Maybe it's the holidays or maybe it's the egg nog, but I'm getting seriously sappy thinking about the awesome collection of people I am lucky enough to call my family. I mean, I spent the morning making pasta with my dad and joking with my sisters. Now, I am having a "writing sesh" with my brother. ("Writing sesh" for me means blogging, sometimes about running. For my brother, it means assembling a scrapbook displaying his global rock climbing adventures. He will later give this scrapbook to my parents. It's his annual yuletide trump card.) Either way, it's not even noon and I feel drunk on happiness and family love. I could go on and on describing my wonderful and unique and downright rad family members, but today is all about Grandpa.
To put it simply: Grandpa is the fucking man. I don't really know how else to sum him up. (Sorry, Grandpa, for using a curse word. Fucking, when used as an adjective, is a superlative: it indicates something really, really awesome or something really, really terrible [awesome, in this instance]. It's a word you use when no other word will do; when no other word is good enough. So calling you the fucking man really means Grandpa, you are a man whose wonderful qualities are superior to those of other men. Now that you're hip to the modern vernacular, let's continue.)
In my mind, my grandfather is tall; taller than most other grandpas I've met. (I'm also 5'1", so my view is skewed.) Because he's also generally quiet, Grandpa sometimes seems stoic. He's not. While Grandpa isn't a chatterbox like my grandmother, he is relatively conversational. But he is also a fantastic listener. Grandpa loves to hear about all of our adventures. Whether we are living at the top of a mountain waiting for enough snow to open Mt. Crested Butte (my Uncle Tom), driving across the country and being a migrant laborer to pay the way to the next stop (my mother) or climbing up the baddest rock walls in the Argentinian Patagonia (my brother), Grandpa is eager to hear all about it. The best part is he's so genuinely excited for us. Proud of us, too. For the past two generations, my various family members and I have ventured down some of the more random, bizarre and sometimes physically demanding roads life has to offer. Each and every time, Grandpa has stood on the sidelines, unfazed, cheering us on in his own quiet way.
Grandpa is amazing because he is our biggest supporter. He's also the most kindhearted person, too. If Grandpa notices the treads on your tires are looking a little, well, bare, it's not uncommon for him to show up with a new set of Michelins for you. Really. I'm pretty sure 75% of what occupies Grandpa's brain is how he can help others. 10% of his thoughts are probably related to his extensive group of friends and the remaining 15% is spent thinking about tennis. And that brings me to the Boston Marathon.
Two or three years ago, I donated a small amount to Tenacity as a Christmas gift for Grandpa. I heard Tenacity was this Boston-based after school program that taught city kids how to play tennis. I knew Grandpa would love that. You see, my grandfather is super into tennis. I don't know how the son of Polish immigrants ever got into the sport, but Grandpa didn't stop playing once he started. Tennis was always a part of Grandpa: if he wasn't doing something for one of us, chances are Grandpa could be found at the local racquet club, probably playing his second match of the day. Although Grandpa is too humble to ever say it, my grandfather was regularly firing aces past guys significantly younger than him. He was pretty bad ass. (Side note: is firing aces even a tennis term?) This September, I was pleasantly surprised to find Tenacity was setting up shop at the school where I teach. I remembered the donation I had made a few years prior and knew Tenacity was a program with which I would want to be involved in some way, shape or form. Yes, Tenacity is amazing for my students and I would love the program regardless, but supporting Tenacity was kind of my way of doing something for Grandpa, too.
I was pretty psyched when I found out I was running the Boston Marathon for Tenacity. I don't think I could motivate myself to train for and run 26 miles for a charity that didn't tug at my heart strings a little bit and matter to me and to my students. I learned from Grandpa that success comes when you are all in. My grandfather does everything with a full heart. He doesn't know how to half-ass things, and I hope to God/ Allah/ The Illuminati I've inherited that quality, too.
