Tri-Atha-Linds-Thon

  It's been about two weeks since my 'luck' changed and I was thrown into the world of the triathlon. 

It has been interesting. Overwhelming. Annoying. Exciting. Terrifying. The 'lucky' ten ETS employees chosen were spotlighted on the company intranet for a few days. Results were mixed. I got lots of 'that's so cool, good luck!" A few "congratulations." A lot of the same quizzical look I usually get whenever I mention any of my athletic endeavors. My mom is very worried.


Swimming


 I finally conquered my fear of public pools and stepped foot into the pool area at my gym. It wasn't really the fear of the pool as much as it was the fear of being outside my comfort zone. I feel very confident in my running clothes and on a treadmill. However, squeezing into my new Speedo suit made me feel so awkward and exposed. When I entered the pool area, I had flashbacks to being the new girl in high school. I coped with being exposed and uncomfortable the same way as I did in high school. I made friends by babbling nervously to anyone who would listen. 
Pool people are much friendlier than treadmill people. I guess it's because on the 'mills everyone is face forward, headphones in, marching in a syncopated line towards nothing. In a pool, it's a little more casual. 


Swimming is not nearly as easy as it looks. It's actually really difficult and requires much more coordination and strength than I was expecting. I thought my arms and shoulders were alright from the sensei's love of push-ups and sit ups. My arms felt like Jell-o after only 20 minutes of laps. 


Swim caps do nothing to keep your hair dry. I foresee about five months of bad hair days in my future. 


Cycling


Cycling is expensive. My boyfriend and I have been 'bike shopping' and it's a lot like car shopping. Scott does most of the talking while I stare at the price tags. The sales guys politely laugh at my jokes and spew a lot of technical jargon at me. 
"So, you've got a carbon fiber fork here that will make for a stiffer ride. The nine-gear shifter is a shinto that will allow for a smooth transition. The frame is aluminium which is why the price is a littler higher." I've learned the importance of sizing, inseam, seat height, handle bars, and forks. 

There are even test drives! But road bikes do not come in automatic. We've visited four stores and I've taken three test rides. It's terrifying but fun. On Saturday we stopped by Guy's Bikes in Feasterville, Pa. This place was great. I took two bikes out for a ride and finally felt comfortable and not at the mercy of gravity or pot holes. I fell in love with two bikes and after Uncle Sam pays me for being an American citizen, I'll be ready to buy. 

I took a spin class at my gym last week too. Again, I was very outside of my comfort zone and turned on my chatty Linds side. I loved the class and was amazed that I hadn't tried it before. The hour-long class was intense and challenging but never did it feel impossible. I was sweaty and panting by the end and had covered 24 miles! There is a lot to learn about spin and cycling. I am really looking forward to the cycling portion of this adventure.


Running:


 I am worried about the two half marathons that I'm committed to before the triathlon. I went from maintaining a runner/ninja schedule. Monday and Wednesday evenings were 45 minutes of 'cross training' at the dojo. Tuesdays and Thursdays were tempo runs and speed work on the treadmills. Saturday mornings were sparring at the dojo followed by a 'long' run at the park. Sunday rest. I'm having trouble adding swimming and cycling into that mix. I'm in the 'learning' phase and need to nail down a schedule and plan as to avoid getting overwhelmed and hurt. My back is already revolting about this and I'm sure my knees will be soon too. 

Chances, Challenges, and Change

I never win anything. I enter drawings and sweepstakes all the time and all it every gets me a ton of junk mail and spam. I do not bother with state lotteries anymore because I am that confident that I will not win. I've never won an all-expense paid trip to the Bahamas. Or a car. Or a free dinner for two. Until last week, I had only ever won a blanket, a signed baseball bat, and one 50/50 drawing. (I donated the winnings back to the organization, too)

And, a free entry and registration to the 2012 NYC Triathalon.

In a pre-coffee haze a few weeks ago, I saw the headline Enter to Win a Free Entry to the NYC Triathalon. Because I never win anything and the article stated that only ten people would have their names drawn, I entered my name. Because I never win anyway, I did not worry about the two basic facts that I do not know how to swim and I do not own a bicycle. I went on my merry way and completely forgot that there was a slight chance that in the near future I would need to have access to pool, a bike, and a lot of free time.

