Author: Tara Cuslidge

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Taking on the Sirena 18 a second time

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Do you ever have one of those days where you truly love running? I mean not just the running part, but also the sense of accomplishment and camaraderie from other runners?

Running is hard. Anyone who tells you differently is either freakishly athletic or lying. Your feet pound the pavement constantly. Your whole body shakes. You can easily feel worn down at the end. In some cases, you feel broken and beaten.

Confession: I used to feel the later of those things and more after a run.

Recent realization: I’m lucky to be able to finish a half marathon, marathon or any other event AT ALL. Not everyone can do it. Not everyone wants to. But being a runner, or any distance, means you’ve committed to the challenge. Finishing that distance means you did it. All the runners I’ve ever meant say that once they finished that “unreachable distance” they want to keep pushing. They want to keep going. We’re damn lucky we can.

That brings me to the Mermaid Series Sirena 18. By far, this is one of the smallest races I’ve done in the three years I’ve been running. And I love it.

It is one of three races I’ve run that focuses on female runners (See Jane Run and the Nike Women’s Marathon are the other two). The goal is to empower women of all sizes and backgrounds to just run. The “just run” part is hard enough. Getting out there is even tougher. Running in front of people is unfathomable for some people.

With all that said, this year’s Sirena 18 went well at the beginning, but kind of fell apart at the end for me. And you know what? That’s OK.

I was hot. The sun was beating down on me. I ran out of Gu at mile 15 (seriously!). I felt like I slowed to a crawl after blazing through the first 11 miles without any issues. And it’s all OK.

Because I went out and ran.

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The day started out in kind of a daze. My 4:30 a.m. alarm got me up quickly. I was out the door by 5:20 a.m. for a round of pick ups of fellow runners in Mountain House. My husband decided last weekend that he wanted to head up to Colusa and see a friend this weekend. That left me by myself for this run, which was OK when my running buddy Sam offered to come with and bring her daughter to run the Mini Mermaid run.

We stopped by and picked up two more runners to head to Quarry Lakes Regional Recreation Area in Fremont.

We were there within an hour, maybe even 45 minutes. My race was the earliest one, starting at 7:30 a.m.

In retrospect, I probably spent too much time in the car hanging out and not enough time stretching and preparing. It was kind of cold outside. I wasn’t exactly in “race mode.” That would come back to haunt me later.

I went and grabbed my race bib in the Sirena 18’s one line. I was also given a pretty nice, though long, shirt.

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At 7:25 a.m., I lined up and met up with my friend Mimi, who was running her first Sirena 18. Mimi and I go way back to my beginning newspaper reporting days. She’s now a director for an influential organization in my hometown. I first met and interviewed her when she was in high school. I’m in awe of all she’s done since then.

I was pretty jazzed to see her.

The race started right on time with a small field, though more people than last year. It started all good.

Mile 1: 10:06 — Good pacing, feeling good. The start is a smooth, conversational pace.

Mile 2: 10:15 — Still in the park, moving along nicely. The sky is overcast. I’m worried a little because my skin burns more when it’s overcast. I wonder if I’ve put enough sunscreen on.

Mile 3: 10:19 — My first Gu for the day. My legs were starting to warm up. We hit the first out and back. I slow for the Gu and take down a little water with it.

Mile 4: 10:19 — Feeling really good here.

Mile 5: 10:07 — The Gu starts to kick in. I feel amazing as we hit the bridge to take us to the longer of the two out-and-back routes.

Mile 6: 10:41 — My legs are feeling good, but I’m also getting tired.

Mile 7: 10:56 — Why am I so tired? At this point, we’re past the beginning of the park. Nowhere to go but out and back now. It’s a long way until the turnaround.

Mile 8: 10:37 — Another Gu.

Mile 9: 11:41 — Slowing through a water stop. It’s starting to get warm and it’s not even that late.

Mile 10: 10:48 — Gu is kicking in now. Feeling good. The turnaround for the longer out-and-back is within this mile. Only eight miles? I have this! (BTW, I may have been imagining it, but I thought someone said “and she runs!” right here. If that was someone out there who reads my blog, speak up!)

