My Morning Routine

This is the smoothie that I posted on Facebook at 6:15 a.m. The rainbow of colors struck me before I hit blend, when it seemed that my day was off to a pretty good start. Keeping to a fitness routine and healthy diet while working full time and trying to balance all of the other demands of life is not easy. Here is what my Facebook post did not tell you about how the rest of my morning went down. 

With smoothie in hand, duffel bag, purse and tote bag over my shoulder, lunch pack slung on my wrist and work clothes flung over my arm, I left my house at 6:19 a.m. As soon as I stepped into the humid air and locked the front door, I realized I forgot my umbrella. With no hands, arms, or wrists free, I decided to load up my car and go back in for it. As I opened the door to reach for the umbrella in its stand, I was startled by my dog, wagging his full behind at me, wanting to go outside. With no sign of waking activity from my husband or step-daughter, I grabbed his leash and walked him quickly in the dewy grass and darkness and quietly let him back in the house before locking up and setting off for the city - seven minutes late.

Still dark out, the roads were slick and the sky was foggy. My navigation app said I would arrive with eight minutes to spare before my 7 a.m. weights and cardio class began. Not a lot of time, considering that this would undoubtedly make me the last person in the room, scavenging to find adequate weights, set up my step bench, and lay out a mat in the only remaining spot in the room with harsh glaring sunlight bouncing off of the mirrors. With a sigh, I reached for my smoothie, which I had propped in my tote bag with my spinning shoes when I loaded my car. It was tilted on its side and oh, yes, it had spilled, right into my left spinning shoe. I drank what was left as I sat in building traffic and contemplated how I would clean my shoe once I got downtown. Dawn started to break. I hit 15th Street and a garbage truck attendant stopped and signaled for me to wait for the truck to back up an alley. I now had four minutes to spare before class. I was so screwed. 

I pulled into my parking garage at 6:58 a.m. and poured the contents of my water bottle into my spin shoe and wiped it with the one lone Starbucks napkin that I found in my car. I decided I would wear the shoe wet and full of kale and blueberry remnants if I had to. Since I am the relatively new kid in class, I wasn’t sure if it was a spin cardio day or a track cardio day. Fortunately, it turned out to be a track cardio day and I was able to stash the now rotten smelling shoe in my gym locker. 

Last in the room, the instructor greeted me cheerfully and I grabbed what weights I could find, threw them into place, and ran up to the track. I was the last to start laps. 6 laps, 60 mountain climbers. 4 laps, 40 mountain climbers. 2 laps, 20 mountain climbers. Repeat with squats. My friend Alexis waved and said hi as she lapped me. I was in it, and already felt like I had climbed a mountain to get to that point. 

After the track, we headed downstairs to the studio. With sun glaring in my eyes, the music kicking in, sweat literally spritzing off of my face onto the hardwood floor, I did my best to keep up with the box jumps, dead lifts and renegade rows. Nothing had gotten me there except my own discipline and dedication to wake up to my early morning alarm and kick my own butt out of the door, and I was there to give it my all. 

I quietly did my thing, focused, trying not to feel like the least fit person in the room, channeling my inner fitness warrior and challenging myself to do my best. Looking back, I am certain that my morning workout helped me face the other unexpected obstacles that encroached on my best intentioned day. My morning routine, as flawed as it may have been, was all mine, all for my health and well being, and totally worth it. 

You Never Know

“Please keep your conversation, your talking, to a minimum. Respect your fellow riders. You never know what others in the stadium next to you are going through.” 

Flywheel instructor Utley Lee starts each class with this message. And he’s right. 

 For over a year, I was showing up at Flywheel with discipline and heart, four to five days a week, and no one there could have ever guessed what I went through each day to get out of my house and onto that bike. 

 I was suffering with ulcerative colitis, an irritable bowel disease that I was repeatedly told was not caused by what I was eating, and could only be controlled by anti-inflammatory medications—which for me had stopped working. Even after giving myself two hours to leave my house in the morning, I often had to stop during my drive into the city to use a bathroom. I got to know all of the temporary parking spots on my route and prayed one would be available if I needed it. Most days, I would rush into the coffee shop on the corner before class. I am sure everyone working there got to recognize the girl in the bright blue Patagonia jacket heading to the restroom each morning like clockwork. Once, I even stopped at a port-o-potty before dawn in the dead of winter, terrified to be there alone in the dark, and praying it would be unlocked and have toilet paper (thankfully it was, and it did).