In my ignorant bliss I cancelled my membership to LA Fitness. I signed up for two more half marathons and a fall marathon. I committed to coaching Girls on the Run in the spring. I'm learning numchucks in ninja without giving myself a serious concussion or getting Scott suspected of domestic abuse from the many, many bruises on my arms. I do not want for motivation or opportunity to exercise.

And then I got this:

Crap. Of course my office mate was gone for the afternoon and missed seeing me literally fall out of my rolling chair with shock. I DID NOT THINK I WOULD WIN.

I do not know how to swim. I have a slight phobia of public pools.

I do not own a bike nor have I ridden one since I was about fourteen.

Crap. What have I gotten myself into?

I thrive on change and challenge and have felt both missing from my life lately. Even with the shear terror of having to swim in the Hudson River and wear a wet suit in front of coworkers, I'm actually really excited about this. I have been running for three years now and am burned out. I almost dread it anymore and really only use negative motivation to get out there. I've been loving ninja lately and putting lots of energy into sparring. 

When I started running, I did not know what it would lead to. I'm now a marathoner. I do not know how to swim but I'm really excited to learn. I'm really excited that training for the bike part will give my boyfriend and me an opportunity to share a fitness activity. I can spend a few hours on a Saturday morning exercising with him instead of him waiting for me to get home to start the day. I'm excited to feel that rush of accomplishment that I just swam 220 meters for the first time ever. I'm looking forward to the change that instead of running three nights a week with a long run on the weekends, I'll have to learn to do brick workouts. I will cover more miles on a bike than I would typically run in a week in a fraction of the time. My routine and rut have been broken and it's awesome.

And one of the best parts of this is that my best runny buddy ever, Lauren Curran, was also selected! I cannot wait to share a new adventure with a good friend. We're both marathoners, bored runners, adrenaline addicts and will find a way to kick triathlon butt together! Even if we don't have bikes, a pool, or any clue what we're doing. 

Respect the Distance

Running is a funny thing. There is now clear cut definition or standard to what defines running. For some, it's short sprints at strong speeds around a track. For others, it's a slow shuffle along a quiet road. For some it's a weight loss tool, for others it's stress relief. It's even some people's job. There is no time limit or pace that defines running. My 10:30 pace is my 10:30 pace and it is not that really lean and speedy guy 's  6:10 pace. Our bodies are churning, our lungs are breathing, our muscles are working, our minds are free, it's running.
There are some people who work for months to be able to run a mile; and some that can just decide to run and go for miles without breaking a sweat. Some people run fast, some run slow. Some participate in races and events and some are content to have a few moments to themselves a day.

The running community as a whole supports this. I read once in Runner's World that if you care about being called a jogger, you're a runner. A runner will never dismiss or judge another's time and while we may get competitive in those final stretches, there is always an undercurrent of pride and encouragement. It's a pretty cool thing.

The disconnect comes when trying to describe or share running with nonrunners. Runners, or those that I have met, do not judge those who do not run. I run, cool. You don't, cool. I've had plenty of conversations with nonrunners and common responses are usually :

"Oh, that's awesome! I could never do that!"
"That's cool. I have a bad back/knees/heart/wrist/ailment."
"Why on earth would you do that?" (My personal favorite.)
"I can play tennis for hours, but I hate running." (This is my chiropracter's response)
"My brother/cousin/uncle/sister/girlfriend/coworker/friend/ is a runner too." (No, I don't know them, never participated in that race.)
"Oh, what's your 5K PR?" (Agh! Another runner! Yay! Until times are discussed and I'm revealed to be a turtle-like poser).

All of these responses are awesome and I love when people show interest and excitement. The responses that really bother me are the indifference or flat out disrespectful ones.

A coworker of mine came into my cage/office in the middle of the summer and declared she was running a half marathon. Cool, huh? She told me which was it was and laid out her awesome plan for getting ready and how the race had free beers at the end. The following week she told me how much her ankle hurt. The next week it was her knees. The following week it was too hot. Then she was too busy. Then it got dark too soon. This is while I was training for my marathon and fighting a daily battle with myself to overcome those same excuses. My advice was always just do it.

