September 27, 2010
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
April 9, 2009
The idea of actually going out and running the race that I signed up for, the Charlottesville 10-Miler, scared the beejeezus out of me since I didn’t train for it. AT ALL. As in, I ran once from January 1st to April 4th. And I got a cramp. Physically I assumed I was capable – I have run that distance before in my life, but I had always been training and running regularly up before those runs. So up until the night before, I still wasn’t sure about whether or not I wanted to run. I was afraid: afraid I’d get out there and not be able to finish (omg, 5 miles to the finish line…. I’m stranded, AYEEEE), or it’d hurt (umm, yes, for real), or I’d just really not enjoy it and the last thing I wanted was to start disliking running. It’s hard enough to fit it into my week, and I enjoy it so much!
I woke up the morning of the race and decided WTH. The don’t-do-it reasons were pretty arguable (especially the not finishing… hello… I can WALK.) My plan was to wear my watch that paces me and walk a mile, run a mile. Considering my run pace is just mere milliseconds faster than a walk pace, I didn’t imagine this would take me too much longer than the running (sprinting) winos.
After the first few miles, I knew I physically didn’t need to switch to a walk pace. Mentally was another question. I was fine until 7, and then the wall hit. Miles 7-8 I distracted myself with my usual reverie (one that almost always involves envisioning myself on Oprah, and/or working on the Biggest Loser… yep, that’s how I get through my mileage.) Mile 9 hit hard. I kept looking down at my watch, and the tenths of a mile ticked… on… by. Around 9.3, I started praying. “God, you pick up my legs, I’ll put ‘em down.” As my running shuffle came to an end, I put on a Jars of Clay song “Carry Me.” CHEESY. Whatever – I needed it. At 9.4, we hit a hill. A big freaking hill. Whose grand gesture was that? Thanks, Charlottesville. I prayed feverently, knowing it was not going to be me that got up this hill. Amazingly, I hit a stride and my legs became light as air. Tears pricked at my eyes as I became overwhelmed with this feeling of ceding control, yet feeling totally in control. At 9.8, Mercy Me’s “I Can Only Imagine” came on (on shuffle). Not exactly the tempo of my usual pick-me-up songs (generally Cascada and DHT are my booster songs) but I felt my speed pick up as the chorus line swelled, and the finish came into sight. As the line of those waiting came into view, I saw Jess, Jenny, Emily and Shelby jumping up and down screaming my name. I ran by yelling “I didn’t walk! I didn’t walk!” and collapsed into their arms at the finish line, overcome with surprise that my legs had kept moving the whole time.
I was way surprised at myself – I think I often times underestimate my mental toughness. Maybe it’s because I quit a few things early in life – I quit JV softball after Coach Hans yelled at me for missing a crucial pop up in right field, and I quit my job at Pontillo’s on my 2nd day after my boss got mad at me for forgetting to ask an order with “peppers” wanted sweet or hot. This idea that I don’t have stick-to-it-veness has stuck with me for a long time, despite many other scenarios in my life to the contrary. I’ve often told my coaching clients that they always have the opportunity to change the story that they tell themselves about themselves – to rewrite their character descriptions of their life. When I hear someone say “I’m soooo disorganized”, or “I’m addicted to sweets,” or “I’m a magnet for craptastic relationships” … I think to myself “Offfff course you are. Because you tell yourself you are, you find the evidence that supports this and ignore the evidence to the contrary.”
So *cue the life coach moral of the story part*…. maybe it’s time for me to start ignoring the evidence to the contrary – forget the peppers and JV softball. I ran a 10 mile race I didn’t train for WITHOUT quitting. In fact, I bet if I stopped to think of it, there are probably just as many “keep going” scenarios in my life as there are quitting scenarios. Soooo, why not make the choice today to believe that I’m way more mentally tough than I’ve given myself credit for? I just might try that, thanks. Watch out – who knows what this tough chick will do now.
Finish line. BooYAH. April 7, 2009
I am sitting on the railing of a light pine colored porch, with the camera lens zoomed out. Focused in my viewfinder are four beautiful girls, 2 half-empty bottles of wine, and a cheese plate with some rinds and the remains of an apple compote. The sun is baking down, melting the cheese rinds and slowly bronzing the girls. If my camera could capture laughter, I’m sure the memory card would be full within seconds. I snap the picture, hoping to catch one of the more perfect moments in my life, almost as if I don’t trust my own memory to bring me back to this moments. I couldn’t have designed a more picture-perfect day.
My view.
The day started off early – at 6:00 am, the alarm clock went off. As I ate my banana in the kitchen, slowly four sleepy eyed girls joined me in various degrees of workout gear and alertness. In January, four of us decided to sign up for the notoriously hilly Charlottesville Ten Miler. My girlfriends, the winos, make it a point to gather at least four times a year. Sometimes it’s for an occasion – a bachelorette party, a wedding, a birthday – but more often than not, it’s just to be with each other. This was somewhere in the middle, a ten mile race being used our excuse for a get together. We were in various stages of preparedness – Jenny came out of the womb running and was bouncing off the walls, as if a ten mile run was a walk in the park. Shelby had done a regular training plan, and was calm and ready. Jess, although not on a regular training schedule, had paced herself through long runs many times before and felt confident she could pull it off. I, on the other hand, had hit training plan FAIL. I had every good intention to train, but a colder, rainier spring and a totally wussy personality found me crossing off week after week without a run. At the last minute, I decided to run anyways, assuming I’d run half and walk half. With our “coach” and photographer, Emily, we set off. (I’ll blog about the run in a separate entry, because I had a big a-ha moment in the midst of my run. And you may have noticed, but I don’t exactly describe my thought processes with great brevity.) I did finish the run though – in 1:58. The rest of the girls finished in extremely respectable times, starting with Shelby finishing at 1:22 and the rest coming in at exactly 10 minute intervals (and thus, one minute less per mile).
