Dry Heaves 5K

It's a shame no one has sponsored a race by this name. Here are the entry qualifications:

• violent food poisoning the night before the race
• sleep must only be intermittent and/or on the bathroom floor
• fits of nausea while driving to the race the next morning
• delusional stubbornness about dropping out of races

Essex Junction Recreation and Parks held a Father's Day 5K yesterday, and I had long ago planned to run it with Liz and her cousin Steve, visiting from out of town. The night before, we had dinner with Maria, and I couldn't decide between a burger or fish. Sadly, I chose the fish. I woke up disoriented and severely uncomfortable in the middle of the night, and many hours of GI distress ensued.

I couldn't bring myself to eat anything Sunday morning, having 'given back' everything I'd eaten for dinner. I was feeling steadier by the time I needed to leave my house, so I figured I'd drive into Essex and see how it went. At the start line I was wobbly, but I was also thinking, "It's a 5K! A 1/2 hour out of your life, a mere 3 miles. Take it easy and you'll be fine."

Heading up the first, fairly respectable hill, every burp tasted like vomit and I stopped several times thinking I might blow chunks, but I couldn't actually manage to throw up anything. This continued for 3.1 miles, about 36 minutes. By the end of the race, it was just me and a really nice couple who were vying for last place, so at least there wasn't much of an audience for my misery.

At one point, doubled over in discomfort, a very supportive older man said, "Just one foot after the other, don't give up!" I wanted to be gracious -- his comment is the kind of supportive spirit you want runners to give each other, especially in a little community 5K. But what I wanted to holler was, "Dude, you have NO idea...!"

I tried walking a bit to settle my stomach. That didn't work so I tried running really, really hard, as if to say, "Hey stomach! Put up or shut up!" But that just led to more dry heaves. I sulked to the finish line, wanting only to preserve my pride by beating the nice couple I mentioned earlier.

I spent the rest of the day half-asleep on the couch, fan whirring, blinds drawn and watching The Real Housewives of New York City, if only to remind myself that there are people out there more miserable than I felt.

Capital City Stampede 10 K

Always enter races that are distances you haven't tried so you can claim a PR!

The Capital City Stampede in Montpelier was the first 10K I've participated in, and it's an awesome distance. Not so short that it's meaningless, not so long that it fills me with dread.

About 100 people came out in the rainy rain to race from Onion River Sports, out to the high school and down the bike path and back roads. I particularly liked the beginning when the runners were still bunched together and we ran across the front porch of the Statehouse. It definitely evoked a 'stampede' sensibility.

This photo was taken just before the finish line, where the pack had definitely... thinned out. Thank you Bob Sayers for sending me this shot! If you look close you'll see both of my feet are off the ground, which is somehow really gratifying to see. And if you squint hard, you'll see Chad and Thao up at the street corner cheering on every last runner in the race. They deserve a sportsmanship award for the positive energy they bring to races.

Final time, 1:05 -- not fast, but speedier than my normal 11- to 12-minute plod. Thank you Central Vermont Runners for a fun morning!

Lovely, lovely Vermont City Marathon

Race day dawned cool and cloudy, nearly perfect weather for running. Walking through Battery Park at 7:00 a.m. on Sunday, groups of runners hovered together like cluster flies -- the Team In Training purple-shirted runner, the UVM College of Medicine yellow-shirted runners, scores of individuals looking for a few minutes of peace, plenty more looking to pump each other up for the start.

Earlier in the weekend, I spent a few hours volunteering at the Sports & Fitness Expo, handing out t-shirts to some of these runners and feeding off their excitement and nerves. I also spent some quality time with Beth and Heidi shopping at the Expo, where we discovered the curious display of pink Glide. (I can report it works no differently than regular Glide.)

I stayed home on Saturday and skipped the hoopla of the Expo speakers, movies, and crowds of runners. I considered going to watch (heckle) Jess Cover as she gave the course overview presentation, but yard work won the day. As with all things marathon, there's always next year...

Ok, so race day: I ran a little more than 12 miles on a relay team, Legs 2 & 3. My leg started near Battery Park and headed out the Beltline, which some people find dismal and stultifying, but I appreciate its calmness and pretty views (if you look up from the highway you're running on). The best part of the Beltline is that all the runners pass each other coming and going on the out-and-back loop. The fastest of the fast, the hoards of fit competitors, the throngs of determined turtles, and those few improbably slow souls who make the decision to keep plugging away, mile after mile.

I left the relay exchange zone going faster than I normally run -- about 10:00 pace. I had no expectations of myself except to finish the distance, and my speed wasn't something I'd given much thought to. I figured after one fast mile I'd lose my breath and settle into a pace that's more in line with the nearly non-existent training I'd done, about 11:30. But a few miles into the run, I was holding a strong pace and stayed with it. (Amusing Beltline moment: I heard a runner saying, "that's an expensive mistake." I looked up and saw another runner ahead wearing full tights and thought, 'ok it's too warm for that, but I wouldn't call it an "expensive mistake.' Then I looked straight up and realized she was talking about the massive hot air balloon deflated and wrapped around a light pole. Nice work.)

