It's hard to believe it's been almost two years since I've visited this tiny corner of the interwebs. I think I went from being genuinely too busy to post-or to too lazy to catch up- to ashamed at my lack of discipline towards something as simple as an online running diary. So I avoided this place and let the dust grow thicker every month.
Here it is, two winters later, and my story is where I left it. And I am back.
Ready to get into fighting shape and looking for a goal-both athletically and professionally.
There is too much to review in detail, but here is the long and short of it. Last year, I ran really well. I PR'd (on a short course, but still-it's in the books and the pace was PR quality) my 5k, my 10k, and was on track to PR the Houston half when I pretty much tore my calf muscle. I was in the best running shape of my life and running nearly 50 miles a week. It depressed me much more than I let on. It was a tiny heartbreak.
Over the course of a month I healed, and then rolled my ankle so badly that it stayed swollen for a month. That pretty much did it for me. I became wary of any sort of expectation or goal for running.
So after last spring I became a self-described 'spirit runner'. I just ran for fun. I continued weight lifting, ran to recover, reveled in good food and beer, vacationed in Colorado twice :), and just enjoyed the lack of pressure and accountability I often put on myself when it comes to maintaining fitness. I also stayed remarkably injury free.
I began working part time at my favorite pub, the Logon Cafe, in Beaumont Texas. The good beer, my friend (and owner) Ed, the vibrant clientele, and beautiful food chef Monica Cobb created every Thursday and Friday created a fun and stimulating work environment. I loved it.
However, a lot of energy went into the job. Lots of time away from my family. It became difficult to achieve a sense of balance between work and not-work. I began to feel disconnected from myself. I slowly realized that working hard is a concept that I am very capable of adapting to, but that amount of my energy could (and should) be directed at a purpose that I am more passionate about fulfilling. If my time with my family is to be cut into, it needs to be for something that in some way creates. I am very lucky to be able to make this kind of choice, and I appreciate it completely.
So I left the pub, and stand here with the goal of pursuing fitness as a means of generating income, but more importantly, generating health and happiness and that amazing feeling of fulfillment that comes from setting a fitness-related goal and realizing it.
The credential I am looking to obtain, and how I intend to use it is still in question for me. The seed has been planted, and I am patiently going to water it and move it into the sun.
While that is simmering, I am working on training myself. I have been running with purpose for about four weeks. I am starting to feel stronger. I need to lose a couple of pounds from my summer of YOLO, but I am confident I can return to the level of fitness I was at last year when I tore my calf.
This is my new beginning. I'm sure it won't be my last. That's the beauty of growing older, and wiser. You develop patience with yourself, and begin to truly understand that the cycles of life repeat. We are constantly born again. Spiritually, physically, and emotionally. To try to use each new beginning as an opportunity, and to look at it as a hopeful new start is to have learned well from the last one.
Saturday, December 5, 2015
Cycles
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
Monday, May 26, 2014
Gusher 2014
So much time has passed since my goal race of winter 2014, that it feels like it was a year ago. It was cold then. I was healthy. But I digress...
It was really only about two and a half moths ago.
All my hard long runs and harder tempo runs led up to a lovely grey morning where I lined up with all of the running friends I had made in the past year and got to race an event I entered the previous one as a wide eyed running newbie.
Ever the conservative racer, I had a plan and stuck diligently to it. I had corresponded via Facebook with the 1:45 pacer (the super fast and accomplished Jorge Guevara) and with his wisdom and leadership I knew I could secure the PR I craved if I kept my head straight.
The first seven miles of the race were great. I was even chatting in the beginning. It was cool and the temperature was dropping. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds and the perfectly flat course made for smooth sailing. My husband (who had not been training for long distance at all) ran the first three miles behind the 1:45 pack. I smugly thought we were leaving him behind with every step. As soon as we passed the mile 3 flag, he loped easily off like a relaxed puppy chasing a ball he halfway wanted to catch. I fought the urge to go after him.
Mile 7-9 wove through downtown Beaumont and it was there that I had a brief burning in my quads. I didn't like it and wondered why they were hurting so early on and in such a flat area. Perhaps it was the turns that forced a bit of stopping and abrupt starting up in a quick succession. I started chomping shot blocks and found relief. I took water at every station, stopping completely to gulp it down and catching back up to the group. It helped.
Before I knew it we were back on MLK (a big highway shut down for the race) headed for the finish. This stretch is infamous for its headwind. So much so, that the race directors held a simultaneous cycling time trial down the middle of it titled 'Heads or Tails Time Trial'. It was really cool to see them flying with and against the wind along side us runners. Mercifully, Jorge is a good foot taller than me. I tucked right behind him and let him absorb the bulk of the resistance. I still felt it, but I could smell the finish and I was getting antsy to make my move.
Back on the homestretch of about two and a half miles to the finish, I began my slow but steady acceleration. I could feel the difference running such a steady pace early on offered. I was tired, but I knew I was ready to go faster.
I abandoned the pacing group and began to go after the two females I could see ahead of me. One was visibly fading. I passed and she didn't care. I know that feeling, but I had no time to consider empathy. I set my sights on the next one. She started with the men at the front of the pack at the beginning of the race. She must have a goal in mind as well. I didn't let myself dwell on the fact that she was so far ahead of me for the bulk of the run. I focused on the fact that she was getting closer. As we passed the 12 mile flag we were side by side. I tried to just pass without it being awkward but she sped up along side me. I let her run ahead a bit but then when the sights became familiar and I knew the finish had to be within a half a mile I left her. I don't even remember it happening-it just became a desperate dash to get the clock to stop. It was so cool to know that the people cheering, the people at the finish, were my friends. A completely heart warming and proud feeling after hanging for 13 miles just to experience this moment of visceral action in the final 2. As I climbed up onto the overpass that leads to the 200m homestretch my dear friend Alissa ran up and told me you're at 1:42! Hurry! Run! I was so happy to see her, so excited to get across that timing mat, that I pushed even harder as she ran next to me. Embarrassingly, as she urged me to get there faster (she knew my goal) and I was simply unable to go any faster I screeched at her, "Alissa, shut up!" and ever the supportive fellow runner, she just kept encouraging and being supportive. She was waiting at the finish line with a group of girls from my workout class and the sweet relief of letting my feet stop their pounding flooded through me.
Afterward, my husband found me and let me know he had managed to pull off 1:38 and third in his age group. I snagged a 1:43 and first in mine! That girl I caught at mile 12 was second in our age group.
I thanked my pacer and hung around and congratulated the many friends and running acquaintances who had pr'd or met new distance goals. It was so communal out there. I waved my signs for the passing buddies who were going the full marathon distance and had another entire loop of the journey I had just concluded in front of them. My husband and I drank our beers and attended the awards ceremony (second team place as well! Go Team Recovery Beer!) and then shivered our way back to the car for the journey home and to pick up our boys and return to parenting duties.
Gusher 2014 was an amazing experience and one I will work to improve upon and appreciate every year. I am so grateful for the race directors, Richard and Amie James, who work their butts off every year to provide Southeast Texas with a full marathon experience and for providing us with an all around classy event to train for and promote fitness in the name of.
After Gusher, I continued to train with vigor and did not allow my body the rest it deserved after a winter of hard running. I ran the Austin 10/20 and had a hamstring issue mid-run...that snowballed into a chronic pain in my lower right leg. After Chiropractor visits, massages, and rest, I went for an MRI.