Pre-run, sleepy pic.
After the run, which was as hilly AND gorgeous as had been promised by our host, we set out to embark on a breakfast of champions. We gobbled down omelettes and bottomless cups of coffee and planned out our day. Let me just say this: when your big decision of the day is “nap or no nap before vineyards”…. LIFE IS GOOD. Can I just have a DVR of my life and revisit this day again and again and again? Sigh. We voted no-nap (perhaps the bottomless coffee was speaking for us) and went back to Jessie’s house to get spruced up.
Veritas was beaaaautiful. I thought about inquiring if they would let me put a tent up in the vineyard and just hang out there, you know, forever. Maybe it was the comfortable, sunny weather, maybe it was the heart warming company, or maybe it was the deliciously crisp Sauvignon Blanc but I was in such a perfect state of nirvana. We stayed at the vineyard for a couple of hours, long past the bottles being empty and the rind of our manchego started to melt in the sun. The only motivation we had to finally get up and leave was a short trip down the road: a brewery.
Yum.
Same gorgeous mountains and green grass views. Same warm sun to bask in. Same wonderful company. Subtract 2 empty wine bottles; add in a sampler of local brewed beers and level 2 of friendship nirvana kicked in. We stayed at the brewery for another hour or so, and as the sun set, so did our fatigue set in.
More yum.
Back home to Charlottesville, we headed out for dinner at a place called The Local. Their claim to fame was that all their food came from places local to Charlottesville. I couldn’t imagine that a locally raised cattle burger would taste any different, but um yea… I was totally wrong. It was delicious (even though it wasn’t actually my plate, I swear I ate at least a third of Shelby’s.) I had a salad that, truth be told, kind of looked like lawn clippings, and in fact, I may have eaten a dandelion but it was so fresh and delicious I didn’t care. I will confess my gnocchi tasted a bit Chef Boyardee, but I’m not sure there’s a lot you can do to make gnocchi taste like anything other than the carbolicious pasta/potato combo that it is. After dinner, we convened for one drink in downtown Charlottesville before concluding that we were either way old/boring or that running ten miles and then sitting out in the sun drinking wine is an activity that does not well prepares you for a night on the town. We hope it’s the latter.
Winos. (Minus one.)
Our wonderful day concluded, we all fall asleep with well worn out bodies and hearts drunk on friendship and delicious food. Could I have dreamt up a better day with my girlfriends? Absolutely… but only by transporting our one missing wino, Pam, down here, as the missing piece. Other than that, I’m not sure I could have designed a better weekend – running, wine, music, photography, friendship… preeeeetty sure that hits all the high points on the happy-o-meter.
February 10, 2009
Hello, sunshine. Hello, warm weather. Hello, RUNNING SHOES. Please, please, please, weather gods and anyone else listening… DON’T GO AWAY. This is the kind of weather I love. It’s not hot, it’s not cold. You’re comfortable in a t-shirt and light pants. The grill beckons to be used. Windows are rolled down on cars and we start to wonder if we can pack up our cardigans.
The best part of this weather, for me, is running. Running outside today feels like slipping seamlessly through the air. There’s no cold to burn your lungs, there’s no heat to blanket you and follow you around like your own personal sauna. I love this weather, and I’m going to usher in some sore overused hip flexors if it keeps up because I cannot stop myself from lacing up and heading over to Buena Vista to slip through the perfect air along the cracked sidewalks, delightfully surprised at the February spring we’ve been blessed with. Please stay like this? Pretty please?
December 7, 2008
On a cold December morning, while smart people everywhere pulled up their down comforters and snored the morning away, Matt and Jamie joined 1200 other Winston-Salemites to brave the cold to run the Mistletoe 5k. They both ran record fast times, which not only made this spectator very proud but also very happy. One more mile to watch and my toes might have fallen off. Could it be that the smart ones were actually the ones who huffing and puffing, and well, moving?
November 6, 2008
It has been so gorgeous here in North Carolina. The campus has turned into a showboat of oranges, reds and golds with the leaves changing but it remains absolutely perfectly warm. (To me, converted Belle that I am, that means in the 70s.) There are few things that make me happier than a lunchtime run in November in shorts and a t-shirt.
That is why, despite the fact that I knew I had packed the wrong pair of socks (too big), I went for a run on Thursday. And that is why, even knowing these socks were too big and thus slipping and sliding all over the inside of my shoes, I went all the way down Polo Rd thus committing me to a 4+ mile run. And that is why, despite the pain, I kept running.
And that is why, the entire medial side of the bottom of my left foot is a blister. It is approximately 3 inches long by a half inch wide. Am I grossing you out yet? I am dismayed at my poor judgement.
But it was such a pretty day…
Jamie, Lauren + I post-race
