Boom!

For two weeks the longest run of my training thus far has hung over my head. Jaynie and Eileen completed the run on Valentines Day and I gave it a shot on February15th. Much to my dismay, my body was not ready to run 30 miles. Overtrained, tired, hungry and unmotivated, I made it through a lackluster 10 miles before calling Andrew to pick me up. I shed tears in my kitchen as frustration over not completing the run poured over me. Knowing I needed a break, Andrew encouraged me to take off my running clothes and take a nap. With a busy week ahead of our first small group, school work, baking for a weekend away with friends, and taking a weekend away with friends, I had little time to run last week. A few miles on Tuesday and a couple more on Wednesday were all I had the time or energy to do. Thursday night Andrew and I dropped the dog off at the vets for boarding and headed to Ohio for a weekend with seven other college friends.

After a festive Thursday evening, Friday morning I woke up ready to try 31 again. Andrew promised to run some with me and bike the rest as we drove to nearby trails. The weather was frigid, Andrew had a wardrobe malfunction and all either of us wanted to do was hang out. We decided it was best for both of us to call it quits around six miles and head back to the cabin's hot tub. After two days of delicous food, fantastic friends, and goofy games our time with our friends was both refreshing and exhausting.

Though the weekend was a blast, I still had this "little" run sitting in front of me. Ready to complete it I set out in snowy conditions in Morgantown to run with our dog. 30 miles later, the run is finished and I feel encouraged.

When it comes to running at times I am a headcase. Though I put in the training I sometimes flake out during a run and feel overwhelmed by the amount of miles stretching before me. In the middle of marathons I start to feel like I can't keep going and make myself feel physically ill. The 30 mile run was not different. To have 30 miles waiting for me to run alone was intimidating. My head was filled with doubts as I began to pound the pavement. 30 miles? Alone? How would I ever survive that many hours of boredom with only a dog to keep me company? As I pushed through mile after mile, however, I realized that I could do it. Around mile 18 the doubts started to float into my head. Would I finish? I felt tired and hungry. My legs were aching, my knee was tender and my feet were sore. The dog kept pulling the leash, urging me to continue and every time I felt tired, I decided I deserved a treat. I ate fruit leather and gave myself walk breaks every couple of miles. My Ipod battery died and I was without music but, around mile 26 I stopped and chuckled to myself. I ran a marathon alone. A couple of years ago I would have never been able to do that. Eventually, my gps added up to 30 and Andrew came to pick me up. I'd finished the run!

The dog and I are both tired from the miles we put on our legs, but I feel as if the 50 miler is actually within my grasp. If I can complete 30 by myself without a single person to talk with, 50 with Jaynie should be a piece of cake, right?

Not afraid, thankful.

When I first moved to New York I was terrified of snowplows. I had a real fear. The enormous orange or yellow monsters that chewed up the snow and spewed out salt sent me running for the nearest snow bank. The lights, the double plows, the sound of metal scrapping pavement all made me cringe and want to stay inside cowering under my blankets. For a Georgia girl, a snowplow was an unknown beast. I hated driving behind them or beside them, scared that my car would be snowplow victim like the white ice it was consuming. The snowplow line on the thruway where snowplows united and formed a diagonal eating up every bit of snow they could find made me want to forget my trip and head the other direction.

Nine years later and two months into a West Virginia winter, my opinion of snowplows has greatly improved. After seven snow days and more two hour delays than I care to count, I have yet to see a snowplow meander through the hilly streets. I was informed the other day by a coworker that there are 12 snowplows in the county and only six drivers. Gone are the New York days, where the weather dips below freezing and an army or yellow orange descends on the streets. Gone are the days of washing off the salt caked to your car. Gone are the days where you pray for a snow day, but know you won't get one because it didn't snow three feet between 3 and 5 a.m. Gone are the days of running on the shoulder of the road in the winter, or running on the road much at all.

Welcome to Morgantown where it snows, melts, freezes, snows, melts, freezes, snows, melts, freezes... Welcome to a world without any snowplows. Welcome to a world where schools are closed for 1/2 inch of snow. Welcome to a world where drivers are paralyzed by the thought of a snowflake. Welcome to Morgantown where a snowplow is as elusive as Big Foot.

