You're invited to a running party

Recently I mentioned how excited I was for my friends Annah and Marco, who were returning to running after hiatuses of varying lengths.

They're both sticking with it, and I knew Annah would be doing the Friendly Sons 5K with Cory and me.

What I didn't know, until a recent chat about running goals in the midst of Django happy hour, was that the Friendly Sons interest had spread. (Was it how I've consistently concluded the event details with "last year there was free beer"?)

Annah's boyfriend, Joel, is likely joining us.

Pam, of the fantastic Boone County history run, said she and probably Marco were doing it.

And Sharyn, who also did the Remembrance Run with us (her first 5K!), exclaimed: "Oh, it's on a Sunday?" because she too works Saturdays.

So of course I seized upon the opportunity to encourage them all to join, to push a few members of our old running crew to return to the fold, and to drum up support for this year's Woofin' It 5K — not only have some of these folks picked up running, but they've also adopted dogs, making them perfect candidates for a fun run/walk.

This running season is shaping up to be the most social one yet, and though I don't mind running/racing solo, I'm pretty stoked about it.

(Apologies to anyone whose interest I downplayed or overexaggerated. It was loud at Django. And there was wine.)

Holiday Running Streak kickoff: First step is the hardest

There was no reason for my Holiday Running Streak not to start strong.

I had the day off work; my family had visited me the previous weekend to help with moving; and the potluck I was attending didn't start until 2 p.m.

So naturally, it was after 10 p.m. before I got around to running. Fellow streakers Joel and Cory had long ago logged their runs and made sure I knew it, so the pressure was on.

But run I did — a single mile, but that's all you have to do to make it count. Funny how much better I felt after that, physically and mentally.

Here's a rundown of my streak so far.

Thursday: 1 mile. Hills are not fun on bellies that, until you moved, were comfortably full of food and wine. 

Hills are fun, however, for minds that remember how many desserts you ate (four small ones), approximately how much wine you drank (and still didn't catch a buzz, given the food baby you conceived) and how excited you were to finally explore your new neighborhood.

Friday: 3.75 miles. I tested out what I thought was the best route to pick up the Des Moines trail system. I glided through quiet, winding neighborhoods down to a gravel trail through Water Works Park, then huffed and puffed back up the downhills that were so relaxing earlier.

Des Moines continues to surprise me by how suddenly it turns rural. And how hilly it is.

Unrelated: This sign made me laugh.

Saturday: 3.25 miles. What those hills give, they also take. I'd noticed a steep uphill and sketched a path around it, reasoning that a hill at the end was good enough justification. 

But because I barely know the roads around my new place, I ended up picking a roller-coaster ride. With the relatively mild weather and the novelty of unfamiliar roads, though, I didn't mind at all.

Sunday: 2.66 miles. Sunday was a classic example of why Runner's World organized this run streak. Regina and I delayed our run so that we could do this:

That is a beer-and-cookie flight: a breakfast stout with the brownie, a vanilla oatmeal stout with the vanilla chocolate chip cookie, a citrusy IPA with the lemon bar, and a chocolate porter with the chocolate chocolate chip cookie.

I had no regrets (OK, I wish only one of us had gotten the brownie pairing so we could've split that), but I did need a few hours for the stomach to settle. And to be honest, during the run, I realized it wasn't at 100 percent.

However — I went, and given how lovely it was earlier in the day (yeah, when I was drinking beer and eating baked goods), I dared to bare the legs. Shorts in December!

I am almost ashamed to write this post

I did not spend Labor Day sleeping in and lounging around. 

I spent it running 4.25 miles at a 9:10 pace, did some cleaning around the apartment, then joined a group of friends for what turned out to be an almost 45-mile bike ride.

Normally I would be proud to write this. But it's not the frequent stops that are tamping down my pride, nor is it just the next-day fatigue that also delayed my actually blogging about it.

