Chicagoland Spring Marathon Recap

(2013)

 

 

Spoiler # 2 : I have plenty of time to get my many four readers caught up on the past year of running and racing, before any new adventures will need to be re-capped.

 

A lot of the races I ran, during my Blogging Hiatus, were new to me, so I'd love to share my experiences. I also tried some new training, recovery and pacing experiences and would feel remiss in not sharing those, as well. So, if you've got some time, over the next few weeks, I've got some stories.

 

After I ran a Boston Qualifying Marathon in February, the horrific events unfolded at said marathon, in April 2013. One of the resulting feelings that surfaced was a pressing need to be at the 2014 start line of the Boston Marathon. I feared my qualifying time wouldn't be fast enough, with the huge influx of runners vying for the same experience.

 

I bit the bullet and registered for a May race, with the intent of running closer to the 3:35 range, rather than the 3:38:xx I qualified with. After a ton of research, I'd settled on The Chicagoland Spring Marathon in Schaumburg, IL.

 

May in Florida is already sticky and hot (like, 90 degrees, hot). May in Schaumburg is typically still "Spring-like" and much, much cooler. (For reference, this year's race day has a predicted high temperature of 60 degrees.)

 

 The course was flat, the number of participants was small and I'd even be able to visit with extended family. (Hi, Denny and Jill!! ) I don't like to splurge for race travel, but the need was overwhelming.

 

I needta run another one!!

 

I'd sufficiently recovered from the February race, so I just threw together a hasty few weeks of marathon "refresher" training. To date, they were some of my strongest workouts, ever. The weather was getting downright miserable, but my body was responding unbelievably well to the mileage and speed work. So much so, that I started re-thinking my sub 3:35 goal, and leaned more towards trying to knock out a sub 3:30.

 

Plus, (foreshadowing) the Illinois weather was going to be almost ideal for a marathon. While huffing and puffing through training in 80-85 degree morning runs, I was reassuring myself with the visions of the 60 degree race in Chicagoland.

 

My strong, speedy dad even jumped on board. He decided to fly up there with me and run the half marathon. What could possibly go wrong with this stellar Training, FamilyFun, Wonderful Weather Trifecta?!

speedy Dad

 

We didn't need too much extra time in the fair city of Schaumburg, so we flew out the day before the race. I normally pull the masses back into a ratty ponytail, throw on something pajama-like and fly in style. 

 

Sidenote: Have I reminded you, lately, about how lucky I am to have the husband I do?

 

A quick, pre-dawn glance in the mirror revealed that my go-to Fashionable Flier Getup might need a bit of tweaking :

 





"Good morning, Dad. Um. I'm going need a couple extra minutes"

 

That rush styling job resulted in a nasty flat iron burn on my tiny ear. Probably added at least 4 minutes to my finishing time, the next day. Or not.

 

Moving on.

 

Sleek hair, weeping, open wound on my ear, giddy excitement and tall, tight socks. The lucky traveling companion was my dad, not my husband, this trip. Aim to please : Bullseye!

because wearing long pants to cover the socks would be too easy

 

Lots of quality time spent together, waiting for our rental car, followed by a quick trip to the hotel. Dropped off our stuff and headed to pick up our race packets.

 

After following some really confusing verbal directions, along with chalk arrows, we ended up in an empty storefront. Well, of course your race number should be obtained by waiting in an oddly-split line in the middle of a creepy, abandoned building! Just like every other expo...

 

The rest of our goodies were being held at Dick Pond Athletic store...just past more weird chalk arrows and sidewalk drawings. I have to assume this wasn't their initial Packet Pickup plan. If so, the organizers may want to go back to the drawing board for a short while.

 





We grabbed our goody bags and some race day fuel.  I'm a bit hazy on the details. I know there was a cool water bottle. I still have mine. Other than that, I'm pretty sure there were just some flyers for local races and businesses.

This fella was next door to the store. He didn't sponsor, though. That extra "N" must've put him over his advertising budget.

 

We also received one of my all-time favorite race shirts. Neon green, long-sleeved, half-zip shirts, to be exact. Pay no attention to my reflection in the photo above. Why in the world would I be wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt? May, in this area of Illinois, is just plain chilly. Surely the Race Directors, in their infinite wisdom, wouldn't have handed out toasty, warm attire if it were going to be 80+ degrees on race day!

 

If you're not soaking up what I'm spilling at this point, I'll start to spell it out. It was not cool. It was H-O-...



 

After a bit of sightseeing (ps: sightseeing, for runners, is driving and stalking the race course. looking for elevation changes, amount of shade, etc), we went to Whole Foods. It was my first time in the fabled store, and neither one of us had ever dined there. With my eating habits, it was as dreamy as I'd imagined it to be. I loaded up any goodies I could bring home to the boys without melting or spoiling in my suitcase. Luckily they're pretty easy to please. For real.

"Mom texted pics of traffic lights AND brought us home Clif Bars?! Score!!"

 

We indulged in Veggie, Carbie goodness from the various DIY bars, at Whole Foods. As awesome as it is, I'm really glad there isn't a store within an hour of my house. I would spend way too many of our dollars there.

