Things I Did Not Know in January But Now I Do

• The terms gear, cadence, three-up, saddle-sore, or clip-ins.
• An itchy nose means improper breathing in the water.
• Swimsuits are really expensive.
• Bikes are really expensive.
• Chlorine is an overwhelming odor at first but eventually you get used to it. Maybe even grow to like it.
• Putting baby powder in your swim cap will prevent it from sticking together. It's better to add the baby powder after you've swam and before you're dressed in a black sweater.
• There is nothing quite as good as a good run.
• You do not have to shave your legs to get into the pool. Honestly, no one notices.
• The mirrors on the left side of the spin class room are good. The mirrors on the right side of the spin class room are evil.
• Sitting on a bike in the back row of a spin class means that you can watch muscluar guys to pull ups, heavy machines, and lower ab leg lifts behind you. Always get to class early.
• Dogs of all sizes are fascinated by bike wheels. Dog owners of all sizes are idiots.
• It is completely possible to learn how to swim in three months.
• Learning to cycle is not simply 'riding a bike.'.
• Triathlons are really expensive.
• Not rotating enough in the water = back pain
• Seat too high or low on your bike = back pain
• Taking spin classes to learn how to bike is like only running on a treadmill before your first race. Eventually, you have to get outside.
• Bike tires need to be inflated at least once a week.
• If it feels like your bike weights ten extra pounds no matter how hard you push and it's hard to balance than usual, check your tires.
• We can pretty much do anything we set our minds to -- no matter how daunting, terrifying, overwhelming, and challenging.

Training for a Marathon v. Training for Triathlon

Misconception #4590 of the triathlon was that my running experiences and marathon training would somehow help me.


A lot of people have asked if I would be able to do a triathlon. My usual response is "Whatever, Mom. I did the marathon in November and I've run 11 half marathons. Yes I can do it! Gosh!" I mean, I knew how to follow a training plan, pushed my body to run 40 mile weeks, and eventually conquered the big 26.2. So how hard could learning to swim and ride a bike possibly be?"

Hard.

It's not hard as in algebra hard. It's hard as in trying to write with your opposite hand. I'm going through the motions but the outcome is not what I expected. It looks and feels like a big giant mess that only a crazy person would understand. Training for a triathlon requires a new level of balance, confidence, and determination.

Balance: I was able to train for 11 half marathons while working full-time, going to graduate school part-time, and enjoying a healthy social life. I even picked up an additional fitness goal in karate and was able to have a relationship too.Trying to find the time, energy,and  resources to handle running, swimming, cycling, and ninja classes has been a significant challenge.  The struggle to balance everything has cost me relationships, sanity, and lots of PTO hours at work. I was once able to handle graduate school, GOTR, career, running, ninja, and a relationship on schedule built like a Jenga game and the triathlon toppled it all.

Confidence: Triathlon training is like following a new recipe from complete scratch. I'm dealing with new ingredients and being told to mix them together in an unfamiliar and weird way. Am I running too much? Should I be swimming more? Why do I still smell like chlorine? Do I really need to bake this for 40 minutes? Why is this dough so wet? There are times when I just want to throw it all away and order pizza. 

Determination: When I was training for the marathon, I never ever wanted to quit. The thought of not finishing a long run or not ultimately achieving a goal that I had set and worked towards for three years never once crossed my mind. I had two years and many road races under my belt to bolster my confidence and squash any self-doubt about running. I had the experience and confidence to know that I was going to finish the marathon.
I want to quit the triathlon at least once a week. I've never done this before. I've never swam in open water. I've never biked on a road with other cyclists. I've never done transitions and wetsuits. And I just never know if I'm doing it right. It's frustrating. It's exhausting. It's demanding. I want to quit with ever failed flip turn in the pool. I want to quit every time my foot hurts or my wrist aches.  I want to quit when I come home to an empty apartment because my now ex-boyfriend couldn't handle it. I want to quit every time I step onto the mat at ninja and still don't know the stupid kata because I had to miss three weeks because of injury or training.

But I don't quit. And I won't. I have no idea why. Maybe it's because so many of my coworkers and friends are excited for me and watch me succeed? Maybe it's because I've had to chant "Courage, Self-Control, Perseverance, Indomitable Spirit" at the end ninja classes twice a week for almost two years. Maybe I'm just stubborn. Maybe I've just sacrificed too much and worked too hard to stop now. Maybe I'm just a masochist and enjoy the pain. Maybe I need to know that I can do it.


“Listen to the mustn'ts, child. Listen to the don'ts. Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts. Listen to the never haves, then listen close to me... Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.”

― Shel Silverstein.

Lessons in Not Flying Off a Bike

We've discussed my lessons in not drowning, aka swimming. Lets move on to Lessons in Not Flying off a Lightweight Deathtrap while going very fast down a hill with lots of holes and obstacles.

Just like swimming, I approached biking with many misconceptions and naivety.
Yes, I knew how to ride a bike. I learned at a early age. It was a lot more fun at that early age. Kids ride bikes with reckless abandon. That same reckless abandon that terrifies parents and drivers. There are no speed limits. Helmets are lame but you have to wear them. It's fun and there is nothing more awesome than going downhill on bike. When you're a child....

When you're an adult, it's the cars on the road you're trying to share that apparently obey no speed limits. Helmets serve as the only line of defense between the pavement and your brain. In my opinion--there is nothing more terrifying than going downhill. My first experience with a decline  was in Tyler Park in Newtown. I've run in Tyler Park for three years and never EVER do I recall going downhill on foot. That park has served as a geographic anomaly to me because there were no downhills. I always assumed that if you go up a hill, you would eventually go down a hill. Unless you're in Tyler Park.

This is me running in Tyler Park. Repeat this scene over and over and over again and
you have my life for the past three years.

