I just got this email from my girl Teresa. Anyone who's tried to run the tip or does the east side paths, has gotten into this. Every time it happens I'm totally like WTF? Good stuff. Thanks T.
The race t-shirt I received at the Kenny Dolan 5k this summer reads "Running is a mental sport…and were all crazy!" I have known this since I started distance training. I knew it when I got lost on an 18 miler in Bumpass VA, and had to hitchhike back to my friend's house, only to thank my driver, turn around and finish the run. I knew it after the NYC marathon when all I could do was smile while everything from my neck down felt like a melting popsicle. But if crazy is a mountain, I hit the summit yesterday.
As a runner, I do my best to stay as committed to my "personal life" as I do to my "running life". I strive to create a harmonious balance between the two and to not let running trump everything else. Yesterday was no exception. I knew I was going to have to work, pick up a race packet at 57th street Niketown and run 8 miles before I met up with my roommates, Dano and Toni, to finish packing and cleaning our apartment before the move. I figured the best way to do it was change into my running clothes after work and run uptown along the east side paths to Niketown, collect the packet and take the subway back to my apartment to meet up with the girls by 7:30 PM.
For the runners who are reading this, you will agree that sometimes runs can be perfect. Yesterday, the first 6.75 miles of mine, was. The sky was so sharp that I had fabulous views of all my favorite NY bridges, the crowds were at a minimum and I felt fast and strong as I moved at a swift 7:45 minutes per mile pace. I laughed as I passed a sign that said "5 MILES PER HOUR" on the run/bike path that occasionally allows cars on it and thought "But how will I ever qualify for the Boston Marathon if I am only running at a 12:00 minutes per mile pace?"
The path of the East River Park narrowed as I blasted up the east side. Since I am not that familiar with those paths, I watched people in front of me for direction. But it wasn't before long I had passed all of them and realized I was sailing this ship alone. In hindsight, I should have taken that as a red flag. I mean, is there anywhere in NY that there are NO other people? But the music playing on my I pod was ON and so was I. There was NO WAY I was going to let a narrow sidewalk break up my stride.
Well, the "narrow sidewalk" soon turned into a "non existent sidewalk" and the next thing I knew I was running on the FDR Highway! But I COULDN'T stop! I was only 1.25 miles away from finishing "the PERFECT run"! I figured I could ignore the air stream coming off of the cars driving at 55MPH until the rush hour traffic slowed and it would be safe to cross the north bound traffic. .08 Miles later, I saw a break in the traffic and bolted at the divider. As I mentally patted myself on the back for my nice sprint, I heard the sound that NO ONE wants to hear on the FDR. Sirens.
I thought to myself "Oh man, someone is getting pulled over, that stinks." I couldn’t get caught up in it though, because I still needed to figure out how I was going to cross the southbound traffic while keeping pace and without being road kill. But the sirens were so loud that I could tell without looking that the poor sucker who was getting pulled over was right behind me. The sirens suddenly stopped and the officer yelled "MAM, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"
As I turned to face the officer, I noticed that he had stopped ALL THREE LANES OF TRAFFIC! The angry faces on the drivers, and this officer's tone of voice told me NOT to answer "I am training for the Chicago marathon and this was the only time and way I could get my miles in for the day". So, I morphed out of "Runner T" and into "Good citizen T". I apologized, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, put my head down and put my wrists out so he could cuff me. But instead of slapping the silver bracelets on me, the officer hollered at me "GET IN THE CAR RIGHT NOW!"
I sat sweaty, yet frozen in the humbling backseat of the cop car while the officer called in the "Female crossing the FDR". I could hear the anger in his voice. Clearly, this officer was not amused by my dedication to training. I knew all I could do at this point was hope. I hoped he wouldn’t arrest me, I hoped the precinct was more than 1.25 miles away, so I could make up the distance that I had lost, I hoped that this wouldn’t go on my permanent record, I hoped that I could get home on time to help with the apartment and I hoped that I would learn from this. I think the officer could see the fear in my eyes because once we got off of the FDR and into the city he let me go. But before he did he asked me "Do you know where you are going?" I thanked him and told him that I did.