I don't know all the Blogging Rules. I remembered the one about If You Eat at Whole Foods, You Must Have Photo Proof

 

We didn't do any shakeout runs or really all the much extra walking. It was just a relaxing, stress-free day of easy travel and laughs. I couldn't have asked for better, prior to a marathon far away from home. Of course we called home and got caught up on everyone's days.

 

The more we talked on the phone, too, the less we could check our weather apps. The forecast was so, so not good. I laid out my Marathon Outfit, agonized over fueling and hydration and tried not to panic.

 

The Emergency Heat Warning email from the Race Directors threw a wrench in the whole "Not Panicking' plan. "Runners who have not trained in extremely warm climates should consider not running in the morning" " Those who have sufficiently trained need to adjust their goals, drastically" And the like.

 

Awesome.

 

I made the brilliant decision to NOT adjust my goals and just go ahead and pretend it was not too hot to run really fast for 26.2 miles. Remember, I had the aforementioned trifecta on my side. I flew all the way to another state for this race and it was going to be perfect, darnit!

 

The start area was right across the street from our hotel, so we didn't even have to wake up at an unpleasant hour. I had my standard, 3 hours prior plain bagel. I went back to sleep, and got back up a while later for coffee, water, and more Not Panicking. My dad and I gathered up our gels and Not Panicked our way all the way out of the hotel, through the humid, morning fog and into the starting area.

 

We had a few minutes to relax before finding a comfortable spot in the one and only corral. Even with the two distances, there were still less than 1,000 runners. My plan was to run the first half of the race in about 1:45. I wanted even splits, or slightly negative on the second half, if possible.

 

My fueling plan had worked so well for my last Marathon, I decided to follow it, again. February marathon : 30 degrees. May marathon: 80 degrees. See a problem with my logic, yet, 'cause I didn't. (face, meet palm!)

"My mom's #1 when it comes to race execution!"

 

I was feeling depleted by mile 4. (four!) The pace felt really easy but I was hungry and thirsty. I was carrying my small handheld bottle and ended up refilling it. A lot. I also took my first gel a bit earlier than I'd planned to, but it was too little, too late. (more on that, later)

 

We split off from the halfers at mile 8. My dad and I said something encouraging to one another before following our new paths.

Him: "Don't die of heat stroke. Your mother will be furious with me!"

Me: "You, either. My name's not on the rental car agreement!"

 

Or something along those lines.

 

By mile 9, I'd caught up to the 3:30 Pace Leader, as per my plan. He was running alone, already. When he turned and saw me close by, he looked right through me, and started encouraging other stragglers to catch up to him. I found it odd that he chose to ignore, rather than pep-talk me, but I wasn't there to make friends, anyway. I silently plodded along behind him, until he ducked into a park bathroom and a different pacer appeared. This new pacer had a handful of followers and was way more chatty than the last guy. However, he was not without his issues.

 

"Hey guys. We're going to bank some time on this shady part of the trail, 'cause the rest of it's going to be pretty rough."

 

In theory, that makes good sense. Pacing a group who has likely not trained themselves to run ~8 minute miles for 10 miles of a marathon, then suddenly drop the pace to 7:10 for the next few miles...notsomuch.

 

I took that opportunity to pretend like I was all alone on the trail, turn on my ipod, and focus on my even splits. That's the way I like to run, anyway.

 

The course starts on a highway, weaves in and out of Nature Preserve trails (paved. open to the public) for the majority of the race, and then ends up back on that same, burning hot highway. There were very little opportunities for spectating, so it was pretty quiet in between waters stops. If you're looking for a flat, scenic course, this is a good option. If you're opposed to dodging cyclists, demoralizing out & backs and sharp turns around a cone in the middle of a median, you may want to choose a different marathon. Course map

 

(I sound bitter. Under better conditions I might've really liked it. In fact, now that some time has passed, my dad and I have even tossed around the idea of taking another shot at it.)

 

I crossed the half-marathon (13.1 miles) mat at 1:45:08 and promptly came to a dead stop. What?! I can't recall doing that in a race before this one, but it happened and everything quickly unraveled. The first half hadn't felt awful, but it was getting HOT and I (later figured out I) totally messed up my fueling. I forced my legs to start shuffling, again, but was completely panic-stricken. The thought of chasing a PR, in the heat, completely alone, seemed laughable.

 

My thoughts of dropping out were overwhelming. It was really only logistics that stopped my from doing so, initially. Remember, we were way out on Nature Trails. How would I even get back to the start? By them time I reached an aid station, I still wanted to quit, but had found my Motivation to Shuffle Through It from other sources.

"You quit?! I can't even look at you, right now, Mama"

 

1. My husband was home, in another state, caring for our home and family so that I could run this stupid marathon. I refused to take that for granted by announcing that I hadn't even finished the race.

2. I had no cell phone, thus no way to reach my dad.

3. The money I'd dropped on this "redemption race?!" No way was I wasting it, entirely!

4. We had plans to meet up with our extended family for dinner. How embarrassed would I be to have their first experience with Jennifer As a Marathoner be : The Story of How I Didn't Earn a Medal.

 

I won't drag you through the play-by-play for the rest of it. Just know that I wasn't "brave" or "strong" for finishing a marathon when it was 80+ degrees and even some pacers were being carried off the course on stretchers. I was simply cheap and stubborn.