I think a lot about my students when I run. Ultimately, they are the reason I got into distance running and they will be the direct benefactors of my Marathon fundraising efforts. But, recently, I've been thinking more about Grandpa. Grandpa is almost 90 now, and until about six months ago, he played tennis three days a week. (In reality, he played twice on one of those days, so we should probably just call it four days of tennis a week.) A hernia operation sidelined Grandpa, but let's not forget that, at age 89, my grandfather could have probably kicked your ass in straight sets. He could have absolutely smoked me off the court anyhow. If, at age 32, I'm even half the athlete my grandfather was in his mid-80's, I should be able to do ok running this marathon. I know Grandpa will be proud of me regardless.
Late December Data:
Distance Thursday (12/19): 2.31 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Thursday: 28 minutes (12' splits)
Distance Saturday (12/21): 13.1 miles
Time Saturday: 1 hour, 55 minutes (8'46" splits)
Distance Tuesday (12/24): 11.3 miles
Time Tuesday: 1 hour, 41 minutes (8'52" splits)
Distance Friday (12/27): 4.42 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Friday: 35 minutes (8'33" splits)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 165.1 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 26 hours, 32 minutes (1 day, 2 hours, 32 minutes)
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Monday, December 16, 2013
I feel like a runner
This is not what you want your iPhone to display minutes before you head outside for a run:
Unless I am skiing or snowshoeing, I want to stay indoors if the temperature is below the legal drinking age. Makes sense, really. But this?! This morning's temperature was just barely the age required to drive. Who in their right mind says, "It's only sixteen degrees. Sounds like a great time to spend an hour and a half outdoors without wearing a jacket"?
Oh wait. I say that.
Not only did I run in the bitter freaking cold on Saturday, but I did it at ten in the morning. (I just checked Hell. It has not yet frozen over. I was surprised, too.) This is all James' fault. James is one of my Tenacity marathon teammates who happens to live relatively close to me. Just over a week ago, we pegged Saturday as the day we would meet up for a training run. I know this is winter in New England and the cold is something to be expected. I get that. But it's always a shock to the system when you are mentally prepared to do something outdoors, but, in the short time required to take your dog out in the morning, your wet hair freezes into curly icicles. Not cool. So yeah, that's kind of how it was on Saturday.
In hindsight, I'm super glad James and I had planned to run together. There would have been at least a 50% chance of me bailing on the run if James wasn't keeping me accountable. Running partners help-- especially in crappy weather. Good to know. Also, running in the morning is not the worst thing ever. It's still not the greatest, but maybe it's a habit I should get into. I probably won't do it, but it's a thought.
I enjoyed my run with James a lot, despite the weather. First of all, James is a great dude (despite the fact that he graduated from Boston College) with a ton of marathon experience. He's a chronic over-planner when it comes to marathon training. I, on the other hand, am taking the hippie non-planning approach to this whole thing. It was good for me to talk to James and basically learn that I am at a fine place with my running mileage and splits. Also, James is way faster a runner than I am. Like, way faster. This is a good thing because it pushed me more than I would have otherwise. We started off running kind of slowly (9'24" split for the first mile) and then stepped it up each mile after that. We totally crushed the last mile, doing it in a 7'39" split. Do you see how that first digit is a seven? A freaking SEVEN. Whaaaaaaatttt? (Side note: I also learned this is called negative splits when you go faster each mile. I now know a running term. Thanks, James!)
While we were running around Castle Island, James noted, "Wow. It's only the hard core runners out here today." He was right. There were a lot of people in techie-looking gear and flashy, neon sneakers. Also, most of these people seemed to be running really quickly and totally knew what they were doing. They had clearly run in the freezing cold before and probably liked it, too. Jerks. Nevertheless, the hard core runners gave us the friendly head nod as they jogged by. I appreciated that. Their gesture prompted me to ask James, "Are we hard core, too?"
You know what? Maybe we are just a little hard core. I don't know if I will ever love running in temperatures under legal drinking age, but I certainly don't hate it. At least now I know a less-than-desirable weather report won't demote me to the treadmill. (Unless it's icy. I'm way too clumsy to navigate around ice without totally busting my ass.) Saturday's run was the first time I ever felt like a legitimate runner. Maybe it was the weather, or the negative splits, or the hard core simply acknowledging my presence (could be that I'm training for the Boston Marathon) but yeah-- I'm a runner. Crazy.