Coming up the hill on the Beltline was tough, but getting to the top and coasting on flat ground is sweet relief. As I got to the relay exchange just before Mile 9, the course volunteers were ushering me in my relay bib toward the exchange zone, and I kept motioning that was running through to the next leg. Last year at this exact point, I was trying to get off the course, and the volunteers were trying to get me and and my marathon bib to keep going.

I rounded the corners and headed to Church Street, halfway through with my mileage for the day. Church Street erupted with crowds cheering maniacally, and runners cruising the nice downhill slope. Coming through the water stop at the bottom of Church, I stopped at Chapstick Corner to say hi my friends, eat a Gu and apply some lip gloss. At this point, my pace was averaging 10:45 but I was getting fatigued. I used the long, gradual downhill of Pine Street as best I could, but I was spent byt the time I hit the South End. I decided to keep running, even at a slow jog, till I got to the hill at South Cove, and then I'd let myself walk up the short steep hill to Oakledge.

From the beginning of the bike path at Oakledge Park, it was just 2 miles and the long steep Battery Hill between me and Cate, who would take the coveted relay bracelet and head up North Ave. Those weren't "successful" miles, but I felt pretty good about myself: I had run way harder, way longer than I expected I could, and mentally it was the best run I'd had since before the Montreal marathon last fall. The race atmosphere made a huge difference, and so did the lack of pressure of being on relay team with runners who didn't particularly care about time.

Batter Hill: good lord. I walked a little bit on the bike path knowing that I wanted to have the energy to run (not walk) the entire hill. The Taiko drummers did their job in raising a huge amount of energy from the runners and the crowd. I slogged up Battery, happy to see friends along the way: Maria and her dad, Nadine, who jumped in and ran the hill with me, KP and Justin, and finally at the top (hallelujah!) Amy and Amber. You all rock for coming out to the race!

A few quick yards from the top of the hill into Battery Park and I was done! Cate was ready and waiting an took off down North Ave, reporting later that her 5 miles were full of great vibes from spectators.

The group of us (minus Cate) headed down to the bike path to cheer in the runners who were finishing. If you've never done this, I highly recommend it. I was yelling and cheering like mad, and lying through my teeth for the most part. "You look AWESOME!" Smooth and steady, you look great!" "Just yards to go, not miles!" One of my friends asked me if it really helps to hear things like that around mile 25.5. Yes. The answer is yes. It doesn't matter if it's truthful, it only matters that you are convincing and keep the runners motivated, even for a few steps. (Shortly after another round of "You're a rock star!" a woman running by half-laughed, half-whispered, "Oh, God bless you.")

Around 1 p.m., I was sitting in the shade with Amy and Amber and thousands of others in Waterfront Park and I thought, I need a massage right now. Luckily, I save phone numbers like mad, and I made a appointment for 2 p.m. Just a long slog up to a downtown garage and quick drive stood between me and guaranteed recovery.

Vermont City Marathon is almost here!

Vermont City Marathon is Sunday, May 30, 2010


The last week has been a mix of marathon-envy and feelings of relief that I’m not running the full distance. A tour of recent running highlights:


- Dinner with Beth, Heidi and Jess. Heidi has crammed so many responsibilities and commitments into her schedule and now days before the race she’s questioning whether a foot injury has returned. At least the burgers were delicious.



- I intended to run 10 miles on Sunday to gear up for the 12 miles of relay running I’ll do at VCM, but effort was on par with Ferdinand the Bull. It was so beautiful out that I kept getting distracted by my surroundings: grassy stretches of rolling hills, bright green leafy trees, the bluest blue sky ever, an awesome view of the islands in the Inland Sea, horses munching on the tall grass at the roadside. Who can concentrate on running? I meandered 4 miles and then gave in to the hot, hot sun. Hung out at the lake with friends.



- Well, yes, it has been crazy hot!! Scorching! I can’t imagine how freaked out the marathoners must be by the weather we’ve had. The forecast predicts cooler temps starting today and going through the weekend, but it’ll still be in the 70s on race day. Probably a good idea to hydrate with more that coffee.



- Did I want to be at the Burlington High School track at 6:30 Tuesday morning? Well, no actually. I wanted to be asleep. But as Jess points out, better to get in the workout while it’s not stifling yet. Around 6:45 I was running my warm-up laps and trying to bargain with Jess about exactly how much running she force me to do. It did feel good to be back in action!



- I’m looking forward to volunteering this week with RunVermont. The scores of tasks and people that are set in place are impressive, and particularly heart-warming to those of us who adore organizational details.



- Relay team update: poor Maria was so looking forward to this, won a coveted relay spot in a lottery and rallied our team to get registered. And then made a mess of her knee ligaments in rugby practice and is now sidelined for the race. It won’t be the same without her!

Coffee = Hydration

I read in the June issue of Running Times an awesome column on 'hydration moderation'. It was geared toward high school students who've been raised in a world where a water bottle (and a cell phone) are extra appendages, and even non-athletes are constantly chugging water and Gatorade.

But there was a gratifying take-away for this coffee-slurping office worker:

"the average-size adult needs eight glasses of fluid a day, not eight glasses of water... Any fluids such as juices, milk, COFFEE, tea [etc] can help meet the Recommended Daily Allowance."

