"Hmmm, but I'm a distance runner."

I was home in Michigan during this last week, and we were bopping around to various kid-friendly venues over the course of the week to keep our daughter entertained and to maintain our sanity. We ended up at an awesome play space for kids--$5.00 for 15,000 square feet of fun: kid cars, a kid's Meijer's, a bank, a playhouse, a stage with costumes, a spaceship...all kinds of fun. And I started chatting it up with another mom while my daughter was taking her first shot at using Elmer's glue in public.

I commented on how dreamy it is for me to come home and run in my hometown. It seems that I run fast every time I run there. It could have something to do that my hometown is on a lake, but the air doesn't make me feel like I'm running in one. In Kentucky, the heat and humidity can be so oppressive that a run on country roads feels like a slog through a swamp.

Me: Every time I come home, I drop a minute off my mile time. It's awesome.
New Friend: Oh, but I'm a distance runner.
Me: Me, too. I mean my pace. I'm faster here.
New Friend: Yeah, see I run distance.

At this point, I'm not really sure where the disconnect is. We're chatting, though, and it's nice to find a fellow runner. She tells me she hasn't run a race since before the birth of her daughter 22 months ago. I totally get this. I tell her that I ran the Flying Pig in May; it is my first marathon since, um, the marathon at Ironman in 2007.

New Friend: See, I like running the half.
Me: Me, too! It's my favorite distance. It's much easier for recovery!
New Friend: But the half is so competitive!

Now I've got it. We're two different types of runners. My friend is actually one of those folks who looks at the competition when she shows up at the line. I am one of those folks who looks at every step of the route I run as the competition. Me versus the road. There are other people there? I seldom notice (except in the case of the end-of-marathon nuttiness if you read my previous post on the Pig).

I don't know at what point I fell into this camp. I was competitive when I was doing sprint distance triathlons and could pull off a place in my age group. I liked that feeling. But I have somehow always, always known that the only person I was competing against on a run was myself. In the triathlon world, I am a strong swimmer. And given enough time on the bike, I can pull together a decent leg on the bike. On the run, I'm always just holding on for dear life.

So since making the switch primarily to running post-baby, I haven't really thought much about being competitive. I've just run. Run. Run.

I'm reading a book right now. "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" by Haruki Marukami,  and I was really struck by his definitions of running seriously or running rigorously, and it made me ache a little bit for the kind of training schedule I had when I was "competitive." And while I realized at  the time that I was with my new friend that we were different, I didn't realize until I read this book that I  have been in both camps at one point in my life and that I miss that feeling, too. I miss recognizing two different sides to my athletic self. So I've got to head back a bit more rigor in running.

PowerGel 2008--the vintage version

I went out on my long run today with PowerGels from 2008. Well, they expired in 2008. So that probably means that they were made in 2006. For some reason, this doesn't bother me. Odd because I won't eat most food that is a single day past its expiration date. My friend got this great deal at a discount store on boxes of gels, and I have been carting them around ever since. I'm not training enough, clearly. They should be gone by now. I even swore I'd throw them all away after the marathon last May and start fresh. But I'm cheap. They are my everyday gels. And then, on race day, I get to have my dress-up gel that I buy at the race expo. I will never eat Strawberry Banana anything again. Ever.

The school year started. My schedule got out of control. Blah, blah, blah. No posting here. So what did I need gels for today? A 10 mile long run. And what was I doing a ten-mile long run for? The Indianapolis half marathon that is happening in about a month. And at what point in my adulthood did I stop understanding when to hyphenate and to stop asking questions that I was going to immediately answer in my writing?

On to the running. I feel like the kid in class who works really, really, really hard but is still going to be a "C" student no matter what. You know the kid. There are a couple of pieces to kill the metaphor, though. I only have been working sorta really hard on my running (I actually started doing "speed" workouts, for crying out loud). And if my performance is anything like it was at the Flying Pig, then I'm really more of a "D" student.

So I'll throw this out there. Last year, my goal at the Indianapolis half was to go sub 2:30. I think my official time was a 2:29 something. So I did it. And I set out at the start of my training to train for a pace that would put me closer to 2:20 (I think that's 10:40 miles or so). I successfully ran a solid 5-miler at race pace on Tuesday of this week. On my long run today, though, I didn't even come close to that pace. I know I wasn't supposed to. But sometimes it's kinda nice when the pace just magically comes together. Today wasn't so magical. Still, I've got a super-secret time goal of 2:20 for this race. A not-so-secret time goal of 2:25.

What I'd really like, though, is to be running the times that I was pulling off in 2008 when my vintage Powergels weren't yet expired. We'll get there. I posted this quote this week on my facebook page because of last week's long run: "Of course it's hard. The hard is what makes it great. If it weren't hard, everyone would be doing it." Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own. The hard really is what makes it great.

Controlling the controllables

Want to get mentally stronger? Try running on an 80+ degree day in 80+% humidity while pushing a running stroller carrying a two-and-a-half-year-old tornado who passes the time by alternating between randomly demanding a change of direction ("Go that way, Mommy!" while pointing vehemently at a stranger's driveway) and saying things like, "Get out!" (meaning I don't want to be in this stroller any longer) and "Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?" (followed by not actually saying anything when request for my attention is acknowledged).

The complaining started a mile and a half in. Ruby objected to my turning the stroller around to head back towards home and wanted to play in the "Ruby park." It's her adorable phrase for any swing set that she sees. While huffing and puffing my way through the next quarter mile, I didn't have the energy to explain for the 900th time that we can't just go up to a stranger's house and climb on their swing set. So, "Nope," was all she got out of me. This, understandably, frustrated her. However, having had this conversation 899 times before, I didn't think a longer conversation would result in anything other than that same frustration, and I'd be more out of breath. So I took the shorter path to her frustration, and just uttered a, "nope."

Another quarter of a mile down the road, and the "Get out!" began.  I reassured Ruby that we would be home shortly. So then the "Get out!" was followed by, "No, no go home!" Hmmm. No one ever said 2 1/2 year olds were logical. She wanted to not be in the stroller and not go home, but we were in the middle of a country road between a soy field and a hay field. How would getting out help? I felt my pulse pick up a bit. Probably my blood pressure, too. I was getting frustrated. I was trying to run in this miserable heat and counter an illogical two-year-old with logic. This wasn't going well.

With a half mile to go to get home, the one thought that clicked in my head was that I was the control here. If I was going to finish the run strong, that was up to me. If I was going to finish the run frustrated, that was up to me. Ruby was going to do what Ruby was going to do, and I was going to choose how to react. The distance to home wasn't changing. I say all the time that I need to control the controllables, but here I was letting the controllables control me.

I put myself in a parenting time out. I slowed up the pace. I apologized to Ruby for having snapped at her when she started with the whining (my less-than-proud parenting moment), and I finished out the run. Lesson re-learned for the day.

Corn? Cattle Prices? Dry heat, please...

I got out the door at 5:40 this morning to do a quick three miles before my husband had to head off to work. I had resolved that I wouldn't run anything shorter than 4, but the clock got me this morning. So I ran a "fast" three early.

I get that we need rain. Drought is a bad, bad thing. It kills crops. Farmers sell off their cattle. It drives up the cost of food. But let's look at it from a glass half-full perspective--we don't have to mow the grass as often. Okay, that's it for a list. Not mowing the lawn is good. From a runner's perspective, though, the dry heat at the beginning of the summer was awesome. Maybe those Arizona folks are on to something.

I stepped out the door, and my first thought was, "Oh, scheisse. It's 80 degrees already." Just go.

I don't like having a time limit for my runs, but I was very aware of my husband's need to get out the door for work, so I needed to go. My legs felt stiff. My shoes felt heavy. My steps were a shuffle.

A quarter mile in, and my mind started to click. Every now and again, I would get a slight breeze coming off the soybean fields, and then a ten degree change two steps later that would take my breath away. I stopped thinking about my legs, my feet, my lungs. I started thinking about staying loose.

Three miles. One car. Two workmen at a church up the road. And just me and the road. What a great way to start the day. I do miss the dry heat. Time for coffee.

1500 steps...5:00 a.m. Ouch. And awesome.

RGB got me up at 3:30 this morning in her usual wake-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night-and-torture-mama-routine, and at that point, it was not in my best interest to go back to sleep if I wanted to make it to the 5:00 a.m. stadium runs. So thanks to RGB, I had plenty of time to get my stuff together, get my butt in the car, and make the 30-minute drive to the stadium. Much better than last time when I was doing the fastest tri transition ever. In the dark. On no sleep. Move on, Kim.

I went in this morning determined. I was going to go down and back through those stadium stairs. I didn't count every stair, but I did do some math (before I got too tired to do so...see earlier post on fatigues and runs) after counting one set, and the total up and down would be 1500. 750 up. 750 down. Give or take a few.

I was drenched by the third set of stairs; the humidity was high. I was rethinking my goal with four sets of stairs (300 steps) to go, but I did make it down and back. The .44 miles on the stairs took me 25 minutes (with sets of push-ups on each of the downs thrown in). But I kept reminding myself that speed wasn't the point.

