Port to Port

Tagged by Xenia

2012-02-01T18:36:00.002+01:00

THE RULES
1. Post these rules.
2. You must post 11 random things about yourself.
3. Answer the questions set for you in their post.
4. Create 11 new questions for the people you tag to answer.
5. Go to their blog and tell them you’ve tagged them.
6. No stuff in the tagging section about ‘you are tagged if you are reading this’. You legitimately have to tag 11 people.

RANDOM THINGS
1. Sometimes I go to bed already dreaming about my morning coffee and peanut butter toast. Pathetic that food has to motivate me to go to bed and to wake up.
2. I prefer wearing dresses and tights almost always. Pants seem uncomfortable to me.
3. I’m not into home decorating or going to Ikea. I’d really prefer to live in a hotel, but have a little garden.
4. For the second time in about two years I’ve decided I’m not having children and now I feel much calmer.
5. Ever since I turned 30 life has been flying by.
6. I have some gray hairs and really don’t know when I need to start highlighting. That just seems like an expensive long-term commitment.
7. Running has made me a more competitive person which I love actually.
8. I’m scared that the trainer at the gym thinks I’m weak or possibly the palest person he’s ever touched.
9. I prefer to run alone. And actually prefer to do most things alone. Especially eating lunch.
10. If you see me smiling while running it’s probably because I’m listening to music and imagining that I’m performing at a rock concert and all my co-workers are thinking, “Wow, I never knew she had such an amazing voice.” Yeah, same fantasy since I was like 14.
11. When I see people drinking coke at a bar while watching soccer it really annoys me. It’s Barça soccer, loosen up, have a beer for Christ’s sake.

11 QUESTIONS FROM Xenia
1. Which movie/tv show/character most resembles your life?

Sam on the West Wing when he’s having a bad day.
2. What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever been given?

You can’t be all things to all people.
3. What was your ultimate dipshit moment (so far)?

I got in an argument over legalizing prostitution at a dinner party our new neighbors had invited us to. Got drunk too fast and made a total ass of my self.
4. Marry, f*ck or kill: choose either group – (a) Val Kilmer (current, not young version), Kevin Federline and Russell Brand; (b) Lindsay Lohan, Kim Kardashian and Paris Hilton. Marry LL (I like trying to save people), f*ck KK, kill PH
5. Which country would you most likely be arrested in and/or shot at and why?

USA cuz I always get in an argument at the border when they give my husband / mother-in-law / other nice foreign nationals coming to spend their money in our country a hard time
6. Which person (alive or dead) would you most want to bitchslap? My downstairs neighbor. Spoiled noisy brat
7. Which special talent or skill do you wish you had? Would love to able to play the guitar
8. Who or what would you consider to be your archenemy?God, I used to have so many but running has calmed my ass down
9. Pop or soda? I say coke or soft drink.
10. What’s your favorite holiday? Christmas
11. How would you prefer the apocalypse to go down? Too scary to think about, but I think I’d be happy with some class warfare.

Part II: 11 Questions and 11 TAGGEES

All the Places I Would Run

2012-01-24T14:08:00.002+01:00

I didn’t discover the true secret to happiness until I was thirty-years-old so I have a whole list of places where I wish I had run. Of moments in my life when I wish I had had the emotional maturity to make running a part of my everyday.

If only I had known how calm and confident running can make you.

1) Towson High School

Instead of staying up late talking on the phone or sneaking cigs before school started I could’ve, should’ve been running! God, I would have been beautiful! So young, so skinny! So tan! Instead I was an art-house goon: pale, red-eyed and brooding all the damn day.

2) In college in the beautiful Hudson Valley. Instead of drinking 40’s and arguing over Marxist theory, I could’ve been running the trails. My mind would have been sharper for studying, my poems however might have suffered a bit.

3) Those first lonely months in Madrid, when I discovered slowly and then ever so quickly what it means to be a woman in this world. Instead of feeling my lip quiver as a man named Jesus taught me how to dance, I could have been exploring the Retiro park. I could have gotten strong instead of skinny. But then again, I may never have read so much Bashevis Singer and Cormac McCarthy all alone in the subway if I’d been running…

4) Granada. Ah, the hills, I walked them back in September 2004, but how I’d like to have run them. In that crisp morning air you get from the Sierra Nevada just before the sun comes up. And I would have enjoyed all the food I ate so much more.

5) Philadelphia. That hot summer of 1999 when I was broke and broken hearted. Sure I got strong from selling cokes at Veterans Stadium and riding my bike all over town, but god if I had started running that summer I would have been on top of the world.

As you can see, I’m back to believing that running keeps me steady. This past fall I was afraid to admit that because my hip hurt and I thought that happiness might just slip away but after this weekend’s post-injury PR in a 10-k I’m feeling like I’ve kept a hold of running, clenched it just tight enough.

Goals 2012

2012-01-09T17:31:00.000+01:00

Short & Sweet

1. Get back down to 53 kilograms / 116.8 pounds and stay there!

2. Publish a story from Other People’s Daughters.

Of course there are a lot of other things I hope to do (get more sleep, be a better daughter wife and sister, travel, swim once a week, run a marathon, host some great dinner parties), but for now I’m just betting on these two goals which are at once simple and seemingly impossible.

2011 Highlights

2012-01-09T16:58:00.004+01:00

There were many, but here are a few.

1. January: Starting my new job as a political advisor and getting a half-marathon PR

2. February: Sitting in a packed house while my boss delivered the first BIG speech I’d written

3. March: Enjoying a wonderful, if all too-short, visit from my mom

4. April: Celebrating my birthday in Horta with lots of tapas and wine and a very funny, diverse group of friends

5. May: Discovering our terrace in full bloom and doing a 15-mile hike to Cabrera

6. June: “Working” in Venice

7. July: Running (lots) from the mountain to the sea with my dad in BCN

8. August: Having seven days in paradise, with my family in The Outer Banks

9. September: Running the Sabadell half even though I was exhausted and it was hot and hilly

10. October: Dealing, calmly, with injury

11. November: Finding Pilates

12. December: Celebrating Christmas in Baltimore with all the family and meeting Ruby, pictured above.

Mind Games

2011-12-22T17:30:00.003+01:00

Perhaps after months of injury and running without the Garmin or any of sort of real goals or ambition, I’ve begun to concentrate on the wrong numbers. Perhaps, instead of worrying about weighing less, I should trust myself to run faster. Miles in the 8:30’s felt great today and I need to get back to speedwork, to pushing, to dreaming about being strong and not skinny.

This all coincides with the talking to I got at work this morning about being more ambitious, about being a leader, about pushing myself and other people. Not sure what to do with all this yet, but I’ll get there.

2011 has been an amazing year for me professionally. I’ve learned quite a lot and I’ve had days when I thought I would break down, physically and emotionally from the stress and exhaustion. Running has kept me sane, healthy and productive.

What I love most about running is that you keep learning with every new step. Here’s to a 2012 full of long work days, fast runs and ambition.

Hovercraft

2011-12-21T10:43:00.002+01:00

My weight has hovered around 120 my entire adult life. I’ve been 127 and out of shape or 118 and in great shape, but I’ve never reached 135 or 115. My body (apple shape: barrel chest, muffin top and fairly thin legs) just sort of remains the same. And suddenly that’s very frustrating to me. I run, I weight train, I watch what I eat. My clothes are looser than they were pre-running and people who haven’t seen me in two or three years, say “My, you look great.” But the number on the scale is the exactly same as way back in December 2005 when I pretty much ate whatever I wanted and considered chatting in the sauna to be exercise.

My goal, which I’ve discussed with Nicolas fitness instructor extraordinaire, was to get down to 116.9 (53 kilos) by this week in order to go home for Christmas skinny and with some room for American eating. Last week I was down to 54 kilos, but yesterday I was back to 55 kilos (121 pounds). I know that this is in part because I refuse to give up pb and toast before running and Friday night wine drinking. Is that perhaps what I’ll have to do? That seems awfully sad considering that I do exercise.

This fall I’ve been cross-training much more and running a little less due to hip pain. I feel fitter, my arms are stronger and the tummy under control, but the numbers are driving me mad.

Does your weight fluctuate a lot or does your song remain the same? Any tips for breaking out of these plateaus?

Ode to Other Crooked Runners

2011-11-28T13:12:00.000+01:00

On Saturday mornings when I go for my long run along the beach, I see lots of people: tourists and locals, young and old, families and singletons. Lots of wonderful dogs. Lots of people working out. But only a few people really fill me with joy and they aren’t tourists or happy grandparents with their grandchildren, no sir.

The crooked runners fill me the joy. Not the fastest, fittest runners. Not the tan women, with tiny waists and big chests, decked out in black Nike spandex. Not the beautiful young couples: French and shiny, on vacation and out for a jog.

No, I like the most desperate people: mostly older, mostly graying men who limp, who favor one side, who breathe so heavily they sound like they’re about to die. The guys who are all about guts and a little bit about glory. People who run, everyday, even though it hurts and their joints are creaky and one shoulder hangs lower than the other. People who run for something far beyond losing weight or looking good, people who have no choice but to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Friday Flash: Do you buy Lululemon?

2011-11-18T10:36:00.005+01:00

Until I heard this piece on NPR I pronounced this company Lulu MOON. Funny, huh?

I've never purchased anything so fancy for exercise, and definitely won't now.

Sigh, I wish running was still low-tech, sustainable 1970's style.

An Anglo Afternoon

2011-11-11T16:55:00.006+01:00

I knew something positive would come of this achy hip business and although this was only the second of my Anglo Fridays I think I’m going to make them a habit.

Throughout these 11 years of living in Spain I've been diligent about integrating: learning both official languages, following local politics; I’ve pretty been strict about not living an ex-pat lifestyle. For years I hardly even had any English-speaking friends. By leaving America, I had said good-bye to all that. And even now, I live my day-to-day life as a foreigner but amongst the Catalans. I am perhaps an interloper, but an integrated one.

But, sometimes, it’s nice to come down off my high horse and surround myself with English speakers and American food. Sometimes, after a week of working for a nationalist government, when it’s not even your nation, you need to speak your own language and talk about your own cultural icons. Just for a few hours you need, well, a womb-like sensation of comfort and love. Yeah, I know that sounds dramatic, but living in a foreign country can be alienating, no matter how nice the weather is.

So, starting last week Friday lunch hour is my little break from the clipped rhythm of Catalan. At 2:15 I leave work and take the metro up to Gràcia, to Studio Australia, which I have renamed near wild heaven. After two classes with Natalia, I’m not sure that I can actuallyfeel my pelvic floor, but I do know that I’m thinking about my body differently, and noticing micro-tilts as I run, and that I trust her in a way that I haven’t trusted anyone new in quite a while. Maybe, it’s the Australian accent, which I interpret as familarly Irish but healthier.

Today I left the Studio at 3:30, feeling flexible, but hungry and as I rushed down to the metro station what did I see but, lo and behold, a bagel shop! I don’t think I’ve had a bagel in about two years. So I got a carrot juice and poppy-seed bagel with real cream cheese and still got back to work on time.

Rolling With the Punches

2011-10-26T18:43:00.005+02:00

A few months ago I thought that on October 31st I’d been running a marathon in Dublin. I registered, I started to train and then life got in the way. It turns out I have to work the 31st, that I absolutely must be in Barcelona on that day. But it also turns out that I haven’t been able to train for the Valencia marathon on November 26th. Why? Well because my body hasn’t dealt with the training as well I’d hoped. (My hip and lower back hurt like holy hell.) Or maybe because working for a politician is not very conducive to having time for yourself (or a back that doesn’t spasm). And although I spend a good part of my long work days and nights dreaming of having Haruki Murakami’s schedule--he runs or swims long distances almost every day, eats a healthful diet, goes to bed around 9 p.m. and wakes up, without an alarm, around 4 a.m. — at which point he goes straight to his desk for five to six hours of concentrated writing--I do really enjoy my job and realize that I'm lucky have it.

So, anyhoo, here it is late October and I’ve got a gimp hip and low mileage, but I’m not going to let any of that get me down. I will run a marathon and I will run for the rest of my life. I hope. I pray.

Meanwhile, I will concentrate on healing and strength training and losing weight. (Somehow I suspect that being lighter—I’m kind of top heavy—will do wonders for my hip and spine.) To this end, I present my, humble but attainable, November goals:

1. Strength training / Pilates twice a week

2. If it hurts to run, don’t sulk, go to the pool or get on that elliptical.

3. Lay off the sugar!

4. Don’t be a drama queen; this too shall pass.

A Few Final Thoughts on Birth Control Pills

2011-10-20T18:58:00.005+02:00

I changed a lot in my twenties—went from being a very unhappy, rather dark person to a surprisingly stable, happy, healthy person. That growth came from many things: falling in love and then working (sometimes very hard) to build a marriage, to master two new languages, to adapt to living very far away from home in a rather closed society. I worked in several different places and became confident as a professional. I traveled and learned to navigate the murky world of immigration paperwork. I started going to the gym and dressing like a woman. I accomplished quite a lot in that decade, but I can pinpoint the one thing I did in my twenties of which I’m proudest and that’s getting off the Pill. It didn’t happen until I turned 29, but it happened and that, along with running, has changed me, emotionally and physically, in ways I never would have imagined.

I went on the Pill when I was sixteen. I had a boyfriend and a lot of strong teenage passions: poetry, veganism, radical politics and skinny boys in rock bands. I tried “going off” when I was 19 and studying in Madrid. Not because I had any problems with the Pill (big breasts and clear skin—what was there not to love), but rather because I was single. After a few months off the Pill, I looked like a 14-year-old boy: I was super skinny and had a nasty case of acne, which in turn made me want to just die. Seeing my reflection in the Madrid metro, I hardly recognized myself.

When I arrived to the grime and humidity that is Baltimore in August, I went directly to the dermatologist, burst into tears and begged, “What, what can I do?” And he, like so many American doctors, smiled and said, “Go back on the Pill, my dear.” And so I did, for ten more years.

I was absolutely terrified of ever going off the Pill again and turning into a 14-year-old monster, so when my ortho try-cyclen prescription ran out once I was living in Spain, I took the package to the local pharmacist, whispered my predicament in the tone another woman might use to talk about infertility or incest, and that calm Catalan man skimmed through some thick three-ringed binders until we found a European pill with the same ingredients. In Spain, you don’t even need a prescription for the Pill, just the brand name, “Suavaret, por favor.” And you’re good to go. Suavaret, it’s suave, a light purple color, feminine, kind, easy going down.

When Spanish women hissed about the dangers of the Pill (blood clots, low sex drive, mood swings) I ignored them. They obviously weren’t prone to acne or truly terrified of pregnancy. But, little by little, I began to wonder what my body would be like without the Pill. No round stomach, no big breasts? And my mind? No more mood swings or black-cloud days or sudden crying jags? And—I really wondered about this one—What about that force that fuses body and mind? The ole sex drive? What would that be like?

But I was scared to take the plunge, to deal with the skin problems and possible depression. To catch a glimpse of acne in the closing metro doors and want to scream or hide.

I kept putting going off the Pill on hold. It wasn’t the right time because I had to start a new job, or go on vacation, or fly to a wedding in London, or a book fair in Frankfurt. And then on a flight from Atlanta to Barcelona, my feet swelled up, which sent me on a wild internet search and round of doctor's visits to understand Porque and ended with me saying Basta.

In April of 2008, I stopped taking birth control pills. Did my skin break out? Yes, a little and it still does. Did I get skinny? I lost some weight, but I also started running soon afterwards, so who knows if one thing has anything to do with the other. Did my sex drive come back? Yes! And I never even knew I’d lost it. A whole new world.

Did my mood change? Yes, it was as if a cloud lifted and all the struggles of becoming an adult woman culminated in throwing away the pills I’d been taking every night at ten pm for basically thirteen years.

I felt, and still feel, absolutely fantastic: changed, liberated, recovered. Now, does this mean that I want to tell you “Get off the pill now! Traditional medicine and pharmaceutical companies are evil!” Well, no, not necessarily. I mean, I do sort of think that, but I think every woman has to find her own way out of the labyrinth of hormonal birth control. It’s actually kind of like running, yes I know it’s the secret to life, but I’m not going to proselytize. Every girl has to get there on her own.

Day in the Life

2011-10-15T10:58:00.003+02:00

copied from Ana-Maria, one of my all-time favorite bloggers

Friday, October 14th

6:30 wake up
Make coffee
Read NY Times online
Slowly get dressed to go run
7:15 Walk instead of run because my hip hurts
8:00 back home, eat toast with pb and a kiwi, look up "hip pain" on the internet
8:15 shower, dress, blow dry hair
8:33 hastily pack gym bag and run out of the house
8:55 arrive to work for 9 am meeting
9-2:45 work
2:45-3:30 go to gym and stretch like a wild woman
3:30 eat apple and rush back to work
3:30-7: work. eat banana
7:15 go home, eat pb and toast, email my mom, and shower ( I didn’t shower after the stretch sesh at lunch)
8:30 head up to Gràcia to meet L for a drink and “how was your summer” catch-up. Best hour of my week! Sometimes there is nothing better, or more relaxing, than having a glass of wine with an intelligent American woman.
10:00 leave Gràcia a little light-headed, take subway one stop in the wrong direction, correct mistake
10:30 meet Charles a half hour late for dinner at our Friday-night Italian spot. Apologize profusely. Think about how nice the guys are at the Italian spot and beg them to STOP giving us free desserts. Hear all about one guy's recent bike trip.
11:30 take an after-dinner walk with Charles
Midnight: Hit the hay and pray for painless run Saturday morning

Mornings

2011-10-07T16:55:00.003+02:00

I’m swamped with work and life, but getting back on track with running thanks to new routines.

Lately I've been waking up at 6:30 and getting out the door before work so that no matter what happens at the office, I get my run in. Morning running, I've found, has several advantages:

- Only one shower a day

- Fewer slow-moving tourists out and about

- Cooler weather and less humidity

- No late night snacking because I have to hunker down and get to bed!

And a few disadvantages:

- Shorter distances. Due to time constraints I can’t say go for a seven mile run just because I’m feeling good.

- The first mile is slow going because I’m still sort of waking up

- I must drink coffee first but then it makes me so thirsty

My body loves having a routine. I’m getting in bed by 11:30 most nights, which is really excellent for me. And, now I have time at night to take walks with my husband and discover parts of the port of Barcelona I’ve never seen before.

A Variety of Confessions

2011-09-22T09:55:00.006+02:00

1. In an attempt to keep things upbeat, I haven’t posted a race report about last Sunday’s Mercè 10k. Last year, I got my 10-k PR at La Mercè. Last year, this event was my perfect race. Last year, I worked fewer hours and had a job that allowed me to do things like come home and make a play-list for a race. This year, I got home from work at 3 am Sunday morning, ate a cookie, tried to sleep a few hours and then rushed off to the race. First time out the door, I forgot the chip. Ran back up my stairs and got chip. Coming down the stairs the second time, I thought, "should I really bring the chip--will I want my time on the public record?"

