Step By Step

One Month Down, 11 To Go

2012-02-05T21:36:00.005-05:00

There's an online trend going around this year (it might have been around longer, I dunno) encouraging people to check in on their resolutions every Monday to help keep them accountable. Personally, every Monday is a bit too frequent for me (plus, who has time for that?), but I do like the idea of consistently checking in on the goals we set for ourselves.

So I've decided that at the end of each month - or close to it - I'd check in to see how I'm doing.

Last month, I set a variety of goals for 2012. I called for a "do-over" after falling short of my 2011 goal to run/ride 3,000 miles (1,000 miles of running and 2,000 miles of cycling).

My January stats ended up being coincidentally event, tallying in at 66 miles on the bike (trainer) and 65.92 miles of running. Certainly not an all-time high for either categories, but given that I'm coming off a few slump months, a good (and smart) start.

More than the numbers, I like that I've reincorporated running and riding into my regular routine. It helps that Jeff also set a lofty goal of riding the Vermont 100/200 in June, so there's been an overall focus on training and building fitness in our house. Not a bad thing, at all.

In a later post, I talked about all of the other things I want to focus on this year - from volunteering to finances to a healthy lifestyle. I also wanted to value relationships in my life and continue to work toward a healthy life/work balance.

One month in to 2012, I think I'm on the right track.

On the finance end, I've been keeping a closer eye on my budget (or rather, how I spend my money) and made an extra month's payment on my credit card (so what if it was just a screw up with my automated payments set by my credit card company - I still declined the refund and told them to apply it to the balance). I also upped my monthly automated payment by $100 and put an extra $10 per week into an auto savings account I've had going for a couple of years now. It's not much, but it's the little steps that will add up.

Aside from my mileage goals, which will obviously help my healthy living goal, I've just passed the five-month mark of vegetarianism (technically, pescetarianism - since I eat fish). I haven't missed anything, and the more I read and learn about the benefits of cutting out meat, the better I feel about it. It's nice to know that the transition hasn't been at all difficult and has really just become a way of life for us.

I've also added some variety into my fitness routine, getting back to a couple of sessions of strength training (so far) and experimenting with yoga for runners.

Another thing I wanted for 2012 was to give back and volunteer. I'm excited about the possibility of working with Girls On The Run as a volunteer coach. I sought out recommendations for volunteer opportunities and was blown away by all of the suggestions - very worthwhile, fun, appropriate-for-me suggestions, I might add.

After a bit of research and talking to people involved in Girls On The Run organization, I think it's a good fit for me. I love the idea of teaching young girls the tools to be confident, healthy and smart in their decisions. I'm sure I'll have plenty more to say about my Girls On The Run experience as it gets going. I'll get a "team" of 15 girls in grades 3-5. (Yikes?!) By mid-June, they'll run a 5K after a 10-week program where they learn about making good decisions, building self-esteem, knowing healthy relationships and lifestyle. Very exciting stuff!

My other goals for 2012 are a little more gray than black and white - things like relationships and balance. I'll try to think of more concrete steps to "success" (however that is defined) to share along the way, but I feel very solid in those areas, too.

Yes, friends, this year is off to a good start. And I'm looking forward to everything 2012 has in store for me.

Gimme The Bling!

2012-01-30T09:13:00.006-05:00

photo: www.aaronbmiller.com

As runners, we like to think that we run for health, to support good causes, to compete, to challenge ourselves. Often, all of those reasons – good ones, I might add – are true. But sometimes we’re a little more selfish.

We run to get, well, stuff – like, medals and t-shirts and bags and water bottles and towels and, oh, beer at the end of races. Pretty much just about anything we “earn” by running, we like.

Ask a runner what they think of a local race and they’ll likely to mention the course, the weather, the volunteers and the swag. I cannot count the number of races that have been recommended to me because they have great stuff.

From pint glasses to shirts, my drawers and closets are the proof. Mementos of races and miles are everywhere. (Although, note to race directors, most people I know have tossed all shirts that aren’t “tech” shirts. To us, cotton is rotten.)

I’ve never given race swag much thought until recent weeks when I started contemplating a spring half-marathon, something to keep me motivated in the winter months. A running-pal of mine suggested the Wallis Sands Half Marathon in May, with its scenic (and I’m assuming flat) ocean-side course.

The race quickly made my short list of possibilities, so I solicited some feedback from my local online running friends on Facebook and dailymile. The race got big thumbs up in almost all areas. More than once, however, I heard what I considered to be a warning: the race has no finishers medals. (Top racers, of course, still get bling – as they should.)

Often, the warning came with an apology: “I don’t know why it bothered me not to get a medal, I know it shouldn’t. But it did.”

It struck me as funny because I actually have a drawer full of race medals. They’ve made the cut every time I’ve moved. But still, they are sitting in a drawer, waiting for me to finally find a way to properly display them. I’ve considered seeking out a local version of Medals for Mettle, which allows runners to donate their medals to children in hospitals. (Sounds a lot better than having them sit in a drawer, doesn’t it?)

Still, like my friends, the thought of a half-marathon finish line without finisher medals irked me a bit. Finishers medals are pretty much standard for half-marathons and marathons. They’re more of a memento than a reward.

I thought about it so much that I actually looked online to see how much medals actually cost (which was probably a mistake). For just a few dollars of my $55 registration fee, the race organizers could get custom medals. The event planner in me thinks it would be a good investment. (Can I admit I’d prefer a medal to most of the race shirts out there?)

Finisher medal or not, I've already signed up for the Wallis Sands race. And I’ll still be proud, knowing that I trained for and completed the half-marathon.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to run for all of the other “stuff” out there – like the pint glass and running hat that comes with the Shamrock Shuffle in March. And I’ll continue to participate in the random raffles associated with Runner’s Alley Winter Warriors runs. I scored a sweet half-zip tech shirt from Mizuno a few weeks ago, and my name is in the running (no pun intended) for a pair of New Balance shoes next week.

Yes, runners – at least this one – like swag. I’d love to hear more about your favorite race freebies. Which events have the best?

Teresa Robinson is Community Relations Manager for the New Hampshire Union Leader. Her column appears every other week in the New Hampshire Sunday News. Her email address is trobinson@unionleader.com.

City Sidewalks...

2012-01-13T15:55:00.005-05:00

(photo taken from: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mkrigsman)

City sidewalks, busy sidewalks … What? Christmas is over and we shouldn’t be singing carols?

Holiday festivities aside, I’ve been thinking a lot about, well, sidewalks. If you’re a winter runner, you’re probably thinking about them too. Sidewalks are one of the best things about winter running in the city. Followed closely by street lights.

It looks (and feels!) as if winter is finally here, and we have been thrust into winter running mode. Personally, I’m challenged to find ways to keep this treadmill-hater outside as much as possible, a challenge that’s heightened during storms like last Thursday’s.

Luckily, I’ve kept up with the Runner’s Alley Winter Warriors group and they had planned a nice four-plus miler that night. I would be lying if I told you that I didn’t think of cancelling. I mean, the first storm of the winter was a perfect reason not to run, right?

I really, really thought about being a no-show. I even asked my downtown friends for a “sidewalk update” in hopes that someone would tell me it was just too dangerous to run.

But the folks at Runner’s Alley assured me that the sidewalks would be clear and ready for running. They were right. We went about our usual Thursday evening routine - albeit with a smaller group than usual – as if there was no storm at all.

It’s a run, mind you, that I wouldn’t have tried at home. Run in the country in a storm in the dark? No, thank you.

When I moved to Manchester from the Seacoast area a few years ago, I knew I’d miss my Saturday ocean-side routes. I thought I’d miss running on the rural roads near my house, too. I loved the quiet, the almost traffic-less roads, the calmness of babbling brooks and the chirping of birds.

The big city, I thought, would mean sirens and sketchy neighborhoods and battling traffic at every intersection. My running, I thought, would suffer.

While it turned out that the city did have some of those things – sirens, questionable neighborhoods and lots of traffic-filled intersections – I fell in love with city running. Turns out, city-living helped my running and my ability to adapt to a new place.

Each day was an opportunity to learn something more about my new home. I planned routes that would take me on relatively unknown side-streets. I have explored far more of the city on foot than I have by car, when we as drivers tend to stick to the same roads.

Even once I became more familiar with the city streets, my routes were varied and ever-changing. With so many streets in such a compact area, it was easy to map a route of almost any distance. Need to run hills? No problem. Looking for a long, flat route? No problem. It was all readily available out my front door.

Almost a year ago, I made the move back to semi-country living, and while I’m just a stone’s throw from the city line, my running has most decidedly been country-fied. My routes are limited – mostly because there just aren’t many roads. For someone who prefers looped routes to out-and-backs, it’s challenging.

And the roads? Well, some of them are quiet. But the main country thoroughfares bring speeding cars – really, does anyone drive the speed limit? – and blind curves and dangerously narrow shoulders.

When you find the right route and time of day, country running can be wonderful and relaxing. But in the winter, for me, it’s just a plain pain in the neck.

In winter, give me the shoveled sidewalks and street lights of the city, please.

Teresa Robinson is Community Relations Manager for the New Hampshire Union Leader. Her column, NH RUNNER, appears every other week in the New Hampshire Sunday News. Her email address is trobinson@unionleader.com.

2011 Dailymile Summary

2012-01-10T12:47:00.006-05:00

Here's a snapshot of my 2011 running and cycling year. Thanks to the folks over at dailymile for compiling this and feeding our love of stats. (Admit it, runners and cyclists love keeping track of things.)

I couldn't capture the whole page in my screen shot above, so for a more complete look at my 2011, click here.

Of course, I've already compared this with my 2010 year-end summary (found here). A few things jump out at me - really some very interesting similiarities and differences:

My mileage is coincidentally very close, only off by 71 miles from year to year. This was done without any planning or coordinated effort.

My average miles per week is also very close from one year to the next, up two miles per week to 50 in 2011.

Despite the closeness of these two year-end averages, I posted 31 more workouts in 2010, the equivilant of working out every day for an entire extra month.

2011 was a year of very high highs and very low lows. I had my highest mileage month in July with 711 miles. My lowest month of 2011 came in December at 20 measley miles. In 2010, I was much more consistent, with every month exceeding 100 miles. My highest mileage month in 2010 was May at 446; my lowest 2010 month was November with 121 miles.

My longest workout streak in 2011 was 10 days, compared to five days in 2010.

I somehow went from a morning runner to someone who posts most workouts in after noon. In 2010, 58 percent of my workouts were posted in the morning; in 2011, only 34 percent were done in the morning.

More to come, I'm sure, as I digest and think about these numbers. Overall, maybe it wasn't such a bad year after all....

One And Done

2012-01-03T16:05:00.009-05:00

One of the things I'd like to do more of this year is write - and yes, that means more blogging. I've realized that I've slacked off a bit when it comes to that lately, which is probably directly related to my lack of running and riding for the past several months. Literally, nothing to write about. Hopefully that changes for 2012.

On Sunday, I ran my first race of the 2012: the Millennium Mile. It is the first of what I hope is many races of 2012. I actually can't believe it's taken me this long to finally run the Millennium Mile.

Finally, thanks to my participation in the Millennium Running Series, I made an effort to get there. And, boy, I'm glad I did.

The atmosphere was lively and filled with anticipation. People of every age and ability swarmed around everywhere. I was suprised at how good it felt to get back into a race atmosphere.

I felt at home. Last year, I only only three events on my running/riding calendar and neither were really "typical" running events: the Boston Marathon in April, a duathlon in Rye in June and my week-long cycling tour in July. In years prior, I'd had many running races planned, and it wasn't until Sunday that I realized I'd missed the race scene - the bib pick-up, the music blasting, the crews setting up, runners randomly stretching and running around the area. Yes, it was good to be back on familiar turf.

What was totally unfamiliar to me, however, was the distance. One mile.

The funny thing was, I really had no idea how to run a mile. I know it sounds crazy, but as a person who really has only ever trained for distance events, running a mile was going to be really, really hard.

I'm trained to pace myself, to go out slow, to calculate how much is left in the tank at every mile marker. The problem with this race was that there would be only one mile-marker and by then it would be to late. (Okay - they did have markers each quarter-mile, but my distance-running brain is not equipped to deal with such small increments.) There would be no room for adjustments like I usually make in my other races.

When people asked me what finish time I was hoping for, I really had no idea how to answer. Sure, I know my "speed workouts" had me running 8-8:30's last year - but that was at the peak of my Boston Marathon training. Oh, and it was for several - sometimes five or six - miles at a time. And it wasn't downhill.

How fast could I run a mile? I didn't know. I'd never really tried.

And, truth be told, I hadn't trained a lick. The last time a "speed workout" appeared on my training log was sometime in March. And, as I've mentioned many times now, my running has really slacked off lately. I've put on too many pounds. Nothing was really adding up to an ideal mile.

So I decided to take the advice from my friend's nine-year-old, a Millennium Mile veteran. The best strategy, he said, was just to run "balls to the wall." Kind of what you'd expect from a nine-year-old, right?

But, hey, it was better than any other advice I'd gotten and I didn't have any training to back me up, so I went with it.

I was able to meet up with some friends (I was suprirsed at how many people I bumped into at the race!) for the start. Soon enough, the starting gun (actually, airhorn) sounded and we were off. The crowd at the beginning was tight. It was hard to find a spot and, in the first several steps before the starting mat, it was impossible to do anything but walk.

I tried my best to find a clear shot, knowing that every second counts in a mile-long race. Again, there would be no miles later in the race to make up for lost time.

Then I just ran. And ran. I hit the quarter-mile sign and felt surprisingly tired and winded. Geesh, it was only a quarter mile! I'd left my Garmin at home, half on purpose and half because the battery wasn't charged, so I really had no sense of my pace. Really, if you would asked me whether I was running a 10-minute-mile or an 8-minute-mile at that point, I wouldn't have been able to tell you.

The finish line came into view rather quickly, and I noticed the minutes still ticking in the 7-s. Could I finish this thing in under 8 minutes? Given my current physical fitness and lack of running, I'd take a sub-8 as a huge victory - even if it was downhill and the race winners were posting sub-4s.

As I crossed the mat, the clocked ticked over the 8-minute mark. I was incredibly winded and the cool air burned my lungs. Yes, folks, running a mile is hard.

I still wasn't sure if I'd broken 8-minutes, despite the fact that, logically, I knew it took me several seconds to cross the starting line after the airhorn sounded. We waited around the school's gymnasium for the official results and after about an hour after the race, decided we'd just check online. (As someone who plans events, I could tell this one - at least from the timing standpoint - wasn't going as planned. No reason why it should take an hour for results of a one-mile, chip-timed race unless something had gone awry.)

Turns out it took me more than 20 seconds to cross. My official time was 7:37 - which for me is a super-fast time. Granted, the entire race is downhill, so it's not really an accurate reflection of my "real" mile time. But I'll take it.

Yep, I ran a 7:37. Not a bad way to start the year. And it give me something to shoot for - or way under - for July's one-mile series race.

2012: It Ain't Just About Running

2012-01-02T15:54:00.012-05:00

I'm not usually one for New Year's Resolutions. I've always wondered why flipping the calendar has such importance to have many of us re-evaluating how we've been living our lives. Why does it prompt us to look at our weaknesses? It's not that I don't like resolutions - or as I prefer to think of them - just plain ol' goals. I do.

In fact, I thrive on them. I'm constantly thinking of new goals and ways to be better - at work, at running, at whatever. When it comes to running and riding, I use the new year to set out my goals for the upcoming year. They're not the kind of resolutions you make and forget about in a few weeks. I know at any given moment what my goals are and how I'm measuring up for the year.

Yes, I'm very goal-driven, at least when it comes to running and cycling. But what about the rest of my life? Several years ago, I made a very conscious effort to change my life - to help get me to where (and who) I wanted to be in life. And I've been very successful at that.

I'm happier and healthier than I've ever been. I have confidence, a strong career and a great guy to spend my life with. I have a wonderful and growing group of friends and great relationships with my family.

I don't think it's a coincidence that running (and now cycling) has played such an important part of this process. I'm not just "lucky" - like I said, there was a conscious effort to get to the place where I am, and it wasn't always an easy road. But now that I'm "there," what do I do?

This year, for the first time in ... well, maybe ever... I've been thinking of some personal goals that don't have anything to do with running or riding. I admit, it's been kind of difficult to pinpoint personal goals - partly because I feel really good and happy about how my life is and partly because, well, there's lots on my list.

How can those those statements co-exist? If I didn't change anything in my life, I'd be perfectly happy. But I also know with a little bit of work (and maybe even just some awareness of things that are already good), it can be even better.

I'm a big believer that we make our own happiness. At that's just what I intend to keep doing.

I've had a few goals floating around in my head for the past several weeks. I had the opportunity to take a nice run this afternoon by myself - which made for the perfect opportunity to refine my goals. They seemed to fall into a few main categories:

HEALTH. I have a pretty good handle on health compared to most people, but I'm far from perfect. I think the healthier I get, the healthier I want to become. In 2012, I will be more aware what I eat and how much I eat. And resolutions wouldn't be complete without a pledge to lose those notorious 10 pounds (to get me back to be pre-Boston Marathon weight). My re-dedication to running and riding will surely help this. I will also explore more things like strength training, yoga, Pilates, spin classes and other things to keep things interesting.

FINANCES. This is probably the biggest (and maybe only) way my "past life" affects my current life. That needs to change. I've managed to move on from everything from the negative, but still have some financial black eyes as a reminder that I'm not done yet. And, unfortunately, in some ways it keeps me from fully moving forward. In 2012, I will cut my debt in half, improve my credit score and be more aware of a personal budget.

RELATIONSHIPS. I feel really good about all of the relationships in my life, and in 2012 want to continue fostering meaningful friendships and bringing new people into my life. I want to value time with my family and Jeff's family. I want to spend time with Jeff doing things that we love doing together, and continue to grow and build our relationship in a positive way full of positive things, open communication, fun and love.

