Keep Running

Ed: I apologize for the date confusion here -- I fell asleep in the final stages of this post last night and just didn't have the patience to change all the time references this morning.

For several months now, Wednesday nights have meant medium length runs (anywhere from 6-9 miles) around my local university campus. I am so used to doing long runs on this course that knowing I'm only out for half that distance is comforting and feels almost easy. Some weeks are harder than others (especially in August when it was about a billion degrees and at least 116% humidity at 5:30), and recently between working late and earlier sunsets I've struggled to get out before dark (which forces a significantly slower pace), and yet this is consistently my favorite run of the week. Something about the neighborhoods I pass through at sunset, the balance of busy streets and calmer paths, the increasingly cooler breeze and the familiarity of my steps puts me at ease.

From the very beginning last night, though, this seemed like the run-that-wasn't-meant-to-be. 

I ended up working later than I expected, trying to get several projects wrapped up just so that they wouldn't still be sitting on my desk this morning. I figured if I left around 6, I'd be able to get through most of my run while the sun was still up, so right around that time my eyes glazed over and I shut down my computer and headed to change clothes. In my rush to get out of the house on time yesterday morning, I had just thrown all of my running stuff into a bag... everything except socks. Strike 1.

So half an hour later, after a quick detour by home to pick up socks, I made it to my normal parking spot. As soon as got started, though, the shin pain that had begun as barely a whisper that morning progressed to a shrill howl in seconds flat. I had noticed that my legs were a bit tight after a short run two nights ago, but these days, something is always tight, so I sort of brushed it off. When I started to run, though, the pain hit quickly and each step started to feel like a knife blade slicing through my lower leg. I tried slowing down and even walking a few times, but this only made things worse, so I bit my lower lip to keep from yelping and just tried to outrun the pain. Strike 2.

Almost a mile into the run, I glanced down at my Garmin.... and saw nothing but zeros staring back at me. I had forgotten to start the timer, and so I had no record of my time or pace. Lovely. Strike 3.

Since I got started much later than I wanted to, I was barely two miles in before the sun went down and I was left in varying degrees of darkness. Some of my route is charmingly lit by street lamps, trees with christmas lights, and storefronts, but other sidewalks are left treacherously shadowy. I've never felt unsafe in these areas, even after dark, but I know that it's only a matter of time before I trip on an unseen acorn and land on my head. Strike 4.

By mile 3-ish, my leg pain had settled to a dull roar, still frustrating but tolerable. My stomach, however, had other ideas. I have a tough time keeping that part of my body happy on the best of days, and my new running addiction certainly has not helped matters. A combination of stress, heat, and the (decent) food that I had eaten during the day started to slosh around and leave me wondering how many people I would offend if I tossed my cookies (to put it politely) on the side of the road somewhere. I was too scared to stop running, though, because I didn't want my shins to tighten up again -- if I was going to get sick, it was going to be at a sub-9:00 pace. Thankfully it never came to that, but I did struggle through the next several miles battling waves of nausea. Strike 5.

Towards the end of my regular route, I hit an intersection. Left goes towards the car, right allows me to polish off a little bit more mileage before turning around and heading back. Recently, as much as I've wanted to turn right and get that extra time in, my legs have overruled my brain and taken a sharp left. As I approached the intersection last night, I knew that today of all days, I should give in and wrap it up before anything got worse. Before I knew it though, some sort of inspiration/craziness (call it what you will) had kicked in, and I found myself headed right. I made it through almost another mile before giving in and setting course for my favorite finish line, and I was so glad that I did: that last stretch was by far the best part of my run and truly redeemed the whole night.

[via]

 So there you have it, real live proof that no matter how much the first 6 miles make you want to flop down in the middle of the sidewalk and cry, the last one can make it all worth it. Sometimes it just takes a few awful, miserable runs to appreciate an great one. And this (plus those stubborn five pounds) is why I keep running. I am motivated to get through the tough miles because I believe that there are easier ones ahead. Sometimes it takes longer to get to them, but I always know they are coming... around the corner, down the next block, somewhere up ahead, it will get better, it will come naturally, it will feel right. So I keep running...

