Get a Move On

The Sharks and the Jets may no longer pachanga down the West Side, but don’t let that fool you: New York City is still a cutthroat place.

We push on the subway, we death stare at tourists, and according to reports from the trenches, we are the meanest online daters in the history of the world. Right, and we committed 8 murders in the last week alone.

None of that (well, except the death toll) compares to the city’s most brutal experience of all: apartment hunting.

Welcome to my nightmare. Also, welcome to my spring.

Our lease is coming due June 1, and with the management company hiking our rent 12 percent next year without having ever fixed a single problem, my boyfriend and I are weighing our options.

Do we stay put and grow increasingly resentful that our dining room dimmer light is nothing more than a frayed wire sticking precariously out of a broken electrical socket, even though we first reported it last May? Or do we barrel head first into the ruthless world of NYC real estate brokers, fees, debt and tears?

Option C: We skip town and live off the grid in Maine.



The downside of moving is literally thousands of dollars down, a lot of weekends searching, and no guarantee we’ll find something better, within our budget, that’s still close to work and running paths and Ben’s favorite basset hound neighbor.

The plus side is the possibility we find a real runner’s dream of an apartment with a washing machine to clean all my sweaty spandex and a giant tub for taking icebaths and an elevator for post-long runs and a dishwasher to collect the cups I leave around like I’m in the penultimate scene of M. Night Shyamalan’s Signs.

What would you do? More specifically, do you have a NYC apartment you’d like to give us on June 1?

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Like Night and Day

There are several core truths about myself I hold to be true. I’m right handed. I’m a dog person. I’m afraid of ET. I’m team Peeta, team Jacob and team embarrassed to have read so many novels originally written for 12-year-old girls.

One more core truth: I am a morning runner.

For as long as I can remember, fitness has been a morning activity for me. I mostly chalk it up to my disciplined mother’s standing 5:30 a.m. date with the YMCA, but even without her good influence, I understand the appeal of daybreak workouts: I’m well rested, I don’t have a full stomach, I’m not exhausted from a day at the office, and the roads before sun-up are mine alone.

Setting a pre-dawn alarm clock isn’t always fun, but it’s rewarding to finish a workout before your first cup of coffee.

That’s why this week has been so darn challenging: because of a shift in my work schedule, I haven’t been able to work out at my usual hour. For the first time in Lord knows how many years, I’ve discarded the core tenet of my fitness routine and logged my miles at night.

And you know what? It wasn’t that bad.

I had been bracing for the worst situation imaginable, from being so full from a day’s worth of eating that I’d cramp up at mile 3 to being so hungry before dinner that I’d pass out mid-loop. (Yes, most of the scenarios I pictured involved me being carted out of the park on a stretcher. Another core truth: I have an overactive imagination.)

Now I’m not going to lie: it wasn’t easy coming home from an 11-hour workday and changing into Spandex instead of sweatpants. Every single day this week, I tried to come up with excuses to take a last-minute rest day, from it being too dark out to run safely to my Netflix being too lonely if I delayed our New Girl date an hour.

But once I got myself out the door, putting one leg in front of the other wasn’t actually all that different at 7 p.m. vs. 7 a.m. The biggest roadblock was my own mindset, and once I got past that, I was grateful to have gotten those miles in after all. They say the only workout you regret is the one you didn’t do, and even though I wouldn’t have chosen the timing, I’m glad I got those evening miles in.

I guess you can teach a dog new tricks. (Let’s be honest: you were all waiting for this.)


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Runs in the Family

One of the great things about growing up in a family of five is getting to experience different kinds of bonds with every single member. If I want to share a baseball-sized beef steak with someone I know will enjoy it as much as me, I call my dad. If I want validation that Anastasia was, in fact, the best princess movie of the 1990s despite what BuzzFeed says, I call my sister. If my lenses are smudged and I left my glasses cleaner in the car, I call my niece.


If I realize a 5K road race is taking place during the same 42 hour period that I’m planning on being home in Baltimore, I call my mother, and if I’m invited to an 80s themed dance party, I call my brother.

Today, I got to do two of those things at once. No, I didn’t ingest a quarter cow with my father and sister while watching Hank Azaria voice the best darn sidekick bat villain an animated movie has ever seen; I ran an 80s themed 5K with my mother and brother.


The race was the Junior League of Baltimore’s Flaskback 5K, and I stumbled across it in a news digest email from lovely Maryland running store Charm City Run. Advertised as a small-scale 80s and 90s themed race on a paved, college campus loop less than two miles from my childhood home, I knew I couldn’t pass it up during my brief visit south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Luckily, my mother and brother felt the same way.

Undeterred by the foot of snow on the ground or the cruelty of spring daylight savings time, we donned our best neon heat gear this morning and made our way to Goucher College for the 9 am (ahem, 8 am) start time. Within minutes, all 92 (!) registered runners were lined up at the starting line, and with a blast of the airhorn, we were off.

