Review: The Hopeful

The Hopeful by Tracy O'Neill
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

In a word, this is a book of obsession. And I am frankly unsure if I've ever read a book so clearly voiced by the character with the obsession. Alivopro's voice is indisputably teenage, and yet O'Neill takes us so far inside her head, without constantly beating us over the head with "telling" us what she's thinking, that she could be anyone, with any obsession, and we the reader would feel the same.

It's been a long time since I felt so emotionally affected throughout the process of reading a book, but I felt every page of this one, for worse or worser. I know nothing of figure skating other than what I've seen on television during the Olympics, and yet through Alivopro's eyes I saw the sport intimately--all without the seemingly inevitable info dump that authors often find necessary to introduce an ignorant reader to a foreign sport. I understood her descent into drug addiction, just as I understood her disappointment in her adoptive mother and father: I've never been addicted to drugs, nor have I been adopted, but O'Neill writes with such poise that neither of those things matter. I could have been Alivopro, for how I felt as she was going through those experiences.

This is not a book "about figure skating." So while I would be quick to recommend it to any athlete who has ever felt obsessed with his or her sport, I would more strongly recommend it to anyone looking for a genuine teenage voice that does not pander to the formula of the YA genre.

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Goofy Challenge 2016, Race Recap Part II

(In case you missed Part I, go read my half marathon race recap!)

If you count the actual races, then the Goofy Challenges is made up of two parts: the half marathon and the full marathon. But if you count in terms of distance, then the Challenge is really three parts: the half marathon, the first half of the full marathon, and the last 13.1 miles.

I met D____ on marathon day, around mile 14.

Up until then, I'd been having a blast basically just goofing around. (Yes, pun intended.) Since I'd started near the front of the race--I intentionally moved to the back of my corral, but it was still corral A--I was surrounded by a whole bunch of talented runners. How did I know they were talented? Because runners are amazingly friendly people, and a few of us started chatting around mile 3. The guy on my left had a 2:53 PR, but he hadn't trained seriously for this race, so he was hoping to run sub-3:30. The woman on my right had run five Boston marathons and was training to run it again this year.

So like I said: talented people. Fast people.

It crossed my mind that, having just raced the day before, maybe I shouldn't be trying to keep up with these fast people, but the fact was that I felt pretty good, and my goal was to run this race by feel. So when I settled in with the 3:15 pace group, I figured I'd just hang there until it felt too tiring to keep up, and then I'd fall back. Plus, I was going to stop for photo ops, so surely the group would eventually get too far away. When that happened, I would just look for the next pace group to come along and fall in with them.

What actually happened was that the photo ops ended up being more like accidental pick-ups. First, I'd see a Disney character in the distance. Because I was running with a pace group, I was among people who were racing for a time, and therefore unwilling to stop for a photo with Snow White or Jafar or Pumba. As a result, no one was ever in my way, taking their picture with Snow White or Jafar or Pumba. So I'd just run off the course, straight for to the character; pose; wait until the photographer's flash went off; and then sprint back onto the course to catch up with the pace group.

In the Magic Kingdom alone--the first park we ran through--I must have done this with at least 6-8 characters. It got to the point where, as I was running back onto the course after posing with a Johnny Depp lookalike, one man called out, "Jesus, how many times do I have to get passed by the same girl? I think she's stopped at every one of those cartoons, and she's still in front of me!" Words cannot describe how good that comment made me feel. I must have been grinning my head off.

Now, fast forward to mile 12. We were just about to enter the Animal Kingdom when a girl came cruising up to the pace group.

"I'm just taking the first half easy," I heard her tell the man beside her, whom at the time I assumed she knew, since they appeared to be running together. "I want to hold back, because you never know how it's going to go."

Hold back? I remember thinking. If that's the case, this chick's going to be blowing by us any minute.

However, she stuck with the group for another few miles, by which point the characters were appearing fewer and farther between, and I was beginning to trip on the heels of the runners in front of me.

Should I really get in front of these people? I wondered. I'm not trying to run a sub-3:15!

