Is that Desitin you're wearing?

It’s been a long time since I’ve had the time or energy to make a simple blog post. Between loads of travel, long hours at work, longer hours with Ryder, and fewer hours running, we are simply out of time most days (and nights). Last Saturday, though, Zdenek and I celebrated six years of wedded bliss. And when I say “bliss,” I truly mean it. The biggest downs we’ve experienced together involved descending a hill in Central Park during a bike ride or morning run.

On Saturday, Ryder gave us both the best anniversary present ever: a run. We haven’t strapped the little dude into his Chariot for some time, because the last few outings were so completely unenjoyable. He’d usually last 30 minutes -- max -- before screaming that it was time to get out, at which point I’d pick up the pace to get home as quickly as possible and Zdenek would start screaming that I was running too fast. But on Saturday morning, Zdenek and I tried our luck again, and I’m glad we did. The little dude is now a slightly bigger dude who seems quite happy to sit in his Chariot for a full sixty minutes, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of Central Park on a weekend morning. In fact, he was so good that we took him for another spin on Sunday, and it went just as smoothly. This weekend, we ran over 11 miles together as a family!

On Saturday evening, Zdenek and I went out for what constituted our first dinner out together -- alone -- since Ryder’s birth. After one too many cocktails, I cozied up to my husband in our booth, leaned over, and kissed his hand. And you know the best part? It didn’t even smell like Desitin.

Best anniversary present ever

Many cocktails later

This is only a test

With the holidays fast approaching and my due date looming, Zdenek and I have been contemplating the “ideal” day to have the baby (as if we have any choice in the matter). An earlier arrival might suck for the little one who has to share his/her birthday with the Christmas holiday every year; on the other hand, it would be good timing from a work perspective for both Zdenek and me. A later arrival, however, means a few more days to enjoy life without a crying baby in the room, and sometimes this seems even more attractive than the 2010 tax credit we’d earn if the delivery day comes before the year is through.

Recently, though, I’ve been leaning towards “later is better,” if only because I feel entirely unprepared to look after a baby. I know what everyone says: You’re never ready. You’ll figure it out. Instinct takes over. Once it’s your baby, it will be totally different. But still, I can’t help but feel that, despite the hours of “baby care” classes in which we’ve invested and the books I’ve sifted through, I won’t really have a clue what I’m doing.

To frame things in a perspective to which I can relate, I’ve tried to compare the first few months of baby-rearing to running a marathon: I’ve done the work to get here. I’ve read the books and followed the plan. Now we’re in taper, and I’m starting to feel antsy and achy and unprepared. I start to question whether I should have put in a just a little more effort along the way, or if there’s anything I can do between now and game day to improve my chances of a strong performance. The coaches will tell me that there’s nothing more to be done; now I just need to give it my best effort. When race day arrives, adrenaline will probably get me through the first bit of the course. By the halfway point, a small bump in the road is going to feel like scaling Mount Everest. Two-thirds of the way in, I’ll start to question whether I’m cut out for this at all, and soon after that, self-doubt and exhaustion may lead me to swear under my breath that I will never, ever do this again. And then, I’ll somehow stumble across the finish line (often leaning over to one side), too tired to contemplate the feat I’ve just accomplished. Some time later, when I’m recovered and things are back on their usual schedule, I’ll marvel at the experience and remember the thrill of it all, and the suffering will have seemed a small price to pay for such a rewarding outcome. And so I’ll decide to do it again (perhaps even seven more times!).

Over the weekend, when I mentioned my self-doubts to Zdenek, he offered a different analogy: “Don’t you remember the feeling in university when you’d walk into an exam feeling totally unprepared and like you were going to bomb it, and you ended up acing it instead?” I don’t know if Zdenek feels as confident on the inside as he’s appearing to be on the outside, but either way, I’m glad that one of us isn’t stressing too much about this. Because at some point last night, when I again became overwhelmed by the daunting task that lies ahead of me, the only things that eventually lulled me back to sleep were Zdenek’s incredible patience and his calming words (if I haven’t mentioned it enough, let me again say that my husband is the world’s greatest). This morning, as he headed off to work, exhausted both physically and mentally but not complaining one bit, I told him that he had proven himself capable of soothing someone in the middle of the night and sacrificing his own sleep to so. By his own analogy, he had aced the test. Which makes me incredibly lucky to be in his study group.
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P.S. Yes, I'm still running, and it still feels pretty darn good. I ran 6.5 miles in one shot on Saturday, but decided to stop there due to thirst (apparently dehydration brings on labor, but I try to restrict the liquids when I'm running). Here's a photo of me in my new running gear:

Dispatch from the pumpkin patch

This past weekend, Zdenek and I escaped the hustle and bustle of Manhattan with our good friends, Dave and Erica (who are expecting their +1 eight weeks before ours, so I’m counting on them to teach me everything I’ll need to know). We headed north for a luxury log cabin in the Hudson Valley -- a site we last visited in the snowier, colder days of February. After a week of rainy weather that seemed to cover the entire East Coast, we were treated to cloudless blue skies, warm sunshine, and gorgeous fall foliage. We managed to pick apples, hike around the State Park, prepare a three course meal that incorporated our picked apples into every course, and pay a visit to the Storm King Art Center (a place quite unlike any other I’ve seen).

On both Saturday and Sunday, Zdenek and I got up a little earlier than Dave and Erica. We shared a Clif bar, drank our requisite cups of coffee, and changed into our running shoes. Soon we were running through (very) hilly back roads and down gravel lanes, past corn fields and streams, overlooking valleys of orange, yellow, red, and green. Though the sun shone clearly, the air was definitely of the crisp, autumn variety, and I probably could have used a slightly warmer shirt. These were difficult runs, to say the least, and there were a couple of long, steep inclines on each route that slowed me to a walk. But the breathtaking views and peaceful surroundings made every ounce of hard effort worth it. Zdenek excitedly remarked no fewer than five times on each run how happy he was to be there.

After Sunday morning’s run, Zdenek and I sat on the patio rocking chairs for a while, looking out onto the forest with steaming mugs of coffee warming our hands. Tired and content, I don’t think we would have savored that moment nearly as much had we not just run -- side by side -- through the autumn leaves. At a time when everything around us seems to be changing so quickly, running has a funny way of making time stand still.

Three's a crowd

Zdenek and I have a pretty awesome marriage, or so we like to think. Sure, we have our usual fights and disagreements, but generally we are best friends day in and day out. We share everything from habits and likes and dislikes to a single bathroom. I’ve been flattered to have several friends tell me that they aspire to a marriage like Zdenek's and mine, and I know that a few of his colleagues have told him the same thing. Of course, I also know that our marital bliss isn’t all our own doing, and we’re fortunate that our lives are generally stress-free: we don’t typically have financial issues (unless you count the stress over apartment hunting); we’re both healthy and fit; and we lack children, which I’m told is the quickest and surest way to put any relationship under strain. I’m certain the future will bring its fair share of challenges. But for now we’re content to be coasting along pretty easily, including those times that we’re running or biking in tandem.

On Friday, however, our marital bliss was challenged at around mile 10 of our morning ride. After seven consecutive days of pretty tough running and biking workouts, my legs were feeling a bit worse for wear, and so early on in our ride I tucked in behind Zdenek to ease my workload. Zdenek is an excellent teammate -- he’s always looking around to see where I am, and he’s careful to ease the pace if he senses that I’m falling behind. I don’t typically ask him to do this, but I obviously appreciate his help and attention. Of course, if he does happen to drop me (which is most likely to occur on a hill climb), I’m usually not that bothered, either. The way I figure it, we both suffer: he will have to eventually slow down to wait for me to catch up, and I have to work that much harder without the benefit of his slipstream. And occasionally (as on Thursday's third loop), Zdenek will make it clear that he just wants to go for it and really work to his maximal effort; this is also fine by me, because I can fully appreciate his desire to test himself from time to time, and it’s fun to watch from behind as he races away.

All was going smoothly on Friday until just past 100th street. As I followed Zdenek into the descent, we passed an extremely fit woman on a very nice road bike. She looked great (though I’d say, dangerously exposed) in a tight, small cycling jersey. Her arms and legs rippled with just the perfect amount of toned muscle, and her long, blond ponytail waved behind her as she rode. She was definitely a triathlete and no doubt a very competitive one, too. But as I followed Zdenek down the hill, she caught up and overtook me, and then moved in between my bike and his. Because I generally try to avoid crowds when descending at 30 mph on a curvy road, I held back a bit and let her go. Unfortunately, this meant that by the time we reached the uphill portion, I had lost most of my momentum and was unable to make the climb at my usual pace. And by this point, Zdenek was already 10+ meters ahead of me and gaining by the second, so I decided to just spin my way up alone. Meanwhile, Miss Rippling Muscles latched on to my husband’s wheel and let him carry her halfway up the hill!

