I Heart Friday Night

Friday night means staying in, watching all the TV I missed during the week and scarfing down a huge bowl of pasta for Saturday morning's long run. Clearly the shirt does not lie.

Hitting the Physical Therapy Jackpot

Since my shinjury first occurred back in March, I have been trying everything I can to heal it (except not training for a marathon—I haven't tried that yet). First of all, because my doctor is the NYRR medical team leader for the marathon, I was convinced he would just wave his magic stethoscope over my leg and fix me right there on the spot. Instead he told me to take 2 weeks off. Reluctantly, I obeyed and began going to PT.

My therapist was a nice-enough, young-ish woman who told me my hips were weak and my turnout was wonky. She made me do exercises by myself and gave me ice. She attempted to massage (but really I'd call it assault-by-thumbs) my leg, but most of the time I kicked and squirmed and shouted with pain until she would stop touching me. Some days I couldn't run, not because of the shin pain but because of residual "massage" pain.  She didn't really understand why I wouldn't just stop running.

In TWO words

So, at dailymile, there is something called the #dailymission, a challenge or question posed to the community each day. Today's mission was: In one word describe what running means to you.

I struggled over this one all day. Many words mean something to me when it comes to running, but it really boiled down to two, and at the end of the day I decided they were equally important to me.

Control and Release

Aaaahhh!

Or, as the French say: "Le Aaaahhh!"

After much mental turmoil over whether my shin splints would go away, if I could take the time off work, if I really wanted to devote another 4 months to training...I registered for the Paris Marathon!

Rescue Mission for the Putnam Trail

The other day I wrote a letter to the Commissioner of NYC's Department of Parks & Recreation, Adrian Benepe, urging him to refrain from paving and widening the Putnam Trail in Van Cortlandt Park. In this city of asphalt the trails of Van Cortlandt Park are a rare and valuable asset to the runners and nature-lovers of NYC. There is no really good reason behind altering the trail, which would destroy 1.5 miles of land. However, leaving it intact will save taxpayer money and preserve both the history of the trail and the environment surrounding it. 

Here is the response I received from the Correspondence Liaison for Capital Projects:

Rants and Ruminations

The first half of today was rough, and I had a lot on my mind throughout the run and afterward. Nothing weighing seriously on me, just literally a bunch of little thoughts:

1. I would not recommend the training program I'm in to anyone. I'm glad that I've made some running friends, but honestly, I don't think there's much point otherwise. I ran the marathon without a coaching program last year so it clearly can be done. I thought I was paying for guidance and support, but that is apparently not the attitude of the coaches! Scratch that- one is good, one doesn't seem to care much, and one is awful. (And unfortunately, when the good one isn't leading my group it means we're stuck with the awful one.) He just doesn't seem to have any patience or respect for the slower runners and just acts like we're a waste of his time. Rude! Especially considering all us 'regular Joe' slow runners are the people who provide a good amount of money for the sport—in races, training programs, etc. Running isn't so popular today because the number of elite runners has grown exponentially. It's a bunch of people like me, with our 10 minute miles.  Regardless, no matter what, and no matter the program fee, I shouldn't feel like I'm being penalized for getting my butt off the couch attempting to run 26.2 miles.

Let the scrapbooking continue!

Found another hidden stack of race bibs! Woo-hoo!

My Life in Safety Pins

Race bibs. They're everywhere. Stuffed in the junk drawer, used as bookmarks, stacked with my magazines. Some of them are scattered on the desk in my room at my parent's house. I've never ever thrown one away.

I'd been meaning to buy a scrapbook to put them into, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. Tonight, though, while I was musing over another old volume collage'd with dorm-era nostalgia, I saw it on the shelf—low and behold there was an empty scrapbook just waiting to be given a purpose.