As was to be expected, my performance sucked. 59 freaking minutes. That’s slower than I ran a 10k before my first half marathon!

During the first half of the rest my energy level was pretty normal, but at the 6-K mark something happened, as if I were a balloon and a little demon with a pushpin appeared and popped all the air out of me. Certainly, we can find excuses for this disaster—exhaustion, PMS, humidity. We can say, as my dear Charles did, “just going to the race was a victory.” But I don’t want to make excuses, I want to tell you all that I’m concerned, frightened, worried. What is happening with my body? Why, after a solid year and a half of training, am I so much slower?

2. I’ve never read Kafka. Yes, I studied literature at a prestigious liberal arts college; yes I did a masters in Comparative Literature in Barcelona. Yes, I’m a vivacious and rigorous reader, but for some strange reason I’ve never read Kafka. This weekend I was planning on starting a Clarice Lispector novel, but I think I should probably check out Kafka instead

3. Despite the first part of this three-part post, I would still rather be skinny than fast. However, I’ve got some work to do in both departments and since numbers on the scale have never motivated me enough to actually follow a strict diet for more than a few days, I'm hoping running will inpsire me to eat, well, more rationally. I’m 5 foot 4 and weigh around 118 pounds, and I’m thinking that if I could lose 5 pounds, I might just become a faster runner. Putting the numbers out there in order to keep me honest.

Cool Kicks

2011-09-19T17:10:00.004+02:00

Ever since I started running seriously I’ve worn Asics 1100's. Several sales people over the years have told me that I’m a mild over pronator and, having no reason not to, I’ve always believed them. Being imperfect in many other ways, it was reasonable to believe that my stride needed some correction as well.

The Asics 1100's are cheap, durable, stability shoes and they’ve served me well. I’ve never (knock—all around the world—on wood) had a real injury. A few black toenails, yes, but nothing much beyond that. Sometimes, though, I have my doubts about using such a cheap model. I think, well, maybe I should “move up” to something better, lighter, fancier. I let marketing get the best of me and dream of having some cool kicks. (I understand that this is not a smart way to think about running shoes, but let's be honest, everyone wants cool shoes.)

So when I went to pick up my race packet for the Mercè 10k, I stopped by the Adidas display and got my gait analyzed. The salesman informed me that I have a neutral gait and when I looked at him, a bit incredulous, he showed me the computer-generated images of my neutral landing, high-arched foot. I’m not sure if this means that all the past analyzers were wrong or that my gait has changed. It’s true that my foot looks thinner and a bit bonier than it used too…Have I finally lost my baby fat?

So, yes, now I have a perfect excuse to get some cool kicks right away. On the one hand I fugure I should order some new, neutral shoes, but I’m also worried that changing up will lead to injury. Am I ready to run free, without stability?

Any hints? Have you changed from stability to neutral shoes? Has your gait changed over the years? Any shoes that changed your life and turned you into a speed demon?

Before 33

2011-09-13T16:52:00.003+02:00

Bucket List

Just a few things I want to do before I turn 33 on April 30, 2012.

1. Publish a short story in a print journal.

2. Write a new book of poems.

3. Run a sub 2-hour half marathon.

4. Run a full marathon.

5. Tone the stomach, sculpt the arms.

6. Train to be a spinning instructor, or at least sign up for the class.

7. Volunteer at a race.

8. Host a(nother) great dinner party.

9. Drive on the highway in the U S of A.(haven't done that in years)

10. Publish an opinion piece in a Spanish newspaper.

A few of my favorite things

2011-09-12T21:09:00.002+02:00

A few favorites that I'd forgotten about:
1. City bike riding. Love it. I just feel so cool riding around town in heels and a suit.
2. Running in just a sports bra and shorts. Liberating, comfortable and with this humidity just necessary.
3. Jorie Graham. Cool, snobby, always elegant and beautiful.
4. Simplest cous-cous for dinner: Figueres onions, celery, carrots, some beer, olive oil, chick peas, raisins, sunflower seeds, orange slices and cinnamon. Voila, Monday night dinner.

On Joy

2011-09-06T17:13:00.006+02:00

Last week was lonely.

I did not want to be in Barcelona; I wanted to be in America close to my family. Driving in the car with my brother. Walking into the Blue Whale with sand on my feet to buy a six pack of beer and some avocadoes.

So, I was homesick, plus I wasn't doing well at work. The speech I was trying to write was awful. No narrative. No sense. No punch. No beauty. I spent Saturday morning sobbing and trying to fix it to little or no avail. Saturday evening, Charles--oh-that-patient.saint--and I took the train to Sabadell for the half marathon packet pick-up, but instead of enjoying the atmosphere--it was the town's festival complete with fire-breathing dragons and papier mache giants--I was constantly checking my Blackberry and just being a big old homesick, work-obsessed grouch.

Needless to say I had trouble sleeping the night before the race--sweating and tossing and turning and replaying minor fuck-ups from the long work week. A few times, at 3 and 4 and 5 am, I thought about not even going to the race, but at 6:30 I was wide awake and ready to go.

It wasn't a perfect half, in fact it was my secondest slowest out of the five I've done. It was hilly and humid, and I had no plan so I sort of spaced out after a while. I ran with a fast guy for a few miles, which meant I ran the middle section too fast for moi. My I-pod died and my stomach cramped a bit. But, I was never disheartened: I thanked all the volunteers. I cheered other, faster, runners on. I sprinted to the finish, drank my flat Coke and then talked to all the friendly women runners in the locker rooms after the race. In Spain, we female runners are few and far between, we're all sort of strange people and tend to be, well, pretty awesome.

On Sunday, in an industrial city called Sabadell, I found the joy in running and racing. The joy in participating, which is really nice when you're feeling nostalgic and far from home.

So, right now, I'm in a marathon training lull and I just want to enjoy the fall racing season and save the marathon stuff for Barcelona, March 25, right outside my door. Simple. Supportive. Fun.

All this could change after a few decent long runs, of course, but racing and getting a lil faster just sounds more fun right now. And, right now I need some joy.

Redemption Run

2011-08-29T14:20:00.000+02:00

I’m happy to report that my 16.5 mile run this Saturday went well. That electrolyte disaster on the NCR Trail was a real blow to my confidence, but I’m getting my groove back. On Saturday I did 16.5 miles in the heat and felt a-okay. I drank Nuun through out the run and had an ice-cream sandwich recovery snack, yum. In fact, I’m a little concerned because aside from a dull pain in one of my arches, my legs felt fine after this run. Perhaps I should have pushed a little harder.

Valencia will be replacing Dublin on my marathon calendar. It will be a cheaper, less stressful, and more ecologically sound trip for us. I’m not convinced that it’s the best option for my first marathon, but right now it’s what works best for our budget and my work schedule. The cut off is five hours, which is at once daunting and merciful!

This Sunday I’ll be running a half marathon in the city of Sabadell. I’m not familiar with the city or the course and it’ll be fairly hot so I’m just going to use this race as a test for my fueling/hydration plans. I’ll carry my handheld filled with Nuun and use water stops along the way.

Upcoming Training looks like this:

Monday: easy 6
Tuesday: easy 4
Wednesday: 7 miles, 5 at tempo pace
Thursday: easy 6
Friday: easy 4 / swimming
Saturday: swimming
Sunday: Half

Monday: swimming
Tuesday: easy 6
Wednesday: 4 and gym class
Thursday: easy 6
Friday: easy 4
Saturday: 17
Sunday: 3 and swimming

Indecision: Should I Change My Marathon City? Or Seeds of Doubt

2011-08-23T18:36:00.001+02:00

All doubt begins with a lousy long run.

The Monday after a wonderful week of running barefoot along the shores of the Outer Banks, my father and I headed out to the North Central Railroad Trail for a fifteen miler. It wasn’t as hot as it had been in Baltimore, but we started late and it was definitely humid. However, neither the heat nor the humidity suffice to explain what happened to me that day.

I didn’t feel too good from the get go, not awful, just sort of sluggish and at about the four-mile mark I actually burped up some vomit. Gross, I know, but that’s exactly what happened. I pushed on though, I knew that this was my only chance to get a long run in over vacation and that I had to finish. We stopped at the bathroom at the seven-mile mark, but strangely enough, even though I’d been sipping water the entire run, I couldn’t urinate. Nothing came out, which is really odd, because if given the opportunity to use a bathroom I pretty much always can. I guess I should have realized that this was a bad sign, but we carried on. My dad chatted away, and seemed unscathed by the distance or the humidity. The man is incredible!

The next 8 miles were the hardest I’ve ever run. I was thirsty, but drinking water didn’t help. My legs weren’t tired, my knees or hips weren’t sore, but my body was just moving through molasses. At mile 13, I tried to urinate again, this time amongst some sticker bushes in the woods, but no luck. I told my dad I had to walk for a few minutes and then we began to jog the last long mile. I could feel the chafing setting in and our shoes were literally squishing with sweat. When we stopped running, I wasn’t exactly relieved. I was actually quite terrified. I thought if 15 feels this bad, how will I ever run 20 or 26.2?

Once inside the air-conditioning of 7-Eleven, where we stopped for water and Gatorade, I didn’t feel better but much, much worse. My hands were shaking and I thought I was going to pass out. Instead of telling my dad this, I just sort of tried to “keep it together” in the store and on the expressway riding home. But, about five minutes from home I said, “Stop the car!”, opened the door, and puked my guts out.

There was no hiding my condition from my mom, as soon as I walked in the house—all pale and purple-lipped—she said “Get up in bed!” And I did just that. Under about three blankets, I stayed in bed and shivered and worried that my training had simple fallen apart. That my body had finally, and fully, failed me.

Fast forward a week. I’ve put things in perspective. I’ve realized I should have had some sort of sports drink on the run and reapplied body glide, but the shadow of self doubt still remains. And the thought of flying to Dublin, paying for three nights in a hotel, taking two days off from work, and possibly failing miserably scares the hell out of me. Should I really travel so far for something that my body seems so unprepared for?

And thus, the seed of doubt began to sprout. Yesterday, on my first day back to work, during the still sleepy month of August, I was surfing the Internet and saw that, lo & behold, I have an out! The Valencia Marathon, just three hours away by train, will be held three weeks later than the Dublin event and it’s on a Sunday so I wouldn’t have to take off from work. Which means I’d be less stressed, because you all know I get kind of crazy about having to ask for time off. And less stressed about flying and wasting Charles´vacation on my own personal misadventure. I’d also have three more weeks of wiggle room! Maybe an extra long run…
But then again it’s always good to stick with a plan. And I did like the idea of running a friendly marathon in cool weather, in a beautiful green place, as opposed to a very a rather dull marathon without many other women or slow people, just lots of serious, speedy Spanish men…

So I guess I’ll torture myself with this debate during this week’s training runs!

Shelter from the Storm

2011-07-29T13:00:00.002+02:00

My few loyal readers may have noticed that I’ve sort of fallen off the wagon in terms of tracking my marathon training. I’ve been very busy, but I have been running. However, instead of boring you with a list of my workouts I’ll just share one great one:

Last Friday I left work at three and rushed home to meet my father. We ate some toast with pb and honey and headed out for a fifteen miler sans Garmin. (I’d forgotten to recharge the battery and hey, I know the route already.) My dad wore his stopwatch, but we really didn’t worry about time. We just ran and talked about family and marathons and my favorite or least favorite parts of my route. We slowed down a few times, but we never stopped, we just ran along the port of Barcelona, together. And about 2 hours in, my dad finally said what I needed to hear, “if you can do this run, you´re gonna be fine in the marathon.”

Low-grade sickness

2011-07-12T15:29:00.004+02:00

All last week I had a sort of low-grade sickness going on: chills, itchy throat and major stomach pains. For a while I thought I had E Coli, but then decided it was just a nasty combo of heat, work stress and smog. Anyhow, I won’t bore you all with the details, but suffice to say I was exhausted and even started thinking that I might be anemic. Vegetarian +woman+ runner? I probably should check those iron levels because all I wanted to do all day, everyday was sleep.

I managed to get in three runs + one day of CORE

7 miles on Tuesday

5 on Wednesday + CORE

13 on Sunday

Not what I had planned, but hey sometimes you get what you get.

This week my dad arrives! I can't wait to run and bike with him.

Plan:

Monday: 3 miles

Tuesday: 6

Wednesday: cross train CORE

Thursday: 7

Friday: cross train CORE

Saturday: LR 10 miles with Dad 5 on my own

Sunday: 4 mile recovery

Compare and contrast. Best short shorts.

2011-07-06T17:35:00.008+02:00

I didn't buy my first pair of running shorts until after my first half marathon. Up until that point I’d just stuck with capri tights. I wish I could say that thanks to running I lost tons of weight, looked amazing, and therefore was no longer modest about showing off my upper thigh, but that's not really the case.

Anyhow, last summer, I trained in tight shorts. The European way. The Spanish ladies rock the spandex top and bottom and when in Rome…even if you look kind of like an embutido.

On my visit to Oxford, Mississippi last August I couldn’t get over the fact that the college co-eds basically had a uniform for class, working out, and walking around town: oversized tee-shirt and Nike tempo shorts. I thought that I’d never wear such revealing shorts: I mean if 22-year-old sorority girls weren’t looking that great in them what would I look like?

But then, back in Barcelona, in September, I did some long runs in some very humid weather and realized that the Euro short tights are rather, well, stuffy and thus I took the plunge: I ordered the Nike shorts and discovered that allowing air to flow is very comfortable. And that my thighs were slimmer than I had previously believed.

Now, are Nike tempos totally chafe free? Well, I’m not sure, but better safe than sorry so I always apply mad amounts of bodyglide. For months I’ve been a Nike tempo convert, but lately I’ve decided that it’s a pain to smear on all that bodyglide for shorter runs and that the Euro style can be quite convenient for shorter mid-week workouts.

For the time being, I’ll stick with the Tempos for the longer runs. Euro shorts are also revealing, in a less flattering way actually. I’d rather show some skin then outline my crotch. What about you?

What are your favorite running shorts?

Seeing that I’m showing off my thighs all over town, do you think one day I’ll also be able to show off my tummy?

Hungry, hungry sharks

2011-07-04T16:43:00.001+02:00

My appetite has certainly decided that I’m training for a marathon. I went way too wild with eating this weekend: wine and chocolates Saturday evening at a Montjuic picnic and then potato chips at the beach on Sunday, beer in the evening and pizza for dinner. I basically rolled my big belly out of bed this morning!

So let’s see if I can justify any of this through my training…

Week 8

Monday Planned cross train Reality: Did weights for arms.

Tuesday Planned 6 miles Reality: 7 fairly fast miles!

Wednesday Planned 6 miles Reality: work ruined my plan. Big fat 0

Thursday Planned 5 miles Reality: 3.5 miles with the Abster

Friday Planned: cross-train ARMS and CORE Reality: 3 miles I always prefer running to strength training.

Saturday: Planned: 14 miles Reality: 14.3 miles

Sunday: swimming and/or 3 mile recovery run Reality: major core and abs + a short swim. It’s now Monday and I’m really hurtin’ from yesterday’s crunches and planks, but I will keep up with it in order to one day in the distant future be able to strut at the beach!

Week 9: Concentrate on healthy eating!

Monday: Easy 6

Tuesday: CORE

Wednesday: 7 miles 5 at tempo pace

Thursday: 6 miles + CORE

Friday: 3 miles easy

Saturday 15 miles

Sunday CORE + swimming

In summertime it's toughy

2011-06-29T13:13:00.002+02:00

Weeks 6 and 7 of Marathon Training

Things haven’t gone exactly as planned, but that doesn’t mean they’ve gone badly. That’s the great thing about running: there are benefits everywhere you look. If you don’t follow your training plan exactly it’s not the end of the world because running still improves your emotional and physical health, it still makes you more beautiful, a more productive worker, a more patient spouse.

Week 6

Monday: Planned: easy 6 Reality: 6

Tuesday: Planned: rest. Core and arms. Reality: Big fat 0

Wednesday: Planned: 7 miles, 5 at tempo pace Reality: 7 miles, 5 at tempo!

Thursday: Planned: 6 miles Reality: 4 miles with Abby. Hamstring pain perhaps from the night before.

Friday: Planned: 3 miles or cross training Reality: 0. Stressful day at work and then a dinner with friends from Bmore. The alcohol was needed and totally worth it.

Saturday: Planned: early am 6 miles and then at 7pm a trail run with Charles. Reality: Slept in and then did 10.5 mile train run with Charles in the evening. Very hilly. Charles, who had never run more than a 10k in his life had a great run. He whooped my ass!

Sunday: Planned: swimming Reality: 8.5 miles along the beach. Felt great.

Total: 36 miles

Week 7

There wasn’t really a plan because Charles had his operation on Thursday, which meant I was rushing to finish work projects from Monday to Wednesday and then spent two days at the hospital. The hospital, and being with Charles over these first few days of recovery, have certainly put marathon training in perspective for me. If I make it to Dublin that’s great, and if not that’s quite fine too. Being able to run is a privilege and I want to be able to run a few times a week for the rest of my life.

That said, I only ran 19 miles during week 7, but I did do a local 10k in the scorching sun. I ran a 56:54, which is almost two minutes slower than my PR, but was still a record of sorts considering the weather and my exhaustion. Blood, and lots of it, just tires me.

Regrouping

I’m not sure that summer is the best time to train for a marathon. The heat is killer and we have visitors and vacations that put a monkey wrench in training plans. Perhaps I should have waited and set my sights on the Barcelona Marathon in March of 2012, but I love the idea of running in Ireland amongst other pasty white people. Certainly, training through the winter and doing a local marathon would be easier, but I also think the first one will be awful so just go ahead and get it over with. My dad will be here for the second half of July and it will be nice to do some running with him. I am a little nervous about getting in long runs in the States this August. The logistics of running (water fountains, safety) are just so much easier here and it will be hard to say to my family, “I only see you twice a year, but tomorrow I’ll be busy for about four hours!” Hopefully I can talk my family into participating: running, biking with water, or picking me up in a car in case of heatstroke or any other emergency…

Week 8 Plan

Monday cross train

Tuesday 6 miles

Wednesday 6 miles

Thursday 5 miles

Friday cross-train ARMS and CORE

Saturday: 14 miles

Sunday: swimming and/or 3 mile recovery run

Let Me Eat Cake

2011-06-14T13:38:00.003+02:00

First off, some non-running highlights from the weekend. This Sunday Gabriele and Gabriele arrived to Barcelona. These guys, both seventy-three-years-old, left Switzerland on May 29^th and rode all the way here. That’s quite far and quite fast on mountain bikes. We celebrated their arrival with paella at Els Pescadors.

