Finding the joy

I found this shirt at the race expo. I wanted it.

So did my daughter. I bought one for myself, and the next day we went back and we bought one for my daughter. She wore hers on race day. She wanted me to wear mine, too, but on the advice of my experienced runner family I opted to wear a shirt that I had trained in. As my daughter noted later, We don't want a repeat of "SOCKS" (For explanation, see here.)

I'm glad I bought the shirt, as it aptly summarizes my half marathon experience. And what I want my running life to be. As I'm sure you'll remember, in my very first blog post I had a list of long-term plans. One of these plans was: I will enjoy myself. And in a later blog post was the following goal: Find the joy.

I found it.

On the streets of Austin. On the faces and signs of the supporters lining the streets. In the words and smiles of my family and friends who came out to cheer me on. In my fellow runners.

In myself.

There is no way to give a full account of the day. What follows is my best attempt at gleaning the top portions.

There were six of us in our little running group, all of us signed up to run the half. Last week, one of the members told us that she was pulling out of the race. We were shocked by the news and sad that she would not get to be there after all of her hard work. On race day, as we arrived at our designated meeting point at 6:15am, in the darkness of pre-dawn, I thought I saw a familiar face. I tentatively wondered, Is that ... Michelle?

It was, and she was all decked out to run. My heart leaped with happiness and as the rest of our group arrived, there was much rejoicing on that street corner! There is a picture of her from after the race and I tell you, she is positively shining. Witnessing her courage and triumph is one of my favorite memories of the day.

We made our way to the start. At this point, I felt I had no realization of what I was doing; I didn't feel nervous or scared. It was an eerie calm that I had not expected. Like I was being carried along by the current of humanity that surrounded me.

After the gun, it took us 15 minutes to reach the starting line. The first mile kind of stunk. My foot was hurting and I wasn't too sure if the stiffness of the morning would ever shake out. It did, though, and somewhere between mile 2 & 3 was the first time I almost cried. Not tears of pain or insecurity or fear. But tears of happiness. There were crowds lining the street and as I ran by, a woman was shouting encouragement. Things like, "Let's go runners!" and "Looking good runners!" As her words reached me, they resonated in a particular way as I perceived that she was talking to ME, cheering on ME -- I am the runner of which she speaks.

My next misty-eyed moment came around mile 5. I was making my way up the long, gentle incline of Congress Avenue (which wasn't nearly as horrible as I had expected it to be.) It was somewhere along this stretch when I knew that I was going to finish, and finish well. I don't know how I knew, but I just knew, and the knowledge filled me with joy.

I loved seeing the signs along the route. Some motivational, some touching, some personal, some for the masses, some just plain hysterical. There were so many that made me laugh. I loved listening to the bands, having strangers call out to me by name, getting an encouraging text message from a friend, passing some people, being passed by others, seeing my city from a whole new perspective.

I also loved scanning the crowd for the next sighting of my family. My brother, as always, providing the plucky comic relief, and my sister-in-law providing the kind, encouraging words and sound, no-nonsense advice. I've said it before and I'll say it again - they are THE BEST race support team ever.
I think it was around mile 7 that I decided I was totally going to do this again. Maybe it was the magical downward slope of S. 1st Street. Downhill is fun. Downhill makes you feel good. Downhill makes you think you can run 13.1 miles like a gazelle.

Around mile 9 is when things got tough. New pains emerged. The hills got harder. Unfamiliar muscles twitched and cramped. I drew strength from those around me, from the setting of small goals, from the expectation of seeing my family waiting for me around the corner. In truth, I really couldn't keep myself from smiling. I was still having fun. Which may just be the weirdest thing I could have ever imagined.

The killer hill at mile 11.8? The one on 15th street between Lamar and West? I ran up half of it. No lie.

Somewhere in the middle of mile 12 I thought, I AM A ROCK STAR. And then I felt a little obnoxious about that. But then I decided I didn't care. So I said to myself, I AM A ROCK STAR! And I smiled.