She never did take my training advice, only my advice on how to wear her hair and what to eat before hand. So, what are those Gu things? Do I need them? One piece of advice she never took was to stop smoking.
So, she did the half marathon. Notice I say "did" and not "ran." Her lack of training and respect for 13.1 miles caused her to stop at mile 7 and walk the remainder of the event. She didn't make the three-hour time limit. She talked like she was allllllllllthat and mooore for days because she totally finished and barely even trained. I had to bite my tongue on many occasions.

While I would never diss on a runner's time or experience, I am bothered by the lack of respect. A half marathon is 13.1 miles. That is a lot to ask of your body. And to simply THINK you can do it and not PREPARE demonstrates a certain amount of hubris and arrogance.

I've seen many a people claim "I'm gonna run a half marathon!" and then get a few weeks into training and back down, or stop talking about it completely, as the realization of what a long run can do to your body and schedule sinks in. I've seen lots of people stick with it and cross those finish lines full of pride. And humility.

You always respect the distance. From a 5K to an Ultra, respect the distance. Running requires work, dedication, and sacrifice and for a nonrunner to assume it's easy and can be done without trying is arrogant and annoying. I'm no slender skinny minny and have had eyebrows raised in disbelief when I said, "I'm doing the half marathon tomorrow," or "I ran 17 miles this morning." Yeah, you don't have to be a stick to run. You don't have to be fast to run. You just have to run to run. And to assume I cannot because I'm not skinny or fast is question my character. It's also a very transparent showing of their character.

......Clearly an Athlete

One late summer evening in 2008, my then roommate came bursting into the apartment with extra exuberance and excitement than her normal. Roomie was a dancer. A salsa dancer to be exact. She had a passion and drive for life that, when coupled with her big heart and personality, meant that whatever she was passionate about, everyone in her life knew about it and probably joined her. Her new adventure, the one she was simply bursting to tell us about, was a new chiropractor's office and 'wellness' place she found.
  "and he looked at my x-rays and said i was in a car accident when I was sixteen and because of my dancing that my hips are all goofy and then i laid down on the table and all my makeup came off and he cracked my neck and ohmygod it felt so good and you have to go and they do these seminars about eating well and being organic and they are so so so nice and do yoga..and....." She went on and on.  A few weeks later, I'm attending an Eight Weeks to Wellness Orientation with her parents, our neighbor, and her. And I was suckered in. This was maybe  my first introduction into this concept of healthy living and making choices about your food and body that will allow your body to be, well, better. Honestly, I was just happy to have something to do after work at that point.

Part of this program was an assessment with a personal trainer at the wellness solutions center. I was running maybe three times a week for about 45 minutes at the time. And not really doing it well. I was excited and nervous for the appointment. The trainer looked like a walking, talking Ken Doll. It was kinda freaky. I don't remember what we did or how the appointment went. I will always always remember Trainer Ken watching me attempt push ups and saying, "You're deceptively weak."

Deceptively weak. Oh. Ouch. This was admittedly not the best period of time for me. I was lonely and unhappy with a lot of circumstances in my life. To be referred to as deceptively weak when one was already emotionally and spiritually weak was more painful than the push ups.

"Deceptively weak" wrinkled my brain. It secretly pissed me off enough that I had to do something. I would not be weak. I decided to train for a real run. I joined a gym. I slowly learned to value and care for my body and soul. I learned to love sweating and working out. I signed up with a real trainer. (She looked like a Barbie doll but was sweet and helpful.) I ran half marathons. My body changed. My outlook changed. I started taking karate classes. I changed. I starting coaching Girls on the Run. I started and finished graduate school.

I ran a freaking' marathon. 


Despite the Ken Doll trainer's harsh words, I kept going to the same chiropractor's office. The chiropractor gave me a pass for another free appointment with a new trainer (Ken has since left the practice) after hearing about my marathon victory and the surprising pain I felt from a 'squishy' midsection while running.

