Not Your Average Gal

Copywriter. Content Creator. Constant Sassypants.

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How Not to Train for a Half-Marathon

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Did I mention I’m running a half-marathon again?

No?

Oh yeah. That’s because I forgot I signed up for it.

But I’m doing it right this time.

In my post-2014-Fort Lauderdale-Half-Marathon adrenalin and endorphin haze this past February, I decided to sign up for the 2015 A1A Fort Lauderdale Half-Marathon.

They were offering a great deal for 2014 finishers if you signed up for the 2015 half-marathon then. I’m a sucker for a great deal and thought it would continue my motivation to keep running.

I’m still running.

Just not as far and as hard as I did when I trained for my first Half.

So, I need to get my boo-tay in gear. Starting right meow.

Last time I trained, I left about 3 months. I say “left” because that’s how much time I had once I decided to sign up. Ha! If you’re not a runner, you need to give yourself more time than that. Hence, the name of this post.

Also, I use the term “runner” more loosely than some purists. I’m not a fast runner. Very often, I’m not consistent with my pace. I don’t “look” like a runner. But, I’m still a freakin’ runner. No, I’ll probably never run 8 minute miles. For me, running is about the experience. What I feel after a damn good run is immeasurable and can’t be diminished because I don’t have a fast pace. And the people who judge other runners for that can suck it.

They probably are the same a-holes who have a 16 ingredient coffee at Starbucks. And for THAT, I judge YOU, sir!

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So, back to the plan, Stan.

Here’s what it basically looks like. I use a mix of what works for me and also what the incomparable Jeff Galloway (read: super awesome freakin’ runner) has put together. He also uses the run-walk ratio that’s worked well for me.

Half-Marathon Training

30 minute run: 2x a week
1 long run: 1x a week (with increasing mileage starting @ 3 miles)
Strength training: 2x a week
Yoga: as needed

I’ve given myself more time than the usual 20 weeks training because…life happens. Sometimes you get sick or in my case, strain your IT band. That may be because I only trained for 3 months… Often, I didn’t get the required 3 runs in per week. Which is not helpful! I’m looking forward to not squeezing in my training this time around. It’s like I’m making an adult decision or something.

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I’m going to do a long-ish run this weekend and then officially start in the next 2 weeks.

I will be mixing in strength training this time around. I’ve read reports that strength training doesn’t help with your half-marathon training per say, but I had IT band issues just weeks before my half-marathon last time and I want to avoid that at all costs this time.

That means doing weights, yoga and stretching like a mofo after each run, rolling that mofo after each run and icing that mfer down after each run.

Yeah, buddy!

What do you think? Any advice for me this time ’round?

Travel Woes: Delayed Baggage & Stolen Goods

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“Your bag isn’t here.”

No shit. “Let me take a guess, it’s at LAX?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Because I saw on the app to track my baggage that it was on the wrong flight during my layover. The agent at JFK was less than helpful about it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

And thus began 2 weeks of a delayed baggage and stolen goods headache.

I was a pretty good sport about it at first. Aside from the delayed baggage, I had just finished a great day of travel. 20 hours of traveling for me is fun. Maybe it will wear off for me someday, but for now, I’m a special kind of crazy that enjoys it. My flights from Lisbon to Amsterdam and Amsterdam to New York JFK were uneventful. I actually got some sleep, watched some movies, drank wine and chatted with my hilarious seat mate.

I breezed through customs at JFK because of Global Entry and picked up my luggage to be rechecked for my last flight to FLL (Fort Lauderdale-Hollywood Airport). When you arrive on an international flight and still have another domestic flight, you usually have to recheck your bag — it’s a simple procedure, just pick it up and take it to the baggage drop off point after you’ve cleared customs and as long as it’s been tagged all the way through to your final destination, you’re set. Easy peasy.

My bag looked fine. I re-checked it had been tagged correctly. Gave it to the Delta agent and I was on my way to my gate for my last flight.

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I was enjoying a beer and being back on American soil (No more seeking out free Wi-fi!).