Finishing was surreal. My running group, having finished [ahem]... some amount of time before me, was there shouting and cheering for me as I approached the finish line. Sometimes being the slow one has its benefits.
This is the certificate my daughter gave me after the race. I believe it is better than any fancy medal.
She is fantastic. She is 10 years old and she is ready to run.

And then today I received a surprise in the mail from a friend. When I saw her thoughtful gift, my heart melted. I felt incredibly special and loved.

Dear, sweet friend, you are a gift and a blessing. I thank God for you.

Finally, there is the one person without whom I never could have done this, never could have even believed it was possible for me to do. He always believed. He sees the better part of me and dares it to run. And is not surprised when it does.

I love you. Thank you for always believing in me. And thank you for making me get in that ice bath.

I DID IT!

Thank you to everyone one who supported me over these last 9 months of my training! I could never have done this without you all believing in me and encouraging me through all of my ups and downs.

It was a GREAT day, and I had FUN!

More to follow later. After I wake up. And am able to move my limbs again.

Don't stop

I guess an update is in order. My last post painted an optimistic picture, didn't it? I was so happy. I didn't post again because that happy feeling went away when my achilles tendonitis came back after my next 5 mile run.

I was/am seriously bummed. The 'long' run didn't happen. And my weekday runs had to be scaled back, again. Now, here we are, 6 days away from the half and I am not where I wanted to be.

Such is life, eh?

But...

I will be there on Sunday and I will run. It probably won't be pretty. That's okay. If you remember, my number one goal is to finish. Pretty doesn't matter. Pace doesn't matter. Run-to-walk ratio doesn't matter. Crawling on my hands and knees and crying like a whiny baby doesn't matter. Well, actually that does matter a little. Finishing with some dignity would be nice. But whether or not I gasp and sputter, in the end only 2 things matter:

1. starting
2. finishing

My big plans for this week include a lot of stretching, strengthening, and hopefully some running. I also plan to avoid anyone who might inadvertently pop my fragile bubble of optimism with their well-intentioned advice and/or concerns. My time is up, people. If you don't have words of wildly optimistic stupid blind faith in me, please don't talk to me about the race. Like if I tell you my foot hurts -- don't ask me if I'm going to drop out of the race. You're probably just messing with me, but it will make me cry. Or if you heard I have an injury, please don't ask if I will at least be able to walk the race. I know you mean well, but I will take your words and think I must be crazy if so-and-so doesn't think I can even walk it. How about this? If we must discuss the race, I will do my part by not expressing my own injury issues/fears/training snafus/lack of confidence etc. to you. I will smile and tell you I am excited and ready. And then you can say to me, "That's awesome! That 13.1 mile run sounds real fun!" Deal?

Or, you can follow the lead of my Puerto Rican sister, Doris. She has never said anything to me other than, You can do it! While it may be true that she is uninformed as to my abilities, her words lift me up and instill hope. Last week she shared with me the following Spanish phrase, which has been running through my mind today and which will be my mantra on Sunday.

¡No pares, sigue, sigue!
(Don't stop, go on, go on!)

You have to repeat it in a sweet melodic chant and don't be afraid to get your hips involved. It will make you think of Doris, and that will make you smile. Smiling will help you relax and you will run better if you are relaxed.

¡No pares, sigue, sigue! ¡No pares, sigue, sigue! ¡No pares, sigue, sigue!

Look Ma, no heel pain!

In my last post I told you about my little achilles problem that knocked me off my game. And I also shared with you about how I was tentatively getting my feet back on the track, having successfully attempted a 2-mile run. It's been a busy couple of weeks since then. I am happy to report that after my 2-mile run, I was able to complete a 4 mile run the same week, with no problems (i.e. no intense, stabbing heel pain - yea!) I didn't have any pain during my runs and only a little bit after. Icing my foot really helped, as did ample stretching.