Ultimately, the annoyance of having to shorten my stride to keep from stepping on people won out, and I darted through until I was out in front of the pack. I found myself running beside two girls, one of whom was the "I'm taking the first half easy" girl. She'd either dropped her guy or he'd dropped her, because she was alone and trying in vain to strike up a conversation with the other girl beside her.

When that other girls' teammate showed up--and I know it was her teammate, because the woman was clearly waiting for her on the side of the course and was wearing an identical New Balance outfit--I decided to test the waters with "first half easy" girl.

"Hi! I'm Allison. I heard you back there when you caught up with the group. You're looking really strong!"

The rest, as they say, is history.

It turned out that D____ was running her very first marathon. She'd run a number of half marathons (her PR, if I remember correctly, was around 1:24), and her husband ran lots of marathons, so she'd decided to do this one as her first. Needless to say, I was extremely impressed. We were already ahead of the 3:15 pace group, and D____ wasn't even breathing heavily!

When we reached mile 16, just outside ESPN Wide World of Sports, I took stock of how I was feeling. I was breathing and talking without much effort, my legs felt reasonably loose, and I wasn't feeling hungry or thirsty.

I'll stick with this girl for a few miles, I decided. I didn't know how long I'd be able to keep it up--we were running in the low 7's now--but I figured I'd just hang on as long as I could, for the companionship if for nothing else, and then cheer her on if/when she decided to pick things up.

Two miles later, we hit mile 18 rounding the baseball field inside ESPN, and I could hear her starting to breathe. Meanwhile, I could breathe just fine, but the bottoms of my feet felt like someone was hitting them with a sledgehammer every step I took.

"This point in the marathon's always the worst," I told her. "It's the next few miles that you really just have to get through. Then it's all guts and inertia to the end."

"I'm so glad you're here!" she replied. And that's all I needed. I can do this, I told myself. It's hurting, but I can totally pace this girl to a great first marathon. She can do this. And I can help.

And thus began the part of the race I'm most proud of: the part where I tucked into myself, set my legs to what I felt confident they could do, and pep talked D____ at every mile.

"We just ran 7:10!" Mile 20.

"We're at 7:08!" Mile 21.

"Oh my god you're amazing! 7:06! I cannot believe this is your first marathon." Mile 22.

"How are we still dropping time?" she gasped.

How indeed? I wondered, looking at my watch in shock.

When we hit mile 23 in 7:03, I calculated the rest of the race. If I could run the last three miles at just around 7 min/mile, I could break 3:10! But how did I feel?

Breathing was definitely labored, but not panting. Legs were supremely tired, but turnover still felt ok. Feet were hurting a lot, but I figured if I was getting blisters, they were there already, and slowing down wasn't going to help. Mouth felt a little thirsty, stomach a little unsettled, but nothing I hadn't run through before.

"I'm going to pick it up a little bit," I told D____.

"I'm dying," she told me. "You go ahead."

"Aw, come on, you are doing great. You can do this!"

Between miles 23 and 24 she fell off, but then I saw the Genie up ahead. As I posed, I looked back and saw her rounding the bend.

"Come on!" I mouthed, waving my arm and sprinting back onto the course. We'd made it to Epcot, the final park. I cruised through France, Morroco, Japan, China. At one point, I stopped for one last picture with Aladdin and Jasmine, but D____ never appeared, so I hunkered down and started choosing men to try and pass.

This one with the neon calf sleeves. 

That one, who looks like he just got out of the shower.

At mile 25, I knew it was going to hurt, but I knew I had it. And when I crossed the finish line, it was glorious. Another first in the books. And man, how I love my firsts.

Walt Disney World Marathon 2016 race results:

Race Length	Finishing Time	Average Pace	Overall Place	Gender Place	Age Group Place (F25-29)
26.2 mi	3:09:44	7:14/mile	71 / 19,851	9 / 10,327	3 / 1,796

And now, for those of you who have managed to read this far, here's a fun slideshow I made of my Goofy Challenge race pics!

