It's come up in conversation several times recently to wonder how long I’ve been running, and honestly it’s something that hasn’t always been a constant in my life. Some of the darkest times in my life were escaped with the help of running; many times it became a relief mechanism, a way to get out and think things through that somehow made whatever was so troublesome at the time seem less so, at least for a moment or two. Other times it was an activity I could do with a friend, which made it more enjoyable. But for every time I stopped for a bit due to a busy schedule or some other excuse, it seemed like it was more and more difficult to pick it back up and stick with it; the curve to return to where I had left off was steeper and harder to overcome. This is the longest consecutive streak I’ve maintained, and I’m doing more with it now than I ever have before, but I had abandoned all forms of exercise for quite some time before then. How I got back in the game this time is a story that I can laugh about now though it didn't have a happy beginning...
It was the summer of 2008 and that was the year I had finally done two things to be more active in my life: in February I had the opportunity to ski in Taos with one of the partners from my office and his wife. It was the first time in more than 20 years that I had attempted to ski, having sworn it off after a bad encounter in church camp that left me riding back down the ski lift, and it was the most athletic thing I had attempted in several years. Despite an initial snafu caused by too much vanilla vodka and crème soda the night before, it was generally uneventful yet thoroughly invigorating to just be active, although the initial panic attack I experienced on the ski lift certainly helped get my blood flowing as well! Secondly, at the encouragement of that partner, I joined the company softball team. I use the word "joined" loosely as I struck out twice in the first game, my bat swinging in full motion yet nowhere near the ball. It was humiliating, despite the team’s efforts to be supportive, and thankfully my prayer to never be called up to bat again was answered. I later found my niche as the team childcare provider, a vital position that I enjoyed immensely and found to be not nearly as painful as trying to catch the ball with my face in practice. It was during one of the games that a cute little girl named Abbie politely asked if I had "a baby in my tummy." I was mortified! I secretly suspected people had wondered that but were too polite to ask, especially since I generally dressed in baggy shirts and long skirts thinking it would somehow hide my ever-expanding frame, the product of too much convenience food and nowhere near enough physical activity. So while it didn't happen overnight, that was the final straw that prompted me to get out and get moving again. I started out slow and painful with a few 5ks and my first sprint triathlon, and it was many more months before I started tackling half marathons, but I have kept running or at least moving. Now that I've earned the title of marathoner, I don't want to stop.
I waited a long time to tell Abbie’s dad that story. I watched a similar wave of humiliation wash over his face as I repeated her innocent question and could see him mentally will the ground to open up and swallow him, but I was quick to assure him that it was just the push I needed to do something more and I had results to show how far I had come. After that, every time I finished a new race I would proudly show him my medal and hail the “inspiration of Abbie” that had given me that nudge to finally do something more and stick with it.
Sometimes it just takes something little like that to make a big difference. Other times it's something a lot bigger than that.
I will be running my next marathon in October - the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco. I've wanted to do this race ever since I read about it years ago in Runner's World, and even better than getting there will be that I'm doing it in honor of a friend that I lost last December, Dawn Thompson. I have the opportunity to help make a difference in the lives of so many, and that's an incredible inspiration as well.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Pain Equals Healing, Right?
I just got my butt kicked by my new coach, and he wasn’t even at the gym with me. I suspect that if he had been supervising me in person rather than my subconscious, I would have had to crawl out of there on all fours rather than limping slightly as I did.
My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.
Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.
The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.
The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.
This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!
I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again. I just have to get out of this chair first...
My warm-up started with the rowing machine and I was panting within 2 minutes. 20 minutes felt like an eternity. I stared intently at the digital display, mentally willing the time to move as fast as the meter counter. No such luck, but by the time it was over I at least had my breathing under control and wasn’t as concerned about passing out. I thought briefly about calling it quits right then, but the fun was only beginning.
Flutterkicks. I despise flutterkicks. Leave it to an Army Ranger to slip those into the mix, and first item of business no less. The first set of 20 were bearable, but by the third set my legs felt like concrete blocks and I’m certain my feet weren’t anywhere close to 6 inches off the ground, which is one of the first phrases bored into your memory at basic training. My push-ups were pathetic, though the one redeeming item of note was that I was able to progressively increase my ratio of “real” versus “girly” push-ups. I used to rock the push-ups in my PT tests back in the day, but it’s finally sinking in that those days were a really long time ago.