It showed that I had developed a 'stress reaction' in my right tibia and have been forced to ease up significantly on my running. I am not supposed to be doing any for the next couple of weeks, but I have been sneaking in easy grass runs as my body permits. I've been cycling and doing bootcamp about five days a week, but I am beyond eager to get back into a regular running groove. Life is all about balance, and while I was running like crazy, it was becoming a chore. Now when I taste that old sensation of pushing and discomfort during my forbidden grass runs, it is a blessing. I welcome it. Hopefully this culminates into a stronger, faster, more mature version of a mother runner <3
Beginning, middle, end :)
It was really only about two and a half moths ago.
All my hard long runs and harder tempo runs led up to a lovely grey morning where I lined up with all of the running friends I had made in the past year and got to race an event I entered the previous one as a wide eyed running newbie.
Ever the conservative racer, I had a plan and stuck diligently to it. I had corresponded via Facebook with the 1:45 pacer (the super fast and accomplished Jorge Guevara) and with his wisdom and leadership I knew I could secure the PR I craved if I kept my head straight.
The first seven miles of the race were great. I was even chatting in the beginning. It was cool and the temperature was dropping. The sun was hidden behind a blanket of clouds and the perfectly flat course made for smooth sailing. My husband (who had not been training for long distance at all) ran the first three miles behind the 1:45 pack. I smugly thought we were leaving him behind with every step. As soon as we passed the mile 3 flag, he loped easily off like a relaxed puppy chasing a ball he halfway wanted to catch. I fought the urge to go after him.
Mile 7-9 wove through downtown Beaumont and it was there that I had a brief burning in my quads. I didn't like it and wondered why they were hurting so early on and in such a flat area. Perhaps it was the turns that forced a bit of stopping and abrupt starting up in a quick succession. I started chomping shot blocks and found relief. I took water at every station, stopping completely to gulp it down and catching back up to the group. It helped.
Before I knew it we were back on MLK (a big highway shut down for the race) headed for the finish. This stretch is infamous for its headwind. So much so, that the race directors held a simultaneous cycling time trial down the middle of it titled 'Heads or Tails Time Trial'. It was really cool to see them flying with and against the wind along side us runners. Mercifully, Jorge is a good foot taller than me. I tucked right behind him and let him absorb the bulk of the resistance. I still felt it, but I could smell the finish and I was getting antsy to make my move.
Back on the homestretch of about two and a half miles to the finish, I began my slow but steady acceleration. I could feel the difference running such a steady pace early on offered. I was tired, but I knew I was ready to go faster.
I abandoned the pacing group and began to go after the two females I could see ahead of me. One was visibly fading. I passed and she didn't care. I know that feeling, but I had no time to consider empathy. I set my sights on the next one. She started with the men at the front of the pack at the beginning of the race. She must have a goal in mind as well. I didn't let myself dwell on the fact that she was so far ahead of me for the bulk of the run. I focused on the fact that she was getting closer. As we passed the 12 mile flag we were side by side. I tried to just pass without it being awkward but she sped up along side me. I let her run ahead a bit but then when the sights became familiar and I knew the finish had to be within a half a mile I left her. I don't even remember it happening-it just became a desperate dash to get the clock to stop. It was so cool to know that the people cheering, the people at the finish, were my friends. A completely heart warming and proud feeling after hanging for 13 miles just to experience this moment of visceral action in the final 2. As I climbed up onto the overpass that leads to the 200m homestretch my dear friend Alissa ran up and told me you're at 1:42! Hurry! Run! I was so happy to see her, so excited to get across that timing mat, that I pushed even harder as she ran next to me. Embarrassingly, as she urged me to get there faster (she knew my goal) and I was simply unable to go any faster I screeched at her, "Alissa, shut up!" and ever the supportive fellow runner, she just kept encouraging and being supportive. She was waiting at the finish line with a group of girls from my workout class and the sweet relief of letting my feet stop their pounding flooded through me.
Afterward, my husband found me and let me know he had managed to pull off 1:38 and third in his age group. I snagged a 1:43 and first in mine! That girl I caught at mile 12 was second in our age group.
I thanked my pacer and hung around and congratulated the many friends and running acquaintances who had pr'd or met new distance goals. It was so communal out there. I waved my signs for the passing buddies who were going the full marathon distance and had another entire loop of the journey I had just concluded in front of them. My husband and I drank our beers and attended the awards ceremony (second team place as well! Go Team Recovery Beer!) and then shivered our way back to the car for the journey home and to pick up our boys and return to parenting duties.
Gusher 2014 was an amazing experience and one I will work to improve upon and appreciate every year. I am so grateful for the race directors, Richard and Amie James, who work their butts off every year to provide Southeast Texas with a full marathon experience and for providing us with an all around classy event to train for and promote fitness in the name of.
After Gusher, I continued to train with vigor and did not allow my body the rest it deserved after a winter of hard running. I ran the Austin 10/20 and had a hamstring issue mid-run...that snowballed into a chronic pain in my lower right leg. After Chiropractor visits, massages, and rest, I went for an MRI.
It showed that I had developed a 'stress reaction' in my right tibia and have been forced to ease up significantly on my running. I am not supposed to be doing any for the next couple of weeks, but I have been sneaking in easy grass runs as my body permits. I've been cycling and doing bootcamp about five days a week, but I am beyond eager to get back into a regular running groove. Life is all about balance, and while I was running like crazy, it was becoming a chore. Now when I taste that old sensation of pushing and discomfort during my forbidden grass runs, it is a blessing. I welcome it. Hopefully this culminates into a stronger, faster, more mature version of a mother runner <3
Team Recovery Beer for Second and Mark showing off his 3rd place bling <3
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Galveston Half Marathon Recap
I'm deep in the trenches of a busy life. Attempting to keep it together as a mom, oversee homework, slap meals together, and get my running or weight training in while keeping the house just respectable enough to keep my husband quiet. I'm also working on promoting an art show that I am chairing (Beaumont Art League Portrait Show on March 8 :D ) which falls on the same night as the Gusher half marathon I am training for. I'm very excited about these upcoming events, but aware of the amount of time I'm requiring these days for sleep. The more I have to do, it seems, the sleepier I become. I'm a big fan of preventative napping :)
I'll try to keep this recap brief, but I wanted to be sure to document the experience while it is still fresh in my mind.
Like all races, the Galveston marathon and half marathon had a personality of its own. This was my third half marathon, and I was nervous and excited to test my legs in the novel beach environment. I had been training in groups for most of my important runs and my long runs in particular were faster and longer-a fact that boosted my confidence.
Saturday morning my husband and I packed up the kids and made the 2 hr drive to the island for some pseudo vacation time and to ensure we had at least a couple of relaxed meals together. We hit packet pickup, had lunch, and then turned the boys loose on the beach. We watched in quiet amusement while they frolicked like labrador puppies that had been released from a cage. I envied their purely present joy.
It was beautiful out there. I jogged on the packed sand to loosen my legs up from the past week's workouts. I had not tapered for the race. The plan was to train through and keep this like an important long run. I lifted weights on Friday but did nothing Saturday except for the jogging.
After the beach we headed to our hotel where we were informed that all third party bookings were lost due to an error in their computer system. Bottom line: they were fully booked and we were S.O.L. Mark happened to overhear a conversation about a motel on the seawall that had vacancies, so he quickly called and secured us a place to stay for an amount of money he would not disclose to me. We schlepped our sandy selves down the road to America's Best Quality Inn or something or other. Everything was brand new. So brand new that construction dust still covered everything and the T.V.'s were still being installed. The parking garage was mass grave for outdated plaid or floral print couches and bare mattresses. A perfect situation had landed in the motel owner's lap. Desperate tourists wouldn't complain of the almost finished newness. They'd even pay extra for it. The construction workers were really nice though, and I love the smell of new paint even if it is toxic.
