Sunny Saturday

This morning, I was forced to choose between taking Ryder out in the jogging stroller or foregoing a run altogether. Zdenek is working (on a Saturday!) so I am alone all day with no one to watch the boy if I want to go out.

Although Ryder seems to like the jogging stroller just fine (he can't really move an inch when he's in his bunting), I've been trying to get him used to taking naps in his crib rather than being rocked to sleep by the motion of a stroller. Over the past week or so, though, napping seems to have suddenly "clicked" in his little brain -- I simply put him down when he's sleepy and he drifts off to dreamland unassisted (the occasional nuk replacement is required, but that's okay). So now that I feel more confident that he can nap in his crib, I figured I might as well take him for a spin in the Park this morning under the beautiful weekend sunshine. And since I haven't been running in over a week, I was definitely itching to get out there.

I am delighted to report that I ran the full, hilly loop of Central Park in an 8:33 minute/mile pace, pushing an extra ~40 pounds! Two guys who passed me early on shouted, "Awesome job! Do you have room for two more in there?" And later, as I passed a different pair of male runners while climbing Harlem Hill, I heard one say to the other, "Now I don't feel so tough -- being passed by a woman pushing a stroller uphill." I remember saying the same thing to myself when I'd get passed by moms with jogging strollers (sometimes with TWO kids inside).

I am the first to admit that I miss my solo, carefree days of running, and it makes me a little sad and nervous to think that it might be a long time before I have the chance to properly train for another marathon. But these days, I'll take what I can get. And though I'm still not the speediest mom out there, it's nice to know that I can still get in a decent run with my new little buddy.

Recipe for a perfect winter morning

A perfect morning goes something like this:

1. Waking up after eight full hours of sleep.
2. Seeing the first dusting of snow on the ground.
3. Heading out for a 4.5 mile run with my husband in the cold winter air.
4. Having Central Park mostly to ourselves because New Yorkers can't handle it when the mercury dips below freezing.
5. Running a relatively easy ~9:20 pace without needing to stop once.
6. Enjoying a bagel with Nutella for breakfast, while laughing out loud reading this.

Does it have to be a competition?

This morning I enjoyed one of the easiest runs I’ve had in several weeks. I ran just over 4.5 miles without needing to stop once, and my pace was just shy of 9:30 min/mile. Of course, I felt like I was absolutely flying around Central Park -- it’s funny how 9:30 feels like 7:30 did only ten months ago. But I don’t mind; I anticipate I’ll have 7:30 days again at some point. On the weekend, I ran just over 6 miles on my own (at a bit slower pace and with a couple of walk breaks). By the end of it, I was still feeling strong and relatively light, and I almost considered tacking on another couple of miles. But then I figured that it’s better to quit while I’m ahead, because the last time I ran over seven miles I paid for it dearly. I’ll consider today’s run proof that my prudence did not go unrewarded.

I’m just over two weeks away from my due date and, to be honest, at times I get worried that perhaps I’m feeling too good (or rather, not poorly enough). Aside from a whole lot of kicking and squirming that can sometimes make me yelp out loud, I feel mostly fine. While I certainly prefer my non-pregnant state, I really don’t have much in the way of bloating/aches/pains/fatigue/inability to sleep. Of course, all of that could change at any moment (watch this space), but sometimes I think that maybe I should feel worse, because that would mean the baby is feeling better. Could this be true? Is it possible for us both to feel healthy and happy at the same time? Or is comfort (as sleep is sure to be in a few weeks) a zero-sum game between me and the +1?

A steady heart

During the first few months of my pregnancy, I wore my heart rate monitor on every single run and bike ride, intrigued to see how my heart rate was responding now that so much was changing inside me, and, to some extent, to ensure that I didn’t push things too hard. After a while, though, it became apparent that every single workout was much like the last. My heart rate over a 60 minute bike ride averaged between 140 and 145, with peaks around 170 when climbing Harlem Hill; when running, my heart rate hovered consistently around 148 to 152. Combined with the fact that, after five years, my monitor is going a bit wonky and occasionally gets stuck on readings of 193 or zero, I’ve grown tired of wearing it in recent months.

Lately, though, I’ve become somewhat concerned that maybe I am running too fast or too far for a woman who is seven-and-a-half months pregnant. My doctor advised from day one to not focus on my heart rate but rather ensure that I can maintain a conversation throughout my workout. While I often run alone and have no one to talk to, Zdenek and I do chat for most of the time that we run together. This past Saturday, we ran over 11 miles in the lovely autumn weather, taking several breaks, but maintaining a conversation the entire way. I finished feeling much like I have after any other 11 mile run over the past five years.