The core exercises weren’t much better, punishing me for all those Girl Scout cookies I inhaled in the name of supporting my troop. The sounds of Lifehouse and the Chili Peppers took me back to the last time my core got so much attention, more than a year ago when unemployment gave me the freedom to go to the gym every day with a friend; we would push each other to do a little more or try something new. The piece of paper on the ground next to me that contained my routine wasn’t nearly as convincing. Going forward, seeing results will be the motivation I need to keep at it, this time’s just for the right to say I finished.
The last item on my list was my choice of pull-ups or chin-ups, as if one is somehow more appealing than the other; Coach was even generous by only requiring 5 of them per set. I am not tall, and I carry the bulk of my body weight in my lower half, so I was doubtful but in the spirit of the moment wanted to at least give it a shot. I eyed the bar above my head, and even though I could reach it with my fingers, it seemed like it was at least a foot over my head. After a couple lousy attempts, the best of which pulled me a measly couple of inches off the ground, I called it quits. Those feats of strength will take some time to master.
This was my first assignment: it was supposed to be a mostly "core and light leg workout" to see where I’m at and what I’ve got. It turned out to be a sharp slap of reality with the clear message that I’ve got some serious catch-up work to do. Especially humbling is that the workout was pegged to be at an intensity level of 4, on a 9 point scale. I don't want to admit what I would have really rated it for at this point in time. And this is the first workout; it’s only going to be more intense when he’s actually in the gym with me or gives me a serious routine!
I can’t believe I have so far to go already; it feels like just yesterday I was sailing over the finish mat in Tempe. Now I’m already battered and honestly just plain out of shape. Just about everything is sore now, to some degree or other. But as I reflect on the soreness, I realize that even though it hurts at first, it’s not a crippling pain. And it will continue to subside as my muscles rebuild and I grow stronger. I’m still taking it easy on the feet and not running, but I can continue to focus on my other muscles in the meantime so that when the time is right I’ll be ready to take on the road again. I just have to get out of this chair first...
Friday, March 18, 2011
A New Course of Action
I went to the pool this week, the first time in a very long time. As I looked at my legs through the water they seemed especially pale, and it seemed I had lost quite a bit of my muscle tone. Or at least that's what it looked like through the greenish tint. My teammate had showed me her regimen already handed down from our coach, who I haven't met with yet, and the concepts buzzed through my head as I quietly let it all sink in while she got started. I've never put this much thought into swimming before, though it makes perfect sense. Counting laps and timing them, marking the starting point to be able to document progress; this certainly appeals to my nature. Before I was just concerned about form, with the hope of not getting so tired (or drowning) during the swim portion of a triathlon, and I've never tried to correlate it with the pressure I put on myself while running to obtain a certain race time that's dependent on maintaining a set pace. I'm sure I'll get more excited about those parts when I do get in the pool with our coach, but for that first day it was just about seeing where I'm at, what I've got in me to get from one end of the pool to the other. It wasn't even a very big pool, only 25 meters, but considering how long it had been since I last swam, it felt a lot longer than that.
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
I can get talked into most things, which is how I ended up at my first triathlon, the West Plains WunderWoman, in August 2008. I had high hopes going into that, not to place but to have it at least fare well; I had taken swimming lessons with a friend and we went for one long (more than 10 miles) bike ride. What a terrible experience. First I had to get off my bike and throw up on the side of the road thanks to the harsh lesson that you never try anything new on race day, especially fancy looking electrolyte pills that come in the goody bag. Then it warmed up to 100 or so degrees, they ran out of water, and I had to walk a mile back to my car after missing the shuttle busses. But like most bad days, once I had recovered I was ready to try it again. With a foot race, I aim for certain finishing times, but for a triathlon I merely try to make it to the finish line without dying. Literally. There are always photographers on the course, and I can belt out my best smile when I can see and expect them, but they have managed to snap quite a few pictures of me that look like I barely escaped with my life. These races are no joke, no matter the distance.
It's not that I don't know how to swim; I just can't swim efficiently or maintain good form for more than a few good sets of strokes which tires me easily. But I got started, first one length and slowly building up to a continuous lap; two laps would be the most I could do that day without stopping. I realized that despite their appearance right now, my legs are still powerful. I haven't been able to run for two months now but the strength I built up is not completely gone, and it will sustain me in a different way until I can get back out on the road. I tried not to think about how different the open water is from the pool environment, which compounds my anxieties, or even the fact that the distance of my little sprint triathlon in July will still be the equivalent of many more laps than what I had eked out. Instead I finally realized that I can only start with where I'm at today and build up from there as I train. In time the muscle definition will return, my form will improve, and I will be able to swim better than I can today.
