Siesta time

This week has been a bit of a bummer weather-wise. I had not one, but two runs in the pouring rain, and Tuesday’s bike ride was wet, windy, and hard. But this morning the clouds and rain cleared away, leaving behind only sunny skies and a beautiful temperature. It took a little longer than usual for Zdenek and me to get out of bed and out the door (our accumulated sleep deficit is really starting to take its toll), but I’m glad we rallied. Today’s ride was perfect in every way: fast, fun, and rewarding. Although it’s gradually becoming uncomfortable for me to assume the most aerodynamic position on my bike, I can still manage, and even at five months my body is cooperating enough to allow me to ride long and hard.

It’s now been 18 consecutive runs or rides for me (my last “rest day” was the day we flew back from our Canadian vacation), so I think I’m long overdue for a little sun and siesta. Good thing, since Zdenek and I are off to Spain! The temperatures will be blistering hot, but I’m counting on long afternoon snoozes by the beach and pool to get me through. We like to refer to this vacation as our “last hurrah” -- meaning the last real vacation we’ll have in this life as we know it. And while we've been known to spend portions of supposedly “relaxing” vacations by subjecting ourselves to torturous hikes or itineraries, this time, I think the circumstances will force us to take it easy. (I did pack my running shoes, though -- just in case.)

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.

Don't trash it

Since moving into our new apartment almost one month ago, Zdenek and I have been on a bit of a home furnishing frenzy. In fact, we’ve made so many big-ticket purchases in the last while that my bank has put a freeze on my credit card not once, but twice, assuming fraudulent activity. But Zdenek and I have been living like students for years -- despite the fact that our student days are but a distant memory -- and so unfortunately everything we’ve purchased thus far has really been a first-time acquisition after five years of dorm-like living: bedroom furniture (which allowed us to throw away the plastic storage boxes we’ve been using in place of drawers, and to place our mattress on a bed, rather than the floor); a kitchen table (that is quite a big bigger and definitely nicer than the poker-table-sized piece of junk off which we’ve been dining); a flat-screen TV (replacing our beloved 1995 Sony Trinitron); and a wall unit (providing a place for our new TV and storage space to boot). Though we still have a few more purchases to make (and let’s not even think about where the +1 is supposed to go), the apartment is beginning to approach something resembling the dwelling of two thirty-somethings.

Because most of our previous furniture was (a) IKEA, (b) plastic or pine, and (c) terribly ugly, we’ve been throwing most of it away rather than attempting to make a few bucks by selling it to real students. The other night, though, after we made the decision to buy a new dining set, I figured I might as well advertise the IKEA kitchen cart that has served as extra counter space for the past five years. I put together a nice photo, wrote a few lines of text, and posted the ad on Craiglist. Within 20 minutes, I had received three inquiries from people wishing to pick it that same evening, and at 10 pm, no later than three hours after posting the ad, my kitchen cart was wheeled away by two young girls who trekked up from Gramercy to collect it.

Even more surprisingly, up until a day ago, I received a total of 20 or more emails about this kitchen cart. I finally decided to delete the ad altogether; it was so far buried in the Craiglist classifieds that I couldn’t even find it, so I'm not sure how everyone else was managing. (Apparently, kitchen carts are a hot commodity in Manhattan apartments, and if I should ever be in need of work, I think I know just the line of business to enter.) This whole ordeal made me laugh because we paid $99 for that thing five years ago, and although it was still in good condition, it wasn’t really anything special. But when I was on the phone with the girl who ended up buying it, she enthusiastically described it to her roommate as “AWESOME.” I guess it’s true what they say: one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

That proverb applies these days not only to furniture, but to my running, too. While my cycling remains solid (it seems less affected by the extra being I’m toting around), my running has definitely been slower-going for the past four months. I’m managing to keep up with my mileage (and, combined with my biking, haven’t had or wanted a rest day in two weeks), but I’m simply not able to make my paces of a few months ago: my comfortable 8-8:15 min/mile run has morphed into an 8:45-9:00 min/mile jog (and is even slower when the weather is particularly scorching). And yet, I am amazed that I am passing plenty of men and women on every loop. Speed is definitely relative.

