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.

Wet and wild

Judging by the number of cocktails I've consumed and hours of sleep I've lost over the past 72 hours, the holiday season is clearly in full swing. Unfortunately, this tired old body is simply not cut-out for hard partying anymore. (Then again, I'm not sure that it ever was: I am famous amongst my friends for always being the first girl to bail when the clock strikes midnight, and have even been known to ask my mom to pick me up and drive me home (she doesn't mind -- really!)). With every passing year, it seems that each additional drink consumed demands an additional hour of recovery the next day. Saturday morning I felt pretty crummy. Sunday morning I awoke in a daze. By yesterday evening, I could barely carry on a conversation past 7 pm. Today is Monday, and I think I am in need of a weekend to recover from the weekend.

Saturday was a miserable day in New York City for a multitude of reasons: unrelenting rains, strong winds, and freezing temperatures from sunrise to sunset. Why, then, Zdenek and I decided in our exhausted state to run over 15 miles in such conditions is still a bit of a mystery. After a long Friday night out on the town, we got a very late start on Saturday and, at first, considered skipping the run altogether. As I washed down my Advil with a cup of coffee, the temperature outside dropped and the rain began to fall. Nevertheless, we filled up our water bottles, tucked Power Gels into our pockets, and set off, thinking we'd go slowly and quit when it didn't make sense anymore (if it ever did make sense in the first place, that is).

This run was a struggle, to say the least. I don't think we had finished our first loop before the rain started coming down in sheets and most of our fellow devotees cleared the Park. Soon it was just Zdenek and me versus the hypothermia-inducing elements. My clothes were sopping and cold, my leg muscles tight and stiff. At times we barely moved against the wind. I could only think of the hot shower and steaming cup of coffee that awaited me at home. But as we neared the 12 mile mark in almost total isolation, I casually suggested to Zdenek that we continue on and aim for 15-16 miles total. He didn't flinch.

Maybe we were trying to show that we were tough. Maybe we were hoping that any leftover alcohol molecules circulating in our blood would be sweat out and washed away. Maybe we had no good reason at all. Whatever our motivation, I was somewhat unsurprised to learn that it is shared by my friend and fellow runner, Caitlin. Like me, Caitlin adores early bedtimes and long workouts, and the two of us often leave parties early to split a cab back to our respective Upper West Side abodes. This morning, when I (with some pride) relayed to Caitlin my epic 15.5 mile journey through a winter rainstorm, she responded (with equal pride), "I ran that day, too!" Go figure.

My Saturday morning run (which we completed in an 8:30 min/mile pace and which gave me a bad case of red, itchy, freezer-burned skin) was definitely a party of sorts. Caitlin, Zdenek, and I may be losing steam when it comes to pulling all-nighters, but perhaps our definition of a "good time" is just a bit different from that of our peers. It appears that we can still find energy when it matters.

Perfect conditions

Tomorrow morning, I'll be without my training partner, under cloudy skies, and dealing with a packed calendar. I'm leaving Zdenek and New York behind for a business trip, and I won't return until late Friday. My days are scheduled with meetings and seminars from start to finish. And while the weather here is likely to be close to perfect, where I'm headed, they're expecting a solid week of clouds and rain. These represent less than ideal conditions all round.

The conditions this morning, however, were near perfect for our 10k: 12 degrees, sunny skies, beautiful colors. We ran fluidly and at a good clip, and I was surprised by our final time given my tired legs and sleepy state. Zdenek has definitely become "a runner," if that's defined as someone who enjoys getting out of bed before 6 am to fit in an extra few miles and is still raving several hours later about what a great a time he had. As for me, I've knocked 10 to 15 seconds off my per-mile pace for most runs, and my usual long runs are 15 to 30 seconds faster than this time last year.

I'm not sure whether it's having a (stronger, faster) partner with whom to run, the beneficial effects of all my cycling, or a bit of both that is responsible for the (modest) jump in my fitness. Perhaps it's the total lack of a schedule -- the unfocused spirit with which I've approached all of my running and cycling over the last six months -- that has allowed me to push myself in a different way. It seems that unexpected rewards are found when one deviates from the plan to try new things with an open mind. Having a best friend along for the ride (or the run, as appropriate) makes it all the sweeter. And sunny skies are always welcome.

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.