I have a new goal for this event; it's not based on time, certainly not on placing, or even survival or not throwing up (though of course those are still crucial components). This time, I don't want my pictures to look quite so pitiful!
Monday, February 28, 2011
I did it! The tale of my first marathon experience, and what lies ahead.
It seems the longer I wait to update this, the more I have to say (and do), which is a very familiar theme for me! There was something I wanted to work out the details on first, then something else came up, and I've finally decided to tell you what I know and tell you the rest as it develops.
By now, most of you know that I completed my first marathon in the Phoenix area on Sunday, January 16, 2011 in 4 hours and 30 minutes; I am now a marathoner.
Most people, to include my mother until that day, don't know what a marathon is. Most simply stated, it's a 26.2 mile race of endurance. In the words of my mother, "That sounds impossible", is much like the reaction I often receive when telling new people about this type of event. And there was a time when I thought I would never consider doing such a distance myself. However, I've learned to never say never.
For me, this marathon represented a long-term goal, one I would have to work hard and religiously to complete. To accomplish it would require dedication, determination, and sheer willpower; strength and ability would come in time with training. It's not merely a physical test, it's also a mental challenge to not quit. This applies to the training as much as the event itself.
I worked with a coach and a team of other ladies in West Seattle for 5 months prior to my race. I ran 4 to 5 days a week, further distances than I'd ever gone before, and built up my miles week by week. And after my longest training run of 22 miles and 3 weeks to taper down and stock up my reserves, I was ready to go.
On the morning of the race, after getting settled and parting ways with my friend Tony who, along with another friend Christopher, was in a corral ahead of me, I was alone and slightly apprehensive. I doubted myself briefly, wondering what it would be like to go all the way; would that extra 4.2 miles beyond my furthest training run break me? I fully imagined I would swear off marathons after the finish line, as the training had taken more of a toll on my body than I could have anticipated and I didn't think I would want to endure that again. I tried not to worry if I had enough Gatorade; I knew I had more electrolyte chews than I needed. Butterflies wracked my stomach as I quietly waited to get started.
Waiting for the starting gun, then slowly plodding amongst my fellow runners towards the starting mat, I began thinking about a book I had finished the night before. I haven't read much for several years now outside of work or magazines, but I had recently seen a clip about a New York firefighter who had been run over by a city bus and not only lived to tell about it, but had gone on to run the New York City marathon (and complete an Ironman) after he recovered. He had written a book about his ordeal, and it came from the library just in time for my trip; it was so emotionally charged that I could hardly put it down! It's called The Long Run, by Matt Long, and I highly recommend it to anybody. It's a story of overcoming unimaginable trauma through hope and the power of determination, and most importantly not giving up. Certainly I was fortunate enough to be doing my race that day in better shape than he was, and I knew I had trained hard and was ready. With a renewed sense of purpose and a smile, I joined the cheer as my wave moved across the mat.
There isn't much to tell about the course itself; the Phoenix area is fairly flat and generally brown. Aside from the multiple bands (a personal favorite being the young group that rocked "Bad Reputation") and the cheerful volunteers at the water stops, the only other thing to take my mind off the road was the crowd around me. I had learned of a group called Team in Training (TNT) that facilitates marathon training in a group environment while fund-raising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS), and I had sworn it off for various personal reasons, opting instead to hire a personal coach. But here I'm finally running my first marathon and my friends were out there somewhere ahead of me, and others were on the sidelines or on the half-marathon course, and countless more were cheering me on from home, yet I was by myself. I always thought of running as an individual sport, and on race day it still often is for the most part, but as I looked around, all the TNT racers, coaches, and supporters were sporting purple and cheering each other on with shouts of "Go Team!" It didn't matter that most of them didn't know each other, they knew they were part of a bigger group with a common purpose, and a very noble one at that. I decided around mile 12 that I would do another marathon, and I wanted to be part of the TNT Team. This first marathon was for me and on my terms, but I want the next one to be for a bigger cause. Leukemia and lymphoma have both played a part in the lives of people I know; my childhood friend Dawn Thompson lost her battle with leukemia right before this Christmas. My grandmother is a lymphoma survivor, though she'll never quite be the same. And having read many testimonials from other friends who have done fund-raising for LLS, there are so many more stories out there than just mine.
