It's Not All About the PR

Saturday marked the anniversary of my first half marathon, and I'm kind of amazed it's only been a year since I made my debut as a distance runner. A lot has changed in the past year: about 1,000 miles have been logged, races of all distances run, personal bests set and all types of offical runner gear acquired to make me feel and look legit. I've had my fair share of strains, pulls and tweaks and endured set-backs, disappointing runs and times when I just wanted to give up. But, there also have been those moments of triumph, like, running in the pouring rain because, well, I had to and lacing up my shoes despite the nagging hamstring pain that would have caused others to quit. Running has instilled in me a sense of responsibility that I've never had before. I am hopelessly devoted to my running plans, so much so that I will make up a quarter of a mile on a later run if I have to short change an earlier run in the week. I like to be precise. And accountable. But, despite my "Type A" approach to running, my training for the Kentucky Derby miniMarathon this year was anything but. You see, after running my first full marathon in early March, I wanted to do anything but run. Not because I was injured or bored; I was just behind on life! I mean, when you take half a weekend day to do a long run every weekend for months, and run 30-40 miles a week with two kids and a husband, things eventually pile up. So, after the full marathon, I tossed aside all running plans and went rogue. I ran when I felt like it and did enough long runs to patch me through to the half this past weekend. When I compare how I approached this same race last year to this year, it's like night and day. This year, I hoped my full marathon training would carry me through. It did. I didn't obsess over the weather like I did last year. In fact, the first time I checked it was two days before. I decided on what to wear the day before whereas last year, I had my outfit selected weeks prior. I have a routine now, whether it be for small races or big ones, of what to do the night before and morning of a race. It's comfortable. Last year, I knew exactly where to expect to see Brad along the course and had fluids prepared for him to hand me. He had t-shirts prepared and signs saying "Run Sarah Run." This year I thought I'd see him sometime around mile 4. It was closer to 5, actually. And the other expected viewing point was mile 10. I never saw him. He never saw me, maybe because he was at mile 11....on the other side of the street....and for a while he thought I was dead until I borrowed a stranger's phone in the "runners' reunite" area and called him. If we had only made a plan! Last year, I crossed the start line nervously thinking, "I can't believe I'm about to run 13.1 miles." This year, I really wasn't thinking about much except getting through the crowd. I was focused. Despite my lack of preparation in comparison to other races, this race that I approached with "no expectations" turned out pretty much as I expected. I didn't PR; missed it by 62 seconds, in fact. But I ran the course 2:15 faster than last year, which I'll take. And, I did that with a hamstring strain at mile 7. I'm not too sore two days out, which is a big improvement over other races. After the St. Jude half marathon, which I ran in December 2011, I was sore from head to toe for an entire week. And, I only ran that at an effort 9 seconds faster per mile than Saturday's race. Just about the only thing in common was the argument Brad and I had the night before about transportation race morning. I get very anxious about traffic, parking, etc. Or, maybe it's just my nerves surfacing in a roundabout way. In general, my entire approach to racing and running has transformed in a year. I believe in myself. When I was a little girl, I always wanted to be good at something. Finally, I am. And, not because of how fast I run, but because I stick with it. I feel like I can call myself a real runner. I'm a marathoner! But there are always new things to be learned, even though my learning curve isn't as steep as a year ago. Here's what this race taught me: * Get to the start line of an 18,000-person race sooner. I missed starting with my pace group because of being late. Well, I wasn't late. I was using the bathroom, which is pretty important, too, especially if you have any clue what my bowels are like on race morning! * Scowl at participants whose bibs say corral "F" but start in corral "B". There is a waved start FOR A REASON! Please, don't start your 16-minute-mile pace when I'm trying to run twice as fast as that. Please. Pretty please. With a cherry on top? * Have a sense of humor, especially when running past a man whose entire rear end is hanging out of his running shorts, which are designed to cover - not show - his backside! * Always encourage runners going the distance. I tried to say "Good Luck" to as many marathoners as I could, especially the women. It's a seriously long distance, people. * Remember to be grateful for my health and ability to run. I passed a woman, on a stretcher, about my age. She was on oxygen being loaded into an ambulance. Her friend was crossing right in front of me as I ran by and I touched her on the shoulder and said, "I hope she's okay." I knew I wasn't going to PR at that point but really didn't care; I was happy to be alive and well. * Soak in the experience as much as possible by giving high fives, waving at the crowds, thanking volunteers, etc. So many people are needed to make races possible. It's like runners are the guests and the spectators and volunteers are the hosts. We should always thank our hosts. * And, to always have fun. That's easy to do. My next big race will be the St. Jude Marathon. I plan on running the full to show I can do it without stopping in eight different porta-potties. That'll take a lot of Imodium. I'll keep my mileage up this summer, enjoy my rogue status a little longer, and then get back on track in August. Until then, happy trails!

