink. If you are race director, please tell Dr. Atkins to shove his diet plans you-know-where and stock the finish with carbalious goodies.

HOT...In The Ciii-Tay

I don't care what anyone tells you. Dry heat is still hot. Once the temperature crests triple digits, humidity or not, you still risk spontaneous combustion by running in that nonsense. And why would I even consider running in said nonsense? Because I'm now an official Las Vegas resident, and that's what Las Vegas residents do. The dumb ones, anyway. Or at the very least, the masochistic ones.

I quickly realized that the smart ones run in one of three alternate situations:

1. The butt crack of dawn

2. Whatever you call really stinkin' late at night (perhaps "the camel toe of eve"?)

3. On a treadmill, in a temperature controlled environment, with something flipped on the tube that you can manage to safely watch while pounding the fake pavement

After registering last week for the Inaugural Las Vegas Half Marathon, I realized I was going to have become a smart Las Vegas runner if I had any hope of living to see my 30th bday (this Friday, thankyouverymuch).

So I tried out Option 1 (The butt crack) with my friend and fellow RnR LV trainee, Lindsay, back on Tuesday. The verdict? Man, I'm out of shape. Also, this was the first time I had to run with a hydration belt for a paltry 3 miles. Normally that baby doesn't come out until I'm ready to clear at least a 10K. Did I mention my little water bottles were near bone dry between the two of us? Definitely packing more water the next time I try that.

After healing my "hadn't touched my running shoes in two months" collection of injuries, I embarked on Option 3 on Sunday. In my neighborhood's workout facility, I found the temperate thermostat setting of 70 degrees to be quite pleasant. But despite an enthralling showing of a Scary Movie-esque basketball spoof, I couldn't help but wish I was outside- blazing sun and all.

Since I'm not disciplined enough to run late at night (munchies call), and I get bored pretty quickly in the confines of a community gym, looks like it's time to embrace my inner early bird. Hold the worm, please.

Ghosts of races past

OK, I admit it. Running a Half Marathon in 6 weeks was a tad bit on the aggressive side as far as goals go. The lengths one will go just to add a new medal to the running shrine on their garage wall. I swear it seemed like a really amazing idea after watching the Biggest Loser contestants tackle their very first half marathon in 200lb+ bodies. Of course, that scheme was hatched in the warm glow of the DVR. Then the harsh light of day showed up and someone’s tune changed real quick.

Instead of subjecting myself to a morning of pain and misery, speckled with a colorful assortment of inappropriate words sure to be muttered under my breath, I decided to welcome back organized races with something a little more low key and attainable.

It’s been almost 2 years since I last ran in the Union-Tribune’s Race for Literacy. Time to support those little readers-in-training again! My registration is locked and loaded (and going to a cause that I can feel good about).

Here we are again old friend. You, me, chip timing and a small men’s t-shirt waiting for us at the start.

Race Registration Bailout

As the “down economy” drones on, I’ve got to thinking about some stuff. The government keeps shelling out loot to all the banks. But what about the lowly casual runner? What are they doing for us? We need some registration fee relief, Mr. President. Have they forgotten about our need to chase our PRs? Lame.

My already swollen collection of event t-shirts has made me feel a little guilty about ponying up registration fees to enter an official event. I mean really, I can just as easily station a couple of strategically located water cups and random “Go Michele” signs down a deserted stretch of highway for a similar effect. So what if the route is void of spectators. Isn’t that what iPods are for? I’m telling you, my little iPod Shuffle can get me through just about any wall that the lactic acid in my legs can build.

Does this mean no more organized events for me? Unfortunately, I’m not that strong. Some of my prized t-shirts are fading and ready to go off into that giant Goodwill bin in the sky. Lately I’ve been feeling that familiar pull of Active.com and its endless database of registration fees. And quite frankly, I’m looking forward to someone actually holding out the water for me instead of having to bend over to pick it up (there are too many things that can go horribly wrong when you bend over after 10 or so miles).

Stay tuned…I might have a new t-shirt in my not-so-distant future and some open auditions for “Go Michele” sign twirlers.

Apples, really REALLY big ones...

Paying homage to my favorite New York City-based “Late Show” host (you know it, Dave Letterman!), I’ve decided to compile my very own “Top Ten” list which is largely inspired by our recent trip to the east side.