Data from my lazy week:
Distance Monday (12/09): 6.0 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Monday: 54 minutes (9' splits)
Distance Tuesday (12/10): 1.4 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Sunday: 30 minutes (too slow to even calculate splits)
Distance Saturday (12/14): 9.92 miles (with James)
Time Saturday: 1 hour, 25 minutes (8'32" splits... with a PR mile pace!)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 133.97 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 21 hours, 53 minutes
Unless I am skiing or snowshoeing, I want to stay indoors if the temperature is below the legal drinking age. Makes sense, really. But this?! This morning's temperature was just barely the age required to drive. Who in their right mind says, "It's only sixteen degrees. Sounds like a great time to spend an hour and a half outdoors without wearing a jacket"?
Oh wait. I say that.
Not only did I run in the bitter freaking cold on Saturday, but I did it at ten in the morning. (I just checked Hell. It has not yet frozen over. I was surprised, too.) This is all James' fault. James is one of my Tenacity marathon teammates who happens to live relatively close to me. Just over a week ago, we pegged Saturday as the day we would meet up for a training run. I know this is winter in New England and the cold is something to be expected. I get that. But it's always a shock to the system when you are mentally prepared to do something outdoors, but, in the short time required to take your dog out in the morning, your wet hair freezes into curly icicles. Not cool. So yeah, that's kind of how it was on Saturday.
In hindsight, I'm super glad James and I had planned to run together. There would have been at least a 50% chance of me bailing on the run if James wasn't keeping me accountable. Running partners help-- especially in crappy weather. Good to know. Also, running in the morning is not the worst thing ever. It's still not the greatest, but maybe it's a habit I should get into. I probably won't do it, but it's a thought.
I enjoyed my run with James a lot, despite the weather. First of all, James is a great dude (despite the fact that he graduated from Boston College) with a ton of marathon experience. He's a chronic over-planner when it comes to marathon training. I, on the other hand, am taking the hippie non-planning approach to this whole thing. It was good for me to talk to James and basically learn that I am at a fine place with my running mileage and splits. Also, James is way faster a runner than I am. Like, way faster. This is a good thing because it pushed me more than I would have otherwise. We started off running kind of slowly (9'24" split for the first mile) and then stepped it up each mile after that. We totally crushed the last mile, doing it in a 7'39" split. Do you see how that first digit is a seven? A freaking SEVEN. Whaaaaaaatttt? (Side note: I also learned this is called negative splits when you go faster each mile. I now know a running term. Thanks, James!)
While we were running around Castle Island, James noted, "Wow. It's only the hard core runners out here today." He was right. There were a lot of people in techie-looking gear and flashy, neon sneakers. Also, most of these people seemed to be running really quickly and totally knew what they were doing. They had clearly run in the freezing cold before and probably liked it, too. Jerks. Nevertheless, the hard core runners gave us the friendly head nod as they jogged by. I appreciated that. Their gesture prompted me to ask James, "Are we hard core, too?"
You know what? Maybe we are just a little hard core. I don't know if I will ever love running in temperatures under legal drinking age, but I certainly don't hate it. At least now I know a less-than-desirable weather report won't demote me to the treadmill. (Unless it's icy. I'm way too clumsy to navigate around ice without totally busting my ass.) Saturday's run was the first time I ever felt like a legitimate runner. Maybe it was the weather, or the negative splits, or the hard core simply acknowledging my presence (could be that I'm training for the Boston Marathon) but yeah-- I'm a runner. Crazy.