Mile 11: 12:13 — Or do I? I get through the first 11 miles in under two hours. It’s good, but I’m starting to really feel the heat here. In fact, it literally feels like someone just flipped a switch. Why? The first part of this section, we run facing away from the sun. On the way back, we run facing the sun. Suddenly it feels so much hotter. And I’m miserable.

Mile 12: 11:58 — I hate you sun. I hate you so much.

Mile 13: 12:55 — SUN. FIERY SUN. BLAH.

Mile 14: 12:59 — I’m hot. I’m miserable. I realize that I’m falling way behind here. I was doing so well. Now it’s falling apart. I take another Gu in between miles 13 and 14.

Mile 15: 12:03 — The Gu kicked in. I feel better, but I’m still hot. And then I realize my toe hurts. My left IT band is also screaming at me. That’s what happens when you don’t stretch. I was really feeling it then.

Mile 16: 12:48 — Between the heat, my IT band and my toe, I was dying. But the bridge back into the park was coming up again. I was elated to see it. I just wanted to finish. I tried to go for another Gu only to realize I was all out. All out. Gone. No more Gu. Well, crap. One of my major mistakes last year was not taking the Gu at mile 16.

Mile 17: 12:08 — Picking it up back into the park. I grabbed a couple glasses of very watered-down Gatorade. It hardly tasted like Gatorade. If outside the park felt steamy, inside the park was like a furnace. Yikes. Everyone around me was commenting on how horrible it felt. We hit an area near the lake and it smelled like fish. I was ready for it to be over.

Mile 17.82: 10:04 — I was a little disappointed as I came into the finish, until I saw Sam’s daughter with a sign she made specifically for me. She was running into the finish area with me, yelling “Go Tara!” OK, you can’t be mad when you see that. Not at all.

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I was handed the charm the Mermaid Series awards participants with. I crossed the finish, grabbed a bottle of water and headed over to Sam. We sat for awhile talking before moving into a more shaded area. I needed to get out of the sun. I was so afraid of baking my skin and turning into a lobster.

Less than five minutes after I finished, I got a text message from the timing company with my official time: 3:22:54.

Even though the last seven miles were not my best, I beat last year’s time by nearly 10 minutes. That’s a good run. Again, I’m damn lucky to be able to run. I’m going to celebrate it.

I’m also going to celebrate Mimi a little too. I saw Mimi a couple times along the course. Each time, she looked cool, collected and serious. Mimi was determined.

I felt honored to cheer Mimi in when she came into the finish. I wish I still had my shoes on because I would have kept running along the chute next to her. I underestimated the thickets in the grass. But I took a cue from my friend’s daughter and started yelling her name the moment I saw her.

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That’s Mimi. Mimi rocked it. I swear I’ve never seen a runner look so serene when she finished. She HAD this run. She OWNED this run. I have no doubt that when she runs a marathon, she’ll conquer it with as much determination as I saw her with out there during the Sirena 18.

One of the amazing things about the running community is that we all support each other. This is even more true at races put on with the intention of supporting female athletes. It’s women encouraging other women. Each woman’s name was said at the finish line. It’s a cheesy cliche, but it’s about “girl power.”

I was kind of on overload with all that support. Between a solid finish time (even though the last seven miles were a struggle), hanging out with my friend and her daughter (and heading out to Fremont with a car full of runners) and being able to cheer a friend on as she came into the finish, I felt proud to be a member of the running community.

I’m not sure even Mimi realizes how seeing her on the course pumped my spirits up, especially when I was struggling to keep lifting my feet. Just seeing someone you know and having them say “doing good” or “you got this” is an affirmation. It was a truly inspiring day for all of the reasons listed.

I’ll say it again: Runners choose this. We choose to endure the long runs, the long hours of workouts and the body pains. We push ourselves to go faster and longer. It makes us a little crazy, I’ll admit. But it also means we are incredibly fortunate.