As soon as my body felt recovered enough for a work out, I returned to the site of the "Deceptively Weak" crime. The new trainer and I worked on my core muscles and he gave me a lot of really good advice for runners. He was impressed that I had run a marathon, didn't question my time, or give me that "you're a runner" side-eye I sometimes get. He was interested in my karate practices. He spoke to me like I was a legitimate person with knowledge and credibility. It was crazy.

As I was leaving, he said,
"You're clearly an athlete."

I went from "deceptively weak" to "clearly an athlete." I felt as proud and as relieved in that fitness center as I did at the finish line of the marathon. The marathon was part of  a journey away from weakness, away from sadness and towards strength, towards health, and life. "Clearly an athlete." Huh. I'm clearly strong. Clearly. From deceptive to clearly. From weak to athlete. It's been QUITE a journey. It's incredible to realize the power words can have over us. Deceptively weak taunted me through long runs, weight reps, and chicken kicks. Clearly an athlete has provided some kind of validation for the past three years of hard work and sacrifice more than finisher's medal or new pair of jeans ever could. The burden to 'prove it' had some how lifted. I might not be the strongest person in the world, but dammit, I'm not weak. 

Disclaimer: I'm not an athlete in the professional sense and I'm certainly do not consider myself to be anything more than recreational runner. My hobby just happens to be a sport. I have respect for true athletes whose lives are dedicated to their sport.

My Philadelphia Recap: From Fable to Finish Line

I won’t bore reader(s) with a mile by mile breakdown. I won’t discuss the lack of porta potties or nickpick my every step.  I hate recaps like that. You’re not going to get a weather report or a grid of my Garmin times. You can read any Philadelphia Marathon recap for that. This was my marathon and the apex of a very long, very personal journey.

Let’s rewind to about six weeks ago when I was huffing and puffing my way through a solo 20 mile training run. It was not going well. I was achy, hungry, and tired. My legs and head were not cooperating. Either my legs would stop or my mind would stop telling them to go. My Camelback was annoying the crap out of me. Everything was annoying the crap out of me.

And then I got a stone in my damn shoe. It’s one of the cons to trail running. Red clay provides a softer surface and therefore easier recovery but comes with little stone terrorists that jump into your shoes and make every step way more painful than necessary. Good lord, I hated that stone. No matter how I shook my foot, it would not come out of my sneaker.

I started to think of the fable, the Princess and the Pea. If I remember correctly, the Prince was searching for a true princess but everyone he met was unfit. Let’s  have Wikipedia finish the tale:

The story tells of a prince who wants to marry a princess, but is having difficulty finding a suitable wife. Something is always wrong with those he meets, and he cannot be certain they are real princesses. One stormy night, a young woman drenched with rain seeks shelter in the prince's castle. She claims to be a princess, so the prince's mother decides to test their unexpected guest by placing a pea in the bed she is offered for the night, covered by 20 mattresses and 20 featherbeds. In the morning the guest tells her hosts that she endured a sleepless night, kept awake by something hard in the bed; which she is certain has bruised her. The prince rejoices. Only a real princess would have the sensitivity to feel a pea through such a quantity of bedding. The two are married, and the pea is placed in the Royal Museum.

I drew silly parallels between the stone in my shoe and the pea under the mattress. This occupied my mind for at least three miles. Perhaps I was meant to be Princess of Running by because of this stone in my shoe. My final thought was that if I could withstand the annoying pain of a stone in my shoe than I could indeed run a marathon.  So, maybe I was no princess or prince but a very determined runner with a goal. Also, I had to get home.

This faulty logic or wishful thinking became somewhat of a mantra as I headed towards the marathon. Some runners rely on mantras just as “just do it”, “pain is temporary, pride is forever” “you’re lapping everyone on the couch.” Me—I modify childhood fairy tales. Regardless of the method, the motivation and determination were there. I knew that if I could endure that stone in my damn shoe while running along the Delaware Canal, I had the mental toughness to endure the 26.2 miles of the Philadelphia Marathon. I did have doubts though because that is a pretty shaky mantra. But I think a significant amount of self doubt when contemplating running 26.2 miles in one day is probably just good common sense.

