National Day of Running??? WHAT?!?

Today is National Running Day! I only became aware of this outstanding celebration yesterday, but darn tootin' I'm taking part.  Partly because I have a run scheduled for today anyway, but also because I love the idea of celebrating running!  You know why I adore running? Just in case you don't, I'm gonna tell you.

I love the freedom of it.  As in, it's cheap.  Equipment is minimal - you get yourself a good solid pair of running shoes, and you're set.  The rest - the iPod, the watch, the fuel belts - are add-ons.  You don't have to have them. 

Setting out for an early morning run

I love the solitary aspect.  Yes, I'm a people person most of the time.  That's how come I crave alone time.  For the majority of the day, I am busy cramming my thoughts into other people's heads and trying to process the myriad little voices that are fighting to enter my own head.  (Although, to be fair, those little voices share a basic unifying thought: "MOM!" Apparently, just saying that one. singular. word. over and over is entertainment enough.) 

I love the sense of accomplishment I get from a long run.  I enjoy my TurboFire, my P90X, my HipHop Abs, and my QiDANCE...but the feeling after a long run is just...separate. Because just last year, right around this time, I could barely eke out 20 minutes.  Running is a measurable accomplishment, a way for me to say, again, that my body is capable of amazing things.

My first race medal

I love running for the sense of peace I receive during a long run.  And by long run, I mean longer than an hour and preferably longer than two. It takes me that first hour to find my place, my zen, my stride.  After that, the freedom and the solidarity combine and my world takes on a rosier hue.  Cars may pass; their sounds are muted.  The sun can shine; the rain can fall; the wind can blow...everything just adds to the moment.  For me, running is the only workout I have found that offers this sense of quiet, this sense of relaxation during maximum effort.  I think more clearly; problems that plague me before my feet hit the asphalt suddenly sort themselves out and seem small. 



Finishing my first marathon

I love the sense of community among runners.  Experienced runners are consistently enthusiastic about helping beginners; elite runners rejoice in the amateur runners' race times.  Picture a dog finding another dog.  For them, that moment is ALWAYS AMAZING.  In their world of humans, they have discovered another canine at last.  Runners are the same way.  Don't believe me? Attend any race, walk into any runner's store, and find someone who's been running for years.  Tell them you're new to the game and ask advice...and be prepared to chat for a good length of time. 

I love that I can share it with my kids.  Sure, the runs will be shorter and slower.  But someday, I imagine that we will be completing 5k's, 10k's, half marathons, and full marathons together.  My daughter especially has a natural runner's gait and a wonderful speed.  I am already envious of her potential as a runner, as I am of the slow-and-steady variety. 

Take this National Day of Running as a sign, a hint, a reason...and lace up! Step out! Go RUNNING!  Clear your head; find your zen; feel that pride.  All you've gotta do is put on your shoes and GO.

I Ran for the Red

Hey, did you know I've been training for a marathon? I know I haven't talked about it much, but I've done some training here and there over the past few months...

Yay!

So, Saturday was the much anticipated expo and packet pickup day.  After browsing the expos at the Rock N Roll Half and VIA, I was all set to stock up on Gu and possibly a new headband or tshirt with a catchy slogan (previous purchases include "will run for margaritas" and "will run for beer." I have a theme.).  Alas, twas not to be.  Apparently, Run for the Red is but a teeny blip on the expo radar and not a drop of Gu could be found.  I did leave, however, with a brand spanking new tech shirt (free) and a bag full of tourism brochures for Stroudsburg.  Oh - and two (count 'em!) notepads from the state representative.  On to my runner's haven, Aardvark!

Aardvark Sports Shop is my absolute fave place to shop for running gear.  Runners work there and actually know what they're talking about as they fit you for shoes and answer your questions.  (Unlike walking into Lady Foot Locker and explaining I was in need of new running shoes, whereupon I was led to the "prettiest pair.")  I grabbed my Gu, some Chomps, and chatted with the cashier who had already run Run for the Red and was running it again the next day.  She warned me not to go all out in the beginning on the downhill because there'd be plenty of uphill at the end.  I soaked it all in (and promptly forgot it once the race started, but we'll get to that in a bit), grabbed my stash, and headed home to ready the house for the post-race celebration.

Race day! It was actually race day!  Up at 5 am (actually before, because I was excited/nervous/in need of bladder emptying) to get myself and the M&M Clan out the door by 6:30 am.  Being the organized gal that I am, everything had been laid out the night before, so we nearly got out the door on time.  (I never fully expect us to leave when we plan to; this is why we usually give ourselves a 30-minute "oh my God we have four kids" window.)  I forced down some oatmeal and green tea and packed a cooler of snacks for the rest of the Clan and a bag of gear for myself.  Off we went, some of us jittery and others sleepy.