There were lots of fans cheering on the sidewalks and shouting words of encouragement. Some held posters, which helped break up the scenery. My favorites were: 1) Chuck Norris never ran a marathon, 2) May the course be with you, and at the last turn, 3) You're no longer a runner, you're a marathoner! Despite the lack of change in elevation, the race itself had its ups and downs for me and my body, and I just pushed through to the end, to the glorious finish line among hundreds of strangers who were clapping and shouting. For those of you that know about my bungled finish at the Seattle half in November, I held my arms high, true rock-star style, for the entire length of the chute; I wasn't going to chance missing the real finish line pose this time! There would be no royalty treatment of having somebody else put the medal around my neck, but as the volunteer handed it to me I couldn't resist telling her I had just run my first marathon. There aren't words to describe my excitement and enthusiasm at that moment, and reliving the experience brings such a grin to my face. That was one of the most thrilling moments of my life, to be cherished always.
I knew something was wrong with my foot on a training run in mid-December, but didn't want to risk an official medical diagnosis that wouldn't allow me to continue with my training and finish what I had started. It would start hurting about halfway through my run, in the arch of my right foot. So I iced it, tried topical gels, and just hoped it would improve on its own. Of course that's a foolish notion, and I'm now paying the price for it. It's been 5 weeks since my race and I haven't been able to run since. The good news is that nothing appears to be broken or noticeably torn, but rather it seems to be a strain on my tendon as a result of overuse and insufficient muscle strength in my upper legs, and not enough stretching. Translation: I won't be running for at least another several weeks, and I will have to start over from scratch. As in I will have to start by running 1/4 mile and start over from the beginning. I am disheartened but know that I am capable of building back up when the time is right.
I miss running. No other activity I can do in the gym brings me as much personal satisfaction and joy, so I've stopped everything altogether. The excuses are piling back on, as well as the pounds (thanks in part to the fabulously dangerous Girl Scout cookies my troop started pushing this weekend!) Hearing about the progress of my friends who are currently training for their own upcoming events is bittersweet, as I'm truly happy for them but sad to not yet be able to join them.
This marathon was a lesson of many dimensions, and it has forever changed me in many wonderful ways. I am determined to rebuild my ability and fulfill my promise. Stay tuned for the details on my next adventure as I pick the pieces back up and put together my plan for honoring Dawn and the others who have lost the battle. I know that I have a greater purpose to serve, and no matter the distance, it all starts one step at a time.
By now, most of you know that I completed my first marathon in the Phoenix area on Sunday, January 16, 2011 in 4 hours and 30 minutes; I am now a marathoner.
Most people, to include my mother until that day, don't know what a marathon is. Most simply stated, it's a 26.2 mile race of endurance. In the words of my mother, "That sounds impossible", is much like the reaction I often receive when telling new people about this type of event. And there was a time when I thought I would never consider doing such a distance myself. However, I've learned to never say never.
For me, this marathon represented a long-term goal, one I would have to work hard and religiously to complete. To accomplish it would require dedication, determination, and sheer willpower; strength and ability would come in time with training. It's not merely a physical test, it's also a mental challenge to not quit. This applies to the training as much as the event itself.
I worked with a coach and a team of other ladies in West Seattle for 5 months prior to my race. I ran 4 to 5 days a week, further distances than I'd ever gone before, and built up my miles week by week. And after my longest training run of 22 miles and 3 weeks to taper down and stock up my reserves, I was ready to go.
On the morning of the race, after getting settled and parting ways with my friend Tony who, along with another friend Christopher, was in a corral ahead of me, I was alone and slightly apprehensive. I doubted myself briefly, wondering what it would be like to go all the way; would that extra 4.2 miles beyond my furthest training run break me? I fully imagined I would swear off marathons after the finish line, as the training had taken more of a toll on my body than I could have anticipated and I didn't think I would want to endure that again. I tried not to worry if I had enough Gatorade; I knew I had more electrolyte chews than I needed. Butterflies wracked my stomach as I quietly waited to get started.
