I can't wait!

I'm going to be running another half marathon on Sunday! I can't wait! It's the Nike Women's Marathon and Half-Marathon in San Francisco -- an event so popular that a lottery determines who (in addition to Team in Training members) participates. The event's proceeds benefit the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, but because I am not participating with TNT this time around, I was lucky enough to win a place via the lottery.
I've been training and looking forward to this event for several months now, and I'm beyond frustrated that a little over a week ago, I over-trained and injured my right hip. Apparently, it's a bad idea to run 9.6 miles of hills, then to complete 200 + squats, and then to do a brisk 5 mile walk at Runyon Canyon. I ended up with an inflamed hip. So I've been forced to take it easy, and to take some anti-inflammatory. I'm feeling a little better (no excruciating pain), but I still definitely feel the soreness. Very frustrating.
But this event should be unforgettable and I'm determined to see it through. And I won't be doing it alone. Some of my friends will also be running (although perhaps a bit faster) and I'm so inspired! I've been told a little bit about what to expect...a Ghiradelli chocolate stop, beautiful views of the bay and the bridge, exciting hills, and of course, in lieu of a finisher's medal, a Tiffany & Co. necklace presented by a firefighter wearing a tuxedo. No inflamed hip is going to stand in my way!!!
I'm going to see my cousins after the race and I am so excited. Now I only need time to fast-forward through the next few days!

I did it!!!

I can't believe it took me so long to reflect and gather my thoughts about participating in, and completing my first full marathon. But I suppose that later is better than never.

The event really started the evening before, when the San Fernando Valley Team met in the hotel lobby to walk next door to the convention center for our Inspiration Dinner. When we arrived at the convention center, we weren't allowed inside, though clearly there were many people already there. We stood, peering in through the windows for what felt like an hour (though it was probably only about 20 minutes), and at one point we recognized some of our mentors, team captains and coaches waiving to us. When they finally let us through the doors, we walked straight into a celebration. A path from the door we entered to the exhibit hall that housed our dinner formed on either side by cheering mentors, team captains, honored teammates and coaches. We were literally welcomed like champions from the people who got us to that point. Thus flowed the first of my tears that weekend.

The dinner itself was exactly what it claimed to be -- inspirational. We cheered the 10 most successful individual fundraisers (the top one raised over $100K), were given advice, were privileged to learn from remarkable survivors and had some humor and pasta in the mix. It was an early night because we had to meet our team at 4am the following morning. Yeah. 4 AM.

So I lay my necessary race-day items on the sofa before going to bed. I didn't fall asleep right away because I was so nervous. I don't know why I was so scared. I wasn't worried about my time since I knew that I wasn't competing for an award. But I was excited and concerned that perhaps I wouldn't finish within the time limits. I didn't know if I would be able to spot my cheering parents or husband. I didn't know if I could finish the race or if I would fall short due to injury or just plain exhaustion. I didn't know if I was strong enough.

I woke and dressed in a daze and managed to meet the gathering sleepy team in the hotel lobby. While in the lobby, our team manager informed me that I was selected as a mentor for the winter session and she'd be in touch later during the week!

We were warned that it would be cool before the sun rose, and that we should bring clothing that we would discard but that would keep us warm pre-race. One of my friends had a fleece dress thing that made me look fit for a barnyard, but was surprisingly toasty. It came in handy. We filed downstairs, got into buses that took us to Balboa Park (near the zoo) and the starting line. Our team did a warm-up, checked our bags (containing our protein bars, flip flops, etc) into UPS trucks that would transport our items to the finish line, and hung out until it was time to go to our respective corrals.

I was assigned to Corral 22. My friend CJ was also at that Corral and we shivered together awaiting the push of the crowd. There were supposed to be 1000 people assigned to each corral, so it ended up taking about 10 minutes to get to the starting line. We stood with all sorts of people, including several versions of Elvis and some cheerful superheros.