And the reward was four laps on the stadium grass in my bare feet. I swear, that's like a drug to me. Next week, I'm going earlier so that I can get started earlier and get to the grass more quickly.

The week? I had a great long run on Sunday. Ran 8. Ran the first six without a break. Haven't done that in who knows when. Had a good, fast, short ride on Saturday and averaged over 16 mph for the first time in quite a while. Ran a solid four on Friday night. Ran a solid five on Thursday night. A couple of other workouts thrown in there. Decent week.

I'm reading back through this post and I'm not impressed, so I ask that you re-read my first line again. 3:30 a.m. No nap today. Sigh. Try again tomorrow.

Beginning at the end

I sunk down into the coldest tub of water I could handle at the end of my ride yesterday. Actually, short of adding ice to the water, I couldn't have gotten it any colder. I kept running my hand under the water coming out of the faucet wondering if I had turned on the wrong one. In reality, I was just that hot. How'd I end up there?

I rode part of the bike route that I used to ride when I was training for Ironman Wisconsin. I have not gone over 20 miles on my bike in recent memory, so doing a 33 mile ride was going to be a stretch, but I thought that if I would just soft pedal if I started to struggle, I'd be fine. I ride a bike with a triple chainring, and I seldom let myself use the smallest of the three, so I figured I had that, too. It would be fine. 

And everything was fine. For most of the ride. Up until a certain point. I rode well through Mammoth Cave National Park. I took on a couple of 5-minute climbs and felt really great about how those went. I was taking in calories in the form of peanut butter pretzels and gel and gatorade mixed with water. I had a few run-ins with cars, but I'll save my ranting about vehicles for a post dedicated to ranting. (But just to interject here, if you have to force a car coming in the opposite direction off the road in order to pass a cyclist, you need to just hit your brakes, for the love.) 

My first stop on the ride came in Park City, KY. It's a far cry from Park City, Utah. Here's the view from my stop:

Yep. So you can tell that I was pretty tired because I stopped here. At this spot. After rolling through beautiful Mammoth Cave National Park, this is where I chose to pull over. I wanted to give my toes a break. My shoes were killing me. I wanted to regroup before I headed into some rollers, and I wanted to assess my calorie situation. Regrouping done, I resolved to soft-pedal. I was starting to feel the heat. How bad could it be? 

I hit some gorgeous green spots. Check out this road:

and I was doing okay until about two minutes after stopping to take this picture. I rolled up on a house that I haven't been past since I last rode the route. And when I last rode the route, they had a dog. I remembered that. I got past the first driveway of the house, and that's when I heard him. Man, he was huge. And charging. And barking. And showing his teeth. I was yelling, pedaling all over the road, telling him to go home, and trying to decide if I was going to have to jump off my bike to try to put my bike between me and the dog. The confrontation lasted probably less than 20 seconds, but my heart rate took a heck of a lot longer to come down, and any energy I had been conserving for the last five or six miles of the ride home was shot. And I still had this hill to climb:

The picture doesn't really do it justice because it's a much sharper climb than I think this shows. But I was riding into Rocky Hill, and I kept telling myself to remember that they named it that for a reason. These aren't mountains, but they are little rollers with a little out-of-the-seat climbing required now and again. On an 80 degree day, this would not have been a challenge. On this 104 degree day, this was looking pretty tough.

After pushing my way through Rocky Hill, I stopped again. I called my husband to let him know that I was about five miles out from home and doing okay but that I was hurting. Too hot. Legs were shot. Looking back now, I was probably just pushing the edge of the call I've never, ever made: "Come pick me up." I gave myself a few minutes more in the shade and headed on. Two more good climbs ahead.

I hit the first climb, and when I needed to stand up out of my saddle, I got off my bike. Yep, I did it. I walked my bike up that hill. In the ditch. I was thinking that the most important thing at this point was to make it home and that killing myself on that hill was not going to have any physical benefit at all. I was probably being a bit melodramatic, but I was also just so damn hot.

Made it up the second climb and was grateful that my dog friend at that house decided to stay home. You might remember him from my 20 mile run; he accompanied me for several of those miles.

And then I was home. And in the bathtub. And feeling okay sitting in freezing cold water.

I don't know what I was thinking. I know better than to add 33% mileage, even if it is on a bike ride and not a run. And I know better than to ride that far on those hills in that heat. I KNOW better. I've felt wasted all day today. I didn't get up for the 5:00 stadium runs this morning because I knew I needed the rest. I was sad to miss running on that fantastic field, though.

So I'm feeling like I don't want to ride my bike ever again, but I think I'll go out in a couple of days with a friend from my running group. And I'll get back into it. And I'll enjoy it. And next time, I'll at least pack more peanut butter crackers.

Flying by the seat...the swim, the bike, and the run

The swim
I got to swim one night this week, and I'm headed back today for a 3K yard swim. I was psyched to get to share a lane this week with a random guy named Drew who is racing the Muncie Endurathon this weekend and then the Louisville Ironman next month. On the Ironman, I gave him one piece of advice--don't forget that it's supposed to be fun. Even when you are miserable, it's fun. Dammit. That's why we do this stuff. I think he thought I was nuts.


I took this picture of the locker room at my pool because I continue to be blown away by the stupid, stupid, stupid design. I was concerned someone might think I was a perv when I was taking the picture, so it was a quick pic. Have I ranted about this before? I'll make a quick list.
1. These lockers are the only lockers they have, and they are only for swim-team members. So people with memberships at the pool can't use the lockers and have to haul all their stuff out to the pool deck every time they swim.
2. This is actually what you see when you open the door from the toilets. So if you happen to be naked when Joe Schmoe opens the door, tough luck.
3. Fortunately for you, you probably won't be spending any time in front of these lockers because there isn't a bench. The only bench is on the other side of these lockers.
4. And there's no private changing area unless you want to tuck into the handicap-accessible shower. I don't mind being naked in front of other people, but I remember being horrified when I was in middle school and would see someone else naked. I'm not out to horrify anyone.
5. The toilets are actually outside of the locker room and are used by both swimmers and the general public. So if you are coming in off the street and want to use the toilets, chances are you are going to have a wet, wet butt because some hapless swimmer has been in the toilets before you.

Those are my top five. I could also write about how the lifeguards always seem to want to clean something when I'm swimming and the fumes seem to mix with the chlorine making me want to gag, but that's actually in the pool.

The bike
The sun probably tells the story, but it has been a great week for cycling. I rode on the 4th and followed it with a two-mile run, and I was surprised at how great it felt. A brick. A BRICK for crying out loud. But I miss my tri bike.

I need to get the ride in for a tune-up, but I don't have a back-up bike besides my beach cruiser, so I have a hard time making the time to drop it off. There is bird poo on my handlebar tape. And duct tape because the tape was coming off, and I didn't know how to fix it. No wonder I got dropped on a  group ride a week and a half ago; who can take a girl seriously when she has bird poo and duct tape on her bike?

The run
I now walk out the door to do my runs and tell my husband that I'm going to go see what the neighbors are up to. Why? Two days after the run-in with the teenagers at that house, I was out for my morning run and came up on the house to see a girl coming from around the side of the house to let herself in the front door...wearing only a thong and a tank top. Yes. I saw her ass. We did not make eye contact.

I ran a fast three yesterday morning, and I was fired up by my splits. When I first got home and checked my watch, I thought it hadn't gone that well, but I'm an idiot with math at 6:00 in the morning when I've just finished a run. When I plugged the numbers into the computer, I was really pleased with how well it went. Finally.

Up next
Swim today. Long run tomorrow. Bike on Sunday of the tri course I'm thinking about doing.

Three-a-days (running, swimming, and mom hood)

Pillow talk with my husband last night revolved around my fantasy of getting in two workouts today. I wanted to get up at 4:15 a.m. to leave the house by 4:30 to get to WKU stadium by 5:00 to do a "stadium run" workout with the folks from the local running store. Then, I wanted to do a swim workout when my husband got home from work and could take over the Ruby duties. Two-a-days make me happy (as do six-hour bike rides and runs that require refilling the Camelback), and I just don't get to do them as often as I would like--much less frequently since having Ruby. So hubby and I agreed on the logistics, and we headed to bed.

Then parenthood struck. Ruby had gone to bed at 8:00, and her first wake-up call for me was at about 11:30. Ruby-wake-up calls generally involve Kevin getting her something to drink and me climbing into her big-girl bed with her to get her back to sleep. I'm not sure my climbing into bed with her is as much about her as it is about me just wanting to get horizontal and to get my world quiet in the fastest way possible. I was back in our bed by about 12:30, and I remember feeling relief that we had gotten the wake-up over with so early. Phew.

4:09 a.m. "Mommy?" You have got to be kidding me. My alarm was set for 4:15, and Ruby was up again at 4:09. Scheisse.

I went to her room. Did a quick diaper change. Got her settled down in her bed again. Curled up next to her and waited for her to roll on her side--the sure sign that I am home free. Clicked on my Timex: 4:17. Crap. Two minutes gone that I could have been eating toast and a banana.

