It's Christmas break and this morning I was arguing with myself about getting out of bed to get my run in. It had rained overnight and was still looking pretty gray and wet outside. I went back and forth for a while--I had to be in Little Rock at 10 for a haircut--but I finally got out there.
The rain was gone but not the fog and mist. It was pretty warm, especially for a wet December morning, and it felt great to be out there once I got moving! My iphone (replaced since then!) had been acting up, so I was running to my favorite Pandora station.
For a long time I've been trying to remind/teach myself that happiness is not a constant, but something that comes in fits and starts that you have to grab and hold onto. I think it's like butter--you get a blob of it at once but you have to spread it out. You can't expect life to be one long stream of melted butter, and you can't just sit by the butter dish scooping it off. I was running down into Stonewall when Ani DiFranco started singing "As Is." There's something about that song (the live version on pandora, but a few minutes ago I found an itunes special version that is just as good--the cd version is not), about the way she's working that guitar, about her voice and the lyrics and the depth--that has tugged at me for a while now. And misty runs--those tug at me, too. When I'm running and it's foggy and now and then a microdrop of water will pool on my eye for a fraction of a second...So I was a mile and a half into a perfect morning run and then this song came on and it opened up a brief but huge chasm of happiness. In my chest, maybe? I remembered to open myself to it and I smiled big and just ran on into it.
Later on in the run I was thinking about the first marathon, about the picture Julann posted and titled "Elation," about that feeling, and I was thinking that I would not trade that feeling, about how deep that feeling went, about how thankful I am that I get to do something that moves me to tears (the happy kind, not the oh my god why are these kids acting like this kind, because I get to do that, too.) I hope to feel that again. I know it will be different, but I hope it will be deep in a different way, like all chasms of happiness are.
Maybe happiness is sometimes like a stream, smooth and gentle, running over you. Maybe that's how it was today having lunch at Kristin's. I realized how much I miss down time with her. But sometimes it is deep and unexpected and seemingly unrelated to anything and you have to plunge into it without asking questions.
I'm glad running takes me outside--otherwise I wouldn't have seen this morning the wet brown branches cool against the gray sky, wouldn't have felt damp and happy with that delicious used feeling in my legs. I'll take it, as is, as Ani is singing right now.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
I stalled again this morning. It's nice to be able to do that in winter without having to worry about bursting into flames because of the late start. It also means I don't finish up until almost noon. When I was driving through Burns Park this morning I saw mist rising from the river, but I by the time I got parked and started it was gone. Maybe next week I'll get out there sooner!
As I was crossing the big dam bridge I looked over the edge at the supports for the new approach they are building. I have a weird fear of heights--weird in that it only shows itself at certain times. I have never had any problem running across the bridge, but as I looked at the height of the supports I felt a little dizzy and had to look away. I think the new approach is a great idea, though, and look forward to seeing it finished. I know there are a lot of people around here who don't understand the value of putting money into stuff like that, but it's one of the things that makes our community better. For everyone, too, not just runners and cyclists. There were as many families out walking this morning as there were athletes running and biking.
I hoped that there would be more deer in two rivers park this morning, but there weren't. Maybe because of the late start? There were plenty of walkers on the trail this morning, especially in two rivers. I was curious as I left the park before my turnaround about the gardens--I had no idea there was a Pulaski County community garden! It looks great. It reminded me, though, that I have a garden in my back yard that really needs to be cared for. Incentive to get to work on that asap!
On the way back there was a train coming along the trail. I have never seen one along there, and took the earphones out to listen. As the engine passed I waved and the passenger guy waved back at me. I heard them toot the horn a little later, maybe for the kid walking with her mom a little ways back.
I left to music out and listened to the birds and the people for the rest of the run. It felt strong and I finished it at a decent pace for me. Next week is just 10 miles before building up some more. The next three weeks will help me decide whether I'm going to register for DC's Rock and Roll in March after Little Rock. It's a crazy idea but I'm excited about the possibility.
No deep thoughts today, really, but I do hope to run through two rivers park some time when it's frozen. I bet it's a neat sight, all that swampy green life frozen over.
As I was crossing the big dam bridge I looked over the edge at the supports for the new approach they are building. I have a weird fear of heights--weird in that it only shows itself at certain times. I have never had any problem running across the bridge, but as I looked at the height of the supports I felt a little dizzy and had to look away. I think the new approach is a great idea, though, and look forward to seeing it finished. I know there are a lot of people around here who don't understand the value of putting money into stuff like that, but it's one of the things that makes our community better. For everyone, too, not just runners and cyclists. There were as many families out walking this morning as there were athletes running and biking.
I hoped that there would be more deer in two rivers park this morning, but there weren't. Maybe because of the late start? There were plenty of walkers on the trail this morning, especially in two rivers. I was curious as I left the park before my turnaround about the gardens--I had no idea there was a Pulaski County community garden! It looks great. It reminded me, though, that I have a garden in my back yard that really needs to be cared for. Incentive to get to work on that asap!
On the way back there was a train coming along the trail. I have never seen one along there, and took the earphones out to listen. As the engine passed I waved and the passenger guy waved back at me. I heard them toot the horn a little later, maybe for the kid walking with her mom a little ways back.
I left to music out and listened to the birds and the people for the rest of the run. It felt strong and I finished it at a decent pace for me. Next week is just 10 miles before building up some more. The next three weeks will help me decide whether I'm going to register for DC's Rock and Roll in March after Little Rock. It's a crazy idea but I'm excited about the possibility.
No deep thoughts today, really, but I do hope to run through two rivers park some time when it's frozen. I bet it's a neat sight, all that swampy green life frozen over.
Monday, December 12, 2011
The things we see.
Yesterday as I was coming out of some trees into a big open field, I saw three deer on my left. I startled a little as I always do when I see deer, and waited for them to bound off. But they didn't. I guess they see so many people that they aren't that scared anymore. Two were older and one was younger. The younger one stepped over the path and stopped just on the edge of it. I went around it--I could have touched it, I was so close. He was calm, but I was keeping an eye on the bigger two to make sure they didn't decide I was a threat. I went on, looking back at them a few times.
I had 12 miles scheduled yesterday. I wasn't particularly looking forward to it, and if it didn't go well I was ready to rethink my plan for the marathon in March. I was sick last week, totally failed at a 7 miler, and wasn't feeling strong. I got up and got dressed to go to the river, but I dawdled. It was cold so I decided I needed my jacket, which I had to go back and get. And my wrist band. And some chapstick. I told myself I was wasting time and it wasn't helping.
At the car by the trail, I talked myself out of wearing the jacket. It was cold, still under 30 degrees, but my mind told me I would be happier without the jacket. It was freezing for the first few miles--my toes and my lower legs felt numb, but I warmed up and had a comfortable run.
I had parked at the dog park at burns park for the first time in a while and headed up stream to the Big Dam Bridge. I crossed that (the only real hills out there!) and then went on up toward Two Rivers Bridge. When I paused for a gel and some water I started coughing a bit and got worried, but once I got back into my stride it was ok. I ran on into the pine trees and missed the warmth of the sun.
But then there were the deer. They just looked at me with moderate interest, calm and undisturbed, really. I stopped at the other side of Two Rivers Park for a drink from the water fountain, water so cold that it burned my tongue a little. Delicious! And then I turned around. The deer were still there, but some people coming in from the other direction startled them. They took off across the straw-colored field, around haystacks, the little one's bright white tail swishing rhythmically. On the far side of the clearing, I saw probably 8-10 other deer, some laying down, some grazing. I looked back over my shoulder and watched them for as long as I could.
I crossed back over the Little Maumelle River and watched white birds, their wings spread, flying low across the caramel colored water. I looked up at the sun hitting with thin cold morning pink and gold along the trees and houses high above the river. I breathed cold air and watched the other people out, looked at the cars crossing on the 430 bridge in another world from mine.
On the back side of the run, I kept my pace and still felt good. I was running on the right side of the path against the ridge. The sun hadn't touched the ground there yet, and frost blossomed thick, white, and furry on the leaves along the side of the road. I watched it, its lacy ice towers fuzzy on the vines. I dodged ice again on the temporary trail close to the dam bridge where they're building a new approach. I started to feel ready to be done, but wasn't feeling any pain (for which I'm so happy!!)
I finished 12 miles about 3/4 of a mile from the car and kept running because it was cold and I wanted to minimize the walk back. I stopped at 12.25 because it felt like a Christmassy thing to do, and I happened to be by a big, leafless tree with a dark trunk and pointed, bare branches. I thought about how different it looked a few months ago when I was last out there, and how different it felt to run in the cold--at least not longing for a reprieve from the insane heat!
It was a good morning, a good run, a day when I was grateful for the achievement and looked forward to the rest of the day--multiple blessings of family and friends, laughter and love.
I had 12 miles scheduled yesterday. I wasn't particularly looking forward to it, and if it didn't go well I was ready to rethink my plan for the marathon in March. I was sick last week, totally failed at a 7 miler, and wasn't feeling strong. I got up and got dressed to go to the river, but I dawdled. It was cold so I decided I needed my jacket, which I had to go back and get. And my wrist band. And some chapstick. I told myself I was wasting time and it wasn't helping.
At the car by the trail, I talked myself out of wearing the jacket. It was cold, still under 30 degrees, but my mind told me I would be happier without the jacket. It was freezing for the first few miles--my toes and my lower legs felt numb, but I warmed up and had a comfortable run.
I had parked at the dog park at burns park for the first time in a while and headed up stream to the Big Dam Bridge. I crossed that (the only real hills out there!) and then went on up toward Two Rivers Bridge. When I paused for a gel and some water I started coughing a bit and got worried, but once I got back into my stride it was ok. I ran on into the pine trees and missed the warmth of the sun.
But then there were the deer. They just looked at me with moderate interest, calm and undisturbed, really. I stopped at the other side of Two Rivers Park for a drink from the water fountain, water so cold that it burned my tongue a little. Delicious! And then I turned around. The deer were still there, but some people coming in from the other direction startled them. They took off across the straw-colored field, around haystacks, the little one's bright white tail swishing rhythmically. On the far side of the clearing, I saw probably 8-10 other deer, some laying down, some grazing. I looked back over my shoulder and watched them for as long as I could.
I crossed back over the Little Maumelle River and watched white birds, their wings spread, flying low across the caramel colored water. I looked up at the sun hitting with thin cold morning pink and gold along the trees and houses high above the river. I breathed cold air and watched the other people out, looked at the cars crossing on the 430 bridge in another world from mine.
On the back side of the run, I kept my pace and still felt good. I was running on the right side of the path against the ridge. The sun hadn't touched the ground there yet, and frost blossomed thick, white, and furry on the leaves along the side of the road. I watched it, its lacy ice towers fuzzy on the vines. I dodged ice again on the temporary trail close to the dam bridge where they're building a new approach. I started to feel ready to be done, but wasn't feeling any pain (for which I'm so happy!!)
I finished 12 miles about 3/4 of a mile from the car and kept running because it was cold and I wanted to minimize the walk back. I stopped at 12.25 because it felt like a Christmassy thing to do, and I happened to be by a big, leafless tree with a dark trunk and pointed, bare branches. I thought about how different it looked a few months ago when I was last out there, and how different it felt to run in the cold--at least not longing for a reprieve from the insane heat!
It was a good morning, a good run, a day when I was grateful for the achievement and looked forward to the rest of the day--multiple blessings of family and friends, laughter and love.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
On validation and running with the leaves.
Today was a very windy, balmy--and beautiful--day. I woke up thinking I had 9 miles, but the calendar told me 5. I feel lazy about this, but I tell myself that changing to a plan that puts less pressure on me right now is a good thing.
But the wind! As I turned in at Stonewall, the wind kicked up and blew some huge sycamore leaves along with me. It was gusty, and as I ran up the hill on North 1st Street, it felt brutal. It wasn't cold, though, and I worked up to comfortably hot and sweaty without cooking.