Our course of action was a drop off and immediate departure for the fam, with nary a monkey foot leaving the van.  I geared up, posed for pictures, stole last-minute hugs and kisses and waved good-bye as they chugged on to the first spectator spot.  Suddenly, I was alone with 30 minutes to spare...I had to pee.

Luckily, the crowd at the starting line was minimal.  This was not the chaos I was used to from previous races, but that suited me just fine.  I was able to use the portapotties TWICE before I meandered over to the starting line just behind the 4:40 pace group.  I was feeling spry and thought I would at least start out with a faster group.  To help me chillax, I listened to the Fab Four until start time and marvelled at the wide range of runners.

Two things that continuously amaze me are the diversity and the community of runners.  You may picture marathon runners as incredibly sinewy and lean, and some of them are.  But they (WE!) are a much more diverse group than most would imagine.  There was not a "type" anywhere yesterday...Cultures, races, shapes, sizes, levels of fitness - everyone was represented.  And everyone was accepted with enthusiasm.  Runners are one of the most welcoming and enthusiastic groups I have ever seen.  When we find each other, we are like dogs spotting other dogs.  I swear, I may have even waggled my rear at times.  Because no one other than a fellow runner will truly understand what it means and why we're NOT crazy to do what we do.  Also, we want to convert everyone we meet.  If we could only pause long enough in our weekend runs to knock on a few doors, we'd be eerily similar to certain religious sects.

So it was a good feeling there at the starting line.  There is always the jumbled mess at the beginning when everyone is fresh, but by mile two we began to separate.  I kept in pace with the 4:40 crowd and began taking my intervals somewhere between miles 2 and 3.  The first hour went by as it always does, in a haze of settling in to my stride and my breathing and gaining control of my thoughts (today they went something along the lines of "Holy FUCK! What did I sign up for?!?).  I always find my strength and my zen around the second hour and this day was no different.  I turned up my volume (one luxury of racing: you don't have to listen for vehicles) and zoned out, forgetting the other runners and focusing instead on me. 

That's a lie.  I didn't eliminate them from my thoughts.  That 4:40 pace sign was taunting me endlessly, bobbing up and down in its irritating, singsongy way.  I pushed harder.  I totally forgot the advice of Wise Aardvark Lady and took full advantage of the downhill and the shade and the slight coolness of the morning.  That's a partial lie, too.  I didn't forget; I ignored.  This led to a sweaty stripping down while I made use of PortaPotty stop 2.  Which in turn led to me falling far behind the pace group and pushing even harder to catch up and PASS them.  I felt fantastic.

By the time I saw the Clan at the first spectator spot, right around mile 9, I was fully in my stride.  I untied my excess clothing from my fuel belt and threw it at them as they cheered me on.  I was on pace to not only make my goal of five hours, but to come in significantly sooner.  I had no time to stop (though I did end up pausing for a kiss).  Once again, I fell into zen mode, rousing out every 30 to 45 minutes to fuel up with Gu and water.  I passed the halfway point fourteen minutes under my previous half marathon time and ran faster.  Another reunion with fam at mile 16 perked me up again...and then came the heat.

Runners began dropping like flies.  People I hadn't seen since the starting line were suddenly on the side of the road clutching bellies, removing shoes, and opting for the ambulance ride.  I saw runners falling and admitting defeat at every mile.  This was not something I had expected.  And it made the mental portion of the race that much more difficult.  Because when everyone around you is quitting, it makes quitting seem like an okay thing to do.  Even if your body is willing to keep going. 

My legs felt strong.  My cardio was on target.  But that heat...that heat.  I had not trained in heat.  I trained all winter long in layers, and in the spring when the mornings stayed cool.  Technically, it's still spring.  But yesterday felt like the dog days of summer, especially with 18 miles logged.  At points I felt viciously jealous of those caving to the sun and the road; they were done.  I was barely trudging along, focusing entirely on my "one more minute" strategy to get me through each interval.  I shifted from counting singular miles to grouping them by fives, when I knew they would be posting on Facebook for all to see.  People would know if I stopped; people would know if I failed.  I would know.  My new mantras included "failure is NOT an option" and "failure is not in my vocabulary."  Not original or thought provoking, but they worked.  I plugged on, letting my arms drop.