As I ran the rest of the 1.25 miles of "the perfect run" through the crowded city, I thought about what the officer asked me before he let me go and my response. Yes, as a runner I always have plans carved out of "where I am going" and "how many miles I need to get there". And while sometimes it is easy for me to forget to appreciate the rest of life outside of "the plan", I value the officer reminding me of how important flexibility is. If there is one thing I learned yesterday, it's this: Do not ever underestimate the power and beauty of flexibility; you never know when it is going to stop traffic.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
H2C Follow-up
You can check my play by play account of Nike Hood to Coast here: http://h2cblogstravaganza.blogspot.com
But let me just say that it was one of the sickest things I've ever done. I've been to Boston, I've been involved with NYC, I've been involved with the US Marathon Trials for men and women, and there is something that is so unique, and so awesome about H2C that is so unlike anything else. It's nothing I didn't state 100 times in the other blog so check it out. Word is bond.
But let me just say that it was one of the sickest things I've ever done. I've been to Boston, I've been involved with NYC, I've been involved with the US Marathon Trials for men and women, and there is something that is so unique, and so awesome about H2C that is so unlike anything else. It's nothing I didn't state 100 times in the other blog so check it out. Word is bond.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
H2C
So I'm leaving on a jet plane in about 10 hours for Portland, Oregon to run in Nike's Hood to Coast, and I've decided to start a H2C blog to document the experience. Considering how bad I am with the updates here I don't know why I think I'll do any better with a new space, but it's worth a try.
Check it here: http://h2cblogstravaganza.blogspot.com/
Check it here: http://h2cblogstravaganza.blogspot.com/
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Reasons I Love Running
I can’t sleep. I can’t even develop the elements of sleep. And being that I didn’t sleep last night I have no idea why this is so difficult. I’m exhausted, and it’s not even like there’s anything good on in the Olympics. I've watched rowing and international boxing for the last three hours.
So I’ve decided to make a post about 10 things I love about running. Not the top 10 – just 10. I have a feeling this will grow, and the three of you can feel free to give your 5, or 10, or 1000. Whatever.
I like the fact that running is completely calculateable, (if that’s a word, if not I’d like to substitute measurable, able to be measured, quantifiable or something that means it’s something you can add up on a weekly basis and compare against yourself and others.) If you go to the gym five days a week you don’t say that you did 172 concentration curls last week. You don’t total up the amount you bench pressed by weight. You don’t count how many seconds you spent in the bent over dog at yoga class, or brag about how many times you were up and down the court in a basketball game. But you ask most runners how many miles he did last week and they’ll give you the number to the tenth of a mile. We take pride in that number. It’s like a badge of honor and an equalizer. It doesn’t matter that I’m doing 6:20 pace – if I’m only doing a 20 mile week and you’re doing 60 you win. It’s a great thing about the sport.
I love passing people. In the Park, on the WSH, on the track, in races, walking to work in the morning – whenever, wherever, there’s something completely primal about locking in on someone ahead of you like you’re a f-14 Raptor ready to drop them in the drink, kicking on the burners, climbing up their back all slick and quite-like, then dusting them with a finishing flurry as they kind of tail off and bail out. It’s like the Road Runner passing the Coyote while he’s riding an Acme rocket booster and roller skates. Coyote puts up a sign that says “Ooops”, promptly falls off a cliff, and you’re making honking sounds and darting out your tongue. Oddly something smells like burnt toast? There’s nothing wrong with relishing the feeling. It’s natural. I mean I’m not a sadist or anything, I just like to beat people.
I love new shoes. Well new gear of any type for that matter. As I was writing I did a quick count and I have 56 pairs of shoes. I wear maybe 3, so the rest is just to feed the addiction. Like a junkie to the rock I’m always looking for just one more hit. The Katanas in the Montreal color-way, the Lunatrainers in black with the silver swoosh, the Zoom Forever XCs (despite the fact I haven’t run an XC race since my freshman year in college.) Just let me smell them, touch them, absorb the sweet crisp aroma of new shoeness. Ahhhhhh. Right there. Love it. Bliss. Very good thing I’m working for my pusher because I’d hate to have to pull a Basketball Diaries move for a pair of Zoom Elites.