The next week (which was last week), I was able to do a 4 mile run on Tuesday and a 5 mile run on Thursday. (According to my training plan, my weekly runs should be around 5 miles.) The run I mapped for myself around campus on Thursday was nice and hilly, giving me some needed preparation for the hills I will face on race day.

Over the weekend, my son and I traveled to Albuquerque for a gymnastics meet, which meant that I did not have the opportunity do my long run. I had hoped I would be able to work in at least a short run, but it was so busy and we were so exhausted, that it just didn't happen.

Of course I am nervous about the race coming up so quickly, but I have been encouraged by several things. First and foremost, I have been running again now for about 2 weeks and I have had no recurring heel pain. That is fantastic! Additionally, I had the great experience yesterday of running my 5 mile campus route and actually making it up some of the hills that had kicked my butt just the Thursday before.

I feel strong, and it feels good.

This weekend I will shoot for a long run. What "long" will mean for me hasn't been defined yet. This will likely be my longest run prior to race day, so I want to make sure it's a good one. I'll let you know how it goes.

Achilles what?

FYI, achilles tendonitis is an overuse injury.

Factors that contribute include:

• increase in activity,
• less recovery time between activities,
• change of footwear or training surface,
• weak calf muscles,
• decreased range of motion at the ankle joint, usually cause by tight calf muscles,
• running up hills,
• overpronation,
• wearing high heels

I guess a few of those factors apply to me. I am one month away from a 13.1 mile run and I have been dealing with achilles tendonitis for the past two weeks. Ever since the day after my epic fail. I have to tell you, because I haven't yet, that after the epic fail, I did run my 6 miles. And I wanted to write all about it. And if I had posted what I had written about that run, you would already know about the dreadful heel pain that began around mile 4 and continued through to the end, shooting up the bottom of my foot with every step. Good times.

In retrospect, I probably should have stopped, but it didn't feel like a huge problem at the time and there were many factors pushing me on, so on I went. I finished my first ever 6 mile run.

And then I couldn't run for 2 weeks. During a crucial time period in my training schedule. Needless to say, it has been a roller coaster of emotions and considerations over these past 2 weeks. Lots of internet searches and consultations with trusted advisers. Lots of tears, despair, anger, encouragement, pain, jealousy, hope, and um, despair. Trying to rest and allow my injury to heal while still maintaining my strength and conditioning, while simultaneously trying to rein in the blossoming fear of my ultimate failure. How have you been?

I have been slowly coming to grips with the fact that I probably will not be ready for race day. Not the way I wanted to be. Not the way I expected to be. There simply isn't time.

But I will run. That much I am sure of.

In order to get there, though, I have to be smart. I need to get back into my training, without re-injuring myself. I am currently on an aggressive stretching regimen (and by aggressive, I mean aggressive in frequency), as well as continuing to work on my strength (my calves & core especially, but other muscle groups as well.)

It may be important to note that this half-marathon is not my ultimate goal. I consider it a first step (albeit a big one) in my life as a runner. I may never run more than 13.1 miles and I don't know yet if I will ever want to. But I do want to run, just run, and it is important to me to preserve my ability to do so. So I am not willing to do myself harm in the pursuit of a single short term goal, no matter how much it means to me. Finding the balance I need to complete this short term training with a long term goal is not an easy task.

But -- I am clinging to the words of my trainer, who has been telling me for well over a month that I could go and run the half TODAY. He's serious. Clinging to the fact that this running thing is 90% mental. Which I wholeheartedly believe.

I ran 2 miles yesterday, at an easy pace, on an indoor track. And my foot feels okay. No pain during the run, which was a great encouragement to me. This weekend I will do a little more. Just a little. And I will try to ignore the calendar. And I will not compare myself to others. I will stretch. And I will continue to confide in the one person who believes in me without fail. And I will believe that anything is possible.