Upon realizing what was happening and seeing me struggling near the bottom of the hill, Zdenek slowed down to allow the blond bombshell pass and me to catch up. A few minutes later, when he and I were again riding side by side, I commented, “I bet you didn’t fail to notice the absolutely killer body on that woman.” And suddenly, Zdenek became upset! I, unclear as to what I had said wrong, erupted back. We then proceed to yell at one another over the next three miles as all the other runners and cyclists turned to see where the ruckus was coming from. It was both frustrating and unusual. Finally, somewhere in the middle of loop three, we identified the source of our misunderstanding. Zdenek assumed that I had deliberately slowed down to prove some sort of point -- no doubt something related to the fact that a fit, blond woman was competing with me for my husband’s back wheel. Alas, the truth was far less exciting: I simply wasn’t brave enough on the descent to maneuver my way between the two of them, nor was I powerful enough on the climb to keep up. (And my comment about her body really did come from a place of awe and envy.)

Once we sorted out our misunderstanding, it was smooth riding again. I figure if our biggest disagreements revolve around cycling and hill climbing, then we’re doing pretty well. In fact, I think that all of the running and cycling Zdenek and I do together has taught us a lot about mutual encouragement, respecting one another’s abilities and limitations, and that an important part of any happy marriage is alternating who has to get out of bed first for coffee brewing duties in the morning. Most importantly, cycling with Zdenek has reinforced that whenever I should fall behind, he can always be counted on to wait for me -- and it will take a lot more than toned muscles and a nice bike for someone to come between that.

Hangry

Week Two of marathon training concluded today with an excellent 2000 m swim and a 45 minute session with a personal trainer immediately thereafter. My swimming has improved considerably in only two weeks and, combined with my love for endurance running and my new found passion for cycling, I'm starting to get an itch to soon train for a triathlon. (A girl -- about my age -- at the gym today was wearing a Brazil Ironman shirt that read "Finisher" across the back. It made me jealous.) Running-wise, the weekend has also been a success. Yesterday morning, Zdenek and I ran 16.5 miles together in sunny weather. That represented Zdenek's longest run of his life, and for me constituted a welcome return to the long, slow runs of marathon training.

I marvel at how much our running routine has changed over the last year. Before Zdenek trained for his first half marathon in 2009, Saturday mornings would look something like this: we'd both get up and head to Central Park, running slowly together for about six miles. At that point, he'd turn off and head back home, and I'd continue on for ten or more solo miles. When I'd finally return home, the pancake batter would be prepared and waiting, the coffee would be hot and freshly brewed, and I had only to take a five minute shower before settling down to replenish my stores.

These days, however, Zdenek and I both return home together, equally exhausted and hangry (i.e., the irritable state induced by low blood sugar). We usually shovel a small bowl of yogurt into our mouths as quickly as we can while simultaneously trying to enter that day's mileage, pace, and weather conditions into our respective logs on runnersworld.com (it seems that I'm not the only anal runner in the house). Suddenly, as soon as the bowls are empty and the logs completed, we both get the chills and can't wait another moment to jump in the hot shower. A back-and-forth ensues about who will get the shower first. The winner inevitably ends up taking far too long while the loser stands outside yelling, "Are you almost done?!" to which the winner replies, "Why don't you just get breakfast started?" And so on.

I love my husband and I treasure the fact that we are now swimming, biking, or running together on an almost daily basis. It's awesome to have a training partner and best friend next to me on every lap, loop, and sprint. But there are some days that I wish that I was the only one coming home from a hard workout. There is only room enough for one hangry person in this small apartment.

Training partners

Back when I was 10 or 15 years old, daytime track suits became all the rage for the couch potato elite. Moreover, it wasn't uncommon to see a husband and wife walking from the car to the store entrance wearing identical pants and jackets, as though they were only stopping off at Costco on their way to a 400 m relay race. I used to think to myself that I would never, ever wear the same clothing or accessories as my significant other. Unless, of course, they (both the significant other and the accessories) were really, really cool.

