Why Didn't We Think of That?!?!

I LOVE this idea.

Shirt That Races.

A Run With a View

When running gear companies film commercials, they often show clear blue skies and crisp air cool enough for gloves & a hat yet perfect for shorts.  The runners are focused but have just enough curl in their lips to show inner contentment.  Film crews should have been at the Army Ten Miler on Sunday morning.

Approximately 20,000 lined the perimeter of the Pentagon and wound their way past monuments and parks for brisk 10 mile tour on foot.  There were brass bands and adoring families on the sidelines; stories of infantry reunions and demonstrations of remarkable comebacks.

There was also another moment worth recounting, though it could hardly be classified under "inspirational" or "commercial worthy."

It involved a struggling runner, who, deceived by the cool air, went out way too fast and was hurting near mile 8 (that would be me).  It also includes an old friend who eternally considers herself coach & running mentor to everyone pounding the pavement.

Well, when Coach noticed that my head was pretty close to giving up on my goal time, she directed my attention to the most perfectly round, tight-enough-to-bounce-a-coin-off-of-it, beautiful rear end on a man about 15 feet ahead of us.  She said 'chase that bottom and don't let it out of your sight.'  For a good half mile, we cracked up about stalking a random body part and I forgot I wanted to slow down....but then HE started to slow down significantly.

Coach jumped into action.  She pounced on our 'hare' and told him that this race wasn't just about him anymore.  He's got people counting on him.  "I have a friend in this race that is watching that perfect butt of yours and if you slow down, SHE slows down, and if SHE slows down, I slow down.  Now, get your head in the game and lead this team to the finish line!!!"

I'd like to think that he picked up his pace based on the flattery (rather than fear), but never-the-less in an instant: two struggling strangers became partners under Coach, indivisible, with empathy and blisters for all.  One, a handsome black man humbly striving to lead and the other, a painfully embarrassed plodder, trying not to appear as pathetic as she felt.   In that final mile, we ran side-by-side glancing at each other to make sure we'd both finish (and to silently concur that Coach's effortless trot was annoying). As we came around the closing turn, we both screamed "OH THANK GOD! and clutched hands in an enthusiastic shake.  

In a sea of remarkable finishes- runners who found strength from the memory of lost friends or who battled war wounds- depending on a Perfect Butt (or knowing someone is literally watching your backside) can seem pretty shallow, but, hey, we can't all have epic stories!

31 Days until Army Ten Miler

31 Days until the Army Ten Miler.  A long while back, I recall we had a discussion about it.

Anyone running?

Crumbs: Sprint Triathlon Race Report

Last week, upon realizing I had a Sprint Triathlon in 5 days, with nary a training plan in site, I flipped out and completed a Brick Workout to end all Brick Workouts. (Okay, exaggerated a bit, but in my mind, I was in the Olympic Trials.)

In keeping with the idea of a "tri," I hopped on my bike and sprinted the 3 miles to my gym, swam for 30 minutes straight, headed to the treadmill for 3 miles, then sprinted home on my bike.

I was exhausted...and couldn't walk the next day. So...back to tapering. And by tapering, I mean not exercising at all. No amount of training could help me just a few days before an event...if anything, it would just fatigue my muscles, so I changed my attitude about this race.

You see, I'm moving out-of-state in 3 weeks. My good friend and running buddy talked me into this race as a "last hoorah." This would probably be my last chance to see the people I've confessed more to than my husband and all those folks who I feel like I know because we see each other on the trail or at races. I began to accept that I wouldn't break any of my records, so I might as well just enjoy the ocean view while I have it. It was a "Farewell to Miami Party" and I was going to try to have fun.

And amazing things happened.

• I slept great the night before. (Traditionally, before races, my mind competes against my body: nightmares about oversleeping, getting lost on the race route or not being able to find the starting line.)
• I didn't want to vomit at the starting line. When the gun went off, I jumped in and actually swam freestyle (normally, my heart pounds SO hard in fear that I can't breathe, so I do the backstroke).
  