Tomorrow it is supposed to snow again--two inches. Perhaps I'll have a sighting of the thing I once feared. Instead of feeling afraid however, I'll breathe a sigh of relief and feel thankful.

An update...Shocking...

Nearly every marathon runner will tell you that the most important part of training is the long run. Time on your feet is invaluable as you adjust from running a few miles to 26.2 I decided to run my first marathon during my senior year of college. A mediocre college sprinter, I was determined to conquer longer distances with the ultimate goal to qualify for the Boston marathon. My original decision to run a marathon was a group effort. One of my roommates and my close friend Jaynie talked about running, but it was Jaynie and I who put in the miles and completed the race. We slowly built up our long run from six miles to twenty. Hour after hour we ran through all of the back roads around Houghton, New York.

My friendship with Jaynie began the year before I started attending college on a mission trip to Tanzania. We bonded while hiking through the mountains sleeping in tents, "bathing" in buckets and eating canned foods. I don't think either of us imagined that we would be friends ten years later.

Two years ahead of me in school, Jaynie has done everything "first"--marriage, kids, a dog, a house, but I've been around for each decision. During our first marathon training, our long runs were our time to hang out. Jaynie's husband diligently drove around and brought us water every five miles as we ran through the snow, the rain and once in a while sunshine. She is always strong in the beginning and I don't hit my stride until about mile fourteen. We're a perfect running pair. Our first marathon was a success as we both finished in respectable times. We ran at our own pace and felt good about the effort as we looked to the future.

When I graduated from Houghton, I moved about an hour away from Jaynie--a manageble distance and we planned our next race. Philadelphia. Again, we ran our own pace, finished and looked to the future. A 50k on Long Island. This race I ran solo. Jaynie broke her ankle five weeks before the run and I struggled through the remaining weeks of training and the race on my own. I was frustrated, bored and lonely but running well after it was over. With a couple of marathons under my belt I decided to seriously try to qualify for Boston. Jaynie, pregnant, was not able to train with me but I still drove to Houghton every weekend to hang out with my boyfriend (now husband) Andrew. I barely qualified for Boston and Jaynie was the first person I called after the finish line.

With babies on the way, Jaynie had to hang up her running shoes for a couple of years. I ran Boston, saw Jaynie hours after the birth of her first son, got married (Jaynie was my matron of honor) and ran a half marathon. My running felt purposeless and I missed my most consistent partner. I missed my friend. Without long runs to connect on, I felt our friendship slipping away. After her second baby was born, the running bug hit Jaynie again. Four months later we ran together again--a half marathon. I was so proud of my friend and she wanted to do more. Another marathon was in our future a few months later in Harrisburg. We ran a few long runs together as we made the trek back and forth between Buffalo and Houghton. Running felt complete again as we were able to share our weeks.

Harrisburg we ran together. It was her race. Her "post-baby" marathon. Not our fastest race, but the most rewarding. We looked to the future. A 50k in early spring in Virginia was our goal. Week after week we trudged through our long runs in snowy western New York. Every weekend brought a new challenge, but every weekend was wonderful. Our friendship grew as we talked about work, running, and family. My life was undergoing huge changes as Andrew applied to law school and our future was uncertain. We both knew that it could be our last chance to really run together. We finished the 50k and loved almost every second of it.

Andrew and I moved to Morgantown. Beyond a new place to live, moving meant that long runs with Jaynie would end. Once we arrived in Morgantown, I was frustrated with the running scene. Unfamiliar roads make me nervous, hills are hard and I missed my friend. Perhaps missing Jaynie is what motivated me to sign up for a 50 miler (and persuaded her to do the same).

Over Christmas break Jaynie and I ran two long runs together. One run she felt strong, one run I felt strong. We laughed, were miserable, and talked for hours--it was like putting on a favorite sweatshirt.

Break is now over and as I stare at my training schedule I feel a bit sad. Week after week of twenty mile runs without Jaynie. Week after week of pounding the trails with my dog and my Ipod--but not my friend.

Yes, the long run is the most valuble part of training but for Jaynie and I, it's value goes beyond the miles as it builds our friendship. For now we'll settle for calling each other after our runs and head out the door so that we don't let each other down. At least a 50 miler is long...we'll have plenty of conversation stored up for the day!

