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Apr 29

What we learn from the races that don’t go as planned

jane

Two years ago I signed up for the See Jane Run Half Marathon as my first 13.1 race distance. I picked it specifically because of the company’s mantra and it’s encouragement of women of all kinds.

“Here’s to you.  The broad-shouldered, the knock-kneed, the pigeon-toed, the small-breasted, the wide-hipped, the long-waisted, the short-legged, the stocky, and the skinny. And yes, even the perfectly proportioned.  May you live long, enjoy dessert, and never stop laughing.  Blisters heal. Muscles recover. Friendships last a lifetime. High heels have their place in the very back of the closet.  If you can run a mile, you can run a marathon. There comes a time when you really need to replace your sports bra. No really. Consider this.  Only one person wins. Everyone else should have a rockin’ good time. Yes, you can talk and run at the same time. Chewing gum is the hard part. A little chocolate goes a long way. Be yourself. There’s a little bit of Jane in all of us.”

To me, that’s the embodiment of running. It doesn’t matter who you are, how much you weigh or how fast you run: You can and will do this.

In fact, what propelled me to sign up for an earlier half marathon was that notion that if I could run a mile, I could run 13.1 just fine. So in January, immediately after my first 10-mile run around my city, I did just that.

Then I signed up for another.

By the time I hit the picturesque start-line in Alameda for See Jane Run, the race I signed up to be my first was now my third. But I held dear to what was supposed to be. This race meant everything to me.

I ran a 2:35:36 in Oakland for my first half marathon. I ran a 2:27:34 for my second. I was hoping to run a 2:25 for See Jane Run.

I remember being so optimistic when my husband dropped me off at Washington Park in Alameda. It was a sea of friendly faces. Every woman there was happy. The best part was the before-race 1980s inspired aerobic workout.

Once I started running, I felt good. My 10K time was decent.

Then I started to fall apart. My feet started to fall apart.

My body started to fall apart.

I was encouraged on by all the fabulous runners around me, but I just fell flat. Something was wrong. All that positive I took into the race was disappearing, but not because the race was bad. The race was fantastic. The volunteers were amazing. Everyone was really supportive.

But I wasn’t “on” at all.

By time we head back into the finish-line area, off the island we were running around, I could tell my feet were blistered up. And not just small blisters here and there. I feet felt as if the entire bottom was blistered beyond repair.

I was in pain.

I crossed the finish line at 2:42:16.

And I was devastated.

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My husband took this photo of me after I sat down at a park bench for about 30 minutes and tried to figure out what went wrong. I was near tears. I was so upset.

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Then he shot this one because he told me no one could take a photo looking sad with a glass of champagne in their hands and chocolate in their stomach. No one. Not even after running 13.1 miles. He’s a wise man.

And yes, that’s the view from Crown Beach Memorial Park, where See Jane Run in California ends. You can sit there and just stare out at the water for hours. Which is good if you’re feet hurt and you have a glass of champagne. (If those aren’t reason enough to run this race, I don’t know what would be.)

Needless to say, the race knocked the passion out of me for a couple weeks. I kept asking myself questions on what I could have done differently.

Are you supposed to get better at half marathons are you do more? Shouldn’t you feel better at the end of each race?

I learned something, though, as a sat out a couple weeks processing what happened at the race: You will have bad running days.

You’re probably thinking: Well, yeah. Everybody has bad days at SOMETHING.

But I was still very new to running. I was still very unsure of myself. I didn’t know how to react to a race going that completely wrong when it should have gone right. Now I know you react and change. You look at what happened and make sure it doesn’t again. You adapt.

That day, I realized what was wrong fairly quickly. I was wearing the wrong socks. At that point I had very little experience with wearing “performance” clothing. I had just started purchasing Dri-Fit shirts and moisture-wicking pants. In many of my early race photos, you can see me wearing my $1 Target socks.

They’re socks. Who needs to buy special socks? If you’re running for a long time, i.e. over two hours, you should probably invest in some good socks. (Still new to running? See Jane run has you covered in the socks area, no doubt.)

So my time on the course didn’t exactly constitute my finest running moments during the 2011 See Jane Run race. But I walked away from it with a much greater perspective on overcoming and fighting. It didn’t matter how much pain I was in that day, I was going to get to the finish. I was going to get my chocolate and champagne. And I did.

That’s part of the reason I sent in an application to be an ambassador for the company this year. The blisters healed. The ego wounds did too. But I took something more powerful away from that specific race than I realized at the time. I took the skills I needed to run every one of my long runs, marathons included, with persistence.

See Jane Run holds a special place in my heart because of that. That race taught me one of my first big lessons in running.

I also took the knowledge that bad days are like bad runs. The ones that don’t go right make us appreciate the ones that do so much more.

So this year, I’ll be back out on the course. I’ll be focusing on running as fast as I possibly can to 1) Beat my time from 2011 and 2) Hopefully PR. I’ll also be using it as a final training race for the San Francisco Marathon, which is the following weekend. I already know it’s going to be an amazing time, if only because two years ago it was and I know it’s just become even better since then.

It’s a a half marathon, sure. But it’s also a party that celebrates women over 13.1 miles. And you should join the party.