Until that windy day in early April when I took my pretty new bike to Tyler and learned that there are in fact downhills in Tyler Park. They simply only exist when one is going way too fast and cannot rely on their own devices to stop. Oh yes, Tyler has downhills. And I hate them. I can climb the hills fairly well. It's a good time. I grunt. I feel triumphant at the top. I sweat with pride. Then, I realize in this landscape of terror that is Tyler Park, there is no flat stretch to catch my breath or gather speed. I have reached the top of a hill which can only mean....

And this is me riding my bike in Tyler Park.  And counting the ways to wipe out.

I am not a praying person. I do not have any known crazy anxiety disorder. I maintain an acceptable amount of awareness of what I can and cannot control in this world. Until the moment when I have go down a hill on my bike. In the 30 seconds it will take me to reach the bottom, I will have said a full Rosary, imagined twelve difference scenarios of ways my body could be removed from the bike, and the 100 different injuries I could substain. I count seconds. I count trees. I count breaths. I count the moments it will be until I feel some resemblence of control and comfort on the two-wheels below me. I thank whomever invented helmets. I thank the people ahead for moving. I thank whatever powers that be for getting me down that damn hill. 

I've heard people call this freeing. I've heard it called liberating. I call it insanity. I internally freak out when I realize that I could have to face this same situation in the race and will be surronded by other cyclists. They will be going much faster than me. It adds another level of terror to this irrational reasoning. I may be the only person one two wheels who would prefer to go up hill. Please, challenge my quads. Make my thighs burn. I will take on the hill. I do not want to become part of the hill. 

I had to conquer my fear of public pools and speedos to learn swimming. Chlorine may dry out my skin, but it will never tear skin off like a road rash. Other people's germs will simply make me stink or a little sick. Other people's pets may cause me to crash.

Uphills and downhills  are an inevitable part of life. I cannot avoid either. I need to find a way to slow down and gain a sense of control on the downhill part. I'll be ok then.   And that is a pretty significant methaphor for life, my friends. And a really good time to wrap up this post.

Misery Loves Company for 20 Miles

My alarm went off at 6am on Saturday morning. I was not happy about this. I was not happy about leaving my snugly warm bed. I was not happy that my Phillies had lost the night before and were out of the playoffs. I had company in my misery. My stomach was unhappy about the beer I chose to drink and the greasy pizza and salty chips I chose to eat Friday night. It should have had had water and pasta. My legs were not happy with the 27 miles of running I had already forced them to do that week and the 20 miles I was asking of them that morning.

At least I had really pretty scenery for all 20 miles of this run.

Saturday morning was my first 20 mile training run for the Philadelphia Marathon. This would be the longest I had ever run (ever!). The 20 mile distance is a landmark for most training plans and a beginning runner will not exceed 20 miles until race day. This distance is as close to the infamous 26.2 as I will see until the actual marathon day.

There was an angel runner on my right shoulder chanting motivational mantras and reasons why I had to get out there. There was a sleepy Satan on my other shoulder spewing off possible other ways to get 20 miles in that weekend and other skeptical, fear-filled nonsense. I was too tired to listen to either of them and simply went through my typical morning routine on autopilot. Actually, I was afraid.  I was scared of the distance and the committment that it would bring. If I could get through this challenge, I would actually be training for a marathon. I would have to line up with thousands of other people on November 20, 2011 and set out to push my body for more than four hours and do so voluntarily. It's as close to the "it" as I will get. Sure, I've had sore legs and an upset stomach the morning of a race. But I've never run with or through fear.















My runner friend Lauren was meeting me at the five-mile mark (Washington's Crossing Park) and together we'd run five miles towards New Hope, and turn around. 5 miles to WC + 5 miles to NH + 5 miles back to WC+ 5 miles home = 20 miles. Those first five solo miles were horrible. I considered just asking Lauren to drive me home. My legs felt ok but my mind was not there. I used my anger at the Phillies to get me through a few miles. I spent time reorganizing everything in my weekend and thinking of excuses so that if I did bail out, I could still make up the mileage later.  I turned my music up loader, hoping to drown out the downer thoughts.

Bridges = walk breaks

Lauren and I are always able to push each other and work together when we run. Once I met up with her, everything would be fine. Turns out Lauren was less than thrilled that day too. We decided our misery and overall blah-ness would have to push us through.

I want to live there someday.

With my favorite dully disgruntled running buddy by my side, we set out for part 2 of this odyssey. By mile 8 (for me, 3 for her) the Eeyore-like cloud had lifted and we were feeling ok. Not great, not good but ok. We turned around at mile 10 and felt better. Not great, but good. I started to fall apart around mile 14. Lauren ran an extra mile around the park with me.  I was now at 15 miles and that fear was beginning to join the list of current feelings (tired, hungry, stinky, excited, fear).




On a long run a few weeks ago, we met an older guy on the towpath who must have sensed my distance running despair and asked what I'm training for. Actually, I think he heard Lauren and I talking about how far we needed to go and we were both wearing half marathon tech tees. My Camelback and Garmin watch may have also betrayed us as 'marathon runners.' He was an experienced marathoner who has to stick to the 5ks now because of a bad knee. He was really sweet and interested in our journey. As Lauren and I were saying good bye and I was prepping to conquer five.more.miles.solo, he walked by! He shouted to me, "Hey! Still training for that marathon?"
"Absolutely! I'm working on twenty today!"
"Good for you! You can do it!"
"Five more!"
His daughter or wife also smiled encouragingly as we passed. With that wonderful shot of motivation and inspiration, I was off.

Just five more miles.
Just four more miles.
Just three more miles. I was allowing myself walk breaks every half mile because I'd been running for close to four hours at this point. The furthest I had every gone at that point at 17 miles and I used every mile after that as a celebration. I would text Lauren and Scott at each mile. I had a little dance break at mile 18.