Fast forward to November 20, 2011. The day I ran my damn marathon.

very nervous at the start

I’m standing nervously  in my corral, just waiting for my turn to cross the start line. I point to it as we cross and say, “You’re my bitch. I’ll see you later.”And I did. Five hours and 10 minutes later, I ran under the finish line with tears streaming down my face. I did the whole thing. It wasn’t easy. But I never thought I couldn’t do it. After three years of running and 18 weeks of dedicated training, I knew I could. I knew there would be awesome parts and I knew there would be sucky parts. I knew there would be a wall and I would have to push through it. I knew that the crowds in Manayunk would be awesome and that those final 6 miles along Kelly Drive would be a knock-down-drag-out-gut-wretching-soul-searching-stretch of pain and drive that defines champions.

somewhere around mile 6. 

I can’t even say the marathon itself was hard. It wasn’t easy. It was challenging. It was overwhelming at times. Even the thrill of a personal distance record at mile 21 couldn’t negate the fact that I had already run 20 miles and still had 5 to go.

around mile 14

My marathon really started at mile 15. The first half was fun and served more as 13 miles of anticipation for the real deal. The second half. It was like the first three seasons of Lost, a lot of build up and questions which alluded to something way more sinister and crazy coming.

The wall came at mile 18. I pushed through it. My legs didn’t want to move anymore at mile 22. I made them. My heart was beating so hard and fast at mile 23 and 24 that I had to slow down to control it. But I did. My feet were on fire for the majority of the race but I ignored them. I was thirsty so I refilled my water bottle at the water stations and moved on. I was tired but I kept going. The only goal I had was to finish. 

Finally, I saw Boathouse Row which singled the end of this marathon! I was at or around mile 25.5 and only had a little more than a half mile to go. I was REALLY ACTUALLY SERIOUSLY  going to do this! The finish line didn’t appear as magically as I thought it would. Even though I had just run 26 miles, that .2 took forever. I followed the course and felt powered from the screaming and smiling faces. And just as that mythical finish line, the one I’ve been visualizing for 18 weeks, came into view, so did my parents, boyfriend, and friend along the gates. It was a dose of perspective. I mean, who needs finish lines when one is so blessed to have a group of people willing to battle traffic, each other, illnesses, and the Philadelphia Parking Authority to come watch me finish some journey they don’t necessarily get but want to celebrate.  

Hi Guys! I'm gonna go finish my marathon now!

There they were and there it was and there I went. To finish. To be a marathoner. To believe myself as a runner. To believe in myself.

There I go! Weeee!!! 

While I knew about the running part, the pain part, the hills and the course, I didn't really know what to expect at the end. A volunteer handed me a medal and a blanket. I grabbed a bottle of water. I didn't feel like a marathoner, yet. It felt real when, out of all the commotion and the bored announcer calling off generic mantras and names, I heard my mom's loud cry and saw everyone running towards me. The hugs and relief and pride and love made it real. 

My face is so ridiculous because I was crying.
That is what I look like when crying and showing off.

All I can say here is BAM! 

I have the medal, the t-shirt, the photos, and the waddle of a marathoner now. But I could have none of those things because I got huge hugs from the most important people to me at the end. I could run a hundred miles with pieces of glass in my shoe if it meant feeling that loved and special at the end. 

Lauren ran miles 20-25.5 with me along with most of my long training runs throughout. I could NOT have done this without her. 

I don't think I'll ever love another photo as much as I do this. NOTE THE MATCHING SHIRTS!

Love = wearing the same shirt as your girlfriend's parents.

This time next week....

This time next week I will be resting comfortably on my coach. This time next week I will have a glass of wine in my hand and a medal around my neck. This time next week, my body will be sore from head to toe. This time next week, I will never want to run again.  This time next week, despite the pain, I will have a huge smile on my face.

Because this time next week--I will be a marathoner.

I will be celebrating the end of a sixteen week journey and the crowning moment of an adventure that started three years ago. Hopefully. I don't want to jinx anything because anything can happen between now and the finish line. If everything goes well and the sixteen weeks of training pay off---by this time next week, I will be basking in the glory of having run a marathon.

