tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78341958483594476932024-02-07T19:12:46.770-08:00RepriseRunning again, running to winRunner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-472817844823480302018-10-30T23:35:00.001-07:002018-10-30T23:46:17.041-07:00Every day, at least a mile, no walking, no exceptions: Five years of daily streak running<br />
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<b><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">October
28, 2018</span></span></b></div>
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<b><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lawton, Oklahoma </span></span></b></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1826
days ago, I was having a rotten night in the middle of a rotten season. It was
Monday, one of my two rest days for running. Rest days were my worst days in
this season, and suddenly, impulsively, I reasoned if rest days were too hard,
I shouldn’t take them. I will start a running streak, I decided. Just like
that. And the next day, I went out to run, and now, 1826 days later, I have not
missed a day. </span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This
evening I rounded up my parents (for pictures!) and set off to run 5 miles to
celebrate 5 years of daily running. I did stop for pictures at the first mile
because that mile is when the streak counted. </span></span><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then I went on and ran the other
4.</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To celebrate I treated myself to new--old--shoes. Some who have known me a while remember Pink Magic. The Asics Gel Nimbus 14s were brand new in 2013 when they arrived around the day after Valentine's Day. All of a sudden, I felt like my feet could fly. Pink Magic became my closest companion. </span></span><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When the next year's model came out, Asics had changed the heel-to-toe drop from 8mm to 13mm. </span></span>And I could tell the difference. As a result, I bought up every pair the previous model I could find. And I went through them like children do cookies. As I got close to the end of my supply, I saved one pair. It remained in my closet until my 5 year run. What better occasion would there be? And you know what? They felt, again, like magic. I've never found a comparable shoe. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU7lcEY-Yroq-YSuXWpvN0Ip77ng-f7zkFUnHflS8lW6VmqHbmNr8p_-TbtICp93fNP1ibSDrOqjlH9ituzCz29mPWlVt0gKRKLAOiwp9LPEGbuQwqWH-IDSapyI3PPPvVYGzbEgY9yto/s1600/o0wB4OBPQaiAqhaPeGdOIw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioU7lcEY-Yroq-YSuXWpvN0Ip77ng-f7zkFUnHflS8lW6VmqHbmNr8p_-TbtICp93fNP1ibSDrOqjlH9ituzCz29mPWlVt0gKRKLAOiwp9LPEGbuQwqWH-IDSapyI3PPPvVYGzbEgY9yto/s320/o0wB4OBPQaiAqhaPeGdOIw.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Pink Magic</b></td></tr>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I ran those 5 miles, after a rough year physically, unrelated to running. My mileage had dwindled, and my speed slowed some, but in my heart I knew if I wanted to run 5 miles, I could. So I did. It was a reminder of the miracle of my own body. </span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">____________________ </span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Five years.</i> Think back to every day you can remember over the last 5 years. Whatever day that was, I went for a run. Here’s what my numbers look like for the last 5 years:</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></span><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5385.91 miles</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></span><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2228 different
activities</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></span><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1826 days in
a row</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSHdAt7YCDiZ6E_NcOubjKaeaFVihXRXHhEjq_aBW5pT4h91LheSN_ErqYr5fANOtqKXXIcNR79pS4Jm3TaxhWv3qBlJtFJma1oW-FZpGwr38CG6jcBehej-M99IvYuzEp_rngDaBJkto/s1600/fullsizeoutput_a219.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="745" height="89" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtSHdAt7YCDiZ6E_NcOubjKaeaFVihXRXHhEjq_aBW5pT4h91LheSN_ErqYr5fANOtqKXXIcNR79pS4Jm3TaxhWv3qBlJtFJma1oW-FZpGwr38CG6jcBehej-M99IvYuzEp_rngDaBJkto/s320/fullsizeoutput_a219.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "cambria";">Some of my stats and PRs from my running history</span></b></td></tr>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But there is the stuff that can’t be quantified. Here are<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>5 Lessons learned in 5 years of daily running</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1. There's not much you can't
run through <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></b></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
suppose a broken leg might stop a streak, but really, we let ourselves give up
long before we have to most of the time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">During
the past five years, I’ve been fortunate to be in mostly good shape, as far as
being able to run; however, I did have two bouts of some real sickness, which
included pneumonia and sinus infections. Believe it or not, the sinus
infections were harder to run with than pneumonia. Truthfully, the first round
of sickness was the sickest I had ever been, and it seemed to really attack my
body in a way<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>where I never totally got
back to normal. Running became harder after that. My mileage has slowed
down a bit and my distance isn’t quite as long. But you know what? While many
people were wishing they were running, I was.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xCDvrOn7u2C5ZxBfd89MdT7Z2Q6yNkWfmJ_Cd69kJ2qu6UPG9Rfm0oJiN1AuEeLAUQnZH-oSu9gwuGFCgLbQmBFP94sB-9Afrlaiq14ao__KzM4n9dTFSDMQpeEQAdYPQfxyqqd85Nw8/s1600/IMG_9862.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xCDvrOn7u2C5ZxBfd89MdT7Z2Q6yNkWfmJ_Cd69kJ2qu6UPG9Rfm0oJiN1AuEeLAUQnZH-oSu9gwuGFCgLbQmBFP94sB-9Afrlaiq14ao__KzM4n9dTFSDMQpeEQAdYPQfxyqqd85Nw8/s320/IMG_9862.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="aqj"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2. If you believe you can do
it, you have done half the work;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>running
is a mental sport </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
think back to the hardest day of all for me to run, April 23, 2017. I couldn’t
have been much sicker. I started to run and my Garmin had not started, so .11
(I counted later) miles in, I had to restart (to have a qualified running
streak, you have to be certain you actually run a mile). I sat on the grass and
cried. It had taken me probably an hour to get up the strength to go—as it had
most days of the sickness. I remember someone driving by and seeing me sitting
there. She stopped and asked if I was okay. “Yes, thank you; I’m just taking a
break.” It was the first time I considered giving up the streak. I was so sick,
I knew no one would think anything of it. “Just try,” I told myself. You have
to be sure. I waddled my little running legs to the track in Eisenhower Village
(where my parents live). A man came out of the neighborhood, walking his dog. I
knew I must look incredibly pitiful. But I didn’t care, suddenly, how I looked. As slow as I was
running, as lame as I looked, I was winning a race most people wouldn’t even
enter. I finished that incredibly slow run, and while I remained sick another week, <i>no run</i> was
ever as hard as that one. Overcoming that and slugging through it
was worth every bit of agony. And I knew it. I knew to quit right then would
only increase how utterly down I was from this lengthy illness.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhus-_Ki6W7RmwNfIgpSakWrcjYCVMYRbi89b2womKI5v9hwZtQms_CIW3aaCmpwlQU-0HOm6_ivdOrP-oJJEaEzuz-kD0rNIni5OLDE3Cbd9-gWaWWNV-RdH_gK91QV0vlCKGePUfNagB1/s1600/fullsizeoutput_a203.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="751" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhus-_Ki6W7RmwNfIgpSakWrcjYCVMYRbi89b2womKI5v9hwZtQms_CIW3aaCmpwlQU-0HOm6_ivdOrP-oJJEaEzuz-kD0rNIni5OLDE3Cbd9-gWaWWNV-RdH_gK91QV0vlCKGePUfNagB1/s320/fullsizeoutput_a203.jpeg" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The running data for the slow run in the midst of being incredibly sick.</b></td></tr>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Running
is a mental sport when you’re healthy too. My two most challenging runs were
<a href="https://runnergirlreprise.blogspot.com/2014/06/that-time-i-ran-marathon.html" target="_blank">Grandma’s Marathon</a></span></span><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">—</span></span>because, hello!—it was a marathon, which is 26.2 miles and
the <a href="https://runnergirlreprise.blogspot.com/2015/02/riding-roller-coaster-with-my-feet-half.html" target="_blank">Fort Smith (AR) half marathon</a> (because it was like running up a mountain
for 11 miles and down, half a mile, then maybe the rest was sort of flat. I
don’t even know how that makes sense with physics and geography and stuff, but
when I saw the mile 4 mountain, I knew my brain needed the strength to run way
more than my body. In the end, I ran every step of both the marathon and that
half (and nine other half marathons). That means I never stopped to walk, tie a
shoe, nothing. I wanted to walk during the marathon, but I knew if I walked a
step, I would make myself do another, and if I ran it all, I could be sure I
had completed the ultimate goal. So I ran. Every running accomplishment I have
is a matter of will and mental strength, even more than physical. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>SO earned this!</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFj18L8CUlG62vgoUkWquTHAX8xdcX-GAFki1FZNrhLDtKr0A8cekgSsFQoCZJwL5jU8QAQxj3uca8UvqT0gZIgnOWyaW-7eI_VecOPldwG74PjCQlywD00pcg8m0dL2uPeY-yAjKQ_0RR/s1600/766352-1239-0042s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1062" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFj18L8CUlG62vgoUkWquTHAX8xdcX-GAFki1FZNrhLDtKr0A8cekgSsFQoCZJwL5jU8QAQxj3uca8UvqT0gZIgnOWyaW-7eI_VecOPldwG74PjCQlywD00pcg8m0dL2uPeY-yAjKQ_0RR/s320/766352-1239-0042s.jpg" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Mid-marathon smile. </b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52ZLfNwgBKYbQDhDc9iDZOyVJ30vg5MrBwNzKhyphenhyphens3x740KWLaoU6z19xTJW7cwdUMlEbwk0wHjc5wfKr_uvcASo-IbmyxVMdSJSe7N6cQfpKllk24woVMRpA1SDtBcKjnR_ZB4_tPo1ty/s1600/Finish+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52ZLfNwgBKYbQDhDc9iDZOyVJ30vg5MrBwNzKhyphenhyphens3x740KWLaoU6z19xTJW7cwdUMlEbwk0wHjc5wfKr_uvcASo-IbmyxVMdSJSe7N6cQfpKllk24woVMRpA1SDtBcKjnR_ZB4_tPo1ty/s320/Finish+line.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>The moment I worked so hard for--and one that is mine forever. Becoming a marathoner</b>! </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib39uu78braH1NnrZ102S1_L8qVALy6VUfxA9zSFEAFOiT7VGfHROG4q6urO-zbXBDc8qkW5WZL_t7bJMVKwCQnfmXu0d22fG-mMp4YoFqXvn8DRpVAiCXP4PQYfwmG2pDLlTqX1JOw69W/s1600/10670134_10152920499003118_6601082290108332879_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib39uu78braH1NnrZ102S1_L8qVALy6VUfxA9zSFEAFOiT7VGfHROG4q6urO-zbXBDc8qkW5WZL_t7bJMVKwCQnfmXu0d22fG-mMp4YoFqXvn8DRpVAiCXP4PQYfwmG2pDLlTqX1JOw69W/s320/10670134_10152920499003118_6601082290108332879_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Because I did it! 26.2 miles, and then some, running every single step.</b></td></tr>
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<span class="aqj"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">3. Don't give yourself
opportunity to regret </span></b></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I
know one day I might be wholly unable to run, and when that day comes, I want
to look back on these days and know I took advantage of the fact I could run at
will. I never want to regret not running when I had the chance. So I run.</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Do
it now.</i> Whatever you’re dreaming of doing someday, do it now. And follow
through. Often, especially as I have found myself with some health challenges
in the last year or so, I have thought to myself, what if I couldn’t run
anymore? I would regret not running when I was able to do so, and I know it.
It’s something that applies to life in general. How much do we avoid doing
because we aren’t sure or we want to wait for some billboard to tell us to? Unless there is a compelling reason not to, then take the chance. Don’t wake up
one day in regret. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SYy3Wx7kPqFQEE3J7oGidBXBn3coLBkm0c77Kb-idRR34nQu60qmW-uf7Zh-q6NPfzRYiN8clXzoW_-zcinU4aHKUsi1pQ0N_eaGIIFde-eq_9j3sX5F55kBfE5oUvf4Xgz2bxOhKEVg/s1600/25073178_10155998236003118_3192801556179087361_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7SYy3Wx7kPqFQEE3J7oGidBXBn3coLBkm0c77Kb-idRR34nQu60qmW-uf7Zh-q6NPfzRYiN8clXzoW_-zcinU4aHKUsi1pQ0N_eaGIIFde-eq_9j3sX5F55kBfE5oUvf4Xgz2bxOhKEVg/s320/25073178_10155998236003118_3192801556179087361_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="aqj"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">4. You have time to do
exactly what matters to you. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Do
you have an hour or two a day with nothing scheduled? Maybe not, but let’s says
you run an average mile—which could be 10, or even 15 minutes (speed does not
determine if you ran it, running determines it!). We like to say we are <i>so</i> busy
we just don’t have any time, but every time I see a question asking how we find
time to run, I have the same simple answer. If you don't have 10 to 15 minutes
a day, you are probably so busy you're making yourself sick. Everybody has 10
to 15 minutes a day, in fact, you were spending some of yours reading this
right now. It would be more honest to say we don’t want to use our time to run
(to be with that friend, to read that book, to hike through the woods) because
it’s not a priority. I read something once where the writer suggested that
instead of responding, “I don’t have time,” we should be responding, “it’s not
a priority,” when it comes to most things. In short, the last 5 years, running
has been a priority. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCkpIiw3ET1WJjEx8PJlH4gWSSBp565UB0LI76uLA0FjMoxspAjt4Ybumgsx5Znzv_lqbOwgks8zlLI9xtHZSHLxx-rtJkLvHgq_1g1-dMbKBvyLCB-4mq7cjGzT_nJmtVwJninQdIzub/s1600/IMG_7187.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmCkpIiw3ET1WJjEx8PJlH4gWSSBp565UB0LI76uLA0FjMoxspAjt4Ybumgsx5Znzv_lqbOwgks8zlLI9xtHZSHLxx-rtJkLvHgq_1g1-dMbKBvyLCB-4mq7cjGzT_nJmtVwJninQdIzub/s320/IMG_7187.JPG" width="179" /></a></div>
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<span class="aqj"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5. I understand the mail
carrier</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
unofficial motto of the US Postal Service <a href="https://uspsblog.com/how-is-new-york-city-related-to-famous-postal-quote/">reads</a>:
</span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Neither snow nor rain nor
heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>their appointed rounds.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They
could say the same thing about run streakers too. And these five years, I have
had many great runs, probably more bad runs, and some very unusual runs. My
running stories are probably as diverse as you would expect in the fight to
keep a streak alive 5 years. Every 24 hour period that constitutes a day in the
time zone you are in means at least one continuous mile, or the streak is gone.
So here are a few of my challenging runs:</span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>* </b>Running
in circles on the 21st floor of a building in Jerusalem, several times! There
simple wasn’t enough time to go down 21 floors, get across the street to a
place not wall-to-wall people, run a mile, get back, go up, and shower—without
taking precious time away from traveling all over the West Bank. So a girl’s
gotta do what a girl’s gotta do! I turned on the Garmin, checked my step count,
and watched the time—being sure I went over on all of the above (a mile is
anywhere from 2000-2500 steps on my short legs, so I always went over 3000 and
to at least 1.10 or 1.20 and made sure the time I spent was longer than even my
slow sick runs). Since I was traveling with my parents, they often came
downstairs in our rented apartment in Jerusalem and found me running in circles
all over the small living and dining area. Of course they knew exactly what I
was doing! </span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>* </b>Time
zones are tricky and other than being terribly sick that couple weeks in April
2017, the next challenge was how to maneuver a mile run when we had an
overnight flight to Madrid before transferring to our flight to Tel Aviv. I ran
on May 8 in Lawton, OK, but then suddenly it was May 9, and I was on an
airplane. I didn’t dare sleep. I had worn clothes on the flight that included
wicking fibers, Under Armor carpi joggers, sports bra, etc. I also had a good pair of compression socks on my legs, so I could run immediately upon landing from an international flight. In my overnight bag
were baby wipes, a whole new outfit, and lots of prayers. The plan was to run
in Madrid because we’d land in Tel Aviv in the early evening, and who knew how
long that would take to get to the hotel (wise choice since I was detained by
Israeli immigration officials—we arrived after dark). Hotels in Israel rarely
have treadmills, so I knew Madrid was it. It was 2 a.m. Oklahoma time when we
landed, so I would have been awake anyway. We had to recheck through security,
then we went to our terminal, found our gate area, and once that was settled, I
left my bags with the parental, put <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">two</i>
Garmins on my wrist, and checked the step count on both as well! Then I took
off running—trying to make it look like I was just casually coasting through, perhaps
rushing back for a flight. If any official stopped me, it would have meant
beginning again. Turns out no one cared, so I made my way through T4’s
Satellite area in Madrid, up and down halls, a few people looking when I
circles back and froth, but since I as obviously no threat, they didn’t care. I
window shopped, and finally hit that magic mile marker—huge relief sweeping
over me. I actually went a bit longer, to maybe 1.3, before I arrived back at
my parents’ perch. The Madrid airport doesn’t have air conditioning in some parts, so I was a
wet, soaked mess, even though it wasn’t hot. It took a long time to clean up,
and I still felt gross, but now I only had to make it four hours to Israel. We
got on our next flight—and I conked out so hard almost right away, and didn’t
wake up until we were descending into Tel Aviv. My parents were eating a snack,
which was served a while after the meal they had been served. I didn’t move the
whole time. I still have no recollection of the flight. My body knew there were
high stakes: the run. It used all its resources to keep me vigilant until it
was complete. As soon as my body took the cue that it could relax, I was out.
But I ran, despite losing 8 hours in the time change as well as being on an 8
hour flight. In the end, other than Madrid, I only had 4 actual hours of May 9
where I was on the ground. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXrxlCkW8J3EMrM8kh0rhgkKNJ2A09sMoWcsNIMMD07l9wxmgcf7mWVyJ-nEbo0zHofRe3Ix4P_DOF_sv3t6owXDtmSa5zSmGOPZPeSHILEYl7laNI8R6Msy191uTnQyxDR1XC1ZdSP42/s1600/NDiws3krSX2F2hWqT17cnw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXrxlCkW8J3EMrM8kh0rhgkKNJ2A09sMoWcsNIMMD07l9wxmgcf7mWVyJ-nEbo0zHofRe3Ix4P_DOF_sv3t6owXDtmSa5zSmGOPZPeSHILEYl7laNI8R6Msy191uTnQyxDR1XC1ZdSP42/s320/NDiws3krSX2F2hWqT17cnw.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Pre-run, Madrid airport</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3rEQd2-aPpBYv0Wh0WFhK31px44zlBXs8-j6MccEv_IQg7A5lKyIL6QmJlaTiZPMEZl7RoHaI-8WUEnJuk0PB6qBD0NNoftBzz3LTMccibmAthDI-M9FsDUoJpFoRecaAPh8sgV60IRA/s1600/kCkKBShGSduevR91BbBMag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF3rEQd2-aPpBYv0Wh0WFhK31px44zlBXs8-j6MccEv_IQg7A5lKyIL6QmJlaTiZPMEZl7RoHaI-8WUEnJuk0PB6qBD0NNoftBzz3LTMccibmAthDI-M9FsDUoJpFoRecaAPh8sgV60IRA/s320/kCkKBShGSduevR91BbBMag.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Post-Run, Madrid airport</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXrxlCkW8J3EMrM8kh0rhgkKNJ2A09sMoWcsNIMMD07l9wxmgcf7mWVyJ-nEbo0zHofRe3Ix4P_DOF_sv3t6owXDtmSa5zSmGOPZPeSHILEYl7laNI8R6Msy191uTnQyxDR1XC1ZdSP42/s1600/NDiws3krSX2F2hWqT17cnw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve
run with wind gusts up to 50 mph, 40 mph sustained. I’ve run in -4 to -8 wind
chills. I’ve run through snow, run on ice (they make shoe accessories for
that!). I’ve run 10 half marathons, one full marathon, and so many 5ks and
10ks/quarter marathons that I couldn’t tell you. I have run in Missouri,
Kansas, Arkansas, , Massachusetts, Minnesota, Texas, Oklahoma, Alabama, Idaho,
Wyoming, and Montana. One day, I ran three times in three different states
(Idaho, Wyoming, and Montana). I’ve run in 107 degrees, with heat indexes
higher. I’ve run on my treadmill at midnight. I’ve run around lakes, up and
down streets, through shopping centers, on the beach of the Atlantic, through
Boston streets, and by Minnesota lakes. I’ve run loops around parking lots at
midnight when the hotel treadmill was broken. I’ve run as a cold front passed
over me, experiencing the awesomeness of a hot, humid run, turning utterly
chilly. I’ve run with friends, run through pain, run through heartbreak, to celebrate. I've run to
dispel anger. I’ve run for a sort of justice for myself—to be sure someone or
something didn’t have control over me. I've run on business trips. I've run instead of eating lunch while at a conference. I've run in the middle of road trips by finding a track at a school and running 4 laps. There is very little I haven’t done to be sure I have completed my daily run.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MUNJ45KpzS0CXUWoKLRtD3YW4hmmceFEXs3wu_fw1SiBLcBSvJK9Hv8uHS7zRCHJ6lj_j8S8VtliN9G9dYH1leoZZQia80laMhMcAfH7KFwHZHvmIxUFnr7rmbfqrL1fyjIYpt0qmQBJ/s1600/28164336_10156217467753118_4545943623052900376_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7MUNJ45KpzS0CXUWoKLRtD3YW4hmmceFEXs3wu_fw1SiBLcBSvJK9Hv8uHS7zRCHJ6lj_j8S8VtliN9G9dYH1leoZZQia80laMhMcAfH7KFwHZHvmIxUFnr7rmbfqrL1fyjIYpt0qmQBJ/s320/28164336_10156217467753118_4545943623052900376_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="aqj"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Neither snow nor rain...</span></span></span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>Because
runners run. </i>Period. That’s a phrase I have used all along. If you are a
runner, you run. Your speed, your agility, your stride, your distance, that
doesn’t make or not make you a runner. Running makes you a runner. Not a
“jogger.” You’re either walking or you’re running, perhaps slower sometimes,
but a run is a run is a run. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">People
have, of course, tried to tell me it’s not healthy to run every day. That’s a
myth. I remember my coach in Kansas City, <a href="https://www.bluebikefitness.com/">Jan Schmidt</a>, a former competitive
runner, a health professional with a master’s degree who has worked in a
hospitals and taught in a university—I asked her when I first began if it would be a bad idea. She told
me that it was more about mileage than it was how often I ran. I didn't up my mileage really, just my frequency. I assure you that
running a mile a day on those semi-rest days is probably less strenuous than some of your errands or
dinner parties on some of your own rest days. </span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GKLIwzUvTbG_8XtQlf5csPv_qobMUg8Tmh6i6u7dEI2HHnP4_ssyfWPRIMW_UHUC8F3T7IGP4Qfbh09kQNAT-Yw7opiTV0I-4p016f2wfua1FMKkHH7RvqZ7D6XKM0c7JI9IccoS7h8w/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-17+at+9.35.42+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="351" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GKLIwzUvTbG_8XtQlf5csPv_qobMUg8Tmh6i6u7dEI2HHnP4_ssyfWPRIMW_UHUC8F3T7IGP4Qfbh09kQNAT-Yw7opiTV0I-4p016f2wfua1FMKkHH7RvqZ7D6XKM0c7JI9IccoS7h8w/s320/Screen+Shot+2014-06-17+at+9.35.42+PM.png" width="222" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks, Jan! (Go see her at Blue Bicycle in Kansas City, MO!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">____________________ </span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyCh810VKZ9RoNsX8ytrLKbiBFH_KHqQguPQQBo4FiGAL8Kv8483K7XSyypiq2NSCg-ZHkTo7kAyWDqpL81C15ejaycan2U1ZBOXZVwOOf_8tRFnRQ_I0crj8rWT0W3LeceSeMAntfeSh/s1600/10978674_10153047957558118_4562594328822189124_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyCh810VKZ9RoNsX8ytrLKbiBFH_KHqQguPQQBo4FiGAL8Kv8483K7XSyypiq2NSCg-ZHkTo7kAyWDqpL81C15ejaycan2U1ZBOXZVwOOf_8tRFnRQ_I0crj8rWT0W3LeceSeMAntfeSh/s320/10978674_10153047957558118_4562594328822189124_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I think about the five years that have passed, I am a bit amazed I've accomplished this. I can't think of much I have done for five years straight--if anything at all. That's a long time, yet it's actually gone by quickly. Running has become a part of me; it's inseparable from the person called Suz. It is as natural as brushing my teeth, showering, checking my email, or doing laundry. It's just what I do. </span></span></div>
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<span class="aqj"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To think that on October 28,</span></span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> five years ago,
during one of the most difficult times of my life, I had a random thought that I would start a
running streak really blows me away. I didn’t have an endgame. I’ve decided that as long as I was
struggling through that time in my life, I would continue to run daily so I
could assure myself that every day would have something good in it. That awful situation
itself ended, became resolved, and life went on. And so did my running streak. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Five years later, the only think I can say for sure is that running is in the plans for tomorrow. </span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Here are some pictures and a video from the big 5 for 5 run:</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpLfed-fg6nK-c_K9Zq2xgj-UAVEcf_S-GBENRY3B8OfvS6hO46dqVdQ9CrYh_h-Kf-ap59rgU1W8b0SaDsVlGlV7r3vfU3fni4V2_1poMjVcthOer0hshv2RzxeBwnO-aEeuPXGvaFUF/s1600/fullsizeoutput_a200.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1404" data-original-width="1600" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOpLfed-fg6nK-c_K9Zq2xgj-UAVEcf_S-GBENRY3B8OfvS6hO46dqVdQ9CrYh_h-Kf-ap59rgU1W8b0SaDsVlGlV7r3vfU3fni4V2_1poMjVcthOer0hshv2RzxeBwnO-aEeuPXGvaFUF/s320/fullsizeoutput_a200.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxf9GiGz3az4kSey9UsP6ocVKs4eUTaeN1SnkY-8ENzAhN_VDlmXo1CrqCKhtpVHuE7THZzvX6krdYNGEQq_A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Posing for pictures, of course:<br />
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As I finished my five victory miles, I paused to take a picture of the beautiful evening sunset. I have had numerous sunset runs over the years, but this one held a special joy.<br />
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And of course, there must be celebration! My parents gave me cards and a balloon, and I enjoyed some cake later--because I'd already run it off! </div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sunday morning I woke up to an email from the <a href="https://www.runeveryday.com/" target="_blank">United States Running Streak Association</a> (I am member 1262. I have no idea how I lucked out and got a 262 in my number!), congratulating me on my five year anniversary. That moved me up a notch in the organization. Currently, in the U.S., I am ranked 466 in streak runners. The record holder had 52 years before he retired his streak, so if it seems amazing to you I have gotten this far, try to imagine that. The best part about being a member is that when the streak ends, I get to officially "retire" it so it stays alive, in a sense. My major goal was to make it to five years. But goals are made to be surpassed. </span></div>
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</style>Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-6622445739306346202015-02-08T18:02:00.001-08:002015-02-08T19:08:58.433-08:00riding a roller coaster with my feet (half marathon #9)<style>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today I ran what I would say was the
hardest race of my life. If you asked me whether my marathon was more
difficult, I would hesitate before answering you. I’d probably say yes, but
only for two reasons: In the marathon, my knee was really hurting and not
braced, and it was twice the distance. But other than a hill (with a landing in
the middle) at almost the end of the race it was flat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I finished, I did what I knew I
shouldn’t. I walked to the grass and plopped myself down on my back. I’d deal
with lactic acid build up later. I had to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stop</i>.
Those sweet race people were so attentive. One wanted to be sure I was okay. I
told her, yes, I just needed to stop for a minute. And another came to check
too (perhaps I looked pitiful despite a strong finish?). One asked me if I
wanted her to go get me a heat sheet for when I started getting cold (they are Mylar
“blankets” that insulate). I had refused one because I was so hot, but this
time I said “yes, please.” I realized that as hot as we had gotten (60s and
sunny now—no real wind, which is not good when you are that hot), it was
actually cool out and I would be shivering soon. I was light-headed at the end
(that was a new one). My ear had gotten plugged up early in the race and never
let up, so my equilibrium seemed, well, unequal. I forced a banana down (and I
did take two gels on the course, as well as a bit of Gatorade—and I ate a full
big bagel with cream cheese for breakfast, so nutrition was not the cause of
being light-headed). My right ear gets plugged up a lot when I run, so I’m
thinking I may talk to my doctor about this. I thought it was just sweat, but
it’s always the same ear. Anyway, other than that, I was okay. On the first
evil (and it was, indeed, evil) hill (mountain!), I realized that unlike my
other half marathons. excepting the first, I was going to really feel this
tomorrow. Rarely do I feel anything much the day after a half because I stay
trained enough, at least with base mileage, that I can usually just go run a
half without going through a 12-week training plan. Sometimes my quads or hamstrings
are a bit sore, but I recover well. But the muscles we used to run what was,
essentially, ten miles of hill repeats (without the slow jog or walk down), are
not the same effort we may put on daily muscle use, even in running some hills.
And also, running downhill is actually hard because to do it right, you need to
exert control, and it’s work. I am not above taking the elevator to my office
tomorrow! I didn’t even feel bad physically after my marathon, but I just have
this feeling about tomorrow. OW! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Other than that, I decided to write
about this mile-by-mile, recapturing some of what was going through my head. I
have very few pictures to post this time because that took too much effort. I
didn’t even want to deal with it. Staying focused was my only hope. I figured I
would steal other people’s pictures. I sort of wish I had gotten one on the
killer hill, just to prove how big and steep it was. But it was so big and
steep, I couldn’t imagine fiddling for my phone. So this blog is mostly words.
