June 05, 2008

the *real* marathon training season

As D illustrates today in one of her signature acronym-busting posts, finding a proper marathon training schedule can be as painful as the training itself. Well, not really, but it sounded good.

But it's only hard if you want to do something silly, like PR or BQ or run the damn thing under 5 hours. None of which I am particularly interested in doing*.

Anyway, since I've officially drafted an entire dissertation (let's not get too excited here: much much much revision will be necessary), I'm rewarding myself with a full-marathon registration (the Wineglass in October), since now I will ostensibly feel less guilty spending 10 hours on my weekends running. Also, I've been able to convince Rb to run it with me--which adds a good deal of incentive for me to train.

Normally I go with the old standby, Hal Higdon, using the either the beginner or first intermediate mileage schedule, depending on how much of a wuss I feel like when I begin the training. This time I'm going to change it up, and go with this schedule, which clumps the mileage up a little more than Higdon's and has at least two days of rest a week. Something I've noticed about my running is that I do really well if I let myself rest, and that I'm most prone to injury when I run for several days without an off day. Last year D and I ran a crazy streak, where we went every day for like 90 days**. I put myself out of commission for Buffalo in 2007 and ended up only running the half. (D of course, with her amazing biomechanics, extended the streak much longer than I could, and was still able to run the full.)

So, this schedule emphasizes the days off, some weeks giving me THREE days off. My kind of training. ;) It starts on Sunday, and I am utterly and ridiculously giddy about the prospect.

*OK, it would be nice to run another sub-5 marathon, since I've only successfully done so one other time.

**This is probably exaggeration. I'm not hunting into the archives to confirm the exact days.

Posted by mryonker at 08:18 AM | Comments (1)

May 26, 2008

buffalo half race report

See last year's report here.
And the year before, when I ran the full.

A quick rundown this year, as we are gearing up for a family day of hiking at Salmon River Falls.

This year, the Buffalo race was about two things: J running her first half, and D working her ass off to qualify for Boston.

And while the weather was beautiful (blue sky, cool breezes) and J did wonderfully in her first stint as a half-er, in retrospect it seems like the day was doomed for disaster for lots of other runners.

The course was lovely as always, well-prepared at the water stops even for the slower runners like J and me. The race itself, for us, was relatively uneventful. We finished in under J's goal time (2:30), running the 13.1 in 2:28. This was an achievement, considering J has never run this distance AND we made a pit-stop in the marina around mile 5.

We finished and walked north to the hotel, showered and put our feet up for a few minutes before walking back south to the finish line to meet D. I was afraid we left the hotel too late and that we would miss her: a BQ time for her had to be somewhere between 3:45 and 3:50 (she's on the cusp of an age group, so 3:50 would have qualified her next year). She had trained incredibly hard the past several months, and even had dropped several pounds (which is quite amazing since she was a veritable rail in the first place). I was certain that this would be her year for a qualifying time.

We made our way to the barricades at the finish line, and I watched runner after runner cross the line between 3:45 and 4:00, thinking that because we hadn't seen D cross yet that we'd missed her already, and hoping hoping hoping that that was the case.

As we waited, I saw one runner barf his guts out upon crossing the finish line (thankfully it was all Gatorade and nothing too nasty), watched another runner be carried across the line between two friends, and witnessed several people crying.

And no D.

At 4:05 I began to worry that she was still out on the course, crippled or otherwise badly compromised, and tried to remember her number so I could find an official and see if she'd been picked up. Soon after I began my plan to find her, though, she came running through.

J ran into the chute to meet her, but I hung back. I knew she had to be devastated, and I saw her face scrunching up a little as she was talking to J.

My heart completely broke for her then. I didn't know what I was going to say to her, and everything I mustered up in my head sounded hollow and ridiculous.

The thing I ended up saying was probably the stupidest, though: I raised my hands above my head and said "Wineglass!" to her, indicating that I was thrilled that she'd have to run the Wineglass with me in October to try to qualify again.

Her look was murderous. I hung my head, immediately wishing I could take the words back. She sputtered something about a husband asking his wife to have another baby as the doctor sewed up her episiotomy.

My gaffe was quickly forgotten as we made our way into the convention center to get D some pizza. As we wandered around the guts of the hotel, trying to find our way out, a woman sitting on the floor, alone and wrapped in a mylar blanket, asked if we could get her back to the hotel.

"You *are* in the hotel," I told her, since the convention center and hotel were essentially one big monster building.

"I can't find my boyfriend, and I'm lost," she continued. I looked at D and J, who looked down at the woman. She shook and there were lines of salt streaked down her cheeks.

"Sure, we'll show you out," I said, and D and J bent over to pick up her water bottle and untouched cup of beer.

As we took her from the convention center to the hotel, we politely asked her questions about where she was from and how she did. She, too, had had a horrible race. She told us she'd came in 10th at the marathon in Eugene, Oregon only a couple weeks before, but that this race had been hell. She said she'd thrown up at the finish line and then immediately was disoriented and sick. I asked her if she wanted us to find her a medic but she said she just needed to find her room.

As we approached the main elevators, she said she could find her way from there. She asked our names, and we told her, and she thanked us profusely. I pulled her bib number strip down so I could see her name, and it was Michelle Chille an elite runner.

At any rate, we left the race a little melancholy, sad for D and sad for Michelle, all of us just kind of wanting to go home.

D's race report is posted at her blog. When J posts her report, I'll offer a link as well. Sadly, I no longer get to post my friends' race reports here, as they all have their own blogs now.

Posted by mryonker at 11:01 AM | Comments (5)

March 29, 2008

getting the goat

Since I've been in CNY, I've avoided, religiously, the Mountain Goat, a ten-mile race that takes runners up Syracuse's most painful hills.

Every March I get the glossy brochure in the mail. Every March I look at the elevation graph and the course map published on the website. Every March I decide that such hill-running-nonsense would be absolute torture and misery.

I'm not sure happened this year (D?? you want to weigh in and remind us why we decided that *this* would be the year??), but not only am I registered to run the Goat, as it is affectionately called, but also have signed up to participate in the weekly training runs, that introduce runners, slowly, to the hill-hell they have to look forward to.

This morning was the second training run.
And just let me say: I LOVE IT. I love running the hills of Syracuse. I think I might actually be out of my mind. I'm not sure if it's the idea of going for a run with 300 other people, or having a no-pressure training run be manned with volunteers and water stops, or if it's simply the change of scenery from my own tired, still gray, still snowy Parish village runs.

But whatever it is, I am back in love with running.

Posted by mryonker at 12:22 PM | Comments (3)

March 19, 2008

speedwork

J and I drove to the local high school track this evening for our first round of speed work. It was an easy enough 6X400, with walk breaks in between.

Nothing I do lately seems to run at a fast clip. Diss writing is slow like honey, and I get a decent page out per day if I'm lucky. Getting the house ready to sell is, again, excruciatingly slow. Grading this stack of lit reviews from my advanced research class* is taking for damn ever.

But today, even though the track was still 3/4 covered in snow (so we ran 100 meter repeats), I was fast. Fast enough for my thighs to numb up like they do when I push a little. Fast enough for my lungs to burn and my windpipe to rattle. Fast enough for the pounding of my feet re-set the rhythm of my breath, for my eyes to water, for my mind to be utterly, inescapably present.

I left the track wishing we could have gone longer, faster. But it was getting dark, and the stack of lit reviews needed grading, and kids needed rides to various places.

*This advanced research class, in which I am essentially teaching methods + scholarship-in-action, is, I think, my favoritist class I've ever taught.

Posted by mryonker at 10:39 PM | Comments (2)

January 28, 2008

hope springs from training

The marathon training season has begun. Clearly, right now I cannot cannot cannot hack the hours of daily training that preparing for a marathon requires. But I pine for the set structure of those weeks, knowing which days are early-up-and-out days, which are gone-until-noon days, which are sanctioned sit-on-your-duff and recovery-eat days.

So, instead, I'm training for the half. Still some structure, but none of the extraordinary time commitment. Instead of 18 weeks, I only need 12. Instead of 3 twenty-mile Saturdays (which really take up the whole day; 4 hours of running and 12 hours of couch riding), there are a couple 10 and 12 days, which are completely doable and uncrippling.

The training schedule makes me feel a little like normal again. Moving into the schedule reminds me that the weather will not be cold and the ground covered in feet of snow forever--by the time the race comes runners will hope the day doesn't get too hot.

What's more, I'm running with J. It will be her first half, and so my role as running-support-buddy makes it so that her goal (to finish) trumps any goal I would set for myself. That is, her goal is my goal. And I like that.

Posted by mryonker at 08:21 AM | Comments (6)

October 22, 2007

the weekend runner

The dumb thing I did today was leave for my writing session without the power cord for the MacBook. And no battery juice.

So I sat in Panera and wrote in a small notebook. I won't be able to report my word count until tomorrow, when I type up what I wrote. It was an interesting retro-exercise for me; I kept thinking, "Wow, when I try to write fast my handwriting is atrocious! When I write slowly, my handwriting is quite lovely, but gawwd this is taking for ever!"

Also, I must find another writing place. Their soups are good but they give me heartburn. I've sworn off their sandwiches because the bread there is so darn *hard*. It scrapes the roof of my mouth raw.

So, somehow D and J have talked me into another race this weekend, the Bruegger's Bagel Run. I have become the weekend racer. I don't ever run during the week at all anymore. D and I are supposed to meet tomorrow morning, but The Weather Channel says rain for the wake-up hour, so I might be off the hook. Not that I want to be off the hook. All that Panera is finding my middle. But being a leisurely weekend runner suits me. Anything leisurely suits me.

Ah. Leisure, I hardly knew ye.

Posted by mryonker at 10:30 PM | Comments (1)

October 21, 2007

eastwood autumn 5-miler

I got an email from D a few weeks ago, before the Albany marathon. She's found a new run, a 5-miler two weeks post-marathon. Do I want to run it?

Sure, I reply. Why not? At that moment, I am feeling invincible. My body is still in one piece; I cannot--and do not--anticipate the agony of Albany.

So, today, only two weeks after the marathon, D and J pile into my car and we drive to the Sunnycrest Ice Rink in Eastwood, a neighborhood in Syracuse. This run is special to D, as she grew up in Eastwood, having attended Sacred Heart and Henninger high school.

Who knew a teeny-tiny five mile race could be so satisfying? We pick up our numbers and CHIPS and the PROPER SIZE T-shirt from the table as the high school band serenades us with "Louie Louie," "Back in Black," and other great tunes.

I am now convinced that it is the Syracuse Track Club that manages the best races around here. Things are laid-back but incredibly organized; waters stops well-stocked with cups and volunteers, and Brugger's bagels and other important goodies at the end (and they had cider, too, which didn't sound very good to me at first, but after I sipped it a little, I chugged one and then another cup of it--who knew??).

The sky was blue, the trees in full color, and the weather simply fabulous--it might have actually been a little too warm. The great old houses in Eastwood (and the other neighborhood--can't remember the name?) provided great scenery. We ran past runningburro and rainbowhair's old house on Aberdeen, and then D's sisters met us on the corner of the street that D's mom still lives on. They made fun neon green signs and were cheering and happy. Aside from runningburro's lovely parents, who cheered for us at the first Buffalo marathon, D and I haven't had much in the way of personal spectators, so to have actual people we knew waiting for us was really exciting for me in an embarrassing silly kind of way (I wanted to hug them! But I resisted!).

The annual Eastwood Autumn 5-miler is a MUST run for locals. It gets three thumbs up from us!

Oh, our time? 54-something. A PR, since none of us has ever run a 5-mile race before.

Posted by mryonker at 01:34 PM | Comments (2)

October 08, 2007

it is albany

Yesterday I ran from Schenectady to Albany.

I will never do such a thing ever again. Ever.

We arrived in Schenectady at 630, only a half hour before packet pick-up was scheduled to begin. But the park was completely deserted, and we drove around in circles trying to find something that indicated there would actually *be* a race. We finally flagged down a guy picking up trash and asked him where where we were supposed to be. "Right here," he told us, and pointed to an empty pavilion.