5 o'clock somewhere?

Tonight we decided to grill hotdogs, a favorite in our house. Brad ushered the kids outside to the backyard so they could play while he prepared dinner. Our two dogs were already out there, and Jack, who's eldery but never too slow to miss an opportunity to grab food when you're not looking, gobbled up two uncooked hot dogs from the plate Brad had set aside while he was uncovering the grill. I was inside, upstairs putting clothes away. I heard Brad yelling angrily, followed by Jack growling and barking. I flew to the window, unlocked it, lifted it quickly and said, "what happened?" but already had an idea that Jack had nabbed our dinner. Harper was scared and by now was crying. I didn't like the charge in the air, so I went outside and picked up Harper to calm her down and decided to put Jack inside. When I penned him in the laundry room, I looked him square in the eye and said, "Bad dog! BAD dog!" He snarled at me, lips raised, teeth showing. He was angry and didn't like me scolding him. I was mad at him, too, for scaring Harper and eating my dinner. I grabbed a hanger and lifted it wanting to smack him, but I knew better. I knew that wouldn't teach him a lesson. I took a deep breath and instead softened my tone and said, "It's okay, boy. It's okay." Immediately, his body language changed. His head dropped, his tail wagged and his eyes turned buttery soft. I thought, we all could take a lesson from Jack's immediate attitude change. I was shocked that all it took was a different choice and change in my voice to transform Jack's mood in about 1.3 seconds. I alone had the power to produce a differet outcome by making a different choice. Now, I know humans are a little more complex than dogs, but (on a basic behavioral level) are children that much more complex than our canine friends? Exploring this simple comparison and remembering how easily Jack dropped the attitude may help me maintain my sanity when it comes to parenting. Let me preface this by saying I love my children. I love them more than life itself. I don't, not even for a single minute, regret the decision to bring either of them into this world. Not really, even though I often try to remember who I was and what exactly I did with all my time before having children. But, I seriously need to adopt some more effective coping strategies for keeping my cool. Being a stay-at-home mom to two kids under the age of five is, by far, the hardest job I will ever have. Hands down. And, I kind of suck at it. I yell too much. I interfere too much. I'm too bossy and probably a little too strict. I let them watch too much TV and pay too much attention to my "to do" list. The reason I know I'm all of these things is that I see some of the behaviors I don't like in my parenting style come out in them. Monkey see, monkey do, right? Harper yells at Layne, yells at me, yells at Brad. That makes me sad. Or, Layne can't move onto the next thing until things are put away just right. That's my OCD. Okay, maybe that doesn't bother me so much. Point is, I realize who and what I am has a huge influence on the people my children are becoming, and I want to be the best examples to them possible, not the worst. To escape reality, I have friends who stock their fridges with alcohol. Effective. I have friends who regularly ship their kids to grandma's. Smart. Then, I have friends who ship their kids to grandma's and then raid their booze-stocked fridges. Brilliant! Perhaps I can say running helps balance me out. It certainly gives me time and space to let my thoughts distill. However, I need something more, and not just longer runs. Maybe I just need time, time for my kids to grow up and become people I can relate to as individuals with opinions and not just toddlers with poopy diapers and hungry tummies. I like to think that it's just this phase of parenting that is difficult, not parenting in general. There will be other phases of parenting that kick my ass as well (hanging on for the teenage years), but I honestly feel like I'm doing the best I can to be the best mom I know to be and I'm still falling short. I'm exhausted, quite honestly. It brought me to tears tonight when Layne said, "Mom, I wish you weren't mean to us." Or something like that. I don't remember exactly his phrasing, but he implied that I was mean and I remembered thinking, he's a little bit right. And, instead of getting mad at him, I softened, conceded and surrendered - much like I did with Jack. And, I cried a good, long-overdue cry. I don't come close to pretending to have all of the answers when it comes to parenting a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old, especially my 4-year-old and 2-year-old. Never in my life have I met two more independent, obstinate, hard-headed little people in my life. That Harper will give me more gray hairs than everyone else combined in my life! I think the question I have to remember and keep asking myself is, "Is this battle worth having?" I mean, do I always have to be right and have things done my way? Or, could I let it go - release control a bit - and have things go differently but still reach the same destination? There may be a lot less stress involved. For example, do I really need to yell at Layne to get dressed faster in the morning, or could we just be five minutes late to preschool for crying out loud? What I do know is that I'm truly T.I.R.E.D. of how we currently operate and my interraction with Jack tonight taught me that so much power lies with me. I'm much more influential than I think I am. Sometimes I feel like my children run this house, but it really is the other way around. Thank goodness I have a husband who recognizes my struggles, knows my emotional limitations and can step in to my rescue when needed. I excused myself halfway through dinner, appetite lost after the "mommy is mean" comment, and went for a 30-minute walk in my neighborhood. It's something I used to love to do - just take a walk and look at houses, yards and people while listening to music. It refreshed my soul and recharged my battery enough to make it through the rest of the evening. I returned home to some crying, fighting and power struggles over toys once forgotten but now the center of attention and the ONLY toy either could ever imagine playing with ever again. Ever. I tried to let it roll off, like water on a duck's back, because tomorrow it's going to be a long week. I told myself, "It's okay, Mommy. It's okay." And, I felt my tail wag - just a little bit.

