Yesterday, I raced, today, I ran.  I had a timing chip and a race number for both, but as all runners can tell you, there is a difference between the two.  It is mostly controlled by the mental, which then impacts the physical, and determines how hard you push yourself, how important those splits are, and what you want to get out of the race.

Yesterday, I wanted a 10k PR, and I wanted to beat my time for that same race that I had participated in last year.  Today, I wanted a nice relaxing run through Central Park on a beautiful, crisp autumn morning.

Yesterday, I pushed myself, I felt strong, and was excited about the time on my watch when I crossed the finish line (1:00:56).  Today, I was tired from yesterday, and didn’t really care that my pace was more than a minute slower than yesterday’s race.

Today had a different, very distinct objective.  All I needed to do was cross the finish line.  The Poland Spring Marathon Kickoff was more than just a 5 mile race through Central Park; it was so much more than that.  It was the culmination of a year of racing in this city, a year and a half of long-distance running, which would qualify me for something that I have had my sights on since I began running in New York in spring 2008.

This was the race that would clinch my guaranteed entry for the 2010 New York City Marathon.  My reward for crossing so many other finish lines this year.

From one-mile races to half-marathons, 2009 has been packed with races from Washington Heights through Central Park all the way down to Staten Island, in the hopes that I would earn a place amongst 40,000+ other runners who travel from around the world each fall to one of the most well known and well loved marathon courses in the world.

Crossing the finish line this morning, in front of Tavern on the Green, gave me the ticket to do just that next year. New York City, 2010, here I come.  Ready or not? Oh, don’t worry, I will be ready for you, New York.

As I headed home from brunch, with a group of 5 other people whom I had never met before this morning, it dawned on me that in the few hours we had been hanging out, the common question “what do you do?” did not come up once, yet there was hardly a lull in the conversation.  (I feel like that is usually the default question in one of these potentially socially awkward situations) Why?  Because there was one common thread between all of us, one thing that we all “do” which formed an instant connection.  We are runners.

“Running is my anchor.  It’s not what I do, but it’s what makes everything else I do okay” – Ben Cheever

Over the past several months, I have intertwined my running with my writing with social media, almost without a conscious effort to do so, and in the process, I have “met” (in the twitter/internet sense of the word) some awesome runners from all over.  Runners who race, runners who run for to stay in shape, those who are fast, those who are slow; all of whom are incredibly supportive and passionate about the sport.

Despite having been active on twitter for the past year or so, and hearing talk of “tweet-ups”, this was the first time that I have actually met people in person, who I have connected with via social media.  Pretty sweet.

Michelle had sent me a message earlier this morning that people were meeting for brunch after the 10k Nike+ Human Race.  After running a solid race, I managed to make my way out of the opposite side of Prospect Park from where I needed to be (amongst many other Manhattan runners who were equally turned around), and headed to an cute little Park Slope diner.  6 random people, from various parts of Manhattan & Brooklyn instantly clicked over our common passion.  We chatted about all those things that your non-runner friends get tired of hearing you talk about (even if they are too good of friends to tell you that)…which marathons we had done, the trend of barefoot running that has become increasingly popular since the release of “Born to Run“, what people were chatting about in the twitter and dailymile running circles, injuries…the list goes on and on.  Good conversation, delicious food – not a bad way to spend a Saturday morning.

Oh yes, and I PR’ed in the 10k.

Non-runners think runners are crazy.  Seriously.  I went into the restaurant where I work last weekend after I had completed (PR’ed!!) the Staten Island Half Marathon, and all the guys’ responses were, “what?! you just ran a half marathon this morning?! like, a couple hours ago?!”  Charlie stared at me for awhile, with a completely perplexed look on his face, and finally declared, “I think you must be crazy.  OK, go for a run, you’re in good shape, I get that, but 13 miles? And no one paid you to do this?” I told him that I had in fact, paid someone to let me do it.  Yup, he decided, I was crazy.

In their mind, why would any sane person run unless they were chasing something or running away from something? Running, just for the sake of running, they don’t understand. In my mind, running, for the sake of running does make sense because I am both chasing and running away, some days one of those more than the other, depending on what is going on in my life.