When I finally arrived at Flywheel, I was greeted with smiles and hellos and this genuine happiness everyone had to be there. Every day I would feel the same joy that I had made it, I am here. Even if I started my ride feeling a hint of discomfort, I would start to breathe as the lights went down and the first song came on, and everything would just vanish. Throughout the ride, I would start to find my strength, which I met with sheer gratitude and awe for what my body was capable of in that moment. When the instructor told us to push, there was no question I was going for it. Something about giving it my all made me feel almost invincible, which was a powerful antidote to the vulnerability and insecurity I had felt just hours before. When I gave it my all, my heart would open and I would feel like I was actually flying—euphoric, smiling, laughing even—like I was on top of the world. This is the feeling that motivated me to get there, no matter what else I was experiencing in my life, whether physical or emotional. It didn’t have to do with my results or my ranking on the TorqBoard, it was all about that feeling, and it still is. 

 Four months ago, I went to see an acupuncturist who recommended that I modify my diet by eliminating gluten, soy, legumes and certain grains. Almost immediately, the symptoms I had been experiencing started to cease. My body started absorbing nutrients again, and I began to gain weight and muscle. Today, I feel healthier and stronger than I have ever felt in my life, and I continue to give all that I have to my Flywheel classes. Because I can. When you face a debilitating illness, it puts a lot into perspective. And I will never, ever take for granted what my body can do. 

A letter to 2013

2013 was one intense year.  In January, the news of my mother’s recurrence of cancer made me feel vulnerable, angry, wobbly, sad, and out of control.

On my parents’ wedding anniversary in February, my brother, sister and I wrote a family group text to my parents which had them in hysteric, joyful tears. My mom died a week later. We flew kites on the beach in Pawley’s Island in her memory.

When I got home on Valentine’s Day, my dad sent me a bluebird house that he built for our yard. 

 

I kept my resolution to get a massage once a month and signed up for my first Flywheel class in March. I literally started catching my breath, and going to Flywheel became a deeply personal escape for me.

 

Roy and I cooked dinner for ten people on a Monday night, entertained until 1:30 in the morning and went to work the next day. We cooked amazing recipes for ourselves, dined out, and dressed up a lot. We celebrated our first wedding anniversary with two dozen red roses and a bonfire in Scranton in a hotel room that we shared with my step-daughter at, you guessed it, a tennis tournament. We indulged in a slice of our wedding cake top, drank an amazing bottle of wine that we received as a wedding gift, and splurged on buying each other a painting which we absolutely cherish.

 

There were nights when we could grab them of parenting advice and motivational talks with my step-son who since graduating and spending the first part of his adult life in pajamas all day has suddenly fallen in love, cleaned out his room, and moved to Canada for grad school. There were hours laughing with tennis moms, spent college planning, driving to tennis, tutoring and juggling after school pick-ups. There were the months spent getting Cristina’s passport approved, finally get her driving permit and going on afternoon driving lessons. By the time Mother’s Day came around, I truly felt like I had earned bon-a-fide stepmom status.

 

The best moments of the summer were nights spent on our front porch, moving slow, relaxing with a glass of wine, farmer’s market caprese salads, friends, sunsets, birds and neighbors.  

 

My almost 20 year old cat Shotzie held on until his other cat mom, Audrey, could make it home from Mexico in time to say goodbye in July. 

 There were lots of phone calls to our dads and visits to see Roy’s mom whose health was also fading. All of her children and their families came to give her their last hugs before she left us in August.

 

There was more grieving and more phone calls, and then an unplanned getaway to New York City with my husband in October that reminded me that I love being around the energy of uninhibited people and need to live more like the way I do when I am in Paris. 

There were family gatherings in Delaware, Philadelphia, South Carolina, Pittsburgh and Atlanta for birthdays, holidays and remembrances along with hugs, tears, laughter, play, dance parties and pedicures.