Still, I’ve noticed that my pace hasn’t really slowed much over the past five or six months, and I’m always running around 9:00-9:30 minutes/mile. I don’t try to run quickly or slowly, but somehow I inevitably end up plodding along at roughly the same speed. Although I’ve grown bigger and rounder and marginally more uncomfortable, lately I’ve begun to wonder if perhaps I am pushing myself too hard. Maybe my heart rate has been up at 170 and I haven't even realized it? This seems hard to believe considering I barely break a sweat on half my runs, but, nevertheless, I thought it was worth checking in just to reassure myself.

So this morning, I strapped on my monitor and headed out the door. It was a picture-perfect morning for an autumn run in Central Park. Not only have the leaves fully turned to reds, yellows, and oranges, but strong winds last night left many of them strewn along the road, making it especially fun to kick through piles of gold under the early morning sun. (Truthfully, I was a little sad that Zdenek wasn’t able to join me this morning, because it was a run I know he would have enjoyed.) I ran an easy 4.5 miles, never pushing myself, stopping to drink water along the way. And then, when I finally hit the “stop” button, I looked down to see the results: 9:05 pace, 148 average heart rate.

When everything from the leaves to my body to my entire life seems to be changing with rapidity, it's somewhat reassuring to know that my heart has remained true.

A fine start

After a blip of muggy, warm weather in New York last week, the thermometer seems to have permanently dropped over the last several days. Finally -- the leaves in Central Park are assuming their innate, vibrant colors, and my morning runs seem to be getting faster, longer, and easier (or at least not slower, shorter, and more difficult). At seven months into my pregnancy it’s hard to believe that running feels so good, but then again, humidity and I have never been the best of friends. I was proud to run over 11 miles on Saturday in just over nine minutes/mile, and this morning I ran almost 10K in sub-9 minute pace (even in spite of the now constant and sometimes quite uncomfortable pressure that comes with another being positioned head-down on one’s bladder). While I did pause to question the accuracy of my watch, I can accept that when the mercury hovers near freezing, I am in my best form. It must be the Canadian in me.

But this morning’s run was especially lovely for a few reasons because it reminded me of all that I have, and all that I have to look forward to. For one, Zdenek and I enjoyed a fall fondue feast last night with our friend and neighbor, Cheryl. Apparently November 1 marks the official beginning of fondue season in Switzerland, and Cheryl, who once made her home in that country, brought all of the supplies -- including 1.5 pounds of cheese -- to our apartment yesterday evening. As she stirred the gooey, aromatic fromage on my stove, I thought that there was simply no way that the three of us would be able to eat all of that cheese. But forty-five minutes later, we were scraping the bottom of the pot and feeling warm and full in our tummies. It was a fitting way to welcome in November, and I think the extra calories gave me an additional boost during my Central Park jaunt this morning.

And as I ran through the southern end of the Park this morning, I was forced to take a few detours around trucks, cranes, and bleachers. The New York City Marathon is this Sunday! I’m counting on Zdenek to get me going with a few homemade pancakes while we watch the start of the race on our long-awaited flat screen television, and then heading to the 24 mile mark in Central Park to cheer on the leaders and followers alike. More importantly, this Sunday I’ll be introducing New York’s finest foot race to two of my favorite people: my mom and sister. Their six night visit coincides not only with my sister’s birthday, but mine, too, and we have many Big Apple activities planned to celebrate.

Fondue, marathons, birthdays, and family. November is off to a tremendous start.

The Spain run-down

Having just returned from a beautiful trip to Spain, I think I have finally learned how to correctly assess accommodation. If the directions to the accommodation include the phrases, “up the hill,” “keep going,” and “located right at the top,” and especially if they mention something about a 4WD being absolutely essential, then I should expect my running opportunities to be both limited and difficult.

To be fair, the point of this vacation wasn’t supposed to be about running, but I have a hard time sitting motionless for any longer than two or three days at a time. Fortunately for me, Zdenek and I were on our feet almost all of the time -- in fact, of 11 days, I think only three of them qualify as lazy lounging days. We arrived in Madrid, jetlagged and exhausted after barely catching more than a couple hours of shut-eye on the flight over (and Zdenek even less so due to the very rude passenger behind him who refused to let Zdenek recline his seat by even one inch). After a snooze in our hotel room, we hit the streets of Madrid to find them baking hot but remarkably clean. Three days and at least 15-18 miles of walking later, we had traversed most of the major sites by foot and were left thoroughly impressed by the vibrancy, architectural beauty, and spotlessness of the Spanish capital. We even managed a 5.5 mile run by completing two loops around Retiro Park -- Madrid’s answer to New York’s Central Park. It wasn’t quite as spacious as our favourite piece of home turf, but the lack of humidity more than made up for this.