Data from my lazy week:
Distance Monday (12/09): 6.0 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Monday: 54 minutes (9' splits)
Distance Tuesday (12/10): 1.4 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Sunday: 30 minutes (too slow to even calculate splits)
Distance Saturday (12/14): 9.92 miles (with James)
Time Saturday: 1 hour, 25 minutes (8'32" splits... with a PR mile pace!)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 133.97 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 21 hours, 53 minutes
Saturday, December 7, 2013
I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22
A few very random things happened last night. First, a friend and I ran into a group of my students on Commonwealth Avenue. Well, that's not exactly true. We ran into them in the middle of Commonwealth Avenue. I was literally hug-attacked by a group of teenagers in the center lane of a three lane road. My apologies to the vehicles around at that time. I can't help that my students love me. Also, said friend and I were headed to the Paradise to see a show at the time. We were expecting to see the funky, bluesy Ryan Montbleau Band, but stumbled upon a reggae show when we walked into the venue. Wasn't expecting that. There were a lot of bad dance moves and tye-dye shirts and white people with dreadlocks but the music was good. Actually, the music was great. A reggae cover of an Al Green song? Yes, please! (Side note: we did finally see the Ryan Montbleau Band- the reggae band was the opener- and they were excellent, too.)
But the most random part of the evening happened after the show at T's Pub. T's Pub was an old college watering hole for my friends and I... and for everyone else who went to Boston University. The bar was basically on campus. T's is the kind of place that doesn't need a lot of TVs or good food or even a friendly staff, for that matter: you're going to go there because it's so close. So we did. Often. I've been to that bar countless times in sweatpants or in a BU hockey jersey. It didn't matter. T's is the definition of casual. That's why my friend and I were super confused when we walked into T's and found most of the bar decked out in cocktail dresses and suits. It was off-putting. After a lot of speculation (Is T's the new off-Boylston hot spot?), we finally asked a couple what the hell was going on.
Come to find out, the fancy folk were coming from Boston University's Delta Gamma sorority formal. We ended up chatting with this guy and girl for a little bit and they were lovely. (In hindsight, I wish I asked her where she got her dress. It was super cute.) They skeptically asked me if I had a job and, when I told them I actually had my dream job, they breathed a sigh of relief. (Don't worry, guys: the job market sucks, but you go to a good university and seem reasonably smart and more than a little bit personable. Also, you were both really pretty. For better or worse, that goes a long way in the real world.)
Talking with these college kids got me thinking: what was I doing when I was at Boston University? I certainly wasn't worrying about getting a job while I was drinking at T's Pub, so they are at least ahead of me in that respect. I focused a lot on my studies and less on my social life while in college, but that's pretty much it. I gave up on skiing. I don't think I went hiking at all during my time at BU. I went running about five times. Maybe. I spent pretty much no time in college outdoors or doing anything that would qualify as physical fitness. Good thing I inherited a speedy metabolism, I guess.
While at T's last night, my friend said, "I wish I could do college again." Although mine may not be the popular opinion, I totally would not take an undergraduate do-over. Not at all. College was insanely fun, but there is so much I can do now that I couldn't do back then. I now have a job that provides me money to travel where I want and to buy really cool things like a house and a dog. I spend my free time doing activities that improve my mental and physical well-being instead of routinely drinking myself stupid because that's just what you do when you're in college. (Holy shit. That last sentence makes me sound so old. I'm considering deleting it.) I'm training for a marathon now. That's certainly something I wouldn't have been able to do when I was at BU. Actually, it's something I wouldn't have wanted to do when I was an undergrad-- I was too busy writing papers and funneling Red Dog in a fraternity basement. This is maturity, right? (I was totally doing more writing than funneling, Mom. Really!)
I went for an amazing run today and thought a little about these two BU students from last night. In a way, they helped me realize something pretty important: age isn't all that big a deal. I can have ridiculous amounts of fun no matter how old I am. Maybe Aaliyah was on to something when she proclaimed age ain't nothing but a number. (However, Aaliyah did date R. Kelly when she was like 16, so maybe we should take her words with a grain of salt.) But seriously. This whole getting older business is complex. On one hand, I've got things more together now than I ever did back in college. I have direction, motivation and I finally figured out how to straighten my hair and apply eyeliner. (The latter two are huge victories. You have no idea.) Growing older has made me more comfortable in my own skin, too. I used to be this kind of awkward maybe tomboy/ sort of nerd/ total wannabe girl. It was kind of like my awkward teenage years extended into my early adulthood. It was bad. Come to think of it, I am still a maybe tomboy/ sort of nerd/ total wannabe girl, but it's different now. I own that about me, I suppose. I am sportier and geekier now than I was circa Y2K, but I am also way girlier. I'm calling this progress. Now Me is also training for a marathon and that's kind of awesome. While I don't readily admit my real age to people, I think age has certainly given me wisdom and a lot of confidence, too. Age is a number, but it's not one that dictates what I do or how I act.