Waiting for the starting gun, then slowly plodding amongst my fellow runners towards the starting mat, I began thinking about a book I had finished the night before. I haven't read much for several years now outside of work or magazines, but I had recently seen a clip about a New York firefighter who had been run over by a city bus and not only lived to tell about it, but had gone on to run the New York City marathon (and complete an Ironman) after he recovered. He had written a book about his ordeal, and it came from the library just in time for my trip; it was so emotionally charged that I could hardly put it down! It's called The Long Run, by Matt Long, and I highly recommend it to anybody. It's a story of overcoming unimaginable trauma through hope and the power of determination, and most importantly not giving up. Certainly I was fortunate enough to be doing my race that day in better shape than he was, and I knew I had trained hard and was ready. With a renewed sense of purpose and a smile, I joined the cheer as my wave moved across the mat.
There isn't much to tell about the course itself; the Phoenix area is fairly flat and generally brown. Aside from the multiple bands (a personal favorite being the young group that rocked "Bad Reputation") and the cheerful volunteers at the water stops, the only other thing to take my mind off the road was the crowd around me. I had learned of a group called Team in Training (TNT) that facilitates marathon training in a group environment while fund-raising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS), and I had sworn it off for various personal reasons, opting instead to hire a personal coach. But here I'm finally running my first marathon and my friends were out there somewhere ahead of me, and others were on the sidelines or on the half-marathon course, and countless more were cheering me on from home, yet I was by myself. I always thought of running as an individual sport, and on race day it still often is for the most part, but as I looked around, all the TNT racers, coaches, and supporters were sporting purple and cheering each other on with shouts of "Go Team!" It didn't matter that most of them didn't know each other, they knew they were part of a bigger group with a common purpose, and a very noble one at that. I decided around mile 12 that I would do another marathon, and I wanted to be part of the TNT Team. This first marathon was for me and on my terms, but I want the next one to be for a bigger cause. Leukemia and lymphoma have both played a part in the lives of people I know; my childhood friend Dawn Thompson lost her battle with leukemia right before this Christmas. My grandmother is a lymphoma survivor, though she'll never quite be the same. And having read many testimonials from other friends who have done fund-raising for LLS, there are so many more stories out there than just mine.
There were lots of fans cheering on the sidewalks and shouting words of encouragement. Some held posters, which helped break up the scenery. My favorites were: 1) Chuck Norris never ran a marathon, 2) May the course be with you, and at the last turn, 3) You're no longer a runner, you're a marathoner! Despite the lack of change in elevation, the race itself had its ups and downs for me and my body, and I just pushed through to the end, to the glorious finish line among hundreds of strangers who were clapping and shouting. For those of you that know about my bungled finish at the Seattle half in November, I held my arms high, true rock-star style, for the entire length of the chute; I wasn't going to chance missing the real finish line pose this time! There would be no royalty treatment of having somebody else put the medal around my neck, but as the volunteer handed it to me I couldn't resist telling her I had just run my first marathon. There aren't words to describe my excitement and enthusiasm at that moment, and reliving the experience brings such a grin to my face. That was one of the most thrilling moments of my life, to be cherished always.
I knew something was wrong with my foot on a training run in mid-December, but didn't want to risk an official medical diagnosis that wouldn't allow me to continue with my training and finish what I had started. It would start hurting about halfway through my run, in the arch of my right foot. So I iced it, tried topical gels, and just hoped it would improve on its own. Of course that's a foolish notion, and I'm now paying the price for it. It's been 5 weeks since my race and I haven't been able to run since. The good news is that nothing appears to be broken or noticeably torn, but rather it seems to be a strain on my tendon as a result of overuse and insufficient muscle strength in my upper legs, and not enough stretching. Translation: I won't be running for at least another several weeks, and I will have to start over from scratch. As in I will have to start by running 1/4 mile and start over from the beginning. I am disheartened but know that I am capable of building back up when the time is right.
I miss running. No other activity I can do in the gym brings me as much personal satisfaction and joy, so I've stopped everything altogether. The excuses are piling back on, as well as the pounds (thanks in part to the fabulously dangerous Girl Scout cookies my troop started pushing this weekend!) Hearing about the progress of my friends who are currently training for their own upcoming events is bittersweet, as I'm truly happy for them but sad to not yet be able to join them.