I am grateful for the love, friendships, music, motivation, health and experiences that graced my life in 2013, and also grateful for the challenges that have pushed and shaped me and made me feel stronger and intensely alive. My wish in 2014 is for more love, balance, relaxation, patience and trust that things will work out the way that they are meant to for all of us and all of you.

Happy New Year!

Blue Sky Mind

An interesting turn in my running happened when I was in Mexico. I didn't run. At first assessment of the narrow beach and soft sloped sands, I knew it wasn't good terrain for my ankles. The only other option was a narrow dirt road leading into town which offered the hot, Mexican sun; fast-moving, heavy trucks kicking up dust and sputtering diesel exhaust; and no breezy relief from the sea. Plus, there was a week's worth of yoga classes, beach walks and ocean swimming before me. So I decided a week off from running might actually be a good thing. While the part of me that is hardest on myself felt pressure and even a little guilt taking time off from my training, another part of me was relieved by my choice to live these next few days as fully as possible by not pushing -- and letting myself just be.

I chose not to drink coffee, not to have alcohol, and to enjoy the colorful vegetarian diet offered by the resort -- yogurt, granola, bananas, mangos, pineapple, hibiscus juice, French toast, jasmine and mint teas, cucumber salad, pico de gallo, queso fresco, guacamole, grains, banana leaf wrapped packets, fried tacos, and delightful desserts. My life was immediately simplified by not having to prepare meals or wear shoes. I slept under mosquito netting with the most amazing sea breeze rushing in the cabana all night long, carrying its sound with the sound of the ocean waves. Because of the 2-hour time difference, I was able to wake each morning before the sunrise and watch the pelicans and fisherman as the sun peeked over the jetty. I became aware of everything I was living without and felt burdens slipping off my back one by one. No work stress, none of my boyfriend's stress, no cat bowls. And on the beach at night, you could see all the stars.


Through meditation practice at 7 AM, 3-hour yoga practice, time to think and relax and play on the beach, evening lectures, fabulous people, fire circles and salsa dancing, I reconnected with parts of myself I had lost touch with. I was quiet enough to hear things I never heard before. And above all, I learned that I need to be light.


Since coming home, I've returned to running for the pure joy of it. I withdrew my application for the New York City Marathon, and have become focused on finding more quiet space in my life. I'm still a runner - just a gentler one a the moment. And one with a blue sky mind.

Riviera Maya

Only a few more days 'til I am here... I'm looking forward to the taste of summer, shedding my winter skin, daily yoga, running on the beach, swimming, bronzing, exploring the ruins... After the 70 degree days we had last week... running in a tank top on Kelly Drive, daylight savings time, greeting my running club friends with the promise of a warmer season in the air... it was hard to face the bitter wind and snowy trail and 34 degree temperatures yesterday, never mind the heavy winter gear again. Especially with a beach cabana right around the corner. Take me to Mexico!

Running on Ice

This is the entrance to the Wissahickon at Northwestern Avenue. Joy and I like to park at this entrance when we are setting out to do a longer run, since we are often too tempted to retreat to the car when we park in the middle entrance. The advantage of the middle lot are the restrooms at Valley Green, which prevent me from having to do a "bear in the woods" routine, especially on UC mornings like today. But that, I've discovered, is all part of the experience.

The length of the entire trail is 10.6 miles. Though I feel like I know every bend in the road, the seasons change its look entirely, even camouflaging old, familiar hills. Even though it looks slick in this picture, it was 33 degrees, and my friend Jennifer who took a walk on Forbidden Drive yesterday told me the trail had been plowed up ahead. So we ventured forth.

The world felt insulated and quiet without many fellow runners on the path. Some walkers, horseback riders and skiers traveled by. I thought to myself as we started out that it felt like we were up in the mountains and later, how similar to a day on the slopes this run felt. We ran to the sounds of the river rushing around its melting ice, a woodpecker high up in a tree, and the crunch of snow under our feet. Each step felt good. The snow added ruggedness to the terrain, challenged our foot falls, and seemed to cushion our landing. There was so much beauty and feeling, an hour passed before we knew it.

