The Greatest of All Time

Runners' World's December issue features "The Best of Running." It's a fun list, and I'm in agreement with almost everything listed there. Badwater as the hardest race? You bet - the more I read about that race, the less I ever want to experience it. Bananas as the ideal runner's food? Sure - portable, tasty, cheap, full of potassium. Pre as the coolest runner of all time? Shoot, that hardly even seems like an opinion; nobody's cooler than Pre.

But then, on page 70, they claim that Haile Gebrselassie is the greatest male distance runner of all time. Runners up (no pun intended)include Kenenisa Bekele, Frank Shorter, Roger Banister (debatable whether a miler counts as a distance runner, but no matter), and Jim Ryun.

Crazy talk!

Okay, yes, Haile is a great runner, with a pile of wins to his name. But he is not the greatest male distance runner of all time. That honor clearly belongs to Emil Zatopek.

In the 1952 Olympics, Zatopek won THREE gold medals: in the 5K, 10K, and his first ever marathon, which he entered at the spur of the moment. That is hard-core awesome. Even more awesome, he was generous with his fellow runners, offering training advice to men attempting to break a four-minute mile.

Emil Zatopek is the greatest male distance runner of all time.

Race Karma

The internet is full of advice for running races. Stay hydrated, don't eat anything weird beforehand, don't wear new clothes, don't go out too fast, start off in the right pace group, and so on. But I believe there's a smaller way you can improve your race performance - or at least your enjoyment.

The key is creating good race karma.

Good race karma might not get you across the finish line first, but maybe it can keep you from losing your chip, tripping over your shoelaces, bumping into a pothole, or looking like an idiot in all of the race pictures. It certainly won't hurt. Here's how to bump up your race karma.

• At the beginning of the race, make an effort to actually look at the flag, not your Garmin. And take your damned hat off.


• Give the volunteers your appreciation. At the very least smile and nod at them.


• Wave at the spectators. Yes, they may be sitting in their front yard drinking beer while you run your butt off, but they can also give you a boost when you need it most.


• If there's a kid spectator looking for a high five, don't leave 'em hanging!


• Police officers taking care of the course need extra special love. Smile at them and say thank you.


• At water stations, get your cup from a kid if at all possible. If there are no kids there, pick that person all the way at the end of the water line who is getting no customers whatsoever.


• If you're going to pour some of that water on yourself or dump some out of the cup, pay attention to the people around you so that you don't accidentally drench a fellow runner.


• When you're finished, either throw your cup in the trash or at least toss it carefully on a pile of other cups so it's less of a hassle to clean up later. The same goes for Gu packets.


• Is there a band playing? Clap for them - even if you're wearing your iPod.


• Have fun and enjoy the food at the post-race party, but just eat and drink whatever you're going to enjoy there. I have actually seen people fill up bags with bananas and granola bars and such. You are not at the grocery store.

What about you? How do you practice good race karma?

These Kids Today

Last night was a track workout for me, and let me tell you, the Moline High School Track is a totally hopping place on a Tuesday night. No, really. There was a group of runners training together who seem to hit the track every Tuesday at around the same time as I do. And as an added bonus, there was a group of high school kids - members of the high school cross country team, judging by their t-shirts - who were also working out on the track.

In my years of high school cross country and track, I spent many, many hours on that track. It was the home of the 16 x 400 workout that was, for quite a while, the most physically difficult thing I'd ever done. The place where we'd have home track meets. The place where I learned to appreciate the smell of wet pavement. And, thanks to its incredibly poor surface, the place that gave me a stress fracture in each leg.

Ah, memories.

The track has since been resurfaced. Not only is it as spongy as running on a beautiful fluffy cloud of cotton candy, it's even a school-spirit inducing maroon. Every time I run on it, I appreciate how nice it is and think about my teenaged self hobbling over to the pool to do some water running because of the injured legs.

So, imagine my surprise when I saw two of the girls toting yoga mats "so it doesn't hurt my hands when I stretch." I immediately wanted to go into an Old Lady Rant.

You kids today! You have no idea how good you have it. When I was your age, our track was made out of the same concrete as the highway and was covered in broken glass. I still have pebbles embedded in my palms from stretching on it. And that's the way it was, and we liked it!

In other news, the workout was 5 x 1K repeats with 400 meter rest intervals. My goal was a 5:08 pace. Here's how it shook out:
5:03
4:58
5:04
5:10
5:01

Even without the benefit of a yoga mat.

Go Running Anyway

It’s Thursday, which means it’s time for another edition of Runners’ Lounge’s Take It and Run Thursday. The challenge this week is to complete this statement in 13 words or less:

You are a runner…

Well, that’s easy. I can do it in five.

You are a runner when you go running anyway.

Of course, if you want to know what I mean by that, you’ll have to indulge me in a few extra words. Out here on the Internets, I’ve seen people wondering about whether or not they’re truly a runner. “I’m too slow,” they say. Or, “Well, I’ve never run a marathon, so I don’t think I’m really a runner.”

Think of the woman hauling ass up a hill with a double jogger. She might be running 13 minute miles or slower, but you can’t tell me that woman isn’t a runner. And think about all of the lightning fast sprinters who are about to rock out the 100 in Beijing. Usain Bolt of Jamaica can run 100 meters in less than 10 seconds. I don’t think he’s ever run a marathon, but I do believe the dude is a runner.

Being a runner is not about speed or distance; it’s about attitude. You know who I think is not a runner? Anyone who goes running only under ideal circumstances. You are a runner when you go running anyway.