And tonight’s top ten list is…

“Top Ten Reasons it’s Okay to Bail on Your Running Routine While Visiting the Big Apple”

10. You packed artic-ready running apparel and it winds up being 75 degrees your whole trip

9. Subway Stairs (aka the urban Stairmaster) are a formidable substitution for hill repeats

8. Bypassing the express elevator at Yankees Stadium also counts towards the week’s hill repeat requirements

7. MOMA is a giant maze. Get lost in there and you easily walk the distance of 2 NYC Marathons

6. Move too slow and someone else will get those last slices of late night pizza that you can negotiate for a screamin’ deal before they get tossed

5. Agility train by pretending you are Spiderman. Climb down an upstairs neighbors fire escape and through an unlocked 4th floor window after someone, ahem *Paul*, passes out after coming home first from Nancy’s Whiskey Pub and has locked you and your posse out of the apartment where all your stuff is at (oh, at 3am)

4. Muppet the cat enjoys chasing people around the apartment but will give you more scratches than an eczema patient with the chicken pox if you let her catch you

3. Après Congee Village (Chinese dinner) – there’s a reason they call it the runs

2. Crowded streets and subway stations = slalom speedwalking

1. Lose 5lbs+ after following for a week an über-intensive carb-loading plan (that consists of mainly pizza and Yuengling) by running just 5 days in a row when you get home

Love Lost (and Found)

“We are undercover passion on the run
Chasing love up against the sun
We are strangers by day, lovers by night
Knowing its so wrong, but feeling so right”

In the immortal words of Stevie Wonder's Part Time Lover lyrics, my love for running is “so wrong, but feeling so right”. Running makes me feel healthy and strong and makes it so much easier for me to stuff my serious amount of “junk in the trunk” into each pair of my overpriced designer jeans- even the ones pulled straight from the dryer. There’s just one small hitch with my little love affair- my legs are sometimes in denial that they are built for moving, ESPECIALLY when the cushy couch or squishy bed hug them so nicely whenever I’m trying to convince them to move out the door.

In just a few short weeks (October 7th to be exact), I will celebrate the one year anniversary of running the Chicago Marathon. What has the aftermath of the marathon meant for my running career? Not much, really. I quickly registered for the 2008 running of the Carlsbad Half Marathon just days after completing Chicago, only to shamefully bail on it once the January race day rolled around in favor of a snowboarding trip to Colorado (though that shame quickly melted away once I found myself knee deep in freshies at Steamboat). In May I finally made a comeback to the organized race circuit while visiting my mom in NJ when I forced her to run/walk her first 5K. However, the monstrous field of about 45 runners left me with little inspiration to continue my comeback. Oh- and there was that little 10K jaunt in the mud at the Camp Pendleton Mud Run, but alas- it just made me want to make a mud pie and still didn’t spark up the running bug.

Fast forward to August and here we are! Just 3 days until my 29th bday with a gaping hole behind me where hundreds and hundreds of miles should have been logged for the past few months. So what now? I think it’s about time to rekindle those smoldering coals that once were my love for running. No more whining, no more excuses and no more cheating with all those soft surfaces in my house. Time to lace up, head out the door, and find that girl with the hot butt again. I know she’s out there and she’s waiting for an excuse to buy a new pair of Rock & Republics. Good thing I’m pretty good at making excuses :-)

A Tale of Two Cities (actually, just One Windy One)

It was the best of times (who doesn't love eating as much as they want without gaining weight?), it was the worst of times (this article explains that part: (http://www.nytimes.com/2007/10/08/us/08chicago.html). On Sunday, October 7th 2007 I set out to conquer 26.2 miles of Chicago's downtown with 45,000 other people. Out of 45,000 registered runners, only 35,000 started the race and a little over 24,000 actually finished. This is my story (and yes, I am now officially a marathon finisher).

The Wonder Years

As someone who spent the majority of her youth soccer career avoiding the act of running unless chasing a ball or being chased while in possession of the ball, it seemed rather unlikely that I would develop into an adult runner. Fast forward 10 years after high school and here I am writing in my blog about running, go figure?

Live, from Chicago- it's Saturday night (and afternoon)

At an ungodly early hour on Saturday morning, well before the sun had risen on the west coast, Chad and I left the comfort of our cozy townhome and stuffed ourselves and our carry-on luggage into his little GTI and headed south to the San Diego airport. About 5 hours later, we were in O'Hare playing a clever game called "Spot the other Marathon Runners".

After a long trek on the "L" surrounded by hopeful Cubbies fans (hope crushed later that night by the D-Backs extending "The Curse of the Billy Goat" to another season), we checked into our room at the Hotel Indigo (highly recommend staying there, btw). We then embarked on a brief tour of Chi-Town with our official tour guide, Evan, at the helm of a very broken in "city car" Civic.

