Thursday, September 18, 2014

We are reading Chicka Chicka Boom Boom for the 100th time.

Eli: "What's that?"
Me: "That's a polka dot."
Eli: "No. It's a circle."

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

My last long run

I'm not a fast runner, but that doesn't mean I'm not a competitive one. I've always run not only to feel healthier but also to feel stronger and faster.

When you're a new runner, setting a PR (a personal record) is easy. All you have to do is run a new distance and voila! Instant PR. Then you might run your second 5K and try to beat the time from your first.

After 10 years of running, though, I've run every distance, from the mile to the marathon, more than once. I can even tell you exactly when I peaked: In 2011 -- right before I got pregnant -- I PR'd in the mile, the 5K, the 4-mile, the 5-mile, the 10K and the half-marathon. BOOM.

I let my competitive drive ebb when I was pregnant. I though it was impressive enough that I was out there running at all, and I got a kick out of runners who would speed up around me in races so they wouldn't get chicked by a pregnant lady. In 2013, I eased back into running, and by 2014, I was ready to rock and roll. I figured I could set "post-pregnancy" PRs and "in my 30s" PRs.

This winter, I was running out in Long Island at the RunNassau race series when two women in my age group surged past me close to the finish, saying to each other, "One pink girl down, one to go." These ladies saw me as competition? I loved it. Bring it on.

At two of the races, a 5K and a 4-mile, I even took home age-group awards. (I know what you're thinking: Well, how many people were in your age group? And the answer is: more than three, and I beat all but two of them, so there.)

It was all part of my strategy to keep running through the winter, kick ass at the Brooklyn half-marathon in May and then have a great base to start marathon training in July.

And it worked: The 2014 Brooklyn half was my second-fastest half ever. (And I've run 16 halfs, so this was not an insubstantial accomplishment.) Certainly a huge post-pregnancy "in my 30s" PR.

BUT. This was a race I did not enjoy. I surged ahead from Phil at mile 4. By the time I ran the final miles on Ocean Parkway, I was miserable. I was running as fast as my lead legs would carry me, which as it turned out was pretty damn fast but not fast enough to make the race go by any quicker. (And as it turned out, I finished a whopping three minutes ahead of Phil, who had trained approximately not at all. Grrrrrr.)

So in some ways it was fortuitous that I broke my toe at the beginning of July and had to miss out on the first stretch of marathon training. I tried to reason that it was a good way to temper me; in the marathon, I'd take it easy and enjoy myself.

Unfortunately, the break in training also ruined my momentum. When I finally started doing long runs in mid-August, I'd lost my motivation. I'd forgotten how much further you have to run when you train for a marathon as opposed to a half. Too soon I was staring down the barrel of long runs of 15, 16, 17 miles when all I really wanted to do was hang out with Eli. Plus I hadn't trained for a marathon by myself since 2008, and I missed doing long runs with Phil. Doing long runs by yourself, without headphones, is like purgatory; I started to get super jealous of everyone I passed who was out doing regular activities like drinking Coke or eating pizza. It was a self-pitying slide into: What is the point?

Then I thought: Maybe in an effort to slow down, I've let the pendulum swing too far in the other direction. Maybe I was running too slow -- taking lots of walk breaks, swigging Gatorade, unable to get a good rhythm going.

So at New York Road Runners' 18-mile marathon tuneup on Sunday, I decided it was time to throw down. I'd aim for 11-minute miles (some perspective: I run my "fastest" short races at 8-8:30-per-mile pace, my "fast" half-marathons at 9:30s, my marathon PR was 10:30s and I'd been doing more like 12- or 13-minute miles on my summer long runs). I wore my lucky long run shirt -- the same shirt I for some reason always wore on my long runs when training for previous marathons -- and my old-school Garmin. And at the start, I felt strangely calm. Let's do this.

First of all, I should never underestimate what running among thousands of others can do for your spirit. And it didn't hurt that the weather, with the temperature in the low 50s and fall simmering in the air, was perfect for running. Also, there were some enthused volunteers and spectators out on the course, which can only mean one amazing thing: more cowbell.

The first few miles were lackadaisical. When you know you're going to go 18 miles, I think you have to pretend you don't know what's ahead of you. The first time I ran up Central Park's Harlem Hill, I had this brief flash of, I'll be back here two more times, hours from now, in the same spot, running up this same hill and I had to banish that thought because it was just too depressing.

But somewhere in the first loop of Central Park, I started to get into a groove. And then I experienced one of those magical movie moments where a little voice inside you says: Stop being afraid to go faster because you think you can't. You already know how to do this. You haven't forgotten. Stop being afraid.

Soon I was having one of those long runs where every song lyric on my iPod spoke to me ("I coulda gave up then but then again I couldn't have 'cause I've traveled all this way for something"), where every fellow runner I saw was inspiring. Lemon-lime Gatorade tasted amazing. My headband and earbuds miraculously stayed in place.

About 17.5 miles in, I came up behind a runner I strongly suspected was a former supervisor of mine. (I say "strongly suspected" because I generally try to avoid making eye contact with potential strangers after 17.5 miles of running.) He's a faster runner than I am and he had passed me much, much earlier in the run. Now here he was, walking, and I felt myself seized (perhaps foolishly) by my old competitive desire. Don't let him beat you!

And that's how I found myself sprinting to the finish of an 18-mile run. I hit the finish line half-laughing and half-crying: delighted and relieved and proud and rejuvenated. For the first time in years, it had felt like a privilege, not a chore, to run those 18 miles. And it felt like a blessing to be a runner.

(And then I went home and, like a stalker, searched the race results, and it was my former boss, and I did finish ahead of him by four minutes. And then I bragged to a colleague who pointed out that he is 50 years old, to which I say: WHATEVER, FOUR MINUTES, NYAH-NYAH-NYAH.)

So now, for the first time this season, I'm excited for November. It's not going to be my fastest marathon, but I have high hopes that it won't be my slowest, either. (That honor goes to NYC 2009, which Phil and I ran together two weeks after we got married with "JUST MARRIED" on the back of our shirts to the congratulatory remarks of all the runners around us -- so just because a marathon isn't speedy doesn't mean it isn't special.) It'll be my first post-baby marathon, my first marathon in my 30s, the 10-year anniversary of my first marathon and -- if all goes well -- the marathon that reminds me to stop being afraid.

Here I come, November!

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Monday, September 1, 2014

We are outside on the deck early in the morning. Eli is yelling loudly.
Me: "Eli, shhh!" 
Eli: "I fun. I laughing!"

Eli dumps a bucket of water on himself at the beach.
Eli: "Ice bucket challenge!"