Next we headed to Seville, at which point in the trip I wound up horribly sick and unable to find any pharmacist willing to dispense a single drug to me in my embarazada state. So I suffered through the 40+ degree heat by mostly staying inside my hotel room, feeling miserable, and making poor Zdenek’s life miserable, too (sorry, honey). We did manage to enjoy most of what this historic and charming city has to offer, though, including an excellent flamenco show in the birthplace of the dance itself.

Just as I was feeling a bit better, we headed to the Costa del Sol to hobnob with Europe’s rich and famous and see the surrounding areas (including Ronda and Granada -- I cannot recommend the latter highly enough). Here, we plunked down for six nights in a hillside villa overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. I did manage to run on four days during our stay in Marbella -- it was straight up and straight down in each direction, providing an excellent workout for my quads and butt irrespective of my slow speed. But similar to our stay in Costa Rica earlier in the year, I’m pretty sure that these accommodations were not situated with long, relaxing runs in mind.

For better or worse, though, I simply had to get out there as much as possible. I read Born to Run on this vacation, and if there was ever a book to inspire you to run far and frequently, this is it. (I even became moderately convinced of the merits of barefoot running, and I do intend to try out the shoeless approach -- or something approximating it -- very soon.) I was reminded that running is truly the healthiest and most natural thing we can ever do for our bodies and our minds, and that, indeed, we wouldn’t be here today had our ancestors not been endurance runners themselves. Every time I read even a few pages of this book, I was itching to put it down and change into my running shoes -- blazing sun, lingering sickness, and lazy Spanish days be dammed. (Next time, if I really intend on relaxing, I think I need to book accommodation even higher on the mountain or re-think my choice of vacation reading material.)

And after arriving back in NYC following more than 15 hours of travel, the first thing Zdenek and I did was change into our shorts and head out for a four mile run in Central Park. It was, after all, our final vacation day.

On my own

This morning Zdenek pulled the classic pm/am alarm mix-up, and though it meant we got an extra hour of much-needed rest, it also meant that cycling was out of the question and I was flying solo for the morning. By the time I finished my cup of coffee and caught up on the morning’s email, however, it was raining hard and steady outside of my window. Unperturbed, I changed into my running clothes and hoped that the downpour might taper off a bit before I reached the Park -- I certainly wasn’t going to allow a little water to ruin my morning fun.

Unfortunately, the rain never really let up, and though it sometimes turned to a drizzle, it just as often came down in hard sheets. I plodded along, squishing water between my socks and shoes and occasionally slowing to wring out my shirt. But beyond those minor inconveniences, it was one of the most peaceful and relaxing runs I can remember in some time. The Park was virtually deserted: I passed less than ten other runners on my six mile loop, and for the first 15 minutes of my run, I don’t think I saw another soul. I ran in silence, sometimes avoiding puddles and sometimes splashing right through them, looking out onto the rare sight of a clear road ahead.

I find it amusing (and somewhat pathetic) that so many tough New Yorkers would let a little rain scare them away from a morning run, but I’m also thankful for their lack of determination. This morning I was grateful to have over 800 acres almost entirely to myself, and happy to enjoy a moment of solitude in a city where such escapes are hard to come by.

One small goo later

This morning I was awake at 4:22 am -- about 20 minutes before our alarm went off. (A day trip to Washington DC necessitated that Zdenek was up and out the door by 5:20 am, which meant, of course, that I was also out of bed at this hour.) Despite the fact that the sunrise was still a long way off, I figured I might as well make the most of my extra morning time by heading out for a run. After gulping down my usual cup of coffee and my customary bowl of yogurt and cereal, I decided at the last minute to tuck a gel into my pocket before slipping out the door.

It was a cool 24 degrees Celsius this morning before 6 am (trust me, this is cool for New York in the summer), but the humidity hovered around 90%. The Park was surprisingly crowded at the pre-dawn hour, especially with large packs of fast-moving cyclists yelling drills and tips at each other. I plundered along, taking the odd water break, trying to forget about the stickiness through which I was running. I didn’t feel particularly energetic for most of my first loop. But then, after about six miles, a little emptiness in my tummy indicated that it might be a good time to rip open that gel.

Within about 20 minutes of having said gel, my energy levels began to climb. I decided, since it was still so early and I was feeling pretty good, to go for another five miles. And then a few miles into that, I opted to tack on an additional mile and confront Harlem Hill at the Park’s North end. Just after 7:30 am, I concluded a 12+ mile run feeling tired but satisfied knowing that I can, perhaps, skip my long run this weekend (which will definitely help, considering we’re flying out to Canada early on Saturday).

I don’t plan on getting up before 5 am again anytime soon, but nor did I regret it this morning. It was nice to have almost two hours of running all to myself long before the work day even got underway -- a rarity when I'm not training for a race. And I’m thinking that perhaps I should pack a gel on every mid-morning run. It was just the packet of goo to get me through.