Chasing a PR
Running away from reality
Chasing something bigger than myself
Running away from weakness, from laziness, from failure
Chasing the finish line
Running away my worries, my cares, my stress, my fears
Chasing the dream

The Staten Island Half was excellent.  I had not really expected much, either of the race or of myself, and as such, it went above and beyond my expectations.  The weather was perfect, the course was beautiful, and the view of Manhattan and the Verrazano Bridge (in runner speak: the starting line of the NY Marathon) was motivating.

I say that my expectations for myself were low, not because there was anything wrong with my training or I didn’t feel prepared, but rather because I’ve never really been quite as relaxed in my race approach for a half before.  I had intended to incorporate the race into my marathon training as a long run, rather than to “race it” simply because I needed to fit in another qualifier for the 2010 NY Marathon. I even missed the gun because I was still in line for the port-a-potties and didn’t stress out too much as I jogged over to the start line a few minutes later.  That’s how nonchalant I was about this race.

Once I crossed the start line however, race mode kicked in, of course, as I started to calculate my time and focus 100% on the race.  Much to my dismay, in the past couple weeks, my tummy has suddenly decided that it no longer likes the gels that I have been using for the past year and a half since I started running, so I had hard time taking in any kind of nutrition during the run.  Gatorade, water, power gels, my stomach was not happy with anything.  In spite of that, however, I had the best race this year and set a PR from my time in Madison by about 3 minutes, finishing in 2:16:23.  Not bad.  I’ll take that.

Less than 5 weeks to Philly.

Sometimes you have to take the unexpected and just run with it.

You stumble across something that you have not trained for, have no experience with, is out of your league, so you just throw yourself into it, heart, body, and soul.  Because hell, you have nothing to lose.  You take off at a sprint, pretty certain that you went out too fast, but too caught up in the momentum and energy surrounding you to slow down.

I am a marathoner, not a miler.  I had no idea what to expect.

As you pass each quarter-mile mark, you take a second glance at your watch because those splits seem way faster than you dared to hope for, and yet, you’re strangely feeling like you will be able to hold this pace until the end.

You are pushing harder, flying faster, doing better than you had thought possible.  Now is no time to give up, to let go, to slow down.

Maybe life is testing you by throwing something too good to be true at you and seeing just how badly you really want it.  We are sure that we are not cut out for the challenge, we struggle against the limits that we set…and in doing so, we surprise ourselves more than anyone else by rising to the occasion.

I want this.  I want this so much.  I would rather ignore logic and limitations.  I would rather follow my heart and take the risk.  That’s just how I roll.

7:42. I have never, ever run a sub-8:00 min mile in my life.

My first thought as I crossed the finished line of the 5th Avenue Mile race this morning was that it was almost over before it began.  Maybe, just maybe, it’s actually the beginning of something a whole lot bigger, something that is nowhere near being finished.

A coffee connoisseur at heart, I was disappointed to find that the coffee I drank on a daily basis in Colombia was…subpar, to say the least.  The small dixie cup sized glasses of tinto that we drank at the university needed several spoonfuls of sugar, we made instant coffee at home, and although our cappuccinos at the Dulcerna seemed heavenly by comparison, they weren’t really all that well prepared.

We traveled to Chinchina, at the heart of the eje cafetero, walked through the coffee fields, saw workers picking beans, cleaning them, packing them up, only to learn that all of this wonderfully rich coffee would be exported to the US and Europe rather than roasted for us to taste right there in the heart of one of the top coffee producing countries in the world.

It is for this reason that I laughed this morning as I read the news, only to find that BBC Mundo agreed completely with me.

“Decir que los colombianos, que se precian de producir el café más suave del mundo, no saben preparar esa bebida, puede sonar ofensivo y poco creíble a primera vista.  No obstante la buena fama del grano colombiano y que éste se ha convertido en un símbolo de Colombia, muchos extranjeros que llegan al país andino se encuentran en dificultades cuando quieren tomarse un buen café en la calle, en los hoteles o incluso en una casa de familia.”