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The link above takes you to a registration page where the half is $85 through May 8. Then the price goes up by $10. Not quite ready for a half yet? The 5K is also a fun option with the same perks (chocolate and champagne at the finish!). The 5K is $45 currently.

Did I mention it’s mostly flat and fast? Plus the neighbors cheer you! I had a toddler give me a high-five two years ago. You can’t beat a toddler high five!

(NOTE: I’m a See Jane Run Ambassador for 2013-14, but the views in this blog post are completely my own. I really believe in this race and what See Jane Run represents. So come out and celebrate with us. OK?)

 

Apr 28

My week, in photos

Because it’s been a long, crazy week. And I only ran 10 of my 15 miles on Saturday then worked all day. So I present, my week, in photos.

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I woke up late Tuesday because I had turned down the ringer on my phone for some reason. I literally threw myself together to so I could be at school by my student’s 9 a.m. lab start. I was greeted, just before 9 a.m., to this site right outside my building.

Fire alarm.

We waited outside for about 20 minutes before getting the all clear.

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Speaking of school, college students are a much more lively bunch than high school, middle school or elementary school bunches. Why? They are funny, in a subtle way.

I found this gem of a posting right outside my office. It speaks to my inner dork and brings me back to my original Nintendo playing days.

Who didn’t love The Legend of Zelda? I remember walking into the little caves to get the all impressive sword. With final weeks coming up soon (we finish the semester in mid May), I thought this was rather appropriate.

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My Boston shirt came in the mail today. It’s HUGE on me, but I don’t care because all proceeds go to One Fund Boston. It’s also a crazy bright yellow, which means everyone will see me wearing it a mile away.

It’s cotton, so I won’t be wearing it at night when I’m running. But I love this shirt, if only because it represents runners helping runners.

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I went to a spaghetti dinner hosted by my friend’s daughter’s school. It was only $5 a plate and it benefited all the cool things elementary school’s do for children (which essentially means I’m not 100-percent sure what the money is going to, but it’s a good cause I’m sure). The lovely item above is the centerpiece for the tables.

My trip to the small adjacent town next to where I live also included visiting my friend’s severely burned home. She’s not living there currently. But a cedar chest she was partial too was damaged pretty significantly in the fire. She was told to call it a loss.

I saw it and realized it wasn’t. In my ample spare time (ha!), I refinish furniture. Mostly all my own to this point. I told her all I need was some time with it and I could make it as good as new. Maybe better. New stain, new finish. So after we ate a plate of spaghetti each and stayed for a raffle/silent auction (she took away a nice entertainment-based basket for her children) we headed over to casa-de-crisp and picked up the chest.

I backed my Jeep onto her non-existent lawn. My husband got it in the car.

The good news is construction for the rebuild/renovation of her house started this week. The bad news is that it won’t be done until October.

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My husband is back to working normal shifts at his job, which means he has more time on the weekends to do things like cook. And vacuum. And generally not be a zombie.

He’s pretty excited to go back to 9/80 schedules (five days one week, four days the next, making every other weekend a three-day weekend). I’m excited to have him back too.

He made steak and corn on the cob on his grill on Saturday night. It was delicious.

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All that work I was doing Friday? It carried into Saturday. And will carry into today.

One of the things on my to-do list is FEMA-based training for school. In order to continue to be “eligible for employment” in the community college system I work in, I have to finish this mandated training. I’ve put if off a long time. It’s due May 9. I took a test for one of two lessons tonight. I’m waiting for the response in my work email.

I took a photo of this because the first “action” talks about “planned events” such as “First Night festivities” and “Fourth of July celebrations.” Both are really specific. In the middle of that it says “the marathon.” I know it has to be applied to all municipalities (this course focused on the National Incident Management System), but “the marathon” is so vague it’s funny.

Apr 27

Guess who’s running for chocolate and champagne?

I’m up late. Working. Because my students’ put out a newspaper this week and my freelance stuff got put on the back burner for more than a good minute. I have to churn out work through the weekend now.

Normally I’m cranky by now and just want to put my head on my pillow and sleep (especially because I’m supposed to run 15 miles today).

But I just got some great news. Not even great. No. Better than great. AMAZING NEWS.

I’ve been selected as a See Jane Run Ambassador for the coming year!

:::DOES LITTLE DANCE:::

:::SCARES HUSBAND WITH SQUEALING:::

:::SENDS BACK SURVEY TO SEE JANE RUN WITHOUT INCLUDING HER NAME:::

That means I get to participate in the See Jane Run Alameda Race on June 8! That also means I get to represent a brand that promotes running as inclusive to all women, no matter the size or ability. It means I probably get to meet Lori Shannon, the woman behind this amazing concept! And I get to run for chocolate again! (That cute little tin above? That’s a “cheer up” present from my husband from the 2011 race where I didn’t do all that well on the course. I’m TOTALLY avenging my previous time!)

SO MUCH EXCITEMENT.

I. DIE.

Now I’m so pumped I want to run 15 miles right now! Since that’s probably not advisable at this hour, I’ve instead created a “See Jane Run” category on my blog. So much more to come on this!

Apr 22

Knowing the time is right (and why my husband is a saint)

thomas

I’m going to start this blog post with the truest statement I can: My husband is a saint.

