Heck yea I can wine while I run!

No, no. I'm not a poor speller. Well I am, but let's blame an early reliance on Spell Check, mourn it and move on.

I came into work this morning planning to share bits about last night's group run. Highlights included a nauseated, panting finish at the store, a disturbing conversation about internal organs dropping out of the body, and the near-death of a few runners in the group who put entirely too much trust in the braking capabilities of an oncoming semi.

But all that nonsense takes a back seat to the information I just received:

"Portland’s inaugural 'Wine Flight 5k Run' will take place on Saturday, October 25th, beginning and ending at the Maine State Pier (Franklin Arterial Way & Commercial Street). The race is modeled after France's Marathon du Medoc, an annual run which combines fitness with festive stops for light food, beer and wine. The emphasis is on having fun and completing the run at one’s own pace – not blazing through the course. If people want to linger at one of the food and drink stops, that's part of the fun."

That's right. Running. Beer. Wine. Food. (Sing it with me, "These are a few of my favorite things.")

Even better, there's a training program gearing up June 3rd to help prep you - and your stomach - for the event. Wine Flight 5k Run details.

A friend and I had a similar idea last year. It was also a 5K, but included brewery stops and forced consumption of local delicacies like lobster rolls, chowder and pizza. We dubbed it the "Truck to 'Chuck."

The Wine Flight run is like a classier, better dressed version.

Strangers in the woods...and the parking lot

Note: This entry has absolutely nothing to do with running or the Beach to Beacon. It also flies in the face of the "Don't talk to strangers" adage your parents pounded in to your head. This entry may not be good for the little'uns.

See, it all started last week when my colleague Wendy asked if anyone in the office cared to try out mountain biking. Her MOAC group was planning a multilevel ride (i.e., newbies could test out the trails and not hold back the rest of the group) and we were all welcome to come.

Hell, why not. I've been doing the "try something new" thing with moderate success for the last year or so. Maybe the world was telling me this was the time to scratch "mountain biking" off the list. (Though that's only half true. Last summer two friends and I accidentally went mountain biking - ended up on the wrong trail at Reid State Park. I dumped my bike twice before I had a head-bleeding premonition and opted to walk my bike - and my helmet-less head - out of the woods.)

So last evening I picked up Kate (fellow MaineTodayer) and we headed north with our bikes strapped to the back, pressed for time and low on gas. We followed the signage as best we could, but as the road lingered on we decided that we must have driven too far and ought to turn around.

So we did. Or tried to, anyway. Soonafter my stellar on-road three point turn, my car began to sputter. The power steering went out and my gas pedal lost it's authority over the engine. As we coasted to a stop, I turned into the end of a stranger's driveway.

The horror flicks of my youth have taught me that two young gals stranded on a empty, rural road have only one option: meander up to the stranger's door, plead for help and pray the burly fellow doesn't have an axe at the ready.

Luckily this story doesn't end with Missing Persons ads or a meat freezer big enough for two. The gentleman at the door was very kind and brought us a gallon or two of gas from the shed. After profuse thanks, we continued on.

By the time we reached Bradbury State Park, the party we were intended to meet up with was long gone. As novice mountain bikers, I wasn't keen on the idea of venturing into the woods without a guide. Kate suggested we circle the parking lot until the group returned. I thought a hike might be in order.

But just across the lot I spotted three fellows prepping for a ride of their own. Heck, might as well ask them for advice. Sure enough they offered to show us the way to some less technical trails (and alerted Kate to the fact that her helmet was on backwards).

Five minutes and a few curse words later, we were feeling pretty confident. Considering how treacherous the sky looked an hour earlier, the weather turned out to be pristine. A setting sun, a cool breeze - getting up close and personal with nature is a wonderous thing.



Of course then there were the rocks.



And the frighteningly thin beam bridges.



And the middle-of-the-road trees.



And the God-forsaken mosquitoes!



But if you fight through it, the rewards are profound. Look that view up and down. Go ahead, drink it in. Of course, you should also look where you're going.



As falls go, this one erred more on the side of tragic/sad. I saw it coming 10 feet in advance. I mentally willed my bike to veer left! Veer left! But FYI, bikes are immune to mental willing.
It did prove that I'm at least an above-average blogger, if not an above-average biker. First words out of my mouth after the crash were, "Quick! Take a picture! I'll need to blog this." Was I injured? No more so than I was a week ago.

All things considered it was a fine eve. The bike ride was an experience made even better by the well-deserved post-ride recovery. I nursed the scrape on my knee with alcohol (by drinking it, of course) at Buck's Naked BBQ. I had never been there before and was delighted to reading the menu heading, "Stop being so naked!" That's a line that'll come in handy more than once. Am I right, people?

Many thanks to Pownal ponytail man (for the gas) and mountain biking Bruce (for the trail guidance) and MOAC (for the open invite) and for proving, once again, that Mainers are at the top of the good peeps pile.