Goofy Challenge 2016 from Allison Goldstein

Goofy Challenge 2016, Race Recap Part I

So. Goofy. (Or, as it’s officially known, the Walt Disney World Goofy’s Race and a Half Challenge.)

First, let me say up front that if it weren’t for R___, I’d never, ever have done this event. Up until now, I ran races for the following reasons: 1) Trying to PR; 2) As part of training for a PR; 3) To support a teammate; 4) To earn points for Gotham City Runners. Running a race—never mind a marathon—simply for “the experience,” simply hasn’t been on my agenda.

However, one morning back in April 2015, R___ texted me the following:

R: Hey, so I think I’m going to sign up for the Goofy Challenge.

Me: …???

R: Yeah people are talking about it at work. I think I’m going to do it.

Me: You know that’s a half AND a full marathon.

R: Yeah. Registration opens at noon.

Me: When is the race?

R: January. And then we can go to Disney and stuff.

Me: Well . . . ok. I guess if I’m going, I’ll do it too.

And that was that. Four hundred dollars later, I was signed up to run 39.3 miles the weekend before my 30^th birthday.

From the outset, I knew I wasn’t going to race both the half and the full back-to-back. Therefore, when it came time to start thinking about training, I needed to decide: did I want to focus on racing the half marathon or the full?

The half was scheduled first (Saturday) and the marathon second (Sunday), so ultimately I decided that I’d give Saturday my all and then just hope to finish the full without falling apart. Knowing how sore I typically feel the day after racing a half marathon, I was a tad worried; I just hoped that since my coach has previously trained the charity team for the Dopey Challenge (which consists of a 5k, 10k, and then the Goofy Challenge) and has run the races several times, he’d know how to train me.

I should not have worried.

Here’s how the morning of the half marathon went:

2am wakeup. Get dressed and grab pre-packed breakfast, gear bag, and fiancé; out the door by 2:30.

3am arrival at Epcot parking lot. Set alarm, lay back driver’s seat, and sleep until 3:45am.

Blink through eye drops to revive super-dry contacts. Gather gear and head to the “athlete village.” Stop along the way so R___ can buy a $2.75 paper cup of coffee. Debate about wearing my throwaway shirt to the starting line or packing it in my gear bag for tomorrow. Take shirt off. Put shirt on. Pose for cameraman but then realize that my bib number isn’t showing. Take shirt off. Watch cameraman walk away to take pictures of runners dressed as the seven dwarves. Put shirt back on. Check gear bag and meet back up with R___ to discuss post-race meeting spot.

Start mile-long walk to starting corrals. Try not to feel frustrated that I can’t use this distance to warm up; there are just too many people wearing too many costumes to do anything resembling running.

Bid fiancé farewell so he can head off to corral J. Turn in the other direction and head to corral A.

Start warming up. Use porta potties. Continue warming up. Stand in growing porta potty lines a second time, just for good measure. Then stretch and check watch about a hundred times.

Squeeze awkwardly into the front corral, wondering yet again whether I belong here.

Watch Micky, Goofy, and Donald count down to the start of the race. Fireworks go off. Race begins.

Since I do my best to "tell it like it is," here is the complete and utter truth: the first two miles of this race were extremely mentally tough. The weather was foggy and warm and sticky and humid, and I was already sweating by the time I began running. I knew I needed to focus on one race at a time—that today’s race was today, and if I was going to have any chance at all to do well, I absolutely must forget about the marathon tomorrow—but in those two miles, I couldn’t stop wondering what I was doing, trying to race this thing and then go run a full marathon the very next day.

I went out around 6:20 for those first miles, and it didn’t feel easy. My coach had told me that, if possible, I should try to bank time on the highways, because the parks were full of quick turns and slippery painted pavement. The first miles of the race were out on a long, straight highway, yet here I was, running slower than the average I would need to maintain to PR. At the same time, I didn’t want to go out too fast and dehydrate and die . . . but how was I going to do this if it already felt so hard?

