I Heart MCM

I almost forgot to tell you about this. Last month, I got a slim manila envelope in the mail from the Marine Corps Marathon. Inside was the medal at left (apologies for the blurriness), and a letter from MCM race director Rick Nealis.

The letter, in part, said: To complete a marathon is a feat of dedication and courage, but to distinguish yourself by earning a category award requires special recognition. I would like to extend my congratulations to you for your exemplary finish at "The People's Marathon."

The letter ended: Bravo Zulu, Rick Nealis.

Warm Fuzzies: Awwww. I raced the marathon as part of a four-person co-ed team for my local running club. All I had to do to get on the team was to sign up via e-mail. To tell you the truth, we didn't have a lot of esprit de corps. I never even met my other teammates. But we did well enough to place 3rd out of 10 teams.

Turn over the considerably heavy medal and etched on the back is: THIRD PLACE. ORGANIZATIONS TEAM. The MCM recorded the times of the first four finishers in each team. The first and second place teams had all men. Okay, the second-place team had one woman, but her time was slower than her teammates, so her time didn't count. So we were the first co-ed team, with two men and two women.

Take note: Wouldn't it be cool if next year we had an RBF team for the Marine Corps Marathon? Food for thought.

Pounding the pavement: I was too tired from travel to run 8 miles with my Saturday running group. Especially at 8 effin' 30 in the morning. But I did log 4 miles that evening on a hilly course with E. On Sunday afternoon, I ran 8.5 miles, also on a somewhat hilly course. Average per-mile pace was 8:48/mile.

Today was supposed to be a rest day. But I got antsy. So I logged another 6 miles. Average per-mile pace: 8:29/mile. My legs felt pretty tired, but visions of the homemade fudge, chocolate-covered doughnuts, cranberry cake, chocolate mousse, and other desserts that I ate over the past week kept me from slowing down.

Out of the Midwest By the Skin of My Teeth

I returned to D.C. just before the stroke of midnight last Friday, after having just missed the ice storm that was set to sweep from Texas and blaze through Oklahoma, Kansas, Nebraska (where I was for three days) through the Great Lakes.

Travel Woes: My United Airlines flight from Lincoln was scheduled to leave at 12:25 pm, then got delayed to 2:00 p.m. Went through security, only to be told that the flight was again delayed until 5:30 p.m. because of "weather" in Chicago, according to a ticket agent with a bad perm and a triple chin. That delay lengthened to 6:30 p.m. Which meant that I had missed any chance of getting to D.C. that night on United.

Walked back to the ticket counter to see if I could catch any flight out of Lincoln. Watched a chubby young woman in a pink sweater freak out because she couldn't get home to Charlotte, N.C. Listened to other people planning to rent cars to get to their destinations instead of spending the night - and possibly the weekend - in Lincoln. Where the temperature had fallen to 15 degrees and was starting to snow.

After 45 minutes, I managed to cancel my United flight and book the last flight that would get me to Washington that evening: on Northwest, routed through Detroit, instead of the Windy City, where it was sleeting.

Went through security yet again, where I was given the full screening (the one that's just shy of searching one's body cavities) because it looked like I had just purchased a last-minute ticket. Security personnel rummaged through my suitcase as I nervously watched passengers board the flight. I was the last person on the plane. Whew.

Oh yeah, and running?: I met many folks on my three-day trip to this Plains state, and a good half-dozen of them made comments about my being a runner. One said, "I was wondering what someone who runs 10Ks for fun was going to be like."

All confessed that they had Google'd me before our meetings, to get a better idea of who they'd be dealing with. Veddy, veddy interesting.

Off to the Plains

Packing my Ugg boots: I head to Nebraska this morning for a news story. Will be there for three days. I can hardly contain my excitement. I'll be traveling between Lincoln, Omaha, and a few small towns in the middle of the state.

Actually, I'm sure I will enjoy the state's Midwestern hospitality (so different from the no-nonsense and indifferent attitude of many in Washington, D.C.) and some good hearty meals (thank God I like beef). Know any good running routes in Lincoln?!

Marine Corps Marathon update: One runner died of heart failure in this marathon. But another man, who also had a heart attack at the start of the race, survived. Here's what happened to him after he was taken to the hospital, and thoughts by experts on whether marathoning is too much of a good thing for the heart.

Hurts So Good

That's what I kept trying to tell myself while running 7 miles on dead legs Saturday morning with friends. I had just started running again on Wednesday, after a month-long hiatus. And boy, did I feel it.

My legs were like lead from running hard on Wednesday and Thursday. And my arms and back were sore from a weight-lifting/cardio class on Friday. So the 8:45/mile pace on Saturday was a little taxing, shall we say. But I did chat with some of the others, which took my mind off my legs saying, "What the hell?!"

Warning: Tech-speak from here on out in this post. So quit reading if you want to hear more about my running.

Luddite No Longer: Four months after I bought a refurbished 2G iPod Nano so I could test the iPod+Nike sportkit and specially-constructed Nike Air Zoom Moire shoes that Nike helpfully sent me to product-test (for a running 'zine review which the editor ended up nixing, alas) .... I finally took the iPod out of its little box for the first time.