And....

"Don't worry too much about the 'dehydrating' effects of coffee or caffeinated soft drinks. Those fears are over-exaggerated."

Nice!

Running Groups

I have been in a funk, and haven't had much to say about running lately. As I've tried to figure out how to get my groove back, two people have recommended that I join a running group. Here for your entertainment are the specific suggestions made by my friend Bill, a former runner, about how to find just the right group and make a good impression:

1. Don't join a group of annoying people.
2. When you introduce yourself, say something like "Hi. I'm Patti. From the looks of your huge ass, I suspect I can run faster than you."
3. Ask them how often they stop for smoke breaks.
4. Never miss an opportunity to remind everyone that "There's no 'I' in 'Team.'"
5. Let everyone know you're serious by wearing all the gear you can find. Heart monitor, fancy watch, headband, spandex running suit, a couple water bottles strapped to your waist, sun glasses, reflective vest and some ankle weights. Try to find some blinky lights.
6. (Deleted by editor. Trust me, it was funny.)
7. Make sure you're eating a pack of Twinkies when you first meet them.
8. Say you want to name the team "Hannah Montana" because you LOVE her! Wearing a Hannah Montana shirt at the time is definitely a bonus.
9. Ask if you can borrow a lot of money from anyone.
10. Offer to give everyone a makeover, because they "could definitely use it."

VCM Relay Team!

So back in January when I thought I would be running the full Vermont City Marathon, my friend Maria thought it would be fun to enter the relay and have her relay team run alongside me for the the full race - motivation, camaraderie, company. Apparently I needed those things far before the race itself, because I my training was... lame, nonexistent and I decided not to run VCM after all.

But wouldn't you know it, Maria got a team in the relay lottery and now I am one of the runners on the team Patti's Pacers. The irony is rich.

The five-leg relay course lets you divvy the distances among your runners however you choose. I lobbied for two legs, so I'll be running about 12 miles:

• Leg 2, the Beltline: one of my favorite parts of the whole course, this out-and-back leg gives every runner a chance to see every other runner in the entire race. For back-of-the-packers, it's a pretty good thrill to see the fastest of the fast coming at you as you're heading out
  

• Leg 3, downtown and south end: the best and the worst leg. Pluses: running down Church Street, neighborhoods with water hoses and trays of oranges, bagpipers on Pine Street, cruising into Oakledge Park and then coasting up the bike path along the water. The minuses? Pine Street is mostly not attractive, the South Cove Loop is a cruel joke. Some might put Battery hill in the latter category too, but I have good memories of heading up this hill every time I've run it. And this time I get to hand off the relay bracelet as soon as I get to the top!
  

Check out the course map here.

To Gu, or not to Gu?

I've had a cardboard box of 24 Gu packets that seemed spawn its own replenishing supplies, it lasted so long. But now, it sits empty in my recycling bin, taunting me to consider whether I will run distances long enough to require more Gu anytime in the near future.

I went to the Marathon 201 class tonight, despite having stopped training for the marathon weeks, and felt a twinge of embarrassment. Today was the Boston marathon, and it gives a boost of excitement to the VCM runners who are entering their high-mileage weeks and contemplating their longest runs. I contemplate whether I will, in fact, knock off a few miles before my commute home. Sad.

So in this mindset of feeling like a quitter, but not quite ready to commit to another long race, I sat and listened, mystified, as Jack Pilla told the Marathon 201 class about his exploits racing 50 miles, 100 miles. Running in the dark, running through thousands of feet of elevation changes, sleep deprivation, dehydration, hallucinations. He enters marathons as 'training runs' - sometimes he does the course twice, or runs home afterward.

Someone asked how his pace changes from a flat marathon distance (6:20 miles) to a hilly 100-mile course (10:30 miles). And then said something that made me daydream for about 25 seconds: sometimes it's easier for slower runners to adapt to really long distances.

Huh.

Up to that point, I'd been thinking that I would give myself a break from marathons because the distance is too much pressure. Try half-marathons for awhile, then take another shot at the full 26.2. But now I wonder if I have it backwards. Maybe I should try something insanely big, and then go to back to the easy-by-comparison marathon and kill it.

This fantasy started to feel less enticing when Jack detailed the medical checkups and severe physical distress. Passing out in a desert canyon called Devil's Thumb, having your feet turn to hamburger, getting blood work done at Mile 88 to ensure your physical limits haven't been maxed out.

Not so sure....

Half-marathon, full birthday!

Run Vermont's Unplugged 1/2 Marathon started yesterday morning in cold, windy conditions -- even a sprinkling of icy rain droplets. By mid-morning, the sun was out in full, the breeze off the lake was still brisk but the air had warmed up nicely. Around Mile 6 I was soooo relieved Jess had convinced me not to wear the heavy running tights and jacket. (The jacket might have been nice around mile 11 where the waves from the lake were crashing over the bike path...)

The race culminated 3 weeks of indecision and poor training, and finish time of 2:34 is exactly what I expected, and exactly what I had earned. I felt good finishing, even though it was definitely not a day of reaching my full potential.