As flurries started to fall, we stepped up our pace, more comfortable and trusting of how the ground would receive us. With my arms low and hands by my hips, I felt a line of energy up my center and through the top of my head, lifting my spirit and conserving my upper body energy so that my cold lower body muscles could churn out their work. I felt like a gazelle - legs strong, turning over fast, keeping pace, moving me forward. It was a rewarding finish to the morning, and agreeably the best run of 2007 so far. Look out NYC, here we come...

Proudest Moments of 2006

In the spirit of Mr. Rodgers, my friend Jennifer asked, "What are you most proud of this past year?" So I came up with a few things off the top of my head that I thought I'd share here:

1. training for the Philadelphia marathon: I am most proud of the discipline, focus and determination I found in myself week after week.

2. finishing my first marathon and no longer wondering what running 26.2 miles would feel like.

3. creating a blog.

4. confronting love: yikes, it is so glorious.

5. realizing I didn't have to work so hard to prove myself in my new role at work because I was already doing it and doing it well.

6. being admired professionally.

7. facing my finances.

8. becoming conscious of the stress in my life and finding a direct improvement in my health as a result of controlling it.

9. discovering MAC fuchsia cream blush. it has a shiny glow like you just got in from a walk in the woods.

10. my relationship with my boyfriend's children. I never imagined how happy it would make me to become a "sister-friend" to a ten year old girl or to give dating advice to a sixteen year old boy.

Race Day

"Dreams come true. Without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them." - John Updike

I knew the day would inevitably arrive. When the last few hours of doing next to nothing on Saturday afternoon started slipping away, I starting moving through my race rituals - getting organized, tying on my chip, packing a bag and heading for pasta dinner around 7 p.m. No cheese, no alcohol, early to bed. I wasn't worried about not waking up on time, even though I'm not an early riser. My alarm was set for 5 a.m. I woke up to look at the clock every 2 hours or so, and arose for good at 4:45 a.m. Fortunately, I had gotten a great night's rest on Friday long into Saturday morning, the most important sleep before a race.

When I got out of bed, I hopped in the shower to start my metabolism. I was going to need it without any coffee that morning. I wasn't rushed, and I wasn't nervous, especially with the start being right out my front door. I made a double portion of oatmeal with honey and pecans and ate a banana around 6 a.m. I covered every inch around my clothing with body glide. I drank 6 ounces of gatorade around 6:30 a.m. I checked the weather. Stretched a little. It was the least nervous I had ever felt the morning of a race, which reinforced my feeling of being prepared all week. I felt I trained as best I could, I tapered well, and had carbo-loaded and hydrated well for the past 3 days. Plus, I was ready to get this damn thing over with already. I was ready for my anxiety dreams about it to stop, I was ready to get my weekends back, I was ready to face the unknown.

I met my neighbor Suzanne in our lobby at 7:10 a.m., right about the time the bathroom nerves set in. Joy found us in the port-o-potty line and set out to find the bag check. No one around seemed to know where it was. When she found it, the lines were so long, she said there was no way we were going to make the start. Thankfully, Suzanne's friend offered to take them back to our lobby front desk guard.

We squeezed in a tight pack of bodies near the 9-minute mile section. I had on a sweatshirt and gloves to toss as I warmed up. Amazingly, we got over the start line in about 6 minutes. Joy and Suzanne both went out with more gusto than I wanted to spend. I had decided to listen to my body instead of trying to keep up with anyone for this race, so I waved them on. We also got to see each other later on which was a welcome inspiration.

I barely remember running down the Parkway or the beginning of the route. Suzanne dropped back to use a rest room. I remember tossing my gloves in Old City and heading down Columbus Boulevard into the sun. I later wished I had kept my gloves when my fingers were throbbing with cold, blue and swelling around mile 12 as if I had frostbite, though it wasn't nearly cold enough. I remember turning on Washington Avenue to Fourth Street, impressed to see so many neighbors on the corner, bundled, with coffee and thermoses in hand cheering before 9 a.m. on a Sunday morning.

