Feel the Burn

"Wow, that skirt is SO cute!  I'm jealous," Crazy Ass said as we started our final training run before the Canyonlands Half Marathon, 2009.  We set out to run 12 miles in preparation for the 13.1 we'd be required to run on race day.  The skirt was the result of an impulse buy at Target the weekend prior.  I just had to have the perfect running chick outfit for the race and this was a great time to test it out.  I paired it with a coral tank and white Under Armor hat.  Feeling like a Runner's World cover model, I set out, with Crazy Ass by my side.

"I can't believe we're finally running 12!" I exclaimed as we started down the bike path.  The weather couldn't have been any more beautiful, and both of us were in perfect form for a great run.  I find when running with a partner, performance often boils down to the lowest common denominator.  If one of us is not feeling it on a particular day, it brings down the run for both of us.  This time, we were both in top form.  We were a force to be reckoned with.

The burn started around mile 4.  When I say burn, I don't mean the good kind that happens when you push yourself hard and your muscles really start feeling it.  No, I mean the kind of burn that occurs when a boy scout rubs two sticks together - only it was between my thighs.  This was some serious chafing caused by a little extra that didn't factor into my choice to wear a skirt that day.  Clearly, deoderant between the legs strategy was not enough this time.  (Remember Paulie Bleeker, in Juno, wearing his running shorts and tube socks rubbing on deoderant to prevent chafing between the legs?  I've been doing that since middle school!)

By mile 6, I was apologizing to Crazy Ass, "I'm sorry.  I just don't think I can go much further."  Crazy Ass suggested I call Flash and ask him bring a change of clothes.  As a result of that phone call, I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies to the following people:

To the residents of the homes north of First Street between Taft and Wilson in Loveland: I sincerely apologize if I woke you with my yelps of pain each time my chubby thighs rubbed together.

To Flash: for waking you at some God-awful hour and asking you to rifle through my clothes in search of a pair of running capris and bring them to me across town.  It really was a running emergency!

To any passersby on First Street who may have witnessed my "Quick Change" in the front seat of Flash's Red Ford Explorer  (and I call him Flash?).  I am terribly sorry if the sight offended you.

To Crazy Ass for the horrendous underwear I was wearing that day (they wick away moisture!).  I hope the vision of them hasn't haunted you to this day.

To Runner's World: I'm afraid my cover girl days are yet to come.

Thank God I had the sense to conduct this little fashion experiment on a training run rather than waiting until race day.  A wardrobe malfunction could have prevented me from finishing a race I had prepaired for months to run.  Lesson learned: Cute only goes so far (6 miles to be exact.)

How to Run Faster

So what is a new runner who has just completed her first 10K to do?  Why, sign up for a half marathon, of course!  Crazy Ass and I set our sites on the Canyonlands Half Marathon in Moab, Utah.  Moab is home to Arches and Canyonlands National Parks.  The race route descends the Colorado River Canyon where a brilliant blue sky serves as a back drop for rust-colored spires of rock.



Moab

With breathtaking scenery and a downhill course, the race is a first-timer's dream.  Training to run 13.1 miles, not quite as dreamy.  It amounts to putting on some miles.  And then adding some more miles.  Pretty soon, a five mile run is your "easy" day.  Eventually, you know every quarter mile of the local trail like the back of your hand.  And you get faster.

One summer afternoon, Crazy Ass and I were completing a seven mile run on the local bike trail.  We had decided to include some hill work; so, our route consisted of a part of the trail that sloped down next to a river.  As we approached the river, we noticed what had to be a rabid dog barking fiercely in our direction.  His owner was holding tight to his leash.  Crazy Ass and I looked at eachother and moved away from the dog toward the other side of the trail.  We intended to run in the grass to get as far away from that freaky dog as possible.  As we got closer, the owner pointed across the trail and said "Look out.  There's a snake."  Expecting a garter snake to be slithering through the grass, we looked in the direction he pointed, a mere three feet away from us.  What we saw was more than just a snake.  Coiled there, ready to strike, was a diamond back rattlesnake.  Did I say it was a mere three feet away?  Without a word, Crazy Ass and I did an about face and began sprinting in the other direction.  My heart was pounding.  I don't think we had seen that kind of pace yet in our training.  That lovely spot by the river became section of trail we would not be running again any time soon.

Scary

Scarier

On another occassion, Crazy Ass and I got up early to run on a long, flat section of the bike trail - in shall we say... not the nicest part of town.  It was a little frosty; so, we were wearing snow hats and gloves.  Out of the blue, Crazy Ass punched me in the gut.  "Did you see that?" she asked.  "What?" I asked her, not quite understanding what could be so important she had to assault me.  "The homeless guy," she said under her breath.  I glanced behind me.  Sure enough, curled up in his sleeping bag, right next to the trail slept one bearded, grungy looking dude.  Now some of you see this sort of thing every day, when you are surrounded by people who will hear your screams in a city of a million people or more.  I, on the other hand, live in a town of 75 thousand where we house homeless families in local churches and feed them supper while our kids play monkey in the middle with their kids.  Seeing a guy lying next to the bike trail is right on par with seeing the boogey man.  My mind immediately went through the miles of trail we had already run...  lined with trees that surely must have obscured similar boogey men.  My step quickened to a sprint.  Crazy Ass and I achieved yet another personal best pace for our training.  During the weeks that followed, someone new accompanied Crazy Ass and I on our runs.  Her cop boyfriend now rode behind us on his bike.  Who knew we needed a body guard?

Some say they will only run if something is chasing them.  Having increased my pace at the mere thought of someone chasing me, on at least two different occasions, I can see their point.  Sure, it hadn't been the most conventional of training plans, but our fight or flight mechanisms had surely been put to the test.  Oh yeah - FLIGHT definitely wins (but we have a pretty BA body guard if that doesn't work!).