Cajun Coyote 100 Miler: A Race Report of a Very Unusual 100 Miler

So the good news on the Cajun Coyote 100 Miler first, I suppose:

• I was second woman!
• It reinstilled my love in the love run - oh, trails, how alive you make me feel.
• I ran through some beautiful places.
• While my time was far from my PR, I still had a smashing good time.
• It was like Burning Man - we all had "race names" and I used my playa one, Cherry Bomb, as my name.
• One of the most fun races I ran.

I arrived at the start and knew I was in the right place - the RD was wearing a stuffed alligator hat and the volunteers were wearing Mardi Gras beads. In my race bag (one of those little sneaker bags) were lots and lots of beads, a nice tech shirt that actually looks good, a Lip Smacker (Yes! I loved them when I was 9 years old and they're still great!), a mask, homemade soaps, bug wipes, Hammer samples, and other fun. Everyone was excited, chattering under the Christmas lights about the day to come. Numbers were written on a select body part - you'd run into an aid station, shouting your number and your nickname. My nickname was, of course, Cherry Bomb.

At the start...

#111, Cherry Bomb!

The course was five 20 mile loops. Louisiana's a flat state, and this was in the bayou, so it was flat, right?

WRONG!

Me at the start

Yes! Get me outta here!!!

Loop One: Miles 1-20
The race started with the RD saying offhandedly, "Bye!" And we took off!

I started out at a good pace, chatting with a guy doing his first ultra (who later went on to win the 100k) and a guy from Maine. We talked about dysfunctional relationships, work, running. The first 4.3 miles - up to the first aid station - were the hardest. Up, down, steep, short, up, down, repeat. And a rock to trip on, a root, focus, focus. Through some miracle I did not trip at all on this single track rocky-and-rooty course.

The next 4-ish miles were the easiest. Lots of ups and downs, but not as hard as the first section. Right before the aid station you run down into this ditch and then up. Oh, fun. And then up a little hill and to Jeff's aid station - Jeff who didn't sleep the entire race. I love ultra volunteers.

Then there were eight miles to the unmanned aid station. Mentally, it was a challenge. I also had to be careful and conserve my water each time. At this aid station, there was water, a container of Heed, and a jar of pickled pig's lips. No one dared open it - yuck!

Ew! Pigs' lips as ultrarunning snack

And then a mere four miles or so to the main aid station. This wasn't so terrible, some hills, but it was only four miles. 


And then you were back.

Overall, the course was up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down on single track. Enough rocks and roots and twists and turns and bridges to keep your eyes on the ground at all times - but wait, look up, don't miss those orange blazes. (The RD put heaps of ribbons up which were helpful...until the trail maintenance volunteers decided to help out and remove all the ribbons. ARGH!)


Loop Two, Miles 20-40
I repeated everything.

On the move!

Fueling up

I ran a bunch w a guy from Maine who I got into an extensive discussion with about dysfunctional relationships. We'd lose each other on and off - he'd spend extra time in an aid station, and I'd leave him, or he'd get a speed burst. It was a nice way to pass the time.

 And then I was alone, but it was okay. I felt free, alive, in love with the run. I was here to run 100 miles, yes, but the real reason? I needed vengeance on the 100 mile distance. My last 100 was so wretched that I needed to prove to myself and the world that I loved this. And I did. I did. I felt alive as I ran across a wooden walkway (which were SO pretty and I loved them during the day but at night were positively frightening) across the bayou. I thought, "Yes, yes, this is why I'm here! This is what it means to be alive."


Loop Three, Miles 40-60
It got harder. That goes without saying.

Crossing the bridge

I had my light but I wouldn't need it until the end of this loop. Things got rough and I pushed and I felt the pain but I pushed and I pushed and I pushed. I thought of coconut water and Odwalla bars and of my cat back home, sleeping for sure, and of The Godfather, which I was re-reading for the third time, and created sentences in my head in Spanish and about what to get V for Xmas and everything, everything, everything. I thought and then I blanked and I pushed and I pushed harder and hardest of all, I pushed the tears from my eyes and wouldn't let them escape. I was tougher than this.

It got dark. It was okay. I was tough. But my headlamp battery wasn't. It was impossible to see. I got freaked. I began singing loudly, scaring the armadillos, comforting myself. I wonder if KRS-ONE ever thought when he was writing "How Bad Do You Want It" that some ultrarunner would use it to push herself during a 100miler.

I could barely see. I slowed down, squinting with my pathetic light to see the markers. I had to walk, to avoid tripping on things I couldn't see. Finally I arrived at an aid station and they gave me batteries. It was a relief to get back to the main aid station and get my kickass headlamp and pacer.

Loop Four, Miles 60-80
My pacer was new to ultras, and we barely knew each other, but that wasn't a problem. We quickly began talking, laughing, getting to know each other.

About seven and a half miles in, we got to an intersection and couldn't find the next blaze. No worries, there it is. Oops. Rather, that is the orange blaze we just passed. We ended up running three extra miles. Argh. When I figured it out, I began running super hard. I was so upset that I just pushed, pushed, pushed and tried not to think about it. When we got to the next aid station, I inquired if I'd have to pay extra because, after all, everyone else paid for 100 miles and here I was, running 103 and paying the same price!

Things felt rough but I felt mostly good. I was eating throughout the race - grilled cheese and rice at the main aid station, quesadillas at Jeff's aid station, and vanilla gus and honey stingers in between.

Loop Five, Miles 80-100
It hurt.

I was psyched to be on my last loop but my shins were killing. And I was SO tired. I felt wretched. Of course, if I didn't, something would be seriously wrong with me.

A light was behind me. Push. Push. I can't let it pass me. My pacer and I would talk, or we would say nothing but breathe and think and push. Then there would be times where it would get to me, and I would say to Jessica, "Talk. Say something. Anything," and she'd amazingly well respond, "Well, at work..." or "My kids..." or whatever. She could have been reading the ingredients on a cereal box to me and I would have found it soothing.

It got later. It got worse. Each aid station was a beacon of hope, the volunteers so cheerful, so wonderful, so nice and helpful. I inhaled grilled cheeses. I drank ginger ale. They were so helpful and nice.

I started to cry. Jessica told me not to cry. I was unable to listen to her. I cried harder. This hurt so much. I worked so hard, why was I running so poorly? How have I been getting slower, getting further from my goals? Why did it hurt so bad?

We started talking, laughing. I pushed. "Mile 97!" "Mile 98!" And harder.

And then we were on the road. I couldn't believe I was almost done. As I came in, everyone cheered. And the RD was there and everyone was awake. It was over. Somehow.

Food was prepared and shared. I sat there, stunned and exhausted. I called New York, was told I sounded totally out of it. I was told not to drive.

The RD gave out finishers' hats, and I was second woman. I won a free pair of sneakers. We joked around, and I was stunned at how I was able to run into the finishing area not that long, and now, now that the clock had stopped for me, walking was near impossible.

In the middle of the night, I thought about how hard it was. It's so hard. 100 milers are a million times harder than a marathon, a lot harder than a 50. But it's SO hard. Mentally. Physically. Everything hurts and it's hard to remember why you should push. And it's hard to break through. Those people that are WINNING - they impress me. Because when I run, I'm in my own race. I'm competing against myself. I'm running for the love of it, for the struggle of the day, for discovering within.

And really, it takes 100 miles to find a lot of that out. Because if it didn't, why would we be doing it in the first place?