We started the race at a walk. It was crowded and people were swerving around each other, but I could just feel the excitement like an electric charge somehow in the air. Everywhere I looked, people had a bounce in their steps and a smile on their faces.

Within a mile or two, CJ and I caught up with some of our other friends, coaches and captains who had been in lower Corrals. Together, CJ, Leslie and I walked the first several miles, enjoying the cool breeze, the rising sun and the walk from Balboa Park to downtown San Diego. Preparing to see my husband at Petco Park, I had not expected to run into my parents before that point. But I looked up and saw my smiling mom and dad, camera in hand, waving and cheering me along the route at around the 3rd mile. I felt amazing. Energized, comfortable, and now as if I were doing something spectacular.

I was feeling the extra high from seeing my personal cheering squad when we finally rounded Petco Park, and my parents and Noah were waiting for me. I ran off course for a moment to give them each a hug and kiss, still smiling like a giddy fool and running back to re-join CJ and Leslie.

Shortly thereafter, CJ, who had trained at a much faster pace, decided to run, and Leslie and I continued to power-walk. I still felt strong, but was scared to really run because I didn't want to end up separated from Leslie (who didn't train to run) and I didn't know if I would have the stamina to finish all 26.2 if I did.

We walked past our hotel and the waterfront where I had previously vacationed and dined with my in-laws. I recognized a famous statue, saw the parked cruiseliners, enjoyed some good bands every mile or so. We passed cancer survivors who had signs and clapped for us and let us know how much they appreciated what we were doing.

When we passed my parents and Noah once more at mile 7, the initial excitement and novelty had worn off and I was starting to feel like I was working. Still, I felt strong and positive and supported. And I had Leslie's company.

We had been warned that there would be a 2 mile steady incline at some point in the first half of the race. We knew when we found it. We entered the 163 freeway and walked against traffic (though technically there was no traffic because the street was closed). This was just after the 8th mile, and we were excited about the novelty of walking on a freeway. The view was incredible, with arched bridges, green laced mountain peaks (or maybe just hills) and road. The excitement was once again palpable. Leslie and I were not the first to experience freeway walking for the first time.

But by mile 10, there did not seem to be an end in sight and my thighs were burning. This scared me because if I felt that bad at mile 10, I couldn't imagine how I would get to, much less get through, the next 10. But our pace was strong, and we knew that the incline couldn't last forever. It was at that point that Leslie and I started thinking about our training and how glad we were that we had done much tougher hills during our practice runs. We were strong and knew we could tackle hills. But we hadn't counted on the horizontal slope of the road. We were prepared for the incline, but the road itself was curved for drainage, and we couldn't find flat footing to square our hips. That was why our hips were feeling like we had already completed more than 10 miles.

But after a few mirages, the road finally peaked and tipped for what seemed like a steep decline. The decline felt almost as bad as the incline, but at least we got to focus on different muscles and distribute the pain. But once again, the novelty of walking on a freeway was wearing off, and the course was not the bustling entertainment mecca that the beginning of the race had been. On this long stretch of road, we didn't have live bands or cheerleaders or even really spectators, unless the medical personnel count.

Between mile 11 and 12, we finally exited the freeway and returned to civilization. There, we were cheerfully greeted by cheerleaders, spectators, and finally, by our coaches, captains and mentors! They walked a little bit with us, distracted us, fed us what tasted like the creme de la creme of gold fish (ahhh salt!!!) and gave us the refreshing emotional recharge we hadn't realized we needed.

We took off, this time with a woman (Sharon Cogan) we started talking to on the route. She had trained on her own as something to acheive before her 40th birthday (that weekend). It was with her that we further distracted ourselves from our discomfort, and power-walked through the half-marathon finish point. Leslie's family greeted her, Sharon's husband surprised her, and we knew the best was yet to come...the bay.

