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?

55 in January...pretty sweet

Ran 8 miles today. It's the end of the first week of marathon training for the Flying Pig full marathon in Cincinnati at the beginning of May. I'm slow as hell. But I'm in hella better shape then when I re-started my running career last June in prep for the Indianapolis half-marathon in October. So that's good news.

I haven't done much (any) writing in nearly two years on this blog. I haven't done much racing. I've done much other stuff. But I've missed here. I've really missed running. As cliched as it may sound, it is who I am. I am a runner.

Today's run was one of those days when I get a half mile down the road and realize it isn't going to be slow, it isn't going to be fast, it isn't going to feel bad, it isn't going to feel good, and the wheels aren't going to fall off the bus. It's just a run. So it's funny that a run of such little excitement merits my first post in two years. I'm shifting the focus of this blog, though, to be solely on running and training.

New shoes coming. And they are pink. That's about it.

Two days of running...a different world...

It will be such a long, long road back, but I'm happy to be on it. Yesterday, I ran for the second time since the baby was born, and while it was a little bit longer (and a lot colder) than two days earlier, it's hard to quiet those voices in my head saying that these runs used to not even qualify as my warm-ups. But then, yesterday, I quieted the voices by realizing that I have everything I want right now. And to be able to run and jump on my trainer and get in the pool...well, everyone loves a comeback.

So it begins. With a Wii workout or two. A few short runs. And building to consistency again.

Yesterday's run was only 23 minutes long... about 1.8 miles or so. Slow. But consistent. And today the calorie-watching starts. And maybe a race by the end of the summer. We'll see. But it is good to be back on the road.

A strange bit of news...

Just over a year ago, my house in Versailles was broken into and vandalized, and about $4,500 in material goods were stolen out of the home. It was rough because that house has been nothing but a constant reminder of a year of my life I'd rather have done differently (save for the few good friends I made out of that disastrous job decision). 

So last year at this time, I was sitting in my little farmhouse miles away from the Versailles house hyperventilating over the outrageous cost of homeowner's insurance following the break-in ($500 for three months). I was literally shedding tears over my grandfather's stolen tools; I was kicking myself for being such a poor steward of something that meant so much to me. I was not sleeping well as periodically panic attacks would hit me over whether or not someone was going back to the house to do more of the same. 

The guys who broke into the house were both caught, and we have gotten all but $130 of the restitution from the kid who was ordered to pay $500. We got a letter in mid-November saying that the kid who was charged as an adult was ordered to pay $4200.  But we hadn't seen any of that money. So I called the probation folks today to ask what was going on, and I spoke to a very nice woman with a very thick accent. She asked me for his name. His indictment number. Then there was a pause.

"He passed away."

"I'm sorry. Do you mean he died?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You're serious."

"Yes, ma'am."

What a strange bit of news.

I called a friend from Versailles and told her the news, and she asked me how he died. When had he died? It hadn't occurred to me to ask.

So I went online, and I looked it up. December 3rd--one month after his sentencing in my case. He was driving. And drinking. And he lost control of his car and hit a tree. They had to use the jaws of life to pry both him and his passenger from the vehicle. They airlifted them to the hospital. They both died. 

I read through the comments people made on his funeral page--everyone said he was very well-raised. He was very respectful. He was very caring about other people. People wrote about how well-mannered he was. He had a two-year-old daughter. And apparently, some girl named Lizzie was falling in love with him and wanted to declare her love publicly at his death. 

It presented a stark contrast to what I knew of him. I knew what he did to my house (spray-painted penises all over the walls and refrigerator, burned the carpets, stole my furniture and personal belongings). I also knew that when he was supposed to be appearing in court for his case in regards to my house, he couldn't make it because he was in another jail for having stolen dog food from a store. And he died a violent, drunken death (and took with him one of his friends) on a road where I used to regularly ride my bike.  

I'm trying to reconcile the whole thing in my head. We still have this house for sale, so I can't say that this brings any sort of closure. We are clearly out all the money that we lost, and we can't recuperate it as a tax deduction--he didn't do quite enough damage for us to be able to claim it as a loss. I'll never get to find out where my grandfather's tools ended up (I was planning to speak to his probation officer today to ask him if he might be able to ask about them). I don't feel as if he ever actually had to make amends for all the damages he did. 

And it's sad that his family lost him.