You're Only As Old As You Feel

This morning, my legs were tired, reminding me that yes, I did run 100 miles last week. I started feeling better as we headed over the Pulaski, running back to my house with Wayne. Some guy nodded at us as we ran past, as he was wearing his Boston Marathon gear and Wayne was wearing my old Boston shirt. (I arrived one year too late at the expo and they only had men's large shirts...thanks, Boston, I train my butt off to qualify for you, and then train my butt off for you, only to get a men's large shirt?!?!). I started talking about Boston - I don't actually like the course. There's a lot of gaping sections of nothing, boring suburbs, and I don't know, it just doesn't love me how NYC loves me.

We're passing this older guy - I'm feeling better and thinking, let's run hard in - when he hears us talking about Boston and starts telling us about all the time he's run Boston. Fourteen times. About the crowds at the start and how he hears it's in waves now and how he did ultras in the 70s and 80s and he did the Shea Stadium one my friend Ray K did and how much he loves running. And this guy is 70 but he looks so incredible.

Wayne and I slow down our pace and talk to him the rest of the time, and I swear, it was one of the most beautiful Greenpoint runs I've had in a while. It was really special to run with some an interesting and amazing individual - and yeah, he's 70 but he was so young at heart.

I'll be there someday!

Packing...

Right now, my living room is a 100 mile mess. There are two pairs of running sneakers (one a half-size bigger for the last 70 miles), headlamps, water bottles, 2 hydration systems, sports bras, a visor, panties, a lace skirt, almond butter, a 24-pack of vanilla gu, body glide, work papers, barrettes, arm warmers meant for Burning Man but now running ones when I lost my running ones, and too many other things to name. And somebody please tell me to never again fly standby (i.e., just a carry-on!) when I am running 100 miles AND spending 5 days in New Orleans. I'm not scrimping on race supplies, but there's a chance I may not have enough clothes in NOLA. Oh well. I'll repeat. Skirts, anyway!

I'm excited. I'm nervous. I'm a lot of things. My last 100 mile race was the biggest disaster of my running career. I felt like I pushed it hard, so hard, it really was crazy difficult - but I somehow, ran my suckiest time ever. I wish to forget that now.

In a way, I'm out to redeem myself. I need to prove to myself - I need to run my heart out for 100 miles. I want to PR - oh yes, that's the ultimate goal. But really, it's to discover the love I have for the sport, the fun, the excitement. Last time I ran to prove how tough I was - so tough that I pushed myself beyond the limits of sanity. This time, I will run to prove to myself that this is my first love. (Sorry, Wayne. Not like you're #2 but I fell in love w running when I was 13 and you when I was 31! You and running, you're the two most important things in my life.) I will run to discover the beauty of every step. If it sucks, I will not acknowledge that. A secret, friends - I'm going to pack my little iPod mini that I use at the gym - if it blows, I'll pull that. But really - I won't need it. I know that.

The first 20 - fun, energetic. Next 20 - I'm there, but I got it. Push it. Next 20. Push. Push. It's getting hard but it's not dark yet. Thoughts of seeing Jessica at mile 60 keep me going. Next 20 - I meet my pacer. Change shoes, clothes, get a grilled cheese in my belly. Final 20 - poor Jessica (my pacer) might shove me into the swamp. We'll get to know each other better than people who've known me for years - she'll tell me about the first person she fell in love with, I'll talk about that awful first kiss and that really terrible thing no one else knows - you cross the boundaries, in ultrarunning, everything and I mean everything comes out. She'll laugh at me as I hallucinate ridiculous things, as I pour my heart out, as I trip, as I drop my cookie on the ground and pick it up and keep eating it with the dirt, as I pee on my glove and put it back on, as I cry my heart out, as I bless the stars, as I talk about La Playa de Estrellas de Mar in Bocas and putting starfish on as a bikini top, as I babble, as I reach upwards and forwards, reaching, reaching, reaching...

Until I finish.

Which I will.

Remember, DNF is not in my vocabulary. I tried to include it, Kathy (amazing pacer at Rio del Lago) would not let me. I am seeking redemption. I will buckle. I will push beyond my limits, beyond what anyone thinks another person is capable of. Pain? Hah. Pain is weakness leaving the body. I will push forward. I will win. Not the race, necessarily. I will win for myself. I will have fun. I will enliven my spirit.

And then I will celebrate in the streets of New Orleans after.

Because I run for the love of it.

Occupy Yourself!

I'm very excited that an article I wrote about my experiences at the Occupy Wall Street movement, Occupy Yourself, has been published in Her Circle.

He Was the Winner, and Oh Yeah, She Won for the Woman

I know it's partially my job as a librarian at a women's nonprofit that does this, but I can't help noticing how the focus in race reports is always, "HE won!" "He came in first." And then there's a "Oh yeah, and for the women, so-and-so came in 1st, or 5th overall, running ___."

Why?

Yes, women rarely win overall. There's a combo of reasons why men are faster than women (less body fat than women; easier ability to lose body fat; more muscles). Occasionally, in ultrarunning, women do win outright, which is awesome. The super awesome Jessi Kennedy outright won the NJ Ultra 100 Miler in March. Yay! Some might dispute this, but based on my personal experiences, women seem to have a higher pain tolerance than men, and thus, can push themselves more. (Feel free to debate this one. It might just be all the men I've known!)

In a recent race on the Willamsburg Bridge, I was the first woman. I was so excited! At the finishing ceremony, the organizer gave a hooded sweatshirt to the male winner - and another to the last place person, and another to a random person. Why not to the first female finisher? I didn't even think of it until a friend complained that he was annoyed that I wasn't recognized.

Yesterday, I was so excited that one of my teammates in NBR won the Brooklyn Marathon. I loved the coverage that often mentioned us, and I cheered him on the entire time. I was really happy for him. It was an amazing honor for him to win a marathon at 24 and the coverage of him was really great!

But then, I started thinking about the woman (whose winning time at 3:14 is just 14 min off my PR...hmmm....) who won. She was mentioned as an afterthought in many of the articles. He got some great press, great quotes. And not much is learned of her.

In this NY Mag article, almost three paragraphs are devoted to the male winner, and a sentences in parentheses is all the female winner gets. Seriously. Why can't both get three paragraphs?

Why? Why does this happen? Why, even in co-ed sports, is the focus still men?

When I run races, yes, I push myself, and I like to see a high overall place, but I know the one that my sponsors and other care about is my gender and age group placing, which, sorry, men aren't included in. So why is so much coverage so male-centric? Why does Ultrarunning Mag way more frequently feature a male on their cover (and thanks to my friend Lesley for raising this point in a letter to the editor to them), and why do their articles focus so much on the top male competition and then gives sparse mention to top women?

When will we have gender equality in sports?

For some stats on Women in Sports, check out this factsheet!

Brooklyn Marathon!

The first annual (ha!) Brooklyn Marathon in Prospect Park was held on Sunday. It had a really great vibe - less like one of the anally organized NYRR events and much more like a chill ultra. It was smaller, but the medals were good, the RD was friendly, and the weather rocked. The course consisted of two lower loops and six full loops on the pretty, occasional small hill course.

I voluncheered w my team, NBR, at one of the aid stations. I chalked cheerful messages on the course, made signs and taped them to the ground, filled cups with water and gatorade, and screamed my head off.

One of my less finer moments was when I cheered on teammate Ray and raised my arms - which smacked into a runner who decided to turn around and walk in the other direction (not sure his reason) - I felt so terrible but he was very nice about it. And he kept going! (And my arm hurt, but that's besides the point!)

I ended up pacing Wayne the last 2+ laps which was a lot of fun. On four hours sleep, I felt pretty rough but the pace was manageable, for six miles for me anyway! I chattered away, wouldn't let him drop the pace, and tried my best to motivate him. It was really wonderful when he PR'd by 8 minutes, going sub 3:30. I was so happy for him!

To those who insist upon only doing big races, you're missing out on a chill vibe, individual attention, and lots of fun!