  Love,

    Meg

Autumnal Anticipation

I've spent every spare minute in the past two weeks (you know, because I have so many of those) contemplating how I might re-decorate my entire apartment in pumpkin orange without making it look like a disastrous pumpkin patch explosion. If only because then I think we'd probably lose the cat.

perfectly camouflaged for fall

I get more excited about the arrival of fall than I do about Christmas, ice cream, and new shoes... combined. I spend about 10.5 months out of the year longing for fall, and the other 1.5 freaking out because my favorite season is going too fast and there are just too many pumpkins and too little time. Everything about fall makes me happy... the weather, the food, the leaves, the smells, the holidays, the clothes, and anything and everything pumpkin. With a side of pumpkin. And maybe a little added pumpkin. Is that pumpkin sauce for the top? I'm sorry. I don't know the meaning of that word, "overkill."
I am happier in the fall, full of nostalgia, constantly sneaking outside to feel the cool breeze and crunch a few leaves underfoot. I try desperately to cram in all of my favorite autumn activities: pumpkin carving, tons (literally) of baking, sweater shopping, drinking as many pumpkin drinks as I possibly can, lots and lots of college football, preparing for halloween, and watching lots of classic scary movies. This year, I'm also looking forward to spending lots of time cuddling with a certain aptly colored furball and going for lots of wonderful runs to enjoy the weather and the gorgeous scenery.
So if you'll excuse me, I'll be frantically circling the pumpkin patch, trying desperately to find the perfect specimen to grace our front door. Hard as it is to believe, this is not one of my most endearing quirks, according to my sweet husband... but don't let him fool you: fall is his favorite season too. Not that that was a prerequisite or anything...

   Love,

    Meg

The Day of Two Pumpkin Iced Coffees

Hey, sometimes you have to do what you have to do, you know? Today required a little bravery, a good deal of suck-it-up-and-be-a-grownup, an inordinate amount of patience, quite a bit of determination, and two iced coffees. Who am I to argue with my cravings on such a stressful day?
To start, no day that starts with a doctor's appointment can ever be truly recoverable. I am an absolute wimp when it comes to doctors: they make me nervous and nauseous and I typically go to great lengths to avoid them. Today's appointment was with a doctor I'd never met before, and thankfully she was extremely sweet and quite efficient without being rushed. I wouldn't call it a wonderful experience, but it wasn't a terrible one either... and the best part is that it's over. On the way back for a long day at work, I celebrated by picking up my first cup of liquid strength: a pumpkin spice frappuccino from Starbucks.
For the rest of the afternoon, I sat at my desk trying really hard (and generally failing) to concentrate on work. Finally, my dad called to let me know that his biopsy had gone well and he would be headed home soon. It will be a while before we hear any results, of course, but I was so relieved that the procedure had gone well and he was one step closer to treatment. I am not very good at the waiting part of all of this, so I'm really eager to get him on the road to medicine and recovery... I know it's easy for me to say, when I won't be the one experiencing the sickness that goes along with treatment, but I'm enough like my dad to know that he is also looking forward to getting things started. For now, though, all we can do is cross our fingers and cool our heels for a few days.
After work, despite knowing that I hadn't fueled well today at all, I headed out for my normal mid-week mid-distance run. I knew there was a good chance that this would blow up in my face, but just couldn't face the guilt I knew I'd feel if I headed home to collapse into my couch like I really wanted to. Luckily it was cloudy outside -- still awfully humid but at least the sun wasn't beating down on my shoulders. I had to stop once or twice to work past some stomach issues, but was able to run pretty hard otherwise and was generally happy with the results. My average pace has been dropping quite a bit lately, thanks partially to the cooler weather and hopefully in part to my hard training. This week I've completely failed at getting out in the mornings before work, but I've fit in several great afternoon runs and am feeling good about my progress. Or is it just that I have bigger things to worry about right now? Either way, running has been, as always, an ideal escape from the perils of real life right now.
Before heading home, I just couldn't resist my second seasonal beverage: a pumpkin iced coffee from Dunkin' Donuts. So the real question:

Honestly, I never guessed that this might be a hard choice to make. In years past, I've been sorely disappointed by Starbucks' pumpkin drinks, and when I discovered DD's pumpkin iced coffee last year, I was sure I had found my coffee soulmate. It was the perfect fall drink and I've been looking forward to its re-introduction in stores for months. Shockingly, though, I was pleasantly surprised this morning by my frappuccino. I think Dunkin Donuts will always be my first choice, but I certainly didn't hate the frappuccino either... both made me smile today, and that's certainly all I can ask for.

