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Posts from the ‘Races’ Category

May 11

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.

May 7

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.

May 1

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.

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 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 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.

Apr 5

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When time works for and against you

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When I was in the middle of intensive counseling sessions last fall, my therapist told me to write down a list of things I couldn’t control. Want a lesson in humility? Make that list.

You’ll end up realizing that you can’t control anything. You’ll want to give up, buy a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream and eat it while watching afternoon talk shows (Ricki Lake has a show again, who knew?). At least that’s what I did. Months later, I’m not ashamed of it. The ice cream was good. And my soul needed more soothing that I realized.

I still have my list. The third item down is “time.”

I can’t control time. Because it keeps ticking away. Because there’s always a sun up and a sun down (unless you were the dinosaurs, as one of my students pointed out to me recently). Time just moves. You either embrace the temporal moments as just that or you let some bad drag you down.

Five weeks ago today I fell hard on my left side while trying to get in my 15-mile run for this marathon training cycle. It laid me up for two weeks. Three weeks ago, I finally did that run. On my treadmill. I also ended up in the doctor’s office being properly diagnosed with a fractured radial head.

This training cycle, I didn’t do a 20-mile run. I didn’t even do an 18-mile run.

Two half marathons, one 10K, various eight and 10 milers, but no marathon-standard runs.

And I’m running a marathon this weekend.

Time. It just kept moving.

When I ended up in the hospital in January, I wondered if I’d even make it to the start line in San Luis Obispo. My husband and I did a lot of talking in the hospital. We had conversations both of us had been avoiding, or hoping we wouldn’t have to have. They concerned work. Money. Running. Happiness.

I worried more about the 10K I’d be giving up than the marathon. I’d be fine by the marathon, right? I don’t even know how to define “fine” anymore.

Three weeks ago, sitting in my doctor’s office, I was more concerned about the Oakland Half than SLO. I PRed in Oakland.

In that time, my arm has become stronger. I’m able to bend more, but still not put a lot of pressure on it. I’m able to do some of the things I couldn’t before. And I’m grateful, because time helped that. I didn’t think it would ever be better. I was convinced I was going to walk around with T-Rex arm for life.

But I was back in Modesto getting my arm looked at today. The stiffness is causing the pain. I need to regain mobility. The fracture has healed nicely so far. (See image above, where the cursor is pointing? That’s where the crack was. I took the photo for my husband.) Time healed.

Runners say that by the time you get a week out from a marathon, there’s really nothing you can do that will prepare you more. Taper. Stay off your legs. Get your gear assembled. But don’t go crazy. This past week, I kept wishing for more time. In the middle of multi-hour meetings, looming deadlines and prep to take my students to a journalism conference out of town next week, I needed a minute or two extra. Something. Anything.

The reality is that I was wishing and wanting more time to feel better about this marathon. I guess I could just not run it. But my husband doesn’t really give me that option anymore. (You know the meme that says “you had one job…” where someone messes something up even though that’s all they had to do? I kind of feel like that. I have one job on race day, and that’s to run my ass off.)

Nerves? Anxiety? Yes. Always now. But if I had four more weeks, two more weeks, I know I’d be better for it.

Tomorrow we hop in the car early and head the 3+ hours to San Luis Obispo. We’ll be staying in Morro Bay, where my husband has family. The good news is that this course has an eight-hour limit. The bad news is that last year’s finishers mostly came in well ahead of that. I’m just hoping I’m not too alone out there on the course.

Mar 29

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In Oakland, my best 13.1 performance to date

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Right after I ran my first marathon, a coworker told me he knew I had it in me. He also brought me cake, which was amazing, but he kept saying it: “I knew you’d finish.”

I’m still kind of stunned at that response. Because I didn’t know. I admitted that, later on, to someone because I kind of felt like a fraud. I didn’t really believe in myself to know I could do it. My body kept telling me I couldn’t. So did my mind. Everything told me I couldn’t do.

“Then when did you know?” the friend asked me, concerned.

“At mile 26,” I responded.

You read that right. I didn’t know until mile 26.

Sometimes, you doubt yourself all the way to the end.

This year’s Oakland Half Marathon was exactly that way. I didn’t know until 13.1. And even then, when I was this:::close to the finish line, and still not quite there.

I didn’t really know until 13.3. The moment I crossed the finish line and turned off my Garmin, I knew.

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No matter what my official time was, I had a PR. I wanted, so badly, for it to be in the 2:20 range. But I had it. Without question. There was nothing, even running .2 out of my way (damn tangents), that could have stopped it. I had it.

