I tweaked something in my legs recently, but kept running through it, figuring that the pain was only temporary.  More foam rolling, more stretching, more sleeping… for what?  So that I could post runs on DailyMile and see the numbers get higher?  So that I could assure myself that I’m a REAL runner, not some fly-by-night who just likes the clothes and gadgets but can’t make a real commitment?

I dunno.  The tipping point came when a friend, a husband (mine), a sports PT and a sports massage therapist all told me the same thing; sit down, shut up, and stop running until it stops hurting.

Now, to be fair, no one told me to stop moving altogether.  It’s just the linear running motion they want me to cut back on.  Cross training and easy stretching is fine, just don’t try to beat any records.  Easy is the key word in all of this mess.

When I think back on when the symptoms started, all I can think is “Marathon”.  I haven’t fully healed from the race and I’ve started a new training program.  I have high aspirations for the spring, and none of my goals have anything to do with sitting still.  I want to run a FAST half-marathon at the end of March, and six weeks later I want to do a super-cool 25-mile trail run in Buena Vista, CO.

My friend held the magic mirror up to my face the other day and said, “Do you want to be a February champion or a race champion?”  I didn’t really know what she meant, so she explained.  A “February champion” is someone who doesn’t let the down-time happen, doesn’t take advantage of the off-season, doesn’t let her body rest.  A race champion takes advantage of the off-season, lets her body rest, and rebuilds in time for the race.

The great big elephant in the room is the fact that I’m horrible at resting.  I really like running.  A lot.  I love the different seasons, the way the trail under my feet feels, the way the sun shines down on my sweaty face.  I adore the movement, the motion, the meditation of running.  I don’t get that anywhere else, and I crave it like water.

I’m going to cut back for the next week or so, and see how things feel.  I’m being told to cross-train and keep the mileage really low.  This will all give sore, achy muscles time to relax.  Now, if only I can get my brain to relax at the same time… that’s the tricky part.

Sometimes we think one thing and it takes hearing the same message several times, packaged in different ways, before we pay attention.  I’m no different from the rest of the average population; I need to hear a message many times before I’m willing to listen to it, especially if that message is anything different than what my little heart desires.

My heart and soul desire running.  I am a runner, pure and simple.  I am also human.  I need to rest and I’ll say it here; I don’t want to.  I want to run.

The body was not on board.  Let’s be totally frank about that and say that any thoughts I had of pushing for speed and strength were about to be blown away.  I have some residual soreness in my right leg from the marathon, and try as I might to ignore it, when I push a workout too far, the hamstring, glute, IT band and quad start talking.  The entire leg is cranky if it decides I have not been “nice”.

Saturday’s long run at the Res was 12 miles at an average 8:24 pace.  There were hills, and we took a few miles at a sub-8 pace.  Over the past two days I’ve stretched, foam rolled, stretched, etc., and had Bill dig into the hamstring to work a few knots.  But still… it’s sore.

I laced on the heart-rate monitor this morning and powered up the Garmin after a quick foam rolling session in the living room.  Then I went outside and said a surprised hello to the wind.  Oh wind, you can be the bane of my existence sometimes.  While I waited for the Garmin to finish syncing, I did a rapid mental tour of my planned route; yup, I would be doing hill repeats directly into the wind.  The only way I could do them with the wind at my back would be to drive to another hill, and I didn’t have time for that.  Okay Runner Girl, hills and wind it is.  Go.

After a super-slow mile warm-up from my house to Tyler Street, I was ready.  The hill is about a third of a mile long, approximately half a kilometer.  My goal was simple: run up the hill for a quarter of a mile, then walk back down and do it again.

After clearing the warm-up mile off the Garmin and resetting it to zero (I wanted to be sure to get the splits for the hill), I took off up the hill.  It’s great to have a goal like “hit a 5k-10k pace on the hill”, but honestly, with the wind and a sore hamstring, I was just happy to be running.  The pace would be whatever I could pull out.  Period.

Each repeat was hard.  The first minute of each repeat wasn’t a big deal, but then I started to slow down and had to push, push, push up the rest of the hill.  Between sets I walked down the hill and watched the sun shimmy its way closer to the horizon.  By the time I finished the fifth repeat, the sun was highlighting wispy clouds in the sky, offering texture to a black that had looked wide and impenetrable just minutes before.  My hamstring was not quite screaming at me like an on-coming temper tantrum, but it was definitely screwing up its face and getting into position.  I bagged the last repeat and slowly ran home.

