Buy new shoes, but keep the old...

...one is silver and the other...is good for taking out the trash or running errands when you're feeling frumpy, haven't recently bathed and don't expect to see anyone you know.

I welcomed a new addition to the family yesterday - well, two actually, but I'm already playing favorites with "Righty."

I should have bought new shoes four months ago, but I wasn't aware of the "300-500 miles" rule. Even if I had been, 500 miles is an inconceivable concept to me. In my mind, I couldn't reach that distance in a lifetime.

I've got a brief 5-day window to break these puppies in, and all the interns have turned down my request to walk around in my shoes for me. The Tuesday night run will have to suffice, though I'm still a bit nervous about the shins. They still hurt, but I've made it a point to massage them (the interns turned down this request, too) and wearing shoes with decent support.

I have thought about suing Target for making cheap flip-flops...or maybe I'll sue the city for using such hard bricks in the sidewalk. Aren't there squishy bricks out there somewhere? Maybe rubber bricks that can just bounce you down the street. Heck, why don't we have any of those moving walkways you see in airports?

And no, I don't see the irony in asking for a motorized walkway to help prepare me for exercise.

On a side note: Thought I was getting ill, but I realized yesterday that my constant state of nausea is tied directly to my intense nervousness about the B2B. Is it weird to run with a barf bag?

7 days to go - and I'm in pain

I never thought I'd grimace to hear the words: "You should take it easy. Rest your legs." In fact, I've dreamed of hearing such a command.

In my dream I run so easily that each stride bounces me gently into the air, slow-motion like, and eventually I become so light that I never touch the ground at all. I just run, mid-air, along the streets of the neighborhood I lived in when I was little. Then Chef Ramsay (Of Hell's Kitchen fame) calls to me from below, "Shannon, I've cooked you a splendid grilled cheese sandwich. Take a break and have a bite, yeah?"

But in reality, my running hasn't been nearly as carefree. Seems the combination of running in two-year-old shoes, walking to work in paper-thin flip flops ($5.99 at Target, thank you very much) and too much running (that's right - too much) has irritated my leg muscles. From just under my knee to the inside of my ankle there is a distinct pain that started during a run and, well, hasn't left since.

With the race only a week away, another run or two isn't going to make much of a difference in my training - beyond where I am right now. It could further agitate the legs, though. So, I'm at peace with taking it easy the next several days - and getting new running shoes.

As for the flip flops, I'm too cheap to buy well-crafted ones with adequate foot support. Instead, I think I'll staple some Dr. Scholl's inserts to the ones I already have.

Triumph begins with a T (shirt, that is)

Last week the Reach the Beacon group got tech tees. We were able to choose from several colors, but for some of us the choices were limited due to...um...inappropriately sized shirts (seriously, anything smaller than an XL on me wasn't fit for public viewing).

So I went for peach. Or maybe it's orange. I think it looks like the Crayola color I used to draw myself when I was little.

Now I'll let you in on a little secret. This isn't the first time I've trained to run a race (Gasp! Could it be true?!). I trained for a half marathon back in Chicago in 2005 - but don't start thinking I actually ran 13 miles. Not even close. My running group ran a 13-minute mile on a 3:1 run/walk ratio. We never ran for more than three minutes at a time.

So yes, I finished the race, but my race time wasn't anything to brag about (Instead I just bragged and said "Yeah, I ran a half-marathon" and left it at that. If someone asked for my time I'd say "It was the fastest half-marathon I've run so far." If asked for more specifics, I'd just pretend to have a seizure).

At any rate, a good lesson I learned about the shirt: Make sure your name is prominent on it. Sure, now your stalker will know what your real first name is, but it's worth the risk.

If the cheering crowd sees your name, they'll YELL IT. Seriously, strangers will call out your name. And isn't it about time strangers yelled at you in public for something other than dressing funny?

How to lose your confidence in 10 days

Ten days until the Beach to Beacon. And yes, that realization this morning sent me into a heart-racing panic. Or maybe it was the four cups of coffee. Either way, I can admit I'm already nervous.

Here's where you say, "You can do it" and I say something self-deprecating like, "I'll probably be waving to the finish line from the back of an ambulance," or "I just hope I don't die."

Truth is, I know I can finish without emergency assistance and without a six pack dangling from a stick in front of me - just out of reach [pause here to give readers time to visualize].