The price I pay

Yesterday in New York it rained long and hard. Though the drizzly weather tapered off sometime during the night, the roads were still wet and marked with puddles when Zdenek and I headed out for our ride this morning. We cycled our first two loops hard, making good time and then even better time. Zdenek took the lead for the majority, and the wet conditions caused his back wheel to kick up a lot of slimy dirt on my legs, arms, and face. No bother -- I kept my eyes glued to his tire and drafted as closely as I could to maintain the pace. On the third loop, we eased up a bit and rode side by side, and I mentioned to Zdenek that I had taken a lot of muck to the face on the previous two laps. He apologized -- as if there were something he could have done about it.

Fortunately, eating dirt wasn’t the most memorable part of this morning’s ride. That came near the end of our third loop as we rode together casually, and I, without a back wheel on which to concentrate, was able to look around at the Central Park runners making their morning miles. I noticed one woman in particular simply because her legs were outstanding -- long, muscled, and lean. She moved quickly, smoothly, along the bridle path. I looked again. It was Paula Radcliffe, the women’s marathon world record holder. No surprise there -- Paula is known to be in New York this week to take part in the Mini 10K race in Central Park on Saturday (which Zdenek, Caitlin, and I will definitely be cheering on). She’s also currently ~6 months pregnant (along with Kara Goucher, who is also running in Saturday’s 10K), and sure enough, her round belly protruded a bit under her white shirt. But with her impeccable posture and smooth stride, she made carrying the extra weight look effortless.

And as Zdenek and I rode on, rubbernecking, watching the world’s greatest female marathoner out for her morning warm-up, once again I felt so lucky to have the world’s greatest playground at my doorstep. Eating dirt is a small price to pay.

A place to move

Once again, it’s been a while since I’ve had the motivation to post anything here. The fact is, apartment hunting seems to have sapped every last bit of energy from me (and sadly, it’s still not over). Any free time I might have between traipsing around the UWS looking at too-small, too-run-down apartments seems to be better spent outdoors on my patio than indoors on a laptop. Indeed, it won’t be much longer before I have to give up that treasured little piece of Manhattan real estate forever, and I’m already mourning the inevitable loss.

And frankly, my running and cycling have been sub-par of late. I’m still putting in the miles and getting out there six or seven times a week, but my paces have been slightly “off.” True, the 25oC+ weather and 75%+ humidity are not doing me any favors, but I’m used to demanding -- and usually getting -- so much more out of my body. When it comes right down to it, aside from my impromptu purchase of Lady Gaga tickets in the middle of my run last weekend (long story, but the most important point is that we now have tickets to the July 6 show at the Garden), there just hasn’t been much to say.

But yesterday, I slept in longer than usual and found myself running in the Park, sans Zdenek, at a slightly later hour. Despite it being my third consecutive day of running and fifth consecutive day of early morning action, I felt surprisingly decent. My stride seemed smooth, the warm weather didn’t feel too horrible under the shade of Central Park’s leafy canopies, and I easily fell into a groove. So much of a groove, in fact, that somewhere along the west side bridle path, I almost (literally) ran into Caitlin before I recognized her as the girl waving her arms in front of me and trying to get me to stop. At the last minute, I did, and she and I enjoyed an early morning catch-up session before heading off our separate ways (I ran through my several current apartment options with her, and, in typical Caitlin fashion, she formulated a logical evaluation on the spot). It was the perfect mid-run break, and it got me thinking that Caitlin and I should really schedule the occasional run together -- in the same direction, of course.

Today, I rolled out of bed as the sun was rising, tired and somewhat cranky from a very poor five or six hours of sleep. But Zdenek and I haven’t been on our bikes since Sunday, so we were long overdue for a spin. I wasn’t expecting much out of myself, and said to Zdenek as we were heading out the door, “If you want to cycle on your own, please feel free.” But I had spoken too soon because, once again, I surprised myself. We rode three laps today, each one faster than the last, and I managed a good portion of the ride without any assistance. In fact, for some of the time, I even lead the way. I returned home happy and satisfied, and so pleased that my cycling legs may have returned.

So while my pursuit of indoor space continues to frustrate, I can at least be thankful for the renewed sense of energy in my outdoor pursuits. Once again, I've realized that New York is best enjoyed when moving quickly. It is a very poor place, however, in which to move.

Why we do it

As everyone is no doubt aware, New York was blanketed by snow yesterday. This followed several days of snowy weather in DC, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey and, in the opinion of one Canadian girl, a laughable inability in these areas to cope with a bit of the white stuff. As my brother appropriately asked me yesterday, “I heard that NY shut down cause of snow. What kind of snow do you guys get there? Are there three foot snowflakes that weigh 40 pounds each?”