Splits for 5×400 meter hill repeats (into a headwind):

1:57, 1:53, 1:57, 2:01, 2:04

This translates into a pace per mile of 8:14-8:40, approximately 45-60 seconds slower than target pace.

There’s not much to say about that, other than this is training.  This is practice.  It’s good to have a goal, but that goal didn’t say anything about sore hammies and a headwind.  I’m back at home now icing the hammie, foam rolling glutes, quads, IT Bands, calves and back, and doing gentle stretches on the hamstrings.

I’m at another crossroad.  I can either give up the speed training to heal the body, or I can gently work with the body as I train.  I’m learning new ways of cross training (aqua jogging!!) and this seems like an ideal time to get into the pool and do some no-impact workouts.  I CAN run, I WANT to run, I WILL run… but I also insist upon health and sustainability.  I want to be running when I’m 80.  I’m applying the principles of rest and recovery I learned during marathon training, and am incorporating the different stretches and strengthening exercises various people have taught me.

Why am I still running?  Because I love it.  I love the motion, the fluidity, the feeling of oxygen being sucked deep into my body and caressing my lungs before being expelled again.  I love running slow when my body is still warm from the bed, and how awake and alive I am after completing a 7 mile run sixty minutes later (think of that Zest soap commercial, where they guy sleepwalks to the shower, gets in under the warm water, smells the soap and perks right up like he’d just had a shot of adrenalin).

And now, to further my rest and recovery, I’m about to learn how to play Super Mario Brothers with my 8-year-old who’s sick at home with a gooby nose.  I’ll be the one on the floor stretching my legs!

“My body betrayed me.”

“This body’s limitations are not ME.”

“My will is stronger than this body… I can push myself farther and faster because I WANT IT.”

I say these things.  And I shouldn’t.  Because like it or not, my body is a part of me.  I don’t always like it.  And therein lies the problem.

My soul is healthy, passionate, curious and intuitive.  My body hurts, twinges, aches and at times, has pain.  It is mortal.  I want to disassociate from my body.  My mind wants to fly far, far away.  Often times, I don’t want to be in the present, and I especially don’t want to FEEL.

How sad.  There are so many opportunities in this life to FEEL.  Pain is real, but so are emotions.  Sometimes my face literally hurts from the perma-grin when I am ecstatically, wondrously happy or content.  I can’t and wouldn’t ever want to disassociate from the physical reminder of my happiness, just as I never want to forget those exquisite moments when my emotions and body work in perfect harmony to create that feeling of JOY.

Pain is different.  As a culture we’ve worked so very hard to stop any feeling of pain.  Having a baby?  Here’s an epidural.  Headache?  Pop an aspirin.  Feel sad?  Prescribe an antidepressant.  Break up with your boyfriend?  Drinks are on me.  Not only do we want to erase the feeling of pain, we actually want to erase all feeling.  Numbness is the only solution.  And then we mistake numbness for happiness.  Only when there is an absence of feeling can we relax.  We have completely separated from our bodies.

I wrote “Training Pause” a few days ago, and several wise people have written comments or emailed me personally about the forced break.  The words are varied, but the message is the same.  Take time.  Rest.  Recover.  Be good to your body.  Let your mind relax.  This happens to endurance runners. Feel the pain.  Feel the unsettled feeling that comes from waking up at 5am and NOT going out to run.  Sit with the stir of energy that wants to whirl you around like a hummingbird.  Be in your body.  Connect.

It’s the last word that’s the hardest.  Connect with a body that has aches and pains and its own needs?  My soul has needs and desires, but my body too?  How do I reconcile those things?  What if we’re not compatible?  Can I get a divorce and find a body that’s more in line with my soul?

No.  This isn’t dating.  This is what a true partnership is, and the old marriage vow comes to mind; “…through thick and thin, for better or worse, til death do us part…”

I can either choose to have a better relationship with my body, to work on understanding its needs, to nourish it, to baby and shower it with love and compassion, or I can punish it with every ounce of loathing and neglect my pathetic soul can dish.

If I’m capable of loving my own body, then it seems reasonable that I will be better able to have compassion for another person’s body and soul as well.  Love and compassion start here, with this one person.  When I’ve managed that one, then I can branch out.  Only then.

Marathon training has taken me into uncharted territory.  I’m trying new things, running farther and longer than I’ve ever run before, learning about rest, nutrition and balance, and discovering and feeling things that have probably been sitting dormant in the dark recesses of my psyche and soul for lifetimes.  I’ve struggled with trust over the years, and I’m coming to see that my reticence to trust others goes deeper… I’m scared to trust myself.  My body has wisdom that I’ve tried to ignore for much of my life, telling me truths about my capabilities and relationships that I didn’t want to believe.