I did a lot of cooking this weekend, but my greatest achievement was my peach cake, a simple adaptation of my mom’s traditional apple cake recipe. I didn’t do much measuring and simply replaced white flour with whole wheat and switched the apples for some juicy peaches. Juicy is bit of misnomer here; the peaches were about to rot, which, I think, is why the vegetable lady gave Charles a whole basket of them for free. I thought, what can we possibly do with so many peaches so I made peach salsa and then peach cake. The salsa turned out alright, the cake is absolutely delicious, a perfect texture and bursting with sweet cinnamony peachy goodness.

Recipe

3 cups whole wheat flour

1 cup sugar / 1 cup applesauce (Original recipe for all sugar, but applesauce works well as a substitute)

3 teaspoons baking powder

4 eggs

1/3 cup olive oil

1/3 cup fresh squeezed oj

6 very ripe peaches

Some extra sugar (I used all natural cane) and some cinnamon

1. Peel and slice the peaches. Place them in a shallow bowl and sprinkle them with a mixture of cinnamon and sugar. Set aside.

2. Mix dry ingredients and then add eggs, oil and orange juice.

3. Pour half the batter into a greased bunt pan and then top with a layer of peaches. Pour in the rest of the batter and finish off with another layer of fruit.

4. Bake at 350 for about an hour.

5. Let cool for several hours. Brew a strong pot of coffee and enjoy!

Week 5 Marathon Training

Monday: Planned: 5 easy Reality: Big fat 0.

Tuesday: Rest from running. Arms and abs. Reality: Big fat 0. Why? Well, I got home late on Monday night and thought I’d just run the next day, but the next day we had terrible thunderstorms and I forgot my socks and shorts for the gym. Big fail!

Wednesday: 7 miles, 5 miles at Tempo Pace Reality: 5 miles at lunch. The sun was winking at me from behind a cloud around 2pm so I decided to get a quick run at lunch.

Thursday: 5 miles. Arms and abs. Reality: The tempo! Kind of. 6.2 miles in 58 minutes. I was tired though and so hungry. I ate lunch around 2 pm and went running at 8:30 with a growling tummy, not a good plan.

Friday: run 3 / swim Reality: 0. I was super sleepy and grouchy because I had a work dinner at 9 and “nothing to wear.” Instead of running I tried to take a nap and then ironed my clothes for the dinner.

Saturday: 14 miles Reality: 13.3 miles. The first half of this run went well, but then I got really thirsty and could feel the salt on my face and the beginnings of chafing. When I got to the Hotel Vela, (about 11 miles) I really wanted to just call it a day and walk home, but I gave a myself a talking to and made it to the post office, where I stopped and basically bathed in a water fountain. I did do arms and core once home.

Sunday: swimming Reality: 5 miles with Charles sans Garmin. This was a great one. Sometimes it’s so nice to run without that stupid watch and when I keep up with Charles I know I’m running a fairly decent pace. Do you ever feel like the Garmin can bring you down?

Week 6 plans

Monday: easy 6

Tuesday: rest. Core and arms.

Wednesday: 7 miles, 5 at tempo pace

Thursday: 6 miles

Friday: 3 miles or cross training

Saturday: early am 6 miles and then at 7pm a trail run with Charles. We’re not so sure about the distance, but I think it’s about 6 or 7 miles.

What do you all think about splitting up a long run? This week it’s the best I can do with my schedule and the heat...

Sunday: swimming

Running Abroad

2011-06-08T22:36:00.003+02:00

A quick mid-week post after a sucky day at work, a mediocre run and delightful dinner.

Let’s compare running in the US versus running in Spain.

Shoes: USA wins. Running shoes in Spain are much more expensive than in the US and Road Runners Sports has, woe is me, stopped shipping internationally. So I’ll just be ordering shoes to my parents’ house and picking them up in August. I’m 32; this kind of thing makes me feel like I’m still in college.

Watering holes: Spain, well Barcelona, wins. There are public water fountains throughout the entire city. I’ve carried that handheld throughout New York, Maryland and Mississippi and that just tires me out and makes me feel all crooked.

Spot-a-pots: Spain, well Barcelona, wins again. During the summer months the beach is lined with public restrooms and you can go in any bar or ice-cream shop all sweaty and just head straight back to the can. Why no one says, “Senora, can I help you?” I have no idea, let’s just chalk that up to cultural difference and be glad!

The peer group: USA wins because running is more popular there and thus there are more slow people like moi. Here runners are a committed, serious breed and while that does make for a lot of attractive men doing intervals in the park, it makes a chubby pale girl feel a little lonely at times.

Decathlon: Spain wins because they got it and the USA just don’t! Decathlon is paradise, a cheap sports store with anything you could possibly need for camping, swimming, biking, running. And they have generic Bodyglide for about a third of what you would pay in the US. (And generic gels for people who can eat them without puking.)

Races: A tie here. In Spain the entry fees are much cheaper and there are some amazing courses, but the organization is not always great, which means sometimes there is a lack of water or post-race snacks. The few times I’ve run even small races in the States I’ve just been blown away by the organization and all those delicious treats (bagels! chili! beer! hot apple cider!!! cookies! donuts!?!)

Weather: Please take into account I’m basically comparing Barcelona and Baltimore here and I’m going to give the point to Barcie. I can take the heat, sure, it slows you down, but poco a poco you get acclimated. I find dressing for the cold East coast winters a real challenge. It’s freezing for the first mile and then I just start sweating in all those layers.

Catcalls: Obviously, Spain takes the cake in sheer quantity on this one. If a man calls out to you in the States it’s usually kind of threatening or weird, whereas along the streets of Barcelona it’s pretty common and somehow more lighthearted. For years I would just tell myself that the piropo is part of Spanish culture, don’t get all worked about it, but the truth of the matter is sometimes when I’m running alone late at night I really don’t want to hear people’s drunken hisses. (Obviously the whole Euro – American debate about what constitutes sexual harassment has taken on a whole new life with the DSK arrest, but that’s for another post.)

Have you run in different countries or different regions of the US? When you consider where you would like to live in the future do you take possible running routes into consideration?

Week 4 Marathon Training

2011-06-06T12:57:00.004+02:00

Monday: Plan: easy 6 Reality: 5 miles late night.

Tuesday: Plan: 6 Reality: 0 miles. I got home from work at 10 pm. It was pouring rain and I hadn’t ironed any clothes for Venice. I managed to pack my suitcase without crying and wake up at 5 am with a fairly decent attitude so a goose egg as far as mileage, but a gold star for mental health.

Wednesday: Plan: Venice, probably 0. Reality: 0 miles and A LOT of delicious food.

Thursday: Plan: Venice, probably 0. Reality: 3 miles

through Venice.

Friday: Plan: Return from Venice and try for a 10 miler in the afternoon. Reality: 6.2 miles in the evening. I had a work event at 9 pm so I escaped the office at 7:30, ran quickly, showered, gave Charles a hello kiss and got back to work. No one was the wiser.

Saturday: Plan: 15 mile hike with friends. Reality: Amazing 16-mile rainy uphill adventure. I conquered my vertigo fears and wasn’t even sore the next day. Thank you, quads, you’re getting so strong.

Sunday: Plan: easy 10 Reality: I got off to a very late start, but thankfully it was cloudy so leaving the house at 1:30 pm wasn’t a complete suicide mission. A. ran the first 3 miles with me, which was nice. I was five miles in before I even realized I was doing a long run. Ten was my goal since I’d had a very long week, but I was feeling good—not fast but steady—and made this a twelve miler. No gels, just water and some gatorade once I finished.

Conclusions:

+ My mileage wasn’t high this week and I didn’t get in any speed work, but somehow just getting four days of running in gave me a confidence boost and calmed my nerves. Also, it was nice to have a decent long run after last week’s disaster.

- I really need to be stricter about my diet. I eat cookies because I think, “Well, I run so I deserve it” and we all know that ain’t right. I need to plan more meals and have snacks on hand.

Week 5 Plan:

Monday: 5 easy

Tuesday: Rest from running. Arms and abs.

Wednesday: 7 miles, 5 miles at Tempo Pace

Thursday: 5 miles. Arms and abs.

Friday: run 3 / swim

Saturday: 14 miles

Sunday: swimming

Week 3 of Marathon Training

2011-05-31T10:04:00.001+02:00

Monday: Planned easy 6 Reality: easy 6!

Tuesday: rest Reality: rested

Wednesday: 6 Tempo Reality: I ran about 7 miles, but they were hard! The humidity was killing me and it wasn’t easy to keep a tempo pace. My shorts were wringing wet.

Thursday: Easy 6 Reality: Five and change with the Abster. Pace was decent.

Friday: cross Reality: Drank too many beers after work and went to bed destroyed from the work week.

Saturday: 13 miler Reality: This run sucked and I don’t know why. When I got about six miles from home I seriously wanted to cry. My legs weren’t hurting, I just had a sort of all over body tiredness. It wasn´t a hangover either. Just a weird sort of burn out. It was cloudy and super windy, so I can’t even blame the heat. Culprit: lack of sleep throughout the week, I think. Please tell me what you think! Have you had failed runs like this, where you just sort of turn off?

Sunday: long bike ride with Charles Reality: Charles went to visit his grandmother and I went to the beach. Cross-training was a 20-minute swim in the very clean, but freezing cold sea!

Week 4 Plan:

This won’t be easy because I’m traveling to Venice for work, but I’ll hope for the best.

Monday: easy 6.

Tuesday: 6

Wednesday: Venice, probably 0

Thursday: Venice, probably 0

Friday: Return from Venice and try for a 10 miler in the afternoon

Saturday: 15 mile hike with friends.

Sunday: easy 10

Staying Out of Trouble

2011-05-25T22:43:00.003+02:00

Running is my time to think. My hour to push through the frustrations of the day and come through with a few epiphanies or at least feeling calmer and more optimistic. Tonight I realized that I’m getting too caught up in office politics, getting upset and overly sensitive about supposed slights and perceived trespasses. I want to be involved and recognized on demand, when in reality I don't need to be involved constantly and Catalans don't recognize work the same way Americans do.

I work in politics, but my job is to read and to write. A perfect job, so why do I go looking for trouble? It’s like middle school all over again.

So, the next time I feel the urge to write an email, make a phone call, or utter a sarcastic remark that will just stir up trouble, I’m going to take a deep breath, take out my trusty green notebook and write.

It only took 32 years and tonight’s six sweaty miles to figure that out.

Week 2 of Marathon Training in the Summer-like Barcelona Spring

2011-05-23T15:26:00.006+02:00

Monday: Planned easy 6.

Reality: 4 miles in 38 minutes. I got home late from work and was hungry and grumpy. Yes, the run was short but it felt fantastic.

Tuesday:Planned rest day. Reality: I rested.

Wednesday: Planned 10k Tempo run Reality: 10 k in 57:19 Tiring, but invigorating.

Thursday: Planned Easy 6

Reality: I ran five and change with Abby. I didn’t go far as I hoped, but I probably ran a bit faster with A than I would have run alone. And I got all her gossip about her trip to Greece so reality was actually better than my plan.

Friday: Planned 1hour cross-training. Reality: I did 30 minutes of weights / core.

Saturday: Planned 12 miler in the early morning

Reality: 12.5 miler in the mid-morning. I had a great run. Yes, it was hot, but I stopped at every water fountain. I didn't take any gels and didn't have any stomach problems. For months I’ve been scared to run down through the St Adrià beach, which is known for cruising, but on Saturday I conquered my fears. Yeah, there was a lot of cruising, but there were also families and dog walkers and everybody just minded their own business. Why should I be scared of men cruising for men, anyway?

Sunday: Planned 1 hour of yoga. Reality: 2.5 mile run to beach with backpack. Swim in the sea. It was glorious! Yup, that’s why I live here.

Plan for Week 3 of Marathon Training:

Monday: easy 6

Tuesday: rest

Wednesday: 6 Tempo

Thursday: Easy 6

Friday: cross

Saturday: 13 miler

Sunday: long bike ride with Charles

Our terrace with plants in full bloom:

The Mother Sect

2011-05-06T18:58:00.006+02:00

I’ll forewarn you dear reader that I’ve been grouchy all day. I took a rerack this morning, which meant having to rush to get ready for work in twenty minutes and making a very bad choice about to what to wear. I chose my high-waisted pinstripe pants and high-heel ankle boots. Thus, while I looked pretty good—surprisingly tall and skinny for moi-- I’ve been extraordinarily uncomfortable all day due to a wedgie and pinched toes. So, there, that’s the preliminary to the following post.

I turned 32 last week and have reached, I'd say, that window period for having children. I have a stable partner, a decent job, and I'm not getting any younger. “It’s now or never.” “I just wished I’d done it sooner. “You don’t want to be pregnant at 40, trust me.” I hear this kind of thing all day long: at work, at parties, at Sunday lunches, from Spanish people, from Americans, from men at meetings in London, from old ladies at the gym. But today, today I think takes the cake, today I’ve been hounded by the mother sect on three separate occasions.

After a rather uneventful morning at work, all stuffed into my pants, I hailed a cab and headed up to Eixample to meet my friend Emma for lunch. Emma is 38, a tireless worker and mother to an eight-year-old. She's a great friend---thoughtful, bubbly, creative, and six-months pregnant. It was a long lunch, and about half of the time we talked about having children. Well Emma talked, she basically campaigned and I simply tried to play defense.

Instead of explaining the real reasons why I haven't gotten pregnant, I made excuses: I’m working a lot, I don’t have family here, etc. But Emma had a righteous answer to each and every excuse. “Everyone works; it’s just a matter of prioritizing.” “You have to make your own new extended family of friends, a network.”

But I'm quite confident that I could prioritize and I know I could form a network, I already have! There isn't a doubt in my mind that "everything would work out" or "that I'd find a way." But you see, that really isn't the issue. I don’t need a pep talk. I’m just not entirely sure that I want to have kids. Being able to handle it isn't enough, and perhaps I want other things in life.

As I hobbled from lunch to the metro, I tried not to get angry. The woman’s pregnant, she’s excited, just let her be, I thought. Anyway, I had another very important task at hand: waxing. While waiting at the waxing center, I enjoyed about 20 minutes of peace: I was off my feet and able to read the Spanish edition of In Touch magazine and a bunch of the Bin Laden coverage in the Times. Then, Cristina, my wonderful waxer called out “Scarlett!” I gave her a hug and two Spanish kisses and said, “I’m so glad to see you back! How’s your baby?”

Cristina reported that the baby is growing very quickly and muy guapa, of course, and then she looked down at my stomach, shook her head from side to side, and said, “And you when?” And then it began, half an hour of hot waxing and yet another sermon on why one should have children NOW. No waiting, no reasoning, no thinking, just do it. By the time, I got my clothes back on I felt like I’d been through a small battle and my wedgie was really bothering me. As I left, Cristina asked, "But you do want kids, don't you?" A part of me wanted to reply, "No, didn't you realize I'm a selfish bitch?" But I just nodded and said assured her, "Of course I do."

Before heading home, I decided to see if I could find some comfortable cotton pants for work. And, in one of the day’s small victories, I found a non-wedgie-giving pair fairly quickly. Just as I was coming out of the dressing room, feeling fairly content, I saw Llucia, a reporter I used to work with. I recognized her even from behind, she's got the narrowest of shoulders and this amazingly thick, shiny auburn bun.

It was only when I said her name and she turned around that I felt slightly faint. There she was Llucia Riba, the single career girl extraordinaire, pregnant. “Hey,” she said pointing proudly to her belly. “I’m just trying to find something I can wear this summer with this guy.”

Small Victories on a Birthday Run

2011-04-30T14:38:00.003+02:00

Holy Week has passed which means the public bathrooms are open along the beach! Ole Ole Ole!

Some young, buff, shirtless guys passed me going up a hill, so I dug deep, passed them at the top of the hill, and stayed ahead for the next mile until they stopped at there fancy-ass hotel.

I saw my fit, fast neighbors around mile 7, sighed, ran up behind them, greeted and kept up with them all the way home. A year ago I never would have felt capable of doing that, upon glimpsing them I would have slowed down and hid.

My MIL has come in to Barcie for my birthday, but I am not going to throw a tantrum.

Friday Flashes

2011-04-29T21:24:00.003+02:00

1. Today at lunch the song Hey Jealousy popped into my head. I knew it was from the nineties, but couldn't, for the life of me, remember the band. Turns out it was The Gin Blossoms. Yup, thanks to Youtube I didn't go crazy at work. Watching that video, I just thought, hmm whatever to this singer, is he a dad in Portland, Oregon now? I'm thinking about creating an all 90s playlist for some fartlek runs since reliving my teenage years was really fun this afternoon.

2. My laptop died last week, which is a huge blow to my budget, but I'm just sucking it up and going to the store next Monday to by a new one. I guess if your computer is also your TV, dvd player and phone it just goes kaput after a while, but it's still rather enraging.

3. Arms, arms, arms: I want them toned for summer! I'm doing push-ups and tricep dips, but I think the real secret may lie in clean eating--any opinions?

4. Tonight I'm resting up for my long run tomorrow morning! Off to read a beautiful Catalan book, Meditacions en el Desert, that my co-worker just gave me for my birthday. I always forget what a beautiful language Catalan is until I start to read something really, really wonderful.

A Survey: My Fall Race Calendar

2011-04-26T19:49:00.003+02:00

Truth be told, I’m a little disappointed not to be running the half in Empuries this coming Sunday, but we’ve been really busy the last few weeks and I've been spending way too much money. Plus, Charles’ grandmother is sick and he himself has a surgery on May 4^th, so right now I think we need a calm weekend. If the race were closer and didn’t involve renting a car and a hotel stay, I’d sign up and run for fun, but that’s just not the case. Oh, but it is a beautiful course…Next year, next year.

So, as I’ve said a multitude of times, I’m busy, but running keeps me happy and sane, so it’s time to plan the race calendar for Fall 2011.

Please help me choose what to do in the half-versus-full, home-versus-away department. Remember, I have never run a full marathon, but always say I want to.

Plan A

September: Mercè 10k
October 24th: Marathon of the Mediterranean (even though it’s a small event, with pretty much zero crowd support and the course is 3 super boring loops.)
December Half Marathon Mataró

Plan B (a practical, realistic plan. Train for the halves. Enjoy running. Don’t burn out. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.)

September Mercè 10k
October Half Marathon of the Mediterranean
December Half Marathon Mataró

Plan C (What I really WANT to Do, but probably shoudn't)

September Mercè 10k
October 31^st: Dublin Marathon (Yes, I know that traveling by air for one’s first marathon is sort of nuts, but I just have this feeling that the Dublin Marathon--the fellow pale people, the rain, the friendliness--could work for me. The flights are 89 euros right now too. Oh, one has to dream.)
December Half Marathon Mataró

Please vote and advise!

Blast from the Past: Old Gym Idols

2011-04-20T18:31:00.001+02:00

When you began exercising or first wandered into the gym did you secretly look up to certain people? Did you have certain role models?