   Love,

    Meg

Honestly

When I first envisioned this blog, I wanted it to become a cozy little corner of the internet where I could go to escape and recharge. A space of honesty, where I could overshare without (too much) fear of judgment, where I could bare my soul and feel at peace, where I could whine a little but avoid the face that Dan gives me when I'm complaining too much. A place to talk about food, running, family, the military, my fiance-now-husband, my Dunkin Donuts addiction, and my dreams... or everything all at once, depending on how I felt. I needed an outlet for triumph alongside tragedy, the banal and the strange, the best and the worst.
Writing with honesty, as I've discovered, isn't easy. Certain topics in this blog have proven infinitely more challenging than the papers I took weeks to research and write for my college seminars. But I spent more sleepless nights than I care to admit over the title of this blog, and I (finally) settled on "Enjoy the Ride" because it captured not just who I am, but who I want to be. It issues a challenge: embrace the highs and the lows of life, confront them head on, ride them out with a smile. It reminds me that terrible as life can be, it can also be twelve kinds of wonderful, and that it's my job to make it through the rough patches intact enough to appreciate the good times. And large part of that, for me, is writing. 
So long story not so short, I know that despite the ache in my heart and the fog in my head, I have to find the words to write about what is happening in my life right now. Because right now, my friends, is a low. A lower low than I've experienced in quite a long time. The worst part, though, is knowing that I'm not yet to the bottom, but still hurtling along a downward track in the dark, hoping like mad that I'm going to hit an upswing soon. Some days, it seems like the past few months have brought nothing but bad news, bad luck, and bad nights of sleep. I'm struggling to keep smiling and stay positive: some days I lose that battle, but some days I win, and that's enough encouragement to keep trying.
For right now, the details are overwhelming in themselves. Last week, my typically healthy father was diagnosed with kidney cancer. By the time it was discovered, on a chest x-ray that seemed more like a formality at the time, it had already spread into his lungs. Thankfully, an MRI today let us know that it has not spread to his brain yet. He goes in for a biopsy tomorrow, and then will start treatment. This particularly awful round of drugs has a 10-15% chance of sending him into complete remission, so for right now all that we can do is hope like heck that he falls into that percentage.

There are really no words to describe how hard this is -- my dad has always been one of the most supportive people in my life, and I honestly never considered that there would come a time when he might not be there. The thought of losing him is incomprehensible, and so many times I've wondered if there's any chance that all of this might be an awful nightmare. I feel helpless and terrified, but I am also determined to stay optimistic. We certainly have an uphill battle ahead, but I'm trying hard to take it one step at a time and believe that everything will work out in the end. Thank goodness for my mom, Dan, a few amazing friends, and several incredible coworkers -- I feel so very lucky to have so many people who I know are there for both me and my dad no matter what. A longtime colleague of my dad's dropped by today to remind me that he was here for anything I needed, and that he had an endless supply of corny jokes just to make me smile. I think he may be surprised when one of these days, I show up at his office door requesting a full dose of terrible humor. Sometimes that's what it takes, right?

