Why I Love the Caesar Rodney Half Marathon

Frank nears the halfway point

Frank nears the halfway point

 

I have written about this race before, The Caesar Rodney Half Marathon, in which I described the race, its history, and the particularly challenging profile of the course.  In brief, the first half of the race is relatively flat after an initial downhill first mile.  Then, there is a long and sometimes steep, 2.5 mile uphill climb, a number of turns through neighborhoods, then a downhill stint to the final steep uphill 1/3 mile to the finish.

This race is run the third Sunday in March, when chill winds still blow.  In fact, this year, we had a snowstorm all day Friday two days before the race.  Most of the snow on the streets melted the following day when it rose to 50˚F, but then the temperature dropped back to below freezing that night.  For race day, we had gusty winds and temperatures in the low 40’s.

Dan and Brian Ambrose pumping up for the hill.

Dan and Brian Ambrose pumping up for the hill.

What is good about this race?  It is one of the first races of the early spring, meaning to be in shape, one must train through the winter.  So, it encourages fortitude in training when the weather is frigid, daytime hours are few, and the conditions on the ground can be pretty miserable.

It is a race with a history.  It is one of the first half marathons in the country, first run in 1964 when Browning Ross, from Woodbury, NJ, won it in 1:07:24.  It has been run every year since then, making this year the 52nd running.

It is well organized.  Runners are given permission to use the Downtown Wilmington YMCA locker rooms, to store gear, use indoor restrooms, and provide showers after the race.  Few races I know of have that sort of facility available.  Picking up one’s number and race packet is simple and done on the day of the race.  There is a very friendly bag drop manned by volunteers.  In fact, there is a friendly atmosphere throughout, and senior Delaware Senator Tom Carper, former Delaware governor and congressman, former naval air commander during the Viet Nam war, runs the race with the rest of us.

It is for a good cause.  The money raised goes to support the American Lung Association, certainly an easy tie in with running.

From a personal view, this was my first half marathon, and the race I keep returning to year after year.  I first ran it in 2007, missed 2008, but have run it every year since.  Up to this year, I have been kind of stuck in a rut, time-wise.  My times these past years have been fairly consistent:

2007  1:51:59

Brandon at the finish line.

Brandon at the finish line.

2008  Didn’t run

2009 1:49:45

2010  1:49:48

2011  1:49:40

2012  1:53:35

2013  1:49:16

2014  1:49:34

This year I wanted to break out of my rut.  I ran fairly consistently through the darkest days of winter, through slush and cold rain, enjoyed the occasional cold but sunny morning run on the weekends, and was feeling pretty good going into the race.  Still, I had some trepidation.  I know the course, and how challenging it is.  After running it all these years I know every turn, and know when it seems like the race will never end.

So, I lined up with everyone else at the start, and took off feeling good.  One cannot help feeling good in a race which starts heading downhill for a mile.  Of course, the clever among us will recognize uphill is coming.  Instead of feeling washed up as the road headed up, though, I felt I still had some energy in me, and managed to gut out the 2.5 mile climb mid-race.  I cruised back down the hill towards the finish, and my good friend and running partner, Brandon, came back to encourage me on the last mile.  This all resulted in a very satisfying finish of 1:47:56, my best half marathon anywhere.  I finished fifth in my age group, averaging 8:15 per mile.

After the finish, a new half marathon PR for Frank.

After the finish, a new half marathon PR for Frank.

Now, I’ve set the bar higher for myself, and each year get older.  I’ll really have to turn up the training screws next winter.

Arrivederci Winter

Moon, 4:30 AM, Friday, March 5, 2015.

Moon, 4:30 AM, Friday, March 6, 2015.

The whole eastern part of the U.S. was under the icy clutch of a band of frigid air the last two weeks. This air traveled from the Pacific, over the north pole, through the northern reaches of Canada, freezing Niagara Falls as it crossed the border and settled on our home. When winter comes upon us, everyone wonders, will this be another year of little snow and mild temperatures, or will we get hit with big snowstorms, creating scenes of pathways dug through backyards to driveways, snow piled high in parking lots, plows running up and down our roads, salt spray painting our cars gray-white, and people walking through the snow bundled with layers of clothing, knit caps, and big gloves.

While the weather forecasters got it mostly right this year, they did miss on a couple of occasions, when the snow hit Boston but pretty much missed us in South Jersey.  We managed to get a late winter snow three days ago, in the early days of March, while the temperatures were still in the frigid single and teen digits.  I went for an evening run the day of the latest snowfall.  It was only 7:00 PM, usually a time of the later rush hour crowd irritated and pushing to get home, but the roads were oddly quiet.  Since it had been snowing all day, it seems many businesses closed early.  The snow plows had passed through, but the snow kept falling, so the streets were covered with a thin layer of snow which had not turned to ice.  The combination of fresh snow everywhere, low clouds, and streetlights made for a very well-lit run in spite of the sun having disappeared an hour earlier.  There was a nice, faint crunch under foot as I ran, and the cold air felt good in my lungs.  My run took me past many local small shops and restaurants, all closed for the weather.  With one exception, that is.  The bars were hopping.  I think the bar owners get special attention from the snow plow drivers cleaning their parking areas.  Perhaps they need to pay a little extra for this but I’m sure it is worth it.  Teachers can’t get to the schools, but they make it to the bars.  Office workers get in late and sent home early, but they can make it to the bars.  Doctors, lawyers and dentists close early, no patients or clients are braving the slick roads to make their appointments, but they all make it to the bars.  The last few miles of my running route I pass about ten bars and every one of them was doing business like it was St. Patrick’s day already.  There is a quaintness about bars in the depths of winter.  It’s dark outside, the windows are frosted over, and one sees the profiles of the people inside all animated and lively.

In my house, we retreated to the front part of the house where the den with the fireplace is. The back half is beset with all sorts of problems. We live in an old Victorian, and the original design did not account for living in the 21st century. Bathrooms and appliances have been added over the years, and in spite of best intentions, cold air manages to sneak in like a cat burglar, freezing the water within. This past week, as the temperature dipped to a cruel zero, streams of that dense cold air moved in and around our old pipes, freezing some and leading to a couple of burst pipes.  This year, I had the foresight to at least turn off the inflow to these pipes so the damage was minimized, but we’ve had to wait until the thaw before we could fix them.