I'll surely have to walk some of it. I've made great progress since April but I'm nowhere near running 6.whatever miles non-stop. And I'm cool with that.

My fear, however, is an out-of-nowhere debilitating cramp or nausea or fatigue that compels me to walk all of it, depressingly slow, training group long gone, and me, disappointed, crossing the line while the sponsors are folding up their tents. Optimistic, isn't it?

There are 5 good group runs to go - between the Reach the Beacon training and the Hannaford Tuesday runs - and these will help dictate my mood going into the 10K. No more Monster, no more Turbo (it's true) just me and the H20 (and some Clif bars and some Gatorade and some bagels and apples and, oh, gum. Gum helps keep my mouth from drying out and giving me that MUST HAVE WATER feeling).

I'm very confident the race will go well. At least, it should go fairly smoothly. It won't be awful anyway. The likelihood is that I'll cross the finish line of my own volition. Just in case things go sour, though, I'd like to be buried with my couch.

I am Jack. Jack is me.

I don't read those lame celebrity gossip magazines. But every once and a while one just falls open on my lap and in the process of closing/removing the "literature" I accidentally catch a glance of a page...or two...or the whole thing.

This picture of Jack Nicholson seems at first repulsive, but I found myself drawn to it.

I couldn't look away. I just stared and stared. I don't know what it is, there's just something about him that makes me feel this strong but unnameable connection.

Oh Jack, you and I are kindred spirits. Your boat and wealth and fame complete me.

Only the BEST RUN EVER!

Last night was raining and crappy all over, but I'm hardcore remember, so I went to the group run anyway.

I'm glad I did - the rain kept all the (less hardcore) runners away from the Back Cove. Guess some people (sissies) just can't handle a little water. No judgment here (weak! They're weak!).

After realizing the dehydrating (and devastating) effects of the Monster energy drink, I opted for the old standard: water.

Trying to guzzle 20 ounces just before a run doesn't work (another learning) so it's a concerted effort to drink water all day. But wow, what a difference.

Last night's run was the best ever - 4 miles - nearly all of it without stopping. That's a first. I've always been reliant on the regular walk break. But last night Anna and I were both feeling strong and we kept up the pace for approx. 3 miles. Three miles!

Not a big deal for most runners. But dammit, it's a big deal to me.

Drinking to prevent psychosis

It's been five weeks since I announced the Beer Moratorium and I'm happy to announce that it's over. And by "over" I mean that it ended about three weeks ago when I went to "Thursday Night Thunder" at the Beechridge Speedway.

For those of you who have never been there...let's just say having a beer in your hand really completes the experience.

But I've been good about consuming moderately and - let's be honest - the Monster drinks have really taken over my life anyway (but NOT just before a run...that's very, very bad).

If I've learned anything at all over the last few months it's this...

[WARNING! SERIOUS MUSINGS AHEAD. SARCASM LEVELS FRIGHTENINGLY LOW]

You don't need to completely alter your life if you're looking to make a positive change. Want to run? Go run. You like beer? Then drink beer. Discovered a new addiction to buffalo chicken wings? Then by all means, chow down.

There's no sense in torturing yourself - that's what causes inevitable break-downs and psychosis.

So I'll keep running. But I'll also keep drinking. I'm drinking to prevent psychosis.

Any love for the lactate?

That's lactate, not lactose - so you non-milk drinkers don't need to run screaming.

I'm having a severe case of calf soreness ever since the Tuesday Hannaford run, and yesterday's runs around Cheverus' track didn't help the matter. When I get sore after exercise (you know, that one day back at the gym after 6 months of sloth and you think it'd be a good idea to do the stair climber for an hour and a half) I usually say, "I'm sore as hell - but it's the good kind."

Meaning that I'm sore as hell, but that's only because I did something productive - as opposed to being sore after being thrown from a wild Vespa.

I started looking into the soreness issue and gleaned some information on lactate - which historically had been blamed for the pain.

I can't feign any real knowledge on the subject other that this: It's not the lactate's fault. Lactate, these days, is considered a good thing that keeps runners from fatiguing as quickly.

So what or who is to blame? I say the Hannaford reps who made us stretch on Tuesday.

I've never been a stretcher (once heard that you're more likely to injure yourself by stretching than actually prevent any injury). So, I don't stretch. I figure it's one less thing for me to do, and I like doing less.

