Pushing Through

I completed 17 miles on Saturday! My goal had been to complete a minimum of 15, and to add an additional mile if I still felt strong, since I had missed the 16 mile weekend and I did not want to add too much mileage too quickly. But at the end of the 16th mile, I decided that I really wanted to complete 17 miles, so that when the rest of the group does 20 miles in two weeks, I will be in good shape to do so as well. So even though I had to walk both of those last miles on Saturday, I completed them.
It is fun to actually feel my progress. I remember during the week at Balboa Park that we did 11 miles, how at mile 8 or 9 I started to feel as though I couldn't keep the pace at which I started, and how much my body ached. This time around, that feeling did not come until the 14th mile. But I pushed through the pain. I'm starting to get a better feel for what kind of pain I can push through versus the kind for which I need to rest. I am getting familiar with full body stiffness and soreness, and blisters...lots and lots of blisters. Those suckers hurt. But it's a pain I can work through. And I'm toughening up.
It's Monday and I am still sore, but I am also feeling a great sense of accomplishment for not quitting from the discomfort. As I was snail-pacing my 17th mile, Bridget told me something that I think will be pretty helpful. She said that people sometimes think of a mantra when it gets tough that helps them push through the pain. She said that some people think of song lyrics. Song lyrics won't work for me, because as much as I love music, I can never remember lyrics and I often make them up. But one thing she said really struck a chord (yes, pun intended) with me: She said that one mantra she heard was "define yourself." I'm not sure if that was intended to be the mantra, or whether the definition itself (i.e., "I am a marathoner") was to be the mantra, but I really like the idea of thinking "define myself" when things get tough. It's like giving myself my own personal cross-roads. I can define myself as someone who keeps going, someone who works hard for what I accomplish, someone who is mentally and physically strong...or I can define myself as a quitter. And both are choices. I like that it is an active mantra, and is basically a command.
The other part of my run that was of particular interest to me (besides the awesome gals with whom I run) were the animals at Balboa Park. There was a heron who just hung out in the same spot for over an hour (I know because when I completed the 5 mile loop, he hadn't moved). I checked that he was alive (he was) and I snapped a photo of him, but it didn't come out well. I've posted it with this entry. I also spotted some beautiful finches with yellow bellies and green wings, and a bird that was completely black except for two symmetrical bright red spots on its wings, close to the body. I ran past a rabbit, and I saw fish in the Los Angeles River. Seriously. Living HUGE catfish. They must be mutants or something. I hadn't realized that anything could actually survive in that water. But they seemed to be thriving. Or, maybe they're just goldfish that have been mutated by the pollution and are now scary and large. Haha.
The weather held up nicely. It started pretty cool (50-60s), and when I finished was in the 80s. But there was a nice breeze when it was warm, and that helped make the run more pleasant. There was an auto show in the adjacent park, so a lot of people parked along the path that we were running, and it kicked up a lot of dirt into the air. I was pleased to find that neither my asthma nor allergies bothered me so it seems like my precautions and medications are really helping. I'm grateful that I took care of them this month, rather than having to deal with them the day of the event. Now I feel prepared to handle whatever comes my way!

Back on Track

     Finally. My patience was worth it. I am back on track. Sort of. Yesterday was the group's "recovery" run, which was 8 miles of trails at the top of Reseda Blvd. I did all 8 miles, though I did them slower than my ordinary pace. I was hacking a bit, but otherwise, I think all of the medicine I was taking was doing its job of keeping my airways open. 

     I was so nervous to get back into the swing of things with the group, though, since I missed last week's 15 miler. And I had toyed with the idea of doing my 8 miles at the gym, since I figured that it might be easier to get back on track using a treadmill, than tackling hills first thing in the morning.  But I'm so glad I went to team practice instead. Of course, I had nothing to worry about. They are all so supportive and inviting, it's hard to imagine a nicer group of people. And then of course, there was the thought of spending whatever time it would have taken me to complete 8 miles on a treadmill, stuck at a gym watching other people doing the same thing. That sounded pretty boring in comparison to discovering a new trail. 

    Which is a really unexpected perk of training. I'm going to new trails and new parts of Los Angeles that I have never been, much less run, and discovering a lot of natural beauty that I didn't know was so available, or accessible to me. And yesterday's view was pretty spectacular from the 3 mile point. I'll try to post a picture of it.