After one more trip into town for an always stellar meal at The Mosquito Cafe, we all clambered in for the night and the menfolk were instantly snoring while I fretted over my playlist, my outfit, etc. Somehow I did end up in a solid sleep.
The next morning, my family dropped me off-presumably to go find a comfy spot from which to cheer me on and boost my spirits. As we lined up for the start, I was happy to see familiar faces from my workout class in Bridge City. We snapped a few pics and hopped around nervously while we got ready to start. I spotted my friend Randy who I planned to stick with. The national anthem was sung, the countdown was made, and we were off. I spent the first couple of minutes weaving in and out of people looking for my running buddy. After I found him, I waved, and settled in next to him. I felt great. I wanted to run fast, but knew that I needed to kick back and enjoy the ride while I could. We cruised through downtown Galveston and then made our way to the seawall. We ran to the end and turned around to run the opposite way back up the island. There was a slight wind coming off of the ocean, and I tucked in behind my friend and let him absorb it for me. This was the honeymoon phase of my run.
The humidity flew off my lips as I exhaled, but the clouds I had prayed for kept the temperature cool. Old Tool and A Perfect Circle songs came on my ipod and I got to lose myself a little in the rhythm of the run. After we left the seawall, I foolishly thought we would just traipse around downtown and make our way back to the start. But we kept going. And going. And going. We ran straight until we ended up in a sparsely populated area of beach land. I lost my running buddy at a water stop and worried that I was falling off pace. Luckily, the 330 marathon pace group was right behind then in front of me. It was a large group so I latched on. The heat of such a large group of bodies was radiating off of them. It was like running in a warm, wet, human scented cloud. I gagged inside of it and I was super embarrassed so I ran off to the side or the behind them for the rest of the race.
Then, as I was really having to come to terms with the fact that I could feel fatigue begin, the blister on the bottom of my foot popped. My foot was squishing around inside of my shoe and I tried to tell myself it was just sweat. A few meters later I had to decide that the cutting sensation on my foot was one I must embrace. I longed for the feeling of being able to run tired, but with feet free of pain. I knew that feeling. This blister shit was for the birds.
Mile 7-9 sucked. Not a desperate suck, just a long, slow, moderate kind of suck. I guess this is what trying to run faster in a half feels like. I listened to my music, pretended the people I was running with were my friends and cared about me. I was feeling sorry for myself. This entire time, I knew at some point I would see my family. My kids would jump for joy and cheer for me. Probably with big signs they snuck behind my back to make. I would be re-invigorated. I would get my third wind.
Nope. Those brats never popped up along the scenery. I began to tell myself I was so focused, I missed them. Finally the mile 10 flag came into view. That was the boost I needed. I could drag myself through any 5k. The course brought us back around into familiar civilization and I felt better just being out of the desolate beach scene. The mile 13 flag finally came into view. I could see the finish, but it was like tunnel vision. It looked so far away. I saw the pacer trade places with a new pacer and I envied him so much even though my salvation was a mere 200 meters away. I just wanted to rest my legs. Then I saw the crowd and told myself, ' this is it! My family is definitely here! I sprinted as much as I could to pass the girl in front of me and to keep the clock from inching forward as it said 1:44 something something...I was hoping for 1:45 or 46 so I was not about to waste my bloody foot on the last 200. My face twisted into a mask of pain I could do nothing about even though I was painfully aware of the cameras, I plowed through both of those timing mats and fell into a pile immediately after.
Crouching, gasping, I waited for my boys to come collect me and carry me off on their shoulders. Nothing. A kind volunteer asked if I wanted water. I nodded and she quickly returned with a bottle. After I gulped much of it down I wandered into the crowd and chatted with comrades. Finally, I was forced to call my husband. They were on the way :/ This was my first time to really have to focus in a race that long while knowingly shredding my foot, so as the elation wears off, some bitterness is definitely beginning to poke through. I was pissed that they missed the whole thing, but proud of myself for pulling it off.
My icing on the cake was that I placed in my age group! 2nd! And I was the ninth female finisher. I felt that much closer to being a big girl runner placing in a distance above 5k (although, the winner in an amazing time of 1:30, was a 13 year old badass-whose sister, 11, also beat me) .
I can race 3 miles, and it's probably the distance I'm most suited for. But learning how to be competitive in 13.1 is a slow process. I'm taking it one chunk at a time. And each morsel is so satisfying. I don't like running long in particular, but I love to run. The sense of accomplishment you get from a finish line that much further away is undeniably heartier.
Instead of waiting in line to check out a printed piece of paper for the results, the organizers of this race offer an additional way to instantly check your stats. You upload a free app on your phone and scan the barcode on your bib. This result screen pops up. The future can be cool sometimes.
We hung around and waited for the awards. I got a bad ass plaque that I did not immediately hang up in my room ;) . Then we ate lunch at the rainforest cafe and the children flipped out and largely ignored me while I sucked down a giant, ridiculously sweet and expensive mojito.
This race was well organized and very well staffed. Some aid stations even had groups of people offering cold, wet paper towels for our heads. The course was beautiful, but I'd appreciate it a lot more if I had an optional golf cart, some beer, and bbq. I wish I had been more mentally prepared for the lonely stretch of no man's beach. Next year I'll be ready for it. Knowing the course is always a bonus in a race.
The post race scene was awesome. Everyone was friendly, the food was great, there was even an adorable dolphin was walking around...I will definitely return. Plus, I adore Galveston. The island has a palpable vibe of happiness that I never get tired of soaking up.
I'll try to keep this recap brief, but I wanted to be sure to document the experience while it is still fresh in my mind.
Like all races, the Galveston marathon and half marathon had a personality of its own. This was my third half marathon, and I was nervous and excited to test my legs in the novel beach environment. I had been training in groups for most of my important runs and my long runs in particular were faster and longer-a fact that boosted my confidence.
Saturday morning my husband and I packed up the kids and made the 2 hr drive to the island for some pseudo vacation time and to ensure we had at least a couple of relaxed meals together. We hit packet pickup, had lunch, and then turned the boys loose on the beach. We watched in quiet amusement while they frolicked like labrador puppies that had been released from a cage. I envied their purely present joy.
It was beautiful out there. I jogged on the packed sand to loosen my legs up from the past week's workouts. I had not tapered for the race. The plan was to train through and keep this like an important long run. I lifted weights on Friday but did nothing Saturday except for the jogging.
After the beach we headed to our hotel where we were informed that all third party bookings were lost due to an error in their computer system. Bottom line: they were fully booked and we were S.O.L. Mark happened to overhear a conversation about a motel on the seawall that had vacancies, so he quickly called and secured us a place to stay for an amount of money he would not disclose to me. We schlepped our sandy selves down the road to America's Best Quality Inn or something or other. Everything was brand new. So brand new that construction dust still covered everything and the T.V.'s were still being installed. The parking garage was mass grave for outdated plaid or floral print couches and bare mattresses. A perfect situation had landed in the motel owner's lap. Desperate tourists wouldn't complain of the almost finished newness. They'd even pay extra for it. The construction workers were really nice though, and I love the smell of new paint even if it is toxic.
After one more trip into town for an always stellar meal at The Mosquito Cafe, we all clambered in for the night and the menfolk were instantly snoring while I fretted over my playlist, my outfit, etc. Somehow I did end up in a solid sleep.
