Dearest Running,

It would seem, I owe you an apology. Or an explanation. Or rather, both.

I know you feel neglected, and you've sensed that my interests lie in other places, that I am occasionally distracted. I may even appear to be thinking about others, even when I am spending time with you.

Truth is, I am all of those things. And I am deeply apologetic for my apparent indiscretions. But it's only temporary, I promise. I can explain.

I got this crazy idea (blame Annalisa! she's the lunatic!) to do a triathlon at the end of July. The Danskin Triathlon to be exact. Once I clicked on the 'sign me up' button, I knew I had a lot of work to do.

It was tough, finding a way to juggle being with you and still have time to learn how to Swim and Bike. Especially with marathon training overlapping tri training by six weeks. I found a way to do, and let's be honest...you are the last one to get cut from the schedule when things get rough. At least I've been faithful to my four-days a week with you.

But I have been distracted, haven't I? I've tried to hide my excitement from you, but that's been a challenge in and of itself. I mean how can I not be excited about Swimming? Now that I know how to NOT drown, it's so much fun to jump in the pool and splash around. Swimming is so gentle and it almost seems impossible for me to fall and hurt myself. Although, Swimming did school me by showing me the true meaning of a Charlie Horse and I won't ever forget that lesson.

And Biking! What a rush! We fly down the roads together, faster than you and I could ever manage. We get to travel farther in less time and can even relax a little while still making progress. Biking has also been sure to display his power though, with a hearty introduction to the pavement. And I have a confession - I think you and I attack the hills much better.

But the honeymoon phase is waning. I haven't forgotten about you.

Even though, when we're finally alone together, I find myself thinking about Biking and Swimming, I am aware that you need me. And I need you. I realize that I haven't been giving you my full, undivided attention. All you've asked for is a few hours from me each week, and I feel like I've let you down.

But it's all about to change.

The tri is five weeks away. Just bear with me until then. I can promise, cross my heart and hope to die, that I will return to your loving embrace whole-heartedly and without reservation as we tackle marathon training together. I won't lie and tell you that I'll be breaking up with Swimming and Biking. I've forged strong friendships with them both and we enjoy each other's company. But you will be my number one priority, no doubt about it.

Don't give up on me babe. I'm sorry for my transgressions and I promise I won't let you down.

Your loving companion,

Running Chick

The long-ago promised post about The Bike.

About a month ago, I tossed and turned and wrestled about whether or not to buy a 'new to me' road bike. I felt like such a poser, wanting to buy a bike I didn't even know how to ride (the gears shift how? is it bad that my feet can touch the pedals when I turn the wheel? schraeder? who's that?). Luckily, bike-enthusiast friends like Jank and Rudi assured me that the bike was awesome, and I'd be crazy to pass up such a good deal.

It's a 1996 Serotta Atlanta and apparently, it cost major bling back in the day (relatively speaking...cost, like hills, depends on one's perspective). It was offered to me for a song (no dance, just a song!) and it came with clipless pedals, shoes and a brand new computer. The pristine frame fits me perfectly and it takes no effort to pick it up. Riding it is pure joy - gears change like satin slipping over satin and the tires barely touch the pavement.

The very first ride on this shiny blue machine was amazing. I was cruising along, felt like I was flying and once I figured out how to shift gears, I even started to relax a little. I started to take in the scenery. The trees were all decked out in their summer finery, and the houses had bursts of color dotting their gardens and porches. I took a peek up one street, thinking 'That'd be a fun hill to tackle one day' and looked back at the road just in time to watch my front tire leave the asphalt and hit the sand. Forgetting that the brakes were on the front curve of the bars, I started grasping desperately on the top of the bars looking for brakes that did not exist. I tried to do my best Fred Flintstone impression and put my feet down to stop the bike.

Bad idea.