This weekend, though, brought a break in the icy pattern.  As we clicked over to daylight saving time, temperatures soared to 52 degrees.  The sun shone brilliantly, melting the patches of ice on the sidewalks.  Constant rivulets of water flowed down the street as the snow melted.  And people are out getting all their usual weekend errands in, not sure how to deal with a day when the only cover up needed is a light jacket.

Now we can start thinking about getting the garden ready for planting, cleaning up the debris that conveniently was covered up by the snow, and watch the road crews fixing all the treacherous potholes which have multiplied the last few weeks.  I’m sure in a couple of months we’ll be baking in premature heat, barely remembering how cold it got and stayed this winter.  Before that happens, I’d like to have a few more fires in the fireplace, have a reason to wear long tights and two layers on top when I run, and feel the cold air filling my lungs.

A Slog through the Slush

Here’s how the conversation, via text, went:

It’s all slush and big puddles out there do you think we should run?  And it is raining, too.

Sorry, just saw this.  Let’s go for it.  We won’t know till we try

Okay.  I am just getting ready now.

Take your time driving over.

That was at 6:45 this morning.  The snow, rain, freezing rain, and sleet had started the night before.  I was out with friends in Philly, and late at night, heading for the train, we marveled at the enormous size of the snow flakes falling steadily.  With the temperature close to freezing, they turned to slush as they hit the ground.  This morning, I stayed in bed as late as I could but still make a 7:00 AM start to my morning run.  My running partner and I had the above conversation and so I was committed to the run.  I was relieved, since I didn’t want to be the one to make the call, knowing this would not be our best run of the year.

We had to gingerly pick our way from his front door out to the street, not wanting to start running with cold, wet feet.  The road had not been plowed, and while the “inches” of snow were not that much, it was all wet and forming large pools of ice slurry.  We started off very slowly, running along areas cleared by tire tracks, being careful not to slip as we went downhill towards our loop around the park.  We had to run in the street rather than the multi-use path, which was completely covered by this slurry.  As we ran, we picked up the pace a bit.  Along the Cooper River, the geese were out in force, coping with the conditions without a problem, as far as I could see.  Approaching the far end of the loop around the park, the path was one large slush puddle, which we muddled through.  Now my shoes were wet, and my feet cold.  On the far side of the park, the road was narrowed by construction.  We had to run along on the road, with cars passing us closely and spraying ice and frozen water on our legs.  I think it was partially on purpose, since not all the cars came that close.  We moved over to the construction zone, running in ruts created by a truck that had gone through recently.  As we ran we were able to have a nice conversation, since the forced slow pace made talking that much easier.  We talked about running in the winter, and also about the play I saw last night at the Lantern Theater.  The play, called “Doubt, A Parable”, by John Patrick Shanley, takes place in a Catholic School in the Bronx, in 1964.  The story is that of an older nun, the principal of the school, suspecting the priest of having sexual relations with one of the boy students.  The story gets complicated when one hears the boy’s mother’s side of her son’s life.  The play takes only ninety minutes with a single act, and seems to leave out some crucial inner thoughts of the four characters.  One critic I read afterwards suggested the second act was when the audience discussed their feelings about the play.

Our run finished with a long uphill climb and then a flat last mile, still with the skies gray, and our feet cold and wet.  But accomplishing our seven miles, and then warming up with a change to dry socks and shoes, a dry shirt, and a hot cup of coffee was very satisfying.

A parable is a short narrative about individuals meant to be an example of a larger truth.  So, this narrative I relate to you shall also be short, and meant to convey that even when nature is uncooperative, getting out and doing is better than holing up and not doing.

 

How to make Black Eyed Peas

Pat, a delightful nursing assistant with whom I work, was disappointed we would be missing the hospital cafeteria’s soul food extravaganza out in our surgical center, away from the main hospital.  This was an homage to black history month.  I suggested to her we should put together our own soul food pot luck for lunch, and she was quite enthusiastic about that.  In fact, just about all the nurses and techs in our surgical center wanted to contribute something.  I realize I am not black, nor do I have a “soul food” background.  But there is a crossover between Texas cooking and soul food, and I know a bit about Texas cooking, so I offered up my own version of black eyed peas as my contribution.

First, buy some ham hocks.  This is the far end of the leg of the pig, before the foot.  It has meat, but also tendon, bone marrow, fat, and skin.  I like them smoked.  (Michele, my running friend who is meat free, turn away at this point).

Smoked Ham Hocks

Smoked Ham Hocks

Put these in a pot, cover with water, and bring to a slow boil.  Cook them like this for a couple of days with a bay leaf, five or six hours a day, replacing the water as needed to keep them covered.  Let chill, skim off the fat, and set aside.  One day into this process, clean one pound of dry black eyed peas, and start an overnight soak in cold water.

Dried Black Eyed Peas

Dried Black Eyed Peas

On the day of cooking the peas, drain the soaking water, rinse the peas, and return them to a large pot.  Take the chilled pot of ham hocks, which after boiling for two days, have turned the water into a wonderful, protein rich gelatin.  The meat has been cooked to a nice tenderness.  Remove the skin, and carefully extract all the bony pieces.  There will be lots of small bones, and one gets to plow through the hocks with bare fingers, extracting the meat from the bone.  Pick out any cartilage or sinew not wanted in the final mix.  Cut or shred the meat into little bits.  Add all the gelatin and the meat to the peas.

Take one good-sized green pepper and chop into small bits.  Likewise, shop an onion.  Saute these in oil until the onions are translucent and the green pepper looks thoroughly cooked.  Add this to the pea pot.  Add water as needed to just come up to the level of the peas.  Add freshly ground black pepper, sage, and salt to taste.  Don’t over salt, since there was salt in the ham hocks.  Add several dashes of Tabasco sauce, or if you really want them hot, use cayenne pepper.

Bring the mix to a boil, and cook for 35 minutes.  Unlike a lot of beans, the black eyed peas don’t require a long cooking period.  Cooking them too long turns them into mush.  Once they are cooked, check the seasoning to be sure the heat is right.  Let chill over night.

We served these the next day by warming in a crock pot.  They were a big hit, along with all the other incredible contributions to the lunch.  We had collard greens, smokey red beans, chicken, several versions of mac and cheese, rice, corn fritters, corn pudding, green salads, and lots more.  There were several different chocolate cakes, too, since everyone likes chocolate cake.  I think we came out way ahead of the cafeteria’s offerings.

