And the Ride Didn't Seem So Long After All

It was after six at night by the time we left the house. With a six hour drive ahead of us, I knew we wouldn't get where we were going until almost one in the morning. When we made plans to go visit family for the weekend I booked Thursday night flights that would get us there late, but at least they would get us there quickly. But circumstances intervened, so it was to the roads for us.

For the first hour or so, the miles crept by. Every time I checked the GPS thinking we had made some headway it told me a completely different story. I thought we would never get there. It felt like we would be driving forever, destined to live out the rest of our lives on this stretch of I-78.

But then. In the distance, the sun started to set over the long expanse of highway. And the sky turned a riot of colors and then before long it was us and the darkness and a Spotify playlist. And we talked and sang along to songs that reminded us of our high school and college days and there was no TV and no phones were ringing and nothing much to distract us from each other and from this moment.

And I remembered something. I remembered that these days where it is just the two of us, doing as we please, are numbered, and that the little things might just be the most important things. Like sitting next to each other in a darkened car, hurtling through the mountains of Pennsylvania with a Spotify playlist blaring from the car speakers.

And just like that, the ride didn't really seem so very long after all.

Snow, Rivers and Family: A Pittsburgh Weekend

Pittsburgh Girls Do Football in New York

When Plans Change

The minute he said the words "Thanksgiving" and "New York" in the same sentence a steel door slammed shut in my mind and I didn't hear anything else that came out of his mouth. Instead I fired back with a less diplomatic version of "no way in the world are we staying in New York for Thanksgiving," and walked away.

I probably could have been a little more receptive to what he was saying. I mean, that's what a good wife does right?

But with my Thanksgiving plans in jeopardy, I hopped on a train headed straight for crazy town.

For nearly my entire life, Thanksgiving has meant Pittsburgh. It has meant my sisters and brothers-in-law, my parents, and sundry aunts, uncles and cousins all gathered around my aunt's giant dining room table. It has meant Shabbat dinner the next day at my parents' house with the aforementioned aunts, uncles and cousins, and a Saturday night at the movies. It is three days immersed in my big, loud, manic, amazing family.

Since I got married, it has never been particularly difficult for us to split the holidays. Thanksgiving with my family in Pittsburgh. Chanukah with his here in New York. The September Jewish holidays wherever is easiest depending on what days of the week they fall out on and how easy it is for us to travel. We count ourselves lucky to be close with both sides of our family, and have never, ever had any conflict over this.

Until this year. The once in a lifetime overlap of Thanksgiving and Chanukah upset our easy balance, and all of a sudden we had a decision to make.

We negotiated. We discussed. I got mad. David stayed utterly reasonable.

He pointed out to me that this year was a bit of an anomaly anyway. For various reasons both of my sisters had to be at their in-laws for Thanksgiving, so they had to skip the Pittsburgh festivities too. And shouldn't we save the 6 hour drive for a weekend where we can all be together?

His logic cut through the mass of resentment lodged in my brain. I knew he was right. I knew it. But it didn't make the thought of Thanksgiving without my parents for the first time ever any less sad.

It was strange to wake up in my own room on Thanksgiving morning instead of in my childhood bed. I spent the day making pies, watching the parade, lounging around in my sweatpants, talking to my parents and sisters. Missing them.

Then it was time to leave for dinner.

When we got to David's parents' house, we all gathered in the living room as David's dad prepared to light the Chanukah menorah. I stood there, David's sister and her fiance to my right, and David's brother and his wife to my left. There was David's mom, and some cousins. A room full of people who have, over the past seven years, accepted me, and supported me, and loved me like their own.

In the glow of the candles, one thought slid quietly through my mind.

This is my family too.

Why Pittsburgh Sports Are The Best, In 2 Pictures

26.2: May 4, 2014

Three years ago, I decided to run a full marathon.

It was November 7, 2010, and I was standing on the corner of 96th Street and First Avenue in Manhattan, otherwise known as Mile 18 of the New York City Marathon. I had just registered with a friend of mine for my very first half marathon through the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's famed Team in Training, and the head coach asked us to come stand at a TNT cheer station on the marathon course as a little motivation before our training season began.

So on that unseasonably cold fall day, we joined the sea of spectators and, cowbells in hand, cheered for the purple-clad TNT runners as they made their way up to the Willis Bridge which would take them into the Bronx, and through the home stretch of the Marathon.

Having grown up with two distance runners for parents, I was no stranger to the mystique of the marathon. One of my first really clear memories is actually cheering for my dad when he ran his first. So running was in my blood.

