madcity girl

Today’s mission on Dailymile is to write about someone who “personally influenced your fitness lifestyle.” And not a famous athlete like Steve Prefontaine, Ryan Hall, or Kara Goucher, but rather someone personal and unique. When I read the prompt, I immediately thought not just of one person, but two—my parents.

My dad’s influence on my fitness lifestyle began very early on and has had a tremendous impact on my life’s path. A product of the running boom of the 1970’s, fitness—and running in particular—has been big part of my dad’s life for as long as I can remember. My dad had a pretty stressful career while I was growing up, and running was always his outlet, his sanctuary. Over the course of several miles he was able to transform from corporate to family life. As soon as I was born, my mom was pushing me in a stroller while my dad competed in the Al McGuire run. I remember as kids, my brother and I would often accompany my dad on bikes during his runs. Pretty soon, we were partaking in 5k and 10k races with my dad. I realize now how lucky I was to share my dad’s passion for running with him then, and how great it was to have that kind of role model early on. Although I most certainly did not have a passion for running back then, it grew within me overtime.

What I admire most now is my dad’s outlook on running—quite simply, he loves running for what it is. He rarely races. Even though I’ve often tried to push him to compete more because I know he would dominate the 50-55 year old division, running has never been about attaining a certain place, time, or distance for my dad. For him, the pleasure of running comes from hitting the pavement on any ordinary day—feeling the rhythm of his legs, breathing fresh air, enjoying the outdoors, and pushing his body to the limits. More than anything, though, I think he looks forward to the special runs he shares with my brother and me. Our holiday runs to the lakefront, running in the north woods at our cabin, etc. Those are the most precious runs of all.

My mom is a more recent fitness influence. Certainly my mom has been a great influence on me in a number of ways; but quite honestly, her influence rarely crossed over to the fitness realm. Sure, she was aways there cheering on the sidelines and encouraging me to reach my goals, but she was always sort of the non-athlete of our family. Initially, my mom decided to become a walker in order to loose weight. When my dad signed up for the Madison Marathon in 2003, seemingly out of nowhere, my mom registered, too. And amazingly, she tackled the same training schedule as my dad—only she walked the miles. So as he would head out on a 20-mile run, my mom would go walk 20 miles. And as if running 20 miles doesn’t take long enough, try walking them. My mom would be gone for hours on end. On race day she was ready. Unfortunately, the weather was not. It rained all day. For once, I was on the sideline proudly cheering her along. I will always remember my mom’s face that day—her smile, focus, and determination. It was cold and wet, and she was in pain. But there was no way she wasn’t getting to the finish line. She crossed the line in just over six hours, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

My mom continued to enjoy walking, but about two years ago, something ignited within her. I think she became tired of being the only one in our family who didn’t run. For so long, she had wanted so badly to become a runner, but had convinced herself she couldn’t do it. With the help of the community and support on dailymile, my mom set out on a journey to become a runner. She started very slowly. She’d run a few minutes, walk a mile. Next time she’d run a few more minutes. Over time, she was able to build herself up to greater distances. Just yesterday, my mom ran 11 miles. My mom is a runner. Which makes us a family of runners. And clearly, my mom has contributed a lot more to my own athletic determination and focus than I ever realized.

My brother Kelly recently asked if I would pace him during the last 50 miles of the Western States 100 Endurance Run, the oldest and largest 100-mile trail run in the country, on June 26-27. So what exactly does that mean—to pace a runner during an ultra-marathon? The best description is one I found from author Chris McDougall in the book Born to Run:

Pacing is so grueling and thankless, usually only family, fools, and damn good friends let themselves get talked into it. The job means shivering in the middle of nowhere for hours until your runner shows up, then setting off at sunset for an all-night run through wind-whistling mountains. You’ll get blood on your shins, vomit on your shoes, and not even a T-shirt for completing two marathons in a single night. Other job requirements can include staying awake while your runner catches a nap in the mud; popping a blood blister between [his] blood cheeks with your fingernails; and surrendering your jacket, even though your teeth are chattering, because [his] lips have gone blue.”