 

 The finish line was gorgeous. Having my dad waiting for me (and seeing the medal HE earned!!) was even better. The sprinkler system and free massages erased my tears. (yes. actual tears were shed over this race)

 

I had no appetite, but we wandered around the after-party, hoping something might look palatable. I think I choked down 1/2 banana and a few bites of a granola bar. I knew my finishing time (3:51ish), but we hung around the results board out of curiosity, anyway. I ended up in the top 50, overall, and somehow I managed to place 3rd in my age group.

 

That's a toughie to comment on. I sound like a jerk when I say "it's not cool, 'cause it was a crappy overall time". However, that's kind of the way it goes. Me being faster than everyone but 2 people, in my age group, is relative. It's almost like winning a race when there's only one participant. All of that having been said, I will always take pride in finishing a race AND collecting the spoils.

 

We asked around and learned that there wasn't an actual awards ceremony. You just had to show your bib to the high school volunteers and they'd hand over your "award".

 

Not only did I traipse around the finish area, soaking wet and barefoot, (see video at end for proof) I also proceeded to dive, headfirst, into a trash bin to retrieve the sweaty bib I'd tossed. Shame? What the heck is that?

The engraving appears illegible in the photo. I think they read: "Appallingly ugly Finisher's Medal" and "Equally Hideous Marathon Winner Medal"

 

My dad and I headed back to the room for some rest and much-needed (me, especially) cleaning up. After we looked respectable, again, we met up with his brother and family. They were awesome and treated us to dinner, so I introduced my cousins to Frozen Yogurt for dessert.

 

Yeah. They'd never been to a Frozen Yogurt shop. I will suck that up and still claim them as family, though.

"So, this cold stuff in the bowls. What are we supposed to do with it, again?"

Kidding, guys. I love you!

 

It was a rough day.

I did not even run a Boston Qualifying time, much less better my previous one.

I learned from the experience and treasured every. single. moment. Other than the "soul crushing heat" (my dad's spot-on description)

 

Thank you for skimming reading this mini-novel. I've got more! Lots more! Most of them will be shorter, though. Here's a teaser : I flew back to Illinois, for another race, a few months later.

 

And now....The Video. You may have to watch it more than once to fully appreciate all that takes place in the few seconds that are captured. Please note the following :

 

-My weird giddiness over that cold sprinkler

-My bare feet. In a parking lot.

-The struggles the other finishers are clearly dealing with, due to the heat.

-The pacer being assisted over to the cold sprinklers, by EMS personnel.

-Me moving 1/2 inch to allow someone else to share my precious water

 







 

 



 

 

 

 





How To Go from 4:05 to 3:39 in 2 Months

It wasn't my intent to leave this half-written story for so long. Turned out to be really good timing, though, to have it ready to post today! If you don't know why, Google when The Boston Marathon is run. (or get your head out of the hole you have it buried in)

At no point during the four hours and 5 minutes I spent running The 2012 Jacksonville Bank Marathon did I think "I will learn to LOVE this experience for all it will teach me". But I totally should have. Because, without that mess of a race, I'm fairly certain I would not have run a Boston Qualifying marathon two months later. It forced me to go back to the drawing board and make some physical and mental adjustments.

I won't drag us all back into the December Debacle, though. I'd just like to share what I did for my 26.2 Miles on February 17th, 'cause...well...it seemed to work out okay.

Nutrition & Fueling: I belive it was Erin who shared some links regarding race day eating, a couple of months back. Until I started running long distances, I'd never had a problem with my intestines misbehaving. For example : I once ate a large burrito, enchilada, refried beans and rice about an hour before setting out for an evening run. (p.s. : that little tidbit falls under the "do as I say, not as I do" category, obvs)

Once I started spending more than 90 minutes on my feet, though, my previously brag-worthy, iron stomach turned into a big, dumb jerk. Through a lot of (mostly failed) experimenting and the aforementioned new fueling plans I was finally cautiously optimistic about not completely falling apart, GI-wise, during the race.

I ate less than 1/2 of a plain bagel at about 4:30 am, while waiting downstairs for my friends to join me on the shuttle. There ended up being some clock discrepancies, though. I waited for a couple minutes before boarding the nearest bus. (hooray for heated transportation!! It was right around 32 degrees) I sipped water, on and off, throughout the morning, but didn't take in any other calories.

$2 jacket from Goodwill, warm bus, very special self portrait

 

I'd cut up some Shot Bloks into easier-to-gnaw pieces and stuffed them into a ziploc. Those, plus one Clif gel would be my race fuel. I decided not to carry a water bottle, as there were plentiful stops along the course. Also, with the cold weather, I didn't see myself needing a ton of hydration.

 

I had a few pieces of the Bloks every 45 minutes, saving the gel for the final few miles. The amount and choices were happily perfect! There were a couple moments where I felt dry-mouthed and wished for water, but it didn't take long before I had cups available to me.

 

The only other, minor problem was the cold + chewy fuel combo. My face was so cold, it was really hard to chew those gooey bits. I'm sure the specatators were treated to a really special show every time I fought through that process. I've checked the race day photos and have yet to see any depicting that hideous scene. Either the photographers didn't catch it or they're kind editors.