GIVING BACK. I realize that I have a pretty darn good life, and I don't want to forget that. In 2012, I will volunteer regularly in some way. I'm not sure yet what this will look like - a soup kitchen, Kids Cafe, Upreach Therapeutic Riding Center, Boys and Girls Club, Big Brothers Big Sisters. There are plenty of options. I want to find something that is both meaningful to me and makes a difference in someone's life.

CAREER. When thinking about the coming year, I think a lot about striving for balance. I don't want a life that so work-centered that I forget about all of the other good things. I truly love my job and all of the opportunities that come with it. But it's one of those non-stop kind of jobs - one in which I could work late every night or fill up every evening or weekend with some sort of commitment. It's easy to fall into the pitfalls of living in a constantly connected world. In 2012, I will work hard and work smart - but not be afraid to step away and unplug when I need to. Of course, I have a separate list of "work goals," specific to events and making budget numbers and helping others. Those are better left at the office, but rest assured there will be a lot of focus there, too. For this personal list, it's best to focus on the need to balance this hard work with everything else in my life.

TIME. I'll also find the time (and make time) to continue to do the things I love - things like walk with the dogs in the woods, hike, camp, run, bike and write. Who knows, maybe I'll even find some new things.

Perhaps most importantly, in 2012, I will remember not to be too hard on myself. It's okay to take a day off (from work or running or riding), to sleep in, to gain a few pounds or not to meet all of the expectations I put on myself. It's okay if I don't do everything on this list. The important thing is to revisit this post every once in a while and think about the things that are important to me.

Happy New Year!

2012: The Year of the Do-Over

2011-12-30T12:41:00.016-05:00

I’m determined to start this year out right. That’s why, if all goes as planned, on Sunday I’ll be bundled up at the start of the Millennium Mile.

Although I’ve never run the race before, I’ve heard plenty about it. The New Hampshire Union Leader has been a sponsor of the race, which supports a scholarship in memory of John Mortimer’s parents, since before our sponsorships fell under my purview.

That was before I was even “a runner.” (I use the quotation marks because I’m not sure I’ll ever completely feel like a runner.) Back then, the idea of a New Year’s race just seemed plain crazy to me. I mean, it’s usually cold and sometimes snowy.

After I started running a few years ago, I found the idea of a New Year’s race intriguing. It was indeed a great way to start the year. However, by then I’d made my own personal rule not to run races in which it would take me longer to park and register than to run the race (see also: Cigna’s 5K in downtown Manchester) so I routinely skipped the Millennium Mile in favor of a New Year’s 10K in Massachusetts.

Not this year – although the way I made it to the starting line is really just an accident.

A few weeks ago, at Mortimer’s urging, I signed up for the MVP Millennium Running Series. I had let my running slip so much during the second half of 2011 that I needed something to keep me going. A series of seven races - some really fun races, I might add - of various distances, spread out throughout the year seemed like a perfect way to get my focus back.

I thought I had until the Shamrock Shuffle in March to mentally prepare for my year-long commitment. That is, until a friend asked me about the Millennium Mile race. Most years, it falls in December. This year, it falls on New Year’s Day. Turns out, signing up for the 2012 series meant that I’d be starting on the very first day of 2012.

Oh well, no time like the present.

My friend’s 9-year-old son assures me the Millennium Mile will be the fastest mile I run all year. No offense to the little guy, but I hope he’s wrong. I hope that today’s mile-long race is the beginning of a year of improvement.

You see, as we launch this new year, I find myself in unfamiliar territory. At this time of year, I’m usually celebrating my accomplishments and thinking of how to be even better next year. But this year I find myself dealing with the self-inflicted failure of not meeting my goals. When it comes to running (and most other things), I tend to set the bar high for myself, so it was no surprise last year that I gave myself a pretty lofty to-do list. (See them over there on the right side of this page?)

I wanted to run the Boston Marathon and raise $5,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society – and I did. What I didn’t do was pretty much everything else on the list, like, complete a century ride or log 3,000 miles of running and riding. (I’m closing out the year at 2,500-something.)

What’s most frustrating is that everything on the list was completely attainable, and I was on the fast-track to success by mid-year coming off the Boston Marathon and logging some serious miles. My cycling improved immensely and I was in better shape than I’d ever been. I had my highest mileage months ever in both running and cycling this year.

Don't believe that I totally slacked off? I'm including graphic evidence at the end of this post. What the heck happened to me in the second half of the year?

If I must be honest, I kind of gave up - mentally. I got burned out. I stopped checking my mileage stats every day. I didn’t care how far or fast I went. I put my iPod and Garmin watch in the drawer and let them gather dust. My weekly group runs with friends disappeared. Running became something that I didn't even think about. I began to question whether I even liked it anymore.

I got mad at myself. I made excuses. I tried to restart my motivation engine. And couldn’t.

I never even attmpted the Century Ride, even though during the height of the summer and early into the fall the miles would not have been a problem. Heck, I didn't even bother to sign up for a 10K to see what I could do.

So I’ve decided to give myself a do-over this year. I toyed with the idea of lowering the expectations on myself, perhaps reducing the mileage or cutting back on the things I want to accomplish. But I don’t want to go backward. I need to finish what I started.

Seems like a one-mile, downhill race on New Year's Day is a pretty good start.

My Biggest Loser Beef

2011-12-07T17:28:00.003-05:00

As much as I hate to admit it, one of my guilty pleasures is quasi-reality television - not the Bachelor or Jersey Shore or the Real World (is that sill on?) or other nails-on-a-chalkboard shows like that.

For better or worse, I get a kick out of watching other people's dysfunction. I'm talking about shows like Hoarders, the new Monster In-Laws, Intervention and the jaw-dropping, brow-furrowing one I recently stumbled upon, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. (There are still so many questions I have about that last one.)

Although it's one step up from A&E's new dysfunctional program line-up, I kind of throw The Biggest Loser into that mix, too - even though it's different.

It's not like I'm watching an out-of-control train wreck (is there any other kind?) like those other shows. Instead, I watch them work hard, succeed, get fit and get healthy. I'm happy for them. I'm inspired.

But every year there's something cringe-inducing about the The Biggest Loser: the marathon.

I don't mean "marathon" in the usual TV-jargon sense, meaning a series of back-to-back-to-back-to-back episodes. (That use of the word marathon, by the way, must have been coined by a non-runner. Anyone who's ever run a marathon would not allow hours of watching television to share the same name as the distance running event.)

Yes, the contestants on the The Biggest Loser actually complete a marathon. Twenty-six-point-two-miles. I love it. And I hate it.

Before you go jumping to conclusions about why I hate it, let me say with the utmost sincerity that I truly, honestly and whole-heartedly believe that anyone can run a marathon. Of course, I say that with a one huge qualification. It would be better to say that anyone with proper training can run a marathon.

That's where The Biggest Loser gets under my skin.

The contestants undoubtedly work hard at getting fit and losing weight, spending hours in the gym - face-to-face with a trainer, no less. But, as far as I can tell from the show that airs, they do not train for a marathon. Sure, you see them from time-to-time on the treadmill, but they certainly don't have a marathon training program.

In fact, some of them even admit that they haven't run more than 10 or 12 (or fewer!) miles before toeing the line for the show's 26.2 event.

What's wrong with that? A lot.

Most of them do finish. And it's great. They smile, they cry, they can't believe they've done it. It's the same feeling that anyone who's crossed the finish line of their first marathon has felt - only magnified because of where they've come. It truly is inspiring.

It's also unsettling. At most, they've had 60 days of "training" - which by most standards is not nearly suffificent to prepare the body for a marathon. In fact, only a few short months before their marathon, these contestants were on a downward spiral of health-issues and most were admitted food addicts and couch potatoes. They're on The Biggest Loser, after all.

Thanks to the disclaimer at the end of the show, I know the contestants are monitored. And kudos for this year's show-doctor for pulling a couple of the contestants off the course this year and for not letting one, who was scheduled for knee surgery the following week, even attempt it.

What bothers me about The Biggest Loser marathon is that is isn't really accurate. Anyone who's ever been to a marathon (or even a half marathon) has surely seen fuel belts, water stations, aid stations - heck, even porta-potties. These contestants run in the desert, for Pete's sake.

And while I'm sure that the contestants hydrate and fuel along the way, why isn't any of this shown to the viewing audience? We never see one drop of water given to a contestant. Not one energy gel. Hyrdation and proper fueling are critical parts of marathon running - the healthy way - and if this show inspires others to try (which I assume - and hope that it does), it should send the right message.

We never hear about a training plan, long runs or anything else that goes into proper marathon training. If anything, we hear the opposite. Some contestants seem proud that they finished with essentially no running training.

Sounds like a recipe for injury, if you ask me. And there's nothing like an injury to give someone a reason to stop exercising and fall back into old habits.

Aside from the training and the nutrition shortfalls, another twist to this year's The Biggest Loser marathon was a the addition of a competitve element. They brought back all of the contestants that had left the show during the season and they competed for one spot in the final contest. All they had to do is win the marathon.

It certainly made for interesting television, at the very least. But for most runners, unless you're one of the elite, front-of-the-pack runners, you don't run a marathon to beat other people. You race against yourself. You run your own race. At some point, it doesn't matter who's ahead or behind you. It's about you and your goals. It's about celebrating the finish line - whenever you get there.

For these contestants, in particular, the show should have highlighted the huge sense of accomplishment it would be just to finish. Because it is a huge accomplishment - no matter who "beat" you in the race. Instead, they ranked the contestants and awarded prize money depending on where they placed.

Because of the competitive element (I get it - it's a show about competition), we saw contestants sprinting from the starting line, trying to get ahead of the pack. No "go out slow and steady" training plan here. No pacing. No plans.

My previous rant aside, I really do love the idea of having The Biggest Loser contestants run a marathon. It shows that anyone can do it - and anyone can. If they do it the right way.

I'm not afraid to admit that I got a little teary-eyed watching the contestants cross the finish line. It's a great feeling after all - something that can't really be described. Heck, last night's show even gave me a little kick in the butt. It started my mind going. What's the next big thing I'm going to do?

As the on-air marathon started, I half-jokingly declared that if any of the contestants beat my PR, I'd be signing up for a marathon today. Luckily, the first runner crossed in 5:04, so I'm not obligated to do so.

But who knows, maybe the show's convinced me to give it another try - with a solid training plan and plenty of water stops, of course.

The Piece O' Pie 5K

2011-11-25T14:48:00.000-05:00

If you’re like me, you’re probably still thinking about all the things you’ve eaten this weekend that you “shouldn’t” have.

Although my new-found vegetarian lifestyle probably helped me shave off a few hundred calories during Thanksgiving Dinner, I still got my fill of appetizers, potatoes, wine and bread. Oh, and pie.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the “numbers” of running – for a change, not miles or pace or time. I’ve been thinking a lot about running’s calorie-burning powers.

Truth is I’ve probably been thinking about it because, well, I have been running a lot fewer miles lately. Fewer miles means fewer calories burned, which means tighter-than-usual clothes. And, sigh, a forced focus on the calories I take in.

I’ve never really thought of running as a way to control my weight. It was, rather, just a nice side-effect of a sport that I loved doing. As a result, I got completely lazy with my eating habits. I didn’t really have to think about what I was eating because I knew, at some point, my running would burn it off.

A second helping a dinner? Sure, without a second thought.

During my consistent training weeks of running and cycling, I figure I was burning around 4,000-5,000 calories a week. Lately, those numbers have taken a nosedive – almost to zero.

Despite what the fad-diet industry tries to convince us to believe, most weight loss or weight maintenance comes down to simple mathematics. We have to burn more (or at least the same) number of calories as we consume to avoid the extra pounds.

Let me put this into some real-world perspective. Depending on which expert source you believe, the average American consumes about 2,000-4,000 calories as part of the Thanksgiving festivities.

We burn roughly 100 calories per mile of running.

Do we want to do the math for that Thanksgiving meal? Yep, we’re talking 20-40 miles of running just to break even on Thanksgiving. Of course, we burn calories doing everyday activities – and maybe a touch football game with the family – so none of us would really have to run that far.

My point is, it’s sometimes sobering to think about how much we actually have to run to work off all of the extra treats, despite the fact that running is a very efficient calorie-burning activity.
I say all of this as someone who just finished a piece of (apparently award-winning) apple pie. It was good – but was it worth an extra 5K?

A slice of apple pie is around 300 calories. Or 3 miles.

May conversion of food-to-miles will become more top-of-mind as we go into the holiday season, where candy bowls and homemade cookie platters seem to be at every turn.

Kudos to all of you who got out there and ran or walked before indulging in the Thanksgiving feast. According to CoolRunning.com, 7,500 runners and walkers took part in New Hampshire road races on Thanksgiving Day. That makes it the single biggest day for road races in New Hampshire.

Congratulations to all of you. You earned that piece of pie.

Teresa Robinson is Community Relations Manager for the New Hampshire Union Leader. Her column appears every other week in the New Hampshire Sunday News. Her email address is trobinson@unionleader.com.

One Week Down, One Month To Go

2011-10-04T17:17:00.003-04:00

I've toyed with the idea of vegetarianism for years.

I went a year and a half without a touch of red meat - in high school, after a gruesome story-telling session with the father in a family I was babysitting for, who insisted on telling me about his time working at a slaughterhouse in Texas.

I cut out red meat entirely and without much problem. I became accustomed to looking for the chicken entree on the menu, even in the finest of steakhouses.

Slowly, and I'm not even sure how, I forgot about the horror stories and red meat came back into my diet. But I'm not sure I ever fully re-incorporated it. At most, I'd eat red meat a couple times a month. In fact, if I was on my own or ordering in a restaurant, I'd naturally gravitate toward the vegetarian option.

So when Jeff brought up the idea last month of experimenting with pescitarianism I was totally on-board. Truth me told, it wouldn't be too far from the way I eat normally anyway. We discussed the experiment while out on a 50-mile bike ride, talking mostly about health benefits and weight control during our off-riding months that are rapidly approaching. (total sad face)

Pescitarians are basically vegetarians who eat fish and seafood. (I love sushi too much to think about giving that up!)

We chose to try this way of eating not for animal rights (although, I do love those big, brown cow eyes and sometimes wonder how I could eat such a seemingly friendly, gentle creature). We're not trying to be trendy or make a statement of some kind.

I figure we could all stand to cut out some extra calories and other bad stuff that comes along with that juicy slab of steak on the plate. We're in it for health reasons. We're lucky that we're already pretty healthy - and we're just trying to stay that way for a long time.

Somewhere along that bike ride, Jeff and I agreed that we'd try pescitarianism for a week. If that went well, we'd do it for a month. After that, we'd see where it went.

We're about 10 days in now. (Guess that means we're in it for the rest of the month.) The first week went down without so much as a hiccup. In fact, I don't think I really changed much of my eating habits - except, perhaps, to make my eating choices a little more conscious.

I've noticed that I look at restaurant menus differently now, picking out things that are suitable to this new lifestyle. It's actually pretty easy. There are plenty of good choices, and our go-to favorite eateries have lots to offer. (It helps when you like Thai, Indian and other exotic cuisine.)

Our at-home menu for the week consisted of a roasted puntanesca sauce over gnocchi, a whole wheat harvest lasagna that lasted for days, veggie pizza options and chickpea salads. I'm mindful of the fact I don't want to replace the meat with loads of startchy carbs, and am looking forward to exploring the line-up of veggie meals planned. Ideas welcome.

One week (and then some) into our new way of eating and I feel great. I've lost three pounds (which was shocking because I felt like I've eaten more than I ever have and did absolutely zero exercise last week).

I really haven't missed meat at all. It's been an interesting change so far - one that I'm looking forward to carrying out for a while.

One week down. One month to go.

Mini Mojo?

2011-09-30T13:34:00.006-04:00

I’m supposed to be running the Maine Half Marathon today. I’m not.

Five months ago, still coming off the Boston Marathon high, my friend and I planned that we would run that race together. We planned that we would train hard all summer and we’d each run our own personal best times.

It sounded like a marvelous plan.

Then we finished Boston. We were tired of training. Summer happened. A bit of laziness happened? I watched the hard work of my marathon training slip away. I stopped filling out any sort of training calendar. I was half panicked that I wouldn’t be able to get the training back and half relieved that I’d stepped away from running consistent miles.

I kinda liked not having to fit running into my day. I liked not waking up early before work to beat the heat. I liked not caring about the weather report. I got to a point that I didn’t even think about running any more. I wondered if I should even continue writing a column called NH Runner, and I didn’t have much to tweet about at my @nh_runner handle. Even my dailymile feed had pretty much dried up.

Then, we flipped the calendar to fall. The humidity broke, and perhaps most importantly, I got a first-hand dose of motivation when I participated inBoston's Hub on Wheels cycling event last weekend.

More than 5,000 cyclists packed into a quarter-mile of city blocks in the early-morning hours. The anticipation and excitement was palpable. It wasn’t a race – the professionals would show us how it’s really done later in the day – but the ride brought together people for a common purpose.

The Hub made me miss the cheering crowds, the volunteers and the spectators at running events. It made me miss the feeling of crossing a finish line. As the sound of cowbells filled the air near the starting line, I got the surge of excitement inside of me and the feeling that I might inexplicably tear up at any moment.

It was then that I knew I needed to get back to a running event.

Don’t me wrong. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my love affair with my bicycle this summer and taking my first real break from running since I started has been good for me. But I regret missing some local new running events this year – mainly the line-up put together by John Mortimer and his new Millennium Running venture.

I’m talking about the Shamrock Shuffle in March, the Manchester Mile in July and the 10-miler around Lake Massabesic in September. All three of them were in my backyard and well within my ability. I should have been there.

John Mortimer knows how to put on races and he knows how to motivate people. Even in my own personal circles, these new races have created new challenges for non-runners in my life.

People I never thought would run – and certainly wouldn’t run in races – have trained and signed up. And they have kept running and signing up for more. Now I find myself looking to them for motivation.

