Run, Rachel, Run

I'm a pretty lucky runner. I get to run across this beautiful bridge whenever I want:

But with this bridge comes people. Lots and lots of people. I have sneaking suspicion that I—in all my sweating glory—am in quite a few tourists' photos and videos.

Plus, you can only run one path for so long before you become way too aware of how far you've gone ... and, perhaps more importantly, how far you have left.

But this was my 6- to 7-mile route. It was a trusty one:


From my apartment, through Brooklyn Heights and to the Promenade, over to Cadmen Plaza and through downtown Brooklyn, over the bridge, around City Hall Park and back. Six miles door-to-door, and an extra mile if I ran to Carroll Gardens and back.

This Sunday, though, I needed something new. So I huffed it to Prospect Park and back. To get there, I ran from Cobble Hill, through Carroll Gardens and into Park Slope. And here's a little known fact about Park Slope: It's a SLOPE. Getting up to the park is quite the climb. Ok, maybe this is actually a well-known fact about Park Slope that I'd conveniently forgotten.

Anywho, here's that route:


I also decided on Sunday to try a super-sexy fuel belt, like this: Yes, it's a glorified fanny pack. When you're in the park, you're the cool runner with "gear." When you're in the neighborhoods, you're the idiot with a fanny pack. But after at least 5 miles, I need water and I hate carrying anything in my hand. Plus, it fits a Larabar for a mid-run energy boost and my cell phone. (I have an irrational fear of breaking a bone and not being able to limp myself home, so I always bring my phone. A byproduct of a nasty spill in Portland last year. I also avoid metal grates in the rain because of that fall.)

I'm debating my 9-mile run this Sunday, but already have my 10-mile run set, which combines the best of both runs:


Then, time for the half. Wish me luck!

7 months in and 1 month away

I have one month until the half marathon.

And I've been in New York for seven.

These are two surprising facts, both of which I just realized on my walk home tonight, and both of which just happen to fall on the exact same day. (Wait, did I move to NYC on the 28th or the 26th of August?) Anyway.

Here's the thing about training for something like a half marathon when you're so not a long-distance runner: Every single Sunday, I run more than I ever have before. Ever! So each week I pat myself on the back and congratulate myself. Even if I walked a little bit. Even if I groaned up the hills. Every week I pass a personal best. And that, my friends, is pretty cool. Oh, and I also get to run across the Brooklyn Bridge whenever I want. That's a great training path.

And just for kicks, I added up how much I've run since February 2 (the day I officially started "to train"): nearly 110 miles. One hundred and ten miles! Wow.

That said, running 13.1 in one fell swoop still scares the bejeezus out of me.

But back to the being in New York for seven months. There are a few crazy things about that too, including a) seven months in was about the time in Portland that I started scheming for my exit strategy. I remember specifically saying, I'll make a decision on April 1. I won't worry about what to do with my life until April 1. That was nearly a year ago. Wow.

And b) some days, it feels like I've been here for years. Years. Like today when I realized that I no longer have road rage (being without a car for two years helps you forget). Instead, I have sidewalk rage. Like, oh my god, can you please not blow your cigarette smoke out on me? And, ah geez, must you really get distracted and window shop right in front of me?

And then I saw myself in a window reflection being all cranky and tired and disheveled and, man, did I look unattractive. That's when I decided to breathe a little bit and get over it. No one likes to see a hardened New Yorker only seven months in, right?

So anyway, here's what's been up lately, aside from getting up at 5:45 am and running, working 'til 6ish, meeting up with folks after work, and freelancing a bit on the side. Oh, and dating. (Another post, another post, my friends.):

I went snowboarding for the first time at Mt. Snow in Vermont. Although I certainly wasn't Sean White, I wasn't awful. But I'll admit: I'm a pretty sporty girl, and this was the hardest physical thing I've every tried. (But ask me again after April 26.)

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I painted my room yellow. This yellow to be exact:


I love it in the morning, but I hate it in the evening. It changes quite a bit, like my mood. So maybe it's a good color for me? I also swapped out some curtains, threw in a vase of pink tulips, and officially re-awoke my decorating fever. I didn't realize how I was totally accepting my blah room, and not really settling in to this apartment. I'm not sure why—maybe I just thought I wasn't staying here, so why move in all the way? But that's just silly—I live here! I live here.

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I'm still working and loving my job, and I survived a round of lay-offs. A collective phew!, please. Now I'm good 'til July when we start mulling over cost cuts again, unless something miraculous happens in the economy and companies start hiring again! And journalism thrives again! We can only hope.

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My parents got a puppy. Her name's Lexie (at least for today. She's also been Annie and Frannie. I was pullin' for Lucy and Francie. But alas, Lexie) and she's pretty stinkin' cute, wouldn't you say? Tess would very much approve.


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I'm planning my 2009 trip to Portland. And I cannot wait. Seriously.

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And lastly, I've been re-thinking what I want to do with this blog. After all, I started it to document all my moving around, but I think I'm staying put for the time being. And I've realized if you can't be creatively inspired in New York, where can you be? So stay tuned for that.

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Oh, one more thing. I've learned the value of sleep. After a good three or four weeks of going to bed at 1 am and getting up at 5:45 am to run upwards of three miles, then putting in at least an 8-hour day, I realized I wasn't being very nice to myself. (Or to my mother, who asked, "why are you so bitchy all the time?" Sorry, Mom.) So although it's only 10:20, it's sleepytime. G'nite.