This marathon was a lesson of many dimensions, and it has forever changed me in many wonderful ways. I am determined to rebuild my ability and fulfill my promise. Stay tuned for the details on my next adventure as I pick the pieces back up and put together my plan for honoring Dawn and the others who have lost the battle. I know that I have a greater purpose to serve, and no matter the distance, it all starts one step at a time.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Running in 2011: Reflections and Aspirations
Looking over my Garmin history for 2010, I logged over 600 miles. Most of these were in the second half of the year as I started to focus in on my goal of a marathon rather than just aimlessly trying to keep up with my running when I felt like it or found some extra time (hint: neither of these happened regularly). In my lowest month, March, I only clocked 2 miles, and of course sitting here now I can come up with half a dozen better things I was doing at that time in my life, very few of which involved exercise and most of which are merely excuses. As hard as I had worked the year before, capped off with my then-PR in Vegas, I no longer made running a priority and didn't make time for it in my life. Anyone who expects to run faster or complete longer distances can't do so without incorporating a consistent routine into their schedule.
It was last summer that I met my coach, and my mileage really started increasing in August; December's grand total shows 119 miles, and I can truly see that my training has prepared me well for my marathon two weeks from today. One race, 26.2 miles, I'm ready. But then what? It's time for new goals.
Goals are a great way of aiming for something that will take effort and dedication. And certainly the onset of a new year is an ideal time to reflect on where you're at, where you'd like to be, and how you'll go about getting there and what milestones you can aim for on the way.
For me this year, my running goals are to run 1,000 miles throughout the year and to set a PR for the 5k, 10k, 10 mile, and half marathon distances in addition to completing my marathon in Phoenix. These may sound impossible to those who are just getting started running, but they are realistic for me based on my training (and provided that I don't slack off again!)
2011 is already off to a good start, having run both days of it so far. The first run wasn't just any run, it was a 5k capped off by a refreshing leap into Lake Washington (at 41 degrees it was at least warmer than the air outside at the time!) I wouldn't have thought of this on my own, but rather it was highly suggested that I give it a try as a way to incorporate running with the welcome of a new year. It wasn't quite the "coup de grace of all dares, the sinister triple-dog-dare" to get me to sign up, but pretty close. It was awesome, and now that I've done it I'm all for doing it again next year (and being on the suggesting end to encourage others!) It reminded me of how much I love participating in races and how good I feel when I run, just what I needed to keep up my motivation.
So I encourage you to set some goals, be it running or some other form of physical activity that suits your interests, as a way of making yourself reach for a better version of you. Even if a 5k seems to be a bit too much to start with, pick a shorter distance and build on it, step by step, until you get to that desired point. Even walking is forward progress, as long as you don't quit and make the time, rather than hope to find the time, to reach your goals.
It was last summer that I met my coach, and my mileage really started increasing in August; December's grand total shows 119 miles, and I can truly see that my training has prepared me well for my marathon two weeks from today. One race, 26.2 miles, I'm ready. But then what? It's time for new goals.
Goals are a great way of aiming for something that will take effort and dedication. And certainly the onset of a new year is an ideal time to reflect on where you're at, where you'd like to be, and how you'll go about getting there and what milestones you can aim for on the way.
For me this year, my running goals are to run 1,000 miles throughout the year and to set a PR for the 5k, 10k, 10 mile, and half marathon distances in addition to completing my marathon in Phoenix. These may sound impossible to those who are just getting started running, but they are realistic for me based on my training (and provided that I don't slack off again!)
2011 is already off to a good start, having run both days of it so far. The first run wasn't just any run, it was a 5k capped off by a refreshing leap into Lake Washington (at 41 degrees it was at least warmer than the air outside at the time!) I wouldn't have thought of this on my own, but rather it was highly suggested that I give it a try as a way to incorporate running with the welcome of a new year. It wasn't quite the "coup de grace of all dares, the sinister triple-dog-dare" to get me to sign up, but pretty close. It was awesome, and now that I've done it I'm all for doing it again next year (and being on the suggesting end to encourage others!) It reminded me of how much I love participating in races and how good I feel when I run, just what I needed to keep up my motivation.
So I encourage you to set some goals, be it running or some other form of physical activity that suits your interests, as a way of making yourself reach for a better version of you. Even if a 5k seems to be a bit too much to start with, pick a shorter distance and build on it, step by step, until you get to that desired point. Even walking is forward progress, as long as you don't quit and make the time, rather than hope to find the time, to reach your goals.
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