I love running in the snow. LOVE IT. L-O-V-E I-T. It’s probably one of my favorite things on earth (along with cleaning my ears and sleeping while the sun is up.) Last winter I went out with the Run Club on a night it was really coming down. There was probably two inches down when we got out there and the Park was empty other than the 50 people who had come to Niketown that night. It was really blowing, and I remember on the east side of the lower loops it was tough to breath without getting snowflakes rammed down your throat, but at the same time it was so quiet, calm, and peaceful. The snow kept getting laid down so every time it looked like my footprints were the first to get laid down, and everywhere you looked framed up into perfect Ansel Adams shot. It was probably the best run I’ve ever had, (I had good company as well D), and it was a real reminder of some of the great things running has to offer that you sometimes forget in the City.
I love running in the rain. (This is becoming a list of different types of precipitation I like to run in. After hail and amphibians I’ll move onto my favorite natural disasters and biblical plagues.) But I actually like rain for a completely different reason than snow. Growing up in Florida it’s 42 million degrees at all times – except maybe the summer when it actually gets hot. So you’re pretty much restricted to running at night, death by heatstroke, or running in the morning. I don’t do mornings, so almost all my running was done late – with the exception of when it would rain. Before the first drop hit the ground I was out the door with my Mom chasing me with a wooden spoon and calling me names, (not really but I’m Italian so that’s always how I picture Mama). For whatever reason you’re always a little faster in the rain. It possibly has to do with evolution; when man was made of sugar rain was our natural enemy? I don’t know; I’m not a confectioner. But there’s this feeling like you have to out run the drops. It’s a loosing battle, but many of my best runs have been the ones that have taken my shoes off the market for a few days.
I love the runs where you make a mistake, get lost, run too far one way or the other before realizing it, and you end up going WAY further than you wanted to. There you are at the top of the full loop of the Park and you’re dead. Nothing left. No money, no Metro Card, no way to get home other than running there. It hurts. You don’t want to be doing it, and half of you is so pissed that you left your ATM card sitting on the counter. But at the same time there are few feelings of accomplishment better than when you finally make it home. You’ve beat your own stupidity – or did you? Hmmm. Maybe a better question is did your inner runner actually beat you? I know right, mind blowing.
I love running quotes. They’re really the best, most motivational, most inspirational, poignant of all sports quotes. Maybe down the road, the next time I can’t sleep, I’ll make a list of my favorites.
I love running in New York City. I live in Times Square so I’m less than 8 running minutes from just about everything important in the Universe. And while most people avoid the hustle and bustle when they run, I’m drawn to it like Britney Spears to poor decisions and bad parenting. I like the streets, I like the landmarks, I like looking up and seeing Times Square, the Rock, Saint Patrick’s, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Grand Central, the United Nations, Flatiron, Union Square, Astor Cube, past Chinatown and Five Points, through the Canyon of Heroes, past the Bull, circle around the Staten Island Ferry Terminal so I can go under the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridge, cut back across and pass MSG and Penn Station, before heading home. Name one other place on earth where a 9 mile run has that much awesome mixed in? And? And? I thought so sucka.
Extension of that…I love running through Midtown. Earlier this year I pitched a concept for a program where Uptown, Midtown, and Downtown was compared to the type of art that best captures the cultures and feel of the neighborhood. That was compared to the type of running that takes place there. I’ll spare the details for another post but I compared Midtown to Mondrian who is best known for his use of straight lines arranged in grid like patterns with solid colors. The boxy, plain, emotionless, blank., grids perfectly mirror Midtown’s orderly, system of red lights, one ways, and clean concise thinking. It’s systematic, and predictable. 8th always runs north, 45th always runs west, and with few anomalies that’s what Midtown is all about. You go on green, stop on red, go faster on yellow. That is of course, unless of course you’re a runner. Short of being attacked by Cloverfield I don’t stop for anything. Red, yellow, lavender, walk or not, I’ve granted myself a permanent little guy walking, and I’ll be damned if cars and cabs are going to mess with that. I’ve created a foolproof method of getting through intersections with the basic belief that if I get through I win, and if they hit me I sue and I win. It’s pretty much the basis of all my runs.