During my run I thought about some words. Tolerance, acceptance, and validation, what they mean, what we want, and where they come from. I guess I was thinking first about being a runner. Really feeling like a runner can take a while when you first start, and that feeling comes from within. Especially if, like me, you're not fast and won't be "competitive." I'm not going to BQ or even sub 4, most likely, but I remember the tentative and then strong steps into feeling like a runner. It came from inside me.
I remember quite a few years ago when I was looking everywhere else for validation in my life. I was looking for my voice in books, so carefully weighing the climate around me for who would be supportive and who wouldn't, and hoping for people to tell me I was ok. I remember the moment of clarity when I realized that validation comes from within and that I wouldn't really find it until I claimed it for myself. That doesn't change what we need from others, though, especially the ones who are closest to us. It can be shockingly painful when you find that people who you thought validated you don't and maybe never did.
Tolerance used to sound like a nice word to me, but not so much anymore. Tolerance means, "I won't beat you up or call you names to your face." Then there's acceptance: "I will talk to you like you matter but that doesn't have anything to do with what I really think about you." Then there's validation: "Who you are, how you are, who you love, what you need, your limitations, your differences, your challenges--all of these things are meaningful and important to me and I believe in you and your life."
We absolutely have to validate ourselves, but also those we love, and if we aren't---why? And what about the people who are normally dismissed? I'm thinking not just about the way people look at me or the way I perceive them to be looking at me, but also of the way I look at other people. Am I giving them the validation they deserve? If I don't remember to treat people as valid human beings, I can't reach them. It doesn't matter if it's my son or my partner or my sister or my students or the person taking my order at Taco Bell.
Maybe this is about as deep as the talking magnolia or the runoff story or the crepe myrtles with dresses and unruly curls. Which is pretty deep if you ask me.
But the wind! As I turned in at Stonewall, the wind kicked up and blew some huge sycamore leaves along with me. It was gusty, and as I ran up the hill on North 1st Street, it felt brutal. It wasn't cold, though, and I worked up to comfortably hot and sweaty without cooking.
During my run I thought about some words. Tolerance, acceptance, and validation, what they mean, what we want, and where they come from. I guess I was thinking first about being a runner. Really feeling like a runner can take a while when you first start, and that feeling comes from within. Especially if, like me, you're not fast and won't be "competitive." I'm not going to BQ or even sub 4, most likely, but I remember the tentative and then strong steps into feeling like a runner. It came from inside me.
I remember quite a few years ago when I was looking everywhere else for validation in my life. I was looking for my voice in books, so carefully weighing the climate around me for who would be supportive and who wouldn't, and hoping for people to tell me I was ok. I remember the moment of clarity when I realized that validation comes from within and that I wouldn't really find it until I claimed it for myself. That doesn't change what we need from others, though, especially the ones who are closest to us. It can be shockingly painful when you find that people who you thought validated you don't and maybe never did.
Tolerance used to sound like a nice word to me, but not so much anymore. Tolerance means, "I won't beat you up or call you names to your face." Then there's acceptance: "I will talk to you like you matter but that doesn't have anything to do with what I really think about you." Then there's validation: "Who you are, how you are, who you love, what you need, your limitations, your differences, your challenges--all of these things are meaningful and important to me and I believe in you and your life."
We absolutely have to validate ourselves, but also those we love, and if we aren't---why? And what about the people who are normally dismissed? I'm thinking not just about the way people look at me or the way I perceive them to be looking at me, but also of the way I look at other people. Am I giving them the validation they deserve? If I don't remember to treat people as valid human beings, I can't reach them. It doesn't matter if it's my son or my partner or my sister or my students or the person taking my order at Taco Bell.
Maybe this is about as deep as the talking magnolia or the runoff story or the crepe myrtles with dresses and unruly curls. Which is pretty deep if you ask me.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Monitor and Adjust
That's the motto for teachers--monitor and adjust. Things aren't working? Make some changes. Kids are restless? Make some changes. So that's what I decided to do this weekend. Maybe it was because I was feeling tired. Either way, I decided to go back to the Higdon training plan that I used for the first marathon. The long runs increase more slowly and I think I need that. I'll just be making sure I CROSS TRAIN this time and take better care of my knee.
So Saturday I ran 7 in the growing dark. Must get reflective gear!! Yesterday I did 4.25 in a little bit of warm rain before today's cold rolled in. Today I did a little over 5. All of them have felt solid and encouraging.
I thought I could never train for a marathon over the winter--COLD! DARK! But here I go. If I had to pick the best lesson I've learned, I think I would have to go with the necessity of dealing calmly with uncertainty. We don't know what will happen and it's ok to be calm about that. What good does freaking out do? The farther I get into training for this next race, the more exciting it will be.
So Saturday I ran 7 in the growing dark. Must get reflective gear!! Yesterday I did 4.25 in a little bit of warm rain before today's cold rolled in. Today I did a little over 5. All of them have felt solid and encouraging.
I thought I could never train for a marathon over the winter--COLD! DARK! But here I go. If I had to pick the best lesson I've learned, I think I would have to go with the necessity of dealing calmly with uncertainty. We don't know what will happen and it's ok to be calm about that. What good does freaking out do? The farther I get into training for this next race, the more exciting it will be.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Racing for everyone.
Today started early with Race for the Cure. I picked up my sister (who was ready!!) and we went on downtown to find Lee Lee (a 9 year survivor and absolute badass) and put on our super awesome pink feathered headbands. Katie and I did our best to keep up with her during the walk. We had a great time, made some memories, and stayed around for the survivor parade at 9:30. It was really powerful to see all those women holding signs saying how many years they've survived.
I encountered some negativity on facebook (imagine that.) I can understand, to an extent, where it comes from. Where are the 44,000 people walking for AIDS or FAS awareness? All I can say is that negativity doesn't grow anything. Race for the Cure didn't grow from negativity, it grew, I'm assuming, from determination. I don't argue for the perfection of anything, but I think showing love and support always comes before discounting the importance of anyone's effort. I'm grateful for today because I got to show my love and support for someone who, in the past few months, has become more important to me than I could have known, someone who has beat breast cancer twice and come through with a grit that I very much admire. And because I got to be with my sister. And because we looked fabulous.
When I got home I decided, despite the breakfast Katie and I downed at IHOP, that I wanted to go ahead and get my long run out of the way instead of saving it for tomorrow. So I went out for 8 miles. It felt good and solid and my knee didn't give me any problems. I was happy to have it done, and I'm happy to feel like I'm back in training.
I spent a lot of time during my run today thinking about how to make bad situations better. I had some students on Friday who really brought me down, and I want to make that situation better for both me and those kids. I have an idea of what to do, and it shows me how much I've changed over the past year, how maybe my mind and heart are shifting from "How to justify the suckiness of this situation" to "How to make this situation better regardless of who created it." My sister told me (in an unrelated conversation) that the anti-depressants may be making me think I can do crazy things, but if that's the case, at least I'll try some crazy things and maybe they'll work. (She's on them, too, and they make her think she can be PTA president, which she is doing--and I'm proud of her!)
And I thought, again, about how much running is like life. I will never be an elite runner, but I hope to always be able to keep running, keep getting out there and doing what I do. I'll never be an elite teacher, either, but I want to keep getting better and thinking up new ways to make kids laugh or feel like they belong. I'm not the best mom in the world or best partner or sister or daughter, but it matters to me to keep thinking about how to do it better. Just keep getting out there. Every run is a new opportunity, and it may be amazing, or solid, or ok, or sucky. That I can do it at all is a blessing.
I encountered some negativity on facebook (imagine that.) I can understand, to an extent, where it comes from. Where are the 44,000 people walking for AIDS or FAS awareness? All I can say is that negativity doesn't grow anything. Race for the Cure didn't grow from negativity, it grew, I'm assuming, from determination. I don't argue for the perfection of anything, but I think showing love and support always comes before discounting the importance of anyone's effort. I'm grateful for today because I got to show my love and support for someone who, in the past few months, has become more important to me than I could have known, someone who has beat breast cancer twice and come through with a grit that I very much admire. And because I got to be with my sister. And because we looked fabulous.
When I got home I decided, despite the breakfast Katie and I downed at IHOP, that I wanted to go ahead and get my long run out of the way instead of saving it for tomorrow. So I went out for 8 miles. It felt good and solid and my knee didn't give me any problems. I was happy to have it done, and I'm happy to feel like I'm back in training.
I spent a lot of time during my run today thinking about how to make bad situations better. I had some students on Friday who really brought me down, and I want to make that situation better for both me and those kids. I have an idea of what to do, and it shows me how much I've changed over the past year, how maybe my mind and heart are shifting from "How to justify the suckiness of this situation" to "How to make this situation better regardless of who created it." My sister told me (in an unrelated conversation) that the anti-depressants may be making me think I can do crazy things, but if that's the case, at least I'll try some crazy things and maybe they'll work. (She's on them, too, and they make her think she can be PTA president, which she is doing--and I'm proud of her!)
And I thought, again, about how much running is like life. I will never be an elite runner, but I hope to always be able to keep running, keep getting out there and doing what I do. I'll never be an elite teacher, either, but I want to keep getting better and thinking up new ways to make kids laugh or feel like they belong. I'm not the best mom in the world or best partner or sister or daughter, but it matters to me to keep thinking about how to do it better. Just keep getting out there. Every run is a new opportunity, and it may be amazing, or solid, or ok, or sucky. That I can do it at all is a blessing.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
On running in the rain--
Wednesday afternoon it was raining when I got home. I fiddled around the house, got changed, and checked the weather a few times to make sure there wasn't lightning headed our way. I got a rain jacket and left the house. For the first mile or so it wasn't raining and I quickly got too hot for the jacket.
The rain picked up. It was still light, but I got wet. I put the jacket back on, but didn't zip it, so the front of me, my face and hair, got more and more soaked. I looked up at the sky occasionally, trying to catch a few raindrops. At about the half-way point, I heard the National Anthem coming from the air base, so I stopped. I stood there in the rain, chilled but warm, and said my own thank yous for the gift of being out there, for being stubborn enough and carefree enough to head out in the rain on a fall day.
The rain let up as I got closer to home. The sun came out, and I started looking for the rainbow. I didn't see it at first, and soon my back was to the direction I knew it would pop up, as afternoon rainbows in my neighborhood always do. I started to see it as I glanced over my shoulder, very light at first, and intensifying. I hit the five mile mark about a block from home, stopped, and turned around. There it was, spread across the sky, an arc of vivid color jumping from pine tree to pine tree. I couldn't stand to keep my back to it, so I walked home backwards, keeping my eye on the second gift of the day, loving the blessing and remembering another rainbow, the one I saw the day my Grandma died.
Life is, itself, pretty simple. The heart beats and loves and cries and looks. Life ends. We may complicate it, but the simple blessings are still there if we go looking.
I did 7 miles this morning--I'm starting to build back up for training for the Little Rock Marathon. I'm hoping everything goes well but planning to keep a bit lower of a profile this time around. Earlier this afternoon Ty and I met Lee lee and J and the dogs in a field by St. Patrick's Church. We laughed at the dogs, I lay in the grass on my back and looked up at the trees, and then wrestled Ty for a while. It was pretty simple and lovely.
The rain picked up. It was still light, but I got wet. I put the jacket back on, but didn't zip it, so the front of me, my face and hair, got more and more soaked. I looked up at the sky occasionally, trying to catch a few raindrops. At about the half-way point, I heard the National Anthem coming from the air base, so I stopped. I stood there in the rain, chilled but warm, and said my own thank yous for the gift of being out there, for being stubborn enough and carefree enough to head out in the rain on a fall day.
The rain let up as I got closer to home. The sun came out, and I started looking for the rainbow. I didn't see it at first, and soon my back was to the direction I knew it would pop up, as afternoon rainbows in my neighborhood always do. I started to see it as I glanced over my shoulder, very light at first, and intensifying. I hit the five mile mark about a block from home, stopped, and turned around. There it was, spread across the sky, an arc of vivid color jumping from pine tree to pine tree. I couldn't stand to keep my back to it, so I walked home backwards, keeping my eye on the second gift of the day, loving the blessing and remembering another rainbow, the one I saw the day my Grandma died.