I know a lot of women gush about how amazing and supportive their husbands are, but I know everyday how lucky I am. When I met Thomas 11+ years ago I didn’t know that we’d be sharing our lives together this far down the line. I never envisioned us being at each other’s college graduations. Or getting married. Or buying our first house. Or having three dogs.

I didn’t know. I was only 17, though, not even a high school graduate. He was 20 and still trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. He was studying to be a photographer. I think both of us are glad he eventually chose engineering. (Because really, two unemployed journalists in a house? Bad news.)

We don’t have an easy relationship. But relationships are hard. They take work. Both of us aren’t afraid of working hard.

I’m hotheaded even on my best days. I have a sharp tongue that gives me an upper-hand in verbal confrontations, but often leaves my opponent feeling lousy. I’m stubborn as all hell. My voice, even when I’m not mad, has a way of moving past “indoor conversation” volume. And I can hold a grudge forever without it bothering me too much.

I’m the one who calls our insurance company when they over bill. I’m the one who negotiated with the car dealer last fall when we purchased our Jeep. I’m assertive, much to the dismay of some.

So when I emotionally “broke” last fall, my husband was left picking up the pieces for a woman he’d never seen fall apart so badly in more than a decade together. It scared him. Probably more than anything else in his life or our relationship had ever scared him. He lost the essence of who I was. He lost me.

Now, he’s not a timid type or anything to that nature. He’s a man who handles large-scale projects for a living. He’s a man who really “sees the forest through the trees” in every aspect of what he does. He’s ridiculously intelligent, which he would say about me in return, but in a much different way. I’m a creative type, I can visualize projects, pages, design and code, putting it all together in my head. He’s analytical. He sees numbers and measurements. He’s a “measure four times, then cut” kind of guy.

This may, we’ll be married for five years.

What it means to us? We’ve made it this far in a loving, amazing relationship. We’re doing a good job! Good on us for keeping it together!

What it means to outsiders? We should have had children four years ago.

I’m not even kidding.

I’ve been asked, in recent years, whether there was “something wrong” with me. I’ve been confronted, point blank, by someone inquiring if I was barren.

“All that running you do can’t be good for getting pregnant,” someone once told me.

Even better was when someone told me they could recommend a good specialist in “that area” of concern.

When we got a new dog this year, I nearly died when I got this text message: “So you’re going to keep getting dogs instead of having children?”

My reply to all these things isn’t exactly holding my mouth:

what

Instead, I’ve become accustom to using a phrase I heard from a once-friend: “Ladies and gentleman, please get out of my uterus!”

My grandmother, who I love dearly, even pulled a guilt trip on me last summer when I turned 28. She told me that women my age have two or three children by now. “I’d like to see your children before I die,” she implored. Thanks grandma. THAT’S exactly what I needed.

When I called her up saying I had “good news” recently, she responded: “You’re finally pregnant!”

No grandma. No. I had signed up for another marathon. She wasn’t impressed.

My husband once told me he wanted children by the time he turned 30. He was also 20. A lot changes in ten years.

He’ll be 32 this year. In a month, I’ll be 29.

And you know what? We’re talking about it now. In detail. We bought a four-bedroom, three-bath house in 2010 with the intention of “growing” into it. But not with 10 dogs. With children. (Want people to REALLY start nagging you again about children? Buy a house that’s too big for you.)

But the conversation started last year, when I still had a full-time job that kept me away from home 60+ hours a week. Then the part-time job that sometimes ate up 30 hours a week. I had tests done last year before my gynecologist skipped town (seriously, she was just gone one week). Soon, everything else got in the way.

This month, we started going through the motions again. That means no more birth control. Period tracking through an iPhone app (ahhh, modern technology and sorry for the TMI, not really sorry though). It also means vitamins and supplements.

We’re not jumping in full boar quite yet.

With my history of diabetes I’m actually not really “allowed” to try until at least three months worth of blood sugar tests. And I’m still hanging onto some weight it’s recommended I drop. I know not everyone gets pregnant immediately. But my new gynecologist has recommended a timeline that includes waiting to really “start trying” in the fall. As in September or October. Not tomorrow. Or Sunday. Or our fifth wedding anniversary, etc.

(Side note: I’m a bridesmaid in a wedding this December and I love the bride so much that I don’t want to be the ridiculously pregnant bridesmaid, so this timeline works out just fine. I go back for blood sugar tests after a couple months of diet watching through the summer.)

We’re also watching my recent history with anxiety and depression carefully.

Which is where the part about my husband being a saint comes back into play.

When everything that happened to me at my previous job reached crescendo and less than 24 hours later I was in a hospital recovery room after having my gallbladder removed, my husband noted the lack of people who even bothered to come see me. People he thought were my friends didn’t even send text messages. People who’d I worked with for years. (To be fair, I would have been more upset if I wasn’t so incredibly drugged up.)

One person came to see me. One person who truly loved me. She’s one of my best friends.

Thomas would have done anything to make me better. Anything.

So he did.

“You aren’t going back there,” he said to me while I was eating strawberry Jello with tears in my eyes. “If they don’t care enough about you to show up or even wish you well, you aren’t going back.”