Just two more miles! I was two miles away from running 20 miles and had never run this far before!
Just one. more mile! I started to get really emotional. I could be believe that I was about to finish my longest run ever and that I almost given up so many times.

20 MILES! I did it! I cried. I could barely breath but I somehow managed to cry. I was so proud, happy and tired. And overwhelmed. And sore. I visualize the marathon finish line a lot as I run and I imagine how I'll feel and worry about the miles leading up to it. Saturday morning was a sneak preview of the emotional and physical exhiliration of the real thing. And I can not wait.

Righetous Runner's Recent Righteous Running Ruminations

I will write a race recap in a timely manner someday. Although, I don't run most races in a timely manner so my lapse in posting time is reflective of the experience itself. 

From 5Ks to marathon training runs, this season has been filled with running events. It's awesome. And tiring. And thrilling. And painful. And surprising. And surprisingly painful. 

Below is a quick breakdown of the running events I've done this season. 

Delran Smokin' Hot 5k  27:25:00 

Garden of Reflection 5k  28:00:00 

Philadelphia Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon  2:26:00 

Steeplechase 25K Distance Run 2:45:00

Philadelphia Marathon Training Runs: 14 miler/15 miler/17 miler

 

I've found a new friend in the 5K. I've run the distance several times before but generally find the amount of effort put forth for any running event not really worth the distance. By that, I mean, I wasn't a fan of paying $25 to run 3.1 miles unless it's for a charity. Or, as was the case with the Delran Fireman's Smokin' Hot 5K, was being put on by my new boss at work. I felt a lot of pressure to do well at this race because my bossy-boss was the race director and I wouldn't have put it past her to bring it back to the office in some form. 

If that race was included in my annual performance review--I would definitely get a raise! I would even be ranked second fastest female between ages 20-35 in the office. And by that, I mean I placed 2nd in my age group. I shattered my previous 5K PR almost two minutes. 

I was so pumped from my performance, I signed up for the Garden of Reflection 5K the following weekend. While I felt like I ran a lot harder and faster at this event, my time was 35 seconds slower. Both events were great and we went out for a really good breakfast afterward. 

When you're used to pushing your body and slogging on for more than 13 miles at a time, a finish line at mile 3.1 is amazing. There is no reason to conserve energy or hold back. No! You go balls-to-the-wall, full speed for a relatively short time.You will not pay for it later by running out of water or energy with seven miles left to run. With 5Ks, by the time the legs even realize what is happening, you're done! It's beautiful. And you get a t-shirt! You can go on with your day without having to stretch and recover for hours. Bam. 

Short, sprinting 5Ks are good for Saturdays. Soul-crushing distance runs are for Sundays. The defining principle of marathon training is essentially to run a little more each week. By doing so, a runner builds strength, endurance, and stamina. I guess that's true. But, mostly, the runner learns exactly how many muscles they have and for how much time those muscles can hurt. I've learned that I can run 17 miles in about 3.5 hours and then waddle around for about 24 hours afterward. 

I smile as I waddle and limp after those runs--and not just because those 16 muscles it apparently takes to smile are the only 16 muscles NOT used in running. This is surprisingly fun. Each week, I get to learn how far I can go. I'm surprised, proud, stinky, excited, and scared at the end of each training run. I usually don't feel any of those things throughout the week while I'm chained to a desk. I look forward to it! Even more surprising, they do get easier. I ran a 25K (15.5 miles) on Sunday and was so happy at the 13.1 mile mark because it meant I only had a 5K left. I'm used to being happy at mile 10 in a half. I was sad again when I realized that I would still have 10 miles to run during the marathon. Oy. 

Finish line at Garden of Reflection 5K. "We're done! Already?"

Righteous Runner Tribute to the Righteous Boyfriends/significant Others of Runners

It was a quiet Sunday evening. Scott and I were settling in on the couch for an evening of watching Lost episodes. I had run 15 miles that morning as part of my training for my marathon and was sore and tired. My feet were swollen and tender from three hours of pavement pounding but the worst was the pressure and pain underneath my toenails.This is called runner's toes and it is caused by damage to the nail bed either by the shoe or sock. It is  very common among runners.  As Scott was about to turn on season five, episode 3, I muster all my strength and roll to a standing position.

"Hold on. I've gotta go rip off this toenail," I say, hobbling towards the bathroom.
"Awww! Gross! Was that necessary!" Scott hollers. I turn to see him shaking his head and doing that finger biting thing. I'm back in five minutes and attempt to resume my cuddle spot, but not without a little teasing.

"Hey, look at this!"
"Think I can get a discount on a pedicure now since I only have nine toenails?"
"That little pig did not cry wee wee wee all the way home. It got hit by a bus."

For some reason, Scott is not amused. He's actually quite freaked out. Why? It's not ok for your girlfriend to rip toenails off and then laugh about it? It's not cute?

Poor Scott. He's been woken up to come pick me up from various spots all over Bucks County at the precise mile I've decided to be done running.  He's learned to come with a towel, flip flops, clean t-shirt, and cold bottle of water. He also keeps the windows down no matter what the weather. I'm pretty sure if his banged-up foot hadn't slowed him down, he would have hidden when my runny buddy Lauren and I returned from our triumphant 17 mile run Sunday morning.  I have no idea why he wouldn't hug me until I after a shower.

Scott, welcome to the world of having a runner girlfriend. For when you have a runner girlfriend, things are different. What runners think of as perfectly acceptable behaviors can come across as disgusting and frightening to those not in the know. It takes a good man to tolerate our demanding training schedules and some of the unflattering side effects of running. Marathon training requires a lot of dedication and commitment not just of the runner but of their significant other. But, the boyfriends of girl runners (or the girl friends of boy runners) know that those disgusting, stinky, sweaty moments when we are red and puffy, the hours of stretching, icing, whining, the small fortune in sports bras and race fees, the early morning wake ups, will all add up to one of our best moments---crossing those finish lines. There will be smiles  that can't be beat and a feeling of pride and satisfaction that will, I promise, make those quiet nights on the couch instead of a bar and bruised toe nails more than worth it.