While sitting back enjoying a brewski, I checked the Delta app to track my bag and I saw that my bag was on a flight to LAX, not FLL.

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Shit.

I’ll give you the cliff notes version:

The friendly agent on the Delta Medallion 800 line and the Delta app told me what I was seeing was correct, that my bag was on the wrong flight and could be pulled off. I was told to speak directly with an agent at JFK…an agent that told me I was wrong and she couldn’t (wouldn’t) help. She told me my bag was on my flight to FLL. I asked her to print that confirmation. She couldn’t (wouldn’t).

You know what happens next, my bag was indeed on it’s way to LAX. I took it in stride because, whatever, there was nothing I could do once I was home and my bag wasn’t. I was happy to see the hubster and I travel in a way that anything I check, I know I have to be willing to “lose.” So there was nothing in there like my expensive camera, photos, money, etc.

Except everyone’s souvenirs, including an earring and necklace set I bought myself in Barcelona and cufflinks I got the hubster in Lisbon were in that bag.

…and those did not arrive with my bag when it was finally returned over 24 hours later.

My bag had obviously been rummage through. If you know me, you know I’m an anal packer. Everything, I mean, everything has a place.

Before
Before, not my best game of Tetris.

My bag was opened, my TSA lock was torn off and not given back, either by TSA (no notice was left in my bag though), an airport employee or the company that delivered my luggage to my house.

After
After

Oh yeah and they stole my shit.

The jewelry set and cufflinks were in the same portion of one of my eBags packing cubes. It would have been a relatively easy “grab” once you opened it to see what was in it.

That’s when the bitterness set in. This stuff can be replaced. It simply is materialistic crap. But the feeling of being taken advantage of is what sucks. This ONE agent set the whole thing in motion that I tried to prevent. Not to mention the ahole who took stuff.

I really adored that necklace and earring set. I rarely buy “nice” stuff like that for myself. When I travel, I usually find myself looking a fun jewelry and scarves. I don’t buy a lot of the touristy souvenirs. Except for cheesy shot glasses. That’s our “thing.” I have no idea where we’ll display them when we grow up. In fact, I’m not sure I want to. We look like world-traveling alcoholics. Wait a minute…

I absolutely will not let this situation ruin my opinion about an airline. You have one bad apple in a bunch. Shit happens. I have always had great customer service with Delta. Say what you want about airlines, but the people who serve you food and answer your dumb questions are people too, and more often than not, I’m met with a friendly smile and helpful answer. Everyone at Delta I had to go through, except the one lovely diva at JFK, was apologetic and helpful.

I filed a claim, heard back about 10 days later and will be reimbursed for everything. I should expect a check in about 14 business day. I’m very thankful for that. The frustration in most of this was that it took quite a few calls to get a status and a few too many emails explaining the situation, but it got resolved. It was too time consuming for my liking, but it’s finally all figured out.

Everyone I bought gifts for got their things, too. (Except the hubster and his cufflinks. I bought him other stuff too and he’s got me…GRAND PRIZE!) But the one bottle I bought myself of cherry liqueur from an area in Sintra, Portugal world renowned for it…smashed into a million pieces on the floor this past weekend when I dropped the bag it was in.

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I wasn’t meant to have gifts from this past trip. Just freakin’ awesome memories. And I’m pretty sure I’m okay with that. You can’t take any of this crap with you when you’re gone.

I also may or may not have busted out some straws and started sucking the cherry liqueur off the floor…

Worth it.

La Gordita

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That’s what I got called while I was running to catch a cab in Barcelona.

(My friend says they could have been saying it to her, too. But it’s doubtful.)

It was my first night on this trip (which I shall write about soon). We were having a wonderful time in Barcelona when we realized after 45 minutes of trying to get a cab back to our hotel that ALL of them were occupied. Calling cab companies became fruitless because our broken Spanish didn’t help. We walked for blocks trying different roads. We looked at bus routes. We finally gave up for a bit and settled on sharing a cider. As any normal person should do in times of despair.

la gordita
Dinner that night. Prior to needing a cab.

