Saturday, October 24, 2009

My First 10K

The ends of my second toes feel like someone has scraped them away with an emery board, and the bunion on my right foot, generously passed down from Grandma Rop, pulsates. Did I mention the slight cramping that's manifesting in my left calf? But it's alright because these are my battle scars, earned proudly from my first 10K run.

The day began with positive vibe. As soon as my feet hit the floor I sprang into action.  Rob and I promptly got dressed in our windy weather gear, pinned our bibs to our shorts, and looped the orange timer tab through our shoelaces. Out the door at 8:40am, we headed to the car with water bottles, iPods, and peanut butter granola bars in tow. Zoom, zoom, zoom we drove, heading to the slightly far away town of Belding, a place I'd hardly been to except for occasional trips to Pando's and a rare dinner at Bostwick Lake Inn.  The Welcome to Belding sign appeared and a faint ripple of nervousness zipped through my body. The 10K was slotted to start at 9:45.

Once parked and out of the car I realized just how chilly it was. The wind whipped around from all sides and there was a nip in the air that bit through my windbreaker. I jumped around half-heartedly trying to warm-up while also wondering what the hell I'd signed up for. But looking around, I saw women wearing shorts and t-shirts (gasp!) and felt I fared better than them...in regards to clothing anyway. Rob and I milled around killing time, alternating between sitting in the massive tent (so warm and toasty) and pacing the outer area (so cold and windy). It's ok, I thought, we'll be running soon. I'll warm-up in no time.

Well, "no time" became "more time" as we discovered that the 10K kickoff had been pushed back to 10:30. Something to do with only having one clock and needing to wait for the final finishers of the 5K walk. Still no problem. I happily thought, I'm here with my best friend and we'll kill time together. So we sat inside the warm tent, my legs tucked snugly between Rob's knees and waited it out.

Finally, 10:20 rolls around and Rob and I head to the start line, braving the biting wind. Once in line we perform more jumping jacks and squats in an effort to keep warm. My watch reads 10:30 and there seems to be no sign of starting. My motivation wanes with each passing minute. Unfortunately, I was stuck way the hell out in Belding and have no choice but to do this. My watch then reads 10:33, 10:34...
Finally the man in charge of the race starts talking. I can't hear because my iPod has been on for the last ten minutes, replaying Erasure's "A Little Respect", the song I chose for my warm-up. Too bad I've heard it five times now and am totally sick of it. The man keeps talking, something about waiting for the straggling 5k walkers. The 10K group looks to their left to view these turtles and some yell out for them to hurry up. I groan inwardly as I see no move on their parts to speed up their walk. 10:35.....

Suddenly people are moving; we're starting! Crap! I take off slow, reiterating to Rob that I have zero intentions of completing this in a certain time and if he needs to speed up and let me go, it's fine. Of course, I knew he'd stick by me, even at my snail's pace, because that's just the man he is. But nevertheless, I wanted him to have the option to leave me in his dust. With Erasure finally transitioning to some hyper country (thank you Sugarland!), we're off.

Completing miles 1 and 2 was fine, but right before finishing Mile 3,  I started to feel discouraged and really wanted to walk. "I'm walking at the Mile 3 marker", I loudly inform Rob (whose jogging so slowly it looks like he's in slow motion) but as soon as it approaches I change my mind. By now, my headband that warmed my ears has been ripped off (placed securely in Rob's pocket) and shortly after I remove my windbreaker, exposing my bare arms to the chilly elements. He holds my jacket, too, and I immediately flash back to the time last summer that he accompanied me to a used book sale at the library, chivalrously carrying all of my purchases, allowing me to pile books in his arms one on top of another. I smile in amazement. How did I get so lucky? But then the moment is gone and I'm right back on a country road in Belmont trying desperately to make it to the mile 4 marker. It's around here that I walk for the first time (not counting two brief slow-downs to drink water) and I'm proud of myself for not caring that I'm walking. There was no internal name-calling or badmouthing, just a little regrouping before picking up the jog again. I passed a pretty red tree and as I ran beneath it, following closely behind Rob who's breaking my wind, I took a quick second to appreciate the autumn tree, the handsome man in front of me, and the fact that my jelly-like legs were still moving. But, like my sweet reverie of the library book sale, the moment is gone in a flash as I glimpse an upcoming hill. Crap. Now, where the hell is Mile 5? 