I started my iPod around South Street - just to tune out some of the idle chatter around and to settle into my race. I was a little concerned that I had this goal not to stop, since I had stopped during my training runs frequently to hydrate, fuel, and use the restrooms along the way. Pre-race advice had come the day before that it would be harder to run again after stopping - MUCH HARDER - and that it would be better to run at a slow, slow pace - and ultimately faster - than to walk and start again. I decided I would let myself walk for no more than 30 seconds through the fuel stations, however. I had read this in Runners World and abided by it in every race I ran. And I would only walk if I felt at risk of a greater injury than not walking.

As we wound down Chestnut Street, more and more fans appeared on the street. Reading some of the motivational signs started to choke me up. Even the one that said, "Your feet hurt because you are kicking so much ass." Every song on my iPod started to choke me up. It started to feel real that I was actually doing this. I had showed up at the start line to see what would happen, and now I was doing it. (Even though Allstate had just reminded us on a big sign that we were only 15% there - yikes!)

Around Memorial Hall at mile 9, there were signs planted in the ground encouraging us up our "last hill." I later learned this was only true for the 1/2 marathoners, who veered off from the rest of the pack near the top. Then there was the further psyche-out of crossing mile 11 only to see another 11 mile marker further down the road - again, for the 1/2 marathoners, but not distinguished as such in any way I could tell (I didn't think the reds and blues had been consistent, either.)

I was feeling good by the half way point - around 2:20 - not far off my 1/2 marathon time. I was also looking forward to seeing the cheering fans around the art museum and Roy down the hill. It was elating to see Philly Runners signs and faces I didn't expect and hadn't seen for a while, since my group runs had become less frequent; as well as others who had come to cheer and spotted me, cheering with big smiles and excitement. But when I didn't see Roy outside my apartment, my heart sank. I was trying to refocus when I spotted a figure running down the hill on the sidewalk on the other side of the course, and it was Roy - running faster than me - and while he is a very athletic guy, he's not a runner. It filled me with joy as I ran to Manayunk.

Around mile 16 when I really started to feel the distance settling in, my meditation song came on and I did not let it go for the rest of the race. It is a beautiful chant to Govinda, protector of the land and the senses. It lasts 10:47, a little slower than my pace per mile at that point. I let go of my vision for a while. I let go of my thoughts. I focused on my breath. It moved me in total fixation until mile 18, at which time the disgusting taste of a vanilla Clif Shot shocked me out of my trance. I had been using chocolate outrage Gu previously, which I liked. Even the Clif Shot mocha was o.k. on mile 22. But never vanilla - never, ever again.

I was looking forward to mile 20 and the turnaround which would be homeward bound. It would also be longer than I had ever run in my life, and the spot of the proverbial wall. I had heard that anyone can run 20, it was the miles after this in the marathon that were the true test. But there was a lot to pay attention to in Manayunk to serve as a distraction from all of those thoughts. Though familiar, it was new running territory. Scenes and memories from another time flooded in. My friend Nora said she was going to be at Shurs Lane. I needed to pay attention to find it. Plus, we were passing other runners. I spotted familiar faces and Joy, who was so intense with her headphones on that she didn't see or hear me. When I saw Nora out there by herself on the corner with her ear muffs on and beaming, I kept smiling back and thanking her and didn't want to drop her supportive and happy gaze. At the top of the hill, there were restaurant smells and coffee shop smells, spilled beer smells, but best of all, banana pieces and orange slices. I ate everything I could consume. As I ran by Nora again, I shouted out that I felt pretty good and thought I was going to make it. Just saying it out loud made me believe it, too.

Not to say the last 5 miles were easy, by any means. Kelly Drive was lonely as we passed the tail of runners heading to Manayunk, and runners all around me started walking, some in crippling pain. Even though I felt o.k. physically and mentally, and stronger than I did at miles 16 - 19, I just wished I could make the end come sooner. Even though I run that stretch of Kelly Drive every week and knew exactly when I had 2.2 miles left to go - the end seemed unfathomably far away and indeterminable. Around the boathouses, the cheering picked up again - Kelly from Philly Runners in the isle, and then Roy again with his camera and a quick kiss before heading up the last hill to the finish line. Along that final stretch there were more friends cheering - I saw Joy and Suzanne and others who had come out to see me finish. I sprinted across the finish line, as I always do. I forgot to stop my watch, as I always do. I had my chip untied and was wrapped in mylar when Joy found me with bananas, and a yogurt drink from the depleted food tent. I felt absolutely delirious and chilled.