But I stretched with the group Tuesday (damn peer pressure!) and my calves are feeling the pain. Is it really the fault of the stretch? Probably not - but I have to point the finger somewhere, right?

The stomach-tormenting Monster

First off - thanks for the comments on the "trial run" video. Even though I fake ran, it was a good bit of effort to put together. But I aim to please (that's not true - I aim to entertain - I displease often) so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Yesterday evening I went to the Hannaford Beach to Beacon training (remember, I'm kicking July's arse and stepping up the training). They did have food at the end as rumored (well, if you consider bananas and unbelievably hard seed crackers food) but my stomach was in no mood for any newcomers at the end of that run.

You see, I'd found a new addiction (yes, the Dunkin Donuts Turbos were cast aside).

For the past few weeks I've been all about the Monster:

Last night I decided to drink one right before heading out to the Back Cove.

Not smart.

We ran (or were supposed to run) 3.5 miles. I was approx. 1.5 into it when my insides revolted. I rarely get cramps when running (though I do get pains in my clavicle. Yes, my collar bone...is that weird?) but this was a cramp to end all cramps.

You know that movie scene (I recall it from "Maximum Overdrive") where a lizard-like alien that's been growing in someone's belly starts moving around - then aggressively rips through the person's skin trying to get out (then, perhaps, jumps on the bar and starts singing show tunes)? It felt like that.

It wasn't fun.

I had to walk a few times - but ultimately was able to run it in with a time of 40:something. According to my poor math skills, it was about a 11.5-minute mile.

Personally, considering I must have given birth to six lizard-aliens along the way, I think 40 minutes is just fine.

I'm sorry July, but I'm going to have to kill you

That's right - I'm taking July down. I don't care how much humidity or rain or bacon hamburgers it throws at me - I'm kicking this month's [censored].

Four weeks until the Beach to Beacon and I plan to finish with my dignity - yes, I have dignity...somewhere...I think I packed it up with my winter clothes...

Anyway, in an effort to get the momentum back up, Anna (a friend from the running group) and I are adding another group run to our weekly training. Hannaford is again hosting a five-week B2B training that meets in the Hannaford (Forest Ave., Portland) parking lot on Tuesdays at 5:30.

The bonuses are aplenty: 1. It's free. 2. Group runs (i.e., the overwhelming peer pressure associated with being in a group of people that are better runners than I am) are extremely motivating. 3. Rumor is that there's food at the finish. 4. It's free. 5. There's food. You get the idea.

Keeping up on the activity level over the weekend hasn't been a problem - Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday have been a different story.

But not anymore. July, you've met your match.

Now that's embarrassing

Tuesday marks the second time I've been spotted, stupidly smoking a cigarette and/or holding a beer when someone's asked, "don't you write that Beach to Beacon blog?"

I say, "Yeah" enthusiastically, both because I appreciate that someone's reading (besides you, mom) and also because I'm hoping to distract him/her from the smoking butt in my hand. I figure, flash the pearly whites and maybe they'll be nice enough not to call me out.

They're not.

It doesn't follow - all this chatter about running ugly and skinny pants and oh! the chafing! Even I can't figure out how I've convinced myself that having a cigarette immediately after (and before - sometimes during [I'm just kidding!]) a run is OK. Or maintaining the habit during this training - it seems so counter-productive.

I admit I feel guilty when I'm caught smoking - almost as guilty as when good old (but not THAT old) mom asks, "How're you doing with the smoking."

I'm guess I'm doing fine, depending on your perspective.

The final stretch - and I've slowed to a crawl

Last week was complete bunk. Humidity is draining - and after three days of sweaty, oily discomfort last week I had had enough. I wasn't made for hot weather (think flushed red face, white girl afro and a trail of sweat following me wherever I go). By Thursday I was almost ready to buy an air conditioner.

I debated the purchase - along with whether or not to go to the group run.

I decided to forgo them both.

I figured, with only one month left until the Beach to Beacon, my opportunities to play hooky were rapidly decreasing. All along I've said, "Sure, I'm not 100% committed, but I don't really have to be until July."

Now it is July. Crap.

Not that I've been completely useless. I do stuff. Like...like...just stuff, okay! Quit harassing me!

But this next month will decide whether I run across that finish line or wave to it from the back of an ambulance.