He made the decision for me. For my health. For my sanity.

There was no discussion about money or responsibility or bills. He assured me it would be fine. He was heartbroken when I tried to get my surgeon to clear me as soon as possible so I could send a letter of resignation (the surgeon wouldn’t, he made me wait two weeks before he’d clear me if only because he thought the surgery and painkillers were impacting my decision making: “See how you feel in two weeks, then let’s talk…”).

The Tuesday after my surgery, I received the email informing that I would “not be returned to my position.” My mild-mannered, gentle husband, who isn’t prone to hyperbole, flipped his shit (there’s no lack of a better statement here, that’s what happened) even though we knew I wouldn’t be going back. I didn’t need to be mad. He was mad for me. I’ve never seen him so angry in all the years we’ve been together.

Because to me, it felt like the weight of the world was released from my shoulders. To him, it was the ultimate insult after more than a decade of work.

So you can imagine, at this point, that we don’t come to our discussions lightly about children. We’ve rarely come to any decision together lightly, even five years in to a marriage we hope will last us until we’re old and gray.

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One of my favorite photos of us, from our first dance at our May 2008 wedding.

But I know something now I didn’t know six months ago when the world I knew changed forever: I know that when he said “for better or worse” he didn’t mean it as just a simple recitation.

We’ve been through a lot of “worse” in the past year, from my crying everyday at after work home for months to the initial prescription for Zoloft to my leave from work to what happened in January. All the time, he’s been there. My biggest cheerleader. My best friend. The smiling face I see at the end of every run I do. The person who celebrates my PRs just as much as he celebrates my finishing bad races. The man who made the biggest decision of my life in a moment I couldn’t.

“We’re waiting for the right time,” people say when others ask about having children. It’s a stock reply. It’s the avoidance reply. It’s the polite way of saying “I don’t want to talk to you about that” or “stop asking me that question.”

The reason I’m front loading my race season? The reason I’m running two marathons in the spring/summer and don’t have one scheduled for the fall/winter yet? Because now, we’ve decided together, that it’s getting so close to being the “right time.”

Apr 19

What we take from Boston

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I know there will be a lot of posts about Boston this week. I know that I’m also behind on being relevant with this. It’s amazing what happens when you are no longer tied to the day-to-day life of a journalist. I’m still in the mindset of a journalist, though. When I see a to-do list, I bust through it like there’s no tomorrow. Because in news tomorrow is too late.

This week, I’ve been bogged down in catch-up projects that got pushed aside during my student’s journalism conference.

But I’ve also been watching the news.

A lot of news. It’s basically been on auto play behind me for four days.

On Monday, I told my husband that this hits close to home in more ways that I could even comprehend as I watched the events unfolding in front of me Monday. This was an attack of unspeakable horror. At a public event. At a marathon.

I run marathons.

Once upon a time I was accused, by a newspaper reader, as making a horrific event all about me. The problem with events like what happen in Boston, a lot of people start asking themselves questions about how it could impact them, or if it could.

What I knew before Monday: The start line used to be what caused massive anxiety for runners (especially me).

What I know now: Now the finish line takes on a completely different meaning.

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THE FINISH LINE

The start line has always been a source of fear and trepidation among runners (the photo above is the Oakland Half Marathon start in March). It’s when your heart starts racing. When every doubt you can think of crosses your mind. If you’re anything like me, the moment you get past the start is actually the minute you feel any sort of relief.

The finish? The finish brings mixed emotions, depending on how a runner does. The first marathon? The finish is the goal. The PR run? The finish is the moment to quit the push. The bad run? It’s the moment it’s finally over.

Consider what the Boston Marathon represents to those who run it. It’s the crowing glory for the everyday runner. It’s a tough race to get into. Runners have to qualify. I likely will never qualify for Boston. Many runners won’t. For those who do, it’s not just about those 26.2 miles. It’s not about Heartbreak Hill. It’s about the journey.

Seeing that finish line? It’s the finish line of all finish lines.

Now it means something completely different. Joy and accomplishment have been replaced with sorrow.

‘LARGE PUBLIC GATHERINGS’ A CONCERN?

On Monday, one of the talking points that kept coming up was that of how to make “large public gatherings” safe.

Have you ever considered any marathon you run a “large public gathering?”

Think about it. Because until this week, I never did. Instead, I lumped running events into “you either have to be crazy enough to do this or love someone who is” to be here. I think about the smaller races I’ve run, where people not involved were annoyed at our presence when streets were closed down. The bigger races? Well, even those didn’t really seem all that big.

Then I think about the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego Marathon. I ran the full 26.2 last year (it sucked, I cried, I’m over it).

According to Active.com, the “Epic Summer Run” is one of the top 10 runs, according to finishers, in the United States.

The ING New York Marathon (43,660), Bank of America Chicago Marathon (33,701), Boston Marathon (22,843) and the Marine Corps Marathon (21,405) are the top four. Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego includes 13,361 finishers. I was among those finishers last year.

This year I’m signed up for the half marathon with my friend Sam. She’s running all the Rock ‘n’ Roll events she can this year.