I’m being told to Connect.  Connect to my body.  Let my mind and body come into balance.  Feel the pain of the body with the mind, and notice where the minds’ pain resides in the body.  Only then will I go further. I felt betrayed on Sunday when I was forced to stop running because I disassociated from my body.  My mind had an agenda my body couldn’t manage.

I rest so that I may run again.  When I take those first steps after this recovery period, I hope I’m a wiser person, a person who runs because the mind and body have consciously agreed that it’s a worthwhile activity.

Clothing

Wear running-appropriate clothing.  Spend the cash on clothing that you need, don’t feel guilty about it, and enjoy the comfort that comes from being able to throw on a shirt, shorts, shoes and a hat for your morning run.

Sports bra:  Wear a supportive sports bra. Buy a few good-quality sports bras; these can cost anywhere from $30-$45.  When I was nursing I wore a 36 DD; today, I’m down to a 34A (kids; they suck the very life outta ya).  I don’t have a lot on top, but I still wear a sports bra because it keeps things from going where I don’t want them too.  Also, I don’t have any chaffing because the girls are tucked in their own homes.

Depending on the season, invest in a few wicking t-shirts, a running jacket and shorts or pants.  Cotton shirts make you feel like you’ve just jumped in the pool and are running from turtles.  They look horrible on us and the material doesn’t breathe.  If you’re wary of spending a lot, check out the consignment or thrift stores.  Every time I’m there I find one or two technical t-shirts that still have a lot of life in them.

Shoes: Please, PLEASE go to a running store and get fitted for running shoes.  Your 10-year-old sneakers won’t work.  Trust me.  Last fall my sister started running a few miles around her neighborhood.  I took her on a Saturday Morning run with the ladies over Thanksgiving.  She didn’t complain, but it looked like her feet were hurting her.  I mentioned her apparent discomfort and it turns out she was wearing Merrill walking shoes!  She figured that since we were going to be on a trail that those shoes would work.  I sent her immediately to the Boulder Running Company for a gait analysis and new shoes.  She says it’s the best thing she’s ever bought.

Starting off slow

When you’re first starting to run after having kids, it doesn’t matter if you’ve always been a runner or if you’re new to the sport.  You’re starting from square one because your body has changed.  It’s not tight and supple anymore; the entire abdominal region is soft and there’s usually a few extra pounds in the outhouse.  Your core muscles are loose, making things seem off-balanced.  The jiggle in back can be un-nerving at times, but it doesn’t last long.  Running helps to tone the abs and get inner muscles that have been stretched like a rubber-band back in shape.  I hiked a lot after my babies were borne, but after I started running I lost the last 10 pounds and really firmed up my abs.  Now, my weight is about 5 pounds lower than it was pre-pregnancy, but my breasts, hips and butt are not the same shape. (Also, my hair used to be straight and fine.  Now it’s thick and wavy.  Go figure.)

I started running three years after my youngest child was born, and not because I wanted to.  My dog Kirby was fatter than a pig headed to slaughter and I worried she was in for a little doggie heart attack.  Hiking with her hadn’t shed the pounds and I couldn’t invest any more time into an activity that took such a chunk out of my tight schedule.  I needed more bang for my buck, and running was the answer.

We started by walking a quarter mile uphill to the pond at the top of our greenbelt, jogging around the perimeter, and walking home.  All in all, almost a mile.  She panted hard and my butt rocked from side to side.  A few days later, we did it again.  A few days after that, we did it again, but this time we ran part of the way home.

Kirby lost 20 pounds that year, thanks to her low-cal diet and plenty of exercise.  However, it took almost a year before I was ready to run with people.  I didn’t know how far or fast I was going and I was convinced that my girlfriends were super-athletes that would laugh me off the trail.  Shocking but true; I was shy.  In reality, I fit right in.  I wasn’t the fastest nor the slowest; I was able to keep up and had a great time.  No one would have known that I was the “new runner”.  This was my first major lesson in running: it doesn’t matter how fast you are; the point is that you’re out there running.

I wouldn’t have run had Kirby not motivated me.  She kept me lacing up my shoes, even when I was tired and didn’t feel like it.  A running partner keeps us from quitting, and it doesn’t matter if that partner is canine or human.