(Change to present-tense to share my real-time thinking.)
4:23. If she falls asleep now, I can still grab a banana, brush my teeth, get changed, and hit the road. Don't forget the water. iPod?

4:25. Why are your eyes still open? Geesh. There's no way. I was going to be out the door by 4:30. What can I do if she falls asleep right now? No teeth brushing. I'll put my shoes on in the car. While driving. I can still make this.

4:27. Sigh. Give it up. No stadium runs for you. At least you'll get in a swim later today. Sometimes parenthood sucks. (Martyr switch on.)

4:28 Really? Are you really asleep? If I jump out of bed now, I can still make it. But I have to jump out of bed slowly. I can do this. Slide out of bed. SLIDE. QUIET!!!!

I climbed out of bed, checked my watch every thirty seconds, channeled the triathlete in me to make the fastest transition ever from pajamas to running clothes, and bolted down the hall. Grabbed a pair of running shoes from next to the back door (Geesh, I hope this is a matching pair). Grabbed a banana off the counter. Told my husband I was hitting the road, and I was out of there. 4:39.

For what? This:

I think this picture is actually of the side we didn't run on. They have remodeled the stadium, and I'm not sure this is even a current picture, but in my hurry to get out of the house in the dark this morning, I forgot to bring my phone along with me, so I couldn't get actual pictures. Next week.

There were about ten people there this morning. And those folks were amazing. We went from one end of the stadium to the other, up one aisle and down the next--stopping on the downs to do ten push-ups. I made it through one time. Others went down and back. Others went down and back and down and back. Incredible. My legs were quaking by the time I got halfway through.

My favorite part, though, was when we went down to the stadium grass at the end and ran laps around the field. Barefoot. I would go back again just to get to do that. I couldn't help but remember the laps I got to do around Badger stadium during the Ironman in Wisconsin. And I was thinking how jazzed I would be to get to do this same workout in Michigan stadium.

I'm not sure what the takeaways from this morning are. Sometimes, parenthood gets in the way. It's great to be a mom, but it doesn't always make it easy to be a runner or a triathlete. And while I love curling up in bed to watch Ruby sleep, I also love being a grown-up with other grown-ups doing athletic things at 5:00 in the morning. I think that's the biggest challenge of parenthood--having to find a balance.

On the workout front, it was tough to watch everyone else doing two or three times what I did this morning, and I wanted to do more. But I think there are times when it is wise to know if I am doing a workout because my ego wants me to or if I am doing a workout because it's what my body needs. As I stood there on the steps about halfway through the workout and felt my legs shaking like jello, I knew I needed to put the ego in check. Had I known how much I would love running barefoot on the field, I would have headed down there sooner.

Swimming tonight.

107 degrees and B&E--oh my!

If you flip through my Facebook page, you'll see that people are talking about two things: how they feel about the health care decision from the Supreme Court and the heat. I have strong feelings about both, but only one is really impacting my running. So at 5:30 this morning, I dragged my tired butt out of bed knowing that if I didn't get my run in before 9:00, I wouldn't be able to run today. It's going to be 107 degrees today. Yesterday, it was 104. I rode my bike last night.

I don't run well on no food, but I don't get up early enough to eat before I run when I run at 5:30. It's an interesting dilemma. So I set out this morning slogging my way down the street thinking about how great some oatmeal would be (odd what I crave) and generally trying to cloud up my mind enough to keep moving forward. That's when I spotted them. Fellow runners! Females! Coming towards me down the street. Really? A mirage. Certainly.

Oddly, the two females coming towards me down the street spotted me and then suddenly darted behind a house. I thought that was a little strange. Just keep running. Just keep running.

As I came up on the house that they had darted behind and passed it, I looked to my right to see one of the two girls boosting the other girl into a half-opened window while trying to negotiate the blinds. Teenagers. Hmmmm.

So I'm a mom. And a teacher. And both of those hats made me want to stop and throw some form of torture on these children who are clearly sneaking back in the house. Did I stop right in the middle of the street and ask them loudly what the hell they are doing knowing that the window they are trying to sneak into is right next to another open window in the house? Nah. I kept running. I could have called the cops and told them that I saw someone breaking and entering. I thought about stopping by the house if I see the mom in the front yard later and mentioning the nonsense. But this morning, I just kept running. It distracted me from the fact that I was hungry.

Things I'm thinking about:

• I'm signing up for a half marathon in October. The same one I ran last October. I'm going to train for it. And I'm going to set a time goal. I don't usually do that. 
• I don't understand why I'm so slow. I get that it's hot. But I should be faster. I can explain all the reasons why, but I should be faster. Suggestions welcome.
• If I can drop about fifteen pounds before that half marathon in October, that will certainly help with the second bullet there. 
• I hate push-ups and crunches. But I'm doing them. Daily. 

How are folks out there beating the heat? 

Thinking about drinking

So I took off on yesterday's "long" run at about 7:30 in the morning. I thought I'd enjoy a sleep-in on my second day of summer vacation, so I stayed in bed until 6:30, for crying out loud. The problem here in the summer is that any run that starts later than 7:00 is going to be hot. Yesterday was not an exception.

I had a decent run going. Decent considering I have about 20 pounds to lose, and my pace is impacted by every one of those pounds. Still, I was at a solid LSD pace for the first three miles or so. By mile three and a half, I was soaked in sweat, and taking off my sunglasses seemed like a solution to dealing with the heat. For some reason, I feel the heat in my eyes.

And I was drinking. A lot. I had a water bottle on a waist pack, and I had drained it by mile four and a half. Yea for me! Wait. I still had at least three miles to go no matter which way I turned, and I had no water, and I was starting to bake in the sun, and there was no shade in sight.

Signs a run isn't going as well as I had hoped:
1. I take off my sunglasses because they are making me hot (I know, I already said this one, but I'm about to make a list here.)
2. I have to switch from NPR to music because I can't stand the chatter in my ears.
3. I start searching for shade where there is none.
4. I ponder stealing water from someone's hose and weigh whether or not that will get me shot.

So here's the short version. I ran out of water. The wheels fell off the bus. I started thinking maybe I should have rationed out my water over the whole run instead of drinking when I was thirsty early on. Clearly, the best solution would be to leave the house with enough water, but which is better: rationing or risking running out? That's the QOD--question of the day.

I was gassed by the time I got home. I'm amazed at how dehydration will impact me for the rest of the day. I have had fifteen milers that felt better than yesterday. But no water=no legs.

Bricking...the endorphins!

I got in the pool yesterday for the first time in about a year and a half. I was expecting to be dying after about 500 yards of swimming, but I was still going strong at a mile. So I guess that was a good thing. Last time I got into the pool after having taken such a long break, I was ready to vomit at about 400 yards. But that was right after the baby was born. Better shape now.

Went home last night and ran 3 miles. So technically speaking, it wasn't a brick workout where you do one immediately after the other, but it was a double, and I haven't done a double in...well, I don't know how long. The run went well. I was satisfactorilly tired at the end. Oh, how I have missed doubles and bricks.

I came off the Flying Pig thinking I'd like to just train mindlessly for the summer, doing whatever I felt like doing whenever I felt like doing it. No structure. No plan. Just go. That thinking lasted less than a week. That's not my style. I like to think it can be my style. But it's not. No plan depresses me. Seriously.

I've moved on to planning for a sprint-distance tri (maybe two?) in August and the Indy half marathon again in October. I've got to drop some weight. Again. And I've got to pick up some speed. A lot. And I'd like to put together a well-rounded training program for the summer that has me up before the crack of dawn running while the baby is still in bed. I really enjoyed that last summer.

The endorphin rush from almost feeling like my old self again yesterday was awesome. And it's something I'll be chasing all summer. Because almost isn't going to cut it.

The Flying Pig Marathon...a week later

We watched the weather like...well...like people who were going to have to run a marathon in it for the week leading up to the race. Reports were pretty consistent. It was going to be hot. Humid. Hotter than previous years' races. Got it.

The morning of the race, we got up and headed out from our hotel for what was supposed to be a 1.2 mile walk to the start of the race. I would have liked to have been shivering in my sleeveless shirt and shorts, but I was comfortable in the morning air. Ahhh, well. Control the controllables.

Highlights and lowlights:
The walk to the race start was longer than 1.2 miles. There was no shuttle to the start of the race. No one about to run 26.2 miles really wants to go longer, so that was a bad thing. The physical start of the race may have been 1.2 miles from the hotel, but we had to walk all the way past the football stadium and then back around it and then back another half mile to our starting corrals, so that was more mileage than I wanted on my legs that morning. I admit to getting a little fussy trying to figure out where we needed to be.

Forrest Gump passed me as I was getting into the starting corral. Yep. THE Forrest Gump. Long hair, trucker cap, short shorts, yellow t-shirt, tube socks, classic shoes. The whole bit. I smiled.

The race started, and I passed the first 10 miles or so pretty well. The one blip was at mile 5 when I got to the aid stations to discover they had run out of cups. Seriously. The volunteers were standing there with gallon jugs of water pouring it into peoples' cupped hands. I had a small water bottle with me, and I refilled it, but I had visions of the Chicago disaster in my head, and I got a little wound up about having another 21 miles to go. Took me a couple of miles to calm down.