Despite all of this, I enthusiastically replied, count me in! It would be an honor to accompany you through Squaw Valley. (Although I most certainly will not be popping any of my brother’s blisters. Especially between his butt cheeks. That I can assure you.)

I’ve been secretly toying with the idea of running an ultra-marathon for a few years now. My brother ran his first 100-mile ultra-marathon during his senior year in college—that was five years ago and he hasn’t stopped since. I’ve detailed a few of his races here and here. It’s extraordinarily inspiring. And the way he’s described his experiences, it just seems to me like the purest form of running that exists. And certainly my recent reading of Born to Run helped intensify my interest. So earlier this year I decided. This is the year I will run my first ultra-marathon.

And quite honestly, I’m ready for the next adventure. I’ve completed six Ironman triathlons and am signed up for my seventh this September. I’ve run the Boston Marathon. I still love competing in marathons and triathlons, and continue to find them all very challenging, but part of me is ready for a new experience—and one that is less commercialized and more of a real adventure in the pristine back country—running on trails, through streams, and up mountains. I just can’t think of an experience more raw and real than that.

Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do it. It’s all very scary—the terrain, keeping up with my brother, the risk of altitude sickness, the things we might encounter in the middle of the night, etc. But I’m excited to try. It should be one hell of an adventure. And I can’t wait to share the experience with my brother.

This year my mom asked me if I was too old to receive a stocking full of goodies for Saint Nick’s Day. Umm…no, I replied incredulously. Unlike other holiday traditions for which I’ve grudgingly grown too old (e.g., trick-or-treat), I will always believe in Saint Nick, or rather the woman behind Saint Nick—my mom.

As previously discussed, Saint Nick’s is my favorite holiday of the year. The December 6th celebration always seems to kick off the holiday season and whet my appetite for Christmas. I also love the idea of several small gifts, and the thought that goes into assembling the perfect stocking. And my mom has always done an amazing job of making the day a special tradition for our family. My mom quilted a personalized stocking for each of us, and now that my brother and I live away from home, she works hard to get packages out to both of us in early December. In fact, during college, a few of our roommates were introduced to the tradition and also received handmade stockings and treats from Saint Jackie.

It took a little longer than usual to get my package this year, which was no fault of Saint Jackie. Since I wasn’t home when my postal carrier attempted to deliver the package, it was instead brought to the post office for pick-up. And since I wasn’t able to get to the post office until last Saturday, there were many days in between that were filled with suspense and excitement.

When I finally did pick up my package and bring it home, I carefully opened the box to find a computer print-out anouncing “Happy St. Nick’s.” Burried underneath were all kinds of treasures—everything from a Starbucks sampler to a year subscription to Real Simple to an eyelash curler. Saint Nick was very generous this year because I’ve been an especially good girl. I called my mom immediately to thank her and tell her how much I loved everything. And that’s why I believe in Saint Nick…er Jackie. She’s always very good to me.

You could say I’m a little behind on the blog front. We’re quickly approaching Christmas, and I’m just now getting around to posting pictures and stories from Thanksgiving. Eventually I’ll catch up with my blog…and life, for that matter.

So…Thanksgiving. I took Wednesday through Friday off work, in an effort to stretch out the weekend as long as possible. And I was all over the place—visiting family and friends in Brookfield, Rockford, and Madison. I spent the first few days at home with my parents in Brookfield. My mom and I did a fair amount of Christmas shopping, coffee-drinking, and requisite girl talk. My parents and I went out to dinner on Wednesday night at a new Mexican fusion restaurant and afterwards enjoyed frozen custard at Kopp’s. The flavors of the day were Pecan Praline Pumpkin Pie and Cranberry Medley. My mom and I opted for a scoop of each and went to town on our pre-Thanksgiving ice cream feast.

