September 27, 2010

The Long Run

2% of 500 is 10… 2% of 510 is 10.20… 2% of 520.20 is…

Sometimes when I run, I compound interest.  Or I plan meals I’m going to cook for the week.  Or I imagine myself being interviewed on Oprah (most importantly, what outfit I will wear).  I do anything I can to keep my brain from doing this:

My hip hurts.  I’m bored.  This hill sucks.  Why am I doing this?  My toes feel squished.  My hip hurts.  I feel a little nauseous.  Am I getting nauseous?  It’s so hot out.  When can I stop?  How long have I been going?

To me, the hardest part about doing long runs is not the actual running.  Somewhere after 40 or 50 minutes, the pain/discomfort levels out.  The hardest part is keeping my mind off running.  For short runs, I can achieve a little running zen… feeling happy and content with just feeling myself run, feeling healthy and strong, listening to my breathing match my footsteps.  On short runs, I can problem solve.  For years, three mile runs have been my therapy, my brainstorming sessions, my best-idea-generators.  Long runs, runs where I’m out there silently pounding the pavement, are a whole different beast.

I completed my third half-marathon on Sunday.  The night before I didn’t feel particularly nervous this time – I knew we’d trained really well, including a super hilly 13 miles the weekend before.  I knew it would be hard – physically uncomfortable – and that we’d be out there for a really, really long time.

What I wasn’t anticipating though was the difference that a really small race makes, mentally.  My past two experiences have been huge races – the Virginia Beach Rock ‘n’ Roll Half and the Baltimore Under Armor Half.  Both had well over 10,000 people, spectators throughout the race, and courses that wound through interesting scenery and cities.

But OUR race had the Lowe’s Motor Speedway!  We were going to run on the Speedway!

Turns out after about 1 minute on the speedway, the “coooooool, I’m on the Speedway!” factors wears off.  Then it’s just another 17 minutes (I’m slow) of running a big, long, gerbil track.  And the Z-Max Dragway?  Running down an airport runway.  To add insult to injury, there were only about 150 other runners and no one on the course except a volunteer every half mile or so to point the way.

“What’s 2% of 100?  And 2% of 102?”

I was digging deep to keep my mind busy.  Lauren and I paced together for the first 9 miles, and we tried hard to steer the conversation away from the crappy course.  After nearly 8 months of training runs together, we’ve covered pretty much every topic of conversation but we were both struggling to keep each other going on this one.  Around 9, Lauren started inching ahead and I waved her on.  9 was a uphill bridge back to the speedway, and then running through the back of the stands (where concessions are) to the entrance.  I sucked on a Gu, chanted “I feel good” to the sound of my feet (which was a far cry from the truth) and willed myself to get to the speedway.  10 was the entrance to the speedway, and after the initial “cool!” factor, I was over it.  Halfway around the track, at 11, I started channeling my dad.  When I ran Baltimore, my Dad was waiting at 11 and jumped in with me.  I heard his voice in my head again telling me it was just a few more miles, flat from here on out, I wasn’t going to stop now, keep going.  11.5 was the exit of the speedway, and a little old man sat at the corner pointing me to 12.

I always think when I get to 12, I’ll feel this burst of energy and just let it all out for the last mile.  This was not what happened.  I was literally chanting to myself “do not stop” “do not stop” over and over again to the sound of my feet.  I knew Lauren and Jamie were already finished, and would be waiting for me.  I started systemically picturing what I would do when I finished: drink a Gatorade.  Get in my car.  Go back to my sister’s apartment and take a shower with her really expensive, yummy smelling shampoo shampoo.  (Thanks, Katie.)  Eat a giant burger from Big Daddy’s. Go home and nap. I kept replaying what was to come in the next 10 minutes over and over again in my head.

And suddenly I was rounding the corner.  Seeing my friends.  Lauren and Jamie, and Lauren’s mom, sister and husband, and Crystal and Akanksha.  Crystal was snapping my picture and Jamie was jumping up and down and shouting.

I started to speed up… just in time to hear Jamie say “you have to go around the corner to finish!!!  Don’t stop!!!”

WHAT THE FURLOCK.

The finish line was around the corner from where we had started, and probably just another 100 yards but it felt like another mile as I rounded the corner.  I saw the timer ticking up another minute and I gave it every thing I had. 

And then, just like that: it’s over.  I had a Gatorade.  Hugged my friends.  Drove back to my sister’s apartment and took a shower with her really expensive, yummy smelling shampoo.  (Thanks, Katie.)  Went to Big Daddy’s with Jamie, Crystal and Akanksha and ate a pimiento cheese burger and homemade chips and a cookies and cream milkshake.

And now, 24 hours later, it’s over.  I can’t really remember the pain.  I can’t really remember how frustrated and tired and mentally challenged I was.  I had to pick out shoes carefully this morning to avoid blister pain and my calves protested the walk up to my third floor office, but other than that… I can’t really remember it.

What I can remember is seeing my friends faces as I rounded the corner.  Hugging Lauren – who after 8 months of training had just completed her first half. Jumping in the car with Jamie and expressing our relief that it was all over. Feeling blessed that 2 of my friends made the 40 mile drive down from Winston just to stand at the finish line and shout for us.  Realizing that a year ago this time, I dropped out of training for a half because of my colitis – and that I was healthy and strong enough to complete it this year. 