Yes, the suspects were apprehended (one died, the other was taken into custody earlier this evening). But there are so many twisted people in this world (what you learn from 10 years in the news industry is that humanity, while there are good moments, is full of bad people), that I wonder if this could happen somewhere else.

I’m running San Diego before I run the San Francisco Marathon this summer. Both are large events.

I’d be lying if I said thinking like this didn’t trigger my anxiety.

TECHNOLOGY AND SOCIAL MEDIA ARE EVER PRESENT

This is kind of a given, but you don’t see it really, truly in action until something like this happens. On Sept. 11, 2001, very few people had their smart phones out. Facebook wasn’t invented. Those initial images we received on the attacks? More often than not, they were from news photographers. Not a lot of people were pulling out their smart phones.

Today? The finish line at the Boston Marathon was literally the most photographed public place that day. From the moments before (captured by a Boston Globe videographer), to the moment of (captured by an Instagrammer flanking the race path) to the aftereffects (including the YouTube video of people pilfering the Adidas booth).

I ask my students in my first lecture of every semester the same question: Where do you get your news?

Where did you find out about Boston?

I was knee deep in code and curriculum writing on Monday. A Facebook status post alerted me to Boston. It was from another runner friend. That’s when I turned on the television. I tell my students all the time that the best ideas for stories come from Facebook. I can name about 10 ideas that I’ve found on Facebook in the past year.

Twitter is also good for that. This obviously was a breaking news event. Still, social media played a huge role in conveying messages to the masses. I teach mass communication. Unfortunately a really bad headache kept me from my class and more talk of the Boston Marathon on Thursday, but believe me, we’ll be digesting this story for weeks to come.

Why? There is just so much more now out there. We are seeing every side of this story, good, bad and indifferent. Consider, too, that the photos also played a huge role in the identifying of the suspects. The FBI was asking for photos and video.

Say what you want about being in a wired society, in this case it helped crack the case.

RUNNERS ARE STRONGER THAN THIS

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This may be the most obvious lesson from watching the bomb blasts in Boston. The videos show the dazed reality runners were heading into after the blasts. And 468 just kept running. That’s right, nearly 500 people finished the 26.2 mile journey AFTER the bombs blew.

“They had no idea what was happening,” one of my Facebook friends wrote.

True. But if you’ve ever run a marathon you know that in those last few miles, you are basically on autopilot. Your legs feel like they are going to collapse under you. You can’t remember exactly why you signed up. You are tired.

The moment you see the finish line, you just run. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve missed seeing my husband at the finish line because I’m just running and not thinking about anything else.

Runners are a tough bunch.

Runners are also part of a tight-knit community.

And we come to the aid of other runners in times of need. Members of my running club were posting links on how to help, whether it be racking up charity miles or donating to campaigns.

On Thursday, Adidas introduced Boston: Stand as One shirts. The first ones listed, including the yellow one above for women, sold out. I was able to grab up a yellow one before they were all gone. The $26.20 goes to One Fund Boston to support the victims of the attack.

Runs have been scheduled across the country for people to show support. This is an amazing community to belong to.

“You will run again,” President Barack Obama said to attendees of a prayer service on Thursday. The truth, though, is that runners never stop running. Those 468 marathoners kept running. There were people running for Boston that evening. There have been all week. This weekend, the London Marathon will go on as planned, though with more security precautions.

SO WHAT DO WE TAKE FROM BOSTON?

Hours after the second suspect was apprehended alive, what we take, at least right now, is the realization that it only took law enforcement four days, less than 100 hours, to catch the the two allegedly responsible. That’s fast.

We also take away a sense that we may not be as safe on the marathon route, that once exposed in those 13.1 or 26.2 miles, the finish line is not a guarantee.There’s no promise we’ll make it to the end. As runners we know that going in.

But we also take a sense of community, of knowing that we are not alone because there are people out there who want the good to outweigh the bad. And that’s the real lesson in this week.

Apr 15

There are no words

therearenowords

I’ve been watching the live coverage of the Boston Marathon explosions since I received the first update on my phone earlier today.

My television is surrounded by my California International Marathon poster and a Nike Women’s Half Marathon picture frame. Marathons are part of my life. I watched the live coverage of the winners this morning online.

Then I shut off my television.

I’ve been watching the replay of the explosion at the 4:09 mark.

The photos are horrible and dramatic. An emergency room doctor earlier said there were several “traumatic amputations” of the victims. NBC is quoting that two are dead. The number injured is still in dispute, but it’s somewhere around 100. A former soldier, who finished before the explosion, compared the explosions to an IED blast.

It’s chilling to watch the videos over and over again.

These are details you can’t forget.

It’s painful to watch. The Boston Marathon is the top event in marathon running for mere mortals. There are stringent qualifying times and rules to get it. It’s heartbreaking to see what’s happening there.

It’s heartbreaking to know that the marathoners there will never come to the start line of a marathon feeling the same way again. It’s also heartbreaking to know that some of the rest of us, me included, won’t feel the same either. This event changes everything.

My prayers are with those in Boston right now.

Apr 15

Jumping back in

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There was a bit of a joke in my house last week about my ample amount of extra time since I usually take a week off of running after a marathon. It’s less about recovery, more about me giving myself a treat. One week without running.