Since we were early, we wandered around looking for the tell-tale line of port-o-johns that frequently mark the starting line, and slowly we realize there is none.

"There is none" becomes a kind of refrain for this race. Chips? Nope. Schwag bags? Nope. Mile markers for the first several miles? Nope. Spectators? Not many, really. Music? None. Interesting scenery?

The first half of this race, for me, was phenomenal. The fact that there were no mile markers for the first three miles meant I had absolutely no idea of how fast I was going. I found a woman whose ponytail had a pleasant, hypnotic bounce to it and I set my pace to hers. When we finally hit the 5K mark spray painted on the ground, I hardly believed it. "That can't be for this race," I thought to myself. My watch said 28 and change, which meant I ran my second fasted 5K. I felt strong and light, and decided at that moment that my strategy would be thus: continue with this pace, which was probably at about 80% of my push, until I had to slow down. Then I would slow down. Running negative splits (where you run the second half faster than you ran the first) doesn't work for me; I always always get slower, even if I try to hold back. So instead of trying to "save" anything, I figure I'd just use what I had until I didn't have any more, and then I would run on pure will.

This strategy worked fabulously for about 7 more miles. At 10K the clock said 58; at 15K it said 1:30. I constantly was running numbers in my head: if I maintain this pace, I'll finish in 4:20-ish. Holy shit. I was passing people left and right, my eyes on the leaf-littered bike trail, listening to people behind me talk about taking their teenage son for a jog in search of a connection and finding that he can run a sub-6 mile (which didn't, I gather, make for much of a conversation).

I hit the half-mark at 2:15, 6 minutes faster than my PR for a half. I was giddy that I might actually beat my last time of 4:52.

Then all at once both my knees decided to hate me, and my right hip started sending shooting pains into my glute and quad. Ouch ouch ouch ouch with every. single. step. At the next water stop I popped 2 Motrin and willed them to work.

The next mile was agony, and I began mentally composing my race report. "d.n.f...everybody should dnf at least once so they have compassion for others who must dnf." The biggest problem, though, was that while I wanted to quit, there was no one anywhere to help me quit. The only other people I saw were other runners--now most of them shuffling past me. I had no choice except to simply continue on until the next water stop, and who knows when that would be?? So I shuffled on. Ouch ouch ouch ouch.

A lone spectator on her bike was clapping and cheering around mile 14. She yelled a standard: "Halfway there! Looking good!!" to me as I passed. "I don't feel very good," I told her.

"It's all mental," she said. She was looked smart and looked like a runner. "Remind your brain that your body is a machine. You can do it."

I smiled weakly and continued on, thinking to myself that I'd broken the machine.

As I approached the next water stop, I realized I'd already covered 2 more miles, and that while my knees both still felt broken, the Motrin had helped the excruciating hip pain. I realized I felt a little better. I ate a Gu and drank some water and decided I'd press on, and take things one mile at a time.

While running the bike trail was lonesome, once we got into Albany around mile 20 things became treacherous. For about 2 miles we ran on the shoulder of a major 4 lane artery, and I was tired and woozy and afraid that if I were to trip I'd immediately be hit by a car. I began working to pass people just so that I had something to keep my mind sharp and my head up. I told one man as I ran abreast of him: "You're really hard to catch," and I meant it. He laughed and said, "No one's ever said that to me before."

At mile 22 we ran back onto a bike trail. I rounded a bend and saw J stretching against a tree. I shrieked in joy and relief. J ran that last 4 miles with me, talking to me about minutiae and encouraging me to keep going.

I finished in 5:02, which is not a PR and it's not under 5, but good gravy this race was harder and more painful than my first. J, a talented pep-talker, kept me from walking the entire last couple miles. I was probably ugly and rude to her the whole time and still she pressed on. "You want to try to pick it up?" she'd ask. "Shut the hell up," I'd respond. The only thing that got me to the end was thinking about how I'll never ever do it again.

*sigh* I always reassure myself with this promise--and I always somehow talk myself into marathoning again.

Today I feel like someone took a baseball bat to my kneecaps, and I have horrible shin splints. I can "act natural" if I'm walking, but stairs are near-impossible, and to get up or sit down is extremely hard.

As long as I live next door to D, though, I imagine I'll continue this torture, especially as her saga to qualify for Boston continues.

Posted by mryonker at 03:02 PM | Comments (4)

That Stanky Chip-Less Marathon Better Known as The Mohawk Hudson River Marathon

Deb's MHRM Race Report

M., J. and I started out in good spirits yesterday at the unseemly hour of 4:00 AM to make the trek to Schenectady. From the start line in Schenectady, J. would drive to the finish in Albany, park the car and run backwards from the finish line to meet M. around Mile 23. (J. is the newest member of Team Yonker, and an AMAZING sport to give up her entire Sunday on this crazy quest.)

Though I was initially very optimistic about this race which claims to be “one of the ten fastest courses in the U.S.”, and which every year has a record number of Boston qualifiers, my optimism quickly turned to contempt. Upon picking up our race packets, we discovered that this race has NO chip. That’s right, people – NO CHIP. This is practically unheard of, with the exception of poorly attended local 5Ks here in Oswego County. We also learned that the tech shirts that we had reserved with our registrations were available only in size large, despite the fact that M. and I had both ordered mediums when we registered MONTHS ago. The sullen race volunteer explained that the mediums had all been distributed at the expo, and so we were left with no choice but to accept the voluminous garments. As a lanky person with gorilla-like arms, the large will be just fine for me, but M. might have to use hers for a nightgown, a roof tarp or a 4-person tent. (Or perhaps all of the above – it’s a big damned shirt.)

The gun went off promptly at 8:30 AM, and away we ran. Upon leaving Central Park, we spent the better part of this race on paved bike paths which run parallel to the Mohawk and Hudson Rivers. The paths were generally very isolated, allowing for few opportunities for spectator presence. All in all, I’d say we saw far more sewage treatment plants than cheering spectators. The view was fair, but the odor was NOT. One would imagine that one would become accustomed to the vile smells emanating from the rivers, but somehow that was not the case. It’s as if the sewage from each township had its own unique stank, and so one’s nose was continually assaulted from Colonie to Cohoes to Watervliet and beyond. And I don’t know what those people had been eating, but they should really just stop.

Despite the slight nausea induced by the stank, I managed to keep up with my pace bracelet all the way to Mile 15. Starting at Mile 9, however, it became increasingly more difficult to do so. I was definitely struggling, but trying valiantly to maintain my pace so that I could finish in 3:45:59, thus qualifying for Boston. At Mile 16 I was 30 seconds too slow. At Mile 17 I was 58 seconds too slow, and by Mile 24 when I encountered J. all hopes of BQ-ing had long since been dashed. I was minutes off my time, completely demoralized and moving like a penguin with a broken pelvis. J. pleasantly inquired, “Can you go just a little bit faster?” and I belligerently responded with “Nooooo!!!” She left me, as any sane person would do, and headed back to find M., whose Southern background and sweet disposition ensure kind responses even under painful and grueling circumstances.

I walked a fair amount, and tried to tell myself that a PR, while not nearly as good as a BQ, was still a desirable and worthy goal. Some quick mental calculations, however, determined that if I did not pick up the pace I would not beat my previous best time of 3:58:24. Thankfully, it was just at that time that the Throat Clearer descended upon me. This was a woman whose face I never saw, but her maddening nose-whistling, throat-clearing tendencies made me nearly hate her, sight unseen. Alright – I’ll be honest. I DID hate her, and it was that fiery, burning kind of hatred. I have a remarkably low tolerance for mouth noises of any kind. I hate to hear chewing, coughing or even loud-ish breathing and so I knew that I needed to put some distance between me and this vile creature lest I go postal and pitch her into the shit-stank river. There must be something energizing about all that throat clearing, though, because that she-devil was hard to shake. I eventually prevailed, and crossed the finish line at 3:57:something. Official stats are not yet up (damned chip-less race), but according to both Vic (my Garmin training watch) and the finish clock, I just barely PR-ed.

Upon crossing the finish line, I looked less like myself and more like hammered shit and countless concerned strangers catered to me, offering me water and sticking straws in my juice. I briefly considered going back to find M. and J., but my traitorous legs locked up before the thought was even complete. It’s as if my entire nervous system was conspiring to keep me from even attempting movement. I went with it, and leaned against a tree while gorging myself on juice and donuts. Before too long, M. and J. crossed the finish line, M. deliriously professed her love for me (it is her sacred marathon tradition and it is not just reserved for those she truly loves but for any random person with whom she makes even brief eye contact) and we all had more donuts.

We shambled to the car like zombies from a horror movie, only muttering “Meat! Meat!” rather than “Brains! Brains!”, and following a quick shower at the YMCA, we consumed our total weight in sirloin at Ponderosa (another sacred marathon tradition).

This morning I feel as if I’ve been run over by a truck. My penguin/zombie gait is even more pronounced today than yesterday, and I’m just grateful that I needn’t do “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes” with my kindergartners today as it is European Native-Annihilator Day and we’ve the day off.

I remain committed to someday qualifying for Boston, but it looks more and more as if that is a dream that is not coming to fruition anytime soon. My next marathons will likely be the Buffalo Marathon in late May, and then the Wineglass a year from now. Hopefully by then I’ll be walking upright once again.

Posted by mryonker at 02:42 PM | Comments (1)

October 03, 2007

the marathon nightmare

It's like a teaching nightmare. All the worst things that could happen, all for your dreaming pleasure, a few nights before the big day.

I dreamt last night of our upcoming race on Sunday. I should preface this by saying that D and I were looking at some logistic problems with getting to packet pick up (at the starting line) and parking the car and catching the shuttle bus (at the finish line, 26 miles away). We are not driving out the night before, like we usually do, and the race organizers did not plan well for out-of-towners coming in the morning of the race.

Coming to our rescue is dear friend J, newly anointed 10K runner, who volunteered to drive out with us and drop us at the start line so we don't have to mess with the shuttle, and then meet us at the finish.

So, even though all that is now taken care of, I still had a bizzare-o dream last night of getting to the start line late, and then finding that the marathon was part scavenger-hunt, part fear factor, part orienteer fest, part hash. I kept getting the map out and finding that yes, I *was* supposed to go into this person's house and run up the stairs, into a bedroom, out the sliding glass doors, and down the deck steps.

Plus, I was wearing my worst-est pink/purple track shorts, which I can't actually run in in real life because of their chafing properties.

I kept thinking that this would be a much better race run with a buddy.

Posted by mryonker at 02:41 PM | Comments (2)

October 02, 2007

gearing up

for the day *after* the marathon:

Here's what D and I have to look forward to in about a week.

Also, this post by Tracy (aka Iron Wil) came up in ye olde aggregator this morn.

Now I want to train for a tri.

Posted by mryonker at 08:31 AM | Comments (2)

September 09, 2007

a quandry

Reading this morning through my aggregator, I came upon a quick post by Tom Green over at Runner's Lounge about his taper for the Chicago Marathon, which is the same day as our Mohawk Hudson River Marathon, (which is also H's birthday).

I had two reactions: 1) how come we are not on the final taper yet? We still have one more 20-miler this weekend before the final taper. I want to be on *his* schedule!! and 2) dammit, my foot* is still messed up from the 50K two weeks ago, and now I am afraid to run that last 20 miler.

When I posted my race report from the GLER, I mentioned I turned my ankle about halfway through, then finished the race (probably stupidly) anyway. I took nearly a whole week off to rest and heal, and then this week started up again with a couple of 3s and 5s, and all was well. Until yesterday, when we ran 12. Well, I ran 10, because at 10 my foot was starting to protest. After the run yesterday, I had to gimp around again, which really was frustrating. This morning it's still hurting so I'm skipping the 6 on our schedule (and it's convenient, since it's pouring right now anyway).