I may not be as fast as I would like right now (though hopefully I will be at some point again in the future), but at least I’m moving and am still doing so at a respectable pace. I realize that, just as I was smart enough to not trash my kitchen cart, I shouldn’t be so quick to trash my running. It is still, after all, AWESOME.

Relief

Last week, during our vacation in Western Canada, I was able to put in a marathon training effort. I ran a cumulative total of 45 miles over seven days, a sum that ranks up with some of my longest training weeks at the peak of my marathon plans, and despite the fact that there is no race in my future. Remarkably, though, it felt wonderful, liberating, and mostly easy. After trudging through three months of sticky, searing hot weather in the Big Apple, the cool mountain air and sunny, crisp mornings were a welcome relief.

I was shocked to find that, outside of New York City and even at a much higher altitude, my pace per mile dropped a solid minute. Although I had to confirm it several times on mapmyrun.com to truly believe it, it gave me some hope that perhaps I haven’t permanently lost whatever speed I may once have had. Indeed, last night after work Zdenek and I ran almost five miles in 31 degree heat, and my pace was once again tortoise-like. I hadn’t fully recovered when we headed out for a ride this morning, and I spent the first two laps drafting off Zdenek 95% of the time. Yep, it helps to have a strong training partner who can carry the load.

I’ve always gravitated towards spring marathons because, frankly, I don’t see how anyone can train properly through the summer months. (I did run the NYC marathon in November 2008, but I cut my preparation from 17 weeks to five.) Looking ahead, I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to run a race this coming spring, though I’d sure love to try. As several people now know, Zdenek and I will be +1 come 2011, and this will impact my ability to train to a degree that I can’t quite yet comprehend. Fortunately, with eight marathons and several more halfs under my belt, I feel like I can finally enjoy running for running’s sake, rather than needing to prove anything to myself.

Perhaps this newfound contentment will relieve any pressure to meet a particular time goal when I do eventually pick my next race in 2011 (if anything, the number “9” in front of per-mile pace has started to feel strangely normal). Or perhaps I'll switch tactics altogether and combine my passions into one by training for my first triathlon. But as for the +1, he/she already has already completed one marathon -- a feat that took me almost 27 years to tackle. It turns out that, as in cycling, running is definitely easier when someone else carries you along.

A compliment

This morning got off to a less than ideal start. I’m not sure if it was the fact that I had managed to get little more than six hours sleep, or whether the oppressive heat and humidity has been weighing me down. But while preparing for the morning’s ride, I happened to read a few emails that had arrived in my Inbox overnight. Without going into the details, suffice it to say that the messages really set me off in the worst way. Zdenek suggested that maybe I should skip cycling and get another hour of sleep (especially since I haven’t taken a break from running or riding in many days, and it’s still 30+ degrees here all day, every day), but I know that the only thing to keep me sane is the hour or two I have every day during which my heart is pumping fast and my legs are turning over as quickly as I can make them. So I wiped my tears and tired eyes, changed into my jersey, and headed out the door.

After a relatively hard first lap (during which I drafted for a few of the miles), Zdenek decided to go it alone on the second loop and ride as fast as he could. Meanwhile, I would ride solo, cut off the top mile of the Park, and meet him back at the start (as we’ve done successfully a few times in the past). Just before the East 72nd Street transverse, he waved goodbye and was off. But I, despite the poor start to my morning, was feeling pretty warmed up by this time, and so didn’t deliberately slow my pace simply because I was now sans husband. In fact, I picked it up. And before I knew it, I was back at the start in a truly record time, all by myself. I realized, looking at my split, that it might take Zdenek a bit longer than usual to catch up with me on the third loop, but I assumed that he was big and strong enough to lap me eventually. On my third loop, though, I was over halfway through before it became obvious that he was probably never going to catch me at all. No bother, I thought, I’ll just wait for him at the finish before riding home.

