More fun than a run

Summer is back with a vengeance in New York City, and, as if almost overnight, my head has become foggier and my runs have become slower. Cycling would definitely be le sport du jour these days, but, despite careful observation, I never really did learn how to fix a flat. I'm therefore a bit hesitant to head out in the Park on my own, lest I end up on East 90th with nothing but cycling clips on my feet to get me home in time to feed a crying baby (unfortunately, my day is still divided into 2.5-3 hour increments).

And so my little red Giant sits upon her wall mount, longing to be ridden again some time soon. Perhaps when Ryder hits the six month mark we'll hook him up in the Chariot (are babies supposed to wear helmets in those things?) to see whether he lives up to his namesake's affinity for fast moving bikes. Until then, I'm afraid that I'll have to play it safe and stick to 40-60 minute runs, close to home and with proper shoes on my feet.

But this Memorial Day weekend, the weather has been awfully hot and sticky, and our boy wants to seize the day -- every day -- beginning around 6 am. I'm struggling with fatigue, a pounding headache, and, truthfully, a desire to just drink a lot of beer. A run through soupy, 30-degree weather with only a few hours of sleep under my belt is not nearly as appetizing as the mild buzz earned after sitting peacefully in the shade with a brewsky in hand. And so that's basically what I've done this weekend: wheats, ales, lagers, and, today, some very strong Belgian brews. I know that more runs and less beer probably would have served me better over the long haul, but last summer, I sat salivating while Zdenek drank 10% Belgian ales or casually enjoyed a second bottle of Pilsner. Besides, I think they say that hops is good for your breast milk. Ryder certainly doesn't seem to mind.

Warm fuzzies

Apparently, what goes around, comes around, and that extends to more than just my loops in Central Park.

Last week, I ran past two girls on the west side of the Park. Approaching them from behind, I immediately noticed both the Lulu Lemon logos on their gear (I'm always complaining to Zdenek that we should have bought more of that stock!) and their very, very sculpted legs. While the runner on the right was slightly superior in terms of rippling muscles and obvious athleticism, they both looked pretty darn good to me. As I caught up to them, I asked, "Are you girls runners or cyclists?" "Runners," they replied. I told them that they both had pretty fine legs, with calf definition that would make a cyclist jealous. They were pleasantly surprised by the early morning compliment, and giggled a bit as I passed them and headed on my way.

On Monday morning, after a very lazy Sunday spent battling an oncoming cold and forgoing any run at all, I decided to fit in a quick five miles. The extra day of rest certainly didn't hurt me, but I still felt sub-optimal on little sleep and with lumps in the back of my throat. Nevertheless, I tried to maintain both pace and form as I rounded the bottom of the Park and climbed Cat Hill, because every run I have time for these days has to count for something. Just as I had finished cresting the top, a cyclist rode past me and steered herself a bit closer to my running path. And as she cruised by, the very fit, 50-something year old lady on the bike yelled to me, "Beautiful Runner!"

Beautiful Runner?! Was she talking about me? I looked around, and realized that, in fact, I was the only runner within earshot. I was so surprised that I didn't even have a chance to yell back my thanks for this very unexpected compliment.

I've come a long way since my first days of long-distance running, when I used to bounce so high and pound the pavement so hard that my knees ached, or when I slouched forward, shoulders sloping toward the ground, and looked like I might collapse at any moment. Today, I am a bit stronger, smoother, and upright. I try to pay close attention to my form whenever I can, and Zdenek has lately told me, "You look perfect right now!"

But to be told that I am a "beautiful runner" by a complete stranger is the sweetest compliment I've received in a long time. Despite the bags under my eyes, the disheveled morning hair-do, and the sweat dripping down my forehead, someone thought I looked beautiful. While running. It doesn't get any better than that.