That said, I really didn’t have “ample” free time last week. I spent Monday recovering from the run while coding some websites, specifically mocking up a text-only version of a site I’d been working on for some time. Then my students had full-day labs both Wednesday and Thursday for the newspaper. Then, as I was hoping for a wind down, I left with six students for a three-day, two-night journalism conference.

Once there, it was literally one thing after another for the entire time.

I’m not ashamed to say I slept most of Sunday.

So today is finally my “back to running” day. But I’m buried in projects. So I’m not 100 percent sure that’s going to happen either.I’m also behind on grading. So far behind.

Yikes.

That joke about free time? It’s really just a joke.

But since I’m home more now than I was six months ago, my husband constantly reminds me that I can’t just walk past the dishes and laundry anymore without doing anything.

I was peeling potatoes last week and he offered to buy me an apron.

“You’ll probably need one now,” he laughed.

My husband, the comedian.

I need to jump back into running. But I’m still a little tired from the crazy week I’ve had.

Part of that means writing down a plan for the San Francisco Marathon. Right now, I have my 18-miler in place (thanks to the Mermaid Series Sirena 18), and a half marathon planned out (Rock ‘n’ Roll Portland).

The quick turnaround between runs means I go back to mid-length runs this weekend, maybe even a 10-miler. In fact, I have a feeling that I’ll be doing at least two 15-milers during this training cycle. San Francisco is big on hills. I need to be ready.

So here’s to jumping back into it, or at least trying to, this week.

Apr 13

Working, but not working out

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You know when you go on a work trip and take your running clothes because you are convinced you are going to run? And then your scheduled becomes so packed that you can’t?

I’ve been in Sacramento since Thursday afternoon for a community college journalism conference. I have six students with me. We leave late tonight, after a fancy dinner where I’ll be wearing a dress and heels.

My students have been scheduled with back to back breakout sessions.  I’ve been running around trying to keep track of money, hotel reservations and making sure everyone gets fed.

And now we’ve checked out of our hotel rooms and deactivated our room keys, right when I could have had a chance to check out the hotel treadmill. I don’t know the area well enough to not get lost on a run.

It’s a good thing I ran a marathon last weekend. I’m just going to call this “recovery” time.

Apr 10

A SLO marathon: Part II

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So, I’m serious when I say that I think the very comfortable bed at the Days Inn on Main Street in Morro Bay was beyond comfortable. I felt like I literally sank into the bed and it just cuddled me all night. It made for a very good night’s sleep.

My alarm clock went off at 4 a.m. I had planned to leave Morro Bay at 4:45 a.m. with my husband. So I went about getting ready, mainly putting in my contacts and grabbing up all my stuff. I had decided I would wear a long-sleeve Brooks “Run Happy” shirt for the race, even though I knew I likely wouldn’t need it after the first half.

Right on time, my husband and I were out the hotel room door and headed through downtown Morro Bay to the freeway. In less than 20 minutes, he was dropping me off at the designated zone. Scratch that, he dropped me off further up the street from the designated zone.

The starting line was at San Luis Obispo High School. The parking lot was clean. It was cool, but not freezing. And there was pretty of light.

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My photos are a little blurry because I was a little jittery. The beautiful thing about this photo is that there were a ton of portable toilets behind me. And, because on my anxiety problems, I was able to just kind of hang out in a very, very clean one until about five minutes before the start.

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See all those portable toilets? That’s what a runner likes to see.

At about 5:40 a.m. the announcer started corralling the marathoners, all 600 or so of us, to the start line. I initially thought the start was right in front of where all the half marathoners were sitting, near the multitude of other portable toilets. In fact, it was at the beginning of a neighborhood.

I’ll admit it: I immediately felt bad for the neighbors. Wow. They had to hear this guy yelling over and over again. We only had to listen for like 20 more minutes. Yikes. (Neighbors later complained about the noise on Facebook.)

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That’s the view as we made our way to the start. It was pretty dark. For a minute, I was kind of worried about the light. Some runners had headlamps. Headlamps. For a day marathon.

Crap. All I could think of was how my doctor just recently told me that it I fell on my arm again within the next six months, I could potentially break it again. I don’t want to re-break my arm. Please don’t let me re-break my arm.

We queued up pretty quickly. I didn’t even know where the pace groups where. I wasn’t exactly looking for one, but still. It was dark when we started at 5:59 a.m.

Mile 1: 10:13 — I was actually on pace to hit a 9:30 mile when I realized I was going out way too fast. Slow down girl. You have 25 more miles of this.

Mile 2: 10:29 — This mile was a combination of downhill and uphill. Maintaining. But I’m starting to actually get warm here. Ugh. Great. I didn’t want to stop and take off my long-sleeve shirt just yet.

Mile 3: 10:41 — More uphills, including the biggest initial climb that gets us out of downtown and starts on the path toward Edna Valley. I start to loosen up a little bit here. My calves feel good. My head feels good.

Mile 4: 11:31 — Continuing that uphill battle right here. Legs are finally starting to wake up and realize that we’re running. And we’re going to run far.

Mile 5: 9:44 — Wheeeee! Downhill. All downhill. Later on, I realized I probably shouldn’t have taken off like this, just because I think it kind of destroyed my legs later on.