It’s still very cold here in New Jersey.  While we are facing single digit temperatures, trying to get the running miles in, facing snow, ice and wind, it’s not bad to have some nice comfort food to keep us going.

Whole lotta chafin’ goin’ on

I noticed when I got up this morning that the sky looked a bit dark and uniform.  The sun had not risen yet, so I couldn’t tell if the sky was clear or overcast.  It wasn’t as cold as it had been the last few days, around 40 degrees F, so I dressed lighter than for a frigid run.  I checked the weather on weather.com.  It showed a massive band of rain heading our way, and it looked like it would reach us around 11:00 AM.

We gathered for our usual run this morning, Sunday, December 29, in front of our local running store, the Haddonfield Running Company.  About 12 runners were out this morning, one new to our group; the rest were the usual gang.  Our typical Sunday run is a thirteen mile loop starting at 7:30, followed by coffee at Starbucks.  We have a number of runners in the group who have started their training for the Boston Marathon, April 21, 2014.  For them, the weather is not an issue.   They are committed to run regardless.  The rest of us have our various races scheduled in the spring, so we also don’t mind getting a few raindrops on us.

I ran from my house to the store, and after a few pleasantries, we started off on our run.  As soon as we started, the ran began.  It was very light at first, just a mere sprinkle.  But not too far into the run, it became a steady, cold rain, with a grey uniform sky, and no real color anywhere.  We kept together as a group, probably from a preservation instinct, unlike other days when the fast ones take off like rabbits.  At first the rain didn’t seem to faze anyone too much.  There was a lot of talk amongst us, about Boston, training, cyclocross racing, geese, news of the day, and so on.  The new guy came from a cyclocross background, and had only been running since he got new running shoes for Christmas.  Geese are everywhere we run around the Cooper River Park.  They are Canadian geese which have settled permanently in our neighborhood.  They don’t migrate anywhere; they are perfectly content to stay here the year round.  Every year a new gaggle of goslings is produced, and the numbers just keep going up and up.

As the run went on, the talk trailed off.  We really just wanted this run to be over.  The rain continued with small, cold drops that now had drenched us thoroughly.  Puddles were all around, and impossible to avoid completely, so our shoes and socks got soaked, too.  We made a quick stop for a drink at the Cooper River boat house.  Oddly, there is no water fountain on the premises, so we have to drink from the faucets in the restroom.  As we got going again, we all noticed how cold we had gotten from just a quick stop.  Crossing a road on the way back, a driver, who had the right of way, stopped to let us cross the road, no doubt wondering why presumably sane people would get out and run in this weather.  While a couple of the group cut the run a bit short toward the end, my friends Tony and Brandon and I gutted it out for the full thirteen miles.  Brandon, who is usually one of the above mentioned rabbits, seemed content to hang with us older, slower types today.  I noticed, after I had stopped, that my body temperature seemed to plummet.  I made straight for the Starbucks, and grabbed my backpack.  I headed for the restroom to change into dry clothing.

The coffee shop has a gas fireplace, which was very welcome today.  We were all shivering on arrival, but rapidly warmed up in front of the fire.  After I got home, I hopped in the shower.  Yeowww!  Those areas that had been rubbed raw by the wet clothing were suddenly and shockingly evident as the hot water sluiced over me.  The shower felt awfully good, though, and once done, I put on some warm jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and stayed indoors the rest of the day.  We have only a couple of days left in 2013.  To all my family, friends, fellow bloggers, and running mates I wish you all a healthy and happy new year.

SJAC members hanging out at Starbucks after our Sunday morning run.

SJAC members hanging out at Starbucks after a Sunday morning run.

Wineglass, Warm and Humid

The frequently flooded Chemung River, a tributary of the Susquehanna, in Corning, N.Y.

The frequently flooded Chemung River, a tributary of the Susquehanna, in Corning, N.Y.

I didn’t expect western New York in October to be warm and humid, but then I didn’t know what to expect.  When we train for a marathon, we start months in advance with a plan to build miles and endurance.  This summer, we were slogging through many warm and humid days.  I was hoping for cool and brisk, but that is not the way it turned out.

Our trip up to the Wineglass Marathon, held October 6, 2013, started with a very nice cruise through Philadelphia and up the northeast extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike.  This in itself is a cause for celebration, knowing what this stretch of highway can be like.  We stopped at Clark’s Summit, north of Scranton, for lunch with a good friend.  On we went further north after lunch, around Binghamton, NY, then westward along the Southern Tier Expressway through Owego and Elmira.  We passed the bridge with the village name of Horseheads chiseled in large letters.  This village has the distinction of being dedicated to the pack horses of Major-General John Sullivan of the revolutionary army.  The bleached skulls of the horses make for an interesting history.  But never mind this distraction,  we were on our way to Corning.

The expo for the marathon is held in the Corning YMCA, in a fortress of an old red brick building.  It is not a big expo, in fact, rather small, but then this is not a huge marathon.  The marathon and the half marathon are capped at 2500 runners each.

In front of the Corning YMCA, home of the expo.

In front of the Corning YMCA, home of the expo.

Picking up my number on the indoor track at the YMCA

Picking up my number on the indoor track at the YMCA

Encouraging signs from my wife for me and clubmate Steve.

Encouraging signs from my wife for me and clubmate Steve.

I picked up my number, and the number of my friend Steve, who was going to arrive a bit late.  The friendly young lady behind the rail took Steve’s word by phone that she could trust me and allow me to pick up for him.  Fortunately, I remembered to check for safety pins, too.

After we picked up our numbers, we headed a little out of town to our motel, the Hampton Inn, of Corning.  I am a fan of Hampton Inns.  They always seem so comfortable and clean, and the complementary wi-fi and breakfast are nice benefits.  We had a little trouble finding the Inn.  We knew the address, but all we could find was a Denny’s and a gas station.  Then, we spotted it.  It was behind the Denny’s a little ways, with absolutely no sign directing one in to the parking area.  No matter, we parked and went to check in.  The pleasant woman behind the desk asked me my name, and then informed me that she did not see my reservation.  Of course, I had made the reservation months ago, and even got an email from the hotel advising us that construction was going on, that there would be noise during the day, and that all of their facilities would remain open.  Another front desk person came over, and they re-examined their records.  As it turned out, the reservation I had made was for two nights starting the night before.  I originally planned to come up Friday night.  Since I didn’t show, they gave away my room and cancelled my reservation.  They informed me they were completely booked, but that they would try to help find me a room in another hotel.  Naturally, the marathoners had booked everything in several miles.  Just as I was getting despondent, and here’s where they really shined, they suddenly realized that one room was not taken.  This was a strange, very large, room on the first floor, close to the lobby, equipped with a board room-like table and chairs, a kitchenette, and a Murphy bed instead of a regular bed.  While all the other rooms had been recently renovated, this room had not, and was in the process of a make-over.  We, my wife and I, were more than happy to take it.  The front desk person even assured me she would remove any charge for my missing the night before.