Never Say Never

26.2 miles in 4:31:37. I said I would never run a marathon. Ever. But I did last weekend. And, you know what? It wasn't that bad. A year ago I was in the midst of training for my first half marathon, something I was pretty sure I'd never do either. I loved it so much that I ran another this past December. A few weeks before that race, a friend from high school and I decided that we should take the leap and run a full. We were thinking of tackling one in the fall of 2012 or early 2013. Neither of us thought we could be ready to run a full anytime sooner than that, but we decided since we were already running 30 miles a week we might try to run one now and signed up for the New Orleans Rock 'n' Roll Marathon on March 4th. My training period was 12 weeks, beginning the week after the St. Jude half marathon the first week of December. There were many setbacks - illness, soreness, missed long runs and inability to complete one crucial 20-miler. I thought I was doomed. But, I was able to run two 20-milers, albeit on very tired legs, and logged 314 miles in my 12-week training period. So, I went for it on race day. I knew I would be disappointed in myself if I didn't at least try. The really funny thing was that I wasn't nervous race day, because my goals were realistic: 1) Have fun 2) Finish the race 3) Finish in 4:45:00 4) Finish in 4:30:00. I knew that I would cross the finish line, even if it was on bloody hands and knees! I was that determined, which helped me relax into the idea of covering the distance. The weather was perfect: clear, cool, sunny and low humidity. Hardly sounds like New Orleans in March, right? The first half was perfect. I ran a conservative 10:00/mile pace. Looking back, I could have pushed the pace but I didn't want to hit the proverbial wall at mile 18 or 20 and then wish I had run the first half more slowly. One of my favorite parts of running races is the experience. You never know who you'll meet, what you'll see and the sights and sounds you'll take in. The first funny moment of the race was when I had to, unfortunately, pee at about mile 6. If I had just been running the half, I would have held it, but I still had 20 miles to go! We came to a bank of port-a-potties and the line was as long as what you'd expect at the state fair or a Sugarland concert. I was like, "This is a race!! I'm not waiting!!" So, that's when Kelly from LA and I buddied up and kept watch while the other peed in the bushes. I appreciated that she actually waited for me, since she went first. She could have run off, but she had nice race etiquette and covered me. We ran together a few miles and had pleasant chit chat until she had to pull over and stretch. Brad ran the first half with me despite having a wrecked calf muscle. It was nice to have him by my side. He carried my Gatorade, called out paces and gave me a good pep talk before we split at mile 12.5. For the first time ever, I was running a full and he a half marathon. And, for the first time ever, my half marathon split was faster than his! When I veered left with all the other marathoners, the pack thinned and suddenly got quiet. There were 13,000 runners completing the half and 3,000 running the full. And, I think every full marathoner knew there was work to do after the split and was intently concentrating on each step. I turned up my music and settled into a 9:30 pace. I felt great, but was still conservative in my pacing. Then around mile 15 something awful happend. You see, my husband and many other distance runners I know take S Caps, Endurolytes, whatever else you want to call electrolyte replacements taken to help prevent muscle