So, lets raise our water bottles  and do a Shot block to the guys who stand idly on the finish line as we strive for PRs and paces

• who understand what a PR is and why it's important.
• who drive us to all over this green Earth at disgraceful hours of the morning.
• who will make as many stops at as many gas stations as needed en route to a race--again, without judgement.
• who wait while we run.
• who endure snooze buttons and multiple alarms throughout the weekdays.
• who do not judge when we order appetizers, main course and dessert at dinner and clear the plates in record time.
• who buy breakfast after a morning run.
• who hang our medal racks.
• who ensure our bibs are on straight.
• who take goofy photos (or, if you're my boyfriend, multiple photos of my butt while I'm not looking).
• who join us for a mile or two even if they hate running.
• who do not get why the Shot block joke was funny but pretend to laugh anyway.
• who are now running experts  from listening to their girlfriends go on and on and on about this sport.

Any  runners out there who (actually read this silly blog!) want to give a shout out to their significant other? Let 'em know you care by commenting on this never-read blog. It's almost as symbolic as letting them hold your gear bag. :-) 

More Important Than a Finish Line

Because there are more important things than medals and free bananas.

Because when your boyfriend texts you during a race, “I just got into an accident” you stop running. Everything stops. The clocks, your heart, your breath, everything. Stops.

This weekend was the Back on my Feet Midnight Madness 8 Mile Run. I fundraised for this event because Back on my Feet is a remarkable organization that I would love to be more involved with. I really liked (at first) the idea of running at midnight. It’s a break from the early morning starts and peanut butter toast breakfasts. The race takes place along the scenic (in the daytime) Philadelphia Art Museum Loop, a course I’m more than familiar with. Four miles down Kelly drive, a little more than 4 miles back along West River Drive, around the Art Museum, finishing at the start of Boathouse Row.

From the very start, there was mysterious bad mojo around this race. The day was just weird. As I was getting ready, Scott says his stomach is in knots but he doesn’t know why. I offered him an out and he could be excused from the silliness of driving to Philly at 10pm to deal with parking in a congested area, so I could run in the dark while he sat bored for 3 hours.

As we walked towards Boathouse Row and the starting line, I got surprisingly nervous. Was I concerned about 8 miles at midnight? Nah. I didn’t like the concept of running in the dark through a sketchy areas.  I got, like, really nervous. All of the runners were required to wear reflective gear and there was a contest for the most illuminated runner. I decided to stay by THAT person. At the stroke of midnight, we were off. 

The race started well. Running in the dark means running without the punishing heat or humidity and significantly less distractions for a short-attention span like mine. I was concentrating so intently on the darkness and not tripping that the miles flew by.

But an easy race in the dark is not was this post is about.

Mile 7. My phone lights up. I see my boyfriend’s name and smile to myself that he’s probably sending something like a ‘good luck!’ or ‘see you at the finish line!’ type thing. But it wasn’t. It was the kind of message that pulls you out of your head and brings all your priorities back into focus.

“I just got into an accident”

Stop. Legs stop. Heart stop. Lung stop. Life stop. I step off the course and text back, “What? Are you ok? Where are you?”

Legs start. Heart starts. Mind sprints. Imagination goes faster than my body ever will. He had to get gas. Is he by Board Street and Spring Garden?/That’s a crappy area. What kind of accident/What if they take him to the hospital/What hospital/I won’t be able to see him/Is he ok/what happened/why/where/he has my keys/I don’t have my wallet/or any cash or credit card. Get there. Get there. Find him!

The phone rings after what feels like an eternity but was probably only two minutes. There was an accident. A red light was run, cars collided, police on their way, at 25^th and Fairmount.

“Where are you?”

“ 25^th and Fairmount!”
“Ok! I’ll get there! I only have about a mile to go.” I’m not really sure what the rest of the conversation was because I became focused solely on finishing this damn race.

Imagination goes wild with crazy scenarios.  Unfortunately for me, my legs didn’t have quite the momentum or power in them left as my imagination did. So, as I pushed and fought to run the longest mile of my life, ever, my mind had the car being towed with my apartment keys into, had me being locked out of an emergency room while some nurse said I wasn’t allowed in because I’m not family, had him crashed in north Philadelphia with scary gansta types that even the Fresh Prince of Bel Air couldn’t handle just circling him, had him in a fight with some drunken bar dude who hit his car, had me stranded in Philadelphia with nothing but my cell phone and my Garmin. Keep in mind, this all happening at around 1:15 am.

I could have been running a 8 minute-mile pace but it seemed like I was getting no where. I needed to finish the race and find him. As I finally  passed the Art Museum, I realized that I was in the Fairmount section of the city and holy smokes, there’s 25^th street. Without a second thought, I turned right off of the course and headed up 25^th.  My first DNF. 

I could see the police lights from Kelly Drive. I ran up and saw the black Acura that I mock him relentless for, smashed by a street lamp. I see my always calm, always collected, never stressed out, rock of a boyfriend leaning against his car, a cigarette shaking from his lips. He told me to go finish the race. he'll be fine. 

I refused. Because there are more important things in life than finish lines and free bananas. There are far worse acronyms than DNF. I have at least twenty race medals but I only have one boyfriend. I love running and I love the feeling of crossing a finish line, but I love that guy more.  The feeling a hug or a nervous hand squeeze trumps a 'good job' from a weary volunteer any day. 

Ironically, this sign says No Stopping. A car plowed right over it.