If you would have told me 2:21:04 seconds before that I would have the race of my life, I would have called your bluff. I spent most of Saturday trying to figure out how not to get to the start line. I just didn’t feel like running. I didn’t feel like pushing myself.

But Oakland, as it has for several years, has a way of bringing out the best in me.

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Let’s rewind to 2005.

I was a fresh college graduate. Living on my own for the first time. New place. New roommate. Uncharted territory. And I chose Oakland to live economic and personal reasons. The rent was inexpensive. I always knew my roommate. My husband’s brother’s girlfriend at the time had an extra room. She was kind enough to rent it out to me for two years, though I’m pretty sure she was tired of me by the end.

In Oakland, I learned to be a better reporter. I learned more about journalism academically in my two years at UC Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism than I did in three years a communication major in college. More importantly, I learned how to finish a story.

People ask me all the time why I went to graduate school, especially since I already had a nice padding of experience right out of college. I went because I would get halfway through a long project and not know how to finish the story. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I couldn’t get to the point where the words flowed. It was my “wall” at mile 20.

Berkeley helped me finish my story. Oakland helped me define the characters in it.

So I chose Oakland, in 2011, to be my first half marathon. Because it was familiar. Because I’d run those streets before. And, because, I wanted to give back to a place that had given so much to be. Races like this bring in a ton of money into communities. I wanted my money to go to Oakland.

My first half marathon was an amazing experience that ended in a 2:35:36 finish. My next Oakland experience had me finishing in 2:32: 27.

This year, the experience wasn’t even comparable. I thought I’d run races before where I left every single bit of me out on the course. On Sunday, I realized I was, again, in uncharted territory.

I came into Oakland this year unable to finish my story. Over the past few months, I’ve struggled with gaining perspective about everything that’s happened since January. I’ll start with this: I’m glad it all happened. If it didn’t, I wouldn’t where I am today. I’m better for it.

So on Sunday, even though I didn’t realize it, I came to run. And that’s what I did.

Mile 1: 9:24 — Are you kidding me? That’s faster than I run. I feel so comfortable. This can’t be right. It must be the Gu I took right before the start.

Mile 2: 9:57 — OK, better legs. I don’t want to be done before I’m actually done.

Mile 3: 11:25 — WHY IS MY SHOE UNTIED? MY SHOES ARE NEVER UNTIED! Pull over, tie shoe, start running again. When the Garmin beeps, I consider it the “beginning of the end.” Well, I had two good miles in me, I figured. It’s over.

Mile 4: 10:06 — Or not? Better take a Gu.

Mile 5: 10:56 — Battling some uphills here, over the Lake Merritt crossing, it gets a little congested. Weaving in and out of people.

Mile 6: 10:24 — Feeling the Gu. Picking it up.

Mile 7: 11:18 — That moment when you ram into someone because they stop right in front of you? That happened. I’m not two for two in running into people in half marathons. It wasn’t my fault, though. She stopped at a water station and just came to a dead halt.

In this mile, a guy also ran by me and whacked right into my arm. Seriously? That hurt. I let out a sound similar to a baby velociraptor in pain. The guy stopped dead in his stride. He actually turned around, came back and started talking to me.

“Are you OK? Did I hurt you bad?”

“I’m fine, dude. I just have a broken arm. You didn’t do it. I came that way.”

The concern on his face was amazing. He actually hung close to me for two miles. He told me he was afraid I’d pass out. I don’t know what I looked like, but apparently it was bad.

Mile 8: 10:55 — Only now was I getting tired. I took a Gu.

Mile 9: 11: 40 — The climb into the park around Lake Merritt is here. After nine miles, I really felt it.

Mile 10: 10:16 — This was  the point I looked down at my Garmin and realize I was coming in pretty early.

Mile 11: 10:53 — I started mile 11 under the two hour mark. I couldn’t believe I started mile 11 under the two hour mark. This is where everything comes into play in terms of questions. I can definitely beat last year’s time. I can beat my Pasadena time. What do I have to do to beat my PR? Too much math. I can’t think. Just keep it under 12-minute miles, I thought.

That should be good enough. Right? Follow the plan.

Mile 12: 10:42 — Follow the plan. Just follow the plan.

Mile 13: 10:31 — RUN. FAST. NOW. GIVE IT ALL YOU HAVE. DAMN IT. RUN. DIE LATER. JUST RUN.

Mile 13.1: Where’s the finish?

Mile 13.2: I should be done by now. Why am I not done? What the hell?

Mile 13.3: UP THE HILL. RUN. RUN!