I’m not someone who went from the couch straight to running. I went from being a punkrock vegetarian college student to a professional in a foreign country pretty quickly. In college, I swam a few times a week, but never ever ventured into the scary gym. And back then jogging seemed like something for yuppies. In the early days of my Spanish adventure, my idea of exercise was swimming in the sea, exploring the city on foot, hopping the metro turnstiles! Then of course, I was suddenly 26 and realized, one day while changing into my bathing suit to swim a few leisurely laps, that I was getting fat. By that time I worked long hours in an office and ate those copious three-course lunches so it was time for the Cardio Machines at the neighborhood gym. That was, five or six years ago, I guess. One gray January day, I started off ever so slowly, on the elliptical machine. Charles used to make fun of my gym outfits; I had lounge wear not workout gear and he said I looked like a homeless person taking shelter from the cold.

Anyway, today, while running on the treadmill, I remembered an old idol—a sort of gym crush— from way back in those early gym days: the beautiful Slovenian. A dark-haired, freckled girl who sometimes wore two braids. She wore super short gym shorts. God, she seemed so amazing. While I daydreamed on the elliptical or the rowing machine, she circuit trained like it was nobody’s business: weights, elliptical, stairmaster, treadmill. I bet she only ran for like twenty or thirty minutes, but she was so strong and so fast. And so focused. Lord, she was focused. She’d always cool down on the bike while reading a Spanish-Slovenian dictionary. This is why I think she was Slovenian. Yes, you’re thinking she could have been Spanish and preparing a trip to Ljubljana, but no. You see, once I talked to her! One evening I too “cooled down” on the bike and invented some reason to talk to her, like asking how to adjust the seat and she had a little bit of an accent. Once she spoke, she seemed sort of normal: young and hopeful in Barcelona.

Soon thereafter, summer broke and she disappeared. Maybe she went back home or on to a new city. Perhaps she switched gyms or started to run outside. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about her again since until today, when my thirty minutes on the treadmill seemed the bare minimum, the easiest thing in the world, and an American girl in pajama pants came up to me and asked where the elliptical machine was.

I’m so thankful to that Slovenian beauty for making me want to be her: strong and not exactly perfect, but focused and diligent. Young and hopeful in Barcelona.

The Spring Tiredness

2011-04-10T23:05:00.003+02:00

Hello, here from the depths of Tiredsville, España, I write you all with an epiphany: Stress zaps your running. It makes you tired and grouchy and gives you a pinched nerve in your back.

My race sucked today. A 59:03 10k. Bleh! It was so hot and so crowded. I couldn’t even run the last few meters because there so many people. I was tired of the sun and tired of the mass of humanity. There were lot of pukers too. I walked over that finish line in a bad-ass mood.

I’m really disappointed in my performance, yeah it was hot, but my time is pathetic. Work is draining my spirits and destroying my running this month. (Or is this perhaps, PMS?) Oh 55-minute-10k, oh 2:02-half marathon you feel so faraway and unattainable right now. As if you were from another lifetime, and yet you were just a few months ago.

For now, running is just going to have to keep me sane and not fat. Gotta fit into a gala gown in London on Tuesday night! And look good in work photos! Time is just flying by. I just react to each new situation at the office and don't really have time (or energy) to reflect--to write in my journal or just have a beer with friends and let loose.

I have work to do every weekend and such long days during the week, so training feels pretty much impossible right now. For the next few months, I think my goals need to do be simple:

1. Eat well.

2. Stretch.

3. Try to run 4 times a week.

4. One day of x-training.

On the funny side of things, a guy flirted with me after the race today. He couldn’t have been any sweeter or happier with his time (43 minutes!), or a day over 26. He’d come alone, in the train, from his little country town, and he asked me to take his picture. He gave an adorable thumbs up in front of, appropriately enough, the Arc de Triomf. Then he said, "Well, you look like you must run a lot."

Ha! Oh speedy youth, enjoy your sweet victory!

ABC's

2011-03-02T22:51:00.003+01:00

Age: 31. And so happy about it. I love being in my thirties and feel happier than ever. Just finally comfortable in my own skin.
Bed size: double. I wouldn’t want any bigger. We have a small apartment and I love my husband oh-so-much.
Chore you hate: Folding laundry and putting it away.
Dogs: Oh I so wish! But my work schedule makes it a no-go.
Essential start of your day: American coffee. Black. Later on in the day I'll have an espresso, but first thing I like a cup of good ole American Joe.
Favorite color: Green
Gold or silver: silver.
Height: 5'4”
Instruments I play: None. Well, the viola in middle school. I would love to play the guitar and be a country singer though.
Job title: Advisor on Cultural Affairs
Kids: Not right now.
Live: Barcelona
Mom’s name: SE
Nicknames: Linhes, Kins
Overnight hospital stays: No.
Pet peeve: People who "Blackberry" at meetings and act like they’re busy, not rude.
Quote from a movie: "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night."
Right or left handed: Right. But I like lefties better in general.
Siblings: 1 bro and he’s my best friend.
Time you wake up: 7am on weekdays. 10 am on weekends if I don't have to work. Hey don’t diss me, I work till nine or ten and we do everything later in España.
Underwear: I like fancy lace in black or gray. Not for running though.
Vegetable you dislike: Eggplant.
What makes you run late: Watching the VOWS section on nytimes.com.
X-rays you have had done: Teeth and knee.
Yummy food you make: Chocolate cake.
Zoo, favorite animal: I think zoos are kind of depressing actually and haven’t been to one in years. That said, as a kid I loved the prairie dogs and their underground city of tunnels!

La envidia es muy mala.

2011-02-28T11:02:00.008+01:00

1.Highlight of the weekend: walking with Charles across the city, to Wala, a new outlet in the Zona Franca. Wala is heaven for the runner / shopper. Like Ikea for the decorator. Or Daedalus Books for the avid reader. But, to be perfectly honest, I feel bad for not shopping at a neighborhood, family-owned shop, something I try to do when possible. And yes it's despressing, and indicative of the sad state of the world, that the Phillips factory that not so long ago provided families with a middle-class union-wage jobs is now, well, Wala, a store that sells brand-name sporting clothes cheap and provides some people with a shitty service job, and other people with...amazing prices. So, yes judge me for taking a holiday in other people's misery. I do feel guilty about my purchases, but my butt looks really good in these new capris.

2. Slightly sucky part: a cold that I just can't kick. Having a cold and the sniffles is just so damn undignified. I spent Friday and Saturday night in bed watching MadMen trying to "get better" in time for a long run and Monday morning. Fail. Sunday's run wasn't long and today I feel worse.

3. Deep, dark downside: being green with envy. Charles, A and I went running on Sunday morning. We did a seven miler up Mt Juich. It's a very steep climb, but I thought it'd be a good way to not feel guilty about ducking out of my planned 12-miler. Little did I know that jealousy would eat my lil running heart out. I'm the runner. A is just a Sunday jogger! It bothers me immensely that A can eat whatever she wants, party late into Saturday night, drink beer and wine and Bailey's Irish Cream and smoke and then beat my ass running up a mountain. Granted, I have a cold, but still I work at this and she doesn't. Or at least that's my nasty attitude. Yeah, her knees were giving out by the end, but girlfriend is fast and that enfuriates me.

Still, all that envy swallowed, I'm glad to have a friend who pushes me to want to be faster, skinnier, and more beautiful come summer.

Confessions

2011-02-21T22:19:00.003+01:00

1) Today I had lemon cake for breakfast, ran at lunch, and then ate a Snickers bar + +salad + an empanada for dinner.

2) Amazon.uk sent me the wrong color running shoes: I wanted white and blue, but got all black. These all black Asics are the dorkiest running shoes ever and they look really bad, especially with non-waxed legs, but I'm too lazy to mail them back and wait for the new ones.

3) On Friday, after spending the day in Madrid, I went to dinner with Charles. I was really tired and the video for Love the Way You Lie was on the tube. I kept watching the video instead of listening to Charles tell me about his day. Saturday morning Rhianna's very disturbing, yet strangely hopeful and oh-so-catchy chorus was stuck in my head. So I downloaded the song and listened to it over and over as I ran.

4) Yeah, I'm happy I have a new job where I have to think a lot and do important shite, but I really hope this job doesn't make me fat. Feeling constantly stressed means that I tend to drink wine at night and make bad food choices. Weird, how for so long you strive to be the smartest and now I just want to be the healthiest.

Must run soon

2011-02-09T08:38:00.001+01:00

12-hour work days + pollution rates so high that the radio is warning people not to run outside make me a sad girl

Today must try to escape for at least a 5k on the treadmill.

Barcelona Half Marathon Recap

2011-02-01T08:02:00.004+01:00

I didn’t really have any expectations going into this race. It was a sort of bolet (that’s Catalan for mushroom, something that just pops up) on my racing calendar. I’m actually registered for a half marathon in Granollers, an industrial town about 40 minutes outside the city, for next weekend. The Granollers race always fills up fast and has a reputation for being very well organized. Barcelona’s half is a bit scruffy in comparison. They didn’t even announce the BCN date until right before Christmas and people warned me that the race would be crowded and chaotic, but the start line was a half mile from my house, right at the Arc de Triomf on my regular run route. So, on December 31st, while still in Baltimore, I signed up.

Over Christmas I didn't do any long runs. I ate, I drank, I had some very nice short runs with my dad and some very important conversations with my mom. I also got the best Christmas present ever from my brother and found out that I was starting a new job. When I arrived to Barcelona on January 6th I wasn’t really into half-marathon training—I was in holiday detoxing-ch ch changes- just-trying-to-get-through-each-day-without-a-wardrobe-failure-or-nervous-breakdown mode. Anyhow, in January, I got in three long runs: two sucked and one was fantastic. The week before the BCN half, I broke all the rules: I ate junk, I only slept five hours a night, I started a new job and wore high heels every day.

But, I knew I could PR in the race. Why, I’m not sure, I just felt strong. Still, I resisted making any goals or even thinking about a plan. In the back of my mind, I wanted to aim for a 5:50 per kilometer pace and a negative split, but I tried to keep those thoughts at bay.

The morning of the race was cool and rainy. Of course, I started out too fast. Come on, 8000 runners in my city! Running right by house! I was psyched and I was flying high. Around km 2.5 I passed the 1:50 pacer and whispered, “Jesus!” under my breath. I concentrated on slowing down, trying to keep a 5:50 / km (9:20 / mile) pace. The first 5 kilometers were very crowded. Faster runners, very politely holding their right hand out in front, weaved around me. The first water stop was chaotic and I almost had to walk in order not to fall down, so I crossed the 5k mark at a very reasonable 29 minutes. That’s when it started raining hard, so for a while I just concentrated on jumping over the biggest puddles.

The 10-k mark was back at the start and I saw Charles! I was feeling amazing at that point-- really, really strong. I saw some familiar faces from my run group just ahead of me and remembered how very far ahead they had been in Mataró. “This is different,” I thought, “This is my half!”

At the 11-km mark we began to see the winners nearing the end of their race. I probably wasted some energy here cheering, especially for the first woman who ended up destroying the course record, but hey that buen rollo is well worth a few seconds. This is where the course turned away from the sea, which was nice because we were out of the wind, but slightly frustrating because we kept turning and looping through the industrial parts of the city. I took a gel and tried to concentrate on my music; the race was feeling long, I was in a lull.

Around km 16 I spotted the 2-hour pace bunnies just a few feet ahead of me and I credit them with giving me the focus and resolve to push the last 5 km of this race. As I said, I didn’t have a time goal, although 2:05 had been in my head, but wow 2 hours sounded great. Km 17 was my fastest of the race, I just concentrated on staying under that big white 2-hour pace balloon. However, by km 19 I felt my lack of long runs over the last six weeks. I was out of gas and saw, sadly, the big white 2-hr balloon floating away. And here is where I think not having a goal, and a lofty one, may have been a mistake. A part of me thought, “You’re okay, and no matter what you’re going to PR by pretty much.” That's a slippery slope for me--did that relief mean didn't I push my hardest? That's so easy to think after the fact though isn't it? I did push those last 500 meters, as you can see in my awful photos!

I’m very happy with a 2:02:35 finish, a little sore, but nothing too bad. I was feeling good enough to walk to the beach after the race and eat a huge paella. Can I run Empúries in under 2 hours? We shall see: 13 weeks to train!

New Half PR!

2011-01-30T12:20:00.001+01:00

2:02:35

Apparently not training sometimes works! race report to come!

New Year, New Job, New Everything

2011-01-17T09:23:00.009+01:00

I start, sort of, my new job today. While it's in bad taste to celebrate my good fortune right now, at a time when so many of my friends and family in Spain are either out of work, or working harder than ever for much less money, I must say I am very, very happy to have the opportunity to write, research, travel, and basically work my ass off for the next few years. However, all big running plans (and other life plans: children, thesis) have been put in a weird holding pattern. I know I have to keep up with running in order to stay healthy and sane while working for my new boss, but I also know that planning is now out the window. (Why, suddenly, when you realize you can't start a family or train for a marathon or start cooking vegan food , you really, really want to?) I will basically be on call for the next four years. But my running shoes will be in my desk drawer awaiting any free moments and, also, can't you run with a Blackberry?

I have to take things step-by- step and week-by-week. Oh 16-week-Excel plan, I already miss you and all the control you provide me! This week I'll be straddling both jobs: starting to go to meetings at newbie and trying to train my replacement at oldie. Actually, they still don't have a replacement, but that's a whole other train of thought.

For now, I'm just concentrating on getting enough sleep to be able to do another half on January 30th. Last Saturday I had a beautiful long run: first half up to the Montjuïc castle with Charles (see pic) and the second half solita along the beach. Up to the castle was tough and I had to walk on the last set of stairs. Sunday I rested, so this morning I'll head out for 10k before embarking on a marathon day of meetings. This week I want to get in 55k and next week I'll taper for the BCN half marathon, which I really haven't trained for. In between meetings, I'm also going to sign up at the gym next to my new office. It's small, it's dirty, it stinks, but I must have a shower on hand for those upcoming lunch runs. I'm back to my dream job, a very high pressure job, after four years, but this time I'll be a better worker because now I'm a runner.

Does running make you more a more productive worker, a sharper thinker, more patient?

Do you run at lunch?

Summing Up

2011-01-08T19:35:00.005+01:00

2010 meant
- My first half marathon. I know it sounds dramatic, but finishing that race is what I’m proudest of in life. I’ve done more important, more impressive things, but nothing else has filled me that glowing, overflowing sense of pride. Go figure. I want to write a long post on running, women and self-esteem one of these days.
- Two more halves, which weren’t perfect, but have made me stronger.
- A big 10-k PR at La Mercè.
- Some aches and pains, and two missing toenails, ah but so much glory!
- 1134 miles run

2011 is going to mean:
- A new job, which will make getting runs in a little more challenging, but I’ve already got a plan involving lunch-break runs and showers at a nearby gym. More on that soon.
- I wanted to train for a full marathon for this spring, but, due in part to this new job, I’m going to work on improving my half. Training tips welcomed, y’all.
- 1500 miles run. Hold me to it!

What are your 2011 running goals? Why do you think running makes you feel so happy, so strong, and so confident?

Back to Life, Back to Reality

2011-01-06T19:55:00.000+01:00

Here were my goals for the holiday season:
1. Brave the weather. Yeah, suck it up and run outside in 20-degrees. I'm already shivering. CHECK
2. Stretch and do yoga twice a week. Baby that hip! UH, DIDN'T HAPPEN. I'm Irish, we don't do therapy or yoga over Christmas, instead we fight, and drink, and talk a lot.
3. Maintain my weight. Losing weight will be impossible, I know that, but I'm going to try not to gain. CHECK! BEING SICK THE FIRST FEW DAYS MAY HAVE HELPED OUT.
4. No drinking. I've been drinking less and less lately, but sometimes in Spain one ends up drinking wine to be polite. Wine = empty calories and mindless eating I DRANK, AND IT WAS FUN, WHAT CAN I SAY? NO WINE AT WORK LUNCHES IN 2011?
5. Become a soup master. Yes, I want to make all kinds of soups with all sorts of different winter veggies. I DIDN'T COOK ANY SOUP, BUT I DID GET A GREAT NEW VEG. COOKBOOK

Holiday Goals

2010-12-17T07:59:00.003+01:00

Tomorrow I leave for New York City! I'll be stateside for a little over two weeks and here are my goals for the holiday season:

1. Brave the weather. Yeah, suck it up and run outside in 20-degrees. I'm already shivering.

2. Stretch and do yoga twice a week. Baby that hip!

3. Maintain my weight. Losing weight will be impossible, I know that, but I'm going to try not to gain.

4. No drinking. I've been drinking less and less lately, but sometimes in Spain one ends up drinking wine to be polite. Wine = empty calories and mindless eating

5. Become a soup master. Yes, I want to make all kinds of soups with all sorts of different winter veggies.

What are your holiday goals? And how about some tips for running in the cold?

City of Mataró Half Marathon Report

2010-12-10T13:05:00.006+01:00

Be forewarned this is a Pollyanna post

I didn’t meet my running goals for November. Instead of running 145 miles, I ran about 90. Beginning November 10th I was dealing with a fierce pain in my left hip. The pain started during a tempo run with The Group and it scared the beejesus out of me because it just wouldn’t go away. I kept running, more like hobbling, made a real commitment to cross-training (spinning and core) and went to the osteopath (aka my speedy marathoner neighbor). My hopes for half-marathon redemption on December 5th went out the window and I seriously considered not running the Mataró race. However, I’d already bagged out of a 10-k on November 14th due to the hip pain and I didn’t want to live with wasting another entry fee. So, I gave up hopes of a PR and decided to just run for fun. My hip did start feeling better the last week of November, which might be due to switching back to my old shoes and running less. Going into the half marathon on Sunday I promised myself to take it easy. I knew it would be a rough course—the last mile is a steep hill—and that I wanted to be ready for a steep hike the next day. (I’m going to be away from my husband for over two weeks at Christmas time and I really wanted to be able to do a two-day hike with him. Giving it my all at the half and ending up injured seemed not only stupid but very selfish.)

So, I relaxed. On Saturday, I drank water and ate some pasta, but I didn’t freak out about the race. Of course, it crossed my mind that I hadn’t done a long run since October 24th and I hadn’t really had a pain-free run in weeks, but for some reason I decided that I could run 13.l miles the next day. Slowly, but surely.

On Sunday I woke up at 6:25: I was so incredibly calm that I’d slept through my 6-am alarm. By 7, I was coffeed, peanut-buttered and ready to roll. Charles uttered some sleepy good-luck wishes and I was off to the metro. The green line was, of course, crowded with drunk, glassy-eyed adolescents, two of whom begged for a sip from my water bottle. My new friends from The Group were waiting for me Plaza España with Lady Gaga blasting out the t-top. These new friends are big, fast men and I have to say I felt a bit strange in the car with them—these guys are serious runners, training for 50 milers and sub 3-hour marathoners and yet they treated me as one of their very own.