“To say that Colombians, who pride themselves on producing the smoothest coffee in the world, do not know how to prepare this drink, may sound offensive and slightly credible at first.  Despite the fame of the Colombian coffee bean, which has become a symbol of Colombia, many foreigners who arrive to the country, find it difficult when they want to drink a good cup of coffee in the street, in hotels, or even in a family’s home”.

The article contributed this partially to economic reasons for which the best coffee beans have traditionally been exported and the lesser quality coffee is sold domestically.  In addition to this, the reporter discussed how the focus has never been on the roasting and brewing part of the coffee process; it is only within the past decade that Colombian consumers have really begun to learn the preparation side of coffee, rather than just growing and selling.

Juan Valdez cafes are starting to pop up in major cities around the country, but even in 2007 when I was still living in Barranquilla, this 4th largest city in the country, did not have one [a couple were there by the time I went back to visit in 2008].  The article noted that there are some, although not many, other cafes who use Italian espresso machines to prepare their coffee to its full potential.

It’s kind of like what most Americans think of when they think of bad office coffee that has been sitting in a large pot and reheated throughout the day…and yet, the Colombian coffee beans that I buy here in the US, grind and brew in my kitchen are exquisite.

Interesting read on one of my most favorite beverages

For the past week, I have been glued to the US Open coverage.  Whether at home or in the gym, if there is a television, it is tuned in to whichever men’s or women’s singles match is currently taking place at Arthur Ashe Stadium.  When I am at work, one of my coworkers and I discuss the tournament nonstop.  After I downloaded the iPhone application yesterday, we spent half the evening at the restaurant refreshing the scores and betting on who was going to take each set, even though we couldn’t actually see the individual plays or how the players were handling each other.

Why am I so enthralled by this Grand Slam tournament?  I did not play on my high school or college team, and even though I enjoy hitting balls with friends occasionally, I am no tennis player.  Perhaps it is the same reason that I love football season.  Why I watched in awe as Paula Radcliffe and Kara Goucher tore up the roads during the NYC Marathon last November.  Or why I love the way that the world comes together during the Olympic Games every two years.

Sports, and especially epic competitions such as the Olympics, World Cups, Grand Slams, Major Marathons, playoffs, showcase PASSION.  Sports push humans to their ultimate LIMITS.  They test not only the physical STRENGTH, but the mental and emotional strength that people have within themselves if they really and truly want to find it.  It’s the stories like Melanie Oudin, the 17-year old from Georgia who has taken the Open by surprise with one upset after another, quickly rising through the ranks of elite female tennis players, living up to her motto BELIEVE.  It’s the Monfils-Nadal match going into the quarterfinals, where the intensity of their game from the first point has looked like they were rallying for the match point.  Sports draw something from deep within, something that is INSPIRING, something that is contagious, something called COURAGE.

Running a Marathon scares the hell out of me.

It really does.  I’ve done it before and I’m excited to do it again, but it still scares me.  Any training run longer than 16 miles does, to be honest.

I think that the fear is a good thing, in many ways.  The Marathon deserves a certain amount of respect, which comes by intimidating, just a little, those who decide to take it on.  It forces you to set a long term goal, as this isn’t something that you will be ready for overnight.  If you don’t train well, put in the miles, dedicate yourself, respect the distance, you won’t finish.  Even if you do prepare, there are still so many unknown factors that come into play over the course of 26.2 miles.

And yet, I do it anyway.  Why?  Because now that I have started, I can’t imagine not running.  I do it for the challenge. I do it because I know that it is difficult for me.  I do it because I know that I can do so much better than the last time around.  I do it because when you run a marathon, you enter a world different from the one you normally exist in, you become a part of something bigger than yourself.

I do it because the sense of accomplishment when you cross the finish line is worth all the aches and pains.  I do it because it makes me feel more alive.

Yes, indeed, I am.  Fall is a wonderful time of the year.  Beautiful weather, my birthday, and the kick-off (no pun intended) of my favorite sports season (let’s be honest, I love running, but watching people run is not nearly as exciting as some good, ol’ fashioned football). Wisco plays Northern Illinois, and I plan to spend the evening drinking Spotted Cow, eating brats and cheese curds, singing Varsity, and hanging out with some fabulous Sconnies and Big Ten fans.