cramps. So, Brad was feeding S Caps (sodium and potassium capsules) to me like they were candy the entire first half. The day was warming up, my sweat production was increasing, so it made sense. But, I had never tried S Caps before, so I was breaking a basic rule of racing: NEVER TRY SOMETHING NEW IN A RACE!!!!! However, I thought to myself, "How harmful could electrolyte replacement be?" It's not like you can overdose on the elements. Apparently, though, it can be QUITE detrimental. I paid the price. Starting at mile 15 I had to stop at every towering green port-a-potty I passed. Seeing them in the distance was like a beacon of hope to my bowels. Sigh. Nobody would want to deal with that extreme of a case of diarrhea sitting on their couch 10 feet from their own bathroom let alone running a MARATHON while experiencing it!!! Soon after my first bout, I came upon Modesto from Columbia (the country). He was running his first marathon as well. He was hoping to also run a 4:30:00 race. We decided to run together. Modesto didn't last long with me. He cramped up pretty quickly as we approached mile 17. He was hitting the wall I feared, yet wasn't approaching. Perhaps I should have given him the rest of my S Caps! I charged forward and still managed to stay ahead of Modesto despite my "condition." I later looked up his time and he finished in 4:55:16. I was proud of my little Columbian friend! At mile 20, with a 10K left to run, I was actually feeling my best - again, despite the loose bowels! I decided I was going to try to do whatever I could to not stop anymore the entire race. Rough math said I could finish in 4:23 if I didn't, and by this time I had long ago stopped the S Caps and Gatorade, realizing I was doing something to myself to cause the diarrhea. :( I was feeling very strong as I cofidently passed the 20-mile mark, a distance I had never surpassed. As the miles and minutes ticked on, I sadly still needed to make pitstops, but when I was running I was averaging a 9:00/min pace. It wasn't until the last 0.6 miles of the race that I finally started to feel like I wanted to quit running. The last 0.2 miles of the run were the most exhilarating, though, with the crowd cheering and the finish in sight. In summary, I was disappointed in myself after the race when thinking about the time I could have finished in had I not consumed the S Caps. Yes, I'm my own biggest competitor and worst critic. However, with a few days' time, I have revised my opinion of the race's outcome. I have decided I have A LOT to be proud of and that, like we thought as kids, poop is funny. The fact that I stopped at eight port-a-potties is completely ridiculous and totally hilarious! I mean, that would only happen to me, really. Pepto, people, will be part of my regimine from now on. I'm so proud of the fact that I never hit a wall, I maintained a competitive pace when running, felt strong, remained injury-free, had fun and finished only 1:37 slower than my 4th race goal! I had runners and spectators alike commenting on how well I was racing the last 6.2 miles. It made me feel great! I realized that I was, in fact, well-trained. Of course, now I have to redeem myself and do what I said I'd never do again. I'll sign up for the St. Jude Marathon in Memphis as soon as registration opens. I have to thank my parents for providing course support and taking care of our children practically the entire weekend, while battling personal illness and crowded streets! They made my first marathon so memorable! I love you! And, having Brad and the kids there made this race damn near perfect. I guess you could say I'm hooked now. Jennie Vee will love to hear that.