The next morning was Thanksgiving Day and my dad and I ran from my parents’ house in Brookfield to the Milwaukee lakefront (~11 miles). Running to the lake is a special holiday family tradition we started several years ago. But this time was even more special because it’s been over a year since my dad has been able to participate, as a result of a serious running injury. After my dad and I finished up the run, it was of course time to eat. Since my parents had hosted Thanksgiving for my dad’s family the previous weekend, and I don’t like many traditional Thanksgiving foods anyways, we decided to make a low key meal—a nice bourbon soup (a recipe from my friend Brad). We also joined my mom’s side of the family for dessert (aka Pie Palooza). It was really nice to see my cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandma. The rest of the night, I spent with my parents, drinking wine and talking.

On Friday afternoon, I made the short drive to Rockford to meet up with my closest girlfriends from high school. My friend Erin’s parents hosted an engagement party for Erin and her fiance, Tim, at Carlyle, a cute downtown brewery. It was awesome to see my friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in over a year. We’re really all over the world now—Arizona, California by way of New Zealand, Seattle, Chicago, Naperville, and Madison. Sadly, our friend Christie from Seattle wasn’t able to make it, but the rest of us were there to help celebrate. And we’re definitely looking forward to a full group reunion at Erin’s wedding in Scottsdale next September!

After a few hours celebrating at Carlyle, my friends and I made our way to Second Cousins, a Rockford bar where we met  up with several high school classmates for an “unofficial” version of our 10-year reunion. We missed the official cocktail hour and dinner, which coincided with Erin’s engagement party. It was great to see so many people from high school that I hadn’t seen in years.  Later that night, Katy’s sister Jen picked us up in the “Vandango” for a late night run to Uncle Nick’s drive-through (where we obnoxiously ordered a van load gyro combo meals).  The next morning we fittingly capped off our short Rockford reunion with a breakfast of Swedish pancakes at Stockholm Inn.

I headed back to Madison later that morning, where I promptly set up and decorated my two foot Christmas tree. Later that night, I headed over to Lauren and Brodie’s house for a backyard bonfire. We spent hours out in their backyard catching up, sipping beer, and warming up over the fire. At that point, I truly realized how thankful I am for everything—my wonderful family, my great friends all over the world, and the life and home I’ve made for myself in Madison. It was the perfect way to end the weekend.

Over the weekend, my brother ran the Rocky Ridge Half-Marathon in San Ramon, California. Not only did he run the race, he won it. The whole darn thing.

How does my brother run so fast? What does his training entail? It’s all about rigor and consistency. Intervals and discipline. It’s all about the beer mile. This, my friends, is Kelly’s training plan in action.

Read more about the origins and rules of the Beer Mile here.

After some short workouts and a late lunch, Jen and I came back to our condos this afternoon for some down time before dinner. After three flights of stairs, we rounded the corner to find a tall, rectangular box sitting outside my family’s condo. I curiously bent down to examine the box and mailing address. In disbelief, I realized it was a flower box, addressed to me. Who could these possibly be from, I asked myself, as I racked my brain in search of potential flower senders. I think you have a boyfriend, Kristin, Jen joked. Nope, definitely not, I insisted, as I continued to stare at the box. Open them!, Jen demanded.

I carefully ripped open the box and found a beautiful arrangement of colorful daisies. Wow. I then found a note with the following message from several of my closest friends from high school:

Krit, we hope you know we are all cheering you on from all parts of the world. We love you, and could not be more proud of you. You are amazing, and our Iron Krit. Love you!

—Soupe, Anne, Snargs, Porps, Beth, and Mimi

What an awesome surprise. You guys are the best! Thank you so much for your love and support. It means so much to me.

