My husband the CHAMPION!
DOUG RAN HIS FIRST HALF MARATHON YESTERDAY.
Let me repeat that, and then you can read it again.
DOUG RAN HIS FIRST HALF MARATHON.
Did you get that? A HALF MARATHON. 13.1 miles. A long ass run.
Once Doug got into the NYC Half Marathon (he was number 8500 of the 15,000 people who applied to be in the lottery), he knew he'd have to get pretty serious about running. For the past three months, Doug has been on a gruesome training schedule that had him running five times a week. Tuesdays - Thursdays, he would wake up at an ungodly hour to get into the city and run at the gym near work, Saturdays and Sundays he would run outside near home. Each run he seemed to understand more about his body's rhythms and learn what clothing to wear and what ointments to administer where. While Doug was by no means heavy, he started to slim down and tone up and his mileage started to increase. He even started feeling when he was going too fast or too slow based on his natural pace. In short, Doug became a real road runner.
Saturday he took it easy; while Oliver and I went for our walk and to the park, he drank lots of water and stretched all day to gear up for the toll the race would take on his body on Sunday. Saturday night, he ate pasta while I ordered in tacos because I'm a super sensitive wife. (It's not until right this minute - Monday afternoon - that I realize I could've been more supportive and had eaten what he was having, or at least had something that wasn't as appetizing to him. Sorry, love).
Sunday he left the house by 5:30am. His race started and continued until the 10K mark through Central Park and then would come down to Times Square. Oliver and I would meet up with Jenn and Joel and cheer him on there around 8:30am. Our friend Heather was due to see him around the 8th mile (just after Times Square) and then he would continue down the West Side Highway, loop around the lower tip of Manhattan and head up to the South Street Seaport where we'd meet up with him again at the Finish Line. Doug had told me that the only thing that mattered to him was that Oliver and I were there to hug him at the Finish Line, so that was a MUST.
Saturday night I had rushed around before bed to get as much ready for the next morning as possible because I didn't want my inept packing to be the reason we missed him. I woke up when Doug left the house only to realize that I had forgotten to make him some signs. We made it out of the house about 10 minutes late even though I had woken up 15 minutes early. Gah! With Oliver packed up in the stroller, I ran the 3 blocks to the subway and made it just in time to watch the R train pull out of the station. I could've cried. Ended up that it took us a half hour to go 3 stops because there was some problems with the trains. We finally got on the express train and settled in because that there wasn't any way I could make the train go faster. I had figured that Doug would get to the 6th mile - Times Square - around 8:28 so when we got out of the station around 8:25 and of course, on the wrong side of the street, I panicked. I was turning around to pick my way backwards and ran into Jenn and Joel who had just gotten out of the station too. I got a text at that time saying that Doug had finished the 5K at 8:13 and I couldn't comprehend well enough what that meant in terms of time, so was ready to give up and head to South Street Seaport. Jenn convinced me to stay in Times Square for a little longer and I'm so glad she did - he passed us a few minutes later.
That was something. I yelled out, "There's my HUSBAND! There's DOUG!" and screamed my head off so much that Oliver started crying. Whoops! Doug said later that he knew where we were because Times Square was really quiet and then he heard my raspy voice squealing. He looked so good. He looked like he was having the time of his life.
As soon as we saw him, we flew down to the subway. We got off the train with 9 minutes to spare until he was estimated to cross the finish line and still had about a 15 minute walk to the end. I started pep-stepping and then realized that I would never make it in time. Remembering that this was the only thing that was important to Doug, I called apologies over my shoulder to Jenn and Joel and started running like a bat outta hell. Poor Oliver, who had fallen asleep on the train, was bounced all over in his stroller because we were racing across cobblestones and weaving in and out of tourists. Shaken baby? Possibly. I could hear Jenn's footfalls behind me for a short period and then they fell away and all I could hear was the sound of my own heart, beating out, "Don't Disappoint! Don't Disappoint!" I screamed to everyone I passed, "WHERE'S THE FINISH LINE? WHERE'S THE FINISH LIIIIINE?!?!" We FINALLY got there and would you know it, there was a high fence, understandably to keep out all the spectators, but covered with a tarp! After frantically jumping up and down and spying people for milliseconds before gravity brought me back to the ground, I figured out to make a teeny hole through the chain-link and bring the tarp down with my fingers. It was here, standing on my tippy-tippy toes, that I saw my beast of a husband cross the finish line.
