One Week Down, One Month To Go

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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.)