D has made a kind of promise to herself that once she qualifies for Boston (and then runs it, I suppose) she will be done with marathons.

I think that this race in Albany next month might be my last marathon. For a while, at least. The ups and downs of training and injury, the time, the extra eating, the early mornings...*sigh* It's all very exciting, and the prospect of a project with a goal and a concrete finish is very appealing to me. But this is the second time I'm struggling with an injury before a race. Last time, for Buffalo, I was able to switch my registration and run the half (which is a GREAT distance, btw). The Mohawk doesn't let me do that, and I can't justify paying another $65 or whatever it is to register again for the shorter distance. My options are 1) not run and forfeit my money, 2) run and possibly DNF 3) run and NOT DNF.

The first options are not appealing to me, for reasons I imagine are clear. I have to figure out what to do so that I can recover quickly, maintain my level of training at the same time, and then run to finish (no time goal).

*It is a strange, hard-to-describe ankle and foot pain. The bottom of my foot hurts when my ankle moves.

Posted by mryonker at 08:48 AM | Comments (2)

August 28, 2007

deb's side of the story

[Editor's note: GROSS POST. Reader beware. The travails of the ultra-athlete are NOT PRETTY. You've been duly warned.]

Green Lakes Endurance Run (G.L.E.R.) = Good Lord! Enough Running!

(Please humor the author her overuse of the GLER acronym, and pronounce it in the voice of a crazed, piratical runner. Also, be not offended by frequent references to bodily fluids. Sorry – it’s just how I roll.)

Yesterday Madeline and I completed our most challenging run yet – a 50K trail run. We started out at the ungodly hour of 4:50 AM, so that we would allow ourselves sufficient time to reach Green Lakes State Park by 5:30. (The run did not officially begin until 6:30, but I could not allow the 5:30 AM continental breakfast to pass me by!) Madeline almost always provides transportation to our runs, but this time I drove. I am what one might call an anxious driver, and between my fears about my nonexistent night vision and those vicious, menacing deer who lie in wait for unsuspecting drivers, I was stressed before the race even began. Still, though, I was pumped. I had spent the previous two days preparing for this run the best way possible: Guzzling liquids, eating ravenously. GLER!

At the start of this run, M and I were grinning, lively, energetic runners. Thirty-one miles of rough terrain later, we were groaning, limping, exhausted runners (GLER!) It took us eight and a half hours to complete this run. Eight and a half hours!!! That’s an entire work day, people! I believe that there were a handful of 100K runners who finished before us, and the only 50K runner who I am certain we beat was a poor wretch with shoes comprised entirely of electrical tape. In our defense, however, we were expending our energy on staying injury-free rather than on being particularly speedy. We were what one kindly volunteer referred to as “tourist runners”, carrying a disposable camera in our pack and stopping for frequent photo ops. We read the numerous informative plaques which ring the lakes, we posed with
volunteers and stuffed animals on the Serengeti, we lingered at each aid station ingesting our combined weight in M & Ms, and we tried like hell (and to NO avail) to contain those pesky bodily fluids. Let’s just say that one of us desperately needed more toilet paper and less half digested salad [editor's note: I do not remember this. I've blocked it out] , whilst the other should one day realize that sanitary pads are decidedly un-sanitary and USELESS when one attempts to adhere them to sweat soaked underwear. With each step I took that vile pad climbed up my ass, lodging itself firmly in the small of my back. This called for constant readjustment involving digging my hands down my pants and cussing while M. provided lookout coverage. And that pad was FAST…far faster than me considering our relative sizes. I KNOW that if that pad was as tall as I am, it would definitely have beat me to the finish line. So while the graceful, long, endomorphic runners were effortlessly covering ground, M. and I were bleeding and shitting. Gastric liquid eliminations: runny! Gooey, leaky, exsanguinous runner. Goes like enema-ed: repeatedly! GLER! GLER!! GLER!!! And it would be great news if menstrual blood and diarrhea were the worst of our problems, but we also were suffering from hideous chafe (Grotesque lesions exacerbated by running - GLER!), an attack by a malignant blackberry bramble, inexplicable finger blisters, and general exhaustion. Growing listless – energy receding. Grieving lungs extremely resistant. GLER, already.

Somehow, despite shit, blood, rain, mud, and severe chafe, we ended up having a fantastic time. This is a stellar run, with good food, good people and a good location. Got legs? Enter race! GLER!!!

Posted by mryonker at 09:27 AM | Comments (1)

August 27, 2007

le ouch

The good things about the GLER:

I now don't have to run for a few days. Sanctioned (mandated, even) rest days are good.

It's over. And I did finish it.

The food. I've never been fed so well in my life: a buffet of delicious fresh fruit, turkey and cheese on wheat, candy, chips and pretzels, and all manner of technical electrolytic replenishment (gu, gatorade-like fluid, and even some crazy electrolyte tablets I've never seen). The post race lunch was subs from Wegman's. Good stuff.

The volunteers. I wanted to hug all of them, all the time. Especially the one guy at the bottom of the trail whose every muscle tensed in anticipation as I came careening toward him, completely out of control. Unlucky for him, I regained my balance (complete with arms up for "victory") and he did not get to actually catch me.

D. I can honestly say I would have had my first DNF with this run had it not been for her. My pleas for her to "just go on...I'll catch you at the next aid station" fell on some very stubbornly deaf ears.

The weather. It stayed overcast all day, sprinkled and misted during our second and third loops, and all-out rained on several occasions but only briefly. It was cool and lovely.

A regular marathon will now seem like a more reasonable distance. Because THIS run, this 50K, was damn near unreasonable.

Which leads me to "le ouch." I actually felt well-prepared for this distance--I just was not prepared for the terrain (see above where I nearly hit a volunteer). Had this been a flattish trail, or a road course, I'd probably be ok. But 31 miles of uneven terrain and where's-my-rappelling-gear type ascent/descent just about disintegrated my ankles. Well, maybe I exaggerate a bit. However, on one of the middle loops (it was four loops of 8ish miles; I remember the first loop and the last, but the second and third kind of blur together) D and I connected with a dude from the Syracuse Track Club that we'd met on the bus to the Boilermaker this summer. Dude was a volunteer, biking and hiking the course, manning the aid stations, and directing runners. He spotted us as we were making our way up one of the steeper ascents and decided he'd run with us to the next station.

Ha. Yes, he was the "fresh legs" I wished for (and be careful about that!). So, D and I ran with him briefly, and he told us a great story about the near-disaster that was last year's Halloween Bagel run. I wanted to hear the story, so I mustered what I had to keep up with him (D was having little trouble). In doing so, I turned my left ankle, probably on a tree root (pronounce that "ruht" in your head, please, to get the full sensory experience of my narrative) but really who knows what it was because I was not looking at the ground like I should have been. It was a quick turn, I didn't fall and D and dude did not notice. And it hurt a little, but many of my parts were already buzzing with small complaints. Not a big deal.

Until we were done. Now my left ankle is pretty messed up. The rest of me, all things considered, is quite well; I walked to and from campus today slowly but not in agony. I did ride the elevator down from my third floor class (going down stairs will be hard for a while--going up is not a big deal).

I recommend this run to ANYONE who is considering an ultra in the CNY area. It's got amazing support, it's fun (especially when you take a disposable camera!) and you can swim in the glacier-made lake when you're done.

I'd recommend some trail training, though. :)

Posted by mryonker at 03:23 PM | Comments (7)

August 25, 2007

gluuuuhergh

Tomorrow at this time, we'll hopefully be about halfway done with the GLER* (the noise Deb insists we'll make when we're finished. Gluuuherrgh).

I have been diligent in keeping to the pre-marathon diet: carbohydrates (potatoes mashed! potatoes grilled!) and protein (lots of chicken), no alcohol (except for when D's husband Ch. pours the occasional pina colada into me--but I only had ONE), and coffee.

Well, the coffee probably isn't really on the pre-marathon menu, but whatever.

I have luxuriated for the past two mornings, sleeping in and jogging only briefly to catch up with the boys as they ran ahead of me on campus yesterday, when I went in to copy my syllabus.

Yes, that's right: classes start on Monday. I teach the day after the GLER. I may need someone to meet me with a wheelchair to drag me onto campus.

*For those just joining us: GLER = Green Lakes Endurance Run, a 50K.

Posted by mryonker at 10:21 AM | Comments (1)

August 18, 2007

tapir

Today was the Fulton "Loop Around the Lake" 15K. With a field of probably 60 runners (and the majority of them running the 5K), this was by far the smallest race D and I have run.

Did I say it was small?

When the horn went off, I started out modestly. And the entire field passed me immediately. I didn't dare look back, because I KNEW every single person was in front of me. We ran down Route 3 in Fulton, out past the Y and the Cayuga campus and the roller rink. The traffic was pretty bad (does EVERYONE in Fulton drive an enormous Ford diesel?) and the shoulder broken, badly sloped, and covered in roadkill. I stepped on a (thankfully) dried up squashed turtle, that when it was living was probably the size of a small dog. There was also a mammal of some sort that I had to navigate around; it was so mangled I could only make out the teeth and jaw (which incidentally looked like Scrat's from Ice Age).

The head winds were horrible, but I suppose they were keeping me cool. Once we turned left past the roller rink I hoped the winds would quit blowing me backwards, but somehow the winds turned with us.

Or, really, I should say ME. Because this race was so small I was always, always alone. I was so alone, and so in the back, that around mile 2 I realized that one of the big diesel trucks whose exhaust I continued to huff was that of the ambulance. Yes. The ambulance that follows the LAST RUNNER at the ready, for when that LAST RUNNER drops dead.

I didn't feel like I was going to drop dead, though. My legs and muscles felt decent; I probably could have eaten more that morning (I'd only had a Power Bar, some apple juice, and not enough water). But my rebellious GI system decided that today would be a day of belligerence. So while I felt decent, anytime I picked up the pace even a smidgen, I was immediately uncomfortable and searching for some woods to jump in.

Only I had an ambulance following me. I was certain that if I hopped off the road into the woods one of the EMTs would have thought such an aberration alarming and therefore hopped out the truck to follow me or something.

The water stops were well-spaced, the volunteers friendly, and the course well-marked. I did get lost at the very end where we were supposed to know to take a right before the high school, and instead I ran into the parking lot. I had to turn around and run back, and in doing so found that I was NOT the last runner; another man was rounding the corner I originally missed, and so we ran the last mile or so together. I realized as we chatted briefly how much more enjoyable running is, especially when one is distracted by the discomfort of rebellious intestines, when one has someone to talk to. It had really been a lonely, desolate, LONG race.

But my time was right on: D calculated that for me to run Albany in 4:50, I would have to run today's 15K in 1:40. My time was 1:39 something. Not my fastest 15K, I don't think, but a decent run, all in all, nonetheless.

And, AND I came in second in my age group. :) Because there were TWO of us. But they gave me a medal, anyway.

OH. The title of this post? Tapir. That funny elephant-like animal. It's what I think of when we TAPER, or reduce our mileage every three weeks. I'm really looking forward to the tapir. Taper. Because I'm tapir. I mean tired. *sigh*

Posted by mryonker at 08:12 PM | Comments (2)

August 15, 2007

open letter to todd baum*

Dear Todd,

My crazy running partner has somehow talked me into running the GLER with her next week. I suppose it's some kind of revenge she's exacting to get me back for dragging her to our first marathon a few years ago. Since then she has emerged as an amazing runner: fast, well-disciplined, dedicated, goal-oriented. And she wakes up early in the morning with pretty much no effort (something I still struggle with--though I'm nowhere near as bad as that Amy who was on Dr. Phil yesterday).

Anyway, since this is our first ultra, I've got a few questions for you. And since you have trained for and finished the Badwater Ultramarathon (congrats, btw!), I figure you can tell me what I need to know.

What should I be eating? Really. Because we are running so much right now that when I'm at home I'm either laying on my couch or laying in my bed. I don't even have the energy to be hungry, much less CHEW anything. When we stop during our longer runs, I find my jaw and tongue become exhausted masticating a warm Power Bar. And I can also feel the energy it takes to work my jaw sapping energy from my legs.