But that HEAT.  It was unbearable.  I pictured blue waters, cool swimming pools, even my ice bath.  I longed for my ice bath.  I grew irritable that the water stations had no cold offerings.  I didn't want  warm Gatorade!  I wanted ICE COLD WATER.  It was my only clear thought.  And then...

The heavens parted.  A choir of angels began to sing.  And if I'd had a tear to shed, I would have cried.  I saw the most beautiful handwritten sign on the side of a cooler I had ever seen: "ICE."  I dove in with two hands, splashing one clump into an outstretched cup of water and sending the rest into the front of my sports bra.  Relief.  From that point on, we were strictly in residential areas and apparently, the most wonderful people on the face of the planet live right on the Run for the Red route.  They sprayed us down with icy garden hoses, offered us plastic cups full of ice and cool water, all the while cheering us on.  I opened my arms wide and blessed their dear, sweet little souls.  Children squirted us with water guns and supersoakers - all of it FREEZING.  Bliss.  Pure bliss.  I gathered my remaining energy and realized I was in the home stretch now - only three more miles to go.

The closer I got to the finish line, the more finishers I saw walking back to their cars and to restaurants along Main Street.  Once again, I was jealous: not only were they done, they were done faster.  I pushed harder.  Upon entering the school grounds, I heard my big sister yelling "Go, BEAR!"  I looked up to see her and my daughter waving from the top of the bleachers.  I could not walk now...I had to finish running.  No more intervals.

I hit the track and knew it was less than a full lap.  I have never wanted to stop moving so badly in my life.  I desperately needed to walk, to just stand still...and then Crazy Train started playing.  It was my son's theme song all wrestling season, and I was reminded of his tenacity even when we all knew he wanted to give up.  I was reminded of our many talks about following through to reach goals, about not giving in or giving up...and all the moments I watched his jaw set and his eyes narrow...and I started sprinting for the finish line.  I knew I was already over five hours, but not by much.  I could still make this a goal reached.

I crossed the finish line at 5:02:44.  (Upon checking my results, my official chip time was 5:01:04.  I'll take it.)  I grabbed up my precious medal and stumbled into the open arms of Hubby, who literally swept me off my feet in the best hug EVER. 

I did it.  "Decide.  Commit.  Succeed."  That is the Beachbody slogan I see at the end of every TurboFire, ChaLEAN Extreme, and P90X workout I have ever done.  And though a simple formula, it works.  I am proof.  And now I have a marathon PR...which I will beat in the VIA this September.  I just need to start training.

I've Come A Long Way, Baby...

As I sit here and pretend not to be thinking over the looming miles, I can't help but think back over my sporadic running career.  I believe the first time I ran for fitness' sake was in college with my roommate Nes, when I would "reward" myself for a job well done and two miles run with a P-Funk and a handful of Oreos.  I've come a long way, baby...

At the end of my first race

My first actual race experience was the VIA Relay when I logged 5.5 miles in 55 minutes as the first leg for our team.  I walked A LOT of that race, but at no particular interval pace.  I recall an obvious marathoner slowing beside me, his fuel belt seeming, to me at that time, to be a tad excessive (I knew little!).  He asked if I was doing 1:1 intervals, as he was.  My reply?  "Nope.  I'm on the uphill/downhill system.  Walk uphill, run downhill."  I eked my way to Hubby, tapped out to the next runner, and slowly recovered from what I thought was a grueling and terribly long run.  I've come a long way, baby...

After my first Komen

From the VIA, I progressed to my very first Komen 5k.  It took us about 35 minutes to finish and I remember thinking that running made me fill really ill and excessively tired.  Regardless of how many times and ways I attempted to explain my nausea and exhaustion to Hubby, he claimed he, too, was tired from the race.  Little did we know that the babe was blossoming in my belly and I really was far more tired than Hubby.  Well, I knew how much worse I felt, he just didn't want to let me win.  We've come a long way, baby...

Seeing as how my belly was growing and I was slowing, I left running behind for prenatal workouts.  Post-babe, I discovered TurboFire (HOOORAAAAYYY!) and felt that was my soul mate workout.  What could be better?  I loved the intensity, the music, the quickness.  Nothing could be better!  I was about to come a long way, baby...

Crossing the finish line

My darling niece challenged me to a half marathon.  So what if it was a mere five weeks away?  If TurboFire was really that faboo, I ought to be in optimal condition.  Challenge accepted!  And guess what?  This time, I fell in love!  I loved waking up at the asscrack of dawn and running longer and longer routes before anyone else woke up.  I loved my race, the Rock N Roll Half Marathon in Providence, RI.  Live bands every mile?  Free Gu?  A gentle cooling rain?  Yes, please, and THANK YA!  I really had come a long way, baby.