Here’s a play-by-play.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfwyw116ZEgAaPBxC9EuyWR6BpOTsGJ9tOha-hw5vWY-uTqNoiqhavAGeRm10ylKj0imNb2zi8_8U_7-VbSB6xPDh-_E9VuGs3jGI24GAJb0ROVtqE2A7kPB2Q6YXTntMssWnATeCm-Sn/s1600/IMG_2659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfwyw116ZEgAaPBxC9EuyWR6BpOTsGJ9tOha-hw5vWY-uTqNoiqhavAGeRm10ylKj0imNb2zi8_8U_7-VbSB6xPDh-_E9VuGs3jGI24GAJb0ROVtqE2A7kPB2Q6YXTntMssWnATeCm-Sn/s1600/IMG_2659.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pre-race:
</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Woman behind me tells friend next to her that really the
hills probably aren’t that bad, and the first one was likely the worst. She
also said they were short. Woman behind me was a liar. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThYBLX3fQJ1DtC71MhNYQ7cKdTxd9haQaDpplGWO5izfPEDdk6GTTfiFH1vP6TT0zC4I3eBZ5ydixqgEYlWyeC06emvx6IDuPAkoK9r0eub8b4flbkNhO_Vb9FpAchRTN1WZiJ_4UOgE1/s1600/IMG_2660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThYBLX3fQJ1DtC71MhNYQ7cKdTxd9haQaDpplGWO5izfPEDdk6GTTfiFH1vP6TT0zC4I3eBZ5ydixqgEYlWyeC06emvx6IDuPAkoK9r0eub8b4flbkNhO_Vb9FpAchRTN1WZiJ_4UOgE1/s1600/IMG_2660.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lying woman in Fleet Feet yellow shirt.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mile
1:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Wow, this was a pretty decent turnout for a first race.
This is a very pretty area. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 2:</b> I heard that lady at the
start line saying that the first hill was probably the worst. Is that really
it? I guess a lot of people don't ever run hills, so it seems steep to them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 3:</b> Oh my gosh, another hill.
Wait, do we have to run up that huge, long one I see ahead?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 4:</b> This is not a hill; this is
a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mountain</i>. Running at Mt Scott was
easier than this. I'm being led up a mountain. I paid to do this. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 5:</b> That was a really long
mountain. Look! A turn! Oh, it's still going up. Exactly how high off the
ground is the view of the city? How can we run this high up and not come down?
Isn’t that, like, a law of physics or something?<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mile
6</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">: The country club; we should hit the halfway mark here. The
race director told me that after the halfway mark we would be rewarded with
mostly downhill.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 7:</b> I take back every wish I
ever had of running golf courses; I hate golf courses. They are roller coasters
propelled by feet. It's <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">still hilly</i>.
Finally, we’re off the golf course. It should start to be downhill now, right? Oh
look, a newspaper was littered on the side of the road, but one page is ripped
so we can see a headline. It says, “More women buying guns.” Yes, I think, to
shoot race directors. I’m rationing my water. Wait! Is that a mirage, or is
that little boy handing out bottles of water? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“You are awesome!”</i> I tell him as I take the bottle and let myself
down the rest of my first bottle because now I have more than teeny 4 oz. cups
they hand out. Little boy saves the race! He should get a mansion in heaven for
that. Or something.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 8:</b> Okay, we got up the mountains.
But <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">why are we still going upwards, anyway</i>?
I saw a mile 9 on my way here this morning. We're almost there. It can't be
that bad. But maybe I shouldn't drive home tonight. Maybe I should only drive
partway and get a hotel, and drive straight to my class in the morning. I need
a bath. A long Epsom salt soaking bubble bath. I don't want to sit in a car for
4 hours first. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 9:</b> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh</i>. I guess it doesn't start going downhill until mile 10? Mile 9
is uphill too (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">of course it is</i>). So
much for the reward of mostly downhill after the halfway mark. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Liar,
liar, pants on fire!”</i></b> I think channeling my thoughts to the race director.
But I'm sure it goes downhill at mile 10, right? I don't think I've ever hurt
this much running a race. The marathon was only harder because of the knee
injury and the distance. This is the hardest thing I've ever done in a race.
This race is about survival, not running.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 10:</b> We're actually going down a
little bit. Only with all that uphill running, now I have to control my quads
going down, and that’s hard too. No coasting. This still hurts. I think it's
always going to hurt. I have inflicted a lifetime of hurt on myself from one
race. Also, the sky is falling.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 11:</b> This is the part of a race
where I usually take out my camera and post a picture of the mile 11 marker,
which means I'm home free. However, the extra effort to take the camera out would
be too much. I didn't take a single evidentiary<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>photo to prove what this race was like. Also, I'm not sure I'm going to
think I'm home free until I see mile 13. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hey
wait?</i> Where is the marathon winner? The fast marathon runners always run by
me between mile 10 and 11. Is it possible that the winner hasn't even come in
yet because of the challenging course?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 12</b>: You only have 1.1 miles
left, Tyrrell. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hold on.</i> Why does 1.1
miles seem like a whole half marathon? And why are we still going up—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">again</i>?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile 13:</b> They just made us run a
block out-of-the-way we seemed to be headed? Do they hate us? Is this race
actually a secret plot of revenge for something? And then there's a slight
uphill after that? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where is that finish
line!?</i> All the people around me seem to be walking now—even with the finish
line less than half a mile ahead, lots of them just walk, even though they were
not walkers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even after they see the
finish line. They continue to walk. Muscle atrophy is setting in. I'm still
running; if I start walking, I'll just sit down. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Must keep running</i>. Must keep running until I cross the finish line.
I have no idea how my time is. The mile 4 mountain made me realize time was
irrelevant; no one was PRing today. Maybe the marathon winner died. He just ran
off the mountain to stop the pain. They had 13.1 more miles of this. How could
someone do that without being bionic? That’s it. They were all so exhausted
they died. I’ve never run a half in tandem with a full where full winners
didn’t come in ahead of me. But I was almost done, and time was irrelevant. The
bragging rights in this race were actually running and finishing. I suspected
my usual half times, always around 2:30, give or take a few minutes on either
side, were way off. I didn’t care at all. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
hear people!</i> I see the finish line! I just have to keep my feet moving, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">leg up, leg down.</i> People are screaming
for me! They say I look strong; <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“way to
finish strong!” Clearly, I mask things well. I've never been so weak at the end
of the race.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mile .1:</b> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh my gosh!</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh my gosh! </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just have to run until I feel the timing mat
under my feet. Am I injured? Do I hurt unusually? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No.</i> There's nothing wrong with my body. Except that I've been
running up mountains all day. Okay they were paved, but they felt like
mountains.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The finish line:</b> What, what? I did
that in 2:32:50? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(20 of 48 in my age group). For real?</i> Give me
that medal now! I'm glad it's so big, because I earned every bit of that giant
medal. </span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur5fBbFDjsPL7sdbJtfeUHdycwhgOUFuT5fvmGhxYDjA6EfJPzskLQm7TbOXFevXRlKw56jsRJIsj7ObGSFm6b199HGLWvW1o-YMUuKv_d6lE45Pfbu6yVrN6IMqJMp0vgqjl1ZPnWPKw/s1600/1800263_10153059790413118_8440890239504477070_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiur5fBbFDjsPL7sdbJtfeUHdycwhgOUFuT5fvmGhxYDjA6EfJPzskLQm7TbOXFevXRlKw56jsRJIsj7ObGSFm6b199HGLWvW1o-YMUuKv_d6lE45Pfbu6yVrN6IMqJMp0vgqjl1ZPnWPKw/s1600/1800263_10153059790413118_8440890239504477070_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Flopping on the grass:</b> Yes ma'am,
I'm all right. I just need to stop for a minute. Yes, please. I would like a
heat sheet for when I start shivering in a few minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Post-flopping on the ground:</b> I need
someone to take my picture in front of that finish line. I crossed that finish
line. I didn't even walk. I'm either crazy or a rockstar. Or dead. Maybe this
is an out-of-body experience.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cf7Ll5cjXJnBH6sAgcRjY_xgUQ9PfqMSUXskr9dexkjk6rUdZ7Az_7voK6149jeJdZsMwC2_qbi0RsJxYvcP0zhGpyP6PMj82UWkw5jIBZFRv6hBdlDlzVyz3KJuL8OMagKvvpC0fCgX/s1600/IMG_2662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cf7Ll5cjXJnBH6sAgcRjY_xgUQ9PfqMSUXskr9dexkjk6rUdZ7Az_7voK6149jeJdZsMwC2_qbi0RsJxYvcP0zhGpyP6PMj82UWkw5jIBZFRv6hBdlDlzVyz3KJuL8OMagKvvpC0fCgX/s1600/IMG_2662.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look so happy. I think it's Runner Delirium.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhy2PBkKCDMMNZUqooHy0cZzvS_4y6me6XZf1uwjmZgjcvlK4K1g6GiH5dWMcX02newgB0NBpwyeDdY2MGV2GpMil9JV_u0iwUfzBMkK8SNtSb6lpPUfvxpN5307LQR7jQVEDypR9tzXuo/s1600/IMG_2667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhy2PBkKCDMMNZUqooHy0cZzvS_4y6me6XZf1uwjmZgjcvlK4K1g6GiH5dWMcX02newgB0NBpwyeDdY2MGV2GpMil9JV_u0iwUfzBMkK8SNtSb6lpPUfvxpN5307LQR7jQVEDypR9tzXuo/s1600/IMG_2667.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"This one's got grit," the race tagline says. Um, that's not a strong enough word, but thanks.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i> A few final notes:</i></span><br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i><br /></i></span>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">First, let me issue a disclaimer: I
generally run hills well. Rarely a day goes by that I am not going up and down
hills. I run hilly routes often. Well, actually now I believe I will call them
“slopey” instead. Because now I know what hills are. But wait! You may say. You
have run the Kansas City Half Marathon twice, and the first 10 miles are hills.
Well, yes, KC is hilly, but compared to Fort Smith, AR, the KC Half is a fun
run. Not really, of course, but KC wasn’t<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">
hard</i>, even though it was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">challenging.</i>
This was hard. It was the hardest race experience I’ve ever had. It was one
where even at mile 12 I wasn’t sure I was home free. I’ve never prayed so much
on a course (Shout out to FCA for the stream of Bible verses about strength and
running around mile 11). I could not believe how hard it was. But I did it. I
really did. I ran the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">whole way</i>. I
can’t even believe I ran the whole way. If I’d have seen that course
previously, I’d have probably planned to run intervals. If I’d seen it before I
registered, I may not have registered.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Let me issue another disclaimer, as well: The
race was very well done. I am quite impressed that this as an inaugural race because
it was as well done as many established races I have done. There was a minor
glitch with the first one or two water stops, but if you’re going to have a
glitch with water, that’s where you want it! The crowd support was fabulous (except
on the never-ending golf course which was void of crowds, where I’m pretty sure
I was dizzy from the roller coaster hills). I was impressed that so many people
took their Sunday morning to cheer us on in a city that has never had a
marathon and half marathon. Nice work, Fort Smith. You are good people.
Everything was well-organized and professional. The post-race spread was
phenomenal. As a race itself, I would recommend it to anyone, but not as a
first race and not for one who didn’t do well on hills (and remember, I do
pretty well on hills). In fact, I was really hoping it wasn’t a first half or
full for some people (unless they planned well and knew the course because they
run it locally) because it was so hard it might make them want to reconsider another!
But to be fair, the course was billed as challenging and hilly. We knew. Only
we didn’t know. Post-race, absolutely everyone I saw and heard and most of the Facebook
posts too, say “it was the hardest race I’ve ever run” or something to that
effect. I am not a person who runs for a medal, but that huge medal felt so
great after that. </span></div>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>One more disclaimer, lest anyone think I am too serious, I don't really think people are liars, but I do sort of question where the RD got it in his head that the second half was downhill. </i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><i>EDIT: Results came out. The first place marathoner finished in 3:10. That's the first time I have ever run a half where the winning marathoner didn't pass me. This race was no joke. </i></span></div>
Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-57625073977810005692014-11-19T19:39:00.000-08:002015-05-29T19:58:33.605-07:00#becausemarathon (tips for first-timers)<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>A few of my friends will be running their first full marathon soon; one is doing it this weekend. I promised to write up a “what to expect.” This is that blog. These are things I found out about running a marathon. Some people told me, but the biggest effect of all, absolutely no one prepped me for (the one about hormones after the race). I have run exactly one marathon. I am not an expert, but I am fresh enough to remember these things—and to know that other people who maybe don’t know them could benefit from there. There’s a ton of great advice on good websites about running, but not as much where someone runs one and tells you what to expect, so this is that. One person’s view from one day. But what a good day it was.I hope this helps you guys a bit.<br /><br />Also, my blog account of my marathon is <a href="http://runnergirlreprise.blogspot.com/2014/06/that-time-i-ran-marathon.html" target="_blank">here</a>, if you want a play-by-play.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><b>Before the race</b></u></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /><b>Clothes-</b>Lay all your clothes out the night before. You probably won’t sleep well, and certainly not long enough. Don’t let that psych you out. Study after study shows that does not decrease performance, and that the night before the night before is the one that matters most. If you have a Sunday marathon, Friday night, sleep as long as you can. <br /><br /><b>Carbs-</b> For a marathon, carb loading is important (it’s not so much for 5Ks or 10Ks, for example). But it’s not just the night before. You should be eating good carbs all week. The night before, have a carb dinner like pasta or rice. Hold the sauces. A bit of olive oil and some seasonings are good, bread on the side. Marinara or Alfredo could cause you to relive the taste for 26.2 miles. A banana and bagel or half a bagel, for breakfast is good. Some don’t like to eat. If you can’t eat much, go with the banana (a good source of energy). Avoid dairy before. Eat your dinner early (like 5) so that you can digest it and get rid of it before the race!<br /><br /><b>Yes, you have to go- </b>Use the porta-potties as close to start time as you can. Of course they’re gross. Guess what? They are way grosser at mile 18 when lots of people have used them.<br /><br /><b>New is not cool-</b> Don't try anything new on marathon day. Don’t wear new socks, or anything that touches your skin (a sweatshirt to throw off later because it's cool is okay, but not the bra and shirt underneath). And especially do not try new foods. This is not the time to eat that awesome dessert you always wanted to try. Eat it for a post-race victory celebration. Also, it should go without saying, but don’t drink the night before.<br /><br /><b>Aquaphor is your BFF-</b> Before you put your socks on, rub all of your feet with Aquaphor, which is even better than Vaseline. Try this before race day (nothing new). It feels weird for a few minutes, but it will help prevent some blisters. Also use it where your bra rubs, if you're female; if you have chafed a lot in the past, use it wherever that chafing has been. While I'm at it, if you have had any issues in long runs (I had a sore knee and knew it wasn't an injury but the strain), don't be afraid to wear a compression brace (that you have tried before). I only had pain on long runs, so I didn't think to wear mine. I regretted that.<br /><br /><b>The expo- </b>Don't walk around too much at the expo. You need that energy in your legs. Starting a marathon with tired muscles is bad. If you travel to race, don’t do sightseeing until after the race. The walking will take its toll. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u><b>Water and nutrition</b></u></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><br />Nutrition during the race-</b> Consider carrying your own water and gels. Also, consider carrying a little packet of Advil. You shouldn't take it right at the start, but it will help you with your recovery if you take it about an hour before you get to the finish line; it will kick in around when you finish, and the long walk back to the car will be a bit better.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Take gels
and other energy sources <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before </i>you
feel the need for them. I was amazed when I watched the Boston Marathon one
year, and I saw all the elite runners take their first nutrition at the 10K mark
and then every 5K after that for the race duration. You know they didn't feel
like they needed it, but they wanted to keep their body running strong. Of
course they run much faster than us mere mortals, but it's not a bad rule of
thumb to follow. If your stomach is used to gels, taking one every hour or so
is a good idea. If you’re offered a banana at a stop, take it. The marathon will most likely not have a gel or food for you every
hour; most have two gel spots, or even one. You don't want to lose precious time if the gel line is crowded or the
water line is crowded. This
is very typical in large marathons. You either have to stop, or go without. </span>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I generally
carry a very light and easy collapsible water bottle in distance races (though
a hydration belt can work) and when I can reach the water stops where I can get
water without losing time, I pour the water directly into the bottle to
replenish it; it’s much easier to drink from than those mini cups, too. The
bottle clips onto my running belt whenever I want to empty it, so I clip it at
the end, so I can still run through with my hands in the air :-) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">More nutrition during the race-</b> Whatever nutrition you think you need, bring
it along. If you do handle gels well (which you should have figured out before
your marathon), they are the simplest way to get a pretty fast burst of
carbohydrates and caffeine. (There are caffeine-free ones if that bothers you,
but caffeine has been shown to improve performance—legally!). They take about
15 minutes to really work, which is why you have to take them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before</i>
you start feeling like you're
crashing. (I like the "Just Plain" GUs because there is no sweet flavor
that might make me feel I am inhaling sugar. I just take the gel and
wash it down with water, no weird after tastes or flavors.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Why nutrition will make or break you-</b> The human body is only designed to go about
20 miles. That's why the marathon is such an important event than only .05% of
Americans have completed. My coach had told me before mine that in the past decades,
the reason so many runners hit the wall at mile 20 is because we didn't know
then what we know now about nutrition. We burn about 100 calories a mile, and our
bodies store about 2000 calories at a time. Therefore, your glycogen stores run
out at mile 20, if you don't fill them up as you go—before they run out—you
will “hit the wall.” It's basic physiology, and unless you're an elite marathoner
or one who knows all of your limits for 26.2, follow science. It works.
Marathon day is not the time to experiment with such a crucial thing. <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><u>During the race</u></b></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Take a few pictures (or more)- </b>It’s worth it. Carry your phone in a bag
where you can get to it. I wear an Amphipod belt (you can buy one at the expo if you
end up without a belt, but run a bit in it to be sure it's adjusted right. I can clip Fuel Belt water bottles on it, and stick
gels and Advil (and even a caffeine pill) in it. And my phone fits nicely. So
it’s a matter of pulling it out and shooting a picture. I am rather picture happy
and so I did what I do for most half marathons or long races. Every mile I took
a picture of the mile marker and then a selfie. It’s dorky but cool. A couple
pictures, my selfies were with Brian and Melissa or Eldon (my other friend—who
was already my friend before the race).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Take some. But that leads me to the battery question. For mine, I bought
a battery extender (it’s for sale for an iPhone 5 or 5s, by the way! It
doesn’t fit my 6.) They are pricey, but I bought one that had some discount. It
wasn’t the best on the market, but it was a wireless charger, and it worked. I
finished the marathon with power left. My Garmin died before my phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(They retail around $100 or more, but I got
mine for about half that. Ask around in your cell phone store; they can often
give you a discount too). Totally worth it. It’s one memory, o<i>ne day</i>. You can’t
ever have a first marathon again. Take advantage of every moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Don’t go out too fast- </b>The excitement overtakes you in these
moments. You start running, you think “Wow, I feel good!” You pass the half
mark and think you feel better than you did when you ran all your half
marathons, so you pick it up. And then at mile 18, you find yourself walking
where you didn’t plan to. Part of the challenge of a marathon is being able to
carry your endurance the whole way. If you have a Garmin or other GPS device,
watch your pace. It shouldn’t be much faster than you expect. You should know
your expected finish time. If you get to mile 20 and can push more, great. If
you are taking in food and drink well enough, you should have energy to make
it. It is better to push less and finish than too push too hard and have to sit
down because you feel sick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Enjoy the process-</b> Don't get hung up in how hard it is, or how
bad you feel. It is hard, and it will be uncomfortable. Keep the determination
in your mind, trust your training, and every once in a while tell yourself, “I'm
running a marathon. I'm really running a marathon!” One of the most surprising
parts of my marathon was when we got to mile 20, where people are known to hit
the wall and think they can’t make it, I got a second wind and a runner’s high
because I knew I was at that pivotal mark in the marathon, and I was still
going. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Do not think about how far you
have to go</i>. It's easy at mile 20, for example, to think, “oh my gosh! I
have to run a full 10K more and I’m so tired, and my back hurts, and there’s a
hill ahead.” You’ll think of 10Ks you've run in the past and how long they were. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don't do that</i>! Focus, instead, on
thinking “Oh my gosh! I’ve run 20 miles! I’m still going!” If you showed up to
the starting line of a marathon, you most likely have done the training. Your body
is ready, and the saying is actually true, it's your mind you have to work on.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">About the pain and difficulty-</b> Listen, it may be very painful, or it may <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not.</i> My back hurt some as I got into the
15-16 mile range, and my knee was definitely hurting because I hadn't braced
it, but I didn't feel any incredible pains anywhere. I never had to stop. You feet
will probably hurt. Think about it, if you walk around shopping for a few
hours, your feet and back probably hurt some. The constant repetition on your
feet will hurt. You will adjust your footfall to try to get relief. It may even
make you want to stop and walk. The thing is, every time I thought that, I
realized that would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">extend</i> the time
on my feet. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No</i>. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Some people
say you shouldn't walk down the stairs because you feel like you're dying,
that going up is easier, but avoid stairs altogether. That didn't happen to me
at all. I got up the next day and ran a mile. My body ached some, but not
horribly. I never went through any horrible pains or strains. For a couple days
I felt it, but honestly, I hurt more after my first half marathon than my
marathon. Of course, your results may vary, but don't imagine the worst because
it might not happen. Plan for it, plan to pamper yourself if you need it, but
don’t imagine that it’s the worst and you will be in pain for a week. Some
people say the marathon is the hardest thing they have ever done. I can’t say
that. It was not easy, by any means. I could not go out and do one today, but I
have done harder things. This was less hard because it was so joyful. But
honestly, if you are trained, your body is ready for it. Barring injury
mid-race, expect the best. The worst for me it was definitely the emotional ups
and downs from the messed up hormones and cells. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Focus on the finish-</b> Imagine the
moment that you're going to cross the finish line, and even at the beginning,
you're only hours away from that moment. Another common saying with the
marathon is that you've already done the work and the 26.2 miles is the
celebration of that. This is true, too.<br />
<br />
In your first marathon, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">time does not
matter</b>. <i>Finishing matters.</i> Don't focus on the time or you might over-pace
yourself and run out of energy.<br />
<br />
I only had one person at my marathon cheering me on because I went out
of state.
But that person (Joyce, amazing Joyce) mapped out a route where she
could drive
to various points, and she managed to appear out of the blue at least
four
times and still get to the finish line to see me cross. She would jump
out with a new sign when I didn't know she would be there, and my face
lit up. That helps so much. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">You need people there.</i> And if there's
any way they can appear at various points and map out what roads are opened and
closed to be able to drive to the next one, plan that out. You need people
<i>before</i> you get to the finish line to help you get to the finish
line. If you don't have people, and you are running a large marathon,
the fans will be the most incredible thing you've
ever seen and will help. They'll randomly call out your name if it's on
your bib, cheer
you on, scream for you and act like you're the greatest celebrity in the
world. They're amazing.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>Other
runners- </b>Inevitably you will see some of the same runners over and over because
you are at about the same pace. I met my friends Brian and Melissa that way. We
ran 26.2 miles together—and much of it was together. We talked a lot. Talk to
people. 4-6 hours or so is a very long time to be alone doing something hard.
You will miss out on some of the joy of the race if you don’t talk to
people—whether it’s the same people like I did, or just a few different people
you see. Ask them stuff: What do they do? Is this their first marathon? Where
do they live? Have a conversation. A few miles of my race were blurs because I
was walking and running. Remember, you’re not trying to break speed records in
a marathon if you are not competitive. For most, a marathon pace is also one
where you can talk easily. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Do it.</i> </span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><u><span style="color: #222222;"><u><b>After the race</b></u></span></u></b></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: large;"><span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto auto;">Expect
your hormones to go wacky</span></b><span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: border-box; background-image: none; background-origin: padding-box; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat; background-size: auto auto;">- I don't
know that it happens to everyone, but I do know it’s common, especially for
first-time marathoners. I was stunned at what my body and mind were doing
afterwards. A Facebook friend of mine who is an ultra-marathoner or told me
that it was normal and that your cells and hormones go out of whack in a
marathon because of the stress on the body, that you cause trauma to the body. For a first marathon, it would be
better to <i>expect</i> this to happen and just be thankful if it doesn't. It really messed with
me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For three solid days after I
got
home, I was nauseated and as emotional as pregnant women say they are. I
would
be amazingly high one moment that I had done this awesome thing, and
then
suddenly I would start crying. It was insane. I felt a bit insane. It
tapered off after three days and was only here and there. By the end of
the week that part was back to normal.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">
</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Until you feel normal again, do not make any major decisions, or put
yourself in a place where you might have to be part of something major. Three
days later you might feel differently. Let yourself stabilize first.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;">
</span></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">To help your body settle, have Gatorade type
drinks on hand at home And start drinking it after the race as well) to help
neutralize and re-balance your system. Coconut water will help, if you prefer that. So will ginger
ale. Also, you should probably take some extra doses of vitamin C and vitamin D--even before the race.
I got a cold almost immediately after coming home, and I expect that part of it
came from my physical weaknesses.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>Sleep-</b> I am a chronic insomniac, and I could not stay awake past 10 or so the many days after (again, cellular trauma need recovery). Plan out time to sleep, and possibly even expect to be in bed reading and--bam!--the next thing you know it's morning! I liked this side effect because I do have trouble sleeping, but was also was odd and threw me. <span style="color: #222222;"><br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Buy
the pictures- </b>I
don’t care how expensive they are. Buy them. Relive your moments. Frame some,
put them on Facebook. You worked months for this moment. You just became part
of an incredibly small group called “marathoners.” It’s a big deal.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif; font-size: small;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Other people-</b> Lots of people think <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">every</i> race is a marathon. They don’t get
what you have been doing, how many runs you did in bad weather, or feeling
yucky, how many Saturday mornings you missed lounging around, all so you could
beat your body into the right training to endure one of the ultimate tests of
endurance. Remind yourself that non-runners don’t usually get it. Don’t let
yourself be hurt (so in those first three days or so while you are all
emotional, if someone says, “oh, cool, but is it really that hard?” then bite your
tongue and respond to them Friday. And tell me! I absolutely love hearing
people’s race stories. I care about all those little details that even your
family doesn’t get. If you are not a part of the Facebook group called <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/runnerscorner/">Runner’s Corner</a>, join
it. It’s so positive and encouraging. That group celebrated my many pictures,
race recap, etc. I had something pretty rotten happen after my race, and that
FB group kept me going with joy over it the race. It’s vitally important to surround
yourself with those types of people, even online. (Plus I have made some actual
real life friends from that group when I have met them at races.)</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Sign up for a race-</b> When you get back, sign up for another
race right away (though the race won’t be right away), even if it’s a 5K (give
yourself 2-4 weeks before you race again, and most would say 3-4, but of course
I did a race the next week because I’m a dork! I was slower than normal but won
first in my age group!) If you don’t have a race to work on, even slowly, you
can easily get caught up in recovery, having our time back, and getting out of
the running groove.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">About recovery time-</b> There is a lot of information online.
Read it, but listen to your body. It actually helps your recovery if you run a
slow mile or two the next day. I know some people who don’t run at all for two
weeks. If your body says that, then listen. But if you feel great three days
later and want to run, then run. If the run starts hurting or feeling too
strained, then walk. No two people are alike; therefore, no one can tell you
exactly how long you need to recover. You must listen to your body. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Buy it-</b> That 26.2 sticker or magnet. You earned it if you finished. It’s
an unwritten rule of running that you never put those on your car if you didn’t
do it. It is like a secret handshake. When I see one, it makes me smile at the
car (even f it cut me off!) and smile at the memories of mine. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Finally-</b> I voice dictated a lot of this as I was driving just so I would
have my thoughts to edit later, and I still get teary-eyed as I'm saying it. When
I think of some of the things like crossing the finish line or the surprise euphoria
at mile 20, or seeing Joyce jump out of the blue, I really don't remember
the pain or where it hurt or any of that. I only remember the victory. I have
never had a child, but it does sound the way the people describe childbirth,
although I'm quite sure that the pain of childbirth is much worse.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Also,
wear your finisher shirt a lot because you will feel like a rock star.