Life is, itself, pretty simple. The heart beats and loves and cries and looks. Life ends. We may complicate it, but the simple blessings are still there if we go looking.
I did 7 miles this morning--I'm starting to build back up for training for the Little Rock Marathon. I'm hoping everything goes well but planning to keep a bit lower of a profile this time around. Earlier this afternoon Ty and I met Lee lee and J and the dogs in a field by St. Patrick's Church. We laughed at the dogs, I lay in the grass on my back and looked up at the trees, and then wrestled Ty for a while. It was pretty simple and lovely.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
The Race
All the worry, anxiety, excitement, and anticipation that went into this race--it was worth every moment! Every time I dragged myself out of bed before dawn over the summer, every sun and sweat drenched step, every ache and pain--it was all worth that feeling of elation after I crossed the finish line, that laugh/cry overwhelmed feeling of accomplishment.
There's so much I could say about the days leading up to the race. I was a crazy bundle of out-of-control nerves. I imagined finishing the race the way I imagined passing master's comps last fall, or the way I imagined Obama winning in '08, like some kind of barely possible but overwhelmingly wonderful possibility that I was a bit insane to even hope for.
J and Ty dropped me off at the starting line at about 4:45 am on race morning. I stood around a bit numb and half-listened to the conversations around me. Lots of glow sticks and flashing lights. I took the LED flashlight that J had lent me out of my pouch and held it as I followed everyone to the start. I don't remember a gun or a horn--everyone just kind of started to run.
I started out wearing a pattellar strap around my knee. Not far in, maybe three or four miles, it started to hurt. The strap kept slipping down and the pain, while not bad, was too bad for the first few miles. I felt a moment of panic---no way was I going to finish. How foolish to even try! I slipped off to the side and swapped the strap for a neoprene brace I had slipped under my belts.
Immediately I felt better and kept on going. The sensory experience of running through the dark like that was interesting. We passed a dog at the end of one driveway, barking at everyone going by. Not chasing or growling, just barking at the strange stream of runners. It slowly grew light. I turned the light off as the morning grew gray around us.
It started to rain very lightly. Every time we came up to a water table, the people running it would cheer and clap. I ticked off the miles in my head, wondering at what point I'd feel like there was a chance I would make it. My planned 20 miler ended at 16.75 when I couldn't go any further. My 18 miler felt like ancient history. But I was pretty much pain free for most of the race. At about the 9 mile point or so, I found myself moving along at a nice comfortable pace of 11:30. The two people near me seemed nice, so I gathered up some courage and asked if I could hang with them for a while. They were amazingly friendly and encouraging, a man and his daughter, Marathon Maniacs from Alabama. Running with them was cool because every time maniacs would pass from the other direction (the fast people on their way back already!) they would yell at each other and cheer. We reached the 13.1 turnaround, passed through a checkpoint, and headed back. I stayed with the Alabama Maniacs for a bit longer and then pulled ahead.
The rain picked up. It never poured, but it got steady enough for a while to soak my face and completely water-log me. I swiped my face and considered taking off my shirt to do a better job, but didn't. The rain wasn't bad and I was just happy that the sun wasn't beating down.
Around mile 19 I came up to a guy wearing a Little Rock Half-Marathon shirt, so I said hi to him. He was Michael from Benton, another lone first-timer like me. We passed the 20 mile mark together, celebrating the realization that we could walk the rest of the race and still finish in the time limit. As we passed the next water table, I felt elated. I told one of the girls there, "I think we just might finish this race!"
Michael decided to walk for a while, so I headed on alone. I wasn't going fast but I was keeping steady, and I came up on several people walking along the way. They were all encouraging, and it was great to know that walk-breaks were common, that runners in my time range are cool with taking it easy and just keeping on.
It's hard to describe my mindset at this point. As I'd pass a mile-marker, I would say to myself, Just a five mile run, you can do a five mile run. Just a four mile run....They kind of ticked themselves away to my mostly mindless, sort of disbelieving, hopeful jog. I had told J to be back at the start by 9:30 because, while I had no finishing goal, I figured 4:30 was the soonest I would be done. I checked the time now and then and mostly couldn't believe I was doing it and still close to being on track.
I decided to walk at around 24 miles. I was tired and my knee was hurting. I slowed to a walk, but it didn't feel any better. Fatigue wasn't much of a problem and my knee still hurt when I walked, so I moved back into a jog.
I passed the 26 mile point and could see and hear the end. I started to tear up. I kept trying to fight it back, telling myself that I didn't want to look ridiculous in the finish line photo. J and Ty were standing right by the finish line, and as soon as I passed it, they came around. Ty hugged me and I started sobbing and laughing at the same time. J kept trying to get me to look at her for pictures, but it took me a while to calm down. Finally, I hobbled over to sit down and take off my soaked shoes and socks. And find a beer (most certainly the only time I've ever opened a beer before 10:00 am!).
Everything about the experience was amazing. I had spent the last three weeks before the race sort of mourning the feeling that I thought I would have had if my knee had never acted up. Thinking about how excited I would have been, how strong I would have felt. How pumped I would have been. Then I realized that, obviously, I could have made the 20 miler and tapered and come into the race feeling strong---and then my knee could have messed up during the race. And I wouldn't have been able to finish. So really, I learned some stuff about having faith and going for it and not knowing the outcome.
I spent a lot of the last 5 miles or so reminding myself to look around. I thanked God, the trees, the universe---everything--for allowing me to be there. I had such a feeling of peace and gratitude. J was such a support--I never would have made it without her (literally, she told me to bring the brace and so I did), and everyone who encouraged me and celebrated with me or for me throughout training was hugely inspirational and very much appreciated.
I'm spending about 10 days resting before I get back out there. The alien blister on my second toe is nearly gone and my knee, though not perfect, is good. I hope to be back out there next week, and this afternoon I found another marathon in Mississippi that is maybe calling my name. We'll see!
There's so much I could say about the days leading up to the race. I was a crazy bundle of out-of-control nerves. I imagined finishing the race the way I imagined passing master's comps last fall, or the way I imagined Obama winning in '08, like some kind of barely possible but overwhelmingly wonderful possibility that I was a bit insane to even hope for.
J and Ty dropped me off at the starting line at about 4:45 am on race morning. I stood around a bit numb and half-listened to the conversations around me. Lots of glow sticks and flashing lights. I took the LED flashlight that J had lent me out of my pouch and held it as I followed everyone to the start. I don't remember a gun or a horn--everyone just kind of started to run.
I started out wearing a pattellar strap around my knee. Not far in, maybe three or four miles, it started to hurt. The strap kept slipping down and the pain, while not bad, was too bad for the first few miles. I felt a moment of panic---no way was I going to finish. How foolish to even try! I slipped off to the side and swapped the strap for a neoprene brace I had slipped under my belts.
Immediately I felt better and kept on going. The sensory experience of running through the dark like that was interesting. We passed a dog at the end of one driveway, barking at everyone going by. Not chasing or growling, just barking at the strange stream of runners. It slowly grew light. I turned the light off as the morning grew gray around us.
It started to rain very lightly. Every time we came up to a water table, the people running it would cheer and clap. I ticked off the miles in my head, wondering at what point I'd feel like there was a chance I would make it. My planned 20 miler ended at 16.75 when I couldn't go any further. My 18 miler felt like ancient history. But I was pretty much pain free for most of the race. At about the 9 mile point or so, I found myself moving along at a nice comfortable pace of 11:30. The two people near me seemed nice, so I gathered up some courage and asked if I could hang with them for a while. They were amazingly friendly and encouraging, a man and his daughter, Marathon Maniacs from Alabama. Running with them was cool because every time maniacs would pass from the other direction (the fast people on their way back already!) they would yell at each other and cheer. We reached the 13.1 turnaround, passed through a checkpoint, and headed back. I stayed with the Alabama Maniacs for a bit longer and then pulled ahead.
The rain picked up. It never poured, but it got steady enough for a while to soak my face and completely water-log me. I swiped my face and considered taking off my shirt to do a better job, but didn't. The rain wasn't bad and I was just happy that the sun wasn't beating down.
Around mile 19 I came up to a guy wearing a Little Rock Half-Marathon shirt, so I said hi to him. He was Michael from Benton, another lone first-timer like me. We passed the 20 mile mark together, celebrating the realization that we could walk the rest of the race and still finish in the time limit. As we passed the next water table, I felt elated. I told one of the girls there, "I think we just might finish this race!"
Michael decided to walk for a while, so I headed on alone. I wasn't going fast but I was keeping steady, and I came up on several people walking along the way. They were all encouraging, and it was great to know that walk-breaks were common, that runners in my time range are cool with taking it easy and just keeping on.
It's hard to describe my mindset at this point. As I'd pass a mile-marker, I would say to myself, Just a five mile run, you can do a five mile run. Just a four mile run....They kind of ticked themselves away to my mostly mindless, sort of disbelieving, hopeful jog. I had told J to be back at the start by 9:30 because, while I had no finishing goal, I figured 4:30 was the soonest I would be done. I checked the time now and then and mostly couldn't believe I was doing it and still close to being on track.
I decided to walk at around 24 miles. I was tired and my knee was hurting. I slowed to a walk, but it didn't feel any better. Fatigue wasn't much of a problem and my knee still hurt when I walked, so I moved back into a jog.
I passed the 26 mile point and could see and hear the end. I started to tear up. I kept trying to fight it back, telling myself that I didn't want to look ridiculous in the finish line photo. J and Ty were standing right by the finish line, and as soon as I passed it, they came around. Ty hugged me and I started sobbing and laughing at the same time. J kept trying to get me to look at her for pictures, but it took me a while to calm down. Finally, I hobbled over to sit down and take off my soaked shoes and socks. And find a beer (most certainly the only time I've ever opened a beer before 10:00 am!).
Everything about the experience was amazing. I had spent the last three weeks before the race sort of mourning the feeling that I thought I would have had if my knee had never acted up. Thinking about how excited I would have been, how strong I would have felt. How pumped I would have been. Then I realized that, obviously, I could have made the 20 miler and tapered and come into the race feeling strong---and then my knee could have messed up during the race. And I wouldn't have been able to finish. So really, I learned some stuff about having faith and going for it and not knowing the outcome.
I spent a lot of the last 5 miles or so reminding myself to look around. I thanked God, the trees, the universe---everything--for allowing me to be there. I had such a feeling of peace and gratitude. J was such a support--I never would have made it without her (literally, she told me to bring the brace and so I did), and everyone who encouraged me and celebrated with me or for me throughout training was hugely inspirational and very much appreciated.
I'm spending about 10 days resting before I get back out there. The alien blister on my second toe is nearly gone and my knee, though not perfect, is good. I hope to be back out there next week, and this afternoon I found another marathon in Mississippi that is maybe calling my name. We'll see!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Because there's always more to learn.
I have so been all over the place for the past week and a half.
A week ago Sunday was the 20 mile run that wasn't. I didn't know what to think about myself as a runner after that. I rested Monday and then went out Tuesday and had a good 5 miles. I was encouraged. I ran Wednesday and Thursday with little pain and continued to feel positive.
For whatever reason, I woke up Saturday morning feeling grouchy. I was sleepy, I was tired, I was apathetic. I took my time getting ready and made it down to the river trail around 6:30. Still grouchy. I wasn't sure how the run was going to go and to be honest, I didn't care in that moment. I thought, hey, if I can't do this, I can go home and go back to bed. Fine.
I got started, though, and the first part felt strong. At one point I thought, hell, I'll just do 20 miles today. I feel fine. I stayed fairly strong, but did start having some slight knee pain in the last 4 miles or so. It was nothing I couldn't handle, and I finished my planned run of 12 miles. I felt ok.
Sunday I woke up stiff and hurting. Monday and Tuesday were more of the same and I got really down. Tuesday evening I was a bear to be around and went to bed to languish in front of Law and Order SVU at 7:30. I've trained for this race all summer. It seemed out of my reach.
Today I picked up some athletic tape and got together with youtube and taped my knee. I noticed an immediate difference when walking and headed out, aiming for 5-6 miles. The tape definitely helped but didn't hold well. I had some pain in the second half of the run but got 5.5 miles in without much trouble.