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Channeling my inner mermaid

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I’m working on my race report for the Mermaid Series Sirena 18 tonight, trying to keep on top of posts for the multiple races I’ll be doing in coming weeks. But I figured I would post a quick update about how it went.

The first 11 miles were great, averaging miles with the 10-minute mark in front of them. I felt really good until about the time I hit the turnaround with a picturesque view of Coyote Hills in the foreground, then I was running straight into the sun. And I felt it. Every single step of the way.

I had to re-read my race report from last year to realize this was a problem for me then too. Basically I melt when running into the sun. Or at least that’s what it felt like today.

My last seven miles were a struggle to keep in 12-minute range, many edging up, but not quite getting to 13.

I felt like I could have performed a lot better in those last seven miles. But I’m really proud of how I did. I took nearly 10 minutes off my time from last year. I had fun. I felt like it went by a lot faster, because it did. And I felt like I knew I could do it from the get go.

So I’m not upset. Just a little disappointed that those last seven miles weren’t as good as the first 11. But getting in 11 miles in under two hours is impressive for me, not matter how I feel about the whole race right now.

I’m proud. And that’s probably the biggest difference between me as runner now and me as a runner a year ago: These things are no longer disappointments. They are just part of the journey.

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Going the distance (at any distance)

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Horrible reproduction, right? Pixelated photos are so 2008. I normally wouldn’t post a photo this grainy on my blog, but it’s one of only about three I have from my first 5K. I wasn’t “into” running then. I hop on the treadmill from time to time, usually only when I was feeling really heavy or unsatisfied with myself.

Running didn’t become part of my life for good until 2010.

But that first 5K was a monumental stepping stone for me. It was the first time I’d run that distance. I trained hard for that race, but not nearly as hard as I should have. I hurt afterwards. I felt miserable at parts during the run itself. But I also felt victorious when I finished it.

I felt on top of the world.

As spring winds down, there are races nearly every weekend now in my area. A lot of people are out running their first 5K, 10K, half marathon or marathons right now.

There are training plans all over the Internet to get runners to that next pivotal step in their running journey. But many of them don’t cover what to do to prepare for the day you walk up to the start line and get ready to go on that first run.

Here are some tips to make it through a race, whether it’s 3.1 miles or 26.2.

HYDRATE PROPERLY THE DAYS BEFORE

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That happy face? By the end of my first 5K I was panting and my legs were cramping up with a pain I had never experienced before. I didn’t know why until another runner mentioned to me, when I was complaining to my husband about how bad I felt (“…like I was hit by a truck…”), that I likely needed to be more hydrated.

I’m always worried about multiple trips to the portable toilet before a race. So in the beginning my strategy was to not drink anything so I could avoid those trips.

Don’t do that. Ever.

In fact, as a runner you should regularly be hydrating. I carry around a 25-ounce bottle of water and usually refill it once or twice a day. This is especially true now that it’s warmer outside. Keep drinking water.

Now that hydration is a regular part of my life, I don’t worry so much about those morning of bathroom trips. I’m not drinking a ridiculous amount of water in the morning to catch up now.

Hydration helps you avoid injury and cramps. It will also help you get through a new distance feeling better at the end. Take it from someone who learned the hard way.

SET REALISTIC GOALS

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That typically means being less concerned about time and more concerned about finishing.

I hate to tell people to “aim low.” But in reality, the first time you run a new distance, you should really train yourself to focus on making it through. I’m one of those people who went out way too fast in my first half marathon. Then, by the end, I looked like the above photo. I was exhausted.

I just wanted to be done.

Then at mile 10, I hit “the wall” and I’ll never forget it. My chest felt tight. My body felt like it was shutting down.

But I went into that race with one goal: finish it.

My second goal was to finish in under three hours. I figured I’d factor in some extra time as padding.

When I finished in 2:35:36 I accomplished both those goals.

I know people who make grand plans for finishing races, saying they want to have an instant PR or qualify for Boston during their first marathon. Some people do. More mortal types like me don’t. And that’s not a reason to throw in the towel.