Timing: When to run

I started running when my daughter, S, was in kindergarten and my son, C, was in preschool.  My husband got the kids up and fed while Kirby and I ran.  After I got home he packed up and headed off to work.  I drove S to school and played with C until it was time to get S from kindergarten, have lunch, and then take C to preschool.  Our day was a literal shuffling of people from one place to another.  I almost always had a child with me  and obviously I needed to plan when I was going to run, for a few huge reasons: timing, sanity, scheduling and friends.

1.  Timing: The only viable time I had to exercise was in the morning during one of two times: before the family is awake, or right after the kids went to school.  If it’s not one of those two times, it doesn’t get done.  Too many other demands on our time take precedence after 10 AM.  Brand-new Moms time their runs around baby naptimes; Moms with older kids often time their runs around work and school commitments.

 2.  Sanity: if I know that a run is schedule for I’ll get mentally and physically prepared. I only have a certain amount of energy and it needs to be carefully expended, otherwise I’m a drooling mess come supper-time.  Planning my runs give me a semblance of control in an otherwise chaotic life.

3.  Scheduling: Once kids enter the picture the amount of planning goes through the roof.  Women become multi-tasking goddesses.  Exercise needs to be scheduled and it needs be as high on the priority list as dental appointments and bath-time. Sometimes this translates into tag-team parenting.  Enough said.

4.  Friends: if I want to run with an actual human being we need to plan it around both of our schedules.  Because we’re mommy’s we get up before the kids go to school or spouses leave for work.  The women I run with are, without exception, mothers whose first priority is getting the kids off to school.  Periodically I run with a friend at 6 AM because she needs to be home by 7:10 so her husband can leave for work.  Tag, you’re it!

Race Training

I’ve trained for several races over the past two years, as well as raced on the fly.  I’ve done 5K’s, 10K’s and two Half-Marathons.  I can easily train for those distances by running 3-4 days a week.  During the week I’ll run about 60 minutes; on occasion I’ll do 75 minutes, but that’s rare.  My Saturday morning run with the ladies is anywhere from 6-8 miles (55-75 minutes on average) and if I’m training, I’ll run again on Sunday (if nothing else is going on with the family).  I have not run a marathon yet, simply because I don’t have the time in my life to commit to more training right now.  Marathon training requires a long run of 2-3 hours at the peak of training, and I don’t have time for that at this stage in my life.

In a perfect version of Lara-land, I could decide to run a Half-Marathon and be ready to compete within 2-3 weeks.  This means that I need to do a long run of about 10-12 miles every few weeks, with medium runs of 6-8 miles and tempo runs of 6-7 runs interspersed.  An average hour is worth almost 7 miles, so running a 10-12 miler takes 90-110 minutes (give or take a little).  I can easily do that on the weekend; during the week it’s pretty tight unless I get up at 5 or 5:30 AM.  The reality of Lara-land is that right now, my fitness level is about half of that.  C’est la vie.

Weekend running can be tricky due to family commitments.  Spring is always hard because of Saturday morning soccer, baseball and/or basketball games.  We always lose runners due to games at this time of the year because kids’ sporting events come first (sorry, just the way it is!).  This year I got lucky because all of C’s soccer games were at a field in mid-Boulder at 9 AM.  I could run at 7 AM with the ladies and often have time for a really quick cup of coffee before I headed over to the field.  Thus, I felt like I won the jack-pot: I could run AND be there at every game to cheer on my budding goalie.  Score!

It’s great being part of a loosely-knit group of people who show up at the same time each week to run together.  Kathy, our Saturday Morning “cruise director”, sends out an email every Thursday with details on where to meet.  Barring hurricane-force winds, sleet and other annoying acts of nature, whoever’s had a decent night’s sleep shows up at 7 AM to get in a few hours of girl-time before coveted family-time takes over.

Setting Goals

I’m a big fan of setting goals.  A goal gives you something to work towards.  Sometimes my goal is to make it to 7 PM before I crawl into bed with the covers over my head.  Other days I have a little more oomph and my goal is to get to the top of the mile-long hill without dropping below a 7:30/mile pace.  That’s what I like about goals; they’re totally relative to the person and situation and how much sleep you’ve had the night before.