Why did I wait so long? Because I already use another flash MP3 player - the 1G Cowon iAudio U2, which has a built-in FM radio and voice recorder. Both of which have come in handy and neither of which the Nano has. The iAudio also has sophisticated controls to fine-tune the treble, bass and other sound qualities. Which the Nano doesn't have.

... and Killed the Cat: But curiosity over the hoopla over iTunes and the iPod got the best of me. I spent the past two days downloading albums into iTunes and uploading them onto the Nano, and researching and purchasing a very sweet JBL speaker for the Nano/iAudio and also a set of MP3 travel speakers.

What do I think of the Nano? It's nice. Albeit almost too simplistic. I do like its ease of use and iTunes' wealth of songs. I even found (and downloaded) the Mendelssohn piano concerto I performed years ago.

But I have a soft spot for my iAudio. It's feather-light and tiny. And I don't have to baby it like the Nano, which, like many pretty things, is high-maintenance and temperamental.

And what do I think of the Nike+sport kit and new Nike running shoes?

Ummm ... haven't tried them out yet. Gimme a few more months.

It's the Thought ....

that counts, right?! So I'm a week or two late on the holiday greetings. Anyway.

Happy 2007, y'all. The first photo trio goes to the RBF. The second (scroll down) is a rather naughty one of me and Jeanne after one too many lemon drop martinis. Both taken at the company holiday party.

I'm back from my 2+ week hiatus from blogging ... and running. No, make that almost a month since my last good run. But I'm baaaaack: 5 miles of intervals on the elliptical machine yesterday, and a 7-mile run earlier this evening.

Stack 'em up: I'm not one of those people who turns up her nose at turning over a new leaf in the new year. I am all about self-improvement. [Just ignore the two chocolate-covered doughnuts with rainbow sprinkles that I inhaled this morning.]

Looking back over some notes to myself from last year, I saw two of my 2006 resolutions:

1. Run a 10K in 48:00
2. Run a marathon in under 4:00



I was a bit lazy trying to achieve the first one. The last 10K I raced was back in April or May. Haven't really tried since then. But I came pretty close to hitting that goal. My time in that spring 10K was 48:48. As for the second: Yeah baby, been there, done that.

Here are my 2007 health-and-fitness-related new year's resolutions:

1. Qualify for Boston
2. Run a 10K in 46:00
3. Race in two states I've never raced in before
4. Eat sweets only twice a week [gonna be hard]
5. Do yoga or other core strengthening twice a week

Oh, and a 6th resolution, which may elicit as many groans as grins: I intend to post on this blogeroo three times a week. No more long absences from the RBF. You help keep me sane.

Holiday Survey

Thanks to Rich for tagging me for this survey. Without further ado, here are my answers. Such as they are.

1. Egg nog or hot chocolate? Lemon drop martini, please.

4. Do you hang mistletoe? Nope. Don't need an excuse to buss ...

5. When do you put your decorations up? Whenever I can find them, as E. likes to move 'em around throughout the year as he packs more stuff into the closets.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)? Oh, where do I begin? Roast Ham with cloves, Pan-seared salmon, creamy garlic mashed potatoes ....

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa? I never believed in Santa. A cynical 5-year-old is a sorry sight.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? Nope. We're lucky to have them wrapped by then!

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree? With miniature ornaments for our mini trees. Or in the case of the Xmas-ball one: Nada. I just take it out of its protective plastic wrapping.

11. Snow! Love it or dread it? I've learned to love it. There are several big hills only a 2- minute walk from our house, which are great for sledding..

12. Can you ice skate? I'm no Kristy Yamaguchi, but I can zoom around the rink. Just don't ask me to stop.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift? Good question. I really can't remember any tangible gifts. For me, spending the holidays with loved ones is the best present.

14. What's the most important thing about the holidays for you? Having enough time to run, read a couple of fat novels, and reflect on the year past. Also, visiting with friends and family.

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert? Marzipan.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition? Attending a Christmas choral concert at the Kennedy Center.

17. What tops your tree? A homemade, lopsided star.

18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving? Definitely giving.

19. What is your favorite Christmas song? Can't name just one. Favorite traditional carols include "Silent Night, "Adeste Fidelis," "In the Bleak Midwinter," and "Hark the Herald Angels, Sing." Favorite popular Christmas songs include "'Rockin Around the Christmas Tree," "Winter Wonderland," and "I'll Be Home for Christmas."

20. Candy canes? Not unless they're chocolate ...

21. Favorite Christmas movie? I ditto Rich's answer - A Charlie Brown Christmas

22. What do you leave for Santa? Nothing for the fat man. He needs to lose weight.

Bex on Skates ...

Is scary.

I love speed: Here I am, hell-bent for leather at the outdoor ice-skating rink at the National Gallery of Art, in downtown D.C., on Friday night. It's in the museum's sculpture garden, where one can see modernist works such as this and this.

I was with E., and T., his 14-year-old nephew, visiting from England for the holidays. Wanted to show T. around the town and do typical American activities. Like channeling Apolo Anton Ohno even though one has set foot on ice only twice before. The second shot is blurry because E. was laughing and cheering me on.

Going fast is the easy part. Stopping? Not so much.

