Taking a week off.

Not because I can afford to. Lord knows I've already adjusted the goal once - don't need to again!

And not because I'm injured - Hallelujiah!

Sometimes, though, time to reflect is a good thing.

I've been reading several runners' blogs this week. Here's some of note:

Dorothy's extremely honest post about being a runner and a runner's expectations.

Don't read his posts, just look at the pictures. (Because Anton Krupicka is a running god, and we are mere mortals.)

Because we all need to be reminded that no matter what you're doing at this moment, there's always someone who's doing it with more grace, while dealing with more shit.

I just like this guy.

Funny how that word scares so many people. Yes. You. Are.

Just Run.

Though I think "select few" is a little melodramatic (I think there are quite a few of us out there!), I still love this. Found here.

Also wanted to send a shout out over to Heather - we've all been where you're at right now.

Miles 490-502: Myrtle Beach Mini Marathon

I have not been able to stop smiling since Sunday.

The race at Myrtle Beach on October 23, 2011 will forever stay with me. Perhaps that is a redundant statement, as all of my races stay with me in one way or another.

But, as the previously posted collage of pictures posted suggests, Myrtle Beach was a unique combination of elements that makes it memorable for all of the right reasons.

What makes it all the more fantatsic is that, in retrospect, this race had the potential to go really, really wrong. All because of a Port-A-John line.

After waking pre-dawn, downing the requisite cup of black coffee, and force-swallowing a bagel (will food at 5:30 am ever be appetizing?), I dressed and headed to the race site with James, David, and Glenna.

We half-listened to some tunes, all while lost in our own thoughts. Myrtle Beach was Glenna's first, David's third, James's eighth, and my seventh half marathon. We had spent Friday night until that pre-dawn darkness enjoying each other's company and trying to relax and refuel before finding ourselves toeing the line in anticipation.

Since the race started at Grande Circle Mall (a mammoth sized version of the typical shopping plaza), finding parking was not an issue. We parked and hopped out, heading straight for a last minute pit stop.

The lines were, as they usually are, long and full of excited chatter. While in line, we hooked up with Glenna's trainer Malou and her husband, and the six of us contributed our own bits to the banter.

It was just before the predicted 7 am start-time when we finally were at the front of the line. We were calmed by the fact that we hadn't heard the National Athem or heard the five minute warning. We regrouped and headed towards the corral.

As I helped David fill his Camel-Bak water pack, I looked up at the start line and saw the start clock glowing a with a red "2" before the colon and realized that not only had the race already started, but we were over two minutes into it.

James and I immediately started jogging and David fell into step beside me asking, "Are we running for real? Has the race really started?"

Yes, my friend, while we were pissing, the race gun went off. It is the first race in which I ran that I was not waiting, hopping from foot to foot, in the start corral.

Strangely, this marked difference didn't really faze me; nevertheless  the question floated up, "What pace group is this?" and I immediately started picking around the slower runners next to me. Briefly, I worried about if I would lose too much time finding my way back to my needed pace group of 9:10/mile.  James shouted an "I love you" as he ran past and David melted into the crowd; just like that, we were in the thick of it.

Then I heard a cow-bell.

Just before heading to bed the night before, Glenna and I had given our friend Renee a cow-bell and two tamborines to make noise at the finish line. She, Glenna's daughter Alex and twin sister Jennifer insisted, however, on being there at the start as well. In the midst of the Port-A-John screw up, I had completely forgotten.

But there they were, hollering and waving.

The first few miles are a bit of a blur. I spent most of them dodging newbie runners and walkers (! really? in the first miles?) and trying to normalize my pace. After the Nike+ Sportwatch debacle, I've been relying on my regular Timex. Passing the first mile marker, I saw my pace was right on track. I spent the next few miles calculating where I needed to be. 18:20, 27:30, 36:50, 45:50.

Right smack in the middle my calculating, the cow-bell rang again.

Afterwards, Renee told me that they had run red lights, sped 80 mph in 45 mph zones, and sneaked around road-blocks. All to make sure they were at the next stop to wave their "Go, Glenna!" sign, clang their cow-bell, and take pictures.

I tell you, cheerleaders like them are not easy to come by.

Six miles in, I was still running under my needed pace and I was feeling strong. The sun hadn't quite crested the buildings and my sunglasses stayed on my head. I continued to jog through the waterstations, I downed my second vanilla Gu and I rounded into mile 8.