 

The Early Miles: I'd made myself some little pace stickers, but they ended up under my arm warmers. I quickly realized they were going to be more of an annoyance than anything, so I kinda forgot about them. (until they pulled arm hairs. Then I remembered them)

 

I've gotten really good at starting longer races nice and easy. This one was no exception. The only glitch was, again, the cold. We'd been waiting in the corral for so long, that I could no longer feel my feet. It's real tricky to run a pace based on feel when you can't, stinking feel anything.

 

the freezing, lonely corral

  

With friends and family choosing to run the Marathon Relay, I had The Best Start, Ever (TBSE) as I got to run my sissy's portion, with her. We marvelled at our Frozen Feet Syndrome and smiled. A lot. Having her with me totally erased any nerves or jitters. I've never felt so comfortable, mentally, at the start of a race.

 

My goal for the 1st 3 miles was 9:00, 8:30 & 8:00. Actual : 8:56, 8:29, 8:00. Pretty good, huh? After that, I'd planned to clock in the next 10 somewhere near a 7:50 mm pace. Miles 4, 5 & 6 : 7:53, 7:51, 7:49. I tried to keep calm as I realized how amazing I was feeling, and the 3:35 pace group was behind me! That 7:49 mile felt ridiculously easy and I entered the beach (after cheering on my relay-ing friend, Kim) with a huge, euphoric smile on my face.

 

I underestimated The Beach.

 

looks so harmless, doesn't it?

 

I live in Florida. I've run on sand and dealt with chillier temps and wind, near the water. I was unprepared, however, for the endless, sand-filled gusts that were attacking us. While I knew that pushing hard and keeping my effort steady was the way to go, I was already realizing the unexpected toll it was going to take on my legs, later in the race.

 

Miles 7-9 were supposed to be at that 7:50 pace, but the sand slowed me down to 8:05, 8:24 & 8:11. I was already a bit ahead of where I needed to be to qualify for Boston, but I'd become attached to the idea of staying ahead of that 3:35 group. (I still know I'm fully capable of a 3:30 marathon. There. I've said it.) Moving on...

 

Leaving the beach was blissful, but I had to rally to shake of the fatigue those wind-filled, sandy miles had left me with. Luckily, neighborhood/crowd support was in full force in that area of Jacksonville. I maintained my form for my new, adoring fans. 

 

Mile 10 was a comfortable 7:52. The next stretch was a bit quieter, specator-wise. I was happy to have completed double digits, but was still too far away from the halfway point to really feel comfortable, yet. I ended up zoning out, a bit, as is my habit and ran 11-13 in 8:01, 8:06 & 8:07. I crossed the 13.1 mat ahead of my goal, but just barely.

 

I was still feeling infinitely better than I had been in the December marathon. I also decided it was time to turn off my brain, for a bit, as it was starting to let some negativity creep in. The ipod was switched on and I took a quick, mental break.

 

The 3:35 group passed me, and I was okay with that. They were still in sight. I knew I was slowing, but it wasn't considerable and I knew I had some time banked. Miles 14-16 : 8:04, 8:06, 8:11, 8:23.

 

uh-oh. Double-digits left to run, and my pace was creeping up. When mile 17 clicked off at 8:30, I had to start working so much harder, mentally, than I had the entire race. I reminded myself that I still felt good. (I really did) I was fatigued, but not sore. My stomach issues were non-existent, the sun was shining and the weather was absolutely gorgeous.

 

I peeled off my gloves & ear warmers with the hopes that I'd see The Husband or other friends, along the course and could toss them.

 

I glanced at my watch and saw an 8:4x, right after that 17th mile. UGGGHHH!!

 

I came around a corner and had caught up to a handful of marathoners (with the 1/2 marathon & relay being on the same course, you never know how fresh-legged the folks around you are) and an awesome realization hit me. I recognized the running form directly in front of me. It was a friend from my running group with whom I am extremely comfortable following.

 

That ended up being the relief I never knew I needed, but that showed up anyway. Mile 18: 8:17.

 

We wordlessly took turns leading, with brief water stop walks thrown in. He was starving and fading and I was running a marathon faster than I ever had. Not the best setup for teamwork, but it worked for us. While the next few miles were slower than I wanted, I fully believe they would've been even slower had I not been running with Josh.

 

Miles 19-22: 8:32, 8:32, 8:28, 8:35

 

By this time, I'd lost a glove, so I tossed the rest of my gear. (very sad about the loss of my favorite arm warmers, btw). I took my final gel, washed it down with some freezing water and just. held. on.

 

Around this point, I took my turn in the lead and Josh faded back. He never passed, again, but I knew he was close. I also knew I just needed to keep my remaining miles under 9 minutes/mile to finish under 3:40.

 

Typing this now, that seems SO easy! That morning, though, I was feeling tired enough to be ready to actually fall asleep. On my feet. It's hard to describe that type of fatigue, but it took everything I had, mentally and physically, to push through it. I drew on some of the thoughts I described in this post and kept telling myself it would be over, soon.

 

It felt like I was pushing hard enough to see 7:00 on that trusty ol' Garmin, but instead the final miles were pounded out in : 8:42, 8:39, 8:48 & 8:49.

