Worrywarts and Nervous Nellies

The countdown to marathon day is on. It's marathon week and the big day is just four days away. It's around this time that marathoners start worrying about what we eat, drink, wear, do, etc. We want to make sure that we eat enough to fuel our bodies for the race, but not eat anything that we aren't used to or that might upset our stomachs. We need to drink lots so we don't dehydrate while running, but we try to abstain from alcohol, even though it might actually do our nervous minds some good. The stilettos and blister-inducing shoes are thrown aside in exchange for supportive sneakers, all the time, whether they go with our outfit or not. We taper our running routine, doing only short, easy run mostly to keep our mind at ease and burn off excess energy. We make sure we get extra sleep, even if we're not tired. We don't do anything silly or stupid, that could result in broken bones, pulled muscles or any other unwanted blunders. We abandon our typical healthy habits, and now drive instead of walk, take the elevator not the stairs and become veritable couch potatoes for the week.

Before my first marathon, I was an utter nervous wreck for the preceding week. I ate bread like it was going out of style, swore off lettuce, stared at my feet while walking, looked both ways twice before crossing the street. In hindsight, it was ridiculous. No lettuce? Really?

For the dozen or so marathons I've done between that one and now, I've become much less regimented and much less crazy. In fact, I've done some things in preparation that most wouldn't dream of doing. Not that I recommend having two colonoscopies, doing a half Ironman triathlon or getting hit by a bike and nearly breaking your elbow the week before running a marathon, but I'm glad I've loosened up.

For me, the week leading up to this marathon has been oddly different than those in the past. I am, for the first time, training with someone else who I plan to run with on Sunday. I have a specific goal in mind, one that is harder to achieve than "just finishing." I have also trained for this race much more intently and focused than for others. Don't get me wrong, all of these new things are positive, but they have had me more aware than usual. The training has been absolutely fantastic. It's been amazing to see my goals and desires take flight. Especially having a kick-ass running partner to share my runs, stories, injuries, everything.

With just a few days of pre-race preparation left, I'm trying not to make myself crazy. I found myself worrying about the high pollen counts, even though I'm not allergic to pollen. I have already planned the sneaker-coordinated outfits that I'm wearing to work for the rest of the week. I had a massage today with someone other than my usual therapist and made sure to tell her several times to "go easy on my legs." I stayed up later than planned last night because I needed to make granola so I could have my usual breakfast this morning. One of my toenails fell off this weekend and I worried it would cause a problem, but it's a rarity that I have my full complement of nails. Abby and I have sworn off our much loved trail runs for fear that a slip, trip or fall would lead to a twisted ankle or undesired battle scar. I'm drinking so much water that after the forth time I went to the bathroom today, my co-worker asked if I was feeling alright.

Sounds crazy, right? Well, it is.

Runners are certainly a neurotic breed. But at least in my case, I'm aware of it. And I accept it.

Taper Schmaper

I guess it's all downhill from here. The last long training run is done and over. The next long run will be exactly 26.2 miles long. The real deal, the big shebang, the grand poo-bah. The marathon.

Abby is gallivanting in Vegas this weekend so the typical weekend long run was switched to Thursday, on an afternoon that turned out to be the dictionary definition of perfect running weather. Our attempt at a "nice easy slow run" was easier said than done- taking us several miles before we were able to slow our pace appropriately.

The weather today was positively summerish. We had one day of spring last Saturday, then another cold spell and now it's time for summer. Nothing like jumping right from cool 40 degree weather straight to the 90s with no middle ground. I felt the need to run today. After all, it's the weekend. Sans my training partner for the weekend, I met Ali for a run this morning. I had strict instructions to not run too much. I decided that 6 miles would do the trick: get enough energy out, but not over do it. It was certainly not my best run (humid weather and oddly sore muscles to blame I guess) but it did the trick. Mission accomplished.

Following the run, I took the opportunity to stretch for a l-o-n-g time. I assumed that my quads burning while I was running was a not-so-subtle sign from my body telling me that I needed to stretch. I took my time stretching, enjoying the weather and people watching from behind the Art Museum. At one point two runners ran by, stopping when the got to the sidewalk leading up to the museum. I noticed that they had Texas A&M singlets on (likely in town for the Penn Relay and out for a quick jog). It seemed as if they knew where they were going, but confusion and disappointment came over them as they looked around.