I heard the cow-bell yet again and laughed with joy. There was the cheerleading triad again. I shouted, "I think I got this one!" and, after looking at her watch, Renee affirmed the statement. One downside to the Myrtle Beach half is that the race is a point-to-point, and the course itself is pretty spread out. I did see a couple of husbands toting children in stollers to cheer on their mommies and some modest gatherings of supporters at big intersections, but on the whole, Myrtle Beach runners didn't get the benefit of spectator-lined streets like in Richmond or St. Louis.

The support those three women gave to me, David, James, Glenna, and Malou is signficant; the support they gave to countless other runners is untold.

Heading in to mile 10, I needed to be at 1:31:30; when I looked at the watch and saw just under 1:30, I briefly flirted with the idea of not just breaking two hours but actually smashing it. Running down 28th avenue towards the ocean as the sun crested the building and the ferris wheel loomed into site, I felt a surge of energy unlike anything I've ever felt in a race before.

It was still chilly and my muscles were numb; I was still a 5K from the finish, but I had every confidence that I would finish under two hours.

The Ocean Boulevard stretch was exhilirating and frightening at the same time. I continued to hit my mile marks under my time budget; but it was a straight stretch and I kept wondering when the final turn onto the boardwalk would come.

Finally, I saw runners turning left. I kept moving my feet, drilling for consistency. I didn't want to let this victory slip from my fingers. I could hear the announcer at the finish, but as I rounded the corner, my eyes - I thought - deceived me.

We were running along a curved sidewalk, weaving like a sinusoidal wave in dizzying frequency. I could feel my legs losing momentum. I did not know how much further I had to fun. I frantically checked my watch, weighed my odds - if I step on the gas now, I might burn out; if I don't, I might not break the two hour mark.

Then, as if heaven sent, a fellow runner breathed, "I see IT."

It. The finish-line.

At 1:58 and some change, I threw on my full-burners.

Rounding the final turn of the sidewalk, I saw I had maybe 50 yards. I sprinted like I hadn't ever before.

And as I crossed the line, I looked at my watch.

I pressed stop at 1:59:18.

And for the first time, I burst into tears of nothing but joy. I yelled. I threw my hand in the air. I stumbled over to the volunteers handing out medals and took it in my hand.

I did it.

Miles 490-502: Lucky seven came through.

Myrtle Beach Half Preview: I. DID. IT.

A detailed post to follow later!

Miles 475-485 and 486-489: Countdown to Myrtle Beach

Tonight we head south to Myrtle Beach for their Mini Marathon.

There, I will complete my seventh (!) half marathon and my friend Glenna will run her first.

Hopefully this is lucky number seven and I will come in at a sub-2!

This past Sunday's run was our last long run before the race and it's extremely thrilling to be pain and injury-free and to see my friend be in that same place for her first race.

Miles 475-485: Really starting to like these ten milers....

Miles 486-489: The usual four miler, in about the usual pace.

Send good vibes to the coast at 7 am ET - I know y'all are going to be dreaming of 1:59:59!

Miles 471.5-474: Strolling with Meg

Look who came to visit! Everyone, say hello to Meg.

In this picture we are enjoying a wine tasting at the absolutely fabulous Chef and the Farmer, but I assure you, before this event, we did our share of walking.

This October has been surreal. The weather has been positively stunning, with days clear and breezy and sunny and skies so blue it's as if a massive flock of bluebirds is flying forever towards the sun.

Okay, maybe that's a little creepy. But the point is: LOTS of blue.

Friends, walking, and wine on a Saturday. Good for the soul.

Miles 468.5-471.5: Fleet Feet

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would begin to regularly have runs where I would describe myself as feeling fleet-footed.

But.

Tonight's run was another sub-9 average and, more importantly, I just. felt. good.

I'm still marveling at how much the change in weather has impacted my running. It makes me wonder what I could do if I lived in a climate that was temperate year-round.


In other news, my friend Meg is visiting from out of town and the Myrtle Beach Mini-Marathon is a week from Sunday. We're going to be 3 for 3 on the awesome weekend scale, people!

October is shaping up to be pretty freaking awesome. Hope you all can say the same.

Miles 468.5-471.5: Keeping a good thing going.

464-468.5: Fast 5 (and a half)!

How about them apples! Maybe I was unintentionally applying the Pose Method to my running?

Miles 464-468.5: Fast and glorious on Sunday morning.

Miles 456-463: A Walk in the Woods

Well, hello there! As you can see - Saturday we broke from our norm.

For the first time in over nine months, I present to you, a catalog of WALKING! on Would Rather Walk. Or Run.