It's that two of my bike companions had done the Hy-Vee Triathlon the day before. Individually, not as part of a relay team. Seriously. 

So no bragging from me — the toughest thing I did the day before my multisport effort was play "Just Dance" with a stomach full of Jethro's and wine.

This is just about all I'll applaud myself for: When I received the text, midrun, suggesting we go biking, my first instinct wasn't to decline because I was running. 

Oh, and at no point during the ride did I complain of fatigue. (Maybe it was because I didn't get too tired, just hungry during the same day and incredibly sore and sleepy the next day.)

Self-deprecation aside, I'd spent the long weekend mostly indulging myself and definitely not working out (again, unless you count "Just Dance"), so I was glad of the chance to sweat it out. 

The weather was just absolutely perfect in Des Moines — I walked outside at 9:15 a.m. in shorts and a T-shirt and was chilly! — and evidently my short layoff from running/long layoff from biking hadn't totally erased all my fitness. 

The very best thing about RAGBRAI

I must be getting sentimental in my old age, because there was no question in my mind that the best thing about RAGBRAI was my team.

A few of the people I went with were already "old" friends, who'd done running races and training rides with me; a few were acquaintances; and a few were complete strangers at the start.

But, to my great surprise, there wasn't a single person I secretly wanted to push into the Mississippi River by the end of the trip.

Sure, with a large group, we could alternate with whom we spent more time, but when you're with people from 6:30 a.m. until midnight, that's a lot of opportunity to grow irritated.

As a college bestie's wise mother says, traveling with people is the true test of whether you like them. I guess I like these folks.

Which is good, because everyone who isn't moving to the Caribbean for med school is already in for 2014, and the one who is moving to the Caribbean has already invited us to come out for a visit.

Some snapshots of our hijinks:

Wednesday began with one team member doing yoga to loosen up for the ride, so when we struck up a conversation with a yoga instructor in Monroe, a few of us were glad of the opportunity to expand our stretching knowledge. Chris (center) and Cory were good sports and let me do better downward dog than they did. 

The first time Regina and I rode around Lake Red Rock, we were tired and hungry, but the second day, we were more appreciative of the scenery.

A RAGBRAI tradition is to write "virgin" on the calves of first-time riders. I managed to avoid mentions of this until Friday, when we found ourselves at a beer garden with my second-favorite beer (Leinenkugel's Summer Shandy). Kyle (left) and I are asking Cory whether he's spelling virgin right. He is not. I was nearly a "virin."

This crowd had no bus to catch in Fort Madison, just the car of Mike (at right). So we took our sweet time Saturday; we're here in Keosauqua at the First Street Grille, which had four drinks on special. Joe and Mike suggested that we all get one of each, and Michelle and I decided to join them. Hence the duck faces.

Mike (from left), Michelle and Joe were all completely new to me when RAGBRAI began, but by the end, it was like we were old friends. Perhaps we'll re-create this photo in about six months, but with the Caribbean Sea behind us and swim gear in our hands — it's Michelle who's moving abroad.

My favorite moment, which didn't make it on camera (I tried; it was too dark), was partying in Fairfield's square. As described by one team member to another who called it a night early: "You missed the best night ever. There was a lot of yoga going on. We didn't do anything or meet any new people. We just acted like f*cking idiots."

There was also a lot of local wine going on, some dancing and much falling over while attempting plow pose. Surprisingly, though, no injuries.

Is it July 2014 yet?

The secret to running motivation

Early last week, I realized that I hadn't run since Memorial Day. It embarrassed me slightly, but mostly I didn't care, because of RAGBRAI training and Iowa summer's arrival.

That is, I didn't care until Sunday around 3 p.m.

The previous day, I'd driven up to Alexandria, Minn., for a beautiful wedding at Carlos Creek Winery, at which I'm pretty sure I polished off a bottle's worth of wine. (Seriously good stuff, and there was shuttle service back to the hotel.)