To be fair, yesterday did bring a considerable dump of snow (with icy cold winds to boot) in only twelve hours. The snow began falling in Manhattan just before sunrise, right as Zdenek and I were getting ready to head out for our run. Because of the media build-up to this “severe winter storm,” we were amused to see only an inch of snow on the ground when we rolled out of bed. We almost decided to go ahead with our scheduled 10 mile tempo; only because we weren’t sure whether we’d have adequate time did we opt for a five mile run instead (reserving the 10 miler for today). And it’s probably a good thing we did.

By the time we got to the park 30 minutes later, it was almost impossible to run. The snow/ice/rain was coming down hard, and I could barely open my eyes facing into the wind. The roads were covered in icy slush, making it impossible to do anything more than a very easy run. (God bless the Central Park crew who were already out there, salting the roads and plowing the snow as fast as it was falling. It is no lie that Central Park is home to the most well maintained six miles of asphalt anywhere.) It was one of those mornings that made me ask myself, Why am I doing this again? I could be at home with a steaming cup of coffee right now or, better yet, still in bed. Passing one lone runner in a green sweatshirt on the West side, we asked him (rhetorically), “How are you enjoying this run?” “Great!” he replied, much too enthusiastically. “This is why we do it!”

This is why we do it? Really!? We run because of the snow and sleet and wind and rain? Perhaps we run in spite of those things, but definitely not because of them. I’ll admit, a tough run through terrible conditions is a sure way to make me feel like a hero, but I’ll take sunny days and calm winds any day over the satisfaction from triumphing over adverse conditions. What in the world was that man thinking? I can only conclude that the ice pellets hammering his head had left him in a temporary state of delirium.

This morning, we awoke at 5:30 am to the sound of our pre-programmed coffee machine (so “very suburban” of me, as one of my coworkers recently mocked) and soon made it to the door to face our ten mile tempo. Outside, the winds were absolutely howling on our little corner of the UWS, and I opened the door only a crack before quickly shutting it again. Zdenek muttered something about “going back to bed” and then commanded, “Just open the door! You’re psyching me out!” And off we went, onto our icy, uneven, ankle-twist-inducing sidewalk and through the empty streets in the pre-dawn light. It was slow-going.

But upon entering the park, we predictably found ourselves running in almost complete solitude on a (mostly) cleared road (the Central Park snow removal team are not miracle-workers, after all). The majestic elms of Central Park were covered down the lengths of their north-facing trunks in a full dusting of snow (one positive side effect of strong winds, I guess). The ground was blanketed in fluffy white. We saw snow-men, a snow-woman, and even a rather impressive snow-dog. Zdenek and I both commented to each other at least once, “This is so beautiful!” And under breaking skies, over occasionally slippery roads, I ran a solid 10.3 miles. (Remarkably, I even hit my target paces.)

If I were not so accustomed to heading out no matter the weather, and perhaps if five miles weren’t a perfectly manageable run to me, then I would never have found myself in the necessary shape and with adequate motivation to run ten miles this morning in the prettiest of winter conditions. Perhaps that runner in the green sweatshirt was right, and yesterday’s conditions are the reason I run, after all. Perhaps every run in abysmal weather is just preparation for the real thing.

A sweet surprise

This morning, Zdenek and I ran the Manhattan half-marathon.

We were intending to treat this as the practice "race pace run" that was in our training plan, anyway, and to run it about 20-30 seconds faster than our usual weekend long runs. Indeed, the course covers two loops of Central Park's rolling hills -- not exactly PB-friendly terrain. And we haven't really trained for a half marathon (we're only finishing Week Three of our marathon training plan), let alone tapered for a race. So this morning, Zdenek and I rolled out of bed at 6 am, tired from dinner and a few drinks the night before, not really expecting much out of our race. I was just happy to be running with 5,000+ other like-minded people in one of my favourite places.

For the first loop, Zdenek tried to run alongside me, but he constantly found himself several meters in front, looking back over his shoulder to see how far behind I'd fallen. But I refused to be pushed today and was determined to run my own race; my biggest concern was to finish strong with a steady pace. At the seven mile water station, Zdenek put considerable distance between us and then finally waved goodbye from up ahead. Now on my own and knowing that I had several big hills to contend with over the last 6.1 miles, I tried, as much as possible, to stay within my limits and watch my HR. Only when I was mid-way through the rolling hills of West Drive did I realize that I had only three more miles and plenty more energy to go; at that point, I decided to gradually bring it up a gear at every mile marker. About 1.5 miles from the finish, I became even more energized by the fact that I was passing everyone in front of me and only very rarely getting passed myself. I hit the 13 mile marker in a 7:20 pace and then made a sprint for the finish.