Next thing I know, I'm lying in the street, on my side, and thanking my lucky stars that no cars were coming during the whole debacle. I stand up, my legs are shaking like jello, and my knees are threatening to buckle. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Repeat. Assess bodily damage: nothing bleeding, no bones sticking out anywhere they shouldn't be. Assess bike: nothing noticeably broken, components all appear attached. Sadly, I noticed that the paint job was no longer pristine and the saddle took quite a beating. When I saw the small scratch on the frame, I was so heartbroken, I just about cried.

I never fell when I was using the old bike. Nope. Not once. I'm on the new bike for 20 minutes and BAM! I'm getting friendly with the pavement. Serves me right, trying to run before I could walk.

My shoulder was sore for a few days, from absorbing the impact from when the heel of my hand hit the pavement. Other than that, I walked about without road rash, poison ivy, or even a bruise.

I decided to swap out some of the components: 1) Put on old school pedals with clips and straps instead of riding on TOP of the clipless pedals (I'm not quite brave enough for the fancy shoes yet) and 2) switched out the stem and handlebars so the bike fit me better. Not that either of those things actually caused me to biff. But I wanted to eliminate any potential biffs by making sure the bike was even more comfortable for me.

Of course, I'm really no faster on this fancy bike than I was on the 25-year-old 10-speed. But I'm working on my cadence and have realized that the bike leg of the tri will not be as fast or as 'easy' as I want it to be. And I'm OK with that, because, let's be honest, I'm really swimming and biking just so I can run.

And yes, I do have a name for the bike. I just can't remember what it is...it was perfect though. Fred, the Nike gadget; Sam, the mountain bike and _______. It has been suggested that I consider 'Crash' or 'Biff' for this bike. If I can't remember the original name, I just may have to settle for the name that chose me.

I'm home. In one piece, relatively unscathed.

The trip was not without it's challenges either:

• I stayed calm during the earthquake.

• I was able to handle two small children - ages 1.5 and 3 - including exploding diapers, temper tantrums and swim lessons.

• I was oblivious to the tsunami warning.

• I survived the hills of Laguna with Jeff. Admittedly, it was actually a lot of fun. The only thing that seems a little bit bruised is my ego, but that's my own fault. (Post-run amnesia has already set it and I've already forgotten the steepness of that first hill. Let's do it again!)

• I drove, all by myself, on the highways of California. And after spending so much time with the kids, I actually found it relaxing to be driving.

• I lived through four plane flights - the last of which was not only delayed by an hour, but contained a GREAT number of small, cranky children.

• And, thankfully, my training suffered very little over the ten days.

I managed to find time to run six times, swim twice and bike once. The only workout that got 'cancelled' was the 12-mile bike ride. The thought of being on an old, crappy stationary bike was not as appealing as spending that time with my friend and her kids. Even if it meant cleaning out the closets and cabinets in her house (she's pregnant...something about a 'nesting phase' was mentioned).

I'm back and I've missed you all!

And I think I only have about 200 more posts to read before I'm all caught up.

Yesterday afternoon, I had the distinct pleasure of not only meeting Jeff in person, but I also got to run with him.

Before I get into details, here's the important stuff:

1) Jeff is my hero. What an amazing runner! And, his hospitality was just overwhelming.
2) His wife, smsmh, is just as wonderful and as sweet as he says. I was so grateful that she was so understanding about her husband going for a run with some random internet chick. His sister-in-law was equally as sweet.
3) Jeff earned himself a new nickname, bflh.

When I woke up yesterday morning, I was very nervous. Like race-day nervous. It's not unusual for me to be a little anxious before a long run, as I'm always a little concerned about how well the run will go. But this was different. It was like I was meeting a world-class athlete. All I could think about was being able to keep up with Jeff and not disappoint him.

I arrived at his place with little incident and we headed out to the park for our run. As we drove along, he pointed out all the cool places that he always writes about - it was so beautiful! I was extremely envious!

