Why Run?

Despite a less-than-stellar first half marathon attempt, Crazy Ass and I kept on running.  With the each change of season, I added a few new pieces of running gear to my collection, as the race shirts piled up.

Tortlette 1: "Mom, why do you run, anyway?  You aren't exactly...uh..."

Me: "Good at it?  Fast?"

Tortlette 1: "Ahem.  Yeah.  I mean, why do it if you aren't going to be like super-fast or anything?"

Me: "Because I enjoy it."

I finished the Other Half Marathon in 2:45 - 18 minutes faster than Canyonlands.  Two more tortlettes and hubby, Flash, came to cheer me on...

Flash:  "I don't think I could do this.  I would get so frustrated with not being the fastest one out there."

Me: "Yeah, I've had to get over any pre-conceived notions about where I rank against other runners, that's for sure."

So why run?  What's in it for me?  It definitely did not feed my competitive spirit.  It nearly killed me to see people who did not fit my idea of the athletic mold finishing ahead of me.  So why?

At first I wasn't sure.  Over time, I've come up with some thoughts...

1.  I was bored.  With myself.  Discovering an athletic me that was separate from wife, mommy and professional was something I really needed.

2.  Me, me, me!  Running is something I do for me.  During a time in my life where everyone looks to me for something, I need to do something for myself.  Running is this great escape from work, kids, cleaning....  The hour I spend running is MY TIME.

3.  Everything is better when I am running.  I am smarter, funnier, happier, healthier, skinnier, prettier (if only in my mind...)

4.  I. am. a. control freak.  So what does this have to do with running?  Here's the deal...  Once you have kids, your will is suddenly subjected to that of a tiny, little, wailing adorable being.  You are no longer in control.  If you happen to have a job like mine in which your success is very much intertwined with the ability and and willingness of others to do their jobs, let's just say a control freak like me craves something, anything, that is entirely within her control.  Running is that for me.  It is one thing in my life in which my success is soley based upon my ability and work ethic.

And so I run.  A year after that first Canyonlands Half, I finished the same course in 2:32 and then the Denver Rock 'n' Roll in 2:22.  Each race time is a function of the quality of training put in. That being the case, my times may not continue improving, but if there is a race coming up - count me in!

Tortoise Commandments a.k.a. How to Take Risks without Looking Stupid

Words of wisdom from Garfield: It's amazing what one can accomplish when one doesn't know what one can't do.  This caption can be found on a poster of Odie, with his tongue-wagging smile, perched on a tree branch. 

I think of Odie whenever I try anything new.  The fact is, I'll try anything once.  I figure if I suck, I can always say - hey, I'm new!  The real pressure actually comes later, after I've been doing something for awhile.  While the tortoise in me is content to do something familiar and comfortable, even a tortoise wants to improve.

So, I'm going to get bossy here for a minute.  I'm the oldest of five children - I'm entitled.  I unveil for you the Tortoise Commandments... a few things that have helped me to take risks, without getting hurt or looking (too much) like an idiot.

Commandment 1: Set a Goal
Let's face it, most of us will hardly take a jog around the block without a specific goal to shoot for.  Having a specific goal keeps us motivated to get out of bed on those mornings when we just want to hit the snooze and catch a few more Z's.   It's important not to just say, "I want to start running more."  You have to scare the bajeebers out of yourself by signing up for a race.  Then you'll push yourself.  Probably out of the fear of looking stupid.  'Cause no one wants to do the walk of shame after giving up on a race or wait for the sag wagon to come along and pick them up.

Commandment 2: Have a Plan
Ok, it's true, I'm a planner.  Maybe it's the teacher in me, but you need a roadmap to get where you're going - a calendar with the days marked with the type of run you're doing that day and for how many miles.  Looking over your plan will help boost your confidence...  you'll think "See, I can actually do this!" 

Commandment 3: Be Flexible
If the plan you set out just isn't happening for one reason or another - change it.  So you missed your long run on Sunday, that's ok... switch it to Monday.  If you have a few weeks go by that just don't add up to the mileage you need, adjust your training plan - and your expectations for race day.  Race day is really only a reflection of the training time put in.  Sometimes, the schedule simply doesn't allow for the best performance...  So what?  Are you going for an Olympic medal here?

