Righteous Runner's School of Running

A few weeks ago, I did this:


I registered for the 2011 Philadelphia Marathon. And by doing so it meant that I had committed, or at least paid to, run 26.2 miles through my home city. Crap. Crappity crap crap.
And so I find myself training for a marathon.

Training for a marathon. Those four words are no joke. Marathon training is no joke and I'm only a few weeks into it. While I've trained for and run nine half marathons in the past two years, I find myself at a loss and just as overwhelmed as I did when I first started running three years ago. My painful and slow 14 mile run felt just as challenging and rewarding as the first seven mile run I had ever done. I'm gearing up mentally for a sure-to-be-interesting 15 mile run this weekend and reveling in the completion of my 15 page thesis paper and thus the official end to my graduate school career. These two events (15 mile training run and 15 page paper) seem to have nothing in common except for the number 15 but they are very similar. When you decide to go to school part time while working full time, you have to be committed. And when you decide to train for a marathon, you have to be committed. And you can't go to graduate school unless you went to undergraduate school and you can't do that unless you went to high school school and you can't do that unless you went to grammar school. Both are the accumulations of many goals that are depended on skills and lessons learned on each level.

Marathon training takes everything to a new level. There is a reason that few people go from a C25K program directly to a marathon. It would be like going from kindergarten to college. There are things you have to learn along the way in order to succeed.

5Ks, 10Ks, and halves give runners the lessons and tools they need to smartly train for a marathon.

5ks teach us that running is fun and rewarding. Reading is fun and rewarding. 5ks are the elementary school in the School of Running. You learn the basics like the joy of comfortable shoes, eating better, pushing yourself, the importance of stretching, sweat is good, pacing, etc. It's multiplication tables, vocab, spelling tests and writing.



10ks teach us that running is fun, rewarding and we can do twice as much as we thought. We learn about nutrition, fuel, wick-away gear, injuries,dehydration, goal times, hills, PRs. It's about expanding on the skills you've already learned and building them into traits. This is where some student's talents or strengths are discovered. Here I learned I that I'm not a fast runner, but I'm good at endurance. Some may discover the 5 and 10K are great for running really fast for a while but can't hold it for too long.10ks are the middle school of School of Running.

Half marathons are high school. You're confident in your skills and have a genuine interest in running. The finish line at the end of 13.1 miles is like the diploma. Training is more intense, results matter more, but there is still room for play and growth. It's an achievement and sometimes you move on to bigger and better things.

Enter the Marathon. Marathon = college. It's intense. You're gone for long periods of time. If you don't understand how to stay hydrated on a long run, you will struggle; just like you'll struggle if you never learned how to draft a thesis essay in high school and have a research writing class in college. There are skills and lessons that are expected to have been acquired at this point. You should know to stretch thoroughly and how to use a foam roller at this point. The training plan is like your syllabus. Half marathon training should have taught you what you, as a runner, need to do to have a good or bad run. High school should have taught students how to study, organize and thrive in college. There is still room for play but you have to work harder to get it.

Good news is that it doesn't have to take 13 years to go from kindergarten to Marathon University in the School of Running. It just takes time, growth, patience, determination and drive. I'm thinking there are a lot more parallels between school and running. X-crossing is like homework; bibs are like final exams, medals could be the honor roll...I could keep going.

How about you? Are you a beginning student in the school of running or have you earned your Master's in marathoning? How do the principles of education come into your running world?

No. I don't miss bacon

My New Year’s Resolution for 2011 was to give up meat and be vegetarian. The journey has been both a challenge and a breeze. I rarely ate meat  even before the official start of 2011. Being single and clueless in a kitchen, my meals usually consisted of milk, cereal, peanut butter, salads, ice cream, and other items consisting of ‘just add water’ or ‘microwave on high.’ I would attempt to incorporate chicken or turkey but had significant issues with defrosting. I’d forget to pull the package out in the morning.  Or by the time I would get home, I’d be too hangry (hungry + angry) to deal with the 20-25 minutes it would take to prep the meat and would settle for popcorn and cereal. I'd have turkey or chicken salad sandwhiches at lunch from our cafeteria once or twice a week.