You'll be proud to know that Douglas Turk, in his very first half marathon, ran 13.1 miles in 1:47:57, making his average pace 8:15 per mile. According to the two people I know that run half marathons, this is "amazing" for a first half marathon. (They both said "amazing." I didn't put that word in their mouths. And they said to me at separate times. Just so you know. "Amazing.")
He really enjoyed himself. He didn't crap his pants (which is a big deal in the running world) and he only walked a few steps when getting a cup of Gatorade. Sounds like his favorite part was running through Times Square.
Today he's a little stiff. He took the day off work - not because he's sore or sick, but just because it's as good a reason as any. He may make a friend of the heating pad and will definitely be drinking plenty of water and doing some stretches. He also has to clean the house. Back to normalcy, honey!
It was spectacular to see him run and to watch him complete this giant goal. He is busy making plans to run another one this year and to try and get me to run one.
Dear readers, what's the gentlest way to say "over my dead body?"
I don't think I can quite put it into words how proud I am of Doug. He made a difficult goal for himself, stuck with it and completed it with flying colors. Come to think of it, he is "amazing." I love you, baby.
We had quite a fabulous weekend. While Doug was running his butt off, Oliver was making some progress of his own!
1. Oliver has a little cement mixer truck that carries these three little plastic balls. You put them into the cement shoot, roll the truck and they come pooping out the back. It's pretty entertaining - the lights go off on top, it says things like, "Breaker, breaker good buddy!" and makes fun traffic sounds - and, I mean, there are the pooping balls. Fun! Friday night, Oliver took the three balls out of my hand and put them, one by one, into the shoot! It took a little coaxing and showing him how to do it, but he did it! And he did it again on Saturday, so the lesson stuck. Hooray!
I think that this new development will mean that we're going to start finding things stuck where they don't belong. :)
2. Oliver also celebrated his first St. Patrick's Day. The only thing Irish that we did all day was put a green bib on him. We didn't even eat potatoes for dinner.
I'm looking forward to peekaboo being a thing now. He played peekaboo this morning with the duvet cover while Doug was making the bed. It's so durn adorbs.
We hope you had a wonderful weekend and are looking forward to a productive (and gorgeous weather-wise) week. Our love!
Let me repeat that, and then you can read it again.
DOUG RAN HIS FIRST HALF MARATHON.
Did you get that? A HALF MARATHON. 13.1 miles. A long ass run.
Once Doug got into the NYC Half Marathon (he was number 8500 of the 15,000 people who applied to be in the lottery), he knew he'd have to get pretty serious about running. For the past three months, Doug has been on a gruesome training schedule that had him running five times a week. Tuesdays - Thursdays, he would wake up at an ungodly hour to get into the city and run at the gym near work, Saturdays and Sundays he would run outside near home. Each run he seemed to understand more about his body's rhythms and learn what clothing to wear and what ointments to administer where. While Doug was by no means heavy, he started to slim down and tone up and his mileage started to increase. He even started feeling when he was going too fast or too slow based on his natural pace. In short, Doug became a real road runner.
Saturday he took it easy; while Oliver and I went for our walk and to the park, he drank lots of water and stretched all day to gear up for the toll the race would take on his body on Sunday. Saturday night, he ate pasta while I ordered in tacos because I'm a super sensitive wife. (It's not until right this minute - Monday afternoon - that I realize I could've been more supportive and had eaten what he was having, or at least had something that wasn't as appetizing to him. Sorry, love).
Sunday he left the house by 5:30am. His race started and continued until the 10K mark through Central Park and then would come down to Times Square. Oliver and I would meet up with Jenn and Joel and cheer him on there around 8:30am. Our friend Heather was due to see him around the 8th mile (just after Times Square) and then he would continue down the West Side Highway, loop around the lower tip of Manhattan and head up to the South Street Seaport where we'd meet up with him again at the Finish Line. Doug had told me that the only thing that mattered to him was that Oliver and I were there to hug him at the Finish Line, so that was a MUST.
Saturday night I had rushed around before bed to get as much ready for the next morning as possible because I didn't want my inept packing to be the reason we missed him. I woke up when Doug left the house only to realize that I had forgotten to make him some signs. We made it out of the house about 10 minutes late even though I had woken up 15 minutes early. Gah! With Oliver packed up in the stroller, I ran the 3 blocks to the subway and made it just in time to watch the R train pull out of the station. I could've cried. Ended up that it took us a half hour to go 3 stops because there was some problems with the trains. We finally got on the express train and settled in because that there wasn't any way I could make the train go faster. I had figured that Doug would get to the 6th mile - Times Square - around 8:28 so when we got out of the station around 8:25 and of course, on the wrong side of the street, I panicked. I was turning around to pick my way backwards and ran into Jenn and Joel who had just gotten out of the station too. I got a text at that time saying that Doug had finished the 5K at 8:13 and I couldn't comprehend well enough what that meant in terms of time, so was ready to give up and head to South Street Seaport. Jenn convinced me to stay in Times Square for a little longer and I'm so glad she did - he passed us a few minutes later.