It's up this hill that I experience a complete ebb and flow to my energy level. I pick up the pace and start passing people. It feels good until I realize my stupidity: why am I speeding up on a hill? Then I'm completely out of breath and have to walk; I watch the women I just passed now pass me. I feel like an idiot. Rob is up ahead, and I wave him on on in an attempt to say "Screw this. I'm done. You go and finish. I'm going to mosey on in." He shakes his head, telling me silently that is not an option. And the dichotomy I'm feeling kicks in again and I run. I catch up to Rob, all the while cursing under my breath that this is the last fucking time I'm doing this and where the fuck is Mile 6 and what is with this fucking wind? The cursing feels good, an outlet I need. I see Rob smirk at all my bitching because he knows  that fucking Mile 6 is right up the bend and then it's a short homestretch to the finish line.

Then I hear  those magic words, "We just passed Mile 6, baby, only .2 miles to go! Finish strong...keep it up!" and I am cursing and muttering under my breath while wanting so badly to collapse. Fuck, fuck, fuck! The swearing stampede continues, spurring me on to finish. Then Rob's voice: "Now there's only .1 to go....you're doing great!" I am simultaneously moaning and sputtering my obscenities. Suddenly the Finish line is in sight. Before the race, Rob had made it very clear that I was to run in first. So I yell, "Stay back! I'm goin' in first!" and he smiles. I try my best to fly past him and then make one last effort to pass some chic that's about to get in before me. Oh no she doesn't!!! I see the clock at 1:06 and quickly pass underneath the banner. Rob is on my heels, reminding me to keep walking because he knows I just want to lay down and die.

Five minutes later we're standing in line, waiting for food. My breath is back to normal and Rob has his arms around me saying how proud he is. I again tell him I will never do this again. "Yes, you will", he says confidently.

And, like usual, he will probably be right.

Friday, October 23, 2009

For The Man Who Gives...

With winter weather approaching, I took stock today of my running gear: several wicking t-shirts and a pair of black Patagonia tights, my fuzzy, fleece headband and new pink windbreaker, my new water-resistant pants and 10K race shirt--just to name a few. All of this stuff (and more) I've collected during the last year or so of running. And today I added another piece: my brand-spankin' new Nike+ SportBand, a gift from my amazing boyfriend, Rob. It does all sorts of high-techy stuff like track calories, mileage, and pace. I can sync it to the computer and set goals for myself and track my runs. Totally cool! And as I hold this latest running gadget I look around my bedroom and realize just how much of my collection came from Rob.

Of course, working at Gazelle Sports helps, but everywhere I look I spot a little something from him: my green iPod Nano that was my first Valentine's gift, the grey Timex watch that I often misplace and fret, fret, fret over until it reveals itself in its latest hiding spot, my green Nalgene bottle that accompanies me everywhere, and now the newest addition, my pink SportBand watch.  All of these things were gifts to me at one time or another as a way of Rob showing me he's cheering me on. And as I look around the beautiful mess I've made in my bedroom of running gear and miscellaneous gadgets, I thank my boyfriend for supporting me, not only with material things, but with heart and soul every day for the last eighteen months.


Monday, October 19, 2009

The 10K Looms

This Saturday I'm slotted to run my first 10K. Once completed, I'll have three races under my belt. I must be determined because not only is it on a sacred Saturday morning (sleeping in has been penciled in on my to-do list since September), but it's way the hell out in Belding! Getting up AND driving a half hour to location? Crazy! But in honor of my last 5K I've decided to create a reminder list for myself on race day, a few things I learned last time around.

1. Drink coffee, yes, but allow adequate time for....release.
2. Switch up iPod to break routine.
3. Hills: pump knees and elbows higher on the way up; let gravity take me down.
4. Start slow. And stay that way if need be.
5. Don't be afraid to walk but try really hard not to.
6. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches are my friend if eaten way ahead of time.
7. Four mile mantra: I will not crap my pants, I will not crap my pants. (This connects to #1)
9. Pass people toward the end. It feels good.
10. Check out the fall colors and stay in the moment. This is fun for crap's sake!

Friday, October 2, 2009

The Teacher Runs

I've been an absent blogger. I know. Not because I haven't been running, but rather due to the new "baby" in my life: teaching. I'm finding it tricky to balance the things I know are good for me with the time I need to simply plan one day--let alone an entire week. Everything has been day-by-day and I am perpetually exhausted so running has taken a slight backseat. However, I did join a 10k running group and I'm running greater distances than I ever though I could do.

The group meets twice a week and it's HIGHLY challenging to make it both nights. I never thought teaching would take up so much of my free time. But, I have been making it to at least one session, if not both. I remind myself that the running group is a gift to myself, an insurance plan that will ensure I set aside some me-time, which is much needed after taking care of everyone else's needs all day.