It was, however, my birthday! Running a 1/2 marathon was not a bad way to kick off the day. But the eventful weekend actually started the night before when a storm knocked out the electricity at my house. A few hours later, electricity still off, my carbon monoxide detector started beeping erratically. I tried to check the battery, but it wasn't easy balancing on a ladder with a flashlight and trying to twist the detector apart and detach it. I gave up and called 911 for advice, and the dispatcher rightly diagnosed that the battery died after the power went out.

But since nobody messes with CO, the fine volunteers of the Grand Isle Fire and Rescue Squad showed up around 11 p.m. in a fully rigged fire truck, outfitted with gas masks and oxygen tanks. They cleared the house, and then sat around joking with me about birthdays, 1/2 marathons and the joy of a "live training" exercise. The EMT had to go through the all the protocols of taking my vital signs, but drew out the process with corny jokes and questions about my party plans. The rescue commander kept telling him, 'she wants to get to sleep. 1/2 marathon tomorrow, she wants to get to sleep.'

The electricity came back on just as the fire crew was leaving, which put to rest some of my pre-race worries about alarm clocks and charging my Garmin. But the next morning, I was half-way to Burlington when I realized my Garmin was still plugged into the charger in my bedroom. Dang.

I wasn't sure how to approach the race: fight through and try to match the results from New Bedford, or just run and enjoy the day. Forgetting the watch kind of sealed the deal: I ran as fast as I felt comfortable running, but I didn't worry about much else. No watch, no time, no pressure. I was a little disappointed seeing '2:34' on the clock when I hit the finish line, but I'm still glad to have finished.

Beth and Heidi had awesome races, and Jess amazingly appeared along the course at just the moments when I needed a boost. And to the volunteer who told me that I was the best-dressed runner in the race, THANK YOU! You made my morning!

I went from the race to Mirabelle's to pick up 24 gorgeous cupcakes for my birthday party. I was still wearing my running dress and bib number, and the waitress said to me, 'Congratulations! What did the marathon benefit?' She meant this without accusation, maybe it was like the MS Walk or Team in Training. But I laughed and told her, "The runners. It benefits the runners!"

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo...

... run the marathon, yes or no?

This week I decided, no. I have been putting this off for months, but these are weeks when I would need to ramp up the volume of miles and the length of my long runs, so I couldn't put off the decision any longer.

I've been unfocused, undisciplined and emotional since last October. I wanted to train for another marathon because I thought it would give me structure, direction, and a mental and physical boost. And maybe if I were just running for the joy of it, that would be the case. But instead, the idea of training has been stressful, and I haven't been standing up well to the pressure. I dread runs, and skip workouts, mostly because I don't want test to test myself right now. I've been tested plenty enough lately. If running were easy for me, if I were a natural, I imagine I'd feel differently. But training for marathon requires a lot of mental effort, and I want a break from it.

I'm planning to defer my VCM entry to 2011, and think about running a fall marathon instead. I am going to keep running this spring, and racing. But the distances will be shorter, the goals smaller and the self-imposed pressure far less. Next weekend I turn 35, and I will be at the start line of the Unplugged Half Marathon on my birthday. Current forecast is an ideal 40-44 degrees, with a strong chance of rain. I have high hopes it will be a good day.


Irony alert
My friend Maria has a relay team in the Vermont City Marathon. When she put in the bid, I had planned to run that race, and we had planned for the relay team members to run along side me throughout the race. Now, I'm begging for a spot on the relay team, "Patti's Pacers."

Rear View Mirror: New Bedford

The New Bedford 1/2 Marathon was two weeks ago, but I've been a lapsed blogger since then. Here's to making up for lost time:

Going into the weekend I had a sartorial crisis. It began with an innocent-seeming email from Beth that said, 'Have you picked up your singlet yet?' We, and Heidi and Erika, were going down to New Bedford with the GMAA team -- team bus, team hotel, team dinner. All of these decisions were made so gradually that I was a little stunned and intimidated when I realized how thoroughly I had insinuated myself into a team racing weekend. With fast runners. Yikes.

I hit the limit of my comfort zone with the singlet. Just to be clear, a singlet is a tank top, not a wrestling suit as some of my rugby-playing friends assumed. More importantly, to me a singlet says, "I am a super fast racing demon! Step aside whilst I crush you with my speed!" But ME wearing a singlet? The message is more like, "Appreciate the irony! I am slow, but delusional enough to wear a racing singlet as I finish last!"

I drew a line on the team experience at wearing the singlet, and had to look askance and feign distraction at the team dinner when more than person said, "Does everyone have a singlet? We have extras for anyone who didn't get a singlet!"

On race day, the weather was gorgeous. The first warm, sunny day I'd experienced since the last visit to San Diego. The breeze was a little strong, but the sun actually felt too hot when the wind died down briefly. The course has a series of hills at the beginning, then miles of flatness then one long hill at the end. At breakfast, people who'd run the race before warned us to 'save something' for the last hill.

I was unsettled at the start line, full of emotion and agitation. I started out too fast, then calmed down and found an appropriate pace. I panicked at the first water stop when they had no cups left (WTF?! Insert complaints of back-of-the-pack-slow-runners-don't-get-no-respect here).