As soon as I made it in, I iced, then stretched. It's odd--I feel better right now knee-wise than I've felt since before Saturday's run. Who knows how I'll feel tomorrow? I don't want to speculate right now.
I do know that from the time I started running, I've felt like I was learning things--about life, not about running. I've learned about what I'm capable of and I've learned to be grateful for what I can do.
When I came in this afternoon I told J, I only did 5.5 miles. She laughed and said, only 5.5. I can run 5.5 miles and say, "Only!" and that's something to be thankful for.
Through this knee injury I will continue to learn that I can't always know what will happen. I could drop out of this race right now and give up, but that would be the easy way out. Not the physical easy way out, but the mental easy way out--the way that I need to always know what will happen, the way that I think that the worst will happen and am often incapable of being positive. So right now I'm just letting go of needing to know. Right now, today, I ran 5.5 miles and am feeling well. That's all there is---right now.
A week ago Sunday was the 20 mile run that wasn't. I didn't know what to think about myself as a runner after that. I rested Monday and then went out Tuesday and had a good 5 miles. I was encouraged. I ran Wednesday and Thursday with little pain and continued to feel positive.
For whatever reason, I woke up Saturday morning feeling grouchy. I was sleepy, I was tired, I was apathetic. I took my time getting ready and made it down to the river trail around 6:30. Still grouchy. I wasn't sure how the run was going to go and to be honest, I didn't care in that moment. I thought, hey, if I can't do this, I can go home and go back to bed. Fine.
I got started, though, and the first part felt strong. At one point I thought, hell, I'll just do 20 miles today. I feel fine. I stayed fairly strong, but did start having some slight knee pain in the last 4 miles or so. It was nothing I couldn't handle, and I finished my planned run of 12 miles. I felt ok.
Sunday I woke up stiff and hurting. Monday and Tuesday were more of the same and I got really down. Tuesday evening I was a bear to be around and went to bed to languish in front of Law and Order SVU at 7:30. I've trained for this race all summer. It seemed out of my reach.
Today I picked up some athletic tape and got together with youtube and taped my knee. I noticed an immediate difference when walking and headed out, aiming for 5-6 miles. The tape definitely helped but didn't hold well. I had some pain in the second half of the run but got 5.5 miles in without much trouble.
As soon as I made it in, I iced, then stretched. It's odd--I feel better right now knee-wise than I've felt since before Saturday's run. Who knows how I'll feel tomorrow? I don't want to speculate right now.
I do know that from the time I started running, I've felt like I was learning things--about life, not about running. I've learned about what I'm capable of and I've learned to be grateful for what I can do.
When I came in this afternoon I told J, I only did 5.5 miles. She laughed and said, only 5.5. I can run 5.5 miles and say, "Only!" and that's something to be thankful for.
Through this knee injury I will continue to learn that I can't always know what will happen. I could drop out of this race right now and give up, but that would be the easy way out. Not the physical easy way out, but the mental easy way out--the way that I need to always know what will happen, the way that I think that the worst will happen and am often incapable of being positive. So right now I'm just letting go of needing to know. Right now, today, I ran 5.5 miles and am feeling well. That's all there is---right now.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Setbacks.
This morning I had a lovely start to what was supposed to be a 20 mile run. I parked at Cook's Landing and took off over the bridge. I saw the full moonlight glittering on the river and the sky at the horizon was the deepest hot pink I've ever seen. The air was cool. It was beautiful.
My right knee started to hurt along the outside at about 3 or so miles in. It was annoying, nothing else. I tried to think of other things. I had headed down Rebsamen Park past Murray Park and the golf course. I turned back around 4.5 miles. Back at Murray Park, I refilled my water bottles and headed on down toward Two Rivers bridge. The pain was still mostly just annoying. It didn't start to get bad until I got to the other end of Two Rivers Park. I stopped to refill on water again and when I started running, it was much worse. I was moving slowly, around 11 minutes per mile, and hoped to keep going. Back at the dam, I passed the entrance to the bridge and went back down towards Murray Park. Still moving slowly, I knew at this point that walking didn't help and that if I stopped again it was for good. That happened at about 16.5 miles.
I called J to let her know I was hobbling back to my car and tried not to kick up a pity party. Some girls gave me a ride from the last park entrance down to the bridge, which I appreciated very much. I crossed the bridge, finally, and made it back to my car.
And now here I am. After a summer of training, I don't know what's in store. Obviously I hope to take it easy for a few days and still make the race. I'm going to look into new shoes tomorrow evening since I feel like a lack of support for my feet contributed to this. Who knows. I have talked about this so much and it has become so important to me--I know that if I have to miss this race that there will be other races, but the thought of letting go of this goal that I have had since the spring is so sad.
My right knee started to hurt along the outside at about 3 or so miles in. It was annoying, nothing else. I tried to think of other things. I had headed down Rebsamen Park past Murray Park and the golf course. I turned back around 4.5 miles. Back at Murray Park, I refilled my water bottles and headed on down toward Two Rivers bridge. The pain was still mostly just annoying. It didn't start to get bad until I got to the other end of Two Rivers Park. I stopped to refill on water again and when I started running, it was much worse. I was moving slowly, around 11 minutes per mile, and hoped to keep going. Back at the dam, I passed the entrance to the bridge and went back down towards Murray Park. Still moving slowly, I knew at this point that walking didn't help and that if I stopped again it was for good. That happened at about 16.5 miles.
I called J to let her know I was hobbling back to my car and tried not to kick up a pity party. Some girls gave me a ride from the last park entrance down to the bridge, which I appreciated very much. I crossed the bridge, finally, and made it back to my car.
And now here I am. After a summer of training, I don't know what's in store. Obviously I hope to take it easy for a few days and still make the race. I'm going to look into new shoes tomorrow evening since I feel like a lack of support for my feet contributed to this. Who knows. I have talked about this so much and it has become so important to me--I know that if I have to miss this race that there will be other races, but the thought of letting go of this goal that I have had since the spring is so sad.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Falling behind.
Not on running, not really, but on posting! Last week I had a close call--I was sick on Wednesday and took Wednesday and Thursday off from running. Between the illness and my tendency to think the worst, I was pretty sure I'd never ever feel well enough to run again. (I am a peach to deal with when I get like that). Believe it or not, though, I got all the miles in: 9 on Friday, 5 on Saturday, and 14 on Sunday. The heat has been killer--as soon as I step into sunlight, even, say, 7:30 am sunlight, I can feel it sucking the energy out of me. (Maybe that's how it stays so hot?) The 14 miles on Sunday weren't horrible--and that's about all I can say about that.
The week before last, I did my first 18 mile run. I really went out there planning to take it in chunks--just four 4.5 mile runs, right? I handled it well in the beginning. I took short walk breaks at the end of each chunk and felt pretty much in control and solid at the half-way point. At the 12 mile point I refilled water bottles at the skate park and still felt really good. After that it was getting later and I started to encounter some of that evil sunlight I mentioned earlier. The last 4 were tough. It was hard to keep going more than a mile without a break. I finished the run with a 10:40 mm average pace and I was ok with that. I've really revised my speed expectations since hitting the 16 and 18 mile distance. I hope race pace will be a little better than that, but right now I'd just like to keep my marathon time under 5 hours.
This week is the highest mileage week--5 tomorrow, 10 Wednesday, 5 Thursday, 20 Saturday. Aside from worrying about how to get all those miles in before work, since we started back today, I'm feeling fine about it. The 20 miler will be tough, but I'll get it done.
The week before last, I did my first 18 mile run. I really went out there planning to take it in chunks--just four 4.5 mile runs, right? I handled it well in the beginning. I took short walk breaks at the end of each chunk and felt pretty much in control and solid at the half-way point. At the 12 mile point I refilled water bottles at the skate park and still felt really good. After that it was getting later and I started to encounter some of that evil sunlight I mentioned earlier. The last 4 were tough. It was hard to keep going more than a mile without a break. I finished the run with a 10:40 mm average pace and I was ok with that. I've really revised my speed expectations since hitting the 16 and 18 mile distance. I hope race pace will be a little better than that, but right now I'd just like to keep my marathon time under 5 hours.
This week is the highest mileage week--5 tomorrow, 10 Wednesday, 5 Thursday, 20 Saturday. Aside from worrying about how to get all those miles in before work, since we started back today, I'm feeling fine about it. The 20 miler will be tough, but I'll get it done.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Drag it along with you.
My four miles this morning started out tough. I felt tired and clunky and my shins started to tighten up. I trudged along at over 10 minutes per mile, hurting, panting, dragging. Runs like that are disheartening. Even though I know better, I question whether I'll ever have a good run again. I thought, if this is bad, what will tomorrow's 9 miles feel like? How will I ever do 18 on Saturday? I thought maybe I would give up on the marathon. What made me think I could do something crazy like that? I could sleep in the rest of my summer break.
I found my heart at about half way through. I thought, even though this is hard, I don't have to let it drag me down. I picked my head up. I put on a touch of speed. In life, I told myself, don't let things drag you down. Pick them up and drag them along with you. I thought about that for a while and then hit a snag. Shouldn't I be trying to leave behind the things that are dragging me down? Throw off the baggage and just run, free and strong and happy? Sure, yeah, if this is a fairy tale and I'm trying to fool myself and anyone who might read this. Life doesn't work that way and neither does running. I can't always throw off the things that are weighing on my mind any more than I can throw off shin pain or the 93% humidity of this morning. But I can pick my head up and put on a touch of speed and just drag all that shit along with me.
I finished up feeling strong this morning, with the reminder that I can find strength when I didn't think I had any. That's the most important lesson. That, and the audacity of hope. Who came up with that? It wasn't me, but it seems like I remember Pastor Randy saying something about it before---to hope, to set goals, to keep going, to have faith---that's audacious. You have to do more than believe because sometimes maybe your belief will fail you, and that's when you just have to plunge on forward with the audacity of hope, daring to try.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
I found my heart at about half way through. I thought, even though this is hard, I don't have to let it drag me down. I picked my head up. I put on a touch of speed. In life, I told myself, don't let things drag you down. Pick them up and drag them along with you. I thought about that for a while and then hit a snag. Shouldn't I be trying to leave behind the things that are dragging me down? Throw off the baggage and just run, free and strong and happy? Sure, yeah, if this is a fairy tale and I'm trying to fool myself and anyone who might read this. Life doesn't work that way and neither does running. I can't always throw off the things that are weighing on my mind any more than I can throw off shin pain or the 93% humidity of this morning. But I can pick my head up and put on a touch of speed and just drag all that shit along with me.
I finished up feeling strong this morning, with the reminder that I can find strength when I didn't think I had any. That's the most important lesson. That, and the audacity of hope. Who came up with that? It wasn't me, but it seems like I remember Pastor Randy saying something about it before---to hope, to set goals, to keep going, to have faith---that's audacious. You have to do more than believe because sometimes maybe your belief will fail you, and that's when you just have to plunge on forward with the audacity of hope, daring to try.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Two Rivers Bridge Run!
This morning I was pretty happy about a short 12 mile run. I remember very clearly when I thought it was impossible that I'd ever run 3 miles, and after the past 2 weeks, 12 miles seems like a short run. I got down to the river trail just before 7, excited that the Two Rivers Bridge was supposed to be open today.
The trail was much more crowded than usual--lots of people planning to check out the new bridge. Some clouds blocked the sun for the first part of my run and it was just about comfortable. I crossed the big dam bridge, refilled on water, and headed down towards the 430 bridge.
As I got closer to the bridge, I could see cyclists crossing it. YES! I'd been waiting for this forever. A reporter was being filmed at the base of the bridge as I started over--I have hopes that my backside was on tv today. I admired the metal parts of the bridge--already deeply rusted, I wondered if that was done on purpose to give the bridge some kind of vintage look. Either way, it works. Once I crossed, I went straight on the trail in Two Rivers Park. It was nice--almost immediately the trail goes into thick pine forest. At one point the swampy water comes right up to the trail, so--yeah, I was on snake watch. None surfaced, though, and I ran up to the entrance to the park on the other side, made the circle, and crossed back over.