So I just kept zooming around in circles, once yelling, "Coming through!" when I encountered a clump of slow-moving skaters weaving every which way.

I fell down only once. Right on my knees. Big bruises have bloomed on my kneecaps, which bore the brunt (say that three times fast) of my 108 pounds.

But I can still run, damn it.

And that's all that matters.

Finally: Blue & Gray Race Report!

Better late than never. Hi, y'uns. I haven't fallen off the face of the earth - work has eaten my life up this week. Finally able to take a quick breather. So, herewith, a debriefing of the Blue & Gray Half-Marathon last Sunday, in lovely Fredericksburg, Va.

Pre-race: The day dawned clear and cold. Low 20's. Didn't want to get out of the comfy bed at Susie & David's house, where Jeanne and I stayed the night. Out the door at 7:20 a.m., all bundled up. Jeanne was positively ebullient as she didn't have to race. Her high spirits were not to last. (foreshadowing!)

The starting line was in a shopping center parking lot. Many runners sat in their cars with the engines running to keep warm. Susie, David and I warmed up with a 5-minute jog, and we agreed that I should pace them. So I relaxed: No more pressure on myself to achieve 1:47. Rather, an enjoyable commitment to help them break their 2:11 PR.

Miles 1-5: Somebody said, "Go!" and we were off. We saw Jeanne as we crossed the starting line, but she was looking the other way. Ah, well. We'd see her again at Mile 10. Cross fingers.

The course wound through downtown Fredericksburg, with its charming shops, and along the Rappahannock River. Spectators were few and far between. Too early for the sane folks to be out of bed. But the sun was out and there was no wind. Excellent racing conditions.

Whoa, Nelly!: I tried to hold Susie in check, as she kept pushing the agreed-upon 9:35/mile pace (which would have us finish in about 2:06). I could see she felt strong and rested. David was also keeping a fine pace. But we still had a long way to go, with big hills at the end.

"No need for speed," I reminded both from time to time. Or, "Keep behind this group. We're ahead of pace."

All of us tried to grab water or Gatorade at the aid stations every two miles. Some folks also handed out orange slices, which were absolute heaven. I grabbed two from a teenage boy. I jammed one slice into my mouth, closed my left hand protectively over the other slice, and gave a thumbs-up in appreciation. I spent the next two miles picking orange pulp out of my teeth.

Gotta look good for the photos, you know.

(M1: 9:41. M2: 9:23. M3: 9:28. M4: 9:32. M5: 9:39.)

Miles 6-10: We encountered our first big hill right before Mile 6. The course had been mostly flat, with a few rolling bits here and there. "Even effort," I said, as we steadily ran up. A runner descending the hill screamed at us in encouragement, "You own this hill! You own this hill!" Very amusing, but the runners ascending were too focused and out of breath to reply. So I yelled back. "I OWN this hill!" We both laughed and went our way.

As we rounded a track, I ate an espresso GU, and Susie and David munched on sport beans. They seemed to be getting a little tired, and I know that David's arthritic ankles must've hurt. But their pace was still fairly strong as we continued our tour of sleepy, bucolic neighborhoods. At Mile 10, we looked for Jeanne - who was on the other side of the street, and separated by a wide, grassy median and monument of Revolutionary War general Hugh Mercer .

We waved to her as she tried to take photos from a gazillion feet away. Then we rounded a corner, out of her sight line. After a half-block, we saw her again about 200 feet ahead, as she was getting in her car. "Oh, no," we thought. We started screaming and she finally turned around.

"I thought I missed you guys!" she said. Jeanne snapped some photos, Susie handed off her jacket, gloves and hat, and we told her we'd see her at the end.

I took the lead and started talking to Susie and David every once in a while. Susie turned on her iPod and listened to Christmas carols to help block out the tiredness seeping in. She started running a little faster.

I warned her: "If you run ahead of me now, don't let me pass you on the hills." Mean Bex! She slowed down, and we ran towards our final, two big hills.

(M6: 9:43. M7: 9:49. M8:9:25. M9: 9:41. M10: 9:36)

Miles 11-13.1: "Deep breaths," I told Susie and David as I eyed the first long hill around Mile 12, which, conveniently, was next to a hospital in case one expired from exhaustion. "Time to turn it on!" I said.

David (or was it Susie?): "It IS on."

Me: "More on! Um, that didn't come out right."

I glanced behind me and saw Susie and David looking down, their faces grim. They were falling behind. I started running backwards to face them, and yelled encouragement. No answer from the peanut gallery. But also not one word of complaint. I took that as a good sign.

"C'mon," I continued, getting pumped up. "Up and over!"

Silence. Complete, and utter.

"Okay," I said, spotting a red "Yield" sign. "Just run to the sign, and we'll catch our breath."

Susie and David did so, chugging steadily up that hill. At the yield sign, we jogged more slowly. Then after about 15 seconds, I told them to run to another landmark. I think breaking up a hill into sections makes it more manageable to conquer.

The last hill: Is a bitch. I have to admit. Long, steep, and at the very end of a half-marathon. Susie and David were great. They never walked. They did not quit. And, most surprisingly, they did not tell me to shut the hell up.