Total time for that .3 miles: 2.47

I saw my Garmin move past the 2:20 mark before I crossed. I closed my eyes and just gunned it. The full inertia I had behind me didn’t stop until I was nearing the medals. And then I knew. I fell a little bit, and had a moment of joy I haven’t experienced in a long time.

I had my story’s end.

Six months. Multiple bad situations. Turmoil. A lot of self reflection.

No regrets.  A healthy body. My husband at the finish line. A PR.

I gave the Oakland the race it had deserved for three years. I finally did it. I came away stronger than I ever thought I was.

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As I sat on the lawn, taking it all in, I had a moment where I started tearing up. All the self-doubt started to fade for the first time since last October. Suddenly I felt as if I was back in control. On Sunday, I really did have the race of my life. I felt like somewhere in those 13.1 miles, I shed every ounce of upset and took myself back.

Two years ago, Oakland made me realize I could do anything when I finished my first half. Last year, I struggled with every step because I was mentally and emotionally spent. This year, Oakland gave me back something I didn’t even realize was still gone.

All of these things came rushing to me before my husband found me. I let myself cry. I deserved a good happy cry.

But before I got up, I decided to check my official time, even though I knew it wouldn’t be that far off.

I’ve mentioned in previous race posts that I always start my Garmin a little ahead of crossing the start, just to make sure it works. When I loaded up the page with my name, I realized that elusive 2:20, which I didn’t even realize was a goal for me, had been achieved.

My official time: 2:20:52.

That elation? The bliss? It all was just that much better.

I then realized that while this may be the picture-perfect end to one story, is now just the beginning of the next. What’s my next goal? How I can break it? Can earn a 2:15? Those are questions I didn’t think possible before all this stuff happened to me. Now? It seems doable. It seems realistic.

For me there was no better place to finish this story, and start a new one, than in Oakland.

Mar 27

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Why you really need no reasons to do a mud run

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I’m a little behind in posts. The life of a blogger? You end up having four of five posts in queue, needing more polishing and not quite ready to launch. I need to write my race report on the Oakland Half Marathon and do some other things, but today I’m going to write about something I highly recommend every person does at least once.

A mud run.

Yes. I think you should do a mud run.

Why? Seriously? Why not? Why wouldn’t you want get yucky and dirty? Why wouldn’t you want to jump through hoops (literally in some cases) and down water slides and tramp through gross mud knee deep?

See. It sounds amazing. Right?

If you live in Northern California, around my neck of the woods, you’re in luck. Dell’Osso Family Farm is hosting a mud run on April 6. Registration ends early next week. And it’s the perfect opportunity to get a full-body workout on a Saturday!

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Plus, I have a coupon code for those wanting to register!

The run goes down beginning at 8 a.m. on April 6 with waves starting every twenty minutes through 1 p.m. The mud run includes 30 obstacles! Yes, 30!

And if you know anything about Dell’Osso Family Farm, you know that it’s always a fun time out in Lathrop, right off merge of interstates 205 and 5 near the end of San Joaquin County. In my former life as a journalist, I often wrote stories about the Dell’Ossos. A few years ago Susan and Ron Dell’Osso expanded the farm’s offerings to include a holiday aspect, with a snow-tube mountain.

Needless to say, I’ve been out there quite a bit. So when the marketing manager asked me if I wanted to offer my running group (the Mountain House Running Club) a couple code, I jumped at the chance. I also asked if I could offer it to my blog readers.

So why should you participate?

It’s pretty obvious.

YOU’LL HAVE A TON OF FUN

This seems like an obvious. But really, it is A LOT of fun. You start out completely clean as you run into the first obstacle is an uphill run around the snow-tube mountain. If you’re a reasonably fast runner, you’ll soon be jetting down the hill and into a crazy mud pit. I mean serious mud. There’s no avoiding being completely drenched in it. Don’t even try.

The moment you hit the mud, you’ll realize that it’s not all that bad. But you’ll also realize that you have a lot more obstacles in front of you. Like? Oh, some tires to run through, hay bales to cross, etc. It just keeps getting more and more crazy.

IT’S A BREAK FROM THE TYPICAL 5K

For those serious runners out there, a smaller-style mud run isn’t exactly on the top of the sign-up list. Why? Mud runs take longer. You often get behind a slower crowd. Sometimes you have to wait for an obstacle.

You’re probably thinking: Why would I want to do that?

Mud runs are about taking in the moment. They’re also about doing something completely different. When I first did a mud run at Dell’Osso Family Farm in 2012 it took me 54:18. That’s not exactly PR material. But this isn’t a PR course. This course is about hanging out and getting dirty. It’s also an adventure.