In addition to laziness is post waitress stress disorder.  Years and years of working in the food service industry have made me very weary of most menus. I would never order any red meat that is not a hamburger in any establishment. I’m also cautious of salads. Flashbacks to reaching bare, unwashed hands into a grimy salad drawer to dump out week-old iceberg lettuce on to a plate that has been sitting atop a soup warmer for hours and then drowning it un-chilled ranch dressing makes my intestines cramp. With the exception of breakfast meats, I really cannot recall a time when I ordered anything that was not chicken or turkey from a menu. 

Don't eat this. You have no idea where it's been. 

I never liked fish or seafood--with the exception of crab and shrimp. The aversion to seafood is another reaction to too many years in the food service industry. I worked one summer as a prep cook at the Lobster House in Cape May, New Jersey. I swear my hair still smells like fish grease to this day.  Perhaps it's my Zodiac sign (Cancer, the crab) or growing up near the Chesapeake Bay and Jersey Shore, but I do enjoy a good crab cake. 

The transition to full meatless was not too life-changing. For me. For my mother, it was a different story. My (Italian) mother expresses love through food. You will not last five minutes in our house without getting offered a snack. One crazy night in college, a friend and I got home at 3:30 a.m. from a concert in Philly to hear my half asleep mom yell down stairs to ask if we wanted meatball sandwiches. 

"I just don't know why you're doing this to yourself!" She's cried.
"What am I supposed to feed you when you come home now? Are you still going to come home?" Yes, Mom. I'll still eat. As long as you make macaroni and cheese, scalloped corn, pasta salads, lasagna, ziti, etc., I'll come home. And I probably won't pick off of the meat. I'm a good daughter of an Italian mother. I know to eat whatever is put in front of me and to ask for seconds. 

Mom and me, December 2010. 

I'll admit that there have been a few cheats. When I do cheat it's because of lack of menu options or the social situation. I know my stomach won't tolerate red meat or chicken at this point, but seafood is the only acceptable alternative. Yes, I've forgotten to say "no meat" and had to pick around chuncks of ham or bacon. 

My observations of meatless life are that I eat a lot more and more often. I love salads and veggies but I find you have to eat a lot more spinach to feel as full as you would from a burger. I don't diet but I do believe in the food pyramid and try to eat a little from each category and it's very easy to loose balance when your pyramid is off balance. If I don't pay attention, I'll go days eating nothing but carbs, starches, and breads. I'm also more prone to crazy cravings than I used to be. I will NEED vegetables and absolutely obsess about fruit. Also, when I'm hungry, I'm HUNGRY to the point of shaky and light-headed.  I also sometimes overdose on the fiber and we all know those side effects. ;-)

The most interesting part of this veggie experience is other people's reaction. Like I said before, I'm not the only meatless maniac in the world and selective dietary choices are the new black. I'm a lot more comfortable ordering nachos with the ground beef on the side and burgers with no burger than I used to be now. I'm not the only "veggie" out there and I'm finding that more and more restaurants are accommodating. (Best franchise restaurant I've found is Pizzeria Unos. They go far beyond a veggie lover's pizza).
Just like when I used to tell people I was runner, they would  immediately tell me how far or fast they could or could not run. Just like when I tell people I work for the company that makes the SAT's and they tell me their scores..... I immediately hear's people's favorite meat product. And it's almost always bacon.

"You don't eat meat? What about bacon? I could never live without bacon!" 

No, I don't miss bacon! I never liked it all that much to begin with and certainly not enough to make an ice cream sundae out of it (shame on you, Denny's). Yes, it's yummy and salty but there are other meats I miss more. I have to hold onto to every ounce of self control in the mornings to resist a Wawa sausage/egg/and cheese sizzli. I try to justify it as there is really no meat in that meat product and no one would know......

Does it count as meat if no live animals were used?