It was a conversation with my neighbor – a non-runner – as she finished her two-mile run that helped something click. She had recently signed on with a personal trainer and was working toward Millennium Running’s new Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning at Northeast Delta Dental Stadium.

Know what? I will, too. And then I’ll probably shoot for the Santa Shuffle in downtown Manchester before the city’s Christmas parade.

Maybe, just maybe, I can get in enough miles to be ready for the Manchester Marathon on Nov. 6, at the very least, I can probably round up a relay team. Then maybe I’ll even work toward the 16-miler in Derry in January. Heck, if I can run 16 by January, I should consider another spring marathon. Right?

Baby steps, baby steps. But it certainly feels like my running mojo is stirring. Thank you, cowbells.

Gone Before We Know It

2011-09-01T16:59:00.002-04:00

Being in the newspaper business most of my life, I’ve learned to be relatively un-rattled by news events. Even things like murders and other crimes become a more of a source of curiosity and intrigue than outrage or disappointment.

But this week I found myself oddly affected by two pieces of news I read.

First – and probably not surprising – were the effects of Tropical Storm Irene in the northern parts of the state. I felt a sadness when I saw sections of roads ripped up and normally quiet rivers rushing through towns in a path of destruction.

I found myself feeling not only sad, but also lucky.

Just one day before the storm I had been enjoying a quiet camping get-away in Hart’s Location. Our campsite was a stone’s throw, literally, from the Saco River. I marvel now at how the water running over the rocks brought a sense of peace to the campsite.

We cut our trip short because of Irene, not wanting to risk another night in a tent on the riverfront. A good decision, obviously. We were the last of the riverside campers to leave, but there were still a handful of inland campers on site when we left.

Our go-to camping spot, the Crawford Notch Campground, is situated between the Saco River and Route 302. That can’t mean good things. The road on either side of the campground, according to reports and photos, has crumbled. I only hope the campers we left behind decided to pack up and head out before the full wrath of Irene hit.

The campground was shut down for most of the week. Finally, the cabins, a few sites and the general store opened at the end of the week. Many sites still remain unusable. There is no doubt the owners will have some significant clean-up to do. I’m hoping our favorite spots are ready to go next spring so we can continue our camping tradition.

Another one of our summer traditions might be affected with the closing of Dodge’s Country Store in New Boston, the big, red general store right out of a postcard. It’s a favorite stop to take a break on our long bike rides and refuel.

My sweetie and I would often sit on the store’s front porch, snacking on peanut butter sandwiches we had packed in our jerseys and refilling our bottles with a mix of energy drink and water we would buy in the store.

From our perch on the porch, we could see the town library and, I think, a church across the street. It was quintessential New England if I ever saw it.

On the other side of the porch, undoubtedly, would be an older gentleman, usually wearing a plaid shirt and dusty old ball cap. It was always a different man, but it was always the same scene. He’d say hello to all of the locals who went in and out of the store, asking about family members or chatting about the weather.

I’m going to miss those times on the store porch, not to mention that, logistically, I’m going to need to find another spot to refuel. Somehow I sense that I’ll end up at a gas station “mart” and it won’t ever be the same as sitting on the New Boston store porch.

I’ve always said I run because I can. I’ve often added that I run for those who cannot.

I run for people like my mom, whose rheumatoid arthritis has ravaged her body so badly over time that even the simplest of tasks – putting her shoes on, getting a glass out of the cupboard, getting up from a chair – are increasingly difficult.

I think of my Aunt Kathy, who was suddenly paralyzed from the neck down a few years ago after a routine surgery. She now celebrates the smallest victories, like learning to hold a pen and write again.

It’s at the times when I least want to go running that I need to think of them and how much they would give to be able to get out and run. I think of how much they would like just have the choice of whether to run or not.

I need to remind myself of these things sometimes, especially now when I’m stuck in this running slump. After all, sometimes the things we appreciate – the things we think will always be there – are gone before we know it.

Wanted: Running Mojo

2011-08-19T16:28:00.001-04:00

Recently, I've been lamenting the fact that I’d really slacked on my running this summer.

I’d love to report to you that I’ve turned the tide and that I am back to my usual miles on the pavement. But I’m not. I’ve just plain lost my running mojo.

I’m not the only one. In recent weeks, I’ve had several friends declare that they’ve lost the passion for running - that they’ve forgotten how to run just for the pure enjoyment of running. It’s become a job, another thing to put on the to-do list, another thing to track.

The way we are all connected through online training tools doesn’t help. There’s pressure, albeit unspoken, to run more often, to run farther or faster. Everything is calculated and totaled. You can’t help but compare yourself to others.

Some of those friends are quitting cold turkey. Not quitting running, mind you. They’re just disappearing from the online radar in an attempt to find their running mojo.

Me? I’m not taking that step yet, but I am trying to find my motivation.

I embarked on what I called my Remember Running Mission last week, setting the alarm early to get in a few before-work miles. Normally, early morning runs are peaceful and relaxing. The world is quieter and I can take the time to listen to the birds and enjoy the morning sun. I can get so wrapped up in the moment that I can almost forget I’m running.

Not last week. There was not a chance that I would have forgotten that I was running.

I knew my recent lack of running was going to be painfully obvious, so I purposefully set the bar pretty low. I planned to do only two miles, run a mile in one direction then turn around and head for home. It’s only two miles, I told myself.

To be honest, I can’t remember the last time I ran “only two miles.” For the past several years, my shortest runs have been 4-5 miles with a double-digit jaunt tossed in on the weekends.

I started out relatively quickly, as recorded on my GPS watch I wore to help me track the turn-around spot. I was pleased that my time off hadn’t killed my pace. What it had affected, dramatically, was my stamina.

I huffed and puffed more than usual. I resisted the urge to walk. Even though I know a big chunk of running is getting into the right mental state, I couldn’t help but concentrate on just how plain difficult running was,

For the first time in years, I realized why people try it and stop. More than once, a seemingly obvious statement went through my head: “Running is hard, really hard.”

My body seemed to pound against the pavement harder than I can ever remember. The wind got sucked out of me faster than it should have. I asked myself why I liked running, and for the first time ever, questioned whether I actually like it at all.

Of course, I know I like running. At least I think I do. At least I like everything it’s done for me, like help me gain confidence, make new friends, achieve goals.

Are those things solely tied to running? Can I achieve them in other ways? Do I want to? I’m not sure.

I made it through those two miles that morning. I got up to do it again the next day, then a couple days after that, with an extra mile added onto the route. I was on a mission to remember why I like running.

I’m still working on it, but it’s getting easier with every run.

In a strange twist of fate – or slap in the face – I also received a package from the Boston Marathon last week, complete with my official finisher’s certificate. I stared at it in disbelief. How could I possibly have run a marathon so recently that I am just now getting the certificate?

Did I really just struggle through what should have been some easy running miles just because I’d lost the consistency in my running schedule? The answer, I knew, was a resounding yes.

It really makes me realize the power of the human body, not only how you can push yourself beyond what you think you’re capable of, but also how quickly you can lose all of your hard work.

Making Granddad Proud

2011-07-21T09:02:00.004-04:00

In just a few days, I start the first day of my vacation. It’s a vacation, mind you, that’s required me to train.

Last year’s adventure brought me to Napa and Lake Tahoe, where my sweetie and I fell in love with the idea of bringing our bikes on vacation. We saw so many out-of-the-way places that tourists don’t usually see. At one point, we even said we’d never vacation without them.

We’re making good on that. This year, we’re kicking it up a notch with a seven-day cycling tour through the Finger Lakes, New York. A cycling tour doesn’t just mean a few bike rides mixed into a trip of wining, dining and sight-seeing. It means, rather, that we’ll park our car at the meeting spot on the first day and use only our pedal power for the rest of the vacation.

We’re not alone in this adventure. We’ll be joining 650 strangers. By the end of a full week of cycling and camping together, I doubt I’ll refer to them as strangers.

It may seem a bit ambitious - biking 350 miles in seven days, camping in between stops. But with organized camp sites, prepared meals, nightly entertainment, showers and even traveling vans to carry our gear from place to place, it really is one of the more luxurious cycling tours.

My grandfather, I’m sure, would agree. Although I suspect he’d be excited and intrigued about my upcoming trip, I think there’s a part of him who would scoff at the plush conditions.

Nearly 28 years ago, Granddad set out on his own cycling adventure, a sort of race to check off another thing on the bucket list. He was 65 and had just been diagnosed with cancer when he decided to make the trek from Toronto to Cape Cod. Yes, by bicycle.

I was too young, just 8 years old, to fully comprehend what was happening. I knew Granddad was going on a long bike trip. That alone didn’t seem completely out of the ordinary.

Granddad was a bit spontaneous and eccentric, always running, cycling or kayaking. For a while, he worked as a bike messenger through the crowded downtown streets of Toronto, dodging traffic and asserting himself as - that kind of cyclist - that gives cyclists a bad name. My mom recalls that the first time she was going to meet her future father-in-law. When she and my dad saw him riding his bike in traffic, they honked and waved. My grandfather, assuming they were just more pushy drivers, saluted them with the middle finger.

Several years later, he was standing in our driveway on a heavy, aluminum 10-speed, packed up with a tent and other necessities.

Most of what I know about his trip I learned through a journal he kept along the way. Each day in a short entry, he noted how many miles (or being Canadian, kilometers) he’d covered, the people he met along the way and what he ate.

Just a day into the trip, he’d discovered that his tent had a hole. Of course, he discovered this during a rainy night. He also discovered that he severely under-budgeted for his trip and, before the days of ATMs, feared he’d run out of money. He started a diet of cheap canned foods, like baked beans.

Soon, he had another plan. Granddad spent the remainder of the trip meeting strangers and somehow convincing them to make him dinners and sleep in guest rooms or on sofas. Granddad was a friendly guy.

He kept a list of the people he met, along with snap shots to documents his travels.

He died just a few months after he returned from his 700-mile trip. My grandmother called all of the names scribbled in the back of his journal to let them know he’d passed.

I feel a special connection to my grandfather when I think of his personal journey. I think I understand him in a way that others don't. I wish I’d been old enough to know him better and that he’d been around long enough for me to talk about his escapades. Who knows, maybe we would have even gone on a cycling adventure together. He’d be in his 90s now, and somehow I think he’d still be riding.

Sometimes the idea of retracing his journey slips into my head. I’m not quite as daring as Granddad, though, and I’d be more likely to make hotel reservations and eat at restaurants along the way.

For now, I’ll take baby steps into the cycling tour world. I’ll enjoy the nightly cookouts, the clean towels, the maps and marked route, all of the luxuries.

But I also plan to completely unplug. No phone, no email, no computers, radios or televisions. Just my bike and, yes, a journal.

Just A Number

2011-07-08T15:39:00.004-04:00

As a July 2 baby, I'm pretty lucky.

I usually get to enjoy Fourth Of July festivities, cookouts and fireworks. Everyone seems to be in celebration mode, trying to enjoy every ounce of summer sunshine.

I especially like years, like the past two, when my birthday falls on a Friday or Saturday. Next year, when the leap year pushes it to Monday, won't be bad either. Another long birthday weekend.

Aside from the obvious perks of having a long-weekend birthday, the July 2 date has other advantages.

As someone who likes to look both ahead to where I'm going and back at where I've been, my birthday falls almost perfectly, smack-dab in the middle of the year. It provides just enough time to review the year-long goals I set back during resolution-season and to think about how the rest of the year will be.

From a running and cycling standpoint, I'm faring pretty darn well with my 2011 goals that I set in January. (See them listed on the right?)

Boston Marathon? Check. Raise $4,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society? Check. (Actually, it ended up at $5,525. I get bonus points for that, right?)

There's still plenty of time to get in a Century Ride and a sub-9 10K. Just gotta find the right events and put them on the calendar.

And my longer-term goal - the one to run and ride 3,000 miles this year - is looking decent, too. I'm over the 550-mile mark for running miles and just passed 900 miles of cycling. Almost exactly half-way there. Pretty near perfect.

When I'm done, I will have logged enough miles to "virtually" get me across the country. I figure I'm just coming up on Kansas City, Missouri.

My running and riding goals are easy to track. Like all good checklist goals, they're easily measurable. Either I did them or I didn't.

Black or white. That's how I usually am when it comes to goals. I recently found a mini bucket list I'd put together several years ago, lining up a few personal goals I'd set for myself. The list consisted of the following: get a tattoo, run a marathon, finish a half-marathon in less than two hours, and get my American citizenship.

Yes, it was a pretty big year.

I did everything on the list except get my citizenship - and that's just a long, story and something I've been dragging on for years and years.

I haven't really set any personal goals for myself for a while. Maybe it's time to change that. The problem is, "goals" related to personal life tend to be much more gray. I'm not talking about the kind of personal goals that I listed out above. Those are black-and-white goals, too. And two of them, mind you, are related to running.

Where is it, exactly, that I want to "be" at this time next year? Or the year after? Or when I'm, gasp, 40? And how do I know if I've gotten there? Surely it can't be as easy as checking something off a list.

Succeeding, if you can call it that, in life isn't always about checking things off a list - not always, at least. It's more about a feeling, something intangible. And something totally outside my comfort zone.

I know I'm happier than I've ever been. I know I'm healthier than I've ever been. I feel successful and secure in my relationship and where it's going. I feel confident and excited about my career. Yes, things are good. Really, really good.

So why is it that last week's birthday (I can't believe it's taken me a week to get to my traditional birthday post!) has me a bit on edge. Why does it have me asking myself those questions about "where" and "who" I want to be?

Plainly said, I'm having a bit of anxiety about now being closer to 40 than I am to 30. Yes, 36 somehow feels different. At the very least, it sounds different. Although I certainly don't feel 36, there's no denying that I'm there.

I haven't really expressed my anxiety about that stupid little number to anyone - not counting the old lady jokes I crack. I think it's because I know the oh-my-goodness-I'm-getting-close to-40 panic isn't me. Or at least it shouldn't be. Or I don't want it to be.

I'm supposed to be that level-headed person who looks objectively at things. I weigh all of the options and evidence. And when I look at everything going on in my life right now, I have absolutely nothing to worry about. So why worry?

All of this was swirling around in my head in the days leading up to my birthday. A Friday night pre-birthday ride was the perfect time to dig a little deeper. I do some of my best thinking while running or riding.

On that ride, I thought about what age means, what life "should" be like and all of those philosophical, gray-area topics that getting older throws at us. I thought about the Dailymile question of the day (nice timing, huh?) that asked members to list the things they were most proud of - in life, just not when it comes to training and racing.

What am I most proud of? What is my best accomplishment? Is it enough for marathons and bike rides to top the list? Or is there something more?

As I rode, I realized that life, as cliche as this sounds, is kind of like a long, hard bike ride.

There are ups and there are downs. And there are big climbs. I swear my early-30's were some kind of treacherous mountain pass. But then we get to the top, we get to enjoy the incredible view.

We can look back at where we've been, but we can also look ahead. From the top of the hill, we can see a lot.

I think that's where I am now. Sitting at the top of a high hill, looking ahead at the windy road. I don't know exactly where it will take me, but I know there will be more hills ahead (there always are) and I know I'll tackle those and get to the top (I always do). And I'll be ready for the next one.

Until then, I plan on enjoying the view and just seeing where the road ahead takes me.

Turns out, I thought about the life-bike analogy on my Birthday Eve ride as I rode up to the top of a familiar and steady hill. The view at the top, I'll note, is beautiful. I pause, at least mentally, every time I'm there to look out toward the mountains on the horizon.

Then, like I always do, I steered into the hill, clicked into my bigger gear and started pedaling. I felt confident and steady on my bike, despite the steep pitch of the downhill. I loved the fresh air whipping by me and the smells of summer hitting me in the face. Fresh-cut grass, burgers on the grill. The sun was shining, the air was warm. It was perfect.

As I neared the bottom of the hill, I glanced down at my speedometer: 38, 39. Could I reach 40? I couldn't recall seeing a 4-0 on my speedometer before.

Just then, it ticked up to 40 miles an hour - 40.1, to be exact. I felt this strange sense of exhilaration and accomplishment. Once again, I'd done something I hadn't done before. And it felt good.

The road starts a gradual uphill and I naturally slowed. I laughed to myself, maybe even aloud, as I realized the irony in my bike ride. I'd spent the first 10 miles thinking about figuratively racing toward 40 - as in years old - and feeling apprehensive and nervous about it. Now, I was celebrating about literally hitting 40 - miles per hour - on my bike.

Just goes to show you, it's just a number after all. Right?

Goin' Pro

2011-06-22T16:08:00.006-04:00

I've officially gone pro.

That doesn't mean, unfortunately, that I'm getting paid to run and ride my bike. (Wouldn't that be a dream come true!?) Instead, it basically means I've opted to upgrade to the new PRO version of dailymile.

In their launch of dailymile PRO, Ben and Kelly, the creators of the site, acknowledged that the site has grown immensely and so too has the demand for more features and services. PRO comes with a pricetag, of course, which Ben and Kelly say will allow for the expansion of services and features.

The PRO membership, at a cost of $49.95 per year, works out to less than a dollar a week. (There is also an option to pay monthly, $8.95 at a time.)

I thought about the offer briefly, noting that PROs get some additional features - like extra "motivation" options, tracking of PRs and enhanced weekly stats. None of those were really important enough to me to feel the need to "buy" them.

Still, I clicked through to the registration page and became a PRO. Why?

To me, becoming a PRO isn't about the added features or status. It's much more about supporting a site and a service that I value. And for a $1 per week, I certainly get my money's worth.

Maintaining a website and its content isn't free. Trust me, I speak as someone who's made a living in the newspaper business - you know, that business that's struggling because once upon a time, before anyone knew what the Internet would mean to the world, someone thought that giving away our product (our news) away for free would be a good idea.

Don't get me wrong, I love online news sites. It's opened up my world to being able to read the hometown accounts of news across the country. I admittedly dislike paying for online news . Even those registration requirements cause me to "X out" of a site if I don't think it's worth it.