#becausemarathon</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJwHgrXWGmWKnodhrRW_zMSpT59cndvex5zEBnO5NiWf-rsgYCJTL26ZWdt0Gehn5htu4GInxB8wTbnCvOlHht4d4ChCtgTwcRsHrRnTBFMEpX7GItJbDbBX9FslSeNiSrhtg1dmBg5L5/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-19+at+8.13.30+PM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMJwHgrXWGmWKnodhrRW_zMSpT59cndvex5zEBnO5NiWf-rsgYCJTL26ZWdt0Gehn5htu4GInxB8wTbnCvOlHht4d4ChCtgTwcRsHrRnTBFMEpX7GItJbDbBX9FslSeNiSrhtg1dmBg5L5/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-19+at+8.13.30+PM.png" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Savor the moments of the marathon so you can savor the memory</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-32467429678174862942014-10-30T21:26:00.001-07:002014-10-30T21:29:14.156-07:00Lessons learned in 365 days straight of running<i>On Tuesday of this week (Oct. 28, 2014), I ran for the 365th day in a row. In that year, I've learned many things; here are a few:</i><b> </b><br />
<br />
<u><b>We make time for what we care about</b></u><br />
<br />
In the past year there have been days I was sick, tired, busy from dawn ’til dusk, traveling, grieving, aching. I had many excuses not to run, and I didn’t use any of them. I have always said that people do exactly what they want to do. If it matters to us, we make it happen nine times out of ten. Almost always (of course there are exceptions), we can accomplish whatever we want to happen in a given time period. The “I’m too busy” excuse usually just means “I choose to be busier with this than that.” In a year of running daily, this is something I learned well. There was the morning I was flying to Boston. I knew I would be in the air and traveling all day. I ran a mile. Just one. It took me 11 minutes. If we’re too busy to squeeze 11 minutes out of a day, we’re probably just too busy, period. There will always be an excuse not to run, but I figured out I had to switch that to find excuses <i>to</i> run. People will help you justify the excuses not to run, also. No one would have faulted me for a few rest days, but I wasn't doing it for anyone else. In the end, the choice is yours. I made my choice because it mattered to me more than the excuses. <br />
<br />
<u><b>I’m stronger than I think</b></u><br />
<br />
I’ve run every single day. Some days it was over 100 degrees when I ran. Once it was minus 4. One time I ran at midnight for exactly one mile to get that day's in because I needed to sleep in and rest some the next morning and I had a race the morning after that, so I didn't want to run the evening before. I have run in snow that was several inches deep (we don’t plow much ‘round here). I’ve run in the heat of day (it should be noted here that I don’t think it’s possible to hate heat more than I do; I could move to Canada tomorrow and never look back!). I’ve been chased by dogs (the only favorite in my phone is “Animal Control.”) I’ve been injured a couple times. I’ve been sick. Probably the bout of bronchitis was the most annoying. I’ve gone through marathon training. I’ve run on ice with ice grippers. I’ve run when I was depressed, dumped, rejected, hurt, overjoyed, too busy, angry (I run best when I'm angry!). I have found that I can run through anything, even the things that make me miserable. I am strong. When I think about how I ran every single day up to running the marathon, and then the morning after running 26.2 miles I went out and ran, I think either I’m amazing or I’m crazy! (I also have very little soreness after races now; this is a wonderful byproduct. Even after my marathon I felt really decent and hurt only for a day or so).<br />
<u><br /><b>I can run through anything</b></u><br />
<br />
Both literally and metaphorically, this is one of the most important lessons I learned. In that year I was “double dumped," less than a year apart. I was attacked by someone, which later proved to be nothing, but which put immense stress on me (people mired in their own pain project sometimes). I have had fights with people I loved. I have fought to want to get up in the morning. I have had insomnia, colds, even a pulled back muscle and dislodged rib). I have been pushed to stress levels that made me want to scream—and later want to go crawl under the covers to make the world stop until things settled. You know, like life. This is life. The worst days were the days I was most determined to run. In fact, I found out I do my best running angry. Somehow it feels just to channel such pain and anger into the road that way. Ultimately, I ran harder and better on the bad days because I couldn’t let someone else or something else be my catalyst to not running after a streak. That's how I stopped the first time, years ago. And I always, always regretted it. Every person I saw running triggered a pang of regret in me. When I stop the running streak, it will not be the result of letting someone get to me or feeling bad. Barring any injury that makes it impossible physically to run, when I stop the streak, it will be on a good day, when I make the choice because it’s time to stop. But that leads me to another thing I learned:<br />
<u><br /></u><b><u>It’s not inherently unhealthy to run 7 days a week (or, "know your body")</u></b><br />
<br />
I actually asked a former health and fitness coach of mine, who is a genuine fitness professional with education, training and experience, before I committed to a long term streak. I wanted to run a long time, long term, not just prove I could do it every day. She pointed out to me that it was more about mileage than it was about running every day. I went from 20 miles a week to, eventually, about 25 with the streaking. I still hover around there. In marathon training there were some 30 and up to 40 mile weeks, and sometimes I still get close to or at about 30. But the fact is, I don’t run heavy mileage. There are people who run twice as many miles as I do but only 4-5 times a week, who are probably at greater risk of injury than I (and a lot of them do not get injured). Injury can happen anyway. But to say it’s automatically unhealthy to run 7 days a week is false. Most people probably feel better mentally if they rest. Some have lifestyles than really only allow serious training a few days a week. There’s nothing at all wrong with that. But there’s also nothing wrong with running 7 days a week if you are feeling okay and your body does well. I have always been a believer in the “you know your own body best” philosophy of running, and the streak has convinced me of that more than ever. All the runner rules are rules of thumb, generalities, and good ones, but general ones. We have to learn what our body can and can't do. I find that if my muscles feel strained, I can take a break in the sense of running in the morning one day and not until the evening the next, and that does wonders for me and lets me run daily. To be honest, I rarely need to do that. In fact, even a problem I have had with my knee wasn’t caused by the days I run but by a natural hyper-extension I have exacerbated by long runs, not frequency of them—which I have managed to correct pretty well—all while running. I worried that maybe daily training would hurt my times, but I decided to write down my races in that year, and also any notable successes with them. Here is my list (I may be leaving one off, but I <i>think</i> this is a complete list): <br />
<br />
<i><u><b>2013</b></u></i><br />
<br />
<b>10K- November 28-Fort Worth (PR at the time, with bronchitis)<br />5K- December 15- Lawton (PR at the time)<br />5K- December 25- Fort Worth (PR, 3rd in age group) </b><br />
<br />
<i><u><b>2014</b></u></i><br />
<br />
<b>10K- January 18- Wichita Falls, TX (1st overall female masters) <br />12K- March 1- Wichita Falls, TX<br />4M- March 15- Kansas City, MO (PR)<br />10K March 29- Fort Worth (PR)<br />Half Marathon- April 5- Fairview, TX (PR)<br />10K- April 19- Bethany, OK<br />Half Marathon- April 27, Oklahoma City <br />5K- May 17- Gadsden, AL (PR, 3rd in age group) <br />Full Marathon- June 21- Duluth, MN <br />5K- June 28- Duncan, OK (3rd in age group) <br />15K- July 13- Dallas, TX<br />5K- August 2, Bozeman, MT<br />Quarter Marathon- October 5- Lawton, OK (PR)<br />Half Marathon- October 18- Kansas City, MO</b><br />
<br />
As you can see, I continued to PR—and though it’s less now, I believe that has more to do with the fact I had not been running a full year when I started and was still learning and getting faster in general, which always tapers a bit. But the fact that I had a serious PR on a 6.55 mile race almost a year into streaking tells me it’s not hurting me. See, I am not a competitive runner. My miles under 10 minutes are rare, usually reserved for short runs in cold weather and maybe 5Ks (PR is 28:05 and that shocked me it was such a record; it was on day 201 of my streak, too--I remember because I thought of stopping at 200 and then I had a race on 201!). Perhaps if I were a serious competitor, I would more dramatically change how I train. But the advantage to being me, I think, is that I get to experiment, have fun, run for the joy of running. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Joy can come even in redundancy and routine</b></u><br />
<br />
This may be one of the biggest lessons for me. I love adventure, travel, change. I love new things, even though I readily admit I like my comfort zone (if that makes sense). But I do the same thing <i>every single day.</i> And while some days are not good, just when I wonder if maybe I don’t love running as much, I have one of those runs that reminds me of why I fell in love with this sport; my mouth breaks into a giant dorky grin, and I become a lovesick runner girl all over again. Even on bad days, I can’t say I have once regretted a run. I am so grateful I can. There is a pin I see on Pinterest sometimes that says something like “there will come a day when I cannot run; today is not that day.” I think of this often. When tomorrow becomes that day, I don’t want to look back and wish I had run more. I want to say I ran every chance I got. And maybe that’s the best gift a running streak can give: gratitude that my body can do this. <br />
<br />
<u><b>Even bad runs help me run better and stronger</b></u><br />
<br />
This is a life metaphor, too. There were days I would run slowly and sluggishly. I could go from a 10 minute mile one day to a 12 or 13 minute mile—which is close to where I was a few months into running. I would feel like I did something wrong, was losing my ability to run. And then, bam!, once again I would fly down the road quickly (for me; it’s all relative). By continuing to run, even on bad run days, I was still building my endurance, strengthening my body, training my mind and body. Those days count, even when they feel like they don’t. Just like in life. <br />
<br />
As I finish this post, I think of what got me running in the first place. It’s been almost two years since I walked into that storefront gym and got on the treadmill, determined to both lose weight and learn to run again as I had years ago. Today on my Timehop app, this picture appeared from two years ago today when I had my final fitting for a bridesmaid dress for the wedding of one of my dearest friends. It was after that wedding I came home, fed up with being overweight and unhealthy.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQtae2ioM1C_8eX4QasN1r15eG3kR0BLo1F8snedE9VGm-obYSJKt1BYBQIZ_c2RFVCpFvs96FrFoBN2VFYwx2Ofqp_oS6gqVq3ULlfGi8qddsqiOy4ER-XKxdgQWbkikZAAUD1ZcT42u/s1600/FullSizeRender(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQtae2ioM1C_8eX4QasN1r15eG3kR0BLo1F8snedE9VGm-obYSJKt1BYBQIZ_c2RFVCpFvs96FrFoBN2VFYwx2Ofqp_oS6gqVq3ULlfGi8qddsqiOy4ER-XKxdgQWbkikZAAUD1ZcT42u/s1600/FullSizeRender(1).jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two years ago Oct. 30, 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMfEXL7DSsUy2eQIMoeb1tvv9CvhEQvV6UPuVyku8HQXQ2YsZSdeD5e9gqopbKYkno3_44GMlQHvad7AFZJNQSSLD7rCKForsludkxK9qu4i4scfRp-NVC8Uhzy_2bi7SzWpURLxvzeX2/s1600/image2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMfEXL7DSsUy2eQIMoeb1tvv9CvhEQvV6UPuVyku8HQXQ2YsZSdeD5e9gqopbKYkno3_44GMlQHvad7AFZJNQSSLD7rCKForsludkxK9qu4i4scfRp-NVC8Uhzy_2bi7SzWpURLxvzeX2/s1600/image2.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oct. 28, 2014 (day 365 of my running streak)</td></tr>
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<br />
That leads me to another thing I learned: <br />
<br />
<u><b>Change is a choice</b></u><br />
<br />
Weight doesn’t fall off overnight; health doesn’t come overnight. But it can happen if you stick to it. When I went into that gym, I knew I was at the end of my rope with it and was ready to change.<br />
<br />
I'll end this post here. Surely there are more lessons I've learned, but these are the major ones; most other lessons are subplots of these chapters. This Saturday I'll be in Plano, TX for a 10K. And I'll be wearing a tutu again, to remember the fight, the struggle to overcome myself. Maybe when that battle is done and won, I won’t want running tutus. Or maybe I will because they will continue to symbolize the victory.<br />
<br />
Every day when I get up and run, I win a bit more. So do you. Whether you run 7 days a week or just a few, just keep running.Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-49225569100095497452014-09-06T17:28:00.001-07:002014-09-06T17:28:12.363-07:00like dancing again<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Today I ran for the first time in a long time. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">“But wait,
Suz!” you say. “You run every day. Isn’t today like day 300-someyhing of your
running streak?” (313 to be exact.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I do and it is. But then there are runs that makes you feel
alive, like a runner, not like you exercised, but like you <i>ran.</i> And today I had one of those for the first time since June. Today I felt
alive, free, me. Today I felt like there was hope again. Running is the most
important thing I do, and when my running is affected, all of me is affected.
Today the weather taught me a lesson. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In the midst of this awesome day I'm pondering something
deep. Today has been the best day I have had since the marathon. It might be
noted, this has been the coolest day I've had since the marathon as well. I don’t
believe that’s a coincidence. But it also poses difficult questions.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">If I am <i>that</i> deeply affected by weather, does this mean I am
going to have to move somewhere one day where 80 degrees in an anomaly? Many
people suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). It’s real, chemical, and
can be very serious for some. Therefore, I say this with seriousness as well.
No humor intended: I feel like I suffer from Summer Affective Disorder. I am
not the same in summer. Heat does to me what lack of sunlight does to people.
But this year I have seen it at a whole new level.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yesterday was miserably hot, as
usual. I knew today we wouldn’t even hit 80, that I had two days of running in
60ish degrees before we got hot again for half of next week. But it was hard to
imagine last night that I would wake up and it would be lovely. But it was. I
woke up and switched on my weather app just to be sure. There was the blessed
number 6. I went to the door to feel it. It was real. I was beaming like a
happy kid. The thing is, I never wake up well. I am not a morning person at
all. I need a solid hour alone to be functional. There I was beaming and happy. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I promptly lay there for hours,
reading, writing, doing whatever I wanted. Today my run was at my will, not the
sky’s. I went out after 12 p.m. An afternoon run! My joy! Now that I know which
half I have coming, I know what my schedule should be. I needed about 7 miles
today—which is so hard for me to do in heat. It’s not that I can’t so much as I
stumble out half asleep and miserable and trudge through these crazy high miles
because I can’t run fast in it. I get that that’s physiological. Science tells
us for every 5 degrees past 65, our bodies slow (same with 30 degrees or less).
But you know what? After months in which you are trudging through days, you begin to
wonder if distance is in you still and if you’re a runner and if the running gods
decided to use you as a cosmic toy or something. And then 65 degrees happens to
you one Saturday. The first Saturday you can sleep and lounge around. And then
it’s like life has come to your barren soul. The rainfall and clouds bring
hope.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m not exaggerating either. I
have been beaming all day. Nothing has changed in my life. I have still had the
most rotten summer, and I am still making difficult decisions (weather non-withstanding), and I have still
been struggling through a lot. So tell me why today I am happy, joyful,
smiling, hopeful? <i>Weather. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Any student of literature knows
that setting is integral to the story, so why is it so unusual to think that
about real life? While 99.5% of the people I knew were complaining about cold
and ice this year, I was beaming and rejoicing and running around on it in
YakTrax. No one heard me complain about the cold, the winter, the short days,
the snow, the ice. Because I didn’t. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I understand that’s unusual. I
also understand even people who don’t mind hot are sick of it by now. One of
the more mild-mannered guys at work looked utterly fed up with heat this week. But
after seeing what happened in me with one sleep, all because of weather
changing, I have to ask myself how much setting affects my life. I’ve already
made the tentative decision to not stay in the south next summer. I have no
idea how that will work out, but I am off contract May-Aug so my hope is if I
only have a month of this instead of 4, I will deal better. (Shout out to
anyone who knows of a summer adjunct or other job north of I-80. Maybe
Minnesota is a good bet. I’ll be checking on that. I can’t forget that the
marathon temps were positively cold. Canada works too.)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So today’s run was a joy. Not all
easy. I have done little endurance running all summer. Two hot distance runs
plus the marathon. The rest were 2-4 miles, though every day so I kept up my
weekly mileage. I’ve gotten better at running in heat, but it’s not me. I hate it.
<i>Hate.</i> Strong word. After today I know it’s the right word. Today I was faster.
Overnight. I have not even been able to pull off a 12 minute mile at dawn in
the heat and humidity. Today it was 10. Weather. Even when my knee acted up
(cortisone shot Tuesday), I could run through it and not lose time—it’s like
the psychology of it made me better. Breathing was challenging the first 2
miles or so because I was so much faster and also realizing 2 miles wasn’t a third
done. I had to get back into distance runner mentality. Training mentality.
Summer running is done. Half marathon training is back. I knew it would be
harder simply because of the mental shift. But it was still a joy. That’s how
running usually is to me. Hard isn’t the issue. Joy is. I have had some good
runs this summer, but not many. I have still LIKED it. But it has been
different. There will be some hot ones next week but only about 3 days so I can
pad my mileage around it. I can do this. I have made it. This year. And last.
Last was worse. But this year I saw the contrast in me. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vLuBcixv5MjhEpSuU48M-7BtwVo-NFQkiGZxnQE9jNwttj4QO8YXMUrC2vi_TSCaJHSj5CTEuhcIW6VY188LL1-3kYdfX_wy_vr825x3P8T8fZpviCQGEOx9plY9mtPa8kBJ27Tp0Nvj/s1600/10403661_10152670606603118_7563808113978051009_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_vLuBcixv5MjhEpSuU48M-7BtwVo-NFQkiGZxnQE9jNwttj4QO8YXMUrC2vi_TSCaJHSj5CTEuhcIW6VY188LL1-3kYdfX_wy_vr825x3P8T8fZpviCQGEOx9plY9mtPa8kBJ27Tp0Nvj/s1600/10403661_10152670606603118_7563808113978051009_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’m honestly not joking about the
Summer Affective Disorder idea, even though that’s not a real disorder. I was
born for cold, made for clouds, thrive in the fall. Today’s run made me
wonder what kind of runner I could be if I didn’t have to spend 4-5 months a<span> </span>year just fighting through. So it was a joy,
but I have a dilemma. Because today I am happy. Today I had no desire to do anything
but have my own little happy day with books and pumpkin latte—and Pink Magic.
Today I felt like I was alive. Today felt like a gift. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1mIsK1-R2e3seLwgsobuovIVUvKLBPjRklLOLp9ugdCe537Mjxy60WVkoRQ2BAMSssUgAfLzSCKJCnTv14pz5RoS5wfsokagnA9ZgALF9CJ1ReqjSSJH7G4xtn_RMXpH2fsn1Fc4442-/s1600/10689787_10152670606698118_7750241358990318524_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit1mIsK1-R2e3seLwgsobuovIVUvKLBPjRklLOLp9ugdCe537Mjxy60WVkoRQ2BAMSssUgAfLzSCKJCnTv14pz5RoS5wfsokagnA9ZgALF9CJ1ReqjSSJH7G4xtn_RMXpH2fsn1Fc4442-/s1600/10689787_10152670606698118_7750241358990318524_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Autumn, I embrace you. </span></span></div>
Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-52827444466183146852014-07-31T20:45:00.004-07:002014-07-31T21:06:21.988-07:00from hell to paradise I had a hellroaring run today. No really, that's what it was called. But let me back up. <br />
<br />
I'm on a dream trip this week to Yellowstone National Park. This trip helped me finally meet my goal of putting my feet in more states, completing the lower 48. Alaska is next in November. I could write volumes on that and my dreams but this is a running blog and today's post is more to share my crazy run today. <br />
<br />
Today was my second day at Yellowstone. I entered the north entrance and was amazed at the difference between that and the west. I could have spent both days at the north side. I didn't have a plan. I am happy anywhere in nature, so I was just going by feel. If something drew me in, I stopped and looked and took pictures. Today I was headed back when I impulsively stopped at Hellroaring Creek Trail. I had no info on it. I had no plans to hike it, let alone run. Mostly I stopped because I was almost back out of the park, and I had time, so why not?<br />
<br />
I wondered briefly if maybe I could do .4 miles on the trail. I knew I could not do the 1.4 I had left for the month on a mountain trail, but maybe I could just knock out that tiny bit for fun. I grabbed my waist bag to hold my rental car key, and I took my phone--which has zero reception anyway, but the GPS on RunKeeper works. I walked a bit of the trail, and I could tell it was steep. In fact, it led two miles down to Hellroaring Creek and it was easy to see from way up there. I didn't mean to, really. But I started running a bit for that .4--and it felt great.<br />
<br />
Before I became a Distance Runner (sarcasm toward myself fully intended), I loved trail running. I would have told you that was my favorite. But trail running is harder, riskier, subject to weather--and it takes longer. How could I train for road races on a trail? And what if I got hurt? But I remembered today my love for it. I flashed back to the two holidays I spent hiking in Arkansas (where I am booking my next trip even tonight--already in the plans before today). My last hiking trips I was only beginning to run, so it wasn't hard to walk. But now I don't walk really. And so today I didn't either. I figured I was already there so why not hit my mile to keep up my streak? I could go to the suspension bridge.<br />
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So I flew down that mountain--stepping carefully, but with no experience. I just kept running because I could. It was unusually warm today. I had on running clothes, but that's it. No trail shoes. No water. I went on a hot and steep mountain trail without water. "I'm crazy!" I kept saying. And I was. But I was living. And so I ran on. I went all the way to the bridge--an awesome (literally) sight. The bridge and the roaring creek below filled me with awe. I ran on to another steep incline before I turned. I knew a warm and steep as it was, I could not go too far without water. At this point I was about a mile and a quarter in, still running hard. I was dripping, literally dripping, with masses of sweat. I realized my body was so hot that it was constantly trying to cool me.<br />
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The way back was all uphill and I knew by my breathing because I was so thirsty, that I could not attempt to run that. I walked back, but it was a tough walk and the sweat never stopped just pouring out of me as if a faucet were turned on. It was one of the toughest runs I have ever done. Yet it was one of the most life-giving runs I had ever done. I realized for me a vacation in the mountains doesn't mean quiet rest; it means wearing my body out so my mind can process. That's just how I do it, I suppose. There I was huffing my way up a mountain in the heat with no water, and I felt life pour into my heart.<br />
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I'm surprised I ran down that far and expect my quads will feel it tomorrow. It was steep, down and up. But I knew I needed to get back because my body needed water. "Crazy! You're crazy!" I kept saying aloud as I pulled my shirt up to wipe sweat and left it up, essentially walking in my sports bra because, heck, who cared? I was alone on a steep mountain trail.<br />
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And then I heard it. Thunder.<br />
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Seriously? I was alone on a mountain trail and there was a thunderstorm coming? When I have adventures, I have them all the way. So there I was, my dehydrated self, walking uphill as fast as I could. Because what if it's a bad storm? I had no cell service. The trail could get muddy. I could slip. I saw the lightning flash and counted the seconds. I had a few miles til it hit me. I made myself walk faster. Half of my thoughts were on planning what I would do if a storm hit me and it was a downpour. There was nowhere to take shelter; there were no upcoming flat places to perch while it passed. I decided I just had to move as fast as I could so I was closer to the trailhead. But the other half of my thoughts were focused on the adventure. I mean, I ran down a mountain alone, and now a thunderstorm was in the distance. It was kind of cool, actually.<br />
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I was parched. Adventure or not, I was pretty happy to see the gate indicating the trailhead. I took a selfie in front of the sign. It might be hellroaring, but I conquered it! I was still dripping. I went to my car and inhaled most of a large bottle of water. It was a hard run (and walk uphill); I felt utterly gross. Just gross. I was much grosser today than after three runs yesterday. I was crazy. But I did it.<br />
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Later I found out that on the rankings of hiking, "easy," "moderate," and "strenuous," that Hellroaring Creek Trail is considered strenuous. That made me feel even better, of course. And it was all an accident. I just happened upon it and before I knew it was running. Because you only live once. <br />
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On my way back I stopped to finish up the running portion. A former pastor of mine has been posting pictures this month from Montana, where he is with his family. They all show up in Paradise Valley. That was part of my drive today. I knew they were somewhere over there. I thought it would be fun to run there since I had been oogling over their pictures. So I found a spot to do a short run and take myself over the 100 mile mark as I finished July (and have a run-in-two-states day too!).<br />
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And then it dawned on me. I went from running a place called Hellroaring to a place called Paradise Valley.<br />
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I suppose I was destined to be an English professor. I live in symbolism.<br />
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Here are some pictures from today's runs.<br />
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<i>First, the shots from Hellroaring Creek Trail: </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And these are the Paradise Valley shots:</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9SVq5t2HbOT-lWaXZ-yNarKmsFFdgqrAn5YJA4GrNq220nyeAnf7z0C7DmAt4J9dVlW7cTAdAxVT3SdlR-KJFtTJzLtdgo1nlpB1_1PrivlK_sfDImWmwe2STnKE3a6LqkrM6YCAYQGq/s1600/photo+5e.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU9SVq5t2HbOT-lWaXZ-yNarKmsFFdgqrAn5YJA4GrNq220nyeAnf7z0C7DmAt4J9dVlW7cTAdAxVT3SdlR-KJFtTJzLtdgo1nlpB1_1PrivlK_sfDImWmwe2STnKE3a6LqkrM6YCAYQGq/s1600/photo+5e.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOKOkmN0k60w1ZNKBugsBo1MN9YCRKvjMENQXbNUJFtQGiqmRo7k8QFS0S-4OAC2Kx3MSG3-IQREl2A3fcGZZQp4lkE7JDN-Tl3rzUDsSHcC5A2hubA6OqA82_sFvG8mPtL4zZ6hCDyXxq/s1600/photo+3e.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a>Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-12777636608572141372014-06-28T15:42:00.000-07:002014-07-10T05:00:29.639-07:00that time I ran a marathon<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->Once upon a time people laughed at me when I ran, but on
June 21, they cheered for me.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By now, most people know my running story. They know that
Nov. 10, 2012, I walked into a gym, plunked down my money and walked on to a
treadmill, posting “It’s come to this.” It had. My life, a whirlwind of chaos
since 2010, my body, which was expanding, now comfortably rested in an
uncomfortable size 16, my hopes for the last great endeavor, stolen with a
reality check so real the ache wouldn’t stop. All of these things put pressure
on my gas pedal to the gym that day. And I never looked back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, I can’t say I truly would have believed just over 1.5
years later I would be running a marathon, but that’s what happened. I’ve been
working on this blog off and on for the past week. It’s hard to capture 26.2
miles in one piece of writing, but this is the best I can do, choosing some
subheads, writing stream-of-consciousness, and attempting to record the
greatest day of my life so far.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<u><b>Pre-Race</b></u></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In May of 2013, I went to Fargo, ND to run my first half marathon--a feat in itself as I was only down about 30 pounds and 6 months into running. There I met Dick Beardsley, who talked to me for a long time. I told him it was my first half. He was so encouraging and then told me what he felt like the first time he ran a full--and talked of Grandma's Marathon. He wasn't full of himself, so when he said he won it, I didn't realize he was the course record holder, but he was. He told me after he ran his first marathon, he felt like he could do anything. I held that in my head even as I ran my first half, which was one of the most amazing days of my life until now. Beardsley is a hometown guy and is the featured speaker at Grandma's, so I checked the booth--and he was there. I went up to him and pulled out the picture, which he immediately recognized as Fargo. Once again, he encouraged me. (He also noted I had lost a lot of weight since the first picture, so he got bonus cool points!) The next day a Kenyan would break his course record after over 30 years. But Beardsley will always be who I identify with my first half and full. He's a true elite runner--one who loves and encourages other runners. He told me to enjoy the scenery and just run, and who cared how long it took? And so with last-minute advice, I set out to prepare for the biggest moment of my life: running a marathon.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuyjiP1zc3meixy2GsB5nMV_AyTvvJAZuDa8opKOS6_nINv_c2PX7_HvQUysgk_EtGZm7XHkL0L0ZmYg6BTGG2Zrvrkd2xuUG5ELs-LpGkyHTtEaevlabYiYohhnZ6Q5Y0e4AdaqoDLzV/s1600/IMG_5814.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvuyjiP1zc3meixy2GsB5nMV_AyTvvJAZuDa8opKOS6_nINv_c2PX7_HvQUysgk_EtGZm7XHkL0L0ZmYg6BTGG2Zrvrkd2xuUG5ELs-LpGkyHTtEaevlabYiYohhnZ6Q5Y0e4AdaqoDLzV/s1600/IMG_5814.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fargo, May, 2013; Duluth, June, 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Weather</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, the weather was a dream—a cold dream. A race
on Summer Solstice that had me in a sweatshirt for 13-plus miles was like a
gift from the heavens for this cold-loving girl. It was foggy over Lake
Superior as we began—and for the better part of 19 miles, to be honest. But the
wind was at our back, and it was never so cold we were miserable. I was
however, amused by the weather signs they put up. The first few said “Risk of
Hypothermia.” And somehow that made me happy. Not the risk of getting
hypothermia, but the fact that I was pretty much stuck into a late spring or early summer race
and was almost uncomfortably cold. If you know me, you know cold is my BFF. It
was like a gift. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, it was a cold gift and the night before found Joyce
and me at a local store looking for a throwaway sweatshirt and hat to start the
race. I never would have dreamed I would spend the last day of spring shopping
for cold weather gear for a race—and I certainly wasn’t complaining about it
either (though I sure shivered a lot).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMUqXmzVQIVxAmgeWJzyodAROsrkvpS7DuOs0Ihz5zdNR0RzecYmszSAb-J7x8vmq1GoPBUQFycnaVY9sYwXYZJUXvuTUwZEPXG2QBOTmZvI5Jie03oJiX8wm9Gvd9srfZb4yPRxanVWi/s1600/IMG_5824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCMUqXmzVQIVxAmgeWJzyodAROsrkvpS7DuOs0Ihz5zdNR0RzecYmszSAb-J7x8vmq1GoPBUQFycnaVY9sYwXYZJUXvuTUwZEPXG2QBOTmZvI5Jie03oJiX8wm9Gvd9srfZb4yPRxanVWi/s1600/IMG_5824.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buying a sweatshirt and hat for the race on Summer Solstice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>The Tutu</u></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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I never expected to be unique by wearing a tutu in a race of
10,000. Tutus are pretty popular—and they weigh nothing, so it’s not a burden
to wear one. For me, if I lay it on my hips, it forces my arms to stay at
90-degree angles so I avoid the rub of it, so it even helps my form. I have had
a rough year, and when I heard about the tutu uprising, wearing a tutu became
symbolic to me. I have danced on and off for years and love ballet (and tutus).
In teaching, I always had a class tutu. It was a gimmick, but running has always
been too serious for me. I never wanted to wear a tutu to run (same as how I
don’t do “novelty” runs). But when <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SELF</i>
magazine asked that woman to use a picture of her in a tutu and then called it
“lame,” not knowing she was a cancer survivor wearing it in her marathon to
celebrate her victory, I was not the only person who started running in a tutu.
Amazingly, in the tent after the race, I met someone who is close to the lady from the magazine. She thanked me for wearing the tutu, and I told her to thank the lady from the story. And I got a picture of course!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjA9HeRNVOY8fvigySosnYf54Mbw5UXafu4_9VOoyucigtyf4GRTjShk9yG6VQYS6VJ09xeLEymANpC_QmhiXAMnaWdkRc3P2dw4CnBPnrNPdv1IdsWlYUWVnB89deutps1_SgDAt_OxWX/s1600/IMG_6016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjA9HeRNVOY8fvigySosnYf54Mbw5UXafu4_9VOoyucigtyf4GRTjShk9yG6VQYS6VJ09xeLEymANpC_QmhiXAMnaWdkRc3P2dw4CnBPnrNPdv1IdsWlYUWVnB89deutps1_SgDAt_OxWX/s1600/IMG_6016.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, I decided to keep running in it for my own personal victory--there's a story behind my running and my tutu that is important, and every run is a victory lap. And so
that’s how I ended up in Duluth, MN running 26.2 miles in a tutu.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93ytHiwyWWhh6zwagtJChaX4cn7hvMkcpaICuxyFZSgNPmiYt98nUsTgdZFVOeGqrmv1Bhwir3zaxLft452P89xRZpc4NCaAq6wrYtAJzj3-RK_gTAioMiLV-OJRtPPNPkiGUtxR1TpYf/s1600/766352-1239-0042s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93ytHiwyWWhh6zwagtJChaX4cn7hvMkcpaICuxyFZSgNPmiYt98nUsTgdZFVOeGqrmv1Bhwir3zaxLft452P89xRZpc4NCaAq6wrYtAJzj3-RK_gTAioMiLV-OJRtPPNPkiGUtxR1TpYf/s1600/766352-1239-0042s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as I ran by, the tutu became a unique hit. It turns out
I was the first tutu to run by. I later found out three people wore matching
white ones as they ran together, but they were about 30 minutes behind me, so
as I ran along, people cheered normally, then saw me, and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they did a double take and often started massive
cheering for the tutu. I think it kept me going. Just when I'd get tired
someone would start screaming and cheering the tutu. It felt wrong to have such
a happy outfit on and not smile. I smiled every single time and I suspect that
kept my spirits up.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RAmIf3SU7eBflYhKYIVzc3wLoCidkvWUiyfC9FRoYeQv7mxUHOtxUESke8S6ZCiPsItFqrIBW_6_2nH8uLETbmQ6GVymi9MwJsh_FBkMVoWH4DzdrMRb6QeP0Cq6ntRujvPeL8qgxpMc/s1600/766343-1243-0011s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2RAmIf3SU7eBflYhKYIVzc3wLoCidkvWUiyfC9FRoYeQv7mxUHOtxUESke8S6ZCiPsItFqrIBW_6_2nH8uLETbmQ6GVymi9MwJsh_FBkMVoWH4DzdrMRb6QeP0Cq6ntRujvPeL8qgxpMc/s1600/766343-1243-0011s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEABPZzOAAZnagkOJlOJ147_juF7jpZDVGUU5qZmlxTmIO27Qg4MPNCzDCvRFdzcxMi1e2qlSoIFg7Ss8CGU0ktzA4jHn6Ar-Bpxc0OTklsT7pPZYbwR3x5-pYvZbU-yyUkg10EQVlM2L/s1600/766346-1088-0021s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJEABPZzOAAZnagkOJlOJ147_juF7jpZDVGUU5qZmlxTmIO27Qg4MPNCzDCvRFdzcxMi1e2qlSoIFg7Ss8CGU0ktzA4jHn6Ar-Bpxc0OTklsT7pPZYbwR3x5-pYvZbU-yyUkg10EQVlM2L/s1600/766346-1088-0021s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I LOVE YOUR TUTU!” they would yell. Some people took
pictures. At about mile 7, one lady who had been running close to me said, upon
hearing more screeching for the tutu, “You know you're the belle of the ball,
don't you?" I hadn’t even processed that, but I realized what she meant.