Our destination was the official La Salle Bank Chicago Marathon 2008 expo. On the check-in table I noticed a foreboding stack of flyers issuing a "Heat Warning" for the race. I later learned that 10,000 of the 45,000 registered runners heeded the warning and didn't bother to show up Sunday morning for the start.

Saturday night Evan parted ways to hang with his fellow Northwestern alumni while Chad and I chowed on Italian Carbs with my friend from my UMass Lowell days, Nic (a Texas to Boston to Chicago transplant) and her devoted Cubs fan boyfriend, Scott (thankfully we weren't around when his team's season wrapped to a less than flattering finish later that night). Apparently they had slipped sleeping pills in my chicken parm since that night I slept like the only thing I had to do the next day was sit on white sand with a Strawberry Daiquiri in hand (think The Beach without the weird island cult). Unfortunately, the cooks left them out of Chad's spaghetti as he spent the night tossing and turning like he was floating in a dingy on the Baring Sea in prime crabbing season (think Deadliest Catch without a bunch of shipmates around to fish you out if you fall overboard).

October 7th

Another ungodly early morning started off with Evan, Chad and me hailing a cab not too far from the hotel. As soon as we stepped outside I noticed that I was uncomfortably warm, despite wearing thin nylon shorts, a tank top and a lightweight long-sleeved t-shirt. Oh yeah, and it was still dark out. Sweet.

We had the cabbie drop us off just a few blocks away from the start area at Grant Park. As we walked over, I realized we were surrounded by a bunch of bleary-eyed athletes that were stumbling towards assorted starting tents and an army of bright blue "Johnny-on-the-spots". I caught myself thinking, why are these nuts up right now!? I quickly remembered I had joined the ranks of "nuts" the moment I set foot off the plane at O'Hare.

The hour and a half of waiting before the start was filled with eating more Powerbars (I am officially on strike from food in bar form for the next month, in case anyone was wondering), photo opps, meeting up with other friends (Lila and Rory) and a few trips back to those bright blue armies. I was getting pretty comfortable with milling around the gear-check tents when a voice boomed over the loudspeaker and put an abrupt end to my little delusion that maybe I wasn't really supposed to run 26.2 miles today. Wait- that's right, I knew I was there for something important! Oh crap.

The Lineup

The only time during the whole race that I felt like I was going to puke was in those 15 minutes sandwiched in the pack waiting for the start gun. The reality of running a marathon finished settling in while I listened to Country Music Star Jo Dee Messina belt out our National Anthem (she ran as well and I think it is important to note that yes, I beat her time. I'm really not competitive, really.). Eight minutes and twelve seconds after the starting gun sounded, Chad, Evan and I crossed the first Champion Timing Mat. I wished them luck and waved goodbye as they drifted further in front of me, then bowed my head down (music-less mind you, my beloved iPod Nano had died the Friday before) and hunkered down for a very LONG day.

Characters Welcome (Miles 1 - 8)

I was about 5 minutes into the marathon when I realized that the air outside was already hotter than a showgirl in Vegas and it was only 8:17am, Central Standard Time. Not a great sign. Lucky for me, I had quite a few distractions. A few strips of medical tape across the top of my tank top read "Go Michele". Thankfully Chicago residents like to yell names of people they don't know so I spent those first 8 miles forgetting my nerves and counting the "Go Michele"s. Around the 3rd mile I noticed an intriguing costume ahead of me that resembled a certain, er, "body part". As I got closer, I read the sign pinned to the back of the massive foam suit that encased one very sweaty runner and received confirmation that the costume was of the only logical mascot for someone advocating testicular cancer awareness- I think you know where I am going with this. Five miles later I found myself in Boys Town enjoying a performance from Chicago's favorite gay color guard and receiving cheers from a large crowd of drag queens donning very sparkly dresses. My last "Go Michele" cheer before the tape fell off my shirt (I had been dumping enough water on myself to fill Lake Michigan) came from a very enthusiastic spectator holding a "Run Bitches, Run" sign. Thanks for the support, Boys Town.

It's Getting Hot in Here (Miles 9 - 20)

The miles between nine and twenty are mostly a blurr as I spent most of my time chugging water and Gatorade, dumping water over my head or looking for the next resident with their garden hose turned on full blast and pointed at the street. I'd like to point out that I absolutely hate Gatorade and refused to drink it even during training regularly in 80 degree plus weather. But that day it was chug or wind up like the people I saw lined up alongside the medical tent when I made my one pit-stop at mile 12. The dehydration and heat exhaustion that hit those people was quick and nasty and quite frankly, I hate puking even more than I hate Gatorade, so Lemon Lime became my new best friend.