The race started out downhill, but I kept a 6-minute / km pace, tucking in behind a very nice woman who waved at everyone and thanked each and every volunteer. I liked her racing style and decided to copy. I sang along to my songs, high fived every child spectator and a few adults, and thanked the volunteers. By km 10, I was feeling fantastic, but told myself not to push it, that I would decide at km 12 about speeding up. The friendly lady sped up and an older man came up along side me. He was worried that there were so few people behind us, but I, in my new Pollyanna role, explained that I wasn’t worrying about that at all; I was just enjoying our view of the sea.

Turns out that by km 12, I was feeling tired and hungry. It was nice to watch the leaders coming towards us at this point and instead of concentrating on my pace, I looked out for folks from The Group and called out to all those speedsters.

Km 15 to 18 were windy, gray and boring. We’d left the beach behind and were running through the industrial section of the city, which was paved with (ouch) cobblestones. I was hoping there would be gels or oranges at some point, but there was only water. I tried to surge ahead a bit along km 18, knowing that the infamous hill was coming up. I closed my eyes, managed to pass a few people and then there it was: a super steep incline. A lot of people walked, I shuffled and just said to the guy next to me: “This is cruel.” But strangely, I was elated instead of frustrated. My hip didn’t hurt and I was going to finish the half in 2:09 and comfortably hike to Bellmunt the next day. It wasn’t a PR, it wasn’t amazing, but I was feeling alright.

Thanksgiving Weekend

2010-11-29T09:27:00.003+01:00

I'm thankful for so many things this year, but a big one is having friends from home in Barcelona.

What Would You Do?

2010-11-26T19:50:00.001+01:00

I’ve had a rough last couple of weeks. Work has been stressful, life even more so, and I haven’t gotten much running in because I’ve been dealing with lingering leg pain. Not running makes me less capable of dealing with stress and sadness and thus begins the endless cycle of winter woes! However, I think I’m winning the battle with this leg pain. A trip to the osteopath helped quite a bit as has cutting way back on mileage and switching back to stability shoes. Now here’s my dilemma: I’ve signed up for a half marathon for next Sunday and I haven’t done a long run in over two weeks. Come to think of it I’ve only done one run over 5 miles in the last two weeks! I have been running short distances consistently and cross-training…

Should I try to sell someone my number? Or just run slowly and take it as a training run for my next half on January 31st? I already missed a 10-k due to the leg pain and missing another race would really fustrate me at this point.

Sometimes

2010-11-17T22:08:00.005+01:00

Sometimes it rains all day and your hip hurts a lot and that scares you because you're secretly terrified that the joy that is running will suddenly be taken away.
Sometimes you have a long, tiring but positive and productive day at work.
Sometimes, despite promises to yourself to rush to run group right after work, you decide to enjoy your excellent work outfit for a little while longer and you invite your charming coworker to have a beer and sometimes,
not always, but sometimes, that's perfectly alright.

Shoe Review

2010-11-02T13:54:00.005+01:00

Anyone who’s ever run a mile in Barcelona knows that Domingo Catalan, owner of Atleta’s shop and world champion in the 100 km, is a running sage. Domingo—who loves cats and New York City, but loathes George Bush—is both wise and witty. He will not allow you to request a specific brand or size of shoe. “Brands and sizes don’t matter!” he yells as he takes a look at your feet. He brings out four or five pairs of shoes, all different sizes and brands and you (obediently and gratefully) try them all on, even if they look too small or way too big.

Last week, my visit made Domingo uneasy. First of all, he was dismayed that such a pretty girl (the man knows how to charm the lady runner) could have such ugly toes. “I’m concerned about those nasty nails,” he said. “And I’m sure your husband is as well.” Secondly, Domingo was running low on women’s shoes. My next-door neighbor, Lourdes, is NYC-marathon-bound and she had just gotten the last pair of Mizunos in our size so Domingo came out with some men’s shoes, the Saucony Progrid Jazz 13. I gave him so lip about the fact that maybe men’s shoes would be too wide for my narrow heels, but he told me that these would be perfect and, of course, they are! After three pairs of Asics 1100s, it turns out that a neutral shoe made for a small man feels great—at once light and cushiony. Also, these guys are bright red with black laces so I feel really cool and tough in them!

At first, the arch felt too flat. Perhaps I was missing that snug arch support you get in the Asics, but after a few runs it seems that the Sauconys have formed to my foot. My toes have lots of wiggle room and so far my knees and ankles feel fine and dandy.

Have any other women tried wearing men’s shoes? Have you switched from stability to neutral shoes?

October Stats and New Goals

2010-11-01T09:33:00.003+01:00

My October goals were to

- run 125 miles (this will include a taper week pre-half marathon and maybe a few rest days) I ran 134 miles.
- discover some new long run routes I did, although I still like running along the beach best of all. Cars and pollution make the rest of Barcie a very rough place to run.
- PR in half marathon by a whole heck of a lot Ahem, we all know how this turned out. I pr'ed technically, but I wasn't happy with my performance. I've learned a lot about myself and have been humbled, which is a good thing.
- finish current short story and send it out, then start another Still working on finishing "Mireille," but I have started two new stories. The fall weather will help me write more.
- write outline for thesis statement Big fat zero.
- stop doing so much trash talking at work. Just go in, write my texts, answer my emails, and get out in time to run. I've done well with this one! My mantra: "I'm just a busy little worker bee with fantastic work fashion." I eat my lunch from a tupperware and steer clear of gossip.
- start marathon training! Deep breath. I don't know what to do! After my last half, a marathon just seems impossible--too big & too stressful-- so for right now I'm concentrating on doing more shorter races and being more disciplined about food and cross training. However, I do have the full-marathon training program printed out and I can still dream.

November Goals

-run 145 miles
-cross train for real
-send two stories out
-cut back on sugar
-have fun at my 10k

Segunda Parte or Wishing a Time Isn’t Enough

2010-10-26T17:20:00.006+02:00

I woke up just as happy as a clam at 5:30 am on Sunday morning. The truth of the matter is I just love an early morning sporty activity: race, hiking or bike trip, you name it, it puts me in a giddy mood. I had coffee, loads of water (this would come back to haunt me), and toast with pb and honey. I wrote my splits on my hand and by 7 am, Charles and I were out the door and on the way to the train station. The commuter train, at 7:29 on Sunday morning, was filled with two kinds of crazies: runners and drunk people. That’s, of course, to be expected, but what I didn’t expect was for the drunk kid in front of me to turn green and start puking about five minutes out of the station. I’m proud to say that I had my nerves so under control that I didn’t even wretch when he puked, I just got up and moved to another seat. Charles kept reading his book as we got up to move. I love that man!

At 7:59, we arrived to Castelldelfels and used the underpass to cross the highway safely. I went to the bathroom twice and then Charles and I headed to the start line, which was at the top of the Canal Olimpic and yes, along the highway.

It’s Spain so they don’t have corrals: everyone (10k, half and full) just squished in there together with all their family and friends pushing and elbowing to their heart’s delight. I do often fear being smothered to death in a Spanish crowd, but somehow all the mothers and children and cousins always disappear and the gun goes off and everyone starts running, pushing, running, pushing and no one (knock on wood) ever dies.

During the first km, I saw a girl wearing a Baltimore t-shirt and decided to talk to her once the crowd thinned out. By km 2, I spotted my friend Anna who was running the 10-k. We chatted and I pushed on. I felt absolutely fantastic and ran up ahead to the Baltimore girl and her mom, whom I chatted with for a bit and then (this would come back to haunt me) I cockily pushed ahead of them as well. According to the plan on my hand I should have run the first 5k in 29:37. I did it in 28 minutes and thought, “Great, I’m banking time.” By km 8 we were at the beach, running along the dunes and I felt like I had to piss yet again. I contemplated stopping off in the dunes, since so many men were, but I decided to wait for a spot-a-pot at the 10-k marker. But, despite the information I had dutifully read on the race's website, there no spot-a-pots at km 10 or anywhere else along the course.

By km 10 I really had to go and I began to feel another sort of pain: period cramps. The Baltimore girl and her mom trotted by and asked how I was doing. “Great!” I lied. They looked very fresh and very fast, and I felt like ass.

I had just done the 10k in 57 minutes, 2 minutes ahead of schedule, but suddenly my body wasn’t cooperating and I was having trouble staying focused. Also, I was sweating like a madwoman, a clammy cold sort of sweat that I get as my period comes down. Carrying the Nathan handheld was becoming excruciating and when I saw Charles at the 12-km mark I gave it to him. I considered stopping at a bar along the beach highway to go to the bathroom, on the one hand I thought I could run so much faster with an empty bladder, but on the other I was terrified of stopping. (Do you think it’s better to stop in this case or just push through?)

We reached a turnaround and the first aid station with Gatorade and food and I was delighted. I ate a little bit of banana, took a few sips of Gatorade, and ate an orange slice. My watch read 1:29 so I was still on track to finish in 2:05!

I slowed down to swallow, I enjoyed the crowds, I smiled,I squinted, and then I realized that the 15-km marker was up ahead. This food station had been around 14.5, not 15! “God damn, it,” I thought, “Get back in this race!” I tried to run faster, but my gut wasn’t having it. My legs weren’t tired, but my body was. Km 15 through 18 were really bad: a lot of people passed me and that’s not a good feeling. I lost my concentration here, let my period woes get the best of me. By km 19, as we were approaching the last hill, a steep bridge, a guy came up behind me and said, “You’re still strong, GO!” I thanked him and ran up that hill pretty fast, even cheering on the full marathoners. I was happy! (It is so important to interact with other people as you race. I’ve been thinking about that a lot. I did talk to a guy for a while at km 16, but he wasn’t so friendly. For the next half, I might go I-podless and really make friends!)

But, even as I climbed that hill and despite that little guardian angel giving me that extra push, I knew my goal had slipped away and I didn’t keep the speed up for long. This weird sluggishness is hard to describe—it was as if I didn’t have a higher gear. I sprinted at the end, but I wasn’t destroyed, I wasn’t gasping. I felt somehow, that I hadn’t given it my all, that I had lost focus somewhere back there. Nutrition, I suspect, has something to do with this. I’m very low-tech in general: I don’t have a Garmin. I think Bodyglide is just fancy marketing for Vaseline. My running heroes are George Sheehan and Domingo Catalan, but maybe I need to pay attention to gu’s and gels and all these things you all talk about. These questions will be addressed in a post—tomorrow most likely—once I put away all this disappointment. Bottom line is I want to run four or five times a week for the rest of my life. It makes me happy and although I do want to get faster, I mostly just want to keep running.

Marathon of the Mediterranean Race Report Primera Parte

2010-10-25T13:38:00.001+02:00

Back in May when I signed up for the “Mitja Marato del Mediterrani” I imagined a beautiful course along the old train route I used to ride into the city, when I lived in the fishing town of Vilanova, way back in 2000.

All last week, I had big plans of leaving work early one day, taking the train to Castelldefels and walking a bit of the half marathon route along the beach. That, unfortunately, never happened because work ended up being hellishly busy. Not in a productive sort of way, but in a lots-of-little-mishaps sort of way. I was coordinating seminar that began Thursday evening and ended Saturday at 2 pm. Somehow, way back when I started planning my training the seminar didn’t seem like a problem. I thought, “I’ll have to work late nights, there’ll be no time to run, but that’s fine because I should be resting anyway.” But working, in heels, isn’t resting. I did run on Friday night at about 11 pm because I was hating my job so much that if I didn’t go for a run, I was going to quite possibly end up in the hospital. So, the first lesson of this training cycle is that speed really doesn’t matter, what matters is that I’m addicted to the running endorphins and no one—not even my boss—can take that away from me.

At 2 pm on Saturday, when I left work, I was very, very hangry. So of course, Charles and I had some difficulty deciding where to go to lunch before catching the train to the race expo. Charles suggested sushi: “healthy, protein packed,” he proclaimed. But I feared getting sick from bad tuna. He suggested just cooking at home, but I said, “I can’t wait another second.” We ended up having tapas at a touristy place on Paseo de Gracia—a big, oily mistake. I ate Spanish omelet, patatas bravas and a very watery salad.

Charles, that lucky duck, slept on the train ride and I nervously read the newspaper. When we got to Castelldelfels and started asking people for the BCN Events Hotel they wrinkled their foreheads, sighed, and then asked someone else who inevitably asked us, “Are you walking?”

The expo, it turns out, was not actually that far from the train station, but it was not a nice walk. Having left the town center, we headed to the industrial park and somehow got stuck in the the middle of the highway, trying to cross over to the very sad, straight-outta-Communist-Russia BCN Events Hotel. Right then and there I started crying. Now, it’s important to note that you have never quite seen ugly, or felt homesick, until you experience the concrete jungle that is Spanish suburban sprawl. It’s an unhealthy, dirty gray that could only come out of the tail end of a failing dictatorship and somehow on Saturday, as the traffic whizzed by us, it got the best of me. I just broke down on the side of the C-31:

Tears dried, we ran across the road and into the hotel where we picked up my race packet from some very grouchy volunteers. Yes, I would be grouchy too if I lived in a concrete jungle and had to spend my Saturday in a windowless hotel, which most definitely has sick-building syndrome, but couldn’t they have least smiled at me? Suddenly, it seemed every other runner was a hollowed-cheeked Spanish man grumpily hauling his race goodies to his car. A man who trains at his gym, who does not speak, but rather grunts, doesn’t get his period, and was probably planning on signing a petition to keep slow folks like me off the course!

Pretty grim you’re thinking, right? But by the time I got back to Barcelona I was actually feeling pretty positive (read delusional). Heck, the suburban sprawl had even grown on me! I spotted girls playing field hockey on a dirt lot along the train tracks and thought, “Oh fall, oh field hockey, oh the shins of my youth! See? Home isn’t so different or so far away!”

Even as I sleepily prepared my playlist and searched for my water bottle in a pile of dirty clothes, I still hadn’t realized that crying while standing on a median strip usually means PMS, like tomorrow-your-period-is-coming-like-a-14-wheeler PMS. Sleepiness just leads to delusions: although Smartcoach had been predicting my time as 2:08 for weeks, and despite being too tired to utter a single word to Charles over my plate of pasta, I continued believing that I would able to run a 2:05 half marathon. I actually thought that, just because I had a few amazing runs this summer and early fall, and a new 10k PR, because running had felt so good and so easy, and because I had faithfully stuck to the plan, that 2:05 was mine.

Half Marathon of the Mediterranean

2010-10-24T14:51:00.003+02:00

I will post a race report later, but the news is I finished in 2:08:01. I'm dissappointed; I wanted to run this in 2:05, but I guess I'll get over it. Weather was kind--humid because it's Barcelona, but not sunny, thank god. My P started at km 10, so that was, well, annoying, but also positive because I know now that even with cramps and after working 3 12-hour days in a row I can run a half marathon with a smile on my face and feel great at the end.

Hope everyone has a great Sunday. More soon!

The ABC's of a Taper Tantrum

2010-10-20T23:26:00.004+02:00

A anal-compulsive behavior (like trying to memorize splits for 21 km)
B bra, I got a new one, to replace the chafer.
C chocolate, I’ve been eating way too much of it.
D dorsal, that’s Spanish for race bib and I’m picking mine up on Saturday once I leave work.
E eating
F Four days to go!
G gu, I never ever have, but now think maybe I should
H hydration, that’s my middle name
I I-pod, yes I’m bringing it!
J jogging, that’s what I’ve been doing this week.
K K’naan, Canadian hip-hop artist and the centerpiece of my new playlist
L Lead legs on my tempo run--what the hell?
M munchies: raisins! granola! peanuts, oh my!
N Nathan handheld, I think I’m bringing him with.
O Overdramatic about everything
P period. My period is late and will probably come on race day. And if it doesn’t we have a whole other problem.
Q quality. Tomorrow will be my last quality, tempo run before the big day.
R route. The route for this half sucks: out and back, out and back, weird windy circle and then out and back again.
S sensational, that how’s my race is gonna be.
T time, I’m obsessed with it. "What should my time goal be? Don’t want to be disappointed but yet it’s good to aim high..."
Unstoppable!
V very tired, the less I run the more tired I become!
W weather. I’ve been checking it like a crazy person. It’s going to be 68 and sunny, a tad too hot.
X Xtremely nervous
Y Yassos, did a few on Monday just in case I decide to train for that marathon in March.
Z zzzz’s trying so hard to get some despite my work schedule.

The Group: Opinions Wanted

2010-10-08T16:58:00.005+02:00

Well, I tried out running with The Group last night. And then (and yes, this was crazy) I went running with my friend A. After the The Group, I was feeling kind of weird and self-conscious so it was nice to run with an old friend and just chat.

The Group meets at a local gym along the waterfront and then jogs to a park and breaks into three sub groups: A, B, and C. Yup you guessed it—all the cute young guys are in A and I’m in C with the older men and most of the women. Group C is still pretty fast, though, yikes! The workout started out with stretches and calisthenics, and then we went into the fartlek phase. People were nice, but not particularly friendly—they sort of stuck with their own bunch, which is fine I guess, but not super welcoming. Maybe everyone was tired from work and just wasn’t up for pandering to the new girl. Honestly, I was tired myself and didn’t really feel like making all the necessary introductory small talk: ( Where are you from?; USA; Oh I love New York; Yeah, it's great; But it's pretty nice here, eh?; Yup it is. And repeat ad nausem.)

The coach (shy, very serious, baby-faced) corrected my form a few times, reminding me (as every physical therapist or yoga person I’ve ever encountered has) that I’m too tense and need to relax my shoulders. What can I say? I’m uptight, always have been and always will be! But, thanks to running, I’ve calmed down significantly over the last year and was able to think, “That’s a helpful suggestion, I’ll work on relaxing my shoulders” instead of “Do not touch me, you hippie!”.

I’m not fully convinced that The Group is for me, but I recognize that it might be helpful if I want to a) get faster and b) run the Barcelona marathon this spring. Let’s look at the pros and cons:

Pros
1. The Group will force me to do speed work at least once a week.
2. Having a coach might help me break bad habits and teach me a bit about form.
3. I might need other people to get through the long pre-marathon runs and the winter.
4. Having to talk to new people is challenging, but will eventually prove to be positive.

Cons
1. The cost: 25 € (about $35) a month
2. The other people. Yeah, I know, that’s supposed to be a pro, but I like being in my own world when I run and I'm hyper aware of other people: how they're feeling, breathing, running.
3. The fact that on Group nights I can’t just run from my house and back. I have to run down to the meeting point, meet, do the workout, and then run (or limp) back to my house. All this means that it takes about 2 hours to get in 5 miles midweek…
4. The Group requires that you wear their official t-shirt to practice and at races. (Strange. Corporate. Scary. Is The Group a sect?)

Do you love your group? Or are you a curmudgeon like me?

Cursa de la Mercè 2010

2010-09-20T19:28:00.009+02:00

I’m still waiting for the City Council of Barcelona to issue a statement admitting that yesterday’s course was short. Back in June, I ran a very disappointing 10k so I was wary of being over confident going in to this race. Truth be told, and despite that June disaster, I had reasons to be cautiously confident: my August runs—alone and with my father—felt fantastic, and, just last Wednesday, I did a long run at a very decent pace. Yet, I was concerned that the long run may have tired me out, that the first week back to work wasn’t the best time to do a race, and that a 12,000-person event with lots of “fun runners” was not the best place to try for a PR. Still, my plan was to try for a 57:30 finish, a slight improvement over my previous PR of 58:45.