A few miles in, after the initial hill, I was keeping a steady, faster than I expected pace. My training had been... underwhelming and my expectations were limited to just finishing. But I was actually running 11-minute miles or under and feeling pretty strong. I lost a little time taking a port-o-let break, but then cruised into the last miles running faster than I had earlier in the race.

At mile 12, I saw the hill and was beginning to give myself a pep talk when Chad showed up to run the end of the race with me. During most of the 10:30 it took to run that mile, I was on the verge on saying, 'ok thanks - got it from here, sadist.' But he kept running just a bit faster than I thought I could go, and I managed to keep up with him. The course turns a corner just before the finish line, where I saw Beth and Heidi, long since finished, cheering me on before I hit the last timing mat.

My official time was 2:24, so much faster than I thought possible! (The weekend before I had run 12 miles in 2:27.) I knew towards the end of the race that I was in striking distance of my PR from the 2008 Unplugged Half in Burlington. I thought that time was 2:23, and coming so close after such miserable training felt like a triumph, and not at all a let down. But then I got home from Massachusetts, and dug my Unplugged bib out of a box and looked at the time I wrote on the back: 2:25!! I did PR! By one short minute.

A few quick observations about the differences between traveling with runners vs. traveling with rugby players. Runners seem to be well-organized, on time, prepared, almost fastidious. Rugby players... not so much. Bathroom breaks on the road were few and efficient. Rugby road trips... not so much. The runners showered and changed after the race, and had clean clothes to wear for the ride home. Rugby players..... well. But for all their exuberant, chaotic messiness, rugby road trips gave rise to some of my favorite stories of misadventures with friends. Like the time we got lost in Rhode Island, and ended up at a donut shop at midnight getting a tour of sprinkle bins and fryolaters from the Jehovah's Witnesses who worked there. Good times, made possible only by bad navigation and leaving later than we planned.

Have you seen this person?

I got out of Vermont for a weekend to visit Keith, one of my favorite friends from college, in Washington,D.C. He’s tapering for his first marathon, National Marathon on March 20, and a big focus of the weekend was talking about running, running, and recovering from running.

On Saturday, we took different routes for our long runs: Keith did 12 miles, including a long hilly stretch of the race he’s running; I had a 10-mile route that was an excellent tour of the city:

Starting in Adams Morgan, I would head through Georgetown, across the Key Bridge into Virginia, along the Potomac River, and then back into DC across the bridge that ends majestically at the Lincoln Memorial. From there, I would run all the way down the mall past the Washington MonumentWashington Monument, up past the White House, Dupont Circle and back to Adams Morgan. to the Capitol building, one lap around the reflecting pool, back to the

You’ll note the tense I’m writing in: I would have.

Before we headed out, Keith and I discussed our approaches to carrying ID on a long run. I’m not consistent about it at home, but in the big scary city I opted to carry my driver’s license, ATM card and $20 cash. Keith, drawing on the advice of world travelers everywhere, said it might be better to carry a photocopy of an ID. This is the kind of idle, pre-run chatter I might have paid closer attention to. As in, “This is an omen! Rethink your plan!”

Starting out, I was sore from strength training and speed work earlier in the week, but the dazzlingly warm, sunny weather and the stimulation of buildings, traffic and pedestrians made that easy to overcome. I was running well and enjoying it. Brick sidewalks in Georgetown, a sleepy canal towpath, bridges with expansive views of the river and the city, the reflecting pool on the mall (that is clearly a victim of maintenance budget cuts), sandy gravel walkways among the monuments – it was a really nice run.

After 5 miles I was in the shadow of the Washington Monument and looking for a bathroom. I stood at a crosswalk with my hand on my hip, and realized with admirable calm that my driver’s license was no longer snug in the pocket of my tights. It was... no where at all, actually. Aye. As quickly and modestly as I could, I searched myself for the possibility that the card had merely shifted out of the pocket. The ATM card and the cash weren’t where I put them, but they were accounted for. But no driver’s license. Aye.

I suppose of the three things I was carrying in that pocket, I would have chosen first to lose the $20 (no offense, Andrew Jackson), second the driver’s license, third the ATM card. So it could have been worse. But still, it wasn’t great.

Instead of finishing the planned route to the Capitol and the White House, I decided to complete the run by retracing the first 5 miles. As I dodged in and out of tourists, I sized up their potential as friends or fiends: ‘If you found my license, would you turn it in? You with the fanny pack and the kids, you look helpful. You, with the death metal t-shirt and the stink of disaffected youth? Probably not.’

For two miles or so, I had hope. I poked around when I saw trash that looked suspicious. I detoured into grassy areas where the winds might have taken my license. I talked to a nice lady at the visitors’ kiosk who took my information and told me to report it to the Park Service. (The Park Service dude, on the other hand, gave me a look like, ‘Good luck, fool.’)

I should probably be more concerned about identity theft, but I think it’s more likely my ID blew away in the breeze, or was picked up by a lucky underage girl with bar-hopping dreams. I was mostly interested in how I would get on the plane back to Vermont the next day.