I'm a little over 8 months into this veggie venture and so far so good.I'd say I've "cheated" about 10 times. In 8 months, not too shabby! Most politicians can't even say that! I'm  proud of myself for holding out so long. I also really respect and appreciate when others acknowledge this choice without judgement. It really does make me happy when someone buys veggie burgers for me or asks if I eat fish or tofu. Thanks!

Running is my BFF

I wrote before about how running is a big dumb jerk. And it is. But I felt kind of bad for talking trash. And I was worried about how running would punish me for gossiping. Running isn't all bad. It can also be a really good friend.

Running can introduce you to people you'd never meet or really get to know otherwise. A lot of people run and for completely different reasons, at different paces, all over the world. I love meeting people who run, reading about runners and supporting running-related causes. There is a community out there of healthy, supportive folks who share in a sweat obsession and passion for pacing.

My super speedy, super hot runner friend Bonnie who is about to start a new
and challenging journey with the US National Guard. 

Running is always there for you. 

Plans fall through. People disappoint. Life changes.  Your pace or endurance may fluctuate. Injuries will (should) heal. A road is always a road. A treadmill is always a treadmill. But the ability to put one foot in front of the other, to sweat, to pump blood, will always be there. You may not even run, per say, you could walk. You can hobble. But you can move forward with your thoughts and hear your own voice.

Running will listen, but it won't try to solve your problems. 

Running is clearly female. I complain about everything and everyone when I run. I hate everything and everyone. I get  rant, vent, ponder, bitch, dream, plan, scheme to someone who doesn't have a smart answer
who doesn't tell me how to solve it
who doesn't tell me how worse off they have it
who doesn't story top

who doesn't judge

who doesn't ask questions. It just listens.

And at the end of session, the problems are still there. A boss is still a boss. A bill is still unpaid. A paper is still not written. But, damn it felt good to just talk. 

Running keeps you out of trouble. It makes you behave. You don't go boozin' on a Friday night if you're planning to run on Saturday morning. (A lesson I WILL learn SOMEDAY) You don't eat massive amounts of junk food and then jump on a treadmill. It doesn't end well. The more you run, the better you will want to eat. Running is that friend who holds you accountable to diets or lifestyle changes.

You also end up spending so much $$ on sneakers, moisture-wicking clothes, race fees, travel fees, gu-s, and Garmins that you barely have any leftover money to waste on yet another purse. Who needs purses when you get a gear bag at every race? If only tech-tees could be considered business casual. 

Running believes in you and makes you stronger. You can run 1 mile. You can run 2 miles. You can run 3 miles. You can do anything. Running isn't the one who makes you stop. You make you stop. Running knows you can do it. And you can. And even after you run miles and marathons, running still believes in you and you get stronger. I was amazed when I was able to run 5 miles for the first time. I cherish the feeling of crossing my first finish line. I am proud of myself for transforming a New Year's Resolution into a such an important part of life and continuing to lace up my sneakers. 

How has running been a good friend to you? Do you wear your race tags on your shoe like tweenS wear BFF charms? 

Righteous Runner Rules for Righteous Running

"The Lord, the Lord Jehovah has given unto you these fifteen… Oy! Ten! Ten commandments for all to obey!" – Moses, "History of the World Part 1,” Brooksfilms (1981)

1.  Thou shall not spend more time traveling to a race than it would take to actually run the race.
2. Thou shall not use a treadmill next to an occupied treadmill unless it is the only available option.
   
   
3. Thou shall not covet others runner’s pace, distance, supposed strength, outfit, shoes, time, or medals.
4. Thou shall not run when there are excessive heat warnings or air quality warnings—even if other people are out there. Nor shall you run when the roads are covered in ice and it compromises your safety and the safety of others on the road.
5. Thou shall never wear the same sports bra twice without it drying out or being washed.
6. Thou shall always have a spare set of running clothes in the car.
7.  Thou shall reuse plastic water bottles twice before recycling.
8.  Thou shall take a rest day or three or week or month.
9.   Thou shall smile and nod at passing runners.
10. Thou shall honor thy body and thy soul equally. 

4. 

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. 

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