A Time to Bake

I can't remember when I learned how to bake. My mom has stacks of pictures of me cracking eggs while wearing diapers, rolling my hands through flour with a pacifier in my mouth, and spreading icing with a blankie nearby. My first cook book was Walt Disney's Mickey Mouse Cookbook and my favorite recipe within was Big Bad Wolfe's Brownies. I made the brownies as often as my mother allowed and it took several tries until they were perfect. The first batch burnt, the second batch overflowed, and the third was edible. I poured over the book, dogearing pages anxious to cook as much as possible. As children we all baked and the busiest time in the kitchen was Christmas. Together we rolled out sugar cookies and gingerbread, learned how to use cake decorating equipment, used plastic molds to make holiday mints and poured bags of marshmallows into chocolate to make stained glass window cookies. In elementary school I lived for the holidays, but as I grew into a very cool teenager decorating endless stacks of sugar cookies was a chore I was too cool to do.

My love for the sugar, flour, butter, combo was rekindled during the my senior year of college. Living in an apartment with my dearest friends, we often invited others over for dinner on the weekends. I wooed my now husband with chocolate cakes, apple turnovers, rustic french bread, and of course, cookies. If people were coming over there was a baked good to eat. Before Christmas break that year, I invited a couple of girls over to make sugar cookies and gingerbread. I boldly made a double batch of each dough and together we cut them all out and decorated. Every open space in the apartment was covered in frosted figures and our hands bore food coloring stains. We decorated for hours and later held a cookie eating party as our apartment filled with people who devoured our creations (Andrew was in attendance).

Learning how to bake is a work in progress. My first pie, for sale by auction at my school's pie day, was pathetic and was given away at the end of the day. I've burned sweet rolls after spending hours on the dough and have made flourless chocolate cakes fall. With the aide of the King Arthur's Cookie Companion, Baking Illustrated and a kitchen scale, lately I've had better luck in the kitchen. My pies have turned out better thanks to a tutorial by my mother-in-law.

All of the extra time on my hands this week, has turned my kitchen into a baking factory. Gingerbread, Mexican wedding, peanut butter balls and chocolate chip were all on the menu to take to New York for Christmas and I gladly covered my counters once again. Today I have a snow day and am aching to start up my mixer. Peanut brittle, white chocolate macadamia nut biscotti and more chocolate chip are on the menu. My face will soon be dotted with flour, Christmas music will stream in the background and Andrew will once again enjoy a cookie or two.

A Winter's Walk

As a one car couple many days of the week I have two options after work: walk/run to the law school or wait an hour for Andrew to pick me up after his last class. A couple of days a week I run the 3.5 miles adding on a few extra as time allows. Fridays however, are a walking day.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I really don't like walking. I don't feel it has a purpose. It's slow. It takes me all of the hour to walk the 3.5 miles when I could run up to six and still be waiting at the car for Andrew to get out of class. Getting a dog has helped my attitude towards walking because when walking with Stella I have a purpose.

Yesterday Andrew took his second of four finals and it was necessary for me to walk to the law school in order to pick up the car and drive home. The walk from my school to the law school is pleasant, especially on a brisk winter day. The weather this week was cold--not quite New York cold but chilly enough to cause your nose hairs to freeze. As I left work, I bundled up in my enormous blueberry down jacket, pulled a hat over my ears, replaced my heels with sneakers and began my trek.

To say Morgantown is hilly is an understatement. The law school happens to be at the top of the biggest hill in the city. Most of the walk between my daily destinations is a gradual rise that flattens out before a steep 3/4 mile climb straight up to Andrew's second home.

My walk yesterday gave me time to reflect on all of the changes Andrew and I have gone through over the past few months. In the quiet of the winter afternoon I felt at peace for the first time with our new life. I'm enjoying my job, have someone to run with occasionally, and am nearly finished school. Had I run the distance not only would I have missed the time to be thankful, but I would have sped by the peppermint Gelato on High Street.

Starting Out

I've "blog stalked" family members for months and decided that I can no longer complain about how long it takes people to update until I start my own. As my husband Andrew and I continue to settle into our new home in Morgantown, WV, I can guarantee that my postings will address the ins and outs of his law school pressure, my ridiculously easy job, our rambunctious dog and exercise.

Exercise: I love to run and set new goals for myself. Three weeks ago I took a huge step and signed up for my first 50 mile ultra run. Click here to see the profile.