Here’s some advice for wayward travelers: you don’t actually need to have a government-issued ID to get through TSA. You just need to look like a sad-sack and put a pile of references in the hands of the security guard in charge. Here are some of the things I had with me:

• Runner’s World magazine, name and address on the subscription label
• a written warning for speeding in Winooski (did you know that whole city is 25 mph?)
• credit cards, a partially used Dunkin Donuts gift card, a health insurance card

The security manager gave me an amused look as I proffered detritus from my purse as evidence of who I am. Cough drops, business card of the guy who taped my drywall, Chapstick, my phone... hey, I’ll prove my identity by updating my facebook status from my phone! 'Patti is currently being detained by TSA at Washington National Airport. Anyone want to meet up?'

But all my sad minutia didn't phase the security guard. He’d clearly been in this situation before. All he wanted to know was, do I have a Costco membership? A Costco membership! The grainy photo on the back of my (expired) Costco card is black and white, approximately ¼ inch square and I’m wearing a baseball cap and glasses. It's no regulation passport photo, but it was enough. I was in.

I had plenty of time to kill in the departure area, having arrived early to fight the good fight with security. I spent a good deal of that time admiring the runner's ID bracelets advertised in the magazine that almost got me home.

UPDATE! I might have sounded like a doe-eyed Vermonter when I said, "maybe someone will find it and mail it back to me....." But lo! In the mail today was my driver's license with a note, 'You must have dropped it running :-) ' Indeed. I'm mailing him maple syrup tomorrow.

Don't Tase me, bro!

I had this brainstorm during my long run today: what if Garmin and Taser teamed up to make a GPS watch that zings you when you fall off your pace?

I spent some quality time this morning actually reading the instruction booklet that came with the Garmin my mom gave me for Christmas (thanks, mom!). There's a "Virtual Partner" setting that let's you set your intended pace, and then the watch tells you when you're too fast or (more likely for me) too slow. The Virtual Partner is actually a little stick figure, and you are little stick figure, and the watch displays where you are running in relation to each other. A little humbling.

About three miles in, I couldn't help but think about how easy my Virtual Partner has it. I mean, she's powered by a lithium battery and just hangs in the digital code in my watch, keeping a perfect, effortless pace. And while I'm hoofing it on the muddy shoulders of back roads, my Virtual Partners tells me, 'You're 5 seconds behind. You're 15 seconds behind. You're 1 hr 20 minutes behind.' Screw you, Virtual Partner! Who invited you on this run?

That's when I started thinking, what if instead of a silent watch display, the Garmin sent a low-level shock to my wrist to let me know to pick up the pace. It would snap you back into focus. Kind of like being on the wrong end of cattle prod. When I ran by the now-closed Bushway packing plant, I reconsidered whether this idea has promise.

Workout, interrupted.

So I made arrangements to go into work late to allow myself time to sleep in AND do a morning workout. This morning around 9 a.m. I’m at Sports and Fitness Edge 10 minutes into my workout and the fire alarm goes off. WTF. Here is what I observed about crowd behavior in a potential emergency:

1. Lots of questioning if we really have to evacuate.

2. Lots of rolling eyes about going the motions of emergency procedures.

3. Lots of murmured regrets about not going to locker room first to retrieve one’s belongings.

Once outside, everyone huddled near the front door, which is frankly not the place to be if the building really is in danger. When I overheard the staff saying the fire department has to clear the building before we could be let in, I decided to go for a run. I was supposed to be doing cross-training, but if we’re going to standing outside, I may as well keep moving and get in some exercise. Thankfully, it’s sunny and 40 degrees out and I had on long-sleeved shirt.

Afterward my workout, I struck up a conversation with an elderly man who had been a firefighter for 25 years, and he was interested to know how the evacuation went. He told me that he’s traveled all over Europe and everywhere he goes he visits a local fire department. When he asked me how my running is going I told him I felt more tired than I should. “Wait till you’re 80!” he told me. Point taken.

Sleep. Eat. Run. Repeat.

I'm trying to get back on the rails after last week. The action plan is focused and simple, and so far so good.

Monday: rest day
Monday night: 8 hours of sleep
Tuesday: ran 4 miles
Tuesday night: baked chicken, green salad

Fingers crossed, the rest of the week might continue to go this well.

My appendix pains each time it rains

Remember that Shel Silverstein poem about the kid with a million symptoms that make her too sick to go to school? That's how I felt about running all last week. I've had a headache off and on for 10 days, bouts of insomnia that left me with 3-4 hours of sleep for too many nights, too much stress, too little nutrition -- my list is as long as Peggy Ann McKay's, who could not go to school that day.

The upshot (or down shot, really) is that I skipped every workout this week. Ugh. Every single one. I went from a long run last Sunday to a long run yesterday and it wasn't pretty. Some of my flailing last week was out of my control, but the nutrition piece would have made a difference in how sluggish and exhausted I felt during yesterday's run. I finished 8 miles (a lot of it walking) and felt like I had done 18. Seriously, what's up with that?