Commandment 4: Be Patient
This is something you get so much better at as you get older.  You know how when you were a kid, you wanted to be a superstar at everything right out of the gate?  You had to do it right then before you got really old - like in your 30's?  Well, guess what.  You have your whole life ahead of you.  There is PLENTY of time to become a marathon runner.  Just ask the silver-haired lady in the purple sports bra who finished the Canyonlands Half Marathon a minute before I did...  It does not have to happen over night.  They say a good training plan adds mileage each week - by about 10%.  This is key to injury prevention.  I've seen beginners go out strong - running a 6 mile, then an 8 mile, then a 10 mile in just a couple weeks - only to end up with a stress fracture or other injury.

Commandment 5: Have Fun
This commandment supercedes all others...  if you're not enjoying what you're doing, there is something wrong.  Look for the joy in everything you do.  Whether it's the scenery, the company, the music, or the energy you feel for the rest of the day after you've gotten a good run in, treasure it.  Savor a moment away from your kids - or WITH your kids, if your lucky enough to have ones that will join you.  Whatever it takes to make it fun, do it.  I like to bribe myself with gummy bears half way through my long run.  Not only are they totally yummy, they are extra fuel for the second half of the run.

Ok, I'm off my soapbox.  The tortoise is back in the shell.  If you heed none of my advice, at least consider the gummy bears.  I'm serious, they're really good.

I would love to hear your ideas on taking risks.  How do you try something new without looking stupid?  Leave me some comments!

Running is Like Pancakes

It seems the need for frequent bathroom breaks while running is kind of a girl thing.  My husband -we'll call him Flash (it was his nickname in college because he's so fast) says he's never experienced the urge while running.  Yet, you talk to a woman about it, and it's - "Oh, yeah...  that's just what happens to me!"  Crazy Ass and I completely see eye to eye on this one.  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that maybe it's a mommy thing.  I have a theory that all of the muscles down there are thinking "Gee, the last time we worked this hard, we were pushing out a 7 and half pound hunk of human flesh...  Hey guys, we're having a baby!  Push!  Push!  Push!" 

But this post is not about the urge.  Actually, I want to talk about pancakes.  (How's that for a segway?)  I have decided that running is like pancakes.  No, I'm serious.  Hear me out.  When I make a batch of pancakes, the first one is always screwed up.  It generally turns into a gooey, deformed glob - more resembling a toddler's play dough creation than something you would want to ingest.  I usually end up throwing it out.  Strangest thing, though.  The rest of the pancakes turn out to be things of beauty...  perfectly golden brown and smooth.  I gloat as I slide them onto my kids' plates, "Call me Aunt Jemima!"  They could film a commercial as the kids ooze the syrup out onto my works of art.

I have to tell you, my first mile of running is a lot like my first pancake.  I get out there and start turning over my legs, thinking, "Is this what running is supposed to feel like?  Do I look like a dork, here?  What are my arms supposed to do?  Oh, this song is no good.  Where is my water?  Ugh, this shoe is too loose.  This shoe is too tight.  My knee hurts.  Are we done yet?"  You get the idea.  It's amazing I ever got past the first mile, right?  Here is a fact: the only reason I ever did is because of Crazy Ass.  As I run that first mile, I think "No way am I gonna let Crazy Ass down!  She really wants to do this!  Look at her arms pumping next to me.  Listen as her feet rhythmically hit the pavement.  No, I have to keep my butt moving.  I might actually look like a complete dork, but I have to keep running."

By mile two, an amazing thing has happened.  My stride has evened out.  My breathing is in perfect time with each footstep.  I feel like I am gliding, like a gazelle in African savannah.  The breeze tickles the hair on the back of my neck.  I can hear Chariots of Fire playing inside my head.  Ok, I'll say it:  They could make a Nike commercial out of this. 

Miles 2 through whatever are much like those smooth, golden pancakes that miraculously appear on my griddle after I've burnt my thumb, cursed the breakfast gods and tossed Pancake Number One into the trash.  So you know what I say about Mile One?  Throw it out.  It doesn't count.  Just get past it and enjoy the remaining glorious miles of your run. 

Um, ok.  So if my first mile doesn't count, does that mean I have to add a mile to my run?  Well...  Maybe.  But the real point is - don't stop running just because your first mile sucks!  Because the first mile... well, sometimes it sucks, and the rest of the time it's just not as good as the rest of them. 

Case in point: I ran my best 10K of my life last Fall at a local race.  When I say best 10K, I mean like 2 minutes per mile faster than my best pace.  How did I achieve this?  Why, completely by accident, of course!  My youngest daughter was running the one mile fun run, which took place before the 10K.  Using a power that only an adorable six year old girl has, she got me to run the whole thing with her.  We jogged some, we ran some, we walked some...  All while I held her hand and bent down saying "You can do it!"  As I was running to the finish of her fun run, a wall of people was suddenly coming toward me.  Thanks to a warning from Flash, I realized they were my fellow 10K runners!  My race was starting!  I immediately turned around and joined the front of the pack.  I was all warmed up, at the front of the pack, and I just kept on running.  Like smooth, golden pancakes, the rest of my run was a thing of beauty. 