How to Prepare for a Protest

My friend Margot sent me some of the below tips in an email (and I added a few of my own...). Proper prep is SMART for protests and can help you should you get in difficult situations.

--Assume subways may be closed at some point - it may take forever to get home, esp if there are barricades, street closures, etc.

--Bring pen and paper

--Charge up my cell phone, bring my charger with me

--Wear warm clothes, hat, gloves, possibly foldable umbrella, layers

--Eating before, and also, bring snacks (energy bars, sandwiches, something easy and portable)

--Let someone know where I am going so they can check on me and bail me out if I get into trouble

--Bring water

--Bring a bandana or scarf in case of pepper spray or tear gas, and sunglasses/glasses

--Bring ear plugs in case LRAD sound equipment is used against protesters (it is like pepper spray but it uses sound waves).

--Leave inessential items at home (I'll bring a small amount of money but not a lot, no credit cards, nothing I want to lose)

--Carry a bag that zippers up in case you are arrested and tossed around. Don't have a lot of things that could fall off you - loose scarves, etc. The cops will pull it off you and toss it on the ground.

--WRITE THE LAWYERS GUILD # ON MY BODY.  Here is the number:  212-679-6018

--Remain hyper alert. See where people are getting arrested, how the cops are acting, what is going on. Sometimes you can avoid getting arrested by simply stepping back.

--Smile. Dance. Sing. It helps diffuse the tension.

--Take photos of injustice and violence.

--Do not let them intimidate you. That is their goal. Do not shirk down.

--If someone heckles you, try not to get angry. Instead, respond to them with facts or sarcastic love.

--Wear comfortable shoes.

We may not wish to get arrested, but things are in chaos and it could happen whatever we wish.  So we should be prepared.  The cops will take all papers so you need the number on your skin.  If arrested, try to get your name to witnesses so they can give it to the Lawyers' Guild.  Keep your wits about you and spell out your name to witnesses.  Or take the names of anyone you witness getting arrested and call the Lawyers Guild. 

N17....An Occupy Wall St Protest Day

7am:

I met with some friends by the red cube at 7am. Smaller marches left (yellow flag (I think), black flag, and we were green flag), and I was with a group of people who did not want to get arrested. I did a few cheers (Capitalism Does Not Work, Resist) but everything was too crazy for me to do any formal radical cheerleading.

Our march headed out last, and we marched down Cedar and turned here and there and eventually ended up on Pine St and William St. I was with a marching band, and we were dancing. Everyone seemed in good spirits, especially as there was also a group of trees (or rather, people dressed like trees) dancing and chanting. I asked passing workers if they wanted to dance and they laughed and declined. It was fun. On Pine and William, we were all in the streets, dancing and chanting and the mood was good...until suddenly the cops started shoving violently and crazily. There were tons of cops - all in riot gear (w their masks pulled down) and they were out of control. I saw journalists go flying and get yelled at. Protesters pushed really hard. I felt myself being shoved backwards and they were screaming at us to stay on the sidewalk. People started sitting in the middle of the street to stop traffic...and were getting arrested. This happened every so often for a while.

The scary thing to me was - it wasn't one or two cops arresting people. It was five cops. It was NINE cops. It was disgusting how they were shoving people. The people weren't fighting back - they were just being passive and not moving.

Wall Street is insane, people!

2pm, when getting lunch:

i walked around the area and it's quiet. there are TONS of cops, even very far down wall st and away from things.

when i got up to liberty square, the cops would not let me even walk on broadway in front of the park. i ignored them and acted like i was in a rush and they somehow let me go.

i wanted to get into the park but it was completely surrounded by barricades and cops weren't letting anyone in. so the crowd on the outside built up.

cops were arresting people. someone was hurt at one point; a person was bleeding from their head. i did not personally see that but the people next to me all did. everyone was yelling, "Shame!"

And then...

the cops all began walking out.

some people left the park after they  left. some people entered.

was the park ours? no one knew.

i stayed a little longer. as i left, i noticed cops congregating. and more sirens.

i don't know what is happening.

it's weird. it feels like a complete police state. cops are walking around, menacingly swinging their billy clubs, face masks down w their riot gear. it is not a nice feeling.

530pm:

I left work and headed over to Foley Square. The cops were sending me around in circles and I couldn't actually get there. Somehow I pushed through and slipped through these cops hands and ended in the parade right behind City Hall.

The crowd was fairly diverse in age, race/ethnicity, background - I talked to a lot of interesting people. Things got really tight and crowded and we weren't moving. I did some cheers, and had a blast chanting with people.

We started moving and I began talking to all different people about what we had done, seen that day. It was really exhilarating. 

I was under the impression we were going to Liberty Plaza, but right after my boyfriend left, I ran into Margot (from the Burner list) and found out that we were marching over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Suddenly, a mic check was called and someone told us that half of the crowd was stuck behind the barricades. No one knew what to do. Margot and I decided to do a mic check so we raised awareness to the greater crowd, then got everyone to go back to the barricade. We chanted, "Let them through..." until they finally did. That felt WONDERFUL.

We marched to the bridge. I got a little nervous, honestly, hoping I wouldn't get arrested, but I decided I didn't care. I had the legal number on my arm. I didn't have my asthma medicines (which I need to take twice a day) so I crossed my finger. I was fine.

It was beautiful. We were chanting. I did a few cheers. People were projecting images onto the Verizon building - 99%, We're winning, and other beautiful images/words. It was so wonderful. I was dancing.

It got slower and we dragged as we got closer to the stairs. Two women in front of me wearing heels were all into it, cheering louder than anyone else. This was not the stereotypical "activist" crowd.

We headed to Cadman Plaza Park. A GA was due at 8pm. People headed out, as did I. Margot stayed to see the cops chilling in front of Dunkin Donuts.

It was a beautiful, empowering night.

 

Are you there, God? It's me, Cherie.

Cherie's Running Secret: When You Find Shoes You Love, BUY THEM!

When you find a pair of sneakers you absolutely love, STOCK UP. Sneaker companies are constantly coming out w new models, and I find the newest models don't always match up. I had a pair of shoes I wore for a year - or rather, a model, I had several pairs of shoes.

Currently, I'm obsessed w my Saucony Grid Flex sneakers - in pink and black, naturally.

I fell in love instantly. However, I couldn't seem to find these except in a nasty color, but luckily, found them for even cheaper (Hello, $49 for running sneakers!!!) on a discount retail site, 6pm (NFI!). So despite the shoes being fairly new, I have a backup pair already. I would've bought more, but I bought the last in stock! I'm going to buy another pair or two because it's so nice to not have to think about what fits right and what feels good.

Oh Saucony Grid Flexes, how I do love you!

Wheat Berry Salad Recipe

1. Boil 1.5 cups (or however much you feel like) of wheat berries in around 3.5 cups of water. Add more water as needed. Wheat berries have a nutty, slightly chewy taste, and take around an hour to cook.
2. In a large pan, heat a little extra virgin olive oil. Throw in zucchini slices (I did half-moons, but I think cutting those in half is better. I used two good-sized zucchinis.) and whatever other veggies you feel like. This time, I had cauliflower, but last time, I used broccoli, which I liked better.
3. Throw some white wine in that frying pan. I don't use measurements, but I probably used a glass in this recipe. I also threw in dried cherries. You can throw them in at the end, but they add a nice taste to the veggies and the wine plumps them up.
4. Add some sesame seeds, just for fun.
5. At the very end, throw in some chickpeas.
6. Stir everything (wheat berries and mixture from frying pan) together in a large bowl. Top with as much feta cheese as you like, and some crushed rosemary. Eat. Delish!

Best Waiver for a Race Ever!

I am SO excited about the upcoming Cajun Coyote 100 Miler. I can't wait to run 100 miles with these bunch of nuts, I mean, super fun people. Have you ever seen a race waiver like this?