Why yes, I did just buy a new running dress

I don't mean to use this space to shill for a company, but SkirtSports has an awesome sale right now and I just snagged my favorite running dress in lime-green-and-black. I was at the indoor track the other day wearing the same dress in pink-green-black-and-white-swirly-stars and people were looking askance at me, like, 'Why is the lady in a tennis outfit up here on the track?" But I don't care. It's super comfortable.

Frostbite 5K: Truth In Advertising

I drove up through the Islands this morning and over to Rouses Point, NY, for a 5K sponsored by the Northern Lights Track Club. About 75 people took to the starting line at noon for a fire department fundraiser. The forecast said mid-20s, but that didn't account for screaming wind that hit us whenever we ran east. I kept pulling my cap down over ears and repeating to myself, "Frostbit 5K. Frostbite 5K. Frostbite 5K." I got there early enough to run a few miles before, and finished off a few afterward; 7 miles altogether.

During the race itself, I was running just behind a girl named Jaden for half the race. She was maybe a teenager, early 20s - I only know her name because she had two friends taking her picture an cheering her on. I didn't talk to her, but you start to imagine a person's story when you're running near them for a stretch. I think this race was a big goal for her. I think she had to work hard to keep her pace, and that I unwittingly helped her to do. Her speed would fall off a bit, I run out to the side about to pass her, she'd glimpse me and speed up. This happened countless times, and I started to wonder if she had her own story running in her head about me: something along the lines of, "No f*ing way I'm letting her pass me!!" Meanwhile, I didn't feel a strong competitive streak -- I didn't really want to pass her, I just didn't want to keep tailing her so closely. But also didn't want her to be passed. It seemed important to her not to be beaten.

Near the end of the race, Jaden was grabbing her side and looking back to see where I was. The more she slowed, the more I felt like I was breathing down her neck, so I tried to speed past her and again she picks up her pace. Right on her heels, I tell her, 'You're doing great, and there's only 1/3 of mile left. Just keep going.' She turns her head long enough to realize I'm not trying to beat her, and says genuinely, 'Thanks. Really, thank you." She pored it on once the finish line was in sight and her friends were there to congratulate her. It was sweet. I hope she felt great about the day.

And the winner is....

Scene: GMAA annual dinner. Very much like the Golden Globe Awards, in that people are eating dinner and drinking copiously while awards are presented and recipients give humble, yet incredibly self-congratulatory speeches for the cameras. (Minus the cameras, the speeches, and the copious drinking.)

Esteemed presenter announces, "And the winner of the Best Blog of Year is... '26.2 Miles - Because 26 Miles Isn't Enough'!" Crowd collapses in hysterical approval, standing ovation commences. The blogger steps forward. On cue she shakes her head no, surely hers was not the best blog of the year?! (Surely hers was, in fact, the only blog in contention. Much easier to win first in a one-person contest. Note to self: enter one-person races more often.)

The peels of applause soften as the audience gazes on the winner, matching the tears in her eyes as she accepts the coveted GMAA pint glass and Dunkin Donuts gift certificate.

"This is such a shock, I didn't prepare any remarks," she begins pro forma, glancing at her type-written notes. "Surely the other candidates were more deserving. Who can pass a week without clicking on 'gaga-4-gu.com' or 'runday-bloody-runday.org' ? It's an honor to be their company," she recites, almost convincingly. "I'd like to thank all the people who made this possible: Jess Cover, for believing in me and for maniacally tormenting me, thus giving me something to write about. Chad Shepard for actually reading the blog, even the posts that I don't bother spell-checking. Spell-check, for making the blog somewhat intelligible. And in particular, I'd like to thank all fast, naturally gifted runners who give me fits of envy and feelings of futility, and thus more material." Audience shifts in their seats, boredom sets in already. Did someone say there was desert? "I dedicate this award to all the people who dared to believe that they, too, could......" the orchestra strikes up, quite loudly actually. Clearly time for a commercial break.

Ooh, the pressure of winning my first-ever running award. And oooh, the irony that it's not actually for running. Brings back memories of the jar of BBQ sauce I almost received once for finishing in last place. I promise only to drink diluted Gatorade or protein shakes from my new, very favorite piece of glassware. I hope the celebrity doesn't go to my head.

No, We Don't Need Your Advice On Shoe Color

I went to the Fleet Feet store last Sunday, ready to make my renewed commitment to running financial: I needed new shoes, badly.

My last trip to Fleet Feet in the summer prompted this post, in which I embraced the superficial and shunned ugly shoes. This time, I figured the passage of several months boded well: they've probably received a new shipment, or maybe even a new version of my longtime favorites.

Shoe guy: "What are you looking for?"
Me: "Saucony Triumph, usually size 8, maybe 7.5."
SG: "No problem, be right back."
Me: "Oh, and I gotta tell you now, I'm kind of particular about color."
SG: "Color is a very personal thing. I'll see what we've got."

Shoe Guy comes back saying, "You're either gonna love this, or hate it. Personally, I love this color." He opened the lid and peeled back the tissue paper to reveal the hideous disco purple-and-silver shoes that had made me throw up a little in my mouth just a few months earlier.