"I thought there were more," one said as they continued to walk past me and up towards the museum.

"Yeah, me too," the other responded.

I quickly realized the problem.

"Are you looking for the Rocky steps?" I asked.

Excitedly, they both said yes and nodded. The 20 or so steps that lead up to the back of the museum are not nearly as impressive and monumental as those made famous by a sweatsuit and Chuck Taylor clad Sylvester Stallone.

"They're on the other side," I said, and pointed them in the right direction. "And yes, they're are more."

There's always more on the other side.

I'm Runnin' In The Rain

(cue music and Gene Kelly dancing with umbrella, jumping off curb and clicking heels)

All runners have experienced it. You go out for a run. The weather forecast says possible showers. The sky is cloudy but the sun is peaking through. You run a couple miles, far enough that you're pretty well into the run. Feeling warmed up, feeling loose, feeling good. Then the heavens open up and begin dumping the Nile River onto you.

If you decide not to run because there's rain in the forecast, not a drop ever falls. If it's raining when you begin running, it will mist slightly for a few minutes and then stop all together. If it's going to really rain, it's going to happen when you're miles from home. It's inevitable.

Luckily for me, I like running in the rain. In fact, I love running in the rain. It is about the purest form of youthful enjoyment I know. Splashing through puddles like a kid in goulashes. Happily waving at passers-by. Trying to keep my heavy water-logged shorts from falling down. Spinning in circles with my arms spread wide. (OK, I don't actually do that.)

Today was the perfect run in the rain. I set out after class for a quick jaunt along the river. The forecast called for rain in the afternoon to evening hours. It was raining slightly as I left class and ran some errands, but had essentially stopped by the time I was ready to run. True to form, I was just over a mile out when it began spritzing, then sprinkling, then drizzling, then raining, then pouring. Awesome. Others out running seemed shocked and disappointed that it was all of a sudden raining. As if the meteorologists were just kidding when they said there was a 100% chance of rain. As if the dark clouds loitering over the city all day were just there for show.

I relished. I didn't turn around. I never would. Some people I know won't run in the rain, as if they fear melting a la the Wicked Witch of the West. I've yet to melt from getting wet and don't anticipate it ever happening, so I'll keep running in the rain.

The rain came down harder and the wind coming off the river practically blew me sideways. I looked for the first puddle I could find. Splash! As I passed other runners, I smiled gleefully and frantically waved. Many waved and smiled back. "They obviously love the rain too," I thought. I didn't have my iPod so I had only the songs in my head. Conveniently, "Splish Splash, I Was Taking A Bath" began playing on repeat in my head.

Those driving by were surely questioning my sanity, especially as it began thundering as well. A cab driver honked at me, apparently thinking that I was trying to hail a ride. Most people seemed to feel sorry for me. Poor runner girl, stuck out in the rain.

If only they knew I was having the time of my life.

I continued along the river. I went under a bridge and came around a bend in the road. The rain began to let up. I was finally able to look up without raindrops pelting my face. The clouds parted and a sliver of sunshine shone through. I was able to see. The trees were breathtaking- some springy green, some fall-like with reddish-orange leaves, others still bare waiting to bloom until winter is gone for good. Hugging the shore of Kelly Drive were the cherry blossoms; magnificently imperfect branches erupting with perfectly pink flowers, almost too bright to be real. The grass was green like AstroTurf. The glimmer of post-rain sun hit the crests of the river current with near perfect precision.

If I wasn't out running today, I wouldn't have seen this. You never know what you'll see when the rain stops. Like the old saying goes, "if you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain." I'm happy to "put up with it." It lets me bring out my inner child.

After I turned around to run back home, it began to rain again.

So I splashed in some more puddles.

If It Ain't Fun, Why Do It?

Today, I entered a new level of endurance race-dom: adventure racing. (A disclaimer: as you will find out, I didn't actually do a race today, but I can guarantee that I will in the future.) As if I needed another hobby.

Over the past few months of our marathon training, Abby has been subtly but suggestively hinting about the lure of adventure racing. Stories that would make most say "you're crazy" leave me thinking precisely the opposite. I've been the recipient of many "crazy" comments- most justified, I'll admit. I guess I like doing things that others think justify a mental health consultation. Although I've never thought much about adventure racing, I certainly wasn't resistant to it. So today, I took the first logical step into this crazy sport by volunteering at an adventure race in Delaware, in which Abby was participating.