After freshening up a bit, we joined with the other club members staying at the Hampton Inn and headed back to town for dinner.  We found a place to park on Market Street, the main shopping and dining street in Corning.  They have an unusual way of decorating shops on Market Street, with whimsical signage and artwork.

A Dali-esque clock suspended from a second story window.

A Dali-esque clock suspended from a second story window.

It appears to be a boy dipping his finger in a pond.

It appears to be a boy dipping his finger in a pond.

Steve called a few months ago to the restaurant, Sorge’s, an old, established Italian restaurant in Corning.  He was assured that even though they don’t take reservations, they are a large restaurant which can accommodate a large crowd, and we would not have much of a wait.  As you might expect, Sorge’s was packed, and we were told there would be about an hour or so wait.  We were a hungry crew, and did not want to spend an hour thinking about food, and then another hour possibly waiting for it to arrive at the table.  Right down the street there was a small establishment which appeared to have tables set up for an impromptu dinner.  It was the Palate Cafe and Juice Bar, and they were serving a pasta dinner for the marathoners that night.  We inquired, and it turned out a large party had skipped out on their reservation so they had room for us.  Two in our group, Sara and Brian, wanted a more normal restaurant experience, and chose to return to Sorge’s, but the rest of us settled on the home-cooked style of the dinner at Palate.  It appears Palate specializes in wheat grass juice, and their website has a list of forty benefits and things to do with wheat grass juice, some of which I would never consider.  Check for yourselves if you are curious.

Steve and Caren at Palate Cafe

Steve and Caren at Palate Cafe

Tony, Kat and Frank getting ready to have a pasta feast.

Tony, Kat and Frank getting ready to have a pasta feast.

Kat , my number one supporter, and me, Frank

Kat , my number one supporter, and me, Frank

The dinner at the Palate Cafe and Juice Bar was acceptable, not spectacular, but it was pasta.  We felt we had served our bodies well in the carbohydrate loading department.  It was a family style affair, though, seeing the steaming pots and the rest of the preparation area assembled in a corner of the store usually used for other purposes.  After dinner, we met up at a small bar down the street for a beer, the one beer I would have the night before the big event.  We were definitely out-of-place at this locals hang-out.  There were a few of the regulars standing outside smoking, and Tony seemed a bit intimidated by them, although he’s a lot bigger and stronger than they were.  Inside, the choices for beer were limited, and they definitely focused on the usual, Bud, Miller and Coors.  I asked for a Sam Adams, which was on tap, and without any evil look the bartender poured me one.  I was grateful.  Caren paid the tab for us and we sat at a small table near a group ranging from grandma to young adult-on-iPhone playing electronic darts.  Now they did give us an evil eye or two, having crowded in on their territory.  Our nervousness about the next day started to come out as we sat and drank, thinking about the weather, and the prediction for warm and humid conditions.  After the beer, we drove back to our hotel in relative silence.

Kat and I settled back in our room, the large space intended for meetings, and got into the Murphy bed.  It was no regular bed, with awkward straps holding up a thin mattress.  One had to adjust one’s body so that the hips and shoulders appropriately fit in the hollows created by the straps.  I slowly drifted into dream world, thinking about what to wear the next day.

The morning of the marathon I arose early, waking at my usual 5:00 AM.  I checked the weather on my iPad.  It didn’t look too daunting, with light rain and temperature in the mid 60’s at that moment.  I could hear the rain outside, and it sounded a bit more than “light”.  I decided to go with shorts and my club singlet, and my Saucony compression knee-high socks.  Donning some light cover up pants and a jacket, I headed out to get breakfast, nicely set out for us runners by the hotel staff.  They came in early to set up, since they usually don’t start serving until 6:00.  A number of other runners were there, having a coffee and some oatmeal.  My club mates, Steve, Brian and Tony soon arrived, and we had breakfast.  I went with the oatmeal, too, but Brian went for the pour-your-own waffle, freshly cooked in the waffle iron.  After a bit more conversation and a second cup of coffee, we gathered our stuff and headed out.  Caren was nice enough to drive Steve, Brian and me to the start, in Bath, N.Y., while Tony headed separately for the buses in Corning.  Since he was doing the half marathon, his start was half way down the route from our start.  We gathered up a hill in Bath at a Philips Lighting Company plant.  We were not aware at the time that the plant had closed, laying off 280 workers.  It appears that due to changes in demands in the home lighting industry, this plant made the wrong type of bulbs, and so rather than change the technology in the plant, the company, based in the Netherlands, decided to close it.

The start area was well equipped for the runners.  There were plenty of portable toilets, and UPS trucks were waiting to take our bags to the finish line.  Since the Boston bombing, all running events where bag check is allowed have gone to allowing only clear plastic bags provided by the race.  It’s a bit like making every passenger remove his or her shoes to board a plane, since there was an attempt to set off an explosive in a shoe in the famous “shoe-bomber” incident.  As we gathered for the start, it was misty and a bit warm.  The runners lined up, there was a very nice rendition of the Star Spangled Banner by a local singer, and then we were off.

I get an odd feeling starting a marathon.  I don’t know whether I’ll cramp up or when, whether my training will prevail, or how long it will take me to get to the finish.  One thing on my side, I’ve finished every one of the eight marathons I’ve run to date.  As we headed down the hill I was reminded of last year’s Steamtown Marathon.  That start was a long down hill run, but this one was only about a half mile before the road flattened out.  In spite of the warm, humid conditions, I was feeling alright.  I kept reminding myself to keep my pace in check, and I kept it around an 8’35” pace, according to my trusty Garmin.  I have the 305 model, with a large face which one of my friends referred to as a Dell laptop on my wrist.  It is easy to read on the run, though!