But that's all because I've been trained that online news should be free. Newspapers were their own worst enemy in this regard. We, newspapers, gave away our product for free. And now we wonder how to charge people for it.

Although the business model of a newspaper and an online training site like dailymile differ - certainly it costs a lot more to maintain a room full of reporters and editors than it does to fill your site with membership-posted content - there are some basic similarities.

The creators of dailymile have opted not to explore an advertiser-driven site at this point. One the one hand, I think of Facebook's highly targeted ads (except that one for plus-sized pajamas that somehow posted on my page -- what?!!). I find them totally unoffensive and even sometimes helpful. I wouldn't mind seeing them on dailymile, and might even go as far as to say I'd find some ads helpful. Surely there are some vendors that would love to tap into the dailymile market?

On the other hand, I look at sites like MapMyRun and it think about how it drives me crazy when their floating ads gets in the way or that Gatorade pop-up covers the route I'm mapping. It drives me crazy, but not crazy enough to upgrade to their "Premium" membership to avoid the ads, I might note.

But dailymile is different. It has a real value to me.

I've learned a lot from the connections I've made on dailymile, whether it be tips for races to try, training and nutrition advice or an informal review of the newest running shoe. I've made personal connections - and have even turned some of those into "real life" connections (even though I never, ever thought I'd do that).

Dailymile allows me to track my mileage in neat columns and graphics, displaying them as by the day or week or month. It keeps track of my year-to-date miles and my "lifetime" stats, along with my written, public goals. All of these things were things I did on my own, but dailymile has allowed me to put it all on one place.

That's not to say it's perfect.

Just today I found myself having a "I wish dailymile had..." moment. I shot an email to Kelly, who replied in super-fast fashion with an answer. I added in my "wish" to add to his "list" from users. I'm sure it's long by now.

Then something clicked.

We all have "wishes" for dailymile. Some are simple, some are complex. In the end, they're all going to take time and money. And that can't happen if there isn't a revenue model for the site. I'm not saying dailymile should be a paid site. In fact, I probably never would have tried it if it was.

But there should be an option for financially supporting its success and longevity. That's was dailymile PRO gives us.

Sure, the PRO gives us some features, but they're pretty basic - and quite honestly, trying to "sell" the PRO version based on the features may have been a slight misstep by Ben and Kelly. I've seen many postings about how the features "aren't worth" the money.

You know what? They're not.

Who really cares about being able to choose your leaderboard color. (I can easily say that because I'm never on the tops on my leaderboard.) The new motivators are cool and all, but I don't really need to pay to give someone a "high five" or tell them they're a "bad ass."

And personally, I'd rather not have my profile tagged with the "PRO" label, unless I'm actually getting paid to run.

It's my hope, though, that this is just the first step to differentiate features and services between PRO and non-PRO members. I look forward to getting future upgrades - like, ahem, the ability to show different training workouts (like run and cycling) in different colors in the daily total columns at the top of my page.

Or, cough cough, a better functioning export of training data - one that doesn't require me to convert from meters or seconds.

Perhaps PRO members could even get discounts on products and training services arranged through partnerships with dailymile. Race discounts? That'd be cool. Periodical merchandise giveaways? A nice perk.

Don't get me going. The possibilities are endless.

For now, we all continue to send our suggestions or post our "wish list" on the site. And we're lucky because Ben and Kelly are listening - and responding. I know the only way, at this moment at least, to get these things done is to be a PRO.

Getting back to the newspaper business momentarily, we're also exploring ways to help make our online site more profitable, including the very real possbility of a paywall. Subscribers to our print product - which is still the bread and butter in the revenue column - would get everything online for free.

The rest of our readers? Well, I don't think they'll be nearly as friendly and open to change as my friends on dailymile.

Honoring Healthy Lifestyles

2011-06-16T13:04:00.011-04:00

I admit it, I have a pretty cool job. As Community Relations Manager at the New Hampshire Union Leader, I get to do a lot of things and meet a lot of interesting people. One of my all-time favorite perks of my jobs is that I get to make a difference.

I'm particularly proud of a recent partnership between the American Heart Association and the Union Leader to present the Lifestyle Change Award to a person in New Hampshire who has made changes toward a healthy lifestyle.

I was lucky enough to be part of the presentation at last night's Heart Walk and to introduce this year's 10 finalists. Each had done incredible and, to some, seemingly impossible things - several had lost more than 100 pounds, all of them had taken up exercise and better eating habits. In short, they had committed to a healthy lifestyle.

As I introduced the finalists last night, I looked out into the crowd of spectators. I hoped just one of these stories would inspire someone in that audience to make a change.

Below is a story that appeared in the New Hampshire Union Leader today covering last night's event. I encourage you to take a few moments read it.

People often assume that healthy, active people were always that way, that they've never known the "couch potato" lifestyle or have dealt with health scares. I think, more often than not, the opposite is true.

Kevin's story is truly touching and inspiring, and if just one person makes a change toward a healthier lifestyle, it was worth missing out on a bike ride on a near-perfect evening.

Walkers begin the Heart Walk outside Northeast Delta Dental Stadium in Manchester Wednesday evening. MARK BOLTON/UNION LEADER

By TIM BUCKLAND, New Hampshire Union Leader

MANCHESTER — Kevin Twombly knew he had to make some changes in his lifestyle when he suffered a stroke while putting his young daughter to bed one night a few years ago.

An active man through college, he stopped exercising as life got busier — work and family taking up the time that used to be spent jogging. He was diagnosed with high blood pressure and high cholesterol at age 28. He ballooned to 255 pounds. He was just 32 went he suddenly experienced tunnel vision and numbness in his left arm and went to an emergency room, where he found out he’d suffered a stroke.

The Penacook man said he has no lasting effects from the stroke, but his rededication to exercise and healthy living — he started running half-marathons and is now an avid bicyclist — earned him the Lifestyle Change Award, sponsored by the New Hampshire Union Leader and People’s United Bank, at Wednesday’s American Heart Association Heart Walk, for which the Union Leader was a media sponsor.

“I feel honored to be able to see that some changes I’ve made in my lifestyle are being recognized,” Twombly said after receiving the award. “I’m feeling great. I’m at 190 pounds now. I’m down to a 32-inch waist, which I haven’t been at since high school.”

Hundreds participated in the walk, which started at Northeast Delta Dental Stadium, including heart disease survivors wearing red hats.

One of them was Ryan Champing, a junior at Windham High School who turned 17 on Monday and who has fully recovered from an enlarged heart and leaking mitral valve after two surgeries to repair her mitral valve and 22 blood infusions.

She now runs cross country on her high school track team.

“I feel fine,” she said. “I can run marathons now. Before, I couldn’t even climb stairs.”

Kicking off the event was a motivational address by Craig Evans, who suffered a heart attack while refereeing a basketball game at Raymond High School on Jan. 24 and who lived because of an automatic external defibrillator.

His story was given coverage in the Union Leader and on television and radio stations and he now spends part of his time campaigning to have the portable devices placed in schools throughout New Hampshire.

(Story and photographs copyrighted by the Union Leader Corp.)

Doin' The Du

2011-06-10T09:58:00.004-04:00

Since I seem to have a decent handle on running and biking, several people have suggested that I tackle a triathlon in the near future. I admit my weakness in this one, totally overwhelmed by the thought of any type of swimming competition.

That’s why I was I was thrilled to find a way to cut out the swimming requirement, but still take on something new.

I did my first duathlon last year in Waterville Valley and instantly loved the challenge. A duathlon consists of a run, followed by cycling, finished with another run.

The clock starts on the first step of the run and doesn’t stop until you cross the finish line of the second run, adding the challenge of making the transitions from one sport to another – including changing shoes, putting on or taking off a helmet, etc. – as quick as possible.

These events are logistically just like triathlons, but without the wetsuits and fear of drowning. Perfect for me.

I was excited to go back and participate in the Black Bear Duathlon at Waterville Valley again this year. (You can read a detailed recap of my first duathlon here.) However, when I tried to register a few weeks before the event last month, I received a message that the event had been cancelled due to lack of participation.

The cancellation left me a little disappointed – and ready to find a replacement. Luckily, the alternative came quickly. Within a few minutes, I’d signed up for the Rye By The Sea Duathlon.

The Rye event would have participants run a 5K, then bike 17 miles, then run a second 5K.

I was relieved to wake up last Saturday morning to a near-perfect day. Temperatures were cool enough that the run would be comfortable, but not cold enough that the ride would have me shivering. The sun was bright and warm.

My sweetie and I loaded our bikes – very, very early for a Saturday morning – and made the trip to the Seacoast. I was pleasantly surprised to see a lot of cyclists already in the parking lot, checking their gear and heading to registration to pick up race numbers.

Like most races, the ability and equipment of the participants spanned all of the possibilities, from the super-expensive, all-carbon bikes with racing wheels to the older, heavier steel versions that looked like they’d spent some years in someone’s garage. I even saw a few hybrids. I instantly felt confident that I had a "good" bike - although as I always say, the quality of a bike can only get you so far, at some point, the rider comes into play.

Before the race, organizers reviewed the logistics with the participants – where to enter the transition area, where the 5Ks would start and end – which I thought was a nice touch and better than trying to decipher a confusing course map.

The race started with little fanfare and we made our way to the main road. The route quickly turned into some trails, which was a nice change of scenery, even if I was totally unprepared for a trail run. I'm not used to keeping my eyes so focused on the ground. For the most part, the trails were well maintained, and any obstacles (like protruding routes or rocks) were marked with bright orange paint.

Each mile was marked with a small water stop and a very friendly volunteer. The volunteers, I might add, were one of the highlights of this race – always smiling and clapping and genuinely looking like they were enjoying themselves.

The rest of the course took us through trails, across some wooden foot bridges and eventually back to the starting area where we’d enter the transition zone to do the quick change and grab our bikes.

The clock read 24:55 as I crossed the line for the first 5K - which was a 5K PR for me!

From there, I found my bike hanging on the rack in the transition zone, my equipment and gear laid out neatly on a towel beside it. After a quick change of shoes and a snap of the helmet, I jumped on the bike and headed off.

The bike route took us along the ocean, where we enjoyed a great tailwind. Score! More than a few times, I looked down at the speedometer of my bike and thought there must be something wrong. I don't ride that fast, I thought.

From time to time, I clicked over to check my average speed - which at its highest read 18.5 mph. Average speed. Again, I'm not that kind of rider. I wondered how fast my sweetie must be flying, if I was seeing speeds 2-3 mph above my norms.

After 17 miles of cycling back to the transition zone, I once again changed into my running shoes for the second 5K. My only complaint with the race is that there wasn't a second timing mat coming out of or into the transition area after the bike - meaning my fastest speeds by bike are not officially recorded. The official bike time includes the two transitions. Even with those, I averaged 16.3 mph - a pretty fast ride for me.

I was pleased to learn that the second run would have us do the 5K course in the opposite direction, which took away some of the monotony of running the same 5K twice.

The second run wasn't as unbearable as I'd remembered from last year's duathlon where I thought that someone had somehow replaced my legs with cement pillars. This year, I think the lack of hills on the ride really helped the transition to the second run.

The second run was relatively uneventful, passing the same happy volunteers at the water stations. I was able to chase down and pass a few people, which made me smile on the inside.

I made the turn to the finish and saw my sweetie standing on the sidelines. Of course, he'd finished way before me - nailing two awesomely fast 5Ks (without really training for running at all!) and an impressive bike leg.

I happily crossed the finish line - finishing in 1:52:01 - as participants who finished before me clapped on the sidelines. The support of other racers is an aspect to running events that I love. Soon, I joined them on the sidelines and watched as the participants crossed the finish line. The cheers were the loudest as a 70-something-year-old man finished.

The idea of a duathlon was a little scary at first. I didn’t know if I’d fit in, know what to do to even enjoy it. I can say without a doubt now that it an event that I want to do again.

The only problem is that there aren’t more of them in the area. Someone needs to fix that.

The Joys Of Not Training

2011-05-27T15:45:00.003-04:00

Something usually happens in the weeks after crossing the marathon finish line, a sort of post-marathon blues. It leaves runners asking “what’s next?” and searching for ways to fill the hours they’d set aside for training.

Not for me. Not this time, at least.

After my first marathon in 2009, I felt that sense of emptiness, the nagging need to tackle the next big challenge. This time around, a little more than a month after completing the Boston Marathon, I don’t feel even a slightest twinge of that.

Instead, I continue to feel the sense of pure accomplishment combined with a bit of relief.

During the past few weeks, I’ve simply reconnected with my love of running. I’ve been running when I want, how far I want and at what pace I want. If I don’t want to run, I don’t.

I’ve been appreciating the scenery a little more, taking in the fresh air and trying new routes. In fact, I’ve taken this non-training time to try new things.

Last week, I made a point to finally check out the Goffstown Rail Trail for one of my runs. This was a great change of pace and scenery, winding just far enough off the road to bring some peace and quiet to my run. I can’t wait until the bridge project to connect the Goffstown and Manchester trails is complete. It will open up a whole new world of trail running options.

I also decided to incorporate strength and core work by starting my mornings with Pilates. I’ve discovered the options of the On Demand channel and am totally hooked.

Last week also brought me to my first group bike ride – or should I say, I brought the group bike ride to me. I hosted the ride as a way to bring together many of my active friends for a fun ride through the country.

The group, not all of whom knew each other, melded together perfectly. I saw new friendships forming and riding partners pairing up for future rides. I’m certain another group ride will be in the works soon.

Last but not least, I did my small part of participate in the Commute Green New Hampshire Challenge last week. As you may recall, the weather was certainly less-than-perfect for a challenge asking residents to bike bikes or walk to work. For an event that was supposed to be helping Mother Nature, she sure wasn’t helping us out. Perhaps those opting for the carpooling or telecommuting options were the smart ones?

Commute Green NH set a goal of logging 50,000 miles by asking residents to replace their normal commuting miles with an alternative method. The results are still being compiled, but at last check more than 62,000 miles were logged by New Hampshire residents during the week-long challenge.

I thought it would be an interesting and fun experiment, so I juggled a few things around and was able to fit in two day of “green commuting.” A self-described fair-weather rider, I avoid my bike for the rainy week of the challenge, but was able to arrange to carpool to work for twice. At the end of the day, I ran home.

It was a funny feeling leaving from work knowing that I’d be running home. Even though the eight-mile distance was something I’d done many times, it somehow seemed much farther as I faced this point-to-point route. Once I got started, however, it turned into just another run.

In all, I logged about 50 miles in “green commuting.” (As a side note, I discovered that Commute Green NH didn’t offer a “run” option when I logged my miles, so I had to choose the “walk” option. I gently suggested to the group via Facebook that they consider changing the category to “by foot.”)

Overall, it was a really interesting experiment. I learned that commuting “by foot” (or bike) was completely do-able, although a little challenging. The logistics of transporting clothes and lunches, along with keeping a constant eye on the weather, means it won’t be something I will do every day.

But it’s something I’ll try to incorporate at least once a week during the summer months. At the very least, I’ll save a few bucks on gas and get a few more miles on the legs and bike.

And it will be another way to enjoy my non-training days.

Teresa Robinson is Community Relations Manager for the New Hampshire Union Leader. Her column appears in the New Hampshire Sunday News every other week. Her email address is trobinson@unionleader.com.

Commute Green Challenge ... Indeed!

2011-05-13T14:59:00.003-04:00

Apparently May is National Running Month. It also happens to be National Bike Month.

I’m honestly not sure where some of these designated “holidays” originate or why these two sports would be celebrated during the same month. But in the interest of enjoying spring-time and the ability to get outside, I’ve decided to participate.

Commute Green New Hampshire is challenging New Hampshire residents (and out-of-staters who work in New Hampshire) to reduce 50,000 vehicle miles this week as part of its annual Statewide Challenge.

The group says this annual promotion is designed to get “you, your friends, neighbors, co-workers and employers to choose inexpensive, healthier and more environmentally-friendly transportation options.”

The idea is to save us money, help reduce stress, and get us to enjoy and preserve New Hampshire’s beautiful landscape. You can also log your miles on Commute Green’s website (www.commutegreennh.org) for prizes and discounts at participating stores and restaurants.

More than 60 New Hampshire businesses and schools have registered as part of the “team” challenge. Individuals, like me, can also participate by logging miles online.

We’re supposed to carpool, bicycle, walk and use public transportation to work, school, shopping and similar trips this week, which coincides with National Bike to Work Day and Walk to Work Day on Friday. (I’d assume if you wanted to run to work, that would be okay, too.)

I participated in National Bike to Work two years ago, just about a month after I got my bike. It was fun and different, and I swore I’d use my bike to commute to work more often.

It never happened again.

Biking to work certainly takes some planning, especially for those of us who can’t attend meetings in cycling-appropriate clothes and prefer not to sport the helmet-head look all day.

Luckily, I have access to a shower and locker room at work so I can do a modified version of my morning routine there.

However, my bike isn’t exactly a commuter-style ride. It doesn’t have saddlebags or any other way to carry my change of clothes, shower items or anything else I might need for the day. Definitely another obstacle to this bike-to-work idea.

After I decided to participate in the Commute Green Statewide Challenge, I asked a few friends who sporadically commute by bike or foot for advice. The most common tip was to plan, plan, plan.

Many suggested starting the workweek by car (sorry, Commute Green) to transport any necessities for my cycling or running days during the week. That means I’ll need to find a place to keep these clothes and other items. One regular bike commuter even suggested keeping a pop-up wardrobe in my office – advice that I won’t be taking, at least not for this one-week challenge.

Another helpful tidbit I picked up was to use the “transport day” to bring along food for the week, including lunches and snacks. Since I’ll be burning calories on your way to work, I’ll likely be hungrier during the day, and I’ll also need to plan a fueling snack before the trip home.

I’ve also had to consider my work schedule, which often takes me around town to various events and meetings. I’ve tried my best to cluster my off-site appointments to coincide with my “transport” day, but this definitely took a bit of planning. (I’m also paying for it the following week with a jam-packed week of meetings around town.)