My efforts did not go unrewarded. I ran only seconds slower than my official half-marathon PB this morning (Zdenek, too, was only seconds off his half-marathon PB, but if he wants to gloat, he'll have to get his own blog), and I did it on a relatively tough course with neither proper training nor taper. I am immensely pleased with how this morning went (and think that training and taper may be over-rated).

Because I hope to both replicate and improve upon these results in the future, I have tried to derive a few valuable lessons from the experience:

• Know yourself. I didn't have any time expectations going into this morning's race, and for the full 13.1 miles I tried hard to tune into my body. It seems that my body knows what it's doing if I only give it a chance, and together, we make a pretty good team.
• Know the course. This morning's two loops of the Park followed hundreds, if not thousands, of such loops over the last four and a half years. I know every bump, every turn, and every incline by foot and by bike. I know where I can safely pick up the pace. I know where to move to the middle of the road to avoid the steep bank. I know the exact spot at which the grade of Harlem Hill suddenly increases by 3%. This morning, I was running in my own backyard.
• Negative split. It's the mantra of elite running, but I've always had a hard time believing that I could knock 15 seconds off my per-mile time halfway through a race. And yet, that's precisely what I did today. I can finally appreciate what it's like to finish a race fast, strong, and, most importantly, upright.

Earlier this week, I made dinner reservations for tonight at Dovetail (one of the nicest spots on the UWS), and Zdenek had joked that we better run fast if we are to earn that extravagant dinner. Mission accomplished.

Lessons learned in 2010

It is never too early in the year to assess one's own situation and actions and to learn valuable lessons with which to move forward. 2010 is barely underway, and already I feel wiser for it. Here, then, are a few lessons for the New Year, some of which I learned the hard way:

1. If you are going to do a run at midnight, be aware that whatever you may eat or drink in the five hours prior is sure to affect your ability and comfort on said run.
2. It is best not to eat a three course meal, complete with a cup of guacamole per person, before a midnight run. It is also wise to avoid alcohol, and to cease drinking or eating several hours (i.e., not 60 minutes) before commencing running.
   
3. If you must run at midnight, it is best to do it with friends who are not terribly serious about their running speed. This will make the run much more enjoyable.
4. On any midnight run, it is advisable to bring along Dave, because he will dress inappropriately, get extremely drunk beforehand, pour gin and tonics (with a lemon twist -- no kidding) 15 seconds before the starting gun, run in some hilarious fashion with the group for a few minutes before disappearing, and then arrive at the finish line 45 minutes behind the rest of the group because he walked most of the course and drank an entire bottle of gin along the way.
5. Central Park on New Year's Eve is a great place to run, because the fireworks are spectacular and there are many inebriated supportive spectators to cheer you on.
6. It is advisable to charge your camera battery before heading out, because a dead battery may make it difficult to take many photos during the actual running portion of the evening.
7. Fifty-one minutes (including the 5.5 minutes it took to actually cross the start line) for four miles is a great way to start the New Year, because it leaves lots of room for improvement during the rest of the year.
8. Not every run will make you feel good (in fact, it may make you feel like throwing up), but those tend to be the most memorable. And when you are laughing so hard during a run that you can barely keep going, you know it was a very good idea indeed.

A happy ending

Another year is almost over. I'm not one to get sentimental about the transition, but 2009 will definitely mark the year that I found a new training partner and enjoyed some of my best running yet. From this perspective, the last week of 2009 has been near perfect:

• When we returned to New York early Sunday afternoon after flying nine hours across the Atlantic on very little sleep the night before, it was less than two hours before we found ourselves running once again in Central Park. Apparently exercise is meant to be the best cure for jet lag -- I remain somewhat unconvinced that this actually works -- but in any case, it was a great feeling to be running in the late afternoon sunshine.
  
• Monday evening after work, the idea of running was completely unappetizing. But, while I don’t want my running to ever feel like a chore, I also know that I have never once regretted a run. Ignoring my pounding sinus headache, I tied up my laces and headed out into the cold wind. When it was over, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I had run a sub-7:45 pace, and once again I did not regret my decision.
  
• Tuesday morning found us again facing frigid temperatures and icy winds, but still we ran just over six miles in decent time. (Zdenek tried to allow me to “draft” off of him when the wind was the strongest, but alas, this strategy is best reserved for cycling.)
  
• Wednesday morning, though I continue to battle a cold and am still apparently on European time (falling asleep around 9 pm and awaking around 5 am), we ran a 7:40 fartlek in downright cold weather. During the “hard” portions of the fartlek, Zdenek ran a much faster pace than me and was able to put considerable distance between us within 30 seconds. He allowed me to catch up again during the two minutes of “easy” running interspersed between, but it’s obvious that he could have run even faster had he not been forced to wait for me.
• This morning, I'm fighting every urge to not head out for a playful three miles in the falling snow. Big, fluffy, white flakes are coming down quickly outside of my window, and this represents some of my favorite running conditions. But we're scheduled to run four miles in Central Park at midnight with eight or more friends, so I'll save my energy for the late-night jaunt and the dinner for eight that I have to cook beforehand. (I even forced myself to stay up until 10:45 pm last night in attempt to reset my clock!) 2010 is only hours away, and I'm excited to ring it in by doing my favorite activity with a few of my favorite people.
  