It seems a little silly that it has taken so long to write about the pleasure of travelling by foot, but - in all honesty - my present home is not very conducive to walking. (For starters, there are very few sidewalks.)

With fall in the air and a strong urge to flock to the hills, James and I headed northwest to Pilot Mountain State Park just north of Winston-Salem to hike, hopefully spy some wildlife, and lay eyes on the rocky crag most people passing liken to The Earth's Nipple.

I had read that during summer and autumn the parking lot near the Little Pinnacle Overlook became extremely crowded during peak hours of 11-6. Since our goal was not just to see the sight but to actually hike, an easy solution was to park at the southern most point of the park and hike the Mountain Trail (2.5ish mile one way) up the mountain.

It ended up being an excellent choice, as we only passed three other hikers along the way. The top, as predicted, was a different story. People of all shapes and sizes made their way from the parking lot to the Little Pinnacle Overlook, scrambling up big rocks to get a glimpe of Pilot Mountain.

I sweated profusely, my heels and big toes blistered, my fingers swelled - but the woods were quiet. We saw a wild turkey sprint up the ravine; I heard and spotted a downy woodpecker; yellow and red leaves fell all around us.

There is a high that I get when hiking that is similar to and yet apart from a runner's high. The endorphins are there, the zen feel of the flow is there, but there is also something more - your senses are sharper.  You are aware that you are a small moving biped in a big, big wood.

Miles 456-463: Roundtrip hiking punctuated by a Honeyrcrisp apple. Fall hiking at its best.

Miles 452-455: Working out the kinks

I am so glad that I have been running long enough that I am passed the point where major pains frighten and threaten to lay waste to all my plans. Heather, I totally felt your post. (Except, you know, I've never actually gone to the doctor to confirm diagnosis. Kudos for you with that.)

Tuesday's run was nothing fancy, just standard issue 9:15ish miles.

I really felt Sunday's run in my calves, though. I made a conscious effort to push off the balls of my feet to stretch them that much more.

All I could think during this run - aside from THANK YOU GOD FOR BEAUTIFUL FALL WEATHER - was if I, at the amateur level I am, can feel individual muscle fibers and tweak foot falls to stretch them out, what level of attentiveness - dear lord! - must professional athletes experience on a day-to-day basis? Must be, by turns, exhilarating and excruciating.

Miles 452-455: 37 minutes of exchanging pleasantries with the sun; because, you know, it's not trying to bake me alive anymore.

Miles 442-451: Fastest 10!

Fall has officially arrived in North Carolina.

And I am loving every second.

Sunday's long run featured a long-sleeved tech shirt with shorts in the apparel department; it's been a long six months since long-sleeves have made a showing.

I've always loved the transitional seasons of spring and fall; and North Carolina's lingering awesomeness of 75° days/55° nights just sweetens the pot.

Most notably, since moving out east, I've been pleasantly surprised with how much of a performance boost I enjoy in those first few cool (and usually dry) weeks of fall.

This Sunday was a particular joy, as I can now boast of what I am sure is my fastest 10-mile time yet at 1:32:28, with the last mile clocking in at 8:39.

 Myrtle Beach, looks like I've got a rendez-vous with a sub-two at you.

Miles 435-438: Sugar high! and Miles 439-441: I'll-be-damned-if-I-know low

The effect upon one's running that eating crappy (read: overly sugary, overly greasy, but OH so good) food is a bit of a gamble.

Last Tuesday I rolled the dice and enjoyed the lingering effects of a rather large piece of carrot cake - the sugar was pure electricity in my blood. Four miles of WOOHOO!

You can imagine my surprise, then, when I ate well last Thursday, hydrated properly, and could barely get out three miles. I felt light-headed, disconnected from my body, short of breath, and all together out of it. Just shy of three miles of EEEGAD!

Miles 426-434: Glenna's First Niner

I had the pleasure of running nine miles with Glenna last Sunday. My delay in posting about it is in no way a reflection of my feelings about it. These days, the procrastinator in me is sneaking back control, threatening to shatter what little discipline I've gained in this past year and distress my sleep.

This run was fairly memorable, not for its speed or its distance, but for it's conversation. First, for the sheer fact of conversation - Glenna has arrived at the place where she can talk while run (though I know she thinks otherwise) - and secondly, for the topics that we probed, most too personal to write about here.

This Sunday run reminded me again of the wonderful communion of running with another person. This Sunday run's conversation reminded me of the even more profound grace of running with a friend.

Miles 426-434: A little less than two hours, sweating it out in so many ways.