And it was glorious. Just as I’d hoped when I’d shelled out the registration fee, the course was wide and paved, the temperature was just the right level of crisp, and the crowd of runners was so thin I didn’t have to weave once. In November, I’ll be crossing the Verrazano Bridge with nearly 50,000 of my closest friends. Today, I crossed the finish line 11th.

And my family wasn’t far behind. Although my mom had just run 7 miles the previous day for half marathon training and my brother was racing in combat boots and a weighted backpack like the Marine he is, they came bolting across the finish line just minutes after me, barely breaking a sweat. We got our water bottles, got our bananas, and then make a beeline for Starbucks because, you know, priorities.

We then looped back for the awards ceremony, hoping that in a field of less than 100 runners at least one of us might have a chance of placing. And what do you know?

We ALL placed second in our respective age groups! I guess that’s something else we have in common.


That, and not believing something is really metal until we bite it.


How do you mix family time with workouts?

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

The winter seems to be full of acceptable excuses not to workout. The days are shorter. The Central Park water fountains don’t work. Bathing suit season is still several months away. House of Cards won’t watch itself.

And of course, the most tangible excuse to skip winter workouts of all: the world outside my apartment today looks like this:

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Some runners appear unfazed by the snow and ice, lacing up anyways for a few loops of the park regardless of the precipitation. I, on the other hand, have little to no balance and appreciate the value of an unbroken ankle. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d rather keep my fitness routine and my storm systems separate. I think skeptical snow-dog Keira agrees.

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So what to do if you’re training for two spring half marathons and the snow it still falling by the foot come March? I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered the art of maintaining peak fitness in the off-season or anything close to it, but I have learned a few tricks along the way to keep myself fitting into my skinny jeans (ok fine, skinny sweat pants) during New York City’s cruel five-month winter. Here’s what I recommend:

  • Time Your Workouts. Weather apps have come a long way in recent years, with most now offering a fairly accurate hour-by-hour forecast for your five-digit zip code. Check tomorrow’s weather before you go to bed tonight, and if the snow isn’t going start until after 8 a.m., squeeze in a quick pre-work run before the storm hits. Likewise, if you see the sleet is going to let up for 60 minutes at mid-day, see if you can hit the park at lunch. The same goes for weekend long runs: I moved my regularly scheduled 8-miler from Sunday to Saturday this weekend since I could see what today’s forecast would bring. Knowing when the winter weather will be lightest and planning your workouts accordingly will help keep you on track even with a nor’easter barreling your way.
  • Move It Inside. I hate the treadmill as much as the next athlete who was nearly murdered by a treadmill in recent history, but it can be a necessary evil during the first quarter of the year. In fact, I’ve even learned to enjoy it. Part of my past distain for the electric running machine was due to the fact that I was using it wrong: I was setting a single pace and plowing forward in unending tedium until the clock ran out. Up your fitness and your attention level by using your time indoors to practice important speed work skills, like tempo runs and intervals and even hill sprints. Put Guy Fieri on the TV in front of you and you’ll be guaranteed to run faster in an effort to end the torture sooner.
  • Stay Home and Workout. Some snowy days, even walking the two (long, uphill) blocks to my gym is a chore. That doesn’t mean you can’t still work up a sweat. Pull up a workout video like this one on your apple TV. Or do yoga in your living room. Or binge watch New Girl and do squats every time Schmidt makes you laugh. Find your favorite show here and follow along, courtesy of my good friend Arianna H.  You’ll have toned quads before Netflix can say “Hey, are you still watching?”
  • Stay Home and Don’t Workout. Some winter days, you’ll get in a workout. Some winter days, you won’t. It’s a tough time of year, and to be honest, you should be proud you’re even considering some self-improvement during such a dreary month. If you don’t workout today, do something else good for the body or soul: curl up with your loved one or a good book, cook a healthy meal, get a good night sleep, and plan to try again tomorrow. March is too cold for lingering guilt.

Don’t believe me? Just ask my snow-adverse mascot.

I'll work out tomorrow, I swear.

I’ll workout tomorrow, I swear.

How are you keeping at fighting weight this winter?

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Lent: Second Time’s a Charm

Insanity can be described any number of ways. Some might say it’s training for a half marathon in this cruel polar vortex. Some might say it’s trying to convince your feminist girlfriends to see the Fifty Shades film with you. Some might say it’s lining up in sub freezing weather for a chain grocery store to open on the Upper East Side.

No, I didn’t do that last one. But I did stop and take a photo of them, which required I take off my gloves, and that was a pretty insane decision, too. So yeah, we’re even, crazy neighbors.



Define it how you will, I think Einstein’s depiction of insanity is still the most accurate: “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”

Which is why my 2015 Lenten Resolution is downright lunatic: I’m going to plank a minute every day from now til Easter in a solemn observance of the liturgical calendar and/or an unparalleled desire for abs.