Speaking of numbers, let's do this ESPN-style. Here is my week by the numbers:
1: The number of liver transplants I would need if I did, in fact, do college over again.
3: The number of times I listened to the album "Days Are Gone" by Haim on today's run. Give it a listen. Three sisters who kick ass and play guitars. They rock.
9.22: My average split time for my 15.7 mile run today. While that's slower than I've been running recently, it's a pretty decent pace for that distance. I'll take it. In fact, this may be a good target split for the marathon.
12: The number of pieces of sushi I just inhaled. Apparently achieving running milestones makes me want to go on a sushi bender.
15.7: The distance in miles I ran today. IN REAL LIFE. I wanted to see if I could run 15 miles and turns out I can. I feel like a complete bad ass right now.
20: The real age of the male BU student to whom we talked last night. He showed us his fake Illinois ID. It was terrible. I have no idea how he got into the bar.
26: I told the two BU students last night I graduated in 2010. This would mean that I am 26. They believed me. I really should've bought them a drink or something.
100: I've run more than 100 miles since I've been blogging! Sweet!
300+: Number of squats I've done this week. Tuesdays and Thursdays are now official leg strengthening days.
More numbers:
Distance Monday (12/02): 4.3 miles (with my amazing co-worker, Maria)
Time Monday: 44 minutes (11' splits)
Distance Tuesday (12/03): 3.03 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Sunday: 33 minutes, 30 seconds (11'23" splits)
Distance Thursday (12/05): 1.48 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Thursday: 20 minutes (splits are too slow to even mention)
Distance Saturday (12/07): 15.7 miles (PR distance!!!)
Time Saturday: 2 hours, 25 minutes (9'22" splits)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 116.65 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 19 hours, 3 minutes
But the most random part of the evening happened after the show at T's Pub. T's Pub was an old college watering hole for my friends and I... and for everyone else who went to Boston University. The bar was basically on campus. T's is the kind of place that doesn't need a lot of TVs or good food or even a friendly staff, for that matter: you're going to go there because it's so close. So we did. Often. I've been to that bar countless times in sweatpants or in a BU hockey jersey. It didn't matter. T's is the definition of casual. That's why my friend and I were super confused when we walked into T's and found most of the bar decked out in cocktail dresses and suits. It was off-putting. After a lot of speculation (Is T's the new off-Boylston hot spot?), we finally asked a couple what the hell was going on.
Come to find out, the fancy folk were coming from Boston University's Delta Gamma sorority formal. We ended up chatting with this guy and girl for a little bit and they were lovely. (In hindsight, I wish I asked her where she got her dress. It was super cute.) They skeptically asked me if I had a job and, when I told them I actually had my dream job, they breathed a sigh of relief. (Don't worry, guys: the job market sucks, but you go to a good university and seem reasonably smart and more than a little bit personable. Also, you were both really pretty. For better or worse, that goes a long way in the real world.)
Talking with these college kids got me thinking: what was I doing when I was at Boston University? I certainly wasn't worrying about getting a job while I was drinking at T's Pub, so they are at least ahead of me in that respect. I focused a lot on my studies and less on my social life while in college, but that's pretty much it. I gave up on skiing. I don't think I went hiking at all during my time at BU. I went running about five times. Maybe. I spent pretty much no time in college outdoors or doing anything that would qualify as physical fitness. Good thing I inherited a speedy metabolism, I guess.