WAIVER: I understand that running is a strenuous activity and has some inherent risk, some would say moreso on the trails than on a treadmill inside some meat-market gym.  But then, who’s going to listen to “some” when your friends drag you out onto the dirt for more than what a treadmill can provide?  Having heard just enough, though likely not researched enough; and likely not listened hard enough about the Coyote genre of trail running events from other Coyote Veterans, and thus chosen to subconsciously or consciously forget/ignore, I realize that my inattention to my own health and well-being cannot be cause for my ranting at the organizers, sponsors and supporters, in all their sizes and forms and personalities, for whatever mental grievance or alleged physical discomfort I may concoct just to please my own self-centered sense of how right I always am and how wrong the rest of the world should recognize it is.  In signing, I hereby and therefore aver and avow that I recognize the risks of trying to participate in the Cajun Coyote trail run towards the objective of crawling into bed Saturday night (Dec 3^rd) or Sunday morning (Dec 4^th) in as good health as I brought to the game Saturday morning, and that there is no medical reason (beyond the sanity piece my doctor seemingly wants to bring up more often than I’d prefer) that I should not attempt to run and enjoy my long hours, from morning’s light and potentially into the deep, deep, deep darkness of night, and dang, maybe even into Sunday morning.  Some say, and others have confirmed, that running on trails poses many hazards, not limited to falls, slips, trips, dips, caca weather, swamp monster and bayou bogeyman attacks in broad daylight or deep, deep, deep darkness of night, and generally a whole bunch of other dangerous conditions that you don’t want to read about, but have heard from those “some” and “others” that often motivate the more skittish in life just to sit in their cocooned condo and have all their food and household possessions delivered to their doorstep and/or conduct their interaction with the outside world almost completely via online resources, and who wait impatiently glued to C-SPAN coverage in hopes that Congress will magically implode and we’ll return to that fantasy world of benevolent government catering to all citizens’ wishes.  Considering all that I’ve acknowledged above, summarily, I fully assume (and promising not to parse that into the proverbial you and me looking like an ass) all risks of illness, spillness, fulfillness, thrillness, injury or (yes, my Precious) even death, and release covenant (that means something legal to cover the butts of the lay people who couldn’t figure out how the lawyers sustain their livelihood off of saps like us) not to sue or otherwise pursue legal judgment, and discharge the CajunDip (“The Dip”), the Coyote Cohorts and its volunteers, Chicot State Park and its jurisdictional parent organization, and all other contributors, or other agents (except them clan-dess-tine fed’ral guys who may have a part in them swamp monsters showin’ up) from all actions (meaning, here, the legal definition of the term, cuz otherwise, you’ll be “active” when you’re running or hanging out consuming Cajun yummies at the Finish, so isn’t that “action” too, which now suggests you shouldn’t be doing it, right?), claims or demands for damages arising out of my participation in the Cajun Coyote events.  The foregoing release (and, gee, isn’t there a lot of it?) is binding on me personally, as well as upon my heirs/’airs/airs (whichever or all of which may apply), executors, and administrators (and if I have that many and can afford them, then if I survive the weekend mentally intact, perhaps I’ll send a few Jacksons, Grants or Franklins back to the Coyote Cohorts for their much depleted coffers brought on by having to pay a hefty legal fee for creating this waiver), and/or all members of my family who might make claim on my behalf.  I also confirm that I bear the full burden for reading and taking personal ownership of all salient information (by which rolling multi-syllabic presentation means anything The Dip took time to craft and put in front of my eyes) provided to me on the Cajun Coyote website and/or sent to me via e-mails from The Dip that pertains to my participation in this event, such that should I either fail to read the messages or ignore their significance to my preparation and running in the Cajun Coyote madness, any complications I experience (for example, forgetting to pack my lucky Mongo Monkey in my fanny pack because I just got SO excited about going to Chicot State Park that I lost sight of my priorities) is my own goll darn fault, and any whining on point will be appropriately discredited and serve as fodder for being ridiculed at public settings before, during and after Cajun Coyote.  Two more things:  (1) I realize there will be Ultra Paparazzi spread throughout the Cajun weekend, and any images of myself that they capture may be used at will by them and event management to highlight not only what an incredibly fit and able runner I am, but other shortcomings as well, including but not limited to fashion sense, eating manners, swilling of drinks, any lack of entertainment skills, and/or general human comportment (crawling to the Finish line, or upchucking out of an Aid Station, included).  (2) I also aver and avow that if my sanity isn’t medically discharged before Cajun Coyote expires deep, deep, deep into Saturday’s darkness or after Sunday’s quirky murky sunrise, the beneficent part of me may actually incite me to share some of my premium hooch with one or more of the Volunteers who gave up their weekend so that mine could be as self-indulging as I care to make it.  OK, now I’m done.  Here I go now to sign my name as record of my lack of common sense but complete willingness to abide by the above provisions (not to be confused with the semi-edible provisions which may be awaiting me at any or all of the aid stations I will encounter while suffering, er, enjoying my miles of the Cajun Coyote Trail Run.  Gosh, thinking of such rich culinary experiences has my mouth watering already!!).

Bolt the Billyburg...A Video

Great video of the Williamsburg Bridge race!

Sunday Night Runs

Lately, I've been enjoying my chill Sunday night runs. I'm alone, it's quiet, and I'm packing on a few extra much-needed miles. Maybe I'll run them tempo speed, or just use the time as a recovery run. Either way, I wouldn't dare think to use my headphones - they would ruin the moment.

I leave later than I intend, always. Writing, or straightening up, or studying Spanish. And then I'm out the door, flying down the block.

The neighbors all recognize me by now as the runner. They say hi as I blur past them, and I smile. I'm in my favourite time. Running. Nothing else gets me feeling like this.

The sun is setting over the buildings. The buildings to the north have half of their tops shadowed pink; the south is a glorious mixture of pink and orange and heaven. I could take a photo but it wouldn't be the same; you have to be there to experience a sunset like this.

I run past people practicing tai chi and children laughing and couples sharing coffees. I run past Brooklyn Flea and the smells and the temporary set-up reminds me of Leon, Nicaragua and so many other places I've traveled. I push on.

I push until I feel like I'm flying.

And then I'm there.

DWG 50k

I love fatasses.

Not that kind, you pervert. Fatasses are a kind of ultramarathon where there's no entry fee, no numbers, no bibs, no winners, no losers, just fun. There's usually a very laid back chill energy at the event. People will be just doing training runs, or seeing how far they can push themselves with a generous time limit. Saturday's race, the Delaware Water Gap 50k, was a perfect example of that.

Iliana picked me up at 4am, and by the time we got there, I was extremely nauseas and she was weaving all over the road with exhaustion. We proceeded to complain and get ready and soon, after a nice runner helped me set up my new hydration pack (YAY!), we were on our way.

Before we started the race, the RD asked who was a virgin of the race. We moved forward. Hmmmm....He told us he didn't have enough of the gifts to go around; could we pair up with someone next to us? I paired up with this guy and we introduced ourselves...and then the RD gave one condom to each group. Ha ha. I carried the condom in my pocket the entire time, and no, I did not use it. But nice to know that he encouraged safe sex.

We started running out down a steep hill, another hill, and then along a highway (I think it was 80) and then we entered the Appalachian Trail. That trail will kick your ass. Kudos to all those who hike the entire thing, or even better, run it. Those people ROCK.

We began running up, up, up. It was steep, rocky, and a little insane. I was pouring sweat and I was walking - you couldn't run in so many sections of the race b/c of the loose rocks and leaves everywhere. I talked with Ray Sales about his latest adventures, Scott about fatherhood, Jackie about life, and Iliana about everything under the sun.