Timbit*5=Donut

I feel as though the summer is quickly coming to an end and I have a limited number of days on which the weather will be warm and the sky bright enough to cycle. I'm trying to make the most of every weekend we have left, and since we'll be out of town beginning Saturday, I was looking forward to a long and enjoyable ride with Zdenek and his bro this past weekend.

I find that my body gets the best deal by cycling on Saturday and saving my long run for Sunday. For some reason, it's much easier to run, rather than cycle, on tired legs. Perhaps it's because I'm a better adapted (and therefore more efficient) runner, but more likely it's because I'm rather immune to the inconveniences and pains of running (e.g., it is difficult), while I can always find things to complain about in cycling: too much traffic; my butt hurts; my hands hurt; too many pedestrians; my helmet is too tight; my glasses fog up; my toes hurt; my pedals are too stiff; my knee hurts; my gears are shifting funny; my butt hurts (again). The slightest bit of fatigue is bound to make a cycle seem like much more of a chore than simply zoning out and plodding along, no matter how bad the weather or how tired my body.

New York City has been hot, muggy, and afflicted with impromptu thunderstorms over the past several days. On Friday, we carefully studied the weather.com forecast and determined that we had a better chance of clear skies on Sunday than Saturday. We thus reversed our usual order of events and put in a solid 11 mile run under Saturday's sticky conditions. It never did rain that day. On Sunday (after I made the classic set-the-alarm-for-pm-instead-of-am mistake) we woke up slightly too late for any ride in Central Park that would be unimpeded by hundreds of wandering tourists and meandering pedicabs, but because a risk of thundershowers made a ride to and from Nyack a bit of gamble, we opted to take our chances in the Park. My brother-in-law bailed. While we managed 36 miles at a respectable pace, the road was a bit of a zoo by that hour and my legs were far too tired from the previous day's run to fully enjoy the ride. After Zdenek dropped me for the umpteenth time and I pedaled as hard as I could to catch him, he turned to me and said, "You must be really tired today." I'll try to pretend that he meant that in a sympathetic way. (And to add insult to injury, the promised thunderstorms failed to materialize.)

After so many raw deals, Zdenek and I finally visited a New York City Tim Hortons location on Sunday afternoon. But from the logo on the storefront, to the inside decor, to the selection of food and beverages, it simply wasn't what we were accustomed to. Nevertheless, we purchased one pound of coffee, which, much to my surprise and annoyance, cost over a dollar more than up north. Because we had walked almost 20 blocks to get there, I rewarded us with the purchase of two Timbits. They were dry and flavourless (what is going on here?). On the upside, we didn't have to pay anything for them, and the kind man behind the counter even threw in two more, no charge. As he explained, the cash registers have "no buttons for one Timbit, two Timbits, three Timbits...,"nor any quantity of Timbits less than ten (but if you buy five, they charge you for a donut). So as far as I can estimate, the best deal I got this weekend was worth $0.68.

Day 35

This morning I was very relieved for the rain. At least, I'm told that it was raining, but I never really saw it for myself. When the alarm went off at 5:30 am, Zdenek got out of bed and returned 30 seconds later, telling me that it was "dark and rainy and we're going back to sleep for another hour. No cycling." I didn't argue.

Saturday mornings, forever my "long run" time, are now dedicated to a "long cycle," at least while the weather cooperates. Last Saturday, however, Zdenek and I were forced to turn back early on our ride to Nyack, because another cyclist had been in a serious accident on the road ahead of us and the police had shut down the 9W highway. I almost regret putting this into my blog, because I know that, if my mother is reading this, I am going to get a lecture on the perils of taking to the roads on two wheels. Mom, no need: that accident actually scared me sufficiently such that, this past Saturday, I opted for running over cycling. Or at least I considered running instead of cycling, but soon decided that I simply love my little red Giant too much and couldn't bear letting her sit idle on such a beautiful, sunny Saturday morning. So Zdenek and I headed out that morning with two new cycling buddies, Adam and Jen, and we enjoyed a moderately challenging and very talkative 50 miles together. In fact, when we returned to the UWS around 1 pm, the weather was still so beautiful and my legs were feeling so good, I decided to "brick it."