How much bigger do you buy your running shoes? Because it seems as though there is a proportionate relationship between the number of hours I run and the amount of swelling my feet do. So, if my feet swell to a half-size bigger after a 10K, can I expect them to be 2.5 sizes bigger after the 50K? And what, then, should I do in the beginning to compensate for the extra room? I'm thinking extra Thor-Los.

We're hoping that there is a Pizza Hut on the route. If not, we're willing to meet a delivery person on the trail, a la Dean Karnazes, and we're hoping this will not be a problem. Will I be able to get a cell signal so we can order en route?

It says that the aid stations are "well-stocked." I expect that this means you'll have a pair of fresh legs for me every 8 miles, right? Because how else on earth am I going to finish? I mean, really.

Most importantly: what can I do during this run so that my lovely running partner does NOT set her sights on the 100K for next year?

Thanks a bunch.
Madeline

*Todd Baum is the race director for the Green Lakes Endurance Run (GLER), the 50K D and I are (probably stupidly) running in less than two weeks.

Posted by mryonker at 10:33 AM | Comments (0)

June 04, 2007

especially dynamic moose

The pictures from the Buffalo marathon are up.

Posted by mryonker at 04:37 PM | Comments (0)

butterfly run

This is me (in the hat) with a bunch of people from New Process Gear after Paige's Butterfly Run, a race here in Baldwinsville to raise money for pediatric cancer. To my left, #35, is my friend J.

I met J nearly 5 years ago when we first moved to CNY; her daughter and H were in the same kindergarten class. She was a Girl Scout leader in my service unit back in the day when I had a troop. J also has two boys, the same ages as my boys. So her family and my family have found that hanging out is especially nice; all the kids have someone to play with, B and J's husband hang out, and J and I have become good friends. Our two families go camping together once or twice in the summer, and the kids have sleep overs once in a while.

So, last summer, J started asking me questions about running. I told her if she wanted to start running, I would be happy to tag along with her for moral support. I dragged her to the local running shop to get her outfitted with some proper shoes. We began walking, and then when the weather deteriorated (ie winter came to CNY), J started walking on a treadmill during lunch where she works.

She called me excitedly early this spring: "I ran 5 minutes on the treadmill today!" This was a breakthrough for her. Each day she increased her time running by a minute or so, and worked up to running 3X10 minutes with a few minutes of walk between the repeats.

I told her she was ready to run a 5K. Such the instigator, me.

Her first race was the Heartwalk in April, three pleasant but poorly marked (and probably poorly measured as well) miles along Onondaga Lake. No bib numbers, no T-shirt, but organized distance nonetheless.

I do believe I've hooked her. :) The Butterfly 5K in Baldwinsville was a hot, difficult race. But she's already signed on for the Swamp Rat--the next 5K in a mere two weeks.

Did I mention she's lost over 50 pounds?

Posted by mryonker at 04:28 PM | Comments (2)

May 29, 2007

how do you spell poo-nah-nee?

Deb's Buffalo Marathon Report!!

It was only fitting that Madeline and I drove to the Nissan Buffalo Marathon in her brand spanking new car bearing the same name. The name Nissan, to me, connotes durability, toughness and reliability. As I write this just 25 hours after crossing the finish line, however, I feel less like a Nissan and more like a battered, corroded Hyundai with a badly knocking engine and a dragging muffler.

We arrived in style, with at least a half an hour to spare, and quickly made our way towards the Expo, which (stupidly) ends at 4PM. Following the Expo, we ate our faces off at the delicious free pasta dinner. Who knew that ten meatballs could go down so smoothly? (In my defense, they were meatballs of unusually small diameter.) I self-righteously warned Madeline away from the salad, as fiber and long distance running frequently result in a not-so-pretty aftermath, but she partook nonetheless. “Silly Madeline”, I smugly thought to myself, as I ate anything and everything that was NOT in the lettuce family. Unbeknownst to me, however, lettuce might as well be Immodium, compared to the evil Gu which I consumed the next day.

I had naively believed that the Gu would make me a running superhero, and that the caffeine would give wings to my feet and allow me to soar across the finish line, humiliating all the elite runners who were stupid enough to compete with me. Ha. It didn’t make my feet any faster, but it sure lent velocity to my traitorous bowels. By mile 13 I was compelled to make a port-a-potty stop, lest I soil my fabulous new turquoise running shorts. Imagine my horror, then, when said running shorts were down around my ankles and some JACKASS plows into MY port-a-potty head first, earning for himself both a noseful and an eyeful. I shrieked in a pitch frequently heard in horror movies, but rarely in real life, whilst Jackass slammed the door shouting “I’m sorry. Oh my God. I’m sorry.” “Oh my god”, indeed. Did I mention that prior to this very rude interruption I was experiencing severe technical difficulties with the toilet paper, and that my sweat soaked shaking fingers were just ineffectually leaving toilet paper balls all over my body? And that I have THE stankiest poo? And that I was scowling ferociously at my Garmin, (AKA “Vic” – don’t ask) which indicated that I’d never make my fantasy BQ time, and that I’d barely make my real goal of a sub-4 hour, if I didn’t immediately purge myself of the remnants of those ten tiny meatballs? [Editor's note: Deb's misfortune in the port-o-john is apparently a recurring problem at races. See Nytro's Ogden Marathon Report for another horrific example of poorly locking johns. Great. All I need--another reason to not be able to poo before a race.]

Immediately following this humiliating exchange, I seriously consider taking up permanent residence in the port-a-potty, because coming out of the port-a-potty and facing the CROWD of spectators sitting directly across from me is more than I can possibly bear. I have brief fantasies of Chuck and the kids coming to visit, and of quality family time conducted in the confines of our cozy shit hut. The stank of my own poo fermented with strange poo, however, brings me back to my senses and I burst out of there like a Kenyan off the starting blocks. A saner man would know better than to ever mention this incident again, but Jackass not only apologizes once more, he persists in speaking to me every time we pass one another. “Looking good,” he says, or “You’ve got it!” I don’t quite know if he’s referring to my speed or to my private parts (ok – formally private, now public. Very, very, very public), and so I do my best to ignore him.

The next thirteen miles pass in a haze of pain and fatigue. I talk occasionally to other runners, but mostly to myself. I wonder why Buffalo didn’t clean up the broken glass which litters the roads and which surely has cut the feet of the crazy barefoot runner I saw at the start line. I wonder how Madeline fared in her half marathon, and I wonder if there will be pizza left for me at the finish line. I wonder why it is that Gu is stronger than the double dose of anti-diarrhea medication that I take prior to the start of every long run. I wonder why they don’t just market Gu as the answer to your constipation problems, rather than as an energy fluid. I wonder if Jackass is even a runner at all or if he is just a dirty pervert who rips open port-a-potty doors to check out the poonanies of runners too weary and stupid to operate the lock. I wonder if we will make it back to the hotel before checkout, or if we will have to replace Madeline’s new car scent with the malodorous stank of sweat soaked pits, feet and other unmentionable body parts on the long ride home. With all of this wondering comes slow but steady progress, and I eventually see the obelisk which marks the near end of the marathon. A kind volunteer says. “You’re under four” and when he sees my skeptical expression he repeats himself with such sincerity that I know it must be true. I hear cheering around the corner, and through my sweat and tears I can make out Madeline’s orange shirt and the red numbers of the finish clock. Of the five numerals displayed, I note only the first, which is a beautiful, beautiful “3”.

Official stats– 3:58:24
9:06 pace

Posted by mryonker at 09:03 PM | Comments (1)

the race report, buffalo half

Memorial day weekend has become a two-day pilgrimage for D and me with a solid set of rituals: Saturday is the village-wide garage sale, so we each spend the morning scouring our town for bargains before we leave, planning our convergence for noon.

Inevitably I run late, but since I drive D must wait for me (ha ha!).

We throw our bags of running stuff into the back of the Versa (oh, how I LOVE our new car!) and we're off. The trek to Buffalo is uneventful and we make record time, arriving at the Hyatt to pick up our race packets. As usual, the Hyatt lobby is chaotic: a line for check-in snakes around nearly into the bar/atrium. D and I smirk smugly and go straight upstairs to the expo--we will NOT be putting up with the Hyatt's incompetence this year.

Once at the expo, D and I cue up: she at the marathon table, me at the half. I have a fleeting pang of something hard to identify; it's like a yearning for the "real" marathon, a bit of shame for not being in the line I should be, a bit of embarrassment maybe that I'm only standing to get a red half number (the scarlet number!) rather than getting that black one. The feeling is fleeting, however, and when I get my goody bag and my bib the general excitement of a race overcomes me.

We trek to the Catholic church to stuff ourselves with spaghetti and meatballs. Somehow this simple meal is the best-tasting pasta I've ever had. D and I eat slowly, watching other runners wander in to the bingo hall, identifying those we remember from last year. I recognize a woman, probably in her 60s, who passed me last year near mile 22.

Our check-in at the Days Inn several blocks north of the starting line is uneventful; our room is exceptionally clean and the staff friendly. Our only disappointment is that the continental breakfast does not open until 7, which is gun time, so after we scope out the room and settle in a bit, we venture back out to a grocery store for some cup noodles that we can prepare in the room with the coffee maker. We return to the room and watch Forrest Gump (a great inspirational running flick!) and retire early, around 10. I sleep amazingly well.

Race morning we walk south to the starting lines; the weather is perfect, overcast and cool but not cold (about 65, if I remember right). I am only unhappy with the way my shorts are behaving. They are threatening to creep into my crotch and I must yank them down every-so-often. The marathon and half-marathon start lines are one block away from each other, so I walk D over to her start and give her a big hug. I am briefly melancholy as I leave her, but as I join the runners at my own starting line, and as the Canadian national anthem begins, I realize that a runner in a race like this cannot possibly be lonely--there were 500 people standing in the street with me, all of whom would undoubtedly have a kind word and a smile if I approached them.

As the gun goes off and we make our way slowly across the mats, I focus on my "strategery": run ten minutes + walk one, concentrating on light and quick foot turn over. I have not really trained for this race, save for a handful of slow three milers as I let my knee mend. But I haven't had any pain for a couple weeks, and I've promised myself that I won't do anything dumb and re-injure myself during this run.

And then I begin to pick out runners that I will beat.

The couple whose green T-shirts say "Bride 2 be" and "Groom 2 be." Surely they are running this race as a bonding ritual and are not planning to PR. The man who has many gadgets and wires attached to his person: his mp3 player, gps, camelpack, heart rate monitor. Surely all the alarms and appliances will require his attention and hold him up.

The first 4 miles are uneventful; I average between a 10-11 minute mile, even with the walk breaks. Running along the lake and through the marina is pleasant and I distract myself by looking at the sailboats and watching for D. The first time we pass one another she is oblivious to my cheering ("Moose! Moose!") and I nearly collide with another runner.

The course has changed since last year, and so once we come out of the marina instead of running north we run south, still along the water, through an industrial district and then adjacent to a nature preserve. Along the way I chat briefly with several people and choose more people that I will beat: a woman wearing a pristine white tech shirt and pressed-looking black wind pants who's hair at mile 7 is still completely unmussed and her armpits dry. A pair of women who, at mile 9, have a mini-celebration with themselves because, "Holy F&*#! We've never run *this* far before!!" A guy whose heels scuff the asphalt at every footfall, and whose Under Armor get-up looks a little too put together.

Seeing the wind generators along the lake warmed the cockles of my heart. And that sounds goofy, but I'm very serious: seeing the large swooping blades of the turbines quickened my pulse. The same way I've been culturally positioned to feel fear and dread at the site of nuke stacks, the sight of wind generators makes me feel peaceful and happy.

Somehow I missed the mile marker at mile 10, and so when the mile 11 marker came it was like a special gift. Delirium is not really a factor in half-marathons, so I did not have the urge to kiss a sweaty stranger as a result, but it was exhilarating nonetheless.