I’m not comfortable discussing the details of the accident. Let’s just say, there was an angel at that intersection and both drivers were extremely lucky. Scott limped away with a sprained foot and a superficial  head wound  from the airbags deploying. The other driver had a sore chest. The car is totaled but can be replaced. Scott now has the athlete creed of RICE- rest, ice, compression, elevation—tattooed on his foot. Not really, but the foot is so swollen that you could probably write this entire blog post on there and have room for comments.

The other vehicle involved

Nights like Saturday  reminded me that anything can happen, life can change in a moment.  We can control our diet, our pace, our weekly mileage, our time, but we cannot control life. It is how we handle crisis that defines us. 

Running is a big dumb jerk

You know what?

Chicken butt, yes. And also...

Running is kind of a big jerk. If running was an actual person, I probably wouldn't want to be his or her friend. 

Running is passive-aggressive.

Running uses painful things just as shin splints to tell you when you need new sneakers. It's like when your brother would punch you in the arm instead of saying "hi" or to get your attention. Shin splints are totally unnecessary and rude.  When you didn't eat or hydrate enough before a run, it will make you struggle. If running is really mad, you'll end up passing out. 

Running is horribly inconvenient. I would not mind running in the morning if it wasn't so darn early. It is very presumptive to expect a person to be out of bed, dressed, and ready by 5:45 a.m. You have to run all the damn time too. Weekends are for long runs, Wednesdays are for speedwork. Year round too. You have to run in the icy depths of winter and the high heats of summer. 

Running is your socially awkward friend who no one likes. 

Not everyone 'gets' running, so you have to spend a lot of time explaining it. Running, in this case, is like that person you're forced to be friends with because your moms are friends. She hangs out with your friends and somehow manages to alienate, annoy, or irritate everyone in the group and you have to apologize or explain her to everyone later: yeah, that's running. 

"No really, she just doesn't hang out with people alot. She didn't know you liked him!"

"Yes, I run even if no one is chasing me." 

Running is high-maintenance and demanding. 

You cannot half-ass a relationship with running. It gets very angry when you do and won't show you the results you wanted and avenges with pain. I half-assed my training for the 2011 Gasparilla Ultra Weekend and I paid a very sore, nauseous, sweaty price. It goes back to the passive-aggressive running. 

If running was a girl, it would surely be on a Real Housewives series. It's an expensive hobby to maintain, it never stops up, and no one quite understands why it's popular. 

Running is a Squatter.

Once you start with running, it's hard to stop. Running is that person who said you'd give a ride to for a week while their car is the shop and then you end up waiting for him every morning for a year. I started with running three miles a few times a week. And then it wanted me to run further and more often. And then it wanted me to run a 10 miler, then a half marathon and now a marathon. It's really greedy.  

Running is confusing. 

Running can make you gain weight. Running hurts but you crave it. You can never count on running. You may have trained, you may have eaten right, stretched and gotten to bed early. And then you may have a crappy race. Or you may have drank the night before, barely trained and not really have wanted to run and you'll set a PR. 

I'm about to face an inevitably sucky run. I will sweat from every pore of my body before my Garmin clocks 1.0 mile. My legs will hurt, my stomach will rumble and there will be some other mysterious pain or problem. And I'll do it all again tomorrow. Because while running is a big jerk, I love it. 

How about you? How was running abused you? Let's talk some trash on running. 

Loosing Control of Voice Control

Of all the dangers I've faced and annoyances I've tolerated along this runner journey, there is none as infuriating, as aggravating, as relentless, as the Voice Control feature on the iPhone.

Voice Control has cost me a phone, and nearly my sanity. I finally invested in an iPod shuffle to fulfill my entertainment needs while running. After screaming "CANCEL!" CANCEL VOICE CONTROL! Please stop, please...I hate you!" at the top of my lungs at 6:45 a.m. on an isolated trail,  I knew I had lost the battle. Evil application, 1, Lindsey 0. Below is my unpublished recap of my ultimate sacrifice to the running gods during the Long Branch Half Marathon in May.

I usually try to resist turning my music on during a race until after the half way point. The first 5K is usually pretty exciting and the crowd support is loud enough. My mood is pretty good at that point and I like eavesdropping on conversations and people/runner watching. Once I get mad at the marathon momma behind me or a little miffed that a 55 y/o man just passed me, I know it's time for music.

Before the race. Here is where I'm thinking, "Gee, I hope that voice control thing doesn't go wild and piss me off. That would surely suck. 

Earlier in the week, the ipod discovered voice control. I have no idea what voice control is, how it's activated, or why it even exists but holy hell--there is nothing more frustrating than jamming out to your favorite tune and then having it skip forward to another song, then skip back, then slow down, then speed up for NO REASON. I didn't touch anything. I was rocking out with JayZ and comisserating on our 99 Problems when suddenly Lady Antebellum was Running to Me and then Pink was Raising her Glass and then Queen was Under Pressure all in less than 30 seconds. I was annoyed.

We were heading up a bridge and over a beautiful waterway. I moved my sweaty and uncoordinated right hand over to my sweaty, slipping arm band on my left and attempted to extract the demonic iPhone from it's wobbly case. What happened next still wakes me the middle of the night. The iPhone slid from the case, dangled briefly by the headphone cord, and launched itself towards the hot, hard pavement. It hit, bounced, and slid. I screamed. Runners nearby let out a collective, "That sucks."

I've dropped my phone plenty of times and for a milli-second I had hope it survived. And then I picked it up. Shattered. The screen looked like a spider web and only the control button was left on the bottom. I'm pretty sure I heard the crunching of an iPhone pieces underneather hundreds of sneakers as I surveyed the damage. A friendly runner said, "That sucks. Some phones can't handle it." I joked back, "Right! It just didn't train enough for a half. I told it drink more water yesterday."