 

There was a bridge. Hard doesn't begin to describe that climb during the last mile. There was panic at getting that far and seeing 3:4x on the finish clock. While that would have been a huge PR, for me, it was definitely not what I wanted to see. I also lost an earbud to the wind and was momentarily devastated at the lack of music drowning out my "Let's STOP RUNNING!" thoughts. Coming off the bridge, though, I saw two beautiful sights :

 

1. The Finish Line, adorned with pink balloons.

2. The girl in front of me pumping her fist across that Finish Line.

 

Why was that was beautiful? Because I knew she was in my age group and that she had just qualified for Boston.

 

I was close enough to see that I was going to do the same.

 

The last .36 (by my watch) : 7:45 pace (2:48)

 

I stumbled across and crashed into my poor husband who was trying to record the moment on his phone. Needless to say, that didn't work out so well, thanks to my ill-timed attack. I took for granted the fact that he, my sissy and my friends would be waiting. I'd completely forgotten the setup at this race that doesn't allow family/friends to be at the actual finish. Those sneaky guys had gone out of their way to be where they were. I'm so thankful, but totally not surprised.

I still love them

 

The bottom of my foot hurt pretty badly, as seems to be the norm when I wear the Pure Flows. The good they do outweighs that minor problem, though, so I stand by my decision to wear them for the marathon. Some overly attentive medics (maybe they read this post?) immediately showered me with ice and kind attention.

 

I was dazed and unable to form complete sentences, but I was done. Not only was I done, but I had shaved off almost 19 minutes from my best marathon time and had succeeded in qualifying for The Boston Marathon.

 

The day was still so beautiful, so I wasn't even a sweaty mess. I stretched...painfully, and grabbed my drop bag. Catching up with everyone was frenzied but ecstatic. Phone calls were made, hugs were plentiful and I even became BFs with Joan Benoit Samuelson! (well...we waved at each other, anyway)

 

There was quite a bit of re-fueling, that day, in the form of water, free beer, bananas, an entire pizza and a milkshake. In reality, I had no appetite. My brain tells me I need to replenish, though, so I do it. I actually didn't have much of an appetite for several days, later.

One marathon = one pizza

 

looked so tasty! Only managed a few sips. :(

 

P.S. I'm currently watching the race I hope to be running on this same day, next year. That's about the coolest distraction, ever, right now. ;)

 

For now, this is what I've got for you. I've had so much more to share, since then, but wanted to get this out, first. Thank you for waiting and reading!! 



 

 

 



 

 

 

 

 

 



Feelings

I've been staring at this blank page since I raced my way to a Boston Qualifying time. It's not that I was unsure what to say, there's just too much I want to share. (and probably very little that any of you will actually care to read). I've realized I'm going to have to split it into 3 parts.

 

First: I'm going to have to get some feelings out of the way. They were/are integral and important.

 

Second: The Figures and facts. (mile splits, fueling, etc) It's not interesting to everyone, but I love to have it to look back on. Also, I've made poor Mike wait long enough.

 

Third: The actual race specifics. It's an awesome and fairly unique event. It deserves it's own story. This will likely not happen for a few months, though. I think, once Summer descends and my racing season ends for a while, I'll take that time to go back and share some recaps (expos, crowd support, after parties...that sort of thing)

 

See why this has taken so long? That took up a ton of space and it was only a boring intro!

 

note to moms: step out from behind the camera sometimes. Your children get frustrated when these are the only types of photos they can find with you in them

 

In 2004, my dearest friend (who was also nice enough to have birthed me) found a lump in her breast. She's a semi-professional worrier, so I definitely took it seriously, but didn't panic. She was active, ate healthy, had recently lost a bunch of weight and our family doesn't have a history of breast cancer.

 

I, heavily pregnant, joined her and my dad to hear the results of the biopsy. After what seemed like an eternity, they emerged from the office in tears. They were emotional wrecks (naturally) and started spilling out the bad news. 

 

For some mysterious reason, my every emotion, (even the pregnancy/hormonal ones!) were pushed aside and I just started getting down to business. I'm sure they didn't fully appreciate my immediate barrage of questions and detailed plans of attack, but it sure helped me deal. It was in that moment that I realized my role. I needed to be a source of strength. No, crying and showing raw emotions are not forms of weakness. For me, though, I couldn't break down in tears with them AND sort through how we were going to deal with Breast Cancer. I needed to be tear-free and business-like.

 

Weeks later, my mom and I attended a seminar at the local hospital. The volunteers were explaining various options for headgear during chemotherapy (wigs, scarves, hats) and ways to apply makeup when you've lost all of your eyelashes. They showed a video of heartbreakingly beautiful women, like my mom, who had suffered so much and were dedicated to helping others try to keep their spirits up. It was totally random, but I felt the tears coming. I waddled (still pregnant) to the bathroom and sobbed 'til I puked. My mom never saw, though she may have suspected. We finished off the class, laughed and played with the makeup samples and wigs and left feeling simultaneously devasted and hopeful.

 

 She's not called Grandma, she's "Buddy". Oh, and she loves babies.

 

In January 2005, I delivered a beautiful baby boy and my mom started down a long, hideously awful road of chemo and radiation treatments. We threw her a Hat Party, brought her popsicles when it was all she could stomach, scoured the surrounding cities for some sort of air freshener that was "Nothing" scented. (she became hyper-aware of smells and it further nauseated her) She was so physically weak and battered, but still so very "mom". Everything about her personality remained. I will never forget that. Wouldn't it have been so much easier for her to have just broken down and turned into a whiny jerk?!