And now...on the eve of the eve of my very first and very anticipated first marathon...I look back at my peppered race record and chuckle.  At what I thought was too difficult, too long, too steep...knowing now that the more difficult it is, the more fun it is to accomplish...the longer it takes, the more zen time I get...the steeper the climb, the more satisfication I get from climbing it.  (Somehow, the last part of the sentence suddenly seems perverted...oh well...)  So I am very much looking forward to Sunday morning, though I know pre-race will see a flustered Queen who must empty her bladder at least fifteen times before stepping across the starting line.  I just need to hold on to the knowledge that once running, all will be good.  These legs know what to do.  We're gonna go a long way, baby...

It's The Climb

 This is where I am at the end of the first interval of 99% of my training runs.  Within five minutes, I am far enough away from the main road to not hear traffic and far enough into my session to begin realizing how blessed I am to live where I do.  We may not have Starbucks or malls and we may have to drive more than 20 minutes to get anywhere...but look what we do have.  It's not a fair trade; we certainly claimed the long end of the stick.  At this point, I am more likely to run past fishermen than cars and am more likely to be alone than in the presence of fishermen.  It's a quiet beginning to a quiet run, just the way I prefer it.  If anything is going to throw me off on Sunday, it will be the chaos that accompanies every starting line.  Because from here, I move on to this:

More tranquility, more beauty, and even less signs of progress.  My usual company here consists of geese (although, those geese aren't always tranquil...) and the occasional farmer on his tractor.  If the stream is high enough and rapid enough, I like to lower the volume on my iPod so I can listen to the water rush by.  By the time I get here...

I am already feeling the zen of sneakers hitting asphalt, the evenness of my breathing, the energy pushing my legs faster.  To the right is the lake, where I'm likely to see more fishing enthusiasts and runners like myself.  This is when the rest of my world begins to fall away, when I forget about the laundry, any temper tantrums or bills to pay, and my mind shifts instead to what lies ahead.  Because from here, it's only a few miles to get to my favorite spot...

This is my treat, one I only get when I do distance training.  It's about ten miles out and if I want to go through here, I have to plan on at least two to three hours of run time.  I've previously described the "veggie portion" of my runs.  This is my double chocolate fudge cake, fresh out of the oven.  It's worth busting through any tiredness that tries to creep in to hear the gravel crunch under my feet and know that I have a good two miles to be snug in this trail before I re-enter the real world of painted lines and fast cars.  I swear, the best songs always play here and I do some of my clearest thinking along this path.  Many a blog entry has been formulated between these trees and many a problem solved.  If my race has any spots like this, I'll be golden come Sunday.

No matter how far I run or which route I take, I always start and finish on the same road, with the same hill.  Setting out, the downhill is a great warm up and spur to get my feet movin'.  Coming home...it is the bane of my existence.  There was a time, seven or so months ago, that I was barely able to walk back up.  It required everything I had to breathlessly climb this hill.  Now...I run it.  Slowly.  Awkwardly.  But I'm running.  This hill may not be the steepest I've encountered during my months of training, but it is the most symbolic.  I can't get around it.  This is the way home and the last few minutes of my run.  I can either make it count or I can decide my run is over at the base.  I decided long ago to make it count.  So while this picture may not seem impressive or beautiful to you...to me, it is a turning point not only in my physical strength, but my mental determination as well.  If I can conquer this hill after a 21+ mile run, I can certainly finish that marathon. 



The Little Picture

Taking off into the fog

It was one of those mornings.  I was T-I-R-E-D.  And the M&M Clan had a B-U-S-Y day ahead of us.  Taking two to three hours to run seemed not only the exact opposite of what I felt like doing (shoving my head back under the pillows and flattening out my body under the covers so no one could find me), but it also could have put us in a severe time crunch (and I tend to get mildly cranky in times of severe time crunches.  As long as "mildly" is translated into "very."). However...my Type A brain was hyperaware that Run For The Red is a mere two months away and my training days are numbered.  Plus, I want a cute new running skirt to wear for my marathon, and I don't think I can convince Hubby I need one unless I actually run the marathon.  So, I channeled my inner Barney and suited up.

Now, I checked the temperature the old fashioned way - by looking out the window and then reading stats on my iPhone.  Foggy and 41.  That sounded like layering weather to me, but I have learned the overdressing lesson and the non-sexy-appeal of the roadside strip show.  So I figured sports bra and a light coat, topped with my ever-so-attractive neon vest so I would glow in the fog.  I even considered putting my hood up over my cap, my neck was so chilly...for the first two minutes.  I wasn't even ten minutes in before I ripped the coat off.  New lesson: global warming really is warm.  No more long sleeved layers until the fall (if we have one of those again). 