In that moment I realized that by wearing this thing, purely for myself, I had helped make my marathon even more special. Because I was different and happy, they cheered, then I waved and smiled and
said thank you. So it was like happy reciprocity going on. I am pretty
convinced that these screams and yelling for my tutu were what kept me so
happy. How can you be miserable when people’s faces light up seeing you and
they celebrate you? You can’t. So I embraced it. One thing I realized in my first
race in a tutu was that the tutu brought happiness to people. Their faces light
up. I’m sure there are some snobs out there who think it’s dumb or whatever—but
I equate them with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SELF</i> magazine. The
tutu brings joy. And I will continue to wear it.<br />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>The Warrior</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It wasn’t long after the tutu cheering was evident that I
turned off my music and put my Jaybirds in my Amphipod*. (*RunnerSpeak for
“headphones in my waist pack”). I wasn’t talking to anyone but I felt like if
my phone died, I would want to preserve the power now because I might need
music more later. And it was about that time Brian and Melissa appeared. Brian
came up on one side of me and said they had seen me earlier and said “you’re a
warrior.” Now I can’t explain why or how, but this turned out to be the theme
of the day inside my heart. The three of us ran together a while, and it was
seriously a godsend. It was crazy, too. There we are running a marathon in
Duluth, MN, and we are all from Oklahoma. Really? 10,000 people and I meet
people in my same small state? </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-ZZLHGK7koz1Xi7377PPE_UQtQTdPE1Ejk1mqorvookPkIVQ7pd7BhtE6n5yTR32kseBPltAp9XjQI_K3FQaD8LUisMXw6Q6gFvAD7HIQ-eJLcRH1AjBZfri23PaoA-FtnMvebHie8B3/s1600/IMG_6112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-ZZLHGK7koz1Xi7377PPE_UQtQTdPE1Ejk1mqorvookPkIVQ7pd7BhtE6n5yTR32kseBPltAp9XjQI_K3FQaD8LUisMXw6Q6gFvAD7HIQ-eJLcRH1AjBZfri23PaoA-FtnMvebHie8B3/s1600/IMG_6112.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12-mile selfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It got wilder, though. We had all lived in SD. Brian had taught
college English. Melissa got her MBA at the university where I now teach. It was
her first marathon as well. Our meeting was just perfect. It felt like running
with old friends. It made the race so much easier. Brian had run several
marathons but was running with his wife for their 25<sup>th</sup> anniversary.
(Now that’s a good anniversary trip!) We were not together the whole time. They
appeared at about mile 11, and after running a while, I asked them to be my mile
12 selfie, but later when Joyce sent her pictures, I saw we had been nearby at
mile 4. So I ended up with a bunch of pictures with them! </div>
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<br /></div>
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They ran up to me a couple more times and we chatted some
more, making the time pass, the miles pass. After the second time, they had
left and I was running alone past a neighborhood where a person had his portable
sound system blasting music. I only caught one line of the upbeat song. It
said, I kid you not, “you’re a warrior.” And that became my themes for the day.
It was like they all knew what I had done to get to Duluth, the many runs, the
heartbreak, the work. From size 16 to size 4. From Kansas City to Oklahoma.
From heartbreak to hope to heartbreak and back. And yet I ran through it all
and made it to a marathon. Me. Warrior? Yep. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>The Race</u></b><br />
<br />
This was one of those big marathons where you get bussed to the start line. It
took over half an hour to get there, which is slightly intimidating. I was so
glad I had my friend Eldon on the bus with me; conversation distracted me from
the distance, but when some light nausea hit, I inhaled a banana and realized
it was that we had been in the bus so long I was getting carsick! That didn’t
last but the reality the ride to the start line took so long sure lingered. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CsPxbk8Q3fzrSV4TM3wAdHllFJbIWeMlpAqpreNz2dWgbblz8caHhAJJupLnYUx9bnHXlsYuppINQiXbJbhn-wdMc54pL2U38SYLTlon9021ZNaAZJ9smwvN1LOrCEPAUych-jxw4WHZ/s1600/IMG_5853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0CsPxbk8Q3fzrSV4TM3wAdHllFJbIWeMlpAqpreNz2dWgbblz8caHhAJJupLnYUx9bnHXlsYuppINQiXbJbhn-wdMc54pL2U38SYLTlon9021ZNaAZJ9smwvN1LOrCEPAUych-jxw4WHZ/s1600/IMG_5853.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4yM_S2zEfvRcsC7vhiOv1VPiLytpS0ZikLnPske4c9Ao7RW7rX5-WsVeAdvewW8F9crjZ6t0CycaPRcDqdtiQDTRQTld1dU_082ZkvupOR2XRajT0OoRxeBMnf6NfIF94Mv2o_W3NySe/s1600/IMG_5852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4yM_S2zEfvRcsC7vhiOv1VPiLytpS0ZikLnPske4c9Ao7RW7rX5-WsVeAdvewW8F9crjZ6t0CycaPRcDqdtiQDTRQTld1dU_082ZkvupOR2XRajT0OoRxeBMnf6NfIF94Mv2o_W3NySe/s1600/IMG_5852.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjebEyl9yeuMnjFsTG8tf3-_fUnjH7mkk-XV0GMRyTVst51jTETh0mWS0ll8zWLJds5BpFVICOxJyyIlT-ep7lwV4NboBeOmaiRzVEL78KbJF-DZll6L6UbYhxo0RCvzs5i2J5qdGZOf6A/s1600/IMG_6152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjebEyl9yeuMnjFsTG8tf3-_fUnjH7mkk-XV0GMRyTVst51jTETh0mWS0ll8zWLJds5BpFVICOxJyyIlT-ep7lwV4NboBeOmaiRzVEL78KbJF-DZll6L6UbYhxo0RCvzs5i2J5qdGZOf6A/s1600/IMG_6152.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d been prepared for a long wait but really, we arrived almost
at start time. We dropped off our gear check bags, used the port-potties and were
waiting for the gun to go off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first 19 miles are on Scenic Highway 61. It's scenic but
harder because it's more isolated, and though it is a large marathon, there are less spectators in parts (though there still are some). We could see the lake but the fog was so heavy that it was harder. It
was drizzly and foggy for the first few hours. After a while, it felt
like the road never stopped. It reminded me of driving a beach road in Southern
California, but, well, I wasn't driving!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNZPbQAFcBELz5w_oZ-kkcb3D-rnD7SdZ1tfe6LaxSYQr-zDWS9dT9jv1jBmHuSqsxQXy9tmdg7rRr76g7tnrdO5UsCGbO7PehMo0cd11GANMSBSj5ASmUew17DfwCaQw7VL6AMOlu5K9/s1600/IMG_5962.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNZPbQAFcBELz5w_oZ-kkcb3D-rnD7SdZ1tfe6LaxSYQr-zDWS9dT9jv1jBmHuSqsxQXy9tmdg7rRr76g7tnrdO5UsCGbO7PehMo0cd11GANMSBSj5ASmUew17DfwCaQw7VL6AMOlu5K9/s1600/IMG_5962.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDg1rJx_6cSfvjaQDkIMtsbOex_2ziTfxnCaOQ0IXWZwCr03iV53gnosbHB-Jn-ttv9YvHZv4PEoyiXJP3fljjp7anP7udBaeP-fvKYdR4WtlmLa3wRNrJ8IwW41CX0JHlItM2vsh0HF4f/s1600/IMG_6155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDg1rJx_6cSfvjaQDkIMtsbOex_2ziTfxnCaOQ0IXWZwCr03iV53gnosbHB-Jn-ttv9YvHZv4PEoyiXJP3fljjp7anP7udBaeP-fvKYdR4WtlmLa3wRNrJ8IwW41CX0JHlItM2vsh0HF4f/s1600/IMG_6155.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNI4_FCeKcQo1pS79Arw-_nW-aYpZBSuW40-X3l7_8NotzOuezK1NZnYUnHx6-6MO2HVlab2lWwh2Am5rgF57uzHlkQNClVOcP7uHQJpEimhpv_tD0v0tqs1umiq81R5MUGd0cbV2hfkH/s1600/IMG_5922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzNI4_FCeKcQo1pS79Arw-_nW-aYpZBSuW40-X3l7_8NotzOuezK1NZnYUnHx6-6MO2HVlab2lWwh2Am5rgF57uzHlkQNClVOcP7uHQJpEimhpv_tD0v0tqs1umiq81R5MUGd0cbV2hfkH/s1600/IMG_5922.JPG" height="240" width="320" /> </a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
My only serious mental mistake was evidence I'm an English professor. Yellow
balloons marked each mile, and they were easy to see up ahead, which was
psychologically very helpful, tricking our minds into mentally being at the
next mile. As we approached the yellow balloon for what I thought was 16, I
miscalculated. The teens were starting to run together. By 19, we'd be off the
highway, and 16 was the number of my first long run in training past the half
mark, so to me it was a marker. We approached. I got ready for my 16-mile
selfie—and then I saw it: 15! I had lost count--the wrong way--I had to have a
mini therapy session with myself right there. It was a difficult moment. I
think it wasn't long after that Brian and Melissa appeared. Again. That helped.
And somewhere in there, I rewound in my head and restarted at 16 when we hit
it. 16 is magic because not far into it, you can start telling yourself you
only have single digits left to run. But we got there and that's when the
action starts. At 17 there were gels. At 19 we left the highway and started
turning into town where there were more people. I knew that from the reviews.
That's when you need people most, but it got harder toward the end of the
highway part after there wasn't easy access for spectators. Brian and Melissa
kept me going through much of these 19 miles, and then Eldon would appear the
same way. Eldon does intervals so sometimes after a walk, he would catch up to
me before running ahead. Those three kept me aware and refreshed when the
monotony of fog on a scenic highway sometimes got to be a bit too much.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqMOqhqPw8Gr8p2IU26RIFA3I2EoWE0478oZAwkz14TPGKByQALATFq5-oKCfsmp2lIi7SJxOq5qYiRdk18eVDFB92yO7MtLyqpB4Qaa_wiTGVFOyeuCe5bknKeIsY_4vr-1MCRaaPkad/s1600/IMG_5945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqMOqhqPw8Gr8p2IU26RIFA3I2EoWE0478oZAwkz14TPGKByQALATFq5-oKCfsmp2lIi7SJxOq5qYiRdk18eVDFB92yO7MtLyqpB4Qaa_wiTGVFOyeuCe5bknKeIsY_4vr-1MCRaaPkad/s1600/IMG_5945.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome Eldon, running marathon 62 and still looking out for a newbie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9cxYpUrVM_V3zhsEKAROP7642cp9vxxFAleT1QZ6TPu6sWnh3r7GYuTlR9oajRTF620zDhdrqVi-5t_AwBsd4doiHQj6BydHPYZbZVWMmRTvA_V10hM1VNm6oKL_uqBgt4KI9dBdjM5t/s1600/IMG_6160.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9cxYpUrVM_V3zhsEKAROP7642cp9vxxFAleT1QZ6TPu6sWnh3r7GYuTlR9oajRTF620zDhdrqVi-5t_AwBsd4doiHQj6BydHPYZbZVWMmRTvA_V10hM1VNm6oKL_uqBgt4KI9dBdjM5t/s1600/IMG_6160.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brian and Melissa are on either side of me here<br />
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</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzUL1_6kJ6XMJs5IMMJT25ljsh8ihUGlDiVfuAoljIB6VfMAXIFgnKIwEPVPJn81NBdaSkVt76LeIJNLL6sRz4TwTuRvYdBBx9qfYOIE-7kyJTeMwUkyglLLskvvEVcFUf7a2eSNAxXVs/s1600/IMG_6161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNzUL1_6kJ6XMJs5IMMJT25ljsh8ihUGlDiVfuAoljIB6VfMAXIFgnKIwEPVPJn81NBdaSkVt76LeIJNLL6sRz4TwTuRvYdBBx9qfYOIE-7kyJTeMwUkyglLLskvvEVcFUf7a2eSNAxXVs/s1600/IMG_6161.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because if you're going to run 26 miles, you oughta enjoy it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At 21 we could see "Lemon Drop Hill." It made us think we were at 22
since it was so clear in the distance, and I thought maybe it was an estimate,
but, indeed, the hill comes at 22, and actually a bit after, which also helped.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTlGmn1QTIxlV7xzVOKrL_OoDMTnDSYwBPP7N8iyN5et9ZluoTYL-T6qZfyOPsU6PHaCn6oTfDEhJI5Iz2zOK-g6nIaDW0LsU68UFjhWyPZXDihhB5XfC8jKiMVEED0rGlLzssb87IZk2/s1600/IMG_5979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTlGmn1QTIxlV7xzVOKrL_OoDMTnDSYwBPP7N8iyN5et9ZluoTYL-T6qZfyOPsU6PHaCn6oTfDEhJI5Iz2zOK-g6nIaDW0LsU68UFjhWyPZXDihhB5XfC8jKiMVEED0rGlLzssb87IZk2/s1600/IMG_5979.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lemon Drop Hill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FrmFf1lJDCeK-DEscEoCKI86-ZWC8QlBxWQ9OApORBhm5myEyqXyAquC-QH7-uv-lhO3whi_Y84zWnS7D9SW7hvTt3UQ3s7UYGZEpQ-P_0LN60c0J5xJkv7F_h01mhDFGzpI4gRvq5lJ/s1600/IMG_5978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FrmFf1lJDCeK-DEscEoCKI86-ZWC8QlBxWQ9OApORBhm5myEyqXyAquC-QH7-uv-lhO3whi_Y84zWnS7D9SW7hvTt3UQ3s7UYGZEpQ-P_0LN60c0J5xJkv7F_h01mhDFGzpI4gRvq5lJ/s1600/IMG_5978.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Lemon Drop was the mental marker I’d planned. If I could run up the hill at 22,
I was home free, I'd told myself. Truth is, I never actually felt home free
until I saw the finish line, which still chokes me up to type. But after Lemon Drop there was most certainly a
sense of impending success. By 23.1, which was easy to see because the half markers were
along the course from 13.1 on, the realization there is only a mere 5K left was
powerful. At that point, even though my feet and back hurt, I decided there was
no longer an option of walking. It had been in my mind. People win places in
races who walk through water stops. But I never needed to. I was pretty set it
wasn't happening before 20 since is already done 20 without walking on a hot
day without hundreds of cheerleaders. So by 23, when I had not had to make bathroom
stops, I decided I'd run. I let myself slow immensely to try to ease the impact
my feet felt, but I ordered myself—out loud—to not stop running motion. It was
possible to walk faster than my run, but running is a different motion and I
was staying in it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By 24, the number 2 hung on like a promise. I wasn't really
worried about that last 385 yards. When I see the finish line in any race,
something powerful happens in me. I wasn't positive after 26 miles I could say
that, but it was true again. The last timing split was 25. Between 24 and 25 we
were in Downtown Duluth, a charming strip of class, laden with people who made
us feel we were conquering the world as we ran 26.2. The screams got louder.
The winter walkway tunnel held a sign that said "Welcome Runners!" and
we knew we were welcomed from our descent from Lemon Drop Hill into the home
stretch of the city. Duluth made us its heroes that day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJ8j4V5fs7BhvOb5sj6mbkzIdHX6ijCJFSIPMxY4JAETY6BQjDWyT4-CMADuUSkdVqFmCIvpO_g4vEJDFW0cEFsrdeuITG5aV5XQ4YYqzhYn-P69denj2rdgGeFmGGHWI3H7qsks5svwW/s1600/IMG_6148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJ8j4V5fs7BhvOb5sj6mbkzIdHX6ijCJFSIPMxY4JAETY6BQjDWyT4-CMADuUSkdVqFmCIvpO_g4vEJDFW0cEFsrdeuITG5aV5XQ4YYqzhYn-P69denj2rdgGeFmGGHWI3H7qsks5svwW/s1600/IMG_6148.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0fQX0KIaYnIu_Abk2mwJ7pJdVbt8U0NYWWPmKEugYwM5ytQzT5oZL_ah6gKC-wuoRDN0V_VIejDWgRmcy43a5gLNa0rOWdG8JfO6hskOl0YqzlVKr9Vs8lgiYZN2D9klXPiNT_UCVmi9/s1600/IMG_5993.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE0fQX0KIaYnIu_Abk2mwJ7pJdVbt8U0NYWWPmKEugYwM5ytQzT5oZL_ah6gKC-wuoRDN0V_VIejDWgRmcy43a5gLNa0rOWdG8JfO6hskOl0YqzlVKr9Vs8lgiYZN2D9klXPiNT_UCVmi9/s1600/IMG_5993.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Aerial Lift Bridge, the iconic announcement we were
home, was just past downtown and over the freeway bridge we were about to
ascend, a small hill that would send us from it to Canal Park, where the finish
line stood.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKax5U_6iPHxMMUzs0DIK067lsNg9x4YqyxKFpWXsTdDW5ttJMchG4vg7HgLYctSUFSFyR6sZ-9IzHUB6L0x7SiWvh6wDO-B-xOvqSDJX09zbW5P5ziG06fitIw05LKiV7HQbggHll7YKU/s1600/IMG_5988.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKax5U_6iPHxMMUzs0DIK067lsNg9x4YqyxKFpWXsTdDW5ttJMchG4vg7HgLYctSUFSFyR6sZ-9IzHUB6L0x7SiWvh6wDO-B-xOvqSDJX09zbW5P5ziG06fitIw05LKiV7HQbggHll7YKU/s1600/IMG_5988.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
And so I ran the cobblestone roads with fierce determination that as much as it
hurt and as good as the restaurant food smelled and as tempting as running into
a store for Diet Coke was, there was no stopping. The timing mat at Mile 25 was
magical, announcing success was a casual run away. All of us can run a mile in
our sleep by this point. We could run that mile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFa3S5kFJDT3_2mDoHnuEop9DQmE2bgk0dnbEBy2FxgrivyQ3aiDPp7c9r96wVVASWYd_7FlAhq-Edam53b4kI8USHXa1SSRQqUcBnSn5ATseYacbXZFJ4VCCODOU87Ls_5APboJWpROt/s1600/IMG_6145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFa3S5kFJDT3_2mDoHnuEop9DQmE2bgk0dnbEBy2FxgrivyQ3aiDPp7c9r96wVVASWYd_7FlAhq-Edam53b4kI8USHXa1SSRQqUcBnSn5ATseYacbXZFJ4VCCODOU87Ls_5APboJWpROt/s1600/IMG_6145.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKke5479u43NCsShx1oy3xom76OctalF7Kx3VxvCHnYb5aMuPeQbcW-pKLFInuKEFGD_wH0YR6_dl5NYVOfOYU-MUen_ANJMe3tWuuwvDJVERjNGwvi4fXUnoStxVbHRPoLlFMtgz4S6cJ/s1600/IMG_6146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKke5479u43NCsShx1oy3xom76OctalF7Kx3VxvCHnYb5aMuPeQbcW-pKLFInuKEFGD_wH0YR6_dl5NYVOfOYU-MUen_ANJMe3tWuuwvDJVERjNGwvi4fXUnoStxVbHRPoLlFMtgz4S6cJ/s1600/IMG_6146.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>Mile 25-26</u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was it. I know you’re supposed to be tired and feeling
like giving up at this stage, but honestly, I was energized. I didn’t feel
great physically, of course. My back hurt, and my feet hurt, but my heart was
becoming more alive by the second. Running around Canal Park netted us the
first sign of the corral gates, which indicate being close to the end. </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwO8DEzmjEA5bF4fq5O7zzoq1pihn1kKYzPRqa_ZdnG3KEzC7Jq6eqgR3m_PKoNSRfGwOtnbqpZKQoHxLQph9ekZ7K2ElG_GO1MflJWqdTTNBY6BAEscL2PO0q4Q5WaafT1Dz1SEOSPNAQ/s1600/766354-1199-0015s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwO8DEzmjEA5bF4fq5O7zzoq1pihn1kKYzPRqa_ZdnG3KEzC7Jq6eqgR3m_PKoNSRfGwOtnbqpZKQoHxLQph9ekZ7K2ElG_GO1MflJWqdTTNBY6BAEscL2PO0q4Q5WaafT1Dz1SEOSPNAQ/s1600/766354-1199-0015s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running around Canal Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjij8nXUCK0cw2G4kt4iDOo1LGc9PxweHwP62CZogNJWpwOQfrLKcY60xw3wVXmiAq_cVxP6nkfRjZ87BfFrGZ_Ndleyk8HaDXi3gDYItpkLveoveqPynZSxWBSJdxrP5B76sGcF9COwOKJ/s1600/766355-1180-0019s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjij8nXUCK0cw2G4kt4iDOo1LGc9PxweHwP62CZogNJWpwOQfrLKcY60xw3wVXmiAq_cVxP6nkfRjZ87BfFrGZ_Ndleyk8HaDXi3gDYItpkLveoveqPynZSxWBSJdxrP5B76sGcF9COwOKJ/s1600/766355-1180-0019s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the professional shots that captured the utter joy I began to feel at the end</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We
turned a bend and a race official said “you are entering the last quarter mile
of the race.” I said “Those are the most beautiful words I have heard in a long
time.” And then, there was the 26 mile marker. The magic number. Emotion began
to overwhelm me. On the other side of that magic number I could see it: the
finish line. I knew I had enough energy to make it. I was going to finish a
marathon! We turned toward it and there were crowds of people—and they lit up
when they saw that tutu again. I know it wasn’t me personally—it was something
different to cheer for, but do you know what it did for me? It made me push
harder to the finish.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZBIsHsFcmbAW-EUFFiELNLst7VIq9UyA95qlbjObaIY3hwNMyhyphenhyphen4BMHJgRhc3zzDqr2X_zL5sPWNdfb9zF-4pcJKsdvlLSPSN7WIECVYl_r9KCqvCdNABYn1dn6sfcuzbCCxn4ywCTt2/s1600/766361-1054-0025s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZBIsHsFcmbAW-EUFFiELNLst7VIq9UyA95qlbjObaIY3hwNMyhyphenhyphen4BMHJgRhc3zzDqr2X_zL5sPWNdfb9zF-4pcJKsdvlLSPSN7WIECVYl_r9KCqvCdNABYn1dn6sfcuzbCCxn4ywCTt2/s1600/766361-1054-0025s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDbDmnijGu6eHZrLzcaGT8KdmRBoD5jgU6jZ6l3d-uHbrwN7FGpd-zccLnFs4XGelNYzC5RUXfpYHkRnBfBFM6MzVJ7stLnWjW4F5xbaunVkVPPkxO7u-S3gpWFhVPXiGVYU18as1zwqi/s1600/766359-1150-0031s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaDbDmnijGu6eHZrLzcaGT8KdmRBoD5jgU6jZ6l3d-uHbrwN7FGpd-zccLnFs4XGelNYzC5RUXfpYHkRnBfBFM6MzVJ7stLnWjW4F5xbaunVkVPPkxO7u-S3gpWFhVPXiGVYU18as1zwqi/s1600/766359-1150-0031s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
And then the announcer called my name “And here comes Susan
Tyrrell, from Lawton OK wearing a tutu” or something like that. And I flew
through the finish line, hands in the air, teary eyed, in awe of myself, that I
had gone from that fat girl with no ambition in Nov. 2012 to this girl who just
ran hard through the finish line of a marathon—that she never stopped running.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvInzRxphi_fN-Dwh260OEQICnJ4abjYFdMlEXLIVI0_dB6wI4nk8NQDoYds0YgwtPKplltX-whPQEasBmcVV2KaCjtJ_hmDOqezbkadJduAnevmNhiNKUiY35gytVVri9Js7lRfgsxvoi/s1600/IMG_6005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvInzRxphi_fN-Dwh260OEQICnJ4abjYFdMlEXLIVI0_dB6wI4nk8NQDoYds0YgwtPKplltX-whPQEasBmcVV2KaCjtJ_hmDOqezbkadJduAnevmNhiNKUiY35gytVVri9Js7lRfgsxvoi/s1600/IMG_6005.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mile 26, almost-to-the-finish-line selfie</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtD4r8IKlxY76okA2mQ7teXLe0Q1xPuQPAfFb1S1TYvRPvTpxpP9g7us6rJlJDAAL7DbS1vl62tVmepujuknCRx61PxAMaCl5hr7JSnGtSuNvEkmnxQVAWMWIRClYB5_iGWJQ4Qfnh6B8/s1600/IMG_6165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDtD4r8IKlxY76okA2mQ7teXLe0Q1xPuQPAfFb1S1TYvRPvTpxpP9g7us6rJlJDAAL7DbS1vl62tVmepujuknCRx61PxAMaCl5hr7JSnGtSuNvEkmnxQVAWMWIRClYB5_iGWJQ4Qfnh6B8/s1600/IMG_6165.JPG" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijX8iwqBI7KlJnwYFR_rvxL9DD0WsBnWxo8Cf4qpP05TovNTMLt5Ep8ZW5SY6a8max_i9Cg8h-p6geAT6z7y2d-wmEHYLjRFOB9BoMuS7d3ddeMkjiewEP7sLg1ILkRFkF1iJL8n_WAVMI/s1600/Finish+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijX8iwqBI7KlJnwYFR_rvxL9DD0WsBnWxo8Cf4qpP05TovNTMLt5Ep8ZW5SY6a8max_i9Cg8h-p6geAT6z7y2d-wmEHYLjRFOB9BoMuS7d3ddeMkjiewEP7sLg1ILkRFkF1iJL8n_WAVMI/s1600/Finish+line.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
It took me 5 hours and 40 minutes and some change. My half split was decent,
but my sore knee for a while and the sheer fatigue slowed me more, but I didn’t
stop. Not once. I needed to know I could do it. And later I thought—wow, I ran constantly
for almost 25% of an entire day. Somehow that made my time seem even cooler.
Truthfully, I wanted to finish in under 6 hours. 5 hours and anything is decent
for a marathon if you aren’t fast. For a first timer, it’s totally respectable.
But marathons aren’t about time. They are about endurance and staying the
course. And I did.<br />
<br />
At the finish line were two beautiful things: A finisher's medal (I had to resist hugging the person who put it around my neck, I was so overwhelmed with emotion), and Joyce. Dear sweet precious, loving, giving Joyce who is the whole reason I was able to run this marathon. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqE7dCrBHfRwgyBiOsFftlbUXtwzXQg_O1-E7shUUy35CIoua7VzBhbnaIkra77IRKjdjmiFtulmBWYZH5II3tHUSl9ZTKg46dq0ZhiiVhAM9mS5T81xC6edtJXjjkR2Fyp_e6Cdb4WDl/s1600/IMG_6058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqE7dCrBHfRwgyBiOsFftlbUXtwzXQg_O1-E7shUUy35CIoua7VzBhbnaIkra77IRKjdjmiFtulmBWYZH5II3tHUSl9ZTKg46dq0ZhiiVhAM9mS5T81xC6edtJXjjkR2Fyp_e6Cdb4WDl/s1600/IMG_6058.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxSuZZ0-XXJiTb2LTrOP544okYKEaSm6XK578mmZzTIdzE1h9qze1EJapN80rSfiN_xqgtnTpo1Oui8GeghjWpLAHVJM9oAUvmKCJW7ORQ9vgWxUi-8PhqGfXUk2_1yoednViB014tMg7/s1600/IMG_6006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKxSuZZ0-XXJiTb2LTrOP544okYKEaSm6XK578mmZzTIdzE1h9qze1EJapN80rSfiN_xqgtnTpo1Oui8GeghjWpLAHVJM9oAUvmKCJW7ORQ9vgWxUi-8PhqGfXUk2_1yoednViB014tMg7/s1600/IMG_6006.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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In looking at my splits, I see that mile 22 was my slowest;
that was Lemon Drop Hill. I also saw that I was significantly faster in my last
.2. It’s a good sign I had energy to push through the finish. My body held out
and I ran that with my heart.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWuRoRF2MNkrkRSZ7O3Zz-IGmQ2qm3EBXsf1Vd7TmzGggzQMOw7rLXEsS3ns1xD1YAO3QxAiviWl5gi9o2SzJiaIpwuCPcv32cb3kzaDHeiRp81_9SkySr2vkdlVmbZFyZSGxaNBDmU5l/s1600/766376-1015-0029s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLWuRoRF2MNkrkRSZ7O3Zz-IGmQ2qm3EBXsf1Vd7TmzGggzQMOw7rLXEsS3ns1xD1YAO3QxAiviWl5gi9o2SzJiaIpwuCPcv32cb3kzaDHeiRp81_9SkySr2vkdlVmbZFyZSGxaNBDmU5l/s1600/766376-1015-0029s.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>Other random thoughts, comments and observations:</u></i></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>On Porta-Potties and Bushes</u></span></b></div>
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Never in my life have I seen so many men pee! Men, lucky
creatures that they are, don’t need a porta-potty. It was not uncommon to be
running along the highway and see a group of 5-7 men with their back to us and
hands in front of them. It was pretty funny. The porta-potties were gross, as
they always are, and usually I don’t need one, though I would have used one if
I did. Sometimes I’d run by a line of people waiting for them. Once I ran by as
someone came out. The smell wafted onto the highway, practically asphyxiating
me. But they get the job done. I made it through the race without needing
it—and actually did better than I usually do. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirMjNi3-wuJ2pdhCdOkBG5-FbTkKDWy_I-W8qz38hDDyQNfH0O7rjvSr1gxaFL32XyLyBGSmFdqjKmr9prwpqLgfzpzHOj9W9LDfnohBi-yNFONPyi3DBF_UxnkIjk7b4bWhdIy8_S7Oma/s1600/IMG_5985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirMjNi3-wuJ2pdhCdOkBG5-FbTkKDWy_I-W8qz38hDDyQNfH0O7rjvSr1gxaFL32XyLyBGSmFdqjKmr9prwpqLgfzpzHOj9W9LDfnohBi-yNFONPyi3DBF_UxnkIjk7b4bWhdIy8_S7Oma/s1600/IMG_5985.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>My Body</u></b></div>
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My biggest problems physically were my knee, which only acts
up on long runs, but mercifully tamed itself and did not get worse, so it
wasn’t too bad. My feet were the worst. I am a mid-foot striker now, but man! I
tried to be a heel striker, a forefoot striker, anything to remove the pressure
off my feet. I was wishing for extra cushioned shoes (I wear Asics Nimbus which
are some of the most cushioned shoes out there so it’s unlikely that would have
helped much). The bottom line is if you run for over 5 hours, your feet will
hurt! But truthfully, it wasn’t a nightmare either. And I kept thinking if I
walked, I would be out there longer with sore feet. As we got later in the
race, my upper back hurt. No pain the rib area or even lower back where I have
had trouble—just the strain on top—probably because I was telling myself “run
with your arms! Run with your arms” every time my legs got tired.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>My Mind</u></b></div>
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I coached myself a lot--out loud. I needed to hear the words.