• I started passing other women on their mountain bikes and even some road bikes.
• On the run, I didn't feel like taking walk breaks. Instead I chit chatted with runners around me.
• I didn't long for the end of the race to come.

I had actually competed with the attitude that "This is recreation!" (Something I have often preached but more often forgotten on race day.) And, as I checked the scores, I was even astonished that I placed 3rd in my division.

I think I have found my perfect training plan!


(sorry -i'm having font/size issues!)

Southern Hospitality

I waited a couple weeks to write about my trip to Nashville's Country Music 1/2 Marathon because I couldn't think about it until now without my stomach churning.

Now while writing about a town as kind and hospitable as Nashville, that sure sounds like a nasty thing to say, until I explain something: From the Thursday before the Big Run until the Monday after the Big Run my stomach was a' turnin.' It started with waves of nausea and then tsunamis of nausea and by Saturday morning (race day) it became all too clear that I had the stomach flu. But there I was, in my $7 disposable rain coat and lucky Pearl Izumi Shines standing in what I imagined to be the population of most towns in Tennessee: 30, 000 people. Even before the time my wave began, my Lamaze breathing and sweating had secured me ample personal space in which to start the journey of 13.1 miles.

Here is the amazing part: there was so much energy and excitement in the air, I made it through the first mile. Then the music really kicked in and I completed the second mile without consciously focusing on keeping my water down. By the third mile, my right leg started cramping because I hadn't exactly stockpiled carbs the last few days...but it was alright because they handed out these little tiny tambourines so people could play along with the music. I grabbed one and tapped it on my side on every step I took up that huge hill*. It became my mantra: "zzring, zzring, zzring, zzring." By then, I noticed - truly noticed - the crowds of people standing in their yards cheering and waving signs.

"Sarah - You Can Eat Fries After the Run"
"My Mom is Faster Than Your Mom"
"This Sign is For You: You're Doing Great!"*

People along the side seemed honest-to-goodness into the whole thing. There were costumes (God Bless Elvis and his too tight white pants at mile 10 or so) and heavy set ladies in rubber gloves handing out Lube on a wooden stick (the thought of that made me chuckle at least a half mile); Mr. Howell's long lost brother was drinking champagne on his lawn and there were girls with the cardboard sign that read "Where does a crazy runner train? -- On a Psycho Path."*
I saw Gretchen Wilson standing by a stage and heard the country version of Rocky's theme song while running up another brutal mountain hill.**

I could name a thousand other things that I witnessed on that run. But my point is that despite being weak, the town and the course made me want to keep going. Despite throwing up at mile 8 (special thanks to the redhead who let me cut in line to use the port-a-let), I chugged along to experience what was around the next corner (how huge was that dog? Anyone else see it?!?!?!). But when I could see the Finish line in the distance from the bridge, I was in so much pain I started to walk and weep. A spectator started walking with me and said "Come on, you've come so far, OF COURSE you can finish. You made it to the starting line, didn't you? THAT was the hard part. You can do this." It was enough to help me get there. And although I missed the goal time I trained for, I actually finished in the same time as my January race thanks to a beautiful course, the best organized race I've ever been in, and the downright warmest Southern Hospitality known to woman.



*I train in Florida, were we count jumping onto a curb as going "uphill."
**Okay, maybe these weren't word for word, but I was delirious! I only remember the sentiment!

Nashville...Here I come!

It's 10pm here in Miami...and I'll be heading to the airport in just 6 hours with two girlfriends. We're headed for Nashville and we're not coming back until we've completed 13.1 miles.

It's been a wavering few months for us. Between the three of us there has been a job lost, a smashed up car, a return to the workforce, overtraining and undertraining, an impending move, perhaps a new child; celebrations and defeats. Or since we consider ourselves runners: uphills and downhills. So I find it fitting that we're headed to our last race together (so we think) in a town whose course has what we "Flat Staters" call mountains.....because hopefully we'll notice that other people are just running up and down hills....and we'll go home and deal with our situations the same way.