We made the first check point (mile 13.4) with plenty of time to spare and felt confident that we could lose some time in our pace and still make the next and final checkpoint at mile 19. And as we turned the road, I saw my mom, dad and Noah once more. My mom ran to join me and I ran to join her as she jogged with me for a moment. My expression was grateful, but pained. I was already sore and tired, and I felt a blister appearing on the ball of my right foot.

The next several miles were a disappointment. From the course map I studied the prior night, I thought we would have scenic bay views for the next 9 miles. I was incorrect. We enjoyed more and more road. Even more frustrating, because we were relatively slow (but we were still on pace to finish on time), lots of the bands we passed were packing up and blasting recorded music. The cheering squads kept making running cheers, but said nothing for walkers, and we were tired and sore. Our adrenaline was gone, we knew we wouldn't see our personal cheerleaders until close to the end of the race (or in my case, at the very end of the race), and why couldn't we see the damn bay?

But we had some pleasant surprises. We went through a residential neighborhood between miles 15 and 16, and one family had prepared thousands of oranges and were handing out and cleaning the remains of orange slices. Just after mile 16, we finally glimpsed the bay and passed a really fun band that was actually still playing live music. Leslie and I started running and were re-energized once more. By mile 18 or 19, I felt like hell. My thighs burned, my blisters screamed, everything felt tight and stiff, and I was sticky. I am sure I looked about as good as I felt when we passed what looked like a row of frat houses. I looked up in time for us all to recieve an entertaining strip show from a highly muscled guy on his front lawn, cheering us on in his unique way. It was funny enough to take our minds off of the pain for another half of a mile.

At this point, we enjoyed the bay. Leslie and I had gotten really good at feeling the mile markers, and predicting them just before they came into our view. We passed our mile 19 checkpoint with time to spare (albeit, not as much time as we had previously), but that was the first moment I felt like I could really do it. Like I could really finish the race. The pressure was gone, I would be allowed to finish without a pace car picking me up and moving me to the finish line.

But it just got harder and harder. I got more and more exhausted. I needed more sleep. I needed to stretch. I wanted to stop. Everything hurt. I was tired of being tired and sore. I just wanted to be finished.

But I kept moving. I couldn't go any faster. I just focused on nothing. If I stopped, I feared I wouldn't resume, and so we didn't stop. We couldn't increase our speeds but we kept our pace, attuned with a rhythm that allowed our minds to relax and our legs to take over. I thought about one of the things someone said the previous night about when we can't walk with our legs anymore, we'll walk with our hearts.

When we saw our Team coaches again, we couldn't really carry a coherent conversation. We just kept moving, just trying to finish what we started. Leslie's husband and son joined us between mile 22 and 23. I can't imagine how different our expressions were since the approximately 9 or 10 miles since they had last spotted us.

Leslie and I kept each other moving. When one of us would start slowing, the other kept pace. Neither of us could fathom finishing this race on our own. We pushed and kept pace. A sweating fading somewhat green Hulk ran by, and Superman came disheveled out of a porta-potty. I was thirsty and drank a lot of water. I simply kept moving.

At mile 24, we got a breath of fresh air. Ines, our walking coach, waited for us and joined us, proud, encouraging, and strong. We whined, she understood, she encouraged us, and we tried to match our pace to hers. She reminded us that if we didn't feel as bad as we did, then everyone would do marathons. We focused on finishing. I alternated visualizing myself crossing the finish line with flashbacks to my half marathon with Ines. I recalled during the half marathon how tired and sore I had felt at the 10th mile and how Ines kept encouraging me. I compared my recollection of that pain with the current pain, and I thought about how every step I took at this point was a step further than I had ever taken.

It was at that point that I knew that however much more pain was in store for me, I would finish, and I would not do it alone. I got teary-eyed once more and felt grateful for how far I had come and proud of how much I could endure.

And we finally approached the entrance to the Marine Corps. We were greeted by two Marines who told us that we only had a half of a mile left. We felt huge relief.