Jeff had given me three courses to choose from for the run. He described one of them, El Moro, as having a HUGE hill but, as hard as the trail was, it would be very rewarding. Of course, I had to pick that one. I warned him that there would be some cussing and depending on the hill, there might also be some walking.

He didn't like about the HUGE hill. But he could have mentioned that it was Paul Bunyon HUGE...and by Paul Bunyon, I mean EXTRA EXTRA HUGE. And steep. There isn't a single hill in Connecticut that can even compare the the HILLS (yes, plural) that he took me up. I will never complain again.

I went from a slow jog, to a shuffle, to a walk in no time. Walking sucks. I hate to walk. But I had absolutely no choice. And I told Jeff how much I didn't like him. It was also apparent that we all define 'hills' differently. Even his 'rolling hills' were steeper than the hills I usually face. Thus, the nickname 'bflh' came to be. Big-fat liar head.

But what a view! Every time I looked over my shoulder, there was the ocean. It was spectacular. Breathtaking. I was hot and clammy for the first four miles and wasn't sure if I would make it through the whole run. But then we turned a corner, zipped through some single track trail (complete with a hearty yell from Jeff as he flew through the trail) and almost crashed into to some mountain bikers. My legs were like rubber, but I was starting to find my groove. The breeze picked up, and there was that view again. Wow. Why don't I live here?

Jeff was strong the whole time. He made it up some pretty intimidating inclines and kindly waited for me at the top. He was upbeat the whole time, and was good about distracting me with questions or by pointing out native plants and animals. I was in total awe of him. He was tackling this course after running 14 miles the day before.

When we finally hit the pavement, it felt so easy compared to where we had just been, I could have run some more. But it would have meant a long uphill to get back to our starting point, so that idea was quickly abandoned.

It was 8.5 challenging miles of pure fun. I was still able to find my smile while I was out there. And I was totally inspired by Jeff.

After a quick shower, Jeff, his wife, his sister-in-law and I all went out for a bite to eat. It was a very relaxing, and very comfortable. They really helped me re-charge my batteries after a week of hanging out with two young girls!

What a kick-ass day! (Jeff should have a couple of pictures from our adventure up later today or tomorrow.)

I'm still alive and kicking.

You know how it is, the week before a vacation? When all those projects at work suddenly need to be done, and life becomes a swirling, chaotic storm?

Yeah, that was me.

Last week was a big training for me too. Here's a quick summary:

Monday: Rest day.
Tuesday: 5 mile run, a.m.; 1000 meter swim, lunch time.
Wednesday: 6 mile run, a.m.; 22 mile bike in Newport, RI.
Thursday: 4 mile run, a.m.; 960 yard swim p.m.
Friday: 9 mile run, a.m.
Saturday: Travel to San Diego/rest
Sunday: Rest

By the time the 9-miler came on Friday, my legs were absolute toast. I was getting leg-fatigue just walking up the stairs. The two days of rest have been wonderful and now I'm looking forward to training in different surroundings. Swimming and running will remain the same, but biking will have to be done indoors.

So I'm in San Diego for ten days of fun with friends and with the first twenty-four hours, I've survived my first earthquake. Wild stuff, that. The first tremor felt like a big truck had just rumbled past the house. The second tremor was longer and a little scarier since I knew then that it was an earthquake. But that was it. Over before I could really panic. Exciting way to start the morning though!

Reading, commenting and posting will be sporadic over the next week and a half, but I'll be thinking of the RBF and wishing you all smooth running and strong races.

Oh, and try not to be too jealous when Jeff and I get to run together next weekend.

The latest version of the Rundown can be viewed here.

Please be sure to check it out! And don't forget to send in those submissions. Seriously people, don't be shy.

If you read a post and think to yourself, 'Damn, that was good!' then let Derek know! Similarly, if you write a post and think to youself, 'Damn, I'm good!' then let Derek know!