Probably the funniest thing was the signs that said “Medical Drop Out 500 Feet”
that we passed every so often. I was fine, but every time I saw that sign I
said out loud, quite defiantly, “over my dead body.” Because only dropping dead
right there would have gotten me to quit. </div>
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It’s funny how you think it’s too much, too far, you can’t
do it, but then you think of the other option--quitting--and how that is so not an
option that you find strength to keep going. They say you learn a lot about
yourself while running a marathon. I guess that’s true, and yet I feel like I
mostly reinforced what I knew, what I had been learning since my first run.</div>
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Running has never come easily for me. I’m not
fast, not a natural, not consistent with time, though I am with my run. But I
am disciplined. I have learned to run in all seasons. I have run on ice, in
blistering heat, in 45 mph winds, up a mountain, down a valley (literally and figuratively).
I run and each time I make it I find out what I am made of. The marathon was my
proof to myself I could do the rare thing. In my social networking world, it
seems everyone is talking about marathons, but the fact remains that about 2%
of Americans have started a marathon and only .05% have finished. Those numbers
are lower than the percentage of Americans with a PhD, which is under 3%. To
do both is amazing to me. But let me be clear. It’s not amazing because I’m all
that. It’s amazing because I dropped out of elementary school and between 3<sup>rd</sup>
grade and college only completed one actual year of school. It’s amazing
because I grew up the fat kid, beat up almost daily for being fat (bullying was
legal then, it seems). Because I made casts from Plaster of Paris to get out of
PE because I hated running. An elementary school dropout who despised running
(and the number one reason I hated school was PE) who now has a PhD and has
completed<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>marathon—that’s amazing
because it means I defied the odds. I’m better than that. I can overcome. I got
a PhD for the same reason—to prove I could. Being a professor is a perk, but my
goal was doing it. Just like the marathon. </div>
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A fascinating side note: After the marathon, I was in my hotel room looking at my Timehop app on my phone, which shows what posts I have made on social networking one in other years on the same day. As I looked that night I saw it was exactly 4 years to the date that I was cleared at Texas A&M for my PhD. Graduation was in August, but on June 21, 2010, I was "Dr. Suz." Joyce was my adviser, of course. And now, four years to the day, there she was a key piece of the other vital and unique event of my life. I couldn't have planned that if I wanted. June 21 will forever be a special day. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqf6XiX0KcIVCBSzN7hhzS5ND01GnZP55Tp0VdG41MYgdlxmPxsWP_ojDjnB6jvH8ylNXKyHhFyI-MEhNIHkXcgYD69LCI1NBhKV5cO6A9tq11PitxEfEQZlvRxHNqTQ7OMX06L2viH6Ao/s1600/IMG_6109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqf6XiX0KcIVCBSzN7hhzS5ND01GnZP55Tp0VdG41MYgdlxmPxsWP_ojDjnB6jvH8ylNXKyHhFyI-MEhNIHkXcgYD69LCI1NBhKV5cO6A9tq11PitxEfEQZlvRxHNqTQ7OMX06L2viH6Ao/s1600/IMG_6109.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I came back different. I came back ready for a life of
adventure again. I used to say that if you’re going to live, you should live
loud. The marathon made me loud again. And I don’t want to be quiet.</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u>On the Future</u></b></div>
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One reason I wanted to run the entire way was to know I
could so I could go back to half marathons--if I did this successfully, then I could chalk it up to being done. Training for a full becomes a
driving force of life. Sleep, eat, runs, all of it ruled by the training. I was
definitely more lackadaisical with the schedule than some, though I did not miss
a long run. But in the end it was bothering me that since I had an 18 mile run
one week, for example, I could not randomly run how I wanted when I wanted. My
coach, Jan, in Kansas City, labeled me an “organic” runner. She noted I was
having success not following some regime but just running and doing the requirements
(i.e. long runs for a race). I love that because it’s part of the freedom of
running for me. Marathon training isn’t free, but it was worth it. I wanted to
be a marathoner. Now I am. Will I do another? Probably. I don’t have a specific
plan, but it wasn’t so hard I could never fathom doing another. It would have
to be another special one, and probably in the spring so I didn’t have to train
in summer. I suspect it would be a destination marathon, as those are my
favorite races. Running a marathon was hard, but not nearly as hard as I
expected. My body was tired, sore, but it wasn’t like some exercise in torture.
It was an exercise in strength. The marathon tests the limits of human endurance,
they say. I have endured far more in my life, and every run reminds me that I
am still surviving. The marathon just moved me up a step and told me to live
loud. In hot pink, of course. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcIFFfRmUlFoZ-Jn4ZjZ7PilTIwWEHlx_honyj4Rz2b-DqSvTAlLwaLh67MZAyhDqtLBFzM61MF39JBCX4TQmCQQoi1ajWqZHrjzO00qrplGNSRGgfBZYzW3666YHYA9TDmA5TqdUqKi8/s1600/IMG_6139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtcIFFfRmUlFoZ-Jn4ZjZ7PilTIwWEHlx_honyj4Rz2b-DqSvTAlLwaLh67MZAyhDqtLBFzM61MF39JBCX4TQmCQQoi1ajWqZHrjzO00qrplGNSRGgfBZYzW3666YHYA9TDmA5TqdUqKi8/s1600/IMG_6139.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earned that 26.2 (and yes, the hot pink one is on its way to me)</td></tr>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-54070891480844300282014-06-17T19:25:00.002-07:002014-06-28T14:08:52.436-07:00they said I could<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tomorrow I get on two planes and fly into Minneapolis, where eventually I will make my way to Duluth to run my first marathon. They say a marathon is hundreds of miles, and the race is the last 26.2. This is something I understand well. Many know of my running journey, which began Nov. 10, 2012 when, at the end of my rope in life in general, I walked into a gym and on to a treadmill. I was a solid size 16 and growing. My heart was shrinking. It was a bad scene.<br />
<br />
No one told me I couldn't. Some runners tell stories of naysayers who didn't believe in them. No one did that to me. Not even people who tend to be negative. I never went to a race determined to "show them." I went determined to show myself. Many races have been redemptive. The KC Half, in the city where it started, weeks after a great pain, was so redemptive I barely noticed the hills. Our local Spirit of Survival race was my story of survival just 5 days after one of the deepest pains of my life. There was a series of races that came at a difficult times this spring, and I ran hard in them, achieving both my half and 10K PR. And then a month ago I was home in my old neighborhood in AL and not only PRed but won an award in my age group. Running has been good to me. Running has shown me I can win. Running has made me love the body I used to hate and believe the mind that felt oppressed by too many crises could actually overcome. Running has been physical, emotional, and spiritual. That's the race I have been running to win.<br />
<br />
Here on the eve of my departure to Minnesota I think of all these months and all the support. My friends, my cheering section-many of whom have written me over these months telling me I inspired them. Just by running. Go figure. And I believe they can do it too.<br />
<br />
What Saturday brings I cannot say now, so I want to say what I can. The fact I am ready to show up at a start line of a major US marathon and am trained adequately to do so is not only my victory. Tonight I think of not only the myriad of awesome folks on Facebook who have cheered me on like some ultra runner over this time, but I think of three who own a part of this race.<br />
<br />
When you are terribly overweight and cannot run a minute or use a weight machine and you walk into a gym, self conscious doesn't begin to describe the feelings of inadequacy you feel. Chad was the manager of the gym then. And every day, he talked to me, laughed with me, encouraged me. I think sometimes what it might have been like if he had been one of those snooty gym types who thinks they are all that. Chad's personality is a gift and he kept me excited to come back. And I knew if I didn't come in he would ask where I was. He helped me start, even when he didn't know it. It wasn't long before I was outdoors running and only at the gym a couple times a week for strength training. By then I was a runner again. But he helped me get there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOLmPNykooj1UaUXq90J05xjmrvOPtNcKPj7qrgjSXOwF-FmLGx6FF96ClvmWpBTOkut2i4sXbl_2o4tuPwDd0y0nJGIlmIcz6TvYlQUAaMniKZRacXYyOeeDtEBD7FMlrM6new29kOuI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-17+at+9.34.40+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmOLmPNykooj1UaUXq90J05xjmrvOPtNcKPj7qrgjSXOwF-FmLGx6FF96ClvmWpBTOkut2i4sXbl_2o4tuPwDd0y0nJGIlmIcz6TvYlQUAaMniKZRacXYyOeeDtEBD7FMlrM6new29kOuI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-06-17+at+9.34.40+PM.png" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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And so did Jan. You have seen me write about "my coach." She was the leader of a small group personal training class I did, and then I was one of her test subjects for her training for her wellness coach certification. Jan is a former marathoner and competitive cyclist. She also is a true fitness professional who spent many years working at KU Med Center. She's the real deal. And maybe that is part of why her encouragement and help was extra valuable. She was giving me expert advice and told me I could do it. All of it. Whatever my goals were, she was behind me. Last summer I lived briefly in Hottest Station, TX (aka College Station). The humidity after a frigid winter in KC was asphyxiating to my body--and mind. Jan and I were meeting weekly via Skype and she kept encouraging. She got me through my first half and cheered me on and advised me totally for many races to come. She continued to answer my questions and give me advice and strategies.<br />
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<br />
And that got me to OK where Cindy came in. She offered to go with me on my long runs. If you have not trained for a marathon, or at least read about training, there is a series of long runs which increase over weeks. Because I had run 6 half marathons, I jumped in the Hal Higdon Novice plan at about the halfway point. And then it went up. 16 miles, 18 miles, 20 miles, 12 miles, 8 miles, and now. I can't imagine 4 hours runs alone, planting water, carrying gels and my inhaler and more water, and even a banana. It can be done, but I am not sure I was in the frame of mind to do it. It was like having a built in cheerleader.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I was sure she was lying to me:<br />
<i>Mile 15, Sue is dying. </i><br />
<b>Cindy: </b>You're doing great, Sue! Great job! You are almost done."<br />
<b>Sue:</b> "Liar," breathing hard and clutching the small of my back.<br />
<br />
But seriously, encouragement is a gift and she did it every mile of the way--66 miles worth--in a month's time.<br />
<br />
When I show up at the start line Saturday, decked out in my hot pink, complete with tutu, I will not be standing alone. And beside those stars of this show are multiple people on social media who continue to cheer me on, who always believed I could.<br />
<br /><br />
Let's go to Duluth.Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-76405060091219780112014-06-07T16:04:00.001-07:002015-04-23T15:24:22.732-07:00running with Pollyanna (the last marathon training run)<style>
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Today I finished marathon training. That sentence floors me.
I have successfully trained for a marathon. I haven’t run it yet, but the
training is done. The last few weeks were hard. May 2 we did 16, then I had a
half the 10<sup>th</sup>. Then 18 miles the 21<sup>st</sup>. 20 miles the 28<sup>th</sup>.
And today it went back down to 12. Every week since April 27 when I ran a half,
I have done a double digit run, in the teens mostly, until today. Today was the
long taper run. Next week the long run is 8, but really, I’m done. I just get
to go back to running. Just for fun. No rules, no schedule. Two weeks from
today I will show up at the start line of a marathon and put to test these
weeks of work, but either way, the training phase is done. </div>
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A marathon sounds cool to the ear, the thing many people
want to do, but as I have noted, only .05% of Americans have so it’s not like a
lot get to it. The training is certainly why. Most of us can run 26 miles with
training, but the training is brutal at times. A very long run becomes your
day. You change your sleeping, your eating, your social life (not that I have
one) and your life revolves around the run. It’s a commitment. Apart from that
is the sheet tedious nature of it. You ever spent four hours by yourself
running? Yeah, me neither, thank God. </div>
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Today’s run was actually the hardest of all. Part may be
that mentally I knew I was done with the hard part, so it was like, okay, let’s
do this! This was our 4<sup>th</sup> long run and the 4<sup>th</sup> time it
was cooler than it had been. We scheduled these all in advance and we had no
rain, no extreme heat, nothing—though the weeks around it were. Today was humid
which didn’t start my breathing off great, but really, the last couple weeks my
sleep has been tumultuous, and the last two days especially I hadn’t had
much—not for lack of trying—so that probably affected me more than anything. </div>
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We went back to where we did the first long run and enjoyed
nearly empty roads. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This week there were
no dogs to battle, though we did see a tarantula that is the biggest bug I have
ever seen in my life. Other than that the only eventful part of the run was me
being tired and worn down! Pollyanna there kept telling me how great I was
doing and how I was almost done. I’d rather have Pollyanna than Negative
Nellie. Nothing about her is negative. The last 3 miles were so hard today. I
lost time and form, but I kept going. When we finished it was about 90 in the
sun, so that probably didn’t help! I was 100% soaking wet top to bottom. What
wasn’t sweat was my pouring water over my head. I estimated that I drank (partly
poured) a gallon of water today. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I have run so much lately that I am definitely thrilled for
the taper break. April 27 I ran a half, and then have not slowed since. Every
week between April 27 and today I have run double digit runs. Two half
marathons, and then 12, 16, 18, and 20. And now is rest. Now I can run for fun.
My training schedule tells me next week I will top off at 21 miles. I haven’t
run a week that low in a long time. How fun to just go run. </div>
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This training has taught me a lot about discipline and
commitment. I have no huge desire to do more than one marathon.
I just want to know I can. Today we ended with a segue to another metaphorical
marathon. When I get back from Duluth, summer will be upon me. I have some
races planned, but haven’t even settled on my first fall half yet. I expect I
will run a lot more half marathons. That’s my distance of choice. I just want
to do it as a marathoner. </div>
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So I’m done. I am trained. I am ready to run and test the
limits of my body and mind over 26.2 miles. </div>
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It’s funny to me that running is the sport about competing
against ourselves—it’s really a solo sport—and yet I did the hardest part with
someone else. I’m sure there is a life lesson here, and I suspect I am just
about to start learning it. </div>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-44664450967490027502014-05-28T21:33:00.002-07:002015-04-23T15:29:27.491-07:00all bark and no bite: the 20-miler<style>
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Only a few days are so special you remember them always as
happy days. Today is my half birthday, which I used to celebrate more than my
real one since real ones were so bad for me. Today just happened to be the day
we had scheduled my 20 mile run. </div>
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I still think of that day in December 2012 when I ran around
the block and got to half a mile before I felt like I was going t die. I remember
the 5K the week or so before where I hacked all day. I was trying to be a
runner again but it was hard. So to think I could then become someone who could
run 20 miles in a row without stopping was a figment of my fantasy life. Until
today. </div>
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Today was one of the best days ever. A friend who has run marathons and she knew before I did that I would need
help on these long runs. If you have ever tried to run for 4 hours by yourself,
you know that it’s hard. Doable, but hard. She offered months ago to come
along with me. Today was our longest run—and next week we get a piddly 12-14
miles. And yes, I said piddly. After doing 16, 18, and 20, 12-14 sounds like a
cakewalk. Today was reason to eat cake. </div>
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Some random outtakes from today:</div>
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<u><b>Weather</b></u></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>It is already hot
here, but today it was not. After a rainy weekend, today the sky cleared up and
gave way to low 60s. To have low 60s with only a breeze, not serious winds, in southwest
OK when it’s almost June is not very likely. We set this date maybe 2 months
ago, and it was perfect. Probably the best day yet. </div>
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<u><b>Dogs</b></u></div>
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So we set off on this amazing day, blissfully gliding down a
country road, and we met with dogs. The first ones were no big deal, but we
still acted like girls. We were almost to the place we were going to turn and head
back a different way when two very angry and mean dogs started running at us.
She had the pepper spray ready but neither of us wanted to deal with it. She
ordered me to turn and keep going. We went fast enough that they didn’t pursue
us. We were pretty annoyed too. </div>
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<u><b>
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<u><b>Dogs part deux</b></u></div>
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And boy did I want to say that to the second people. Those
dogs were terrifying—and got very close to us. You have never heard me pray so fervently.
Again, Cindy sent me in front of her so she could fend them off with pepper
spray. We both got way too close of a look at Mean Dog #1, with #2 in tow. I actually
braced myself to be bitten they were so close. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>PSA #2. Did I mention what a selfish jerk you
are if you decide you own the roads too? </div>
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We were trapped and had to run miles around some
subdivisions, but we were spooked. Barking was everywhere and it got to where
if I saw a dog I made us go down another road. Yesterday a pit bull chased me
in my own neighborhood. I found that owner and said pit bull has already had
the pound called on her three times, so I was the last straw, thankfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it surely has been an adventurous running
week. Last week my friend and I ran from a skunk in Wichita Falls. We definitely
are having adventures!</div>
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Apart from the evil mangy creatures trying to eat us, the
run was uneventful. It was not too hard until about mile 12-13. I really tried
to not even think about the miles until after 10. When you start out to run 20,
you don’t even ponder the first few. I could not let my mind go there.
Fortunately I had good company, well, when she wasn’t talking to the cows.
Those cows played right into her and mooed so loudly that she announced that
she obviously speaking their language. </div>
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We turned back at 7 miles because of evil dog #1, and then
we tried a side road where evil dog #2 came, so we headed back and at mile 13
or so headed into the subdivisions, which I have now probably memorized. We
found out way to the creek in Pebble Creek, and even found a trail. Something
funny happened there when my friend had to pee in the bushes and almost got caught! </div>
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We kept running. She handed me water, and I poured it into
my Vapur bottle and kept going. Between us we went through probably a gallon of
water. She carried a lot in her backpack but we also planted some for our way
back. We finished it, save a couple ounces or so.</div>
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We veered to a major road for a while around 14, but it gets
hilly and I was not feeling like that big of a challenge! So we went back to
the subdivision. Again. Round and round we went, drinking water, eating GUs,
and panicking at any bark. </div>
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We started from my house but I live about a half mile from a
store where I get my DCIAFCs. So I decided I wanted to stop before that store. </div>
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When my GPS turned to 20 miles, I was crazy happy.</div>
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That could be my reward and we could walk home. You’re supposed to keep walking
after a long run, and the idea of going home and then walking more was far less
appealing than walking with a DCIAFC in my hand! </div>
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We walked a shortcut back, and
there were more barking dogs. Besides our fear after our encounters, I just
feel sorry for the neighbors of these people who have to live with it day and
night. </div>
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We got back to my house and Pink Magic came off. 20 miles. I
ran 20 full miles. I didn’t walk or stop, not even for the evil dogs. I had run
20 miles. My friend and I were hanging out talking after and I would randomly
interrupt our conversation with <b>“I RAN TWENTY MILES.”</b> To her credit she just got
excited with me. I think she was on her own endorphin high. It was a perfect day with a great friend.</div>
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Oh yeah, and I got a tan. Um, compression sleeves don't quite go to the top of my socks.</div>
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The 20-miler is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the</i>
run in marathon training. It’s ill-advised to go into a marathon without a
20-miler, for psychological reasons as well as physical. The human body has
glycogen stores of about 2000 calories, and we burn about 100 calories a mile
running, so the body is made for running 2000 calories away. The marathon is
what pushes the limits of human endurance because it exceeds that. Now we know
to fuel early to prevent hitting the wall, but it’s
still pushing the mind and body past the normal. I can’t say I can yet imagine
adding 6.2 miles to what I did today, but the mysterious “they” say that the
crowd and the rush of race day pushes you that last 6.2 just as it did the last
3.1 in the first half. Indeed, I trained 10 and ran 13.1 easily. Now I don’t
even have to do 10 because I can stay trained for a half, but the marathon is a
whole new world. I hope I’ll be joining it in just over 3 weeks because I have
reached a milestone with the 20-miler. Now I get to taper. People complain
about tapering, but I am excited. It means basically I can run for fun again
(minus our last long, but only 12-14 mile, next weekend). Marathon training
cramps my free-spirited style, so in some ways I am looking forward to June 22
when I can make my own running rules again. But today I passed the test. The
20-miler is <i>mine</i>. I own it. I did it. And I had a lot of help from my dear
friend who maybe missed her calling as a cheerleader and a coach. </div>
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I feel pretty good tonight. We will see what tomorrow
brings. But I had less aches and pains on this run, and I guess my body has just
adapted to the fact we’re going to be running a lot of miles and it’s time to
suck it up. </div>
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I won’t set any time records in Duluth, but I never set out
to prove I could. I set out to prove I could do what 99.5% of Americans have
not done. That day isn’t here yet, but I have done the hard work to prepare. </div>
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Duluth, here I come.</div>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-62782292852159425822014-05-22T18:43:00.000-07:002015-04-23T15:33:40.434-07:00running against the windYou know what? I ran 18 miles yesterday and I have felt worse after half marathons than I do today. I'm just blown away by what my body can do. Sometimes I think back to the early runs, when 1 or 2 miles was such a victory. Today as I went out for a short run, I thought about that. I ran 18 miles. <i>Eighteen</i>. For perspective, think about a city 18 miles away from you. I ran there.<br />
<br />
Yesterday's run was hard from the beginning. My breathing was off. I guess it was windy the whole time, but honestly, only the last part of the run was tough because of wind. Both my friend and I were having a hard time. It just wasn't clicking with our bodies. I moaned and groaned more than I ever do. She kept telling me I was doing great. I told her she was lying. But, of course, I don't know too many people who ran 18 miles yesterday without stopping, so I'd say she was right.<br />
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So much was wrong physically. Sleep was primary. Some people do okay for a few days on little sleep; I am not one of them. Two days of 4 a.m. affected me, probably my breathing most of all. Add two flights to that and it was a recipe for a hard run (airplanes both swell you and dehydrate you more quickly--that's why you should never fly in the day before a major race). But really, when it comes down to it, I ran. <i>Eighteen miles</i>.<br />
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Last night was tough. I was physically sore, but just plain wiped out from the past two days. I fell asleep for a bit around 6:30. Later, I conked out without warning. I slept hard and sound, albeit with some nightmares, until almost 9. I expected to wake up in tons of pain and strain. I definitely knew I did something physically demanding yesterday, but amazingly, nothing really hurt beyond some minor strains. Huh? So I went for a late run. I could feel that I had run a lot yesterday, but my body was doing so well I was faster than usual--most especially since it was 91 degrees out. I didn't push it and stuck to the usual post-long run mile, but I was pretty amazed this little body accomplished a major feat on those miles of trails.<br />
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Next week is the infamous 20-miler. Without a doubt, there is no more important run before a marathon. After that comes the taper, and then three weeks after the 20-miler comes the moment of truth. No matter what happens, the fact remains that this formerly fat body, this sedentary Suz, ran 18 solid miles with her own two feet. And what's amazing to me is that today I feel like I feel most days. My body may very well be made for this. Next up is my mind. That's where real marathon training kicks in.<br />
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<br />Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-83450679208222209312014-05-12T18:11:00.000-07:002014-05-12T18:11:02.134-07:00on a mission in a tutuFifty-one weeks ago, I ran my first half marathon. It was May 18, 2013. Yesterday, May 11, 2014, I ran number 6. Six.<br />
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Sunday’s half was really a way to deal with Mother’s Day and get in the 12 mile long run my training schedule dictated. But then OKC happened and I had a bone to pick. My heart got beat up that weekend, and so did my body. The last thing I wanted was that race hanging out in my head. It needed to move to the middle, so I today was redemption day. It worked.<br />
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I knew the weather would be warm and extremely humid. The bottom line is the colder it is, the better I run. But I figured nothing could be worse than running in pain (physical and mental) for 13 miles of hills on a humid day with nothing in me for nutrition due to the delay. So I set out to beat that time, and wanted to come in under 2:30.<br />
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I had decided to wear my tutu. I remembered all the happy smiles at the Fairview Half. I felt like seeing happy smiles again. Tutus are a fun thing. As I gave mentioned before, I had resisted them, trying to keep my running “serious, until <i>SELF </i>magazine taunted a cancer victim by calling her tutu "lame"—and a bunch of runners wore tutus in solidarity. That’s what drove me to it. But I have decided to stay. It’s not unusual, but today it was. I was the <i>only runner in a tutu</i>! I could not believe it. As one of my friends said when I told he, "that's weird." It's funny that it's weird, but it really is. I sure enjoyed it, though. People would burst into real smiles and suddenly give me thumbs ups and say awesome things—even the winners as they passed me from the other side. For just a moment runners struggling or even flying would break into smile. It just felt so good.<br />
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And then I remembered how the woman wore it because she had fought cancer. I don’t have cancer, but I am fighting something. I decided I am going to wear my tutu and fight too. That was somewhere between mile 3-5.
Jolie and I started together, and that was probably the best part—chatting with someone the first mile. We had a good split. There was a photographer there and I called “Did you get the tutu?” as my arms were in the air. Most of my race pictures have my hands in the air.<br />
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Random notes from today:<br />
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Fort Worth races are friendly. I have run several there and the “race culture,” my latest term, is good.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0UuLKo3GFoivNMbJ5Sp9IcPBdnwNwaGN9S4yDZTsHjjAjSqRS3LgBfOB9q6yEW_IpeE-Ml-tSU4mQImxJ5UFYsNLt1F3ld6XqO1hPq6os4ovgiGK_jOFKZGkevNzsnWFHU0TpgaQ6vKkg/s1600/635354912710451573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0UuLKo3GFoivNMbJ5Sp9IcPBdnwNwaGN9S4yDZTsHjjAjSqRS3LgBfOB9q6yEW_IpeE-Ml-tSU4mQImxJ5UFYsNLt1F3ld6XqO1hPq6os4ovgiGK_jOFKZGkevNzsnWFHU0TpgaQ6vKkg/s1600/635354912710451573.jpg" height="320" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
This race was small and on a park trail, like Wichita, so it was harder by lack of crowd support. It was virtually flat, but hard to get momentum. My best mile was around 7 when we did the turnaround. There were people everywhere because we were turning and then the ones behind us were approaching. I had a great split there—further proving I am a social runner. Who would have known? I would love to have a friend who runs my pace that I could run with. I would have never guessed this until April. My best long runs ever were Fairview when we had that very friendly half where there was always someone to talk to, and last week with Cindy—16 miles was one of my happiest runs. Really Yep. Social runner. Never in a million years would have thought such a thing. No wonder I can’t bring myself to do more than 10 miles on my own. The introvert needs running friends. Of all things!<br />
<br />
It was hot, mostly because it was humid. My lungs did well, though. No asthma attacks. But it felt like waves of hot flashes washing over me at times. I had to throw water on myself. However I felt terrific at the end. The owner of Fort Wroth Running Company, a seasoned runner, and I were chatting after the race and he was saying something about the humidity and the winds (OK style winds too). I said, yeah, I had run OKC a couple weeks ago and this was better but it was also hot. He looked surprised:<br />
<br />
“You didn’t do better today than OKC did you?” he asked incredulously. “The dew point is 68!”<br />
<br />
Yes, I did, sir. Oh yes, I did.