While at T's last night, my friend said, "I wish I could do college again." Although mine may not be the popular opinion, I totally would not take an undergraduate do-over. Not at all. College was insanely fun, but there is so much I can do now that I couldn't do back then. I now have a job that provides me money to travel where I want and to buy really cool things like a house and a dog. I spend my free time doing activities that improve my mental and physical well-being instead of routinely drinking myself stupid because that's just what you do when you're in college. (Holy shit. That last sentence makes me sound so old. I'm considering deleting it.) I'm training for a marathon now. That's certainly something I wouldn't have been able to do when I was at BU. Actually, it's something I wouldn't have wanted to do when I was an undergrad-- I was too busy writing papers and funneling Red Dog in a fraternity basement. This is maturity, right? (I was totally doing more writing than funneling, Mom. Really!)
I went for an amazing run today and thought a little about these two BU students from last night. In a way, they helped me realize something pretty important: age isn't all that big a deal. I can have ridiculous amounts of fun no matter how old I am. Maybe Aaliyah was on to something when she proclaimed age ain't nothing but a number. (However, Aaliyah did date R. Kelly when she was like 16, so maybe we should take her words with a grain of salt.) But seriously. This whole getting older business is complex. On one hand, I've got things more together now than I ever did back in college. I have direction, motivation and I finally figured out how to straighten my hair and apply eyeliner. (The latter two are huge victories. You have no idea.) Growing older has made me more comfortable in my own skin, too. I used to be this kind of awkward maybe tomboy/ sort of nerd/ total wannabe girl. It was kind of like my awkward teenage years extended into my early adulthood. It was bad. Come to think of it, I am still a maybe tomboy/ sort of nerd/ total wannabe girl, but it's different now. I own that about me, I suppose. I am sportier and geekier now than I was circa Y2K, but I am also way girlier. I'm calling this progress. Now Me is also training for a marathon and that's kind of awesome. While I don't readily admit my real age to people, I think age has certainly given me wisdom and a lot of confidence, too. Age is a number, but it's not one that dictates what I do or how I act.
Speaking of numbers, let's do this ESPN-style. Here is my week by the numbers:
1: The number of liver transplants I would need if I did, in fact, do college over again.
3: The number of times I listened to the album "Days Are Gone" by Haim on today's run. Give it a listen. Three sisters who kick ass and play guitars. They rock.
9.22: My average split time for my 15.7 mile run today. While that's slower than I've been running recently, it's a pretty decent pace for that distance. I'll take it. In fact, this may be a good target split for the marathon.
12: The number of pieces of sushi I just inhaled. Apparently achieving running milestones makes me want to go on a sushi bender.
15.7: The distance in miles I ran today. IN REAL LIFE. I wanted to see if I could run 15 miles and turns out I can. I feel like a complete bad ass right now.
20: The real age of the male BU student to whom we talked last night. He showed us his fake Illinois ID. It was terrible. I have no idea how he got into the bar.
26: I told the two BU students last night I graduated in 2010. This would mean that I am 26. They believed me. I really should've bought them a drink or something.
100: I've run more than 100 miles since I've been blogging! Sweet!
300+: Number of squats I've done this week. Tuesdays and Thursdays are now official leg strengthening days.
More numbers:
Distance Monday (12/02): 4.3 miles (with my amazing co-worker, Maria)
Time Monday: 44 minutes (11' splits)
Distance Tuesday (12/03): 3.03 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Sunday: 33 minutes, 30 seconds (11'23" splits)
Distance Thursday (12/05): 1.48 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Thursday: 20 minutes (splits are too slow to even mention)
Distance Saturday (12/07): 15.7 miles (PR distance!!!)
Time Saturday: 2 hours, 25 minutes (9'22" splits)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 116.65 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 19 hours, 3 minutes
Sunday, December 1, 2013
I'm thankful for running
Thanksgiving is a time to eat, drink and be merry. In between stuffing your face full of carbs and booze, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to take a minute to reflect on all the things for which you're thankful. It's the right thing to do. Also, stopping to be thankful gives you a moment to breathe between mouthfuls of pumpkin pie and champagne. So that's helpful.
I'm thankful for a ridiculous number of things. I know Thanksgiving was a few days ago, but I don't think it's too late to give thanks. (Also, punctuality? Totally not my thing.) The following is not, by any means, an exhaustive list, but it's something. I'm thankful for...:
1. My family: They knew me when I was sporting the braces/ glasses/ frizzy hair trifecta and they still love me unconditionally.