Sometimes a bad word serves a good purpose

Last night the training group headed over to Baxter Woods again. No resounding applause from the Coyle Street Drinker's Lounge this time, though I really could have used it.

Having not run all week, I expected to struggle. On top of that, I had stupidly forgone the afternoon coffee for a pop - er, soda - forgetting that Sierra Mist (Sprite's misbegotten cousin) is caffeine free. So I was drained of both natural and artificial energy.

Alas, we headed over to Coyle Street and began attacking that monster of a hill up to Beacon Street. Last week it was annoying...yesterday it was painful (emotionally, I mean). But our group made its way - with me bringing up the caboose and trying to withhold the complaints.

Baxter woods is a great local running spot - we ran here last year too (you may recall the 'Mosquito Guts Fiasco of 2007') and were lucky that the cooler temps kept the bugs mostly at bay.

The plan was to run the full loop (which is touted to be 800 meters...as opposed to the 1,000 it was touted to be last year. I blog these things people - if 200 meters suddenly disappear, I'm going to notice!). First half is nearly all downhill, which allowed us to practice our forward-leaning, downhill run. "Run like you're running on eggshells" John Rogers said.

I still have no idea what that means, but downhill running isn't where my problems lay.

Instead, I'm holding on to a deep-rooted hostility toward the incline. The uphill. The unending upward climb.

Make fun of flatlanders if you must, but those miles and miles of unwavering plains make for much easier running.

At any rate, it's a fair trade: half down, half up. Pause for water and mosquito attacks and then do it again.

My group ran the loop three times - and the hill triumphed over me each attempt. I just didn't have the stamina yesterday. Serves me right, I guess.

But the trip back to the Maine Running Company Store was flat and sweet (taking Forest Ave as opposed to the longer route through the neighborhood). Last week we returned via side streets. The group had spread out at this point, so Ann and I were on our own. Neither of us could recall which street to turn down to get back, so on we jogged.

Finally, Ann called out, "Oh, I remember seeing that pile of diapers on the way here." Sweet, I thought. We're heading in the right direction.

A few paces later and I, too, saw something familiar: "Oh yes, I remember that spray paint. We turn right just after the 'slut'."

Nothing like a little crass sidewalk graffiti to help you find your way home again. It really warms the heart.

An exercise-less Olympian

Today marks the inaugural day for "Summer Olympics" at my office. It's the company's attempt to encourage us cube-confined workers to be more active and eat healthy (which, theoretically, means we'll call out sick less often, be more productive when we're here and be less likely to freak out and chuck our computer monitors out the fourth floor windows [by the way, Bill, if you're reading this, I again apologize for killing your brother]).

At any rate, a handful of folks in my department have teamed up to participate - two who are training for the Trek Across Maine, one who's a Maine Roller Derbier, another who's a pilates and yoga fanatic and another who's a vegan (sure, veganism isn't exactly aerobic, but I give her points for exercising her will power against the evils [or delights?] of deli turkey).

(Go ahead, follow Karen's Trek training, Avery's vegan musings and Punchy's dose of derby.)

I figured, with the Reach the Beacon training, I'd be good to go without any additional effort. Kill two birds with one stone, you know. (Or, "kill two stones," as I used to say, because the actual phrase was lost on me for many years.)

But the sad truth is, I haven't run since last Thursday. I know, I know. Shame on me. I did bike this weekend, though, so I haven't been entirely sedentary.

And no, it's not because I got over-enthusiastic with the drink...or the deli turkey, for that matter. It's just life. It gets busy.

But I'm not ditching out on the Thursday run - it's like the beacon of renewal. The weekly jumpstart in case the momentum of your training has slowed to a stop.

It's amazing what group pressure can do to you.

I said the same thing almost exactly a year ago:

"...for now I'll continue to marvel at the positive effects of peer pressure.

What? Thought peer pressure only revolved around booze, drugs and sex? Those things are nice too, but a little arm twisting might be just what you need to put down the tequila and go for a run..."

I still stand by it.

With a little help from man's best friend

Took a gander at the training schedule for the upcoming week this morning - we're switching gears a bit to start working on race pace. But that wasn't what got my attention.

The weekly e-mail also lists upcoming races, which I usually skim over because, let's face it, you can only place 1,350 so many times in one month before your pride begins to wane.

But my eyes lingered on one listing:

Pineland Farms Trail Challenge (50 miles, 50K, 25K and K9 canicross), New Gloucester, 6 a.m. for 50 miles, 8 a.m. for 50K, 10 a.m. for 25K, 10:30 for K9. Contact: Erik Boucher 210-8655.

K9 Canicross? What in the devil's name is that? And why didn't John mention that there's FREE BEER and a BBQ?