I skipped my last walking break and ran the last two miles straight through, passing ALL my targets in addition to several people I hadn't seen in miles.

It. Felt. Amazing. The half-marathon is a perfect distance: just enough to push and test, but not so much that the body is a crippled mess at the end.

Official time: 2:21:50 Average pace per mile: 10:50.

Posted by mryonker at 06:18 AM | Comments (2)

April 28, 2007

recovery

So. Aside from the article that continues to refuse to write itself, and the (now from multiple kids) barfing in my house, the other worrisome component in my life is this left knee. I think it's better, I think.

I've been running 3 miles or so, every other day, for about 2 weeks. I've iced it faithfully for 20 minutes after every run, and I've alternated running with and without the neoprene sleeve. The pain has subsided to near nothing, returned and subsided, returned and subsided.

Today, which is supposed to be the second twenty on Hal Higdon's Intermediate II schedule, I made it 5 miles with the sleeve and feel pretty solidly recovered. The sleeve itself makes it hard to tell whether or not the knee hurts during the run, but now that I'm back it feels completely normal. No twinges from within, and it's not tender when I manually wiggle my kneecap with my fingers.

The problem, though, is that at this point I can't jump back into the training where I left off, and I can't jump back in where I should be on the calendar because I'll surely re-injure myself. So I'm back to Mr. Higdon's site, rigging together a 4-week schedule from the Beginner I chart. I'm not sure where that will put me when it comes time for the race in terms of finishing time (I'd like to finish under 5), but at this point I'm really just more concerned about finishing without injury.

It's moments like these that I wonder if I want to continue to train for and run marathons--while I enjoy the running immensely, and I really am not (obviously) concerned with breaking any records, it just seems silly to be constantly flirting with damage and suffering.

Posted by mryonker at 10:27 AM | Comments (1)

March 12, 2007

mismatch

Last Saturday was the 2nd annual Tipperary Hill 4 miler. I didn't run it because Saturday was also Big J's last hockey game of the season.

Here is a pic of my Deb, crossing the finish line in a green feather boa.

Here are her results:
314 (overall place)
33:49 (net time)
8:28 (avg per mile)

She is my hero. I don't think I could run an 8:30 mile ONCE, let alone four times over.

This brings me to another salient point: D and I are completely wrong as training partners. Not only does she have specific goals about finishing races (ie, now she wants to beat Kristen Armstrong in our next marathon), but she can ACHIEVE them. Me, my goals are 1) keeping healthy and 2) not collapsing at any finish lines. And so I get very nervous when she talks about training and etc because soon she will be so far beyond my own abilities that it will be silly for us to run together, except so that I can chase her and that she can go for an easy run once in a while.

Runners out there: any advice about mismatched running partners? How bad is it that she continues to run my 11:00-minute miles week in and week out?

Posted by mryonker at 03:25 PM | Comments (1)

January 21, 2007

recklessly or thoughtlessly bold; foolishly rash or venturesome

I'm quickly learning to not check the temp as I leave my house to run in the morning. Once upon a time, I had a (probably smart) rule: no outdoor runs on days below 10F. I didn't make that rule up; it is a rule I remember from an old Runner's World article, or maybe it was a bit of wisdom from my uncle (a biology teacher and runner I admire). I'm not sure where it came from, but it's been in my cache of running lore, along with strange breathing techniques for remedying side stitches and partner IT band stretches, for a good while.

D and I step out this morning and oh. my. good. gravy. it's so damn cold our snot immediately freezes in our noses. We forego our normal walking start and just run because we both know we need to get this madness over with as soon as possible. My eyes water with the cold and freeze into mini icicles on my lashes and cheeks. I glance at D; wisps of her hair peeking from under her hat are white with frost; her eyebrows reminiscent of Papa Noel's.

When I get home, I check the temp. -2. I call D to tell her we're lucky we're not dead.

D: Nah. We're just hearty.

Me: Hardy like a plant? H a r d y? Or hearty? H e a r t y?

D: Oh. I meant hearty? But yeah, we're hardy. Hardy like we can take it.

Me: I don't think I really know what hearty means, anyway. I think we're hardy like plants because we're dumb like plants. Plants wouldn't go out in this shit if they could avoid it.

D: Really, we're just foolish.

Me: Yes. Dumb as rocks. AND I know how to spell that.

D: Yes. Foolish. Foolhardy.

Me: Foolhearty?

D: Yes. What time are we going tomorrow?

Posted by mryonker at 09:46 AM | Comments (1)

January 19, 2007

the snow. it cometh.

I have a confession. A minor one, but an admission I should have made about 3 weeks ago nonetheless:

I have pledged this year to run once EVERY day*. In addition, I resolved to work on** my dissertation every day.

So far, I have been successful at keeping to both resolutions solidly. I should mention that the inimitable D is in on the streaking with me, and so we're kind of checking up on one another for that, which makes it easier.

But today. Today the snow cometh. And to those of you who live south of the I-90 thruway, I know you're chuckling, thinking: "What the HELL were those crazy southerners THINKING when they moved to Parish?? Do they NOT know the phrase "lake effect" takes on new, monstrous meaning once you cross the Oneida Lake bridge??"

Yeah. Well, that's us: not always making those *really* smart decisions. But anyway, the problem you'll see if you click through to the larger photo, is that it is *still* snowing, the plows cannot keep up, and I have not run yet today.

D will be lucky and run indoors where she works. I will be unlucky and get run over by a snowplow for sure.

Lucky for me, though, it isn't that cold: 32 F according to the AccuWeather widget. Although, the widget does not register that it's snowing about 6 inches an hour, either, so I'm not sure just how ACCU it is.

* It has to be 2 miles to count. To be official streakers, we need only run ONE mile per day, but our thinking is that once we struggle into multiple bras, we need to make it worth it.

**Work constitutes just about any kind of attention: reading, thinking, or writing. I've been doing a lot of the first two verbs, and writing at least a bulleted list a day. It's not the paragraph per day that senioritis's BP smartly implored of me, but it's writing, and it's daily.

Posted by mryonker at 03:58 PM | Comments (2)

January 13, 2007

the morning run

I stepped off my back stoop this morning at 7:30. It was raining heavy, oily drops--not quite liquid, but not really snow yet, either.

I catch D as she's bringing her paper in, and we walk for a while, the rain/snow vacillating about which it will actually be. After a half a mile, we stand in the mouth of a small side street and stretch half-heartedly, leaning on the wet pavement and providing an interesting picture for the few drivers who pass.

As we start out, the sky decides on throwing slicing ice at us for about a mile. The wind blows the ice into our faces. I regret, briefly, that we didn't reroute for a short village loop. But once we make the turn west off the county route onto the country road that will take us out of Parish town limits into those of Mexico, the wind is no longer pressing us backwards, and the precip changes from ice to soft, wet flakes.

We talk; she recounts stories from her kindergarten class, I ramble about home improvement foibles. We discuss upcoming races and training schedules and our kids and hockey and dance and track and National Honors Society Inductions. We talk about our body parts: which parts hurt, locations of current chafing, where we're cold and and where we're hot.

We run over the train tracks, past the sheep farm, over the river. We pass abandoned farm houses, well-kept homesteads, and trailers with additions. We pass the sweet corn stand, and enter the town of Colosse, which, as far as I can tell, is nothing more than intersection on State Route 11 with a rustic (shabby) bar on one corner.

We wave to drivers that make room for us, most of them see us everyday. As we run the last stretch back toward home, we are quiet for a moment, as we are every once in a while, the only noise our breath and the occasional bird or dog. On this stretch we pass back over the river. The houses are couched in heavily wooded yards. The snow falls silently.

I remember how much I've fallen in love with living here. I love my little village. The snow and hard winters make be feel strong and hardy. I'm grateful for my kind and generous neighbors with whom we share meals and favors.

Posted by mryonker at 10:36 AM | Comments (0)

December 17, 2006

one more last chance

Last year's last chance rundown, penned by Deb, can be read here.

The Last Chance Run is an 8ish-mile trail run in Highland Forest. Last year, Deb and I managed to get lost but still have a somewhat cold, fun for the most part, run.

This year was a marked improvement to last year in some respects, and a complete disaster in others.

Improvements:

1. No snow. Last year we ran in calf-deep unpacked powder, so we did more shuffling and wading than running. Also, the snow caked onto the bottoms of our shoes and yak trax, making our feet weigh 20 lbs each and the shuffle more difficult. This year the trails were clear of snow which made for much easier navigation.

2. 40 degrees. Last year it was cold as shit, and windy if I recall. This year the air was crisp and calm and perfect. It snowed while we ran, but that simply added to the beauty.

3. They held the pancake breakfast afterwards in the lodge with the huge windows and gorgeous view and raging fire in the fireplace. Last year the breakfast was in a smaller cabin building that was quaint and rustic, but I don't think there was a fireplace and it was awfully dark inside.

Disasters:

1. The warm temps and recently melted snow created great deep swamps of mud. Most times we could navigate around the huge ponds, but we each had a few missteps that resulted in soaked feet. When we got back we found we had slung mud nearly to our thighs. The mud also made for slippery going, especially on the downhills.

2. Lack of snow also meant that we had to negotiate the rough terrain in a way we didn't have to last year. The layer of snow had essentially evened out the roots and rocks and etc, so while we bitched and complained about the snow last year, we actually missed it this year because we kept almost-turning our ankles. I found that I had to zone in on the three or four feet ahead of me and constantly plan my next foot placement. I joked that it must be like playing DDR without the constant painful near-ankle-turning.

3. At mile 6, I realized that I might have to draw on my great knowledge and experience with survival sans conventional plumbing. This after Deb and I had JUST had an excited discussion about how our lower intestines seem to have become accustomed to our more lengthy runs. I pressed on, trying to ignore what became increasingly unbearable cramps. Luckily I was able to avoid digging a hole. But just barely.

In all, a decent run. The lines for pancakes and sausage were slow at times, but we learned the trick is to hang out at your table at the end and the volunteers bring around what's left as they're working to clean up.

After standing in the kitchen last night for a few hours making a failed saag (it's what happens when you misread the recipe and put 2 TBs of salt instead of 2 TPs), my ankles FELT as though I had sprained them both horribly, and I had to ice them and sit on the couch and watch TV for the rest of the night. Today my ankles don't ache like they did last night, but they feel fragile and weak.

Posted by mryonker at 10:16 AM | Comments (0)

November 19, 2006

grosser than me

I found a runner whose running-bodily-rebellions may very well be grosser than mine.

And for this I am happy.

Posted by mryonker at 09:02 PM | Comments (1)

November 11, 2006

if you were curious...

Dean Karnazes didn't beat Lance, but I think I'm more impressed with Karno's performance than Lance's.

It's been a funny thing, Lance running the NYC marathon. I've always been a little ambivalent about Lance. I think his physical abilities border on the non-human and therefore fascinate me. His battle with cancer was compelling and important. But for some reason I was quite disappointed in him when his marriage broke up (strangely, I wasn't disappointed in Kristin; maybe I should have been); and I remember reading somewhere that he didn't treat Sheryl any better when they were together. I guess I have utter respect for him as an athlete, but I'm less impressed with him in other roles. I understand, of course, the unfairness of my assessment.

At any rate, Karno, ultra-runner extraordinaire, used the NYC marathon last weekend as the capstone to the Endurance 50, where he ran 50 marathons in 50 days.

And after having run a marathon per day for 50 days, he was still able to nearly match Armstrong's pace.

I think I wish Karno had won. But I'm impressed, nonetheless.

Posted by mryonker at 12:21 PM | Comments (3)

October 26, 2006

i (heart) marathon narratives

Running Jayhawk has her marathon story up from Chicago (last weekend?).

The best line?

"Your feet are hurting because you are kicking so much ass."

That one's for Runningburro.