Happy New Year's!

Blown away

Zdenek and I are both suffering from illnesses at the moment, and when the alarm went off this morning in the dark hours before sunrise, my head throbbed as though I had been punched repeatedly throughout my sleep. We stumbled out of bed to brew our usual cup of Tim’s (stores have been replenished following our trip to Canada last week), but questioned whether a run was really the best idea.

We live on a rather gusty block of the Upper West Side due to our proximity to the Hudson River. In the summer the strong breezes off the water offer a welcome respite from the otherwise stale and humid air, but wintertime typically finds us running to the shelter of our doorstep to avoid the icy chill blowing through us. This morning, however, we were greeted by an unseasonably warm wind (18 degrees Celsius!) as we stepped outside, and my shorts and t-shirt seemed strangely appropriate for December 3.

The skies above hung low and dark, but in the East -- towards Central Park -- the first rays of the morning sunrise poked through. The clouds, tinged with silver, moved eastward at a formidable clip; we chased them, the wind at our backs. And then, ten minutes into our run, I looked up to find that half of the sky had cleared. By three miles, the sun had risen and the clouds were entirely blown away. Manhattan was bathed in blue skies and fresh, warm air -- as though the rain clouds had never passed through at all.

Today’s 10k turned out to be respectable but too difficult (and hours later, I still feel like crawling back into bed). But bearing witness to this morning’s skies -- and the extraordinarily quick turn of events overhead -- made it worth the effort. I treasure runs like today’s. If only my sickness would change course as quickly.

Multitasking

With the slight uptick in temperatures this week, I've been pleased to get in as many extra cycling days as possible. It has, of course, come at the expense of my running, and by the time Friday rolled around, I had only logged five miles all week long. On Friday morning, because we opted to take advantage of the warm weather and cycle yet again, Zdenek assured me that we'd go for a run after work. When we wrapped up our work day at 6:30 pm and headed home to the Upper West Side, we did so under dark skies that threatened to open up and drench us at any moment. The air was cool but humid. The winds were strong. The sun had set. I asked Zdenek if he still intended on going for a run, to which he emphatically replied, "No!"

While most other New Yorkers headed out to bars and for dinner in celebration of the work week's end, we had no formal plans, and I was determined to get another five miles into my log before the weekend officially arrived. I had only to say to Zdenek, "That's fine, I'll go by myself," before he was rolling his eyes and lacing up his shoelaces alongside me. (Truthfully, I'm not sure I would have gone by myself, because Central Park after dark is no place for a lone girl, but thankfully, Zdenek never called my bluff.) I sweetened the deal by offering to tuck my ID and credit card into my running shorts so that we could multitask by finishing our run at our favorite Upper West Side wine store. (Runner's World has often suggested combining a run with errands, though I'm not sure running to a liquor store is what they had in mind.)

After weaving through the crowded sidewalks and questioning our sanity for attempting a run on such a miserable evening, we entered Central Park. Within minutes, the rain (that, according to the weatherman, was not supposed to arrive for several more hours) began to fall, and for a moment we may have grimaced. Over five miles, we passed no more than 15 other runners -- together we represented the small cohort of New Yorkers for whom a Friday night run is synonymous with "happy hour." I'm certain that I have never seen Central Park so deserted. Zdenek and I had no big date planned for yesterday evening, but yet we found ourselves on an unexpectedly romantic one. We ran side by side in the quiet darkness of the Park, into the rain and wind, while the rest of the City carried on a few miles away.

Six good reasons

In spite of all the work I have to do, and even considering that I could have used more sleep this week than I have obtained thus far, I am in an extraordinarily good mood right now.

1. It appears that I may be close to tying out a major project (or, at the very least, the first iteration of it) that has been a long time in coming.

2. It is a beautiful, sunny, warm autumn day!

3. I had a super-duper fun time riding my bike today and yesterday, and an equally super-duper fun time running on Tuesday. In fact, Tuesday night's run in the unseasonably warm fall weather was smokin' fast (for me), and all of my troubles seemed to melt away in the first 1/2 mile. Our bike rides yesterday and this morning required only booties, and we're taking it a bit easier, enjoying the scents and sights of fall in Central Park.