The second half of the run was much much hotter. The clouds were gone and the sun was hot hot. My face burned and I reminded myself that it's never hard to keep going when it's easy. It's when it's hard that shows me what I'm capable of. I kept going today--no extra stops away from the water fountain. Even though I looked forward to a 12 miler and it did feel good, I didn't get the same sense of satisfaction when it was over. I did a lot of thinking about how to run the 18 miles next week. I'm thinking about heading to downtown first to get the first ten miles in and then going over the bridges and back for the last 8.
I keep telling myself: 18, 14, 20, 12. Those are the long runs I have left in training before the race. Plus a few 8-10 milers. Still. 4 more weeks. I'm getting there.
The trail was much more crowded than usual--lots of people planning to check out the new bridge. Some clouds blocked the sun for the first part of my run and it was just about comfortable. I crossed the big dam bridge, refilled on water, and headed down towards the 430 bridge.
As I got closer to the bridge, I could see cyclists crossing it. YES! I'd been waiting for this forever. A reporter was being filmed at the base of the bridge as I started over--I have hopes that my backside was on tv today. I admired the metal parts of the bridge--already deeply rusted, I wondered if that was done on purpose to give the bridge some kind of vintage look. Either way, it works. Once I crossed, I went straight on the trail in Two Rivers Park. It was nice--almost immediately the trail goes into thick pine forest. At one point the swampy water comes right up to the trail, so--yeah, I was on snake watch. None surfaced, though, and I ran up to the entrance to the park on the other side, made the circle, and crossed back over.
The second half of the run was much much hotter. The clouds were gone and the sun was hot hot. My face burned and I reminded myself that it's never hard to keep going when it's easy. It's when it's hard that shows me what I'm capable of. I kept going today--no extra stops away from the water fountain. Even though I looked forward to a 12 miler and it did feel good, I didn't get the same sense of satisfaction when it was over. I did a lot of thinking about how to run the 18 miles next week. I'm thinking about heading to downtown first to get the first ten miles in and then going over the bridges and back for the last 8.
I keep telling myself: 18, 14, 20, 12. Those are the long runs I have left in training before the race. Plus a few 8-10 milers. Still. 4 more weeks. I'm getting there.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I'm a stick.
I like to think that running clears my head. That it's my therapy, my way of making sense of things, the time of day when I remember what life and the world are really made of. When it doesn't work out that way, I get hit hard. Harder, even, because I don't know what's there to catch me.
Yesterday I decided that right now, I feel like a stick. A medium-ish stick the size that my son would pick up and use like a sword. (When we were on vacation last summer, he had a special stick at each stop along the way.) I used to be growing on a tree, but a couple of months ago, I was torn off in a storm. Suddenly, unexpectedly. For a while, I thought I was going to be fine. I was still green, and if I could just keep moving forward, it would be ok. But that's the way it is with sticks---they get more and more brittle, and yesterday I decided that I was dried now, and about to break. I wanted to break, even. Wished to. I thought about how if I could finally just melt, somehow everything would be easier.
Today is better. I don't want to melt--I want to be strong, and....together? It's difficult, though, in so many ways. Strength can be mistaken for callousness, for haughtiness, for plain old ok-ness. I'm not any of those. I spend so much time in life seeing all the other sides and being so unsure. I usually think that unsure is my friend because when you're sure, you can miss things, ideas, ways of glimpsing the truth. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be the person that is really sure. Words have been crowding my mind for so long now, though, that I don't know which ones should be allowed out and which ones should be encouraged to fade. I don't know which ones are a glimpse of the truth and which ones aren't.
Running has been the part of my life for over two years now that has made me feel strong, that made my eyes fill with tears sometimes with gratitude for being able to do it. I was so impatient to get to the part of marathon training that would bring new distances that would really impress me. Because when my runs post to facebook, sure, yeah, I love seeing the compliments. I do, and I appreciate with my heart every person that says anything. I appreciate even more the possibility that anyone might really care to see and celebrate with me. But it really is about impressing myself. When I finished 15 miles the week before last, I was thrilled.
Sunday I did 16 and I was not. I finished it, but I stopped to rest more times than ever before. I did not feel strong or powerful. I felt defeated. And it could be the heat or the sun, and I know it's an accomplishment, I do. But I think that it hurt me to not feel like I had escaped through that run.
I've been stopping and starting my whole life; who doesn't, really? For the last couple of weeks I've been listening to The Help. I started out just listening on runs, but then I started listening every chance I could get. And I've cried. I've cried at hearing about the women whose talents weren't recognized and celebrated, but I've cried more at the instinct that made me assume that you would think that Minnie would appreciate Celia's offer of friendship, or Skeeter's, that that friendship would somehow make anything better. It shows me in myself what the much-hated (at least locally) equity training workshop wanted everyone to see: there is stuff in us that doesn't belong there and to get it out, we have to want it out and we have to dig for it. How do you make yourself or anyone want to dig out the parts that don't belong?
I ran 8 miles this morning before heading in to day two of a training workshop. I felt stronger and more positive and I really needed that. But my runs aren't pounding anything out of me right now. I cannot connect all this together. Not what's going on in my life right now and not what I'm getting out of this book, regardless of whether they are connected or not. I know I need to resist the urge to sob and beg someone, anyone, to make things easier. And I can run, literally, in the mornings, getting the miles in, but I can't run metaphorically like I want to. There's pain here, and it's not the good kind that you embrace and sift through. It's the destructive kind, the kind you have to face.
Yesterday I decided that right now, I feel like a stick. A medium-ish stick the size that my son would pick up and use like a sword. (When we were on vacation last summer, he had a special stick at each stop along the way.) I used to be growing on a tree, but a couple of months ago, I was torn off in a storm. Suddenly, unexpectedly. For a while, I thought I was going to be fine. I was still green, and if I could just keep moving forward, it would be ok. But that's the way it is with sticks---they get more and more brittle, and yesterday I decided that I was dried now, and about to break. I wanted to break, even. Wished to. I thought about how if I could finally just melt, somehow everything would be easier.
Today is better. I don't want to melt--I want to be strong, and....together? It's difficult, though, in so many ways. Strength can be mistaken for callousness, for haughtiness, for plain old ok-ness. I'm not any of those. I spend so much time in life seeing all the other sides and being so unsure. I usually think that unsure is my friend because when you're sure, you can miss things, ideas, ways of glimpsing the truth. I don't want to do that. I don't want to be the person that is really sure. Words have been crowding my mind for so long now, though, that I don't know which ones should be allowed out and which ones should be encouraged to fade. I don't know which ones are a glimpse of the truth and which ones aren't.
Running has been the part of my life for over two years now that has made me feel strong, that made my eyes fill with tears sometimes with gratitude for being able to do it. I was so impatient to get to the part of marathon training that would bring new distances that would really impress me. Because when my runs post to facebook, sure, yeah, I love seeing the compliments. I do, and I appreciate with my heart every person that says anything. I appreciate even more the possibility that anyone might really care to see and celebrate with me. But it really is about impressing myself. When I finished 15 miles the week before last, I was thrilled.
Sunday I did 16 and I was not. I finished it, but I stopped to rest more times than ever before. I did not feel strong or powerful. I felt defeated. And it could be the heat or the sun, and I know it's an accomplishment, I do. But I think that it hurt me to not feel like I had escaped through that run.
I've been stopping and starting my whole life; who doesn't, really? For the last couple of weeks I've been listening to The Help. I started out just listening on runs, but then I started listening every chance I could get. And I've cried. I've cried at hearing about the women whose talents weren't recognized and celebrated, but I've cried more at the instinct that made me assume that you would think that Minnie would appreciate Celia's offer of friendship, or Skeeter's, that that friendship would somehow make anything better. It shows me in myself what the much-hated (at least locally) equity training workshop wanted everyone to see: there is stuff in us that doesn't belong there and to get it out, we have to want it out and we have to dig for it. How do you make yourself or anyone want to dig out the parts that don't belong?
I ran 8 miles this morning before heading in to day two of a training workshop. I felt stronger and more positive and I really needed that. But my runs aren't pounding anything out of me right now. I cannot connect all this together. Not what's going on in my life right now and not what I'm getting out of this book, regardless of whether they are connected or not. I know I need to resist the urge to sob and beg someone, anyone, to make things easier. And I can run, literally, in the mornings, getting the miles in, but I can't run metaphorically like I want to. There's pain here, and it's not the good kind that you embrace and sift through. It's the destructive kind, the kind you have to face.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
On survival and post-race eating
Last night Tyler and I met Katie and Tippy for the Big Dam Bridge Twilight 5k. Tippy was looking astonishing in her pink harness and leash and was more than ready to knock out 3 miles. We stood around and enjoyed the band for a while before the race. I attempted to dance, which is obviously hugely embarrassing to a ten year old, so I danced and dodged various karate chops and flying leaps until the race started.
Ty wanted to do a little jogging, so he and I went a little ahead of Katie and Tippy. We jogged and walked and talked and enjoyed the surroundings. Or I pointed out how pretty the sky/river/sunset/view from the bridge looked and Ty rolled his eyes at me and I insisted that One Day You'll Appreciate the Love for Nature I've Instilled in You. He, in turn, insisted that he just wanted to survive the race. But it wasn't even real whining and I think he had a good time with his crazy mom. I had a lovely time for sure--cutting up with Ty, the breeze from the top of the bridge, Pinnacle Mountain all hazy below the pink sunset, the river--What a good place to be!
After the race Katie gave Tippy a piece of pizza, which she enjoyed (and managed to eat delicately and look entitled to), while Ty and I picked back up with the karate dancing. At one point he told me, "No one will think you're a bad mom because they all think you're my sister." Cute little punk kid didn't even know he was complimenting his mom, but Katie pointed out on facebook that they may have thought I was his 12 year old brother. Well, either way is fine. It was a great time.
Much earlier yesterday morning I went to the river trail for my longest run yet, 15 miles. I had my Master Plan for avoiding heat stroke: go over the big damn bridge, turn around, and come right back, thus avoiding the Hot Bit at 9:30 am. I did this. The first couple of miles were not so great. My lower legs tightened up and my speed hovered around 10 minutes per mile--not horrible for me (and a 15 miler) but not what I would like to see. During the hot spot that wasn't hot I got behind another runner. I don't know who she was, but I appreciate her, because running behind someone for a bit sort of altered my rhythm and pushed my speed past that hump. I dropped off to refill my water at the 5 mile mark, but I was good and warm and didn't have much trouble staying at around 9:30 or less for the rest of the run.
I went on towards downtown North Little Rock. I like this part of the trail because it's so segmented. There are the two bridges, the woodsy part with the turn-off to Emerald Park, the hill along the river, the part with the big circles in the sidewalk. Then it's on past the skate park, down the road, under the railroad bridge, and into the North Little Rock riverfront area. Somehow the segments seem to make it go by more quickly. I turned around at 10.1 miles and headed back. I started to feel some blisters on my right foot. Luckily I'd planned for this, so at the skate park again I took off my shoe and put some moleskin on them. Next week I'll start out that way. I rejoiced at seeing the 12.3 miles on my garmin at this point--less than 3 miles to go!
All this time I'd been thinking I would have about a 5th of a mile to walk before reaching my car, but I realized with about a mile to go that I'd miscalculated and turned around too soon. At 14 miles I started thinking, You Can Do It over and over in my head, a mindless running mantra to get me to 15 miles on tired legs. To survive the race, even though it was just with myself right then. I had to pass my car a bit but finally made the mileage and stepped off the trail.
And there it was, that feeling. Like I wasn't even walking, just gliding along the top of the grass. Runner's High. Or maybe just high on accomplishing something. Tears pushing at my eyes and the urge to laugh. Immediate cool breeze and peace. Contentment.
Seriously chowing down at Waffle House later with J was pretty awesome, too.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Summer Running
This morning while I was running I started making a list of all the ways in which summer running is better than winter running. Here it is.