Mile 6: 11:22 — The hills are rolling now. This is still the half marathon course. But I’ve only been passed by one half marathoner so far. Good sign? I don’t know. I’m pacing pretty well right now.

Mile 7: 11:52 — The good news is that I’m coming in under 12 on the hills, whereas once upon a time that WAS my pace.

Mile 8: 11:00 — I start to realize that these hills are much more serious than I thought. The elevation changes are drastic, but I’m actually not really feeling all that horrible quite yet.

Mile 9: 11:24 — I decided that I was starting to get a little tired, but I really, really wanted to have all my miles up to 10 under 12-minutes. I kept thinking it would be AWESOME to finish with an average time under 12 minutes.

Mile 10: 11:13 — Score! Under two hours! I’m still feeling good here.

Mile 11: 11:37 — Still going strong. We’re heading into the marathon out and back. I’m so ready to start heading back. For some reason heading back just seems like a mental break. Once I start heading back, that means it’s over soon, yes? And…suddenly I had to go to the bathroom.

Mile 12: 12:22 — I’m actually not ashamed of this mile, considering that I had to stop and go to the bathroom. I see two portable toilets on the side right near the turnaround. Out loud I say: “Please, please, please be open!” I was honestly surprised when one was. Quick in and out! I love small races.

Mile 13: 13:01 — Then I had that mile that killed me a little. I was doing so well, making progress, then suddenly it was like the wind got knocked out of me. I had a hard time picking it back up.

Mile 14: 11:33 — Back at it, saving myself a little. And downhills.

Mile 15: 11:35 — I know the hills are coming up, especially a big one, so I try to conserve.

Mile 16: 12:15 — That big uphill. I walked it. I was tired. But I kept going. Part of me didn’t want to start running again.

Mile 17: 12:38

Mile 18: 11:57

Mile 19: 13:17 — My problematic left IT band was starting to really, really bother me. Too many rolling hills, too much pounding in general. This was the point where I realized I was still doing pretty well in terms of time. OK, I need to slow it down. I need to take some time to walk. Slow walking. I was slogging. If that’s even a word.

Mile 20: 13:28 — Beating myself up a little and still slogging. SLOGGGGG. UGHHHHH.

Mile 21: 12:19 — I decided to start picking it up again. I wanted to start mile 26 in under the five-hour mark. I really, really wanted it.

Mile 22: 12:16 — But I’m not going fast. I can’t run as fast as I want. My IT bands, both now, hurt. This was, unfortunately, the less scenic part of the run. We headed back into the downtown area. There were far less people here, but the traffic was coming back too.

Mile 23: 13:36 — More slogging, but I wasn’t even sorry now. I was doing OK. I was coming in under the 5:20 mark that was my previous PR. I knew it would be OK now.

Mile 24: 12:26 — Getting back into the downhill area. If you look at the elevations, it looks as if the last six miles are downhill. They aren’t. Not even close. More hills. A walk bridge that goes up only to come back down. I’m exhausted.

Mile 25: 13:50 — So exhausted that even when I need to fill up my water, I kind of come to a dead stop instead of continuing to run. I’m excited when I see this later because I only had five miles in the 13 range. I was excited about that. And it was because my legs weren’t exactly properly trained to run a full marathon. The longest I had run was 15 miles. I’ll take it.

Mile 26: 12:07 — Pushing it into the end. I’m ready to be done running. I see my husband standing alongside the fence area. “I’m coming in under what I thought!” I yell at him. He has a huge smile on his face. I can tell he’s proud. Really proud.

Mile .3: 2:43 — And then, finally, I cross the finish line. I hurt, but not nearly as bad as I did when I finished the monsoon known as California International Marathon 2012. I was elated.

Chip time: 5:12:21

That’s eight minutes, 20 seconds off my PR from CIM 2011.

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I was so happy, I cried. And people were concerned, which I think is amazing and funny at the same time. I made my way back out to my husband after grabbing a small Jamba Juice, which I really didn’t want to drink.

In fact, I didn’t really want to eat or drink anything. I just wanted to hug my husband. I just wanted to cry. I did. A lot.

A woman walked by me and said: “Oh, honey, you did good!”

I think she thought I was sad. I wasn’t sad.

“I just wanted to make you proud,” I said to Thomas. He gave me this really sad look and told me I make him proud all the time. I didn’t need to run a faster marathon to do it. Truth be told, all my husband asks is that I don’t give up. And I make every effort when I run to not give up.

On Sunday, I didn’t give up. And I finally got my 5:15 finish. I did even better than my 5:15 projected finish.

I was so extremely happy to have my 5:12:21 finish.

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I love this photo my husband took of me. You can see the finish line to the left of me. You can see the pink sign for the Madonna Inn, kind of, behind me. And then there’s the expo tent with a guy stretching out right next to it.

I’ve learned a lot about myself in the past couple months as it pertains to running. I’ve realized that something was truly, incredibly wrong with me. That all that training I was doing that I felt was all for nothing was not working because I had a physical issue that was really holding me back. I was in pain. I was having issues each run. My stomach issues were reaching a real peak late last year as I was going through a bunch of other crap.

Pain was holding my passion back. Now I’m moving forward without it. And I’m realizing I’m a better runner than I thought I was.