"C'mon guys, push it!" I said. "See that runner ahead?" I pointed to a woman about 125 meters ahead in red and black with "Annapolis Striders" emblazoned on her back. "Catch her."

Susie and David didn't answer, just kept their heads down and their feet moving. I could hear their labored breathing. We crested the hill. Now just a short decline, then a right turn into the shopping center and to the finish line.

"Move it!" I yelled. "This is it!"

We started running faster. Then David started falling behind. Susie said, "I've got to wait for David." We slowed down. Then David yelled, as we turned onto the straightaway to the finish line: "Go, Susie, Go!"

Susie turned on the jets. Running next to her, I motioned to two men ahead of us, and said in a low voice, "Take those guys out."

So she did. She ran past both, one of whom, said, "A show-off!"

I ran by next, and he said, "Another show-off!"

The finish line was seconds away. I was yelling my head off at this point.I ran next to Susie but did not want to finish ahead of her. "Go, Susie!" I yelled. "You've got it!"

She raised her arms as we crossed the finish line in 2:07:35. David crossed soon after, looking strong and smiling.

(M11: 9:33. M12: 10:23. M13: 9:15. M13.1: 2:10 - Garmin is 1/10 of mile off here, saying .25 instead of .1)

I'm starting to like this coaching thang.

Winging It

Me and H., the hostess with the mostest, at a recent party she threw for a bunch of runner geeks. She makes fab desserts. As you can see.

It's Friday night and I'm brain-dead. It was a bad week, workwise, folks. How bad?

BAAAAAAAAAAD.

Good thing I'm not a violent person. And that I'm rational, patient, and can look at the big picture. Can't talk specifically here about why my week was so bad, for obvious reasons.

But let's just say that nothing lasts forever.

All right, enough with the coyness. I only exercised twice this week, because of travel and work. On Wednesday, I did 55 minutes on a stationary bike and some free weights.

A lackluster speed workout: On Thursday evening, after a 1.25 mile warm-up (10:00/mile pace), I ran 2 miles at half-marathon pace (8:13/mile). Jogged slowly for another half-mile. Then instead of running another 2 miles at half-mary pace as planned, I ran 1.25 miles at that pace. Cooled down with another half-mile jog.

And called it a day.

On Sunday, I run the Blue & Gray Half-Marathon in Fredericksburg, Va., with Jeanne, Susie, and her beau, David. Jeanne and I are bunking at their place. You know what that means, right?

SLUMBER PARTY! I'm bringing the Doritos, toilet paper to roll their neighbors' houses, and the latest copy of Tiger Beat magazine.

But the race? I'm unprepared and dog-tired. So I'm going to wing it. Don't get me wrong - I'll try my best. But I'm not promising a scorching time. Sigh.

Good Luck!: To Rich and Gandaman, who will be running the White Rock Marathon in Dallas this Sunday, and Susan, for running the Half-Marathon. You'll do great! And Rich, I predict you'll PR, crossing the finish line in 3:55:55 .....

Forgot to post these earlier - two photos of me in the Marine Corps Marathon back in October.

Getting fat and lazy: No run today. And no long run this past weekend. Not good for one racing the Blue & Gray Half-Marathon this Sunday.

But I feel the need to take it easy for a bit. After a week of no running after the Oct. 31 Marine Corps Marathon, I started training again, albeit half-heartedly, for the upcoming half-mary.

Head games: My last long run was a week ago this past Saturday, a 15-miler. In the last 5 miles, a 30-something, fit 6'3" man with lean and muscular legs and wearing an Army 10-Miler shirt came up next to me. We said hello, then he surged and eased ahead.

About 20 yards ahead, he stopped his surge and steadied his pace. And so I gradually ran past him, nodding "hello" again and smiling. Then I heard him quicken his pace.

He was running right behind me, using me to draft him. Huh! His footfalls landed heavily right behind my own. I felt he was about to clip my heels. Distracting, to say the least. But I wasn't going to slow down.

Or stop. If he wanted to pass me, he'd have to run faster. I kept to the right in case he wanted to. He didn't. I checked my Garmin. Our pace was 8:57/mile. Not fast. But by this time, I was close to bonking. I had run out of water (stupidly going out with only a half-full water bottle) and I forgot to bring any GU with me. Plus, I had already run 10 miles, and had run a hilly 5-miler the day before.

I didn't try to outkick him. After all, I had 5 more miles to run. But I gradually ran a little faster, bringing our pace down to 8:45/mile. When I flew down the hills, so did he. When I ran up the hills, he followed close behind. We ran 3 miles this way. I was a little peeved. Was he trying to psych me out? Did he not realize how close he was running to me ?

Free at last: We came to a fork in the road. Only two more miles to go. I headed to the right, bracing myself for the last hill, where I was going to try to drop him. But to my surprise, he ran to the left. Smiling and waving, he called out, "Good running!" and disappeared from sight.

Well. Okay.

Grin and Bear it

I'm back.

It's been another fun-filled week here in Bexville.

Well. Kind of.

Thanksgiving - remember that? Only a week ago, but now just a faint memory with a slight aftertaste of cranberry sauce.