I sat at the bar of the restaurant where I work last night, with two of my girlfriends (one from Minnesota, the other from Rhode Island) and two of my guy coworkers (both European), talking about football.  Tina, the one from MN, and I chatted passionately about both Big Ten and NFL football, while Amy, the one from RI, admitted that she didn’t know anything about football.  Both of my coworkers were amazed that girls knew so much about football, and even more so when we told them that it was normal for midwestern girls to love the sport.  I know that the majority of my girlfriends from back home had an opinion about Favre signing with the Vikings and will be watching Big Ten football games this weekend as the season starts.

Maybe it’s just in our blood.

I woke up this morning thinking about the weekend breakfasts that we used to make at Melissa’s apartment.  Alex and I would pick up freshly squeezed fruit juice from the frutera across the plaza and head down to the other end of the block.  We would say buenos dias to the portero of Melissa’s building, who was never quite as friendly to the gringos as the doormen who worked in our edificio.  Occasionally some of the other girls would join us, other times it was just the three of us.  We would make pancakes and eggs and instant coffee with steamed sweetened milk, and chat about life.  Through the window in the kitchen, we had a clear view of the Magdalena River, from the window above the hammock strung in the living room, the rest of Barranquilla.  I loved our lazy Sundays, the only time when the city calmed from chaos, as people spent the day at home with their families.

There are times when I catch snapshots of my life in Colombia so vividly that every ounce of me feels like I am still there.  Not a day goes by when I don’t think about Colombia, when I don’t miss it intensely.  I think back to my friends there, the incredible network of people that I had across the country.  I think about the long bus rides and wonder how the hell I got through some of them.  I think about hiking in Tayrona, the overwhelming sense of beauty and peace that I felt each time we emerged from the jungle where the Caribbean opened up in front of us, the Sierra Mountains behind, in the most awe-inspiring view I have ever witnessed.

A year of my life.  Far from perfect, far from easy, far from stress-free, but worth it all.  Would I do it again? I am asked this so often, and I respond yes, without hesitation, although the voice in the back of mind head always nags, when? how? will you really? I don’t know, but I hope so.  Because if I don’t return, it will be as if this was nothing but a dream.  A wonderful, unbelievable dream in a magical place that changed my life forever.

Oddly enough, it took running a half marathon a little more than a week ago to jump-start my motivation again for running more seriously and logging the miles that will help me to cross the finish line of my next full marathon in November.  Sure, I should have been putting in many, many more of those long training runs before this race, but it is what it is.  Of the three half marathons that I have completed this year, I was in my peak shape for Madison, which was the first of the three.  Between the lack of training after Lake Placid and the heat and humidity that is typical of August in the City (mid 70’s and 75% humidity at 7am when the race kicked off), I was satisfied with my finishing time of 2:32:26 at the New York City Half-Marathon.  Definitely not a personal best, by a long shot, but respectable, all things considered.

Amy and I have been chatting for months about the possibility of running the Philly Marathon, which takes places just before Thanksgiving this year.  I’d heard great things about the marathon there and enjoyed running in that city for the ING Philadelphia Distance Run last year.  This will be Amy’s first marathon, my second full.  San Fran was a learning experience last year, and while there are always unknowns that come into play during a marathon, I have a much better idea of what to expect and what I need to work on in order to get myself across that finish line (which is a LOT at this point…).

Overall, I felt really good during the NYC Half-Marathon last weekend.  Legs felt good, paced myself well for the heat, knees were a little achy for the next day or so, but not too bad.  I was overall happy with how I ran.  That being said, 13.1 is still a longggggg way from 26.2, and I have three months to get there.  The difference now, compared to earlier this summer, is that my passion for the sport is slowly, but surely starting to come back.  I felt as if I went through two months of telling myself that I *should* run, and making up excuses not too.  The past week and a half, I have actually looked forward to lacing up my shoes and going out for a run, stretching my muscles and pounding the pavement.

I’ve committed myself to registering for the race by the end of the week (before the price increases!), and my running buddy and I are going to make this happen.  Three months and counting…November 22!