Posted by mryonker at 08:55 PM | Comments (1)

October 09, 2006

The Wineglass Marathon…The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

The Good: This is a mighty fine marathon in oh so many ways. It’s scenic, it’s flat(ish), it’s not too far from home, and the food at the post-race party makes me sad that this is only a yearly event. Let me just say that the countless calories that I burned whilst running 26.2 miles were all immediately consumed again (thrice over!) during my gluttonous soup/pizza/banana eating frenzy. I do not even care for minestrone soup, but one would never have guessed that, given the sheer number of beans and noodle bits clinging to my happy sweat soaked face. Ummm…minestrone. And the chicken noodle was stellar, as well.

Screw the food, though. TEAM YONKER ROCKED!!!!!!!!! We truly were the definition of speed, and this time we mean it. We shaved a cumulative 1 hour and 48 minutes off of our Buffalo times!!!! One hour and forty-eight minutes, people! To an elite Kenyan runner, that’s nearly an entire marathon! We passed countless people who were super-fit looking, and we did it with relative ease. This appealed very much to the small demon who lives within me – the one who whispers sinisterly in my ear, “Run her into the ground! Kick his ass!” each and every time a starting gun is fired. As a kindergarten teacher, I think I give the outward appearance of one who values teamwork and sharing and playing nicely with others. Sadly, though, this is not the case. While I may look like I am ready to break into a rousing rendition of “Five Green and Speckled Frogs” at the drop of a hat, in all actuality I am planning the demise of all runners within my near vicinity. Typically, I am unsuccessful in this goal, but at the Wineglass the gods smiled down upon me long enough for me to pass 40-Year-Old Virgin-Man, Chicken Legs and her partner Worm Dude, and Dr. Rock. (I freely admit that I am a monster, and acknowledge that the dehumanization of my fellow runners is a very foul thing. The aforementioned cruel nicknames refer to a first time marathoner, a 60-ish couple - one with shockingly skinny legs and the other with painful looking varicose veins, and a professor of geology at a local university. All fine people, I am sure, but when that nasty demon rears his ugly head, my transformation is utter and terrible.) My primary adversary, however, was none other than Oprah Winfrey, and I kicked her ass, too! Woo-hoo!!! Okay, okay, Oprah wasn’t exactly there in the flesh, but her Chicago Marathon time some years ago of 4:29 was first and foremost on my mind. She may have her Steadman and billions of dollars, but I have my Chuck, and a PR of 4:04:59! (which I will NOT, under pain of death, round up to 4:05)

The Bad: Nothing comes to mind. This was truly a great race, and someday we will all qualify for Boston here. (Okay, maybe not this year or next year, but someday, damn it!!)

The Ugly: Just three things come to mind - the bloody nipples of the man outside the Corning YMCA, the creepy 9-11 mural amateurishly rendered on the wall of our restaurant, and the cinder block walls of our Budget Inn hotel room.

The Good, Continued: Pardon, please, the syrupy sentiment, but I am awed and impressed by my Team Yonker teammates. They set a goal, then work like hell to reach their goal. They encourage and motivate and inspire and amuse – just read their blogs if you think I’m kidding. “Slack jawed locals” and feminine napkin chafing is some funny shit, I tell you. They share their Cup ‘O Noodles and their sports bras, and I can’t wait ‘til our next big run! GO, TEAM YONKER!!!!

Posted by at 10:23 AM | Comments (1)

October 05, 2006

the GOOD ponderosa

The Ponderosa in Cortland, NY, however, is all that it should be.

Long live cheap sirloin and ranger cookies.

Posted by mryonker at 11:27 AM | Comments (1)

October 04, 2006

happy team yonker

Posted by mryonker at 11:18 PM | Comments (0)

not for the faint of heart

So, the good old runningburro beat me to the punch in posting on the race from this weekend.

I, however, have PICTURES.

So. The important thing to remember about this race is: 1. Being on your period does not mean that you cannot run races, 2. If you are hit and killed by an errant black SUV on the course, your student loans WILL BE FORGIVEN, and 3. All nouns can be verbs.

On #1: [FAIR WARNING: #1 offers detailed discussion of running a marathon while menstruating. Please skip to #2 if you are faint of heart or are easily grossed out by the term "feminine napkin. Proceed at your own reading risk.]

The careful dosing of Motrin to alleviate the excessive cramping that accompanies the monthlies actually helps a runner in that it may alleviate other pain in other places. Note here that I say "careful dosing." This means that you not only must dose the night before, but also mid-race. AND while you're dosing mid-race, be careful not to also dose the lint that might try to steal its way from your Nathan pack to your mouth. Because lint will make you gag and require you to stick your tongue out at an entire water stop full of volunteers.

Also, if you are of an unfortunate population of women who are limited in their use of feminine accoutrement, please make sure you pack vaseline in your Nathan. The repeated scraping of a "feminine napkin" on the sides of your legs will start you bleeding in other places unless you have a plan to reduce said friction. Also, even if you ARE willing to dip your mitt into a vat of community vaseline and swab your privates in public (as I gleefully was around mile 6), the damn water stops will probably not have said vat of community vaseline (even though it was PROMISED). Further, if you are running hard enough, as it appears Rb and I were, you might find that you actually STOP bleeding altogether, and that you can remove said napkin around mile 16.

On #2: If you are ever a motorist who happens to be driving through or past a race-in-progress, please remember this: your frustration in being held up is much easier to deal with than a murder charge, so please suck it up and drive AROUND the runners. To the driver of the black Durango who nearly killed me at the mile 4 water stop: next time watch the F out. I was wearing an orange shirt for pete's sake. And yes, I understand that if I die now I will never have to actually write a dissertation, nor will I have to repay my student loans (and I would of course appreciate being absolved from both duties); however, I do have 3 children, a husband, and a TEAM YONKER that would certainly avenge my death.

Also, if a runner is walking out into traffic in front of you, waving her arms and flagging you down, it's not because she's running a car-jacking ring. It's probably because she needs help (if she didn't she'd still be running, duh!). All we need you to do is drive to the next water stop for us to let someone know to send help. We don't want to actually DRIVE your car or catch a ride or anything.

On #3: Around the halfway point, I ask Rb: "Are we Gu-ing before the next water stop?" Yes. Eating a Gu is gu-ing. It becomes a verb, and one of my favorite things to do is make nouns into verbs. But this also leads me into what I think is probably one of the most important details of this race: every time Rb Gu-ed, so did I. I asked her before every stop: "Water? Gatorade?" and whatever she ate/drank/did, I did. She had a plan, man, and it totally worked.

Even though it was supposed to rain. Even though our hotel room had cinder block walls (IT DID. WE ARE CHEAP, K?). Even though our pre-race dinner was not pasta, but instead an ill-chosen unearned Ponderosa (and it was gross. never eat at the Ponderosa in Bath, NY). Even though I was a cramped, bleeding mess. Even though.

I finished in under 5 hours.

Posted by mryonker at 11:13 PM | Comments (6)

Shuffling towards Corning: A retrospective of the race in which Team Yonker kicked ass and took names at the 25th Annual Wineglass Marathon

All pre-race signs suggested disaster. My pre-race 20 mile training run was horrific. The weather for the race forecasted 55 degrees and rain, rain, rain. And Madeline and I both started menstruating (yes, you heard me). We agreed simply to finish the race before they closed the chute (at 6:30hrs) and hoped for the best (but secretly expected the worst).

Race day
Bath, NY
5:45am
Temperature 50 degrees
Precipitation: none (but very cloudy)

We suited up (all of us sporting our fabulous long-sleeved Wineglass race tech tees under our even more fabulous short-sleeved tech tees [$12.98 at Target]) and ate what must be the true breakfast of champions -- Chicken flavored Nissin Cup Noodles.

We drove from Bath (where the race would start) to Corning (where the race would finish) and parked our car so that when we finished, we’d have easy and quick access to our vehicle. Parking the car at the finish would also be extra incentive to actually make it to the end of the race.

We took a race-provided bus back to Bath to the start line. It turned out that we didn’t even need to use the bus ticket for which we paid 5 dollars (and were warned by the race folks not to lose under penalty of death). Once at the starting area, we used the Port-o-Johns, drank some Gator-Aid (mixed properly, I might add -- not watered down like at the other marathon), and waited around in the cool morning air. We amused ourselves by (1) picking out people that we thought we might overtake on the course and (2) making fun of all the funny looking runners (who are -- us included -- a motley crew, indeed). We met some ultra-nice folks from Nashville who came to NY expressly for the race. They were wearing hats and mittens and sweatshirts and looked like they were freezing to death.

After the singing of the national anthem (performed by someone who sounded vaguely Josh Groban-esque), we were off. . .

Mile 1: Madeline and I convince Deb that if she is going to beat Oprah’s time (4:29), she had better leave us now. After several attempts to motivate us into joining her crazy endeavor, she takes off like a blue streak (literally. She would finish in 4hrs and 4min. A running goddess).

Miles 2-5: We settle into a rhythm that feels comfortable. At the first water stop (Mile 3), we take Gator-Aid. We meet some fellow runners during these miles. A woman in a red shirt (who we will later find out is Rebecca [note: all names changed to protect the innocent], a philosophy grad student); a first-timer wearing a CamelBack; and Andrea (ahn-dray-ah), a field biologist who spent some time in South Africa and who seemed to enjoy telling us that she “thinks of Africa as her real home” and she can’t wait to get back there because “we-are-all-so-papmered-here, life is more real in the outback,” yadda, yadda, yadda. Mercifully, she pulls ahead of us. By Mile 5, our main entertainment was anticipating the first bathroom stop, which I thought was at Mile 6.

Mile 6: No bathroom. Madeline sort of snarls a question at the water stop volunteers: “Do you know when there will be bathrooms?” Their response: Mile 9. It’s entirely likely that I transposed the number and I secretly feel bad for getting our hopes up.

Mile 7: (I think -- this could have been at mile 5. Madeline and I disagree on this point): Excitement of the worst sort -- we see a runner take a header and fall to the pavement. She doesn’t appear to be really hurt, although a small cut on her lower forehead/nose bridge is bleeding profusely. Another runner takes off the wounded woman’s WHITE nike hat and uses it as a compress. Madeline steals my emergency toilet tissue (which I had stocked up on at the start-line port-o-johns) and gives that to the lady to use instead of her $40 hat (which probably wasn’t that absorbent anyway). There’s a small group of us hovering around the poor woman (who is probably just mortally embarrassed and wants us all to go away). Madeline and another runner try to flag down a passing car to get some help (we are, after all, in the middle of nowhere), and one car that slows down to view the carnage (slack-jawed locals, probably on their way to church or something) just drives on by . They actually had to swerve around Madeline and the other runner to get past. We curse them heartily. Some other runners finally flag down a course patrol car, and it radios for an ambulance.

Miles 8-13.1:We maintain our pace. Run up hills and down. Marvel at the beautiful countryside and the friendly locals who have come out to work the water stops and cheer us on. The course is well marked, and I probably spend too much time bad-mouthing the Buffalo Marathon because of the contrast between it and the Wineglass. At the halfway point, we run through the hometown of Polly-O string cheese. I am bitterly disappointed that there are no cheese snacks at the water stop, or even a poor schmuck dressed up in a Polly-O mascot costume to dance like a circus bear and amuse us.

The sun comes out and it gets warmer. I am so glad that I decided to put on sunscreen.

Our time at the halfway point is 2:20 -- ten minutes slower than Buffalo, but we feel ten times better than we did at the same point in that race. We make a second pit stop, strip down to our short-sleeved tees, and continue on.

Miles 14-19: We meet back up with Ahn-dray-ah. And then we pass her. Bwahahahahahahahaha!

Miles 20-24: I start to realize that a sub-5 time is entirely likely. I get a bit excited. I keep this information to myself, lest I jinx our chances.

It starts to rain. And we don’t even care because we are in the last hour of what we expected to be a five hour battle with precipitation. After 10 minutes of sprinkling, the rain stops. My shoes don’t even get wet.