I was sticking to my plan of regular run/walk intervals. My nutrition was all over the place. I kind of just kept eating. The temperature started climbing. I started thinking I needed more salt. I hadn't trained with Gatorade, but I decided to take in a cup every aide station to give me some salt. I felt like I wasn't racing my plan, though. It was a loose plan going in, but I don't think I remembered it after about mile 4.

The wheels fell off the bus at about mile 13. I don't remember what happened exactly, but I remember feeling like I wasn't feeling nearly as good as I had felt on my first 20 miler, and I wasn't sure if I was even feeling close to how I had felt on my second twenty miler. I was still chatting with some folks out there, and I was still enjoying the day, but I became very aware that I was falling off the pace that I had held for the first half of the marathon.

I was really excited when I hit what I thought was going to be the fifteen mile marker, and it was actually the sixteen mile marker. Heck yeah! A free mile. Somehow, I had missed the previous mile marker. That's always a great moment in a marathon. I was pretty much walking more than running at that point. And I was feeling really discouraged. I kept telling myself to just keep moving forward and to stop beating myself up for how I was doing it. Running or walking, I was going to get to the finish.

At about mile 18, I hit my last highlight for the race when I discovered the guys handing out the Gu were all wearing University of Michigan caps. I actually ran through the aid station and high-fived all the guys while yelling, "Go Blue!" Those were my people. I have no idea where that burst of energy came from. And I hope they used hand sanitizer after I ran through. Cause yuck. I was gross.

After that point, I think I pretty much started generating a list of people that I wanted to punch. Marathons are funny. You run them because you want to see what you are made of. But then you start to get angry at what other people are made of when your race isn't going well. I ended up with an extensive list.
1. Forrest Gump. Yep. He made me smile at the beginning. But then he managed to pass me no fewer than five times over the course of the race. I don't know if he was stopping or going off course or what, but I never saw when I passed him. So it was a surprise every time he came up from behind me again. It was an unpleasant surprise because I would be slogging along, and all of a sudden the crowd would start to go crazy, and I would start to smile thinking that they were encouraging me, and then I would realize that it was just Forrest Gump. Passing me. Again.
2. Guy in the blue camouflage running shorts with the aviator sunglasses. First, he was running with his girlfriend, and she was having a hard time, so he kept putting his arm around her and pulling her closer to him. It irritated the fire out of me for her. If I'm trying to make forward motion, the last thing I need is a smelly idiot boyfriend trying to pull me laterally towards him. Moron. Then, as the miles passed (yes, I was with these people for miles 22-25), he started to clap and say, "Sunburn! Sunburn!" in a puerile chant that was just freaking annoying.
3. Weightlifting dude and his weightlifting girlfriend. They'd run a bit. Then start walking slowly. Then run a bit. Then start walking slowly. At one point, they actually dodged between me and someone else who was walking, only to then start walking slowly again so that I'd have to pass them. And when they were walking slowly, they were holding hands like they were out for a walk in the park.
4. Juggling guy. I got passed by him at about mile 24. He juggled six balls over the course of the whole race. And passed me. That was a bit demoralizing. So I wanted to punch him. A guy walking near me at that point also confided in me that he wanted to punch him, too. So that was good.

The thing is. I don't normally want to punch people. But I was working really hard to keep my head in the game, and any time I started to think about how disappointed I was in the run I was having, I started to get in a strange headspace. So I focused my energy outward. And that was kinda fun.

6 hours and 11 minutes. 6 hours. 11 minutes. 371 minutes.

Yeah. A definite Personal Worst in terms of marathon times. But it was a heck of a fun day in a lot of ways.

The finish line of the race was a tremendous disappointment. I was WAY at the back of the pack. I get that. But I ran for a very, very long time. When I got to the finish, I had to find someone to give me a medal. I didn't get a mylar blanket. I had to ask someone to take my photo at the finish line. I wandered under the bridge, and I saw a bunch of tables with cups on them, but there was no one there to tell me that it was for me. It was confusing. I kept walking.

I got to the back of the bridge, and I saw a whole bunch of tables being broken down by volunteers. I think I walked a good 50 yards wandering from one table to the next trying to figure out what food was available, and not a single person spoke to me. There was no one there to take my finisher's photo in front of the backdrop. It felt tremendously anti-climactic.

I walked out of the finisher's area to look for my husband, but there was no where to meet him. I finally asked a passing volunteer to use his phone to try to call Kevin. He seemed peeved. Okay. I used it anyway. Kevin didn't answer. I sat down. I waited. When Kevin finally found his way back to the finisher's area, he told me that there hadn't been any signage to direct him where to go.

We walked up the hill and asked a police officer where the hotel shuttles were. He directed us up the hill about 100 yards to a sign that said "hotel shuttle." We felt stupid. Until we sat there for fifteen minutes waiting and no shuttle came. 20 of us sat there together. Waiting. We started wandering up the hill towards a main street where a friend had offered to pick us up if we couldn't get the hotel shuttle. We found the buses another 200 yards up the hill. Next to no sign. Dang. If I had had anything left in my legs, I would have gone back down to tell the other poor suckers waiting by the sign. But I didn't. And I had about 25 minutes to get back to the hotel, take a shower, and check out. Had to go.

All around. A great day. Any race I get to run "with" my best friend, Jen, is a great race. Would I do this race again? Probably. I would want to be better trained. Faster. All that jazz. It was a pretty course. Most of the failings of the day had to do with the weather or within me. And that was alright with me. As for the finish line, well, that was probably the biggest bummer of the day, honestly. I have wanted to finish the Flying Pig for longer than I can remember, and I would have liked to have enjoyed the finish and getting the medal a lot more than I did. I have more empathy now for the BOTP finishers. And a stronger desire to get mid-pack again.

Up next? Not sure. Cross-training for a while and then the Indy half marathon this fall.

Well, holy crap, I'm running a marathon on Sunday. Magiccool?

I've survived much of taper madness. (And am still going through the "am i really ready?" phase of taper.)  I've had a lot of stress at work, and I'm trying to leave it all at home (or at work) to get my head on straight for Sunday.

Came across the notification that they are offering deferments due to the weather. Defer. For next year. Like not run Sunday and put it off for a year. I don't think my 20 milers will hang in my legs for that long, so I'm going to go ahead and run. Here's where we are at on this:

1. Going to be carrying some sort of fluid with me, I think. Visions of the Chicago marathon from that one really, really hot year are dancing in my head, and I'm thinking better safe than sorry. I may change my mind on Sunday morning, but that's where my head is right now. (And the Flying Pig people are already saying that they are doubling up on their fluids for Sunday).

2. Abandoning all time goals. Oh, wait. I already did that. Well, I'm abandoning them even more. They are even more left behind now. If I'm hot, I'm walking. Just gotta cover the 26.2 miles on my feet on Sunday, and that'll be a success. No watch.

3. Taking salt tabs. I have to pick them up yet, but I lose salt like no one's business on hot days. So I'll be taking some salt tabs with me.

4. Bought cooling cloths. Got this great thing called "Magicool". I'm not relishing the idea of lugging my weight in gear around on Sunday, but this looks like a good idea. It's a cloth. And it's cool. How bad can that be?

5. Relying on my training. I'm a pretty tough cookie. Even when I'm a little out of shape, I can get my head in the right space. Depending on that.

Finally, I'm going to enjoy the run. Seriously. This is going to be fun. Damn it.

300 and 1.85 to grow on...

Have had three runs this week post-20. First was a quick three. Not so hot. Second was a 5 that started slow and got faster by the mile. Today was supposed to be four. But dang, it felt so great, I went five. Can't remember the last time I felt like tacking on an extra mile.

Weather today? 48 degrees. A bit of a drizzle. A slight breeze. I have put in a request with my friend who works at NOAA for the same weather May 6th in Cincinnati. I think the government must have some sort of top-secret weather-controlling deal in their arsenal, and she would have access to it. I'm sure she'll pull some strings. I could do without the drizzle, but it was an otherwise perfect day for a run.

I'm excited that I hit 300 miles for the year so far by finishing today's run. I'm on par for a 1,000 mile year if I can keep up about 87 miles/month for the rest of the year. Considering that last year I ran a total of 387 miles, this would be an outstanding feat.

Random thought for the day: You can never use too much Bodyglide. Ever.

Random thought number two: 23 school days left until summer vacation.

Not so random thought: 14 days until the marathon.

Ahhh, sweet, sweet taper...how I have earned ye...

20 miler number two. Check. 

 

I knew it was going to be tough. I was running on tired legs after having done three solid runs this week plus one walk around a fairly hilly zoo yesterday. And my schedule had me with a week in between twenties, but it didn't work out that way. I don't think I've ever run two twenties in a row. I don't think I really ever want to do that again. But today, I earned the taper.