Saturday evening I did some math and decided to aim for a 5:45/km pace. Then, I organized my race playlist, something I’ve never actually done before and which ended up being very beneficial. (Envisioning how you’ll be feeling at every km and what music you’ll need to push you through works wonders!) I got to bed early and was wide awake at 6:30 am. By 7:30, I’d managed to get down two cups of coffee and an apple, but I wasn’t hungry enough to eat anything else: I was excited and jittery and ready to go.

Now, it’s important to note here that I had made a conscious decision to run this race alone. There are people I could have called last week or even Sunday morning in order to meet up with them with at the start. In fact, I even turned down meet-ups with a few other runners. (I was polite and honest, but I’m sure those girls still think I’m a big weirdo.) I needed to run this race alone-- to be selfishly focused and determined. Does this ever happen to you? Do you sometimes not want to share that (mental) racing space? And yes, it was lonely at the beginning. Catalans are such group people--all decked out in the official race shirt, singing and taking pictures and generally being friendly and jovial. But, though I’ve been here for ten years, I’m still very American in my need to be an individual-- a pensive, lonely runner. Sure, all alone at the massively monumental Plaça Espanya, I had some weak moments and thought about texting a runner friend and begging, last minute, for a meet. But then, I would have had to make small talk, instead of staying focused on my race and other, deeper thoughts: my homesickness after a month in the States, discontent at the workplace, and my lack of enthusiasm for my thesis. I stayed strong—checked my cell phone with my bag, reflected on those big life questions, and talked to strangers in the spot-a-pot line instead of people I’d have to commit to staying near once the race began.

It took ten minutes just to get over the starting line, and I ran that first crowded kilometer in 6:12. In order to keep a 5:45 pace, I had some time to make up! Some runners were spreading out onto the sidewalks along the Gran Via in order to get ahead, but that seemed slightly dangerous to me: the scenario of tripping over a tree root and breaking my ankle flashed through my head. But, once I spotted a guy wearing an easily distinguishable green hat and knifing through groups four or five abreast, I followed him through km 4. I used his trailblazing and then passed him, crossing the 5k mark at 27-something! I was psyched! Thank you, Green Hat!

Since I was carrying my own water I didn’t have to stop and get caught in the 5k-water-shuffle either; I just tuned in to my tunes. Families spilled out onto their balconies, old ladies were cheering and I had the rumba catalana carrying me along. At the 8k mark my watch read 45:01 and I actually clapped my hands. Just stay focus, I thought to myself, you have this in the bag. The last two kilometers weren’t easy though—the race ended uphill and the street narrowed, so there was no room and I had little energy left for a sprint. And, I was having trouble concentrating because I realized that I was going to come in under 56 minutes and just couldn’t believe it. Excitement took over. Last year, I did this same race (yes, granted just for fun with co-workers) in 1:05. What a difference, although of course it makes perfect sense: you work at something, you practice persistently, and you get better. But somehow, 55:12 just felt too good to be true. I looked up the race results online as soon as I got home, just to make sure my watch hadn’t been disastrously wrong.

Now, I’m just trying not to get my hopes too high for my half marathon on October 24th, just trying to stay focused on doing what I’ve been doing: running consistently and carefully—avoiding injury and slowly but surely building confidence. So my 10k PR is the good news, the bad is that my goal of running before work is just not happening, but I’m trying not to beat myself up over that. Another one of my (many) goals was to cross-train and except for some swimming in the open sea that just hasn’t been happening either. We’ll see if I can get to tonificación class at the gym this week, although I’ve been fantasizing about getting back into swimming recently. I was on swim team in high school and swimming laps always feels like coming home. Does anyone use swimming as their cross-training? Does it help your running or do you think weights are more beneficial?

10k PR!

2010-09-19T12:03:00.002+02:00

55:12 And this was a BIG race so I had to weave in and out of people and try not to get crushed. I am so happy about this time and feel like I could maybe even improve on it.

Goose Eggs & Scaredy Cats

2010-09-14T21:15:00.006+02:00

Yes, I’ve just recorded a big fat zero in the running log today because a) I’m exhausted b) I’ve got a throbbing blue toe again and c) tomorrow I have an 11-miler planned and I want to be feeling good. I’m trying to figure out why my toes get bruised in Barcelona, but not in Baltimore. Strange, because it’s hot in both places and, while I try to stay on grass or asphalt, I end up running on sidewalks sometimes in both cities as well. Perhaps my feet are more swollen here after a day of work and walking around the city…Anyway, I’m just going to take some more Tylenol and hope for the best. Dr Sheehan--way back in 1978--already delivered the bad news: "Is your second toe longer than your first toe? If so and you are an athlete you are in for trouble" (Running and Being, p.134).

One of my goals for this fall is to run in the mornings, before work, so that I have evenings free to write and cook, or maybe even hang out with friends or get some of my thesis done. However, that’s going to take some real discipline and a big change in routine and my basic bioritmos. I’m used to getting up at 8 and going to bed around 2 am, and in order to do these morning runs I’ll have to be up and at ‘em by 6 at the latest. Also, I’m scared of the morning dark! In the States, running in the morning seems safer to me, but here I actually feel safer at night. In Barcie, there are lots of runners out at 10 pm, but at 6:30 or 7 in the morning, in my neighborhood, it’s just me, the trash men, a few tired prostitutes and their creepy clients. Hopefully, they’ll just go about their business and I’ll go about mine.

When do you run? Are you scared of the dark? Or perhaps of lonely trails in the country? Running on trails scares the bee-jesus out of me!

How to Beat Jetlag after a Long and Lovely Summer Vacation

2010-09-12T20:05:00.003+02:00

1. Get a direct flight.
2. Read Running & Being on the plane.
3. Drink some red wine halfway through the book (even though Dr Sheehan himself wouldn´t).
4. Sleep the last three hours of the flight.
5. Take the aerobus home, unpack, and then, right when you're about to get all weepy and homesick, go out and run 5 miles. This will keep the sadness at bay a little while longer.
6. At 4 pm, when you’re feeling dangerously nostalgic and drowsy, walk down to the sea and swim out to the buoys. Yes, you´ll still miss your family and the lush greenness of America, but you might just get a good night´s rest.

Sticky Summer Update

2010-08-22T21:23:00.003+02:00

A small miracle has occurred right here in Baltimore, Maryland: I've been in the USA for two weeks and have managed to only gain two pounds. Apparently, one can eat treats (brownies, Starbucks lattes, and apple pie) all the damn day and basically drive everywhere, but still stay healthy by running at least five days a week in swamp-like stickiness. Yes, it has taken me 31 years to figure this out, but so far, so true.

My half-marathon training has been going fairly well, despite the rather devastating humidity, I got in 35 miles this past week. Truth be told, since I've been home, I've only gotten in one speed workout, but I have managed to do two ten-milers with my dad and we had a great four-mile race last Sunday.

Now, friends, the big question: to marathon or not to marathon? My inclination has always been to wait and see how my second half-marathon in October goes. I've always thought that if I could shave a decent amount of time off my 2:14 finish from last May, I would take the plunge and sign up for the Barcelona marathon for March 2011. But, if I don't improve my half time substantially (this means by at least five minutes) will I be horribly disappointed? Is it silly to think it necessary to be around the two hour mark for a half to realistically consider training for a full? I've read horror stories about injuries or five and a half hours of misery from people who weren't truly prepared. Is it really necessary to run a full marathon, for me, this year? The sensible, practical part of me says, no, it's not necessary at all and probably not a very good idea, but there is something deeper, more visceral and stronger that says, "I really want to try for this now."

Heading for the Hills

2010-08-05T10:49:00.004+02:00

Yesterday, I was bad. First, I skipped a pool date with my friend Aitor. I pleaded "too much work," but the truth is I was just exhausted. On the walk back from work I stopped at the fancy Scandinavian bakery and bought an organic chocolate spelt muffin. As if “healthy” meant not fattening. Perhaps you’re wondering how it tasted? Very, very good.

When I got home from work I found that the latest issue of The London Review of Books had arrived. And I am, you see, a LRB junky. I devour the thing in two nights usually. No talking to my husband, no cleaning, no cooking-just reading. But yesterday I promised myself just one article and then some sleep. So I did just that: I read the one article and then took a long, delicious nap. It's been a long time since I've taken a nap during the week and it felt at once luxurious and necessary.

When Charles came home, he wanted to show me a new running route he'd been thinking about all day: Avenida Miramar on Montjuïc. Yeah, it's a mountain! So although 8 km of speed work were on my training schedule, I did 7 hilly km with Charles. Keeping up with him is speed work enough for moi. This route, which I would be a little wary of doing on my own, was absolutely breathtaking! At the Hotel Miramar we stopped and took in the whole city. Yes, I'm excited to go home for a month, but I'm really going to miss BCN for running.

A Real Runner Now

2010-08-03T10:50:00.003+02:00

Yes, I did what was once unthinkable: I took the hot needle to my black toenail. If that doesn't make you cringe, please keep reading…I'm happy to report that this new form of torture actually didn’t hurt a bit! Some blood and fluid (no pus!) came out and my (very soft) nail is now white instead of purple! Our bodies are really quite simple, I guess.

I've only operated on the right toe so far, but lefty is bugging me too. And I ask, why now? I have been running in new shoes, but they seem to fit fine and they're just an upgraded model of my trusty Asics, not a different brand or anything. There's been no significant increase in mileage either. 25 miles a week --give or take--since May... I’m thinking the culprit might be the heat. As I've gotten used to it, I've done longer runs later in the day and my feet probably swell and rub against my sock. After spending an entire workday reading about this on the internet, the basic conclusion on runner’s toe seems to be suck it up. Which, of course, is what I’ve done in the past. The thing is, I never much minded ugly toes in fall or winter, but now it’s August and I’m about to start my holiday and I really want to show off my lovely tan feet with some pretty pink polish. The sad, soft toenail with a hole in it is really ruining my look.

Now, I would like to ask you all for some advice:

a) Can I get me scheduled pedicure on Friday? And just paint over holeymoley? Let’s consider the person who has to do the pedicure…

b) Should I search for new shoes or just go with it? These new guys (Asics 1150) don't seem to hug my arch as tightly as the 1140s, but can't I adapt? I really don’t feel like shelling out more cash in order to solve a problem which I realize is actually inevitable.

c) Can I run 4 miles this afternoon?

Sorry for the gross out and please share your toe stories.

Feeling Famous

2010-08-01T09:58:00.002+02:00

I’ve been postless for a few weeks because there is just so much for me to do in Barcelona in the summer. Some bad: eating way too much ice-cream, drinking many, many cold beers, staying out late and dancing in the streets, getting tan, which looks good now but will lead to a well-deserved lecture from my mom and the dermatologist. Some good: swimming in the sea, biking, and running. Despite two busy weeks at work, way too much drinking, and more biking than usual, I ran 105 miles in July. Up until now my goal was simply 25 miles a week, over vacation I'll be aiming for 30.
Right now, Barcelona is hosting the European Athletic Championships. Yesterday we watched the women’s marathon and wow, those ladies are fit. The fastest are all well into their thirties and have had at least two children. Interesting, hmm? I guess life just makes you a tougher, better runner. The coolest thing about Barcelona being the host city for this event is that the runners all train along the beach, right where I run. So as I plod along the Paseo Maritimo elite athletes fly by in their cute warm-up suits. Some even stop and take pictures, and two (one guy from France, one chica from Portugal) actually waved to me. So, yeah, this week I’m feeling famous.
Today: a 5-mile recovery run after yesterday’s brutally hot 8-miler and then I might go watch some of the men’s marathon, which starts and finishes about five blocks from my apartment! This time next week I’ll be on vacation, in Baltimore, frantically figuring out new, safe and shady, routes for my upcoming long runs. Good thing I'll have my dad to help.

Shoes

2010-07-07T12:57:00.001+02:00

I have a little over 500 miles on my ASICS Gel-1140s so it’s time to buy new shoes. I got these 1140s on sale here in Barcelona last February and was planning on just ordering the exact same shoes from Road Runners Sports and have them shipped to my parents’ for my August arrival. That way, I’d benefit from the euro/dollar exchange rate and avoid packing running shoes for my flight stateside. However, last night I saw that the 1140s have been discontinued! Should I just order the new 1150s from RRS or is it best to pay the extra money and purchase the shoes at a local shop, where I can try them on?

Advice and shoe stories appreciated.

Pre-Sheffield 10-Mile Run

2010-07-02T16:10:00.003+02:00

Lo Bueno:
1. Lo & behold: Barcelona runners are suddenly friendly! Little actual waving, but some did nod in acknowledgement of the heat. Usually people just push on by. It’s not like suburban Baltimore where people smile and greet when they see another human on foot as opposed to in car.
2. Thank goodness there are water fountains every mile along much of the beach.
3. I remembered to put my sunscreen all over.
4. I was supposed to be at work, but instead I was running!
5. During the euphoric stage of this run, I psyched myself up to get serious about speed work and hills once I’m actually on vacation. I envisioned my dad timing me at the track at my old high school. Funny what goes through your head on a hot run in the sun.
6. Richard Buckner & Barricada on the I-pod.

Lo Malo
1. Basically no shade. I'd trade those other runners and their timid nods for some more trees in a New York minute.
2. Hot water from the fountains. Yuck, a hot stream coming atcha is not refreshing.
3. By mile 8 the ‘screen was in my eyes.
4. Am I perhaps crazy to take a vacation day in order to make sure I get a long run in before a trip?
5. I actually need to start that speed work right away and it’s hot, hot, hot.
6. Stupid-ass, ugly Nike I-pod armband.

Catcalls While Running Naked

2010-06-28T23:52:00.003+02:00

You’re thinking, “Jesus, she got over her body insecurities quickly!” Not so fast, I just went running sans I-pod, something I’m trying to do on shorter runs this summer. Previously, I mentioned that I like running naked in order to be able to hear my breathing, the sound of the wind, and the crashing waves, but tonight what I heard loud and clear were the catcalls. The catcall is an art form in Spain, and I have to say, sometimes, on a Monday morning, on the way to work, a compliment—especially one with what the Spanish call a bit of gracia (flair or grace)—puts a smile on my face and reminds me why I like living in a culture somewhat well, warmer, than my own. However, why someone, on a disgustingly sticky evening, would choose to call out GUAPA and then proceed to make kissing noises at an extraordinarily sweaty girl in spandex shorts and mismatched socks is beyond me, but it made me laugh and pick up my pace a bit.

This post is inspired by Ezethan http://beyond26point2.blogspot.com/2010/06/marathon-monday-15-week-out-edition.html

On Feeling Good

2010-06-28T11:22:00.004+02:00

This weekend I went to a nearby beach town with three good friends and while I had a great time and laughed quite a lot, the whole weekend was tinged with a bitter sense of disappointment because, after months of half marathon training, I thought I would be thinner and more toned by now. All winter I imagined feeling absolutely estupenda in my bikini, but in reality I just felt fatter than the other three girls, none of whom run, all of whom smoke and drink and eat badly. Yes, I know that life isn’t fair and that I should be just be content with the fact that running makes me feel amazing and that I’m greatly lowering my risk for lung cancer and heart disease by exercising and eating well and NOT smoking…That I should take a certain, evil, sort of comfort in knowing that these bon vivants may one day pay for their gluttony…But the thing is I still wish running could transform the way I look—could make me lean in a way I’ve never been and probably never will be. When I hang out with people whose habits are so bad and they look so good, it makes me think that all this sweating and agonizing over food is getting me absolutely nowhere, that maybe I should just accept chubby as my natural state.

But at 8 o’clock last night—when I got back from the beach and the weather had cooled down a bit—I headed out to run the 10.13 kilometers necessary to complete my weekly goal of 40k. I ran slowly at the beginning, feeling silly yet again—why keep running, I thought, when I’m still chubby and still slow. Of course, a half hour in to the run, I wasn’t feeling fat but rather strong. And by the time I got back to the house—soaked in sweat—I had forgotten about my bikini body and had had time to think through my work week and make constructive professional plans for July, August and beyond. For me, running is only going to work when I remember that the race is individual, that comparing my body to my friends’ is not at all productive, and, that even if I'm not looking good, I am feeling good.

Wide Awake: My Summer Solstice

2010-06-23T06:06:00.007+02:00

June 23rd, 1:03 am: I went to sleep exhausted after a hot, humid 5k. Apparently being stressed at the office makes my legs really tired! But by 4:55 am, I was wide awake, fretting over work. A half-hour run was obviously not enough to calm my crazy ass down. Good thing it's a short week--I get off at 2 today and don't work Thursday or Friday! Tonight is La Nit de Sant Joan, the shortest night of the year and the Catalans will celebrate with coca, cava, and fire.

This afternoon I hope to run 10k before our Sant Joan party. Will I be able to run on three hours of sleep and then get all the party prepping done? Sometimes it's hard to be a diligent runner and an impeccable hostess all in one day. Once the festivities begin on our terrace, I'll try not to overindulge in coca or cava .

Oh, God, I love those candied fruits. The coca, in case you're wondering, tastes a lot like hot cross buns. And cava is a sparkling wine, the Catalan champagne.

My breakfast this early morning: about four cups of coffee and a delicious rice milk, banana and melon smoothie with a dash of cinnamon. Yum! I think this will be a summer staple. Just hope it gets me through this morning at the Museum.

I'm still here, I've just been busy running!

2010-06-21T20:13:00.011+02:00

Not to worry: I'm still here, worrying about work and trying to diet. Same old, same old, it's sad, I know. But I've also been exercising like a mad woman! The weekend of June 12th we had an amazing bike trip from Ripoll to Olot to Girona. 30 km the first day and 60 km the second. There were some steep hills, but we made it up; the scariest part was flying down. There were eight of us and we had a terrific time at the youth hostel in Olot--drinking wine and playing a fiercely competitive game of Trivial Pursuit.

My next bike trip will be in late July, the second annual bicicletada through the Empordà, with my dad. Here are some pics from ´09:

One of these days, I'll write a detailed post about bike trips through Catalonia, but let me just tell you that the routes are absolutely spectacular and the best part is that you can just hop on the train with your bike, right in Barcelona, and within ninety minutes you’re riding through the countryside--towards the mountains or towards the sea.

But, back to running, my true love. This past week, despite the trials and tribulations of the international art world and agonizing over my bikini body, I had a great running week. I ran over 40 km total and got back to my Saturday Long Run. I only went 15.5 km since I left the house a bit late, but it still felt fantastic, and I crossed paths with one of my old favorites, the super serious runner.

