Feta! Olives! Yogurt! Wine! Greece!

I am currently on Naxos Island, in Greece. It’s the definition of idyllic here, and I have to admit that blogging feels a bit wrong in this environment. I have a little place at Despina’s Rooms, which is run by the aged and unbelievably kind Despina, who keeps the place charming, spotless, and cheap. I can see the Aegean Sea from my window, write on the roof, and walk to the beach. It’s steps from the old, crumbling castle perched over the island. My days here are simple: I get up early to run along the beach, eat creamy yogurt for breakfast, have a cup of the strongest coffee (until now, I thought “so thick you can stand a spoon in it” was just hyperbole), work through the hottest part of the day, have a Greek salad with fresh veggies and the best feta, read on the beach for a bit, have some sort of just-caught fish for dinner, work more, sleep. Rinse and repeat. This morning as I was walking back from my run along the turquoise water, sweaty and happy, a very large fish startled me by jumping up out of the water several times, as if it were just so ecstatic with its own bewildering existence it needed a way to express its joy. Regardless of its true reasons (even bigger fish in pursuit?), I thought, “That! Is exactly how I feel!” and I started running again at a clip, splashing through the water and yelling all by myself on the beach.

The last couple months I’ve felt sort of dazed (will get to that shortly in my monthly recaps), but I’ve had a great week and a half in Greece—with the one notable exception of putting up with all the honeymooners smooching freaking everywhere, when the BF is so far away in New York. My mom met me here, appropriately, on Mother’s Day, May 8^th. Her luggage was lost, as it is on every trip and, to her utter dismay, returned to her sans packs of Newports. I absolutely love traveling with my mom; we have terrific fun together! We’ve had the opportunity to do quite a few little mother-daughter getaways over the years, and she’s my ideal traveling companion in that she wants to see a few sights, but is content to mostly just wander around a new place, exploring tiny streets and unexpected corners, and most importantly, reserves plenty of time for relaxation. We always play a lot of Scrabble, read for hours side by side, eat very well, and drink gallons of red wine.

On this particular trip, we spent two days in Athens visiting the Acropolis with its impressive Parthenon, milling about the National Gardens, witnessing the changing of the guard, and just walking around, where we were constantly stumbling upon things that were thousands and thousands of years old. The mind boggles. There was also plenty of time spent rebuffing the advances of men—the Greek men LOVE them some Bobbie D, let me tell you. After Athens, we hopped on a ferry to Mykonos (okay, let’s be honest, here, in a classic Mom-and-Jill moment, we MISSED our ferry by two minutes—picture us running wildly with luggage…there were tears—and hopped on a different, longer ferry with a detour), accepted a very entertaining ride from a toothless man, who stuck us in the back of his pick-up with Victor, an excitable German Shepherd with an unfortunately poopy butt he was eager to wipe on me, and caught another boat to finally arrive at the justifiably gushed-over Santorini.

Santorini…wow. The jagged, imposing cliffs rising out of the sea (caused by a major volcanic explosion), the extraordinary sunsets, the elegant white and blue buildings perched along the Caldera…it all creates quite a dramatic impression. It was very windy and more than a little chilly when we were there, so we didn’t have the days of hanging out on black sand beaches that we were imagining, but we still had a fantastic time. We stayed in the incomparable Aroma Suites, which included cave-like rooms built right into the Caldera cliff front, a hot pink princess bed with a gauzy wraparound veil, and over-the-top welcoming service. It was a bit out of my normal budget, but worth the splurge for just a few days. We rented a car and zipped around the island one day, and, after a 20-year break, Mom rediscovered her talents for driving a stick shift, channeling Speed Racer as she handled the tight curves on roads with no shoulder and 500 foot drops to the sea. Highlights included a monastery and the small town of Oia at the northern tip. On the last day, we walked down the many steps from Fira to the Old Port, and then hiked back up the cliff side in mid-day heat past the procession of “the donks.” Luckily, wine awaited us at the top.
After Santorini, we headed for Naxos, where the sun finally made its glorious appearance. There we had two days of classic Greek Island beach lounging, complete with thatched umbrellas, lapping waves, and the occasional Pina Colada. And, a bit begrudgingly, some buckling down to work. It was a great week, but, too soon, my mom had to return home. Now I’m here for another two weeks, with three goals: get an insane amount of work done, consume as much feta as possible, and run every day. And then…Tanzania.

