Running As The Seasons Change

I had forgotten how much I love it.

Running in the fall, that is.

I had forgotten because it has been two years since I have really been able to experience fall running the way it should be experienced.

Last year we moved to the suburbs right at the beginning of the season, and while I started running in our new neighborhood right away, it took me a long time to get my running mojo back. Combine that with a snowstorm the second week in November that basically destroyed any semblance of fall color, and last year was basically a lost season for me.

It was last March that I discovered the place that would become my new running home. After learning to run, and learning to love to run in Central Park, I didn't think I would ever find another place I could call my own.

I was wrong.

It started off as mere curiosity. I had heard talk of a pathway that ran for 13 miles alongside Westchester's Bronx River Parkway. After three years of running in Central Park I wasn't too happy with the street routes that I had been taking, so one Sunday I made my way to the Bronx River Pathway to try it out. It was March, but winter was still taking it's last bite of New York as I started to run on the concrete path. The trees were bare, and the wind was downright frigid, but it was love at first site.

All though the spring, and then the summer, I ran the pathway. It was there that I completed the second half of my training schedule for my second half marathon and watched the change of seasons, all the while wondering what my new beloved running path would look like in a riot of fall colors.

I have not been disappointed.

Running on my pathway this fall, in a place that has finally become my home, I feel more alive than I have in a long, long time. The smoky scents, leaves crunching underfoot, the crisp air and the stunning colors have given me back a vital piece of myself that had been missing for months. And I didn't even realize it was missing until my love of running implanted itself snugly back in my soul.

These past two months have infused me with an energy to run that I have been lacking as of late. And I know, without a doubt, that I have the season to thank. This season of running shorts with long sleeve shirts, and short sleeve shirts with running gloves has given me myself back.

And I am grateful.

Every time I make my way to the pathway to run, I pass a welcome sign at the entrance gate.

And until these past few weeks I hadn't given it much thought. But lately, every time I pass that sign, I smile. Because really, that sign is welcoming me back to myself, back to my life, and back to the utter contentment I feel when I lace up my sneakers and run the path.

It is the sign that, in all seasons, will welcome me home.

Back to the Park

My First Favorite Running Path

I had occasion to visit Central Park one night last week.

My firm was having an evening event for the summer associates at the Central Park Zoo, and I went with some of my work friends. We had some fun checking out the animals, and spent some time at the buffet, and before long I decided to head home. 

But before I left the park, I paid a visit to the Central Park running path. It was the first time that I've been back since I moved away this past November. 

It was a hot and sticky night, but the road was full. And for a few minutes I stood there, watching the runners, awash in memories of my Central Park running days. Of making my way to the park every morning, my brain still hazy with exhaustion. Of feeling the haze clear as I began to run while the sun rose over Manhattan. Of my pace quickening as I reached the transverse that signaled the final turn towards home. Of leaving the park ready to face my day, knowing that I would be back tomorrow.

For more than three years, those roads were my home.

As I stood there, I thought I would feel sad. That I would wish that, just for a moment, I was back in the park, back on these roads. 

But I didn't.

Because I have a new home now. And for a long time, when I ran my new path I closed my eyes and imagined I was back in the Park. But I don't do that anymore. Now I run with my eyes open, happy to be where I am, to be running in a new place. To be making new memories. 

With a final glance back I turned and left Central Park and headed to catch my train, knowing that my new roads were waiting for me, and that I would be paying them a visit as the sun rose in the morning.

Summer Running

The temperature is rising, and that only means one thing...

Time for summer running.

Now if you know me at all, you know I'm a little bit of a polar bear. Fall is my favorite season, but I love when the weather turns cold and it starts to snow. I especially love to run in the winter, when I can don my pink fleece running jacket and run the streets as the frigid air sears my lungs.

I never feel quite as alive as I do when I am running in the cold.

But, since being a runner means running all year round, and not just during the seasons that please me, I have finally pulled my running shorts out of hibernation (and invested in a season's supply of body glide), located my singlets, and mentally prepared myself to sweat through the summer. 