"silly, Buddy, it's okay!" "I'm bald, too!"

During one of her follow-up Oncology appointments, the doctor (a runner) stressed to my mom the importance of physical fitness for recovery. At that time, my mom was in no shape to even walk for any length of time, but it turned on a switch in my brain.

Soon after, I started turning my (kinda) daily walks into attempts to run. I knew nothing other than the fact that I could move my feet faster than I previously had, without dying. Also, I loved it.  I kept the new hobby mostly between The Husband and myself, though. (my sissy recently mentioned this in one of her brilliant posts. Yes, my mom's illness and recovery had awakened a desperate need for me to keep my body moving. No, I didn't feel it appropriate to be all "Listen, mom, I know you can't even roll over without pain, but I found out I love to run!" Not good timing.

More babies...more life stuff...lots of time off running, but I re-discovered a passion for it a couple of years later. Short story long : My mom is cancer-free and I've proudly called myself A Runner for about four years. Seemingly unrelated until you toss in the Marathon I just ran.

If you haven't yet clicked on the link, it's a race to "Finish Breast Cancer". 100% of the profits go back into local breast cancer research and support. When picking my races for this year, it was hard to argue with the merits of that one. Since it'd be my third one in five months, though, I expected to just run it "for the cause". Once I fell soooo short of my lofty goals at this disaster of a marathon, though, I was dead-set on running these 26.2 miles in less than 3 hours and 40 minutes.

his Game Face is so much cuter than mine

 

I took the no-brainer route and decided to run this race For My Mom. Only, I didn't actually tell her I'd be doing that. To set a nearly 20 minute PR goal, tell her about it and then tell her how I failed would've been disappointing (for me), to say the least.

 

As I mentioned, all the numbers and race details will be included in the next post. Here's a sneak peek, though : For the majority of the race, I was ahead of the 3:35 pace group. When they passed me, and the miles started getting oh-so-dark, I started down the cowardly route.

 

I told myself it was okay to not Qualify For Boston, as I'd still have my fastest marathon finishing time, ever! That thought was thoroughly destroyed when I remembered My Reason, My Why, My Motivation for this race. Those frightening, surgery and misery-filled days flashed before me.

 

My mother had gracefully survived a Life-Threatening Disease and I was whining about keeping up my pace for 30-40 more stinking minutes?!

 

So I pushed on, without crying. All that strength that magically came to me when my mom was fighting this disease, returned.

I thought of Elaine, another very dear-to-me woman who fought (and fought. and fought) and did not, in the end, survive Breast Cancer. I started to choke up and instead smiled when I realized that, if she were alive, she'd be running this race with me. That type of crazy would be right up her alley.

At mile 24, I thought of Sandy. She, too, was taken by this disease. Instead of running, though, she'd very likely be praying for my soul, assuming I'd lost my mind by paying to run 26.2 miles. That, too, chased away tears and brought a necessary calm.

At mile 25, I was basically a robot. No emotion, no thought other than "You have NOT come this far to FAIL!" Then I saw The Dreaded Bridge and nearly lost it. I was desperately conjuring up images of my mom, my family, the tearful, joyous finish line I'd been imagining all year. That Bridge? It was winning.

Then I saw her. The lady on the left side holding a black poster with white lettering. She wasn't jumping up and down or shaking maracas, like the other spectators. She was simply looking right at me and smiling.

As I begged and pleaded for my shaking legs to make that final ascent, her poster lit those things on fire.

"I'm a Breast Cancer Survivor. Thank You For Running For Me"

We both had sunglasses on, but I like to think we made eye contact. I wish I could've thanked HER. I flew down that bridge and crossed that line while the clock still read 3:39xx. But the tears didn't come. The strength and basic lack of emotion stayed with me. Mostly I was in disbelief. It wasn't until several days later, much like the random sobfest with my mom, that it happened.

I was looking at my race photos and pulled up the Finisher's Certificate. For some reason, when I saw my name, followed by those final numbers, I just sat there and cried. (and cried. and cried) I finally realized that I set out to run a Boston Qualifying Marathon, for my beautiful and amazing mother, and had actually done it. It hadn't just "happened". I FREAKING DID THAT!

I'll never know why my mom was spared when others weren't. All I know is that I'm beyond grateful for every single day I have with her and I'll never be able to thank her enough for inspiring me to conquer seemingly impossible challenges.

 

 





Short and (really) Sweet Sunday

So, the good news is : I managed to get a 19 minute PR (personal record) in my 3rd marathon, today!!

The other good news : Ha! I totally tricked you, didn't I?! You thought the good news was going to be followed by bad news. Nope. All good.

my only remaining arm warmer. boo.

 

That time, on that watch, qualified the owner of that arm for the 2014 Boston Marathon.

 

More details than you'll ever want to read are on their way...

Pride Cometh After A Fall

I was going to recap yesterday's 5k. I'll still do that this week. Today's initially innocuous run just took precedence in my tiny brain, though. Fair warning: there are some gross photos and fairly raw emotion included. Drama? Yes. Long-Winded? Mmm. Hm. Tempted to keep reading? Probably not.