We pass through a water stop at which I see a chubby little kid eating NutterButter cookies. I make a comment like, “Yum -- those look good,” and the kid’s mother says (kind of menacingly, I think), “If you ask him for one, he’ll give it to you.” At the time, I thought that she meant that she’d force her kid to fork over some of his cookies -- kind of like a “learn manners via punishment” sort of thing. But it turns out -- as Madeline later informed me -- that they have scads of cookies at the water stop for the runners, and junior was just mooching off the water-stop snacks.

Oh yeah. Around mile 23 I start to get kinda tired. It’s only because I’m running with Madeline that I’m able to keep my pace steady. I decide that it would be physically impossible for me to run a marathon without her, which means that whenever I want to run one, I’m going to kidnap her for the weekend and force her to run with me.

Miles 25-26.2: We meet back up with Rebecca, the super-polite philosophy graduate student. She’d left us around mile 3 (around the time that Madeline dropped the F-bomb upon hearing that no, despite what the race fliers promised, the water stops were not stocking band-aids and vaseline.) We had speculated that it was Madeline’s potty mouth that had, perhaps, driven Rebecca away. But it turns out that that was not the case (we, of course, grilled her on this point. And as if to affirm that she was not the goody-goody that we took her to be, she mentions that “now would be a good time for a beer. Or a scotch.” Rebecca runs the last few miles with us, which is really cool considering that this is her first marathon.

When the final stretch comes into view, Madeline and I kick it into high gear -- we actually have some gas left in our tank -- and we finish neck and neck in under 5 hours: chip time 4:52:33.

What is next for the running trio? A sub-4 for Deb? A 4:40 time for Runningburro and Madeline? Tune in next time for more adventures of Team Yonker.

Posted by at 09:50 PM | Comments (2)

July 13, 2006

it came off, finally

So, after a full day of swimming lessons, and a trip to the beach with extra kids, and several other things that put me in a foul mood because today is the last day, really, for me to be finishing my last exam, and because I'm a fool I agreed to babysit the day before I was supposed to be done, but I'm not really done yet but I still agreed several weeks ago to take an extra kid today, and so the day has been a washout. I'll be up all night, I'm sure, making up for time lost.

But there *have* been some highlights:

J-baby, to whom I should probably refer as J-toddler now, dropped trow at the beach and peed in the sand just under the guard stand. My dumbass self stood in the water paralyzed with embarrassment, and then stoopidly began to SPLASH WATER into the sand where he peed. Like I could somehow clean out the pee from the sand. REALLY. My brain is completely on hiatus.

And that damn toenail finally came off--the one that I was sorely disappointed that I didn't lose during the marathon--apparently I did lose it, it just took a long while (6 weeks!) to finally come free. Now I'm a really runner: I have officially shed toenails.

And my B received a letter from his college yesterday: he's one of two in his department to be awarded a full ride scholarship for next year, based on the fact that he is a big nerd. But I really like nerds a lot, so for me to call anyone a "big nerd" is a compliment; I am extraordinarily proud of his over-the-top geekdom.

Did I mention my toenail fell off? Damn.

Posted by mryonker at 05:45 PM | Comments (3)

June 03, 2006

runningburro makes her debut...

7:25 am/Starting Line: This was the second best part of the whole race -- the anticipation of how I’m going to kick some ass and surprise all of my friends and family with my running prowess. This kind of thinking was, of course, a strategy to cover up all the nervousness I had about my parents and rainbowhair being there: I would be mortified not to finish.

I’m still reeling from the incredibly poor rendition of our fine country’s national anthem when the gun goes off prematurely.

Mile 1: Deb takes off like a shot. Madeline and I follow at a slower pace, and we begin a conversation that would repeat itself until Mile 22 or thereabouts:

Me: It’s hot.
Madeline: I’m sweaty.
Me: And this is hard. It’s too damn hot. I’m no good in the heat (already making excuses
just in case I don’t kick some ass .
Madeline: Deb is going to qualify for Boston. She’s crazy.

Mile 2: There are very few spectators -- mainly a handful of folks living in condos along the lake (Lake Erie, that is) who are watching us while drinking their morning coffee. I have an irrational surge of affection for these people, who wave at us and wish us good luck. I begin giving a “thumbs up” in return, which makes me feel cool, like an astronaut about to board a space shuttle. Madeline opts for a “thanks!”

Around the 2.5 mark we are lapped by the folks who will complete the marathon in times that make people whistle and say, “Whowhee -- they run so fast, they’re blurry.

Mile 3: First water stop. Smiling people handing out cups, calling “Water here. Gatorade ahead.” Quick decisions must be made. Which do I want? Should I take one of each? Should I stand to the side and drink or try to drink while in motion? I am terrified that I will cause a traffic jam at the table. I followed Madeline’s lead and all goes well.

Mile 5: The course here forms a loop. Deb heads toward us, already through the second water stop. We are sure that she is going to die of heat exhaustion from running too damn fast. We are jealous and proud of her.

At the second water stop, I take two drinks, down them, and chuck the cups on the ground. Madeline says, “you look like a pro at that.” My crush on her gets a little bigger.

Mile 6-7: The miles, while fast, are not getting easier. More whining on my part about the heat. Fear that we won’t get to the halfway point by 2.5 hours and will be kicked off the course. Fear that Madeline will get tired of my whining and leave me to die in the heat.

Miles 9-11: We enter a cemetery, where a course volunteer shouts, “Plenty of water and shade inside.” This man will forever burn in hell for his lies.

Miles 12-22: I have no clear recollection of the exact series of events that occurred after this point. I, of course, blame this on the heat. I distinctly remember a few things, however:

Making the halfway point in 2:10 (thinking, “we so rule this course!”)
Choking down my first GU
Digging the volunteers who stop hostile Buffalo traffic for us -- such nice
people
Agreeing with Madeline that we should volunteer for one of these things (no
running involved!)
Hating the jackass volunteer at mile the 19 water stop who tries to “encourage” walking
runners to “pick up the pace” by saying “Only runners get water! Come on!” We
call him dirty names under our breath.
Being overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers -- people who were not official
race volunteers who had their lawn hoses set up like makeshift sprinklers so that we could cool down

Mile 22 (approximately) At this point, some of the mile markers have disappeared, along with the race volunteers who stop traffic and offer guidance as to the course route. Madeline and I are walking a bit, limping along, me panting. I’m walking because I feel like I’m going to pass out. Madeline is walking because her knee hurts. We are a sorry sight. We break into a shuffle (a run-walk kind of thing). Madeline stops.

(Disclaimer: the following dialogue is only somewhat representational of actual
conversation that took place between runningburro and Madeline. Parts
have been changed to highlight the drama of the situation).

Madeline: Leave me! You still have some strength left!
Me: I’ll never leave you! Dude, I want to walk! Do you think I want to run? I’m
only running because you want to run!
Madeline (adopting a Michael Corleone godfather accent): Runningburro, if
you don’t leave me, you’ll disappoint me.
Me: No.
Madeline: Yes.

And so on and so forth.

I don’t really remember how we got separated. We both started our run-shuffle again, and near a water stop, she fell back a bit and I kept going. I remember thinking, “I’ve just proven that if I were climbing Mt. Everest with a friend and that friend hurt her knee, I would be the sort of person who would leave my friend to be eaten by Polar Bears (if they lived on the Mountain) and save my own skin.” I am so tired that I can’t even muster up any real self-loathing.
Mile 23.5: I see an exhausted, broken runner taken away on a stretcher. I consider fake-fainting so that the firefighters will put me on a stretcher, too (perhaps I could convince them to carry me across the finish line?)

Miles 24-26: Some lady, partying on her front porch with friends, offers me a beer (which I decline). I strike up a friendship with a 60 + old woman, also running, who is nowhere near as tired as I am. I use her as my pacing rabbit, and am pleased (evil me) when I leave her in the dust.

Mile 26.2 -- The home stretch. I round the last corner of the race, onto to Franklin St. I see the finish line ahead. My well-laid plans to sprint the last 100 yards or so fizzle because it’s all I can do to keep shuffle-running. Suddenly, I see Deb (a.k.a. my new running idol)! And Rainbow hair! And they’re cheering for me! And then I see me parents: dad is smiling and mum is yelling “go sissy!” [My parents rock].

And suddenly I feel fine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother running on the sidewalk, bringing me into the finish line. She is a blur of color and energy. (I am simultaneously pleased and horrified by this gesture. It was a Christmas miracle of sorts because my mother is not really a “running type,” and I was terrified that she would trip and split her head open -- yet, she seemed possessed by some sort of fleet-footed spirit).

The finish line announcer gets on the mike, “Here comes number 543, Runningburro from Syracuse, NY. Our neighbor.” I give a little smile, and a little wave, and I cross the finish line: 5:16:30.

A lovely woman bearing a finisher’s medal comes up to me and says, “Let me put your medal on you.” And she does. And I want to kiss her and everyone else in the immediate area (I restrain myself and only kiss the people I know).

Soon after, Madeline comes through the finish line and I am so happy to see her. She gives me “five” as she makes her way to the mat, and I just want to give her a big hug (which I get to do at the finish line). Cheering her in feels as good as crossing the finish line.

After the race, I’m left with a sense of accomplishment and a confirmation of Madeline’s greatness. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have run the race in the first place or finished it. I make plans to steal her from her husband.

Posted by at 11:06 PM | Comments (2)

May 31, 2006

The Top Ten Reasons To Run The Buffalo Marathon With Madeline and Heather!

10. When you purchase LAST years’ marathon shirts for a very affordable price, only M. and H. will happily accept and not accuse you of being the running poser that you truly are. (“The 2005 Buffalo Marathon? Oh, sure…I ran it. Uh, yeah, it was a blast.”)

9. The 5-hour round trip car ride afforded us the opportunity to engage in deep, meaningful, uninterrupted child-free conversation. We covered such diverse topics as adolescent development, politics, gardening, and the merits of down filled pillows (and the use of said pillows to raise ones’ hips to a proper level for …well, you know.)

8. Even a pessimistic, negative curmudgeon like myself wells up with emotion when total strangers, not even affiliated with the race, give me bananas and bottled water. It restores one’s faith in mankind, AND provides one with essential electrolytes and hydration.

7. Marathons, coupled with a lack of kitchen supplies, compel one to become a very resourceful “cook”. We learned, for instance, that running hats make excellent bowls in which to mix dried pineapple, apricots, gummy bears and Starbursts. (Feel free to e-mail any one of us for the exact recipe for our Hat Casserole. Soooo tasty!!) see the pic of hat casserole on flickr

6. While M. and I were supporter-less, it was all good, because H. graciously lent us her amazingly wonderful partner and parents. Though we met H.’s parents only hours before the race, they cheered their lungs out for us. (And for people who are only slightly larger than the average Hummel, they’ve got healthy sets of lungs!)

5. We ALL set personal records. That’s right - each and every one of us ROCKS!!!!! Truth be told – we ARE the definition of speed. Go Team Yonker!

4. OK, OK…Number five is a bit of a stretch. While it is true that we each set PRs, we are nowhere NEAR the definition of speed. It’s ok, though, because we finished, thereby avoiding the dreaded DNF designation. Even more importantly, (and thanks to the makers of Immodium) we finished with stain-free shorts and that is no mean feat! YEAH!!!

3. The gross incompetence of the Hyatt Regency (Do NOT stay here, ever, even if you are stranded in Buffalo, you’ve collapsed in their lobby and a ravenous pack of scrofulous warthogs is nipping at your heels. Trust me – take your chances with the hogs.) provided M.’s Brian with many lascivious mental images. He was afforded these images because the damned Hyatt messed up our room request, giving us one king-sized bed rather than two doubles, and being a guy, he’s immediately visualizing a pillow fight in lacy bustiers and fishnet stockings leading to some serious girl-on-girl action. And he’s generally a very decent guy, deserving of a lascivious image or two.