DON’T THROW IN THE TOWEL WHEN IT GOES BAD

I’ve seen it happen. In fact, at a recent race, I recognized the symptoms of a Did Not Finish (DNF) happening right next to me as I hit mile 8 in the Oakland Half Marathon.

A woman next to me was making pretty good time. But that was my perception of it. Not hers.

She was running at a conversational pace with a friend. And she starting talking about dropping out of the race.

“I’m not going to make my 2:10 goal,” she said. “I wanted my first half to be a decent one.”

OK. A 2:10 would be a PR for me. If I could get myself to a 2:10 half marathon, I’d be over the moon happy.

Not her. She wasn’t. I ran ahead, setting my own personal PR. I waited around at the finish to see if that woman and her friend came through the chute. I saw her friend only a couple minutes after me. I never saw the women. That’s not to say she didn’t finish, but it kind of stuck with me.

I know a person who had two DNF in half marathons before she could finish one. She gave up halfway through the first two times because, in her words, she “couldn’t complete the distance.” She had run the 10-milers. She’d trained for 14 weeks. But she couldn’t do it come race morning.

The moment you start to doubt is the moment it can all go bad. Don’t let a couple bad miles ruin a race, especially if it’s the first time you’ve run the distance. I promise, you’ll feel better when you finish. And you’ll likely want to sign up for another one.

NOTHING NEW ON RACE DAY

Gear is important. You will likely carry something with you during a run, even if it’s just your car keys. I carry more stuff the longer the distance. But the key is knowing what works for you and just how little or how much you need to get through your run. Here’s a breakdown of what I carry with me over the four distances:

5K — Phone, usually in the pocket of my capris.

10K — iFitness belt, phone, two packs of Vanilla Bean Gu, small 12-ounce water bottle

Half marathon — iFitness belt, phone, five packs of Gu, 20-ounce water bottle

Marathon — iFitness belt, phone, $5 (never know when you’ll need money), 9 packs of Gu, 20-ounce water bottle

I also plan out what I am going to wear and test it at least twice on a longer run. For my half marathon, I wore a nice Dri-Fit shirt that I had worn on numerous eight and 10-mile runs during training. I also wore a pair of capris that I had run quite a few times too.

There’s a reason a lot of people don’t wear the race shirt on race day. It’s not because it’s “lame” as some people think. It’s actually because untested race wear is definitely not recommended. You could chafe. You could also be incredibly uncomfortable the entire race.

Just avoid the new things. And make sure you have tested and prepared to use the gear you are bringing.

PREP YOUR RACE GEAR THE NIGHT BEFORE

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I post photos of my race gear all the time. I also have a really bad anxiety problem. So if I don’t have everything perfectly ready the night before, I usually freak out a little in the morning.

I lay all of my gear out the night before just to make sure everything is there. It honestly saves time in the morning when I’m not rushing to find things, like my Garmin or my Body Glide.

I’ve done it so often that I just kind of go through the motions now. I also back my “after” bag with everything I need for after the race.

GET A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP

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I can’t stress this enough. But this is also one of the hardest things to do.

Why? Race day nerves often keep you up longer than you’d like to be. I know. I’ve been there. I’d like to say it gets better after you do a couple races of your “new” distance, but the reality is I’m still nervous before every race I run. I’ve just learned to cope better with the nerves (sometimes).

I prepare the day before a race by not sleeping in too late, which could keep me up at night, and generally staying off my feet as much as possible. I also try to settle down and watch television for an hour or so before I’m supposed to go to bed. It helps me relax and take my mind off of everything. I almost always in bed by 11 p.m.

JUST HAVE FUN

Another hard one when it’s your first time. You train hard. You put a ton of pressure on yourself to make it happen. Just go out and have a good time on race day. Don’t second guess your training (because by then you can’t do anything about it), just go out and run. You’ll be relieved once you shake the nerves out. But you’ll also be incredibly excited when it’s over.

Have a good time. Enjoy your day, because you never forget your first.