I close my eyes on focus on the feel good parts of this adventure because I'm really nervous about the beginning and middle. My thoughts are consumed with anticipation, self doubt, performance anxiety, excitement, fear, and nerves. Did I train enough? What if I hit the proverbial wall too early and can't finish? I only ran two 20 milers and the second one was rough. I didn't do enough speed work. Am I eating well enough? What if I get hurt? What if I get injured between now and Sunday? What if.............. everything.

I'm allowing the question marks because I know they're going to be replaced with exclamation points soon and my doubt will be replaced with pride. As the questions grow in absurdity (what if I roll my ankle while wearing heels to work and I can't run?), the harder I think about next week. When this will all be over and I won't have to run anymore. I will have achieved a goal I set for myself and will  move forward through life with that power.

And as my favorite Righteous Babe (and this blog's namesake) sings:

"The further the horizon
You know the more it holds my gaze
And the foreground's out of focus
but you know I hope it's just a phase"


-ani difranco


The horizon is that finish line and this time next week....

THIS is a MARATHON.

It was 5 o'clock on a Thursday evening.  I stood up from my desk chair and was greeted with a loud crack from my lower back and a dull ache spread across my hips. I took a step forward and my calves burned. I moaned. 

"Why am I doing this?" I asked my office mate. I ask her this question everyday. And everyday she laughs at me. "I don't know! Because you're crazy." 

"Right. Good answer. And now I'm off to do it again." 

"How many miles tonight?" 

"I think eight. I'm going to shoot for six and try to push from there."

"How long will that take?"

"Forevvvvvvver!" I whine. 

Every fiber of my physical body wanted nothing more than to go home and take a nap. I wanted to nap, to cook dinner, and to watch The Sing Off. I did not want to go to the gym. But. Dammit. I'm training for a marathon. And so, I headed to the gym to face my old foe, the treadmill. Armed with my trusty tote bag, loaded with one sports bra, capris, tank, socks, sneakers, baggy t-shirt, headphones, I went towards the neon lights of LA Fitness. My training plan called for eight miles. That meant I had to eat a large lunch, chug 2 water bottles throughout the day, and wouldn't be getting home well past dinner time.

It was there on that stupid treadmill at the seventh mile, bored out of my mind, sore from my hip right down to my toes, the time is ticking closer and closer to eight o'clock that I realized THIS is the marathon. Sure, I'll gear up on November 20th and gather in corrals with thousands of others runners. I'll be excited, nervous, cold, scared, and anxious. My feet will cross that first timing mat and I'll be off. I'll run 13.1 miles and want to be done. I'll walk through the water stations. I'll hit a proverbial wall at mile 21 and find something in me to push further. I know my body is strong enough and my spirit is determined enough that I will cross that damn finish line. 

Because I've been doing this damn marathon for 3 years. The marathon is pushing through the exhaustion. The marathon is not giving into excuses. The marathon is setting a goal and working towards it. 

The marathon is running five miles to meet a friend on a brisk fall day and then hammering out 15 miles after that. The marathon is heading to the gym after a long day at work to get the miles in. It's leaving the parties early on weekends to be running by the time that most parties would be winding down. It's running 20 miles by yourself. It's running at night when the gym is closed for renovations because you're committed to the training plan (even if you're afraid of the dark). It's pounding out 16 miles on a treadmill because a Nor'easter is raging outside. It's coaching Girls on the Run, followed by running five miles. And following that with 45 minutes of intense cross training. The marathon is finding way to fit everything in. The marathon is being too tired to run and too determined not to. It is discovering deep wells of strength, stamina, anger, inspiration, motivation, and drive within yourself. And then actually using it. It's that incredible feeling of achievement earned from tackling one double digit run after another week after week. 

The start line of the marathon is not in front of the Philadelphia Art Museum. It was the first day I decided to try to run. A training plan calls for 16 weeks. The distance is 26.2 miles. The marathon is more than miles run. It's a compilation of weeks or years or even a lifetimes worth of work. The 26.2 miles will really be the easy part.