I love the sprint to the finish. You’re already dead. You’ve been dead for 6 miles. You’ve spent the last 35 minutes trying to decide if you even want to finish or if you want to take a cab to the finish and get your bag before you have t o face your friends. People are passing you like you’re handing out $200 bills. There’s not an ounce our gas in the…wait, is that the finish? All of a sudden you’re Tyson-F-ing-Gay dropping a sick sprint to the finish. Where does it come from? How does it happen? Why couldn’t that have been spread across the last 6 miles where you wanted to yack? No one knows, no one gets it, but there’s something about that burst that makes you forget about even the worst race because all you can remember is, “I had a lot left in the tank.”
Wow…that was a lot. So what. Ple1 – making it rain.
So I’ve decided to make a post about 10 things I love about running. Not the top 10 – just 10. I have a feeling this will grow, and the three of you can feel free to give your 5, or 10, or 1000. Whatever.
I like the fact that running is completely calculateable, (if that’s a word, if not I’d like to substitute measurable, able to be measured, quantifiable or something that means it’s something you can add up on a weekly basis and compare against yourself and others.) If you go to the gym five days a week you don’t say that you did 172 concentration curls last week. You don’t total up the amount you bench pressed by weight. You don’t count how many seconds you spent in the bent over dog at yoga class, or brag about how many times you were up and down the court in a basketball game. But you ask most runners how many miles he did last week and they’ll give you the number to the tenth of a mile. We take pride in that number. It’s like a badge of honor and an equalizer. It doesn’t matter that I’m doing 6:20 pace – if I’m only doing a 20 mile week and you’re doing 60 you win. It’s a great thing about the sport.
I love passing people. In the Park, on the WSH, on the track, in races, walking to work in the morning – whenever, wherever, there’s something completely primal about locking in on someone ahead of you like you’re a f-14 Raptor ready to drop them in the drink, kicking on the burners, climbing up their back all slick and quite-like, then dusting them with a finishing flurry as they kind of tail off and bail out. It’s like the Road Runner passing the Coyote while he’s riding an Acme rocket booster and roller skates. Coyote puts up a sign that says “Ooops”, promptly falls off a cliff, and you’re making honking sounds and darting out your tongue. Oddly something smells like burnt toast? There’s nothing wrong with relishing the feeling. It’s natural. I mean I’m not a sadist or anything, I just like to beat people.
I love new shoes. Well new gear of any type for that matter. As I was writing I did a quick count and I have 56 pairs of shoes. I wear maybe 3, so the rest is just to feed the addiction. Like a junkie to the rock I’m always looking for just one more hit. The Katanas in the Montreal color-way, the Lunatrainers in black with the silver swoosh, the Zoom Forever XCs (despite the fact I haven’t run an XC race since my freshman year in college.) Just let me smell them, touch them, absorb the sweet crisp aroma of new shoeness. Ahhhhhh. Right there. Love it. Bliss. Very good thing I’m working for my pusher because I’d hate to have to pull a Basketball Diaries move for a pair of Zoom Elites.
I love running in the snow. LOVE IT. L-O-V-E I-T. It’s probably one of my favorite things on earth (along with cleaning my ears and sleeping while the sun is up.) Last winter I went out with the Run Club on a night it was really coming down. There was probably two inches down when we got out there and the Park was empty other than the 50 people who had come to Niketown that night. It was really blowing, and I remember on the east side of the lower loops it was tough to breath without getting snowflakes rammed down your throat, but at the same time it was so quiet, calm, and peaceful. The snow kept getting laid down so every time it looked like my footprints were the first to get laid down, and everywhere you looked framed up into perfect Ansel Adams shot. It was probably the best run I’ve ever had, (I had good company as well D), and it was a real reminder of some of the great things running has to offer that you sometimes forget in the City.