Summer running means carrying water on shorter runs, hitting the road on Sunday mornings practically before the sun comes up to beat the heat, and lots and lots of sunscreen. It means fewer races, more people crowding my favorite running paths, far more time spent lying on the floor after my runs out of sheer exhaustion from the effort it takes to slog through the summer heat, and snarky blog posts because while running in the winter for me is practically a religious experience, in the summer it's usually just something I have to survive.

I don't particularly like it, but since I recently decided to run a full marathon that is exactly ten months and three weeks from today, I just have to do it.

So, as the temperature starts to rise, I declare my summer running season - and the beginning of my marathon training - open. 

Happy National Running Day

I am a runner.

Although you wouldn't know it by my re-setting of this morning's 6am running alarm for a 7am non-running alarm due to exhaustion and lack of sleep, a few times a week, I run. I run short distances on weekdays, and long distances on Sundays. 

I learned to run and to love to run in Manhattan's Central Park, and when I left Manhattan seven months ago and moved to the Westchester suburbs, it was running that helped me get acclimated when I felt like our new place would never be a home.

And today, on National Running Day, we celebrate running, and the people who love it.

Since I started running, one of my favorite things to do is to snap pictures as I go. It helps the time pass, and it helps me remember my runs, both the good and the bad, and the journey that I have taken through this amazing, frustrating, beautiful sport. 

So here, in celebration of National Running Day, is a collection of my favorite shots. A photoblog, if you will, of my running journey to right here.

Half Marathon #1
May 2012

A Rainy Central Park, 72nd Street Entrance

Central Park Road: My First Favorite Running Path

My Very Last Central Park Run
October 2012

Inaugural White Plains Run
November 2012

First White Plains Morning Run
November 2012

Beginning of Winter Running Season
December 2012

First Post-Snowstorm Run of the Season
January 2013

First Bronx River Pathway Run, My Second Favorite Running Path
February 2013

Snowy Pittsburgh Run: Panther Hollow Bridge
February 2013

Flag Flying at Half-Staff Post Boston-Marathon Bombing
April 2013

#RunForBoston
April 2013

Pittsburgh Half Marathon Weekend
May 2013

Pittsburgh Proud, Boston Strong
May 2013

Running the Bridges: Pittsburgh Half Marathon
May 2013

Half Marathon #2
May 2013

This is Our Home

This is our home.

The words blew through me, warm and strong, as I sat in Shabbat morning services this past Saturday. I'm not so sure what it is about our new synagogue in White Plains, but it is there that I always think these kinds of things. 

It was, admittedly, our first time there in quite awhile. We both work full time, and by Friday night we are completely exhausted. We tend to go to bed early, and sleep really late on Saturday morning before commencing our Saturday morning routine. We don't often wake up early enough to make it to services, and when we do, we usually prefer to relax our way through the day, rather than deal with dresses and heels and makeup and suits and ties.

But this past weekend we were there. Since we moved a little more than six months ago, some friends of ours had been considering White Plains as well. They live in apartments now, and are almost ready to choose a community and settle down. Since I really want them to choose our community, and settle down as close to my house as humanly possible, they came and stayed with us for the weekend to check out the town, the synagogue and the people. To decide if maybe White Plains could be the place for them.

And for twenty-four hours, I saw our new city, our new home, through their eyes.

It is easy for me to get caught up in the daily minutia that comes with owning a house and working somewhere other than where I live. All kinds of things, both big and small, are different today than they were six months ago. Since we moved we've had dripping pipes, exploding pipes, a leaky washing machine, a yard sorely in need of maintenance, and a clogged bathroom drain. I've had to find a new running route and a new place to get a manicure. I've had to adjust to getting up an hour earlier than I did when I lived in the city, and make the switch from a 15 minute commute to one that takes the best part of an hour. 