On occasion I’ve set actual race goals.  I’m pretty careful with this though and am painfully realistic.  If I can’t commit to keeping my base and adding a few miles to reach the Half-Marathon distance then I’m not going to do it.  I like races but there’s a lot of mental preparation in getting there and I don’t want the stress of a race if I’m not going to be ready for it.  I want to know where I’m going to park, how many people will be there, how it feels to race in whatever weather conditions are predicted, etc.  I’m too much of a Mom to just say “Oh, dress however you want, bring snacks if you feel like it and let’s just go.”  No.  I’m going to dress so that I’m comfortable and if my kids are spectators, that means making sure they’re comfortable too.  I need to pack snacks for them so I don’t hear the whine-fest as soon as they see my gorgeously flushed, sweaty face as I cross the finish line.  Making sure they’re taken care of ensures that I will have a fabulous time with them at my race, though honestly, sometimes I arrange for them to stay home so I can take off and run races with my girlfriends.  I like the fact that my kids see me racing and being active, but sometimes I need to do my sport away from the confines of my family dynamic.  And THAT is a ton of fun, too!

Next week: Nutrition after Babies (or, how your body changed and now you’re suddenly intolerant to everything you used to be able to eat).

Keep the questions coming, email me: Lara @ saturdaymorningzen .com, and I’ll incorporate them into the articles!

While working the West End 3K running race in Boulder on Thursday night I treated myself to three delicious, thick, gooey pieces of pizza from Papa Romano’s Pizza on the Hill.  Eight hours later I woke with a blazing headache, nausea, and dizziness.  It stayed with me for the entire day, though the headache gradually wore down to a dull roar.  Initially I thought it was food poisoning, until I heard that no one else who ate the pizza was sick.  Rather, it was my own form of food poisoning; I have a gluten sensitivity and didn’t listen to my body.  The pizza smelled great, looked fantastic and I forgot to bring my own gluten-free yummies.  The upside to all this is that my extended family got an up-close-and-personal look at me in utter misery due to gluten ingestion.  I have a feeling those that were holding out waiting for my gluten-free “phase” to pass will wait no longer and consider making gluten-free food at family gatherings.  Yay.

Fast-forward to Saturday.  I was thrilled to be upright and mobile on Saturday morning, considering the fact that I spent the previous twenty four hours flat on my back with a cold cloth over my eyes moaning in agony.

Our Saturday morning running group met at Chautauqua near the Ranger’s station.  We discussed the route, as there were several options.  After consulting the handy-dandy trail map, it was decided that we would head up the Flagstaff trail to the summit and loop back down again.  I didn’t listen to the discussion of where we were going since I planned on trailing of the group the entire way in deference to illness-related weakness. 

I brought Kirby and my new Nikon camera as a way to slow myself down in case I had any illusions of running fast.  I’m glad I had the camera, because even though I was upright and running at a snail’s pace, my memory of the morning isn’t that great.  There were lots of pretty flowers still blooming, even this late in July when the mountain should be brown and dead instead of wet and colorful.  I remember chatting with Missy as we ascended the first hill and noticing the sogginess of the ground beneath my feet.  We coasted across a few bridges, ascended a few more hills, and ran down the mountain.  Kirby was a happy companion and more than willing to enjoy the photography breaks to munch on the abundant grasses and wildflowers.

Here are a few pics to commemorate the morning.

Some of the ladies checking out the map, deciding our route.

Blue wildflowers, I think they're cornflowers?

The ladies are headed up the first of many hills to the top of Flagstaff.

Running across a bridge on the way up Flagstaff.

My gorgeous dog, Kirby.

Waiting at a mid-point, always a good time for a quick picture!

Next up: 10K trail race in Eldora on August 1.  Should be fun, I’m looking forward to it.  Don’t know if I’ll “race” it or just go out to have a good time.  Will wait til that morning to decide how hard to push.  It IS only a 10K, though it’s at altitude.  Stay tuned…

I was dreading Saturday’s run.  I had agreed to meet a friend for her “long run” of two hours over gently rolling hills instead of the usual trail running I adore.  The problem was that I hadn’t slept well in about two weeks and all my get-up-and-go was vacationing someplace warm, miles away from the mock-Seattle weather we’ve been trying on for size.  I even dreamed about the run and woke up agitated that it wasn’t over yet.

Lo and behold, the run was beautiful.  The weather was cool for June but absolutely perfect for running.  The humidity was down, the sun shone through mist that burned off by mid-morning, and everything was so stunningly green I thought I had jumped out of my drought-filled Colorado into a time of yore.

Heidi and I admired the wildflowers, the uncommonly abundant display of wildflowers.  All I’ve done lately is gape in wonder at the flora.  If I had a nickel for every time I’ve wondered what the name of a species is I’d be well on my way to saving up for that awesome camera I covet.