Geared up

So, for those first ten minutes, I was blaming my lack of enthusiasm on being overheated.  Coat off, I blamed it on a tough leg workout two days prior.  Then, on not getting enough sleep.  I found myriad reasons to turn around and go home, or better yet! Call Hubby to pick me up roadside like a free couch.  However...I realized for perhaps the first time ever that it would be easier to finish out than it would be to give up.  No one would have to know (besides the Clan that had watched me prepare my fuel belt and set mapmyrun) except me.  Guess what?  Apparently, I am enough for myself.  Go figure.

Rather than face a knowing stare in the mirror (and, Readers, I look in the mirror A LOT), I trekked on, still listing excuses as to why I shouldn't.  I knew by then that I wouldn't stop, but it helped pass the time during those three-minute running intervals.  This was one of those days when each minute seemed to drag out FOR-EV-ERRR, some of them beating my lungs into submission, others more focused on twisting my quadriceps into a pairing for peanut butter.  Regardless, I powered through the first forty-five minutes in misery.

I forced myself to focus on each minute rather than the full stretch of 14 miles I was scheduled to run.  Fourteen is a bunch of miles, if you want to get all technical about it.  That could be a daunting number.  Not quite as daunting as the 26.2 looming on the horizon, but it was intimidating enough for a Saturday.  And see, this was the real reason I was lacking in my usual excitement at long run day: don't tell anyone, but I am getting just the tiniest bit nervous about running that marathon.  Not enough to bag the idea, but enough that I lie awake counting 26.2 sheep, each of them in little Nike Frees sprinting over my head.  There is always the what if of it all and I am not good at contemplating the what if.  I am more of a who-needs-planning-when-you've-got-enthusiasm sort of gal and what if  has never been a close friend of mine.  So, the worry is there, in the deep recesses of my brain (but never fear - the shallow end is untouched and busy planning my race day outfit).  What I needed to do was break it down from The Big Picture to The Little Picture: minutes.  I can do anything for one minute, right?  It's pretty much true and it gets me through some fairly intense training.  Try it sometime.  Promise yourself you'll really hammer out one minute of tough cardio or lifting.  I bet you find that minute can get you pretty far.  And a minute is seriously less threatening than 14 miles.  If fourteen miles is a child-eating clown from Maine, a minute is the cute fluffy kitten of training increments.  Who doesn't love a kitten (besides the aforementioned clown)?  And my brain can focus for sixty seconds.  Maybe not for much longer, but one minute I can certainly handle.

Then, somewhere along the road, I found myself in what I cleverly call "the Zone." (Clever, right?  I'm full of unique catchphrases!) At some point, I had forgotten to keep track of interval times and lost half an hour in the depths of the Zone.  Know what?  I FELT GREAT!  Like, Tony the Tiger great!  I felt so great, in fact, that I continued running sans walking for the majority of my 14.5 mile run.  I not only entered the Zone, I made it my permanent address.  I relished the warm weather and the sudden strength in my legs.  I basked in the growing sunshine and the increased capacity of my lungs.  This...this moment...is why I run.  When my brain relaxes and my body just works.  When my every thought is so cheesey it ought to be poured over nachos (made from organic blue corn, without salt).  I love that I get to run the back roads where there is so little traffic most days I can forget where I am.  I adore that I have hills to run up and speed down, trees to shade me, and streams and rivers to sparkle in the sun.  This is the zen of running for me - when I can fully appreciate not just my healthy body but the gorgeous world surrounding it. 

Of course, eventually, I have to let it go.  Today, it was when non-locals felt the sweaty panting runner on the side of the road was the best person to get directions from.  (No lie.  They pulled their van right over and beeped at me despite the appearance of local businesses RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM.  Luckily, I am just newly local, so I could honestly be of no help to them.)  Still, although I left the zen behind, I was still in the Zone.  I ran farther than I ever had before, faster than I ever had before.  I ran 14.5 miles ten seconds faster than I ran my Rock N Roll Half Marathon.  And I felt FANTASTIC!  My usually sore knees were at least 75% less sore than usual (thanks to the glucosamine I started taking daily) and I was bouncing like a Bubba while I stripped off the fuel belt and vest.  Sleepy didn't set in until I was riding in a sunsoaked passenger seat and my belly was full. 

But even then I still had bragging rights.  I mean, come on.  I said the zen was a reason, not the only reason.

14.5, baby! BRING IT!