Epic Fail

This past weekend I experienced what my 12-year-old son would describe as an EPIC FAIL. I don't even want to tell you about it. But I will, because I am posting my training experience on the internet (or, as I like to call it, because it makes me giggle, the internets.)

As you know from my last post, I was feeling pretty good last week. That post was on a Tuesday. On Thursday, I had another great 4 mile run. It was awesome. I felt confident and strong.

I was really looking forward to the group run on Saturday because I felt absolutely ready to conquer my first 6 mile run. Since the running group is on a different training schedule than I am, my distance is usually shorter on our group run. This weekend, though, there were only 3 of us who could make it and because of time constraints, their distance was going to be close to mine. We met at our usual spot at Town Lake and I learned that the run that was mapped out for us was not going to be on the trail, as I had expected and hoped, but up Congress Avenue (a long steady incline.) I wavered for a few minutes trying to decide whether I should just run on my own around the trail or join the other ladies up Congress.

In the end, I opted to stick with the group, but it turned out this was a wrong decision for me. About a mile into the run, tired from the heat, the hill, and dodging pedestrians, I gave up. Whoever has told you that running is a mental game is not lying. (In fact, one of my husband's favorite quotes is from a documentary he watched recently about 3 guys who ran across Africa. One of these guys (a former chronic smoker & drinker) said, "For me running is 90% mental. And the other 10% is mental. I have no clue how I do this [expletive].")

At that moment on Congress Avenue on a sunny Saturday afternoon, I lost the mental game -- and I knew it. It wasn't the hill that defeated me, it was me. The most frustrating thing was knowing what was happening, watching it happen and feeling powerless to bring myself back.

It was awful. I felt like a complete and utter failure. I regretted my decision to run this route. I regretted my attitude and parting, snappy words to my friends. It was ugly. A forty-one year old woman should possess more dignity. I just didn't have it.

Thankfully, it was a long, long walk back down Congress. I stewed for a little while. I cried. I called my sister-in-law and she patiently listened to my frustrated ranting. Eventually, I made it back to the lake where I met my waiting family. We visited our local RunTex, where a scary Russian lady sold me a new pair of shoes. We returned home while I made vague mental plans to run my 6 miles tomorrow.

And I'll tell you how that went in my next post.

Runner's high?

I have to tell you, I'm feeling pretty good right now.

We just arrived back home today from our holiday with the family. We didn't go far, just a short 3 hour drive east to the greater Houston area. Today was my run day, but we didn't have time this morning with all the packing. We told my brother and sister-in-law that we would just run this afternoon. I was thinking, "Yeah, right... we'll run this afternoon... yeah, yeah... that's the ticket!" I thought it was possible. However, more probably, highly unlikely. I snacked on Cheez-its in the car. I drank a Coke. We rolled into town around 4:00. We unloaded the van. And I thought, "No way am I going running."

But my husband said, "Are you ready? How many miles are we doing?"

I sighed and said, "Okay. But we don't have dinner. And I have laundry to do. And what about the kids? And it's going to get dark soon. And we still have to go shopping."

And he said, "Are we going? It's your call."

I said, "Okay, fine. My training plan says my weekday runs should be 4 miles this week. But I think I can only do 3."

He said, "Okay, we'll see. Let's go."

We went. And how far did we go?

4 miles. With hills. Seriously, 4 miles. With hills. I am feeling like a rock star.

Here's the weird part, and I told him the same after we got back -- at no point during that run did I feel bad. Which is weird. Because typically, at some point in all of my runs, even the short ones, some part of me feels bad. My legs, my lungs, my feet, my brain. I'm either tired, achy, twingy (I'm pretty sure this isn't a word - what I mean is the word 'twinge' but in the form of an adjective. It sounds likes a real word when I say it.), breathless, or weak. Something. But this time was just different. And I have no idea why. Seven weeks ago when I ran this same neighborhood route, I just about died.

I tell you, some crazy stuff is happening.

I don't understand it, but I like it, and I hope it keeps happening.