Sunday morning I did a slow 5k recovery run sans musica. I'm going to try to do my shorter runs without the I-pod this summer. I like just trusting myself, saying "no motivation needed, I got it right here within." Listening to my breathing. Listening to people's conversations at stoplights. Being aware of cars and then suddenly of the sound of the wind and of the sea.

Cured

2010-06-08T00:10:00.003+02:00

Today at work, I wrote up a race report, which—in a moment of frenetic multitasking— I somehow deleted. But you know what? That’s really for the better. The report was long and actually quite boring: a description of Saturday’s 10k complete with lots of complaining about the heat and the fierce wind. Blah, blah, blah.
Before leaving the Museum, I printed out a new half-marathon training program, and then I came home and went out for a run. Truth be told, I was scared to run because Saturday was the first time—almost ever— that running hasn’t been fun. Not at all fun. I didn’t smile once that whole race. Throughout the entire event, I was disappointed in my legs, in my I-pod, in my body.
Tonight’s run, I had promised myself, would be slow. After Saturday’s fiasco, I knew the heat meant I had to take it easy. However, right from the start my legs felt fantastic. I didn’t even need to stop for water; I just ran. And ran and ran. It was like the old days! Back in February when I did those first long training runs and felt absolutely on top of the world: fully confident in my legs, extraordinarily grateful for my I-pod, and suddenly, beamingly, proud of my body. I thought about my dad’s 10k this past Saturday, which had been slow and hot as well. He’d been sick the week before, but he struggled through those Dreaded Druid Hills. I thought—as I often do on runs— about having children—yes, no, maybe so—, about work, and about how much I miss my family, about the greatness of Tom Waits and Bruce Springsteen, and, by the time I hit the 5-kilometer mark, I realized I was running at the pace I’d been aiming for on Sunday.
Running, I realize, isn't about the race, or the 57-minute 10k, or even about losing ten pounds. It's about that time for thinking, that control and discipline that gives way to epiphanies and to ecstasy.

Sad Scarlett

2010-06-06T00:27:00.003+02:00

Remember how I wanted to get a PR this evening for my 10 k race? Well, I never should have written that on the internet! I aimed for a 57:45 finish and got 1:00:03. WTF?!? Back in February, at the very beginning of my half marathon training I did a 10k in 58:45 on a much hillier course. I thought I'd come some far! I thought I could run much faster. Please, please, please tell me this is the heat! Or perhaps running with friend instead of running my own race? Or due to the fact that my I-pod died at km 1? Longer report soon; I'm too disappointed to write about it now.

Better get my ass in gear!

Fashion

2010-05-31T23:06:00.004+02:00

Well, it's been slow going since Wednesday, but--despite having to deal with the likes of Heinrich Müller and other postmodern playwrights-- I did get my goal of 40 kilometers in this week. But wowser, I'm so, so slow. Maybe I'm just tired out from a semester of schoolwork and a lot of work at actual work, however my legs actually hurt during my 10 k on Saturday evening. My legs never hurt that much while I'm running! I could feel my knees pounding every time my foot hit the ground. Perhaps this is just a phase--let's hope so because I have a race next week and then a bike trip (with super hardcore bikers) the following weekend. For now, I just want to keep up my goal of 40 kilometers a week (24.85 miles) and maybe (I don’t even want to say it) PR on Saturday!
By mid-June I'll start a new half marathon training program. If you have any suggestions for a good intermediate training program, please share! I want to run this next one in under 2:10.

Since I finished my last German literature paper on Sunday, I treated myself to a day of beauty today:

a visit to the waxing center, a visit to the tailor to get some summer dresses taken in, and a visit to the running store to buy some new shorts:

Why is shopping for running clothes so much more fun than shopping for regular clothes?

What kind of running shorts do you like and why?

Wife

2010-05-27T09:46:00.002+02:00

Last night I was suppossed to do ABS. That's what was written in my journal for this week. 10k and abs. However, when I got home Charles was having a crisis about his entire LIFE so I dragged him out of the house and we walked down to the beach. I saw lots of other runners and yes, they gave me pangs of guilt, but I just held my head high and walked and talked and listened. I was a friend and good wife--sometimes that's just what you have to be.

Today: lunch run! + abs.

Estiu, Catalan for Summer

2010-05-24T13:14:00.005+02:00

L'estiu has arrived! It's a holiday here in Barcie--the second Easter, whatever that means--so this morning I woke up late and prepared two salads, one for lunch, one for dinner: quinoa w/ citrus dressing and avocado & grapefruit. Yum!

After popping the salads in the fridge, I headed out for a 10k along the beach. It was about 80º by the time I got out there, so I took things pretty easy and just thought about all my upcoming summer fun:
1-Bike trip. June 12-13. Ripoll-Olot-Girona
2- Minorca. June 24-28. Island getaway with three wonderful friends. This one hasn't been booked yet, but hopefully I'll be able to budget it in despite the pay cut. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/10109275.stm
3- Sheffield. July 2-4. Quick weekend trip to meet an old friend's new baby. Do hope we get to take a hike in the Peak District. But hike or no hike, I'll definitely be getting drunk over there in the north of England.
4. Dad's visit. My father arrives July 14th and I'm so excited to run with him! We'll also do another weekend bike trip through the Empordà while he's here.
5. August: home to Baltimore. Hooray! My dad has already signed us up for one race in August and I'm looking for more!

Now, I just have to get through my last few Masters papers and some rough events at work.

What a happy-go-lucky post, you're thinking, hmm? Here's the grouchy part:

My running enemies of the day are not cars but people on Segways:
Enough said, I think.

Operación Bikini

2010-05-23T11:01:00.005+02:00

Yup, that's what all the b oo t i f u l Spanish ladies start in January. They diet and gym, and look fantastic on the city beach by June. So, I'm getting serious about this a little late, but I've been busy training for the half and thinking about doing all my masters work! Honestly, although I'd love to look great in a bikini, I really just want to get stronger and run faster. The running is going well because I love it. Ah, I'm just a little pleasure hound at heart. Running just feels good! And that makes it easy. Yesterday I ran 14 easy km at the midday and at night I did a simple core workout (planks, crunches, sit-ups) that felt impossible. My abdominal muscles are simply non-existent and I want them strong before I have children.

So my fitness goals for summer:

1) tighten up that core!

2) run faster 10-ks

3) eat more green, leafy vegetables and stay away from salty snacks and ice cream

3-Way

2010-05-19T22:09:00.007+02:00

Just a quick post before I get back to my paper writing. Due to my day job, which often overflows into night, I didn't run on Monday or Tuesday so today I went wild with a three-way- combo special.

Part 1: The first 4k were a slow jog with Anna. Her knee is still sore, so we just moseyed along and talked about the same stuff we've been talking about since fourth grade: boys and summer plans, basically.

Part 2: Anna turned back and I got the crazy idea to do hill repeats up the ramp of the Hotel Vela. You gotta watch out for the rookie roller bladers coming down the hill while you're going up, but all in all a fun workout.

Part 3: For the last half of the run, I did my own lil fartlek: fast song all out, slow song recovery. And now I am spent. Must get back to paper--goodnight internet, goodnight tired legs, goodnight other runners, goodnight moon.

"Cars are the Enemy"

2010-05-16T11:28:00.003+02:00

Throughout my childhood, my dad always reminded me that "cars are the enemy." He's been hit a few times while running and taught his children well.

Today, as they sip their coffee and read the Sunday paper, most people here in España are concerned about the 20% unemployment rate and the drastic budget cuts announced this past Thursday, and yes, those things worry me too. In June, my salary will be cut 5% and I worry that xenphobia and racism will increase here as the crisis worsens, but I have another--more specific--concern this morning and that's cars and certain jerks who drive them. Why do people (especially 45-to 50-year-old men in Mercedes or BMWs) always run red lights? Yesterday, at the tail end of my run, four cars (3 Mercedes, 1 BMW) ran a light. The fourth car almost hit me and a guy with two little girls. The four traffic cops, sitting in their cars at the busy intersection, shrugged and reminded us, the silly pedestrians, that it's important to look both ways, even when your light is green.

Black Cloud Monday

2010-05-10T19:36:00.005+02:00

Does this ever happen to you? The black cloud? An dull, tired ache that stays with you even after your third cup of coffee? The heavy sensation that everyone around you is skinny, has a great job, and beautiful children and thus that your life, in comparison, sucks? Well, sometimes this happens to me on Monday. But not to worry--I'm heading out for an evening run with Abby and she'll assure me that I'm actually doing just fine. That I'm not skinny, that my job is rather silly, that I have no idea if I'm ready to have children, but that my life is interesting and meaningful nonetheless.

I confess: Yesterday we didn't end up doing the 5k. (Thank God.) The race filled up quickly and I thought, "No shirt, no way!" Anna, who did sign up on time, and is skinny, has a great job, and a beautiful child, reported that that the out-and-back course was super boring. I did 10k along the beach in an hour, almost exactly. I wanted to break 59 minutes, but some British tourists and French children foiled my plan! How dare they walk slowly through the port on a spring Sunday!

Pastanaga, that's Catalan for carrot

2010-05-08T10:45:00.002+02:00

And last night, Charles was my carrot. I've decided that I have to get faster. For the past several months, I was just concentrating on finishing those 13.1 miles, but now I've got to get more serious. So Charles and I left at 9:30 pm for a 10 k route. We were both exhausted from long days at work and the first 4 km we just sort of moseyed along. I let Charles talk and kept up with him easily. (My only problem: my new running shorts which ride up. Does anyone have any suggestions for shorts that don't ride up and aren't obscene?) By the middle of the run, I told Charles to go ahead, that he would be my pastanaga, and I just tried to keep in sight. That worked until about km 8, when I felt like I was going to puke. Well, no one ever said this was going to be easy.

No run this morning. I already miss the long Saturday run! Tomorrow a dreaded 5k!

Race Report Empúries: Long Version

2010-05-03T18:46:00.012+02:00

Part I: Transportation

This story starts on Thursday, April 29th, the day Charles and I drove to Torelló for his grandmother’s funeral. We took the trusty Kangoo, the quintessential little work truck for electricians and plumbers throughout Spain.

That night, as we drove back down to Barcelona, something seemed a little off—the car was swerving in and out of our lane. You all should know that I'm a real nut about cars and car safety. Basically, I live in Europe because I hate driving, so I thought, maybe we're not swerving--maybe, I'm just tired. But, I could tell something rather serious was going on, because Charles is both an excellent driver and a very calm, even-tempered person and he was nervous as hell. Despite some very scary grinding metal sounds and not be able to go from first to second gear, Charles managed to get the Kangoo into its parking space on level minus 6 of our narrow, most likely illegal, parking garage. At 7 am, on Friday morning, the mechanic said it was best to have the car towed in right away since, from the sound of it, the steering column might snap at any given moment.

This caused me to pretty much freak the fuck out: “How,” I asked, “Are we getting to the race?” It seemed to me that Charles’ entire company should stop stressing over the Spanish economic crisis or an eight-storey apartment building full of small children and old people without hot water and start thinking of a way to get me to Empúries by 8 am Sunday morning. I whined and thought only about myself. That’s the kind of selfish behavior runners get accused of, I know. And apparently the accusations are right on. “I’ve been preparing for this for months! There is absolutely no reliable public transportation in that area! You have to get another car!” I shouted at a man who works 40 hours a week, goes to school full time in the evening, and had just buried his grandmother.

Charles, you see he's always right, told me to stop acting like a baby and promptly left for work.

At noon, he called and told me that we had a car for the trip; he’d gotten a hold of the infamous Peugeot Boxer than no one ever wants to drive (or park) in city traffic:

So, Friday evening Charles moved this mofo to a different parking spot every half hour and, on Saturday, we left the city just before the police closed off the main roads for the May Day rallies. Yes, we really should have gone to the May Day protests, especially this year, but then that’s a whole other blog.

Part II: The Race

I could write about the tiny hostel room where we watched a soccer match in black & white or our pasta dinner with the crazy cokehead waiter, but those stories aren't that interesting. What's important is that I--queen of disorganization and general laziness-- packed my own very special breakfast and woke up at 6 am Sunday morning--the first time I've been awake before Charles possibly ever. Not only did I bring my own special granola in a tiny glass jar, I had also prepared my special thermos of American coffee, which was still hot nearly 18 hours after being brewed. 18 hours? Yuck, I know, but all the bars were closed in the sleepy fishing town of L'Escala so I had two delicious cups of coffee while most other runners had none.

By 6:15, I was dressed and lathered up with sunscreen, so I took some blurry pictures out the hotel window, did some half-assed stretching and then took some pictures of Charles until he woke up. It was a short walk to the Roman ruins, where the race was set to begin. There were actually quite a few people at the race whom we know sort of tangentially, so Charles chatted while I waited in the bathroom line. Charles had told me on Saturday morning that he definitely wasn't going to run, not even the 10k. "You don't need me to do that," he said. And I really didn't. It's strange, but I really prefer running alone. I mean yes, sometimes it's easier getting out the door if I talk Charles into coming or if I know I'm meeting Abby for a Thursday night run, but once I'm running I want to be by myself.

So, as we headed to the startline, I didn't try to make any friends, I just concentrated on telling myself to start out slowly. That wasn't easy because even though it was a small race, we were all--full thoners and halvers--squished together on a very narrow path. I put some slow hip-hop on my I-pod and tried to just plod along 1-2, 1-2, 1-2, until the pack thinned out a bit. The first 8 or 9 km of the race were the same out and back for the marathon, the half, and the 10k, which started 5 minutes after us. I must say the first twenty or so minutes were glorious: we were running though beautiful farmland and it was raining, but not cold. At around the 5th or 6th km (the distances were not marked!), it began to really pour and the 10 kers began to blow by me, but I was feeling totally fine. Two guys fom work whizzed by me and called out, "Looking good!" And I sort of laughed thinking, "God, I must look like a drowned rat." But I knew right then that I was going to finish the race.

When I'd been running for 59 minutes, I saw Charles and he took an awful, fat drowned rat picture of me. Then, suddenly, all the 10kers verged off toward their finish line and I thought, "Baby, you better slow down." I didn't have to work too hard on slowing down, because I had a big hill awaiting me. On the other side of that hill was a fantastic stretch: narrow (somewhat slippery) streets through the Old Town. Old Catalan ladies and young Moroccan girls cheered us on from their doorways. Dutch tourists called down from their balconies. I felt like I was famous.

At some point though that high sort of drifted away and I wanted to know, rather desperately, how far I'd run. There were no markers in the street and the policemen I called out to just sort of shrugged and said, "What kilometer? Uh dunno, but good job!" I couldn't find anyone else with a blue number! Everyone around me was wearing the full marathon black bib. A volunteer motioned for me to veer off toward a sign that read, "21.095" and suddenly I was alone, so I just kept running. The full marathoners rejoined me at some point--packs of men passed me and nervously looked back at my number. They smiled, relieved when they saw that I was just a slow halfer and not a girl kicking some serious full marathon ass.

As we passed through a suburban development with beach houses from the 1960s, a small miracle occured: I saw a something spraypainted on the road surface. Yes, it was sort of washing away but it distinctly read: 15 km 1/2. I only had six more kilometers to go! That was nothing! My left knee hurt and I wanted some Gatorade and then...miracle number two occurred: I spotted an aid station and some twevle-year-olds offering water and...sponges? No-orange wedges! I took one and sort of half ate, half smeared it on my face and then, a third--what seemed-to-be miracle happened: I saw Charles! He was wearing a black trashbag, but I still recognized him. I called out "How much longer?" And the woman standing next to him said, very clearly and very confidently, "Tres!" But you see, that didn't sound right because remember I had just recently experienced the first miracle of seeing the 15 km marker? Also, that would have meant that I was on pace to finish in 2:07:00, which really would have been a miracle.

I followed some blue arrows on the pavement and started down a narrow road canopied by pine trees. I was totally alone and I was tired and I had been lied to, in a very cruel way, by Charles' new friend. Also, I was wondering if I was still on the right course. I called out to a man pissing in the woods, "Am I going the right way!" And, he, rather abruptly, zipped up and said, "Yeah! Go! Go!"

So I kept running and other liars along the way called out "You're almost there!" "This is nothing!" or "It's just around the bend!" When I'd been running for 2 hours and 10 minutes, I knew that I wasn't going to achieve any great time and I realized that I had no idea how far I had to go, or how much further I could keep running, but then I did come around the bend and see the sea. It was incredibly beautiful and I remembered why I love the Alt Empordà, and why I fell in love with Catalonia and decided to live here so many years ago, and why I had decided back in January to do this very race. And I thought, "just breathe in and enjoy this." I searched for Van Morrison on my I-pod and decided to just relax. And then, I came around another bend and saw the finish line and the clock that read 2 hr 14-something and I ran like una loca.

First half marathon: Mitja marató d'Empúries

2010-05-02T22:05:00.001+02:00

2:14:44

It was rainy and wonderful.

Starting off from the ruins:

We ran along the sea for the middle part of the race:

Yes, I wish I had run faster today and trained harder the last few weeks. This race probably wasn't a particularly good choice for my first half marathon, either. Most of the other runners were fast and experienced. I didn't have many peers! And, yes, it was humiliating to be one of the "ultimas." However, it was also exhilarating to run the first half of the race in a downpour and to know, the entire time, that I had trained for this and that I was going to finish no matter what. The scenery was spectacular, but this was a small race (less 500 people) and the kilometers were not marked so I ran the last 5 or 6 km alone, with no idea how far I had to go and no one to pace myself against.

Details and photos to come. But for now, I did it! And it's funny-- while I was running those last few lonely miles, I kept imagining that I would cry at the finish line, but I was totally calm. I think Charles was closer to crying than I was. He was so proud and I was just like, "Hey, do they have any gatorade?" (They didn't--just some good old Fanta Limón.)

It's my birthday

2010-04-30T09:00:00.000+02:00

So what's on tap:

1) budget meeting at work. Yeah, that'll be rough.

2) lunch with a friend from Cali

3) last run before half marathon. Due to some family stuff, I haven't been running in two days so I am psyched for a long, slow evening run along the beach.

4) A trip to La Esquinica with the Baltimore / Barcelona ladies.

Almost there

2010-04-28T08:03:00.000+02:00

Only 5 days to go! I'm getting a little nervous because the half marathon cut off is 2 hours 30 minutes. Kind of strict, huh? Please note that the above picture from the race's website is all men and all serious. (In Spain, running is still a man's world. In most races, you're lucky if 10% of the participants are women.)Basically, I've accepted that I might come in last in the mitja marató, but that doesn't bother me!

So, some questions, in case anyone out there would like to offer some advice:

1) I've been running in capris up until now because a) it hasn't been that hot and b) because my spandex shorts ride up, don't have pockets, and show off some very pale thighs. Will I be too hot in my capris? Should I just stick with them as to not add an unknown to the race?

2) To I-pod or not to I-pod? I've become pretty addicted and feel that music helps me run, but I also thinks it's important, especially in a race, to be aware of other runners around you. (Now of course, it's important to remember that there may not be any runners around me since most other participants will probably be very tall, fit, speedy French and Catalan men who have never even seen fast food or touched a donut.)