The Savage (appropriately titled, I suppose) is a 6 hour adventure race which consisted of running, mountain biking and canoeing (and wading/fording/swimming in a creek, if desired). Basically like a triathlon, but easier because you canoe instead of swim, right?

WRONG!

The hidden forth event, which I will call "figure out where the hell you're going," makes this a whole different ballgame. What I garnered from today is that adventure racing is as follows: start here, end there, stop at these places, here's a map, hope you have a bike and a canoe, have fun. No mile markers, no arrows, no water stops. It makes marathons (or even triathlons) seem positively elementary.

I began my day helping with registration handing out the maps. As you can guess, the map (or maps, as it were) are a very essential part in the adventure race equation. I learned that when you give someone three elaborate, but deceptively undetailed, maps, it results in the asking of many questions. Few, if any, to which I knew the answer (or even had the faintest idea what they were asking). I answered the first couple questions with an emphatic "I have no idea" and instructions to go ask one of the organizers. Then as I learned a little more about the race and picked up on some key AR terminology, my co-map-giver-outer and I answered many on our own. (I apologize to any participants to whom I gave misinformation, but in the spirit of the race, I'm sure they figured out the truth on their own.) By the end, I had a whole schpiel that I gave to each team. Luckily, I'm a quick learner (or really good at faking it).

After my map duty, I was off to the bike drop where the teams came after running and/or canoeing to pick up their bikes and complete the bike portion of the race. Stationed in the middle of a parking lot, I sat in my Crazy Creek, reading a book, watching for teams coming through the woods, recording their arrival times and continuing to answer questions to the best of my ability. I was sure to tell participants what I knew, but with disclaimers and very little detail. For example:

"So is there more running or do we just bike to the end?" a participant would ask.

To which I would respond with something akin to "well, I know that you don't bring your bikes back here and the end is the same place as the start, but how you get there and what you do between here and the end, I don't know. Have fun!"

I was sure to tell every team to have fun. Seeing the teams jump the curb of the parking lot and venture off into the woods on their bikes looked liked a blast. (Having spent the last 7 years of my biking career on a comparatively fragile road bike, doing things like this on a burly mountain bike seem so fun.) Most teams seemed to be having fun and thanked me for the sentiment. Other teams who maybe veered a little off course or had gotten themselves in over their heads (literally or figuratively) had different responses. My favorite was "if this is what you call fun, you're sick." Probably true.

After waiting for all 100 teams to come through and get their bikes, I was going back to the start/finish area to see the end of the race. I was a little delayed leaving on account of the navigation skills of the final team to come through the bike drop- the aptly named "Lost Boys."

Watching the teams- wet, sweaty, muddy, bloody, tired, exhilarated- bike up a hill to cross the finish line, it hit me that this was definitely something that I wanted to try. I haven't done a triathlon in well over a year, namely because I stopped enjoying them. As I wished fun upon the teams, I realized that was precisely the missing link. I feel that recently the triathlon world has become overly serious and fiercely competitive. This in conjunction with the nightmare logistics of triathlon participation prompted my multi-sport hiatus in exchange for a life of running, running and more running. The experience of the adventure race today, however, may be the ticket back to my former hobby.

Especially if that ticket involves fording a creek as the most logical and appropriate way of getting from point A to point B.

And you don't have to wear a wetsuit.

Blissful Masochism

This morning, I woke up at 3:45am, drove two hours to northern New Jersey, got slightly misdirected by faulty GPS, ran a 20 mile training run around the nice but lonely town of Long Branch, had a post-run conversation with Abby about wanting to do an ultra-marathon and a race up Mt. Washington, drove back home through heavy Easter traffic, submerged my lower extremities in a bathtub full of ice water for 15 minutes and only just now (13 hours later) am finally relaxing in my sweats with my feet up. Why, you ask, do I subject myself to such masochistic adventures?

Simple- I'm a runner.

And therefore, by definition, masochistic- intentionally and blissfully masochistic.