I got about three miles into my run, and I realized that my shoes were not tied properly. They kept loosening to the point of annoying me, and I thought I wasn't going to put up with that nonsense for the rest of the run. So, I plunked down on the side of the road to re-lace. I was out on a road that has, I believe, one house in a two-mile stretch. The rest of it is farmland. I seldom get passed by a vehicle. Today, I did. While I was sitting on the side of the road. Tying my shoes. The driver kind of hit the brake lights, but then he kept on driving. I got up and started to run again (feeling much better about my shoes) when it started to drizzle. Just enough drizzle to keep me content but enough to make me concerned that more was to come. 

Five more minutes in, the man in the truck came back. He had driven past me, and he had gotten all the way into town when he had seen the rain coming, so he turned around to come back to see if I needed a ride. Seriously. A full five minutes after he had left me. Our town is small enough that in that five minutes, he probably had gotten all the way to his house and parked in the driveway before coming back for me. How amazing is that that he would come all the way back to check on me? (And I know. I need to be cautious out there. Believe me, I get myself into a strange headspace about running on such a remote road at times. But today, I just want to think that was pretty darn cool.)

Ten miles in, and I was running well enough. I was hitting my intervals for my run/walk, and I was on pace to be where I was last week on my 20 miler. Unfortunately, my legs felt like they had last week after fifteen miles. Crap. Honestly, I set out this morning knowing I was going to have to tough it out no matter what. I was just hoping the tough it part wouldn't come so soon. 

13 miles in, and I realized I was running low on water. Lucky ducky me, though, I run past the IGA in town. And I had $2.00 with me. I used $1.00 to buy some water from the vending machine out front. And with the other $1.00, I ran in the store and bought some of those peanut butter crackers that come in the little packet. The guy in front of me in line let me cut--I'm not sure if it was my small purchase or because he was trying to do everyone in there a favor and get my stinky butt out of there as fast as possible. But when I stepped up to pay, he asked me if I was running back to the next town. This surprised me a little, and I said that I was kind of headed that way. Turns out he's been a runner before (not running now), so he's seen me running around town. Small town strikes again. 

15 miles in, I called my husband to let him know that I was starting to hurt, but I was going to finish, so I didn't want him to worry about when I would be arriving at home. And the last five miles took a really, really, really long time. But I finished.

So when I hit the Flying Pig course, I would really like to feel like I did last week. I hope that taper will do that for me. If I feel like I did this week, it's going to be a long day. But I earned the taper. And an Anchor Steam. (My DH went out and bought me Bell's Oberon and Anchor Steam today...how lucky am I?)

The rules of long runs

We got back from our trip to Philadelphia, and I was scheduled to run 20. HA! I forgot the first rule of long runs--I don't go out to run them doing an "I might run..." with my distance. Oops. Loaded up the Camelback with water and strawberry banana gels--enough to run 20. But I set out with the mentality that I might not do 20, and I gave myself permission to turn around at any point, and guess how well that run went?

My legs were bricks. My lungs were not cooperating. My pace was turtle slow. I couldn't stop looking at my watch. Most importantly, my head wasn't in it. Damn. I was back home after 11 miles, and I was once again kicking myself and wondering what the hell I was even doing out there. I was thinking, "I have a marathon in 5 weeks, and I can't even comfortably cover 11 miles?"

Rule number 2 of long runs--remember that sometimes they suck, and sometimes they don't. I'm sure that there are plenty who disagree with me and would say that success on long runs isn't random. It's not entirely random. Clearly. There is nutrition. Rest. Previous mileage. Mentality. Even weather. But there is also this other thing, and I often know how a run is going to go within minutes of stepping out for my first mile. So, I headed out Saturday morning for my 20 miler, and it didn't suck. In fact, it went really well considering where I'm setting the bar right now.

Things that worked for me:
         I walked for about five minutes to warm up. My knee has been a little bit twitchy lately, and the little walking warm-up actually helped.
         I abandoned monitoring my mile pace. I'll do that on my shorter run days from here on out, but I have been beating myself up every single long run because I'm not remotely happy with how fast I'm running. Beating myself up isn't making me run any faster.
         I ran "easy" through mile 15. I actually did a route where the toughest miles were 8-14, so I focused on making those miles feel easy. Then, I ran consistently through the last miles.
         I took in a gel every 30 minutes. (I need to pack something else, though...I am so sick of strawberry banana power gels that I never want to see one again.)
         I finished feeling like I could do another mile. Since the marathon has 6.2 more, I was happy to feel like I wasn't dying at the end of this one.

I don't have a profound closing thought on this one. The run fell on an odd weekend. I was supposed to have run 20 last week, 12 this past weekend, then 20 again next weekend. Now I'm trying to figure out my schedule for the last weeks before the marathon. Too early to taper. So right now I'm thinking about doing another 20 next weekend, then 12, then 8, then marathon day. Alternately, I'm thinking about amping up my mileage during the week this week and running 16-18 on tired legs next weekend, then 12, then 8, then marathon. All opinions welcome.

Checking in from Philadelphia

Quick. And running-related.

I DID run 18 miles two weekends ago. It was tough. And boring. And not so very much fun. But I covered the 18 miles. (And I ran out of water...that was really tough, too.) But it didn't kill me. So that was good, too.

THEN, my daughter came up/down with pneumonia. It started on the Sunday night of my 18 miler. She couldn't lay down without vomiting from coughing. The week that followed was full of not working, lots of laundry, several runs to the doctor and pharmacy, and very little sleep. I'm a mom. It means I'm a slower runner than I used to be and that small people puke on me. I'm okay with that. But it was a tough, tough week.

THEN, my parents showed up to watch my daughter for the week while my husband and I flew off to Philadelphia so that I could present at a conference this week. That was tough, too. I packed my running shoes, but tomorrow will be the first day that I get on a treadmill. Running downtown Philly doesn't appeal to me--too many stoplights. But I'd love to get out to Fairmount park. It is amazing. I have put several miles on my legs with all the walking I've been doing, and I have been going to bed every night exhausted. But I've gotta run. Tomorrow. This weekend.

Like I said, I'm a mom now. Stuff gets in the way. Puke gets in the way. And I'm okay with that. (But it also means I better get more okay with a long, long, long, slow, slow, slow marathon.)

Yesterday's run was brought to me by the letter "R"

Running stroller + Ruby Grace + wind Resistance + Reality + REALLY warm

Yesterday was the start of a much-needed four-day weekend, and I took advantage of the free morning to pull the running stroller out of the closet and take the Rooster out for a run. A tough, tough run.

There was a lot going on. Roo is now 25 pounds big. Even though we bought a top-of-the-line running stroller, that's still a bit of weight to push. And there was a wind. I felt like I was trying to push a small horse down the road. A small, reluctant horse. The 70+ degree day was beautiful. It was the hottest I've been on a run in months. I was drenched by the halfway point. So grateful for my small, reluctant horse of a running stroller to carry my water bottle!

I intended to run somewhere between four and eight miles. Thunderstorms were threatening. I wasn't sure how Roo was going to do in the stroller for that length of time. And I was waiting for a call that was going to change my schedule for the day, so I felt like I couldn't commit to a specific distance.

All that being said...what a great, tough run! Roo is a champ in the running stroller. We talked for the whole run. She pointed out every bird, butterfly, and big tree along the way. Whenever I drank, she drank (never too early to instill an understanding of the importance of hydration). And she loved the ride so much that when we got home, she insisted on staying in the stroller for her morning snack.

I do not always gauge runs by the distance, and yesterday was all about gauging by effort required to finish the run. Despite only getting in five very slow miles, I felt like I had gotten in a very hard eight. More stroller runs to come, for sure.

18 miler coming up this weekend.

Running with the fishes

Today's thoughts:

1. 80 degree days are awesome. The bugs think so, too. I ate a few. The ones I ate probably don't think it's such an awesome deal.

2. I will never understand why cars refuse to give me an extra foot on the side of the country road that I live on. Seriously. You have a several ton vehicle. I am not challenging you. I am sure your manhood is adequately sized. Is there any other reason you can't just flick your wrist ever so slightly to the left to give me a little extra shoulder? C'mon, man.

3. Warm days bring people out of the woodwork, too. White, pasty people.

4. I was running so hobbly today that I probably could have been mistaken for one of those people who hibernated all winter, saw the first warm day, and made a break for freedom. I'm pretty sure I run these same roads enough that people have seen me out in all weather, but I was watching my shadow today and thinking I didn't look like a girl who has already done half of her total mileage from last year.

5. I saw a fish on the road today. At the 2-mile marker. It was dead. And in the road. About 30 inches of fish. If I had had my phone, I would have taken a picture. If you know anything about where I live (all farmland, no water), you know that fish had no business being there.

That's pretty much it for me so far this week.

17. Check.

For now, that's about all I have to say about that. I did it. Oh, and ouch.

Falling off the wagon and finding my way back to the saddle...on being discouraged

Ran last Sunday and totally bonked. Nothing else this week. Work. Only work. Monday through Thursday of this week, I came home every night from a long day and felt like I would barely make it to put my daughter to bed for the night. Could not get myself into that headspace where I needed to run no matter what. I felt like I was getting my ass kicked by Maslow's hierarchy of needs, and I was stuck at the bottom of the pyramid.