3) Coffee. American coffee. How will I transport it? You see on Saturday night we'll be sleeping in a wee village and Sunday morning everything will be closed before the 8 am race. Is it really gross to prepare a thermos of coffee the day before?

Fog Shovelling

2010-04-20T22:37:00.000+02:00

Left the house late, at 8 pm, and got sidetracked at the neighborhood pasta shop. The pasta ladies ordered some pizza slicers from the US, you see, so I stopped in to admire the new cutlery. Apparently the best pizza slicers don't come from Italy but rather from Italian knifemakers in America. This, clearly, is important stuff to know before setting off on your run or getting started on your German literature paper.

It was a quick, misty run. There were moments, along the beach, when I could only see a few feet in front me and I felt as if I were running totally alone, shovelling through the fog.

6.5 km in 39 minutes. Short and sweet. And done. Tomorrow 10 k in the early evening.

Last Long Run or Frühjahrsmüdigkeit

2010-04-19T20:39:00.000+02:00

Less than 2 weeks for the half marathon! I did my last long (well, long-for-me) run on Saturday. 18 km in 1 hr 58 minutes. I was tired, more tired than I've ever felt during any of these long training runs. Hmm, did the last weeks of training suddenly catch up with me? Or perhaps it's simply Frühjahrsmüdigkeit, spring tiredness.

I was due for six miles this evening but as I walked home from my German literature class this afternoon, the sky began to darken. Was this just typical spring weather or was the cloud of Eyjafjallajokull ash passing over us? By 6:30 I was safe inside my piso and it was pouring so my run was canceled and thus far my Frühjahrsmüdigkeit has kept me from the gym.

So, yes, I've been pretty lazy today, but last week my Three Changes Challenge (see
http://runtothefinish.blogspot.com/2010/04/3-changes-challenge-prizes.html)
went fairly well:

1. I did bring lunch to work twice. God, today I had an awful lunch out with two catty co-workers so I'm really going to stick with this goal for the rest of the week.
2. I've been doing my sit-ups (ugh) and push-ups. So many sit-ups that my stomach hurts like hell.
3. I've been reading (some) for my masters. An hour each and every day--no. And I haven't written anything. But I will this week!

Correr a correos

2010-04-14T00:28:00.000+02:00

Yes, that's what I did today: a quick run to the post office where I mailed two baby presents, one to NYC, one to Sheffield, England. While it may be normal and acceptable to walk around town in workout gear in the US of A, it's simply not in Barcelona so I was a little worried about waiting in line at the post office in running tights and a tech shirt. I mean a quick stop at the grocery store after a run doesn't usually seem so out of line, but suddenly, at Correos, beneath the beautiful ceiling and amidst people in stylish winter coats, I felt, well, ridiculous and dorky. I was number 689 and number 682 looked very familiar. He was, I realized all too quickly, my very tall, very handsome German-American neighbor, K. I hid behind a marble column until he left! Thankfully he must have mistaken me for a lost tourist. Good thing he didn’t realize his ever-so elegant neighbor has been parading around town in running gear!
After successfully avoiding K, I continued down to the beach and ended up doing a 5 mile run in about 45 minutes. Pretty fast for moi, perhaps Map My Run is wrong.

La Familia

2010-04-12T16:53:00.001+02:00

My weekend began Friday evening with a much needed nap. I had had a long, rather disappointing meeting from 4 to 6 and when I got home around 6:30 I was exhausted so I slipped into bed with the book that had just arrived—Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. One minute I was reading about Haruki’s training runs along the Charles River and the next thing I knew my own Charles was saying, “Hey it’s 8:30!” I jumped out of bed, thinking it was 8:30 in the morning and that I was late for work, but Charles, laughing uncontrollably, assured me that it was 8:30 de la tarde.
I was tired, I was out of it, and I was hungry! And so when Charles explained that we were meeting his sister, Raquel, and brother-in-law for dinner at 10:30, I was, well, mad as hell. 10:30 that’s late even in Spain for dinner and it would be all a whole group of us meeting so we wouldn’t even, possibly start eating until 11…
Our food arrived at 11:17 and I had already downed a beer. I wanted to DEVOUR everyone’s food, but concentrated on eating slowly and nodding my head politely at people’s conversations. No one ordered dessert, which saddened me. At 1 am we left the restaurant and Charles announced that he was exhausted and turning in. And of course, I was tired too and should have gone right home—I had a long run planned for the next day, but I felt this strange familial obligation to stay. Raquel had driven down to Barcelona for the dinner— a two-hour drive, on a crowded highway—and I know she’s been having a rough time at work lately. At work and at home, actually. The least I could do was stick around for an after dinner drink. And so, by 3am Raquel was crying on my shoulder and encouraging me to order another beer. I was thinking of Murakami, he who left behind his jazz bar and late nights and began to rise at 5 am, write for three or four hours and then run. I thought: Whose path, whose code should I follow? Haruki Murakami’s or Vito Corleone’s? My sister-in-law is in dire straits, how I could be so cold, so selfish as to say “Chin up, buttercup, I gotta leave now, I’ve got a training run tomorrow.” (As a side note, I’m already in trouble with my in-laws because the half marathon is the same day as Charles and Raquel’s cousin’s first communion.) So, dear readers, I stayed in the smoky bar until closing time, 4 am, but when I crawled into bed next to Charles, I whispered, “You owe me one.”
My Saturday morning (if you want to call it that, I woke up—definitively— at noon) was brutal. I’m here to tell you that headaches are caused not only by alcohol (I only drank 3 beers and 2 glasses of wine over a very long 5-and-a-half-hour period), but also by intense inhalation of second-hand smoke. Anyway, long story short, I felt like ass, and (this is unrelated to me behaving like I was in the Godfather) my right pinkie toe, which had been feeling bruised all week, was suddenly throbbing. I fuelled for my run with some peanut butter and honey on toast, but then proceeded talked to Ali on the phone instead of actually leaving my apartment.
Charles, who had worked that morning, got home at 2 pm and I guilted him into coming running with me. “At least for the first few miles, then I’ll take off on my own,” I said. But, about a mile into it I knew that a long run was not going to happen, so I just accepted that I would do a 5-miler with a gruelling headache. Charles left me in the dust once we got to the beach and I went slowly and begrudgingly until about the third mile when something suddenly clicked and I, quite miracously, got my running mojo back. My head still kind of hurt, but suddenly my legs were working and I was in a running groove: right then and there I decided to give up my drinking and silly sentimentality for at least the next three weeks and focus, not on family obligations, but rather on yours truly. No more drinking. No more late nights. I will be Haruki: grouchy, solitary, and dedicated.
Saturday night, we headed over to our neighbors’ to watch the Madrid-Barça match, which thanks to some impeccable tiki taka, Barça won. Yes, there were temptations for drinking (and for silly sentimentality), but I— rather stoically—drank water. By 1am I was in bed and Sunday morning, bright and not all that early, I completed my long run of about 17-18 km in 2 hours and 4 minutes. This included a bathroom break at Vila Olimpica and a Gatorade purchase in the BCNleta. The run felt fantastic and I didn’t even indulge at Sunday vermouth with the neighbors or at the new Vietnamese restaurant where we ate on Sunday night. Sunday vermouth after a long run and Vietnamese food sans beer—pretty impressive, huh? Now I just have to work on getting up at 5 am and working on my novel.

PMA (goals for spring/summer 2010)

2010-04-05T18:30:00.000+02:00

My little Easter break is ending, and, as usual, I didn't get as much done as I would have liked. I still haven't seen my friend K's new baby. I'm still finishing my paper on Edward Said, which is due tomorrow. I haven't organized my spring / summer clothes or even folded any laundry, but I did get a fantastic 10-miler in on Saturday and I got to see some friends for dinner one night and my in-laws for lunch one day. Charles and I have had fun going to the movies and to the grocery store together. We've actually had time to just be together: to walk to the beach, to take naps, to go for a few runs. I had a great conversation with my mom yesterday and now feel a bit better about our summer vacation plans. (Living far from home, I get super neurotic about vacation plans. I need to know--months in advance-- exactly how much time I will have with each family member, when, and where.)

This morning, during my 5-miler, I decided on a few goals to help me make it through the next few months with a PMA (positive mental attitude Bad Brains style: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aWWI2rGdda4):

1) work on my masters (read or write something) for at least an hour everyday
2) keep up with running after the half marathon. Sign up for some races for June and July.
3) do some sort of strength training three times a week
4) do not gossip at work about stupid work stuff. I will eat lunch by myself, with a book, just as I have my whole life.

Back Trouble

2010-03-30T18:01:00.000+02:00

Training has been going well: On Friday, I completed my first 10 miler in 1 hr 40 m and yes, the run was hard—I had to sing along and clap to Whenever God Shines His Light around mile 8—but afterwards I felt fantastic. I was a little stiff that evening as I walked to The Man Bar to meet my lady friends, but I was in perfect condition for our annual neighborhood hike from Barcelona to Sant Cugat early Sunday morning. (Two years ago, that 3-hour hike was pretty tiring, but this Sunday it felt like what it actually was, just a walk in the park.)
Here's the thing, since last week my lower-to-mid back has been hurting like a mofo. Is this from running? I suspect it's linked to my pretty much non-existent abdominal muscles. Advice? Exercises I should do? Crunches, I know. But I'd rather run 20 miles than do 10 sit-ups.

Ok--just four weeks to go until my half. Here's the route:

http://maps.google.es/maps/ms?hl=ca&ie=UTF8&msa=0&msid=110985005190844989035.000481d4cb1bcda6e9e91&ll=42.125538,3.111191&spn=0.046407,0.07699&z=14

Right along the beautiful Costa Brava...the problem will be the tramuntana.

Adobe of Work / Adobe of Healthy, Happy Lifestyle

2010-03-24T23:27:00.000+01:00

I had a wonderful week with my mom and now am back to the grind: work and my masters. So far my running this week consists of 5 miles on Monday night. Sigh. And, yes I'm in panic mode--1 month to go for Empúries! Tomorrow I have to do a presentation on Jihad and The Modern World at 8:30 am! I'm definitely going to slip in a lunch-time run with some new tunes: Caroline Herring and some classic Van Morrison.

Long Run Goals

2010-03-11T20:10:00.000+01:00

Ok, so I'm still at work and have done no running today. But tomorrow I will do a long run at lunch, no matter what! My mom is arriving Saturday so I think after these two weeks of late work nights I will be ready to rest and eat. Best get a long run in before that.

My idea is to run all the way to the "3 Three Towers" of Sant Adrià tomorrow. Pretty scary, huh?

Slow-ass Fashion

2010-03-09T22:01:00.000+01:00

I expected to have a great run today since I had had two days off: one planned rest day and one historic snow day, but no siree. I ran a slow 8k (49:50) on the treadmill and, because I only ran 8k and not 10k, forced myself to do my dreaded sit-ups and ten, very sad, push-ups.
What's my problem? Why so slow? Perhaps because the gym is so agobiante (stifling)! I can't stand the out-of-focus flat-screen TVs or the fact that you only get four types of people: 35-year-old Spanish hetero businessman, beautiful Spanish or Argentine women ages 28 to 37, buff gay men of various nationalities ages 23 to 31, and American sorority girls on their junior abroad (19-21). What I love about running (outdoors, of course) is the diversity. At races you see all different kinds of people and body types, and their build tells you little about their performance. Yeah elite runners tend to be small and lean, but the general crowd is a mixed bunch. Running is about the mind reckoning with the body. I’ve seen chubby middle-aged women making great time, whizz past buff young men who end up puking at the end of a race.

My whole life I've wanted a long, lean body and suddenly I'm pretty happy with the boxey one I've got. I realize though that this venture has little to do with long legs, a flat stomach or even with heart rate, and much more to do with an attitude.

Icy / hot

2010-03-08T22:04:00.001+01:00

No running today due to a surprise snowstorm in Barcelona. It hasn't snowed like this here since 1985. I should have just gone to the gym, but halfway there my feet were totally soaked and I was freezing so I just headed home and ate some chocolate cake. Very bad, I know, but I just wasn’t prepared for this winter weather.
The good news is I got an email back from the half marathon coordinators explaining that the course is fairly flat. Hallelujah! My only concern is that it’s going to be hot…maybe I need to work more on living in the moment.

Marató de BCN

2010-03-07T19:08:00.000+01:00

Despite having to work Friday night and Saturday evening, I had a great weekend, thanks, of course, to running. I walked home from work sobbing on Friday night. No need to go into the gory details, but let's just say the art world is full of assholes. I'm sure most workplaces are though. Anyway after my breakdown, Charles and I went out for Asian tapas at a new place in Sant Pere: Doble Zero www.doblezeroo.com. We shared a vegetarian sushi platter and I had two, much needed, glasses of wine.

Saturday I woke late, and got ready for a long run. I had coffee, an apple and lots of water. Next time I think I should probably drink less coffee and eat a little more. I ran for an hour and 40 minutes and have no real idea how far I went, but I'm hoping it was almost 15 km. During the run I felt great, slow but strong. The weather was perfect for running: sunny with some wind, probably in the mid-fifties. My goal of going I-podless? I don't see it happening. It's one thing for a race, but on a longer solo run, the music carries me through.

When I got home I was starving and before showering or even stretching I ripped open a bag of Special K and went hogwild. I'm thinking I should have eaten some cereal an hour or so before the run. Once showered and still famished, I headed to our neighbors' terrace for a lovely, sunny, and very healthy, lunch (chicken breast, hummus, three different salads, pesto pasta and an amazing homemade flan for dessert). I had some wine too, in order to prepare for work at 5 pm. Work we'll skip and I'll just say that by 9 pm I was at home watching The Wire with Charles.

This morning I was up by 8 am and on the street by 9:45 to see the first runners of the Barcelona marathon fly by my house. Those guys were amazing to watch, km 37 and they were going all out. Oh but how I love watching all the participants!
Everyone had their name on their number, so it was fun to call out in people’s native language. Vinga Joan! Come on, Patrick! Allons-y, Pierre! I cheered like a crazy woman. As I've mentioned previously, Catalans are not very eager running fans, but I think my enthusiasm made up for their coldness. In fact, I think I scared a few grouchy natives, but I hope I brightened a few lonely runners' day. My wonderful neighbors (hostesses of Saturday's lunch) were looking great when they came by and they finished strong: 4:04 and 4:14. Very impressive.

I must say the Barcelona Marathon needs some better organizers and better advertising. A beautiful city with excellent weather and they can’t even get 10,000 people signed up? Maybe that should be my new job!

Big surf this midday

2010-03-04T22:44:00.000+01:00

I escaped from work at the midday (2ish here in Barcie). My compañeras tried to suck me into eating (too much) lunch with them, but I stayed strong--- went straight home and changed into my running clothes. The weather was perfect for a midday run to the beach: about 60 degrees and sunny with a slight wind out of the Northeast. If I hadn't gotten this 9k run in today, work would have pushed me over the edge, but seeing huge surf (especially for the Mediterranean) crash along the shore really energized me for the long evening ahesad. I’m going to try to get some lunchtime runs in next week as well.

De montage

2010-03-03T00:54:00.000+01:00

We're mounting an exhibition with some students at work, so I have to stay late every night this week. Last night I didn't run, but tonight I felt that I had to get to the gym no matter what. So, at 9:30, when I finally escaped the pesados (pests) , I went to the gym and became a pesada myself. I ran 5k in 29:14. The workers gave me the evil eye at about 10:15 when I was just about to hit 4.75, but I begged them to let me finish. Sad how the students make me stay late and then I head to the gym and make other people stay at work late.

It's 1 am and I have a big day tomorrow so I better get to bed. Only two more months until my big day in Empúries. I'm getting pretty nervous, especially about the heat--more on that tomorrow.

St Boi 10 k

2010-02-28T21:55:00.000+01:00

Although I was planning to run this race alone, in the end Charles decided to join me. I signed him up a few days ago, but he has a lot of schoolwork and had plans to study 24/7 this weekend. Anyhow, I think the guilt began to eat away at him and he, very sweetly, decided to come along.
I was a little nervous at first because a) we parked in a dirt lot and then walked about 10 minutes up a small mountain to the Estadi Municipal and I kept thinking that that 10-minute mountain climb would be the last 1.5 kilometers of the race, b)I was having some rather icky stomach issues, and c)I had decided to leave my I-pod in my duffle bag in honor of Charles who had sacrificed his studies in order to accompany me. I've been toying with the idea of weaning myself off the I-pod anyway. Shouldn't I listen to what's going on around me as I run? Shouldn't running be a time for thinking--a few hours a week to mull things over? Shouldn’t my own thoughts be enough to keep me occupied?
But as soon as I made the decision to run sans technology, it seemed that absolutely everyone else, except for about three super skinny 80-year-old runners, had their I-pods set and ready to go. I wondered if Charles’ presence would be enough to keep me from slowing down, could his love truly compete with the Neville Brothers’ “Pocky Way” for motivation?
A few trips to the bathroom, a conversation with a friendly Catalan weatherman / runner, and the pre-race festivities calmed me down and got me thinking positive. Since this was a fairly small race (1300 participants) and outside of the big city, everyone was really friendly and low-key. We watched the kids' fun run and by 10:08 we were off!
The course wasn’t pretty—Sant Boi is an industrial suburb outside of Barcelona so while you can imagine that circa 1900 the rolling hills along the Llobregat River must have been breathtaking, at this point it’s pretty much just sun-baked highways and dauntingly drab high-rise apartments built during the Franco regime. Charles stayed with me for about 2 kilometers and then he went on ahead. I understood his need to kick my ass, especially because I tried to outrun him Thursday night, so I patiently found my own rhythm and tried to keep him at least in sight.
The first half of the race went fairly well. The weather was perfect: low sixties and slightly cloudy and I was feeling good. I must say though that the Sant Boi crowds were surprisingly soso (bland, boring). Why can Spanish people get so excited about dancing at a town fair or a discotheque, but refuse to even clap for runners? It just goes to show that every culture has its own idea of what it means to look foolish. Most people just sort of stared at us in sleepy disbelief.
At km 6, I realized I was making decent time and that I could possibly finish in 57 minutes, but the last 3 km were all up hill and I slowed down and lost sight of Charles. I was moving sloooowly up that little mountain, just putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that not too many people would blow past me. And, luckily, they didn’t—everyone was hurtin´ at that point and when the guy next to me started walking I talked him into running, into running slowly, but running.
It was great to see my friend N, who lives in Sant Boi, wave to me at around km 8 and hearing her call my name gave me a little bit of kick, but by the time I reached the stadium I was extremely thirsty and my stomach really hurt. I’m ashamed to say that I jogged around the track to the finish line. Perhaps the stomach junk had dehydrated me more than I realized. This is the first time I haven’t really sprinted at the end of a race, but I have to say--all things considered-- that I’m reasonably happy with my time of 58:45 and this was a wake-up call: I best start training on some hills.