As if all of these logistics don’t add enough of a challenge, I’ve also had to think about the basics, like the route I’ll take. My normal driving route takes me via the highway, so I’ll opt for a path through downtown. I still need to find a reasonable way to avoid Manchester’s Amoskeag Circle.

Oh, and there’s the weather. I’ve looked at the forecast and it doesn’t look ideal for someone looking to venture into green commuting, especially someone who is admittedly a fair-weather cyclist.

I think I’m remembering now why I only commuted by bike once. It’s not just as easy as hopping on my bike and hitting the road. Ideally, it sounds wonderful. Realistically, it’s tougher than you’d think. It will be an interesting experiment, indeed.

I’m looking forward to giving it a try, even if I only get in a day or two of non-motorized commuting. I hope to get in at least one bike-to-work commute and, fingers crossed, a run to and from work. I’ll log a little more than eight miles for each one-way commute I do.

At any rate, I’ll give it my best shot. Perhaps you will do the same.

If running or cycling to work just isn’t your thing this week, telecommuting and carpooling “count” toward the Statewide Challenge.

If that’s still doesn’t do it for you, a quick online search of wacky holidays showed me that today “National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day.” Now that’s something I can easily celebrate.

Boston In 750 Words

2011-05-03T12:11:00.004-04:00

The following NH Runner column appeared in the New Hampshire Sunday News on May 1, 2011.

I have what feels like an impossible task in front of me, something that somehow seems more difficult than running 26.2 miles two weeks ago. I need fit in the experience of the 115^th Boston Marathon into 750 words.

As one reader suggested, I might be able to do it if I use only adjectives. I’d go for words like “overwhelming,” “loud” and “impressive.” I’d throw in words like “exhilarating,” “life-changing” and “inspiring.”

A description wouldn’t be complete without words like “well-run,” “organized” and supported.” And, of course, I’d probably include a few words like ”tough” and “painful.” It is a marathon, after all.

There are so many things to share about the experience of running the Boston Marathon. It seems like the easy way out to say it’s something you have to do to fully appreciate it. But it’s true. There is really nothing like it.

The Boston Marathon is more than just a marathon. I knew that going into it, having stood on the sidelines for the past two years, I was not prepared for just how exciting it would be.

Simplified, my running of the Boston Marathon was both better and worse than I thought it would be. It was better in terms of the overall experience – the sights, the sounds, the sheer magnitude of the event. It was worse in running-related ways that reminded me once again to respect the marathon distance.

I crossed the finish line with my arms held high and a smile on my face, but what I’ll remember most about this experience isn’t anything about running.

What strikes me most is the way that this adventure has brought me closer to so many people, many of whom never knew Marathon Monday existed. A marathon, they thought, wasn’t something that people they know did.

Thanks to the power of social media and the Boston Marathon’s top-notch tracking system, my friends and family experienced a marathon in ways they probably never imagined they would. I, in turn, strengthened connections and friendships along the way.

The Boston Marathon bib number doubled as the chip-timing system that would track my official finishing time. It also served as a signaling device that would let my friends and family track me at every 5K mark.

As I crossed the giant mats that would record my time, I thought of the signal being sent out. At the time, I was mostly thinking about the information that was being transmitted to my coach, who I was sure was tracking my per-mile pace to see if I was keeping up with the plan.

As I crossed the finish line, it occurred to me that I really didn’t know my official time. It wasn’t until I’d gone through the process of collecting my medal, heatsheet, packages of food and water and other items, that I reconnected with my sweetie who told me my official time.

It hit me at that moment that my friends and family, some of whom were tracking me in various parts of the country and even into Canada and England, knew my results before I did.

Well-wishes and congratulations filled my Facebook page and email inbox. I was blown away by how much interest was taken in my run, from people I knew in elementary school to professional connections I’d made.

When I returned to work and regular life after the marathon, I was surprised to learn that co-workers and other professional contacts had tracked my run, feeling a sense of excitement as I approached the finish line.

A few days after the marathon, I attended the Greater Manchester Chamber of Commerce’s Centennial Celebration, during which I was bombarded with hugs and words of congratulations. The woman I was walking with at one point asked me, “Does everyone in Manchester know you ran a marathon?”

Pretty much, I told her, remembering that I made the conscious decision to share my marathon experience – the good, the bad and the ugly – publicly with so many people.

At the time, I never knew how important that decision would be. But now, I wouldn’t do it any other way.

The Big Dance: Boston Marathon Recap

2011-04-19T20:02:00.013-04:00

There are a million aspects of the Boston Marathon that I want to share with you. There's so much to tell and I apologize in advance for the lengthy post. In time - and probably several shorter posts - I'll share even more of the smaller details. There is plenty to say about the sights and sounds, the inner thoughts and the all-around feel of the most prestigious race in the world.

For now, I thought it would be best to get some of the race details down while they're still fresh in my mind.

JUST GETTING THERE

The thing about Boston is that there are a lot of logistical details to take care of. I'm talking literally pages and pages of things you have to do, details of places to be and exact times to be there.

Having snagged a hotel in Newton, I opted to ignore the advice to use the shuttles from Boston to get to the start in Hopkinton. It just didn't make sense to me to take the subway into the city just to grab a shuttle back out. Oh, then run back in.

Instead, my sweetie agreed to drop me off at Hopkinton State Park - which, by the way, was a piece of cake. We hit minimal traffic and made it to the drop-off point in plenty of time. There was a line of school buses waiting as runners walked right up and boarded.

I gave my sweetie a quick wave as I boarded the bus, feeling kind of like a school-kid on the way to their first day of school. Their very long, hard first day of school.

The bus ride was relatively uneventful, just filled with constant, loud chatter. It was as if a group of long-lost friends had been put on a bus together - but in actuality most of us were strangers brought together with this common bond that made us instant friends.

The ride was quick enough, and soon we pulled onto a small side street. We streamed off the bus, thanking the driver on our way out. I chuckled at his advice to runners: "Don't run too hard today." He obviously didn't get this crowd.

We were quickly greeted by a cheery volunteer clad in a bright green jacket, a sight that would be commonplace throughout the day. More on the volunteers later, but needless to say they were invaluable to this well oiled machine. And, it must be noted, they were all friendly and happy to be part of it.

The walk to Athlete's Village was about a half-mile or so from where we were dropped off. We passed by the signs with big arrows pointing toward the starting line. Nearly every runner craned his or her neck to get a glimpse.

I instantly noted how cold it seemed. The temperatures were somewhere in the upper 40's and there was bright sun - not bad at all for a New England morning. But the wind was wickedly chilly.

While walking I ended up chatting with an older gentleman after he asked me for the time. It was his 25th Boston Marathon. Incredibly impressive.

What was even more impressive was that last June he had a significant health issue and ended up undergoing a triple bypass. "I'm just lucky to be here," he told me. "And you have to get 25 to get in the special club, so I wasn't missing this one."

By the way, he travels from Oklahoma every year to run Boston. It made me think about how lucky I am to have this prestigious, worldwide event practically in my backyard. Along the race course, I heard conversations in French, Spanish, German and Japanese.

I'll share more on Athlete's Village later, but for now I'll just let you know I made it and waited there for the my wave to start. And waited. And waited. As part of the slower runners of the race, I was part of the last wave to leave.

At last, my wave was called and we made our way to the corrals, shedding our warm-up clothing in the charity bins along the way. I made the turn and saw the sign for Corral 8. I was in Corral 5, quite a bit up the road. I picked up my walking pace and squeezed in just in time to start.

THE START

The funny thing is, I'm not really sure how the race started. I know there were a bunch of announcements and cheering. I'd found my running pal, Scott, who was running for Dana Farber, in my corral and made a bee-line to say hello.

We hugged and chatted as the race started. Scott was one of my first running pals, back when I first joined TNT and had never run a mile. There, at the starting line of the Boston Marathon, I couldn't help but remark at how far we'd come. I mean that literally and figuratively.

Scott and I ran together briefly, but we had different pacing goals for this race and respected each other's plans. We said good-bye and I trotted ahead.

The first couple of miles were crowded, but not nearly as bad as I expected. (I expected the worst, mind you.) I was able to find a spot and keep it, mostly. I was able to keep my pace in my targeted zone for the first phase of the run.

THE PLAN

The plan Coach Lauren put together for me divided the race into three parts. It mimicked, nearly exactly, my training plan for the 20-miler. I'd done that one on the course and, if I do say so myself, really rocked it. I felt intimidated by the Boston Marathon plan, but just kept reminding myself that I'd already done this. Well, I'd already done most of it.

My race plan called for me to average a pace of 9:30 per mile, which is a comfortable pace for me but would certainly be a stretch to maintain over 26.2 miles. It would bring me to the finish line in less than 4:10 -- a huge, huge PR. I'm talking 37+ minutes.

I was excited, if not daunted, by the possibility. I knew I'd put in the training and was ready to give it my best shot.

The plan was to break the race into three parts. Miles 1-10, I'd shoot for a 9:40 (+/- 10 seconds). For the next 10 miles, I'd go for Marathon Pace (9:30s with +/- 10 seconds). At Mile 20, I'd assess and "run by feel." My hope, of course, was to be feeling great and be able to pick up for the final Victory Lap miles. At the very least, I'd just aim to maintain my pace.

Yep, that was the plan.

PART ONE

I'll admit, I felt totally awesome. My running was strong and controlled. I had to consciously check my Garmin and slow myself down. The advice of every other Boston veteran I'd talked to went through my head: Go out slow, go out slow. You need stuff left in the tank (and the legs) for the Newton Hills. They weren't kidding.

I hit my goal paces for the first 10 miles, falling closer to the 9:30 mark than the 9:50 mark, but staying well within the plan. I love when a plan comes together! I thought about my splits being broadcast to Coach Lauren (and many others!) as I crossed the timing mat at the 10K mark. She'd be proud and happy to see I was on target.

I tried to soak everything in. The crowds of spectators and the sounds of the cheers were overwhelming and impressive. I tried to read every sign and waved when I heard the familiar "Go TEAM" shout from the crowd. I think I was smiling from ear to ear for those 10 miles. And I was looking forward to the next 10.

PART 2

By mile 10, I was ready to pick up the pace slightly to get to the next part of the plan. Again, I had to slow myself down a couple of times. I recall reading a 9:04 at one point and a 9:15. I tried to get it back to 9:20. C'mon, I told myself, It shouldn't be harder to run slower. It's a strange thing to experience.

I was able to hit the planned paces as I entered the Scream Tunnel at Wellesley College. Holy cow! What else can I say? It was completely incredible - with screaming college girls everywhere, holding signs, hanging over the the metal barricade in hopes of getting kisses from passing runners. (I saw a couple get them, too!)

By the time I hit the 13.1 mark - halfway! - I was still right on target. I crossed the mat at 2:05, exactly according to plan. The thought of actually getting that huge PR was sinking in. I still felt good and strong. I could keep this up for a while, I thought.

Yep, that's what I thought.

At Mile 15, I struggled to hit the plan. I'd stopped for some water or Gatorade and couldn't quite get back up to speed. I was quickly coming into Newton and would be facing the hills.

I tried to get back to 9:30s, but struggled to hit 9:40s. It was just a bit outside the plan, but I could feel the plan slipping away. The thought of running 11 more miles at this pace became a daunting task.

My inner thoughts must have been obvious. As I passed a coach for another charity team, he tapped my shoulder with The Stick he was holding. Just one more mile to go until you're only facing single digits. Bring it home, he said.

I smiled. Then I wondered if I really looked bad enough that someone would actually be cheering for me just to get to the single-digit mark. I must admit, though, it was way better than the "almost there" that some spectators love to shout when you're nowhere near the finish.

The next mile was tough, but I knew my sweetie, Coach Lauren and TNT pal Matt would be somewhere between 16.5 and 17. I scanned the massive crowd for them. I needed to see a friendly face at that point. I needed a mental boost.

Finally, there they were at Mile 17. I made eye contact. Coach Lauren must have sensed I was in trouble. As I neared, I saw her whip off her jacket, revealing her running tank and running shorts. It was just like seeing Superman ripping open his Clark Kent button-up shirt and revealing, the giant "S" on his shirt. Seriously, that's how it felt at that moment.

Do you want us, she called out to me in the crowd. I waved them in. Please, I thought.

Within a few seconds, Coach Lauren was on my left and Matt (who now coaches the Seacoast TNT team, but I met when I was his mentor last year) was on my right. I asked about my sweetie, whom we'd left standing on the sidelines with a pile of bags and gear. I felt bad for him once again being deemed the team sherpa, left to haul the bags around the city as he made his way to the finish line.

As she joined the run, Lauren asked a few questions about the race so far and tried to asses how I was feeling at that moment.

My biggest complaint was my legs. My quads were killing me, unlike any feeling I'd had on any other run I've done. It felt like someone was punching them with every step I took. At that moment, I knew exactly what all of those Boston vets meant when they said the first half can take a toll on your legs.

Coach Lauren talked me through the next miles, assuring me that I hadn't fallen that far off the plan and that I was still running a good race. I could feel my 4:10 goal quickly slipping away. I tried to avoid the disappointment and push forward to a PR, no matter what the finish time ended up being.

I avoided looking at my watch. (I didn't actually check my individual mile splits until the next morning, semi-afraid of what I'd find.) I knew I was way off pace. Lauren kept talking to me - and I needed that! - and pushed me through the hills. I made it up all of the hills - even Heartbreak - without walking, which was a great feat at that point.

I got another little boost mid-Heartbreak seeing my running friends and first TNT coach on the sidelines. I passed Scott's wife cheering at me from the sidelines a little while later.

Matt became my personal water-boy, fetching me water or Gatorade (whichever order I barked at him as we approached an aid station) whenever I asked for it. It seemed hot out there, the sun shone down brightly and I realized how much the weather was affecting me. I was gritty with the salt that had been drying on my skin from my sweat.

At one point, when I apparently couldn't stand it any more, I took off my RoadID band and handed it to Lauren - revealing a white band where it had been. Proof that it was sunny and my body was taking a toll.

PART 3

The third part of the race plan - which was pretty much out the window at this point - was to "run by feel." I tell you, it was a good thing Coach Lauren and Matt were there because, if i was on my own, I think I may have "felt" like walking. Actually, I know I would have.

My legs (specifically, my quads) were throbbing. The downhills were the worst. The pounding was unbearable. I felt like I was barely picking my feet up off the ground. I wondered how Coach Lauren and Matt, both of whom are much faster runners than I am (even at my "fast" miles) could possibly be running this slow. I may have even apologized at one point.

Then I started to feel the familiar tinge of a blister. I felt it on both heels. It was so sore with every footstep. I internally contemplated converting to a barefoot runner for the last few miles. Okay, it wasn't that extreme, but I admit the thought of taking my shoes off to relieve the rub against the blister was really inviting.

Miles 22-24 are pretty much a blur. The crowds were there and probably just as loud, but their shouts seemed somehow muffled. I knew I was running, but I felt like I wasn't "in" the race. I know it's hard to explain. I was there, but wasn't there.

I didn't do much talking - which, for me, is really unusual. I'm sure Coach Lauren and Matt sensed my struggle. But they kept with me, talking with me and keeping me going.

Coach Lauren suggested we try to pick up the pace in short bursts, a suggestion that honestly just sounded ridiculous at the time. But she's never steered me wrong yet, so I obliged. And it actually felt pretty good. We did this on and off for a while.

I can say without a doubt that without Lauren and Matt there I would have succumbed to my overwhelming urge to walk. I'm not sure I ever would have started running again. And I definitely wouldn't have even entertained the thought of running faster bursts.

At one point after she joined me, Lauren had mentioned that a 4:20 was still within reach. By now, without her even saying anything and without looking at my Garmin for the last several miles, I knew that was out the window, too.

I adjusted my goal internally to just get in under 4:30. It would still be a 17 minute PR.

THE HOMESTRETCH

At Mile 25, I looked into the crowd and saw a woman who I assumed was going through chemotherapy. She'd lost her hair, she was pale and she was wearing a surgical mask to protect herself from germs. Still, she was there in the front row of the Boston Marathon cheering on the runners.

As I passed, she saw my team jersey and pulled down her mask. Thank you, Team In Training, she said.

Wow, what an incredible moment. It was only later, after I'd gotten out of my late-mile-marathon haze, that I truly grasped the importance of that moment. At the time, I was only focused on the last mile. It seemed like the longest mile of my life.

Coach Lauren and Matt veered off just before the turn onto Boylston. It was a planned move. I was going to finish this thing on my own. I scanned the crowd for my sweetie, but the crowd was massive and there was no way I'd find him if he was there.

I made the final turn, happily, and headed into the homestretch. I could see the finish line in the distance. The crowds seemed to get bigger, if that was even possible. The cheers were so loud.

I looked up ahead as I approached the Finish Line, spotting a freakishly tall, costume-wearing guy with a crazy wig. There is no way I'm letting him into my Boston Marathon finish line photo, I thought. So I picked it up a bit.

As I crossed the finish line, the clock read 4:30-something. Huh? I looked at my Garmin, which read 4:27. I had no idea how long it had taken me to cross the start line. I didn't know my official finishing time. Had I broken 4:30?

I made my way through the long line of must-do's - medal pick-up, heatsheet wrap, banana, water and eventually found the bag I'd checked at the start. I wandered around, admittedly in a bit of a daze, to finally find my sweetie, Coach Lauren and Matt waiting for me in our designated spot.

My sweetie came out into the street, giving me the biggest hug I can ever recall getting. At that moment, I cried. And so did he. It was one of my favorite marathon moments, standing there in the middle of the hectic chaos that is the end of the Boston Marathon quietly celebrating together.

I still had no idea what my official time was. Luckily, thanks to the instant online tracking, my sweetie and friends could tell me exactly how I'd done. (Funny to think that my friends sitting at their computers miles away knew what my finish time was before I did.)

My official time: 4:27:01. It was a 20-minute PR for me. I felt a slight moment of disappointment (it still creeps in every now and then) for missing my race plan by so much, but realized that I'd had a huge day of a tough course.