I enlisted the help of my dear friend Google (who is always there for me, always helpful and who only rarely lures me down twisting paths of little-known links that waste 10, 20, 45 minutes and dead end on sites that I can't talk about in mixed company).

So here's the deal:

"Canicross is the sport of running or walking your dog in harness with equipment similar or the same used for skijoring. Canicross is not simply walking the dog. Running with a dog on a leash is not canicross. In canicross the dog pulls you, just like in skijoring." [From Skijor.com]

Fabulous. But what the heck is "skijoring"?

I'll investigate that later - in the mean time I need to work out this canicross thing. It's a brilliant idea - why should I put in all the effort when there are pets out there that can bear the burden?

When I was young I recall tying hot dogs to a fishing pole, then dangling them in front of our family dog, Brandy, so she'd pull the red wagon I was sitting in (sometimes I'd be on roller skates, you know, to keep things interesting).

I no doubt stole that idea from a cartoon - and I'm sure I was told it wasn't a nice thing to do to the dog. Regardless, I was on to something.

I'm without a pet now (curse you rental agreement!) so I'll have to keep my eyes peeled for available canines with champion potential.

My friend Michelle just got a puppy last week, but it weighs about an ounce and isn't quite ready for K9 racing. We'll check back in with her in a few weeks once the steroids have a chance to do their magic.

Now, I'm off set the record straight and seek out my place as the Rightful Founder of Canicross. If I could just find a dog to pull me to the courthouse...

"Screw shoes" and beer bottles: just another Thursday run

It was just another Thursday for most of us - maybe you ran the Back Cove, or met up with your buddies for dinner. Maybe you caught The Office on TV or finished up some laundry. The point is, it's just Thursday.

But in collegeland, Thursday (particularly a sunny spring Thursday at the end of the semester) means two things: beers and beers.

The Reach the Beacon group tried something different last night and ran over to Baxter Woods off Stevens Ave. (in Portland, of course).

To get there, we ran across Forest Ave. onto Coyle St.

Not a block up the road we come upon some Thursday evening festivities (beer, of course, being the guest of honor). There were tables of beer bottles and a happy collection of coeds enjoying the mild temps (and the much-anticipated end of the semester).

As our group ran by, a few guys shouted out some "Woohoos." Then a few more. Then the applause started. And for no good reason whatsoever, our small running group started our trek to Baxter Woods with the kind of shouts and cheers I imagine only Olympic gold medalists ever really hear.

It was odd...but really cool.

I should have taken a picture. I told myself I'd take one on the way back - but I didn't. At the last minute I chickened out. Let's face it, I watch YouTube - those college kids scare me.

But this is essentially what it looked like:

When we got back, Ian Parlin from Trail Monsters gave us a chat about trail running. I'm going to give the trail thing a try one of these weekends - road running gets a little dull after a while. But more on that another time.

The big learning last night was the phrase "screw shoes."

If your mind is in the gutter with mine, or your maturity level hasn't grown appropriately with your age, you should have laughed.

But screw shoes aren't dirty...er, they ARE...but the real dirt kind of dirty. They're running shoes with screws (yes, screw screws) driven into the bottoms. Helps runners get traction when running on ice and snow.

Why are people are running on ice and snow? Beats me.

Sea Dogs 5K: It's not about winning

Some say that the phrase, "It's not about winning" is just something non-winners invented to console themselves. And while that's 100% true, it's also important to acknowledge the effort that everyone put in.

1,926 racers crossed the finish line during yesterday's Sea Dogs Mother's Day 5K. That's over 500 more than last year, which helps explain why I placed 1,381 this year (as opposed to 1,150 last year). My time improved by almost two minutes (33:38 from 35:16) - not mindblowing but I'll take it!

And sure, 1,380 people ran stronger and faster. 1,380 people beat me. 1,380 people can turn to me and say, "Ha! I'm better than you."

But that, of course, isn't the point. It doesn't matter that 1,380 people are faster than me. What matters is that I'm faster than 545 people.

Just a reminder, that's up from the 289 people I beat last year. (Maine Track Club has all the race results.)

And if we're going to be honest here, there were a few runners who perhaps shouldn't have placed as well as they did. I don't mean to imply that anyone cheated - I didn't see any runners on Heelys or any runners hopping off Vespas just before the finish.

But I think you'll agree, this gentleman had an unfair advantage:

And I know it was Mother's Day, but overachieving just makes the rest of us look bad:

But it was a beautiful day for a run - temps just under 60 degrees, sun shining. Myself and two friends from the Reach the Beacon training opted to stick near the back of the pack so as to A) not get run over, and B) not be compelled to run too fast at the start. ("Start slow," John Rogers says. "Save your energy.")

Quite an impressive-looking mass of people.

This year's race didn't end in the panting, dehydrated, bottleneck we experienced last year. Runners were lead straight off to water, bananas and bagels.