   Love,

    Meg

Lagging

I am so very behind... on everything. I'm behind on laundry. I'm behind on dishes. I'm behind on the constant battle to prevent our apartment from being overtaken by clutter and cat hair. I'm so behind on work that I doubt I'll be able to catch up even this week. I'm behind on magazines and my Netflix queue and reading all of your wonderful blogs. I'm behind on all the errands that need to be run, as evidenced by my woefully empty refrigerator and the fact that Toby enjoyed real tuna for dinner because he finished the last of the cat food this morning. I'm behind on staying in touch with people -- I owe so many friends phone calls and facebook messages that it makes me a little shaky to think about it. And, of course, I am inexcusably behind on blogging.
Lest you get the impression that I've been sitting around with my feet up, letting the world pass me by and my responsibilities simply pile up, here's a little snapshot of what I've been up to in the past week-ish:
 -- I've worked a ton of overtime. This is pretty normal for some jobs, but not at all for mine. This week has been absolutely crazy, to put it mildly. Not exactly fun, but woohoo paycheck! On the other hand, I don't think my cat recognizes me anymore...
 -- I've run two races -- the half and then a 5k this past weekend. Both were tough in their own special way, but I was really happy with my times and pretty excited to get into racing after months of training. Now, I'm lengthening my daily runs a bit, adding in a few more structured workouts (think tempo runs and speedwork), and looking forward to a 10k in about a month.
 -- I've listened to about a million hours of Pandora... thank goodness for the year's subscription I got for Christmas last year. Thanks dad, and don't worry -- I'm getting your money's worth!
 -- I've eaten lots of meals with my family. That's what you do when you have an awesome family. And also when you're broke and grocery-less. But mainly just when you have really nice parents.
 -- I've cooked a lot of vegetables. My new favorite dinner consists of chopped garlic and onion, olive oil, a little white wine, some lemon juice, and whatever veggies I can find in my fridge (typically okra, mushroom, squash of some variety, etc.) It's the easiest meal ever and I don't feel quite as guilty as I do on nights I make that other thing I love to cook (pasta, of course). 
 -- I've gotten very little sleep. It seems like every night when I get home from work/dinner/running, there are a billion things to around the apartment. Last night I found myself scrubbing the microwave at 11:00. The rest of the kitchen may be a mess, but this morning I appreciated my sparkling clean microwave.... as I yawned and poured myself a large cup of coffee.
Tonight, however, I am sitting in bed and it is only 9:30. I am minutes away from a wonderfully long night's sleep, which will hopefully be enough to get me through another long day at work tomorrow, a long run tomorrow afternoon, and maybe even a quick run to the grocery store. And one of these days, just maybe, I'll get ahead. Or even just a little less behind. Honestly, I'll take what I can get.

   Love,

    Meg

In Memory, In Hope

As I sit here this evening watching MSNBC's rebroadcast of the original footage from September 11, 2001, I find myself breathless at the fact that 10 years can pass in the blink of an eye. It truly astounds me that an entire decade has elapsed since that horrific day, years in which so many things have changed, and yet so many others have stayed just the same. Even now, I find it difficult to comprehend that such a tragedy could be possible, that any human being could ever want, much less meticulously plan, an attack on human life of this magnitude. How can you comprehend such an enormous a loss of life? How can you fathom the malice in its orchestration?
Almost everyone in America remembers watching the events of the day as they unfolded with horror and disbelief. My experience on September 11th was different from so many: as a middle schooler, I spent the day attending classes, largely ignorant of the morning's atrocities. The administration of my school made the decision not to inform the students and instructed teachers not to speak about the news in an effort to protect students with ties to the World Trade Centers and the Pentagon. One of my friends heard a rumor about a plane hitting one of the twin towers,  which he mentioned to the rest of us during math that morning. There were only 8 or 9 of us in the accelerated class, and I remember that our teacher gave us no details (either because she had none or had been asked not to tell us) and steered us from the subject. The thought that this information could represent anything beyond an awful accident never crossed my mind, and I don't remember thinking much about it for the rest of the day, blissfully unaware of the truth. There was only one other vague indicator that life was about to change: at the end of the school day, during the announcements that always preceded dismissal, the principal  spoke over the intercom (a rarity in itself -- typically we only heard from the school secretary) to tell students that the next day would be a "normal school day." I vividly remember the glances exchanged among students at this moment, looks that said "well, why on earth wouldn't tomorrow be a school day?"
It was not until several minutes later, when I got into the car with my mom to go home, that I finally learned the reality of the day's events. While most Americans watched the second plane fly into the South Tower within 15 minutes of finding out about the first plane, I had to wait a full six hours. While most Americans sat glued to CNN as news of Flights 77 and 93 met their final, terrible fates, I sat through Civics and French with no knowledge of the war that had begun on US soil. While most Americans began to mourn the loss of loved ones and strangers, I continued on with a day that had begun as normally as every other, a sunny Tuesday that remained unmarred by clouds of dust and debris until late afternoon, when I sat in the car and listened to my mother and they suddenly billowed in.
Since that day, I've always been a little bitter that our school had chosen not to keep the students informed. I felt that I had been purposely left in the dark while the world changed around me. I was upset that I had been deemed too young and immature for the reality of the situation. Today, however, as I watched the coverage from that day, I was surprised to find myself grateful for having been spared such incredible emotional upheaval as a 13 year old. I cried today like I don't remember ever crying 10 years ago, but I also felt infinitely better able to cope with the complex tangle of feelings that swelled up from the pit of my stomach. Such an act of violence is still unfathomable, unexplainable, and deeply disturbing ten years later, and yet I have finally come to terms with the way in which I learned about, and thus understood, the events when they happened. For the first time, I am thankful for those few extra hours of innocence afforded to us.