* Oh, also: I did not win the lottery for the NYC Marathon this year, but decided to run a different one anyway. Hopefully this fall, and hopefully with the very impressive Suzi. More on that later, I’m sure, but for now, let the training begin.

** And! My toenails have almost completely grown back already, getting progressively less Hobbit-like every day. I know you’ve been on the edge of your seats awaiting that news.

Running: the addiction that sneaks up on you.

Right now, even though it's pretty sweet to be hanging out in Kathmandu, Nepal, I'm yearning for New York. Why? (Yes, I miss loved ones and brunches--thank you, G, for planting that seed...) But right now, in this moment, I really, really miss running. I crave it, suddenly and surprisingly. I just walked for hours, but my feet still itch with the urge. After the marathon, I never thought I'd yearn for that regimen again, but now all I want to do is put on my tennies and headphones and do the loop in Central Park until my legs give out. And I can't.

I know some people (like Laura, from A Wandering Sole) manage to keep running while they travel, but I haven't really found it to be a viable option in the places I've been (excepting New Zealand). Beyond finding it hard to imagine running in these crowded, winding streets, as a woman alone, I want to stay as covered up as possible, and donning running shorts seemed implausible, particularly in India. That, and I didn't bring my shoes...

Don't get me wrong, there's no doubt these past few months have been incredible, but while taking in world wonders and eating delicious treats, I've gotten pretty unhealthy. So as I'm preparing to hike to Everest Base Camp next week, I'm excited not just for the exhilarating sight itself, but also the physical endurance and exercise it'll take to get there, to finally feel my body straining for something again. It's going to be awesome! Then after, maybe new running shoes will be in order...

My first marathon!

On Sunday, November 7, I ran the ING NYC Marathon, a distance that seemed impossible to me even a month ago. I trained for 16 weeks following (or trying to follow) Hal Higdon's Novice Marathon Training Program--I admit I slacked a bit at the end. But I did it! And it was one of the best, and definitely hardest, both mentally and physically, things I've done in my life.

I had been sick since the Tuesday before, nursing a nasty head cold, and I was also worried about a bruised tailbone I'd suffered from getting my foot stuck in the toilet and hitting my butt on the tile floor (but that's another story...). On Friday, I was getting seriously worried I'd have to back out, but by the Groundwork pep rally and carb-loaded dinner on Saturday, with the help of copious amounts of Dayquil, Airborne, Zicam, kombucha, ginger tea, and sleep, I was feeling a lot better. It also probably had a lot to do with Ad babying me and Dana flying 700 miles to cheer me on!

Sunday morning I felt surprisingly good and totally ready to tackle the thing. Instead of just wanting to get it over with (the way I'd felt days before), I was REALLY excited about seeing all of the boroughs, experiencing the camaraderie of the runners, and feeling the real strength and power of my body. With a forecast of 51 degrees and sunny, it was also absolutely perfect running weather.

For breakfast, I had a salt bagel with peanut butter and banana, a gatorade, and a coffee. At 5:45am, I set off in my hot pink throw-away sweats, armed with tissues tucked into my shirt sleeves for my still-runny nose. I didn't see ANYONE in running gear on the C train, and started to get really worried I was headed the wrong way, but at Chambers Street I finally found a huge cohort of marathoners and followed them to the ferry. The next few hours seemed to fly by as I stretched, drank an obscene amount of water, and got to my corral. I made a friend there named Erin. She was around my age and running her first marathon alone as well, and we bonded over strategies and nerves. Then, at 10:40am, it was finally time to start.