• If you’ve had a lousy day at work and want nothing more than to sit on your couch and eat chips…
• If you’re exhausted from taking care of your kids…
• If it’s pouring rain and blowing wind a million miles an hour…
• If it’s so hot and humid that you have to get up at the crack of dawn to avoid melting on the road…
• If there’s no way you can avoid hills…
• If you didn’t sleep well last night…
• If you’ve got a blister on your foot that’s killing you…
• If you forgot your iPod…
• If you feel fat and slow…
• If it’s snowing and anyone with any sense is bundled up under a blanket…
• If it’s a great Saturday to lie in bed, but you’ve got a 5K to race…
• If you’ve got family in town and everybody looks at you a little cross eyed for lacing up your running shoes…

If you can look any of these excuses in the eye, put on your shoes, and go running anyway, then you are a runner.

Come On Already

Winter has officially overstayed its welcome.

At first, it was lovely. Sparkly, fluffy white snow blanketed Stately Wasser Manor. I'd snuggle inside with the boys and bake things. Jack and I built a Snowmommy and a Snowkid.



I even discovered the peace of running outside while snow lightly covered my eyelashes.

But you know what? It's March, and I want spring, damnit.

We had a break in the cold on Sunday. It was glorious - I went running outside, in short sleeves. There were rivers of melted snow everywhere, soaking my feet as I went along. I was even bold enough to do something I don't usually do - I bought spring clothes, even though I knew it might be a while until I could wear them. Swirly full linen skirts, the most delicate cardigan in a soft blue, tiny floral prints. I hate buying things only to have to leave them in my closet for weeks, but I just couldn't resist. I was ready to leave behind my sweaters, heavy coats, and boots in favor of lightweight slips of things. And sandals, even if it means having to find time to keep my toenails polished.

The warm weather was a great big tease. It got cold again overnight. And all of those rivers of melted snow have catlicking frozen, which made last night's run into an obstacle course.

The forecasts for the rest of the week are no better. Cold temperatures, chances of snow.

But stil, I am determined to feel hope. Tomorrow, I am going to buy a bouquet of daffodils for my desk. Their sunny color will remind me that the sky will not be grey forever. Spring will come.

I Laugh In the Face of Pain

For a long time, thanks to a bad experience, I was really afraid of needles. Just the idea of getting a shot or an IV or something had me feeling faint. Although I've watched the movie Pulp Fiction a billion times, I have never actually watched the scene where they give Uma Thurman the shot in her chest, because I was too busy cowering with my hands over my eyes.

But things change, and the idea of pain is really not something that scares me. Steve suggested that I get a flu shot this year, to help protect Jack. I didn't give it a second thought - called the doctor's office and had them book one for me. It did kind of hurt, and my arm is a bit sore. But so what?

I ran 26.2 miles. You think some little needle is going to scare me? It'll be over in a lot less time and will hurt a lot less when it's over.

And, before that, I found myself thinking, "A marathon? Eh, I could do that." After all, it'd be over a lot faster than the three days I spent with labor contractions. Recovery seems like it'd be easier than having my body cut in half to remove a giant kid. And after it was over, I was able to sleep like a rock right away, not after 13 months of interrupted sleep.

Get The Lead Out

Fisher Price announced yesterday that they are recalling more than one million toys because they may contain lead-based paint. The toys in question are all Sesame Street, Diego, and Dora toys - pretty much Jack's favorite stuff. I just reviewed the LONG list of stuff, and it's like looking into Jack's toy box, he has so much of it. Luckily for me, the recall only affects toys sold after May 1, 2007, and all of Jack's are older than that. But that's honestly just luck.

This story has me in fits of Protective Mama Bear Rage. Lead paint? Are you fucking kidding me? A few months ago, there was a safety recall on a toy chair that Jack had. That was a case that I'm not upset about. They tested the toy, but some kid got creative and found a way to hurt himself with it. Grownups can test things like crazy and still not have the ingenuity of a toddler bent on destruction. That's understandable. But lead paint is pretty damned easy to avoid- and to test for. Things like this are completely avoidable and simply should not happen.

People Are Boobs

This is a picture of Senator Hillary Clinton on the Senate floor.

Washington Post writer Robin Givhan wrote a ridiculously puritanical article about it, saying that she was startled to see the "small acknoledgment of sexuality and feminity" from Senator Clinton. She talks about the history of Hillary's public appearance, noting that she rarely wears anything feminine in public and that when running for the Senate initially, she opted for a uniform of flattering, but sexless black pantsuits.

Givhan's article suggests that the fact that Senator Clinton is starting to show a more feminine sense of style indicates that she is becoming more confident. That she's not only intelligent and experienced, but that she also has a womanly side. I think that's true. I believe that Hillary is increasingly coming into her own, not just as Bill Clinton's wife, but as a force to be reckoned with all her own.

Unfortunately, Givhan also says, "To display cleavage in a setting that does not involve cocktails and hors d'oeuvres is a provocation."

Well, break out the red paint, because it's time to put a great big A on Hillary's chest. Calling Senator Clinton's outfit "a provocation" is absolutely absurd. She looks completely professional and businesslike. You have to squint to see the faintest hint of boob in that outfit. It's not like she's dressed like Amanda Woodward, for Yoda's sake.

I'd like to think that we, as a country, are evolved enough to elect a woman as president (whether it's Senator Clinton or someone else), but this makes me sadly wonder if it's true.

At least it's not infuriating as the conversations I've overheard about what Bill Clinton's title will be if his wife is elected President. "What's he going to be, First Gentleman," is bandied about with a guffaw as if that were the most ridiculous thing ever suggested.

My answer? I don't know; we'll work it out. Any man who is smart enough to marry our first female president ought to be smart enough to come up with an appropriate title, whether it's First Gentleman or something else. Martha Washington didn't have a template to follow, and she did all right. Let's not distract ourselves with stupid details like this.