At one point we came over a rise and faced due east.  A beautiful pastoral scene lay below us.  A farmhouse was nestled under stately oaks (I’m assuming, I’m as bad with trees as I am with flowers), a meandering stream cut through the meadow, and five horses contentedly grazed in the early morning light.  We actually stopped and stared.  I’m a Colorado girl; I’ve lived here since I was three.  This is not something that a person sees every day on the Front Range, especially in spring.  At this point the flowers should be dying and things begin to turn summer-brown.  Mornings are getting hot and there’s no thought of sleeping without a fan.  But this year?  Just to mix it up a bit, we’ve traded our usual spring for a Northwestern mood.

With all this natural beauty I was glad we weren’t pushing pace.  Heidi wore her heart rate monitor and wanted to keep her heart rate below eighty percent of full effort.  This meant that we kept our pace to an 8:30 mile on the flats and even allowed ourselves to walk up hills when they got too steep.  She’s amazing in her dedication to her training; she knows when to slow down and just put in the miles.  Did I mention she’s training for the Hawaiian Ironman in October?  She qualified by being first in her age group at the Oceanside Half-Ironman a few months ago.

We explored the trails west of the Boulder Reservoir and cut through the Rez property on our way back to the cars.  By the time it was said and done we ran 2:04 at a 9:28 pace for 13.11 miles.  I was never out of breath though definitely needed to shower off my stink when I got home.

Later that morning I took my kids to the Lafayette Fun Fest.  I was tired and mellow.  At lunch time I realized that my late breakfast had burned off and I was in desperate need of a big chunk of cow.  My mellow never left, I slept great for the first time in weeks, and I wasn’t sore at all the next day.

I’ve slept great every night since then.  Yesterday (Wednesday) I took myself out for another “long” run, planning on doing a ten miler.  I met a few friends along the way and ended up running with them a bit, which extended the run by a few miles.  My run ended up being 1:45 at an 8:40 pace for 12.25 miles.  Figuring I would be tired, I built some rest time into my day.  Funny thing happened though… I never got tired. 

I had a faster pace (moderately) and did a good 3.5 miles of climbing at the start of the run.  I’m more centered this week, my thoughts are steadier, and my hormones are pretty level, considering where I am in my cycle.  What’s going on?  I’m starting to think that my body has suddenly decided it likes long runs.  This is great and all, but that means that to keep my mellow I’m going to have to figure in a lot more time for running each week.  On the flip side; is this really a trend, or just a bizarre little blip in my life?  Am I over-thinking this whole thing?  The problem is that I really like to sleep soundly, and running hard seems to help.  Oh God, maybe I’m turning into someone who runs FOR THEIR HEALTH!!!

I did it!  I came, I saw, I ran a few miles.  I prepped, tapered, and raced.  The Colorado Marathon fell on a beautiful spring day in the mountains and streets of Fort Collins.  The sun was shining, the river water was rushing, and ultimately, no one I knew saw me finish.  It was apropos, really; the wins that mean the most are the ones where no one is there to cheer.

The day started out the night before, as it always does for racers.  Bill and I left the kids at my Mom’s house in Boulder for a sleep-over, then went home and crawled into bed at 8 PM.  The alarm was set for 3:50 AM in hopes we would get at least eight hours of sleepy-time.  Luckily I was pretty tired and drifted off quickly.

The next morning we made coffee and egg sandwiches and were out the door by 4:20.  I had to be on a bus between 5:00 and 5:45 to get up to the starting line and didn’t want to arrive at 5:45 to find that all the busses were gone.  At 5:25 we pulled up to the parking garage. I jumped out, kissed Bill goodbye and joined the surge of people descending on the line of busses waiting to take us up the mountain.

I sat next to a friendly woman named Sarah who came up from Denver.  It was her birthday and she was doing a Half-Marathon to celebrate.  Her husband was injured and couldn’t run, but she hoped he would do something to surprise her later that day.  We hung out together at the starting line for the next hour, chatting, laughing, and doing some moderate stretches.  I was glad to have someone to talk with.  I lost sight of her at the very end when she went to do a warm-up jog and I wandered away to check my bag.

Racers started congregating as we neared the 7:00 AM start time.  A couple of volunteers led us down the road to the starting line.  Police were on the right-hand side of the road calling to us through bull horns to stay on the left.  The start line was a timing mat on the road between two cones.  The volunteers funneled us through the cones, over the mat, and we were off.  I started the timer on my GPS, knowing full well that the per-mile pacing my GPS keeps is always a little off of the actual time at the finish line.  The point of it is to get a general feeling for a pace, not a die-hard time.