A more elaborate answer comes from a detailed recounting of all of today's events. As mentioned, today began early. So early that as I drove to meet Abby, the only other signs of human life I saw were the police officer hidden around a corner looking for drivers inebriated from the night's festivities and several young ladies in stilettos stumbling out of Wawa with an arm full of food. I, on the other hand, was just going for a Sunday morning run. Longer and further away than most, but a Sunday morning run nonetheless. The drive up was relatively uneventful: an amusing recount Abby's unfortunately eventful day yesterday, Passover-adibing and gluten-free pre-run fueling with Baked Lays and PB&J rice cakes, respectfully and some discussion about both the absurd and beneficial aspects of what we were doing. The unreliable GPS on my phone led us slightly off course, but with "help" from a gas station attendant and our own logical reasoning we made it to The Shore Runner, where the NJ Road Runners Association meet for their monthly Sunday long runs. This run would include one loop of the actual NJ Marathon course and then additional miles to make your desired length run (ours was 20 miles). A pre-"race" meeting with helpful instructions from the marathon director and we were off down the boardwalk along the picturesque beach, ready or not.


I guess there were 70-80 other runners starting off, although after mile one, I never saw more than 12 different people. It had the potential to be a very lonely, potentially confusing run. Abby and I planned to run together so we would avoid utter loneliness and at least have the company of each other. Shortly after starting, we happened upon a new friend, Andrew, another out-of-towner in Jersey today for the opportunity at a long run change-of-pace. We quickly began conversing and fell perfectly in step with each other. Our pace was brisk, but comfortable. We finished the first mile in under 8 minutes- definitely faster than anticipated or suggested. But we felt good and continued, slowing slightly but maintaining a good kick. We eventually met up with two other runners who joined our Motley Crue.

The organizers of the NJ Marathon take extreme pride in their race and go to extraordinary lengths to accommodate any desires and needs of the runners participating. The course was remarkably well marked with arrows painted on the road, signs warning drivers of road closings during the race (in three weeks) and race directors driving the course assuring runners were staying on track. (We only missed two turns- both times likely due to our own distraction and lack of attention, not poor marking of the course.) In addition to course organization, this training run came with 6 fully stocked aid stations on each loop. Customary water and Gatorade was accompanied by standard chocolate and vanilla GUs, as well as Easter appropriate jelly beans and Peeps (yes, the sugar-coated marshmallow chicks). I had a handful of jelly beans at several points along the course, the closest I got to anything constituting an Easter celebration. The organization and management of this run easily marveled some larger and official races that I have done. I was remarkably impressed. New Jersey just gained some major props in my book.

Oh and I almost forgot the actual running part (that was the point of today). Well, it kicked ass. We kicked ass. Major ass. We more or less maintained our aforementioned starting pace. Despite some slower miles on account of a head wind or slowing to pour our own water and one much needed bathroom break, we were remarkably on pace with our overarching goal. And by "on pace" I mean ahead of pace. We finished 20 miles in 2 hours, 45 minutes and a disputable number of irrelevant seconds. Most importantly, feeling good, really good and very excited at the accomplishment. High fives all around.

A post-race meal with Andrew at a nearby eatery (with a typical New Jersey menu composed of more options than most cookbooks) rounded out the awesomeness of the day. An extremely freaky, candy basket-wielding Easter Bunny was at the restaurant and we took the opportunity for a classic photo-op.


As if running 20 miles wasn't enough masochism for one day, I decided to partake some yet uncharted masochistic territory: my first ice bath. I stopped on the way home to pick up some ice. The gas station was out, the Wawa up the road had only two bags left. Wow, a lot of people must be taking ice baths today. I bought both bags and upon arriving home, promptly emptied them into a tub full of cold water. I changed into tiny spandex shorts, a thick running shirt and heavy ski jacket. And then I got in. Gasp.


The initial feeling was less than pleasant, but once I resigned myself to cold and pain, I got comfortable. I caught up on the latest issue of Runners World- appropriately reading articles about qualifying for Boston and taking care of your body. 15 minutes later, risking frostbite and frozen organs, I decided it was probably time to get out. Feeling cold, but good, I continued to reflect on the day.

It was, for lack of a better term, the perfect day.

Some consider me crazy to willfully subject myself to such experiences. I agree. I am crazy. But I'm a runner.

And if you want to know why, my answer is simple. I never stopped smiling all day long. Who could ask for anything better?