First, a 5-mile Turkey Trot that E. and I ran, though I as a bandit (and in a race sponsored by my local running club!). Then saw "Corteo," a whimsical, beautifully stunning, and acrobatic show by Cirque du Soleil (the photo is of me mugging in Cirque's shop during intermission). Capped the day with a yummy turkey dinner and homemade pumpkin pie at a friend's house.

Blitzkrieg trip to the Big Apple: But all of that holiday goodness dissipated on Monday at 4:12 p.m. That's when The Powers That Be said I must go to New York City immediately for a story. Aaaaargh. So much for a relaxing evening, not to mention my scheduled 6-mile tempo run.

Scrambled for train and hotel reservations. Caught the 8:30 p.m. train to Penn Station. Arrived at midnight. Crashed to a honking cacaphony of taxis 26 floors below. From 7:45 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. the next day, as holiday tourists thronged Times Square a few blocks away, I gripped and grinned and interviewed lots of middle-aged folks in dark suits, and took notes at the rawther tony Princeton Club.

Afterwards, famished, stumbled into a Japanese restaurant and ate what must have been a whole school of fish. Caught the 8:15 p.m. Acela train to Washington, arriving home at 11:20 p.m.

The rest of the week has also been kind of like that. You know, busy as hell. So that's why, dear readers, I have not been around lately.

Running update: I did manage to squeeze in an abbreviated speed workout on the treadmill on Wednesday night. 2 X 1600, then 2 X 800 at 7:30/mile pace, with a quarter-mile jog in between repetitions. My lungs hurt afterwards. Gotta do more speed workouts.

On Thursday, it was too dark to run outside, and I didn't have any reflective gear, besides. So I logged 75 minutes on a stationery bike, my quads burning through 25 miles. Let's call that equivalent to about 8 miles or so of running.

Next time: My marathon DVD of the 2006 Marine Corps Marathon finally arrives. I laugh. I cry. But mostly, I wonder, "Where the hell am I?!"

Ugh

What a week.

A canceled flight. A 24-hour business trip to Orlando. A tight deadline that my editor insisted on - but after busting my butt to file my story, the newsroom emptying for the for the Thanksgiving Day holiday - she didn't even stick around to read it.

My running regimen has also been a bit lax. After a solid 13-mile run last Saturday, I didn't run on Sunday because I spent much of the day on planes or waiting in airports with other laptop-toting road warriors. Monday, I cranked out 5.3 miles on a treadmill in a gym pulsating with hyperactive club music and steroid-enhanced dudes with huge pecs and toothpick-thin legs.

Tuesday was a quiet but quad-busting 30-minute ride on a stationary bike and some crunches, neglecting to lift weights because ... I just didn't feel like it.

And today, after writing my brains out, I decided to hoist a lemontini and nibble on tapas with a friend after work instead of logging a 12 X 400 speed workout.

Do I feel guilty?

Yes.

Enough to brave the the bone-chilling weather at midnight on a windy November evening and doing a fartlek run down lonely, rain-spattered streets?

Not on your life.

Extreme Weather, Part Deux

My 8-mile jaunt yesterday was another rain-soaked ramble. Wind and storms lashed Washington, D.C. all day until everything quieted around 4:15 pm. At 4:25, I laced up my running shoes and hit the trails.

Which were covered in wet leaves, twigs and puddles. Way too slick for my planned fartlek workout. The trail was also an obstacle course; I hurdled a few tree limbs here and there and dodged flooded areas.

I enjoyed the run - hardly anyone out there, only two die-hard runners and a handful of bicyclists (and Jeanne, only 2 of them followed trail etiquette and said "On your left").

When I turned around at the half-way mark, it was almost completely dark. I could barely see the trail ahead of me, so I had to slow down lest I fall. I did trip a couple of times over unseen twigs and splashed in a puddle or two. First 4 miles: 34:48. Last 4 miles: 37:50.

A Big Thankee!: Goes to Steve Runner at the Phidippedations podcast. He was kind enough to mention this little blog, and he read part of an email I sent him about my experience at the Marine Corps Marathon, which he also ran. I'm in episode 70.

Steve, I was cranking out 6 "hill" miles on an elliptical trainer when listening to that podcast, and I almost fell off in surprise when I heard my name. Thanks for the shout-out!

At Least I Got Out of Bed

I ran a local Veteran's Day 10K in the cold, wind and unrelenting rain on Sunday, in what the Scots call a scowthering gale. The weather was so bad that of the 1,600 runners registered, only half of them showed.

I decided it to take it easy. I wasn't mentally prepared. Plus, I read in The Competitive Runner's Handbook that one shouldn't run any race within a month of finishing a marathon.

"Leisurely" is an understatement: I jogged slowly with two friends, L. and M. And when I say slow, I mean glacial. The first 2.3 miles were at 11:20 to 11:30/mile pace! I knew I needed to pick it up when, in only Mile 2, I saw the leaders pass us, coming the other way.

Also, we were completely sodden. The fleece jacket I had tied around my waist was heavy with rain, and water squished in between my toes. My fingers were stiff and cold as icicles. The sooner I finished the race, the sooner I could get out of the elements.

I bade goodbye to my friends and gradually sped up. No spectators lined the course. Just a bunch of wet and miserable runners, some of whom were walking with their heads down in the cold hard rain.