Iliana and I stopped to pee for what would be the 1st of 28 times (Okay, I'm exaggerating a little...just a little...) and lost everyone. That's fine, we were taking it easy, doing a training run.

The rocks continued. And the hills. It was really rough because I just wanted to RUN. Still, we had fun. Iliana and I talked about love, about work, about foreign languages, about our families, about friends, about babies, about settling. It was a fun day as usual.

There were some truly lovely views at the top of the mountains but I couldn't run with my camera in my hand - the rocks were too much and I was afraid I'd drop it or fall on it. Neither of us faceplanted (miracle!) but Iliana almost did - I caught her.

We finished the first of two different out-and-backs and ended in the start/finish/parking lot around mile 16 and changed into dryer clothes, refueled (aka ate and drank). I had trouble with my new hydration bladder, so I changed to my waist belt. (I had to drink out of Iliana's hydration pack the first lap and the passing hikers must've wondered as they saw...

We couldn't stop talking, laughing, sharing stories, having fun. It was a really great day. I dropped one of my pills in a pile of leaves and Iliana had to help me dig and find it. Oh, fun.

And then it opened up...and there were runnable sections. I felt great, and really pushed the pace.

We started to worry about the approaching sunset. I didn't know how fast the sun would set, or when, or where - so I kept pushing it. Neither of us had a headlamp (Well, I did bring a headlamp...and it was back in the car!).

We made it. We turned around a little early to avoid the darkness, but it was worth the peace of mind.

At the finish, we hung out with Ray and Scott and the really awesomely fun RDs. They had more than what is expected at a fastass - Mountain Dew and water and gatorade and cheese quesadillas and soups and snickers and other assorted deliciousness. It was really quite lovely.

And then we were driving back. My calves ached so much, I was forced to recover with pastries and moan the rest of the night to my boyfriend. But I had a blast on this incredibly rocky, pretty, hilly, fun 50k!

A Girl Just Wants a Little Bit of Sidewalk, and Courtesy

I was running the other day on a fairly wide sidewalk on Franklin Street in Greenpoint. A couple was ahead of me, taking up the entire sidewalk because each of them had a dog that was on a rather long leash, so there was no way to pass. I politely called, "Excuse me." They turned around, saw me, and moved over to let me pass.

As I ran ahead, the guy yelled, "You should run in the street."

Floored, I stopped. Was he serious? I actually stopped my watch and walked to him.

"Excuse me?"

"You should run in the street." He said this cockily and I tried not to think, "F-ing hipster asshole."

"That's dangerous. I'm not going to run in the street." I tried to be civil as I said this.

"You should run in the street. It's rude to ask us to move over. Be respectful."

And then I lost it. "Respectful? Rude? The sidewalk is for everyone! You don't need the whole sidewalk. Share! You are obviously not from here or you would share." Hello, public space is for everyone! I began running away.

And then there were probably some curses.

But WTF?! The sidewalks are for everyone. I do sometimes run in the street when the sidewalks are too crowded, but I think this was a good spot where they could easily share.

And as I ran away, I noticed my Garmin registering some rather fast times. Oh well, a benefit of adrenalin.

Short Runs

Because we weren't out to set out speed records today.

We slept in, tangled in blankets and each other, limbs and cat and comforter, and woke up, our hands reaching for each other. And finally, we rose.

Our legs ached - mine from a 50k on rocks and hills the day before, yours from a brutal speed workout two days before. Could we do the 10 miles at 7:45 pace?

We opted for enjoyment...and rest. We weren't ready to beat ourselves up. We tugged on running clothes and headed out.

At Gantry Plaza, you flopped on one of the chairs. I always wanted to do that, always having run by them. I sat in your lap and we watched the boats go by. You held me. We talked of island expansion, of fireworks, of important moments. And this was one, just enjoying the day, each other, ourselves.

We rose. We ran home, laughing. We ate breakfast. I ruined the eggs, you helped me save them. It all tasted fine, especially when peanut butter is around. Especially when I can kiss you after.

And now, I'm off for another short run, this time, alone, but the one this morning is what sustains me for now.

NYC Marathon...As A Spectator

It was a weird feeling to NOT be running the NYC Marathon on Marathon Sunday. However, after an ass-kicking flu all weekend, I doubt I could have finished the course...or maybe I could have, but the time would be nothing I'd want to share.

Friday I started by feeling like I had a cold, but after my Spanish class, I was horizontal. Shivers, fevers, coughing, throat hurt, exhaustion, inability to move, all that good stuff that goes along with the flu. Stuck in bed, I read, slept, followed my friends' excitement abt the marathon via Twitter and FB.

And today, I felt a million times better - but still, not great. I went and handed water to the runners, and couldn't wait until the end (despite the fact that I arrived late) - I was just too exhausted. I went home and curled up in my bed with my little cat.

Is it stupid to run when you're so sick? How can you not? But how can you propel yourself when physically, your body is cursing you out?

Despite the flu shot, this flu had been a long time in the coming. I haven't had the flu since college (and my college years are long gone), and I've been staying up too late, getting lots of migraines, stressing lately. So getting sick essentially kicked my ass. And I hope it's over.

Still, the urge to go back to bed....

Going to the marathon today was very important to me. My most regular running partner, Nelson, along with many other awesome members of my team, including Mary, Katie, Mishka, Zandy, Fernando, Anna, and too many others to name, were running and I wanted to show my support. I bundled up and handed water to runners, cheering them on. It was SO weird to not be there, scanning the crowds for my parents and friends as I would push myself again, hoping for that oh-so-tantalizing PR that I always wanted. Can we ever get it? If we push enough, and things are right...it's never something you can easily predict.

And now, I'm going to make a cuppa tea and head to bed to curl up with the latest Jeffrey Eugenides...and my kitty!

Zebra

Looks like my sewing skills have improved a bit for this Halloween costume I wore at the Friday Rubalad party.

"The" Marathon

If you live in a little city called New York, when people talk about "the" marathon, as if there were just one marathon in the world, they're referring to the New York City Marathon. I've run it six times, had a blast every time, but I must confess:

I'm done.

Oh, sure, I say this. I wouldn't mind running it just one more time, maybe next year, and trying to break 3:25 or even 3:20, old goals of mine. I was close - but not quite there. But now I feel SO far...so much slower.

I stopped doing marathons because they're hard to allow other things into your life, or, in my case, the other things being ultras. I have a ton of endurance; I can run farther than most people, but that speed...kind of died off. I do speed workouts, but they're not quite the same as it used to be when I was a 3:28 marathoner.

Last year, two weeks after doing Javelina, a race where I was incredible pain, crying, hallucinating, crawling much of the last 40 miles (Okay, I wasn't literally crawling, but...), I had intense swelling. (Cankles!) I spent a good bit of time getting a massage, but my legs were still not back to normal by the time THE marathon rolled around, so I decided I'd have fun. I wore a pink running skirt with pink feathers covering the bottom, and ran, chatting with friends through various points of the race. ("So do you think this means he likes me? I mean, I bring my laundry to his house in NJ?" "Leslie, I do think so!"), enjoying the day. But I didn't have IT in me. I didn't have that burning desire. It didn't feel like much of a massive accomplishment. I had finished a 100 miler in agony, over 100 miles actually, and the marathon, despite my second-slowest time, still was nowhere near as hard.

So I decided to take a year off.

Sometimes, your decisions really bother other people. Everyone keeps asking me. "So where can I watch you run THE marathon this year?" Nowhere, actually. Unless you want to see me hand water out - then, come by mile 12. I'm going to wear a bright pink shirt so my friend Nelson can see me. "Why won't you do THE marathon?" I'm not feeling it. Is that a good enough reason? "It's too short for you." Well, it is short, but that's actually nice. I mean, done in 3-4 hours? Sweet!