I'm positive I had two pieces of wedding cake, because after two bites of her own slice, my friend Chelsea turned to me and said: "Can you help me finish this? I can't eat anymore." (She's known me for nine years now; that was a rhetorical question.)

And I'm afraid to measure how much wholly artificial cheese popcorn I snarfed back at the hotel.

I topped this delightful Saturday with a Sunday brunch of a Culver's ButterBurger and a small raspberry milkshake — my go-to travel meal. I relished every single bite and gulp, and I cherished the memory ... for all of 15 minutes.

So much sugar, from the wine to the cake to the milkshake. So little activity, even if you count the dancing at the wedding reception. So much sitting (12 hours round trip, to be precise).

With nothing to do but think about all of this, I found the familiar itch coming back: go for a run.

Why run instead of bike? I didn't feel I would have enough daylight left to bike as long as I'd like to sweat out some of the partying. The key word there is sweat — I wanted to feel like I'd worked hard, and in fact I do work harder when I run than when I ride.

Despite my cat's attempts to be so cute that I wouldn't leave (he's good, but I'm mentally strong), I did go on that run, nearly five hours after the urge first struck. I did four miles, fully expecting to suffer.

I didn't suffer.

Well, OK, I was a little miserable during one uphill stretch, and I was thrilled to stop for good. But given the length of my layoff and the still-80-degrees-and-muggy weather, a sub-10:00 average and minimal walk breaks is an A+ effort.

I guess this means I've stumbled upon another piece of motivation, besides signing up for a race: indulge most of the weekend.

It's time to relax ... and also live it up

On Friday I declared my excitement over seeing race day in the forecast. I wasn't lying, but it did occur to me that not so long ago, I also would have been admitting to a twinge of sadness that game time was almost here.

Training had been going so well — and it still is — and I'd been reveling in the discipline it imposed on my life. In fact, I even feared its end a little bit, because it signals the end of significant running for the next three months. That will be RAGBRAI time.

Over the past few days, and with a close-to-perfect forecast for race day, though, I've cast that melancholy aside for two reasons.

One, I'm ready to rest. Two, I'm ready to party.

For the first point: I took last Wednesday off, as I'd planned, and Thursday off, as I hadn't planned but certainly didn't refuse. And still, the siren songs of couch lounging, napping and hitting the snooze button one more time are blaring.

I don't think I've overtrained, because the runs feel fine, but the mileage is adding up for sure. An extended period of laziness seems like the most efficient way to make me stop wondering whether I've caught the sleeping sickness, somehow, despite living far from any tropical regions.

For the second point: As a runner in training, I don't regret making sure my body is hydrated, rested and ready for race day; as an introvert fighting her nature, I'm concerned about my growing reputation for — and inclination toward — staying in.

A few times, I've passed on grabbing a few drinks because I wanted to wake up refreshed for the next day's runs.

Other times, I've declined post-work because I was tired/hungry and wanted to go home, a problem I don't recall having as often last fall, when my running was less focused and more recreational. (I don't think the constant gloomy weather is helping my nesting instinct, either.)

And once — remember the only day in 2013 that we broke 70 degrees? — I had to decline because the day's workout had utterly drained me.

None of this is to say that I regret training for a half marathon.

I probably wouldn't find the thought of waking up with a smile after 7.25 hours of sleep — or waking up with a wine headache/beer gutache — as appealing had I been experiencing those phenomena frequently over the past few months.

Nor would I have netted one PR and cast my eyes on another, if I hadn't been relatively dedicated to my training.

In conclusion? It's a good thing I decided to follow up my half marathon with RAGBRAI, because as I understand it, training for this event will require me to practice nomming cake, raising a glass and demanding that I get up and crank out serious miles the next day.

When la dolce vita catches up to you, it's not so sweet

It dawned on me recently, after reading yet another runner's status update/Daily Mile post/tweet, that I hadn't gone on a long run in a while. Nearly a month, in fact.