I walked to my apartment building, Roy and friends listening to my non-stop chatter and elation. I showered and quickly dried my hair so we could take a walk. After walking a bit, I kept hydrating, ate some pretzels, took some aspirin, and soaked in an ice cold tub for 15 minutes. Then iced and rested in the dark. Though tired, it was challenging to quiet my mind. Finally feeling hungry again around 5:30 p.m., we ate to celebrate, and I went to bed early, but with so much adrenaline and feeling in my body, I woke several times during sleep and early the next morning. The next day I spent stretching, hydrating, walking and enjoying the hard earned aches in my legs in my feet; relaxing in an airport doing nothing but writing this blog, sitting in a massage chair, waiting for my rescheduled flight to Atlanta for Thanksgiving with my family. Still feeling like a celebrity as knowing lookers-on ask how my race went. Some say the high lasts a week, a month, a lifetime. All I know right now is that I will see and know myself differently forever.

Getting to 26.2

"You have great physical powers and an iron constitution."

- Chinese Fortune Cookie

Yesterday, I finished my first marathon. My goal was to finish all 26.2 miles without stopping or walking. Though I had had the talk with myself several times that "there is nothing wrong with walking" (my contingency plan was to walk one, run four, if I hit a wall), I was only going to stop running if I felt at risk of an injury. But since this was a whole new race distance to conquer, I stayed humble to it. I was facing the unknown in taking it on. It is always a little fearful to face the unknown, even when it's something you've chosen that excites you. But I am one to cry when I read Runners World, especially the columns of John Bingham and Kristin Armstrong. I am always the most moved and inspired by the stories I read about someone overcoming their fears, or emotional pain, or physical limitations to achieve something they did not think they could do, or believe of themselves in the first place. I cry for the beauty of transformation that each of these storytellers find in their lives, and the humanity it touches in all of us.

I did not think this was going to be my marathon year. In June of '06, my ulcerative colitis manifested in an unusual way - by freezing up my finger joints and my knee joints on both my right and left sides in a severe arthritis which compromised my ability to bend, sit, grip, or walk easily, much less practice yoga or run. All of my physical activity stopped for over three weeks. This was facing the unknown at its most fearful. Without answers, without physical outlets for my emotions, I was facing my worst fear - losing my health - and I felt like I was losing my mind at the same time. After seeing a rheumatologist, homeopathic doctor and my GI doctor, I faced another fear and took prednizone. Despite making me feel very sick, it worked, and within eight days, I was off of it - and off on my first run. I was filled with gratitude and felt like I could run forever, even though I stuck to only a few miles. I was o.k. It was time to start building again.

My first goal was to run the Philadelphia Distance Run in September, though I didn't tell anyone. I trained for it privately, in case I couldn't make it. I ran 4 miles at a time, 3 days a week, and built up mileage slowly week by week after that. I trusted that with consistency and patience, I would regain my cardiovascular fitness. It was challenging to feel limited by how hard or how fast I could run, but not as challenging as it was to not be able to run at all.

I finished the 1/2 marathon in 2:17:18, which I was proud of. My friend Joy and I had trained the longer distances in the woods together, and decided we wanted to keep going. She had done the NYC marathon the year before and wanted to train for Philadelphia. I decided it would be a challenge and accomplishment enough just to try, and with Joy as a partner, I felt inspired. We found a 3 day a week training program on line, and jumped to the 13 mile training week. We planned to fit in at least one 20 mile run four weeks before the race. Another friend who had done a private coaching session before NYC was told that if you get in one 17 miler, you can finish a marathon. Other training programs I found for beginners included only one 20 miler as well. For all of my 2 1/2 years of experience as a runner, I knew that a lot of distance training was pure science - consistent training for your heart, slow mileage building, speedwork, tapering, proper fuel, hydration and recovery. I had really no choice but to put my faith in these facts, and look at it all as a big science experiment on myself. After all, part of the pleasure of running is learning to understand your limits and needs, and thereby know yourself better.