Cover the Distance

I definitely respect the distance. I'm learning to accept it. But, I've decided my mantra for the New Orleans marathon is simply to cover the distance - just get through 26.2 miles in whatever way I can. I didn't complete my 20-mile run as prescribed last week, falling short by four miles (see previous blog entry). Today, I was supposed to run only 18 miles and instead I went 20. Here are some reasons why I think I was able to cover the distance: 1. I carb loaded; maybe not as much as I would for a race, but I definitely consumed more carbs in the last two days than normal. 2. I ran slowly, about 45 seconds slower than my normal long-run pace. I actually trained at a marathon training pace! 3. I devised and followed a great fueling and hydration strategy. I looked super nerdy with my double-bottle Nathan brand hydration belt, but it worked. 4. I had two super friends who covered the distance with me. 5. I had a lighter running week leading up to this run. 6. I believed in myself. 7. I experienced an endorphine rush (perhaps a runner's high?) at mile 16.8 that rivaled the most coveted illegal injectable drugs. Starting in my feet, I felt a warm, tingly rush that spread throughout my body. It washed away all pain, and that's when I knew attempting 20 miles was then possible. 8. I walked for the amount of time it took to consume my gel packs, maybe about 60 seconds. That let me have enough recovery three times during my run to give my major running muscles a break. 9. I didn't give up when the pain really settled in at mile 14, and I learned that miles 14-16 are my toughest miles. This will be important to remember on race day. 10. Did I mention that I believed in myself? It also helped that at the same point along the course that the rocker hand dude passed me last week, my friend Heather passed and gave an enthusiastic chorus of honks, which injected some pep in my step and hope in my stride. I'm excited to finish up these last few weeks of training and see what happens in the Big Easy!

Accept the Distance

My good friend, Jennie Vee, has a running blog entitled "Respect the Distance." Everytime I read an entry she makes, I wish I had chosen that name for my blog. It is such an appropriate statement for anyone who has ever run any distance. Instead of plagarizing, I decided to entitle my blog entry "Accept the Distance," because it's something I need to do in addition to respecting it. First, let me ask for you to keep what I say in perspective because many of you might roll your eyes or give a good "sheesh" to what I'm about to say. I understand that running 16.01 miles is quite a feat and many will never be crazy enough to choose to run that far. But, this afternoon I was supposed to run 20 as part of my training plan for the New Orleans marathon in five weeks. I didn't make it. At mile 15.5ish, I used a lifeline and phoned a friend. I called Brad, who also was running (no, not with the kids - we hired a babysitter - but he's so superhuman that he'll probably run long with kids someday) and asked him where he was. Surprisingly, he was still out running. He should have been home by then, but he wanted to "add a few miles" to his 20-miler (you may roll eyes and mutter "sheesh" here). I told him my exact coordinates and pleaded with him to find me, because I knew without support I wasn't going to make the last 4.5 miles I had left to run. The pain began around mile 14. It was sudden, surprising and severe. The run was going great. Despite it being a windy day, it was sunny and warm, which made it a great day for winter running. Up until mile 13.9, I felt like I could easily check that 20-miler off my training plan. What happened next is a mystery. Brad blames tired legs, since I have been running a lot and did 17 miles last weekend. But, almost from one step to the next as I crossed the threshold to mile 14, I felt pain everywhere: my lower back, both knees, shins and hips. Every muscle, tendon and ligament joined together and in unison was chanting, "Give in, give up. Just stop." Not being one to ever listen to the blabber coming from my lower half during a run, I decided I would run until mile 16 and then stretch to ensure I could run the last four. About half a mile later, I realized my lower half was winning. That's when I called Brad. Luckily he was nearby and pretty quickly intercepted me at my mile 15.7. I stopped, tears forming, and stretched my legs. I pointed South and suggested we run that direction, away from home, that would take us on a loop that would complete the distance. I took three steps and knew it was over. My legs would carry me no further. Run done. I'm glad Brad was with me, because the walk home would have been that much more miserable and disappointing alone. I cried almost the entire way, until we got to the top of our street. I said, "Brad, I don't care if it's the slowest run I've ever done, but we're running the homestretch. I'm going to make it 16 miles." I added the extra 0.01 for a dramatic ending! I considered adding an extra mile around our block, but when my legs still felt like they were going to collapse beneath me, I knew enough to leave well enough alone. My Mom has always reminded me that I run for fun. You know, in these moments where I take myself too seriously. Like today. So, let me recount what was fun about today's run. My knee-high, pink socks were pretty darn fun (and felt nice), and I'm pretty sure they're the reason I got at least 10 honks and one rocker hand out the window of a passing truck. If you don't know what a rocker hand is, hold out either hand and fold down only your middle and ring finger. Rocker hand. It let me know I was a badass no matter what. Another fun moment was passing a delivery truck with a middle-age man driving early on in my run on one side of town AND THEN passing the same truck and delivery man again late in my run on the other side of town. We were both kind of tickled by that. I got lots of looks, revved engines and honks. Was my running in hot pink socks that much of an attraction? I also had fun running a new route, feeling the sun on my face and having some time to myself to do one of my favorite things. My favorite part of the run was when I met Brad and he made me feel like I had accomplished something quite spectacular, even though defeat was the only feeling I felt. He said all the right things - maybe because he's a runner, too, and he's been there before. But, where the title for the blog comes into play is that I've always been able to complete my runs as written, with the exception of illness. Like when I knew better than to attempt this 20-miler on Saturday, when I woke up with a migraine and sore throat. I gave it a couple of days and went into today's run feeling strong and confident. And, yet I didn't make it. That's where I'm trying to accept the distance I did cover. It's worth something. It adds value to my training program. I'm a better runner for the distance I covered, and the distance I didn't. I still don't know what I'm going to do in New Orleans. Time will tell. But, I'm working on being happy with whatever the outcome and, most importantly, accept the distance!