The next morning, my family dropped me off-presumably to go find a comfy spot from which to cheer me on and boost my spirits. As we lined up for the start, I was happy to see familiar faces from my workout class in Bridge City. We snapped a few pics and hopped around nervously while we got ready to start. I spotted my friend Randy who I planned to stick with. The national anthem was sung, the countdown was made, and we were off. I spent the first couple of minutes weaving in and out of people looking for my running buddy. After I found him, I waved, and settled in next to him. I felt great. I wanted to run fast, but knew that I needed to kick back and enjoy the ride while I could. We cruised through downtown Galveston and then made our way to the seawall. We ran to the end and turned around to run the opposite way back up the island. There was a slight wind coming off of the ocean, and I tucked in behind my friend and let him absorb it for me. This was the honeymoon phase of my run.
 |
| mile 5 or 6 |
The humidity flew off my lips as I exhaled, but the clouds I had prayed for kept the temperature cool. Old Tool and A Perfect Circle songs came on my ipod and I got to lose myself a little in the rhythm of the run. After we left the seawall, I foolishly thought we would just traipse around downtown and make our way back to the start. But we kept going. And going. And going. We ran straight until we ended up in a sparsely populated area of beach land. I lost my running buddy at a water stop and worried that I was falling off pace. Luckily, the 330 marathon pace group was right behind then in front of me. It was a large group so I latched on. The heat of such a large group of bodies was radiating off of them. It was like running in a warm, wet, human scented cloud. I gagged inside of it and I was super embarrassed so I ran off to the side or the behind them for the rest of the race.
Then, as I was really having to come to terms with the fact that I could feel fatigue begin, the blister on the bottom of my foot popped. My foot was squishing around inside of my shoe and I tried to tell myself it was just sweat. A few meters later I had to decide that the cutting sensation on my foot was one I must embrace. I longed for the feeling of being able to run tired, but with feet free of pain. I knew that feeling. This blister shit was for the birds.
Mile 7-9 sucked. Not a desperate suck, just a long, slow, moderate kind of suck. I guess this is what trying to run faster in a half feels like. I listened to my music, pretended the people I was running with were my friends and cared about me. I was feeling sorry for myself. This entire time, I knew at some point I would see my family. My kids would jump for joy and cheer for me. Probably with big signs they snuck behind my back to make. I would be re-invigorated. I would get my third wind.
Nope. Those brats never popped up along the scenery. I began to tell myself I was so focused, I missed them. Finally the mile 10 flag came into view. That was the boost I needed. I could drag myself through any 5k. The course brought us back around into familiar civilization and I felt better just being out of the desolate beach scene. The mile 13 flag finally came into view. I could see the finish, but it was like tunnel vision. It looked so far away. I saw the pacer trade places with a new pacer and I envied him so much even though my salvation was a mere 200 meters away. I just wanted to rest my legs. Then I saw the crowd and told myself, ' this is it! My family is definitely here! I sprinted as much as I could to pass the girl in front of me and to keep the clock from inching forward as it said 1:44 something something...I was hoping for 1:45 or 46 so I was not about to waste my bloody foot on the last 200. My face twisted into a mask of pain I could do nothing about even though I was painfully aware of the cameras, I plowed through both of those timing mats and fell into a pile immediately after.
Crouching, gasping, I waited for my boys to come collect me and carry me off on their shoulders. Nothing. A kind volunteer asked if I wanted water. I nodded and she quickly returned with a bottle. After I gulped much of it down I wandered into the crowd and chatted with comrades. Finally, I was forced to call my husband. They were on the way :/ This was my first time to really have to focus in a race that long while knowingly shredding my foot, so as the elation wears off, some bitterness is definitely beginning to poke through. I was pissed that they missed the whole thing, but proud of myself for pulling it off.
My icing on the cake was that I placed in my age group! 2nd! And I was the ninth female finisher. I felt that much closer to being a big girl runner placing in a distance above 5k (although, the winner in an amazing time of 1:30, was a 13 year old badass-whose sister, 11, also beat me) .
I can race 3 miles, and it's probably the distance I'm most suited for. But learning how to be competitive in 13.1 is a slow process. I'm taking it one chunk at a time. And each morsel is so satisfying. I don't like running long in particular, but I love to run. The sense of accomplishment you get from a finish line that much further away is undeniably heartier.
Instead of waiting in line to check out a printed piece of paper for the results, the organizers of this race offer an additional way to instantly check your stats. You upload a free app on your phone and scan the barcode on your bib. This result screen pops up. The future can be cool sometimes.
We hung around and waited for the awards. I got a bad ass plaque that I did not immediately hang up in my room ;) . Then we ate lunch at the rainforest cafe and the children flipped out and largely ignored me while I sucked down a giant, ridiculously sweet and expensive mojito.
This race was well organized and very well staffed. Some aid stations even had groups of people offering cold, wet paper towels for our heads. The course was beautiful, but I'd appreciate it a lot more if I had an optional golf cart, some beer, and bbq. I wish I had been more mentally prepared for the lonely stretch of no man's beach. Next year I'll be ready for it. Knowing the course is always a bonus in a race.
The post race scene was awesome. Everyone was friendly, the food was great, there was even an adorable dolphin was walking around...I will definitely return. Plus, I adore Galveston. The island has a palpable vibe of happiness that I never get tired of soaking up.
 |
| Unabashed giddiness |
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| My friends from Orange County Fitness, my running catalyst <3 |
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Sharing my marriage with running
If you judged my marriage based on my facebook posts you might assume I was a.) madly in love and walked around with butterflies flitting around my head while blue birds chirped on my shoulder, or b.) full of shit and overcompensating for the fact that we actually scream and throw plates at each other during dinner in front of our horrified children.
Thankfully, neither is true. I just tend to lean towards positive posts on the FB and I am married to such a cool guy that I have no shortage of goo goo gaa gaa thoughts in my head. Also, he works in 12 hour shifts so I have the opportunity to miss him a lot. The second he isn't hanging out with me his sweetness shines.
I realized, though, that I don't often feel compelled to post about the long arguments we have about nothing. Or how we temporarily fall out of love and become angry teenage boys fighting in the locker room.
So it's a little of both. We are in love. We do lapse into disgusting conversations about how lucky we are to be sharing our lives when it seemed so unlikely until it happened. We marvel at how perfectly suited we are for each other--we both play guitar ( he is much better than me, but I'm pretty OK) and sing badly (I insist that he's slightly worse than me), we both love to live as enthusiastically as possible, being happy, and laughing and making fun of each other and the people around us (usually our kids), and we both love to run. I didn't know I loved it until recently. He always let me know running was a talent of his. I was never in real shape and couldn't appreciate what that meant. I just tucked it away in my mental file of Mark's Cool Points.
When I did get in shape and began experimenting with running, Mark naturally joined me. At first I was the eager student, asking him for advice on everything I did and taking it all to heart and following it to a T. I thought about his advice while I ran every run as fast as I could through the hood. I did my first 5k on his 'training'. It was a small race, and I didn't run fast -but I lucked out and got to be the first female. It was a very exciting way to run one's first 5k, but I was left feeling guilty for running so timidly. After that race I started doing research on how to train for 5k and began to realize Mark's advice was not ideal (to be polite) and he wasn't even following it! He ran a PR for the same race and was really vocal about it. I felt sulky. He hadn't shared his interval training with me. It would have helped immensely to have practiced running fast while tired to prepare for how the end of a race feels.