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Saturday, in photos

I’m thankful for calendar reminders that alert me when I forget to write something down on my actual planner. Case in point: I signed up for a symposium on data and journalism sometime in April. Then I kind of forgot about it. I knew, just knew, I had something going on this weekend, but I couldn’t remember what.

Queue emails sent from event organizers. And a Google calendar alert.

I’m so incredibly glad I didn’t miss it. I would have kicked myself if afterwards I realized it too late (or even worse, realized it as it started).

Sam actually was heading into the Bay Area on Saturday morning, so I hitched a ride to a BART station near Castro Valley to get to the University of California, Berkeley campus. The event was free to J-School alumni (super stoked about that).

I think all the walking I did qualifies as some sort of exercise. Yes?

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The main entrance to campus. A powwow was being set up there. Later in the day, I accidentally walked into a Queer Conference while trying to navigate to one of the cleaner bathrooms on campus I know (most exciting thing about that was the bathroom I went into was designated a “gender friendly” bathroom, welcoming men and women, I thought that was pretty cool). In total, I saw three homeless guys napping on lawns. And I saw a drama open house/demonstration being set up at the base of a hall.

All those reasons? That’s why I love Berkeley.

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I made my way up from the BART station in downtown Berkeley. There’s no real direct route up though campus, really there are no direct routes through campus in general.

So I slowed down a little and took in Berkeley’s park-like atmosphere.

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I also got some walking hill work done. Berkeley’s campus has a lot of hills. Some brutal and mostly upward. Others rolling. I wasn’t much of a runner while I went to school here, but imagine the hill training possibilities on the campus?

It’s no wonder I used to see the ROTC programs running through campus.

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The all-day long event brought out an array of speakers. There were six sessions, with question and answer periods. There was a breakfast buffet and a networking lunch, too.

The topics included a detailed look into policy in the afternoon. Questions of ethics were broached too. One of the things that came up a couple times was new ethical issues in data presentation and journalism that weren’t even considerations a couple years ago.

I didn’t go for credit at school or anything. (I filled my outside of class required time earlier this semester with the three-day journalism conference where I literally work all hours I’m awake.) I did it because some of the key concepts taught can be applied to my community college classroom. I’m already writing some of it into the curriculum for next fall.

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Speaking of lunch, these cookies were served. I’m not sure exactly what they were (don’t worry, the green on the plate is from a pesto pasta), but they were delicious. It was a brown sugar, pecan melt-in-your-mouth kind of cookie. I’ll admit it, I ate two. I was tempted to grab another one. I really, really wanted to.

The event ended at about 3:45 p.m. I realized I likely couldn’t get back to the train to make the train I thought I would. So I decided to take a longer stroll through campus. That included taking in some of my favorite sights.

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The Campanile is one of those landmarks that can be seen throughout the entire Bay Area. The first time I visited the campus in 2004, when I was considering applying for admission, my husband and I went up and got a bird’s eye view of the area. I remember going up again, right before I graduated and looking around. It was one of those capstones of my two years in graduate school.

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Sather Gate is about as well known as the plaza in which is stands. Sproul Plaza was the center of the Free Speech Movement once upon a time. You walk through the area, even now with it’s fenced-in buildings and can’t help but feeling connected to history. But there’s a sense of history nearly everywhere you step at Berkeley.

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I headed back down to the BART station and made my train. Despite sitting most of the day, I had kind of walked all over the place to get to and from the symposium.

The train ride back was less eventful than the one there, which involved watching a guy to pull ups on the overhead hand bars in a train car. By 5:30 p.m. I was back in car heading toward home.

That’s when Sam asked if I wanted sushi.

Of course I wanted sushi.

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That’s the orders of Sam, her son and me. Her son ordered this roll called the “Titanic.” There was so much fish in it that it kind of fell apart everywhere. That’s why it has the name it does, Sam’s son told me. I got a deep-fried California roll because I really wanted something with a tempura texture.

After a long day in and around the Bay Area, it was glorious.