There are some really, really wonderful things about our new home too, but it's occasionally hard to see the forest for the trees.

But this past weekend, I did.

This past weekend, I was more appreciative than ever that we own a house that can hold four extra adults and two little kids and not feel cramped. I was thankful that we have made really good new friends in our neighborhood who we were able to introduce our old friends to. I was proud that we have become part of a community that warmly welcomed our friends into the fold. I was happy that we have learned the streets well enough to show everyone around, and help them decide what neighborhood would be best for them.

It's no secret to anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis that moving was not the easiest thing for me. It was harder than I ever expected to leave Manhattan, and a little scary to own something bigger and far more expensive than just clothes and shoes. Something that needs tending and love and maintenance and care.

For the first couple of months I had flashes of contentment. Ephemeral moments where I felt warm and happy and secure in our new place. but those moments were almost always followed by anxiety over the newness of it all. 

But lately, that contentment comes stronger and more often. I feel it when I run my now-beloved Bronx River Pathway. I feel it when I see a familiar face in the grocery store. I feel it when we work on our house and I feel it when I drive the now-familiar streets of our neighborhood. And this past weekend, I felt it when I was able to welcome old friends into our new life. A life that we are building for ourselves, slowly but surely, and one step at a time.

Not every day is good, but there are certainly more good days than bad. More days where I am warm and happy and secure. More days when I am able to say, with absolute certainty, this is our home.

Dreaming of Running Shoes and Snow Covered Trails

The view from the train platform, to my new running path.

Wishing I was down there running through the snow covered trails.

Half-Marathon Training Take Two - A New Route

With a little over eight weeks until race day, training for the half marathon I'm running on May 5th has kicked into high gear.

As most long distance runners know, there is a distance threshold beyond which runs are incredibly hard. Not that runs below this threshold are always easy, but just that they are more manageable.

After almost three years of distance running, I have come to understand that this threshold is more psychological than anything else. And for me, that threshold is six miles. Any run shorter than six miles seems, in my head, relatively simple to handle. I can generally do it in under an hour, and it is pretty easy to piece together a six mile route no matter where I am.

But once I get beyond six miles - once I am running for more than an hour - I need a little mental boost. It is no longer acceptable to me to cobble together a route on the streets where I am stopping and starting for traffic lights and busy intersections. The bland scenery of houses and buildings doesn't suit me for such a long period of time - since I don't run with music I need a little ambiance and some distractions along my route.

So it was with some trepidation that I approached yesterday's seven mile run, and the eight, nine, ten and eleven milers in the coming weeks. As you know, I have been struggling with my running routes since moving out of Manhattan. I never really thought much about routes before I moved since I did all my running in Central Park, where there is no traffic, plenty of ambiance and sundry distractions. But now they are pretty much all I think about. Because when one spends a significant amount of one's time running, the route better be good.

I decided on Friday that I needed to find a Central Park-like route that pleased me for the second half of my training season. So I took to the internet, determined not to stop researching until I found some new pavement to pound.

In short order, I discovered the Bronx River Pathway, a trail that runs alongside the Bronx River Parkway from the New York City-Westchester line all the way up to Valhallah - a 13.2 mile stretch. Being a big believer in fate, as I am, I figured it was no accident that the trail spanned the exact distance of a half-marathon. I had to try it out.

So I plotted an out and back route that would take me from the White Plains Metro-North station, where I could leave my car, all the way up to the end of the trail and back for my seven miles. And when I woke up Sunday morning I couldn't wait to get started.

I wasn't the least bit disappointed.

The run was delightful, the trail gorgeous. In some places I had company, and in others I was alone. There were ponds, benches, trees, bridges - all the things I loved about my former Central Park home.

I was so excited about this new development in my running life that I couldn't help but stop along the way to document my first run on the Bronx River Pathway - the first, I am absolutely sure, of many.

Friends, I do believe I'm back.

Starting Line (and Finish Line)

The Trail

Halfway Marker

Kensico Dam Park