I can list the reasons...er, excuses...er, reasons. But I have not run this week. And I'm looking at a 17 mile long run this weekend. And I'm mentally in a strange place. I've never tried to pull off a marathon on this kind of training nonsense, so I'm in new territory. I feel like I can totally recover from this bad/blah week with a solid run this weekend, so I'm putting a lot of weight in that long run. What if I can't pull it together?

Here's the thing, I'm not a "What if?" kind of a gal. I played that game when I was at Ironman Wisconsin the first time around, and I pretty much put that to rest. With "What if?", just answer the question, and it's done. Ironman Wisconsin--What if I use up everything I have on the swim? What if my bike breaks down? What if the hills really are as bad as they look on the course profile? What if I forget my sunscreen? What if I get dehydrated and can't get caught up? What if I don't make the cutoff times? You name it, I asked it. And I answered every single one of them before I even got to Madison. Most of the answers were something along the lines of, "I would suck it up and move on."

So I'm surprised to find myself "What if"ing again this week. Time to turn it on...

What if? I'll gauge it. And try it again on Sunday.
What if? I'll plan walk breaks and take them.
What if? I'll do better with nutrition this week.
What if? If I don't get out first thing tomorrow morning, I'll wait until Sunday morning.

And I've got to be consistent in my other runs this week. I'm a lucky duck. Spring is just around the corner, and the changing of the clocks on Sunday promises longer daylight hours after work. Shut down the what-ifs, and get back in the saddle.

(not so) Long (very) Slow (not-so-much) Distance day

I listened to a story on NPR today about a guy who suffers from a malady that is a combination of narcolepsy and instant paralysis caused by feeling extreme emotion. You can listen to the story here.  Whenever he feels extreme joy or sadness, he goes into a stupor which apparently feels the way I often feel when I am between asleep and awake--aware of the world around me but unable to move or do anything about it. This guy wanted to go to his brother's wedding, so they propped him up against the wall for the entire event because he was unable to move. They took the wedding pictures around him.

My not so Long, very Slow, best-of-intentions-to-be-a Distance run today turned into a short jaunt out into the countryside. Looking for a connection to the above paragraph? About six miles in, my legs did not want to turn over. I went from running. To walking. To not even wanting to walk. I think I could have happily sat next to the road and watched the traffic pass despite the 30 mph winds and 40 degree temperatures. I felt a bit like I imagine that guy feels right before he really goes into one of his episodes.

Coincidence that I actually heard this guy's story while I was out running today? Perhaps. But really, I'm realizing that I just bonked out there today. It's been a while since I bonked. And especially a while since I bonked on such a short run. But when you let your reserves run low and then head out on a run without enough nutrition or water in your system, that's exactly what happens. Fixable. And not really all that miserable. Part of a bonk is accepting that it is what it is. Wish I could say that it was extreme joy that had pushed me to the point of feeling like I was ready to sleep next to the road. Instead, it was just poor planning.

Back in the saddle again for a hopefully LerSD next week Sunday. (17miler coming up!)

Runner's Calm at 3.12

I ran 4 miles on Thursday, but it took me exactly 3.12 miles to unwind. I know because I looked at my watch when I realized it had happened. I told a friend about it the next day and he said, "So, runner's high?" I said, "No, more like runner's calm."

I can't write extensively about the source of my stress here because the source of my stress actually has a name. I do think, though, that part of the reason I have been so stressed has been that I have not mentally relied enough on the things I know about the world because I am a runner:

1. Running doesn't always feel good. When a run goes south, as they say (although now that I live in the south, I'm wondering why we put up with that metaphor for things going poorly), you just keep running. One of two things will happen: you will start to feel better, or you will finish the run. Amen to either.

2. There is always a finish line. Even when there isn't a real finish line, there is always my mailbox. The run can't go on forever.

3. Other people might run with you, past you, or hang behind you. How much you let them impact your run is totally up to you. If you are doing a run that is central to your plan, you may need to cut loose the people who can't hang with you.

4. Recovery is essential, but it means giving the body a day or two off, even if the mind says to hit the pavement.

The stress sucks. It doesn't feel good. The finish line is on the calendar. And I have a clear picture of who is going to hang. So on to planning number four; time to talk with dear hubby about that summer vacation.

Any to add to the list?

A few great things...congestion being one of them.

Can you read that sign? "Slow Congested Area."
Our government dollars hard at work. I can confidently state that there was no congestion anywhere in the area...nor in the next four miles which looked incredibly similar (and had three more signs posting that it was a congested area.)

Had a great run out into the countryside this morning. Dropped 23 seconds per mile off last week's long run time and added a full mile onto the run.

Favorite moments from today's run:

Saw a baby cow that had just been born. Its momma was still trying to clean it up when I came by, and the baby was just taking its first steps. Nothing's sweeter than a wobbly calf.

About ten miles into the run, an old man pulled up next to me, rolled down his window and said, "I guess you are out for a walk?" (At the time, I was taking a one-minute walk break, so I didn't have to kick in his door.) Still, the fact that I was three miles from town on a country road was enough that he wanted to make sure all was okay. I told him that I was getting ready for a marathon. He repeated, "A marathon... so I guess you don't need a ride?" Very sweet. Unless you were the woman in the car behind him waiting for him to get going again. Then it was probably very annoying.

Five dog day. But still no dogs at the house that worries me most. That was a seven pig house, but they were all safely behind a fence. Phew.

I found a nickel.

I had the hubby take this pic at the end of the run...celebrating my first fifteen mile run in several years.




What was great about your latest run?

How big is your box?

I'm having one of those school years where work is really, well, work. It's mentally taxing in ways it hasn't been before. Some days, it feels like the best way to approach the day is one task at a time. Other days, I can take on the big picture. Today my friend and I gave a training for other teachers, and that was work (but in a different way). So we followed that up with our first-ever run together.  

I told my friend about the box today. Let me qualify this by saying that these mind games are really for those gut-wrenching, long-distance runs that seem like they'll never end. The box is a mind game that another friend taught me when I first started running. And I'm all about the mind games that you can play when running. A couple of my favorites:

Step counting: When I think I can't go another step and when the gravel side of the road looks as inviting as a down comforter, I start counting. 50 steps on. 50 steps off. 100 steps on. 100 steps off. 500 steps on. 50 steps off. I pick some steps and run/walk them until I feel like I can adjust the number. It gives my brain something to do while my body is suffering. 

Do the math: Can you? If you can still calculate the number of miles left in relation to the number of miles in the total run (or, in common speak, if you can do fractional math), then you're not yet really fatigued. 

And the box. The space on the road in front of me is a rectangle, and I adjust the size of the rectangle based on however much I can mentally handle. But the point is to keep running towards the front edge of the box. Sometimes the box is a mile long. Sometimes, the box is ten feet. But whatever distance I make the box, the deal is that I can't readjust the length until I get to the front edge. The goal, too, is that when I get to the edge of the box, I run another ten steps beyond it...cause I can do anything for ten steps. 

My friend needed the box today. She hadn't run this distance in a while, and we were out running in a 20 mph wind on some rollers around her house. And it kind of made me think that I really need to be more aware of "the box" when I'm not running, too. When work is really work. The box is as big as I make it. And I can always go a few steps beyond it.

What are your favorite mind games for runs? 

You be strong woman! Continue!

I got passed by a Kenyan today. Twice. An actual Kenyan...not a speedy fast figment of my imagination. And when I say passed, I don't mean once coming and once going. I mean the guy lapped me. (He's a runner on the local university team.)

I get to qualify this by saying that I was running a 1.25 mile loop in a local park on a gravel trail, and he was doing some sort of inner loop on the grass (cross-country style), so I don't think he was actually doing the same distance that I was. But whatever distance he was doing, he was doing it a heck of a lot faster.

I got out of work late today, pulled on my running shorts (yes, shorts in February), and walked out to my truck debating all the way there whether or not I should just head home. I was pressed for time, and by the time I got to the park where I wanted to run, I wasn't sure I'd have time for even a three miler. With the Flying Pig coming up, though, there isn't much wiggle room for missing runs, so I hit the trail.

Initially this post was going to be about the running monologue in my head while I run in a park. My brain wants me to say these unfiltered thoughts to the people I pass. "Really, those Skecher shape-ups aren't doing a thing for your ass." "I'd kill for that pace." "Buddy, lose the fleece...it's freaking 60 out here!""Hey, dog friend." "What's with the side to side arm motion, dude?" "You. Are. Badass." These comments are usually interspersed with my own comments to myself. "You do love hills. You really do." "Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast." "Tuesday night tacos?" "Relentless forward motion." But then he showed up. The Kenyan.

I was coming down into a little mini-valley...down to the bottom, through the scoop, and right back up again. I had just taken those few sweet steps where forward momentum and downward momentum somehow combine to make the running feel effortless, and I was about to start the grind up a 1/3 mile long hill when I saw him coming out of the corner of my eye. Fast. Feet kicking up. Smooth. That sweet spot feeling immediately disappeared, and I just wanted to stop and watch the poetry in motion. He was unbelievable. He said something to me that I didn't hear as he passed, and I said, "Go, man, go!" and he was gone.