The sun hadn’t broken through the wispy clouds left over from the previous day’s thunderstorms.  All the easy banter between runners was gone and the only sounds were of pounding feet and rushing water.  The Cache La Poudre River runs parallel to the road.  The aural sensation of the two diametrically opposed sounds was somehow transcendent and hypnotic at the same time.  The pace was easy as we started out; no one started in a sprint.  The runners knew the distance and were ready to go out slow and steady for the first couple miles.  I took some deep, calming breaths, and smiled.  The pace felt good.  No, the pace felt GREAT.  I could do this.

Coming up on mile five we hit the one and only hill.  It was a piddly thing, more like a bump in the terrain, and took us into the next aid station.  My GPS read forty minutes; if that was true then I was dead-on for an eight minute per mile pace.  I grabbed a cup of water and slowed to drink it, then ducked into a porta-potty for a pit stop.  Less than two minutes later I was running again, heading south.   The sun had made its appearance and I was heating up in my Smart Wool hat and gloves.  I should have left them in my bag at the start line instead of wearing them.  People were shedding their gloves and throwing them on the side of the road.  Later, after the race, volunteers combed the course to collect all the cast-offs and donate them to charity.  That’s a nice idea, but I wasn’t interested in forking out the money to replace these items.  I carried them in my sweaty hand for the remainder of the race.

My right hip was starting to talk to me about this point.  More specifically, it was tight.  Not horrible, nothing to make me stop or scream in pain; just tight.  Everything else felt great.  The lungs were doing that expanding/contracting thing with awesome regularity, my shoulders were loose and breezy, and my feet felt great.

Coming up on mile ten it occurred to me that I should start to push pace for a strong finish.  The problem was that I didn’t want to.  I didn’t know if I had enough “oomph” left for a fast 5K at the end.  I decided to go another mile and see how I felt at that point.

At mile twelve a runner pulled up along side me.  I had been tailing her in the early part of the race and then passed her around mile seven.  She was starting to push pace for the end.  Her pace looked strong so I accelerated just a hair and stuck to her.  We ran in tandem.

Me:  “You’re a strong runner!”

Her:  “You’re pretty strong yourself, I’ve been trying to catch you for the past four miles!”

Me:  “Well, you’re pulling me along now, so Thanks!”

I don’t have enough will-power to push myself that hard all by my lonesome; that’s why it helps me to have a friend to push pace when the going gets tough.  We started passing runners left and right, including an older gentleman whose every breath sounded like it could be his last.

I could hear the crowd.  Spectators were lining the road up to the finish line.  My buddy pulled out the stops and led us on a strong sprint to the end.  I kept up with her and allowed myself to be reeled in like a fish on a pole.  The sun was hot and I could feel the dried sweat on my face.  I didn’t bother looking for Bill in the crowd, just pushed hard to the very end.  The announcer called my name as I crossed the finish line.  The clock read 1:45:49.

Someone pressed a finisher medal into my hand.  Another person gave me a bottle of water and cut the timing chip off my shoe.  I exited the chute and went to wait for Bill. 

Half an hour later he finally showed.  He had been standing at the front of the spectators and never saw me.  He hadn’t heard the announcer say my name as I finished because the sound was garbled at that distance.  He kept waiting for me to come through; after the two hour race time came and went he went to the paramedics to see if they had brought anyone in, then started a circuit around the area looking for me.  By that time I had climbed onto a bench and was standing there, trying to look obvious to anyone looking for a sweaty girl in a red shirt.  I was too mellow to be irritated or panicked and figured we’d meet up somewhere, at some point.  I was almost ready to borrow someone’s phone to call him when he wandered up.

Thus, there are no pictures from the race.  I took a picture of the finisher medal a few days later, since it’s so pretty and shiny.

I loved the 13.1 distance and can’t wait to do another Half.  I’ve heard Estes Park has a good one, the Slacker Half Marathon in Georgetown looks interesting, or the Buena Vista Autumn Colors Run.  Anyone have any experience with these?  Or, suggest a different one to try, I’d love to hear of some great races!

An example of this week’s training:  yesterday I ran a total of 2 1/2 miles.  The first two miles were done at my goal half-marathon pace (about 7:15/mile), and then I did four 100- meter “Strides”, where you gradually accelerate to 90% of all-out pacing, hold for five seconds, and walk to recovery.  It was a fun little outing, all fifteen minutes of it.  How can anything that short feel like a good work-out?  The answer is: it’s not supposed to.