   Love,

    Meg

Race Recap: Virginia Beach Rock 'N' Roll Half Marathon

Let's make a deal: You refrain from pointing out the glaring fact that this race took place on Sunday and it is, in fact, Wednesday... and I will spare you the gory details of how, in just the past two days, I've picked up several hours of overtime thanks to a mini-crisis at work. Sounds like a fair trade, yes? Clearly, a large percentage of the three (or so) of you who may happen to read this are only here to find out whether or not I'm still alive after my first attempt at a half-marathon. It would be a shame to give everything away too early, so first you'll have to endure a few terrible pictures and some very fuzzy memories of 13.1 slightly torturous miles.

We made it to the expo on Saturday afternoon, just in time to be reminded that I had only a few short hours left before hitting the road. I've never run a race with a real expo, so it was fun to roam around, drool over all the amazing running gear, and generally soak in the excitement. I picked up some GU, a tube of Nuun, a 13.1 tumbler, and a few great stickers:

These cracked me up, and I'm dying for it to stop raining so that I can finally put the 13.1 on my car. 
After the expo, we went to scope out the next morning's parking situation, and then headed to check into the hotel, grab some dinner, and go to bed super early. Unfortunately, even though I turned off the light around 9:30, I only managed about 2 or 3 hours of sleep. The rest of the night I spent tossing and turning and dozing off just enough to have nightmares about the race. 
Honestly, the 4am drive to the parking area and the shuttle to the start passed in kind of a haze of exhaustion and nerves. I woke up enough to warm up a little bit, stand in line for the bathroom (twice), and then squeeze my way into the corral a few minutes before the start.

the view from corral 12

They ran the wave start quickly and I crossed the starting line right around 7:16. Finally, after months of training and anticipation, we were off...
Miles 1-6 were surprisingly wonderful. The course started off through downtown and then headed out a flat stretch of road lined with trees and dotted with neighborhoods. I felt incredible, my splits were fast (too fast), and I allowed myself to stick to the outside, working my way past crowd after crowd, gaining adrenaline with each group I overtook. There was a voice in the back of my head urging me to slow down and conserve some energy, but I ignored it like an idiot pro.
For miles 6-9, we took a turn down a rural road, enjoyed a bit of shade, and I started to get a little concerned. My pace leveled out to around 9 minute miles, and my body started to give the first hints of fatigue. I started to regret my choice to carry a water bottle with me, as it all of a sudden weighed about 25 pounds in my hand, but I was generally able to keep it together mentally and fight through the stress.
Miles 9-12 were rough -- my legs got tired, my stomach started to feel unhappy, and, worst of all, my mental game began to fall apart. I struggled to keep putting one food in front of the other, and questioned whether I was going to be able to make it to the end. My uncle was running the race with me, and luckily he caught up with me right around mile 10, talking me through the last couple miles and to the boardwalk.
The last mile was probably the worst, stretching along the boardwalk with the sun beating down and a gazillion people shouting "You're almost there... you're almost there..." As hard as I tried to hang in there and   push all the way to the end, I kept looking towards the finish line and deciding that it. wasn't. getting. any. closer. I considered how embarrassing it would be to collapse, in front of all those people, just half a mile from the end. I wondered whether there was any graceful way to sit down right there in the middle of the course. I wanted so badly to stop and walk, but everyone around me was running and even if my pride would have allowed it, I was pretty sure I'd get trampled. But just when I didn't think I could take another step without falling apart, I looked up to see the finish line looming, and finally my legs kicked in, carrying me towards the end as if my life depended on it. I'm honestly not sure how I got there, but the next thing I knew, my foot hit that pad, someone shoved a bottle of water at me, and I was suddenly floating on the knowledge that I'd just run 13.1 miles... and finished.