We explained our situation to the waiters and they were incredibly nice. They even called cab companies for us and it looked hopeful…until they explained there was a medical convention in town with 30,000 doctors. Good for my two single gal-pals, not so good for finding a cab. He told us walking was too far as our hotel was in a residential area (Barcelona is big, by the way) and the metro was closed. So, just as we were getting directions on which busses to take back, our waiter spotted an OPEN cab!

He went running without saying a word.

My friend saw what he was doing and sprinted after him. I grabbed our stuff and my other girlfriend went to pay the tab.

I took off huffing, throwing my camera in my bag mid-run.

I passed a table outside of about 10 men, eating, drinking, enjoying the night.

That’s when I heard it.

“…la gordita…”

I knew it meant chubby or fat. I knew in the tone it was said, it wasn’t a term of endearment.

I remember taking one more step in my run, asking myself, “How the HELL are you going to respond to this? Ignore it? Try to spout off broken Spanish?”

You have to put this in context. I had flown and traveled over 21 hours that day. I was tired. I was bummed we couldn’t find a cab. I was pissed these a-holes thought I didn’t understand what they had called me. I felt an obligation to stand up for all “las gorditas.” No one looks good mid-sprint! Especially after 21 hours of travel. Regardless, it’s totally shitty to say to someone.

So I did what any hot-blooded American would do.

I stopped dead in my tracks. Turned around with the precision of  a soldier on her heels, ready to stomp to attention. Looked at all of them in their eyes. Raised both of my hands up in the air.

And gave them the glorious one-finger salute.

la gordita

There was an awkward pause. Then solid laughter and pointing from his friends at the jerk who said it.

I wasn’t laughing. It’s not funny.

But I definitely smirked as I turned around and walked back to our cab.

 

An Ode to Barcelona

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I met you 11 years ago. I liked you enough. For 3 days, I walked up and down Las Ramblas and drank cervezas by the beach with my girlfriends. I said I checked you off my bucket list and felt no need to return.

But, this weekend we reunited again.

I must say. You’ve changed. Or maybe I’ve changed.

Or both.

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Because, quite honestly, I love you.

You’re amazing, Barcelona. For 4 days you wooed me. I’ve traversed your ancient-city Guadi walls, walked cobblestone sidewalks, watched tango dancers, sipped Catalonian wine, filled my belly with mas tapas than I care to admit and most of all, I fell madly in love with your culture.

You eat lunch at 4pm. You chat over dinner for 3 hours…starting at 8pm. You share laughs over wine-stained tableclothes and pass around tomato drizzled bread. You don’t require me to tip. Although I do a bit, because I’m American and inherently feel guilty for not tipping such a fine place.

If I sound like a food-obssesed lover, you’re right.

But you made me so. You did this to me.

I sat across from my girlfriends reveling in the moment under a sun drenched umbrella in a small, colorful plaza next to a church. “This is it,” I thought. “This is why we travel.” I so wish my husband could meet you. He would love you too, mostly because you offer the best football team in the world. But also because he appreciates the great things in life. Like you.

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Every corner of you offers something different to discover. Vastly different buildings juxtapositioned next to each other. Neoclassical apartments sitting right next to Guadi filled mosaics. You’re fascinating.

The Spanish I learned in middle school and high school suddenly came out of the dark, dust-ridden corners of my brain. I’ve surprised myself. I may not speak as eloquently as you. But I tried. And you happily, sometimes with a giggle, obliged and let me attempt your beauitful language.

Your people, especially, bring your eccentricities to light. They love you. They want to brag about you.

I can understand why.

I’m taking off for Lisbon now. But don’t worry. I’m not cheating on you. You’ll always hold a special place in my heart. Like a moth to a flame…I shall return.

Muchas gracias, Barcelona. Until next time.

The View

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Pardon me while I have a moment.

This morning,  I departed from this view:


Then had a beautiful view of  One World Trade Center while I was landing. (I didn’t take a picture. I try hard to enjoy a moment without feeling a need to capture it.)

I ate lunch with a view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Now I’m sitting here enjoying this aviation view at new Delta Sky Deck. Outside, mind you.