Are you talkin' to me? (Miles 20.5 - 26)

After the 20 mile mark I did a silent body and mind check to make sure that all my limbs and brain cells were still attached and functioning. Having only reached 18 miles in my long runs during training, I was secretly convinced that crossing the 20 mile mark would make my body spontaneously combust. Nope- all parts were in tact and I actually felt strangely strong and happy and excited to tackle the final 6.2. That happiness and excitement came to an abrupt halt somewhere in between Mile 20 and Mile 21 where a uniformed woman walked down the center of the course yelling, "Stop running! The race is canceled. Stop running!" Canceled!? What the heck was this lady talking about? I had just run over 20 miles and was near the 4 hour mark and not about to "stop running" as this horrid woman suggested. She might as well have been spewing a string of profanities in the middle of Sunday mass with the repulsed looks of disbelief and anger she immediately received from the pack of marathoners surrounding me. I thought to myself, "They are going to have to pry my stubborn a** off of this road in handcuffs if they think I am not going to finish this race today." I ignored her instructions and pressed on. At the 35K marker the race officials had turned off the time clock and seemingly deactivated the Champion Chip pad since it was no longer making the comforting "BEEP!" sound that the pad normally yelps out when your "chipped" shoe crosses over. Then police officers started flooding the course asking us to stop running. Finally, I had to succumb to their orders or face being removed from the course and not allowed to even walk the final miles to complete the marathon distance. I made friends with a fellow marathoner who had been pacing his sister earlier in the race. It was his sister's first marathon and she had been forced to drop out at Mile 7 when she began feeling the effects of the excessive heat and humidity. At Mile 23 we met up with his friends that were spectators and had a nice chat about the situation of the day. One of his friends had also been running and forced to stop. We all decided that we were only 3.2 miles away so the only logical thing to do at that point was to walk to the finish to get our medals. Since we weren't allowed to run we each brought a cup of the Mandarin and Vodka drink that had been made by one of the girl spectators and downed it during the walk to the next mile markers. At that point I was frustrated that I had been robbed of the marathon time that I knew I was capable of so I figured, might as well enjoy my stroll through downtown Chicago!

The end is near (Mile 26 - 26.2)

As I neared the finish, it became apparent that the police were loosening up the "No Running" restriction. During the past few miles, Chicago police cars had actually driven down the center of the course to slow people down and force them to walk. Hearing the finishing announcer and seeing the explosion in the size of the crowd lining the path to the finish, I lost control of my feet and they took off running for the finish. I ran up the infamous final hill towards the turn that led down to the finish-line arch. After I rounded the bend, the crowd grew even louder. I cheered as the announcer read off top 5 states with the largest number of participants (#3- California, Yay! That's me!) and locked eyes on the finish. I crossed the line about 35minutes after my original goal time but I was ecstatic for completing my first marathon and thankful that I was healthy and uninjured. I scoffed at the people holding the shiny, silver space blankets, stretched my neck out to receive my finisher's medal then stuck my foot out to have the chip cut off my shoe. I had just completed my first marathon and all I could think was, "Did that just really happen!?"

Tangerine Dreams and Turning 18

I turned 18 this weekend. Nope- not years old (my 18th b-day was a decade ago, ack). I turned 18 miles old on Saturday morning as I finally crossed the 3-hour mark in continuous running.

Some observations about running for 3 hours

• You tend to think. A lot. About random, crazy things. Still not enough things to distract you when your leg feels like it is ready to detach from your hip socket, though.
• Rabid squirrel communities become a vast source of amusement, especially when you cover an out-and-back route over 4 consecutive trips.
• Surfer butts also provide an entertaining distraction (i.e. If you run on a coastal route, there are sure to be plenty of surfers around performing the "change out of wet suit into clothes while shielded only by a flimsy piece of terry cloth" ritual. This weekend I caught my first glimpse of a wayward butt cheek that had escaped one brave soul's towel. Did I mention I ran for 3 hours by myself?)
• iPod music on shuffle helps increase the excitement factor on the run. One minute it’s Billy Joel, the next 50 Cent and of course you just count the songs until Journey's Don't Stop Believin' and Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive pop up.
• Scary public water fountains housing warm, probably not filtered water start to look more like oases in the Sahara than the germ-infested incubators they really are.
• Tangerine-flavored Power Gel tastes less gross than Strawberry Banana-flavored Power Gel. However, Power Gel is still evil no matter the flavor. Why can't Dairy Queen Blizzards be considered a viable source of energy for running long distances? Oh well, at least I found a new gel flavor to choke down.

28 days until Chicago...

Don't call it a comeback...

