Nike + Ipod = :( Suggestions?

Yesterday,  after much debate, I went on a grueling run. It was hot; I was tired; my body felt like lead and I was running the Newton/Brookline hills near the end of the Boston Marathon course. All the while, my ipod pedometer (otherwise known as nike + ipod) kept telling me that I was running an 11-11:30 pace. What?! That's a full 2-2.5 minutes slower than my usual pace!  Miserable! Impossible! How am I going to run a marathon, now?

Later, I spent the night commiserating with running friends about my slowness and sudden inability to push my body up to speed. "You're biorhythms are just off today. You should sleep." Maria offered. "Are you dehydrated? Eating well?" asked my dad, a former athlete who seems to  get a kick out of having a bookworm-turned-athlete daughter. Yes and yes. I was exhausted, but not to the point where I should push the usual amount and get such altered results.

What's wrong with me?

I even curled into bed and watched a running documentary, The Spirit of the Marathon, which follows runners (famous and ordinary) in their pursuit of the 2007 Chicago Marathon. It was beautiful and inspiring (and terrifying) to see so many different runners profiled, all chasing the same dream. I worry that, like them, I'll hit a wall in the middle miles or worse, that I'll become injured in training or mid-race and be unable to finish. Still, the documentary was just the thing I needed to push me through my lagging run and into today. There are 5 long months before the marathon. I'll be fine.

As long as I stop listening to my nike + ipod, I'll be fine. I mapped yesterday's run this morning on mapmyrun.com and it came up as 9.6 miles, not 8.14.

This means:  1) I was right on pace, running a 9:37 mile.

                       2) I need a new, RELIABLE pedometer. (Suggestions, please???)

       3) Nike needs to go back to the drawing board and stop inducing failure-related heart palpitations in runners like me.

6.14 times 4.2 will do!

Today was my first long run with my partner--my first long run with ANY partner in fact, besides a brief and painful lap with my amazingly athletic cousin Al. It was just over a 10k, but it was hard! Like any new endeavor, this run had its bumps and bruises (mental, but not physical--yet) and proved to be a worthy challenge and the start of something great.

My running partner, Michele and I met at 8:00 am and started out fast (too fast!) but strong. This morning, before blue skies reigned and the world seemed on the brink of a thunderstorm, we mutually decided that we would "just keep running" no matter what and would learn to deal with all the mugginess and precipitation that Mother Nature could throw at us. The rain never came and after a while I stopped thinking about it. I did, however, count each step, marker and mile in hopes that we would finish quicker (we didn't) but in the end, my perseverance came down to keeping us together and remembering that we only have to do today's run twice for a half and four times over for a full marathon. On a gross muggy day with little training, we're already a quarter of the way there!

 It was both strange and comforting to adjust my steps to a parnter, both distracting and motivating to know that she was there. Around the fifth mile--a tough one for me-- I felt stronger, knowing that there was someone beside me who wasn't going to kick up and leave me in the dust. We've been friends for only a week now but she and I , like most of my nearest and dearest "just clicked". Today, while pounding the pavement we discovered that we have almost the pace, same birthday, the same ipod, the same desire to teach and to help others, the same passion for travel and living abroad. We are also vastly different and quirky ( I think she would approve of this description!) she's a brilliant scientist and I nearly failed Chem. Yet we're committed to our goal and to helping each other be, run and train at her personal best.

After 6.14 miles of running (at a solid but too-fast 8:40 pace) and a two mile walk-run cool down, we celebrated our success at Ihop. (Please note: I'd run for pancakes any day! In fact, I'm considering making the shirt:)

Here's to the next 3/4, partner!

Pacing, Pals & Patience

I've  always believed in the opening score of The Wonder Years--you know, the one that musically proclaims: " I get by with a little help from my friends". In fact, I've learned over and over again that Fred Savage is right, that not only do I get by with a little help from my friends, they are my world.

Yet, I wonder if Kevin and Winnie ever tried to go running together.

Today, in the blistering midmorning heat, I set out on a short, 3 mile run with three close friends--each an athlete in his or her own right, each a strong runner, at an entirely different pace. Ten footfalls after the start of the run, the fastest among us took off around the bend and we were lucky to catch a glimpse of him later, letting us know to cross a bridge. With one friend behind me and one ahead, I found myself well-paced and well-pleased with my seasoned athlete friend (who is so cool that he already has a half-marathon shirt and so hard-core that he runs in "barefoot trainers" that mold to your feet and look a little like scuba fins, except, cooler!). We ran at a steady pace for a while, chatting and warming up, me falling in synch with his fluid motions. I was happy to match his pace and happier still to have someone to run with rather than someone--real or imaginary--to chase. A supportive friend and running partner, he was just what I needed to get through the day and feel good about our run.

Then, I fell behind.

As I stopped to fiddle with my ipod (not so much the music as the chip in my shoe, counting the steps of my workout) I watched him disappear around a wooded curve and vowed to catch him again. I raced ahead at my "breakneck" pace and still could not catch him; I watched his flipered feet and strong form disappear behind one tree after another--just a short spring out of reach. "Stop moving!" I yelled at him angrily and my ipod answered me in a buttery voice with: "Current pace, 10:30 per mile." Crap. Not only had I fallen behind my partner but I was running way below my training speed.  With no one in sight, I found myself in the middle of the pack.

I hate the middle of the pack.

I know I'm new to running and I furthermore acknowledge that MOST runners are in the middle--somewhere between the elites and the sweepers in every race--but I still hate it. When I commit to something--a job, a class, a relationship, a run, I expect excellence. Of course setbacks happen, but I can usually push through with a load roar and a modicum of grace.

Today, I wanted to kill somebody and I wanted new legs.

I love running because it makes me feel confident, strong and free. I hate it equally because I don't yet know how strong I am or how to push myself to get there. When my friends disappeared, I realized that though we're running together, we are also (and perhaps more importantly) running our own races against ourselves. What I need to do now, it seems, is figure out what my race is and what my pace is. Then I need to push hard and be patient. My feet will catch up.

I don't want to go running with friends again. Except that they remind me of things like this:

Me: Ugh, I'm so tired today.

Joe Cool: You shouldn't be; we haven't run that far.

Me: Yeah, but it's so hot outside. I'm used to running in 30 degrees in the cold--

JC: or 60 degrees in the gym.

Me: Good point. Thanks for not taking my BS.

JC: No problem. C'mon. let's go.

That and we end runs at Starbucks for water, espresso and a Sunday New York Times.

I get by a bit better because of them.