The iPod part was still working. Despite having been dropped and jarred, the voice control option was still reaking havoc on my playlist. Miley to Beyonce to Dispatch to Mary J, it was dying a slow death.  I wrapped the headphone cord around the phone as a symbol of it's downfall and silently bitched that I had six more miles to go with no music. The only strategy I had had for the race was to listen to Pink's Raise Your Glass and F*()^&ng Perfect on repeat.

I handed the demolished shell of a once fantastic piece of technology off to Scott around mile 9. I saw him on the side and ran up with phone held out like a little kid would do when they break a toy. "Look what happened!" I shoved it at him and kept moving. I heard him holler back, "I'll fix it." Yeah, ok.

The phone and text part worked throughout the following week. The friendly nerds at the Apple Store gave me a replacement and thanks to joys or iTunes, all of my data and apps are back. I learned that 'voice control' is a byproduct of Satan and Steve Jobs that is activated when you hit or hold the middle button for a few second. Good to know. 

****************

Falling (back) in Love with Running

If you want to fall (back) in love with running, volunteer with an organization such as Girls on the Run. I have fortunate enough to be a part of this amazing program and was able help two very special girls complete their 5ks and shatter goals.  I ran with Abby, adorable, admirable, awesome Abby, as she pushed herself to beat her time from last year's 5k and to run the whole thing. Abby, who always raised her hand high and gave a heartfelt, insightful and genuine answer, couldn't believe she had run for 10 whole minutes straight!
"I didn't stop yet!" Then, she couldn't believe she ran 20 whole minutes straight! Then she couldn't believe she ran 30 whole minutes straight! When we realized that we might not beat her time goal, the girl dug deep inside herself and found bursts of speed. She finished strong and with a huge smile. That is all we ask. I loved running with her. 

I got to run with Sophie and her mom as they participated in the ETS Firecracker 5k. Sophie is excitement personified. She is honest, talkative, innocent and just a joy to be around. She saw me across the parking lot and instantly was smiles and hugs. I cannot get enough of this girl. I found Sophie, her mom, and her friend around the first mile and decided to hang with them. Sophie gave it her all in the final .1 of the race and finished with a bright red face, sweaty smile and simply beaming pride. That is all we ask. Be proud of yourself. Try your best. Have fun. Be yourself. 

I've crossed many finish lines and have a rack of medals hanging on my bedroom wall. Sometimes, I take it  for granted. These girls reminded me of the sheer joy of crossing a finish line, of beating a new record, of pushing yourself to do things you didn't think were possible. These girls set goals, worked towards them, and pushed hard to achieve them. There were no excuses. We ignored heat, hills, and heavy breathing to get to that finish line. That accomplishment of  their goal, the look on their faces, the oversized t-shirts, the crocked numbers, all brought that enthusiasm, that feeling back to me. I can't wait to race race again.

If you want to fall (back) in love with running, run with someone you love. I love my boyfriend for many many reasons. And sometimes for no reason at all. On Sunday, we set out for a simple walk on the lovely towpath. I took my Garmin watch because it's one of the coolest gadgets ever--next to maybe God's remote as he calls it. I gave him the watch at the halfway point. Apparently, that was all it took. He became obsessed with the pace and time readings. "We've walked one-tenth of a mile!," "Quick! It's dropping to 15 minutes!" I laughed and kept up. I had to stop and readjust my shoes and told him to go ahead. I ran to catch up and when I got to my rightful place on his right side, he started to run! I think my heart just about burst with pride, joy, amazement, surprise and um...he's kind of fast. 

When we started dating one of his first impressions of me was, "this girl needs something more than running." Imagine how I felt to see him running. He had a really impressive pace for a good amount of time. We stopped and walked and then he pointed to a landmark and said, 'we're going to run to there." Yes, sir! 

Just like finish lines and free t-shirts, I take for granted the those first steps. I remember those steps but I forget them too. It's an incredible thing to watch a loved one take those steps, to lace up those sneakers and to set out to do something that is uncomfortable, new, challenging and unknown. I didn't push him to do it. I didn't say, "I"m a runner and so you have to be too." I would love to help, coach, assist, teach, and run along with him if he chooses to run again. I would never force it because just seeing him try and acknowledge my hobby meant more than a marathon to me. 

Steps. Effin' Steps.

There are few things more terrifying to runner after a race than a flight of stairs. Sore legs, achy backs, aggravated knees, and  blistered feet join forces to make a usually simple motion into a pain fest of annoying proportions. The medal around my neck suddenly felt a lot heavier as I stared at the flight of stairs in front of me.
"Do I really need to go upstairs? Could I live in this hallway?"
"Would it be easier to walk up backwards?"
"Why did I move to the second floor?"
"If I go up there, I'm never coming back down."
"This. is. going. to hurt."
"Ok, quick like a Band-Aid, just go!" 
"Oww! No more quick! No more quick! Slow and steady. One more step."
"Holy crap. Never running again."

I conquered the stairs of pain and was in my second-story sanctuary when I was faced with another runner's nightmare. Little mini steps such as curbs, sidewalks, any elevation change that requires contraction of the demolished quads in my legs. The legs holler, NO MORE! STOP MAKING US DO THINGS!
"My god. Who put the steps in this apartment?"
"Oh sure, the sunken living room was adorable at the time, but now I just have to bend my knees and apply pressure to go to the bathroom!"
"I can just sit here on the couch for the rest of my life. There is no pain on the couch."
"Oh, dear god never running again."