I've been here for years. With the immortal words of Mr. LL Cool J leading me off, I'd like to take this opportunity to say "yo" and sorry for slacking on my blog contributions. This Friday marks the 1 month countdown to D-Day (aka the Chicago Marathon). No more procrastination, no more excuses. Welcome to the home stretch and Go Yankees!

Moondoggies run, anyone?

Anyone up for a (literal) pub crawl? It's only 4 miles and it's really fun. Michele and I ran this twice back in the day.

PS. Looks like I'll be back in SoCal soon!

More reasons to avoid the sidewalk shuffle ...

Maybe my feet should actually leave the pavement when I run. Here's what happened to my poor knees when I went SPLAT!

I Brake For GU

Beginning Workout...
Well my long run this past Saturday turned into my long run this past Sunday. I was feeling somewhat dejected after my injured-shuffle performance earlier in the week and was simply not in the mood to run with my running group as scheduled. I was still battling the decision to long run by myself until ERC guilted me into getting off my duff by telling me that I had inspired him to run the length of a half marathon on Saturday morning. It was time to end the Michele Pity Party. Sunday afternoon, after sending the Creelman boys off to the golf course (Chad's dad is visiting, too), I broke out the new Nike plus system, attached the sensor to the top of my shoe with some super hot red duct tape (I wear ASICS so I had to "modify" the attachment a bit), strapped on the new fuel belt (pink, of course), stuffed the dreaded PowerGel in the fuel pouch for the halfway point and headed for my ten-miler with Ludacris and my Nike/iPod boyfriend sending me off.


You have reached the half-way point...
A word about Gels- blech. I know that they are good for you and all that rubbish, but c'mon- could they be anymore vomit-inducing? I don't mean to be graphic, but I had to stop for a good 5 minutes at the turn-around to fight an intense gag-reflex as I sucked down Strawberry-Banana liquid slime. Ah, what we will do for a jolt of energy.


You have 3 miles to go...
A lone GU pack, yet another form of Gel, seemed to have found its way to the side of the path I was running on. Always on the hunt for a good deal, and fully aware of GU's Stash Your Trash promotion, I snatched up the empty pack and stuffed it in my pouch with the remnant of PowerGel from my own refueling. Long story short, I accumulated 3 GU packs towards my 50 needed for 5 free packs and came to the realization that I, despite driving a gas-guzzling SUV, had a green streak in me and I was actually somewhat perturbed at others who had decided that Mother Nature was their garbage disposal. Feeling somewhat guilty for the second time last weekend after only picking up trash that would directly benefit me in free GUs, I scooped up another random Gel Packet- Hammer Gel (MC Hammer is apparently making a comeback with his own fitness fuel), a plastic baggie and a crushed Rock Star can to match the number of empty GUs I had recovered.

Congratulations! You have reached your goal.
Moral of the story- do like GU says, "Stash Your Trash"! Bonus points if you stash someone else's trash, too, since not everyone is as enviro-concious as you. Let's keep our running trails clean, please!

For more info on GU's campaign, check out:

http://www.gusports.com/html/stash_your_trash.htm

FIRE!

Well it seems that my quaint hometown of Barnegat, NJ is the subject of some unwanted press today. Already 13,500 acres have burned in and around the town that my mom still calls home. ("Motorists talk to a Barnegat Twp. police officer around 8:00am regarding alternate routes after rt. 72 East was shut down because of the Pinelands wildfire." Image credits: Noah K. Murray/The Star Ledger) (http://blog.nj.com/ledgerupdates/2007/05/wildfire_briefing_planned_for.html)

This isn't exactly running related, but it sort of is. Currently the peaceful, shady stretch of highway I had intended to run on while home in September is ablaze. This does not bode well for my planned destination training.

In other news, my butt is almost fully recovered from the weekend's hiking expedition. FYI- apparently running on flat roads does not do anything for gluteus maximus strength training. After my paltry 2.5 miles last night at a pace best described as a feeble shuffle, I have come to the realization that the weight room really IS important for overall strength and eventual success come race day. It only took 7 miles, 2500 feet up and down to figure it out...

No running this weekend, however 22 miles up to 11500 feet count for something. Word. Time for a nap.

Welcome and...

thanks for stopping by! This a Blog (but I think you might already know that). Its mission, should you choose to accept it, is to bring together our group of marathoners virtually since we are stretched across the country from sea to shining sea. Rule Number One, we do not talk about the Marathon Blog...wait, that's wrong- hell yeah we talk about it! Or even better, we add to it!

More good stuff to come soon but until then, happy trails (or asphalt) to you!

P.S. The word "Proof" is on the accompanying photo because it is proof that smiling IS possible while running.