The Tuesday group focuses on speed training, which is my least favorite thing in the world. The term "tempo runs" pretty much means "run harder than normal for a shorter distance and feel like a loser." But I did it. I picked up the speed after the half mile warm-up and maintained for 2.5 miles. I felt the difference compared to an easy run. I used to laugh at "easy run". What the hell is that? But now that I'm more in control of my breathing, the "easy" runs have become such...for the most part.

Rob has been a big help in that he semi-regularly drags my ass to Siedman Park for a 4 mile trail run. I've gone a few times now and credit those runs to increasing my lung capacity and endurance. Never mind that I broke down and cried around mile 2 a few weeks ago.

But the highlight of everything came last week when I ran my first 4 miler. I finally experienced that elusive runner's high, that thing that every "real" runner talks about, in which I always thought they were nuts. But this run was different. My breath was even, my arms, hands, and shoulders were loose, and I didn't even stop at the halfway point for water. Usually I look for any reason to stop. It was like an out-of-body experience. And last night, well, I was a rock star. I ran my first full 5 miler while suffering from a cold--slight fever, sniffles, etc. It was Day 3 of the cold and I was tired of it controlling my activities. So I ran. Unfortunately, I felt clammy and weak most of the run but the fact that I was doing something that often gets the best of me on a healthy day amazed me. Could I be turning a corner?


Tuesday, July 7, 2009

The short run that took forever

Today was hard.

I haven't run for nearly a week, not since last Tuesday's enjoyable outing, and I felt heavy, lethargic, and uninspired. What is the variable factor that allows one run to be so invigorating and another to be flat out miserable? I have two suggestions: fuel and heat.

The past week has been incredibly busy, what with my friend being in the hospital recovering from back surgery and my boyfriend's new nephew entering the world. My week was filled with errands, hospital visits, and waitressing. No time for anything but my to-do list. Early Saturday morning, Rob and I left for Indy to celebrate the 4th of July with friends so we certainly didn't work out that day. We intended to run Sunday morning but instead I sat around in my pj's, drinking coffee and eating smoothie samples. Run? Are you kidding me? Why ruin the morning?

So now it's Tuesday. I could delay this no longer. My 10k schedule called for a 2.5 mile run and I figured I'd take the same route as last week. But right from the beginning, I wasn't into it. First, the fuel I'd been putting in my body the past several days made me feel like dead weight. Burgers, brats, cookies, beer--if it was bad, I ate it. As if my own lethargy wasn't enough, the sun was out--that beautiful, glorious sun that we wait all winter to see. I just want it to hide behind a big, fat cloud for the hour I'm outside. It can come out after.

So I began today's run with two strikes already: low energy and heat. As I ran, I added another: my sore left ankle. It throbbed a bit but was more noticeable when I walked, which I did a few times. I just could not maintain the run. I was also missing my high that I felt last Tuesday. Was this really the same route I breezed through six days ago?

So yes, I struggled for the entire 2.5 and am simply glad it's over. My goal for the week is to get my energy back by refueling the body with better food. No more burgers, brats, chips, cookies (well...maybe cookies) for awhile. Bring on the grains and veggies! And maybe a sun visor while I'm at it....

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Enjoyment vs Speed

So I decided last night that I was going to run 2.5 miles today. But rather than run with any sort of pressure on myself, it was to be a "fun run" (as fun as I could make it anyway). What's no pressure? Well, for one, I didn't wear a watch. I have a nasty habit of checking time and groaning when it seems to move so slowly. I also repeated a route I'd already run with the group. If I ran it once, I could do it again, right? And finally, I wasn't running for any sort of time or speed; I wasn't trying to keep up with anyone. If it took me 45 minutes because I felt like walking up the big hills, so be it. This run was for me, not for my agenda. The result? The best run I've ever had, damn near enjoyable!

I started out relatively slow (no watch to tell me just how slow) and simply tried to be--a personal task that stumps me every day. I gave thanks for my two good legs and a healthy heart and patted myself on the back for even coming out. After feeling like a failure several times in the recent couple weeks it may have been easier to sit home and read. (I haven't yet touched on what happened to my fragile psyche when I flirted with the idea of training for a half marathon...) I gave myself landmarks to reach (a tip from the boyfriend) and told myself I could walk once I got there...if I wanted to. Turns out I never wanted to. I felt strong today, confident. It was the first time I've felt like this in two months of running.