Most people don’t even do trail runs, so a mud run can be the only exposure to running on trails, dirt, etc. Basically a runner’s only exposure to getting dirty if you prefer road races over the other side of the great outdoors.

THIS ONE IS FOR A GOOD CAUSE

I register and run quite a few races throughout the year. I’m always more inclined to do so if the run sponsor is giving money to a local charity. Most of the smaller runs in my area do this.

The Dell’Ossos are huge community contributors in the first place. Each year, volunteers from the community come and work shifts at the corn maze. In return, Dell’Osso Family Farm contributes money back to those organizations. As of last October, before the pumpkin maze opened, the farm pumped close to $1 million back into the community in it’s 15-year run by giving back to those organizations.

The money is likely more, considering how many people are brought into Lathrop for visit to the farm.

It’s fitting, then, that this specific mud run is benefiting the American Cancer Society and other local charities. It’s a win-win: You get to run, get dirty and have a good time. Local charities benefit.

IT’S A COURSE THAT CHALLENGES RUNNERS

I mentioned the 30 obstacles. Those include a lot of variety. It’s not all mud pits. The photo above is the tire area, courtesy of the Dell’Osso Family Farm Facebook page.

You’ll have to run through tires, over bridges, jump over hurdles (those got me last time),  make your way over a tire pyramid and cross over muddy ditches, among other things.

Check out a full map of the course here.

SWAG? PARTY? GOOD TIMES TO BE HAD?

The registration package includes a the standard T-shirt. You also get a medal (for a 5K!), a ticket for a free beer at the Fleet Feet Beer Garden (sponsored by my favorite local running store) and free parking. There will be a ton of stuff to do out at the farm post race. Plus, you can bring a picnic lunch and set up to each after you take on the course.

You’ll likely be done in less than an hour. Some people will be done sooner. So you can easily make a day out of it. (We’re all adults, so be sure to designate a driver if you are drinking. It should go without saying, but some people need the reminder.)

STILL NOT CONVINCED? THINK IT WILL BE TOO HARD?

Then check out my review of the first mud run ever hosted at Dell’Osso. You can also find a post on what exactly I wore that day, even though it didn’t quite work out.

Think it’s too challenging? It’s not. I’ve had issues with my upper body strength in recent years, basically my lack thereof, but I was able to get through it fine. I was also completely comfortable about running the Big Sur 21-miler the weekend after with no problems. The majority of the people I saw out in the field were older than me. In my wave there was a group of women celebrating a friend’s 40th birthday. They wore tutus. And tiaras. I’m not sure how that worked out for them because I know by the end I was barely hanging onto my bib number. My beer coupon was long gone by then.

And I looked pretty messy.

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SO … WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?

That’s a tough question, but here are a couple suggestions.

  • Nothing with pockets, according to Susan Dell’Osso. Imagine all the mud getting into your pockets and dragging you down? Not pretty.
  • Dark clothing: If only so you don’t have to work as hard getting the stains out.
  • Speaking of clothing: Make sure you wear something you aren’t necessarily attached to, since you may not be able to wear it again.
  • Old shoes: Use Duct tape if you’re afraid they’ll fall off. If you don’t use Duct Tape, make sure you tie your shoes tightly. I saw at least two people lose their shoes during the process of the run.
  • Sunscreen: Even though you’ll be covered in mud, you can still get sunburned. I learned that the hard way.
  • Few accessories: Don’t bring your phone with you. Or a camera. Don’t bring anything you wouldn’t be OK having ruined, really. I walked around in a daze for nearly 30 minutes before I found my husband. It was worth it to not mangle my then new iPhone 4S.

SO YOU MENTIONED A COUPON CODE?

Definitely. Unfortunately I won’t be able to participate in the April 6 mud run because I’ll be heading to San Luis Obispo to run a marathon the next day.

Plus, I’m barely getting back to exercising my still broken, but healing, left T-rex arm. So there’s no way I’ll be able to join in on the fun this year. It’s a bummer, because I wasn’t able to participate last September either since my students had a journalism conference in Sacramento all day that day.

Want to sign up? Want $10 off?

Use this code: 1MTHRC13

And be sure to sign up by April 2, when registration ends.

Happy mud running!

(Disclaimer: I was provided a coupon code for my running club and asked if I could share it with my blog readers. Dell’Osso Family Farm did not pay me or influence this blog post in any way. I’m just happy to share my experience with my readers.)

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