And as we kept walking, we felt deceived. There was more than a half of a mile left. The damn race wouldn't end. Where was the marker for the 26th mile? Where was the finish line? Where were the spectators? We saw plenty of people, wearing medals, walking toward us on the side of the roadway, and they were leaving...going to their cars.

And then we heard the music. We heard the beginning of Journey's Don't Stop Believing, and saw the path through a building into what had to be our finish area. We saw the 26th mile marker. We followed the path under a structure and into the finish area. We saw the finish line. I looked and saw my mom cheering me from the sideline, taking photos of me and running along the side with us. I turned to Leslie and asked her if she wanted to run, and although neither of us really had anything left to give, we gave it all, turned to the finish and ran together across the finish line.

My parents were to my right. I staggered to them and hugged them tight. I stumbled away and found the person distributing medals. It was heavy but I wasn't sure if I was just weakened. I got an official photograph, hair toussled and sweat-saturated. I grabbed a banana and some water, got directions, and hobbled to meet my extremely proud looking parents and Noah.

Together, we picked up my bag from the UPS truck, I grabbed a protein bar, checked in with the TNT booth where I picked up my 26.2 mile pin. I finally sat down, stretched slowly, debriefed slightly, and I put on my flipflops.

I was in a daze. I was there but I wasn't. It just didn't feel real. But I looked at my parents and at Noah, who I don't recall ever having seen looking at me in the way that they did. It felt like they were looking at a champion, not someone who stumbled slowly through the finish line after most of the spectators and participants had already left for the day. I remember telling them that this day, this race, and the four months leading up to it, were the single hardest thing I have ever done. I've never worked so hard for any goal. And no other goal had ever felt that good to acheive.

They helped me to the bus that would take me back to the hotel for a much needed shower and nap. I wanted some time to reflect on the event.

When we met up for dinner a few hours later, I could only really waddle. But I wasn't alone. Looking at the other people walking up and down the street, I saw plenty of other waddlers. We went to an Italian restaurant for dinner and debriefed on the marathon from the spectator's perspective and my own. I still didn't have much energy, but I had enough to really appreciate how lucky I was to have both of my parents and my husband there to share in such an important day in my life. I became someone with purpose, who could withstand obstacles and stick with my goals, and who exceeded my own preconcieved limitations. I shattered my own mental restraints on the type of person I am, the type of body I have and the type of activities and goals I can achieve. And I did so with a Team of friends and supporters, a long-distance group of family and friends, and I was able to share the culmination of that experience with three of the most influential persons who have most dramatically shaped my life. I couldn't ask for a more fulfilling experience.

I am so grateful for the many people who helped me achieve this goal, whether they offered encouraging words or planted the seed that grew to an obsession with walking and running, whether they helped me raise over $2600 to battle blood cancers or were simply there for me, or whether they walked every step of the way with me, or a few, and whether they trained me or cheered for me.

I am truly blessed.

The Long Stretch

On Saturday, I completed 20 miles. No, that's not a typo!!! 

I'm not even sure what to say. 

I truly can't believe it.

I knew it was bound to happen, given that I'm training for 26.2, and it was on our May calendar. But still, it seems mind-boggling. 

It was tough. Especially in the early miles. That was a surprise actually, because I didn't think that the serious difficulties would occur until mile 14-17 range. Not so. 

I started off early (6:30) because I wanted to avoid as much of the unbearable SF Valley sun and heat toward mid-day as I could. I guess I didn't properly warm up though, because within the first few minutes of my run, my shins started throbbing. I tried to push through it for a few intervals when I realized that 1) I really wanted to complete 20 miles, 2) slow and steady wins (well, actually merely finishes) the race, and 3) I am training for the marathon, not for a team practice. So I swallowed my pride and decided to walk the remainder of the miles. 

At this point, I'm not sure what I'm going to be able to do during the marathon. I feel like I will be able to walk it, and I feel as though I will be able to jog parts, but I'm not sure I'll be able to keep a steady interval during the entire event. 