On the second loop, I didn't see him coming. Through the sweet spot again and about twenty steps up the hill, and he was behind me again (very briefly). "You had to catch me on the hill twice," I said cleverly as if the hill was what was making the difference...not my 10:42 pace. What he said made my day, "It's good. You be strong woman! Continue!" And he was gone again.

New mantra. Thinking about putting it on my shirt for the Pig.

You be strong woman! Continue!

A new route, a milestone, and dog poop (again with the dogs)

I set out on a new running route today. I never do that. I run the same roads every single time I run. Most of the time I run alone, so running familiar routes is a comfort to me. I know the houses. I know the dogs. (There are two on the backside of my 8-mile loop who chase me every Sunday on my long run, but they are behind an electric fence.) And apparently some of the people know me--I once got passed by a woman out on a beach cruiser who struck up a conversation with me about how much I was running because she'd watched me lose 20 pounds over the course of several months passing by her house on my runs.

Today on my 14 miler, I ran out into the countryside onto the sixteen-mile loop that is part of my bike route. Hills. I haven't found out too much about the Flying Pig, but people tell me that I need to be running hills. Perhaps not the wisest choice today--I haven't run 14 miles in five years. I've been sick for the last week and a half. And I was tacking two miles onto my previous long run, so it promised to be a tough day out there anyway.

The thing about this route, though, is that I know where the dogs are because they've chased me on my bike a million times. I talked with my husband about it before I left the house, and he said that he hadn't seen any dogs in the house I was most worried about in quite some time. Comforting. Last time I'd been by there on a bike, no fewer than four dogs had chased me down. My husband said that he seldom gets chased on the run like he does on a bike. Hmmmm. Okay. I'd give it a whirl.

So this house is about five miles into the run. And you get to the top of a roller just before you get to the edge of the property. Then you're faced with about a third of a mile of barnyard and junkyard-like paraphernalia to deal with. If the dogs are there, they are usually pretty well-hidden, but they are never chained or collared. And by the time I got there today, I had repeated my husband's words about not having seen dogs there several times in my head like a mantra to calm me. Still, I was wound up.

I tried to run as stealthily as I could, and I was about halfway past the house when I started to think my husband might have been right. Maybe these folks had gotten rid of their dogs. Phew. What a relief. Shuffle, shuffle....shit. Yep. Right next to the mailbox. Two amazing piles of dog poop. I mean, these piles were so huge that I wasn't sure that Clifford himself hadn't been there. My heart rate skyrocketed, but I shuffled on. Evidence. No dogs today. But the signs are clearly there.

Miles four through eight were the hills. I was gassed when I was done with them, and I still had another six to go. I finished, though. I wrapped up the run at exactly fourteen miles, and I was exhilarated and discouraged. Exhilarated because I hit the 14 mile milestone again. I haven't been that distance since the marathon of Ironman Wisconsin in 2007. Discouraged because my mile pace was a full minute slower than the 12 miler I'd done a couple of weeks earlier. Also discouraged because I felt like crap when I finished. Seriously. I got in the shower and couldn't stand still because my hammies were screaming so loudly. I went through that mental space where the marathon seems ridiculous. If 14 feels this bad, then how the heck am I supposed to get back to 26.2? And I'm looking at a 5+ hour marathon time, and that's something I've got to get in the right head space about before I toe the line in May.

All part of the process. And there's no point to committing to a marathon if I'm not going to appreciate the process.

100 miles down...14 miler coming...and rich dogs...

So I discovered something yesterday while running. I got to run out of a park that I normally don't get to run from, and I headed from there up a tree-lined street into what I'm pretty sure would be a gated community if we had such things in the area where I live. The houses up there are amazing--well-manicured lawns, wide streets, views of other well-manicured lawns, circular drives, and street lights appropriately placed every so often so as to highlight the well-manicured lawns. There is only one road in and out of the subdivision, and that road leads to a circle of 1.1 miles through the subdivision looping back to the entry road. I'm not going to lie, it was pretty sweet. There wasn't a person to be seen on the entire run, and I kept thinking to myself, "These folks should get used to seeing me because if they aren't going to use these beautiful streets, I sure as heck am." Whoever those folks are. I didn't see a soul. But here's the thing I discovered--rich dogs are annoying, too.

I planned to run about 3.59 miles yesterday. Okay, at least 3.59 miles yesterday. I had exactly that much to hit 100 miles for the year. The road from the park up to the loop was .65 miles. And I went around the 1.1 mile loop once admiring the houses and thinking about how peaceful it was to be in this beautiful area of town. What I didn't realize was that while I was doing my first one-mile loop, the homeowners were all coming home from work and letting their dogs out.

So I headed out for loop 2, and I met my first two furry friends. Yip dogs. No sweat. A few houses on from there, and there was a black lab-type friend and some other muttly looking guy. And the parade continued. What had been a peaceful neighborhood only minutes before erupted in wild barking for the extent of my second loop around. Eight dogs came out from four different houses in a 1.1 mile stretch. And still, not a person in sight. I thought the barking would bring someone out, but nope. Pretty much the same as in the country. When I run past someone's property and their dog goes on the offensive barking and such, no one seems to take note. Not something I really understand. If my dogs go after someone/something, I go after them... and then apologize profusely and explain that they are geriatric and can't hear and don't really have teeth anymore. No one bit, though. So that was a good thing.

Tomorrow is a 14 mile run. I was going to do it Sunday, but the weather is rolling in. Tomorrow's high: 60. Sunday's high: 37. Hmmmm, tough call. 14 miles is enough to reassure myself of my badassness (giggles out loud), so I don't feel the need to add in challenging weather if I can avoid it. The journey to the Flying Pig continues.

A Valentine's Day Things I Love About Running List

I took a cough-free three mile run tonight, and I was grateful for it. I hacked up a lung when I got home, but I had a great three miler while I was out there, and I was formulating my top five things I love about running in my head. I don't think these are actually my top five. But these are the top five that came to mind. 

5. Snot rockets. Seriously. In no other area of my life, can I just stick my finger to the side of my nose and blow and just keep right on running. Bodily functions don't really fascinate me in the way they do a lot of people, but there's something just so freeing about blowing your nose tissue-free. And when a car swipes too close, well, let's just say it's good to have something in the arsenal. 

4. Gear. Running can be as gearful or gearless as you want it to be.  Sometimes, I kinda dig the gear. I have every version of water bottle available to fit in every hydration belt or camelback out there, and yet I still manage to find more versions to try. I'm a few years behind in my GPS technology, but I have two different versions of GPS watch and at least one GPS-equipped cell phone. I can find the perfect long-sleeved, short-sleeved, or no-sleeved shirt for any sweating occasion. And the shoes. Oh, the shoes! 

3. Not having to have gear. While I have all the stuff, I don't always like to use it. And that's the beauty of running. A pair of shoes, socks, shorts, and a sports bra, and I'm out the door. Any of those four pieces is missing, though, and it's run interrupted.

2. Having a secret running life. It's not always easy to compartmentalize, but I love going out and running a solid long run on Sunday and then heading into work on Monday knowing that I'm doing something most people don't know I do or probably don't think I could do. And if something at work is driving me insane, I get to go work it out on a run. Now that I think about it, the folks  at work may have caught on by now; I tend to use a lot of running metaphors. 

1. My crazy-gene-sharing, number one favorite "thing" about running is Jen.There's a great fellowship in running because runners all have to share the same crazy gene.  Most of my favorite running stories involve Jen or Jen's family. If you don't have a Jen, you should get one. 

This one's for you, Sherry Arnold...

It's been a tough week. Bronchitis. Sinusitis. A steroid shot (WOOT!). Antibiotics. Prescription cough suppressants. I had a decent twelve-mile run last Sunday (albeit slightly painful from some rather awkward chafing), and that has been it for running miles this week. (The irony of my last post is not lost on me. There are times when toughing it out, though, is dumber than hitting the couch.) So I did the 12 mile to couch training program for the week.

This morning was the virtual run for Sherry Arnold, so I layered up, put on my race belt in Sherry's honor, and headed out the door. It was the coldest day of the winter here so far (at least in my memory).  And I'd like to write about this run with some level of clarity, but I just don't have it. I kept thinking about how uncomfortable I was. Several times, I doubled over next to the road to cough. I couldn't quite figure out the right combination of layers for my head. My sunglasses kept fogging up. My feet were numb. I just couldn't get it together. But I ran.

And then I got to come back home. And that's the one thing that struck me on this run. I got to come back home. Sherry Arnold didn't. So while it wasn't the run that I thought I'd be having today, this run was for you, Sherry.

Even when the crap piles up...

Or maybe because the crap piles up? It was a crap week at work for me. People didn't show up. People didn't do their jobs when they did show up. Kids did what kids do and threw curve balls at us all, and it felt like we swung and missed more often than not. The kid thing is the nature of teaching at a middle school. Kids are supposed to try to outwit, outlast, and outplay us--even to their own detriment. The "People" deal should not be the nature of middle school, and it frankly sucked. If you are a teacher, you know what I mean when I say that sometimes all you want to do is freaking teach, for crying out loud. A friend gave me a mantra for the week, "Step over the crap, not in it." I should have said it more often.