Whew, the headwind was killer in the last two miles. I kept a hand on my head to keep my cap from blowing off. I flew past dozens of runners, putting in a good effort, but not all-out racing. Way too late for a PR.

I ran the remaining 3.7 to 3.8 miles or so in 28:36. Good enough.

Bex is a fraud

I almost forgot to tell you this.

See that green medal in the photo? The one almost hidden by the gold and scarlet Marine Corps Marathon medal? Dianna asked me about that when she saw another photo of me after the race.

Well, Jeanne, who raised money in the MCM for the Organization for Autism Research, said I, Richie, and David could drop off our gear bags at the OAR's tent in the race's Charity Village. Much easier than hoofing it to the regular gear bag area, which was a mile or so away.

The OAR contact gave the okay for us to do that, she said. There were only a few other people in the tent when I arrived, and they seemed busy. So I dropped off the bag without talking to anyone, then jogged to the race start with only minutes to spare.

After the race, I went back to the tent to retrieve my bag. I was tempted to grab some pretzels, oranges, and water from a table groaning with food and drinks for runners. But they weren't for me. Then the OAR dude-in-charge walked up with a big smile on his face.

"Congratulations!" he said, beaming. "And thank you so much for running for us! We really appreciate it!"

Then he ceremoniously placed a green OAR medal around my neck. I mutely gazed at him, shocked.

"Now, go over there," he said, pointing to a big sign listing the race's OAR charity runners. "Find your name and check it off, and we'll take a nice photo of you."

Next to the sign was a volunteer enthusiastically taking photos of a real OAR charity runner.

"Uh, thank you! I will!" I said, smiled, and ducked my head. I was too embarrassed to tell him that I was a fraud. That I did not raise money and run for his organization. And that the only reason why I was there was because his tent had free space for gear bags.

He stood there for a moment, uncertain, then must've figured that I was tired. So he turned, walked a few steps away, and started talking to other race volunteers.

I grabbed my bag, nervously glanced back at him .... and hightailed it out of there, stealing away like a thief in the night.

Needless to say, I have since made a donation to the OAR.

Cast Your Ballot!

Civic duty: Time to exercise, folks. Not your body, this time - but your right to vote! Have you voted yet? Take advantage of this privilege that we so often take for granted. I voted at 6:30 a.m., and it was heartening to see a steady stream of people walking into our local polling place - an elementary school - at that early hour.

Back to your regular programming: I agree with Gandaman in his comment in my previous post that running is tougher on the body and the mind. Unlike cycling, you can't coast when you run. Nor can you take advantage of high-tech carbon frames that help your speed.

"It's just you and the pavement," he stated. Well said.

Speaking of pain: I went for my first run post-Marine Corps Marathon on Sunday. 8 miles. Easy, right? The first three were. But the last five - on a course that included a couple of hills - made my legs and even arms sore. Note to self: Schedule massage ...

Lance's Newfound Respect ...

for runners. He finished today's NYC Marathon in 2:59:35. An admirable effort, though he had hoped for a faster time. But he was humbled by both the physical and mental rigors of running 26.2 miles. This, from today's New York Times (bold italics mine):

Earlier, Armstrong had said that he could possibly have run a sub-2:30 if he had trained, but now he was quite sure that another marathon was out of the question. Nothing in cycling ever came close to three hours of activity at this level, he said.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said that I’ve never felt this bad, ever,” he said. “My legs are killing me. My back doesn’t feel that great ... I’m really suffering.”

Olympian runners such as Joan Benoit Samuelson and Alberto Salazar paced him. Don't you wish you had that kind of help?!

Congrats: Go to my friend, P., who paced me in last week's MCM, and who finished NYC in 3:52:34. A PR!

MCM Debriefing #3: Miles 17-26.2

Some of the schwag you get at the Marine Corps Marathon expo.

Mile 17, 8:47: A kind soul holds out a bowl of Jolly Rancher candy. I grab a couple and pop them in my mouth. Raspberry and apple. Mmm. Then I start choking and spit them out. People are few and far between here, a long, lonely and extremely windy peninsula of parkland.

Mile 18, 9:05: A. is still talking. The lungs on this girl :-) She asks, "Do you want an orange?" after we run past a bystander with a bowl of citrus slices.

"No," I said. Pause.

"YES!" I said. She runs back to the orange person and returns two minutes later. She runs in front of me and passes an orange slice behind her back. I grab it and greedily chew.

Mile 19, 8:56: Somewhere around here, I have the last GU. I've had a lot to eat in this race. Luckily, I have an iron stomach. A. runs in front of me for a few minutes, trying to block the wind. But I'm scared of running into her, and stay to the side.

Mile 20, 9:10: We leave Haines Point and head toward the dreaded 14th Street Bridge. The crowd roars. I run up a ramp and glance at the time clock: 2:58:10. I look for my friend, H., who's supposed to run with me from here to the end. I also look for work colleagues who said they'd come. But all I see is a blur of faces.

Mile 21, 9:17: The wind, which has been gusty and strong all morning, really gives me a whipping on the sere and desolate 14th Street Bridge, which is also on an incline. A. left me about a half-mile back, having run 10 miles with me. I already miss her.