The finish line had felt miles away, and just like that it was all over.  And so instead of deleting the email I just got from Lauren about a half-marathon in February (in Disney…with LOTS of people….and LOTS of spectators…) I’m wondering if I could do it all over again….

Jamie, Lauren + I post-race

February 3, 2010

Priorities

Recently my friend, an exercise physiologist, and I attended a talk on a weight loss clinical trial at WF given by Dr. Larry Appel, a very prominent physician/researcher from Johns Hopkins.  Dr. Appel is best known for established the link between sodium intake and hypertension.  I may be* biased, but I consider Hopkins to be one of the premier institutions in public health, and I tend to put a lot of stock in the research that comes from this fine institution.

What most stuck with me from Dr. Appel’s talk was his reply to a question about whether or not physicians should offer their patients a “menu” of options when it comes to weight loss strategies.  Many people might have agreed with this, reasoning that tailoring an approach to an individual’s lifestyle, preferences or energy would be a great way to increase the likelihood that they would comply with the prescription.  Dr. Appel had a surprising and interesting reply.

He said that as much as he would like that option to be feasible, when you got right down to it, there are many things that people want to do to lose weight that are ineffective, and many things that they don’t want to do that are proven very effective.  Specifically, he mentioned calorie counting – an activity that many people really passionately dislike doing but something that is incredibly supported by research as an effective and safe means of weight loss.

Did I mention I consider Hopkins people to be the best?

At this point, I looked over at the investigator of the research grant I work on who was giving me a look as if to say “Soooo, you haven’t been making this stuff up all along?”

***

Leaving the talk, my friend and I discussed the validity of this comment and how important it was to be direct with people about what works, even when they don’t want to hear it.  (See: my love for Jillian Michaels and her unwavering ability to do this.)   From there, we started talking about the many, many different reasons we’ve heard from people about why they are “unable” to exercise or commit to weight loss behaviors.  We were doubled over laughing at some of the gems we’ve heard throughout the years – excuses we wonder if the person delivering them even believed.

About a year ago, my friend and I decided to test run a new exercise program.  She designed it, and we used ourselves as guinea pigs for four months.  It was the best shape I’ve ever been in in my life.  It was so effective, we were able to implement it as a pilot study on a small group of people.  Only we used the time we had set aside for our workout as the time we ran our exercise program.

You see where this is going right?

Fast forward to one year later.  I’ve added in training a dog with separation anxiety and increasing the hours I’ve spent building my coaching practice, she added in a new boyfriend and getting her house ready to get on the market.  Our laughter about our clients’ excuse turned to silence when one of us voiced out loud what we were both concluding:

It’s all too easy to claim you’re too busy to exercise (or eat right, or food log, or grocery shop, or cook…).  What’s really going on though, is that you’re simply no longer making it a priority.

This was a sobering thought for us.  Both of us identified ourselves as exercisers, we had both done our undergraduate and master’s work in the field of health and wellness, and we both worked DAILY to promote these behaviors.  After a decade of consistent, regular exercise, we were both dismayed to admit we’d dropped off to probably half of our normal routine.

The car remained quiet the rest of our ride home.

***

Later that day, I got to thinking about this conversation.  I realized how uncomfortable it made me to say, out loud, “exercise has not been my priority.”  I had been saying I was too busy, but that wasn’t the real truth.  Raising a dog and running a practice were just two puzzle pieces of my life.  The truth was I had just chosen to make other things a priority, whether it was an extra hour of working, sleeping, reading a book, or sadly enough, watching TV or browsing Facebook.  I had simply ceased to make exercise a priority.

As this truth sunk in, I felt extremely uncomfortable.  But I realized this is exactly what my brain needed to hear.  Not my priority??  I like exercising.  Even more importantly, I love the results – the strength, the energy, the confidence, and hey, the way my jeans fit.  I promote exercise to others.  Of course, it is my priority.  Saying these words out loud was the kick in the pants I needed to take action on it.  Exercise is my priority, and reminding myself of that begins to bring my actions in alignment with my values.

Sure, there’s some valid reasons to not exercise (or whatever goal you’re trying to set.)  Maybe you just had a newborn and sleep is your priority.  Maybe you’ve got a gravely ill family member who needs round the clock attention and care right now.  A broken ankle?  Sure, make the couch all yours.  A flooded house?  Take a few weeks off.  But when you get right down to it, to the very core of it, there are very few reasons why you can’t exercise.  The truth is that it’s just not your priority.

And that might be okay with you!  Try saying that out loud.  If it doesn’t really bother you to hear that, it’s okay.  You don’t have to exercise.  (I could list you a bajillion reasons why you might want to… but if you’re willing to accept the consequences of not exercising, then acknowledging that it’s not your priority is okay.)

But if it does make you uncomfortable, sit with that awhile.  Change is hard.  But change won’t occur until the place you’re currently hanging out in has become more painful than making that actual change.  If you want to make exercise your priority, become uncomfortable with the fact that you aren’t, rather than sweeping it under the rug with “busy.”

And the day came with the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” – Anais Nin

(*May be?  I am most definitely biased, as it is my graduate “alma mater.”  I promise to try and not that influence me, but I do love them Hopkins folks.)