One thing that I found particularly helpful though about Saturday's practice was that I learned that I need a bit longer of a warm-up than other people. That's especially true when I'm running first thing in the morning. So I may decide to simply walk the first mile or two of the actual event. I think that will help me not trip over the many people who are going to be running with me, and, because the first part of the marathon is a long uphill onramp, will help me conserve energy for the remainder.  

I'm really glad that on the run two weeks ago, I pushed through for that 17th mile. Because I did that, even though I ached during my entire 20 miles yesterday, I was so much stronger at mile 17 than I was during practice two weeks ago. I expect that I'll go through a lot of painful I-can't-make-it moments during the marathon, but now I have a few extra things that I didn't have previously. I have the knowledge that I can push through a hell of a lot of physical discomfort and am strong enough to accomplish tough goals. I have the confidence that I can follow through and push through. I have the experience of all of the ups and downs over the past 3 months. And I have the support of people who genuinely want me to succeed. And best of all, I know that I did absolutely everything that I could do to prepare. 

From here on, our Saturday mileage drops to 10, and then 5 pre-race, but I will make sure to make the most of those practices, and all of the mid-week speed work, strength training and mileage building. 

I can't believe the marathon is so close. I am starting to feel like a real athlete.

The Calm Before the Storm

I am in the final stretch.  It's May and I am running a marathon at the end of this month. Wow.  I can't believe how far I've come since January, when the thought of running a mile seemed an impossibility. Yesterday, we had a "recovery" run which had originally been scheduled to be 9 miles, but which our coach decided would only be 8. I was finished by 9:30. It was a "short" run.

Our team trained at Griffith Park, which was a good change of scenery from Balboa Park. The disadvantage was that we didn't use a clear circular path and instead, we were given maps of the route.  Unclear on the map, however, was that the road split.  Of course, it was at that split where I realized that I had become separated from the rest of my pack.  I chose a path, hoping I was still on our intended route, and within a few minutes, realized that I luckily chose correctly; one of our team's fastest runners had already reached the turn-around point, and passed me on his way back to the starting point. 

I ran at a 4 minute run, 2 minute walk pace for most of my 8 miles, with the exception of my first 6 minute segment, which I walked (as my warmup).  Speaking of warmup, I haven't been able to wrap my head around the concept of running to warm up.  Before our group stretches, we always have a 10 minute warmup, during which most of our team runs, but during which I walk. I can't seem to run or jog as a warmup. I tried to jog during my first two team practices. It felt like a huge effort and, instead of warming my body, it left me feeling tight, sore and exhausted. Walking always warms my body and assists with the more strenuous activity that follows our stretching.  

 Tomorrow morning will be my 60 minute recovery run and I am looking forward to it. It will be a long and tiring day, so I'm glad to have the excuse to start the day on the right foot (yes, pun intended). 

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.

Lesson Learned

I managed to run 11 miles on Saturday. Seriously. 11. The best part is that I got through it. Even when I was sure it was impossible. The worst part was learning that I should not run on an entirely empty stomach. I felt like I was running on bad fumes. Also, I learned that sleep is useful for efficient running. And the combination of too little sleep and too little food, is a less than optimal run. 

This Saturday is my first official race. It's the Great Race half marathon in Agoura Hills. The half marathon (that's 13.1 miles) will be on a combination of trails and road. I'm excited but nervous. Excited because it should be a very scenic route. Nervous because that's 13.1 miles. And trails mean that there's stuff for me to trip over. But this time, I'll stay hydrated throughout the week, I'll get enough sleep and I'll eat a little breakfast. This race is supposed to be one of the best post-race brunches, so that should also be fun. And of course, I'll finally have an official picture of myself to put into my scrapbook!!!

Man, I can't get over the fact that I ran 11 miles. Granted, I slowed down by the end and didn't keep my pace perfectly. But I completed it. Me. Amazing. I can't wait to see what I can do next.