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10 Contributing Factors to a Great Race

I didn't see any news stories about it, but the stars and moon must have aligned on Saturday because it was the best day for running. Ever. A series of races to raise money for St. Jude Research hospital is held every year during the first weekend of December. The first contributing factor to it being the best day ever for running was the weather: slightly overcast at gun time with a temperature of 42. Perfection. This perfect day came sandwiched between a snowstorm and a rainstorm reminiscent of Noah's time. The riskiest variable of any race day is the weather, and the runners of the 10th annual St. Jude festivities truly lucked out. The second contributing factor to the best running day ever was the adherence to and completion of an incredibly well-written 16-week training plan crafted by my good friend, Jennie Vee Silk (I still want to say Keith!). It kicked my ass, but in a totally good way. I completed 76% of the plan as written and logged 300 training miles to prepare for the race. The third contributing factor to a great running day was carb loading the day before. This was my second half marathon, and I've carb loaded before both, and both have been great races. Even with the GI ickiness that comes with it, this will be part of my regimine every time. The fourth contributing factor to it being the best running day of all time was the decision to latch on to a pace group. The plan was to run with the 3:45 marathon pace group until the half split from the full at mile 12.5. So, I lined up with them at the start, met some folks, talked about the weather, the course and strategy. It took my mind off my usual pre-race jitters. Before I knew it, we were on our way, running across the start line to the tunes of Elvis. I didn't think about anything but keeping my footing for the first mile or so - I just kept my eyes on the backs of the pacers' shirts. It became evident about mile 3 that they were not running a steady 8:35/mi pace, which is what would yield a 3:45 marathon finish. They were running more like an 8:08/mi pace. I was feeling great, so I went at my own pace with confidence that I could reach my goal. The fifth contributing factor, and maybe the MOST motivating, was running through the St. Jude campus. Up until the point along the course where you turn into the campus, it had been just another race. After running through the campus, it became a purpose. To see the streets lined with patients, families, staff, etc. all cheering us on and screaming "thank you" brings tears to my eyes even now. Needless to say, it was my fastest mile and the one that felt the most effortless. The sixth biggest contributing factor was the amazing crowd support. There was no point along the course where there was a lull in spectator support. And, the volunteer support in terms of water and Powerade at almost every mile is almost unheard of in a large race and ranked number seven in contributing factors, since the day warmed up with the sunshine and I needed lots of fluids! The eighth contributing factor to it being the best running day ever was running a 1:54:05, a 3:18 min PR over my last half marathon. I could have run a faster race; I didn't leave it all out there on the course, but I had SO MUCH FUN!!! I enjoyed the running experience for all the reasons mentioned above and never once wished for it to be over. In fact, when I turned into Autozone Park at the end, I thought to myself, "Oh man, it's already over?" Not that I really wanted to run more, but I wanted to experience more of the race environment, making this contributing factor number nine. I usually am cussing to myself by the end of a race. Not this time. And, the tenth contributing factor to why it was the best running day ever was watching my father-in-law and husband finish the race in the times they hoped for. This was my father-in-law's first half marathon at age 62 and he ran a 2:11. Pretty awesome. And, my husband DID leave it all out there on the course and creamed his last full marathon time by running a 2:56:04! There is no doubt I will return to St. Jude as many more years as my legs will allow me to compete!