     But I'm still pretty scared. Next Saturday we're supposed to run 18 miles as a group, but since I missed the 16 miler, the most I've actually run in one setting is still 13.1. So I can try to do 16, but I'm not supposed to add too much mileage too quickly, or I'll be more likely to hurt myself.  But of course, I'm running out of time. The following week will be 9 miles, followed by 20, followed by 10, and followed by 5, and then the marathon. So if I can't do 18, I can't bump myself up to 20 the following week, which means that pre-marathon, the most I can conceivably have completed in one setting is 18 miles. I don't think that's enough. Actually, I just don't know. It seems that going from 18 miles to 26.2 is insane. 

Of course, there was also a time where I thought that running 5 miles was a "long" run. I guess I will be doing a lot of walking, and hopefully that will help me get those extra miles. I'm trying to be smart about my training, but I need to be both physically and mentally prepared, and just confidence-wise, I'm frustrated by my missed mileage. 

On the other hand, I'm really thrilled that I'm feeling healthy enough to continue training. I suppose that I could have been sick for a longer period, or really injured myself, or something. So thank God for my health, the encouragement of the friends and family in my life, and such a positive, exciting goal. 

Learning Patience

I have been learning the art of patience this week. I'm not there yet. I was excited to get back into the swing of things after my disappointing experience at Porter Ranch. I was pleased to get my new inhaler, and get right back to running on Tuesday and Thursday. Thursday, in particular, was a really fantastic workout for me. I ran for 30 minutes, and then did five "hill repeats" where I ran uphill for 2.5 minutes, and recovered for 4. Because I was running on a treadmill, in order to make the drill more challenging, I increased my incline and my speed on each repeat. After the hills, I cooled down by running a final mile. I had been feeling a little stuffy earlier that day, but the adrenaline and joy of the running helped me ignore it.
But then Friday came and I couldn't ignore it anymore. I could barely take in a whole breath. I was tired, stuffy, my lungs were tight, my coughs sounded like barks, and I started to get a fever. I went home early from work to get a good night's sleep so that I could be refreshed for my 16 miler on Saturday. But when I awoke on Saturday, as much as I wanted to run, I actually felt worse. My fever continued, and I couldn't get a handle on my breathing. I was dizzy and tired and my skin ached.
These symptoms continued through the weekend, and on Monday morning, I went to see my doctor. He was able to rule out pneumonia and bacterial infections. I'm still not sure what I caught, but in order to get my breathing back to normal (so that I can resume my workouts), he prescribed a regimen of Prednisone and two other inhalers, one emergency and one for regular maintenance. I slept almost all of Monday afternoon, but even though that helped, I still could not breathe well enough to run, much less walk.
Seriously. Walking down the street was a real effort. And then of course, it did not help that all I could focus on was the time I was losing that I should be training. The logical side of my brain knows that taking time off to heal is smart and that my running, if I had been able to even start, would have just exacerbated the asthma issues. But still....
So when did this happen? When did I become someone who truly dislikes not being able to run?
I am feeling much better today as far as everything except my asthma. I still have a barking cough and wheeze a bit when I take deep breaths. But I feel that I am getting progressively stronger, and I am determined to do something active with my TNT group tomorrow morning. We are scheduled to do an 8 mile run at the top of Reseda Blvd, which should involve some trails and hills. I'm not sure that this will be the best way to resume my running, but I just hate the idea of sitting it out completely. I plan to get the advice of my coaches, and take it from there. Of course I don't want to make anything worse, but I also want to make sure that I don't lose my conditioning from the past two plus months.
So the lesson I've learned this week...some things are just out of my control. But that is all the more of a reason why I need to take advantage of all of the opportunities where I CAN do something. Sitting on my couch, waiting to heal, I thought of how wonderful it feels when I am running (or more accurately, how great it feels when I've just completed a run). So the next time that I'm not sick or hurt, but I start to feel lazy and sluggish, I plan to remember this past week....and harness my appreciation for what my body can do...and get off the couch, go out and run!