The On/Off Switch

When it comes to pace, I've always said that I have only two: on and off. It seems to me that no matter how I feel, how long I'm running, how much I've run recently or what the weather is like I always run about the same speed. One day I feel like a speed demon, floating on air in perfect 65 degree sunny weather. Another day I wonder if I'm actually moving forward, my legs feeling as if they're made of pure lead and, of course, it's cold and rainy. But somehow, my pace on either day ends up being only seconds more or less than the other day.

Consistency. I guess it's a good thing.

Except when you're trying to run faster.

In my current training (for the NJ Marathon in May), I want to be faster. Abby and I began training together and from the start had a certain goal in mind. (It's running fast enough to get into this pretty well-known race somewhere up in New England.) We didn't talk about it much, usually speaking only in whisper and looking for wood to knock on if we mentioned it. We both felt that if it happened, great. If not, try again another time. No big deal. Despite our slightly complacent attitude, we definitely tried. Only recently, nearing the end of our training, we've realized we may have a shot.

We found a schedule to follow. And we've followed it, basically. We've done tempo runs, we've done long runs, we've done recovery runs, we've done trail runs, we've done track workouts. Despite numerous types of runs with different purposes, we still don't quite understand this whole "pace" thing.

Many schedules or training workouts have you run certain speeds based on your performance in races (5K, 10K, marathon, etc). The track workout that I wanted to do this week was 800m repeats at 20 seconds faster than a 5K pace. Ok, sounds good. Except that the last 5K I did was Race for the Cure in 2005. Running through the tiny streets of Philadelphia with 40,000 of my closest friends, I think I finished in just under an hour. Probably not a good judge of speed for a track workout. (Somehow I don't think that repeats at a 19:30 min/mile pace is productive or possible.)

Still at square one.

Runner's World online has a function that calculates your pace based on a goal time. Great. Plug in 3:40 for a marathon and presto change-o, paces. What we found out was that, by and large, we were doing a pretty good job. Except for one thing- our long runs. The know-all-and-end-all running gurus at Runner's World said that we should be doing our long runs at 9:26-10:39 min/mile.

Huh?

How does doing a 20 miler at 10 min/mile prepare you to run the necessary 8:23 min/mile pace needed in order to finish in 3:40 and qualify?? I just don't get it. I know that you will likely run a little faster on race day. A little faster. Not 2 minutes faster. Or even 1 minute faster. Remember the on/off switch? I've got two paces, not ten. It's a switch, not a dial.

Luckily, I'm not worried that my training paces haven't been exact (or even anywhere close) to what they "should" be. I've felt good- mentally and physically- throughout training. I've never paid close attention to paces in training and I've managed to do just fine. 14 marathons under my belt and my on/off switch is working as good as ever.

While discussing the pace conundrum on our last run, Abby and I determined that if we're "supposed" to do our long runs approximately 2 minutes slower than our goal race pace, based on our last 20 miler two weeks ago, we'll be running 6:43 min/mile in the marathon.

Deena Kastor, watch your back!

The Incurable Optimist

After years of attempting to describe myself (and consistently coming up with merely inaccurate, incomplete or wishful representations), I have found the perfect description. My dictionary definition, if you will.

Bess Staebler (n.) an incurable optimist

I should note that I did not come up with this. It is with apologies (or thanks) to Michael J. Fox for providing me with my new description. (It is the subtitle of his new book Always Looking Up.)

I have always been an optimist. It is one of the traits that I consider most admirable about myself. I am almost always able to not only see the silver lining, but believe it to be true. I've only realized the "incurable" part recently. I've worked with people who, on a good day, are less-than-optimistic- always assuming the worst will happen, criticizing others, believing that things won't be done correctly or getting angry over little things. I am not brought down by them (remember I'm incurable). Rather, it has made me realize the benefits and advantages of positive thinking. To spare you typical cliches I am, in short, a happy person.

Not that life hasn't brought me situations where I wonder "why" or think "life sucks," but I truly believe that there's a reason for everything (sorry, that cliche just snuck in there somehow).

Why is there horrible traffic and lots of red lights when I'm in a rush? To teach me patience.

Why does my best friend have to be in Ecuador for a year and I miss her dreadfully? To teach me that a friendship can grow stronger across countries, continents and hemispheres. And that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, even if it sucks while it's happening.

Why am I an only child, despite always wishing for a brother or a sister? To teach me the value of being alone.

Why do I have Celiac Disease and am deprived of so many yummy foods? To remind me that I could have it a lot worse. And because doughnuts aren't good for you even if you aren't allergic to them.