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After lunch at the Applebee’s with my husband’s uncle, we started on our nearly four hour ride home. The good news is that I was sore, but it was an amazing kind of sore. It was a sore than comes with the realization that after nearly a year, I had finally broken my previous PR. And I had fun doing it. I felt amazing, even with a cranky IT band, all 26 miles of it.

It was good. I’m not a religious person, but I felt as if all of — the run, the experience, the positive vibes, my husband smiling at the finish — was telling me that everything was going to be alright.

Apr 9

A SLO marathon: Part I

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I realized when I was printing out my confirmation for the San Luis Obispo Marathon that I registered on Jan. 1 at 2 p.m. By 7 p.m. that night, I was laying in a hospital bed curled over begging the emergency room staff to give me something for that pain.

When they finally did, the marathon I had just signed up for was the farthest thing from my mind. I was pumped full of Dilaudid and sent home. A week later, I was back in the hospital being rolled into an operating room having my gallbladder removed.

Ominous beginnings, right?

Good thing the San Luis Obispo Marathon didn’t turn out anywhere near bad. It was actually an amazing, pleasant experience. I had fun. I felt good. It turned out to be a great weekend, actually.

My husband and I left home at around 11 a.m. I completely forgot how long the drive down to the San Luis Obispo area was, a total of about four hours with a pit stop for lunch. The drive was relatively uneventful. In fact, we hit very little traffic on the way down, likely due to our late start.

By 3:30 p.m. we were driving down into central San Luis Obispo on Highway 101, passing right by the tented expo at the Madonna Inn.

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I should explain why I decided I wanted to run this race.

One of the issues I’ve had lately is with running really large races. Nothing spikes my anxiety more than being around a huge group of people. So I’ve been avoiding large marathons. I’m lucky that California International Marathon only has about 8,000 people. I was slightly hyperventilating at the beginning of CIM. The fear was masked by the rain, thankfully.

I read that the SLO Marathon had a cap of 1,200 marathon runners. The half marathoners were capped at 4,000.

I hate to say this, because it’s a great race, but I knew that the races wouldn’t sell out. The event is only in it’s second year. I heard about it from another runner’s blog, but otherwise there was very little Internet chatter about the marathon. I signed up when I did in order to avoid rising prices, though it still wasn’t cheap.

On Sunday, only 672 people ran the marathon. It started at 6 a.m. It was still dark. By the time I was hitting mile three, the half marathon was starting. Most of my time on the course, I only saw one or two of the fastest half marathoners. Small. Nice.

Plus, I love the SLO area. My husband and I went on our first vacation together in Morro Bay. We went back for years before our lives became too busy (note, we need to go back more now).

I ignored the elevation chart. I just wanted to run somewhere beautiful.

And it was beautiful when we arrived at the expo. It was also easy in and easy out to get my race packet. The only people lined up for the marathon were two misplaced half marathoners. It took me about five minutes from start to finish to get my race packet and number, which was assigned the day of. The race organizers then wrote my shirt size on the bib tag for me to claim my shirt.

I initially signed up for a medium. On race day, my husband went and exchanged it for a large. It was way too tight across the chest. But it was a beautiful green color, very similar to my CIM one (see above).

We made our way through the expo, which actually didn’t seem all that big. I found the race gear booth and admit that I went a little crazy. I’ve been so good at not buying anything running related lately. But I always consider marathons different. I don’t do a ton of them, definitely not as many as the half marathons I do. So I bought myself a nice jacket, my first nice race-related jacket.

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The nice logo was embroidered on the front. It’s a nice jacket, with a fleece lining and no hood. It’s kind of a windbreaker material, but it’s really, really warm.

So I splurged a little. The back of the jacket also had a basic logo on it, but simplistic design that I loved enough that I was sold pretty quickly on the jacket.

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I also bought a hefty water bottle. I’m already using it. Like I said, I haven’t been buying any running items lately, so I figured this would be my gift to myself for running the marathon. Incentive is always a plus, especially with 26.2 miles ahead.

We didn’t stay at the expo long. The area is too nice to stay inland. And we were staying in Morro Bay, which was only 20 minutes away. I had told my husband I would have preferred to stay in SLO, but I’m glad we stayed on the coast.

We actually headed out to the peninsula area and went exploring for a little while before dinner.

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You’ll notice the difference in atmosphere here. It was nice and sunny inland. Last year the marathon was run on a relatively foggy day. This year it was beautiful the entire time. The coast, though, was layered in fog. We went for a quick jaunt along the peninsula, but I didn’t want to spend too much time on my feet.

I did get to take in some ocean calm.

It helped to soothe my nerves, though, a little before my run. We ate at an Italian place overlooking the ocean before heading back to the hotel. I settled in for bed early, at about 10 p.m. Why? My iPhone alarm was set for 4 a.m. The marathon started at 6 a.m.

And you know what? I slept really, really well. The bed was super comfortable, comparable to my bed at home.

I felt like this whole marathon lead up was different than the three times before. I felt as if I was much more calm. I wasn’t cranky. The anxious nerves were being kept at bay as well. I was taking it moment by moment.

I’d like to think that’s what led me to PR success the next day.

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