Of course, being the teacher I am, I gave myself a couple goals to work on: one, watch my breathing. Try and keep it steady so at the end of the run, I wasn't wheezing like I was at the 5k finish line. Second, work on getting my heels higher. Without a mirror, it's entirely guesswork, but I aimed for it anyway. Third and final goal: enjoy myself. I'm happy to say I ended up running 3 miles and feeling relatively strong when I finished. My breathing was steady and, other than a slight discomfort in my left ankle, I felt great. Finally, I had a run that felt good, rather than something I got through.


Speed Training--Ouch!

In an effort to improve my lung capacity and endurance, I've researched the importance of speed training, a once-a-week workout that focuses on enhancing different running aspects (VO2 max, lactate threshold, basic speed). The prescribed workout yesterday seemed easy enough, as I read it from the comfort of my couch: go to a track, run an easy mile, then run 600 meters at a fast, uncomfortable speed, recover with a slow jog for 400 meters and repeat the 600 fast/400 recovery cycle five times. Then finish with a cool down jog of 1 mile. To me, it seemed easier that the 3.1 miles I'd run Saturday. Yeah right.

I got to the track and noticed it was muggier than I'd expected. Great. I've really come to dislike warm, sunny days in favor of cool, cloudy ones. Perhaps I should live in Seattle? Anyway, I began my warm up mile--four times around the track--and by lap two I was feeling tired and hot. I wasn't even into the speed workout part! So I ran/walked my lazy mile, eager to get to the real running. Never mind that the bunion on my right toe had been throbbing since breakfast. As I approached the end of my mile, I mentally prepared to really kick it for the next lap and a half, my first 600 meters at a fast pace. And so I ran...

I ran super fast! I pumped my arms and kicked up my heels; my quad muscles were working overtime; I RAN. About 200 meters. And then I just could not go anymore at that pace. 200 meters out of the prescribed 600?? I slowed down and jogged back to the starting line. My second try I'd get farther. And so I ran...

And again I only made it 200 meters. My disappointment was heavier than the humidity. I didn't get any farther. I jogged again to the starting line and did it again. And again. In the end I only did the uncomfortably fast pace for a max of 200 meters four times and said screw it to the cool down jog. I stretched half-heartedly and went home. So much for that being easier.

Why am I doing this?

I've always wanted to be a runner. Not only would running get (and keep) me in great shape, but I envied the runner's physique-- toned legs, a good butt--and their ability to eat a lot without gaining weight. I guess we could say vanity, and my love of food, fancied me to running. So a few years ago I set my sights on The Irish Jig, a local 5k set in the middle of March. At the time, I was a member of the YMCA and worked out religiously. I had strong muscles, a fast metabolism, not to mention a nice place to run in cold weather. I followed an eight week program using walk/run intervals and by March 17th I was ready to run my 3.1 miles. In fact, the week before, my boyfriend at the time ran the race course with me. I admit I struggled to keep up but my competitive nature wouldn't allow me to lose face in front of anyone. We finished the course and I nearly collapsed at the end. But...I finished. On race day, I made the amazing time of 27:02. My then-boyfriend was shocked.

After the race I stopped running. Without a specific goal to work toward, like that 5k, I didn't feel the urge to continue. I questioned how much I even liked running. But looking back, I'm wondering if it wasn't that I didn't like running so much as I didn't feel I was a natural. And being the perfectionist that I am, not being good at something right away makes me lose interest very quickly.

Jump forward two years: I have a new boyfriend, one who is not only naturally athletic but super supportive of my little attempts to be athletic as well. He's also aware that I haven't been too happy with my just-turned-35 physique (I can't just reign things in for a couple weeks anymore to fit into tight jeans?? What is this?!) and is my personal cheerleader for living a healthy, more active life. I mentioned that I'd like to try running again and last summer we went out together a couple times on this wicked trail he likes to run at Seidman Park. I gasped my way to the end the first time and the second try wasn't much better. I decided I definitely needed to practice running again if I was going to keep up with him. This past April for my birthday, he got me a subscription to Women's Health and paid my fee for a runner's group that ran eight weeks, with the ultimate goal to run the Reed's Lake 5k run.

Every Tuesday and Thursday night, without fail, I showed up to the group. We began by walking the first night and progressed to walk/run intervals. I found it interesting that just before this group, I'd been running occasional 1.5 to 2 miles, but suddenly an interval of run 8/walk 2 seemed really hard. What was up? I concluded that my competitive side was at work and, in the group, I was running slightly harder than I did on my own. I was often at the front of the pack and came to expect this of myself every week. Interestingly, I still did not feel like a runner. The group's leader complimented me every week, other members said I was fast, yet I still felt like an impostor. Did they not hear me wheezing and gasping? Could they not feel my heart beating out of control? Again, I came to the conclusion that in order to be a real runner, it had to be easy.