That was something. I yelled out, "There's my HUSBAND! There's DOUG!" and screamed my head off so much that Oliver started crying. Whoops! Doug said later that he knew where we were because Times Square was really quiet and then he heard my raspy voice squealing. He looked so good. He looked like he was having the time of his life.
Here he is, in the lower left hand side with the backwards gray cap, in black.
Photo courtesy of New York Road Runners (http://www.nyrr.org/run-with-us/nyc-half-2012)
Jenn had used this as an excuse to purchase a 12 pack of glitter glue and made some kick ass signs for Doug. Mine are the small white ones - lame.
As soon as we saw him, we flew down to the subway. We got off the train with 9 minutes to spare until he was estimated to cross the finish line and still had about a 15 minute walk to the end. I started pep-stepping and then realized that I would never make it in time. Remembering that this was the only thing that was important to Doug, I called apologies over my shoulder to Jenn and Joel and started running like a bat outta hell. Poor Oliver, who had fallen asleep on the train, was bounced all over in his stroller because we were racing across cobblestones and weaving in and out of tourists. Shaken baby? Possibly. I could hear Jenn's footfalls behind me for a short period and then they fell away and all I could hear was the sound of my own heart, beating out, "Don't Disappoint! Don't Disappoint!" I screamed to everyone I passed, "WHERE'S THE FINISH LINE? WHERE'S THE FINISH LIIIIINE?!?!" We FINALLY got there and would you know it, there was a high fence, understandably to keep out all the spectators, but covered with a tarp! After frantically jumping up and down and spying people for milliseconds before gravity brought me back to the ground, I figured out to make a teeny hole through the chain-link and bring the tarp down with my fingers. It was here, standing on my tippy-tippy toes, that I saw my beast of a husband cross the finish line.
You'll be proud to know that Douglas Turk, in his very first half marathon, ran 13.1 miles in 1:47:57, making his average pace 8:15 per mile. According to the two people I know that run half marathons, this is "amazing" for a first half marathon. (They both said "amazing." I didn't put that word in their mouths. And they said to me at separate times. Just so you know. "Amazing.")
He really enjoyed himself. He didn't crap his pants (which is a big deal in the running world) and he only walked a few steps when getting a cup of Gatorade. Sounds like his favorite part was running through Times Square.
Oliver was so proud of him. Completely in awe of his sensational papa.
Today he's a little stiff. He took the day off work - not because he's sore or sick, but just because it's as good a reason as any. He may make a friend of the heating pad and will definitely be drinking plenty of water and doing some stretches. He also has to clean the house. Back to normalcy, honey!
It was spectacular to see him run and to watch him complete this giant goal. He is busy making plans to run another one this year and to try and get me to run one.
Dear readers, what's the gentlest way to say "over my dead body?"
I don't think I can quite put it into words how proud I am of Doug. He made a difficult goal for himself, stuck with it and completed it with flying colors. Come to think of it, he is "amazing." I love you, baby.
We had quite a fabulous weekend. While Doug was running his butt off, Oliver was making some progress of his own!
1. Oliver has a little cement mixer truck that carries these three little plastic balls. You put them into the cement shoot, roll the truck and they come pooping out the back. It's pretty entertaining - the lights go off on top, it says things like, "Breaker, breaker good buddy!" and makes fun traffic sounds - and, I mean, there are the pooping balls. Fun! Friday night, Oliver took the three balls out of my hand and put them, one by one, into the shoot! It took a little coaxing and showing him how to do it, but he did it! And he did it again on Saturday, so the lesson stuck. Hooray!
I think that this new development will mean that we're going to start finding things stuck where they don't belong. :)
2. Oliver also celebrated his first St. Patrick's Day. The only thing Irish that we did all day was put a green bib on him. We didn't even eat potatoes for dinner.
However, he did ride on his first swing AND played peekaboo with me!
He may or may not have fallen asleep in the swing.
I'm looking forward to peekaboo being a thing now. He played peekaboo this morning with the duvet cover while Doug was making the bed. It's so durn adorbs.
We hope you had a wonderful weekend and are looking forward to a productive (and gorgeous weather-wise) week. Our love!
Comments
Cant wait to see you guys next month!