(And then there's the conversation I loathe:
Me: I run.
Person: Oh. What do you run?
Me: I run ultras, 50 mile, 100 mile races.
Person: Wow. That's crazy. That's incredible. I can't even 1 mile.
Me: Yeah...
Person: Have you ever done THE marathon?
Me: Yes, I've done it six times. That's only 26.2 miles. But yeah, I've done it. I like ultras better though.)

People get obsessed with THE marathon. I know, because I was super obsessed. It was the one day where people celebrated ME. My parents would come in and watch me at three spots, my mom lugging around homemade cookies and bars and brownies in a backpack. My sister even came one year. My boss would show up with a sign or a pompom. (How many people can say that of their boss? YAY!) My coworkers would be out there with bells. My friends would be cheering me on. Every year, people would witness me doing what I love most: RUNNING.

But running on roads isn't as fun. It hurts. It tears your body up more than running on trails. The crowds are nuts. The logistics of THE marathon (getting up super duper early, the corrals, everything) are stressful and a pain.

But the crowds cheering you on rock.

I'm torn, really. I'm part of a running club where everyone is 100% obsessed. It's like there's no other race at times.

I'm really excited about running the Cajun Coyote 100 Miler in December. But I think, "Maybe I should've tried one more year..."

I secretly want to try to qualify the last year I'll be able to qualify with a half-marathon time; maybe train faster in January-March, hopefully being able to once again, smash 1:37 like it's nothing. And if I did that, automatic entry. And then I'd give myself one more try to break 3:25.

But that's a lot of speed. Not as much time on the trails. Not as much time out there for long. Can ultras and marathons cooperate? I don't know. Can ultrarunners be marathoners? Sometimes. But I don't know what I want.

When I think of why running makes me happy, I remember the Iroquois Trail 50 Miler, when I was running FAST FAST FAST, up and down, on these absolutely gorgeous trails, enjoying the moments, pushing, pushing, pushing, fast, fast, oh look at the leaves, up, down, amazing, runners' high...

I have less of those moments in the dirty NYC streets...

It's a conflict I have within me, but I'll see if I can break through.

In Honor of that Horrified Pedestrian in Her Bathrobe at 6:30 a.m. on Kent Avenue & N 6th St

It's those moments where you're not expecting much where a lot happens.

I was stopping by Occupy Wall Street, to simply drop off some books I had sorted through and decided I didn't want/need, and some old (but warm) hats for the occupiers. In the Occupy Wall Street Library, I immediately got in a discussion with two of the library volunteers. From libraries to reading to the injustice to why we were involved in Occupy Wall Street to gentrification to our lives. And suddenly forty minutes had passed and I was still sitting on the color-chalked steps, enthralled, engaged, in the exchange of ideas and energy. It's beautiful moments like this that keep me going.

Missing Even the Exodus

Even the Exodus at Burning Man was a party, a sad one, sad to be leaving my favourite place in the world.

Bad Runs, Good Runs

There are many things I cannot control, and the weather is one of them. The weather turned both of my fun long runs into short cranky ones.

Saturday Iliana and I planned on running all day at Bear Mountain. She picked a loop to repeat, and the plan was, we'd head to the car in between each loop, grab a little more water, food, whatever.

On the drive up, the precipitation grew colder and icier the further north we head. At Bear Mountain, it was snowing when we arrived, and I immediately began complaining. Iliana is somehow good at tuning me out. We headed out for the first of six loops and even though she dragged me on the dreaded Stairway to Heaven, I quickly worked up a sweat as we began discussing important things such as why there are so many wretched men in NYC and upcoming ultramarathons. At the top of Perkin's Drive, the snow was sticking hardcore and as we began running, I grew worried. I insisted we run a little slower than we would've liked, because the asphalt on the road down was slippery. The run felt more like 3 hours than an hour and a half, but at least I was in good company. 

My gloves were soaked, so I decided to change them when we got to the car. I changed some layers, ate a bit of an Odwalla bar and some of those Honey Stinger chews, and drank a little water. And then I really didn't want to get out of a car with heated seats, but suddenly, the snow changed from lots of snow coming down to hardcore-you-can't-see-anything-blizzard.

So we decided to go home. Hmmmm let's drive back to the city in this? Probably not a great idea but it was good we left them. The roads grew progressively worse, with overturned cars, stuck cars, electrical fires, downed trees, and horrid drivers. The normally hour-long drive took 3.5 hours.

Sunday was supposed to be the Holiday Marathon - I would run 26.2 miles and Wayne was going to do 22. However, the race was canceled due to fallen trees and ice (pshaw! wimps!), so we decided to skip the ice/slush/snow that would plague sidewalks and head to Prospect Park to do six loops, and then I planned on running home (while Wayne would drive back). Little did I know that my legs had nothing in them and I felt like crap so I could barely push forward. I wanted to cry. Where were my trails? Where was my tough hardcore running weekend? What the hell?


We cranked out seven miles and hopped back in Wayne's car. That was enough, we told ourselves. We didn't feel it. He'd do his long run tomorrow. I would do a couple of slightly longer runs this week, and next week, 50 miles, the week after, 50k, and I'll be in good shape for the marathon.


Instead, we curled up, made a good brunch together, hung out, arranged stuff in our apartment, played with our bundle of fur.


I'll head out for another run in a bit, but really, when you just don't feel it, results don't seem to come. I think my run today was disappointing because I was supposed to be at a fun race - instead was like a hamster, running loops in a park. It was supremely depressing.


Let me out of my cage - send me to the trails - that's where I belong!


A little over a month to Cajun Coyote 100 miler!

Six Hour Race!

I've never done a timed race before, but GLIRC was organizing a 6 hour run - that Ray K was running (Yay, I'd get to see/hang out with Ray K!), fit into my schedule perfectly, and wasn't that far. I figured I'd torture myself, I mean, train for my next 100 miler, December's Cajun Coyote 100 Miler.

The course was in Sunken Meadow State Park, where I spent every Saturday of my high school cross-country career racing. The first race I ever did, I hated every step of it and promised myself I'd quit cross-country after I finished. But then after my race, we roasted marshmallows and went swimming in The Long Island Sound and it was SO fun that I forgot how much it sucked until next week. The same thing happened. Repeat. And now I'm hooked.

However, this course was a little different - we skipped out on the awful Cardiac and Snake Hills, had a little bit of pavement, a lot of sand (and stupid Cherie forgot her gaiters!), some hills (that Ray and I were calling mountains at the end), and a lot of fun. Each loop was 2.1 miles with a smaller .36 mile loop you did at the very end.

I ate little, other than two gels and two packs of Honey Stinger Energy Chews. I drank a cup of water every loop, opting to not carry water but instead grab a cup every 2.1 mile loop.

The course was pretty, with some flat sections, a few uphills, and really, not enough downhills. It was fun because there were a few spots where you could see people running at a different point than you. Of course, we got lapped but that was fine.

I went out easy with Mary and we talked about slutty pumpkins and donuts. By loop four, I was feeling strong and Mary, who ran Portland the week before and had been sick all week, didn't feel like charging up the hills with me, I ran alone. I pushed it hard. My Garmin tells me my pace was low 9/high 8 minute miles. Woohooo!

Then I hit a hard loop and it was a struggle to keep the pace under ten. Still, I was mostly successful. As I ran into the start/finish/aid station, I saw Wayne standing there, waiting for me. He was only going to run 21 miles and do it as a training run, but he wanted to run the last two loops with me. He was hurting a bit, and we both slowed down further. I laughed aloud when I read the numbers on my Garmin 210.