Somewhere between miles two and three, I came upon a woman in a Lululemon outfit. (That’s really all I remember about her, because I was so wrapped up in my own brain.)

“How’s it going?” she asked as I pulled up alongside her.

“I don’t know,” I told her honestly.

“Well, you look good,” she responded, “and we’re pretty close to the front. I think there are only four or five women ahead of us.”

“Really.” Four or five??!! How was that even possible? We hadn't even gone out very fast!

She told me she was “just doing this as a training run” and to go on ahead, so ultimately, that’s what I did.

A few miles later, I was a little bit more “on pace.” Part of me felt excited, because if that woman was right, I was somewhere around third or fourth woman, but at the same time, I was feeling no better, physically, about the race. We went through the Magic Kingdom, and it wasn’t as slippery as I had feared, but I also hadn’t banked much time on the highways, and my legs weren’t feeling very peppy, so it was going to be a close call to PR. Then, I came upon a girl in a crop top. I crept up gradually, and the closer I got, the more fit I could see she was. Tan, muscular, very well controlled form. When I pulled up beside her, I could see that she clearly had her race face on.

So now I had this physically fit, intense girl running right beside me, and I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I say anything? Encourage her? Keep running beside her? Drop back a little so it wouldn’t mess with me mentally? Try to forge ahead and risk blowing up?

We ran side-by-side in silence for a little while, and then she solved the issue by speaking up.

“Hey, do you know Randi Mastrioni?”

I almost tripped and fell over myself. Yes! I do!

“I recognized Gotham City Runners on your top, and she runs for them. I went to high school with her.”

This ice breaker was all we needed. We chatted a bit more, albeit sporadically because we were both breathing pretty heavily, and then we settled in side-by-side and ran together.

I cannot stress how different it feels to run with someone than to run against them. In both cases, you are running beside (or just in front of, or just behind) the person, but the mental space is just so incredibly different.

When I’m running against someone, my self-talk goes like this: I’m right here, bitch. You’ve got this. You can do this. You can hang with her. Oh god but it feels so awful. She isn’t even breathing hard. Listen to that! She’s probably not even trying yet. What if she’s just doing a tempo or something? If this isn’t even a race for her? What if she pulls away, and you can’t keep up? What is she thinking? Does she even notice you’re here?

It’s like a seesaw. And you can fall off a seesaw. Easily.

Whereas when I’m running with someone, my self-talk goes more like this:              .

That is, my brain gets much, much quieter. Words are inadequate, but it’s like my mind steps out and starts running right beside me, rather than gripping my brain and twisting it, and squeezing it.

It’s all perception, of course. But at least for this race, it made a world of difference.

We cruised through the middle miles of the race, settling in with various men at different points, and running down at least one other woman. Then, around mile 10, right past a water stop, I suddenly realized that the girl was no longer beside me. I didn’t dare look back, but I couldn’t hear her breathing, either, which was strange. Did I just drop her? And if so, was I in third place???

Mentally, I now felt more confident. I could hold this pace for a while longer, and then all I had to do was focus on the final mile. After another mile of highway, I saw a woman in the distance. Number two! Could I catch her?

I chipped away through mile 11, and by mile 12, I reasoned that as long as she didn’t have a significantly faster gear stored away for the final mile, I could catch her. It took me about a quarter mile more, but I caught up, on a slightly inclined ramp, no less (one of the few “hills” in the race). As I ran by, I briefly worried that I was kicking too early, but I could also tell that I wasn’t yet at absolute max effort, so if she passed me back, I’d still have a chance when we reached Epcot.

Fortunately, that didn’t happen. Instead, I had another first-time experience. As soon as we entered Epcot, a woman wearing an orange vest and neon yellow reflectors appeared out of nowhere on a bicycle and started riding just in front of me. For a split second I thought, Gosh, this can’t be the lead runner cyclist, can it? But then I realized that there were literally no other runners in sight. Except for this woman, I was entirely alone on the course. Thank goodness she was there, because with the number of twists and turns through the park, I’d almost certainly have gotten lost or, at the very least, become uncertain and slowed down enough to make sure I didn’t get lost. Instead, I just homed in on her and battled my body as it began to shoot me major distress signals.