Race day arrived: Saturday, June 27, 2009. I made it through eight weeks of training and all the challenges that came with it, like the inability to sweat, therefore leaving my face red as a tomato and hot as a flame; the painful corns between my last two toes that never got a break because I waitress three nights a week; the bunion on my right toe that throbs without fail whenever I lace up; the realization that cotton t-shirts are not my friend. My friend Darcy and I planned to run this 5k together and we met up around 7am, excited over the palpable energy surrounding the race area. People everywhere--stretching, pinning their bibs, tightening their laces. All of these runners in one spot! Did they detect the little impostor in her bright green shorts, wearing a race watch and iPod (gifts provided by the rah-rah-rah! boyfriend)? I sure looked the part of a runner, that's half the battle, right? Besides, the night before I'd done some visualization: I imagined myself in those green shorts, running fluidly, kicking my heels up higher (another boyfriend tip) and running the race in a "negative split" (knowing the vocab makes me less of phony, yes?). I was READY!

Starting line: Darcy and I are waiting to begin. I get a surprise visit from my boyfriend who has a number pinned to his shirt and the orange computerized tag looped through his laces. "I came here to support you, baby!" and I simultaneously swoon and sweat. I was happy to share this with him, but worried that I'd disappoint. But, no time for those thoughts, it's 7:59 and we're about to start.

I felt fantastic the first two miles. I chatted with Darcy (something I don't generally do when running) and we passed many people. Around mile 2.5 I felt a slow gurgle in my lower abdomen, a slight cramping. I suddenly remembered the small cup of coffee I had with my toast and realized that the articles I had read about needing to use the "facilities" mid-race was happening to me. Why did I drink that coffee?? Crap, crap, crap, I thought. Literally. Just before mile 3 my boyfriend asks me how I'm doing (we had picked up speed by this point--following my "negative split" plan I was so intent on doing), "I'm ready for this to be OVER!" I sputtered out. Where was the strong finish I visualized the night before? I looked over at my beautiful friend Darcy who was barely breaking a sweat.

We came around the corner of the last stretch and I saw the big, red "FINISH" line banner down the road. We had one last cul-de-sac to run and my legs turned to jelly. Not only were my legs giving out, I was still terrified about the coffee's potential effect, not to mention the discomfort it was causing physically. "I can do this, I'm almost done, I'm not quitting"....my little mantras kept running through my head. As we rounded out the cul-de-sac, the Finish line was once again in sight, but it seemed SO far away! My plan the night before was, at this point, to really pick up the pace and fly to the end. Finish strong, I'd told myself. My boyfriend turns to me, "Ok, baby, pick up the pace...keep your strides long....you're doing great!" I wanted to kill him. "I'm going as FAST as I can!" I muttered angrily. Of course, I immediately felt guilty over snapping at him, the man who woke up at 6am to support me. It wasn't his fault I wasn't a real runner. But somehow I did manage to speed up slightly and ignore the lactic acid burning in my legs. "I can do it, I can do it..." My mantra continued. The banner was getting closer; I ran faster. My breath was short and shallow. Was I the only one wheezing?? By now the end was near and I sprinted as fast as I could. Finally, we crossed over and I was done.

It took me several minutes to catch my breath. I gulped my water and began to cool down. I could feel my disappointment rising as I recounted my not-so-strong finish. Once again, whatever I did just wasn't good enough. I was mad that my boyfriend and Darcy could have gone faster and longer and I was barely breathing the last half mile; I was pissed that I drank that coffee and had to run with the fear I was going to crap my pants; I was irritated that my negative split didn't go as smoothly as I'd planned. I looked around at all these runners and felt my phoniness creeping up. But then I noticed all the people spilling into the refreshment area after me. I had come in before all of them? Well, that had to count for something, not to mention I got my ass out of bed at 6am to run a race while most of the city slept. Just the fact that I did it mattered, right? As I passed a pop machine, I caught a glimpse of myself: green running shorts, wicking fabric tank, running shoes with an orange plastic tag looped through the laces. I did this. I ran a race. And I finished. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. Next race we'll beat today's time. I smiled because I knew there would be a next race. Maybe with a little practice I'll begin to feel like a runner, but for today, I'm good enough just trying.

Once home, I looked up my time. 29:29. Under 30 just like I'd hoped. Maybe I do better than I give myself credit for. And just maybe I am not a phony...