If you prefer to spend your time reading something funnier, lighter and more intelligent, please visit my sissy's new blog and enjoy this post.

Having not run more than 17 miles since my mess of a marathon in December, I planned to knock out a solid 20-miler before this much-anticipated event. Training has been solid. Other than some overall fatigue, I've been feeling great. So, when preparing for this morning's long run, I set a goal.

Keep it easy, but finish with an average pace you'll be happy and confident about. That actual number's not important to the story, but I had a small range in mind.

Unfortunately, even after a relaxing night, good sleep and plenty of hydration, I woke up feeling pretty groggy and un-motivated. Coffee helped and I was out the door with little trepidation. It was (Florida) cool, very damp and foggy. The morning was still dark, quiet and almost silent. Everything was shrouded in creepy, heavy mist and it was too early for even die-hard dogwalkers to be out.

not quite as dark as this run ,but you get the idea

A lot of my runs begin this way. Normally I enjoy the peace. It's a chance to clear my thoughts, plan my week, set small goals and focus on happy moments my family and I have spent together, recently. Today, though, the dark miles passed very slowly, both physically and mentally. Yesterday's race was taking it's toll on my legs and I ran out of happy-go-lucky way too quickly.

Sunrise happened and helped my mood, immensely. And then it didn't. Oddly, for me, I felt very lonely. While most of my runs are solo, I was suddenly craving company. There were overwhelmingly ugly feelings of jealousy towards my running buddies I knew would be enjoying their miles with friends, today.

where were all these guys when I needed them?!

 

Then my phone rang. Sometimes, while "in the groove", the distraction can be a slight annoyance. Today's call was perfectly timed, though. My dear, sweet husband wanted to know where I'd be so he and the boys could come offer "on-course" support. We picked a place and I hung up with a smile to replace my former, sour frown.

 

Miles 8-14 were mostly a blissful blur. I threw in a challengingly faster mile, turned on my audiobook and looked forward to seeing my guys in a short while. The weather prevented me from even working up a real sweat. My legs were getting achy and fatigued, but in a good and normal way. The city was wide awake, finally, and the bevvy of new activity around me was a welcome distraction.

 

When I came up to The Husband and Middlest, sans vehicle, I realized they'd be hoofing it with me, for a bit. That brilliant idea was such an awesome surprise! Middlest rode his scooter (not so fast!) in front of us, and The Husband and I caught up on fun stories while he tried to slow his (much fresher) legs. After a couple sips of water, I left him with my half-full handheld as it was getting annoying to carry. With less than five miles to go, and the temperature being so lovely, I'd be fine without any more fuel.

 

They honked, waved, cheered and drove back home. I returned the wave and rallied my heavy legs to finish this run strong.

Quick disclaimer : "strong" and "fast" are not interchangeable, in this particular context. I'm a firm believer in the benefits of running my long days at an easy pace.



 

I'd gotten about a quarter-mile away before I tripped on a minuscule crack in the sidewalk.

 

My body went flying and skidding. As was the case with my last fall I simply didn't have any spare energy to try to stop the crash. I slid on my palms, scraped my arm, hip, knee and hand.

 

Two things registered, immediately.

1. OW!

2. There was a line of cars waiting to pull into the church entrance where I was hideously sprawled and a dozen or so congregation members, in the parking lot, staring at me in horror.

 

Fact Number 2 got me to my feet faster than I could've ever imagined. I surveyed the important damage (Garmin ok? Ipod still as intact as ever?) ,while I ran away from the humiliating scene. My body, while bruised and stinging, was still moving as it should be. That fact, along with the realization that my phone was in the handheld water bottle I'd sent with my husband, forced me to continue this run I so desperately wanted to abruptly end.

 

When I reached the 16th mile, and remembered that the next few stretches would be full of tall (Florida) hills, I finally paused my watch and fully stopped to survey the damage. I guess I was hoping that it was much less benign than I thought it was? I stopped the exploratory searches when I saw this:

spoiler: I survived and took pics after the run

 

While I now, rationally, realize it's simply a scraped knee, at that moment it was enough to drive me to actual tears. Frustration (why does this keep happening to me?!), Embarrassment (which isn't an emotion I generally succumb to), Exhaustion and Defeat overwhelmed me. Glancing up the steep hill, I saw people coming, so I slowly and sadly stumbled on. The thought crossed my mind to ask them if they had a phone so I could call my husband for a ride. By the time I reached them, though, my stupid crying fit was over and I'd decided to keep running. My pace was abysmal, my spirit was dead and my freaking bruised hands hurt like a b*#)%!

 

With everything now aching, inside and out, I shakily managed to switch my ipod back on to drown everything out with some music. When it started filling my ears, brain and heart, it was like a switch was flipped within me, as well.

 

I picked up my head, focused on the wisdom of Van Halen ("Right Now? It's Everything!") and my form, and destroyed the next hill.

 

Now, well into the seventeenth mile, I stopped looking at my watch but remembered my earlier goals for this training run. My legs started churning out beautiful-feeling movements but my breathing stayed soft and easy.

 

When Dave Grohl started singing about his "Hero", there wasn't a doubt in my mind he was referring to me.