Erin and I surged over the Verrazano Bridge together. It was an incredible rush (I'd never been to Staten Island before), and clothes were flying left and right like colorful flags. I was practically sprinting through miles 1 and 2, despite warnings to conserve energy, but soon I waved Erin on--she was much faster than I was!

Erin had warned me to keep to the middle of the bridge since people pee off the sides, and I have to admit I wished I was a guy about half way across, my bladder already bursting from all the gatorade, coffee, and water I'd slugged before the start. I didn't have to wait too long, though--a water station and porta-potties were set up at mile 3, and pretty much every mile after that.

Running up the streets in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn was a great way to start the race. Lots of vibrant music, and the crowds felt really intimate. I ran behind "Bob from Jersey," who was carrying two American flags, for a long time, and let me tell you, people LOVE Jersey! I laughed when I saw a sign that said "You're almost there! Only 21.5 miles to go!" I was feeling great, and that feeling just grew as more and more people were yelling my name. It felt like all those people were out there cheering just for me.

My former coworkers, Alvina and Sarah, were the ones who initially got me running, starting with the Chase Corporate Challenge 5k three years ago. I remember watching them run the NYC Marathon in 2006 and being totally in awe of their accomplishment. I was convinced I would never be capable of such a feat, but they were so encouraging, insisting anyone could run a marathon if they trained for it.

I reread Alvina's marathon blog post a few weeks ago for motivation, and took her advice (and Rose's before her) to write my name on my shirt. I'd also gone with my cousin, Cullen's, call to "dress like a superhero so you'll feel like a superhero." Standing in front of the mirror at 5am that Sunday, I was having doubts and feeling a bit self-conscious about the neon yellow shirt and huge black letters spelling my name. In all probability, I was going to spend the day sweaty, in serious pain, and with facial expressions ranging from scowl to suicidal. Did I really want to essentially wear a flashing sign saying "LOOK AT ME"? Turns out, yes. At times, people shouting my name was the only thing that kept me going!

I unexpectedly saw Elliot in Park Slope at one of the water stations. He was the first person I knew, and I was thrilled and totally shocked to see him, since I didn't think I'd be able to pick anyone out on the sides of those very wide streets!

By Clinton Hill I was really hitting my stride. It was great to be back in the familiar territory of my old neighborhood, and the dance parties along the Lafayette sidelines were epic. And of course dear friends were waiting for me there. Karl, Amy, Sharon, and Jon were great motivation, and were also able to take my gloves and ipod shuffle off my hands. (I should've listened to Ad--headphones were an absolute nuisance.)

The first 12 miles flew by! I was averaging 9-9:30/min miles--WAY under my training pace--without even feeling winded, and smiling from ear to ear. I saw Serena and the Groundwork crew in Bed Stuy shortly after. Team Groundwork raised over $26,000 for leadership programs for kids in East New York and Bed Stuy, and it was thrilling to be a part of that effort.

Ad, Dana, Bryn, Neil, and Kari were waiting for me among shrieking hipsters in Williamsburg, and I stopped long enough to slather my mouth (and most of my face) in vaseline, pose for a picture for Dana to send to Mom and Dad, and shriek "I can't slow down! I really need to slow down!" Turns out I didn't need to worry, because slow down I certainly would.

I loved Queens, but I might be biased by the fact that I was given a fist bump, a banana half, an orange, a cookie, and a hug all within five minutes of entering the borough, right when I needed it. And the jam bands were seriously out of control! So were the firefighters all in a line giving high-fives.

When I hit the dreaded Queensboro Bridge at mile 15--a very steep mile, made more harsh with the sudden silence of no cheering crowds for the first time in the entire course--I started to feel a twinge in my lower right leg, but I tried to shake it off and breathe into it, sure it was just temporary.