I looked up the race info again this morning and was not pleased to see that I have to be on a bus to the starting line at 5:30 in the morning.  The race doesn’t start until seven.  I didn’t remember that it started sooooo early when I registered!!  This means I’ll be up at 4:00 AM, and moving my butt out the door.  Definitely not a happy-happy.  Can you say “Coffee please”?

I have some pre-race nerves going on, as usual.  They all have to do with finding the right place and being where I’m supposed to be at the right time.  My good friend was supposed to run with me, but alas, the race was closed when she tried to register.  I was so excited to have a buddy to pace with, and am now trying for a Zen mentality to go with the reality that it’s all me, by my lonesome.  It’ll be what it is, whether I worry about it or not.

Saturday morning I’ll be doing a piddly little 3-miler, trying for a 9:00/mile pace.  Have to keep it “easy”, according to the training plan.  I’ll be headed up to Ft. Collins to get my race packet later that day, and then will head to bed un-Godly early to try to make up for the fact that I’ll be up too early for comfort.  Maybe I’ll try to start going to bed early for the rest of the week, and waking up early.  That would help switch my internal time clock so the effort of getting up at 4:00 AM will seem reasonable.

The next post will be on how the race went, so look for it early next week!

I have a half-marathon race coming up in two weeks and my training is on hold.  I’ve wanted to run a half-marathon for three years now and have been sidelined because of injury.  Now, only four weeks before this third attempt at the half-marathon, I fell hard on a patch of ice.  My first thought as I lay on the ice was not “Is anything broken?”, but “Awww, not again”.  I have a nagging suspicion that I am sub-consciously sabotaging myself.

So that’s the big question; why am I doing this to myself?  I know I can run thirteen miles.  I could do that any day of the week and it wouldn’t be a stretch.  Somehow, the difference seems to be in my ability to run the distance any time I want, and doing it in the confines of a race surrounded by hundreds of other people.  Some of the people will undoubtedly be faster than me, and some will be slower.

I don’t harbor any illusions that I’ll be winning anything in this race.  I could easily be called an “above average” runner, but I’m not the faster girl on the block or even in my age group.  Therefore, I can safely cross “fear of losing” off my list of possible reasons my body is holding back.

Something about the idea of being able to run thirteen miles in the privacy of my own life, and then doing it in a race is striking a chord.  I adore the freedom of choosing when and where to run.  But when the ante is upped, I’m left wondering if I can rise to the occasion.  I’ve found plenty of reasons in the past to NOT do the things I’ve yearned to do (travel, a career, becoming a master gardener).  And yet, when I’ve really and truly wanted something, like obtain a Master’s degree, I’ve found support and the means that I needed to succeed.  I’m left with the nagging question; do I have an unrequited fear of success, of being seen as a person who is accomplished and capable?

To break it down even further, I have to go back to a recurring theme in my life; a fear of being seen.  As a high school student I loved theater but fought tooth-and-nail against being on stage, even when it became clear that I had strong potential as an actor.  I became a stagehand, so that I could participate in the darkness, undercover, incognito.  I resisted being in high-profile classes, being on a team of any sort, dressing or even talking in a way that would cause me to be noticed.  As it was, loads of unwanted attention came my way anyway, and I was often flustered and uncomfortable.

Fast forward to the present.  I’m more comfortable in my skin and have lost many of the inhibitions of speaking in public, wearing pretty colors, and generally being noticed.  I earned my Master’s degree in Environmental Policy and Management and have started a part-time job where I meet people and interact with them on a daily basis.  I’m comfortable saying what I think and standing up for my self, kids, morals, ethics, etcetera.

What does this have to do with a half-marathon?  It hasn’t escaped me that running a race is a metaphor for many aspects of my life.  For some reason I’ve created a “mock-up” of what this race is supposed to be and how I fit into the picture, just as I’ve created pictures of what my life should look like.  I’ve toyed with the idea of dropping out of the race and using the excuse of injury.  Certainly an injury is a valid excuse, except that I’m not severely injured and I know for a fact that it would be a major cop-out.

I’m venturing into uncharted territory.  I’m stretching my current mold and I have no idea what I’m going to look like when all this transformation is finished.  A few months ago Karley made a very astute comment about the past four years.  “You’ve gone to great lengths to transform yourself and re-make yourself into the woman you want to be.”  This is true.  It’s a scary process but I’m coming out the other side stronger, wiser and more confident.  The depths that I’m traveling are hard and scary, but it’s work that I have to do.  Therefore, I think that I have to go forward with this race and come out at the finish line.  Something about the process of racing and stepping up to the plate to play holds a key to some intensely uncomfortable personal growth.