Last weekend, my brother Kelly competed in the Bear 100 ultra marathon, from Logan, Utah to Fish Haven, Idaho. The race bills itself as a “Cool, autumn loop through the Pines, Golden Aspens, and Red Maples of the Wasatch/Bear River Range.” The course features 21,986 feet of climbing and maximum elevation of 9,060.

My brother finished 29th overall with a time of 29:01:57. Kelly’s friend and roommate Ben crewed for him throughout the race, and also shot the race footage above. Only my brother can make running 100 miles look so damn easy!

But Kelly said that the race was anything but easy…temperatures ranged from a stifling 85 degrees during the day to below zero at night. Kelly puked, suffered altitude sickness, punctured the water reservoir of his Camelback, lost many toe nails, and developed a number of blisters all over his feet. Accordingly to Kelly, much or the race wasn’t pretty. Still, I’m impressed.

My brother is now considering attempting the Grand Slam of ultra marathon running next year. The Grand Slam award, which was established in 1986, in recognition for those who complete four of the oldest 100 mile trail runs in the US, all in the same year—Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run, the Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run, the Leadville Trail 100 Mile Run and the Wasatch Front 100 Mile Endurance Run.

He’s also trying to convince me to pace him next June during Western States, an ultra marathon from Squaw Valley to Auburn, California. I must say I’m seriously considering the proposition. It would mean so much to me to be able to share that experience with my brother, and to help him get to the finish line. And I might actually be able to keep up with him during his last 20-30 miles. We’ll see…I better get through this next race before making any rash decisions.

Last week, my mom came to visit me in Madison from Thursday evening through Saturday morning for some quality mother-daughter bonding. Of course I also love spending time with my dad and brother, but sometimes us girls just need a little time to ourselves.You know, for girl talk…

My mom came in on Thursday night and picked me up from work. I was craving Mexican food and outdoor dining (sadly, the days are numbered), so we opted for Casa de Sol in Fitchburg. My mom and I promptly ordered margaritas and began catching up.

Kristin, I want to be a grandmother.

The next day, my mom and I started with a little run, followed by coffee and scones at Lazy Jane’s, my favorite place in Madison for breakfast. The scones are to die for, the staff is lovable and quirky, and the atmosphere is super kitschy and homey.

I hate to break it to you mom, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon.

After our java fix, we made our way across the street to St. Vinny’s, where my mom and I love to peruse the used books. My mom does not come to Madison without insisting upon a visit to St. Vinny’s. According to its Web site, the Williamson Street location “probably has the best used book section you will find in any thrift store in the country.” In fact, I’d guess that half of my book collection is from St. Vinny’s.

But don’t you want to get married, Kristin?

From Williamson Street, we headed to “Quilts in Bloom,” a fall quilt and flower show at the Olbrich Botanical Gardens. The show, which runs through October 11, features dozens of beautiful handmade quilts by local artists, as well an array of fall foliage and flowers. My mom is a huge quilter. And so I have a great appreciation for how much time and energy goes into each little square. After admiring the quilts, we took a stroll around the gardens, which were also very lovely.

No, I’m not sure that I do, actually. People change, and I’m not sure that I want to commit to one person forever.

For lunch, we opted for a simple salad bar meal at Whole Foods. Afterwards, we stopped by the nearby Century House, to admire all of the great modern Scandinavian furniture pieces and accessories. While driving, we then came upon a great estate sale. The house was filled to the brim with pottery, figurines, and tapestries from all over the world. It was like a museum.

But you want to have kids, right? You’d be a great mother.

For dinner, we headed to my beloved Weary Traveler. Per usual, I opted for the West of the Andes sandwich. My mom chose Bob’s Bad Breath Burger. We were both very happy campers. After dinner, we walked down State Street, taking in the downtown night life scene and ever-increasing scantily clad collegiates.

Holy shit, mom, look at how short that girl’s dress is…and how high her heels are. Did I ever dress like that in college?

We then made our way to the Memorial Union terrace for Babcock ice cream and the World Music Festival. After that, we called it a night, and headed home.