Learning to be a "biathlete" -- if I can call myself that -- can be pretty tough. Thus far, I've managed to head out cycling on the non-rainy days and reserve running for the times that my schedule calls for a bit more flexibility. At last count, I have either run or cycled 32 times in the last 34 days. I have occasionally run and cycled on the same day, usually 10 to 12 hours apart, but until Saturday, I have never stacked a run directly on top of a 50 mile ride. In considering whether I should immediately lace up my running shoes and head back out, I realized that, in an Ironman race, one is expected to complete an entire marathon after a 112-mile bike ride (and, of course, a 2.4 mile swim). So then what's a 4 mile run following a 50 mile ride? It's a cool-down, right?

Truth be told, the run didn't feel too bad. I ran the relatively flat roads of Riverside Park for a change, and though I'm not sure exactly how fast I went, my legs fell into a somewhat normal rhythm after about 10 minutes. I returned home to my already-rested husband, pleased with myself for completing my first brick workout. (It also helped to lessen the guilt that evening when we indulged in a full tasting menu with wine pairings, though I'm not sure how many bites of dessert those four miles really bought me.) On Sunday morning, I was still feeling good enough to run another 10 miles or so. Perhaps I had become an Ironwoman (or maybe a half or quarter of one) without even trying to?

But this morning dashed any dreams I might have of making it to Kona anytime soon. I was relieved to forgo a bike ride for another hour of sleep, and just lying in bed, my legs felt heavy and lead-like. I'm probably not the first aspiring multi-sport athlete to surmise that the "brick" refers not to the sequence of workouts, but to the state of one's muscles following said workouts. This morning was a very welcome rain day indeed.

Unscheduled playtime

This week got off to a poor start. After hitting the snooze button no less than five times on Monday morning, Zdenek and I dragged our groggy selves out of bed for a scheduled bike ride. We skipped our morning coffee -- a huge mistake given our lack of sleep -- and could barely keep our legs moving as we rode around Central Park at our slowest pace in over a year. It was truly pathetic, and one of those days on which we would have been better off just staying in bed and grabbing another hour or two of shut-eye.

Monday and Tuesday were spent in a picturesque setting at my company’s off-site retreat, and while there were a plethora of outdoor activities at our disposal (including hiking, running, and mountain biking), yours truly declined to take full (any?) advantage of the scheduled playtimes. On Monday I mostly paddled around the lake before retreating to the bar at 4 pm. By Tuesday I was feeling good enough to sit on a horse for a 45 minute trail ride. My horse, Fresco, was 35 years old -- which makes him about 102 in human years -- but he showed more spunk and energy than the lame 31 year-old riding on his back.

Back in New York on Wednesday, I was greeted by 98% humidity. Ah, the New York summer. Why people actually settled here instead of continuing on further West is something I may never understand. My Wednesday run was horribly slow and it felt similar to running through hot soup (or at least what I imagine running through hot soup to feel like), and the rest of the week has been much of the same. This morning found me once again desperately needing more sleep after another company party last night.

I really should have stayed in bed for another hour, but instead I forced myself to lace up my running shoes and suffer through it; I needed to make up for my slothful days earlier in the week. It was a pretty painful start to the morning, and cutting through the dense, humid air didn't make me feel any more awake. But about five minutes into my run, it started to sprinkle, and by ten minutes in, I was running through a heavy downpour in Central Park. It was the kind of warm, unrelenting thunderstorm that only a sticky New York summer day can bring. I continued on my five miles, drenched to the core, squishing water between my toes with every step. I tried to wring the rain from my heavy, sopping shirt, but this proved to be a futile endeavor. I had to wipe my eyes every few hundred meters to even see where I was going. I was soaked.

But as I ran, I realized that I was smiling, and then I noticed that most of the other soggy runners whom I passed were smiling, too. It was the kind of run that most runners would not actively leave the house to experience. If it had begun raining only 10 minutes sooner, I am certain I would have logged five fewer miles today. But it was the kind of run which made obvious the simplicity and playfulness of putting one foot in front of the other, splashing through puddles, feeling clean and alive. The only people in the Park this morning who didn't look very pleased were the cyclists.

Jodi & Zdenek go to the Maritimes (and even spot a moose)!

It was mostly cold, almost always cloudy, and we drove way too much. Indeed, it wasn't what one might call a "vacation," and it has sort of left us feeling like we could use one. Rather, we'll remember this trip for what it was: a history lesson, a chance to explore an important part of our home country, and an opportunity to indulge in some of the world's best seafood. Here are a few of the shots we were able to take through fog and clouds.