Other things that will strike fear into the heart of post-race runner:
-getting in to the car
-getting out of the car
-sitting down
-standing up

-crossing your legs

-uncrossing your legs

-the first few steps
-heels
-unpacking
-that this pain will never fade
-an empty fridge
-never running again

Diary of a Wimpy Runner

Runner Confession:

I'm a wimp- a wimp with a very large tolerance for pain and a larger dislike of doctors. I will interview CEOs and go toe-to-toe with academic department chairs, but when it comes to making a doctor's appointment, I throw temper tantrums. My knees started to bother me soon after starting karate. Ninja-ing, as I like to call it, is a lot of kicking, jumping, squatting, jump squatting, lunges, more jumping, twisting, spinning, and more kicking. All of these actions are very different from the one foot in front of the other motion of running. The discomfort was not surprising and would easily remedied with a dose of glutimine in my post-ninja smoothie.

One night in early November, we did nothing but right leg front kicks. We worked on form and power. And  my right knee has not been the same. I woke up the next day and went for a run and felt fine. I wore heels to the office and noticed some extra soreness.

I should note here that the combination of karate and running means that I'm almost always sore. Before I started karate, I was doing strength training with a personal trainer. At this point, I'm able to recognize typical muscle soreness from something-ain't-right. Soreness means your muscles are growing or changing. There are exercise-y people with scientific definitions and reasons for why soreness is a good thing.

Back to the night of my knee. I woke up two days after the front-kick fest and was greeted with a sharp, burning fire sensation in my right knee. I iced it throughout the day and kept my leg elevated. I bought a cheap-o knee brace from CVS that afternoon and felt immediate relief after putting it on. I went to ninja that night and out to the bar after.

A dull ache has persisted in my right knee since. I've iced. I worn the stupid, cumbersome knee brace that makes my thigh look like a sausage. The brace helps the knee but hurts the rest of my leg. I've diagnosed myself with runners knees, torn meniscus, sprained ligaments, tendinitis, arthritus, and the same thing that Chase Utley has. I'm on the DL list.

While the breakdown in my runnerness of late has come from a busy schedule and conflicting priorities, there is also a little voice in the back of my head saying, "ummm..... maybe this needs looked at." And also a louder, nag-type real voice from boyfriend and mother telling me the same thing. Here's the thing: I hate doctors. I resist going until I'm on my figurative death bed. I subscribe to my father's theory of illness, "I can go to the doctors and get meds and I'll be better in seven days. Or I can just let my body heal and I'll be better in a week." I even resist taking OTC medicine until orange juice fails me.

It took me three months to gather the courage to call an orthopedic doctor. I faked that I was looking for recommenations. I wanted to wait until after Gasparilla. Honestly, I'm scared! Dr. Google and the staff of Runner's World have the rational side of me convinced that this a minor injury that can be healed with ice and rest. The irrational side of me has been listening to my mother too much and is pretty sure that I'm going to need a total knee replacement and will never be able to run again. I'll just have to learn to swim or bike or deal with my emotions through a non-physical outlet. The horror! Even worse, the irrational side has a 60-40 majority.

My appointment is tomorrow afternoon. I'm hoping that I will be a  waste of the doctor's time and this chronic dull ache is just a symptom of overuse.  But, what if it's not?

Don't call it a comeback

But I ran on 4 of the past 5 days. This hasn't happened in months!
Don't call it a comeback. I’m resetting. I'm starting over. I'm redefining my relationship with running and what being a runner will mean to me in the future and how it got me to this point.
I started "really" running in the fall of 2008. I was sad, lonely, and miserable. Things change. Addresses, friends, jobs, goals, priorities, relationships, families, interests, everything, attitudes--change.

Fast forward to 2011 and I’m anything but sad, lonely or miserable. I’m crazy busy and happier than ever. I keep getting bogged down in what my running used to be. It was a defense mechanism and a way of establishing myself in my own terms. I used to run when I was unhappy. I used to run to prove it. I used to run because I didn’t have anything else do to. I used to run because I was afraid of gaining weight. I used to run because I wanted to be stronger, faster, leaner. I used to run because other people didn’t. I used to run because I needed to feel some form of accomplishment in the day. I used to run because I did not feel good about myself.

Those deep-seated motivators simply don’t light a fire under my feet anymore. I’m not so worried about gaining a few pounds because I’ve finally learned that what is in my head is far more important my pant size.

I used to run to prove “it.” I would run through or over whatever “it” that was missing in my life or the “it” that I was not succeeding with. I had to prove I was something outside of ‘editor’ or the unhappy person I was on the verge of becoming. Would you rather have someone say, “oh, she’s a runner,” or “oh, she’s a bitch.” I might have made another mistake at work, but I ran 6 miles that morning. I don’t see the connection either but that got me through the day. I might not have any one to go home to but there was always a treadmill waiting for me. I didn’t need anyone because I had my sneakers and myself. Get it?
Running is often about challenging yourself and reaching deep down to see how far you can go. I now know I can run 13.1 miles and am capable of doing more. It taught me how to set goals and plan. I don’t feel the same urge to go further and faster. I’ve achieved the goals I wanted to achieve through running and in a few months will have achieved some significant life goals as well.

I’m currently working a new set of running and life goals. The past month(s) off was not a slump. It was a reset. I will continue to run and sign up for races and buy adorable running clothes because I simply enjoy it. It’s a part of my life now but it is not my life now. I have an ultimate goal of running 2011 Philadelphia Marathon in November and beating my half-marathon PR of 2:09. But first, I have a Master’s degree to complete, a career to manage, boyfriend to spend time with, and a family I’d like to see more than once every three months.

As my favorite singer/song-writer and this blog’s namesake once said,

“I’ve got more and more to do/ I’ve got less and less to prove/ And it took me too long to realize that I don’t take good picture/because I have the kind of beauty that moves.”

Defeat at Gasparilla: Running without Respect

In my last post, I was expressing concerns and excitement over the Publix's Gasparilla Distance Classic Michelob Ultra Challenge. I was going to be running a 15K and 5K on Saturday and a half marathon and 8K on Sunday. And attempting to say the entire name of the race correctly, holy brand names! Well, friends. I did not complete the challenge. I got through the 15K and 5K on Saturday.