I had tried, unsuccessfully, to become a runner for years. There was a stretch in high school when I would run three miles after school a few days a week, but by the time senior year arrived with its SAT and college application mania, that habit had fallen away. Then there was that time in college when I dabbled in distance running, but there always seemed to be something better to do, like eat pizza, or frequent the soft serve machine in the cafeteria.

But five years after college, when I found myself still carrying the 20 extra pounds caused by the aforementioned pizza and ice cream, I decided to try again. This time I was determined to make it stick.

And it did.

I got rid of those 20 pounds and then a few more. Central Park became my home and it was there that I really learned to run, and to love to run. And when we left the city last year, it was running that helped me through the anxiety and confusion that came from the move, and from trying to find a place for ourselves in our new suburban home.

I missed that Team in Training half marathon due to injury, but the following year I ran my first half in Pittsburgh, and then last year I ran it again. And when I crossed the finish line for the second time, I knew I was ready. I knew that I would be back next year, and I would run the whole thing.

I registered this past Tuesday, so exactly seven months from tomorrow, I will line up in downtown Pittsburgh at dawn with 26.2 miles stretching ahead of me. I will run the streets of the city of my heart, and fulfill a dream years in the making.

Training starts now.

Here we go.

Throwback Thursday: When We Met Pittsburgh Legends

Mr. McFeely

Franco Harris

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

Pittsburgh Half Marathon: Offering Thanks

I was already wide awake when my alarm went off at 5:30 on Sunday morning, shattering the stillness of dawn. I had been lying in bed for half an hour, staring at the ceiling. My stomach was alive with butterflies as I thought about the hours ahead.

There was another morning just like this one, exactly a year before. I laid in the same bed, staring at the same ceiling. My stomach was alive with butterflies, but also with a thin layer of fear. Fear of the unknown I think. Fear of what was to come. Fear that all my training, all my preparation, wasn't enough.

This year, there was no fear. Anxiety, yes. But not fear. I could do this. I had done it before.

It was time to run.

I got up, put on the clothes that I laid out the night before, and headed out. It was barely 6am when I got downtown to the starting line, but there were already tons of runners walking around, stretching out, and crowding into the starting corrals. The race announcer was already on the loudspeaker, and the streets were alive with pre-race energy.

When the gun went off, a huge cheer rose up from the crowd. 

And away we went.

The race went great. Better than last year. Seven minutes better, actually. I felt strong, confident, and happy. There is so much to recap from the race weekend, and the race itself. There is so much I want to write down for you, and most especially, for me. Because this past weekend is one I want to remember clearly. One I want to be able to look back on and point to and say "I did that." So I have been struggling since I landed in Pittsburgh on Friday morning with how, exactly, to write it to make sure that I can.

And somewhere around mile 10 of the race it came to me. Running is often a solitary sport. But when I run a race I realize that I could never do what I did without the support of family and strangers alike. So I decided to recap my race weekend with a series of thank yous, if you'll indulge me.

THANK YOU...

To the Pittsburgh Airport, for this sign in the main terminal. 

To the City of Pittsburgh, my favorite place in the world, for being so incredibly beautiful, and for absolutely perfect race weekend weather.

To GNC, the sponsors of the marathon expo, for giving us a huge poster to sign that will hang in the GNC store in downtown Boston, and for making #RunForBoston bracelets with all proceeds going to The One Fund. Every single person I saw at the race, myself included, was wearing one, and we thought about Boston as we ran our miles. Pittsburgh Proud, Boston Strong.

To Sister K, who drove in from Cleveland by herself with both of her kids to hang out with me for race weekend.

To Nora Roberts, for her new book Whiskey Beach. I spent all day Saturday reading that gorgeous romance instead of being nervous.

To my mom, for getting up before the sun on Sunday morning to drive me downtown, even though there were buses leaving from down the street to shuttle people to the starting line.

To my dad - a former marathoner himself - for reminding me to never skip a water stop, and for navigating traffic and closed roads to pick me up at the finish line.

To the three women standing next to me in my starting corral. I don't know your names, but your conversation about your personal trainers definitely made the time before the starting gun go by a whole lot faster.

To the woman in the white hat standing up on the fence who, because of her vantage point, offered to take pictures of the crowd for everyone around her holding a smart phone, which was absolutely everyone around her.

To the race announcer, who managed to quiet 30,000 people for a moment of silence for Boston. 

To the band playing the Rocky theme just beyond the starting line. Everybody needed that.

To the spectators all along the first mile. It was 7am and pretty cold, but they were awake cheering like it was the middle of the afternoon.

To the fireman I saw at mile 6 running the race in full gear. You are my hero.

To the extremely pregnant woman I saw at mile 7 holding a sign that said "Run Faster Honey, My Water Just Broke." I needed that laugh.