Peggy's Cove, Nova Scotia

(Day one; we're trying not to let the crappy weather get us down)

In Lunenburg, Nova Scotia, aboard the Bluenose II

Sea Caves at St Martins, New Brunswick, during low tide

We had "World Famous Chowder" here, and it seriously lived up to its name!

Fundy National Park, New Brunswick

It was dark and rainy, and we had the Park to ourselves.

A rainforest-like setting in Fundy National Park

Have you seen bigger lobsters?!

(We took a 1.5-pounder home with us.)

Cape Enrage in New Brunswick

(Once again, we were the only two people around, as was the case for much of our trip.)

We spotted a whale here!

The magnificent Hopewell Rocks at the Bay of Fundy

At high tide, the water goes up to the trees!

The "Apple" rock

What the...?

Mmmmm.....

This is about the best weather we got in Prince Edward Island

Most delicious Cows ice cream in PEI

It was dark and pretty miserable, but PEI was still stunning

Lupins, lupins, everywhere!

Zdenek and our first Prime Minister

(Once again, we were the only two people in the place.)

We sampled many delicious microbrews along the way

Confederation House in PEI, upon which they were displaying a Canada Day light show

The wet and foggy beginning of the stunning Cabot Trail

Near Meat Cove on the Cabot Trail, Cape Breton Island

(Someone must have taken pity on us and decided to show us a bit of blue sky.)

Moose!!!

The picturesque Cabot Trail

This looks a lot like Manhattan

Not wanting to leave after finding the one sunny spot on the Island

A soggy, miserable day at Louisbourg, Cape Breton Island

Why the French and the English actually waged battle over this terrible place is beyond us!

A few rays of sunshine at Inverness Beach, Cape Breton (it was still cold, though)

I had a hard time leaving my beer; this was the first (and last) sunshine we saw in days

At the Glenora whiskey distillery in Cape Breton

C'est tout!

Bucket down

I am most definitely not a rain girl. At one time, I used to think I was a rain girl, but this was when I grew up and lived in one of the driest climates in Canada, and so rain was both a rare occurrence and a special treat.

When I was preparing to move to the UK many years ago, everyone warned me that "it rains a lot in England!" Yeah, yeah, I thought. But rain is lovely and comforting and makes you feel warm and toasty when you're at home under a blanket with a big bowl of popcorn watching a movie, and then when you realize you forgot the candy all you do is get in your car that's waiting in your dry garage and drive five minutes to the store, where you park right next to the door and hop from your car to under the store-front awning, dash in and dash out, and before you know it you're back home, snug as a bug, and the next day, it's gloriously sunny and you can go outside and wonder when it might rain again.

But as I learned all too quickly, living in England is nothing like this. Instead it is more like, Oh my goodness, I cannot believe it is raining again because it has been raining every.single.day. for three weeks and I have not seen the sun for more than 45 cumulative minutes in all that time and my skin is turning pasty and gross and every time I go out (on foot!) I get soaked to the bone and then once I get to work I announce to everyone that my "pants" are wet right through, and they all snort and laugh because they're British, and in their vernacular, "pants" means something very different altogether, and now I am both wet and looking like a fool, but I cannot put my shoes or socks over the vent to warm up because this is Britain and they don't have vents, so I will remain miserable and cold and wet and wonder when I will possibly see the sun again, and then lo and behold, on the first full day of sunshine, every British person (or at least it feels that way) runs outdoors and strips off their shirt and lies, half-naked, in the chilly spring weather.

It's been raining a lot in New York lately. It was tolerable for a while, and I appreciate that all this rain is good for the trees and the grass and the flowers, and is indeed the very reason that Central Park is such a lush playground to begin with. But after many days of this, and many days more in the forecast, it's starting to wear a little thin. I believe that Friday is the sole day of sunshine in the forecast between now and when we leave for vacation, and you can bet that Zdenek and I will both be riding tomorrow.

Zdenek and I are incredibly anxious for our vacation to begin. It's been a tough slog in NYC this year and we're both knackered (my inner Brit reveals herself). The forecast isn't meant to be much better where we're headed, but even if it's chilly, I hope that it is dry. Maybe by the time we get back, the clouds over this little island will have cleared away.