Before he could pull one of the shoes from the box, I put my hands up, 'Nope, no way. Not even sorry to say, No. I know those shoes. I tried on those shoes. I even ran in them in the parking lot and tried to convince myself they aren't ugly. But the thing is, they are. Really. Ugly. Can't do it."

I asked him how often they order from Saucony, and if maybe I could consult on the colors they order next time. He either winked... or winced. Probably the latter.

SG: "Like I said, color is a really personal choice."

Shoe Guy did, however, have a pair in size 7.5, in a totally normal, acceptable light-blue-and-white color scheme. I've been running in them for a week, and they feel just about right.

This Monday is the second meeting of Marathon 201 - a lovely, small group of seemingly not neurotic runners (is that possible?). We'll be having a shoe clinic at Ski Rack and I will definitely be scouting out some color options.

All Day Long I Dream About Donuts

It is Sunday, day of the long run. Even though my runs are not long right now, Sunday still arrives with high expectations, and worries about not meeting them. I went to bed last night knowing that I would go to the gym today, since the Arctic front that the Eye On The Sky guys are so enthusiastic about has not let up for days.

Weirdly, my most memorable dreams in waking up this morning were of the fried dough variety. I dreamed I went to Dunkin Donuts and bought a cup of coffee and one chocolate frosted. Apparently, I wanted to eat many, many donuts but I was too embarrassed to actually buy them. So then I went to the grocery store and bought 7-8 huge frisbee-shaped donuts from a display case that was a cross between a vending machine and the DVD racks like they have at Waterfront Video. I have to believe my desire to buy secret donuts is wrapped up in my guilt over what I am and am not (yet) doing to get my butt in gear with my running goals.

So I went to the gym. I warmed up on the treadmill, and then went upstairs to the track to try my first speed work since training for Montreal. As I stood stretching at the edge of the track entrance I couldn't help but notice that, of the few runners passing by, each was wearing a shirt from some year of the Vermont City Marathon. Because really, who else would be spending a Sunday on an indoor track but people who really need to be there?

The speed workout went well -- I planned to do four 200s but I struck up a conversation with another runner and we raced one last lap. (He smoked me. Total hustler.) It felt good to realize I still have some speed, while the stinging in my lungs and tiredness in my legs were a good reminder of what sitting around for a few months does to your fitness.

Afterward, I went to Dunkin Donuts. Weirdly, they now sell mostly bagels.

Advice from a dentist

I love my dentist, Dr. B. He's funny, eccentric, tells it like it is, and he really loves dentistry. For a long stretch, the approach of my twice-yearly cleanings filled me with guilt and dread because I knew I was not flossing as often as I should. (Which is to say, I would floss relentlessly for two weeks before the appt with Dr. B and hoped I could pull one over on him.)

At one such appointment, he bursts into the room with typical high energy, laughing, smiling, "How ya doing?!" "I'm kicking myself for not flossing and I'm afraid to admit it," I say. "Why do you feel so bad about it?" he asks. For a brief moment I think I've found a wormhole in the dental universe, that it actually doesn't matter if you floss regularly. But then he elaborates, with a bit of advice that I've found useful is countless situations since: "I'm mean, it's just flossing. Don't get emotional about it, just get it over with. You'll feel good."

Don't get emotional, just get it done.
You'll better afterward.

I had intended to start running seriously again at the beginning of January. First Run was a good start, but I found in the weeks that followed that I was psyching myself out of running: I'm too tired. I didn't eat well today. I've got too much work. I deserve a break. It's too cold, and the gym is too far away. I have 81 hours of Gilmore Girls episodes on the DVR, and the show isn't going to watch itself.

Really, I was worried about how hard is to get going again, how much longer 26.2 miles seems when you're struggling through mile 3. I was kicking myself for letting my fitness slide (again) and for not having gotten myself in gear yet. When you're in that state of mind, a weird inertia takes over in which continuing to do nothing makes more sense than trying to do even a little bit. Because what's the difference between a tiny bit of work and zero work, when measured against a goal as a big as a marathon? I've got a stack of unread magazines calling my name.

Don't get emotional about it, just do it.

The second weekend in January, I woke up to my typical Sunday morning routine: scrounge some kind of breakfast that is mobile enough to eat on the couch while watching a steady stream of political talk shows. When I finally clicked off the TV, a fuzzy half-formed thought emerged, "I should go running." Before I could let my consciousness get involved, I forced the actual thought out of my brain and went into autopilot: running tights, fleece layer, swig of water, shoes on, out the door.

I was actually a 1/4 mile from house before I let my conscious brain in on the action. That's right. You. Are. Running. As I headed up East Shore Road past the summer camps that are closed up against the cold, past the frozen bay full of ice fishing shanties, past the stubbly snow-covered cornfield, I thought about that day in Dr. B's office.

You'll feel better afterward.

Vermont had been cloudy for endless weeks and months, until a brief few hours that day when the sun came out. I ran evenly, the cold stinging my eyes only a little behind my sunglasses. I felt better for having gotten out the door, than I did for the run itself. The sun - actual bright sun! - seemed like the reward for not talking myself out of it.

I ran four miles that day, my longest run of 2010 and my longest run in 3 months. I believe now, there is more to come.