My husband said it once while we were flying, “It still baffles me how these giant things get off the ground.”

So, I will park my butt here for another few (5) hours and enjoy the view.

America is pretty darn good looking. And I’m pretty darn lucky.

The Anticipation Before a Trip

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I imagine Portugal will be much like this:

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What? Your thoughts don’t usually involve Colin Firth? How sad.

This is my favorite time in travel planning – the days before. Some studies say the very act of anticipating your upcoming travels can be more exciting than traveling itself. I actually agree. You can only imagine what things will look like or feel like. And very often, the reality can be a painful letdown OR so different than what you imagined, that you’re way out of your comfort zone. That happened when we went to Siem Reap, Cambodia. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but my first couple days were an adjustment, but I left wanting to go back immediately and still think of Cambodia as the highlight of our honeymoon.

Right now I’m a bundle of nerves and pure excitement. I’m full of internal conversations.

“How will I fill my time with that silly 10 hour layover in JFK? Oh yeah, they have the new SkyClub there. I’ll just park my booty and write. And free beer!”

“Wonder who my seat-mate will be on the flight to Barcelona? Hope he or she doesn’t crop dust.”

“Should I just take a taxi to the hotel when I arrive to Barcelona? Maybe just arrange it with the hotel. No, that’s so lame and touristy. Get a cab. Experience the people, Caroline! Maybe I’ll arrange it through the hotel…”

“What if the girls’ flight is delayed into Barcelona I’m left with the Sangria all by myself? Dreams can come true.”

“I have 2 whole nights and 1 whole day alone in Lisbon…what if Colin Firth really IS there?”

It’s totally normal to answer your own questions, right?

I’ve been to Barcelona before, around 11 years ago, when I had an internship in London and just jetted over to Barcelona for a weekend. I intentionally wanted that to sound as snotty as it did. I don’t think I’ll post pictures from those days, to of course, save the girls I traveled with some embarrassment. I would never be caught in a tube top with giant, thick-heeled, chunky sandals from Steve Madden. Never… So that said, I sort of know what to expect with Barcelona.

Lisbon, Portugal, on the other hand, will be totally new. It’s been on my list to travel to for a while because of the exceptional reviews I’ve heard from fellow travelers. So when my girlfriends told me they were heading to Lisbon at the tail end of their yearly, 2-week European getaway and wondered if I wanted to come along, I very quickly contemplated and booked a ticket within a week. I’ve been eagerly watching them post pictures on Facebook from the first part of the trip to Turkey and Italy. They freakin’ met Tim Gunn at the airport too! Can’t wait to meet up with them in Barcelona. I absolutely would have regretted not going, especially with these two nutbags. That’s an endearing term, you guys.

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Sas, Caroline & Lu. Only nicknames of friends have been provided to protect the innocent.

That’s what travel is about. Living your life in a way that you can take up the opportunity to travel, sometimes even on a whim. I actually didn’t need to spend a week contemplating it, but I’m an over-thinker by nature. This was sort of no-brainer opportunity.

Below is the basic itinerary.

Day 1 – Travel: US -> Barcelona, Spain

Day 2 – Day 5: Barcelona, Spain

Day 5 – Day 8: Lisbon, Portugal

Day 9 – Travel: Lisbon, Portugal -> US

So I essentially have a week of seeing new things, meeting new people and of course, drinking some Sangria and eating tapas with my girls. (Okay, probably lots of Sangria.) This is my thing, people! I’m so excited!

I anticipate that I’ll still blog while I’m on the road even if it is a quick trip because I’d like to give you a peek of what I’m experiencing. I’ll probably be posting more on my Facebook page as that’s easier to access abroad, so be sure to follow that. I’ll definitely be doing a full Spain and Portugal post in the near future. After Scotland, of course.

And with that, I must bid you adieu to get the last of my things together.

Hasta Luego!

(French AND Spanish in two sentences. I’m muy smarto.)

I’ll leave you with one last, inspiring video. It captures the many reasons why traveling is so fulfilling for so many people.

Travel Is from The Perennial Plate on Vimeo.