My solo cycling power would have probably been sufficient to turn my morning from bad to great, but the icing on the cake came during my climb up Harlem Hill. For the last few miles, I had been riding close to two other men on tri bikes -- sometimes I was ahead of them, sometimes they would get ahead of me, but mostly we were within 20 feet of one another at all times. Just as I began to huff and puff a little harder while spinning up the hill, one of the guys said to me, “Do you race?” No, I told him, I just ride for fun. “Well,” he replied, “you should race.” I told him that I was happy with marathons, to which he responded, “Your running ability has really translated into cycling. You should seriously consider racing, or at least triathlons.” It was as if he had been reading my mind! And then he rode with me a bit more -- we talked about his hamstring injury and where in the world my husband could be -- before I had to say goodbye and wait for Zdenek at the West 77th Street transverse. (Unfortunately, Zdenek turned up five minutes later than expected. Apparently he was so surprised to have not lapped me that he assumed he must have zoomed right past me at some point, so he stopped midway through the third loop and waited for several minutes midway, thinking I might “catch up.”)

Although everything in my day since that ride has been less than stellar, I keep coming back to that unexpected compliment. It’s wonderful to think that I actually pass for a cyclist to someone who isn't my husband or best friend, and that confirmation was worth any hour of lost sleep.

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.

Early morning rush

This morning's ride was one for the record books -- well, for my personal record book, at least. To be honest, I am not sure how or from where I mustered the energy. Yesterday I rode for an hour in the morning, then did a full weight session plus a run after work. I was so tired this morning when the alarm went off that it seemed as though my eyelids had been permanently fused shut. But I absolutely cannot pass up an opportunity to cycle. The season is too short, and the Park too perfect at six o'clock in the morning to stay in bed. One cup of coffee later and I was able to clip in and ride off.

As we got going, Zdenek said that we probably had time for only two loops this morning. Perhaps it was the knowledge that my ride would be 20 minutes shorter than usual that motivated me to work hard for the remaining 40. I'm not sure. But about one mile in, we were pushing the pace and I was enjoying it. I climbed Harlem Hill -- unassisted -- with every ounce of determination and power I could find, and Zdenek congratulated me at the top for a job well done. We finished the first loop a good 45-60 seconds faster than our usually solid lap time, and Zdenek asked whether I wanted to push again on the second loop. I replied, "We can try, but if I can't keep up, I won't keep up." But I did keep up. The whole way. And we finished that second loop in the fastest time I have ever clocked (save maybe once last season when I was drafting at the back of an entire pack of cyclists). True, I drafted off Zdenek this morning, too (and had a stranger drafting off me), but I still worked to my maximum capacity. My heart rate monitor will back me up on that one!

We cooled down with an easy four mile ride (so much for having time for only two loops), during which Zdenek remarked that he thinks I missed my true calling: I should have been a cyclist. Had I started earlier, I would now have the technical and handling skills that can only be cultivated over many years of riding. Certainly my body type (short, with thick legs) seems better suited for athletic endeavors on two wheels than on two feet. A few weeks ago on a ride together, Caitlin also asked me whether I've considered bike racing, because she thinks my riding skills and ability are now strong enough to make me competitive in the (very) minor leagues. (Unfortunately my tire-changing skills still need some work, though I am proud to report that I did handle 75% of the job on my back wheel last week.)

I'm not sure how I feel about bike racing. The difference between a bike race and, say, a full or half marathon, is that competitors actually try to win bike races, while most running "races" consist of a handful of serious competitors leading thousands (if not tens of thousands) of recreational runners. But anyone who is daring and motivated enough to enter a bike race is not what one would call a "recreational" rider. No, three seasons of riding have shown me that cyclists are a serious bunch, and it takes a great deal of skill, technical equipment, and dedication to keep up with them. I'm also unsure how I feel about the prospect of crashing in a race -- the early stages of Le Tour have once again confirmed that cycling hard in a pack of riders is an invitation for an ambulance ride. (Perhaps I need to consider triathlons, in which I can ride solo and drafting is forbidden.)

In any case, it still amazes me on an almost daily basis how much I love this sport, and how I do wish I would have discovered it sooner. There are few activities more exhilarating than a hard, fast bike ride, and there are few things on television that I'd rather watch these days than a professional cycling race. Running may remain the purest, most accessible form of activity (and nothing beats training for and running a marathon for a sense of a triumph), but it can't compete with cycling for the adrenaline rush. And this is especially welcome when I can barely open my eyes in the morning.