Most of all, I'd toughed it out when the going got tough. I ran the best I could and didn't have any regrets. I wouldn't be saying any "I wish I would have's."

There you have it. My turn-by-turn experience of the Boston Marathon. It was better and worse than I thought it would be, all wrapped up in one. It was truly the experience of a lifetime, something that I recommend every runner put somewhere on their Bucket List.

More to come in the coming weeks. For now, thank you for all of your support in this most incredible journey ... so far.

A Case of Taper-itis

2011-04-15T10:53:00.002-04:00

The Big Day is here. Almost.

I'm still working on the last-minute checklist for the Boston Marathon. The list includes the must-do’s, like checking into my hotel and getting to the expo to pick up my bib number, and the want-to’s, like buying the official Boston Marathon jacket.

It seems nearly impossible that race day is already here, impossible that I’ve gone through six months of training. It’s funny how time can move so quickly.

At same time, it’s funny how time can move so slowly.

While the last six months have been a whirlwind – filled with wintry runs, strength-training sessions in the gym and fund-raising efforts – the last few weeks have crept along at a snail’s pace.

The final phase of marathon training is the taper. My official trainingfor the past week or so has included instructions to run fewer miles, sleep more, work less, convert my diet to 70 percent good carbs, hydrate plenty and avoid anything that my cause me to get hurt.

Seems like it would be the easiest part of training, doesn’t it? It’s most certainly a welcomed physical change, but in reality it’s tough on the mind.

My mind tells me that I’m not doing enough to be ready for the marathon, despite the fact that I know that rest and recovery is an essential part of the training. My body is repairing the damage I’ve done during training and preparing to come out stronger and perform better than ever.

I’ve spent the last few weeks enduring something much tougher than the long runs. I’ve been suffering though a maddening case of taper-itis.

It started with marathon-related dreams, not dreams of the cheering crowds and smiles at the finish line. These were dreams of losing my bib number and dreams that, at Mile 17, I looked at my watch for the first time and realized I’d already been running for more then six hours.

There was my personal favorite dream during which I was forced to eat a heaping pile of Chinese food just before the run.

Luckily, I know this is perfectly normal. My marathon-running friends have shared their own dreams of their shoes being stuck to the pavement just feet before the finish line and dreams of getting lost during the marathon.

There was also my new-found obsession with checking the weather. I discovered nearly a month ago that Accuweather provides a very long-range forecast. I checked it nearly every day – not that it really did much good.

One day the forecast for Marathon Monday would be sunny and 70 degrees (way too hot for runners used to winter training). The next, it would read 40 degrees with a mix of rain and snow. I began to wonder if the meteorologist were just messing with us. Finally, it seems to have settled somewhere in the high-50s or low-60s with on-and-off clouds. Just about as perfect as we could want.

I chuckled last week when a friend of mine, also running the Boston Marathon, sent me a completely panicked email that the forecast had changed to 82 degrees. Apparently he’d forgotten that he switched the location on his iPhone app while traveling in Texas last week.

Yes, we’re all suffering a bit of taper-itis.

We’ve also done full dress rehearsals, literally. I “practiced” running in the pair of shorts I plan to wear. I tested out socks. I made sure my hair will be pulled back in a way that won’t bother me for 26.2 miles.

I tested race-day breakfasts, marathon fuel (I’ve settled on Swedish Fish, the perfect sugary addition I’ll need to keep me going) and figured out just when and what I’ll drink along the way.

I’ve planned race day logistics – getting to the starting line, wearing throw-away clothes to keep me warm while I wait for the race, and meeting people on the course (I hope) and at the end of the race.

I gathered bits and pieces of advice from Boston Marathon veterans, and prepared my race plan, mile by mile.

I even tried to get more sleep, spent less time at work and avoid anything that might cause a last-minute injury. As much as I wanted to get on my bicycle during last weekend’s spring weather, I couldn’t bear the thought of falling.

There’s only one thing left to do: Run the 115^th Boston Marathon.

*REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

We passed the $5,000 mark ... and we're still goingl! Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

A Note To Caleb

2011-04-14T11:14:00.004-04:00

Below is a text of an email I sent to little Caleb (via his mother's email address) in the days leading up to the Boston Marathon. I've thought a lot about this little boy - during the coldest of training runs, when I wanted to quit. Without even knowing it, he's taught me a lot.

Dear Caleb,

You don’t know me, but I want to thank you. I want to thank you for being strong and for providing inspiration and hope to more people than you will ever know.

I grew up for a short time with your Aunt Danielle, and, after we reconnected many years after moving apart, I learned about your battle with leukemia. I’d been involved in the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team In Training program for several years, and hearing your story suddenly made my work with them very real and personal.

I’ve watched you from afar via the Caringbridge website. I’ve been worried for you when the news wasn’t as bright, and I’ve celebrated with you as you’ve adapted into the lifestyle of healthy little boy. These days, I’m glad when we don’t hear from you for several days. J

You may know that I’m running the Boston Marathon on Monday in your honor. You have truly given me so much inspiration, and your touching story has helped raise awareness and funds to support LLS.

To date, I’ve raised nearly $5,000 in your honor and have been truly humbled by the generosity of people. The money goes to support research and also provides family support, such as assistance with medical co-pays, travel reimbursements, support groups, etc. You have helped many people who will be in the same shoes as you and your family.

Please know that I’ll be thinking of you at every mile on Monday, just as I have during these several months of training. Your name is proudly displayed on the back of my official TNT Boston Marathon jersey (I’ll get a picture for you!) and a photo of your smiling face will be greeting runners at Mile 15 and Mile 21 along the course.

In the meantime, I thought you would like to see a little clip that aired on the New Hampshire news station last night. (It was taped a while ago, so that’s why I referred to your birthday as “last month” … don’t worry, I know you’re way older than that now!)

WMUR VIDEO CLIP: http://www.wmur.com/video/27538982/detail.html

MY FUNDRAISING PAGE: http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v

MY PERSONAL BLOG: www.my-step-by-step.blogspot.com

Thanks again, Caleb. Be well!

Your friend,

Teresa

*REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

I'm SO CLOSE to my goal! Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

Sum Of The Parts

2011-04-11T16:19:00.010-04:00

On Friday, just hours after I declared my Boston Marathon goal finish time, Coach Lauren offered a little nugget of important if not somewhat unexpected advice: Don't think about a sub-4:10.

The words, which came casually between sips of margaritas and the crunching of salty tortilla chips during a friendly get-together, came just hours after I'd agonized about publicly sharing my goal (read post here).

Even after writing the post last week and outwardly convincing myself that I could hit the chosen target, I honestly still wasn't sure. The thought of a sub-4:10 finish was still scary.

I should have known that I hadn't totally convinced myself after my latest marathon-related dream: I hit the 17-mile mark and looked at my watch for the first time. It read 6:33, as in six hours and 33 minutes. Yep, my sub-conscious definitely hadn't bought into my sub-4:10 plan yet.

I'm sure Coach Lauren could sense my reluctance and lack of confidence, too. I couldn't help but ask myself if I could really hit a sub 4:10. Logically, I knew it was possible. This is what I have trained for. Physically, it was possible.

But emotionally, was I up to the challenge? I know there's a big mental factor in running -- where your head is "at" can make or break you. Lauren knows this, too.

Perhaps that's why her next advice was as follows: Instead of a 4:10, think about 9:30s.

She was referring, of course, to my goal to average a 9:30 minute-per-mile pace next Monday during the Boston Marathon.

If you do a 9:30, you'll get the 4:10, she said. She said in such an easy, nonchalant way that it's almost as if shooting for the 9:30s is the only thing to do. As if to say, why would I be thinking of any other goal?

Sometimes it takes looking at something a little differently - and a little nudge by someone else - to put things into perspective.

After all, Mr. Miagi didn't teach Danielson how to become an expert at karate, did he? Paint the fence. Wax on, wax off.

I've gotta admit, a 9:30 pace seems totally do-able. Heck, I've already done that many times during training, including my long training runs. Doing it 26 times in a row doesn't seem impossible at all.

I'm anxiously awaiting my "official" mile-by-mile pacing plan, which I expect to start out at a slower pace, then gradually build up to marathon pace. And, if all goes well, some faster miles at the end. That's just my guess, based on the training to this point.

See, Coach Lauren is holding the official plan hostage until the end of the week, keenly aware of my tendency to obsess about "the plan."

Like running, coaching seems to be only partly about the physical training. Good coaches - like Lauren - know how to get inside their student's head and train them for the mental parts of the marathon, too.

*REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Boston: I'm All In

2011-04-08T13:14:00.007-04:00

I've never been one to shy away from having specific, tangible goals. In fact, the more detailed they are, the better.

And, I've never been afraid to write them down. (See the annual "To Do" list on the side of this blog, as an example.) I recently found a notebook that had some bigger bucket-list-type goals scribbled inside the cover. To date, I've done all but one. See, writing things down as always been in my nature.

Writing down goals helps me focus. It motivates me. And, probably most importantly, it keeps me accountable. That's not to say that I'm holding myself accountable to anyone other than myself. I do, however, see a big value in sharing your goals with others. Again, there's a level of accountability that comes with that.

So why, when it's coming down to the time when I should be shouting my goals for the Boston Marathon from the rooftops, am I having such a hard time putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as the case may be)?

I've already decided what my goals will be - from the general "feel good" goals to the specific time goals. Heck, I've spent a lot of time running and thinking about this race - and thinking just how I'd like it to be.

Last week, I asked Coach Lauren her thoughts on a time goal for me. I'd been training with "marathon pace" miles for months, so it shouldn't have been hard to figure out that she had a time goal in mind. A quick visit to an online pace calculator could have told me what she had in mind. But I wanted her hear her say it.

Apparently, she had the same thought. Her response? I have a time goal in mind, but I want to hear what you think first.

Ah-ha. Caught at my own game. See, it's sometimes easier for someone to tell me what I should do, then I go out in do it. If she told me to run a 4:20, that's what I'd try my hardest to do. If she told me to shoot for five hours, that's probably where I'd come in, regardless of my ability to do better.

It's harder, I think, to take a critical look at one's self and come up with with a goal. I didn't want to sell myself short, but I didn't want to be over-confident. I needed something that was realistic, yet ambitious.

My reply back was convoluted, to say the least. I think I threw out no fewer than five different time goals, ranging from 4:15 to 4:30. Turns out, we were in the same ballpark. But in true "coach" style, she upped the ante just a bit.

Here's a bit of her reply:

You’ve proven to me that a 9:30 pace is more than doable for you. You just ran almost 21mi with the last 6mi averaging 9:15 pace and the overall pace being 9:29. To me, this run showed me you are very capable of maintaining this pace for an entire marathon ... The fact that you killed the run should be a huge confidence booster for you and your ability. Now what is a 9:30 pace finishing time? 4:08:54. Yes, I think you are capable of a sub 4:10 marathon."

What?? I stopped reading and focused in on the number: sub 4:10. She's totally lost her mind, I thought. Let me put this into perspective, I finished my last marathon (my only other marathon, mind you) with a 4:47. People like me don't run sub 4:10s, I thought.

It was as if Coach Lauren was inside my head and heard the words of self-doubt creeping in. The next line of the email is probably the most important:

Now you just have to believe you are also capable of it because it doesn’t matter at all what I think.

She is totally right. I need to believe I can do this. And logically, looking at my training, I know it's do-able. I mean, I've been training for a 9:30 pace all along. I've been strength training and doing the speed workouts. I've followed the training to the letter. I just need to trust my training.

So, that's what I'm going to do. I'm going for it. I'm going to do my darnedest to run this sucker in less than 4:10.

Let me be straight with you. It won't be easy. It scares the crap out of me to even think about. It will probably be the hardest thing I've ever done. But I can do it.

As I write this, the thought of hitting the "publish" button is almost as scary. It feel exposed and vulnerable. Part of my trepidation of putting such a lofty goal in writing is just the fear of failure. It's a kind of fear that is at the essence of my being, not just when it comes to running. Whatever I do, I like to do it well. Plain and simple, I don't like to fail.

If I publicly share my goal, I run the risk of sharing my failure.

But what's the worst thing that can happen? The world ends? People shun me, ridicule me and think I'm a complete loser? Really, I know none of those things will happen. In fact, I'm positive that no one would be harder on myself than me.

If anything, the support I'll get from others is worth the risk of publicly failing. After all, if I don't make it, my supporters will just be cheering for me louder the next time, right?

Let's not think about that. Let's focus on the goal.

Sub-4:10 will become part of the plan. Not surprisingly, I'm not going at this haphazardly. Coach Lauren's pacing plan for race day will reflect that goal.
Sub-4:10 is the number I've mentally tattooed onto my brain.
Sub-4:10 is the number I'll be repeating to myself at countless times along the marathon course.
Sub 4:10 will be the basis of my marathon math on race day.
Sub 4:10 will be the number I'll see as I click 'stop' on my Garmin when I cross the finish line.

Yes, folks, I'm going for it. I know I have a big goal ahead of me. I'm reaching for a 37+ minute PR. I'm pushing myself way outside my comfort zone.

But if the Boston Marathon isn't the place to go all in, what is?

*REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

The Dress Rehearsal

2011-04-06T16:29:00.007-04:00

We’ve had the final dress rehearsal. We’re just waiting to get on the big stage.

Two Saturdays ago was the last big training run for my Team In Training Boston marathon team. (Boy, I've gotten lax at updating the blog.) Like many other charities, we headed to the Boston Marathon course to plan a point-to-point, 20-mile run – the closest thing we’d get before the Big Day on April 18.

The morning started like most other team meetings: some last-minute tips from our coaches, a few “Go Team” cheers, lots of stretching, story swapping and a tear-jerking dedication by a fellow teammate. That day, we were running in honor of 3-year-old Tucker, our teammate’s nephew who is battling leukemia.

By 8 a.m., we’d boarded the line of school buses that awaited us – 100 or more runners in all – and headed to the starting line. Yes, The Starting Line of the most prestigious marathon in the world. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have butterflies.

It wasn’t the Big Dance, but it was as close as we were going to come to the real thing until race day. We were taking part in the Boston Athletic Association charity run, the 20-mile training run that’s loomed on all of our calendars since we signed up in the fall.

The day ran like a well-oiled machine, complete with a line of porta-johns at the start and a vendor handing out fueling snacks and gloves at the start. (I really wanted some of the gloves, but the thought of holding them while I ran for the next several hours was unbearable, so I passed on the give-aways.)

At the scheduled start time for the Team In Training, our group – all clad in our purple race-day singlets – made our way to the starting line. And we were off.

Just like a race, the group shuffled along. If you've never been in a "big" race start, I hate to break this news to you: the start is pretty anti-climatic. The starting gun goes off ... and well, sometimes you start running.

It’s hard to actually take off running in a big group, and it’s often more like an on-again-off-again jog. I tried to imagine how it would be on race day. Our small group of 140 people is nothing compared to the 28,000 runners that will stand at the starting line on Marathon Monday.

I stepped across the official starting line painted on the road, remarking at its faded and chipped paint. The next time I see it, I thought, it will be repainted and refreshed. I clicked on my GPS watch and tried to find an open spot in the crowd.

I had specific training goals for this run, so I resisted the urge to go faster at the beginning. The downhill slope and the rush of adrenaline surely would have allowed me to pick up speed. But I heard my coach’s advice over and over in my head: Go out slow, go out slow.

Her advice throughout training has been invaluable. I’ve learned so much about the purpose of different runs, pacing and strength training.

I checked my Garmin obsessively. Good news, I was right on track. And when I wasn't, I'd quickly adjust myself to get back on the plan.

On the marathon route, I eavesdropped on the conversations going on between runners around me, but purposefully resisted my natural urge to join in on the chatter. After all, I was there with specific training goals and paces to hit.

Still, I welcomed the opportunity to run with other people around me and to have festive and loud fueling stops along the route. The charities, including the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, Children’s Hospital, Dana Farber Cancer Institute and others, staffed each stop with volunteers. Each was equipped with water, sports drink, fueling snacks, signs and smiles.

I think I ate about a thousand Swedish Fish that day. Okay, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but I did use them as my main, sugary fuel during the run. I just could not resist the bowls filled with the jelly, sweet deliciousness at the water stops. (Note to self: Pack Swedish Fish for the marathon.)

At the 15-mile mark, I ran past the Team In Training home base and encountered the “Memory Mile” featuring the photos of the people our team is running for. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of photos, from babies to gray-haired grandpas. There had to be at least 100 of them.

At that moment, our team mission became very real. To my surprise, it hit me square in the heart. My eyes filled with tears and I picked up the pace. I could do this. If nothing else, I would do it for the people in those pictures.

The next five miles flew by as I made my way through Wellesley and into Newton. I faced - and conquered - the hills of Newton without any significant problems. I mentally thanked myself for moving to Goffstown with its hilly terrain, which has forced me into more hill training.

To my surprise, I felt great. My legs felt strong and just slightly tired. I picked up the pace for each of the last three miles. (Yes!)

The 20-miler wrapped up as perfectly as I could have planned - including a somewhat chilly, yet somehow perfect weather-day - and I even added an extra climb up Heartbreak Hill. After all, I’d come all that way and wanted to see what it would be like.

The next time I see those hills will be on race day. It’s scary and exciting just thinking about it. Now, if I can only replicate what I did for the dress rehearsal...

*REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Running In Round Numbers

2011-03-25T12:37:00.011-04:00

I have a thing for round numbers. If I'm at 28 miles for the week, I've been known to add in an extra two somewhere to make it an even 30.

And I love months when I hit 100 running miles. There's something about the three-digit, century mark that seems like an accomplishment. Plus, 100 is just so nice and round. So many zeros.

Perhaps that's why I am particularly intrigued by the perfectly round stat I found this morning as I glanced at my training log. I sorted by running miles my month, one of my fav ways to look at my training over time.

Dailymile shows me the last 12 months in a neat graph form (pic above). Imagine how awesome it was to see 1,000.0 miles. Somehow, over the course of 12 months, I'd managed to hit 1,000 miles right on the nose.