2. My Chuck used our marathon jaunt to once again demonstrate that he is the World’s Best Husband. Not only did he tackle a few jobs on my never ending to-do list and bake me a chocolate frosted Running Moose cake, he also spent ages rubbing BenGay into my aching, pathetic, nearly paralyzed knees when I returned. And he only mocked me a little for my shuffling, zombie-like gait. Also, he did NOT use my time away to purchase outrageously expensive lawn and garden machinery as he had threatened to do. Is that not love?

1. We burned THOUSANDS of calories, and therefore felt entitled to devour nearly ALL of the items on the salad bar at Ponderosa. We moved in like a plague of starving locusts with overactive tapeworms, leaving Ponderosa with but a few crumbs to serve their remaining guests. Also, you will never appreciate food quite so much as when you are in a post-marathon delirium state. Soooo yummy. Who knew that Ponderosa employees were trained by demanding, perfectionist chefs in the finest gourmet restaurants? I know, I know….those hairnets and grease-stained aprons fooled me, too, at first. Give Ponderosa a try, though… a guaranteed gastronomic orgasm for just $12.99.

All in all, a WONDERFUL run. Thanks, Madeline and Heather, for a great experience!!!! Are you ready for the BoilerMaker??!! We ARE the definition of speed!

Posted by at 09:46 PM | Comments (3)

May 30, 2006

marathons are like having babies

...in that your mind conveniently forgets just how agonizing the process is, and so you stupidly DO IT AGAIN, because you somehow cannot remember HOW MUCH IT HURTS.

If it is any consolation, this one did not hurt as bad as the first, simply because we were able to properly train. This time we had 2 20-milers under our belts, which I think made a big difference for me both mentally and physically.

Deb and I left on a lovely overcast Saturday afternoon, blessed with an EZ Pass we ganked from my Brian and Deb's huge bag full o' snizzacks. There are many funny funny FUNNY things that we shared with one another in the car, both on the way there and on the way back, that I sadly cannot recount publicly. Suffice it to say that I was nearly crying and crashing the car on the thruway because of a story she told about a down pillow leaking its feathers. SHE IS SO FUNNY.

We got to Buffalo without a problem--but the hotel was pretty crappy. I mean, it was a Hyatt and all, but we stood in line for damn ever to check in, and then our room was wrong, and then they f*cked up nearly every single other thing that we requested, etc. And ESPN was stuck on that commercial with Frank and Marie (or those respective actors) from _Raymond_. Frank was sitting on the edge of the bed (probably complaining), but the screen was skipping and blipping making Frank's hand flop and flip in his lap, making it look like he was working hard to go blind.

Race morning Deb and I woke (withOUT our requested wake-up call, the Hyattsuxthankyouverymuch) and began immediately to hop and do jumping jacks around the room to encourage some movement from our intestines. We were both soon successful, but both wary of the rebellious nature of our bowels so we Immodium-ed up anyway. I changed my shirt a couple of times, going back and forth between a tank top and a T-shirt. I settled on the T shirt, for reasons that I forget now.

The start/finish lines were right out the front door of the hotel, so we made our way to the middle of the pack. Deb and Runningburro compared their pacing bracelets with another nice runner, who had fashioned her own. Deb had made and laminated one for me, but I was NOT going to set myself up for that kind of failure. Just out to finish, that's me.

Once the gun went off, Rb and I lost Deb almost immediately. I kept an eye on her for maybe a mile, but then she was gone. The first 5 or so miles of the race was lovely--we ran through a park and alongside the lake and past a marina. The breeze was cool and the views were neat. Rb and I made some small talk, but mostly I bugged her about what our pace was (Rb has the nifty and highly-coveted-by-me GPS), which varied between a slow 9 and a fast 10.

We Gu-ed at about mile 7. Rb was pretty grossed out by hers (I think she did a berry-flavored one) and said it nearly came right back up. Urp. We took them strategically right before a water stop so we could wash their thick ick down. I was doing chocolate, which I contend is not bad if you imagine you are sucking up chocolate frosting.

The best part of the run was miles 9-thru-someting (maybe 12 or 13), where we meandered through a large wooded cemetary. It was during this leg that I talked Rb to death, telling her stories about my family and singing songs. Gah--she probably wanted to shove me into the bushes. But I felt *really* good, really solid and rhythmic. At one point as we left the cemetary Rb stopped to pee and I waited outside and helped a volunteer at a waterstop pick up cups. It felt good to squat and lean down. The only discomfort I had was a slight chafe under my arms from my (poorly-selected) shirt.

The next section took us up a large divided highway and into a city park, which was pretty gross. Aside from the stench of dogshit hanging in the humid air, there wasn't a leaved tree to be found. Plus I remember the road being sloped severely, which I try to avoid because of my dumb IT band.

Then we trekked across town through some residential neighborhoods--probably through mile 17 or 18. There were some shady lanes and some friendly faces giving out licorice and pretzels (the licorice was pretty good--but I just looked at the young girl offering pretzels and thought, "WHAT? I'm going to eat a DRY nasty pretzel NOW?? I don't think so." And I smiled told her thanks anyway). Lots of people sat out in their front yards with their water hoses which was sooooo nice.

Somewhere, though, between miles 15 and 17, my right knee blew out. Completely. As in, holy crap my leg isn't really doing what my brain is telling it to do, and when it DOES what I tell it to do it HURTS!! Rb was kind and we did a little walking, but I knew that an under-5 race was now completely out of the question for me. Stooopid IT band.

The next few miles are a blur. I remember a waterstop somewhere as we entered the nasty park again, with a *very* rude spectator/volunteer yelling and clapping and telling the runners that there was only 90 minutes until the course closed down and that we should PICK IT UP. Like, he really DID say "pick it up," I was not simply having an aural hallucination (as I have in the past). I cursed him under my breath, and then as we approached him I cursed louder, hoping he would overhear my expletive-ridden diatribe in his honor.

Near mile 20 (though we missed that marker somehow, so I'm not certain where we were exactly), an ambulance and fire truck passed us, sirens ablaze. I was so out of it that I didn't even have the energy to rubber my neck around when we got to where they had stopped, and soon after I convinced Rb to go on without me. She stubbornly refused at first, but I managed to sneakily let her leave me by slowing my pace down to near-stopping.

The sun was hot, my knee hurt, and now my first toe on my left foot felt like the nail had dislodged itself and was getting jammed back into my nailbed. I imagined my toe, sticky with blood, nail-free and the nail floating around in my shoe. I got my iPod out and found some solace in a few angst-filled Live songs. After what seemed like not even a mile, the freeekin battery died. Stooopid iPod.

I walked/ran the last 4 or so miles, feeling a mix of anger and sorrow. Anger because really, I felt strong and good except for my gimpy knee and that I should be running and making good time. Sorrow because...I'm not sure. Probably because I felt alone (people kept passing me) and because I felt sorry for myself and my gimpy knee.

Near mile 25 the course funneled me back into down town and I began passing restaurants serving lunch. Oh, the smells were enough to get me back into a decent, if crooked, jog! I can only imagine what I must have looked like: my face red-purple with flush and covered in salt and sweat, my hair hanging out of my hat in a gnarled braid, sweat staining my shirt and shorts in all the gross places. People I passed either gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up, or cocked their heads and looked at me quizzically. I smiled largely at them all. I passed some men sitting in an outdoor cafe, eating their post-race feast, their medals shining around their necks. As I approached them, they clapped and told me I was almost there. I flashed my winning-est smile and said "Thanks!" Then one of them said, "Hey, you should come back and join us when you're done."

Um. Yeah, dude. Did you SEE me?? If I had the time or energy, I would have politely declined, explaining that Deb and I had an important date with a Ponderosa in Batavia which I could NOT BREAK. Instead I think emitted a horrible, nervous, high-pitched giggle and kept running.

I came into the final stretch, traced Niagara circle in front of city hall, and started back toward the Hyatt. A man called to me: "Hey, you have to run one more block south!!"

I laughed, thinking that he was making the most unfunny, unkind joke ever made. And then I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were indeed cones indicating that I was supposed to run one more block south.

Fuck.

But hey. What's one more block when you've just covered a gazillion?

Back in the hotel, I discovered the extent of my chafe, and the UNextent of my toenail loss. Imagine my disappointment when I unpeeled my sock to find my toenail intact. I so wished to be able to tell the story of running until my toenail fell off and floated around in my shoe, but alas it isn't so. The toenail isn't even purple; it's just a kind of yellow-white (which is a decidedly different color than the rest of my toenails, but it just doesn't project the true nature of my toe pain).

The chafe, however, is a true battle scar. I had swaths of red road rash two inches wide sweeping both underarms. The chafe remains; now it's brown and scabby (and hurts far less in the shower than it did on Sunday).

So, here's my line from the results:

596 (overall place)
535 (bib)
5:37:49 (gun time)
MF30-34 (class)
35/35 (class place) -- [I was the last woman between the ages of 30 and 34 to finish]
172 (gender place)
12:53 (per mile pace)
5:37:29 (chip time)

Rb and I decided that we'll do the Presque Isle (in Erie, PA) next September (2007) as a celebration for finishing our dissertations.

I'll have forgotten how much it hurts by then.

Posted by mryonker at 04:04 PM | Comments (5)

May 29, 2006

back from buffalo

We're back, and we're NOT CRIPPLED.

This pic taken shortly before we heroically attempted to cripple ourselves during the Buffalo marathon. More photos to come (they're on flickr already, though, if you're too impatient to wait).

Runningburro and Deb have agreed to join with me in blogging the race, so in a few short days you'll have not one but *three* accounts of agony, delirium, and cartharsis.

Posted by mryonker at 08:44 AM | Comments (2)

May 26, 2006

beefalo

Deb, Runningburro, Rainbowhair, and I are off tomorrow afternoon to "The All America City." I've always wondered, as we travel through Buffalo several times a year en route to WV, why that sign they've got on the thru-way doesn't say "The All AmericaN City." I make fun of it mercilessly (all-america because we only do things half-assed--or because we don't want to shell out the extra cash for an N, etc), but I figure that really the sign MUST be correct or meaningful in a way that I don't understand because what the hell do I know, anyway?

Well. That was a bit of a rant. Sorry. What I really mean to post about is the fact that this week I have been on the "pre-marathon diet." Not anything too terribly scientific, but I have deprived myself of most meat, all alcohol, caffeine, soda, and SALAD. I have subsisted for 5 days on whole wheat peanut butter and honey sandwiches, bagels, pasta, bananas, apples, and water. And for breakfast every day I've had frosted shredded wheat.

I feel pretty decent. The idea is that you get yourself all carbed up, and keep yourself from the known food items that irritate your GI, and for me, that's pretty much everything.

I went to Fleet Feet yesterday to gear up, and got a carrier from Nathan Sports. I also got a pair of Balega Enduro Socks, and a goofy hat and 6 packets of Gu.

I ran with the Nathan this morning, and I packed it full of the Gu and my iPod to see if I could handle the feel of wearing it. It rides great, even full of crap. There was no bouncing, and it's very soft (neoprene is nifty stuff).

And then, because I'm such a big dork, I wore the damn thing all day as I was running errands because I've ALWAYS HATED PURSES but of course I always leave my wallet laying around everywhere.

I am a big dork. But I'm a big excited dork (excitement increases dorkiness exponentially, I'm sure) because the race is in TWO DAYS and I'm SO READY.

Bring it on, Beefalo.

Posted by mryonker at 04:14 PM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2006

i'm sure i've done this before

And if I haven't done it here, I did it a few weeks ago when Rainbowhair rode his recumbant next to me during the last mile of 20. He asked, "Why do you do this?" in his sweet, gentle, earnest way--without a speck of sarcasm. Dr. Write answers the Running: Why? question today, and I thought I'd add a few of my own justifications (because when I answered Rainbowhair, my answer was "I have no idea!!").

I run because on the days I do nothing else except chase kids and clean the house, I feel as though I've actually done something. Because staying at home and being mom really isn't doing anything, we all know that.

I run because it makes me feel strong and as though I can handle discomfort and pain. It makes me feel tough.

I run because when I get back I