The early part of the race was very nice.  My pace was good, the legs felt good, and the scenery was quite attractive.  We could see the surrounding hills with trees turning colors, and there were ponds reflecting the colors.  We passed through a few very small towns, and some of the locals came out to cheer us on, but they looked a bit sleepy, standing by the side of the road, coffee cup in hand, and not saying much.  Moving on, Steve, running with me, and I were greeted enthusiastically by Caren and Kat, who were driving from cheering stop to cheering stop to give us support.  I stopped for a moment to let Kat get a photo, but she yelled “keep going”, and I did.

Frank (L) and Steve (R) moving on.

Frank (L) and Steve (R) moving on.

Hey Steve, how much farther do we have to run?

Hey Steve, how much farther do we have to run?

It did occur to me that I was losing a lot of fluid.  My clothing was soaked and clinging to me, there was a constant flow of sweat from the brim of my hat, and it wasn’t raining, so the wetness was coming from me.  I was stopping at every water stop, alternating Gatorade and water, and trying my best to keep well hydrated.  The trick to drinking on the run is to crimp the cup.  That way only a third of it sloshes out of the cup on me and my shoes, and two-thirds goes down the right way.  We got to the half way point still feeling fairly good.  By this time, the crowds had picked up and were very enthusiastic.  After passing through the 13 mile mark, there is a significant hill, but it is the last of the real climbs.  As we got into the second half, I started to feel the first signs of trouble from my legs.  There were little twinges of muscle spasm coming from my calves, and I was getting concerned.  The last time I passed her, my wife held out a water bottle filled with sports drink, which I grabbed and downed along the route.  I also was taking gels, about one every six miles.

Caren, heading out to give Steve some encouragement.

Caren, heading out to give Steve some encouragement.

She may have been telling him to "be careful, we need you at home".

She may have told him to “be careful, we need you at home”.

He was looking better just a moment ago.

He was looking better just a moment ago.

Perhaps the photos project the warm and steamy conditions we were facing.  The rubber bands had snapped, the legs had turned to pudding.  By around mile 18, both Steve and I were shot.  In spite of working hard to stay well hydrated, it seemed the loss of sweat, and the inability to get rid of body heat had taken a toll on us, and we both wound up walking a ways.  It really is amazing how much time one loses off one’s goal when the walking starts.  At this point I recognized that my hopes for a Boston qualifier were not going to become reality, so I did what I could to make it to the finish without hurting myself too badly.

Even the supporters along the route were a bit subdued.

Even the supporters along the route were a bit subdued.

My legs were toying with me.  One moment I was able to run, the next they were cramping up and sticking out to the point I could hardly stand.  I was reminded of Peter Sellers’ arm in his role as Dr. Strangelove, and his “alien hand syndrome”.

Walking was the best I could muster around miles 18-20.

Walking was the best I could muster around miles 18-22.

After some walking, some more Gatorade, and another gel, I felt revived enough to run again, although I had completely lost my stride.  I was able to manage around a ten minute mile, and I kept trudging along.  I noticed an awful lot of other runners doing the same at this point.  My plan, what I had practiced for, was to pick up my pace at this point to go for a good finish.  That plan will have to wait for another day.

Back to a running stride, and trying to keep smiling.

Back to a running stride, and trying to keep smiling.

About the last four miles we headed through a park along a bike path, and I could see we were starting to get close to finishing.  The legs, while not working well, were at least working, and I managed to carry through to the finish line.  The last stretch before reaching Market street is over a bridge, with a slight rise.  This gave me cause for concern, but my fears were unnecessary, as I crested the relatively minor hump without incident.  On the other side of the bridge, Tony, having finished his half marathon, was cheering on runners and spotted me.  He yelled “go Frank, you’re looking good”, and it definitely helped.  The finish down Market Street is a very nice finish.  The crowds were out and yelling for us, and I could see the finish line in the distance.  I saw a bank sign with the temperature showing 80 degrees on that last stretch.  As I crossed, it was a great relief to stop.  I needed fluids, and I quickly downed two bottles of water and grabbed a third.  I received my medal, a large glass medallion in purple, hanging from a broad white ribbon.  I walked through the food line, took some broth and a few other items, and met up with Kat, who had spied me on the final stretch.  It was great to see her smiling face at the end of the race, and have her support all along the way.

After the race, we headed down towards the Market Street Brewing Company, where we all met up for lunch.  Brian had turned in a terrific performance, given the conditions, finishing in the 3:34 range.  I had come in at 4:21, and Steve a bit behind that.  We all agreed that the race organization and course were very good.  I would certainly like to do this marathon again.  I just would rather do it when it is in the 40-60 degree range and dry, not 70-80 degrees and humid.  But, one can’t plan that part of the marathon, and you take the conditions as they are.

Brian, who turned in a great time.

Brian, who turned in a great time.

Brian's wife Sara, displaying the sleeveless "T" look for a hot day in October.

Brian’s wife Sara, displaying the sleeveless “T” look for a hot day in October.

Half marathon man Tony, who will be running Boston this spring.

Half marathon man Tony, who will be running Boston this spring.

Steve, who suffered the most this marathon.

Steve, who suffered the most this marathon.

Kat and humble author Frank, two beers down.

Kat and humble author Frank, two beers down.

Summertime, and the livin’ is easy, but the running isn’t!

This feels like the summer of 2012 all over again.  We had a stretch of rainy days which seemed to go on forever, although it was really only about a 10 days or so.  I had two rather interesting rain-related experiences during this time.  Both were during my Monday run from my hospital in Camden, NJ, over the Ben Franklin bridge to Philadelphia, a loop down to the Race Street pier, then back over the bridge and back to the hospital.  It is a very nice six mile round trip, with the challenge of the bridge, but also with a pleasant breeze on the bridge and very nice views.

The first interesting experience occurred on my way back through Camden.  Dark rain clouds and the rain coming down to the east were illuminated by the setting sun to the west, and a beautiful, full-arc, sharply colored double rainbow could be seen as I was crossing Market Street.  I stopped a local man crossing the street who hadn’t noticed this wonder of nature and pointed it out.  He smiled broadly, and said “yeah, cool.”