To this guy:

To whoever came up with the idea to hang "Runner of Steel" signs on every bridge in the race. Running the bridges is really, really hard, and the signs gave a much needed boost.

To the family I don't know who cheered my name from the exact spot where my race started to fall apart last year, immediately erasing the bad memories and replacing them with good ones.

To the family just after mile 10 handing out chocolate chip granola bars to all the runners. A snack never, ever tasted so good.

To the slightly drunk spectators on the South Side all along mile 11. Your pre-10am drinking made for a fun mile for all of us.

To the woman running next to me as we started the final mile who said to herself, "I'm tired and I'm hurting, but I've got this." You reminded me that I did too.

To whoever decided to turn up the microphone at the finish line to full blast. I could hear the finish half a mile before I saw it.

To the spectators lining the final quarter mile of the race. Your cheers carried me over the finish line.

To the volunteer who gave me my medal at the finish line. I can't remember if I thanked you in person.

To this sign, because I did:

To my niece, who forced me to keep my legs moving after the race by chasing her around the park. Can't say no to that face.

To all my incredible friends - both in person and in this vast virtual world. You kept me going through long months of training and through 13.1 miles. I couldn't have done it without you.

I'm grateful.

This Weekend in Pittsburgh We #RunForBoston

On Sunday, I'll Be Running

I've taken my last run and my training is complete. 

When I get home tonight I'll pack my romance novels and my running shoes, and tomorrow morning I'm off to Pittsburgh for race weekend. I'll be spending the weekend with my parents and, much to my delight and excitement, my sister, who decided to drive in for the weekend with my niece and nephew.

Since I'm pretty much always training for something, I've already decided what race will be next, but more on that next week. 

Today, I'm thinking about Sunday, and I'm thinking about the past six months of running to prepare for this day. 

I don't think it's dramatic to say that training for this race saved my sanity. I didn't realize or anticipate how hard our transition from Manhattan to the suburbs would be, and through the complications and the anxiety and the turmoil that comes with moving and owning a house, running was my constant. 

Running was what I did when I didn't know what else to do. It was the thing I could do when I missed the city so much that it was hard to breathe. It was the thing I could do when I felt like our new house would never feel like home. It was the thing I could do when I needed to be reminded that I was still me, no matter where I was living. 

Nothing ever seemed quite as bad, and I never felt quite as sad, when my running shoes were hitting the pavement in that familiar staccato rhythm. Running untangled the knots that seemed to be permanent fixtures in my stomach, and it transported me to another place. A happy place.

Tomorrow morning is the six month anniversary of our move. And as I board the plane that will take me to the race I will take a minute to give thanks. 

To be grateful that our life in the city is no longer a painful memory, but something that I can look back on and smile. To be grateful that our house is now a home. To be grateful for the friends we have made and the neighborhood that we enjoy.

To be grateful for this sport that I love so fiercely, that gives me the clarity I need when I feel like I am floundering in darkness.

I am many things. I am a wife, a sister, a daughter and a friend. I am a lawyer and a writer. I am a homeowner and a brand new suburban resident. But even as I am all of these things, most of all I am a runner.

And this coming Sunday, as the sun rises over the city of Pittsburgh and the starting gun goes off, I will be running.

Countdown

7 days until Pittsburgh.

9 days until the race.

Ready or not, here I come.

20 Days until 13.1

Twenty days from now I will have already (hopefully) crossed the finish line of my second Pittsburgh Half-Marathon. With just two more long runs to go before I board my plane to Pittsburgh, I am already planning for race day. I have my clothes picked out with options for all different kinds of weather, I chose my romance novel for the day before the race - the entirety of which I plan to spend on the couch - and I decided what I'll  be eating before, during and after the race.

The race buzz has begun, and thank god for it.

Because, the truth is, I had some trouble this time around. While training is usually pretty hard, it has been a different kind of hard over the past few months. After we moved, I had a hard time getting used to running on the streets of my new neighborhood after so many years spent running in Central Park, and it wasn't until halfway through my training when I found my new Central Park - The Bronx River Pathway - that I finally started to feel like my old running self.

And I am definitely back, because yesterday. Yesterday started like any normal Sunday. I was already awake when my alarm went off, and was already bargaining with myself.

"One more hour of sleep, and then I'll do my long run."

"No, I should get up now and just get it done."

"Maybe I'll just do six instead of eight."

"No, I really have to do eight."

And so on.

The voices of my better angels prevailed, and I got myself up and out the door. The sun was up, the breeze was cool, and I had the streets to myself. I ran the mile to the Pathway, and started my now-habitual six mile loop, and the miles were easy. I felt light. I felt strong. I felt fierce.

It was my fastest run, ever.

I'm ready.

Watch out Pittsburgh Half, I'm coming for you.