I am convinced I couldn't have run that 10K nearly as well if I hadn't done the fun run.  That fun run was my first pancake...  The one I threw away to prepare for my batch of fast miles that were to follow.  The best reward?  The pancake breakfast that followed, served up hot by a local boy scout troop!

So don't worry too much about that first mile.  Keep on running, my friends.  Your pancakes await.

Tortoise Race Debut

I'm sure you are all on the edge of your seats wondering "Did she actually do it?  Did she end up achieving her goal of becoming a whack-job runner?"  The answer is, of course, yes.  I am nothing if not goal-oriented.  I would have hobbled the streets of Boulder with two broken feet just to accomplish the feat of running the Bolder Boulder, once I decided I was going to do it. 

My race debut was not as glorious as some might imagine it.  If you thought this was a story of a girl with a desk-job body magically transforming into an Olympic athlete, you thought wrong.  Nope, I did not shed even 10 of my 30+ pounds of extra weight.  This is no fairy tale.  This is a real-life story involving a mere mortal who transformed her heart and mind to achieve something she otherwise did not think possible, and in the process, fell in love with running.

It was a drizzly Memorial Day morning in 2008.  I had hardly slept that night, I was so nervous for the big day.  55,000 people ran the Bolder Boulder that day.  My mind swirled at the thought of 55,000 people willing to run or walk 6 miles.  The line for the porta potties rivaled the line for tickets to a Black Eyed Peas concert.  There were grown women in tutus and grown men with spiked pink hair.  The atmosphere was electric.

Our goal that day was simple: finish the race.  Crazy Ass and I had run 5 miles on our last training run.  This would be our first attempt at 6.2.  Each week of training, we ran a little further than the last, taking walk breaks at each mile.  We had discovered training routes with porta potties or bathrooms along the way - an important feature of a good trail for a new runner...  Yeah, it's amazing how the body responds to stress.  If you can figure out how to "just say no" to those bathroom breaks, you'll be able to run faster and farther.  I learned to resist the urge, as well as the one to re-tie my shoe ten times to get it just right.  Some other nuggets of wisdom from my early days:
1.  Buy some decent running shoes.  You can get fitted at a specialty running store.  This is not an extravagance...  it will save you hundreds of dollars in chiropractor and doctor visits along the way. 
2.  Find a long, flat running trail, with bathrooms.
3.  Get a pacing device if you can.  This can be a simple as a watch and mapmyrun.com.  I love my Nike Sportband.  It will tell you exactly what your pace and distance are.
4.  Bring some water.  The hotter the weather, the more you will need.  It makes a huge difference in your performance.
5.  Find a training partner.  I couldn't have done it without Crazy Ass to help celebrate (and curse) every additional mile we ran.

Our wave started with a bang.  I was amazed at how fast everyone took off.  I immediately ditched my water bottle so I could focus my attention on running.  It was my fastest mile yet, at about a 10 minute pace.  We took a scheduled walk break at the 1 mile marker, downing some water, and then took off again.  The remaining miles were quite bit slower than the first...  Mile three is gruelling, with it's hilly meandering through the Boulder neighborhoods.  Our saving grace was the entertainment along the route.  We saw belly dancers, frat boys handing out cups of beer, little kids shooting us with squirt guns.  What a riot!  As we descended into downtown during mile 5, the feeling of euphoria took over.  We were almost finished!  Then we turned the corner toward the stadium, Folsom Field, where the race ends.  We were about a mile out and our feeling of euphoria came to an abrupt end.  The course flattened out and then began a gradual incline to the stadium.  "My legs are dead," I said to Crazy Ass, and we slowed to a walk.  We tried to run as much of the last mile as we could, but our exhaustion had taken hold.  An old guy slowly passed us on the right.  I'm pretty sure I saw my neighbor's four year old zip up the hill on our left. 

By the time we got the stadium, I was wiped out.  I could hear the crowd as I turned the corner into the stadium, and then I got my first look...  the entire stadium was packed with spectators.  Families lined the field high-fiving runners as they passed.  Kids held signs that said "see Mom run" and "Good Job, Mom!"  I could hardly contain my emotion as each of their faces became those of my own children, in my mind.  I was determined to cross the finish line running, though; so, I gulped down my tears and kept on going. 