What are the chances of that??

Those 1,000 miles are made up of a bunch of non-round numbers - like my 8.86 miles from last night or my 18.36-miler a few weekends ago.

How did I possibly manage to get to exactly 1,000 miles? I don't think I could have done that if I tried.

I'm still so baffled at the "roundness" of the cumulative miles that I think I've almost forgotten to take moment and celebrate the fact that, hey, I ran 1,000 miles in 12 months. That's pretty impressive in itself, I'd say.

And, I gotta admit, it makes my goal of running 1,000 miles and biking 2,000 miles in 2011 that much more attainable. I just have to get on the bike soon to start logging those cycling miles.

On that note, the graph pretty clearly shows when I put my bike away last season (October) and started focusing on my running. My Boston Marathon training, not surprisingly, has really boosted by running miles.

I'm running more monthly miles now that I ever thought I would - and am on track to breaking the 150-mile mark for March. After all, there are still six days left in the month. Oh, and I have a 20-miler on the schedule for tomorrow.

Speaking of round numbers, I'm well on my way to reaching my $5,000 goal for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society as part of my Boston Marathon Adventure.

Yep $5,000 seems like a pretty nice number, too.

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

My Biggest Fan

2011-03-08T14:56:00.007-05:00

It's been a while since I've overtly gushed about how great my sweetie is, so bear with me on this one.

The other day I was talking with someone about my long runs and the question came up about whether I do them "unsupported." As a runner, I knew she was asking whether I have support along my routes - as in, someone to bring me water or fuel or to run with me.

I told her that I've been doing most of my long runs solo (which is a big change for me), but that I definitely was supported in other ways. I don't think any distance runner or athlete - certainly not one who places a priority on training - can be successful without support.

Or, if they are successful athletically, it often comes at the price of other things - like relationships - in their lives.

We can't do it alone.

For me, that support comes by way of runner-friends, co-workers and even my friends on Facebook and dailymile, all of whom encourage me, inspire me and help me stay motivated.

While their support is important and meaningful, my sweetie still beats them by a mile.

He's my biggest cheerleader and motivator. He keeps me on track. At times, he brings me water and fuel on the road. He gives me the space to run and train when I need it. He does the laundry and the grocery shopping when I need the extra time to get training in. He makes me dinner after a long run.

Most importantly, he takes an interest in what I'm doing.

He listens to me talk - seemingly endlessly - about my upcoming training . Or my last run. Or my trip to the gym. Or my new pair of running tights. Or the weather. Or how I'm nervous about switching flavors of Gatorade. Basically, he's there for whatever it is I'm rambling on and on about at that moment.

And even though I know it's probably dreadfully boring most of the time, he cares. I don't even think he's pretending to care. I think he really does.

He's also been on the receiving end of my not-so-pleasant moments. (I guess that's one of the "perks" of being someone that I feel totally comfortable being myself with. You get to see the good, the bad and the ugly.)

On Sunday, I'm afraid to say, he definitely didn't get "the good." With a jam-packed work weekend - on top of a marathon training schedule, a full-time-plus job during the week and, oh yeah, moving last weekend - I see now that I was feeling more than a little stressed.

I had a 17-miler on the training schedule, with 10 miles at an easy pace and the last seven at marathon pace. Runs of that distance always make me nervous - not that I do them very often. I've only done three 17+ milers before Sunday, one of which was in my marathon in 2009 and the other two were in training for that marathon.

I'm pretty confident banging out 10 miles or even 13 miles without much worry. But much past that, there always seems to be the "what if" factor. What if I can't finish? What if I don't hydrate or fuel properly? What if the weather's miserable? What if I can't remember the route?

Having just moved, I would be on new, unfamiliar roads. (Hilly roads, I may add.) I was more than a little worried about getting lost. With 17 miles on the plan, I didn't want to be adding any more miles because of a wrong turn.

My aforementioned work obligations meant my 17-miler was squeezed into Sunday morning, with just enough time for me to get home and showered before having to dash off to the next obligation. Not exactly the ideal conditions for an already-nervous runner. Talk about feeling completely overwhelmed by the pressure.

As planned, I woke up, ate a fuel-filled breakfast of oatmeal and banana and gathered my supply bag of energy jelly beans, water and Gatorade. My plan was to do two five-mile loops to allow me to stop home to fuel along the way, followed by the a separate 7-mile portion that I'd run at marathon pace.

Just a few minutes before I left - I was running slightly behind - my sweetie made a simple remark, something to the effect of "You're going to have to run a mile per minute faster to get back on time."

Whoa.

I think I might have heard that proverbial record-needle scratching. Did he really just say that? I was already feeling the pressure and the tension of the upcoming run and need to make it back in time for work. I instinctively snapped back with a comment about how I really didn't need pressure like that. I'm sure I said it in an extra-sarcastic and annoyed voice.

Looking back, I wish I would have just laughed it off, as I'm sure he didn't mean it as a way to add extra pressure or stress to an already-overwhelmed me. I'd let the pressure get the best of me and had taken it out on my biggest fan.

Within a minute or so, I was out the door, exploring my new neighborhood, meeting new and challenging hills. My first five-mile loop went exactly as planned, with a stop for a sip of drink at home. Then off for the second. By the second pit-stop at Mile 10, I was still feeling great.

My sweetie greeted me at the door and asked if I needed anything. With my supply bag by the door, I was all set. But he offered me something on each stop that I couldn't pack in a supply bag - a hug, a smile and some encouraging words, probably without even realizing how much he was helping my run.

I headed off for what would become the tough remaining seven miles. The hills were relentless. I made mental notes to start driving the roads before planning long runs. Hills were good training, I know, but at the time I was just thinking of ways to avoid them.

By Mile 15, I was ready to quit. I wondered why I was doing this to myself. I thought of all of my friends enjoying their cozy Sunday mornings while I was out there in the rain and being splashed by passing cars.

I kept running and kept at my target pace, but I admit it took everything I had to do it. I think I mumbled a few self-motivating things - out loud - along the way to keep me going. You got this. Almost done. You can do this. And, when my Garmin ticked to 16 miles, a welcomed phrase: last mile.

When I arrived home, my sweetie was in the doorway, keys in hand, ready to head out and check on me.

I was completely and totally spent, physically and mentally. I just wanted to sit or lie down. I wanted to take a hot shower and relax and not have any obligations for the rest of the day. But that wasn't going to happen. The reality was, I had to leave for work in just more than a half-hour. It would be a whirlwind of showering and a complete costume change from tough, tired runner to put-together professional.

My sweetie asked how my run was and I replied with an short answer: Done. To be honest, I couldn't really think straight. I didn't want to re-live the last 17 miles. Or something. I'm not sure what it was. All I know, it was one of the most mentally challenging runs I've done.

But I did it - and I'd like to say I did it "on my own," but that wouldn't be true. Sure, I was out on the road by myself, but this was most certainly a "supported" run - just like they all are.

My sweetie stood on the other side of the shower curtain as I washed up. We chatted a bit, but I still wasn't feeling myself. I sat down in the shower at one point, so close to having tears streaming down my face. What the heck was I doing? Why am I stressing myself out and trying to do so many things?

I did a telephone-booth-like change to my alter ego - the professional one - and headed out the door, giving my sweetie a peck on the way out. As the day went on and my work event wrapped up, I started feeling better. I'd just run 17 miles, then went to work. I was feeling pretty awesome. I was awesome.

What I wasn't feeling awesome about what my bad attitude and my snappy remark I made to my sweetie earlier. To make things worse (or better), while I was off at my work event, he was out picking out the ingredients for a special dinner he was going to make me.

Sometimes I don't know how he puts up with me. But I'm sure glad he does.

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

I'm only $200 away from my goal! Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

My TNT Lovefest

2011-02-18T14:45:00.002-05:00

For most of my winter marathon training, I’ve been going at it solo. A couple of weeks ago, however, I decided to take advantage of a weekly group run organized for members of the Team In Training Boston Marathon team.

I was admittedly a little nervous making the trip to the Boston Marathon TNT Team headquarters. I’d run with the Portsmouth team and more recently the Manchester team for a while now. I knew the coaches, the faces and the routes.

Meeting up with a new team was kind of like going to a new school. There would be new rules, new road and new faces.

As I found my way into the community center, I found runners of every shape, size and age. Most were stretching and preparing for the 13 miles we had on the training schedule.

Just like a new school, some were huddled into little groups, catching up on the goings-on of the past week. There were the popular pretty girls, the athletic guys and all of the usual stereotypes you see in school.

Luckily, my childhood provided me with plenty of practice at being the new kid in school. Just as I had in fourth grade and later on in high school, I found a comfortable spot next to a girl by herself.

She was stretching and sipping on her water bottle. I introduced myself and asked her a basic question about the route. Within minutes, we’d made plans to run together and talked about our training progress to date and our fundraising accomplishment.

After a few words from our coaches and an inspirational dedication from one of our teammates – we run for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society and never forget that we’re running for a reason – we headed out onto the Boston Marathon route.

We picked up the path in Wellesley and small running groups formed naturally. I heard laughter and chatter. I saw waves and occasional high-fives. A few miles in, our first water stop appeared. This was not your ordinary training run stop, certainly unlike the recent times I’ve stashed water bottles into snow banks while running alone.

A group of smiling, cheery volunteers stood behind a table, handing out water and sips of energy drink. The top of the table was neatly lined with energizing snacks – jelly beans, gummy fish, pretzels and more. A real runner’s smorgasbord!

We hit a similar stop just before the turn-around point of the run – which was marked by an encouraging volunteer holding a sign.

I picked up the pace for the return trip and broke off from my small running group. A mile or so from the finishing point, I passed our coach perched on a snow bank clapping and cheering runners as they came into the home stretch of the training run.

As I pulled out of the parking lot after my run, I saw that same coach running alongside the last teammate of the group to return to the home base. They were smiling as the runner finished up what I was guessing was her longest run of her life – not surprisingly alongside a supportive and caring coach.

At that moment, I realized just why I love TNT and how much I’ve missed running with my teammates.

I joined the TNT a little more than three years ago, mostly as a way to meet people, focus on a lofty goal and bring something positive into my life at a time when everything wasn’t so rosy.

What I found was more friendship, confidence and sense of accomplishment than I ever could have imagined. It has literally changed my life.

Through TNT, I have met some of the biggest-hearted, fun-loving and supportive people. I have done things that I never thought were possible only a few short years ago, physically and emotionally. I’ve made a difference in the lives of those dealing with blood cancers.

Time and time again, I have seen the transformation of runners, who on the first day of practice are shy and unsure of whether they will make it to the finish line or meet the fundraising goals. A couple of months later, we join them as they celebrate and cheer as they accomplish their goals.

Just thinking about everyone I’ve seen succeed through TNT makes me smile. There’s something special about it that I can’t put into words.

Locally, TNT teams practice weekly in Manchester and Portsmouth and are now training for events such as the San Diego Marathon, Alaska Marathon, Lake Placid Half Marathon, Mooseman Triathlon and America’s Most Beautiful Bike Ride in Lake Tahoe.

For more information on upcoming Team In Training events, visit www.teamintraining.org. Or, feel free to contact me directly using my email address below. I’m always happy to share my experiences.

Go TEAM!

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

Listening To My Body - and PT

2011-01-21T11:46:00.002-05:00

(The following post appeared as a NH Runner column in the New Hampshire Sunday News on 1/30/11.)

One of the best pieces of advice I’ve ever gotten as a runner is to listen to your body. But sometimes that’s easier said than done.

As runners, we seem to naturally want to push ourselves, to stick to a training regimen or, quite simply, to just get out and run. It becomes easy to ignore what our bodies are trying to tell us.

After several weeks of marathon training logging weekly mileage that my body wasn’t used to and a series of hill and speed workouts, I started to feel a slight tightness in my left calf. But it was quiet enough to ignore.

I kept running and kept up with the training plan.

A week or so later, my body was done whispering and hinting to me. By then, its complaints were getting louder, now with a sharp pain in my left calf complemented by a nagging ache in my right ankle and shin.

I tried not to listen. But on a four-mile run that was supposed to be an easy run, my body had had enough and was downright screaming at me. I ended up walking most of that scheduled run, my mind swirling with thoughts of doubt and anxiety. The Boston Marathon was less than 100 days away and, mentally, I needed every one of those training days.

It was the first time I’d cried during this training. Sure, running hurt sometimes, but it didn’t hurt like that. But the tears weren’t tears of pain (although I’m sure I was holding those back a little), they were tears of fear – the fear of getting thrown off my training plan and the fear of not being able to cross the finish line in April.

After a brief mental breakdown at home, I sent a semi-panicked email to my running coach detailing my aches and pains – and complete failure on the four-miler. Until then, I’d kept the pain pretty quiet, thinking if I didn’t actually say anything about it aloud that it would be real.

She immediately jumped into action, telling me to back off training for the next week and replace all of my running miles with time on my bike trainer. My body needed a break.

Honestly, after several weeks of running in the cold and snow, it was nice to be ordered to stay inside. Still, my mind told me I needed to be there running. I had a training plan. I was missing miles. How would I make those up?

I rode 75 miles in my living room that week, hoping that all of the spinning was giving my body the much-needed rest it was craving. I stretched and used my foam roller more than I ever have, giving my body everything I thought it needed.

A week later, I did a test run, my fingers crossed that I’d be pain-free. But just a mile or so into the route, I felt that same tightness – like someone grabbing my calf muscle and squeezing as hard as they could.

Several days later, I ended up at a physical therapy appointment. Until then, I’d been avoiding even the thought of making an appointment.

I’d only gone to physical therapy one other time in my life, after a car accident a few years ago. I was in the midst of marathon training at that time, too, and although the injury was very minor, it sidelined me from the race.

This time around, I wanted things to be different.

I wanted a therapist that would help me work through it, who would help me ease back into a training plan. I wanted someone who understood that I “needed” to run.

I guess I should have been skeptical of my last physical therapist when he asked me how far a marathon was during my first appointment. And, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when his advice was simply to stop running – without advice to replace those workouts with cross-training, stretching, strength-training or anything else, I might add.

That kind of advice to a runner – especially one who’s in marathon training – is mental torture.

Yes, this time would be different, I told myself. So I sought out a sports-minded facility, one that came with strong recommendations from a few people. I think I was sold on Apple Therapy Services when I read on their website that their goal is to “bring our patients back to the work, the play, and the lives they love.”

Exactly what I was looking for.

The facility was impressive, with every piece of rehabilitation and stretching and strength-training device you could imagine. The staff was friendly and the mood was upbeat, much less like a doctor’s office than I expected.

My appointment and examination was beyond thorough. The therapist talked to me – and more importantly, she listened to me. I’m sure I was beaming when she said, “Our goal is to have you run the race to the best of your ability.” Finally, someone who got it.

I learned more about the calf muscles – yes, the calf is made up of two muscles – than I thought I would. I learned some specific stretches to use on my problem areas. I came away with handouts and visuals, but more importantly I left feeling positive, enlightened and reassured.

I already know it's important to listen to my body, but this whole experience has taught me to find a physical therapist that will listen to me, too.

100 Minutes, 100 Days Out

2011-01-13T16:05:00.007-05:00

One of the things I like best about cycling is all of the places I get to explore, the back roads that most people never get to see or experience. I like seeing new things, hearing new things and smelling new things. I like the wind on my face, the sun beating down on me.

Unfortunately, the 75 miles I put on my bike last week got me nowhere - literally.

I've been experiencing a bit of pain in my left calf and right ankle/shin (I can't quite pinpoint it) during my last few runs. I hadn't written about it or mentioned it to many people because, well, if I actually say it aloud, it's more real. Right?

I didn't want my mind to wander (any more than it already has) about the possibility of being, ugh, injured. So if I don't talk about these pains, they'll be less of a factor in my training. Right?

Not to worry too much, I don't think it's anything serious. But I was (am) worried about it becoming something serious - especially with the Boston Marathon less than 100 days away - so I reached out to Coach Lauren as soon as I felt that it wasn't going to be just a one-run thing.

Her advice was to back off running for a bit, which I was secretly happy to hear because I could just sense that running on it was making it worse. I had a recovery week coming up anyway with fewer miles, so the timing was right.

My goal was to focus on cross training. Specifically, I'd do 10 minutes on the bike trainer for every mile I had on my schedule. Think about that a bit. It's a lot of miles on a trainer. Luckily, I had "only" a 10-miler on the schedule for my long run.

Let me be clear, 100 minutes is still a long time on the trainer. It's just better than the alternative of riding 150 minutes, which is what I had on my schedule the previous week.

Surprisingly, I actually liked adding the bike trainer into my training routine, and Coach Lauren is going to build a cross-training day into my schedule from here on out.

Turned out, I didn't mind pedaling "nowhere," and I enjoyed being able to pull out the trainer and spin in the living room while watching television or chatting with TC. I liked that it gave me a legitimate excuse to take a break from running outside in the cold and snow. Shh, don't tell anyone.

Still, cross-training bike miles would have been much easier and more enjoyable in the summer or fall or spring. Anytime but winter, I guess.

In all, I put on 75 miles (a little less than four hours on the bike) in my living room this week. And my legs - and mind - held up fine.

Last night was my first test run after a little more than a week off. I went to the gym (in the midst of a major snowstorm, so I was one of four people there) and hopped on the treadmill.

I didn't feel any of the sharp pains I'd felt during my last few runs - and, bonus, all of my favorite running songs seemed to come up in my Shuffle. I stopped at four miles, even though I felt like I could keep going.

Everything was back to normal? I say that with a question mark because I'm not entirely convinced yet.

The plan now is to ease back into some easy, short runs. Don't overdo it.

Fingers crossed that my feel-good legs continue when I venture for a farther, outdoor run on Saturday and that a week of rest did my banged-up body some good.

Maybe I shouldn't think of the trainer as a trip to nowhere. After all, it took me quite far in my training and recovery.