I love running in the rain. (This is becoming a list of different types of precipitation I like to run in. After hail and amphibians I’ll move onto my favorite natural disasters and biblical plagues.) But I actually like rain for a completely different reason than snow. Growing up in Florida it’s 42 million degrees at all times – except maybe the summer when it actually gets hot. So you’re pretty much restricted to running at night, death by heatstroke, or running in the morning. I don’t do mornings, so almost all my running was done late – with the exception of when it would rain. Before the first drop hit the ground I was out the door with my Mom chasing me with a wooden spoon and calling me names, (not really but I’m Italian so that’s always how I picture Mama). For whatever reason you’re always a little faster in the rain. It possibly has to do with evolution; when man was made of sugar rain was our natural enemy? I don’t know; I’m not a confectioner. But there’s this feeling like you have to out run the drops. It’s a loosing battle, but many of my best runs have been the ones that have taken my shoes off the market for a few days.
I love the runs where you make a mistake, get lost, run too far one way or the other before realizing it, and you end up going WAY further than you wanted to. There you are at the top of the full loop of the Park and you’re dead. Nothing left. No money, no Metro Card, no way to get home other than running there. It hurts. You don’t want to be doing it, and half of you is so pissed that you left your ATM card sitting on the counter. But at the same time there are few feelings of accomplishment better than when you finally make it home. You’ve beat your own stupidity – or did you? Hmmm. Maybe a better question is did your inner runner actually beat you? I know right, mind blowing.
I love running quotes. They’re really the best, most motivational, most inspirational, poignant of all sports quotes. Maybe down the road, the next time I can’t sleep, I’ll make a list of my favorites.
I love running in New York City. I live in Times Square so I’m less than 8 running minutes from just about everything important in the Universe. And while most people avoid the hustle and bustle when they run, I’m drawn to it like Britney Spears to poor decisions and bad parenting. I like the streets, I like the landmarks, I like looking up and seeing Times Square, the Rock, Saint Patrick’s, the Empire State Building, the Chrysler Building, Grand Central, the United Nations, Flatiron, Union Square, Astor Cube, past Chinatown and Five Points, through the Canyon of Heroes, past the Bull, circle around the Staten Island Ferry Terminal so I can go under the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridge, cut back across and pass MSG and Penn Station, before heading home. Name one other place on earth where a 9 mile run has that much awesome mixed in? And? And? I thought so sucka.
Extension of that…I love running through Midtown. Earlier this year I pitched a concept for a program where Uptown, Midtown, and Downtown was compared to the type of art that best captures the cultures and feel of the neighborhood. That was compared to the type of running that takes place there. I’ll spare the details for another post but I compared Midtown to Mondrian who is best known for his use of straight lines arranged in grid like patterns with solid colors. The boxy, plain, emotionless, blank., grids perfectly mirror Midtown’s orderly, system of red lights, one ways, and clean concise thinking. It’s systematic, and predictable. 8th always runs north, 45th always runs west, and with few anomalies that’s what Midtown is all about. You go on green, stop on red, go faster on yellow. That is of course, unless of course you’re a runner. Short of being attacked by Cloverfield I don’t stop for anything. Red, yellow, lavender, walk or not, I’ve granted myself a permanent little guy walking, and I’ll be damned if cars and cabs are going to mess with that. I’ve created a foolproof method of getting through intersections with the basic belief that if I get through I win, and if they hit me I sue and I win. It’s pretty much the basis of all my runs.
I love the sprint to the finish. You’re already dead. You’ve been dead for 6 miles. You’ve spent the last 35 minutes trying to decide if you even want to finish or if you want to take a cab to the finish and get your bag before you have t o face your friends. People are passing you like you’re handing out $200 bills. There’s not an ounce our gas in the…wait, is that the finish? All of a sudden you’re Tyson-F-ing-Gay dropping a sick sprint to the finish. Where does it come from? How does it happen? Why couldn’t that have been spread across the last 6 miles where you wanted to yack? No one knows, no one gets it, but there’s something about that burst that makes you forget about even the worst race because all you can remember is, “I had a lot left in the tank.”