2. My friends: We have more fun than other people. That's a fact. Also, my friends never tell me how crazy I am when I say things like, "I'm going to run the Boston Marathon!" Even if they do think I'm insane, they at least have the decency to say so behind my back. I appreciate that, guys.
3. My city: I know I complain about Boston sometimes, but I'm thankful this city has been part of my life for so long.
4. My bulldog: I am not currently thankful that my dog has somehow figured out how to snore louder than the football game I'm watching, but overall, he's a pretty great little dude. He's freaking adorable, too.
5. Beyonce: Do I really need to elaborate on this one? Come on.
Although I don't think it would ever make the top of the list, I'm also thankful for running... this year especially. It's interesting to be thankful for something you earn. No one is born a runner. Sure, there are people who have genetic advantages like long legs and lean limbs (boo to those people), but it's not like someone can wake up after years on the couch and go, "I'm going to run a marathon today." That's just not possible. I've earned every mile I've ever run. Two years ago, I started running on a treadmill. I distinctly remember the sense of accomplishment I felt after running my first 5k. I used my cell phone to take a photo of the treadmill's screen after that run and immediately sent it to my friend, Ben. "Bam! 3 miles!" was probably the text that accompanied that picture. Ben and I were both starting to run at this time, so we would text each other our mileage and stats after each run. This was the best motivation for me. I'm one of the most competitive people I know. Knowing Ben's running accomplishments pushed me to go faster and farther and to absolutely kick his ass. (Sorry, Ben.)
A few months ago, I deleted all the photos in my phone of treadmill screens displaying my running milestones. There were photos showing my first five mile run, six mile run and beyond. Don't get me wrong: I'm still really proud of those runs. Without them, I wouldn't be where I am today. Obviously, you have to run six miles before you can even think about tackling twenty-six of them. But let's pause for a second. Running, in isolation, sucks. Think about it: who would want to push themselves to the point where your muscles ache and it's hard to breathe? Why on Earth would anyone want to brave the cold, wind and rain to leave your house, run and then return to exactly where you started? All for the sake of what, really? Pride and accomplishment, that's what.
I am thankful for running because it provides me with an endless challenge. I can always run faster. I can always run more miles. And that's what I'm doing right now with my marathon training. I love running because I get to try and achieve a new goal each and every time I run. Trust me: I don't break new ground with each outing, but the thing is that I could. Running makes me feel accomplished. It makes me feel strong. It motivates me to do things I've never been able to do before. Running makes me aware of my body and thankful for the limits beyond which I can push it. (Not to mention it gives me a reason to wear running tights and flashy sneakers, like, all the time.) Some days, running kicks my ass and humbles me in ways that are too embarrassing- and frustrating- to write about. But, sometimes? Sometimes I push aside whatever is hurting and ignore that sense of doubt that creeps in when I start to get tired. Sometimes I am Superwoman. Sometimes I am confident enough to put my hand on my hip, look a challenge in the eye and say Bitch, please.
Who wouldn't be thankful for that?
Distance Tuesday (11/19): .90 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Tuesday: 12 minutes, 3 seconds (13'15" splits)
Distance Thursday (11/21): 2.39 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Thursday: 42 minutes (17'35" splits)
Distance Saturday (11/23): 10 miles
Time Saturday: 1 hour, 33 minutes (9'14" splits)
Distance Tuesday (11/26): 2.36 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Tuesday: 31 minutes, 33 seconds (13'21" splits)
Distance Thursday (Thanksgiving Day): 12.1 miles
Time Thursday: 1 hour, 42 minutes (8'25" splits... PR splits!!)
Distance Saturday (11/30): 5 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Saturday: 45 minutes (9' splits)
Distance Sunday (12/01): 3.2 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Sunday: 30 minutes (9' ish splits)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 92.14 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 15 hours, 4 minutes
I'm thankful for a ridiculous number of things. I know Thanksgiving was a few days ago, but I don't think it's too late to give thanks. (Also, punctuality? Totally not my thing.) The following is not, by any means, an exhaustive list, but it's something. I'm thankful for...:
1. My family: They knew me when I was sporting the braces/ glasses/ frizzy hair trifecta and they still love me unconditionally.