Marathon Training

I had always thought that training for a marathon would be too great a time commitment to fit into my already packed schedule. I thought you had to be one of those runners who felt they needed to run everyday. I wasn't that obsessed with running. If I made it out to run three times a week and averaged 15 miles, it was a good week. When Joy was training for NYC last year, I was in awe of the distances she was taking on each weekend - 15, 17, 20. She had surpassed anything that I had ever done. She started running with a fuel belt. No, I couldn't even imagine it.

But here I was, wanting to go further. Joy and I ran our first 15 miler on a Monday night after work. We both left early to maximize daylight and set out around 4:30 from Falls Bridge towards the Wissahickon. As night started falling we left the woods and returned to Kelly Drive to run in our own shadows from the lampposts. I hit a high realizing I was running the longest distance of my life and training for a marathon, on a weeknight! As soon as we stopped running, I couldn't stop moving, my calves were in so much pain. Thankfully, Joy had ice packs in her cooler that I used as she drove back to the city. After that, we didn't leave home without them.

Through more aches and pains in my calves, arches, ankles and mild "runners knee," I iced, wore patella bands, and took cool tub soaks with Epsom salts. (Brrr!) My cross training was yoga one or two times a week, with two days rest from running after long runs, and one day between mid-week runs. After our 17-miler, I wrote in my running log that I couldn't believe my body was doing this.

There were times when my u.c. flared up when I thought I might have to stop training. There was the post accidental-hangover 15-miler when I almost died at mile 7 (not literally). There were three weeks I didn't know I had a sinus infection, and the week my system was so messed up in every way possible from the antibiotics for it. I figured all of these obstacles were a part of my mental training. As soon as I hit my groove on each of those runs, I didn't feel any of my physical ailments - no pressure in my head, no discomfort in my colon, no pain in my joints or muscles. Thoughts of gratitude filled my head and heart. I felt grateful for these long runs and Joy to do them with. Even on weekday runs which took the most discipline and sometimes were in the early a.m. or the treadmill after dark (both not my favorite) I would think, "I love running. I could do this forever." There was the long solo run when Joy and I couldn't train together, there was the Sunday of our 20.5-miler when we had to start in the early morning so that I could make it back to shower and pick up two colleagues for a work event (talk about pressure!). And there were the times I lied to get out of other commitments so I could run. I won't list them here in case I might offend anyone who is reading. But yes, I became one of those totally obsessed runners without meaning to. Without even trying, actually.

Race Inspiration

This is me after the half-marathon in September 2006, with Roy and his daughter Cristina who came to cheer near the finish line. It was almost 70 degrees... very hot for racing!

This is the bathroom door in the Wissahickon, our pre-run ritual for all of our long runs!

These are the shirts Joy desgined with her future business logo on them.

This guy symbolizes all the 80+ year old runners who have been marathoning for years. If they can do it and shuffle along, so can we!

This is a photo-shopped photo of our muddies after our last training run in the rain. We'll be running in the newer version of these shoes on Sunday.

My Running Inspiration

Joy. Roy. Kristin Armstrong's article about running through her divorce to discover her inner athlete. I started running to overcome emotional pain, and still cry every time I read this and hear her friends say, "You can do it, Kik. You can do anything." Jennifer, who reminds me to take it all in and enjoy it, just when I need it. Yoga, which taught me how much your mind factors in whether you succeed and enjoy life or not. Brian from my building who cannot run, but carries boundless love of God. Kellie, whose positive thinking has always resonated with me. It is not hard to believe in yourself and trust whatever she tells you. My sister Cynthia, whose love of running inspired me to think that I might love it, too. Janine, for showing me how the world became crystal clear one day when running together around the Valley Forge track; and then my first 10-mile run in California which revealed crystal clear that she was just plain wrong about me. The Wissahickon. All the faces of my co-workers. Everyone I know who has ever run a marathon. Learning that pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional. Remembering that even bad races come to an end. Mother Nature and trees letting go of their leaves. Runners World. My nephew, Chase, who isn't even born yet, but whose baby shower I missed to run the marathon. Memories of love evoked by the song, "Southern Cross" by Crosby Stills & Nash. Beauty. Music. The divine.