Why did I struggle so much because I was essentially unable to read (and comprehend) until I was 20 years old? To teach me how to listen and force me to learn in atypical ways.

Why did I get a stress fracture in my foot last year? To teach me to slow down and stop for a while.

And to conclude, in an ever-so incurably optimistic mood, I came upon this quote yesterday:

Risk more than others think is safe,
Care more than others think is wise,
Dream more than others think is practical,
Expect more than others think is possible.
-Cadet Maxim

An incurable optimist who risks, cares, dreams and expects more than most. That's me. In a nutshell (or a sentence).

Come Hell or High Water

or wind or snow or brutal cold or irrepressible heat, I'll run.

Today, for example, it was wind. And hell it was windy. And up hill. Both ways. Really.

I'm not one to get myself worked up over a weather forecast. Especially, in Philadelphia where one snowflake constitutes a winter weather warning and a shortage of milk and bread in the stores. Today, however, the well-paid meteorologists on TV said that it was going to be windy. Very windy. 30mph wind gusts. All day.

They were right.

But just as I don't get worked up over the weather, I don't let it change my plans. So I set out this morning to run at Valley Forge with Abby, Ali and the Team in Training spring race group. For anyone who knows the loop at Valley Forge knows that the first hill sucks. It's long and steep. Today, with the aforementioned wind, it REALLY sucked. Calling the predicted 30mph gusts "gusts" was putting it nicely. Gusts come and go. These stayed the whole way up the hill. Coming from the side. And the front. And overhead. At times it seemed like we were running in a tornado, not just "regular" wind. Fun was not a word that I would use to describe it. But we did it. And the wind died down a bit. Then was resuscitated and came back to life (conveniently on another hill). Then died down. Then came back. Then....well, you get the point.

Despite it, we continued running. Even when it felt that we were going backwards or sideways or both. Abby and I turned around a little early after determining that our "nice easy trail run" yesterday (that was actually 7 miles and more like an adventure race- torn wet clothes, fording flooded paths and bruised battle scars included) meant we didn't need to do the full run today. We finished- relieved, wind-blown and content- about 9 miles in an average 8:44 pace. (It felt more like a 15 min/mile pace, so I'll chalk this up as an excellent resistance workout.)

Today was one of those instances where I am reminded why I run. You can't play golf in the snow. You can't play baseball in the rain and wind (ahem, 5th game of the 2008 World Series). You can't go skiing in the summer. You can't go swimming in a thunderstorm. But you can always run. I've run a marathon in a Nor'easter. I've done a triathlon in sweltering 95 degree Texas heat. I've done countless runs in the rain. I almost never don't run because of the weather. If I do, I feel that I've let the weather win. It's the same reason that I don't own a real winter coat because if I wear a winter coat, it's admitting that it's winter.

Running is so simple: left, right, repeat. It's why I like it so much. And why I keep running. Come hell or high water.

Another one bites the dust

Once again, I'm without my full compliment of toenails. Back down to 9. (Really 8 1/2 if you consider that the last one to go isn't quite back in action yet.) Despite my wish to, for once, have a perfectly polished set of nails, the fact that I don't is a badge of honor. And, most importantly, proof that I'm not a wuss.

It was more than 6 years ago when I started running- and subsequently loosing toenails. Dozens of lost toenails, hundreds of hours, thousands of miles and millions of random thoughts later I've decided it's time to start writing some of my musings. Stories, experiences, feelings, recollections, opinions, descriptions, adventures and reflections have often left me thinking "you should write a book"- so I am (well, an online psuedo book). My intention is not to change lives or bring world peace, rather it is to clear my head of my internal ramblings. (Hopefully it will free up some space for things like the material on infectious diseases and antibiotics that I am supposed to have learned for my last pharmacology test.)

My intention is to write on a regular basis- not everyday- but often. I should forewarn: I am historically HORRIBLE at keeping diaries, journals, logs, etc. I am filled with good intentions, but lack the focus and motivation for a proper follow-through. Thankfully I never wanted to be a writer because I would be out of work and very poor. Here's to what will hopefully be an amusing and insightful collection of my chronicles of running. And last longer than the cool diary with a lock and secret code that I got for my 10th birthday. I wrote "Dear Diary" and that was it.