My official time was 2:00:36, almost 15 whole minutes faster than my goal time. I was elated, even though part of me wishes that I had dug in during those last few miles and come in under 2 hours. Honestly, though, I'm. thrilled that not only did I get a pretty awesome pr for my first half, but also a built-in and readily-achievable sub-2:00 goal. (More on goals another day, but this is going to be on the top of my list for the next few months)
Overall, despite the major psychological struggles, the race was fantastic -- a wonderfully flat course with awesome volunteers and practically ideal weather. Not only am I proud of my time, I'm extremely excited to have just finished this race: until just a few months ago, I would never have guessed that I could get through 13 miles on my own two feet. It was an incredible experience and I'm so thankful that my months of training paid off so well. I can't wait to keep training and start thinking about the next few races on my calendar!

   Love,

    Meg

Deployment in Review: Month 3

Good grief, how on earth is it already September? If it weren't for a few blissfully cool morning runs lately, I would truly think that we were still stuck somewhere in July. Thankfully, the first few hints of fall are beginning to appear... football season is here, I've been sleeping with the windows open, and (most importantly) Dunkin' Donuts has started serving pumpkin iced coffees again. In a truly shocking display of will-power and a last ditch effort to ensure that I cross the finish line alive, I have decided to wait until after this weekend's race to enjoy my first of the season. 36 hours and counting!
The month of August was, honestly, not all that exciting. I did a lot of running, a lot of working, and lot of . I had a few good days, and a few bad days. I weathered an earthquake (or three) and a hurricane without too much drama. And I was a terribly delinquent blogger. Looking back, I know that my weeks felt busy, but I'm honestly not sure where all of the time went. I'm just so glad that another month is behind us, and we're that much closer to Dan coming home. It's really hard to believe that it's been over a month since I saw him last, and the furball and I are more than ready to welcome him back... already. Has anyone seen the fast forward button on this thing?
Thankfully, September should be a little more exciting, a bit more blog-worthy, and significantly less hot. Hurray! Honestly, I don't think you can really go wrong in a month that kicks off with a three day weekend. Do you all have awesome plans for the holiday weekend? Mine involve carbo-loading, taking advantage of the race expo, getting through 13 miles as fast as possible, and spending the rest of the weekend relaxing with a pumpkin iced coffee in hand. Happy September, everyone!

   Love,

    Meg

Dearest Blog,

You seem to be looking a little neglected lately -- a bit unkempt, slightly thin, just a teeny bit uncared for. I get the feeling that you feel sort of forgotten, too, and if I'm honest... your exasperation is probably justified. I have been a less-than-attentive owner, and I'm sort of surprised that you've stuck around. I half expected to log in tonight and find that you'd packed your bags and caught the first flight to somewhere warmer.

I know what you're thinking: I've found a new love, a new hobby to occupy my hours. I've seen the little quiver as your statistics drop off while I lace up and hit the road, felt the growing concern from your dashboard as the days go by and the miles add up, while your posts... don't. But I can promise that you've not been replaced: there is plenty of room in my heart for blogging and running to coexist peacefully. In truth, just as a good run can ease my anxiety, clear my head, and start my day with a smile on my face... so do you. I come here for the same reasons I push myself out the door each morning -- for a few minutes to be honest with myself, confront the stresses of life head on, and ultimately feel a little better for the release. You, dear blog, do for my heart what the road does for my body: you wake it up and make it sing.

So thanks for sticking with me when the going gets tough and the writer's block gets sticky. Thanks for allowing me to write without judgment, to share my deep dark secrets alongside the banalities of what I ate for lunch. Thanks for understanding when my two goals for the evening are to run and blog, but by the time I make it to you my mind is too sleepy to produce anything coherent. Thanks for being much cheaper than therapy, but just as effective. 

This month, I pledge to take better care of you, to rekindle my love for you, to stop taking you for granted. September always makes me feel nostalgic and happy, that warm fuzzy feeling of curling up under a blanket as the nights get cooler and the smell of burning leaves and pumpkin announces the arrival of fall. This September, especially, will be busy, but I promise to find a few moments amidst the excitement to reconnect with you on a more regular basis. Don't give up on me, dear blog... I've still got lots to say.

   Love,

    Meg