1,218 Rank. #1 in our Heart…

2017 SHAPE Women’s Half Marathon on Sunday in Central Park.

Our Rachel finished in 1,218 place out of 6,975 women finishers @ a 8:57 Pace.

Who would have thought?!?! ūüôā


Related Post: Running. 10, On Great Friday.

Running. With Pus.

Location: South Beach.
Temperature: 74¬į F. Humidity: 70%. Wind: 5-12 mph and gusting.
Run Plan: 11 miles.
Time: 6:45 am.

This is Dad and Daughter’s second run in preparation for her 1/2 marathon in two weeks. Run 1 here: Running. 10, on Good Friday.

Mile 1.0: The shoe-to-sock-to-skin chafing is working up a blister, not on one foot, but on the ball of each foot. With each step, the fluid-filled bubbles form from the friction, the high humidity, the sweaty feet, the damp sweat socks. The result? A stinging bite with each footfall. So early in the run, a (very) bad sign. Wore the wrong shoes, and paying a hefty price. Mind rolls forward, I’m in the bathroom post-run, in awe at how anxious I am to prick the juicy, squishy bubble, when I know I will be suffering with each step for days.  Awed again at the creation of this pus, it’s as clear as the run-off from a mountain stream in Spring. Miracle really, my mind and its workings, and this pus, this beautiful liquid created from something so raw and painful, and the healing process begins.

Mile 2.0: Feral cats meander on the boardwalk.  Lady with wild hair (and wild eyes) feeds them Li’l Nibbles Dry Cat Food from a Ziploc plastic bag, scooping a handful, and letting the nibbles slide out of her hand like sand from an hourglass. Cats watch from a distance, hungry but wary. She organizes the nibbles in the shape of a half moon, and walks to the next drop zone, eyes stare blankly ahead. [Read more…]

Running. 10, On Great Friday.

Zero Interest. Not¬†on my bucket list. Not sure what possessed me to agree to it.”¬†A colleague at work convinced her to sign up for the SHAPE Women’s Half Marathon in Central Park at the end of the month.

“Rachel, you aren’t a runner. You’ve never run. Do you realize how far that is?”

“Dad, I can always count on you for encouragement. You’re always right there for me.”

So, I watch. Fully expecting her to pull the rip cord and bail.

She’s following the recommended training regimen for newbies. I follow from¬†the shadows as her notifications ping my smart watch, signaling completion of her treadmill runs, her outdoor runs, her elliptical sessions. Her pace: consistently sub 9-minute miles.

Disbelief. [Read more…]

Walking Cross-Town. Without lungs.

blue

4:52 am.
January 19th.
35¬į F, clear, calm.

Rested.
Body parts functioning, check.
Smartphone in breast pocket, check.
ID building pass, check.
Nine minutes to first morning train, check.

I step out the door, insert key, turn, and lock the door. There’s a¬†clop clop¬†clop of footsteps on the street. I turn to see Runner. Male, wearing a Miner’s headlamp, his¬†beam illuminating the road.

2003. That’s you. Up, pre dawn: 5 miles Tuesday. 7 miles Wednesday. ¬†4 miles Friday. Hot shower. Off to work. [Read more…]

Running. Day 1, 2017.

bird-focus-look-down

Day 1, 2017.

A morning for reflection, lallygagging, and awe of a poem written by¬†Stanley Kunitz: “still-wet words…scribbled¬†on the blotted page: ‘Light splashed ‚Ķ’

Still-wet words. Light splashed. Wow. 

Sun beams pour in through the window, light splashes but does not lift this load…God, it’s so warm under these covers. How about reading, watching movies, and remaining horizontal?

10am. I need to exercise. Now! Sigh. What a state of mind on Day 1.

Mile 1

How about New Year’s resolutions? How about Not?¬† You’ve long since given up on Resolutions. You know the loop. Commit. Attempt. Renege in less than 30 days. Then self-flagellate for the remaining 11 months. Who needs it? Really?

Mile 2

I appreciated the punch line of Try a New Year’s Revolution: “I will work toward better days for myself…May Januarys be about self-acceptance, not self-improvement.” LOVE THAT.

Mile 3

“May Januarys be about self-acceptance, not self improvement.”¬†I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I can “do”¬†self acceptance. OMG. I’m on another doom loop.¬†This could be harder than setting New Year’s Resolutions. [Read more…]

Running. Born Blue to Run.

blue-art-sky

I’m less than mile in, on a planned five-miler. It’s not good.¬†The worm flips the stomach over, and over, and over.¬†Nausea. This will pass, don’t stop, run through it.

It doesn’t pass.

Bile backs up the throat, coats the molars and scurries forward. The gag reflex is triggered. I hunch over, hands clutch the knee caps. OMG. 

I stand upright, soldier-like, arms and hands hang. Eyes shut, tears slide down both cheeks, I make no effort to clear. I need this moment. Just a moment to re-grip. 

I grab the water bottle, gargle, and spew. Most clears, too much does not. A thick stream runs down the zipper line of the coat. Puking, on yourself, nice. 