1. Snot
Yes, that's right. If you're a runner, you know this happens, and if you're not, you think I'm gross and you may want to skip to number 2. During a summer run, you can reasonably expect snot to blend in with sweat. Not so much in the winter.
2. The first 5 minutes
In winter, the first 5 minutes or so of a run are the ones that suck. Those first 5 minutes can make me seriously consider skipping a run altogether, did get me to skip runs in the first year. During the summer, those first 5 minutes are the only ones that don't suck.
3. Light
This one is so boring I almost skipped it, but it belongs here. Sunlight is limited in winter and I don't run in the dark.
4. Flowers
Summer running smells good! (Well, the air does. Maybe not me.)
5. Breezes
It takes a good, sweaty summer run to make you really appreciate a nice breeze. In fact, the breeze may feel like it came straight from God in order to keep you upright.
Despite the fact that summer heat is awful to run in, I know I'll miss it horribly when it's gone.
Last week I squeezed my weekday runs into Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday so we could leave for Washington, DC on Wednesday. I had one 10 miler that I still needed to get in, and after getting some input from Michelle, I decided to head down to the National Mall to do it. It seemed pretty simple from the map...but I still managed to get lost. I did a lot of that run while looking down at the little blue dot on my phone and trying to find my way. At one point I finally saw the Washington Monument sticking up and put the phone away, thinking I could find my way now that I'd seen that. Not so much! But I did eventually make it to the mall. I ran around the Lincoln Memorial, through a park, around the Washington Monument, and down towards the Capitol Building before heading back up (literally, up a hill) to the hotel.
I'm not great with directions and tend to be pretty nervous about doing things on my own, but the need to get the miles in pushes me to go on and get out there. I was apprehensive about it, but it's a great feeling in the end to know that I can and will be able to push myself out of the comfort zone to do things that are important to me. Even if I do have to stop and start over and over until I get headed in the right direction!
This morning, after 3 days of not running, I did 3 miles with a little speed work on a relatively cool morning back in Arkansas. I have my longest run yet, 15 miles, coming up on Saturday, and am thinking of doing the Big Dam Bridge 5k with Ty that evening. Hot or not, I love summer running.
1. Snot
Yes, that's right. If you're a runner, you know this happens, and if you're not, you think I'm gross and you may want to skip to number 2. During a summer run, you can reasonably expect snot to blend in with sweat. Not so much in the winter.
2. The first 5 minutes
In winter, the first 5 minutes or so of a run are the ones that suck. Those first 5 minutes can make me seriously consider skipping a run altogether, did get me to skip runs in the first year. During the summer, those first 5 minutes are the only ones that don't suck.
3. Light
This one is so boring I almost skipped it, but it belongs here. Sunlight is limited in winter and I don't run in the dark.
4. Flowers
Summer running smells good! (Well, the air does. Maybe not me.)
5. Breezes
It takes a good, sweaty summer run to make you really appreciate a nice breeze. In fact, the breeze may feel like it came straight from God in order to keep you upright.
Despite the fact that summer heat is awful to run in, I know I'll miss it horribly when it's gone.
Last week I squeezed my weekday runs into Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday so we could leave for Washington, DC on Wednesday. I had one 10 miler that I still needed to get in, and after getting some input from Michelle, I decided to head down to the National Mall to do it. It seemed pretty simple from the map...but I still managed to get lost. I did a lot of that run while looking down at the little blue dot on my phone and trying to find my way. At one point I finally saw the Washington Monument sticking up and put the phone away, thinking I could find my way now that I'd seen that. Not so much! But I did eventually make it to the mall. I ran around the Lincoln Memorial, through a park, around the Washington Monument, and down towards the Capitol Building before heading back up (literally, up a hill) to the hotel.
I'm not great with directions and tend to be pretty nervous about doing things on my own, but the need to get the miles in pushes me to go on and get out there. I was apprehensive about it, but it's a great feeling in the end to know that I can and will be able to push myself out of the comfort zone to do things that are important to me. Even if I do have to stop and start over and over until I get headed in the right direction!
This morning, after 3 days of not running, I did 3 miles with a little speed work on a relatively cool morning back in Arkansas. I have my longest run yet, 15 miles, coming up on Saturday, and am thinking of doing the Big Dam Bridge 5k with Ty that evening. Hot or not, I love summer running.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Making memories--
Since I started running, I always want to share it with other people. I want to talk about it, I want to talk to other runners, and I want to drag other people into it. I want new runners to think it's as amazing as I do. Usually they don't, which I guess confirms what most people believe: runners are crazy, especially distance runners. I like to think that running gets me more spiritually in tune with the universe, which may further confirm the insanity.
Regardless, the most memorable races and fun times running have been those that involved people who are close to me. My sister started running last summer and she and I and our dad did some races together. When we made plans to head up to Indiana to visit family, she and I agreed that running a race up there would be great, so I found the Firecracker 5k in Brazil, Indiana. There was something about entering a race out of town that made it seem more special. We got directions, (and got lost a few times), and had a great time racing that morning. It wasn't just the race--it was getting up early, getting ready, finding a new place and being part of something there--together.
Ty has also run some races with me. Our first together was the Rollin on the River 5k in North Little Rock. I looked over at him running with me and was so happy to be bringing him along to do something that had become so important to me. I also love how much people cheer for kids as they are about to cross the finish line, and it was really great to hear those cheers for Tyler. This morning while I was running, I thought about how important it is for me to keep bringing him to races and getting him out there running with me. I want to build a foundation in his life for the importance of fitness, but more importantly, I want to make memories with him.
This morning's 13 miles were pretty good--until that last half mile scorching bit. I was feeling pretty good until I got to that part, and then every bit of what I had left was burned up by the heat. There were no beautiful tree/wind experiences after I stopped, but more of a panicked feeling: What if I can't do this? What if the heat is just too much and I can't do these longer runs? I've made a plan for my next long run up there to maybe avoid that feeling, but it was a scary one.
Regardless, the most memorable races and fun times running have been those that involved people who are close to me. My sister started running last summer and she and I and our dad did some races together. When we made plans to head up to Indiana to visit family, she and I agreed that running a race up there would be great, so I found the Firecracker 5k in Brazil, Indiana. There was something about entering a race out of town that made it seem more special. We got directions, (and got lost a few times), and had a great time racing that morning. It wasn't just the race--it was getting up early, getting ready, finding a new place and being part of something there--together.
Ty has also run some races with me. Our first together was the Rollin on the River 5k in North Little Rock. I looked over at him running with me and was so happy to be bringing him along to do something that had become so important to me. I also love how much people cheer for kids as they are about to cross the finish line, and it was really great to hear those cheers for Tyler. This morning while I was running, I thought about how important it is for me to keep bringing him to races and getting him out there running with me. I want to build a foundation in his life for the importance of fitness, but more importantly, I want to make memories with him.
This morning's 13 miles were pretty good--until that last half mile scorching bit. I was feeling pretty good until I got to that part, and then every bit of what I had left was burned up by the heat. There were no beautiful tree/wind experiences after I stopped, but more of a panicked feeling: What if I can't do this? What if the heat is just too much and I can't do these longer runs? I've made a plan for my next long run up there to maybe avoid that feeling, but it was a scary one.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Finding my happy pace
Yesterday I went to the river trail to do 12 miles. I knew from my last run up there that I really needed to get started earlier than 7 because the heat gets unbearable at about 8. Unfortunately, a late night singing karaoke with friends prevented me from getting up any earlier than 6 and I started running at 7.
Instead of heading north toward the Big Dam Bridge, I headed south from the dog park toward downtown. The first 5 miles or so were pretty fantastic. A breeze was blowing off the water, most of the trail was in the shade, and I was feeling pretty great. I've finally learned to drink before I get thirsty, and I realized yesterday that while I may be stopping more often than I used to for water refills and such, I'm running faster. I would be happy to finish the marathon with 10 minute miles, but right now I seem to fall into about a 9:15 pace, give or take 10 seconds. I mused as I ran that maybe 9:15 is my happy pace whether I like it or not, and also did some thinking about how they say that distance running is a mind game. For example, at around mile 6, I thought, I'm tired. I could walk for just a minute. And then some other part of my brain said, hell no. You don't walk for the hell of it. Then I thought, maybe it's not just that running is a mind game, maybe it's that running nudges the part of my brain that tends toward some kind of multiple personality disorder.
I got down to about the I-30 bridge at about 5 miles and turned around. I was hoping to be able to do an out and back and end back at my car at 12 miles, but didn't want to run past the bridge. I considered crossing the Junction Bridge or the Broadway bridge and then coming back, but the lack of shade stopped me. I'd just have to pass my car for a mile and then come back. Fine.
It got hotter. I did more thinking about how, yes, this is hard. Of course this is hard. It's just like life--we go through the hard things. I thought about how, in my life, I used to never deal with hard things until I had no other choice, until all the demands and consequences were shoved up against me and I had to move or suffocate. With running, I choose hard. Even if I still might put off things that cause me anxiety, I learn through running that I can choose hard and have faith in my strength--even if sometimes I don't feel like it's there. I also thought, I can quit. Why am I doing this again? When I could be cuddled up in bed, listening to the fan, humming "The Lazy Song" and checking Facebook? The idea that I can quit is frightening, but it's there and it has to be there for this to mean anything. Running is an act of will. It's a choice, but it can't be negotiable--it must be a part of my existence, a part that I take responsibility for.
The last two miles, though, were so so...sucky. There is about a quarter mile stretch nearing the dam that is sheltered from the river but not from the sun, meaning no breeze and no shade. It's not that long but it's such a killer. I ran farther than a mile past the car just to get some time in the shade. I finally stepped off the trail for just 30 seconds or so to drink and turned around at a very small downhill because I didn't want to have to run back up. And finally, halfway back through the hot stretch, I hit 12 miles and stopped.
The best part of yesterday's run really has to be the half mile or so walk back to my car. That breeze was back and I realized that it wouldn't feel nearly so glorious if I weren't so close to heat exhaustion. I stopped, facing a sycamore tree, with its wide leaves bigger than my hand and naked striped branches. I looked through it at the striking blue of the sky and the water of the river, and the leaves waved and sang in the wind and I closed my eyes and let it all bless me and I sent that happiness out. I was so thankful.
Instead of heading north toward the Big Dam Bridge, I headed south from the dog park toward downtown. The first 5 miles or so were pretty fantastic. A breeze was blowing off the water, most of the trail was in the shade, and I was feeling pretty great. I've finally learned to drink before I get thirsty, and I realized yesterday that while I may be stopping more often than I used to for water refills and such, I'm running faster. I would be happy to finish the marathon with 10 minute miles, but right now I seem to fall into about a 9:15 pace, give or take 10 seconds. I mused as I ran that maybe 9:15 is my happy pace whether I like it or not, and also did some thinking about how they say that distance running is a mind game. For example, at around mile 6, I thought, I'm tired. I could walk for just a minute. And then some other part of my brain said, hell no. You don't walk for the hell of it. Then I thought, maybe it's not just that running is a mind game, maybe it's that running nudges the part of my brain that tends toward some kind of multiple personality disorder.
I got down to about the I-30 bridge at about 5 miles and turned around. I was hoping to be able to do an out and back and end back at my car at 12 miles, but didn't want to run past the bridge. I considered crossing the Junction Bridge or the Broadway bridge and then coming back, but the lack of shade stopped me. I'd just have to pass my car for a mile and then come back. Fine.
It got hotter. I did more thinking about how, yes, this is hard. Of course this is hard. It's just like life--we go through the hard things. I thought about how, in my life, I used to never deal with hard things until I had no other choice, until all the demands and consequences were shoved up against me and I had to move or suffocate. With running, I choose hard. Even if I still might put off things that cause me anxiety, I learn through running that I can choose hard and have faith in my strength--even if sometimes I don't feel like it's there. I also thought, I can quit. Why am I doing this again? When I could be cuddled up in bed, listening to the fan, humming "The Lazy Song" and checking Facebook? The idea that I can quit is frightening, but it's there and it has to be there for this to mean anything. Running is an act of will. It's a choice, but it can't be negotiable--it must be a part of my existence, a part that I take responsibility for.