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

2010 Dailymile Summary

2011-01-11T09:48:00.006-05:00

Here's a snapshot of my year-end summary from dailymile. Pretty cool, eh?

I couldn't capture the whole thing with my screen shot, so if you want to take a closer look, you can click here.

Now, off to print this and file away to pull out next January... 400 miles more next year to reach 3,000? Totally do-able!

The Worst Thing About Training?

2011-01-06T16:57:00.007-05:00

I think I may have discovered the worst thing about winter marathon training.

It's not the dark mornings or freezing temps. It's not the amount of time it requires. It's not the headlamps or balaclavas or other special gear I need. It's not chaffing or stomach issues or muscle aches and pains. It's not even the miles.

It's the shower. To be more precise, it's the work shower. (Cue Psycho music.)

Balancing the training schedule with everything else going on in my life - a full-time (and then some) job, the holidays, the need to maintain somewhat of a normal life with friends and family - has been a challenge. I knew it would be.

Finding time to fit in runs during the shortest of days has been even more challenging. I was on a roll of pre-work runs for a while (and, really, I actually liked them). But I'll admit I was getting just plain sick and tired of running in the dark. Plus, it's the coldest time of the day.

I decided - after a few mornings of just not being able to muster up enough get-up-and-go to, well, get up and go - that I needed a new strategy. I mentally could not take any more miles in the dark.

Taking advantage of some flexibility in my work schedule, I decided to hit the office early and sneak out mid-day for a few miles. To date, I've been able to get away with this a few times. Hopefully, since it will be only temporary, no one will tell me to stop. As soon as it's slightly lighter in the pre-work hours, I'll get back to a morning schedule. Promise.

The runs are fabulous - there's daylight and sunshine and, gasp, other forms of life.

What happens after the runs, however, is as far from fabulous as possible.

While getting ready twice in one day isn't ideal - really, who want to put on make up and dry their hair more than once a day? - the slight inconvenience of a second coiffing session pales in comparison to the dreaded shower.

Yes, I realize I'm lucky to have showers at my work. It gives me the opportunity to sneak away for mid-day runs and enjoy a bit of winter daylight.

But as I turn the faucet and watch the water trickle onto the dirty floor in a rarely used bath/locker room, I question whether hitting some a few more morning dark runs is more appealing.

Let me set the scene for you a bit. I work at a newspaper. For those of you who haven't been at a newspaper printing facility, it can be pretty dirty - all sorts of ink and paper dust flying around and landing on everything.

The shower room, it just so happens, is directly off the press room. Actually, it's inside the press room. Yes, inside the press room - which means that aside of the less-than-clean conditions I'm dealing with, I also have to shower just a few feet from a group of press guys wandering around.

Oh yeah, did I mention there's not a lock on the door?

My shower-at-work routine is well planned. I need to be quick and I need to be discreet. I can't have those guys knowing that I'm showering on the other side of the door. If they knew, I imagine that there would be a special press warning bell sounding - woman in the shower, woman in the shower, woman in the shower. (Yes, this is how is works in my mind.)

That's not to imply that they'd come in or climb through the air ducts to sneak a peek, but just the thought of them knowing I'm in there creeps me out a bit. At the very least, I could probably expect a few loud knocks on the door just to freak me out - followed by plenty of laughter and high-fives on the other side.

So, I've got to be quick. (I like to think my speed training will help with this.) Luckily, my office door is a straight shot to the press room and, even luckier, the woman's locker room is on the side of the press that doesn't house the main controls. Most times, I can sneak right in without being noticed.

The music is usually blaring and the guys are singing along unabashedly. It's loud enough in there on a quiet day that I don't have to worry about them hearing me.

But, through the vents and the not-so-heavy door, I can hear them (and the music), which makes the whole experience even more unnerving.

I always, always let the water run for a few minutes before stepping in - the first of several rules.

I learned this lesson last year when, because the shower hadn't been used in so long, that jet-black water streamed from the shower head. Totally gross. Eventually, it cleared, but I haven't been able to put the image of me standing under the stream of black water out of my head.

The condition of the showers, shall I say, isn't great. I don't blame the company. Although the men's locker room is used daily, several times a day, I think I might be the only one in years to use the ladies' showers.

Needless to say, it's a bit dirty. As I mentioned, the newspaper is a dirty business - and it's dirtiest in the press room, so you can just imagine how the showers look. A layer of paper dust on everything. The picture above doesn't do it justice - or injustice, depending on how you look at it.

There are two showers. I prefer the one the right (farthest from the door), but it has a burned-out light, so the lighting isn't great. So yesterday, I decided to try the one on the left. I turned on the water and, well, barely a trickle came out. Seriously, I could have washed better with a bottle of water.

I had a slight moment of panic. I'd already run. I wasn't in any condition to put my work clothes back on and get back to looking "professional" at my desk.

So I tried the darkened shower on the right. When I had just the cold water on, it streamed out with force, just the way I like it. Unfortunately, I also like hot showers - and the more hot water I put on, the less water came out.

I'd rather shower in a hot trickle of water than a decent cold shower, so I stepped in. (Another rule: always, always wear flip-flops.)

The water was coming out in such a ridiculously small amounts that I debated whether it would make more sense for me to just try some touch-ups with a cloth, dry my sweaty hair and just try to make it through the rest of the day without seeing anyone.

Instead, I opted for some shampoo. Big mistake. It lathered fine, surprisingly, but was taking forever to rise out. This was interfering with my next rule: make showers as fast as possible.

I heard the music coming from the press room and heard the guys singing along with the "Cult of Personality" - very loudly. Then, the press warning bell. Woman in the shower, woman in the shower, woman in the shower?

I tried not to think about it. I rushed through the rest of the the routine, just doing enough to get through the rest of the day without disgusting my co-workers.

The only saving grace of this shower experience was that the soap packed in my travel bag was a bar from a nice inn in Vermont that TC and I stayed at last year. Great trip, great memories and, yes, great soap.

For an instant, I almost forgot I was uncomfortably showering in a dirty, dim shower just feet from my co-workers. Not really - the soap is good, but not that good.

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

How 2010 Added Up

2011-01-01T15:04:00.003-05:00

Happy New Year, Friends!

I'll steal a few minutes soon to write a more reflective post on the past year and take a look at where the road is leading me for 2011.

For now, here are a few running and biking stas from 2010, thanks to my dailymile training page.

Total Miles: 2,601
Run Miles: 829
Bike Miles: 1,772

Total Workouts Logged: 215

Total Doughnuts Burned: 916
Total Gallons of Gas Burned: 138
Number of TV's Powered: 2,217

Trips Around the World: .11

See ya, 2010. Bring on 2011!

I Heart Secret Santa

2010-12-28T09:07:00.006-05:00

The following was published as the NH Runner Column in the New Hampshire Union Leader on 12/28/2010.

One of my most practical and personal Christmas gifts this year came from a total stranger.

The arrival of a nondescript package at my office last week didn't mean much at first. But when I looked closer at the address label, a hand-written label without my company name or title and with a return address of Oregon, I became a little more curious.

It had arrived. "It" was a delivery from my Secret Santa.

What made this Secret Santa special was that it was truly a secret. In fact, I may never know who sent me the gift.

I eagerly opened the package, interested to see what someone I've never met would have picked out for me.

Inside I found a personalized poem that mentioned all sorts of things about me - my running and biking, my specific training goals, my involvement in Team In Training. It read in part:

After 2,500 miles and lots of rides and races

I thought your feet might be aching in many places

Instead of an ice bath, enjoy a warm herbal soak

Then pamper your feet with soft socks, like comfortable folk

Wrapped in festive tissue was cozy pair of socks, a bottle of Peppermint foot cream and a small black bag that was heavier than I expected. I examined the simple label: Endurasoak.

I've never used Endurasoak, and in fact, have never heard of it. It's a salt and mineral mixture to be mixed in a warm bath to help with muscle recovery.

It's a gift only a runner would like. And only a runner would give.

The Secret Santa gift was part of a light-hearted game set up by the folks at dailymile, an online community for athletes.

I joined dailymile on New Year's Eve last year, mostly as a way to have an easy way to track my training and miles. What I found during the past year, however, is more advice, camaraderie, support and motivation than I ever would have expected.

Dailymile, which was created by a New Hampshire native, is best described as a Facebook for athletes, a place that runners, cyclists and tri-athletes meet together in cyberspace to talk about their common interests. Like Facebook, each user has an individual page and builds a group of friends.

What separates dailymile from Facebook is that these "friends" are people that I probably won't ever meet, although I've had face-to-face encounters with a few of the local users and I regularly see dailymile meet-ups being organized around the country.

Seeing an endless stream of training sessions posted, from the one-mile walk on a treadmill to a grueling 20-mile run or a long ride on a bike, is motivating.

These friends don't think you're crazy when you get up to run on a snowy morning, and they offer unwavering encouragement when you set your goals. They've had those same I-want-to-quit conversations with themselves. They know the value of a little push and encouragement from a friend.

When I saw the posting for the dailymile Secret Santa, I hesitated. I mean, I've interacted with these people all year, but they were just virtual friends. Would a tangible gift and interaction offline cross the line into real-life?

My curiosity and need to be part of the group got the best of me and I signed up, using my work address. (After all, just because these people were supportive fellow runners, didn't mean it made sense to give out my home address online.)

A few days later, I received my match. I did a little research on the runner who would be the recipient of my gift. She was in training for her first marathon, lives in the Buffalo, N.Y. area and wore a tutu at a recent race. (For the Secret Santa reveal - click here.)

There are probably a thousand more creative gifts I could have gotten her, but I hope that the stainless steel water bottle emblazoned with "I (heart) running" made her smile when she got it in the mail.

As DMers received their gifts, pictures started getting posted. Running hats, energy gels, iTunes gift cards, flashing safety lights and runner-specific cookbooks were among the items picked out by the Secret Santas across the country. All of them, of course, immediately posted in picture form on the site.

The Secret Santa adventure added a new dimension to my lovefest with dailymile.

It made me realize that these people were just like me. They put in their miles, focused on their goals and had a ton of fun doing it. They did things that most of their real-life friends would never do.

I can't wait to spend another year training with them, learning from them and, hopefully next Christmas, shopping for something extra special for them.

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

Phase One: (Almost) Complete

2010-12-16T16:45:00.006-05:00

It doesn't seem like it's possible that six weeks have passed since Coach Lauren presented me with the first phase of my Boston Marathon Training program.

But right on schedule I'll be wrapping up Phase One in the next few days - with a 5-miler tomorrow morning, a 13-miler with the Manchester team on Saturday and a 6-miler mini-reunion run in Portsmouth on Sunday.

The goal of this first phase was simple: build base mileage before getting into the "real" training.

Mission accomplished.

By the time Sunday rolls around, I will have logged 165 or so miles during base training - including three 30+ mile weeks (and one weekend off for a quick trip to Puerto Rico for my little brother's wedding).

I had a 100-mile month in November - 103 miles, to be exact, my highest mileage month ever - and am well on my way to another 100-mile month for December. I haven't hit a triple-digit running month since February - the one and only other time I did so.

As I reflect back on the Phase One, I realize that putting the miles in has been (not surprisingly) both challenging and rewarding.

It's fun to keep hitting new targets. Setting that bar higher and higher keeps me motivated.

I reached weekly mileage highs almost every week and have watched my monthly totals climb. This morning's run put me over 800 running miles for the year, and last week I passed the 2,500 mile mark for my run/bike total. (Blew that 2,010 in 2010 challenge out of the water!)

Of course, those kind of "mile"stones (pun totally intended) don't come easily.

Fitting runs in during one of my busiest work seasons has been challenging. The schedule has forced me to set the alarm early and brave the cold and dark.

Adapting to the cold and dark has meant some "firsts" for me: running with a headlamp, donning my new balaclava (love it!) and layering up my tights and wind pants.

I think I've run in every combination of running clothes and accessories during the past six weeks - shorts and tanks to gloves and hats, and everything in between.

I've run in a ridiculous cold, windy downpour. I've run on a treadmill. (I actually preferred the downpour to the monotony of the treadmill.)

I've run by myself. I've run with teammates. I've even run a 10-miler with TC - his longest run yet.

I've become better at being self-sufficient, running some of my longest, unsupported runs yet. I adjusted my running routes to loop back for water and fuel. A few times, I sucked it up and ran with that annoyingly heavy, uncomfortable fuel belt sloshing around my waist.

I've had runs where I feel great and I feel like I can do anything. I've had runs where I seriously question why the heck I'm doing any of this.

Yep, I've come a long way already - 165 miles, literally, but much farther figuratively. But I know I'm just beginning.

Bring on Phase Two!

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**

Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

Becoming One Of "Them"

2010-12-10T12:33:00.000-05:00

I had one of those shoe-on-the-other-foot moments this week.

A busy Santa Fund season had me working into the evening and I was eager to get home. I pulled out of our building parking lot and onto the access street. I approached the intersection with the main road, where I would take a right turn to head home.

It’s an intersection I know well. I travel it in both directions every day, several times a day.

I looked to my left and saw no headlights cutting through the darkness. I glanced quickly – too quickly – to my right and pulled out.

As I made the turn, I saw a flash, a tiny beam of bright white light. It was a headlamp, similar to the one I wear on my predawn runs.

Then, I made eye contact with the runner.

He shook his head and waved his arms slightly with annoyance – the exact move I’d done countless times when inattentive drivers have nearly run over me at intersections.

For me, encountering a car waiting to make a right turn is one of the most unpredictable situations I have out on the road. I’ve learned to never bet on the driver seeing me. Instead, I usually come to a complete stop, sometimes close enough to the car to reach out and touch it, even when I technically have the right of way.

Having the right of way might help me in a courtroom after I get hit, but in the moment, I know that I’m no match for a vehicle. Legally having the “right of way” won’t save me from broken bones, bruises or long-term injuries. Or worse.

So I stop and I wait. I try to make eye contact with the driver. I wait for them to wave me on. More often than not, I’m convinced they don’t see me at all. No eye contact. No wave. They just make their right turn - with me still standing at arm’s length.

Sometimes, they see me after-the-fact. I can see the look of shock of their faces when they see me standing there after they’ve made their turn.

“They,” in the paragraph above could easily be replaced with “I” in my encounter the other night.

I could blame it on the fact that the visibility at the intersection is less than ideal. From the runner’s standpoint, the shoulder is practically non-existant and the busy traffic forces runners to the very side of the road, close to a guardrail. From the other direction, a telephone pole is positioned just perfectly to block a driver’s view.

I could come up with a list of excuses. But the fact is that I just wasn’t paying attention.

It was late. I was tired. I just wanted to get home.

The moment I saw the beam of light from the headlamp, I cringed. I tried to make an “I’m sorry” face and give an apology wave, even though I know runners can’t really see drivers inside their cars at night.

I couldn’t believe I had become one of “those” drivers, the ones I’m constantly complaining about because of their lack of attentiveness and consideration of those running on the roads.

More than anything, I should know better.

I’d like to think I take the time to look more carefully - in both directions, no matter which way I’m turning – and keep an eye out for my fellow runners.

But at that moment I realized how easy it is not to look for us. It’s easy to take a quick glance for any obvious oncoming traffic and miss someone on two feet.

It also made me realize how invisible runners become in the darkness of winter.

That runner had a headlamp on, but nothing else was reflective, at least not reflective enough for me to notice, and he was covered from head to toe in black and navy blue clothing.

It’s not unlike what I wear on my morning runs, although I have been known to add a reflective vest and flashing light at times. I sometimes think that I must look a little strange, lit up like a Christmas tree, to passing drivers, especially since the majority of my morning route is on the sidewalk.

This week’s near-miss incident reminds me that it doesn’t matter how ridiculous we may look when it comes to safety.

Since then, all of my predawn runs have included a reflective vest, and I’m sure to give a look in the direction of oncoming cars at intersections to give them a flash of my headlamp beam.

To that runner, I thank you for reminding me of the importance of being as visible as possible when running in darkness. And, I thank you for giving me a wake-up call as a driver and reminding me to take a few extra seconds to really look for you.

Most importantly, I’m sorry.

**REMEMBER, I'm running the Boston Marathon to help save lives!**
Please visit my fundraising page to support a good cause and learn more about a very special little boy. http://pages.teamintraining.org/ma/boston11/trobinsy2v. Thank you for your support!

Dream On!

2010-12-01T17:29:00.005-05:00

I was among my running friends, the usual crowd of TNT runners, mostly the fall team that just completed the Maine Marathon.

We were running laps around a gigantic track. Not just a kinda big one, I mean can't-put-into-words huge track. Standing one one of the straight-aways, I couldn't even see the other side.

Mostly, we ran together, like we usually do. Our run was filled with the regular chit-chat. We kept going and going and going.

And going.

Coach Lauren magically seemed to appear to keep us going and motivated - and to remind us that we were doing a 24-hour run. That's right, running for 24-hours non-stop.

The funny thing was, we weren't overly concerned about it. We counted the hours, rather than miles. We didn't have any aches or pains. We didn't get tired. We just ran.

At one point, I took a break to meet TC and his parents for dinner. Somehow, Coach Lauren magically appeared again.

So it was back to the track for me. After all, I had a 24-hour run to complete.

Luckily, it was all a dream...

Yes, that was my actual dream from last night. It really makes me smile and even laugh out loud a bit.

What's it mean? It's pretty obvious that running and training - and even TNT and Coach Lauren - are definitely on my mind. Trying to balance that with other personal, family and work obligations will be a challenge.

Lauren's plan (the real-life Boston Marathon training plan, not that 24-hour run) has me running five days a week and strength training on two days. If I stick to the schedule, I get one day off.

Not surprisingly, I find myself trying to fit in the training runs amid all of the other obligations - and even sleep!

So far, so good. Believe it not, I'm actually getting to like getting up and running before work - even in the dark and cold. (Please don't tell anyone.)

I just wrapped up my highest mileage month - ever - at 103 miles of running in November. The past two weeks, I've had around 30 miles a week. And I feel great about it.

Perhaps I just have to convince my subconscious now?