What they say is true: turning onto First Ave, with the people on the sidelines ten rows deep, was so inspiring. But the pain in my leg was getting rapidly worse, pulsing through shin, ankle, and now knee, so it felt like a long, straight road to hell. I still don't know what went on there--I hadn't had any trouble with that leg in any of my training runs, and it didn't take long to feel better in the few days after the race, either. Regardless, I was pretty miserable, and started counting down the streets until mile 18.5, where I knew I'd see Ad, Dana, Bryn, and Neil again. I needed a familiar face. A hug and a kiss and a bit of encouragement. Thirty blocks until Ad and Dana. Ten. Five. When I finally reached them, I downed my first goo, said "I'm not in as good of shape as I was last time you saw me," and then braced myself and got going.

There were a lot of Achilles teams--able-bodied runners flagging others with disabilities that made it tough for them to complete the race alone (blindness, a bad heart...). I ran behind a man with a leg amputation for a bit, and felt so inspired and grateful that I started to enjoy every second I could keep going.

Getting into the Bronx was a huge relief, because I knew there was no way I'd quit now. The crowds were enthusiastic, and I probably got more "GO JILL!"s and "You can do it, girl!"s at mile 20 than anywhere else. And boy did I need it. 20 was my longest training run, and those extra 6 miles were truly brutal. I didn't ever hit "the wall," exactly, but by then my whole right leg was absolutely throbbing, a blister was getting serious on my left heel, and I was just exhausted. But there was no stopping, and I even avoided water stations for fear I wouldn't be able to get going again.

Harlem was full of music, loud cheers, and really excited little kids handing out gatorade. One of the best parts of the course for me, for sure, especially since I was in the home stretch. Memorable signs on the way down 5th Ave included "Who needs toenails?", "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon!", "Your feet hurt because you're kicking so much ass!", and "Just finish your f*cking race!" That last one, in particular, really hit home.

By the time I got to Ad, Dana, Bryn, and Neil for the last time at mile 23 (they were all over the city that day!), I was in pretty rough shape. I teared up as I limped toward them, but didn't stop for a hug because I knew I'd never get going again if I stopped for even a second. I think I whimpered something like "I'm going to die here" to Dana as I passed. I believed it at that point.

The last 3 miles were slow, uphill torture, but the crowds were seriously going crazy! A man who had to be at least 80 sprinted past me in that final stretch, and I tried to push my legs to follow his example, but I didn't have much left in me. I thought about walking (or just quitting entirely) constantly, but someone was screaming my name and words of encouragement literally every ten feet. It really helped. And as I rounded that last curve and passed the 400, 200, and 100 meter signs, it suddenly all felt worth it.

Getting handed that medal and Mylar cape after I crossed the finish line was as incredible as I'd imagined it would be, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. On the walk back from the finish, I ran into Peter Brown, who was waiting for his girlfriend, Gwen. Check out Gwen's awesome stop-motion video of the marathon (shot from a camera on her head) if you get a chance.

I had no time goals for the marathon. I'd estimated I'd been training at about an 11 min/mile pace, but for my first marathon, my goal was just to finish, not keel over, and run (jog) the whole way if possible. With a finish time of 5 hours and 50 seconds, I accomplished all of those goals. And looking through the Brightroom Photography photos posted online a few days later, I was proud to see I was grinning in every picture, looking like I was having the time of my life, even when it hurt, doing something I never, ever thought I could do.

Ad and co. were waiting for me after at 72nd street, and wrapped me up in warm sweats and lots of hugs. When I called my parents to reassure them I wasn't dead, Mom said, "You're done with marathons now, right?" and I said yeah, I thought one was enough. But when The New York Times posted the names of the marathoners in Monday's paper and I missed the cut by 11 minutes, I went straight to the New York Road Runners web page and put my name in the lottery for the 2011 marathon. It'll be easier the second time around, right?