You see, I was on a mission and I met it.<br />
<br />
I was struggling. My back hurt. My rib is apparently back in place but now the pain was at the top. Hard as I tried I could not get in a great pace because I was shifting and moving all over trying to ease my pain. But I fought. And when I saw it was mathematically possible to come in under 2:30, I pushed through the pain. I had to try. If I failed, it was okay as long as I tried. So I pushed. I knew there was a last hill. Same as Christmas Day. It’s pretty steep—only real hill in the race, a sharp turn from the concrete on to the dirt trail, up a hill. It's right at the end, where they get the .1. As we turned up the hill, the south wind assailed us with the gusts of 26 mph, and that made me fight back. Run, I told myself, run hard. You can throw up if you need to but <i>run!</i>
When I arrived at the clock I saw the 2:29 and the smile on my face is ridiculous. In hot, humid, windy weather with so much moisture in the air I never got dry, and I beat OKC.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRa98bP5nhWoM1RC-Lol-AvWijrHa4-SJjxZhR9fgzKcKH0rhmF7vu43N8H-4-QcOydAKCylCV7QQ7YbEErkmD-cJ-AyjDn1t5dT19YGNLzA40UDp0W5qV7TEkpLfgoCimhkaZ11e-PiP5/s1600/635354912167641338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRa98bP5nhWoM1RC-Lol-AvWijrHa4-SJjxZhR9fgzKcKH0rhmF7vu43N8H-4-QcOydAKCylCV7QQ7YbEErkmD-cJ-AyjDn1t5dT19YGNLzA40UDp0W5qV7TEkpLfgoCimhkaZ11e-PiP5/s1600/635354912167641338.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coming to the finish and realizing my time goal was possible</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsM8DaONIUxRI2VmGWORWxKkU6zsbmK8xdu6mKLQgg9UzILHQQexhI5ShOGxMZtNEqDk9E2oXlEOQo45RZjsubjKuJaQwPhCxPZsnpcGYuMJMzyVDtZ8zj5wpICvKeT-_G7qaUFPkOG9IL/s1600/635354912646232001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsM8DaONIUxRI2VmGWORWxKkU6zsbmK8xdu6mKLQgg9UzILHQQexhI5ShOGxMZtNEqDk9E2oXlEOQo45RZjsubjKuJaQwPhCxPZsnpcGYuMJMzyVDtZ8zj5wpICvKeT-_G7qaUFPkOG9IL/s1600/635354912646232001.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I waited for Jolie, and then when I saw her coming had a
blast creaming for her the running onto the course again, medal on me, and
crossing the finish line with her. I have always wanted to do that. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31SE61vt96G37FiDxI__ot34bpLmvjRqeQjmSMUBjZb-sHITz51IHpaT58uVCufgOngbEAmgOc4UQZStuIuOTw-SPwx8wMeqpJCqk07zpsEYw8tcfz6Iolfqa3FGEFvQ-XL3dQlnFHRMe/s1600/635354912355912424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31SE61vt96G37FiDxI__ot34bpLmvjRqeQjmSMUBjZb-sHITz51IHpaT58uVCufgOngbEAmgOc4UQZStuIuOTw-SPwx8wMeqpJCqk07zpsEYw8tcfz6Iolfqa3FGEFvQ-XL3dQlnFHRMe/s1600/635354912355912424.jpg" height="320" style="cursor: move;" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finding Jolie to cross with her, too. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUYMfEO_6157SnVb3q8y_dzQCDzTT-ak9-adh-5vMJAxgPqdPGQFXwf0KYxESuu0pHqvo1hKFxwaghdvummKRF8r78HTpCNsSrBDjMPEZiqeug5F9fyInCRdJygmKkjFVl0gigOANoksT/s1600/635354912399818112.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkUYMfEO_6157SnVb3q8y_dzQCDzTT-ak9-adh-5vMJAxgPqdPGQFXwf0KYxESuu0pHqvo1hKFxwaghdvummKRF8r78HTpCNsSrBDjMPEZiqeug5F9fyInCRdJygmKkjFVl0gigOANoksT/s1600/635354912399818112.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got a new bottle of water for her but she just wanted to finish. I've never crossed a finish line with someone; it was a blast</td></tr>
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<br />
It wasn’t my best race or easiest race, but it was a good one. With some crowd support and cooler weather I probably would have called it even better. I will be glad to have this back issue done with. Good flipping grief, it’s amazing what one out of place rib can do, but it’s getting better.
My long runs are getting so long that my midweek runs are getting shorter so I don’t beat up my body. Nonetheless, I emerged with a blister—my first in a year—from my 16-miler last week and then a new one on the back of my ankle this time. That is something I have never had. It certainly makes me feel like a marathoner-in-training. And that I am.<br />
<br />
I try to not think about that during other races. I realized that’s the worst time to think of your next race. I have a 5K this weekend and even tat was an overwhelming through in the middle of a half. Lesson learned: Do not ponder future races will on mile 8 of a race! Duh.<br />
<br />
Next up:
5K Saturday<br />
18 mile run the day after I get back from my trip, May 21.<br />
20 mile run, May 28<br />
12-14 mile run, June 6 or 7<br />
<br />
Then I am back on my own to taper—which I am looking forward to as well simply because the marathon training limits me some on just running for fun.<br />
<br />
June 21-Run a marathon or bust.<br />
June 22. I can’t even imagine. It's a bit scary, actually.<br />
<br />
But for now, I have run 6 half marathons, all successfully. Some great, some sucky, some in between.<br />
<br />
You know, like life.
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkx67ULcpf6lN7syLXhJSIoL74b_F0T_KgN3f1KJowfZGoAMkGXhrxpUtoetKbqqUHtZBZchcGDA2PNs9tk8vx9mQeH3hGrv_z9Kq_Niir5TnSXXhHJf-ahXBfhFm4uSPI2VQP_X7WV8ez/s1600/635354912575754480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkx67ULcpf6lN7syLXhJSIoL74b_F0T_KgN3f1KJowfZGoAMkGXhrxpUtoetKbqqUHtZBZchcGDA2PNs9tk8vx9mQeH3hGrv_z9Kq_Niir5TnSXXhHJf-ahXBfhFm4uSPI2VQP_X7WV8ez/s1600/635354912575754480.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The picture I get in every race somehow; it always looks like I'm dancing while I run. At least I was dressed for it.</td></tr>
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<br />Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-64929723727260852272014-05-02T21:30:00.000-07:002015-04-23T15:39:49.315-07:00a little help from my friends (thoughts on my first 16-mile run)<style>
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Sunday I ran a hard race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was a half I had really set to be a goal race and looked forward to
for a couple months. It ended up being a comedy of errors and my whole weekend
became filled with tears, so by the time I started the race (with our two-hour weather
delay), I couldn’t have been in much worse of a mental state. And physically I
had hurt my already-sore back more. The race was so humid, I couldn’t breathe
(messes with my asthma), and hilly even for me, a person who regularly runs hills.
I finished with an asthma attack, crying with relief as I crossed the finish
line. Truth is, it’s the second best half I have ever run as far as time, but
it scared me a bit because I could not have run to 14 that day. I was spent and
it took all I had to run that whole way, but I knew after the personal pain of
the weekend, and the struggle to run, that I had to keep running and deal with
my back and breathing later. I did, and I feel good about it—especially after
seeing I ranked pretty much in the middle. In a race that size, I am usually
below that, so I knew I had really overcome. But boy was I ready to redeem it.
And today I did.</div>
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<br /></div>
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People think all I do is run and so it’s not a big deal, but
after 5 half marathons, the farthest I have gone is maybe 13.5 when I did not
run the tangents in my first one, and likely it was closer to 13.4. So this
month includes 3 very long runs, and today was our scheduled first one.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Shout out to a friend who has run two marathons
and knows that the runs are hard alone. She got her bike ready and we set dates
for the 16, 18, and 20-miler. The 20-miler is the key in marathon training. If
you can do that, you are home free if you stay healthy and uninjured. But the
very idea of running more than a half was daunting to me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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See, most of you know, I am not a natural runner. I do seem
to handle distance pretty well, but I run my body. In school, I made so many
excuses to get out of PE that often I actually dropped out of school to avoid
the class. No exaggeration. I hated running more than anything. I could have survived anything but
running. As a kid, I was teased all the time for being fat, for being slow and uncoordinated.
Every run remains a miracle to me. Every picture I take becomes a reminder of
that miracle. Often I look through my silly running selfies and I cry with joy
and gratitude. There have been times those pictures have inspired me to keep
going. No one else is going to do it for me. Running is you vs. you. Today’s
run left me with many take always and thoughts:</div>
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<br /></div>
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First, today is May 2. Three years ago today I had major
surgery. It was hard. There was a complication with a nerve and I was home alone
in my apartment for about a month in pain. No visitors, no solutions. It was
the worst and most debilitating pain of my life. I didn’t know it was possible
to feel that much pain and live. It hit me as I got in the car after the run.
From that monumental day to this one. It seemed appropriate for a date person.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This run was so much easier than Sunday’s dodge-people half
in the hills and humidity. If you would have ever told me 16 could be easier than
13, I would have laughed at you, but it was. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>The small of my back hurt quite a bit past the
10 mile mark, but not much more did. At ten miles I was beaming.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fI07tnIcKTkZmnqqXkrhdMdwDJgwi9QvlJryS3liD3tsd3RTZwFN_z7aLkscFLOcTZinDRUe-6sGaegb9Xoe2NMo4i_qMW3R6wQ2SZMTNT9nt-aHjt-ApL_JcuJ17-B68mKK5chrtvGJ/s1600/10338249_10152378758653118_5095367997358676112_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_fI07tnIcKTkZmnqqXkrhdMdwDJgwi9QvlJryS3liD3tsd3RTZwFN_z7aLkscFLOcTZinDRUe-6sGaegb9Xoe2NMo4i_qMW3R6wQ2SZMTNT9nt-aHjt-ApL_JcuJ17-B68mKK5chrtvGJ/s1600/10338249_10152378758653118_5095367997358676112_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Mentally, I was strong, talking the entire
time. Laughing, having fun, all of it was a joy, even when it was harder.
Sometimes I got tired or winded when it got warm or I was going uphill. I would
slow my pace, but never stopped or walked. I had planned to if needed but I
didn’t need to. I felt strong. It reminded me of the amazing Fairview Half
where I PRed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This brings me back to race culture. <i>Runner’s World</i> posted a
picture this week about why we race—to be with each other. </div>
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Everyone knows I'm
an introvert, and I'm usually a solo runner. I've never had a desire to run
with people, but Fairview amazed me because I loved running with the others and
falling into conversations whenever I was with someone. Our pace leaders held
me for 7 miles, then I met up with two girls until 8 or 9. I had <i>fun</i>. And I ran
my fastest ever half pace, so it didn’t slow me, but it made me speed up. If you recall,
my comments on OKC were that the race culture was not as fun or friendly. And I
really had an awareness this week of the importance of race culture to a
successful race. I don’t run to win of course, so the experience is the reward.
Today felt like Fairview, the joy of talking to someone. I was having fun, and
she was making it easy for me. We race to be with each other. For now on my
races will be more carefully selected. I will probably never run with someone
exactly because I still believe in running my own race, but some races are
conducive to that friendliness. Fairview was. And today felt like one of those. </div>
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We ran blind, not knowing which route we were taking,
despite planning a couple. In the end we just started out and went. I run that way
often and was just fine with not knowing where we were. Psychologically, the less I know, the better I
am with distance. I do not want to know how far it is or what’s ahead. My Garmin
and RunKeeper let me know the distance, but ultimately, just running out and
back was ideal. We went all over the roads behind the hospital on 52<sup>nd</sup>
to cross 82<sup>nd</sup> and almost to 112<sup>th</sup> before we turned back. </div>
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I realized how actually small our city is as I ran across most of the west
side. I loved the open fields. Finally I turned on my favorite Chris Tomlin
music but not with my headphones, just in my running pack. Chris sang, and
sometimes we joined him, but mostly we talked. </div>
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The friend handed me water, GUs, a banana when I
needed it, my inhaler, which I used proactively after the asthma attack last
Sunday. I felt free, alive, happy, strong. To have someone alongside me was a
gift. It was a first, apart from total strangers in races. </div>
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I<i> do</i> like to run with people. This has been my revelation is
since the Fairview Half. The right company alongside you makes all the
difference. I am a solo runner, and this is a real newsflash for me. And for
daily runs, I would never want to be with people constantly, but long runs, put
a friend next to me for the whole duration, or even strangers I like and laugh
with like Fairview, and I am going to be successful. This blows all my running
theories out the window. </div>
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When I hit that 16 mile mark today I was beyond excited. </div>
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We
walked around a bit. I took pictures. I coveted the Diet Coke across the road.
As we approached returning I said that it looked like a mirage—was there really
a big Diet Coke that close to me? Neither of us had cash, but she used her
debit card, true sacrifice. I guzzled and gulped that thing like I had not had
one in years. </div>
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On the way out, we were walking and I was gulping. I was so
giddy already that I was gushing to Cindy.</div>
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“Thank you so much. You’re my new
best friend,” I said like a junior high kid. </div>
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Then I glanced back and some
random lady was laughing I told a total stranger she was my new best friend!
Oops! Cindy was behind her and was laughing too. I was amazed and amused. The
lady looked at Cindy and said “Is she having a good day?” Cindy told her I was.
That’s all she said. I’m pretty sure that lady thought I was drunk or something.</div>
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We got in the car to go home and I was still laughing about telling
the stranger she was my best friend—and then I couldn’t stop laughing. I started
laughing and laughing and laughing so hard my stomach hurt. Suddenly it<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>was the most hysterical thing ever. The
runner’s high had gone into full gear. It was wonderful. There hasn’t been too much
laughter in my world lately—especially that uncontrollable belly-ache laughter, not
for some time. For that reason alone I can imagine the 18 and 20 mile runs
coming up.</div>
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We got back to the house, and I continued giggling and
gushing to her family as I got myself together to go home (via work where I had stopped for bragging rights!). I felt like a new person. I went from a rotten,
heartbreaking week to being on top of the world. </div>
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It only took 16 miles. </div>
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<i>(See below for video of my obnoxiously happy self post-run) </i></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxzl4nEgtKb27QdThJ86g_HvfRLIJ2q4VmCrD5NQ5w-2zY8QuMZEN2pbhB_Jc6ctEW-LJFLjoUgfE4TSe3U0Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-50070562711866666232014-04-29T16:54:00.001-07:002014-04-29T16:54:06.261-07:00six months to live<br />
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<br />
Six months ago today was a Monday. It was a rest day from running at the end of the worst month ever. I was feeling horribly down. And suddenly I realized that the days I didn't run I crashed harder in my difficult season. So I impulsively decided to go on a running streak. Believe it or not there is an official association for people who do this--run at least a mile a day every single day. I didn't care about that. I didn't care about anything except feeling better. And so began my run streak, October 29, 2013. <br /><br />This morning I overslept because I fell asleep before setting my alarm. I still had back pain from whatever happened Thursday night (chill out, mommas, my doctor said that I should keep running because it helped this issue. I did check with him.), and, well, I was supposed to be teaching a class at 9:30 and it was 8:13. I do not wake up well and usually need a full hour to be alert. But it was my 6 month run streak day and I didn't think I could stand waiting all day to be sure I did it. Things happen you can't plan. It doesn't take long to run a mile--even half conscious with back pain. So I skipped breakfast, Facebook checking, and threw on the first running clothes I could find, and was out the door. It was a hard run. Very hard. I had to wake up on it. One of my shoelaces was loose and slapping me in the ankle. And I kept running until that little voice said "one mile." And then I felt like I had just held the world in my hands. <br /><br />I have to admit, after work I ran another mile. This one was my normal speed and felt amazing. And it was a bonus run. I don't know how much longer I'll streak. I'm in marathon training now and need to watch my mileage between long runs, but my philosophy has always been that if you can run, you should run. One day that ability may leave. I never want to look back and wish I did. <br /><br />Six months of everything imaginable:<br /><br />Bronchitis<br />A cold<br />Wind chills of -4<br />
Several ice storms<br />40 mph winds<br />80 degrees<br />Humidity<br />Hills <br />Heartbreak<br />Business<br />Travel, including across the nation<br />Road trips<br />Three half marathons<br />Three 10Ks<br />Several 5Ks<br />Bad runs<br />Awesome runs<br /><br />But ask me if I regret a single run. You know the answer.<br />
<br />
I didn't start this streak with anything to prove. Being a non-competitive runner the only thing I have to prove is that I can be better for me. I'm not trying to join the running streak association or compete with others. I'm not trying to push my body to a limit. My sole motivation was the October crisis time for which I needed a way to cope.<br />
<br />
Six months later, I'm still going. This morning I hit 1539 miles between Jan. 1 of 2013 and today. There's a story behind every mile. And ever bad runs make me better. Six months of consistency has made me stronger. When I think back to that Monday night, I can stil recall it with striking clarity. I made the right decision.<br />
<br />
It's been 682.7 miles since that first run of my streak. And I'm still running.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5w_a2lQi6yFjxRkUULvpnaHqTY3UKjYY64kVwPRoPDYqS614uRwAYGa4W3y-5Se227s5c1-D4MIQOA_wABw-5p1gYoOjQDeXGx5mutTFYc8gu8gkWY9eOg42pZdIlY6AEMozOYgDdvcVQ/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5w_a2lQi6yFjxRkUULvpnaHqTY3UKjYY64kVwPRoPDYqS614uRwAYGa4W3y-5Se227s5c1-D4MIQOA_wABw-5p1gYoOjQDeXGx5mutTFYc8gu8gkWY9eOg42pZdIlY6AEMozOYgDdvcVQ/s1600/image.jpeg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my third pair of Pink Magic since that first run of the streak on October 29. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-69890649610472307372014-03-30T18:57:00.002-07:002014-03-30T18:57:36.010-07:00in praise of random strangers
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I'm part of a big Facebook runners' group that I have always
enjoyed reading and following. Running is a community. It's an activity, but
it's a community. Lots of people talk about community, but as far as I have
ever known, runners live it more than anyone as a whole (individual exceptions aside). This weekend I had a big PR at the same time I was
struggling with personal trauma. It was a bittersweet moment in some ways, and
yet one that I enjoyed totally. Perhaps I enjoyed it more because I knew what I
had fought to run that race. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday, I posted about the PR on the runner’s group, and today I
posted a picture from the race. The professional shots captured the moment
well. I looked strong, fit, and confident. And I wanted someone to know it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQnZjVK9cYvK5RZRJ0PVeg6ugVrnJR3hYnyzPHSczAKoiI8FCjaj3jFIARBzYJoy4vp9BN5-SZp2v5LYswYWP6z1ApHDnx6oxEn5gPLDgrK4kqIJaRki6DzahZD6kgyRE1U2fbta_6Kde/s1600/635317963293952828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQnZjVK9cYvK5RZRJ0PVeg6ugVrnJR3hYnyzPHSczAKoiI8FCjaj3jFIARBzYJoy4vp9BN5-SZp2v5LYswYWP6z1ApHDnx6oxEn5gPLDgrK4kqIJaRki6DzahZD6kgyRE1U2fbta_6Kde/s1600/635317963293952828.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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Even as I type this my Facebook is blowing up with notifications
on both posts. Tonight some random stranger said “Proud of you.” </div>
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<br /></div>
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Proud of me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Random stranger is proud of me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Because random stranger is a runner. He knows what it takes
to run, to fight, to overcome. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The majority of my personal friends didn’t really respond to
my race pictures or statuses. A few old standbys did. Most just go “Oh, Suz,
she’s a runner.” As if I run races every day, PR each time, overcome things
that no one knows about. These moments are special to me. See, in some ways
they are what I have. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I have talked about this before too. I don’t have family. I
have a few close friends. I have many causal friends. I have many
acquaintances. But few people expect much out of me in an achievement sense. No one really has set
expectations for me in my life. Growing up, even. I ran wild, did what I
wanted. And if no one has expectations for you, no one needs to be proud of you
or cheer for you. </div>
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<br /></div>
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One reason I love races is the random strangers. They yell
for you, they hold signs for you, they put their hands out so you can high five
it like you are a celebrity. Other runners in races say “good job!” as they fly
by. </div>
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<br /></div>
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My first half marathon was run at a pretty slow 14 minutes a mile. I could
have done a bit faster at that time, but I didn’t know it. I was afraid I
wouldn’t have it in me, and I wanted to finish, and that was it. As I coasted
around the Fargo neighborhoods and around mile 13 into the Fargodome, people were
standing on the other side of the barriers cheering for a 14 minute a mile
runner. I feel chocked up writing this even now. No one cared how <i>good</i> I was at
it, but that I did it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Sometimes I think the best community there is can be found
on the streets, on the internet, a community of runners who love you anyway.
Not because you are fast or slow, hit the wall or win the race. They know the
runner’s heart and the runner’s spirit, and so they are there. </div>
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<br /></div>
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A few times, very few, friends have come to my races. Those few times were very special to me. You see, I want people there. I know running is a boring sport to watch. I want people who love me not to care it's boring but to care I am running. I think we all do. And it's true, I will run anyway. I run for me. I am a runner. I am proud of me. I cheer for myself. But it sure is special when others do it for you. And sometimes it's those random strangers who make you feel like family. </div>
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As I end this entry, 78 runners from the group like my picture, and 3 of my
personal friends do—the same picture. Let’s say there are three times as many
people in the runner’s group as on my FB friends’ list (pretty closely). You
see why I love random strangers. Sometimes that’s where I feel most like I have
a support group. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Lest I omit the random friends—there is a small group of people
who cheer me on too, who know me personally, and I love and appreciate that so much. That’s not to
disdain that joy. Real friends always mean more if they exist. But this
weekend, it’s been the strangers I praise because they have made me feel like I
won a race yesterday. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Because I did. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mipR3mR-_APwHqcM4h8DAJxLyOdt1uoAnOPzkIw60c144k0_NT8Ue7sE_SqMTihF5BHAT6ljcM8yi4_5LajMQmJu-9hYkYgfGpxtCZ6wBKhCH3-PlTu5ftCk6Gb1wGAnHMnwJs5FMxDy/s1600/635317963298333126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1mipR3mR-_APwHqcM4h8DAJxLyOdt1uoAnOPzkIw60c144k0_NT8Ue7sE_SqMTihF5BHAT6ljcM8yi4_5LajMQmJu-9hYkYgfGpxtCZ6wBKhCH3-PlTu5ftCk6Gb1wGAnHMnwJs5FMxDy/s1600/635317963298333126.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-w4itJzp5O7-yvoddF0XqRvDpJfryIgHosjNZwLf1hRG1-MVHJNJ1s6SSmm2ORi56Ypy-jKy8qPn4LUs9P85Wrt3tVBTtfnGbE6tLpfXV6LqYHH4wByLzmzhwcGfATyA6Zs8gbrQNTO3X/s1600/635317963318014866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-w4itJzp5O7-yvoddF0XqRvDpJfryIgHosjNZwLf1hRG1-MVHJNJ1s6SSmm2ORi56Ypy-jKy8qPn4LUs9P85Wrt3tVBTtfnGbE6tLpfXV6LqYHH4wByLzmzhwcGfATyA6Zs8gbrQNTO3X/s1600/635317963318014866.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-60202879883826035422014-03-29T15:40:00.001-07:002014-03-29T15:40:09.352-07:00taking it to the pavement
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Today’s race was not unlike our local Spirit of Survival
race for me. That day, I arrived in the dark on a Sunday morning, broken in my
own spirit, not ready for a race, but I knew I had to keep running. It was
October 6. I ran a quarter marathon so I didn’t have a PR<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>for that yet, but I knew whether I did well,
PR or not. I did. For me in that season of my running, I did well, and two
weeks later I PRed my half marathon in Kansas City, running in just about
double the time of the quarter. It reminded me I could keep running through
anything.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Nothing has been that bad again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May it never be! But this week was hard on so
many levels. The last two days running were strained, slow. I was worried for
real. I haven’t run 12 minute miles in ages and suddenly I was. I was
lethargic. The stress in my heart, the pain from three different things
occurring at once—spiritual, relational and internal—created a perfect storm in
my heart. But I ran anyway. And I guess I took it out on the pavement. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The truth is, I ran this race because I have a friend who
challenges me to time goals. I never make them! He doesn’t pressure me or anything,
but I keep wanting to make them. After my excellent race in KC a couple weeks
ago, I was sure I could pull off the 10K time goal, so I registered. I didn’t
tell him or anyone else that, but that was why. It’s not often people expect
much out of me, honestly, I mean like having goals for me. With running, people
assume it’s easy for me and I just do it. </div>
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<br /></div>
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No. </div>
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I work my butt off. It’s hard. It’s work. I will never be a
speedster. I work harder than some fast runners to just be middle of the pack.
So having some goals is nice. That’s why I registered. I knew I could do it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then I was sure I couldn’t. Everything hurt. I ran a great
double Wednesday but my Thursday and Friday I was slacking in ways I had not. I
almost didn’t race. But I know better than to let pain keep me from the roads.
If you have read this blog from the start you know that’s how I stopped
running. I got hurt in the worst way, and slowly my enthusiasm died. I had no
energy to run. I gave up one day when some idiot face in a truck made a comment
to me. “Speed it up,” he said. Maybe joking. But I was running at 6 a.m. and it
was all I could do to get my butt up to go. I was in a terrible place in my
life. His comment took me over the edge. I stopped running regularly after
that. I always remember that and the months before it and I vowed to never let
what’s happening personally—whether pain or just business and stress or travel—keep
me from running. So I didn’t cancel my race. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a good race. It was well-done and organized. And best
of all it was a reminder to me of what the running community is. It was an
out-and-back so that meant that the winning runners passed those of us who were
slower as they made the turnaround first. So many smiles, “good job” comments,
and just overall support. Runners are the most wonderful people I know. It’s
what endeared me to the lifestyle in Kansas City. Today those encouragements
from strangers reminded me again why I love what I do. I do it alone 99% of the
time, but then on days like today, I remember I am in a company of amazing
people. They have similar spirits. They push on in pain. They run early or
late. They make time, not excuses. They work hard when no one is watching. And
they know we all do, so they encourage when the rubber soles meet the road. I
have written many times about how the closest to community I have seen is the
running community. After Boston, what I saw had me in tears for days. We were
one. “Boston stands as one,” the signs said. We did. We were Boston. Runners
are one. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Today I needed that. Today I needed to see those people. I
needed to remember there is something I am a part of because I choose to be.
Sometimes you choose to be part of something but you can’t be. You want to go
to Harvard but they don’t admit you, for example. You want to be in “that”
crowd, but they don’t want you or you don’t perform well enough. But in
running, all you have to do is run. And you are one of them. And they you. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The race was not too challenging, though the last mile had a
pretty intense north wind, which was probably to my advantage as an Oklahoman.
I know winds. And hills. I used it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew mile 5-6 had a downhill, since we'd run up it in mile
1 and I saved energy to gain time. I ran that downhill stretch at just over 8
minutes a mile, dropping my last mile of a 10K to under 10. I know how to run
downhills (which takes skill) as well as uphills. For the last mile of a race
that long, that’s a big deal. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I flew
down that hill, fast but controlled, knowing I had about half a mile of wind in
my face after that, I was stunned to find runners making a wall and walking.
Who would walk on a downhill? All the runners around me had been running pretty
strong, so<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was baffled. Then I realized.
We were passing 5Kers who were still walking to the finish. So I shot by, knees
high, posture strong, knowing my final time would depend on how I controlled
that chance to make up any lost time. And I did it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The last half mile was hard. It was slightly sloped up, not
a hill in the slightest, but enough to feel it. And the north wind was in my
face. Not strong like I sometimes face in OK, but gusty and cold. Very gusty. I
just wanted it to go away and leave me alone, but I ran as hard as I could.
What had happened on the downhill was I gained so much speed that even in that
last part, I was faster than I had been. I always run hard into wind. I think
it’s a challenge to me. Like hills. I hate them but I push at them hard. They
will not take me out. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As I ran to the finish line, I saw that clock. My friend had
challenged me to 1:05:59 or less. He knows my usual pace and he’s a math guy so
his numbers are really well in my Zone of Proximal Development. I haven’t hit
one yet, but after KC I knew I could. I wasn’t letting today keep me from it. I
would run hard. If I didn’t PR or didn’t make his goal, it was okay if I ran my
best. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The clock had barely turned to 1:03 as I crossed the finish
line. I hope a photographer got the smile on my face when my eyes saw that
number and I flew. I finished in tears. I had done it. After the second hardest
week in a year, I still had a spirit of survival in me. I was a running rock
star. I believed in myself again. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s why I run of course. </div>
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This race I had the best race number I have ever had: 77. I
am into numbers, of course. And so there was that. But what’s funny is my pace.
A recurring number for me the last several months has been 10:10. It’s one of
those numbers I see often on clocks or even on my Garmin when I look at my
pace. Today the chip time numbers show that for 6.2 miles I ran a 10:10 pace. </div>
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<br /></div>
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77.</div>
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10:10.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On a side note, I was trying to figure out how this great race
made any money. It was well done, chip timed, good water stops (still carried
my own since I have been burned by that and need to drink when I run hard).
Entry fees for regular registration were $15. That is dirt cheap--even for the
5K but especially the 10K. Then of course there were t-shirts. Not tech shirts,
but decent around the house ones. And then our race number entitled us to a
dozen free bagels. And somehow they made money for Down syndrome in the
process. Class act, Boopa's Bagel Shop. I'll be back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I looked up my 10K history. I am about to do a bib number
display anyway, and one suggestion I saw a while back was to write your race
name and time on the back of the bib, so you would remember. I have not done
that, but I am starting now. So I needed to look them up anyway. I have only done
4 10Ks since returning to running. Here are those results:</div>
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<span class="usercontent"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">1. May 4, 2013, Fort
Worth. 1:16:27 </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />
<span class="usercontent">2. Nov. 28, 2013, Fort Worth. 1:12:55 (The one with
bronchitis!) </span><br />
<span class="usercontent">3. Jan. 18, 2014, Wichita </span><span class="textexposedshow">Falls. 1:06:24 (Female master's winner).</span><br />
<span class="textexposedshow">4. Today, March 29, 2014, Fort Worth. 1:03:06</span></span></div>
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<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">13 minutes and 21
seconds in less than 11 months. </span></span></div>
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<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today was my 152<sup>nd</sup>
day in a row of running without a rest day.</span></span></div>
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<span class="textexposedshow"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Until the next run.</span></span></div>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-79990766147963946282014-03-09T17:32:00.002-07:002014-03-09T17:32:43.601-07:00a running miracle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">Every day when I wake up
I check my <a href="http://timehop.com/" target="_blank">Timehop</a> app. My friend <a href="http://www.thegraymatters.com/" target="_blank">Jolie</a> turned me on to it and I love it
because I am such a date person. Precision matters to me. Timehop shows you all
the social networking and pictures from as many years as you have been posting.
Today I had posts from 1-5 years ago. But one of them left me in happy tears. I
knew what today was. March 9, 2013 was my first race after I had been running regularly
and training. It is a race I actually get to do next weekend, so it will be
special. Here is what I wrote a year ago today, followed by my comments:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #222222;">A few days before winter,
I ran a 5K after getting asthma medicine and began running every day. Through
cold and snow, through learning to breathe, through hills and elevation. Every
day I ran. I put my cover photo up a while back that says “A strong spring is
earned in the winter." Today, a few days before spring, was my first race
since a few days before winter. I don't have the genetics to be fast, but I
have the discipline to train. That‘s why at the 5K mark, I realized I had PRed,
and then I came in a full minute under what I had hoped I might do. Was I fast?