The other incident was a little more worrisome.  I was doing the same run again.  It was overcast, but the rain seemed to be off to the east, and usually the direction of travel of the rain clouds is west to east.  As I was cresting the high point on the bridge, large raindrops started to splat the walkway.  I still felt this didn’t seem like much of a problem.  In fact, I was marveling at how the rain on the walkway created an outline of the old-fashioned style lamps along the railing.  My reverie was short lived.  Instead of moving east, the storm was heading right towards me.  I still had about a quarter of the bridge to go as the rain picked up and became torrential.  Worse, lightening was flashing around me.  I don’t know the risk of being on an enormous steel structure during a lightening storm, but my gut feeling was that it was not safe.  I scurried down the ending stairway of the bridge, three sets of wet stairs, to the street.  I made it shortly to a loading dock area on the Rutgers campus, and got out of the storm.  As I waited out the storm, several other runners behind me on the bridge kept running in the storm, and I watched them go by.  I felt a little wimpy, as if I should shake my fear and continue running.  But then, reason took hold and I waited a bit more.  Looking up at the sky, I could see swirling clouds which looked like they were attempting to make a tornado.  Fortunately, it never go to that.  With the storm, and the lightening, having moved on, the thunder now coming more than 10 seconds from the lightening, I ventured out and ran the last mile or so back.  It was still raining, and when I got to the hospital I made sure to allow a little drip time before going back in to change.

Now, though, the rain has been gone for several days and the heat has arrived.  As we all know, running in the heat can be brutal.  One’s body must acclimate to the heat.  This is a complex process, involving changes in the body’s blood volume, hormonal status, immunological changes, sweat composition and response, and other alterations.  All those intricate physiological changes have yet to occur in me.  I ran yesterday for a seven mile run, and today for a 12.5 miler.  While the starting temperatures don’t sound that brutal, around 79 degrees F, the high humidity of 90%, low to non-existent breeze, and sun made for very uncomfortable running.  Both days we started at 7:00 AM.  My friend Brandon, with whom I ran on Saturday, seemed to already have made that jump to summer running, as he was not nearly as affected as I was.  Perhaps it is his incredibly lean, thin body, or the fact that he runs normally more than fifty miles a week, but he cruised without dying.  I, on the other hand, felt like collapsing after a few miles.  Saturday, I mustered on, drinking water from the fountains along our route, and going a very diminished pace.  Sunday, I started out running with two other runners, planning to go 13.5 miles.  I carried a bottle of water with me in one of those handy runner’s bottles, with a strap for my hand, and a protruding enormous nipple-like spigot, allowing a drink on the run.  One of the guys in my group peeled off at four miles, saying he was never going to make the 13.  The other kept with me until his usual turnoff at my six mile mark.  So I was left alone for the rest of the run.  As I steadily, but at a considerably slower pace than normal, made my way around our standard Sunday loop, the sun got higher, cresting the trees and shining down on me.  Other runners came by in the opposite direction, looking pretty bedraggled, with the exception of one young guy.  He had on a gray army-style t-shirt and was running with a backpack.  He looked pretty tough in the heat.  I was drinking steadily to ward off dehydration, and used the amount of sweat on my hands as a guide.  If they were dry, I figured I had stopped sweating from not enough fluid, and took another gulp.  The sweat continued to drench me, and I could feel my feet getting soaked in my shoes.  At around ten miles, I stopped at a water fountain and had the good fortune of meeting a friend running in the other direction.  I hadn’t seen him in a long time, but still we stopped to talk far more than would be normal under milder circumstances.  As I headed for the last leg, I was running now at around a 9’30” to 10 minute per mile pace, not able to go any faster.  I switched sides on the road a few times to take advantage of the bit of shade I could find from the trees.  With two miles left to go, I made the decision to cut this run short, and headed back up the hill for only a one mile return to the start, thinking that lost mile would not be doing me much good anyway.  I made sure to finish strong, though, as I passed my fellow Sunday morning crew who had run shorter and were already hanging out at the Starbucks.  One always should look good at the start and end of a run.  In between, nobody is really watching.  I banged on the sign marking the end of the run, and wobbled over to get my backpack and my extra bottle of sports drink I had stowed for my recovery.  Sitting in the shade, bent over, calf muscles doing their quivering imitation of fireworks going off, I took off my shoes and socks, wrung the sweat from my socks, and slowly felt the heat dissipating.  Once I had cooled to a nearly presentable state, I made my way over to join my friends. I changed to dry clothes, and sitting outside, with a little breeze and in the shade, it didn’t seem so awful.  But, boy, running in the heat can be brutal.  I do look forward to that magical transformation of being acclimated.

On a Saturday in January

Yesterday started out as a cold, slightly breezy morning.  After waking early enough for a bowl of cereal, Special K Cinnamon Pecan if you must know (a crunchy mix of rice and wheat flakes, sprinkled with cinnamon and pecans), and a cup of coffee (Starbucks, Italian Roast), I dressed for a morning run.  The first challenge on a cold morning such as this is to convince yourself to leave that warm comfortable bed, knowing you will be facing sub-freezing temperatures.  The second challenge is to pick the right combination of layers so you are warm enough at the start, but not overheated after the first mile.  Donning long tights, an undershirt I usually use for cycling, a long-sleeve thickly woven running top, a knit cap, and cheap knit gloves, I headed out the back door.

About sixteen degrees, a bit of snow on the leaves.

About sixteen degrees, a bit of snow on the leaves.

Checking the thermometer, I saw it was about 16 degrees, but the sun was starting to rise, and with it the temperature.  I pulled my backpack over my shoulders and headed out for my run, the pack carrying clothing for a change once the run was over.  I did a nice warmup 2 mile run to my friend Brandon’s house.  It was still quite cold, though, and my fingers, the parts I could feel, were stinging inside my gloves.  But, the rest of me felt comfortable.  Only an inch or two of snow had fallen the night before, and it was light enough that a few folks were out early sweeping it off their sidewalks with a broom rather than shoveling.  The street was patchy with spots of snow and ice, but mostly clear.

Meeting up with Brandon, I could see he had the same idea about dressing.  Don’t dress too heavy, since one will warm up and start to sweat no matter how cold.  I dropped my backpack in his living room.

Brandon, ready to run our usual Saturday loop.

Brandon, ready to run our usual Saturday loop.

We started our run, heading down to the Cooper River, for a loop around the park.  The breeze was still in our faces, and it did sting, but as we got into the run, we warmed up.  Sharing our own news of the week, discussing philosophical issues, talking about current events, with the occasional mention of beer, we proceeded around the park, staying on the road rather than the path, which was snow covered.

The Cooper Yacht Club, with the snow covered boats overlooking a snow covered frozen river.

The Cooper Yacht Club, with the snow covered boats overlooking a snow covered frozen river.