Why is that crazy, you ask? Because that was my same exact plan for Lent last year, and if you recall, it didn’t go well. Some of that falling off the commitment bandwagon could be attributed to an overnight flight to Hong Kong that would have seen me planking in the aisles, but some of it was just downright indolence — something Jesus and his 12 workout buddies probably wouldn’t have stood for. Of course, they did their cardio in sandals, so who’s asking them?

I’m already two days in, having planked last night at my first Body Pump class ever and this morning (begrudgingly) as I prepared to write this post. I can do 38 more days of this, right? Considering I may have found a date to the Fifty Shades movie in my most feminist of feminist friends this morning, I now believe anything is possible.

Who’s with me? (In the planking, not the movie, unless you wan’t to come to the movie, in which case, the more the merrier! Unless you’re my dad, in which case, I’m totally not inviting you to see that movie with me, no offense. It would be more uncomfortable than that time I watched Clerks with you as an 11 year old. Ah, the memories.)

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M. Night Shyamalan and I Have Some News

You remember that scene in The Saint where a mustachioed man who looks just like Val Kilmer in a mustache rips off his mustache and – to the shock and awe of all those around him – is none other than clean-shaven Val Kilmer, master of disguise?

In case you haven’t seen this 1997 cinemagraphic masterpiece, my brother narrated the whole clip for me, embedded below for your viewing pleasure. Prepare to have your mind blown.

Supposedly “big,” “surprising” twists and reveals that everyone saw coming a mile away saturate our media. Maybe it’s because we enjoy feeling a step ahead of the narrator, or because we like to imagine we figured it out ahead of the crowd. I mean, did Simba really think his bannished uncle was going to have his best interests at heart? Did Han really expect Lando Calrissian to offer a ship of fugatives free room and board? Did anyone really imagine Kanye had been integrated as a functioning member of society since the 2009 VMAs?

It’s with this set-up that I bring you what can only be described as the most unexpected and market-moving announcement that will populate your newsfeed today: I’ve signed up for the New York City Marathon.



I know, I know, didn’t see that one, coming, huh? I mean, I know I had guaranteed entry into the best marathon in the world that just happens to be located in my home city, but I really pretended for a moment there that I was going to take a year off the big distance to focus on other important things, like getting sleep and having a life. Really: I told friends I was on the fence. I’m planning a Mediterranean getaway during prime training mode. Heck, I even waited until the final week to fill in my application form and cough over my $227.

I almost had you fooled, didn’t I?

Yeah, I didn’t think so. You guys saw that big reveal coming 26.2 thousand miles away.


And the countdown begins! 262 days to go. Who’s with me? Mr. Kilmer? Maybe your remarkably similar looking friend, too?

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California Dreaming (on Such a Winters Day)

Rumor has it the East Coast was battered by Winter Storm Juno this past week, but I wouldn’t know: the only Juno I saw was a costume jewelry manufacturer on the corner of Sacramento Street in the heart of San Francisco’s Chinatown.

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That’s right folks: while my New York and Boston friends were stocking up on toilet paper and bread (and kale) in the ominous hours leading up to the first potential nor’easter of the season, I was stocking up on pork buns in the City by the Bay without wearing so much as a windbreaker.

Oh, California. Where have you been all my life?

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When I booked this trip back in October, escaping the tristate area’s worst weather month wasn’t even on my mind. I just wanted to spend some quality time with my best friend from kindergarten, Meredith. We’d spent a lot of our formidable moments together, from being a freakish 5’10” in fifth grade together to getting tested for mono together after a summer camp skit gone wrong, and I knew this trip was going to be one for the record books.

And it was. Not only did we get to do the four days of fabulous activities we’d planned for my visit, but we got a bonus 24 hours tacked on when my original flight home was canceled due to the snowfall. I mean, it totally broke my heart and everything to have to stay in 60 degree weather with one of my oldest friends an extra day, but I pulled through nobly. You know, for the kids.

Now that I’m back home safely, I’ve had some time to reflect on my mini-vacation. I had a lot of great experiences, and I figured I owe to you all to lay out the DOs and DON’Ts of visiting San Francisco in case this great city happens to make your list of destinations in 2015 as well. So here goes:

DO enjoy an afternoon in wine country with a van full of friends.

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DON’T let everyone know you smooched one of those friends on the car ride home.

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DO go for a run along the Embarcadero at 7 a.m. so as to beat the tourists.

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DON’T plan to do so after drinking two very strong martinis at the Top of the Mark.

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DO use your night out with the San Francisco Roadrunners Club as an opportunity to solicit advice on whether you should run the New York City marathon this year or not.

road runners

DON’T expect them to tell you anything other than “ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY” before requesting more Taylor Swift.

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Thanks for the memories, SanFran. You’ll be seeing a lot more of me soon.

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