But I have to say that I also had this reaction of, "Well, that's karma." And I don't mean that in an off-the-cuff kind of a way. I mean it in a sincere, when-you-do-too-many-bad-things-the-world-will-spit-back kind of a way. It's hard for me to comprehend that a 20-year old could have done so much badly in such a short life span. But I only knew of him for a year of his life, and I didn't even know all that much of him. But I know that he managed to cause a lot of damage to a person he didn't even know. 

I don't know how to end this writing. So I'll just end it here.

Day 18--January 18--Nirvana

Everything came together today. I wanted to do a long run, and after the weather of the last three or four days, anything about thirty degrees outside was a gift. So when I woke up to overcast skies, a slight wind, and temperatures in the 30s, I thought it might be a perfect day for a run. I set out to do what has now become the loop--a 7.67 mile run from our house and, as the name implies, back to our house in a circular route. I haven't run this distance since early December. In fact, the closest I've come to it was last weekend when I ran four. (Was that last week?) So I wasn't planning to break any speed records. Just wanted to cover the distance. 

I play a lot of mental games on long runs. One, when I know I'm not in shape to cover the whole distance running is to plan out when my walk breaks will happen. For the first three miles, it was run a mile, walk a minute, then finish out the mile in which I had walked. Repeat. At four miles, the mental game switched over to being musical. Run through two songs, walk for a minute, then run through two songs. For a while, I was walking the first minute of a 10 minute block. Then running four. Then walking one, then running four. That didn't last long, but I kind of liked that one. I also did the mental game of walking the first minute of a song, then running through to the end of the song. And I ended the run by counting telephone poles--run three poles, then walk to the next one. That was the last half mile or so. My legs were done at 6.6 miles, so I had to tough it out for the last mile. 

But it felt awesome. I was running through all kinds of agendas in my head. Teaching: Figuring out what to do with the kids this week in reading as we are starting our new program. Figuring out what to do with the kids while I'm away in Phoenix. Running: To run the marathon or not? How did I ever not like running? Baby: Heading to Nashville tomorrow. Wonder what will happen next. I bet if I sign up for a marathon, we'll get pregnant. All that and more. Oh, and I composed a message to the person who beaned me in the head with the soda can back in August. In my mind. I guess I'm still angry. 

When I got home, I crashed on my front lawn. Just laid myself out on the grass right by the road and cooled off. Thought about how much I love running when it goes like this. How much I love living here in this house, on this route. How much I love my husband and this life we are building together. Just one of those feel-good run days, which, after the last few days of just toughing it out, I really needed. 

January 13--Day 13

The weather has become bitterly cold here. Okay, not bitterly cold. But everyone always says "cold" and "bitterly" together, so I thought I might as well join the crew. I'd say it's more like just cold. So the key to keeping up running when it is cold is to not ever stop. From the moment I get out of my truck coming home from school to walking in the door to putting on running clothes to heading back out again to run... don't stop. You probably thought I meant something about not stopping while on a run. Nope. Once you're running, that's the easy part. It's getting out to run that's hard. So don't stop. Get dressed. Go. Don't think twice.

Why?

Because if you think twice about it, your mind starts to take over and it starts thinking that going from a perfectly warm place to a perfectly cold place is just perfectly stupid. It starts thinking things like, "I can run later. No big deal." It starts rationalizing. And running in cold weather isn't remotely rational. It just isn't. 

So on day 13, I went into auto pilot. Went for a run (longer than my normal during the week runs), and had only muscle spasms in my back put a stop to the insanity. But I have thirteen days under my belt and 18 to go. 

Day 9--A running streak

Turns out I'm not eligible for membership in the United States Running Streak Association until after a full year of being on a streak. Well, at least not eligible to be listed on their website as having held a streak for more than a year. This inspired me to consider extending my streak. But then I thought, "Well, you almost didn't make it past day 7." So I'm thinking I might be better off just sticking with the "31 runs in 31 days" goal for now and then re-evaluating at the end of the month. This would give me a natural place to end (or to begin a new streak). 

It continues. Day 9. 

Day 8--it's been a rough week

time: 11:15

distance: 1.1 miles

It's been a rough week. My aide was out of class today, and I'm wiped. The kids were great, but it doesn't matter... no matter how great they are, it's tough to stay patient all day long when there's no one else there to help sort and filter through the kids' 1000 questions. 

So runs have been rough, as well. Short. And I've been whiny. But I've been doing them. Last night I came close to staying home, but I committed to 31 days of running. And last night was... well, I had a headlamp on and was running up our road in the cold of the night thinking, "Fuck. I hate this." But there's also something to be said about doing something no matter what. No matter what.