In just a week, the 114th Boston Marathon will take over my city, and I will love it. I, of course, will not be running it for so many reasons, but I'll be thinking of my friends and thousands of strangers who run while I cheer on my Red Sox from nine rows behind home plate with my favorite Yankees fan.

I still can't run. I'm going stir crazy to the point where I see people doing their longish taper runs before the marathon, in last year's blue-and-yellow marathon jackets, and I feel a white-hot stab of jealousy. Yes, jealousy, that in just over a week they'll be slogging out 26.2 miles of sheer soul-soaring agony, and I will be limping from my little red seat to the Fenway Guinness stand and back. This is utter crazyness. It's been three weeks since my last run. I've pushed through some stationary bike rides, and done so many lightweight front squats that my quads were in searing agony until, oh, about now. My brain's been so all over the place that I've actually seriously considered therapy. THERAPY!
Then I read this. Why.Do.I.Keep.Not.Making.This.Connection?
I used to joke, when I got into the whirlwind, honeymoon, holycrapicanreallydothis stage of running, that I did it because 'It's cheaper than therapy'. And yet I constantly have to keep reminding myself how much it really matters. Seriously, proven-research, MATTERS.
On the way home in the car that night, my purple swollen ankle wrapped in ice bags and on my friend's lap in the back seat of the car, I cried not because it hurt so much (it did) but because, as I whispered I have to run. I can't not run.

I'm not a good runner. I'm never going to run a marathon or an 8-minute mile. But, as I said in my last post, I need this. I really need it. I'm a runner, for better or for worse. Sometimes I hate it, but I need it. Especially now, with some of the emotional stressors that are wreaking havoc on my brain. I miss stopping on the causeway at sunset and laughing. Given the way my foot still feels, I don't get the feeling I'll be running for at least another month. I should probably just go to the doctor, but I'm afraid there's not really much that can be done at this point, and I just need to let it heal on its own. I realize I would be extremely bad at being really injured. Maybe I'm afraid of having to get surgery. Maybe I think that if I jut ignore it, it'll eventually heal or go away.
But I can NOT be sedentary. This is the longest I've gone without consistent exercise for the last two years. So I'm heading to the gym today, and hopefully every day this week. I'll report back on the effects of that, which hopefully will not involve reinjury, at the end of the week.

Race report - FIVE MILES

Oh, hello internet. It's a lovely evening in Southie, and yours truly here just ROCKED A FIVE MILE ROAD RACE. Suck on THAT, New Year's Resolutions.

I am so ridiculously proud of myself it's kind of embarrassing.

My neighborhood is amazing. Walking home from the Expo center with a dopey smile on my face, the sun was setting across the ocean and I heard the slightly off-pitch but still dulcet tones of an aging Sinatra impersonator and all was right with the world. I still had my race number on and oldtimers with their dogs and cigars clapped for me.

While I feel like I'm getting faster, according to most race results I'm sticking at around a ten minute mile (shut up, I never said I was fast). Near the end, my whole body was tingling, my arm was numb, and I felt like I was going to throw up. Then my Amazing DenialBrainBot4000 (usually utilized to convince myself that I'm not in love with people and/or don't need any friends) took over and by the time I reached the finish chute I passed eight people and almost forgot to stop.

Considering all I've had to eat today was half a salad and a handful of trail mix, I'm pretty impressed. Though I know that's not a healthy diet. And I've been so soul-crushingly sad for the past few weeks I could barely put one foot in front of the other, much less train for a race. Or get through a single hour of a single day without crying. (More on that later, because while it pains me to write about it or admit much of what has been going on, it must be done because a life without honesty is just stupid. Life is short, and I'm pretty sure that at the end of it there's nobody handing out cookies for not talking about stuff.)

Anyway I wish my roommate was home because I want to go drink a Guinness. That counts as dinner, right?

FIVE MILES, DUDES. FIVE. That's FOUR MORE THAN ONE, which is what I could barely run six months ago.

The below photos are from around mile 4.5 or so. I love that my face is all puppies and fluffy clouds but inside I'm cursing the day I was born and wishing I could curl up for a nice nap in the middle of Day Boulevard.

Race report - Artesani Park 5k

My official time has yet to be posted, but it was either a flat 30 or 29:59. A minute plus better than my last run on this same course, despite the heat and the fact I walked what I felt was a substantial part of the race. The walking was totally due to lack of mental toughness, and it makes me angry, but at the same time I must have been really hauling to still have beaten my previous time.
This race was much smaller than the last, and there was this hilarious group of Cougars (I don't know what really qualifies them as Cougars, but they were older and hotter than me so Cougs they are) gushing over the young male runners who were obviously going to win the thing with their tiny shorts and complete lack of body fat (and shirts).

All in your head

I read somewhere that running any distance beyond 3 miles is all in your head. I can only really run 3 miles, so I wonder if that means I have a weak mind. That's a depressing thought, but I wouldn't doubt it. How do I make my mind stronger? Jedi mind tricks? Wiggling my ears and rolling my eyes at the same time?
Or how about just flipping running more than 3 miles? Just DOING it. Somehow, I feel like there's some secret thing I need to do, some magic spell, some person I have to become and then POOF, I'll be able to run 10 miles. Telling myself that's not true doesn't seem to get the concept through my head though. Feeling guilty and weak just discourages me into not trying anymore, and that's no good.
The physical benefits of my quasi-running are obvious. My cardiovascular fitness has improved monumentally, for instance. When I started, I'd easily break 180 bpm running an 11 minute mile, now I'm at a comfortable 140-160 running a 9 minute mile. Can't keep up the 9 minute mile for more than 5 minutes, but hey.
Maybe the key is to just stop obsessing about 5 minutes and 9 minutes and 3 miles and just run all these silly thoughts out of my head.