Wow…that was a lot. So what. Ple1 – making it rain.
Hood To Coast Legs
As I've mentioned before I'll be running in Hood to Coast later this month, which is pretty much the dopest relay race in all the land. 12 people, 190 something miles, up a mountain, down a mountain, around a mountain - there's a coast of some type involved? I'm really not sure - I'm not a geographer. But I do know that it's one of the single coolest event a runner is likely to do - especially when it's free, because free things are rarely less than awesome.
And then I got my leg assignments - and holy F-ing A. I get hazing the new guy but this takes it to the next level.
I start off on leg 5 - it's classified as "Very Hard" and it basically starts off down a hill before climbing for the better part of 6 miles.
I get a break in the middle ("break")with leg 17 - a 5.69 leg that's flat as a Chinese gymnast.
Then I finish it off on a 6.14 jaunt on leg 29 where I run half the race directly up a mountain, and then drag my tired ass down trying as hard as possible not to fall on my face.
But again - it's Hood to Coast. I'd be willing to do it carrying an angry wolverine. Whatever dude. I'm out there to make it rain.
And then I got my leg assignments - and holy F-ing A. I get hazing the new guy but this takes it to the next level.
I start off on leg 5 - it's classified as "Very Hard" and it basically starts off down a hill before climbing for the better part of 6 miles.
I get a break in the middle ("break")with leg 17 - a 5.69 leg that's flat as a Chinese gymnast.
Then I finish it off on a 6.14 jaunt on leg 29 where I run half the race directly up a mountain, and then drag my tired ass down trying as hard as possible not to fall on my face.
But again - it's Hood to Coast. I'd be willing to do it carrying an angry wolverine. Whatever dude. I'm out there to make it rain.
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Run Hard Live Easy
Nike might pay the bills but I'm all about giving credit where it's due, and Pearl Izumi's ad campaign is pretty F-ing brilliant if I'm their target market.
That's an older one but the one, but it kind of lays out the philosophy which smack's Reebok's Run Easy campaign in the face. I'll never wear their shoes, but I have a new respect for the brand.
That's an older one but the one, but it kind of lays out the philosophy which smack's Reebok's Run Easy campaign in the face. I'll never wear their shoes, but I have a new respect for the brand.
Hood to Coast
When it comes to the biggest events in the Nike world the Human Race is number one right now. If you haven't signed up for one of the 25 international cities or the FREE virtual race you probably suck to some degree, and there's a good chance no one likes you. You might be a witch? I dunno? We could drown you to find out but it seems easier to just sign up right? There's even a good possibilty you're not only not a good person and you're not only a witch but in fact a drain on humanity as a whole? BUT THERE's HOPE. Sign up at a Nike training run and I'll give you a high-five. A WHOLE 5!!! Maybe 10? WHO KNOWS?
But if there was a #2 in the Nike world it would be Hood To Coast. Hood to Coast is what happens when 12000 people decide they want to be awesome. 196 miles, 12 people, two days of awesome. Day, night, night, day, awesomeness. It's one of those running events that is definitive for a runner - much like doing Boston, NYC, or Chi.
And I...am...doing...it.
Honestly this is the biggest, most amazing, most fun, most gratifying thing that a runner can do. Get in a van with a bunch of friends and make it happen. I'm ridiculously proud to be involved. More to follow before Oregon...
But if there was a #2 in the Nike world it would be Hood To Coast. Hood to Coast is what happens when 12000 people decide they want to be awesome. 196 miles, 12 people, two days of awesome. Day, night, night, day, awesomeness. It's one of those running events that is definitive for a runner - much like doing Boston, NYC, or Chi.
And I...am...doing...it.
Honestly this is the biggest, most amazing, most fun, most gratifying thing that a runner can do. Get in a van with a bunch of friends and make it happen. I'm ridiculously proud to be involved. More to follow before Oregon...
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