I re-start.¬†The north¬†wind gusts and makes¬†contact, tear ducts gush water, the track in front is a blur. Whoa. Easy does it. [Read more…]

Running. With Pigeon.

pigeon

Hundreds of pieces of lint bangin’ around upstairs, but none stretch into a fluffy middle or knit to a checkered flag at the end. Flash. Flash. Flash. Blah.¬† Nothing there. Nobody home. Nobody. Nothing.

When you bathe yourself in Mary Oliver poetry, her essays, her shorts ‚Äď and when you waterboard your Blog followers with her Art, should there be any wonder of the source of the crippling doubt, the wellspring of inadequacy? Come on DK.

So here we go. In-n-out of her ethereal breezes to my…

Pigeon.

It’s daybreak, yesterday.¬† We’re on the way to Mianus River park for a trail run.¬† The gauge reads 27¬į F, and wind chill is knocking that down. We’re on a cross-street in Stamford, five miles out.¬† There’s no traffic. I stand at a red light. Anya‘s in the trunk,¬†peeking between the head rests; outside, water vapor from the exhaust pipes spills into the cold and flurries of white smoke cloud the rear window.

My attention is pulled right. There he was.¬† A Pigeon. He’s sitting on a ledge on a wall of the building lining the street, at my eye level.¬† He’s looking at me, me at him. [Read more…]

Running. And Free Fallin’.

in-the-snow-ix

Let’s take inventory.

Four Falls.
The heals of both hands scraped raw, instruments used to break each fall.
A right knee bruise. Severity? Somewhere on a continuum between Deep and below the surface. We’ll know for sure in the morning.

We are a self-correcting, self-learning being, right? Otherwise we wouldn’t be standing, breathing, and reading this, Right?

Adam, in his hunt for food for Eve and the kids, after falling face-first the first time, said, hmmmm, that didn’t feel good. That didn’t work out.¬†Let’s not do that again.

24¬į F. It’s the first snow of the season and I’m prepping.

Underwear. Thermal Underwear. Thermal Socks. Thermal undershirt. Wicking overshirt. Heavy Down coat. Tuke. Gloves. Fanny Pack with bottle of water, smartphone and headphones.

I catch a glimpse of this package in the mirror before stepping into the garage. Holy Sh*t. Sasquatch.

I pull on Ugg Boots, two pound leg weights strapped on each foot. Who runs in snow in Ugg Boots? 

First fall.
A flat surface, I’m caught by surprise. An ice patch. The legs fly out. I fall heavily on left side, air gushes out of the belly, which is still jiggling. I roll on my back. ¬†Where’s my smartphone? Right pocket please. Right.

Second fall.
A steep incline. Uggs are crampon-less. Right leg slides out. Left leg follows, and a tumble down a¬†short embankment. ¬†I’m covered in a mixture of snow, leaves and dirt.¬†Camouflage. Military drills. No, more like Carl Spackler the greenskeeper on Caddyshack:¬†‚ÄúThey’re like the Viet-Cong…Varmint-Cong. So you have to fall back on superior firepower and superior intelligence. And that’s all she wrote.” [Read more…]

Running. With 0.5 Wolfpack.

mianus-river-park-nov-2016

Kids: “Dad, People just don’t do that. It’s weird.”
Dad: “Listen, I’m not People.”
Kids: Eyes roll. Whispering to each other, don’t we know that.

My text message is sent to the neighbors the night before.
“‚ĶWill Anya be free to come out to play in the morning?”
Text message comes zipping back.
“‚ĶOf course. We’ll leave the door unlocked, and the leash by the door.”

This has become a weekend routine.

She now knows what’s coming when the leash is by the door. She hears the car pull up, its daybreak. I walk up to the door, there’s a soft “woof” ‚Äď she’s been waiting. I can hear the pitter patter of her paws on the wood floor. I open the door and she bounds out, ready to join her¬†new BFF.

When you lose your dog, when the wounds are still fresh, and you haven’t / can’t replace your dog, what do you do?¬† You borrow the neighbor’s Dog, of course.¬†It’s not weird, it’s a bloody necessity. 0.5 Wolfpack is better than no Wolfpack at all. [Read more…]

Running. With Lessons for Rachel.

rachel-steps

She started it.

With the taunts. The insults: “Jelly Belly.” “Man Boobs.” “Sad.”

This being Daddy’s Girl.

Daddy’s Creation. I built THAT.

She’s¬†2x younger. Or better stated, Dad’s¬†2x older.

And, then, she threw out the bait.

Dad: “Let’s compare daily step counts. Download this App. ¬†Maybe we can get that (pointing to the belly) in better shape.”

So, it has become a Father-Daughter ritual.

Each night, before bedtime, we check our step counts via a text share.

Week 1 was a partial week and a ramp up week РРand her gloating.

Week 2 is the first full week and both sides are in full stride.

She shares her report tonight.  Her steps are shown above Рalong with her step count each day for the last 7 days.

My response: “Not bad Honey. ¬†ūüôā

I then reciprocate and¬†send her my¬†daily report. (Below) [Read more…]

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