But my goal for the week was to run my Tuesday/Thursday runs no matter what. I come up with excuses for why one run or the other doesn't happen every week. Lame. Every Tuesday, I have a meeting after school, so I get home late. Every Thursday, I sponsor the knitting club at school, so I get home late. Switch the runs to Monday/Wednesday, you say? Oh, every Wednesday I have a faculty meeting after school, so I get home late. And Monday is a recovery day from long run Sunday. These aren't even the excuses I come up with. This is just my actual schedule.

I won't go into the actual excuses. They really are lame. My point here (and I do have one) is sometimes when the crap piles up, the best thing to do is to run. No matter what. Raining? F it. Dark out? F it. Don't feel like it? F it. Put your effing shoes on and get out the door. (Somehow, pseudo swearing motivates me. I'd actually swear, but I'm trying to keep my two-year-old daughter from producing the words I actually say in my head all the time. I don't abbreviate in my head.)

To make what should have been a short story longer, I ran the Tuesday run just fine. Got to Thursday, and I was fired up because I didn't have child responsibilities, so I thought I was going to get to run down by school instead of having to do my usual route at home. Got into the bathroom at school to change after knit club and discovered I had not packed my sports bra. Disaster. Jumped into the car, drove home, snuck into the house so as not to alert our geriatric dogs to my presence so that they wouldn't go ape-scheisse over me being home and leaving them again, slipped on my sports bra and shorts and snuck back out the door undetected. Got back in the truck and drove to the local park with a 2 mile trail. Laced up. Hit the trail. Misery.

I was having one of those runs where you feel obligated to run because: a) you promised yourself you would get in your Thursday run no matter what. b) the weather is ridiculously nice (no global warming? what the hell is wrong with these people? but I'll take it.), so you have to run because it would be a sin not to. c) the husband is not going to get to run, so you have to run so that you don't feel guilty for preventing him from running.d)I'm sure there's a d. But there's a Bell's Porter in me at this point, and I fear I'm just rambling. Crap.

Long story short, no joy. Ran 2 to fill the obligation. Headed home. I know, though, that even when the crap piles up, I should be stepping over it. Not in it. Even on a crappy two-mile run. And sometimes running to fill the obligation is as important as running because you enjoy running. (And sometimes a Bell's Porter is a great thing to drink before posting on a blog and sometimes not.)

Running 12 tomorrow. Crap or not.

A Virtual Run for Sherry Arnold

Shut Up and Run's Original Message

Please see the above. Sherry's cousin says it all much better than I could.

Eyes up...

When I was working at a horse farm for a  year (don't ask), I learned one thing about riding horses. Only one thing. You have to look where you want them to go. I have no idea why this works, but it works. The rider is sitting on the back of the horse, and they train their eyes on an object, and somehow the horse (who clearly must have eyes in the back of his head) knows where it is to go. Of course, there are some other physical things involved with getting the horse to go where you want it to go, but if I heard my equine-oriented friends say it once, I heard them say it a thousand times, "Eyes up! Look where you want him to go."

So I ran eyes up today. 11.51 miles. 2:12.45. And I'm a jackass for not running an extra .11 because that would have put my overall mileage at 70 for the month of January. But that's beside the point. (I'm running 3 on Tuesday, the 31st, that will put me over the edge). The point is that I ran eyes up today.

I tend to look down when I run. I'm guessing that if you saw me moving alongside the road, you might even call me a jogger, although you would likely have no idea how just how offensive that term is to me. I don't have a beautiful stride. My knees don't come up. My heels don't kick back and up. My shoulders aren't back. My arms don't swing the way they probably should. I don't look like any sort of an animal that you'd associated with running. When I run, and I don't see my reflection in the glass or my shadow on the ground, I feel perfect. I feel fast and light and amazing. But if I look at my reflection, I see all the imperfections (and can almost forgive someone for thinking I'm out for a "jog" since most of the world doesn't understand that running is as much a mentality as it is a physical event).

But today, I left the house and decided to look up. I kept my eyes on the horizon for the entire run. One  drawback to this. I like to give cars the ole three-finger, "What's up?" wave when I'm running. I do this largely to get them to make eye contact with me in the hopes that if they make eye contact with me, they won't hit me. It usually works. But running eyes up meant that I couldn't look down at every car that passed.

A positive? It meant that I wasn't looking down to see my shadow so that my uber-critical inner voice could harass me for my running form. I don't know. I'm thinking that if I want to correct my form, I need to start by making some small changes. I strongly doubt I'm ever going to run Kenyan (and I mean that in the most respectful, "Man, if anyone ever told me that I run Kenyan, it would be better than someone telling me that I look like a supermodel" kind of a way. But I did notice when I ran with my eyes up that it kept me much more oriented on where I was heading than dwelling on every ache and pain I was having in that moment.

Maybe the horses know something I don't.

Do you know Sherry Arnold?

If you don't, you should.

She was a teacher. A mother. A runner.

She set out from her house on an early January Saturday morning at 6:30 in Sidney, Montana to do her routine run, and she didn't come back home. They found one of her running shoes.

The FBI arrested two men for aggravated kidnapping, and they believe that she is dead and have asked farmers to search their fields for her body.

I am angry. Surprisingly few stories make me feel sick to my stomach, but this one hits so close to home. Saturday morning run. A mom. A teacher. A runner.

I look over my shoulder when I run now. I don't know what I expect to see, but on the two-mile stretch of country road on my routine route, I run a little scared. I wonder if the feeling will pass. I wonder if it should.

I ran past a couple of guys standing in a driveway chatting the other night. They looked a little rough around the edges, I judged. (Yes, I judged. Because when you are scared, you sometimes make snap judgements.) And I wondered whether I would be better off greeting them or acting like I hadn't seen them. Would it make a difference?

Put on a pair of shoes and walk out the door. Sure, you can get all geared up (trust me, I have the gear), but the beauty of it is that you don't have to. And I, a woman, someone, anyone really should be able to walk out the door and run without having to even think about running scared.

I don't know how to think about this. When I run, though, I don't want to think about this. That's the point of running. And perhaps the best way to remember Sherry Arnold is to keep on running.

1:43...9 miles. 40:something...4 miles.

It's been a decent running  week. My goals for training for the Flying Pig largely involve consistency. So I give myself five stars for a week if I manage to get in two runs during the week and then a Saturday and Sunday run. This week was a four star week--one run during the week and then the Saturday and Sunday runs happened. One of the hardest parts about starting a marathon training program post-baby is recognizing that having a two-year-old baby means that you have to make choices between training and family time, and family time is often going to win.

4 miler--Jessie Beam Frozen Four Mile
We entered a benefit race on Saturday morning for a student who had a serious infection this fall, and the money from the run was going to benefit the family. It was supposed to start at 9:34, but we had a snow fall on Friday that actually caused the course and park to be too frozen for the run. Irony. The race started at 1:30.

For me, it was a decent run for where I am right now. Something like 10:12 average for the run. I was cold. It was on gravel paths. I started out a little fast, so my third mile was my slowest. Low point? The finish. Some chick decided to step in front of me right when we were crossing the finish line. Okay, let's take a moment here. First, it's a benefit race, and I was placing 123rd overall, so neither she nor I were going to take home any hardware. Second, I'm not actually sure that she stepped in front of me, but the guy at the finish line said that she did. I'm too stinking competitive, really. A) She's a jackass for pulling that nonsense at the finish line and b) I look like a jackass if I complain about it because if it really doesn't matter, then why should I care?

Sunday long run...9 miles
We are all sick. Ruby started on Thursday. Kevin started on Friday night. I started on Saturday. Saturday night was misery for us all. Ruby was up for most of the night because when she wasn't up, she was coughing. And when she coughed, she ended up nearly vomiting or vomiting because her cough was so strong. So by Sunday morning, I think I had had about four hours of sleep. Kevin was on the couch coughing. I just wanted to curl up in bed. But, as I told Kevin, when you've committed to a marathon, you don't get the luxury of skipping a long run. So I strapped on the shoes and headed out the door.

There isn't really much of consequence to report other than that I covered the distance. This week's head game was to count to 1,000 steps (yes, you read that correctly) and then take a one-minute walk break to fuel up with water or gel. That worked really well up until about mile 7 and then I started to feel run down and took breaks after 500 steps.

I must not have been in really awful shape at the end of the run because I was able to do the math (amazing how the ability to do math has become my fatigue gauge over the years) and figured out that if I hold that pace (11:24) for the marathon, I'm looking at a five-hour marathon. My PR for the marathon is 4:31, and my PW is probably in the 5:25 range if you don't consider the times on my Ironman marathons (I have no clue what those were right now). I'd rather be in the 4:45 range. I've got to get my pace down to at least an 11 minute mile to do that. I ran a 2:29:20 half marathon in October. Hmmm. Maybe, for right now, I should say I'm shooting for sub-5.

Now, where's that cold medicine?