Maybe to the walkers :-) But I beat myself--and that was the only person I was
racing. I found my strong. I earned my strong spring, and I‘m ready to go back
out tomorrow and run some more. <br />
</span></b><span style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">Indeed, that race marked an amazing and successful year for me.
I kind of laugh at my time in that race now because I have run almost 10
minutes faster in training runs—and it was only a 4-miler. And that’s the
point. I think that’s what I started crying as I read it and saw the pictures
where I was positively beaming. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">Running works. Many times in my life I have made efforts towards
things that have failed. It’s discouraging to work hard at something and see no
fruit. Currently in my personal life I am working hard at something that has
some fruit, but not enough. It’s frustrating and even despairing at times.
Running yields results. Period.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">I have the same picture on my FB cover shot this year. I put it
up when ice storm after ice storm came. I ran in colder weather this year in
southwest OK than I did last year in one of the top 20 cold metro areas of the
US. Go figure. I ran in snow and ice and winds. Winds are new to me, but I do
it. I did it. I ran. Runners run. That’s my mantra. And so as I am preparing
for what is the first unofficial spring race this year and see that post from
last year, I remember. <i>It worked.</i> I
kept working and it worked for me. Running has transformed my life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">On the outside I look obsessed because I plan my life around
running. Running has been my best friend and closest love for the longest time.
I began running in a response to losing all I knew and had held on to for
years. Running is what got me through and gets me through. We all plan our
lives around what we love most. In my case I have people I love who also get priority,
but I had no people then. I had my run. It’s not obsession as much as it is
love. I don’t know how to explain that. But to me it would be dumb to not do
something that is a formula for joy and love and wonder. Every run, even on the
same course, is different. Every run reminds me of something, teaches me
something. Every run brings me joy. Every. Single. One. So you may think I am obsessed,
but I think I have a secret you don’t!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">Today was the Asics LA Marathon, which I watched online. I love
watching marathons, seeing the elite runners compete and how they endure,
seeing those who would be a model for me, though physically it is impossible I
would ever achieve their level of athleticism. I cry when I watch marathons. I
cry when I watch the winner fight and come out ahead. I cry for the human spirit
that wins every time, that reminds me what I can do if I persist.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">Most people I know now did not know me “when.” They did not see
the morbidly obese child who lied almost daily to get out of PE class. I
actually went to a hardware store in 8<sup>th</sup> grade and bought Plaster of
Paris and made a cast for my wrist because I knew that a cast on my wrist would
be a reason to get out of PE; who asks for a doctor’s note when you have a cast?
The majority of people in my life now only know me as a runner. They didn’t
know me when I smoked 1.5-2 packs of cigarettes a day. They don’t know who I
was before this or what an amazing feat I have accomplished. They don’t know
the level of hate I had for my body—the same body I now declare is amazing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">Running is positive to me. Always. I don’t like it when people
comment about hating running. Really, find another sport if you hate it! I
don’t like the stress that surrounds it or negative obsessions. I never have. I
feel like running is my friend, as much as any friend is. It is always good. If
I don’t PR, who cares? I still ran. I am grateful every day that I can run. I
take none of it for granted because I know there was a time I couldn’t run. I
was too fat and out of shape and stricken with asthma. I was laughed at by kids
and beat up in school. I dropped out of school most years after 3<sup>rd</sup>
grade (that is not a typo) mostly because of PE. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">I am a miracle and I know it every time I run. Running is one of
the great loves of my life. Today, I went out to run 6 miles and came home with
a spontaneous 9.33 miles. A 15K run just because I felt like it. That, my
friends, is a miracle. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">I have posted this on my personal Facebook page before, but it
seems like today it is a good illustration of why every run is a miracle and
joy. This is what I looked like when I was 15:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeHif-TvC9oB6uOU4Yrx_waaet2f5sz65Q4HVVP1aK-rbJnYQ9ox8Gz9-3AHV4BuSPBiKh5M8E0Cjm26beEg0QXmtkngNgD9e4MQs48pVIT9QR01tnRTKbfOiRiJqzTRr2eU1blQ_zSJI/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNeHif-TvC9oB6uOU4Yrx_waaet2f5sz65Q4HVVP1aK-rbJnYQ9ox8Gz9-3AHV4BuSPBiKh5M8E0Cjm26beEg0QXmtkngNgD9e4MQs48pVIT9QR01tnRTKbfOiRiJqzTRr2eU1blQ_zSJI/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="248" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #222222; font-size: small;">And this is me today:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2lfXwnoYfvUmsTC7SeJOF6CXGlP-59T1rx1nMTL7lEG8UK7Pax0Rnghla7WPLLmoRJYrIuOZtKwvY9ukN_4DMDPOmh3xCPQl68HYkDlhhIFnhdKPwUcTPEJDa9c2ltOSGEHmucfh6ToA/s1600/1380796_10152251461458118_936901947_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB2lfXwnoYfvUmsTC7SeJOF6CXGlP-59T1rx1nMTL7lEG8UK7Pax0Rnghla7WPLLmoRJYrIuOZtKwvY9ukN_4DMDPOmh3xCPQl68HYkDlhhIFnhdKPwUcTPEJDa9c2ltOSGEHmucfh6ToA/s1600/1380796_10152251461458118_936901947_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Any questions?</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-7720035886384878642014-03-03T15:56:00.001-08:002014-03-03T15:56:12.438-08:00for the love of the run<div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: trebuchet ms,sans-serif; font-size: small;">
I'll
stop running when it stops being fun. Today I ran on snow and ice,
again. And I loved it. I was soaring down the highway like a character
in a movie, beaming with joy. I turned on back roads covered only with
ice because I could, because my ice grippers made running on ice just as
easy. Coming up around a bend of solid ice, I glowed with joy. For these five miles, all that mattered was the run.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2e0aFo_Hyn5bqIqBqCNWVT7-Kydh3UTWGKXVwaFwxehUWDUxshOL1cJOqrmNOgQH8-04-wprXrrt5GlL1P1ADMK9ywE65E0LegvP4IYHb_2VTii0gH37l9rw5RXIWA8J4JRuCecQ2lIhS/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2e0aFo_Hyn5bqIqBqCNWVT7-Kydh3UTWGKXVwaFwxehUWDUxshOL1cJOqrmNOgQH8-04-wprXrrt5GlL1P1ADMK9ywE65E0LegvP4IYHb_2VTii0gH37l9rw5RXIWA8J4JRuCecQ2lIhS/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtC873E0TDs8Q2qyEdwpzHLBCClTjN6eVkU42VRLSuQLC0uONY4SL_f59J1wkL3QP5051U5jJAbKR0AO_sP0miI87SOLYC45C-flg0haKVOeuNt437qNa2_99qvFKsVSBsN9s5-wtIBjRk/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtC873E0TDs8Q2qyEdwpzHLBCClTjN6eVkU42VRLSuQLC0uONY4SL_f59J1wkL3QP5051U5jJAbKR0AO_sP0miI87SOLYC45C-flg0haKVOeuNt437qNa2_99qvFKsVSBsN9s5-wtIBjRk/s1600/photo+4.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /><br />Some
call me determined; some say I am committed; some say I am crazy. The
truth is, I love it and it's not hard to do what you love. When I taught
school I learned quickly that the best teachers were the ones who loved
it. Good teachers know that retirement should not come at a certain age
but when the love of teaching is over. So it is with running. <br /><br />Every
run is not wonderful. Some days they whole thing is miserable. Just
like when you teach 8th grade and parents yell at you and kids fail
tests and talk back and your assignment bombs. But you don't call in
sick the next day. Because you love it. Even though the day was bad and
the parent was wrong and the kid was a brat, you love the school, the
feel of the place, the excitement of the buses coming in and the middle
school fashions. You love the kids, even when they are toots. And so you
keep coming to work and most days are worth all the work you put into
it. <br /></div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: trebuchet ms,sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Today
as I ran, I thought about that. Not all runners enjoy running uphill on
a sheet of ice. I felt like the most powerful person alive. Because I
love the run. I love what it is and what it does and that even on bad
days it makes the good days better. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4AbvuoxTmZYlTcfGqtfBa4en0j8ytiDMvw28MyYwbnhublCPJvv_fD-jO0E3cjWMvRNlbQdXUB_EDv5BtwNVOs2rB97Ho4y-n4CkdCJwNC_v_yxv-afOmgv64MrDTrNwlGnPVF6G03Xr/s1600/1photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4AbvuoxTmZYlTcfGqtfBa4en0j8ytiDMvw28MyYwbnhublCPJvv_fD-jO0E3cjWMvRNlbQdXUB_EDv5BtwNVOs2rB97Ho4y-n4CkdCJwNC_v_yxv-afOmgv64MrDTrNwlGnPVF6G03Xr/s1600/1photo+4.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken mid-run today</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="gmail_default" style="font-family: trebuchet ms,sans-serif; font-size: small;">
Am
I determined? Am I committed? Am I faithful? Yep. I am. But the truth
underlying it all is that I am in love with the run. The reason I plan
my life around my runs isn't because I am obsessed; it's because I am in
love. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LzP6H7kq7jvH-RJcGkspK4g5bFUElY59Mdqz2V7sHhSKdEh0KnoG-Ta_z6MsRbfAL1K3KkSzzxrqCQ0mnXJaG9B8OM3J73fYsTMLcQgo6O8JOLeTT5EwkLUDpmNRJ2S3kB3EIpI-k8Ft/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9LzP6H7kq7jvH-RJcGkspK4g5bFUElY59Mdqz2V7sHhSKdEh0KnoG-Ta_z6MsRbfAL1K3KkSzzxrqCQ0mnXJaG9B8OM3J73fYsTMLcQgo6O8JOLeTT5EwkLUDpmNRJ2S3kB3EIpI-k8Ft/s1600/photo+3.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Open highway today</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7n6hS8osCuXX4B1REg4dOLM0X7RfrG15yrZqHiZoXevKKp7OUtWE-QVvbNG-wq1bHxwXiYvwsNBiWnMleMUjpDWADtiK9oTCBUy_WnJ2nPy1r7ZKkDflfrzXOWbC480tnb5N9mZMCwKE/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid7n6hS8osCuXX4B1REg4dOLM0X7RfrG15yrZqHiZoXevKKp7OUtWE-QVvbNG-wq1bHxwXiYvwsNBiWnMleMUjpDWADtiK9oTCBUy_WnJ2nPy1r7ZKkDflfrzXOWbC480tnb5N9mZMCwKE/s1600/photo+2.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winter sky caught mid-run (and filtered for dramatic effect)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuGZrisk2IjL95ouEydoHZ6TsYlYKjSB-8kZRE3bdGn8xIVCch9yZ1J_HR3VCyVZa9yiVLKQP7bSxrpKff9Rdzoy_0nNPpsGGnbbnr95GS-eKPLbTj7KnnKNiQx3h_IFyT7ignU0ZOXcD/s1600/1photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEuGZrisk2IjL95ouEydoHZ6TsYlYKjSB-8kZRE3bdGn8xIVCch9yZ1J_HR3VCyVZa9yiVLKQP7bSxrpKff9Rdzoy_0nNPpsGGnbbnr95GS-eKPLbTj7KnnKNiQx3h_IFyT7ignU0ZOXcD/s1600/1photo+1.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My happy place</td></tr>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-26289102387338764362013-08-09T08:50:00.001-07:002013-08-09T08:50:40.225-07:00Iron girl: the magic is in the metalI<a href="http://runnergirlreprise.blogspot.com/2013/08/and-then-in-hottest-week-of-august-i.html" target="_blank"> wrote a couple days ago</a> about suddenly getting (relatively) fast. I have been really pondering what could have brought this about. While it's true that the way you get better at running is to run, this change has been extreme. I have shaved a full two minutes off my mile at times during casual runs. I run a bit harder, yes, but the fact I <i>can</i> run a bit harder and sustain it--for far for up to 3.3 miles--is telling in itself.<br />
<br />
It was my 5K Saturday when it happened--when I heard the magic "ten minutes..." in my headphones. That I had completed a mile <i>anywhere</i> with a 10 in it told me something. One of my running friends commented to me once that "ten minute miles are the stuff of dreams." I agree. Ten is fast. I reiterate that the reason we may think it's normal is that those are the numbers we always hear. We only hear about the under 10-minute mile runners because they win. In smaller races the 10 minute mile runners might win. We don't hear about the normal people who run in the middle of the pack and finish well. But that's what normal is.<br />
<br />
So Saturday I was stunned. It was hot. It was somewhat hilly. Those two factors alone slow people down. What was I doing shooting off like a cannon?<br />
<br />
Sunday I got up to run again--late. So hot. I was certainly slower than Saturday, but not as slow as most post-race tired runs. Then Monday. Even faster. And then Tuesday. Bam. I nailed it. Fastest 5K of my life outside of a race--in 80 degrees in my hilly neighborhood. That's when I knew something had given. Wednesday was my rest day because I have ballet Tuesday nights and I will normally teach at 8 a.m. Wednesday, so it was logical. But I couldn't stand it. After work, I went back to the university and to the indoor track, where I PRed my mile-<i>-in just over 9 minutes.</i><br />
<br />
So what changed it? Training in the heat and hills? Absolutely. That has helped and will help. This fall I will be better. Just as I was ready for spring because I didn't wimp out in the cold winter, even when I was so cold I couldn't warm up. I'm thinking of two 8-milers I did where I never got warm after <i>eight miles</i>. I couldn't afford the nice clothes I needed for cold, but I couldn't afford not to run, so I ran anyway. I ran with a Facebook banner that said "A strong spring is earned in the winter." And so it was.<br />
<br />
But cutting two minutes off a casual mile isn't likely just training. And in my case I think it was iron.<br />
<br />
The night I got to town I went to a running meeting. I don't generally care for running groups. I am a solo runner and the only time I like to run with people is in races, but I went to hear it, perhaps hoping I would like it and want to connect more. The speaker was a running coach who the weekend before had run 3 5Ks and won all three--he's one of those. He was talking about iron levels at some point--about days he had been feeling sluggish and how he got his checked. I thought about my own sluggishness--which isn't just being tired or lazy. You <i>know</i> when your body itself is physiologically not performing and it's not because you stayed up too late or ate junk. Still, I had been tested in the past--years ago, but I am one that every test always comes out okay. I am so very healthy (and thankful for my health) usually that when something is wrong it just sticks out big time.<br />
<br />
Later I bought a cheapo iron supplement. I wasn't spending a ton of money if I didn't need it. Allegedly if I had a deficiency it would be obvious. For a couple weeks I took one every night. Then I upped it to two. A lot of people say cheap vitamins are worthless, but that's actually<i> not</i> what lab tests show (<i>and no, I am not interested in your multi-level marketing special patented running formula vitamins for 9 times the price I am paying now, but thanks</i>) when they are run. Usually they end up being about the same, but iron does have to be absorbed right, so I had somewhere upped it to three, I think the week before. I won't go into details here in a public blog, but I had begun to have some physiological side effects of taking iron (normal ones, not bad ones) which I actually thought were the result of my taking extended antibiotics for my one non-healthy area, my sick tooth. It was about then that I suspect it was beginning to work.<br />
<br />
The night before my record breaking 5K, I took four iron tablets. I will do stuff like that before a race, more out of superstition. I.e. you do <i>not</i> need to carbo load before a 5K--three miles does not need extra carbohydrates--but I do it anyway. It's all psychological. I often take one extra inhaler puff, though two is all that is ever needed. So I took one more iron tablet.<br />
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It took me a few days to put it together. But I think it's the iron. Plus, if I am taking a cheaper one, it's harder to absorb possibly--still good but it might take an extra one. And last night I did some research. I found a really interesting article with supporting academic research studies. If you go to this page from the National Institutes of Health,<a href="http://ods.od.nih.gov/factsheets/Iron-HealthProfessional/" target="_blank"> you can read this overview of iron supplementation</a>.<br />
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Here's the magic section that floored me:<br />
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<i>Women. Distance runners.</i> That would be me, twice over. And though I am not a vegetarian, I do have a diet that leans more toward that. I do not eat a lot of red meat, and my other meat portions are small. It made perfect sense. Even if I would have tested okay in the past, I am depleting more. <i>Duh. Duh. Duh.</i></div>
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One of the studies cited by the NIH is<a href="http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/8286880?dopt=Abstract" target="_blank"> this one</a>. I have not read the entire study yet because I will have to obtain it via my university since it will be in a database, but it supports the athletic premise of the need for more iron by conducting a study on the iron depletion of competitive swimmers. </div>
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It is possible to get too much iron. If you feel slow and sluggish, taking a lot of iron supplements <i>will not make you magically fast</i>. It could actually hurt you. This post is <i>my</i> experience and I haven't even confirmed it yet biologically, though I would probably wager a bet on it at this point. But you cannot generalize someone's experience; I am simply sharing it in case you want to be tested if you are a very regular distance runner and possibly do have long-term unexplained sluggishness. I have not had health insurance so my options to test my iron levels correctly did not exist. I can now, but I won't go off the supplement. However, if I test just fine on it, then that will say something in itself. My point here is that taking iron won't make you faster or stronger if you don't have a depletion (and unless you are running a lot, you probably didn't make extra depletion happen, but I do run enough that I would). So before you try this, get checked out and also read up on iron toxicity. But the bottom line for me is that it seems to have solved a problem. I had noticed I was getting more sluggish more often, which seemed unusual since that's usually an off and on thing. Everyone has sluggish days. Without questions, that is normal. Most likely as I was establishing a normal routine again and pushing my body harder, that's what was going on. Adding the iron deficiency with the consistent training in the heat and on hills was probably just a formula all together to help me. </div>
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Tomorrow I have a longer run and I am going to purposely do it slower. But I am doing it with the iron! Last night I ordered more from the company I prefer to use when I find a good vitamin. If it works, it works. And for me, it sure seems to be a key. </div>
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This week my runs have been incredible--and I don't just mean the speed. I mean, I have felt like a cannon blasted out of a cave that flies down the road. I beam with delight at the act of running. There are moments I forget I am running and my arms are swinging and I feel like I am flying down the road. Suddenly I feel like Iron Girl. </div>
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Iron Girl in Pink Magic, of course.</div>
Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-66689626039650210042013-08-07T17:34:00.002-07:002013-08-07T17:34:13.103-07:00And then in the hottest week of August I got fastAnd then in the hottest week of August I got fast.
Okay,<i> fast</i> is relative. But if you compare where I was a few months ago to this week, you could be an Olympic runner and would still call me fast—compared to myself, which is the point of running.
I have dubbed this The Most Important Week of My Running Life. There are many reasons for that but most of them revolve around working full time again and having as very full life I have not had since I began running. And I started it with a bang.<br />
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After PRing in a 5K race Saturday, I haven’t let up. If you ask me how fast I run, I generally won’t tell you—because it’s not about numbers and I don’t like arbitrary assignments. I am not “fast” by competitive definitions. I won’t win anything more than an age group place in a very small local race—if that. I am not a speedster, and I don’t want to be dismissed by people who don’t actually know anything about running or who only know people who run at their speed. The 14 minute milers think you are bragging and the 8 minute milers think you are pokey.<br />
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You know what I am? I am me.<br />
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I am a committed and dedicated runner who has found life and breath in running when it left me other ways. And so when I say fast, I mean<i> Susan got fast</i>, not that <i>Susan is a fast runner</i>. And there is a decided difference. The great thing is the one that matters is the one where I got fast.
Sunday I ran faster than average for the weather, but slower than the race, more normal. Monday I went way faster. And yesterday I ran my fastest <i>ever</i> three miles on the road outside of a race, stunning myself.<br />
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Seriously, I had no idea how I did it. I ran a perfect 5K “casual” run, with negative splits (getting faster every mile). They were perfect splits too, like some crafted and coached run.
Last night I had two ballet classes, which I have decided make Wednesday a perfect rest day this semester. But I had a bit of a hard time after ballet last night. And then this afternoon as well. And so I coped the only surefire way. I don’t really have close friends I can call in most difficult times—people don’t talk on the phone much—most of them are so busy with their families, especially on evenings and weekends, which, like the rest of the world, are my only free times too. And I don’t even have casual friends I can go get yogurt with to kind of just muddle through stuff since I am brand new to town. So I did the only thing I know to do—I ran. Though my calves were crazy sore from pointe class and all those roll through-<span class="infl-inline"><span class="Latn headword">relevés</span></span>, I decided I needed to go back to the gym.<br />
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I hadn’t done weights in over a week and I thought maybe a quick mile around the track would be a good idea, to see what I could do.
I had used Nike Plus on “indoor mode” last time I was at the track, and I was sure it was wrong, but as I read about it people said it did a good job, so I went to a treadmill first and checked them against each other. If anything, the app trailed ever-so-slightly <i>behind</i> the treadmill. It actually worked! So I took off—on the outside lane—there were people walking anyway, but the outside lane is for “Running” and the middle for ”Jogging.” Last time I did the jogging lane, out of respect for any real runners, but I decided a sub-10 minute mile counted as real running and tore off around the outside. The truth is, I think I went an extra lap, or at least part of one, but I stuck to the Nike readout. Nine minutes and six seconds.<br />
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<i><b>9:06. </b></i><br />
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<i>Me</i>. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have believed it. Never in a million thoughts did I think I could do that. It’s easier indoors—flat, rubberized surface, controlled temperature. I could not do that outdoors. Yet. But I had 10-something minute miles in my race Saturday—and it was USATF certified, so I know I am not fooling myself. That was a slightly hilly and very warm race. And I can always run indoors at least a minute faster, but <i>still</i>. Without question, I could pull off a sub 9-minute indoors at this point. But I want to break 10 outdoors.<br />
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People, I am 5 feet tall—and I am still “chubby.” Extra weight slows you down. That is a fact physiologically, the same way increased temperatures slow you down. People can get all know-it-all about running and how “they” don’t need to slow down or “they” used to run fast when they were fat or whatever they want but the facts don’t change (and those attitudes are dumb anyway because you can never compare two individual runners)—but you can argue physiology and that tells me when it is 50 degrees out and I weigh less, I will be faster, all other things equal.<br />
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When I started running I was carrying probably at least 40 extra pounds with me. You try to run down the road carrying four large sacks of potatoes on your back and tell me you are just as fast and I will laugh in your face. So what’s another 20 pounds or whatever going to do?
I don’t know how fast I will be able to be one day. Fast is definitely relative and I don’t have all the genetics that do determine some of it, but you can also defy genetics to some degree. Sub-2 hour half? I am not counting on it. 7 minute mile? Maybe in several months. I don’t have any idea.<br />
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All I know is that today I wanted to throw everything else out of my life besides running and just run—all the time. I ran 16 minutes miles a few times in January, 14 was pretty normal much of the time) and today I ran just about 9. Really? What could I do if I worked harder if this is what I did in the absolute hottest week in August. Maybe I ran indoors today but I didn’t run indoors the last few days.<br />
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I love running because you get out of it what you put into it. In relationships, for example, you may love and love and be rejected. Or you may want to care more than another person cares. In running, the more committed you are, the more it is welcomed. Running accepts what man rejects.<br />
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So in this week, The Most Important Week of My Running Life, I am proving what’s important to me. Simultaneously, I am coping with difficult personal change. Running is a miracle. Plain and simple. Sometimes I think there is too much to handle at once, and then I run, and I think, I can take this world on, me and my feet. By ourselves. I don’t need a friend to call or a gelato date, I just need Pink Magic.
Sometimes when I run, I believe it.<br />
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-6006076180550257672013-08-05T18:30:00.002-07:002014-03-03T19:36:10.960-08:00do it for love<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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You and I, we’re not the same kind of runner. You see, I
love running. I love pretty much all of it. I loved it before I knew it was a
magic weight loss pill. I loved it before I saw my renewed energy. I loved it
when three miles was a long way.</div>
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You and I, causal runner, are not the same kind of runner
because my week isn’t complete without 20 miles of running. It matters. It
matters so much I will re-prioritize almost anything else for my run.</div>
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You and I, over-thinking runner, are not the same type of
runner because when the feet hit the road, that’s not analysis time for me.</div>
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You and I, fair-weathered runner, are not the same type of runner
because I’m going to run whether it’s 0 degrees or 100 degrees,. I am going to
hate the extreme conditions of both and I may even get sick in the 100, but it
won’t stop me from what I love. I will still love that I ran. I have never
regretted a run.</div>
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See, I love my stats, and I love to stare at the numbers
from my runs, but when I hit the road, all I care about is the road and as far
as I can go. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to analyze my plans
whole running. I don’t want to stare at my Garmin and slow or quicken my pace.
I just want to run. Yes, I want to get better, but that’s the magic of
running—if you do it you get better at it.</div>
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Remember a few months ago I wrote about how if you don’t
like running you should find another sport? I said:</div>
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<b>If you can’t have fun running, then don’t run.</b><br />
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I feel more strongly about that than ever. It’s August and I
don’t live in Alaska. I am also, apparently, ultra-sensitive to heat and prone
to literal heat exhaustion. And I haven’t missed a run. That’s love. It’s not a
training plan—in fact, I am realizing that I can’t train for fall long runs
because of the physical limitations of the level of heat--it's been hard but my
mileage hasn't suffered. I find a way. It’s not weight loss. Come on, there are
so many exercises to help you lose weight. Zumba, for Pete’s sake. Do that 5
days a week and you will probably be skinner faster than running.</div>
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<br />
See, running is so many wonderful things, but for me, it’s
really my best friend—the one thing I can always count on in a world of
inconsistency. You don’t need equipment or a coach or a plan or analysis. While
I do things like analyze my stats, that’s not the purpose of what I do.</div>
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Running is getting more popular by the minute, and I think
the attention is great, but a runner runs—when it’s a fad and when it’s not.
When it’s hot or when it’s cold. When there’s a race or when it’s just a normal
day.</div>
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Today I got up before dawn, on the first day of a long, and
what will be very hard on me mentally, week—and I ran a 5K. Because I could.
Because I can run. Because my feet work and it makes my heart come alive like
nothing else. Because I needed to run for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was more tired today. I am more tired now.<br />
<br />
But I will get up again tomorrow and do it again.</div>
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<br />
I rest on rest days, not because I don’t feel like running.
Honestly, I will be surprised if I have rest days very much once it’s cool
again. The heat has been very hard on me; it has tested everything I am made
of. And I have won.</div>
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There are so many runners who have stories like mine, all
different details but the same theme. I am like them. I am the runner who found
hope in my feet, on the open road. I am the runner who was wanted on the
streets, and who found life even in the dead of winter. I am not casual, I am
not an analyst, I am not fair-weathered. I am a runner because I run. I am a
runner because I love to run. That's the kind of runner I am. And that's the
only kind I want to be.</div>
<br />
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<![endif]-->Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-10499184716641614842013-06-28T11:24:00.002-07:002013-06-28T11:24:35.725-07:00The 500th mile: doing The Thing I Never Did
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I don’t know when the first time I was I climbed the high
dive in a pool. I was young. I grew up in water. Swimming was one of my favorite
things to do and I loved the diving boards. I jumped, belly flopped—and even
did some real diving with some okay skill as a kid. I was a fish child. Water
was my friend. And then it was my enemy. But only when I walked up to the high
dive. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t like heights when I am exposed to the outside in
them. 30 story building, no problem—unless I go out on the balcony. It’s not a
serious fear. I will do it but it makes me a bit cautious—especially like on building
ledges (and let’s not discuss how I have even ended up on building ledges but I
have). But the high dive was the worst. Climbing a ladder and walking out on a narrow
springy board and then standing over water and jumping in—well, it was too
much. The height is what got to me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Every. Single. Time. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I never did it. I think I remember the last time I turned
around and walked down the ladder. I did it so many times, though, that it’s
hard to be sure. Even with people behind me in line, it never mattered. I just
wouldn’t do it. I was too afraid. So fish child was truly a fish and didn’t
like leaping too high out of the water. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I can’t recall what made me get the idea—maybe swim lessons
this summer? All I know is as I talked about reaching my 500 mile running goal,
going off a high dive sounded like a really good way to mark it. So somewhere
this summer I asked my coach, who I was meeting with via Skype, if there was a high
dive in town. I wanted to jump off of it when I visited.</div>
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<br /></div>
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What made this really ideal was the 500 mile mark. On
January 1, I decided, almost impulsively, that the way to guide my running,
which I had just returned to doing not long before, was to set a mileage goal
for 2013. I didn’t want it to be unrealistic because I wanted to be successful.
So I looked at 500 miles—averaging to 1.36 miles a day. There was little doubt
in my mind I could pull that off even without heavy running. I had no idea what
was to come. </div>
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<br /></div>
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So on January 1, I headed out to iLan park in the Kansas
City area, part of the amazing trail system the city says, unmatched by most
places with its miles and miles of asphalt trails. It was cold and very icy. I
did 1.5 miles that day at a 14:44 pace. I could only go so far because the ice
patches were so slippery and I was so new. 1.5 miles down.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And every day after that I went—with a rest day each week.
Faithfully. Through work. Sickness. A knee problem. Through grief, pain, rejection,
joy, laughter. I went over and over through a crazy, frigid, snowy winter. I
didn’t have the right clothes, couldn’t afford the nice stuff to keep me warm.
I pilfered hats and gloves from the mud room in the house where I lived. I wore
and old sweatshirt very a long sleeved shirt. When the wind blew I was sure my
face was forming icicles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I ran. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I knew I was going to Texas, I was glad that I would
have the spring to acclimate to warmer weather before being thrown into Hotville.