The sun still hadn’t quite made it over the trees yet, so we were still running in the shadows, but the air felt crisp and clean.  I thought about the reports of the thick smog in Beijing, glad we could run where the air is clean.

Cooper River Boat House on a snowy January morning.

Cooper River Boat House on a snowy January morning.

Across the Cooper River, frozen, and with a layer of snow atop the ice, the Cooper River Boat House stood out, with no rowers planning a workout on the river today.  The rowing machines indoors will, no doubt, get used this day.  We continued our run around the river, over the newly constructed pedestrian bridge along Route 130, to the other side.  We’ve heard this bridge is temporary, but the consensus is we, being the runners who use it, rather like it and hope it achieves permanent status.  Farther down the run, we got into a trail in the woods.  We seem to have been the first to come this way this morning, judging by our tracks.

Tracks in the woods on a snowy day.

Tracks in the woods on a snowy day.

The geese, whose original home as I understand it is Canada, but who have made a permanent home of South Jersey, were closely gathered in the remaining unfrozen water, jostling for position and making a racket.

Geese in the remaining unfrozen water.

Geese in the remaining unfrozen water.

The last part of the run heads back up a hill to the streets of Brandon’s neighborhood.  The sun had finally come out.  My glasses had taken on their usual fog, my hat was moist with sweat, and it was a good run of seven miles.  We headed indoors for a cup of tea (Taylor’s of Harrowgate, breakfast tea).

Frank

Chasing Reindeer

December is a hectic time of the year.  The sudden realization of how many days left before Christmas makes us a desperate lot, and then there’s all the great traditions of the season which must be carried out.  One, the annual hauling up out of the basement of the lights, ornaments, tree stand, fake garlands of spruce and pine, the statue of Father Christmas looking resplendent in fur collar and slightly scraggly white beard, sleigh bells to hang on the front door, and the stockings to hang over the fireplace.  I always seem to miss the mild days of opportunity to hang the lights outside, and wind up trying to get my hands to work on a cold, windy day, dangling dangerously under the eave of the porch to string the icicle lights.  First is the challenge of untangling the strings, which I was sure I put away last year in an orderly coil, but somehow, I suppose due to their boredom in the basement, become intricately woven together in a free=form, almost spiteful, version of macrame.  Having laid them out, finally, on the porch, tested them to be sure I have a live string, I pick out the working strands to hang.  Of course, I’ll spend thirty minutes with a strand that won’t work, trying to figure out which of the one thousand bulbs is out and needs replacing, only to fail completely, throw out that strand, and move on.  The “icicles” of the new replacement strand, fresh out of the box, are contracted up and won’t hang down naturally no matter how much I tug on them.  Hmmm…., anyway, I proceed to get them up on last years’ nails, starting at one side of the porch and making my way around the perimeter.  Then, there’s the moment I bring them to life, ala Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation, with a little drum roll in my head, as I plug in the extension cord.  Yes!, I say to myself, they’re all working!  Not to last, though, as sure as reindeer can fly, one or more of those strands will fail, creating a dark space in the icicle light line up, giving the house a certain trailer park chic appeal.  Of special note, this year my son and daughter did the work, and somehow, they managed to get the lights up and working better than I’ve ever  been able.

The next major task involves finding a tree.  We can usually find a tree to our liking at any one of many spots selling them in our area.  We like  a nice, full spruce, tall to look proportional in our old house with the high ceilings.  I am amazed at how that tree can be forced through the chute with branches held in by the web of plastic around it, but it makes for easy transport.  We prepare a space for the tree in our parlor, rearranging the furniture to allow for this gargantuan icon of the season.  Getting it up in it’s stand is a bit of difficulty, although not too hard.  We then cut open the binding web and watch as the branches unfurl.  Hopefully, we’ve given adequate space to those branches, and they don’t take out any eyes or things hanging on the wall.  My wife is particularly good at taking out branches and trimming up the edges, to make it look just right without having been obviously altered.  If I were to try that, I know it would come out looking like a victim.  Putting up the lights and ornaments is certainly one of the most pleasurable things to do, although it doesn’t hurt to have some Christmas music playing and a steady flow of beer or enhanced eggnog to allow us to appreciate the moment.

Our gift buying is a combination of guesswork and direct grilling of the subject to see what we should wrap and put under the tree.  I’ve certainly turned to more on-line buying these last few years.  Nothing satisfies me more than to be able to avoid the mall parking lot.  I had the opportunity to visit a high-end purveyor of home goods a week ago, in Philadelphia, to return an unfortunate on-line purchase.  I thought I was getting a steal, paying $40 for a coffee maker of good name, good pedigree.  It turned out it made weak coffee much less flavorful than our old, ugly Mr. Coffee, so I took it to the “bricks and mortar” store to return it.  The store was filled with high-end Christmas shoppers, examining carefully a $35 set of ice tongs, or listening to a slick presentation of why they really need to spend upwards of $1200 to get that perfect cup of coffee Christmas morning.  No wonder my purchase was so incredibly wrong.  I misplaced the decimal point by two positions.  Regardless, and without shame, I brought that machine to the counter asked to return it.  “Had it been used?” the woman behind the counter asked.  “Yes, that’s how I know it makes bad coffee,” I replied.  With a dour look, and without even asking if everything was in the box, she took it back and gave me a refund.  I suspect it is going in the trash, as it can’t possibly be worthy of repackaging.  My favorite real shopping experience at Christmas time, though, is visiting Barnes and Noble.  It’s busy, but not so busy one can’t move about in the store, see what the new novels and biographies look like, pick up a real book and thumb through it, get a few laughs in the humor section, examine the games and puzzles, and look through the calendars.  I went yesterday, and was quite pleased to not only find the books I was looking for, but to have had an uplifting time doing so.

Another tradition is the annual office gift carousel.  I always give my secretary a nice, large spiral cut ham.  While this may seem a throwback to some industrial age era of Dickensian mindset, I see it as a true thank you for all she’s done for me this year.  She has my back, so to speak, and anticipates my daily struggles.  She fends off attacks from the flanks and calms worried callers.  There are a thousand things she does to make my life better, and I’d like her and her family to have a nice, tasty meal to show for it.  Perhaps originating with the writer Dorothy Parker, the definition of eternity is two people and a ham.  So that’s the best part of office gift giving.  We also give the rest of the office staff home-baked small cakes, lemon-poppy, pumpkin, pecan and apple, and they all seem to like them very much.  This year my daughter did the baking, and word at the office was, they couldn’t tell the difference from the ones my wife made in years past, so that is high praise.  For my partners, there is a tradition of trading wine bottles.  Not fancy wine, not special wine, just whatever is convenient to grab a case of at the moment.  It has become an obligatory, drab exercise, made slightly better by the underlying humor of seeing your name on a sticky note attached to the bottle in place of a real gift card.  Personally, I can’t just buy a cheap, mass produced bottle with a kangaroo on the label, so I do look for something unique and special, without spending a lot, but I’m not sure whether that translates to appreciation of the wine.