For the first time, I see scores of runners walking, their heads down, or stretching. These are the folks who went out too fast. I run by them, though my calves are starting to spasm.

My local running club has a cheering section here, and I see one skinny dude holding a tub of orange slices. I recognize him - he's usually flying around the track with the rest of the hares.

I want an orange. But I'm too tired to talk. So I stretch out my hand, point at the oranges, and say, "Uggghh!"

He understands and hands me a slice. I manage to say "Thank you!" before popping the orange in my mouth. I chew madly, then chuck it over the bridge.

Mile 22, 9:21: I run past a woman wheelchair participant that I've seen off and on throughout the race. She looks dog-tired. She's trying mightily to push up the never-ending incline. I yell encouragement.

Mile 23, 9:17: In Crystal City, a neighborhood of restaurants, shops and office buildings. The crowds are back in force. I run through a corporate Target tunnel that blares rock music.

Several women hold out mini-Dixie cups of what looks like apple juice. I'm struck with an overpowering thirst. I run over with a glazed look in my eyes.

"It's beer!" they say. I swerve away.

I see Rich. I shout and wave. He's about a 1 and 1/2 miles behind me now, and walking. He's not smiling anymore. I try to send out good vibes. But I'm not feeling so chipper myself.

Mile 24, 9:30: When is this effing race going to end? For the first time, I walk through a water stop as I drink a cup of Gatorade. Ahhhh. Start running again. I see a spectator holding a banana and I almost grab it. But I'm too tired to peel it. I run past.

Mile 25, 9:18: What. The. F. I hate this race. Then a Marine steps up and says, "Stay positive! You're doing great! You're almost there!" I'm too exhausted to say thank you, but I smile gratefully. I push on.

Mile 26. 9:32: On a long stretch of highway. Lots of folks stopping to stretch. A few sit down, defeated. A veritable sea of the halt and the lame. A military emergency vehicle streaks by, lights flashing and horns blaring, with a runner wrapped up like a mummy in the back.

At the last water/Gatorade stop, I try to grab a cup of water, but the Marine holding it hands it someone else. "Oops, sorry," he says, and chuckles. My outstretched hand turns into a fist.

"Must not punch Marine," I think. "Must. Not. Punch."

I unclench my hand and run further down, where a dozen Marines want to hand me Gatorade. Love the Marines.

I am so tired of running. Every muscle in my legs and back hurt. I close my eyes. Then open them. Yep. Still running. Damn.

Mile .2, 2:26: Spectators jump up and down and scream wildly. I see E. for the first time as I run up that last steep, quad-busting hill. He's yelling my name and pointing a videocamera at me. I wave him off. "Blah, blah, blah," I think.

I am not excited. I am so over this damn race. I dimly realize that this is the exhaustion and glycogen-depletion talking.

With about 1/8 of a mile to go, I stop. Several runners go by and say, "C'mon!" I start running. After about 10 paces, I stop again. Take a breath. Finally realize that the faster I go, the sooner I can lie down.

I start running. And cross the finish line in 3:56:53.

A hunky Marine places a medal over my neck and congratulates me. Then wraps me up in a space blanket. I grab a bottle of water and slowly waddle with other sweaty runners to the Iwo Jima Memorial. I find a small spot of grass and lie down.

I close my eyes and turn my face to the sun. And smile.

MCM Debriefing #2: Miles 3-16

Heading to the MCM expo last Friday afternoon, two days before race.

Mile 3: 8:45: Crested the hill, which was nuthin' to my rested and glycogen-loaded legs. Running down beautiful and leafy Spout Run Parkway, about a 3 percent decline. Bill is still telling me to slow down even though I'm on pace. I want to take advantage of the free speed and let gravity propel me down the hill.

Mile 4: 8:34: Still looking for the 3:50 pace group. Nowhere to be seen. But my friend, P., jumps in and we start running together. Cool. Then I see a guy wearing a big sticker with "3:50" scrawled on it.

"You the pacer?" I asked him.

He seemed surprised and a bit abashed. "No, sorry," he said. "They're ahead."

Damn.

Mile 5: 8:59: Ran across the Key Bridge and into Georgetown. The crowds are thick here and they're screaming like crazy. Trying to soak it all in while listening to P. talk and keeping track of Bill, who seems to be laboring. At the next water stop, he stops, and I lose him.

Mile 6: 8:29: In Rock Creek Park. The slight incline doesn't bother me. In fact, going a teensy bit too fast, as P. has a tendency to speed up. I put him to use by handing him a "just plain" GU and ask him to open it. He does and I gulp it down.

Mile 7: 8:52: P. is on his cell phone talking to our friend, A., who will meet us somewhere around Mile 10. Through all of the water/Gatorade stops, I keep running, but grab a cup and try to drink. Most of the Gatorade goes over my face. Luckily, I have booty socks over my hands (couldn't find gloves), so I just wipe my face each time with 'em. Handy.

Mile 8: 8:42: Somewhere around here, as I'm flying back south along Rock Creek, I see Rich on the other side, about a half-mile behind me. "Rich!" I say and wave. "Bex!" he replies. The crowd swallows him.