Now, he wasn't trying to give me bad advice. He just didn't know what worked for me, like I hadn't learned what worked yet either. I was a complete newbie learning how to run. I just have the bad habit of trying to compete with my husband. It's completely involuntary. I know I'll never run as fast or be as strong as him, but I want to be as close as possible. That won't ever change. I think it can even be a good thing. We make each other want to be better. However, as a hormonal woman, ( I think 30's are the worst, as my remaining fresh eggs are demanding to be used) when I feel like I'm being taunted by his superiority, ( like the time I ran half of a local 5k ecstatic to be in third place overall and Mark passed me with 1 mile to go pushing OUR KID IN A STROLLER) it incites anger and desire to conquer the unconquerable.
When I asked him how he trained in high school I learned that he ran cross country, but his success was in the 800. This is where I decided he was a terrible coach and we went off on our separate running ways. We have been arguing about different training methods ever since. Sometimes at the dinner table. In front of our poor confused kids who probably think a sad grown up world awaits them where all there is to do is fight over who's better at practicing something as simple as running.
He pretty much only runs hard workouts. I run hard and easy. He's fearless and will literally run until he sees stars. I am conservative and only let it all hang out when I feel strong enough to. Usually after a lot of preparation. Our mileage is much different. As are we.
It's also a constant time battle. We have to take turns running since we are parents and if workouts go long on a weeknight, it can cause tension. He runs fewer days, but his warm ups last forever and he can be out there for two hours. It makes me crazy. While I understand he's having fun, I want him for myself sometimes. Of course the next day when he's fully available-I have to get out there.
But, after we go in circles about how best to prepare for whatever or who has been gone the longest- we make up. We point out how much time we can waste arguing about nothing and we re-align ourselves back into the position of allies. Before running came along, that's how we dealt with the relationship problems of two people building and starting a life together (complicated by the fact I left Austin and my family for a small town in SETX) being new parents and newly wedded humans. Ultimately, that's what will keep us friends as long as we both want to be. Two people who share a life and have very different personalities but very similar interests have to maintain and stand up for their unique perspectives. It's his easy going but passionate approach to everything that my maybe too-diligent personality loves. We fight because we know our differences are interesting and without them we would stagnate and not learn from each other. Which is ultimately what happens. The learning. I'm loathe to admit it, but I do try to apply some of his crazy advice sometimes, and I secretly attempt to be more open and loving because it looks so good on him.
Now that we've both gotten in a kind of groove and I've built a bit of an aerobic base, we can run together and enjoy it. Previously he would run too fast and I would quietly suffer out of pride and then pick a fight with him afterwards about not sticking to our pace plan. But I can keep up better now that I run twice as much each week.
He still runs way less, but much faster :/
Thankfully, neither is true. I just tend to lean towards positive posts on the FB and I am married to such a cool guy that I have no shortage of goo goo gaa gaa thoughts in my head. Also, he works in 12 hour shifts so I have the opportunity to miss him a lot. The second he isn't hanging out with me his sweetness shines.
I realized, though, that I don't often feel compelled to post about the long arguments we have about nothing. Or how we temporarily fall out of love and become angry teenage boys fighting in the locker room.
How we are both always right. We are both smarter than the other. We are both trying to teach the poor other dummy something.
This results in some animated and loud debates about a variety of topics. Spirituality and religion used to be the regular, but more frequently these days- it's running.
This results in some animated and loud debates about a variety of topics. Spirituality and religion used to be the regular, but more frequently these days- it's running.
So it's a little of both. We are in love. We do lapse into disgusting conversations about how lucky we are to be sharing our lives when it seemed so unlikely until it happened. We marvel at how perfectly suited we are for each other--we both play guitar ( he is much better than me, but I'm pretty OK) and sing badly (I insist that he's slightly worse than me), we both love to live as enthusiastically as possible, being happy, and laughing and making fun of each other and the people around us (usually our kids), and we both love to run. I didn't know I loved it until recently. He always let me know running was a talent of his. I was never in real shape and couldn't appreciate what that meant. I just tucked it away in my mental file of Mark's Cool Points.
When I did get in shape and began experimenting with running, Mark naturally joined me. At first I was the eager student, asking him for advice on everything I did and taking it all to heart and following it to a T. I thought about his advice while I ran every run as fast as I could through the hood. I did my first 5k on his 'training'. It was a small race, and I didn't run fast -but I lucked out and got to be the first female. It was a very exciting way to run one's first 5k, but I was left feeling guilty for running so timidly. After that race I started doing research on how to train for 5k and began to realize Mark's advice was not ideal (to be polite) and he wasn't even following it! He ran a PR for the same race and was really vocal about it. I felt sulky. He hadn't shared his interval training with me. It would have helped immensely to have practiced running fast while tired to prepare for how the end of a race feels.
Now, he wasn't trying to give me bad advice. He just didn't know what worked for me, like I hadn't learned what worked yet either. I was a complete newbie learning how to run. I just have the bad habit of trying to compete with my husband. It's completely involuntary. I know I'll never run as fast or be as strong as him, but I want to be as close as possible. That won't ever change. I think it can even be a good thing. We make each other want to be better. However, as a hormonal woman, ( I think 30's are the worst, as my remaining fresh eggs are demanding to be used) when I feel like I'm being taunted by his superiority, ( like the time I ran half of a local 5k ecstatic to be in third place overall and Mark passed me with 1 mile to go pushing OUR KID IN A STROLLER) it incites anger and desire to conquer the unconquerable.
When I asked him how he trained in high school I learned that he ran cross country, but his success was in the 800. This is where I decided he was a terrible coach and we went off on our separate running ways. We have been arguing about different training methods ever since. Sometimes at the dinner table. In front of our poor confused kids who probably think a sad grown up world awaits them where all there is to do is fight over who's better at practicing something as simple as running.
He pretty much only runs hard workouts. I run hard and easy. He's fearless and will literally run until he sees stars. I am conservative and only let it all hang out when I feel strong enough to. Usually after a lot of preparation. Our mileage is much different. As are we.
It's also a constant time battle. We have to take turns running since we are parents and if workouts go long on a weeknight, it can cause tension. He runs fewer days, but his warm ups last forever and he can be out there for two hours. It makes me crazy. While I understand he's having fun, I want him for myself sometimes. Of course the next day when he's fully available-I have to get out there.
But, after we go in circles about how best to prepare for whatever or who has been gone the longest- we make up. We point out how much time we can waste arguing about nothing and we re-align ourselves back into the position of allies. Before running came along, that's how we dealt with the relationship problems of two people building and starting a life together (complicated by the fact I left Austin and my family for a small town in SETX) being new parents and newly wedded humans. Ultimately, that's what will keep us friends as long as we both want to be. Two people who share a life and have very different personalities but very similar interests have to maintain and stand up for their unique perspectives. It's his easy going but passionate approach to everything that my maybe too-diligent personality loves. We fight because we know our differences are interesting and without them we would stagnate and not learn from each other. Which is ultimately what happens. The learning. I'm loathe to admit it, but I do try to apply some of his crazy advice sometimes, and I secretly attempt to be more open and loving because it looks so good on him.
Now that we've both gotten in a kind of groove and I've built a bit of an aerobic base, we can run together and enjoy it. Previously he would run too fast and I would quietly suffer out of pride and then pick a fight with him afterwards about not sticking to our pace plan. But I can keep up better now that I run twice as much each week.
He still runs way less, but much faster :/
 |
| In the groove. At the same time! :D Photo by David Lisenby |
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Constants
Throughout my life, there have been few constants. I moved around a lot growing up, so my family and friends are scattered through Texas. One of my best is in L.A. My parents, my sister, and now my husband and children are the central themes of my life. Also on the short list of constants is music.