But Kristin, back to the whole kids thing….

The next morning, we woke up bright and early to get to the farmers’ market before the crowds. As always, our first stop was for coffee. Armed with caffeine, the focus of our first loop around the capitol was finding the perfect breakfast sweets to accompany our coffee. We joked at how my extraordinarily sweet-toothed dad would have stopped at every booth along the way to try each donut, apple fritter, danish, and cinnamon roll that caught his eye.

After a second loop of the market, during which we bought essentials like produce and homemade hot fudge, my mom’s visit sadly came to an end. It was time to hit the road. But it was a great visit. I love spending time with my mom.

I’m pretty sure it’s somewhat unique that I have a grandma who sends me a card each year on my birthday that includes a five dollar bill and the line have one on me!

If my memory serves correct,  my grandma began this ritual long before my 21st birthday. Nevertheless, I look forward to this card each year more than any other—I always know what it’s going to say and contain. It just makes me smile. And there’s nothing quite like a beer on grandma D.

Early last week, I visited my parents to enjoy a day of shopping with my mom and an early birthday dinner at Cafe Hollander, the newest kid on the block in Tosa Village on Milwaukee’s West Side. I’m always game for new dining experiences. Following is my take on Cafe Hollander.  

Smack in the middle of Tosa village, the Belgian-themed restaurant is housed in an airy, three-story brick building with hardwood floors, a striking bar that features dozens of unique brews on tap, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Menomonee River, as well as various wall hangings that suggest a religious devotion to all things cycling. Cafe Hollander also features a great outdoor patio overlooking the Menomonee River. The river-side setting and colorful table-top umbrellas create a European towncenter atmosphere—all in all, a wonderful and uniquely vibrant addition to the increasingly-hip village.

The menu is relatively simple—mostly appetizers, sandwiches, salads, and a half-dozen-or-so entrees (appetizers range from $4-11, sandwiches are all priced around $10, and entrees range from $11-19). Cafe Hollander’s most unique menu offerings include breakfast options that are served all-day, as well as more than a dozen “dipping sauces,” which I assume are meant to accompany the popular frites that are served as an appetizer (in a cone), as well as a side for all sandwiches.

When we arrived, the outdoor patio was packed. Although the restaurant  just opened in June, Cafe Hollander’s popular East Side location has already made a name for itself in the Milwaukee area. Since it was such a gorgeous evening, we decided to have a drink at the bar and wait for an outdoor table to become available. I was impressed with the variety and sheer number of beer options on tap—lots of great beers  from Belgium and the Netherlands in particular.

Once we were seated (relatively quickly, actually, by way of a very loud, voice-activated beeper), we ordered the spicy calamari (hand-cut calamari, lightly breaded and fried with red peppers, fresh jalapenos, carrots and pepperoncini. Served with srirachamayonnaise).  It was pretty good, but too spicy for my tastes. Disappointingly, we had very little time to enjoy the appetizer, as our entrees came out just minutes afterwards.

For an entree, I chose the BBQ Pulled Chicken Sandwich (Pulled baked chicken breast, tossed in BBQ sauce and served on a toasted brioche bun, with a side of cole slaw). My dad chose the Grilled Ahi Tuna sandwich, and my mom opted for the Famous Trocadero Brie, Tomato, and Basil Sandwich. The presentation for all was wonderful—great portions, color contrast, and arrangements—but certainly the bite was lacking punch. In other words, the food was good, but not great.

Cafe Hollander is a great place to gather with friends for beers and small plates (I’m thinking excellent happy hour option). The atmosphere, especially the patio during the warmer months, is certainly Cafe Hollander’s best attribute. I also very much appreciate the attention to cycling (it appears as though the restaurant sponsors a team and perhaps a few races—so definitely props for that). The food, however, still needs work. There’s much promise, but the dishes need more flavor and pizazz.