Mile 9: 8:46: Near the Lincoln Memorial. Gorgeous day. Gorgeous crowds. I want to hug all the people lining the course. P. hands me an orange slice and I stick it in my mouth so when I smile all you see is orange. I chew contemplatively, thinking, "This is about as good as it's going to get in a race."

Mile 10: 8:52: Crowds are so thick here I feel like I'm running in a tunnel. A. sees us and jumps in. I have an entourage!

Mile 11: 8:47: On Constitution Avenue running towards the Capitol. A line of kids in orange t-shirts have their hands out, waiting for runners to high-five them. I cut across the course and go down the line. Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap. We cheer. "Feeling frisky?!" says P.

Mile 12: 8:57: Running by the Smithsonian. The wind is fierce, and I put a hand on my head to keep my hat on. I have another GU. A group of what looks like Japanese boy and girl scouts are walking to the museums. They seem confused that a race is going on. Konichi-wa!

Mile 13: 9:04: Starting to get tired. Also running up a slight incline. The Marines are handing out Gels here. A. grabs a couple and gives them to me. I drop one and run back and pick it up over A.'s objections. "Don't stop!" she said. "I'll pick them up!"

Mile 14: 8:48: P. jumps out here, having run 10 miles with me. However, he runs in front of us to take a few photos before heading to Mile 20 to see me go over the 14th Street Bridge. A. revs up the crowd by raising her arms and saying, "Give it up for Bex!" Although she says my real name, of course. The crowds cheer wildly. I feel like Deena Kastor.

Mile 15: 9:05: Windy, windy, windy. A. talks about hoping to qualify for Boston at the Houston Marathon next January. I try to concentrate on what she's saying instead of the wind. A bunch of photographers snap our sweaty mugs, and A. jumps out of the way so she won't be in the pix.

Mile 16: 8:47: On Haines Point. Not much talking here. Throughout this race, but especially after Mile 4, I run with groups of men. They grunt every once in a while. So do I. Not sure what about. But it feels good. Primal.

Ahead: Jolly Ranchers, musle spasms, and Runner Down!

MCM Debriefing #1

You didn't really think my previous post would be my only one about the Marine Corps Marathon, did you? After I'd been preparing for that damn race close to five months?! Oh ye, of little faith.

Let's break this bad boy down in several parts. Before I begin, here's a photo of me, my friend Hallie, Michelle, and David at lunch the day before the race. Looking clean and sparkly and rested.

Pre-race: I was supposed to meet Jeanne, Rich, and David at 7 am near the race start. So I laid out my clothes and and tucked my post-race clothing in a clear plastic bag the night before. I got up in time (5:30 am) to take a shower, eat breakfast, and take care of last-minute stuff. But somehow, I still got out the door 15 minutes late. Sigh.

That 15 minutes was compounded when I got to the Metro station just as a train pulled out - I had to wait another 12 minutes for the next one. Which was packed with other runners. I chatted with a man from Massachussetts and a woman from North Carolina, both of whom were in the second wave of runners (8:40 am), and looked relaxed. Me? Jittery and anxious.

Arriving, it took me forever to move through the crush of excited runners and sign-toting supporters. Once out of the station, I started running towards Charity Village, where I was supposed to meet the RBF'ers and drop off my bag (Jeanne ran for a charity, and said I could leave my gear bag there).

7:49 am: Several men called out as I ran, "Show off! The race hasn't started yet!" We started laughing, although my anxiety ratcheted up a notch when a steady stream of runners walked past me the other way to the race start. Damn.

Tried calling Jeanne but no answer. After dropping off my bag, I jogged the 1/4-mile to the race start. I had already missed the opening ceremonies. My stomach growled. Hungry again. (Though I had eaten buttermilk waffles, eggs and coffee for breakfast.) Grabbed a snack-size power bar from sponsor tent, and gulped it down as the national anthem played.

Totally missed the RBF meet-up. I am a loser.

Moving on: Got to my runner corral (7th out of 32). Lots of skinny, intense people here. Looked for the 3:50 pace group. Saw it waaaay ahead. Huh. Never mind. I would catch it soon enough. Someone tapped me on my shoulder - a friend, L., from my local running club. Relief washed over me. We chatted a bit. It was her first marathon. We also talked to Bill, a genial 60-year old from New Jersey. He's done over 35 marathons. We agreed to pace each other.

Start delayed: The gun was supposed to go off at 8:25 am, but got delayed by about 10 minutes. A murmer went through the crowd that it was for a medical emergency. There's a story in today's Washington Post about a man who collapsed from heart attack and almost died at the race start. But I don't know if that was the cause for the delay.

Mile 1, 10:28: Cannons blasted. We cheered. We crossed the start line after several minutes in a slow shuffle. Bill and I chatted, and within a half-mile, we lost Lauren. Lots of male runners stepped out of the race here to pee by the side of the road. Better now than later, I guess.

Mile 2, 8:04: "Slow down!" said Bill several times in between labored breaths. I was worried to have such a slow start, so I punched up the pace. Plus the 3:50 pace group was still way ahead of me. I looked at the crowds yelling encouragement. I felt elated.

Adrenaline pumped through my veins as I saw the hill ahead. "Here we go," I thought, resisting the urge to yell: "Charge!"

(Stay tuned .....)