My legs were a little more sore than I would have liked as I was lining up for the second race on Saturday morning. I heard someone in the corral say that the 5+ 3K was  5 miles. When I thought that a 5 + 3K was 4 miles, it was bearable. But the thought of having to run 5 miles after running 13.1 miles when my legs were tired enough after having only run 15K, was just overwhelming. I decided then and there on the spot that I wasn't going to do the fourth race.

My favorite part of the entire weekend was that I was running the majority of the half marathon with my friend, Kylie. This was her first half and she did so well. She maintained a strong pace and didn't stop once. We were together until around mile 4 when I got a call from Mother Nature. I jumped into the slowest line ever for a porta potty and promised Kylie I'd catch up. I ended up doing a sprint/walk/sprint/walk combo for about the next three or four miles, finally catching her at around mile 6. I  The sprinting wore me out (or the 13 miles the day before) and by mile 11, I just couldn't go anymore. I watched Kylie's white hat and long pony-tail truck forward and was crushed. It was one of my worst runner moments ever. I so wanted to cross that finish line with her. Finding her at the finish line and our sore, slow walk back to the car was one of my best runner moments.



It's been a few weeks and I'm still digesting my defeat at Gasparilla. My  head and heart were never really in any of the races. I was too busy with work, school and social life to have properly trained for ANY distance race. I knew that. I could not rely on the confidence of good training. I expected the ego and hubris of having run so many other half marathons and distance races to carry me for 30 miles. Stretching and hydration, I thought, would be the keys to success. I stretched. I drank loads of water and Gatorade. I ate super well. I did not train.

I said I was doing this four-race challenge because "I needed a win." To be honest, the amount my butt getting kicked to me kicking butt lately has been disproportionate. But I lost. And I needed to lose. I needed to be reminded that just like everything in this world, runnning requires dedication and practice. You can not just think about running. You have to respect the distance and the sport.

 I allowed, or had to allow, life get in the way of running this winter. I had three very challenging graduate classes, an overwhelming amount of work and stress, a new apartment, a new (real) relationship and simply did not have the time, or energy, to properly train. I have to respect my limitations and learn from this experience.

Even though I didn't complete that fourth race and the three races prior weren't my best, I did run 25 miles in one weekend. And that is STILL something to be happy about. Maybe next year, when grad school is done and I've finally unpacked this apartment, I'll train properly and return to Gasparilla for round 3.

I may have lost that battle, but I'm gonna win this war!

Dead Runner Walking

Oh, boy. What have I gotten myself into and why won't I back down? Challenge, my friends, challenge.

I'm blogging (or avoiding doing homework) from the glory that is St. Petersburg, Florida. I'm visiting with my good friend Kylie Matthews and journeying into my potentail runner death this weekend. It's called the Gasparilla Distance Classic and it may be either my worst failure or greatest triumpth.

I'm participating in the Michelob Ultra Gasparilla Challenge. God and my right knee willing, I will run the Publix 15K which is followed by a 5K. That's two races in one morning. I can do that. 15K = 9 miles, 5K=3 miles. SO that's 12(ish) miles in one day. I can do that. I did the 15K last year in 90 minutes and have since beat that time in several other races. I remember crossing the 15K mark of the Diva's Half Marathon at 85minutes.
With time to stretch and rehydrate, another 3 miles isn't so bad. Even with a minimal amount of training I've been able to get in this winter, I'm not worried about tomorrow.

It's Sunday where things are getting scary. Because I'm not sane and because I want a HUGE medal and because I, apparently, love pain, I'll be participating in the second part of the challenge-- a half marathon (#8, whatwhat!) followed by a 5+ 3K.

 

I have no idea what a 5 + 3K is but rumor has it that it's about 4 miles. So, thats 13.1 miles + 4 miles = 17 miles. So, for the math whizzes out there- that is 12 Saturday miles + 17 Sunday miles = 29 miles. In two days. In non-math terms, that's just CRAZY.

I feel unprepared. While I've run seven half marathons and other races, I've never run more than 15 miles. I'm trying to harness the power of positive thinking and tell myself how awesome I am and that I CAN DO THIS! But, I keep flashing to the horror that was the last three miles of the Atlanta Half Marathon.


Does that look like someone who had fun running 13.1 miles? No.

I'm trying to remember the good races like Diva's and Rutgers. I'm trying to give myself credit for having found time to get ANY running in between a nonstop/full time life. I am accepting the fact that THIS IS GOING TO HURT.

Luckily, I'll have a running buddy on Sunday for the first part. Kylie will be running her first half marathon and since my legs are going to be tired from the previous day's 12 miles, I'm running with her as she dominates those 13.1 miles like they're Wendy's Spicy Chicken Sandwhiches. She's going to rock it. She rocked the 15K last year. I'm excited to run with her as she experiences the half marathon distance.


Kylie and I after the 2010 Gasparilla 15K



Going slowly, conserving energy and not burning out are my goals for the half. I worry about the 'runover' and my knees and shins. I worry about puking or passing out or how I'm going to get through this race without my headphones. I worry about dropping and getting the first DNF. Essentailly, I'm worried about failure. I need and I want this win but I have doubts. Is there anything more annoying than self doubt?

I had the option to only register for the half. Or only do the 15K, 5K and Half. But no, I wanted to do the complete challenge. And I will. And it's not gonna be pretty and there is a lot that can go wrong. But a lot can go right. And hopefully, by Sunday afternoon- I'll be watching the Phillies beat the Yankees in a preseaon exhibition game after having run 29 miles in one weekend and having amazed myself in the process.

Go Phils!

Spring Training 2010