Last Training Run Pre-Philadelphia Marathon 2006

Here are me and Joy last Sunday before our last training run for the Philadlphia Marathon.

















Note the rain on the windows, and the temp. Pretty warm actually, compared to what it will be race day at 8 a.m.:


Mostly Cloudy 41°F
Feels like 38°F
Chance Precip 10%
Dew Point 34°F
Humidity 76%
Wind From NNW 5 mph


We ran about 10 miles in the Wissahickon, in the rain. The woods were beautiful and empty. As we ran, I tried to absorb every yellow, every fern, moss on rocks, whitecaps on the water, the baring trees, the reds, the beauties. I vowed to remember to enjoy the marathon in just this way -- taking in the present moment.







We talked about our expectaions and inspirations for the race as we ran. We also passed a few other runners who were also on their last training run. We smiled, and cheered, and waved, and jumped up and down as we passed each other. At that point, the race was still far enough away, and we were simply excited to be finished our long, hard weeks of training.





Here I am, feeling ready to race.

Running and Me

I became a runner on May 15, 2004, one month to the day after I quit smoking. My first run was 1.5 miles on hot asphalt in Stone Harbor, NJ (I didn't know about beach running then). Needless to say it left me breathless, but determined for my well-being to figure this running thing out. My second run was in laps around in my neighborhood's Rittenhouse Square Park. On my way out the door, my neighbor Joy offered me her walkman. As it did in my aerobics and stair climbing days, music made running come alive. When I came home, Joy asked if I wanted to run together sometime, for motivation. I told her I was brand new at this, and wasn't sure if I would be too slow of a running partner, but that I'd give it a try. I was delighted when it turned out that we hadn't made one of those plans to do something that never comes to light. After a third run with my very experienced younger runner-sister, Cynthia (who kicked my butt running 2 miles of hills around our old neighborhood) Joy and I set out a few days later to run on the new bike path at the end of our street across the CSX train tracks. It led to a rudimentary trail along the Schuylkill River with some breathtaking new views, and a running partnership and friendship that I hope will be for life.

"There's only you to prove yourself to."

That summer, Joy and I committed every bit of free time to runs along the bike path to Kelly Drive. We wore cotton shirts and sweated in the summer heat, but didn't seem to care. We built up mileage slowly, and then ran a breakthrough run of 7 miles one Friday night when we were so immersed in telling stories, we forgot we were running at all. I ran solo a lot, too. Running became an outlet for my emotions on the pavement. After about 100 miles in my old trail shoes, I bought my first pair of real running shoes and ran my first 5K in September. "Blue Sky Mind" was what I wrote in my running log that day. I was so proud of what I had endured to get to that starting line. It was also the first time I ever timed myself in a run, and was surprised that without trying, with just adrenaline and the sound of footfalls around me, I ran 8:44 minute miles. Best of all, I celebrated with Joy, who had run her first 1/2 marathon, and some other friends at brunch and rode my first race high all that day.

Through the darkening winter months, I joined a running club, and discovered the Wissahickon trail, which became the site of my long weekend runs. My friend Jennifer says, and I believe, that only the truth is spoken in the Wissahickon - so sacred a place it is. I also experienced the wondrous feeling of running in new places, such as Smith Cove in Seattle, and Redondo Beach, California. New Year's Eve 2005, me, Joy and some friends took a train to NYC to run the Midnight Run in Central Park, aglow with fireworks and cheering fans on the 4 mile stretch.

My first distance run, The Broad Street Run 10-miler in May 2005, was not so much of a success, but it taught me some important lessons about fueling, pacing, and what it feels like to hit a wall and take the "death march". This was humbling, and gave me the reverence I have for distance running today.

The Spring of 2005 I was also diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. I found out that smoking may have actually masked my symptoms for a long time. At that time, I didn't know the effects it would have on my life or my running, but I decided I was going to keep going no matter how it slowed me down. I was going to beat this disease at its own game somehow by listening to my body. Later that summer, I conquered my first half marathon with the support of my new boyfriend and "coach", Roy. His support has kept me running through all my big races and challenges in 2006, and now my marathon training, with 4 days left and counting...