Crazy Ass and I crossed the finished line together, with a time of 1 hour 30 minutes.  We looked at eachother with tears in our eyes.  "We did it!" we said, in chorus, high-fiving as the race volunteers guided us through the finish gates to the post-race food and beer.

I have never been prouder of a race than I was on that day.  If I didn't say it aloud, I will say it now: I love you, Crazy Ass!  Thank you for giving me the gift of running.  I couldn't have done it without you.

The Tortoise and the Hare

Since I began running back in 2008, at the prompting of my crazy-ass sister, I've always thought of myself as the tortoise, the one who beat the hare in the fable "The Tortoise and the Hare".  I called it "running" but let's face it, when my teenage son said "Mom, I could walk this fast", while plodding along-side me, he spoke the truth.  I may be slow, but three years later, I'm still running. 

It all started when Crazy-Ass suggested we do the Bolder Boulder.  I laughed.  Me, run?  You're serious?  She handed me a photo-copied page from Shape magazine, claiming a walk to run program could work for anyone.  Thirty pounds overweight due to a new job, three kids and TONS of other excuses, I thought, "This butt hasn't gotten any smaller using my walk to fridge program, so why not?"

Crazy-Ass wasn't a big time runner.  She had run a couple 5K's to impress a hot guy once.  Essentially, we'd be doing this walk to run thing together.  It was early in the season and Colorado is not known for its fine running weather in February; so, we figured we'd start out doing treadmill walk/runs at our own gyms and text eachother to keep motivated.  The plan looked something like this:

Week 1 - Walk 4 minutes / Run 1 minute.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 2 - Walk 3 minutes / Run 1 minute.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 3 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 1 minute.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 4 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 2 minutes.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 5 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 3 minutes.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 6 - Walk 2 minutes / Run 4 minutes.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 7 - Walk 1 minutes / Run 5 minutes.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 8 - Walk 1 minutes / Run 7 minutes.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 9 - Walk 1 minutes / Run 9 minutes.  Repeat for 30 minutes.
Week 10 - run for 30 minutes

Keep in mind, the Bolder Boulder is a 10K; so, we would have to make up the rest as we went along.

So, I decided to give the treadmill at work a try, given the fact it was the only treadmill I had access to at the time.  I found some athletic shoes I bought at a discount store, some old sweats and a t-shirt.  It was what I had laying around, and I was hoping it would pass for running clothes.  One day after work, I decided to swallow my pride and brave the workout room.  I peaked in the door and found, to my GREAT relief, that no one was there.  As I approached the treadmill, I thought of those cartoons I used to watch as a kid, in which a character would go flying off the back end of a treadmill that got going too fast.  That would be me, I was sure of it, flailing into some unsuspecting weight machine.  At least no one would be around to witness my demise.  Sure, I might bust my head open, but bleeding to death was surely better than subjecting myself to the humiliation of someone seeing me "run" on a treadmill for the first time!

I stepped onto the machine, hesitating as I tried to figure out the buttons.  "Manual" is always a good choice, I thought, so I pushed it.  I figured out that if I pushed the up arrow to 3, I could keep up as the belt went round and round.  I looked at the timer: 30 seconds in.  By the time it was time to run, I was working up a little bit of a sweat and had pushed the arrow up to 3.5 - Woohoo!  Now, what does it mean to run?  Hmmm....  I pushed the up arrow some more until I saw the readout say 4.8.  That feels pretty good.  Wow, am I really running?  Before I knew it, one minute was over and it was time to walk again.  I was a little disappointed as I pushed the arrow down to a walking pace.  That's it?  That's all I have to do?  Yes, even I can "run" for one friggin' minute, I thought. 

For the next 25 minutes, I imagined myself as a runner.  I visualized myself running outside on the street.  I thought about the runners I had driven past and thought - that guy's nuts!  I realized - that could be me!  And I was thrilled about it.  Truth be told, I was always envious of those loonies.  I thought to myself, I'm actually going to be one of those whack jobs huffing and puffing along the road, while sane passersby observe from their air-conditioned vehicles.  After years of hating running (I don't like all that jiggling!) I was finally doing it.  Granted, one minute at a time, but isn't that how you have to start everything?  One minute at a time?  One step at a time?  One word at a time?  Isn't that how we all learned to talk, walk, read, or ride a bike?  If only we had the patience with ourselves that we have with our children as we teach them these vital life skills.  I decided then and there to be patient with myself.  To be kind to myself.  To bless myself with 30 minutes a day to walk and run.  And a tortoise was born.