Another Learning Experience

This past weekend was extremely frustrating, especially when compared to my experience at the Half Marathon. I basically had to deal with the annoyance of my own body's limitations.
I've had asthma since I was a kid, but it has always been a pretty mild case with attacks maybe once every two or three years. Of course, given the lack of frequent attacks, whenever I do have one, I tend to find myself unprepared.
On Saturday, I was very excited because we were doing "only" six miles at Porter Ranch, a location that was new for me for a run. But it was a little cold and after about 10-15 minutes, I found myself having a hard time getting enough air. And then I started a long climb, and it just got more and more difficult and I just could not breathe.
When I got to the first water stop at the top of the hill, I realized I had to stop and get an inhaler. Of course, I knew where my inhaler was. In the glove compartment of my car at the bottom of the hill. And it had expired in 2006.
I don't normally share medications, and I assume it was a pretty stupid thing to do, but one of my teammates had an inhaler that I was fortunate enough to be able to use, once I got a ride back to our starting point, and I felt a lot better.
But I was so upset. I was mad at myself for not keeping a filled prescription on me when I ran. I was mad at my body for not keeping up with my goals and for getting in the way of me finishing my run. I was embarrassed that I had to stop and get a ride. And I was upset for feeling like I failed. And then I was embarrassed that I was visibly upset. And most of all, I was scared -- of the attack and of the fact that I will be pushing myself a lot harder in the weeks to come...how will I be able to face all of that?
But I'm grateful to my Team in Training comrades. They care, they encourage, they push, they support. They followed up on how I was feeling, and helped me feel less ashamed. They also helped me view the experience as an opportunity to learn, not to mope.
So I have learned a valuable lesson, albeit nothing original: always be prepared. I got some updated medication and a pouch for my fuel belt, so I will not run without the inhaler. And I will take my medication before I run.
It's funny how I seem to re-learn the same lessons but in different contexts. This experience reminds me of when my former conductor, Charles Peltz, taught me (in an unforgettable but humiliating moment) never to show up to rehearsal without a pencil. I guess in the current scenario, my inhaler is my pencil.
So, armed with the proper tools, I ran yesterday around my neighborhood for the first of my two mid-week runs. I felt better, stronger, and more optimistic about what I have to face on this Saturday...16 miles. Wow. It sounds pretty ridiculous.
But I'm sure I will learn something else in the process.

Half-Way There!