I've been in need of a new pair of sports sunglasses for some time. I lost my five year-old Cebe running sunglasses on my recent vacation (though they still might turn up in my travel bag at some point), and I needed to supplement my Bolle cycling sunglasses that are too dark and therefore hazardous on early mornings and/or cloudy days. In spite of the fact that my Cebes were scratched, had relatively poor clarity, and were terribly out of fashion, I'm still a bit sad to have lost them.

I recall the day I bought my Cebes; more accurately, I recall the day I purchased their predecessor. I had taken up running with some seriousness in the fall/winter of 2003 and, by the time April rolled around, I realized that my newly acquired running habit had morphed into a springtime one. Within weeks, I found myself in want of shorter sleeves, shorts, and shades. Zdenek and I had been dating for only a few months at the time and, freshly in love, we did everything as a unit (some things never change). When it came time to buy new sunglasses, he and I did it together by heading to Mountain Equipment Co-op, that Canadian one-stop-shop for all outdoor necessities. We decided on a pair of black framed Cebes that were, on his student and my post-doc salaries, a splurge.

It was only a few short months later that my previously referenced bicycle accident destroyed my new sunglasses. It was a good thing I was wearing them because the deep scratches across the lenses surely saved my eyes and face from the same fate. When I was barely mobile again, Zdenek and I headed back to MEC to purchase replacement glasses. And because Zdenek had developed a liking for my shades, we purchased two pairs that day. My replacement pair served me well during 5+ years of running, and, more significantly, represented the first in a long line of items for which Zdenek and I have purchased a his and hers set. Since then, our wardrobe has expanded to include identical running hats, Lulu jackets, Lulu pants, cycling shoes, and cycling socks, to name but a few.

In keeping with our motto that "if one is good, one for each of us must be better," this past weekend Zdenek and I headed to SoHo, that New York one-stop-shop for all things fashionable. We visited the Oakley store to purchase two pairs of Jawbones (popularized by Lance in this year's Tour). Zdenek took the white pair, I choose the black. Within 24 hours, however, buyers remorse set in, and I deemed the glasses too big and bulky for my face. Another trip to SoHo earlier this week replaced mine with this gorgeous pair of XLJ Flak Jackets (colour: "root beer"). For the first time in five years, Zdenek and I will be sporting different shades.

Last weekend, during our ride to Piermont, Caitlin apparently (I didn't hear it) commented to Zdenek that, to an outsider, it's obvious that he and I train together. I'm not sure what she meant by that, but I assumed at the time that it had something to do with the comfort with which I follow his wheel or the ease with which we ride beside one another. Thinking about it more, however, it occurs to me that there might have been an alternate explanation. At least we're now distinguishable from the neck up.

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.

90/10

Today Zdenek and I woke up, tired and groggy as ever, and a bike ride in the darkness of the early morning seemed very unappealing. With our flashing LED lights and extra layers under our jerseys, we headed to the Park. It was cold and blustery out, and I figured the ensuing ride would be a poor one indeed.

The winds were strong and the air was cool, but Zdenek immediately took the lead. I stayed right on his tail, and for eight miles we rode like this. But midway into our second lap, after a moment's consideration, I suprised him by getting into my drops, gearing up, and passing, thereby giving him a 90 second reprieve from the headwind. My legs burned and, even though I was soon tucked safely into his slipstream once again, I had to work especially hard on the next big hill to keep up. By the third lap, Zdenek wasn't too proud to ask me to move ahead and take the lead, and so I obliged, again for about 90 seconds. Fortunately, my short efforts allowed him to rest just enough to lead us to success: we completed today's ride in one of our fastest times ever! Today we worked as a fluid team.

What a casual observer might not realize is that, although Zdenek led for 90% of the time, the two or three minutes during which I allowed him to rest were instrumental to our success. As he said, he couldn't have done it without the 10% of the time that I led, and I certainly could not have done it without his 90%.

They say that a successful marriage is a 90/10 proposition. That is, you are giving 90%, and receiving only 10%. Crucially, though, as I realized on today's ride, the 90/10 probably refers to effort, and not necessarily time. We each have our strengths, and, depending on the task, our abilities and endurance differ greatly from those of our partner. But even the leader needs a helping hand from time to time, and that little bit of assistance can mean the difference between merely getting by and truly excelling. Today we each gave our own version of 90%.