Ode to Running

Running is on my mind this week.  I am running my third half marathon of the year in 2 days and I’m pretty excited.  Man and are heading to Kelowna tomorrow for a small getaway, and I am quietly hoping for a wicked PB.  My only regret is that Baxter is staying behind, as he’s my most fun cheerleader on any course and makes it go that much faster. 

I’ve been an on-an-off runner for about 20 years.  I picked it up briefly in highschool, but it never took because I was forced to do it in gym class, so it wasn’t something I wanted to be a part of.  I know now I would have been good at it, but I couldn’t bring myself to join track or anything scary like that.  I can still remember Mrs. Howard saying “If you’re going to run slow, you might as well be in a field picking daisies!”  It wasn’t safe to try it and grow at it.  Once I moved away to school, I ran more, but I was also a bit of a smoker then (oh, yes I was!), so obviously I wasn’t super serious about it.  I would go out a couple days a week to try and ward off some of the pounds that were sneaking on. 

When I met Man (and had long since quit smoking) I really got a little more serious about it.  I remember our first run together along the water in Victoria; it was the longest 20 minutes of my life and I whined and bitched the whole way.  I think I even cried.  I persevered and kept at it, running my routes and celebrating as I reached milestones: 10 minutes without stopping, 20 minutes without stopping, my first 5k, my first 8k, quitting, re-starting etc etc.  I would run in the dark so people couldn’t see my jiggly ass and purple face, then graduated to not giving a crap what people thought as they drove by.  At least I was DOING it, and it was more than than they were doing, sitting in their cars.  I ran but it’s truly been an evolution to call myself a Runner and appreciate just what this little body is really capable of.  Today, I know I’m suited to long distance running; my lungs love it (I can almost run with my mouth closed!), my body seems to roll with it, and my soul aches to do it.  Gone is the purple face, not gone is the jiggly ass (it just refused to go!), and always usually there is a smile on my face. 

My first 10k was an hour and 8 minutes around Elk Lake in Victoria.  I cried when I finished, I was so proud of myself.  This was the first glimmer of becoming a Runner.  It was magic.

Over the years, I’ve picked it up and dropped it a number of times.  I’ve missed it, I’ve hated it.  But I always seem to come back.  Running is like that, it’s always there, and you can’t beat the price.  For the cost of shoes and something to wear, you’re in the game.  Sure, it’s frustrating to start at the beginning after a break to get back up to speed, but it’s satisfying, and my hours of training have come to be some of my favorite workouts.   I like competing with myself and pushing myself.  There is a hill near my house that always killed me, so I never added it to my route, and now I do it almost every time I go out.  I use Nine Inch Nails “Closer” to get up it, but I do it and am still standing at the end.

My first half, in 2005 (the same year I turned 30) was slow…my goal was to complete it without any mediacal intervention, and I did, in 2:38:11.  I walked like a zombie for 4 days and had trouble sitting, but I did it.

Nowadays, I’m faster, and halfs don’t make me sore at all.  I have my system down with energy gels and what not, although I still tend to struggle with pacing.  I’m like Baxter that way, I get caught up in whoever’s passing me and speed up (he thinks he’s a sprinter when people run past us as we walk – cute!) and then die in a few minutes.  Like my work life, it’s about pacing myself.

Running is a group sport that’s individual; I get support from every other runner on on the road, but I don’t have to work out with them.  No one questions that I run when I go to buy new shoes.  No one ever says, “You gained 15 pounds, you can’t possibly be a runner!” Instead, they ask what kind of mileage I do in a week.  Anyone can do it. 

As I move into this next race, I’m optimistic for a PB, I’m proud of myself for sticking with it and pushing through a pretty bad last-race, and looking so forward to wearing my medal for the day.  Perhaps the whole week.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

Half #1 – April Fool’s Run (Sunshine Coast)

Pre-race: Baxi and Me

You’ll recall that I only really had 6 weeks to train for this one; it was the running equivalent of cramming for an exam.  I stuck to the training schedule the whole way; running 3-4 times per week, weights and stretching on non-running days with 1 day off per week.  I slipped into a great groove, and only a few of the runs were those dreadful sort that make me sure I’m going to barf up my lung along the way.  I even had a few runs that were the Best Ever, leaving me wanting to go on another right away.  Wicked.