This weekend, I participated in, and successfully completed my very first half-marathon. That's right! 13.1 miles! And a good chunk of the race was on trails that were so rocky, I ended up having to walk quite a bit. But I got through it, thanks to the support of some great people who were with me at every step.
I got to the race at 5 am, because I was told that the good parking (i.e., close to the finish line) fills up quickly. It was true, but I could have gotten there at 5:30 and still have been fine. But that meant I woke up at 4ish. When I arrived, I tried to get some more sleep in my car, since I wasn't meeting with the TNT folks until 6 am. But I was too excited to sleep. I called my parents on the East coast, figuring that they might be awake. Then I listened to music and finally decided to take a walk.
I found my group at just before 6 am. It was still dark outside, and extremely cold. I wore a jacket, figuring that I could always shed it when the temperature rose. We warmed up at around 6:30, used the lovely porta-potties and the group that was participating in the Chesebro half-marathon walked up the hill to the starting point.
I feel a bit bad for the residents on the street that was the starting point. People were warming up on their front lawns and driveways, making lots of noise at 6:45 am on a Saturday morning.
But the race started and suddenly the mob was moving. I had positioned myself near the rear because I didn't want to get trampled. Good thing, too. As it was, I had to figure out how to get out the way of some people who looked as though they'd take no prisoners.
The first mile was around the neighborhood -- all residential. We had a quick downhill drop that was surprisingly steep. That was surprisingly challenging.
By about the first half of a mile, I was pretty stiff and thought that if things didn't get better, I wasn't going to make it through. Luckily, my companions helped babble about stuff and I started to take my mind off of how crummy I felt, and I started looking at houses that were for sale. Seriously. Agoura Hills is very pretty. Of course, I'd hate having so many noisy runners coming through my development at 7 am on a Saturday...unless, I were one of them.
Just after mile 1, we ran past the parking lot where my car was parked. I saw my car, and I seriously considered bailing. But then I remembered that I wanted to prove to myself that I follow-through with my tough goals, and I gave the ol' Corolla a parting glance and continued.
Somewhere around mile 2 I saw the first professional photographer, and then I got excited again. After all, I wanted something good to scrapbook! So I unzipped my jacket so that the number on my race bib could be read, and gave a huge grin to the camera. It turned out to be a pretty cute picture. Of course, they're charging an arm and a leg for it. But I figure that this is my first race, and I will get the digital negative, because then I can maximize the value.
Around mile 3, we entered the park and the trail. There was another porta-potty and we decided to stop and use it, since the next one wouldn't be until we were out of the park again.
The beginning of the trail was pretty decent, and I was able to maintain my run 4/walk 2 pace.
And then things got a little rocky. I mean that literally. Aware that I still have two months of training for my marathon, and the fact that I had 6 more miles of unknown trail terrain, I decided to walk a lot, instead of run. I have a nasty habit of finding uneven ground and twisting my weak ankle, so I didn't want to set myself up to fall. And I wanted to conserve energy.
I knew there was going to be a big long climb at some point, but nobody seemed to know exactly where it was....or they weren't telling me because probably had I known, I would have seriously considered running back to my car.
But the scenery kept up with our pace. The harder our trek, the more beautiful the trail became. There were great spots that were shaded, which were nice and cool, but the sun stole peaks through branches and ragged hills, warming our already flushed skin.
When we came to the long climb, I felt like my energy reserve was spent. But I knew that I had already passed the mile 6 marker, and that if I turned around, I would still be covering about the same distance if I finished. And I set out to complete this run. So I kept going. My personal cheerleaders, Christy, Bridget and Ines (from TNT) helped motivate me and took photographs of my long hill climb to give me a second to catch my breath, look around, and enjoy the experience. I slowed quite a bit, and new muscles were aching. Being with my TNT friends, I thought about why I joined the Team. I thought about the people who were fighting cancer, in whatever form it takes, and I thought how greatful I am that right here, right now, I am able to push my body and cover such ground. My uphill battle was nothing compared to theirs. So I reached the top. Slowly. And I took it in.
I looked around at the green and brown laced mountain peaks, alternating between sun-lit colorful streaks and hidden shadows. It was like I reached a temporary heaven.
But there were another 5 or so miles left to complete, so I resumed. Luckily, most of it was down hill. I was exhausted, so I pretty much walked the remainder of the trail, except for a few bursts of energy that propelled me to run.
When we got to mile 10, I knew that we had almost finished the trail portion of the half-marathon. We were cheered-on by some friendly park-rangers who tried to encourage us by saying that there was only one last hill, and then the rest of the race was down-hill. I know that they meant well, but I really didn't want to know about that last hill. Especially because I thought we were finished with hills already.
But I had come that far, so I slowly treked up the last hill. It wasn't as steep or long as the big one, but because I was that much more sore and tired, it felt nearly as tough. At the top of the hill, however, was someone who sprayed some cold wet substance all over my legs. It felt amazing. I have no idea what that stuff was (hopefully not toxic), but it helped keep me moving forward.
And then we reached the end of the trail and the next batch of porta-potties. I figured that there was no reason to make the last part of the race more difficult than it already was, so we used them, and got back on the road to finish up. I couldn't run any more. I power-walked.
At mile 11, I realized that everything from there-on was new. The most I had previously run/walked in one setting had been 11 miles, the previous Saturday, so I should be proud of myself for each step. I felt sore, but envigorated. My right foot, in the arch area, was aching though, which was another reason I worried about running. I didn't want to hurt myself.
The road was much more monotonous than the trail, and unfortunately, unlike the trail, we could see pretty much everything that was coming. A whole lot more road.
We turned the bend, and I recognized that we were coming up on where our Team warm-up had been, and I knew where the finish line was. Well, I thought I did.
So I got a quick pulse of adrenaline and ran down the street toward the finish line's sign. But when I got there, people were shouting to keep going around the bend into the park where I saw, for the first time, the actual finish line, clock, and whatever the floating arch thing is called. It looked a bit farther than I had anticipated, but I kept going.
I crossed the finish line, got photographed, and started crying. Of course, I was extremely dirty and sweaty, and so my tears actually stung my eyes. And then I took some horrible pictures and met up my Kelley and tried some of the spectacular post-race food and tried to relax and take it all in. I got a finisher's medal.
My time, had I had a particular goal, was horrid. Seriously. I am extremely proud of myself for completing this race at all. But realistically, I finished in 3 hours, 41 minutes, 1 second. That is a 16:53 minute mile pace. Okay, that included some waiting around for bathroom breaks and whatnot. But even without the breaks, which Christy was kind enough to calculate, I finished in exactly 3 hours, 30 minutes, which is basically a 16 minute mile. Christy told me that it was the goal she had had for me, given my practice and given the trail, so I guess that's good. Well, if nothing else, it gives me a lot of room for improvement. To put things into perspective, the fastest runner completed the 13.1 miles in 1 hour, 11 minutes and 53 seconds. The slowest completed it in 4 hours, 48 minutes, and 5 seconds.
I guess the best part of this whole experience is the fact that I am constantly proving to myself that the limits I place on myself are artifical. That I can do more than I thought. That I can push through real challenges. I hope, God forbid, that if I do end up facing something more challenging, like the cancer I'm trying to raise money to eradicate, I will be able to look back on these runs and remind myself that people are stronger and tougher than they think, and are often limited to the extent that they allow themselves to be. Clearly, much is out of our control, like how much time we have on this earth or the rocky terrain we traverse. But within these external constraints, we should break free of the artificial ones we place on ourselves, and never forget to live in the moment and enjoy each precious second that we have been given.