It's always fun running with a good friend or love, and Wayne is both to me, so it was a total blast. I was sad when the two laps ended, as Wayne was heading back to Greenpoint (and oh, how tempting it was to leave!) but I wasn't sad for long - Ray K had slowed down and wanted to run with me. So we did.

The next few hours were fun - Ray is a legendary and brilliant ultrarunner, full of great stories and songs. He'd sing songs, or change the words. I'd tell him, "Ray, can you sing a song to the tune of Yellow Submarine/Eleanor Rigby/whatever I wanted to hear?" and he'd sing a hilarious song. Like about the ultramarathon we were in the midst of.

We finished our last final loop, and we were booth hurting bad. We joked the mini hills that I charged up at the beginning were mountains. "I need crampons!" "Throw me some rope!" "Is there ice at the top?" "I'm getting altitude sickness."

Then we had our mini loops. Though less than 20 minutes to go, my bladder refused to wait that long. So I peed and then slogged through the rest of the race.

I felt sluggish and achey and tired - BUT my time was good enough for 7th woman (out of 61) and 29th overall (out of 159). I felt pretty good, especially as it was "just a training run."

I'm glad I threw a lot of fast parts in there, and am excited to experiment a little more with faster paces in training for Cajun.


Dear Current PR,
Oh, how I'd love to smash you.
Yours (but not for long),
Cherie

Occupation, the Party

Seriously, there is an idea that protest is all marching, chanting, long days, aching feet, sore throats. Absolutely not! And Saturday, we proved that!

The Occupation Party was seeing this is a chance to celebrate - a chance to celebrate that people were WAKING UP and taking the streets and speaking their voice.

We met in Times Square 5pm, dressed in white. I pulled out my favourite white tutu I made, a silver top I made, my white fuzzy sparkly legwarmers I made, grabbed my boy (dressed in white), and didn't know what to expect - and liked it that way.

There was an awesome band. We bopped up and down, dancing. We chanted. Sparklers and tea light candles were handed out. We weren't sure what was happening. We liked it that way.

I saw friends - good friends and old friends and new friends. Wayne, Jenny, Dexter, Gwendolyn, Ofer and I clustered together, laughing, talking, dancing. People handed out flyers, exchanged stories, and we checked Twitter and FB on our phones for the update on the rest of Times Square. It was incredible. People were marching in solidarity. It was exciting. It was history.

Suddenly, everyone was lighting their sparklers. We shared lighters, shared the light of our sparklers. We danced. We laughed. It was so beautiful, so fun. We sang, "This Light of Mine."

We danced some more. We didn't care what was happening next; what was happening now was so much more fun, we told ourselves...until the next moment did indeed come, Wow. 

And what happened next was also extremely fun. We began marching from our spot in Times Square to Rockefeller Centre. The cops were confused. What were we possibly doing? Having fun, yes. We had a band. We were dancing. I was kicking my legs high, waving my pompoms, feeling free and alive and happy. And then we headed down into the subway, smiling and laughing and cheering.

All several hundred or a thousand of us crammed into the subway. We sang, we drum, we danced, we did the people's mic version of spreading our mission, we had a blast. My friend Jenny who normally doesn't go to protests liked this dance-party version of a protest.

At W 4th Street, we got out. We entered Washington Square Park. The band played; we danced. We didn't care what happened next. This was so fun.

We texted our friends. Times Square seemed like a mess. They came down to the park. They danced. We shared stories. We shared snacks, hugs. It was beautiful.

It kind of reminded me of Burning Man.

But of course, it's political and so much matters.

Speakers began. This one incredible professor began speaking, and we were impressed. How the African countries are behind us. How this is so important. How the other countries, instead of shaking their heads, yelled, "FINALLY!"

We grew tired and had an early race. We hugged our friends, each other, and headed out into the streets. And into the subway.

And on the subway, we began talking to a really interesting guy about our days. On the subway, three more participants from The Occupation Party talked to us, about inequality and the party and how Occupy Wall St was going and the arrests and what was happening next. We shared ideas and listened. We were excited. It was exciting.

And what's next - that's also exciting too.

"Billionaires" Defend the 1% at Occupy Wall St

I adore the Billionaires, since the days when they were Billionaires for Bush. They're a great performance group that pretends to be the rich...Right now, they are hilarious. I've been having improv sessions whenever I run into them at Liberty Square, laughing, cheering. To get a feel for this awesome group, please, do watch this video. You will laugh.

Bolt the Billyburg: A Race Report on the Running of the Williamsburg Bridge

I've been running the Williamsburg Bridge since the days where I found the bridges of the lower part of Manhattan the most rewarding place to run when I lived in a crowded "one bedroom" (not sure if you can even really call the teeny apartment Jenny and I lived in that) in the East Village. So when I saw the announcement for Bolt the Billyburg, a race solely run on the bridge, I thought, "YES!" And then I got scared.

In recent years, I have been running long. LONG. I feel very comfortable running a 50miler, to be honest, more comfortable than I do running a 5k. But I still felt drawn to the race.

After a day of run-work-haircut-run-more work-protesting-NBR happy hour, I found myself tipsily ending the night. The alarm began braying way too early, but as usual, I respected it. And got myself to the foot of the bridge.

Fernando, Kim, Tyler, Wayne and I were the sole representatives of NBR, with Christine showing up for the Whippets (I miss her in NBR!). We did the race in two waves, running over the bike path side of the bridge, ending at the foot of the bridge in Manhattan, turning around, running back over the running partner until we hit the cross-over, then running across that, and down the bike path.

Wayne had promised me he'd run with me - mostly b/c I'm feeling like a slow wimp lately. He told me he'd pace me, and stuck by my side the whole time, which was really awesome and nice.

We started fast. My asthma was feeling crappy the day before, so of course, I immediately felt like hell. My lungs were burning - I used my inhaler. And again. And again. And again. I pushed hard up the bridge. My legs said yes, my lungs said no. It was so hard to push as fast as I was capable of.

I pushed faster. We got on the flat part and my lungs slowly calmed down. I looked at the water, the boats churning past underneath, the skyline, including my job's building. It was fun to run fast on my favourite bridge.

Running downhill was fun. My lungs were like, "Awesome."

At the base, some of the friends/volunteers of Mikal's were there to remind us to not run into speeding traffic and to instead turn around and run back upwards. And then my lungs began cursing me out again.

We pushed it faster.

And then flat.

And then down.

I pushed harder.

"You're the first woman," Wayne told me. That was obvious in our small heat, but I didn't know about the other heat. I told him this. But still, I pushed down.

He held my hand for a little while running down the very bottom of the ramp...

Until we finished.

I sat there, filling my lungs with oxygen and another six puffs of my inhaler.

After, we all went to Pips, where people drank PBR (though not me, a beer-hater), played pingpong, learned results, hung out, let my lungs chill a little. I was kind of excited to find out that I was indeed first woman; it was a very small race, but that's always fun to have. Victory does indeed taste so sweet, and it's impossible to accomplish without those you love. (Thanks, Wayne.)

No Sexual Harassment at #OccupyWallSt

En route to dinner with a friend, I stopped by Occupy Wall St. I did a cheer, talked to a man about how apparently JP Morgan is the bank affiliated with food stamps, chatted with a few random people, did a cheer. I was ready to leave, maybe do one more cheer, when I heard a guy yell, "Hey cheerleader."

My pompom was small and I wasn't cheering, but I thought he, like others, must've recognized me from cheering the other day.

I stepped back and smiled.

He got up out of his chair. He was probably about 65. 

"You're so pretty," he told me.

"Uh, thanks." It wasn't told in that complimentary way, but the way where you are glad your jacket is zipped up, but you suddenly wish you had a down coat on too so he couldn't see your shape.

"Can I get a kiss?" he said suddenly, leaning in really close.

"No! No!" I told him. I darted away and he shrugged his shoulders.