(by the way: Good Luck Shelly - I hope you have a great race!)

Running Confessions

While the theme of Confession has come up:

I'm a big fan of long distance running. I crave the miles sometimes. My husband says I dream about it on my off days because I kick him at night. The thought (or the reality) of a three hour run doesn't make me tremble anymore. But, of course, I am no speed demon. The Penguin speaks my language. The time my friends and I did a 5K under 30 minutes (and I mean, seconds below) we went out to celebrate. None-the-less, I feel strong.

But I have to confess that I WANT to be faster. No matter how much I know "I'm just racing myself," it really stings to get spanked by someone 40 years my senior. Truth be told, I've come a long way. I started just a couple years ago, and I've dropped major units of time off my races. Part of it was ditching the stroller race days, part of it was ditching my fear of getting hurt, and part of it was actually training. These improvements, though, take me from the back of the pack, to the back of the middle of the pack.

My running partner called me not long ago and asked if she could ask a personal question. "You've been running for about a year longer than me. Do you ever feel pangs of competition? Are you ever jealous of others' speed?" She had lowered her voice, like she was confessing sins.

Our team's creed is always about Finishing and Socializing. And, although we regularly talk about race times, there is never the sense of competition. Honestly, I'm very thankful for that. To voluntarily get up at 5am every Sunday morning, I have to be going to something I really enjoy. But, after every race, I habitually pull up the results page and study my times & splits. I replay the event, wondering if I could have done better and comb through the names and their position relative to me. I'm wounded by seeing my name so far below others I know who spent little time preparing themselves. I'm secretly jealous. I'm silently competitive.

Thankfully, for the love of my running friends and of the sport, I'm able to keep it to myself. I'm able to keep self-fulfillment in perspective and be mostly happy with my accomplishments; it does make me proud to get to the starting line. I know I'll never place in a race (unless there are only 3 of us in my age category), but I keep dreaming of that run where my body transcends it's boundaries and I can pull up the results to see I've run a sub 8 minute mile.

The Motivator

Last night, my three year old was a HERO.
He was applauded and cheered for.
He inspired dozens and dozens of people to push themselves harder than they thought they could.
He motivated a 30-something athletic man to run a bit faster than he planned on.
He helped shave 3 minutes off a young woman's Personal Record.
How?
He sat patiently in his stroller as I raced an 8K.

Nothing motivates runners to pick up their pace like being passed by a stroller.


(thanks to Vancouver Dad for the photo)

A day in the life of....

...a Half Marathoner.

10 pm: Double check that: bib number is pinned on shirt; chip is tied onto shoes. Gather socks, shorts, hat, watch, sports bra, mini water bottle, gu & Cliff Shots, diaper rash cream, baby powder, towel, dry clothes, and hair rubber band. Make sure coffee pot is loaded & ready.
10:30 pm: force self to try to sleep
10:40 pm: jump out of bed to print directions to parking lot/start line
10:50 pm: back in bed...for good this time.
10:55 pm: SET ALARM!!!!!
2:45 am: Finally doze off...
3:30 am: Roll out of bed, start coffee brewing, put on clothes.
3:55 am: Sit outside waiting for running buddy to pick you up.
4:55 am: Arrive to race area and pull into the parking spot the bar hoppers just abandoned.
5:15 am: Jump into one of the open, fresh port-a-lets.
5:20 am: Attached necessities to body (gu & shots, water bottle, diaper cream) and bag check the rest.
5:25 am: Stand 8 minutes in line for the port-a-lets and go in the one that has the wet roll of toilet paper.
5:40 am: Run into friends and talk shop about the last race you guys were at.
5:45 am: Try to figure out what the announcer is saying and realize a police officer is yelling at you to get out of the street because the wheelchairs are starting.
5:50 am: Find your spot in the half mile long corral, eventually discover you're near the back.
5:59 am: Realize you REALLY need to pee
6:00 am : Gun goes off! The race is on!

...to be continued...