This picture looks very ethereal - and could be bent metaphorically to show how crossing the finish line is a feeling akin to the calmness and joy one imagines is felt in heaven.

But really it was just my sweaty hands steaming up the camera phone.

And really, nothing beats finishing a race (however fast or slow) and being greeted by a kind feller with a flower.

'Twas a good day.

Congrats to all who ran - whatever your time. I'll even say "Well done" to those crazy fast folks out there...though you still are, collectively, my nemesis.

Why yes, I DID beat last year's time

Thanks for noticing.

I'm not the type of person who'd just bring that up - like some uncouth braggart.

But yes, you're right, I shaved a few minutes off my time from last year.

What's that you say? Oh, stop! I did NOT run with the fantastical grace of grassland gazelle! You flatter me!

At any rate, I'm exhausted. Here's a runner's-eye-view from this morning. More necessary photos and commentary to come tomorrow.

And for anyone who noticed that I actually placed farther back than last year, QUIET! We'll talk about this in the morning.

Sea Dogs Mother's Day 5K 2008

Courtesy of the Portland Sea Dogs:

Case #336: Belt loops vs. Brownies

An amazing thing happened in the ladies room yesterday. And before your mind takes that sick leap into the gutter, I'll just get straight to the story.

It was late afternoon when I discovered it. All day I had been wandering around, pretending to work, completely unaware of the monumental alteration that had taken place.

But then there it was, clear as day, staring up at me with brown leathery eyes.

My belt was buckled a loop tighter than it ever has been...or at least tighter than it's been in a long, long time.

The evidence was obvious - the well-worn crease from my usual loop(s) stood out like a poorly healed wound. But screw the wound - my belt is one loop tighter!

It's inspiration like that that makes it possible to say "No thanks" when Wendy A. from the office decides to bring in a bucket of brownies. Others may crumble in the face of square chunks of chocolate heaven...but not me.

Not me.

As long as I beat SOMEONE

I ran the Sea Dogs Mother's Day 5K last year as part of the Beach to Beacon training. It may not surprise you that I didn't win.

In fact, I came in 1,150th place.

But being a bright-side-looker myself (not naturally - it's part of a court-ordered Optimism Training Program) I chose to not focus on the 1,149 runners who were faster and better than I. (Well, I focused on the fact that they were 1) all cheaters, and 2) on steroids). See?...Bright side!

Instead I reveled in the triumph over 286 racers who crossed the finish line after me. Ha!

I just registered for the race again (it's happening Mother's Day, which is this Sunday, people. Go buy your mom something).

I must've really been feeling the whole "optimism" thing because I chose "runner" and "medium t-shirt."

We're using the term "runner" very loosely - I think that's understood. As for the medium t-shirt, let's just see what happens.

My real priority is to beat more than 290 people - so if you're a REALLY slow runner or you don't even run at all but want to walk the course at an, oh I don't know, 15-minute mile pace...register online now!

C'mon, I'd do it for you.

Seriously though, placing 1,149 or better would be nice.

Runners sprint...and so do I

I'm really bad at paying attention to the training schedule - and I apparently missed the announcement from Head Coach Michael Gaige last week that said we'd be doing sprints this week.

Yikes. Sprints.

I'm lucky, though. Having trained with this program last year I have a good idea what to expect (hence the lackluster effort to pay attention to the schedule).

But for other runners in the group who heard the "S" word last week, I imagine their thought process went just like mine did when I first heard the word last year: "Sprints? Say what?! Did he just say sprints? He couldn't have. I'm not ready for any damn sprints - that's obvious. Are they trying to KILL me? That must be it! The whole world is against me! Why, God. Why?!?"

Whatever they were thinking, it must have been bad. Half the group failed to show last night. Maybe they were frightened off by the chilly wind. Maybe they were scooping out avocados in preparation for a wild Cinco de Mayo house party. Whatever the reason, the ranks were thin.

But we hardcore folks jogged out to the the Back Cove and ran sprints around the soccer fields. Head Coach Michael said that including sprints in your training is a great way to amp up your breathing efficiency - quickly, too. It's also a good change of pace from the regular routine.

The faster group looped around both fields - mine stuck to running around just one. The short course was split into quarters: sprint a leg, jog a leg, sprint a leg, jog a leg. Like so:

We went around four times total, then huddled by the water cooler for some much-needed air and water.

As we stood there recuperating, someone pointed out the empty Geary's packaging lingering suspiciously close to the water cooler. "This IS water, right?"

Yeah, it was just water. But I wished - just for a moment - that it wasn't.

We were allowed to jog/walk the mile or so back to the store, but the sprinting had me too jazzed up to consider walking. So I ran the whole way back (alternating between a slow jog and a faster run the entire way...I like this interval stuff).

Yea, sprints are okay by me.