4. There is only one more day until the weekend.

5. There is only one more weekend until the New York City marathon!

6. My salad at lunch was delicious, and the deli guy gave me a sixth topping for free (I chose asparagus).

A very good thing

It's been a rather stressful week and I'm juggling a few too many things. Yesterday, the accumulated effects left me too tired to get out of bed for a run; today, I promised, things would be different.

In the rain, cold, and darkness of the early morning (I even had to pull my winter running gear out of storage!), I managed a quick and energizing 10km. When it was over, I reflected aloud that it was "definitely a run worth getting out of bed for." Despite the miserable conditions, it was a treasured 50 minutes of sanity and peace in the day. No wonder: a recent study in the Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health that is being widely quoted in the popular press today has offered an explanation:

The annual prevalence of anxiety disorders for those living in a residential area containing 10% of green space within a one kilometre (0.62 miles) radius of their home was 26 per 1000 whereas for those living in an area containing 90% of green space it was 18 per 1000.

For depression the rates were 32 per 1000 for the people in the more built up areas and 24 per 1000 for those in the greener areas.

Central Park lies exactly 0.93 km from my doorstep. And that is a very good thing.

In clover

It took some time to get out the door this morning. Once I was dressed in my leg warmers, booties, and new cycling jacket, we headed out into the early dawn for our usual three loops of the Park. Bundled up in my fuzzy warm attire, I wondered how long I'll be able to continue cycling before running will become the warmer, and therefore only, option.

Somewhere around Tavern on Green on the West side, and again by the Reservoir on the East Drive, the strong, warm, comforting scent of cloves was all around us. I've been enjoying Central Park on an almost daily basis for over four years, and I have experienced this a few times before. Today, it was an unexpected but pleasant surprise in the chilly air, and it made me want to wrap my cold fingers around a hot cup of cocoa and enjoy a slice of gingerbread (or two). (Appropriately, a coworker has just informed me that a slice of chocolate chip pumpkin loaf awaits me this afternoon. Three cheers for coworkers who bake, and especially for those who bring the fruits of their labor into the office the next day!) After my ride, I did an online search to see if I could find anything about the location or source of the Central Park cloves. I didn't manage to find any clues, but I was somewhat amused to learn that "in clover" not only implies a carefree life of ease, comfort, and prosperity, but is also synonymous with "cozy."

Perhaps due to the lingering scent of the cloves in my head, I selected my longest, coziest fall sweater to wear today. Walking to work, wrapped to my knees in wool, I began thinking about our plans for the next few months: My in-laws will be visiting us in the Big Apple this weekend to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving. During US Thanksgiving in November, Zdenek and I intend on making a trip home to Calgary for a few days of blue sky and fresh mountain air. And in December, we're off to Europe to visit Zdenek's extended family in the Czech Republic, as well as to connect with old friends for three days in Paris. Although I've been to Paris a few times during the summer months, something about visiting the City of Lights in the days before Christmas seems absolutely magical. This morning marked the beginning of what is bound to be a memorable and unique holiday season.

All in a day

Thursday was a perfect day. Three great men, all in 24 hours.

It started with a morning run in the Park that I almost skipped. Two miles in, just as I was reaching the top of Cat Hill, I saw someone running toward me who clearly looked different from the hundreds of other runners I see every single day. I can't say what it was about him that caught my eye, but he ran with a purpose and perfection that I have seldom, if ever, seen in a fellow Central Park runner. As he sped past me (at an estimated 5 min/mile pace), I immediately recognized America's number one marathoner. I grinned. I got goosebumps. I turned my head and watched him as long as I could, but at that pace, he moved away from me quickly and was soon out of sight altogether. It's not everyday that I share my running course with Ryan Hall, and this all-too-brief celebrity sighting motivated me to add an extra mile onto my morning loop.

Thursday evening, it was a different kind of runner who gave me gooesebumps. This one was in the center of 85,000 screaming fans, sporting tight black pants and a black leather jacket. He ran circles around the stage, singing and entertaining all the while. As a teenager, he was my obsession; today, he's simply my favourite. He didn't run quite as well as Ryan, but for two and a half hours he put a smile on my face as I belted out lyrics from fifty rows up. After all these years, U2 is still the greatest act in the world, and Bono is still the greatest frontman.

But the most outstanding man of the day didn't run at all on Thursday. (He did, however, bike in the morning, and later that day he chauffeured my friends and me to and from the concert.) He is my biggest fan and strongest supporter. He listens (though he also loves to talk!) and always gives me excellent advice. He is my running partner, my cycling buddy, and my favourite conversationalist. He is the one person to whom I want to tell everything, and the only person from whom I never need a break. He is the subject of so many different posts on this blog that I sometimes wonder what I would write about if he were not in my life. On Thursday, he and I marked our four year anniversary, and I am so excited to keep moving forward with him in the years to come.