2. My friends: We have more fun than other people. That's a fact. Also, my friends never tell me how crazy I am when I say things like, "I'm going to run the Boston Marathon!" Even if they do think I'm insane, they at least have the decency to say so behind my back. I appreciate that, guys.
3. My city: I know I complain about Boston sometimes, but I'm thankful this city has been part of my life for so long.
4. My bulldog: I am not currently thankful that my dog has somehow figured out how to snore louder than the football game I'm watching, but overall, he's a pretty great little dude. He's freaking adorable, too.
5. Beyonce: Do I really need to elaborate on this one? Come on.
Although I don't think it would ever make the top of the list, I'm also thankful for running... this year especially. It's interesting to be thankful for something you earn. No one is born a runner. Sure, there are people who have genetic advantages like long legs and lean limbs (boo to those people), but it's not like someone can wake up after years on the couch and go, "I'm going to run a marathon today." That's just not possible. I've earned every mile I've ever run. Two years ago, I started running on a treadmill. I distinctly remember the sense of accomplishment I felt after running my first 5k. I used my cell phone to take a photo of the treadmill's screen after that run and immediately sent it to my friend, Ben. "Bam! 3 miles!" was probably the text that accompanied that picture. Ben and I were both starting to run at this time, so we would text each other our mileage and stats after each run. This was the best motivation for me. I'm one of the most competitive people I know. Knowing Ben's running accomplishments pushed me to go faster and farther and to absolutely kick his ass. (Sorry, Ben.)
A few months ago, I deleted all the photos in my phone of treadmill screens displaying my running milestones. There were photos showing my first five mile run, six mile run and beyond. Don't get me wrong: I'm still really proud of those runs. Without them, I wouldn't be where I am today. Obviously, you have to run six miles before you can even think about tackling twenty-six of them. But let's pause for a second. Running, in isolation, sucks. Think about it: who would want to push themselves to the point where your muscles ache and it's hard to breathe? Why on Earth would anyone want to brave the cold, wind and rain to leave your house, run and then return to exactly where you started? All for the sake of what, really? Pride and accomplishment, that's what.
I am thankful for running because it provides me with an endless challenge. I can always run faster. I can always run more miles. And that's what I'm doing right now with my marathon training. I love running because I get to try and achieve a new goal each and every time I run. Trust me: I don't break new ground with each outing, but the thing is that I could. Running makes me feel accomplished. It makes me feel strong. It motivates me to do things I've never been able to do before. Running makes me aware of my body and thankful for the limits beyond which I can push it. (Not to mention it gives me a reason to wear running tights and flashy sneakers, like, all the time.) Some days, running kicks my ass and humbles me in ways that are too embarrassing- and frustrating- to write about. But, sometimes? Sometimes I push aside whatever is hurting and ignore that sense of doubt that creeps in when I start to get tired. Sometimes I am Superwoman. Sometimes I am confident enough to put my hand on my hip, look a challenge in the eye and say Bitch, please.
Who wouldn't be thankful for that?
Distance Tuesday (11/19): .90 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Tuesday: 12 minutes, 3 seconds (13'15" splits)
Distance Thursday (11/21): 2.39 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Thursday: 42 minutes (17'35" splits)
Distance Saturday (11/23): 10 miles
Time Saturday: 1 hour, 33 minutes (9'14" splits)
Distance Tuesday (11/26): 2.36 miles (with Sole Train youth running group)
Time Tuesday: 31 minutes, 33 seconds (13'21" splits)
Distance Thursday (Thanksgiving Day): 12.1 miles
Time Thursday: 1 hour, 42 minutes (8'25" splits... PR splits!!)
Distance Saturday (11/30): 5 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Saturday: 45 minutes (9' splits)
Distance Sunday (12/01): 3.2 miles (on a treadmill)
Time Sunday: 30 minutes (9' ish splits)
Cumulative Distance Since Blog Started: 92.14 miles
Cumulative Time Since Blog Started: 15 hours, 4 minutes
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