But it never happened. There were snow flurries up until the day before I left
Kansas City in late April. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ran to Texas. I drove to Oklahoma City, adding a day to my
trip to run around Lake Hefner. I drove on and ran in cites where I had job interviews,
on to Dallas where I ran around Sherman, then Dallas, and on to College Station
where the heat and misery assailed me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now the goal was to take OFF as many clothes and possible to
run comfortably. I had lost some decent weight by then but not enough to run in
a sports bra (and make no mistake, in that heat, I absolutely would if I had
even close to the shape for it). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By now my mileage was climbing and I was about to run a half
marathon. Then I flew off to North Dakota for that. Knocking off 13 miles in
one run was sure helpful toward achieving my goal. And back to College Station
I went to run another month or so in lows that ran in the mid-to-high 70s with
90-something percent humidity. It was miserable like I could not explain. I was
not becoming acclimatized to it. I would cry. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I would run. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kept up with my mileage, sometimes doing creative things
like putting a really long run in on a cooler day and doing a second long run
late that week, using the next week to even out the mileage. Quitting was not
an option.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, I didn’t just start running because I wanted to
lose weight. I started running because it was my love that got away years
before. I started running because I had lost love and hope and wasn’t
recovering. I started running to keep myself sane and find some balance in a chaotic
world. I started running to conquer the things that ached too much to stand
still any longer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was by sheer chance that travel would bring me back to
Kansas City the very week I was scheduled to hit 500 miles. I did not plan that
or do anything to make it happen. I was pretty surprised to see how it fell,
but it was meant to be. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a home on the trails of this city. I know the
nuances, the turns, the duck crossings. I know where to park when I need a 5K
run, or how far out to go for a 4 miler or a 10-miler. I have run from Overland
Park on one side to Leawood on the other, from Leawood, KS into Kansas City,
MO. I learned to run hills in this city. A 300 ft climb in one run wasn’t
unusual. It wasn’t always a lot of fun, but it was typical height. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have left at least 35 pounds on the trails, pounded into
asphalt and run over by Pink Magic, then blown away by cold winter winds. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have processed my life, by myself, with the trees as my
only audience. Before I could begin to process anything out loud, as I have
recently begun to do, I took it to the trails. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember days I ran fending off tears of grief and pain. I
remember days I bounced down the trails beaming with joy. I remember days I was
distracted, I didn’t want to run, but I did it anyway. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So many cups of frozen yogurt and Ice Cube chocolates. So
many Hy-Vee salads and chicken sandwiches. Slowly I made progress, quickly my
heart clung to the run. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through it all, I have run. And this goal is one of many,
not the end. I quickly set up my RunKeeper for another 500 mile goal this year.
I plan to hit 1000 miles and add a marathon to the mix. I’m in week 2 of
training now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the high dive was a celebration because if you’re going
to live you should live loud. I met my coach at the pool with the high dive—I
ran that half mile I had left at my fastest pace. I stripped to swim clothes
and walked up the ladder to the high dive and before I could think, I jumped.
In a spilt second the haunting fear of The Thing I Never Did was gone. I was in
the air. In the water. Deeper than I had ever been. Because I jumped from
higher than I had ever jumped. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m a runner. A real one. I run every day. I run races, I analyze
stats. I work on my time. I recover from bad runs by running more to erase the
memory. But I am just a beginner. I don’t know if I will ever feel like a real
expert. Running is ever-changing. Every run is different, even if you run
exactly the same route. There is always a new race, new weather, new obstacles,
new victories. Last night I took<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>break
to conquer a fear and eat pizza with my coach/friend who came to chronicle my
victory and cheer me on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the week isn’t over and I have a 7-mile long run.
Because when you’re running a marathon, you just keep going. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A pictorial account:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEoNi8qi1sGi8UonbVgoi8NY3cTHL0tzQmaq_a0fKZbIN6kesWiin8Ecczf1vlxxACpLNhdXF2tys1ZpS4I_pAv4rUPhNik4TQetoxdS7Y2TEM7sn8c1fnRiRexR4gUq5ntgwG5qz5eYu/s1600/20130627_183706.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUEoNi8qi1sGi8UonbVgoi8NY3cTHL0tzQmaq_a0fKZbIN6kesWiin8Ecczf1vlxxACpLNhdXF2tys1ZpS4I_pAv4rUPhNik4TQetoxdS7Y2TEM7sn8c1fnRiRexR4gUq5ntgwG5qz5eYu/s320/20130627_183706.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Before my last half mile... nerves! Once I started I was minutes from the high dive.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5RfIg5pkF_NaHrdll-w0lLeKRcMOweElNThFhMb2WP-pnZOol8I3w8uctpx5rkboZ2IuX8DnzibxTRwQfuOpJZrTE1Ra0SZLAKC0Ui5FsLO1FZSJdd0j-h7DV9m6pROJRGPwuKTzTpwR/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF5RfIg5pkF_NaHrdll-w0lLeKRcMOweElNThFhMb2WP-pnZOol8I3w8uctpx5rkboZ2IuX8DnzibxTRwQfuOpJZrTE1Ra0SZLAKC0Ui5FsLO1FZSJdd0j-h7DV9m6pROJRGPwuKTzTpwR/s320/image.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Random scene from the run. I got to do the last half mile at a favorite spot.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEslcK7mbwdc-4FVho9Y_pQBRC92GCrwN7fth-n8u18Ct7fqzPV7DsRHAnc-UznLsw7xiiFa0orrEvg5CXvB21-4vwkKIkQKcCQ8nwg8hpoqre8LPlD-Nq4pVS5lSf5Jvv1D8nXNLo6uJ5/s1468/IMG_7099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEslcK7mbwdc-4FVho9Y_pQBRC92GCrwN7fth-n8u18Ct7fqzPV7DsRHAnc-UznLsw7xiiFa0orrEvg5CXvB21-4vwkKIkQKcCQ8nwg8hpoqre8LPlD-Nq4pVS5lSf5Jvv1D8nXNLo6uJ5/s320/IMG_7099.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> This is an actual shot of me holding up my RunKeeper as it turned to 500 miles and I finished that last step.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAYf8UY3ZCWBcS0k34j_Nux5vu5Uwn0OxxmdazWU27ucQKJ6ISdtyQ95n6t_3yK8HHQjLLUG_OdiaQjeVUKputNgaOTbOlVoeMbegYJUNfEztpr7Panh73px9P9iN9O899Oz1FgMoe1UaT/s1136/IMG_7082.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAYf8UY3ZCWBcS0k34j_Nux5vu5Uwn0OxxmdazWU27ucQKJ6ISdtyQ95n6t_3yK8HHQjLLUG_OdiaQjeVUKputNgaOTbOlVoeMbegYJUNfEztpr7Panh73px9P9iN9O899Oz1FgMoe1UaT/s320/IMG_7082.PNG" width="180" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGvWZMvjkBFxlD2nanLKnNeRMHVhpnSisLjrhU1gnO9wIXKSzIhMg3QvmM37uxxr4yd1k7qMj4dntuMNOybH7uiadyRkv30Ko9B_U0PbDf3faMGs8sPKVhbZwsVH6x7AjSptUxT0NsKed/s1136/IMG_7083.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGvWZMvjkBFxlD2nanLKnNeRMHVhpnSisLjrhU1gnO9wIXKSzIhMg3QvmM37uxxr4yd1k7qMj4dntuMNOybH7uiadyRkv30Ko9B_U0PbDf3faMGs8sPKVhbZwsVH6x7AjSptUxT0NsKed/s320/IMG_7083.PNG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictures of stats after my RunKeeper turned to 500.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHYprm5en0TG_CTrQl00Wfp_ZorFpLWASrE7SvKAeIyJOMkEJdraO8l6x0j2d9nacIaM7b-1Clivib8UXGKeNmPbb94XOQJzNz84PYdCsZj0Jj0XFjmhkyCxhJC3Lfwh54G8V3M9SGuro/s640/IMG_7087.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHYprm5en0TG_CTrQl00Wfp_ZorFpLWASrE7SvKAeIyJOMkEJdraO8l6x0j2d9nacIaM7b-1Clivib8UXGKeNmPbb94XOQJzNz84PYdCsZj0Jj0XFjmhkyCxhJC3Lfwh54G8V3M9SGuro/s320/IMG_7087.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XKTexAYtTeAw-IxWRbuyDmpqIepBc3kU7DXY5kL2j6LgWl6U_dXIvN1Vwc5SG22XDZDhVJQrdjVXaiDOYWPrEfq14NjHYYoC_qnVaAsa4JtLsrEnDmz-Dz3oShAZpXiDKcukX9qur93k/s500/Screen+Shot+2013-06-27+at+10.53.47+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XKTexAYtTeAw-IxWRbuyDmpqIepBc3kU7DXY5kL2j6LgWl6U_dXIvN1Vwc5SG22XDZDhVJQrdjVXaiDOYWPrEfq14NjHYYoC_qnVaAsa4JtLsrEnDmz-Dz3oShAZpXiDKcukX9qur93k/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-06-27+at+10.53.47+PM.png" width="215" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgofq4rpV371-LGDFMmB9XrXYqYaxZjNZdF2jKo4nL77XzLu4KPyY8sek_O3t-LnonP1F1VTqnoYy32h0-BEOIvaiK045rSNMv3rjWFbVlbhZt8eMA2rm1Rdp2vWKvqz73qZxB444QDi-__/s633/IMG_7088.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgofq4rpV371-LGDFMmB9XrXYqYaxZjNZdF2jKo4nL77XzLu4KPyY8sek_O3t-LnonP1F1VTqnoYy32h0-BEOIvaiK045rSNMv3rjWFbVlbhZt8eMA2rm1Rdp2vWKvqz73qZxB444QDi-__/s320/IMG_7088.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4KoktJULKd7kZ-5ebytyWASnMVPSY_UOqlVssMv__lZ79CTB0IWPMGl-ROE8_BiRsb6PdUKrfGsusgssW3gl8jtwFcAqo-0Ac9S8aFd7WVktSXx4olP-7t6z0nt0PwaUORv0J05zoALk/s640/IMG_7089.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4KoktJULKd7kZ-5ebytyWASnMVPSY_UOqlVssMv__lZ79CTB0IWPMGl-ROE8_BiRsb6PdUKrfGsusgssW3gl8jtwFcAqo-0Ac9S8aFd7WVktSXx4olP-7t6z0nt0PwaUORv0J05zoALk/s320/IMG_7089.PNG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Random pictures of the jump. In the interest of non-traumatic pictures
I left bike shorts on :-) </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUX1z5yDasmEh5QSDjQHZcJySF7XMWVYHkwvDgYeHdK8W0x9g3oUXXfmOSwvClI33HRg8ZS9rLq_S-VteZIHt0O4gNvN4Vf_RRo288yYckXB2t85CkjJyUwG4rPJiRgTbY0ITXsHFrBU-s/s508/Screen+Shot+2013-06-27+at+10.53.17+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUX1z5yDasmEh5QSDjQHZcJySF7XMWVYHkwvDgYeHdK8W0x9g3oUXXfmOSwvClI33HRg8ZS9rLq_S-VteZIHt0O4gNvN4Vf_RRo288yYckXB2t85CkjJyUwG4rPJiRgTbY0ITXsHFrBU-s/s320/Screen+Shot+2013-06-27+at+10.53.17+PM.png" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Had to do some real diving off the low dive too, of course!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr99aK_eCConmtMPakB66mVHN1WiUEybQ_IHGYc69ykBKXEE4inCfPa6c9dG3y1Gorb3lOc3g_pS1vITnnoSb60eBWKoaQoZOmf5zizFxsLE9r_Mb-l3GRdbeujUjofJjHZv395TrAWZrw/s1600/IMG_7073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr99aK_eCConmtMPakB66mVHN1WiUEybQ_IHGYc69ykBKXEE4inCfPa6c9dG3y1Gorb3lOc3g_pS1vITnnoSb60eBWKoaQoZOmf5zizFxsLE9r_Mb-l3GRdbeujUjofJjHZv395TrAWZrw/s320/IMG_7073.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Yes, I did! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXk2rJ_lnImoOSHCXc0HdBd2WoZFl5_-QaEhMLPxaAp0M29gTIZmpy5uJeX2eTqmhJTDepuFOrVuq8mA6AvLtXMhUUHxVUVjvyC324caaq3X6MKVyxzfZKo4O5NN7BGqb03Qx8A1L0prn/s1600/IMG_7074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXk2rJ_lnImoOSHCXc0HdBd2WoZFl5_-QaEhMLPxaAp0M29gTIZmpy5uJeX2eTqmhJTDepuFOrVuq8mA6AvLtXMhUUHxVUVjvyC324caaq3X6MKVyxzfZKo4O5NN7BGqb03Qx8A1L0prn/s320/IMG_7074.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep. All the way up the ladder and this time I got off on the other side! VICTORY! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6esnEUAJtlyVNns1HYFaZpaC12HmFMukKFySu_Oy89kKE6ThExO8OrDFO-hrCsUYa8GWgCl79ehbbJcuyBDrAYeJJ964SeKwxR5tN9VuYIYsTUbzoejN-XUa8wE9AH0TQVkqEeTQvnCoO/s1600/IMG_7086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6esnEUAJtlyVNns1HYFaZpaC12HmFMukKFySu_Oy89kKE6ThExO8OrDFO-hrCsUYa8GWgCl79ehbbJcuyBDrAYeJJ964SeKwxR5tN9VuYIYsTUbzoejN-XUa8wE9AH0TQVkqEeTQvnCoO/s320/IMG_7086.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Jan. She's my coach, a lifelong fitness expert and
professional--and a great cheerleader and listener. What a blessing she
has been to me on this leg of the journey! I joined a $10 a month gym
last November and remain pretty sure I got more out of it than I ever
paid into it. The pool attendants took these pictures for us! YAY!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53RW2mxd6j4OYjuireJHCt7Vz3sZ-pmSs8E75fov93Tu-ogMOz_8JWAkTTRpoDRwSgS8Dm_0-MlLIuCgPtPXl-lijrzgirQdcYWEZL32EUutTFB0qIFBFEmTVVD8UYtbdsBwA-hDQPpSR/s1600/IMG_7097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53RW2mxd6j4OYjuireJHCt7Vz3sZ-pmSs8E75fov93Tu-ogMOz_8JWAkTTRpoDRwSgS8Dm_0-MlLIuCgPtPXl-lijrzgirQdcYWEZL32EUutTFB0qIFBFEmTVVD8UYtbdsBwA-hDQPpSR/s320/IMG_7097.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then we ate pizza and gelato to celebrate. It was good since I never eat such rich stuff! </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhs_g6znyw8C9KS3VZTm4I0FCVD4ucgvoIOQ2Nof3V1uloiZCqBuPkqfJnV4eGctQcl5a2Wr0kSZL8Bsu05cbph2LuxXvknQ21B8Vh1fVGQlm4Tu8-Gk-MrOBoW4DdTpanXP5RsPINuUN/s1600/IMG_7101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHhs_g6znyw8C9KS3VZTm4I0FCVD4ucgvoIOQ2Nof3V1uloiZCqBuPkqfJnV4eGctQcl5a2Wr0kSZL8Bsu05cbph2LuxXvknQ21B8Vh1fVGQlm4Tu8-Gk-MrOBoW4DdTpanXP5RsPINuUN/s320/IMG_7101.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">500 miles<br /> Over 100 hours of running<br /> 53,689 calories burned<br />
Pace per mile difference from first to last run of 500 miles: 4:23
minutes (tonight was my fastest and not multi-mile sustainable yet, but
it's still significant). <br /> My stats don't lie. I did it. <br /> And
while in the bathroom changing out of my swimsuit after the high dive
adventure, I set a new goal: 500 MORE miles before Dec. 31. Complacency
is not an option.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-33763750808678143822013-06-26T12:37:00.002-07:002013-06-26T12:41:00.093-07:00Running to win (and I did!) <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Saturday I did
something that won’t likely be much of my running career—I won. Not first place
or anything, but I placed third in my age group. It was a small race, and I
knew there was a chance I could place because I had seen last year’s results. The
times of the top people were not that far from my 5K records. I knew there was
going to be a heat factor, and I knew that entrants would vary, but I also knew
since I tend to do very large races, the odds normally of placing are downright
impossible, so why not give it my best.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was too warm but
the one good thing about that is that everyone runs in the same weather—so if I
would be slowed, so would they. It’s physiology not skill. And so off we went
on the streets of Duncan, OK. I carried a bit of water only because of the
heat. I tried to start sort of slow but my race energy makes it impossible, so
I was off—while people tore off ahead of me. But as usual, many of these were behind
me in no time because they went so fast they had to stop and walk. So soon I
was passing many people and settled into a pace. It was a fast-ish (for me)
pace but the heat threw my sense of time—often I feel I am going faster than I
am but the heat slows me so much. I didn’t stare at my Garmin or RunKeeper,
though I peeked at the Garmin some. At the end of mile 1 I saw I was at a
PR-able pace, and started looking around. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hmmm… that lady over
there looks to be close to my age. And then I ran harder. That’s right, folks.
Miss I-run-against-myself started looking around for people who looked near my
age and tried to get ahead of them. I was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">racing.
</i>Hello, competitive nature! Of course you have no idea how old someone
actually is, but you guess and fly. It’s really funny how a solo sport becomes
so competitive so fast. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Mile two had the “pretty
good sized hill” they talked about. But God bless, Kansas City, that “hill” was
more like a 70 ft slope. I ran it hard, accepted the water from one of the FOUR
water stops (that was funny—5Ks usually have ONE and you don’t need it—but also
useful for throwing water on my head and torso to cool myself off), and went
on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In a 5K at mile 2,
you begin to think it’s in the bag. At 2.5 you know you are home free. At 3,
you decide it would be a good time for speed work. And that’s what happened.
There were no more real slopes and the weather was consistent. A few random
people cheered us on; I just blasted music in my ears and tried to run as hard
as I could sustain. I honestly didn’t think it was that fast. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I saw the finish
line ahead, I looked around for competition… people who looked anywhere NEAR my
age group. It was pretty funny. I realized I was about to coast into the finish
line and the only person ahead of me in sight was a man and there was no one behind
me close enough to sprint ahead. For a second I felt like I could relax. What
was done was done. Either I made it or not. Then my real competitor’s spirit
picked up. WHAT THE HECK! I was my own competition. I might win or lose an age
group place but I was going home with myself. And then I picked it up, for me.
For my results. For my stats. And I soared through the finish line like my life
depended on it to my fastest official PR. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have no
recollection of turning off my RunKeeper or stopping my Garmin but I must have
done both as the race official was pulling bib bottoms to double check results.
She was telling me I did an excellent job. Everything’s relative I guess, but I
appreciated it a lot.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Within a few minutes
the unofficial results were in. I spent time looking at a hundred names before
I was able to see the system gave the age group rank. There it was SUSAN
TYRRELL AG 3. I waited. I knew it could change if something didn’t go in the
system right, but for the first time I NEEDED to wait for the awards. I sat
around with the group of about 200 in the park, feeling like I had a secret. I
might be a WINNER this time. Me. Pokey Suz who ran a 16 minute mile on Jan 1
and was seeing 11s—never enough to win in real races, but in local ones… maybe.
Still chubby despite 35 pounds gone. Still pretty pokey. I might really be a
winner?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And sure enough.
Calling out awards, the race director gets to my group:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In 3rd place, Susan
Tyrrell.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And I walked up there
like this was old hat! She placed a bronze medal around my neck and for the
first time in a race, I was one of the few that had a medal, not a random
person getting a finisher’s medal. It was a winner’s medal. Of course I grabbed
a random stranger: “Can you take my picture?” So I got my cheesy picture. And
my medal. And I went to call my friend who I knew would cheer with me. It was
so much fun to yap about the race and talk about winning. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I don’t run to beat
other people—despite the fact<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>became
rather competitive when I knew I had a chance. I run to beat myself. That race
was another slot I climbed, one that said I can win. I did it and I did it
better than 9 people. That’s all. The age group only had 12. I am not fast but
I was 9 of 12 and I am proud of that because I ran well and gained the prize. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Later, when I emailed
my department chair—who knew I was running—with an update about something else,
I mentioned it had gone well and I had won the bronze in my age group. She said
she had seen me on the news. That I had a cameo appearance from the race and it
was an auspicious—promising of success—beginning in the area. It was pretty
funny. It was also a neat thought, a nice touch of symbolism for my first race
nearby. I have had three big successes in OK. My longest training run, my first
unofficial 5K PR and my first win (with an official PR). Later I ran my fastest
4-miler before I left for Kansas for a while. Oklahoma has been good to me. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Tomorrow I will it
the 500 mile mark—which was my original goal for all of 2013. The midway mark
doesn’t hit until Sunday. Today I ran with a friend-which is something I don’t
really do, but I liked it. But other than at the beginning she ran her own pace
and walked some, so I still had lots of time to think and process, to look at
the year and ponder the last 499.5 miles. I will write about that after it’s
done, but I will say this: I don’t regret a tenth of a mile I ran. Every step
counts. In the rain, snow, sleet, ice, heat, wind—and on that dumb dreadmill. They
al count. I have finisher’s medals—including one for a half marathon. And I
have a winner’s medal. It's an appropriate way to end this part of the journey
because what I have found out is that I can win. </span><br />
<br />
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</div>
Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-71032748351551121172013-06-15T07:43:00.001-07:002013-06-15T07:43:14.960-07:00what commitment means
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Commitment
is one of those words we throw around as being important but maybe don’t ponder
too terribly much on a daily basis. While this blog isn’t going to be about the
most important types of commitment—relational—I think I have learned more than
I knew about my own commitment as a runner in the past month-plus.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Commitment
means doing what you said you would do even if you don’t feel like doing it. It
is a setting of your heart and mind to follow through without question. The
idea is that before you enter into something you use your heart and mind and evaluate
what it is and if you want to do it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">With
running, there was no ceremony like a wedding or a vow to be a nun, nothing
quite so dramatic. But after I began, I decided I wanted to accomplish something.
On January 1, I essentially made two commitments: to run a half marathon and to
run 500 miles in the calendar year. Both became the focus of my free time. And
honestly, neither was too hard for the first few months. 500 miles is an average
of 1.36 miles per day. The truth is, I will hit 500 miles before the half year
mark is over, and while I have not entered it in the calendar yet, I will
likely go for 1000 this year. Although I had a cold winter, I had excellent
runs. I learned to run again on asphalt trails surrounded by trees and lakes. I
was utterly spoiled (and so is everyone within 30 minutes of Leawood or Overland
Park, Kansas, by the way). There were days it was hard to go—like when we had
two blizzards in a row and the roads were barely drivable. But overall, outside
of being colder than I have ever been, it was easy. I had great training runs
for my half and did not follow the plan exactly since I was ahead, but I made
sure I did the long runs and had the mileage you basically need each week for a
good half—20 miles. So my unwritten commitment became 20 miles a week. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And
then I got to Texas. Oh, Texas. My beloved home? My promised land? Alas!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Oh,
Texas, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">no longer my Texas</i>, thou art
HOT. Not just hot, but humid, the kind where you feel like you walked into a sauna.
Even the locals say it’s bad, but for a person who struggles with heat anyway,
and one with breathing issues while running—and one who hates running first
thing in the morning I might add, Texas has challenged everything I think about
running. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But I
won. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In
Texas I have run when the heat index was 100. I have run trail runs and gotten
trapped in weeds so it looked like wire was around my ankles. I have been stuck
in the mud, tripped over rocks, poured more water over me than down my throat.
And gotten sick to the point I had to fight very hard NOT to throw up right there.
I have experienced heat exhaustion (literally, I mean). I have cried after runs
because the FUN isn’t there as much. But then I would have a good run and it
would all come back, or I would look at my splits and see a fast time, or I
would look at my mileage and realize what I came here to write about today:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I made
it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I have
run 5-6 days a week and met every mileage goal I had. I got a break after the
half in that I rested and only had to do 15. We got a weather break last week
and I did two longer runs in one week which gave me a break this week, but
today I had to finish up an average of the last two weeks to 40. Thanks to my
rotten math skills, I messed up and ended up at 40.1. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I’m
typing this still feeling a bit sick from today sauna run. (I remain baffled by
the Hot Yoga phenomena, by the way). But I did it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">There
is no feeling in the world like knowing you worked your booty off and won. How
easy it would have been to quit. Who would have blamed me if I said I was just
working out at the gym and taking swim class for a couple weeks? I did that—and
I ran too. And you know why, don’t you?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Runners
run. </span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Running
really is a commitment because it’s a mental sport. What I have learned in my
time in one of the more uncomfortable parts of Texas is that I am committed to
my sport. I care more about fulfilling my goals than I do my discomfort.
Ultimately, that lesson—as with many running lessons—applies to life. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Next
stop: Dallas. Not exactly the pinnacle of comfort either, but somehow going
north helps the psychological part, if not the sweat. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it looks like the 500<sup>th</sup> mile
will be somewhere very special. Sometimes the rewards of commitment just happen
naturally, and sometimes with sweat. But always, always there are rewards.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dg3rqYEJn9lgctUgNjKJ_-s2ytnUBB7_tr951y3AkArjOHiL2DHR_TF4eJQLmw0Ahj_tlGxkryL29eY-mjOzWW1dp8Oe7S-rXT0VMnJtpBcZEWqTj6mbVMtAfpz6FyDjtUNuuz3aU4oo/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dg3rqYEJn9lgctUgNjKJ_-s2ytnUBB7_tr951y3AkArjOHiL2DHR_TF4eJQLmw0Ahj_tlGxkryL29eY-mjOzWW1dp8Oe7S-rXT0VMnJtpBcZEWqTj6mbVMtAfpz6FyDjtUNuuz3aU4oo/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>That equals more than the required 40 (because I added in my head wrong!) 93% there. </i></span></span></h4>
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Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7834195848359447693.post-36483004737191020092013-06-10T09:00:00.001-07:002014-03-03T19:42:54.320-08:00in which I tell you why you should not be a runner<style>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have a great coach, Jan, who has been
a fitness professional for a long time. She’s run marathons, triathlons, coached,
worked in gyms. You name it. She knows her stuff. And as we Skyped right before
my half marathon and she gave me advice, she added one thing before we hung up:</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“And hey, have fun with it.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Those words proved the best piece of
advice I received from anyone. Better than how to start, when to fuel, any of
it. As I began, I told myself “I’m running a half marathon.” And I repeated
that, with awe, as I ran. All those smiling pictures of me are because I had
fun with it. And it’s with that in mind that I offer advice few would expect to
hear from me. <b>If you can’t have fun running, then don’t run.</b></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Just don’t.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Running looks cool from afar. We see people
run marathons and half marathons—even 5Ks—and we want to do that cool thing. But
there’s more to it and you need to consider the more before you decide this is
what you want.</span></div>
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<b>
</b><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>Running is a serious commitment</b>. It
will eat up your time, and even more money than it seems it could as you get
into more miles or run in varying climates. Running, real running, doesn’t have
to be fast but it does have to be regular. After a couple weeks you begin to
lose gains you have made. You can’t run here and there and maintain your running
fitness levels.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This morning I was reading a running
message board I read regularly. Some of the same people on there often
lamenting this and that about running, always with dread. The dreaded 10
–miler, the fear of the next race, the constant questioning. And I want to say
“Why are you running if you hate it that much?” Running isn’t a sport for you
if you need to be told how good you are all the time. Running isn’t a sport for
you if you need it to come easy all the time. Running isn’t a sport for you if
you won’t commit to it and respect the run. Training a body to run multiple
sustained miles is a big deal. The reward isn’t in other people affirming you
did a good job (though we all like that and it's fun, but mostly that comes after a race, not on a daily run--no one gave me heaps of praise for getting up when it was dark and running 4.65 miles this morning when I was sleepy. I did that because I love the sport more than I do sleep). </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The reward is in running multiple sustained miles. <b>You must have intrinsic motivation.</b></span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am in the hardest running season
since I returned to the sport—while the heat has become a bit better for me,
it’s no secret I am leaving town sooner than expected partially because of the
heat (though there are certain very practical reasons as well). But even now, even
today, I like running. I don’t like heat, or crazy cold, or whatever
uncontrollable circumstances may be there, but running makes me happy. <b>Not once
have I finished a run and regretted it.</b> Not when I was tired or sick or hot or
cold. I never came home and said “I wish I hadn’t run.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you hate it, don’t do it. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The first few weeks are hard,
adjusting, hurting, learning what works and doesn’t. No one enjoys all of the
process, but there should still be some excitement. Running is a great sport
but it’s not for everyone. And sometimes it’s annoying to hear people who
complain about every single run every day. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>Running hurts.</b> It will always hurt. If
you run a lot of miles, you will have injuries. Some people only get minor ones
that never actually stop their running, but you learn how to run hurt unless
it’s a serious one. <b>Running drives your schedule</b>—especially when weather is involved.
While some of us hate heat or cold or whatever, the fact is, you will have to
run slower past 65 degrees; humidity will affect you and wind chill will
affect you. If you commit to running, your schedule will change. You will choose
running over eating certain foods, over social gatherings, over a movie. And if
you’re a runner you won’t mind at all. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you do mind, if you’re not having
fun, find another sport. Seriously. Every run won’t be fun, of course. Some runs just
plain stink. You can run 10 miles one day and feel like you could go on and do
2 three days later and feel like you’re dying. That’s the nature of the
sport—but you still don’t regret it, you don’t hate it. It just makes you want to run again so you can do better.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are sports I hate. I would be miserable
in some step aerobics class for example. I would burn calories and be fit, but I
would hate it. The idea is a lot of fun in my head but any time I have gone I
have wanted to rip my eyeballs out I hated it so much. Things like boot camp
don’t excite me; I have friends who love them. We are all different. And you
don’t have to be a runner. You should do what you like. If you don’t like it,
stop complaining about it and don’t do it. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Even as
so many of my own friends are taking up running—some probably thinking it’s the
most fabulous thing around the way I talk about it, I want to issue a caution.
Running is a sport that needs respecting. It’s one of the only sports where you
don’t stop. In major sports—football, baseball, soccer, etc., the game goes on
without you. There are quarters, or innings or whatever. In running, you keep
running. It’s about endurance. You have to like something to do it every day
for an hour or two without stopping. And if you don’t, it’s crazy to do it.</span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This year I have run 453.6 miles—every
step, no walking is counted in my running totals. I don’t regret one of them. Some were miserable. Some were torture. Some
were injured. (The day I ended up in the ER because of my knee, the whole time all I could think was how happy I was I knocked three miles out before going to the ER). But all my runs are part of who I am. It’s not something I do to lose weight. It’s something I do to be me. </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you want to run, then I want you to
run. I think running is one of the most incredible things in the world. But
if it’s not for you, don’t try to fit a square peg in a round hole. Go find
what you love and do it. No one is chiding you for <i><b>not</b></i> being a runner, but if
you are a runner 1) you will run regularly 2) you will like it (generally
speaking). </span></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And really, what’s the point otherwise?
</span></div>
Runner Girl Reprisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06926713967170357679noreply@blogger.com0