Originally, the post was going to be all about the 5K I ran yesterday. I was going to thrill my dear readers with my tale of the hilly course, the once-again-missed PR and the mixed up results. There was reminiscing to be done, since yesterday was the one-year anniversary of when I accosted April-Anne with my nervous pre-race banter, beginning a wonderful friendship.

But after my experience today, I realize that my race pales in comparison to what I was fortunate enough to witness in person.

About a month or so ago, I signed up to volunteer at a local race. I had made it one of my goals this year to give back to the running community, and volunteering was top on my list. (Personally, I think every runner should volunteer at one race per year. I suggest picking a small, local race that really needs the help.)

I chose the NipMuck Marathon. It's a trail marathon, and it comes with all types of cautions and warnings. It's not for the weak and it's not for the non-trail runner. The race has been around for 22 years, directed by the same guy each year. It's got that home-grown feel to it, rustic and rugged and warm and friendly all at the same time. There was an article in the local paper today that really captured the spirit of the race, and it's director - well worth the read.

My job description for the day, as emailed to me, was to 'sell t-shirts and hopefully NOT bring anyone to the hospital.' Gulp. The thought of having to bring someone to the hospital - about 30 minutes away - was terrifying to me.

The weather was NOT conducive to a healthy marathon. Temperatures soared into the mid 80's and it was warm just standing around in the shade. I got to the race in time to see a lot of runners pass the halfway point - where at least 5 people dropped out within the first 45 minutes that I was there. Almost everyone had mud caked on their shoes and legs, and a handful had leaves and dirt stuck to their arms, legs, back and faces. I caught a few glimpses of blood on a shin or two. I felt doomed to a trip to the ER.

As the race went on, I stood with my mouth gaping open, in awe and wonder, for most of the day. I have never been at a finish line when the first runner has come in...usually I'm still somewhere in the middle of the pack wondering why the hell I am running like a lunatic. But today, I was there when the first runner came flying down the last hill and literally collapsed on the ground in front of me. He left it all out there...not an ounce was left in his tank. I felt so emotional for him - worried about his health, excited for his win, proud of his accomplishment. I could feel it tighten up in my chest, like I could just cry. And I didn't even know this guy. (His time was around a 3:20...the course record is a 3:01.)

Within a few minutes, he was up and walking around, no worse for the wear. Hot and sweaty still, but certainly not looking like he'd just run a grueling 26.4 (yes, .4 not .2) trail miles in the heat.

And so it went - runner after runner coming through. All ages. All sizes and shapes. Some finished and looked like they might need a ride in my car. Others finished and looked like they hadn't even run at all, with no sweat, dirt or dried leaves on them. I was in a constant state of amazement.

I loved listening to them tell each other stories - there was talk of Western States and some other big name, big distance races. Some of the 'old timers' talked about their best races and how the 'old legs just aren't what they were.' I spent six hours just soaking it all in, and enjoying every last minute of it. I especially liked when the runners would go out of their way to stop each volunteer and say 'Thank You.' I made myself a mental note for my next race to make sure I remember to do that too, at all my future races.

There are no medals for this race, but trophies instead. The trophies are a piece of a tree with a blue dot painted on it (also called a 'blaze' in trail lingo). The blue-dot trail is what the runners follow on the NipMuck, thus the blue dot on the trophy. Clever, I thought. I talked to a runner at the Merrimack 10-Miler in April and he said that his NipMuck trophy was one of his most valued possessions as runner. I think that speaks volumes about this race.

The race director was incredibly grateful and gracious and thanked us all repeatedly. He kept trying to get me to take a t-shirt (which a these cool tye-dyed shirts) but I explained to him that I don't like to wear race t-shirts that I didn't earn.

And I'm not sure I'll ever earn THAT one, but I'm more than happy to go back each year to cheer them on.

(If you go to the website - http://www.marathonguide.com/sites/nipmucktrail/ - the picture of the guy jumping...he really does that, as he crosses the finish line!)