"What just happened?" This activist guy yelled. I told him. He started screaming at the man.

"You gotta leave! You can't just sexually assault people. Leave. You've been sitting there all day, leering. We don't want you." The activist guy picked up the old guy's chair and tossed it out of the park. Others began gathering around.

"Calm down," people told the activist guy, who was admittedly rather worked up.

"No! We can't have people in here like that."

I again explained my story, and again. And everyone nodded. "The guy shouldn't be in the park - that's not cool - but this other guy needs to chill," I told someone.

I felt sleazy and uncomfortable. I didn't do my final cheer. I slunk out of the park, heading to the train, hating how people can just make you feel a certain way, despite you not letting them. It just happens.

And while the activist guy seemed crazy to some, I thank him for defending me.

Why Are We Occupying Wall Street Anyway?

The past two weeks, I've been thinking about the Occupy Wall Street movement a lot. I've been reading articles. Heading down to Zuccotti Square. I've been talking to other activists, other people chilling down there, and (sometimes unfortunately!), media. I've been radical cheerleading. I've been helping out with the Occupy Wall Street Library. 

I've been there, in the square.


Where are you?


Perhaps you think we have a muddled message. I'm going to tell you the main message is this: people are sick of how large corporations' money (Wall Street is a shortcut for this) controls government. Confines them.


And there's heaps of other reasons.


I've met so many incredible people. I've entertained, via my cheering. I've shared books. I've organized books. I've passed out flyers. I've chanted. I've danced. I've sang. I've hugged. I've donated.


And I'll be there, occupying Wall Street, supporting people because the people are me too.

1st Place, 2nd Place, 3rd Place: a 5k, Two Little Girls, and A Whole Lot of Fun

Tony's cute 10 year old daughter had something to ask me. I couldn't imagine what. Julia shoved a piece of paper in my hand. "Will you do this race with me? Will you? Please!!"

It was a 5k, and it would be her first. How could I say no? Really, I couldn't.

Wayne and I went up there the night before, and Tony, Wayne and I drank 2 bottles of red wine. This was clearly a bad idea when our alarms went off at 5am the next day. We piled on some clothes and headed out for a 2.5 hour slog. We complained about the puddles, feeling the effects of the wine, being tired, and as many other things that one can possibly complain about. Wayne forced me to go over a toothpick on a broken bridge over rapids, risking my life (Okay, there were no rapids, but it was a broken bridge, and it was scary). After our feet were thoroughly soaked, we went inside where Julia was eating a massive bowl of corn pops with milk and Allison, Tony's 9-year-old daughter, was eating a dry bowl of Frosted Flakes. They asked me if they could have my running skirt, my top. I changed into a set of clean running clothes and they argued over who could have what part of this next outfit. They seem to covet all my clothes, despite the fact that I am 32 and am bigger than them. They are hilarious.

Me, Julia (#121), Wayne, Allie (#120)

We headed to the race, with Jinnette, Tony's wife taking photos. Wayne decided to run up front, Tony ran with Allie, and I ran with Julia. Julia grabbed me at a sprint, "We're gonna win! You're going too slow!" Less than 400 meters later, she panted, "I have a cramp! I have a cramp! Slow down!" Allie told her that you get cramps when you're having a baby (I think Allie was thinking of contractions.), and Julia and I began walking and we watched Tony and Allie and Wayne recede into the distance. Julia clutched my hand and I encouraged her to stretch out her cramp.

We ran again, hit a hill, walked up it. She complained walking up it, and I thought about how tough her Dad is, doing Badwater the past few years. I tried to encourage her to run as much as she could, to walk faster, told her how tough she was, cheered her up, showed her how to stretch out a cramp. She held my hand the entire time.

"I don't want to be in last place! I don't want to be in last place!"

We weren't, but when some older people were catching up as we climbed the final hill, Julia would tug my hand and we'd run faster.

At the finish line, she yelled, "I wanna be first!" She ran her heart out across the finish line while I clapped behind her.

Allie ended up being the first girl in their age group (and 4th overall! Wow!) and Julia was the second girl in their age group. I somehow ended up being 3rd in my age group (on account of it being a small race) and Wayne was 1st in his age group. Tony, Tony simply laughed at me.

It was great. Honestly, it was my slowest 5k ever - BUT the most rewarding. Running a 5k holding a little girl's hand? She's hilarious and fun and great-spirited. Sure, I could have run all out, placed, probably even won overall for the women. But what would I have gotten? A trophy. I think it's more important to give to other people, to give yourself, to help them. I had SO much fun and she ran her first race. It was pretty, it was hilly, and it was a sweet victory for all of us.

Occupy Wall Street

There's been a severe lack of media attention about the Occupy Wall Street protests - no surprise. The media typically downplays activism, the #s of protesters, etc - I know because I have been misrepresented by mainstream media many times as an activist.

To simplify things, basically, people took over this private park, Zucotti Square, right by Wall Street (and it's the park across from Century 21, for those bargain shoppers for designer brands). They wanted to put tents but they're not allowed, so they're sleeping, huddling under tarps when it rains, cooking, sharing ideas...

And why? It's to protest how damaged our culture is. When the CEO of Wal-Mart makes in an hour what the average employee does in a year, when yet another bank is raising fees...There's a lot of reasons, but I'm glad people are speaking up. We're losing our rights over our bodies. Will we really have social security? Why are there so many scary Tea Parties? And I can go on and on, but I have to catch a train...

I feel like the direction things have been going is immensely depressing...Really?

It's weird. Since we stopped organizing for NYC Radical Cheerleaders, I have felt this loss. But when Emily and I got together today, things have changed - but our politics still are the same.

We're ready to fuck shit up, as much as we possibly can in pompoms and miniskirts.

See you in the streets on Monday!

NYC Radical Cheerleaders in 2007!

This is who I used to be...and I'm still in there!

Home...

As always, Stefan and KJ made a beautiful homage to Black Rock City in their video, "Home." For those who don't know, many Burners call the playa "Home."

And you get in one of those moods...

...where you start rethinking everything.


I woke up late, threw a comfy running outfit and hit the streets. I met N, one of my favourite running partners, and we did what we do best: ran while pouring our souls out. We talked about psychiatry and depression and love and running and politics of running and what's next and racing and friendship and basically, everything that matters. That's what comes up. I felt great, I ran with ease, and it felt like a perfect (though humid) run. 


And then on the subway, there was that rare smile. I miss the days where I didn't commute on the train, where I walked or rode Mabel my bike to the Boulder Public Library. But I ended up making a connection with a human being, oh-so-rare, talking about Howard Zinn and how we got busy and stopped protesting and activism and what's going on on Wall Street.


Well, technically it's not Wall Street because of course the police didn't give the permits. Instead, it's that plaza where you go to the Farmers' Market or the falafel stand on the way to Century 21. And it's beautiful the way democracy is being made, or at least, how people are sharing their voices. I've been heading over there the past few days and being impressed.


I thought to myself, "I must bear witness to this history being made."


And then I thought to myself, "No, I mustn't do that. I must influence, I must partake in how history is being made."


But what am I doing? Washing my dishes and playing with my cat and not sleeping enough and letting work take up a lot of space in my head and riding my bike around Brooklyn and trying to do all these things but not accomplishing them. Like what happened to my novel. I need to move on that.


But I have no solution. I'm going to figure out how to break out of this shell of routine and live with my heart open. I don't want to live anymore a life where I have to put on that stare-straight-ahead-total-bitch look because the stupid construction workers/guys smoking cigs are all staring at me, rating me, talking amongst themselves after I/other women pass. I want to live a world where we hug hello. I want to live a world where dreams are realized every day...and everyone's there to help you.


(It sounds like I want to live at Burning Man every day...)