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A little wine and a mini True Blood marathon later and I was in bed exhausted. I’m supposed to run mid-length to long run today, but I’m holding out until later this afternoon or this evening. I’m going to try to at least hit eight miles. I kind of feel like I have to do some sort of running today to at least put a dent in all the good food I ate yesterday.

The cookie isn’t going to burn itself off. Neither is the amazing sushi.

I’m kind of using this weekend as a rest for the next two. On May 11, I have the Mermaid Run Sirena 18. On May 18, I’m flying to Portland for the night with Sam to run the Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon.

Then I get a week of downtime before three weekends full of racing.

Things are about to get very hectic.

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A not-so-subtle reminder

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I haven’t really talked about my broken arm since the doctor gave me an “all clear” weeks ago. The mobility is far better than it was. It feels, mostly, normal. In fact, it really doesn’t bother me most the time.

Then I get a not-so-subtle reminder that it’s not quite at full operating capacity.

It usually comes when I’m in the middle of a cross-training activity. It starts as a dull pain at the site of the fracture. It’s not really noticeable at first. Then there’s a feeling of faint pressure. It’s followed by an all-at-once feeling that something is tearing the bone apart from the inside.

Needless to say, I’m not healed completely.

I can’t even do a 30-minute Jillian Michaels workout video with my friend Sam without saying “nope, can’t do this one” when we get to a move that would involve my left elbow.

I knew this would be the case.

The doctor didn’t promise me a miracle healing or even guarantee that I’d be back to my normal, push-up able self within a month. He said it would take time. He also advised me not to push as much pressure on it as I would my right arm.

So when Michaels instructs Sam and I go into a cobra position (or whatever it is, I don’t know, that 30-minutes kicks my butt), I shouldn’t be getting as much into it as I am. But I tend to push things like this a little far.

I think my arm is better. The truth is, it’s not.

In fact, the doctor told me to watch out when I run even more so because the likelihood is that if I fall on that same spot again, which I’d likely do because my luck is that great, I could completely fracture my radial head all over again.

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Doesn’t it look all healed up and unsuspecting? The pressure in that stupid little bone is ridiculously painful. I’ve never experienced “pressure” pain before. When it gets really bad, I turned to my “breakthrough-only” Ibuprofen. That’s pretty bad.

Even better, apparently I haven’t learned my lesson from all of the doctor visits, the week of a sling and the inability to move my arm completely for more than a month.

As Jennie and I were finishing up our six-mile run today, we were back into the neighborhood area where we run in front of houses. About four miles of our run twist down tree-lined paths by my house. The neighborhoods are basically at the beginning and end of the run as we make our way back to my house.

“I try to avoid these since you fell,” she said to me, gesturing down at a lip of a driveway.

Of course, I turned around. And looked down. As I was running.

Basically, I did all of the things I did when I fell in March. I didn’t fall tonight. But it made me realize a couple things: 1) I didn’t even realize that I had fallen over a lip of a driveway, but now that I think about it, yeah, that’s what happen. 2) I really should start paying more attention to the sidewalk while I’m running.

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Pay the price for a porta-potty?

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If you’ve been a runner long enough, you’ve learned to love the portable toilets that get set out en masse on race day.

If you’re like me, the relationship was strained at first. You hemmed and hawed over it. You waited for the real bathrooms, the ones where the toilets flush and there is real plumbing, before you would even try a “blue bucket of stench.”

But then you missed a start time. No big deal if there was chip timing. Until it was a big deal and you were literally the last person to start the race.

So you likely conceded to the plastic throne. You didn’t get too comfortable. You hovered. (Seriously, what I’m saying here isn’t anywhere near TMI, we’ve all done this before).

Finally, you realized all of that dancing around was stupid. You gave in. You broke down and just handled your business. Now you aren’t afraid of it. You even have no qualms about getting in and taking awhile.

You’ve entered into a relationship with the portable toilet. Even if it’s only one that’s comfortable on race day.

Running does funny things to your psyche. It makes something once so incredibly gross into a must-have essential, especially if you get the sudden urge to go all of the sudden at mile 15 in a marathon.

