I want in

Yesterday I woke up at 6 a.m. to watch the New York Marathon.

And I was blown away. The elites were absolutely amazing -- they made it look effortless. And I loved the drama of the race, watching it all unfold: How the elite men all seemed to be holding back, waiting for Haile Gebrselassie -- who holds the world record for the marathon in 2:03:59 (do you realize this is faster than my average half marathon time?) -- to make his move, only to have him drop out after injuring his knee. (And then he announced he is retiring -- super sad.) How Shalane Flanagan -- who had never, ever run a marathon before -- finished in second place for the women, between two Kenyans. (Nice -- I wish I could be so gifted!) How Emmanuel Mutai, second for the men, totally barfed at the finish line while wrapped in his country's flag. Apparently, he has a reputation for vomiting and pukes in races all the time.

And of course, there was the Chilean miner who ran, too -- he said he had trained while stuck underground. He had a rough time -- had to stop in the medical tent halfway through. But he finished -- 5:40:51.

And then there were the thousands of other runners -- the normal runners, the ones like me, who will never run 5-minute miles or be sponsored by Nike or have people in the crowd rush out to grab their discarded glove or hat. (Yup, I believe this is what happened to men's winner Gebre Gebremariam's discarded clothing.) They run because they never in their life thought they could, because the very act of running is joyful and painful at the same time, because they can't help but love it. It was amazing to watch these people wave their arms in front of the cameras, cheer and whoop and holler, and run on.

So this morning I signed up for the New York lottery. (Did the Marathon Monday Mania early entry scavenger hunt on Facebook and posed with my little blue box.)

Entry No. 647856. Choose me.

learning the hard way

You know how your running buddies, coach and pretty much every article ever written about running advises you never to try anything new, different or experimental the day before a race or an important training run?

There's a reason for it.

I stupidly chose yesterday -- the day before my planned 18-20 miler -- to check out Santa Rosa's only Ethiopian restaurant. It made sense at the time: The restaurant is a few doors down from the running store, and I needed to pick up Honey Stingers for my run. Why not have lunch in the neighborhood? After all, I love Ethiopian food, and it would be nice to get my injera fix without having to drive all the way to San Francisco.

The food was good. (And so pretty! Doesn't it look like an artist's palette?) It wasn't too spicy (which I was actually really happy about), but it still had a lot of flavor. I was glad I went. The rest of the afternoon and evening passed without incident.

And then I woke up this morning.

Apparently, it really is possible to spend an hour in the bathroom doing something other than blow-drying your hair and putting on makeup. Every time I thought I was done, nope, there was more yet to come. Let me tell you, it was not fun.

After that experience, I thought about postponing the run, but the forecast said rain all day tomorrow. I was left with no choice: Do it now, or risk failing to get out the door later because of pouring rain. I had to get it done.

I was worried I was already dehydrated, so I tried to eat salt tabs and drink lots of water. This worked at first. I was tired, but everything seemed to be functioning OK -- maybe moving a little slower than normal, but otherwise OK. I ran across town to Shollenberger (I have such a soft spot for this place since it was where I first started running seriously), did a few loops out there, watched the bird people ogle the ducks through their tripod telescopes and started running back.

Just before Mile 14, the stomach cramps began. At this point, I wasn't far from home, so I just kept going. I figured if worse came to worse, at least I was near a bathroom. The cramps eventually went away, so I refilled my water bottle, ate a Honey Stinger waffle (now I'm wondering if this was a mistake too -- again with the trying new things) and went on.

At this point, I only had 3.5 miles left before I hit 18. I kept telling myself, That's nothing. You run more than that all the time. You can do 3.5 miles in your sleep.

I barely managed those last few miles. I crawled along -- yup, survival shuffle in full effect, folks -- until Mile 16.5 or so, and then I had to take a walk break because my stomach hurt so badly, like I had a sideache on both sides of my body at the same time. Desperate just to finish the workout, I tried to run around the track -- which I usually find comforting because the distances are measured and I know exactly how much I have left to go -- but the pain got worse. I felt like I could barely breathe -- like someone hit me in the stomach with a crowbar. For awhile, I actually thought I was going to vomit.

I ended up walking most of the last mile. It was pathetic. I felt like a loser. And I really should've known better. I mean, come on -- I know this. What was I thinking?

So lesson learned. From now on, I'm sticking to to my pre-run pasta. Nothing but pasta.

peas in a pod

The perfect cupcake for a baby shower: Double chocolate chip with a dollop of vanilla buttercream frosting and a pea-in-a-pod edible topper. Wish I could say I'm the genius behind these beauties, but the credit goes to Allyson, the office cupcake maven. She made these for Keely's mom-to-be celebration this afternoon, and they were almost -- almost -- too cute to eat.

I miss baking cupcakes. Haven't made any in about a year. The oven here at the new(ish) place is temperamental -- it burns the bottoms of everything I try to bake. (And I've even put a thermometer in there to make sure the temperature is correct. Doesn't help. Bottoms still burn.)

I hope to resolve this problem soon. I just volunteered to make a dessert for Todd's family's Thanksgiving gathering, and I don't want to serve up a blackened mess!

avert your eyes

There is no such thing as TMI when it comes to running. We share it all: Poo stories, group pees behind trees, snot rockets, the occasional escaped fart. I never thought I could be this disgusting and still be socially accepted.

Therefore, I give you The Blister.

This baby has plagued me since Portland. I pop it, and it comes back. I pop it again, and surprise -- it suddenly reappears! It's like the Jesus of blisters -- rise and keep on rising.

(Cue angry comments from very religious people in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... )

firsts

Two things I have never done until recently:

Cheered out loud at my TV. By myself. In pajamas. While eating Chinese takeout. But this is exactly what I did tonight while watching the Giants game. Renteria -- power! And the Beard. Seriously, how can you not love the Beard? He's just so wonderfully weird!

Trained for two marathons this close together. I still can't believe I'm going to attempt CIM in December -- less than two months after Portland. Even crazier: I want to try to PR. And not a teeny-tiny 22-second PR like last time -- I want to shave off minutes. Balancing post-race recovery while training for another race has been tough, though. Yesterday's 16-miler pretty much worked me. Those previously mentioned pajamas? Let's just say there's a reason I'm ready for bed before 8 p.m.