So yesterday — Sunday's rain enabled me to procrastinate — I set out on an eight-miler, bright and early. I finished in about 1:17, averaging a 9:36 pace. The key word here is average, in two senses.

One, in how those miles ranged from 8:50 to 10:27, depending on the terrain and whether the wind was canceling out the humidity or canceling out my strength.

And two, in how unremarkable the run felt. With the exception of a few highs and lows, I mostly just moved OK. 

That was 24 hours ago, and my body is definitely still demanding what the heck I did to it. There's no pain, which I appreciate, and it seems that I was able to cure the insatiable hunger and lower-back stiffness last night ... but the sleepiness and slow-moving, sore legs have stuck around.

The last long run I took, a 7.5-miler in July, didn't seem to affect me quite this much. I doubt the extra half-mile is to blame. Though the routes and weather conditions were different, it's not their fault, either.

What to blame? More like whom to blame. Me.

While it's true I've been running fairly consistently over the past month, I've also been rather self-indulgent recently. Dinner out, with appetizers and/or dessert? Yes, please. A glass of wine and/or cup of ice cream after work? You got it.

Don't worry: My alcohol tolerance hasn't shot up, nor have the buttons on my pants popped; I'm indulging in moderation, but on what's becoming a routine basis.

Fellow young athletes have shared wisdom about treats and training with me in the past.

One, my roller-derby-playing friend Jeniece, cited a blog post comparing bodies to machines — the quality of the fuel, for each, affects performance, i.e., when you're pouring junk in, don't expect stellar results.

The other, Scheels bike group leader Jordan, mentioned that he abstains from alcohol, not because he doesn't like it, but because it cancels out the gains from working out. (He has some ambitious biking goals, which I've forgotten.)

I'm not going to turn into an ascetic — even despite that New York Times blog post that destroyed my "I run for pizza" philosophy — but now that the ice cream and wine are gone from my freezer and fridge, respectively, I don't think I'll restock.

Sprinting and spirits

Over the weekend, I read in Runner's World magazine that NPR's Peter Sagal attempted — and could not complete — a beer mile in Chicago recently.

Let me be honest. Although I read each issue nearly cover to cover, I hardly ever look at an article and think "hey, I can do that." The yoga feature is the most notable exception to that rule.

And now you think that months of reading about wacky races in which participants must either chug (beer, egg nog, etc.) or chow (Krispy Kremes) in between laps has worn me down.

Well, it hasn't, so you can relax and exhale again. So why do I bring up the rarity of RW-inspired action and beer chugging?

Here's a blow-by-blow account of my reaction to the piece.

I can't even finish a regular mile in the amount of time the winner finished in. (Note: Nor could I finish drinking a beer in the winning time.)

I can't chug beer.

I can't really chug anything.

Except water.

And Gatorade.

Maybe milk.

Possibly wine ...

(End flashback.)

Now, I know there are plenty of races that lead you through wine country for the specific purpose of letting you stop and sip.

But I have yet to come across a wine race built around speed instead of savoring. It's even reflected in the distances: a beer mile, but a wine half marathon/full marathon.

I suppose this makes sense, because I also have yet to come across a college culture built around chugging wine — only beer. Please illuminate me if wine-related competitions even exist; the only boasting I hear about wine is a solo person's ability to tuck away a bottle ... or more.

Sure, wine drinkers have a reputation for swirling, staring, sniffing, everything but gulping their drinks. But there's nothing (aside from shattering the sophisticated image) that would prevent them from skipping those steps during a race.

In fact, my love for wine and tepid acceptance of beer aside, I'd think slamming 12 ounces of a carbonated, carbohydrated beverage — then sprinting! — would be much more difficult than gulping 5 ounces of a juicelike drink.

Is that the answer for "why no wine miles?" That it actually would be easier? Or is it just that old habits die hard?