At the San Luis Obispo Marathon in early April, I literally had a moment where I was asking whatever divine force was guiding me to just let the little slider on the door for one of the two upcoming portable toilets be green.

“Please, please, please!” I said to myself as I ran up to the aid station near the turnaround at the farthest point out in the course. When I realized it was open, I jumped in more quickly than I can describe.

Now, I’ve done some bonding in toilet lines. Last year at Rock ‘n’ Roll San Diego me and my running buddy Sam literally waited for 45 minutes for the pleasure (or not?) of using one of the hundreds of moveable Johns lined up near the corrals. With something near 25,000 people running the race, those lines seemed to go on forever.

Lines have a way of increasing my anxiety and triggering rapid heart rate, sweaty palms and general freak out in me. I hate waiting. My last panic attack was at a doctor’s office where all they had to do was check my blood pressure. Needless to say, after 45 minutes when someone finally came out (after every patient around me, including people who’d come after me had left), I was trying to suppress the sheer terror eating me alive. Anxiety is fun, folks.

So when I received an email from the Competitor Group a couple weeks ago announcing an “upgraded” race package that included reserved parking, private restrooms, private gear check and a post-race brunch, I’ll admit I was tempted.

I still am. For $35, though, I’m still not quite sure.

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The email doesn’t specify real bathrooms or portable toilets. I’ve seen the “VIP” area at other Rock ‘n’ Roll events and there are portable toilets. The series also has connections with Brooks to provide flushable toilets for some runners as well. (I posted a question asking as much on the Rock ‘n’ Roll Portland Facebook page.)

Call me crazy, but there’s something incredibly reassuring about “private restrooms” at the start.

I’d honestly rather not wait through the lines and deal with the mad rush. In fact, one of the reasons I’ve done so well at recent races is that I’ve had a string of good luck in the portable toilet area.

At Pasadena, there were plenty of toilets. Sam and I basically had never-used stalls the morning of. At Oakland, there’s always enough toilets flanking the side of the start corral. I think that’s because no one has quite figured out they are all right there just yet, let’s keep it that way Oakland. In San Luis Obispo, my early marathon start meant that all the half marathoners would be rushing to the toilets when I was starting mile three of my 26.2 mile run.

My next race is the Mermaid Sirena 18. Last year, NO ONE used the portable toilets in the small 18-miler field. I’m told later on there were lines for the half, but not for the longer distance. I’m looking forward to that again.

Portland will be my first larger-scale race since CIM (which is known for it’s long, twisting line of commodes at the start). After that, I’m doing See Jane Run in Alameda. The bathroom lines were long there in 2011, but also moved incredibly fast.

I kind of want the “private bathrooms.” I don’t want to worry about missing the start, or freaking out about waiting in line, especially in an area I’ve never been before. I don’t want to chance it.

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All these images? I, apparently, like to take photos of portable toilets and store them in perpetuity on my iPhone. The one immediately above is one of my favorites. One guy, nine choices. Do you know how often that happens at a race? Not very.

The price is what’s getting me, though. If Sam and I were planning to park, it would be one thing. We are doing public transportation instead from the airport to the expo to the hotel, which is less than a mile from the race start (another reason I wonder if I really need to buy special bathroom arrangements).

I’ve paid $20 for buffet brunches. I’ll likely use the bag check, since we’re coming from California and won’t go back to the hotel until all the festivities are done. But I’m also never really that hungry until about an hour after I finish a race.

So I keep questioning whether it’s worth it. I told my husband he could “gift” it to me for my birthday (the day after Portland). He didn’t seem convinced.In fact, he was pretty sure this race, much like it’s sister race in Pasadena (second photo), would have ample enough bathrooms at the start-line to make my little porta-potty appreciating heart content.

We’ll see. Until then, I’m still flirting (is that appropriate for a blog post about bathrooms?) with the idea of “upgrading” my race/bathroom experience.

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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?)

 

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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.

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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!

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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.”