As a young girl, I loved Neil Young and the Beach Boys. I had Michael Jackson's Black and White album on cassette tape and I would dance spastically for hours in my room to it. I was at the mercy of my parent's almost decent taste in music until I hit junior high. Alternative music was blossoming and I was discovering how satisfying could be.
It began with Counting Crows, and continued into Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Fiona Apple, Weezer. Then in 8th grade I went through a pretty serious 70's rock phase. Neil again, Jimi, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, and of course, Led Zeppelin. Jimmy Page inspired me to pick up the guitar and make it sound the way he did. I'm still trying to figure that out, but he got the ball rolling.
I forced my dad to teach me chords and give me his old song books. When I moved to San Antonio in 9th grade, I would bring my guitar to school often. I attended a magnet school that emphasized creativity and learning in a group setting, so I was tolerated by teachers. Dumb boys were easy to get free guitar lessons out of, and by the end of the year I could play. The middle of that year is when I discovered Ani Difranco. Fifteen and license-less I plopped on the couch one Saturday night for a night of sulking and this slapped me in the face:
She played other songs from Not a Pretty Girl and Little Plastic Castles with such fire and ferocity. I had never seen a woman play guitar as adroitly as that before. It was an instrument she pounded on for emphasis. She demanded that it participate in her storytelling as much as her voice. I was enthralled. I went to bed that night with my little chauvinistic mind blown. I wanted to write songs and share them with conviction like that beautiful chick with the hot pink braids.
I carried on through my teenage years. I lived, I loved, I wasted time wrapped up in dramas that were life consuming at the time but in retrospect made me look embarrassingly vapid and weak. To cope with the highs and lows, I did turn to my guitar and my pen. I followed Ani's music as she chronicled her versions of the highs and lows. I attended her shows when I could. The one I blogged about in 2006 while I was living in Austin, was particularly moving for me. I was a brand new young mother, and she played for us in the rain with her growing child in her womb:
Exerpt from my 2006 blog
Ani With Child
DateCreated 10/18/2006 11:58:00 PM
The opening act was a cute slight little man with military issue type glasses and an acoustic guitar who I promptly forgot about. The act after him was a poet who was very passionate and eloquent and entertaining and had me completely enthralled by his final piece. But I can't remember his name either. Rain begins to pour towards the end of his set and the crowd pushes forward straining to huddle under the protectoin of the awning that comes out of the stage. The lights do a little dance and Ani pops on to stage smiling and beautiful with a reddish tint glowing around her curly hair. She launches into Knuckle Down which couldn't be a more fitting opening song. Her guitar hides her swelling belly. She is as energetic and charismatic as ever and yes, she glows. The only evidence I can see of her delicate condition is her arms. Normally sinewy and taut with the muscles that she has grown due to years of intense guitar playing, the muscles jump around a little deeper under her skin. My arms were the first to suffer when I was pregnant too. She quickly makes a reference to her pregnancy. She mentions things are different for her now, and asks all the mothers in the audience to show themselves. I am already jumping around like a chihuahua reunited with her mistress and I jump higher. Not many others do. She continues through a very satisfying set playing many songs from 2005's Knuckle Down. She gets into some oldies though with Done Wrong, Anticipate, Fourth of July (which she revealed was inspired by our own ATX), and Shameless. She throws in a heavy dose of more recent songs like Manhole, Studying Stones, Paradigm, and Recoil. She took all of my favorite songs from Knuckle Down and played them so well. Her right hand was wrapped in an ace bandage-I presume as a result of her bout of tendonitis-but the tatooed fingers of her left hand danced expertly along the fretboards of her many guitars. There were a couple of drunken idiot girls in front of us hanging on each other for balance while dancing/humping each other and bumping into everyone. They weren't paying attention to the woman we were all there for and they eventually pissed off a big chick near us and came within an inch of getting thier asses beat. They skulked away so I ended up about two people away from the stage. The best spot ever. I had to pee so bad it hurt and I was dancing with reverence and a desire to keep from pissing on myself. But that spot was so worth it. Ani joked with the audience about her big pregnant lady pants and her swollen tits. She donned a pair of red suspenders volunteered by an audience member after her mention of her slipping pants. But she played so long and so powerfully. When I was as pregnant as she was, a trip to the grocery store was enough to put me in bed for the rest of the day. It was a damn excursion. And this woman is on stage belting out music and laughing with us when her baby kicks in response. She is my fucking hero. After she came out for a quick encore and closed with Hypnotized from her new album, an ode, no doubt, to her new love, I caught a beautifully candid glimpse of her face as she walked off stage for the final time that night. She exhaled as if to say " whew", but she was smiling faintly, like she knew she had put in a good night's work. I'm in love for LIFE.
This woman and her music has been a constant in my life. We are all connected and I am eternally optimistic about the poetry of this experience we are all having. It does mean something and the universe is gently offering us guidance. I believe right now, I'm being led towards a place of balance in my life in which I can feed my creativity while seeking the peace that comes with running. Writing and creating is a necessary tool for processing our emotions and I've been avoiding it. Running from it? :)
The two can coexist and will complement each other. Time to jog the muscle memory of my hands.
As a young girl, I loved Neil Young and the Beach Boys. I had Michael Jackson's Black and White album on cassette tape and I would dance spastically for hours in my room to it. I was at the mercy of my parent's almost decent taste in music until I hit junior high. Alternative music was blossoming and I was discovering how satisfying could be.
It began with Counting Crows, and continued into Smashing Pumpkins, Nirvana, Fiona Apple, Weezer. Then in 8th grade I went through a pretty serious 70's rock phase. Neil again, Jimi, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, and of course, Led Zeppelin. Jimmy Page inspired me to pick up the guitar and make it sound the way he did. I'm still trying to figure that out, but he got the ball rolling.
I forced my dad to teach me chords and give me his old song books. When I moved to San Antonio in 9th grade, I would bring my guitar to school often. I attended a magnet school that emphasized creativity and learning in a group setting, so I was tolerated by teachers. Dumb boys were easy to get free guitar lessons out of, and by the end of the year I could play. The middle of that year is when I discovered Ani Difranco. Fifteen and license-less I plopped on the couch one Saturday night for a night of sulking and this slapped me in the face:
She played other songs from Not a Pretty Girl and Little Plastic Castles with such fire and ferocity. I had never seen a woman play guitar as adroitly as that before. It was an instrument she pounded on for emphasis. She demanded that it participate in her storytelling as much as her voice. I was enthralled. I went to bed that night with my little chauvinistic mind blown. I wanted to write songs and share them with conviction like that beautiful chick with the hot pink braids.