The last two miles, though, were so so...sucky. There is about a quarter mile stretch nearing the dam that is sheltered from the river but not from the sun, meaning no breeze and no shade. It's not that long but it's such a killer. I ran farther than a mile past the car just to get some time in the shade. I finally stepped off the trail for just 30 seconds or so to drink and turned around at a very small downhill because I didn't want to have to run back up. And finally, halfway back through the hot stretch, I hit 12 miles and stopped.
The best part of yesterday's run really has to be the half mile or so walk back to my car. That breeze was back and I realized that it wouldn't feel nearly so glorious if I weren't so close to heat exhaustion. I stopped, facing a sycamore tree, with its wide leaves bigger than my hand and naked striped branches. I looked through it at the striking blue of the sky and the water of the river, and the leaves waved and sang in the wind and I closed my eyes and let it all bless me and I sent that happiness out. I was so thankful.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Honey badger don't care.....(but I do)
This week I successfully managed to get myself out of bed and on the road for all my weekday runs, so there have been no more half-dead Arkansas heat wave posts. Everything has been pretty low-key. Until this morning.
It all started with the bee that was harassing me before I even got out of the neighborhood. I promise, for the length of three front yards, this bee was circling me, dive-bombing me, and just generally enjoying the show. People were outside. A guy was backing his truck out right across from me, and I was screaming, swiping at the air, stomping, cussing, jumping...But that was only the beginning.
When I got to the sidewalk leading over the spillway bridge, I was on Snake Vigilance Alert. The brush is overgrown on each side of the sidewalk. I looked straight ahead at the bridge and sidewalk, positive that there were snakes on either side of the path. Just as I got to the end of the bridge, I saw it. Along the edge of the sidewalk, there was a light brownish patterned snake. Running past it was absolutely out of the question. I screamed and turned around, just hoping I could make it back over the bridge and down the sidewalk without seeing another one. Peril lay on either side of me. I promised myself I would not cross that bridge again until a good hard freeze sent all snakes to bed for the winter.
Fortunately for me, the Brockington Road sidewalks are finished, so I headed out of Austin Bay and turned into Indian Bay from that direction. I heard sirens and figured someone had called the police about a screaming woman in the neighborhood. Wasps continued to dive bomb me intermittently, resulting in a partial side jump and scream. I nearly did the squeal and jump at a knobby looking stick in the path because I thought it was a small lizard that I was about to step on. Two blocks from the house I heard a buzzing IN MY HAIR and screamed some more, GET OFF ME GET OFF ME...I'm hoping the woman I'd just passed walking her dogs had her music turned up too high to hear.
So. I did have a good solid 7 mile run, a step back long run in preparation for next Saturday's 12 miles. I did not come home feeling particularly badass, and certainly this was not a honey badger morning. But that's ok. I can laugh at myself, as I'm sure anyone who reads this will.
It all started with the bee that was harassing me before I even got out of the neighborhood. I promise, for the length of three front yards, this bee was circling me, dive-bombing me, and just generally enjoying the show. People were outside. A guy was backing his truck out right across from me, and I was screaming, swiping at the air, stomping, cussing, jumping...But that was only the beginning.
When I got to the sidewalk leading over the spillway bridge, I was on Snake Vigilance Alert. The brush is overgrown on each side of the sidewalk. I looked straight ahead at the bridge and sidewalk, positive that there were snakes on either side of the path. Just as I got to the end of the bridge, I saw it. Along the edge of the sidewalk, there was a light brownish patterned snake. Running past it was absolutely out of the question. I screamed and turned around, just hoping I could make it back over the bridge and down the sidewalk without seeing another one. Peril lay on either side of me. I promised myself I would not cross that bridge again until a good hard freeze sent all snakes to bed for the winter.
Fortunately for me, the Brockington Road sidewalks are finished, so I headed out of Austin Bay and turned into Indian Bay from that direction. I heard sirens and figured someone had called the police about a screaming woman in the neighborhood. Wasps continued to dive bomb me intermittently, resulting in a partial side jump and scream. I nearly did the squeal and jump at a knobby looking stick in the path because I thought it was a small lizard that I was about to step on. Two blocks from the house I heard a buzzing IN MY HAIR and screamed some more, GET OFF ME GET OFF ME...I'm hoping the woman I'd just passed walking her dogs had her music turned up too high to hear.
So. I did have a good solid 7 mile run, a step back long run in preparation for next Saturday's 12 miles. I did not come home feeling particularly badass, and certainly this was not a honey badger morning. But that's ok. I can laugh at myself, as I'm sure anyone who reads this will.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Why it never gets easier--
This morning I headed out to the river trail for ten miles, hoping that my 7 am start time would help me beat the heat of this ridiculous but not all that uncommon early June heat wave. And I'm sure it did, but it was still not pleasant. I think I felt exactly 2 cool morning breezes--last week I remember thinking about the bunnies and the birds and the countless soft early morning breezes in my face making me thankful to be out there. How sweet! This morning, not so much.
There were some truly lovely parts. I startled a small box turtle crossing the trail and admired a scissor-tale fly catcher. Looking downstream at the Arkansas River from the top of the Big Dam Bridge while the morning sun is still low in the sky is beautiful. The quality of light over the river as it winds into downtown Little Rock is sort of unreal--kind of painted, glassy and faint. In the other direction, I could barely make out Pinnacle Mountain in the haze. The stretch of trail between the dam and the 430 bridge is lined with mimosa flowers and wild lillies with orange trumpets. And as always, I enjoyed the sense of community that I always get out there. But mostly it was hot, and today was a challenge.
I never felt like I got into that long-run groove, where you just go and barely think. I suspect that the heat saps that ability to let reality recede. I was hopeful that the new bridge to Two-Rivers Park would be open today, but though the bridge itself looks complete, the base of it is still a mess and blocked off. I was bummed, and turned around in the gravel to push back downstream. I ran on the wrong side of the trail for the miniscule amount of additional shade available there. I pulled the bottom part of my running tank up and tucked it in, deciding that there would be no more long runs in a tank. That extra bit of fabric is indeed too hot. I briefly considered a push to lose the bit of flab left on my belly if I'm going to be exposing it, but then realized that that's what helps keep my running belt from riding up, so to heck with it.
Crossing back over the Big Dam Bridge, after pushing up the hill to get to the top, I thought a bit about how we're always waiting for new things to get easier. When I started running, I wondered when it would get easier, when I would ever be able to go out and run 3 miles without struggling. Am I there now? I guess I could be, but what would it mean to me? It's the struggle that makes running worthwhile. It's that magical place between easy and impossible, the place of growth, that makes anything that we do meaningful. If we really let what's important to us fall into the easy category, it loses its power. I've been waiting for 12 years for my job to get easier when what I should be doing is harnessing the struggle to push myself to be a better teacher. As a mom, as a partner, as a sister--and as a runner--it's the struggle that brings new possibility and the rush of accomplishment at the end. And of course, the incentive to begin again, to push farther, to grasp optimism and opportunity and hope and strength, even when it seems out of reach.
There were some truly lovely parts. I startled a small box turtle crossing the trail and admired a scissor-tale fly catcher. Looking downstream at the Arkansas River from the top of the Big Dam Bridge while the morning sun is still low in the sky is beautiful. The quality of light over the river as it winds into downtown Little Rock is sort of unreal--kind of painted, glassy and faint. In the other direction, I could barely make out Pinnacle Mountain in the haze. The stretch of trail between the dam and the 430 bridge is lined with mimosa flowers and wild lillies with orange trumpets. And as always, I enjoyed the sense of community that I always get out there. But mostly it was hot, and today was a challenge.
I never felt like I got into that long-run groove, where you just go and barely think. I suspect that the heat saps that ability to let reality recede. I was hopeful that the new bridge to Two-Rivers Park would be open today, but though the bridge itself looks complete, the base of it is still a mess and blocked off. I was bummed, and turned around in the gravel to push back downstream. I ran on the wrong side of the trail for the miniscule amount of additional shade available there. I pulled the bottom part of my running tank up and tucked it in, deciding that there would be no more long runs in a tank. That extra bit of fabric is indeed too hot. I briefly considered a push to lose the bit of flab left on my belly if I'm going to be exposing it, but then realized that that's what helps keep my running belt from riding up, so to heck with it.
Crossing back over the Big Dam Bridge, after pushing up the hill to get to the top, I thought a bit about how we're always waiting for new things to get easier. When I started running, I wondered when it would get easier, when I would ever be able to go out and run 3 miles without struggling. Am I there now? I guess I could be, but what would it mean to me? It's the struggle that makes running worthwhile. It's that magical place between easy and impossible, the place of growth, that makes anything that we do meaningful. If we really let what's important to us fall into the easy category, it loses its power. I've been waiting for 12 years for my job to get easier when what I should be doing is harnessing the struggle to push myself to be a better teacher. As a mom, as a partner, as a sister--and as a runner--it's the struggle that brings new possibility and the rush of accomplishment at the end. And of course, the incentive to begin again, to push farther, to grasp optimism and opportunity and hope and strength, even when it seems out of reach.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Who's making me do this?
Today...today was horrifyingly hot. I knew it was going to be, which is why I went through the pre-run sink bath routine: wet my hair, wet the bandanna, roll it up, tie it around my neck. The first block or so wasn't so bad, but that just gave me a false sense of security. I was trying to use runkeeper to do speed intervals, but the gps was way off. At the end of the first speed interval, I stopped to gag and choke and not quite throw up on the sidewalk, sure that someone in the nearby trailer park would think I was dying. Or an idiot. Or both.
During the second speed interval I was grasping at anything in front of me to sort of metaphysically pull me along ("Please, please giant red sign, help me get past you!"). I stopped at the old rec center for a drink and a water fountain bath, not quite oblivious to the small children whispering about the crazy running lady (I didn't hear them say this, but I'm sure they were thinking it) and thought I was all better after that. But I wasn't really.
But in the final moment, much like Gregory House always figures out the case based on some minor detail that has him briefly staring pensively into his own personal dimension, I did get something out of this. No one is making me do this--except me--and that's what makes it so awesome. I can say I have to--I have to run 3 miles today or 5 miles tomorrow--but I don't. It's not the outcome or the reward or the results that make it worth it (unless we're counting the cold gatorade or beer waiting in the fridge at home, in which case I may need to reevaluate), it's loving the work. Loving the run, and always realizing that it was worth it.
Saturday's 9 mile run was tame by comparison, with countless cool morning breezes in my face and five white-tailed bunny sightings. I could have done without that snake glaring at me over his shoulder as he did his evil dance in the water, but it was the kind of run that made me feel mellow and sentimental and thankful, and always loving the run.
During the second speed interval I was grasping at anything in front of me to sort of metaphysically pull me along ("Please, please giant red sign, help me get past you!"). I stopped at the old rec center for a drink and a water fountain bath, not quite oblivious to the small children whispering about the crazy running lady (I didn't hear them say this, but I'm sure they were thinking it) and thought I was all better after that. But I wasn't really.
But in the final moment, much like Gregory House always figures out the case based on some minor detail that has him briefly staring pensively into his own personal dimension, I did get something out of this. No one is making me do this--except me--and that's what makes it so awesome. I can say I have to--I have to run 3 miles today or 5 miles tomorrow--but I don't. It's not the outcome or the reward or the results that make it worth it (unless we're counting the cold gatorade or beer waiting in the fridge at home, in which case I may need to reevaluate), it's loving the work. Loving the run, and always realizing that it was worth it.
Saturday's 9 mile run was tame by comparison, with countless cool morning breezes in my face and five white-tailed bunny sightings. I could have done without that snake glaring at me over his shoulder as he did his evil dance in the water, but it was the kind of run that made me feel mellow and sentimental and thankful, and always loving the run.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
About pain--
I'm not sure of the number of times that running has brought tears to my eyes, but they've never been tears of pain. The first time was maybe a third of the way through couch to 5k. I don't remember the date or what week of the program I was on. What I do remember is where I was standing when I was overcome with that feeling --the one where everything is perfect? The song in that week's podcast had a happy little bump and skip and it was misting outside, almost raining. I came to the end of a running interval, started walking, and just...felt thankful and exhilarated. To be out there, to be doing that, to be able. That was the first time, but there have been many since.
