(Source: Pinterest)

Yesterday, I was nearing the end of my final tempo mile along a busy-ish road near work when all of a sudden a massive tractor-trailer honked his horn at me… four times.

I was so startled from the noise of the honking, and the fact that I was in the middle of a very fast-for-me mile, that I stopped dead in my tracks. Instead of catching my breathe and calming down, I turned to the truck and flipped him the bird with not one, but both of my hands.

I know, bad behavior shouldn’t illicit more bad behavior but I’ve had enough. And I’m not the only one. This week alone, I have been honked at five times during a run by guys driving by. Scores of women runners, of all shapes and sizes, have had moments like this. You’re running along, minding your own business, when a dude driving by beeps his horn at you, and whistles out his window, or says some other obscenities.

It happens to me almost every time I go for a run by myself. It happens when I go out running with a friend. It even happened once when I was doing a hill workout with my boyfriend who was about a half-mile ahead of me. No matter the time of day, year, or what I’m wearing I get beeped or cat called at.

A writer over at Competitor wrote a story about this today, which prompted me to write my own. Another writer friend wrote a post about it for Philly.com and told me that after she published her piece she actually got HATE emails from men (and women too!) defending these actions. What the hell, people?

Besides it being annoying and interrupting my otherwise killer tempo run, I wondered, what did that disgusting trucker think he was going to get out of that? He wasn’t turning me on. I wasn’t flattered. I was pissed off.

Like the author of the Competitor piece, all I wanted to do was get my tempo miles done, cool down, and go back to the office for lunch. Instead my run was interrupted because some trucker decided I looked good enough during my run to honk at. Unfortunately, I don’t have a solution for the problem, and I don’t have much faith in the changing the men who tend to cat call, but we need to make it clear that it’s not a compliment and it’s not OK.

Today I was editing one of my columnists for Runner’s World and she was writing about a recent flair up of plantar that she noticed last week. She hasn’t run since Wednesday and “instead of pining over lost miles, I turned my attention towards yoga this week.”

I’ve been dealing with a mystery-foot-pain since a run two Saturday’s ago. Since the pain occurred I’ve taken it easy, but I’ve only swapped one of my running days for spin, and maintained my 30-ish mile weeks. Stupid.

I was contemplating going to spin today instead of going for an easy lunch run. Spin would give me the cardio-pumping heartbeat I was craving, but was much less impact than running on icy roads outside. But when the lunch run email went out this morning, I figured, “Why not? I mean, I ran 5 miles last night and felt fine, I should be good to go today too.”

I was wrong. A mile into our run I felt the pain flaring up again on the bottom outside of my left foot. It was clearly compensating my stride so, at the encouragement of my lunch run mates, I turned back.

As I ran (very, very slowly) back to the office, I kept hearing Krsitin’s words in my head. Why didn’t I listen to my gut and opt for spin instead? Why didn’t I give myself a rest day when I woke up this morning and felt the pain again? Why haven’t I seen a doctor in the two weeks since the pain first presented itself?

Answer: I’m stubborn.

I’m stubborn because I hate putting up zeros in my training log. I hate looking back at my log from last year and seeing higher mileage than I’ve been logging lately. I get small panic attacks when I think about how training starts in a little over a week for my big goal race. I worry that days off from running will come at the cost of my fitness. A small part of me worries that not running will cause me to gain weight. An even smaller part of me worries that time off from running will make me forget why I love running.

I know all of this is stupid but sometimes it just feels better to write it down and own up to it. When I read articles (on the website and in the pages of the magazine at which I am employed) and writers ask seasoned elites- what’s one thing you wish you knew about running when you started?- they almost ALWAYS say they wish they took proper recovery time. Or, they wish they recognized the benefit of taking easy days, easy. Or, that putting up a zero for one day might mean being able to put down a PR down the road.

I’ve read all of this. It’s engrained in my memory. But why is it so hard for me to follow? It’s time for me to cut the BS, stop being stupid, and start being smart.

(End rant.)

Running the 2013 Marine Corps Marathon

Yesterday I capped off 2013, my year of chasing down distance, with a 13 mile run. I set a goal last January to run my first marathon and I accomplished not only that by running Big Sur last April but I then ran my second marathon at Marine Corps in October with a 26-minute PR.

So it was only fitting to ring in the New Year today with 5-ish speedy (for me) miles. If 2013 was my year for distance than 2014 will be my year of speed. But before I lay down my New Year’s run resolutions, I thought it would be cool to look back on what I did in 2013- in numbers.

1,480 – Total miles

2 – Marathons

• Big Sur (4.28) – 4:33:21
• Marine Corps (10/27) – 4:07:06

2 – Half marathons

1 – First ever 10K (53:55)

24:59 – 5K PR and first age group win

27:46:47 – Team Watermelon for my first relay at Hood to Coast (5^th place)

11 – Races

So who knows what 2014 will bring but I know I can’t wait to find out. Happy New Year!

From inside the press room on lockdown, the race clock never stopped running.

I don’t know when I stopped shaking.

Even now, two days later, I can’t stop hearing the booms. One boom, I looked at my fellow editors. The second boom, I looked at the TV.

A spokesperson for the B.A.A. ran out of the press room at the Fairmont Copley Plaza Hotel. Seconds, though they felt like minutes, went by. He ran back in- two explosions went off near the finish, he said. We were in lockdown.

Someone has attacked my city, my family, my life, my love, I thought.

My dad has run the marathon many times. My mom worked for the city of Boston as deputy arts commissioner, under Mayor Tommy Menino, and his predecessors. My grandparents immigrated to Brighton from Ireland in 1955 and my grandfather founded the New England Irish Cultural Center. My uncle was the head EMT leading operations at the finish line medical tents when the bombs went off. This was my family’s city.

Boston is my home and the Boston Marathon is our city’s homecoming celebration. In the days that have passed I’ve tried to remain strong. I’ve tried to hold my ground. But we all have a breaking point. Kind of like a long run. There’s always a point where we have to stop, take in how far we’ve come and catch our breath. The unfortunate part of that is the reality that once we stop, we find it easier to stop in the coming miles, moments, or days.

I was waiting for my stopping point, my walk break. I knew it would come. I was trying to be ready for it. But it came like a bonk. A wave of emotion I had no control over. Since it came yesterday afternoon, it’s returned at the most unexpected moments.

I can’t stop hearing the booms, seeing the images on TV of people’s limbs, and shaking, just shaking.

All I know is someone, on that horrific day, attacked my city and our support group. Marathoning, when it comes down to it, is a selfish sport. We train for our own goals, miss out on time with loved ones, family and friends, all in the name of meeting our goal- to run 26.2 miles. At the end of the day, what does that goal mean if we don’t have someone to celebrate it with? If our support group is not waiting for us at the finish line.

And on Monday, April 15 someone attacked our support group. There was no one to meet us at the finish line. The helpers ran in and did what they could but at the end of the day we were all looking for answers. But if I know anything, marathoners, the running community, and most importantly, the people of Boston, are strong. We will reach deep into our energy reserves to rise up and help each other heal. It’s going to take time but I truly think we will come out of this stronger and closer than ever before.

As for me, I’m still shaking and I don’t know when it will stop. But I know it will stop and I’ll find my finish line in Boston, with a huge support group waiting for me and the rest of the community, at the end.