I carried on through my teenage years. I lived, I loved, I wasted time wrapped up in dramas that were life consuming at the time but in retrospect made me look embarrassingly vapid and weak. To cope with the highs and lows, I did turn to my guitar and my pen. I followed Ani's music as she chronicled her versions of the highs and lows. I attended her shows when I could. The one I blogged about in 2006 while I was living in Austin, was particularly moving for me. I was a brand new young mother, and she played for us in the rain with her growing child in her womb:
Exerpt from my 2006 blog
Ani With Child
DateCreated 10/18/2006 11:58:00 PM
The opening act was a cute slight little man with military issue type glasses and an acoustic guitar who I promptly forgot about. The act after him was a poet who was very passionate and eloquent and entertaining and had me completely enthralled by his final piece. But I can't remember his name either. Rain begins to pour towards the end of his set and the crowd pushes forward straining to huddle under the protectoin of the awning that comes out of the stage. The lights do a little dance and Ani pops on to stage smiling and beautiful with a reddish tint glowing around her curly hair. She launches into Knuckle Down which couldn't be a more fitting opening song. Her guitar hides her swelling belly. She is as energetic and charismatic as ever and yes, she glows. The only evidence I can see of her delicate condition is her arms. Normally sinewy and taut with the muscles that she has grown due to years of intense guitar playing, the muscles jump around a little deeper under her skin. My arms were the first to suffer when I was pregnant too. She quickly makes a reference to her pregnancy. She mentions things are different for her now, and asks all the mothers in the audience to show themselves. I am already jumping around like a chihuahua reunited with her mistress and I jump higher. Not many others do. She continues through a very satisfying set playing many songs from 2005's Knuckle Down. She gets into some oldies though with Done Wrong, Anticipate, Fourth of July (which she revealed was inspired by our own ATX), and Shameless. She throws in a heavy dose of more recent songs like Manhole, Studying Stones, Paradigm, and Recoil. She took all of my favorite songs from Knuckle Down and played them so well. Her right hand was wrapped in an ace bandage-I presume as a result of her bout of tendonitis-but the tatooed fingers of her left hand danced expertly along the fretboards of her many guitars. There were a couple of drunken idiot girls in front of us hanging on each other for balance while dancing/humping each other and bumping into everyone. They weren't paying attention to the woman we were all there for and they eventually pissed off a big chick near us and came within an inch of getting thier asses beat. They skulked away so I ended up about two people away from the stage. The best spot ever. I had to pee so bad it hurt and I was dancing with reverence and a desire to keep from pissing on myself. But that spot was so worth it. Ani joked with the audience about her big pregnant lady pants and her swollen tits. She donned a pair of red suspenders volunteered by an audience member after her mention of her slipping pants. But she played so long and so powerfully. When I was as pregnant as she was, a trip to the grocery store was enough to put me in bed for the rest of the day. It was a damn excursion. And this woman is on stage belting out music and laughing with us when her baby kicks in response. She is my fucking hero. After she came out for a quick encore and closed with Hypnotized from her new album, an ode, no doubt, to her new love, I caught a beautifully candid glimpse of her face as she walked off stage for the final time that night. She exhaled as if to say " whew", but she was smiling faintly, like she knew she had put in a good night's work. I'm in love for LIFE.
This woman and her music has been a constant in my life. We are all connected and I am eternally optimistic about the poetry of this experience we are all having. It does mean something and the universe is gently offering us guidance. I believe right now, I'm being led towards a place of balance in my life in which I can feed my creativity while seeking the peace that comes with running. Writing and creating is a necessary tool for processing our emotions and I've been avoiding it. Running from it? :)
The two can coexist and will complement each other. Time to jog the muscle memory of my hands.
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Balance
After Sunday's 13.1, I was eager to get back out there and make sure my legs remembered how to move faster. I'm still too immature as a runner to fully comprehend the science behind recovery. I read about it in magazines and blogs, I know it's a 'thing'-but sticking to a structured routine is what keeps me sane. I have taken two complete rest days per week for the past two weeks and while my legs were sore from the half, I wanted to move.
On Mondays I usually do a tempo run with 2 to 3 recovery miles. I don't warm up, which is dumb, but I'm always eager to get it over with. I decided to just do 2 miles fast and one cool down. It went ok, but my legs felt weird when I was done. Like drunk angry ants were stumbling around in there. I took it easy the rest of the day, but headed to OCF (my gym) that evening for some weight training and what I told myself would be an arm+abs workout. Wrong. It ended up being a fun, fast paced, leg and abs workout. I used light weights, but guiltily went straight home to ice my singing muscles in the bathtub.
I took Tuesday off and resumed my regular training on Wednesday morning which is track or speed work and weights in the evening. I decided to use my neighborhood since I have all distances mapped out. The result was confusing. My legs wanted to go fast, but they hurt. I felt strong, but my breathing was labored and crazy. My legs felt like they were going to fall off at the end of every interval and I had no sense of pace. I was also on the worst PMS day in my cycle (sorry, male readers).
By the end, I felt like this:
Weights did not happen. I helped with the 4:30 CCD class which was doubled in size this week since we had Pre-K and Kindergarten. Mercifully, we watched Veggie Tales and colored. The only child who was a nuisance was mine. The older kids were sweet to him because he's cute, but I was horrified to notice that the frosting from the yogurt covered pretzels I gave him to munch on at the house was coating the entire back of his head. He looked like he had the world's worst case of head lice. I spent much of the class time trying to convince him that wearing his hood was cool.
My children screamed and fought the whole way home and into the house where I went straight to the fridge for a beer. My husband ushered them away from me because I'm sure I looked like I was about to snap.
I ended up making a really tasty dinner of pan fried chicken with rosemary, mashed potatoes, and sauteed kale which for once everyone loved,and my husband thanked me by cleaning the kitchen while I piled into bed with the boys to watch Christmas movies. After a solid 10, I woke up the next day feeling much better.
I know some athletes train in cycles or seasons and take one to two full weeks off of real working out per year. Since I have been active for about a year, and am pretty excited about growing and pushing my running fitness, this could not sound less alluring. I've come so far from my skinny fat days.
When my husband Mark and I first met I thought I was in shape. My fitness routine consisted of lifting just enough weight to maintain some semblance of muscle tone. I skipped breakfast if I was going to be wearing a bathing suit that day. I knew how to use good posture to my advantage. My farthest run was out of necessity one evening when my husband and I were swinging in a park with a lunchbox full of beer and the cops pulled up. Since we had the terrible luck of getting a ticket for drinking beer in a park the week before at sculpture falls where even the dogs are drinking beer, we decided to make a run for it. About 800 meters in, literally running for my life, we had to bail into the woods because I couldn't go on. Lactic acid felt like death and not knowing how to deal, I quit. It was embarrassing, to say the least. He got poison ivy and I had red chigger bites all over me for the next week. We escaped, but in the most humiliating way.
 |
| Sculpture falls 2007, skinny fat and happy, drinking forbidden beers |
I still think about that. I need to be able to outrun my enemies (I do not think cops are enemies). I hope they stay as benign as competitors in local foot races, but if not, I want to be prepared. Not resting will compromise that as much as not running will. I'm going to take that whole week off one day. Probably in the summer, which I am already afraid of again. Until then, I will go with the flow and listen to my body. The longer I run, the easier it is to be flexible. I know it doesn't go away just because you take the time to recover. But a good run can leave you in love with the world. And the good runs usually come when your body feels like thanking you....
 |
| Village Creek 2013, the summer of run, still drinking beer |
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
Sunday, December 8, 2013
Rungirl 13.1 race recap
Ahhh, rungirl. This was my second half marathon. My first was a spur of the moment, fly by the seat of my pants kind of race. I didn't know if I could run 13.1 miles. I was in good shape (thanks to Orange County Fitness) but long distance running was not yet in my bag of tricks. Pull ups and burpees, yes. Running so long you rub your armpit skin off? Not yet. I made it, but it left me longing to feel like I had raced it.
I toed the line of this race after running consistently for a year, averaging about 25-30 miles a week. During my 'training' for the half, I upped my easy run mileage to six miles and my long runs to 10, 11, 12 and 13 miles. I still basically ran 5k specific workouts, but I got up to about 35 miles a week. I felt much more prepared for this run. However, I still lacked the experience to know how hard to push, or when to really try to push the pace.
This was the perfect run to gain that experience. The start was in a park and the course brought you out to a lovely wooded, winding road. There were rolling hills, but they were imperceptible. The downhills, on the other hand, were noticeable-and I loved them.