Stop! cried my lunges as I tried in vain to suck more oxygen out of the damp air. Slow down! protested my aching, burning legs. If you don’t ease up, my digestive system informed me, you are going to be very, very sorry. And that is no exaggeration; I spent the entire final 800 meters worried that I was going to spontaneously pee, poop, throw up, or some combination of the three, before I made it to the finish line. (Spoiler alert: I made it without incident.)

When I crossed the finish line and realized that not only had I come in second place, but I had also PRed by almost 30 seconds, what I felt was more shock than anything else. I had just run a solid half marathon PR in November, and expecting another one so soon had seemed greedy. Plus, I was going to run double this distance again tomorrow! But I guess tomorrow would bring whatever it would bring.

In the meantime, I was escorted to the VIP tent, where I kept warm(ish), noshed on free food, and ogled Paula Radcliff from a few meters away. Then I reveled in the glory of accepting a giant, twenty-five-pound Donald Duck trophy, found my fiancé, and returned to our hotel to recover for Sunday's adventure. (Recap coming soon.)

Walt Disney World Half Marathon 2016 race results:

Race Length	Finishing Time	Average Pace	Overall Place	Gender Place	Age Group Place (F25-29)
13.1 mi	1:22:06	6:15/mile	27 / 21,504	2 / 12,311	2 / 1,765

Why I Don’t Make New Years Resolutions

It’s very simple: if I wasn’t already motivated to do more/less of ABC or try harder at XYZ on December 31st, a brand new date—which I’ll inevitably write incorrectly for the first entire month of the year—isn’t going to help me. After all, it doesn’t help me the other 364 days of the year.

That isn’t to say I don’t make resolutions. Anyone who accomplishes anything must have some sort of resolution. You want to run a mile? You resolve to do it. Want to finish a book? Same deal. You pick a goal, you work toward it, and you reach it or you try again. It’s a simple formula, and one that works any time of year. That’s why December 31st is just not a meaningful deadline to me. If I sign up for a marathon, the date of the race is my deadline to get in shape. If I am part of a book club, the date of the next meeting is my deadline for finishing the book.

Beyond the issue of setting an arbitrary deadline, another problem with New Years Resolutions is that there are no real consequences for not keeping them—often because they are so vague from the start. If you intend to “eat healthier,” how is that measured? How will you know if you failed or succeeded? Likewise, if you don’t go to the gym three times a week—a decidedly more measurable resolution—who’s really going to know? What consequence will you face, aside from the unfortunate fact that you won’t get in any better shape?

Other life resolutions are very, very different. If you aren’t in shape by the time you step up to the marathon starting line, you’re going to seriously suffer for the next several hours of your life. (Or maybe you won’t even make it to the starting line, which means you’ll not only forfeit the money you spent to register, but you’ll also have to suffer pity from anyone you’ve told about the race. Which, let me tell you, is pretty excruciating.)

So here’s what I think: if you want to do something, get out there and do it. There are plenty of articles and videos out there to tell you how to set measurable, achievable goals, so you don’t need any advice from me. And if you like December 31st as a deadline, go for it. But before you begin, think long and hard about the resolution you’ve chosen and whether there are any tangible consequences for not achieving it. Otherwise, you might find yourself on “rinse and repeat” next year, and the year after, and the year after that. . . .

The 2015 Short List

Hey 2015, thanks for:

Keeping my family and friends (reasonably) healthy.

My first smartphone!

Instagram!

Another injury-free year.

My very own New York Public Library card.

The courage to leave a bad situation.

A fantastic fiancé who, for whatever reason, still thinks I’m great even after five years of dating me and continues to offer me his boundless love and support for all of my crazy endeavors.

Not raising my rent!

All the wonderful women (and the few men, too) who make up Gotham City Runners.

2016 . . . here we go!