With all the rushing around trying to get things done in time to settle down and truly enjoy the holiday season, when do we run?  Well, there’s nothing wrong with backing off some of the intensity of training at this time of year to let the old bones and joints recover.  Yet, we still need to keep up with the base.  Running in the dark is challenging and dangerous, but there’s little daylight when one can run, especially since work doesn’t stop.  Dressed up for a run, I look like a miner, with my headlamp and reflective chest-wear.  When I see the rest of the runners in our Wednesday night run heading down the street, and see the reflection off the gear from a car’s headlight, they do stand out, though, as they should.

As this year closes, I’d like to thank my family for all their support in keeping me going in running and all my pursuits.  I’d like to thank the members of my running  club, South Jersey Athletic Club, for their terrific motivational support and companionship.  And, I’d like to thank my fellow bloggers, whose blogs I have been following, for their posts with clever writing, beautiful photos, and inspiration.  I hope you all have a wonderful holiday and we’ll catch up in the new year, when plans for our next marathon adventure will be laid out.

Frank

Two Weeks to Philly! And a little diversion over the bridge.

Ben Franklin Bridge

Photo from 2007 Cooper Norcross Run the Bridge.  Our race 11/4/12 was just as bright and sunny.

There has been a lot going on this past week.  The week started out with a storm unlike any we’ve seen for decades hitting the east coast.  Hurricane Sandy and it’s aftermath has been devastating for so many, particularly in New Jersey and New York.  It was a wide ranging storm, without terribly high winds, but the flooding, downed trees, loss of power, and then the difficulty of getting life back to normal has effected millions, and is still a major problem for many.  My son described watching transformers on telephone poles in New Brunswick creating an eerie light show Monday night as they blew up all over the city.  The New York City marathon, scheduled for Nov. 4, was initially planned to go as scheduled.  Then, it was cancelled, after 40,000 runners had already arrived in the city.  But, the fact that so many New Yorkers still had no power, were living in shelters, were lining up at gas stations to receive a ration of gasoline, and were huddled around power strips in order to charge their cell phones, plus many other hardships, made a compelling argument to cancel the marathon.  Brandon, a friend of mine who was planning to run New York, found an alternative marathon the same day, the Delaware and Lehigh Heritage Marathon, in Northampton, Pennsylvania, along the upper Lehigh River.  Apparently, they got a big influx of runners from New York, with their numbers swelling from 500 last year, their inaugural year, to 850 this year, before they closed registration.  Quite a difference from the 47,000 scheduled to run NYC.

In my town, fortunately, the hurricane left very few without power, and life got back to normal quickly.  There were some intense controversies.  Halloween was postponed by mandate from Governor Christie to Nov. 5.  But, our mayor decided to override the governor, and held Halloween on Friday, Nov. 2.  I admit to some surprise, driving home from work, expecting to be able to go to the grocery store and pick up some heavily discounted bags of M&M’s and mini Milky Ways in preparation for Monday, only to see droves of costumed kiddies and their into-it parents already making the house to house rounds.  In our two neighboring towns, Halloween was to be held Saturday and Monday respectively.  How confusing.

Meanwhile, my training for Philadelphia went on.  My second taper in six weeks, and I’m feeling fairly confident that I’ll at least finish the marathon.  The last two weeks were my last long runs, first a 22.8 miler two weeks ago, then last week, I joined up with about 30 other runners planning to do Philly for a 20 mile training run put on by CitySports in Philadelphia.  They organized us into pace groups, provided pace runners, had a water station set up at the Philadelphia Sports Club on 18th and Market, and provided water, Philadelphia pretzels (for the salt?)  and a bit of swag, with a nice CitySports bag and coupon.  It was fun getting together with other runners not part of my usual group, all training for the same race.

This past Sunday was the annual running of the Cooper Norcross Run the Bridge 10k, which starts on the Camden side of the Ben Franklin Bridge, goes across the bridge to Philadelphia and back, then runs through the streets of Camden, past the battleship USS New Jersey, then back along the Delaware to the finish line in Campbell’s Field, home of the Atlantic League Camden Riversharks.

Start of Run the Bridge

Among the early leaders heading uphill at the start, out of 4500 total runners, are Dave Stewart and Rich Wright of the SJAC.

The first mile of the race makes you humble as it heads up the bridge.  But then you head down the other side of the bridge, making the turn in front of the whimsical statue of a kite in the air and  a key on the string, an homage to Ben.  Then, it’s back up the bridge again then down, then finally, for the last 3 miles or so, the route is almost completely flat.

Dave Stewart, SJAC

Dave Stewart of SJAC, still way ahead of the pack, coming back from the Philadelphia side of the bridge.

My race was a bit less speedy than Dave (okay, a lot!), but still respectable.  I wasn’t sure how hard to push, given that I’m planning to run a marathon in two weeks.  I decided to just run it as I would any race, and let the chips fall as they may.

Frank caught in a surprisingly decent shot by Ed, on the Ben Franklin Bridge.

Frank (yours truly) heading down the second leg of the Ben Franklin Bridge, and waving, naturally, to the camera.

It turned out to be a great day for a race.  While a little chilly at the start, especially waiting in the shaded part of Campbell’s Field before heading out to the start, once we started out, with the bright sun the 40 degree temperature wasn’t bad at all.  Just about everyone I spoke with after the race agreed that it was a great day for a 10K.  After the race, a group of us from the SJAC got together for breakfast at the British Chip Shop in Haddonfield.  Our initial intention was to watch the New York City Marathon, but after it was cancelled, we decided we could have breakfast anyway, and enjoy talking about our race, eat bubble and squeak or an Irish omelet, and have a spot of tea.

The SJACers have brunch after the Run the Bridge 10K at the British Chip Shop.

This restaurant shows live coverage of the English football matches,  but our crowd was oblivious to the TV, and had a great time chatting and talking of upcoming races.

Frank

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