There was one horrible run, my longest in the training process, about a week before the race.  I ran 17km – the first 7 were brilliant, I was ahead of pace and feeling great, then I got to that STUPID loop around the lake that I always hate.  I always think it’s going to be different, but it just never is.  I think it’s just boring, and that makes my mind go to all the various shit that’s going on in my body…”Oh, crap, my hip hurts…what’s wrong with my calf?  Is my ass jiggling?  Shit, that old man just passed me!  Oh, no…now I’m behind pace.  Maybe I should just walk the WHOLE THING.  I’m such a loser.  What the hell I am thinking?? Maybe I shouldn’t even show up for the race.  I already paid for it though…I want some ice cream.  I have never been so bored in my life.  I wonder what Man’s doing right now…”

It was torture to taper the week before; I had tremendous amounts of guilt and it felt so odd to not be running.  Man came home late one night and found me fretting over the overlap of training for the next race and I’m quite sure he was about to ask me who I was and what I had done with his wife.  I was a teeny bit obsessed.  I stopped pressuring myself, though, and just remembered that I would be fine on race day, and that I was as ready as I could be.

I prepped my fuel the night before, laid out the running outfit, the change-into after outfit, the paraphernalia for the dog to come along, and ate some carbs – a bowl of perogies and some salmon.  I’ve never felt so bloated and gross.

We were up at 5am, caught the 7 am ferry (for which I reserved a spot that I didn’t even have to – THAT’s sure satisfying!), and after much strategic bathrooming (the very definition of my worst nightmare is having to GO during the race) I was at the start line waiting to go.  Pre-race food: I ate oatmeal at home, and a banana, and then had black coffee on the ferry boat (I normally use creamer, but I couldn’t bear to ingest their powdery whitener.)(Ick.)

In any case, the race went really well.  The first 8k or so was great, then my knee started to feel tired – not aching, just fatigued.  I pushed through and was right on pace until the Hills.  3km of Hills between 14 and 17k.  That’s what did me in.  I recovered okay, tried not to beat myself up when I realized I was nowhere near finishing when I thought I would.  I had aimed for 2:25, but finished in 2:29:50.  A Personal Best, but still.

The best part of the day was Man and Baxter meeting me all over the course and cheering me on like I was a rockstar.  They seemed to know just where to appear to tell me I looked great and lift my spirits a little.  Baxter could be heard from miles away and was inconsolable as I ran away from him.  As they drove past, I could hear him howling in the truck allllllll the way down the road.  Cute.

Mid-race...

I didn’t need my energy gel during the race, but I wonder if I should have used it anyway…maybe it would have been like jet fuel on those hills!  I did get Gatorade and water at every aid station, and that seemed to work well for me.  I chuckle at these people who carry enough fuel for a week in the woods, or run with their keys and change jinglin’ about in their pockets (would make me CRAZY!  Are they gonna buy something?) I just hate carrying stuff, so that tends to drive my race attire.  Perhaps if I had a wee sherpa, I wouldn’t pack so light.

The race was Gibsons to Sechelt on the Sunshine Coast, and the people there are SO lovely!  They were encouraging and supportive and very sweet.  It’s totally a run I would do again.  The only thing that threw me was the number of people in the race;  I guess I’m just used to bigger races, and I am almost always a mid-pack runner, which is just fine with me.  With this one, I was very near the back, which was unnerving.  I guess there are a lot of elite/fast-as-shit runners in this one.  The winner did it in an HOUR.  I had just hit the 10k ish mark at that point.  Oh dear.

The important part of the race is looking great as you cross the finish.  Great photos, I just refuse to buy images of myself looking like this!

I was really proud of myself.  I have left old expectations of me behind, I trained faithfully.  In the past, I would have realized I was behind, then just given up and resigned to having a bad run.  This time, I really feel like I did as well as I could have.  It made me realize that I really have made changes in my life, and that I am destined for whatever I bloody decide I am.

A medal.  Bragging rights.  A well-deserved nap.  A great run with zero soreness the next day.  The next one is in 11 weeks.  Here we go.

Biting the medal...just like an Olympian! HA