It was a two loop course and on both significant downhills I took the coasting opportunity to eat the fruit snacks I had stashed in my sports bra. The cool thing about this race being a two loop course is that you get a scenic stretch outside the park, and then inside the park (which covers about 3 miles) you have constant support from spectators. This made the run go by quickly. It was a wet 39 degrees outside and that helped make it easier to keep the pace brisk. Like I said, I am unfamiliar with the nuances of racing this distance, so I kept it cool and comfortable but made sure my legs were turning over at a decent clip. I ran back and forth with some younger girls for a while, but lost them at one of the aid stations when they stopped to drink. I concentrated on enjoying myself and marveled at how easily that came. The quiet woods, the cold air, and the unspoken camaraderie laced with competition among the women created the perfect atmosphere in which to experience those rare moments in running where you feel alive, present, strong, and free. There were uncertain times when I choked on water and cursed my broken iphone but the bulk of this race was spent in a happy cruise. Before I knew it, we were on the second loop heading back into the park for the last 3 miles of the race. I picked up the pace slightly. There was a girl who passed me around mile 5 who I wanted to reel in. I knew she was motivated to do well because she looked at her watch like every 30 seconds. I began to let go of the tight grip I had on my pace.
Sadly, I have an iphone that is literally held together with KT tape and one Angry Birds bandaid. As soon as the race started I somehow hit repeat for songs as I tried to pull up my carefully planned playlist. So I was stuck listening to one song on repeat unless I wanted to fight with my frozen hand to slap the correct areas of the cracked screen in order to get a different repeated song. To add insult to injury, it was so cold outside that my frozen hand didn't register on the screen as belonging to a live human being until every 4th or 5th slap. After one particularly bad fight with my phone somewhere out on the wooded road, I gave up and listened to 'Work Bitch' by Britney Spears for the last 4 miles of the race. I know. It actually helped, though. There is one part that reminds me of running fast on a track and it felt great every four minutes when it would come back on.
So, as Britney chanted to me that I would have to work for the hot body I was craving, I ran the last 3 miles almost as I would a 5k. My style anyway; a careful, swift trot. I passed my husband, preened for him as he took pics, and with about half a mile to go I finally felt done. My body must have sensed an approaching finish line because my nose began to run uncontrollably and I'm pretty sure I was grunting. I got within sprinting distance of the girl I was chasing and in the process passed about 4 women. I never passed the faster girl, but I approached the clock and saw 1:50 and sprinted to beat the changing minute. Final official time: 1:50. 35th overall out of 832 and 8th in my age group. I didn't run as fast as I possibly could have, but I got a little more comfortable with the distance and closer to doing it next time. I started my Nike Plus watch a little late and it still had the course at 13.20 miles and my half marathon time at 1:48. While that time would have had me jumping for joy, I am ok with waiting for the next half to secure it officially.
After the race I wanted badly to meet up with friends and hang out in the festive atmosphere, but my sweat soaked tank top quickly had me shaking uncontrollably. I ended up hightailing it to the heated car.
All in all, this was a well run race that I will certainly do again. It provided the experience I need to tackle my next half more aggressively and taught me that 13.1 miles isn't a bad racing distance. It's actually pretty pleasant when you coast along at my pace. My goal is to make the next one suck from mile 8 onward and hopefully end up with a satisfying pr. I will post training info here when I begin my first-ever-real-deal-by-the-book training program for the Gusher Marathon, Half Marathon and 5k in March 2014 <3
I toed the line of this race after running consistently for a year, averaging about 25-30 miles a week. During my 'training' for the half, I upped my easy run mileage to six miles and my long runs to 10, 11, 12 and 13 miles. I still basically ran 5k specific workouts, but I got up to about 35 miles a week. I felt much more prepared for this run. However, I still lacked the experience to know how hard to push, or when to really try to push the pace.
This was the perfect run to gain that experience. The start was in a park and the course brought you out to a lovely wooded, winding road. There were rolling hills, but they were imperceptible. The downhills, on the other hand, were noticeable-and I loved them.
It was a two loop course and on both significant downhills I took the coasting opportunity to eat the fruit snacks I had stashed in my sports bra. The cool thing about this race being a two loop course is that you get a scenic stretch outside the park, and then inside the park (which covers about 3 miles) you have constant support from spectators. This made the run go by quickly. It was a wet 39 degrees outside and that helped make it easier to keep the pace brisk. Like I said, I am unfamiliar with the nuances of racing this distance, so I kept it cool and comfortable but made sure my legs were turning over at a decent clip. I ran back and forth with some younger girls for a while, but lost them at one of the aid stations when they stopped to drink. I concentrated on enjoying myself and marveled at how easily that came. The quiet woods, the cold air, and the unspoken camaraderie laced with competition among the women created the perfect atmosphere in which to experience those rare moments in running where you feel alive, present, strong, and free. There were uncertain times when I choked on water and cursed my broken iphone but the bulk of this race was spent in a happy cruise. Before I knew it, we were on the second loop heading back into the park for the last 3 miles of the race. I picked up the pace slightly. There was a girl who passed me around mile 5 who I wanted to reel in. I knew she was motivated to do well because she looked at her watch like every 30 seconds. I began to let go of the tight grip I had on my pace.
Sadly, I have an iphone that is literally held together with KT tape and one Angry Birds bandaid. As soon as the race started I somehow hit repeat for songs as I tried to pull up my carefully planned playlist. So I was stuck listening to one song on repeat unless I wanted to fight with my frozen hand to slap the correct areas of the cracked screen in order to get a different repeated song. To add insult to injury, it was so cold outside that my frozen hand didn't register on the screen as belonging to a live human being until every 4th or 5th slap. After one particularly bad fight with my phone somewhere out on the wooded road, I gave up and listened to 'Work Bitch' by Britney Spears for the last 4 miles of the race. I know. It actually helped, though. There is one part that reminds me of running fast on a track and it felt great every four minutes when it would come back on.
So, as Britney chanted to me that I would have to work for the hot body I was craving, I ran the last 3 miles almost as I would a 5k. My style anyway; a careful, swift trot. I passed my husband, preened for him as he took pics, and with about half a mile to go I finally felt done. My body must have sensed an approaching finish line because my nose began to run uncontrollably and I'm pretty sure I was grunting. I got within sprinting distance of the girl I was chasing and in the process passed about 4 women. I never passed the faster girl, but I approached the clock and saw 1:50 and sprinted to beat the changing minute. Final official time: 1:50. 35th overall out of 832 and 8th in my age group. I didn't run as fast as I possibly could have, but I got a little more comfortable with the distance and closer to doing it next time. I started my Nike Plus watch a little late and it still had the course at 13.20 miles and my half marathon time at 1:48. While that time would have had me jumping for joy, I am ok with waiting for the next half to secure it officially.
All in all, this was a well run race that I will certainly do again. It provided the experience I need to tackle my next half more aggressively and taught me that 13.1 miles isn't a bad racing distance. It's actually pretty pleasant when you coast along at my pace. My goal is to make the next one suck from mile 8 onward and hopefully end up with a satisfying pr. I will post training info here when I begin my first-ever-real-deal-by-the-book training program for the Gusher Marathon, Half Marathon and 5k in March 2014 <3
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| This photo is called 'WTF are my kids?! As I notice my husband-who has our kids-is alone taking pics |
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| I think this is the first race I smiled through <3 |
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| cruise |
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| heading for the home stretch |
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| I immediately lost my official photo booth pic |
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| Negative splits! (kind of) |
One year into running and I have fallen into a passionate, tumultuous affair with it. I am also in love with my family, playing guitar, writing, singing, and eating and drinking with as much gusto as I put into my training.
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