In running, as in life, things happen in increments. You suddenly find yourself in a situation you could not have imagined or running a race you thought impossible. It often requires a leap of faith to get to those places and races. You keep pushing because you believe you will get there, even though you have no clue how.
I can not claim that I have been pushing myself very hard lately, still quietly celebrating the completion of Marathon of the Sands. But since we have a 50k trail race in September, I though it’s time to get back on track. So I started last week by running in the footsteps of Alberto Arroyo.
Alberto Arroyo is believed to be the first man that started jogging around the reservoir in Central Park. This was in 1937. He continued this daily routine unaffected by sun, rain, snow or thunder. Read more
You know what? I HATE running intervals. My head always feels like it’s about to implode, my panting comes in painful ragged breaths and I feel that the amount of lactate my legs are producing could fill an Olympic swimming pool for every lap! And it HURTS!!! And you know another thing? I LOVE running intervals. I absolutely adore the feeling I get when I can hold a rapid pace and then accelerate during the last lap even though I feel like throwing up. And the glorious feeling after an interval session is absolutely awesome! I have a love/hate relationship with running. Do you? Read more
After the fall of the Berlin Wall, our family started spending the summers with our relatives in Slovakia. Or rather, mom and dad spent summers catching up with our grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends while my brother and I were unceremoniously dropped off at various summer camps all around the country. Since we are 14 cousins on dad’s side of the family alone (counting another four on mom’s side), we weren’t wanting for company during our forays into the Slovak wilderness. The one camp we both still remember most fondly was kayaking camp. We used to camp together with a whole posse of kids and adolescents and were the scourge of the river Dunajec bordering Poland. The wildlings on the other side of the river were naturally pelted with pine cones and pellets on sight but luckily we encountered precious few of those. Read more