Running has taught me to be thankful, always, that I am able to do what I do. It has also taught me about pain. Not injury pain (knock on wood and stuff), but the pain of growth--both in running and in life. Pushing myself to keep running when I was first starting was hard. I would tell myself in my head, "This is just how it is right now, this is how you are existing at this second, this is what you're doing." And I would keep going. I started to realize that pain is the only currency that we have to pay the universe for our growth. The important thing is to be able to realize which pain is helping us grow and which pain is keeping us back. I have to listen to my body and not get injured. The same goes for pain in everyday life. My job will probably never be easy and relationships will always hit bumps, but that pain is usually worth it. Sometimes pain should be embraced, plunged into, sifted, loved. Sometimes not.
When I was training for my first half-marathon, there were a few moments--when it was getting difficult--when I would ask myself, "Do you want this? You want this! Do it!" And I always came back to the other things in my life that I wanted, too. Like to pass comps and get my MA. I think it was running, partly, that got me to do that studying and pass. Because if I can push myself to run, can't I push myself to do other things, even if they kind of hurt at the time?
This afternoon I didn't really feel like running. Graduation is tomorrow and I'm stressed with the planning, and every glass I own was on the counter because of the ants who were trying to own my cabinets. I went anyway and got to experience the perfection of a cloudy day in May with a light breeze and a temperature in the 60's. I got out there, I felt strong, and I gave a little nod to a pine tree on my walk home.
Running has taught me to be thankful, always, that I am able to do what I do. It has also taught me about pain. Not injury pain (knock on wood and stuff), but the pain of growth--both in running and in life. Pushing myself to keep running when I was first starting was hard. I would tell myself in my head, "This is just how it is right now, this is how you are existing at this second, this is what you're doing." And I would keep going. I started to realize that pain is the only currency that we have to pay the universe for our growth. The important thing is to be able to realize which pain is helping us grow and which pain is keeping us back. I have to listen to my body and not get injured. The same goes for pain in everyday life. My job will probably never be easy and relationships will always hit bumps, but that pain is usually worth it. Sometimes pain should be embraced, plunged into, sifted, loved. Sometimes not.
When I was training for my first half-marathon, there were a few moments--when it was getting difficult--when I would ask myself, "Do you want this? You want this! Do it!" And I always came back to the other things in my life that I wanted, too. Like to pass comps and get my MA. I think it was running, partly, that got me to do that studying and pass. Because if I can push myself to run, can't I push myself to do other things, even if they kind of hurt at the time?
This afternoon I didn't really feel like running. Graduation is tomorrow and I'm stressed with the planning, and every glass I own was on the counter because of the ants who were trying to own my cabinets. I went anyway and got to experience the perfection of a cloudy day in May with a light breeze and a temperature in the 60's. I got out there, I felt strong, and I gave a little nod to a pine tree on my walk home.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
A run should not mean...
I was going for a post a week, a step back from the runs before sort of digesting them into a summary of sorts. I think maybe because I didn't want to seem too eager, or I didn't want to jump into a writing momentum I couldn't maintain. But here I am, still dripping wet from a 90 degree run in Arkansas humidity.
I started out trying to focus on not thinking about what I should be thinking about--not trying to decide what I should be noticing or feeling. I did better this time. Now and then I would notice myself writing a line in my head...that's not unusual for me because I write my life in my head (why am I not a rich, famous novelist by now? Or a well-known writer, having contorted my life into a witty memoir? It's not too late...) and when I did, I would try to push myself back, closer to the mind and body experience of the run. I finally realized in the last half mile or so that the truth is that I don't want words between me and the run. They set me away from the experience, make what I'm doing seem a little less genuine.
That realization led me to the poem I was reading with my students today. (Okay, forcefeeding to them, which, given that this is May 23, is to be expected.) In Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica," he says, "A poem should be wordless/ As the flight of birds" and later, "A poem should not mean/ But be." A run should be wordless, my flight through whatever and wherever the experience takes me as I push farther and harder. A run should not mean, but be.
I started out trying to focus on not thinking about what I should be thinking about--not trying to decide what I should be noticing or feeling. I did better this time. Now and then I would notice myself writing a line in my head...that's not unusual for me because I write my life in my head (why am I not a rich, famous novelist by now? Or a well-known writer, having contorted my life into a witty memoir? It's not too late...) and when I did, I would try to push myself back, closer to the mind and body experience of the run. I finally realized in the last half mile or so that the truth is that I don't want words between me and the run. They set me away from the experience, make what I'm doing seem a little less genuine.
That realization led me to the poem I was reading with my students today. (Okay, forcefeeding to them, which, given that this is May 23, is to be expected.) In Archibald MacLeish's "Ars Poetica," he says, "A poem should be wordless/ As the flight of birds" and later, "A poem should not mean/ But be." A run should be wordless, my flight through whatever and wherever the experience takes me as I push farther and harder. A run should not mean, but be.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Patience is not one of my virtues--
I still feel a bit like I'm loitering at the starting line--I'm ready to get into the miles and start testing myself. I'm ready to get into a bit of uncharted territory, move beyond the distances I've run before. I'm neither patient nor trusting by nature, which means I'm impatient to get deep into the miles of marathon training and skeptical somewhere in my mind of my ability to succeed.
Tuesday I made myself do speed work for the first time in, well, too long. I started out feeling pretty strong but I didn't back off of my pace enough between intervals and wound up with cramps. Wednesday's four mile run felt strong, but Thursday's three miles were rough again. I look forward to more runs in the cool morning instead of the hot afternoon.
Today's "long run" wasn't really long--it was five miles, because every third week steps back to get ready for a distance increase the following week. I was frustrated with myself because I spent too much of my run wondering what I should be thinking about rather than really thinking about much of anything. I didn't really get into the right frame of mind until "Rolling in the Deep" popped up on the playlist. I tried to dig into something deeper than where I'd been. There were a few good moments--ducking under a curtain of spring maple leaves heavy with last night's rain, and as always, the shock of honeysuckle scent that hits me a couple of blocks from home. Stopping is always a good moment, too--not because I'm glad it's over, but because I'm always glad I did it.
Tuesday I made myself do speed work for the first time in, well, too long. I started out feeling pretty strong but I didn't back off of my pace enough between intervals and wound up with cramps. Wednesday's four mile run felt strong, but Thursday's three miles were rough again. I look forward to more runs in the cool morning instead of the hot afternoon.
Today's "long run" wasn't really long--it was five miles, because every third week steps back to get ready for a distance increase the following week. I was frustrated with myself because I spent too much of my run wondering what I should be thinking about rather than really thinking about much of anything. I didn't really get into the right frame of mind until "Rolling in the Deep" popped up on the playlist. I tried to dig into something deeper than where I'd been. There were a few good moments--ducking under a curtain of spring maple leaves heavy with last night's rain, and as always, the shock of honeysuckle scent that hits me a couple of blocks from home. Stopping is always a good moment, too--not because I'm glad it's over, but because I'm always glad I did it.
Friday, May 13, 2011
On crepe myrtles, magnolias, and why running matters...
Lots of things are crazy in my life right now. As I was running yesterday, I remembered another time when things were all upside down. While out on a run, I began to look at what kind of people the trees reminded me off. The crepe myrtles are my favorites. As I ran past them (people in my neighborhood really seem to favor them) I started to see something else: young girls with unruly curls, their green skirts held up as they waded through the grass on long, delicate tanned legs. Near a long straight stretch, two huge old trees rise up alone, hunch-backed hulking giants--friendly ones--gatekeepers to...where? Some place in the past, maybe.
Running gave me those images, comforting ones as I tried to make sense where none was. There is none now, but I still have crepe myrtles. And people to love, and running.
On Friday a week ago I ran my first 5k in a while. It was an evening race, a hot one, but I decided to do it and to bring along a friend, Savanna, and my son. Before the race we played with little helicopter toys on the lawn at MacArthur Park, smelled magnolias, and listened to a little music. I loved being out like that in a place we wouldn't have otherwise come to, being a part of something. I didn't have a fantastic race, but I did have an amazing time. That's another reason running matters--it takes me to places I never would have otherwise been, both physically and mentally. I'm thankful for it.
Running gave me those images, comforting ones as I tried to make sense where none was. There is none now, but I still have crepe myrtles. And people to love, and running.
On Friday a week ago I ran my first 5k in a while. It was an evening race, a hot one, but I decided to do it and to bring along a friend, Savanna, and my son. Before the race we played with little helicopter toys on the lawn at MacArthur Park, smelled magnolias, and listened to a little music. I loved being out like that in a place we wouldn't have otherwise come to, being a part of something. I didn't have a fantastic race, but I did have an amazing time. That's another reason running matters--it takes me to places I never would have otherwise been, both physically and mentally. I'm thankful for it.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
I can! Or I'm crazy...
I started running a little over two years ago by doing couch to 5k. I had heard a few things about the program and wanted something to help keep myself in shape, so I downloaded the free podcasts and started it. The program was a great fit for me from the start and I loved running. I did my first 5k in July of 2009 and was so hooked. When I was signing up I had so much anxiety--would everyone else be so much faster that I would be left behind? Would I look like a dumb amateur?? I didn't need to worry. The race was the Firecracker 5k in Little Rock and it was the first time of many that I would be in awe of the diversity at road races. Looking around is so inspiring--so many different kinds of people getting out and participating in community events and keeping fit.
I was pretty content for the next year. I ran several races during the summer of 2009, finishing up the season with the Great Gobbler 5k in Maumelle, where I broke 30 minutes for the first time. Hating the cold, I didn't run much that first winter, but I jumped back in fast as soon as it warmed up in 2010. My first 5k in the spring of 2010 was a PR, as were most of them that summer.
But. I wanted to keep getting faster! I asked some online friends what I should do to get faster, and I got two answers: add speedwork and add distance. I did both, and as I started adding distance, I started to get more hooked. My first 6 mile run is one I'll never forget--it was on country and small town roads in Indiana and when I finished I felt so badass. Eventually I began training for the Soaring Wings Half-Marathon in October of 2010, which I finished in 2:10:28, and pushed myself to train for the Little Rock Half-Marathon in March of 2011, which I finished in 2:02:34.
There are more little stories of my running past--how my sister and dad and I ran several races together, how I ran a few races with my son--and maybe I'll fit them in soon. This week is the first week of marathon training. I want it all to stand out, want to be able to go back and look at the steps of this journey. Because running is about so much more than being in shape. It's about believing that I can. It's a way of thinking and being that has changed the way I look at myself, the way I look at my future. It has changed the way I pray. So--the journey began a long time ago, but here it starts again.
I was pretty content for the next year. I ran several races during the summer of 2009, finishing up the season with the Great Gobbler 5k in Maumelle, where I broke 30 minutes for the first time. Hating the cold, I didn't run much that first winter, but I jumped back in fast as soon as it warmed up in 2010. My first 5k in the spring of 2010 was a PR, as were most of them that summer.
But. I wanted to keep getting faster! I asked some online friends what I should do to get faster, and I got two answers: add speedwork and add distance. I did both, and as I started adding distance, I started to get more hooked. My first 6 mile run is one I'll never forget--it was on country and small town roads in Indiana and when I finished I felt so badass. Eventually I began training for the Soaring Wings Half-Marathon in October of 2010, which I finished in 2:10:28, and pushed myself to train for the Little Rock Half-Marathon in March of 2011, which I finished in 2:02:34.
There are more little stories of my running past--how my sister and dad and I ran several races together, how I ran a few races with my son--and maybe I'll fit them in soon. This week is the first week of marathon training. I want it all to stand out, want to be able to go back and look at the steps of this journey. Because running is about so much more than being in shape. It's about believing that I can. It's a way of thinking and being that has changed the way I look at myself, the way I look at my future. It has changed the way I pray. So--the journey began a long time ago, but here it starts again.
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