 

Thinking back to my very first 20-miler, and the overwhelming sense of emotion and pride I felt when I knew I was going to finish it strongly, I started to get choked up, once again. That run had been prior to my injury, . While I'd managed to heal and get my fitness to a place where I could giddily complete my very first marathon, I'd very rarely felt "back", during my subsequent runs.

 

Here's the thing about running. It can, without warning or provocation, turn into an absolutely spiritual experience. It's not something you can plan or force. Some miles, some races, some impromptu jaunts with friends, just totally morph into something that cannot be explained without sounding like a complete dork. This, obviously, doesn't stop me from trying...

 



When I finished today's 20 miles, and realized they were, overall, even faster than my pre-injury ones(complete with fall and blubbering like a baby!), I couldn't decide whether I wanted to holler, cry (again) or just let my proud smile overtake my tired face.

 

So I did all three.

bruised & bloodied hip

 

curious about how I managed to scrape the palm AND back of the same hand

 

 

 

 

 



Ragnar Recap, Alphabet Style

Not to be confused with "Gangnam Style"

Sorry I've been absent, lately, in case anyone even noticed...Busy days! Awesome days! You get the gist, right? I can't wait to get caught up on everyone else's blogs, as well.

lots of pictures, less words, more fun

A is for Art: Our driver, my husband. He was such an integral and amazing part of the team.

even if his name happened to start with a "Z", I would've figured out a way to list him, first

 

B is for Baby Wipes: I did most of my post-run "showering" with these but those other wipes were a hot commodity amongst the Ragnar teams. You guys are okay without a picture of that, right? Good.

C is for Conch: Sounds dirty, but it's really just a giant seashell. They're abundant in Florida...as were the teams with "Conch" somewhere in the name. In fact, one of our own club's teams chose to be:

D is for Dirty. This is how I went to bed, in Key West, when we were done with the race. I hope I'm not the first person to complete a two-day running event and not shower that night. When faced with the choice of  : Pass Out and Drown in Shower or Go to Bed Dirty, I chose the latter.

Runner-up. These were so tasty at 4 am.

E is for Earrings. I wore tiny, cheap, gold hoops, in conjunction with our team's pirate theme. My ears are bloody, scabby messes, now. Today's Running PSA: Don't wear cheap earrings when you plan to get really sweaty!

F is for Famous. One of my multi-talented teammates submitted an article for Ragnar's RagMag. They ended up featuring it, along with pictures (page 20) of last year's team (all the same except for me. I was a new addition/replacement). Other runners were excited when they saw us. "Hey! You're famous!!" was fun to hear from strangers.

G is for Gators: My 2nd leg started in a pitch black swampy area. The "road" was grass and very large gravel. I was completely alone but hoping our van would be able to find me, at some point. Blocking my path, about a mile in, was a truck. The driver hopped out and yelled at me to stop. (Pretty awesome, so far, right?)

"You have to go tell all these runners to stop coming down this road!" "There are too many gators out here!" "It's not safe!" The stranger, in the dark, told me.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to run away from him, and the gators, even faster or jump in his truck for safety. Either way, it scared the heck out of me.

H is for Hair: From the Fluffy 'Fro pre-race, to the disaster, mid-race, I had to just stop caring about what I looked like. This wasn't too hard to do.

not actually a raccoon try to escape the bandana

 

yeah...my hair was the least of my problems, at this point

 

I is for Ill. How I was feeling from just before my 4th Leg, all the way 'til Monday afternoon. (2 days after the race ended). Must figure out what's causing my intestines to misbehave so badly during these runs!

 

J is for Jumping. Awkwardly.

no runners were hurt in the filming of this over-played scene

I could've picked a more obvious "J" topic. Too easy.

 

K is for Kathee. We pulled off the road, into a mostly abandoned parking lot to try to catch Jeff on his current leg and give him a water. Looking around, from the van, I suddenly spotted another blogger! It was so random that I happened to see her. I'm terrible about approaching people but knew I'd regret it if I didn't. Kathee looked and smelled much better than I did, at the time. She and her team seemed awesome and I was so happy I'd gone and talked to her, all stalker-like.

Hi, Kathee!!

L is for Lost. This is what happened to one of our teammates, during his 2nd leg. By the time we found him, we were in last place out of 491 teams. We were so happy to find out he was alive, though, we could've cared less about anything else. However, due to our later start time and the mishap, our next stretch of legs were very dark times. Literally and mentally. I am so proud of that fact that we, as a team, didn't let it get us down, though. We rocked those lonely, empty, dark miles.

my view from my 2nd night run

 

M is for Mothering. I guess, because my own children were being cared for and spoiled by their grandparents, I inadvertently reverted to trying to "mother" everyone else.

"Did you re-apply your sunscreen?" "Try some ginger for your stomach." "Bring your water!"...and the like. I'm sure it was annoying the crap out of them, but I couldn't seem to stop.

 

N is for Naps. There weren't a lot of these. I snoozed for about 10 minutes, during the night, and about 20 the next morning. Most of the time, our eyes were too heavy to keep open, but actual sleep was elusive due all the stops and starts.

plus, if you fell asleep, people would take pics like this one

 

O is for Overjoyed. This feeling came over me when we finally saw another van and other runners, in the middle of the night. One of the first vans we saw was actually another WVR one, which made it even more awesome. Our giddy greetings also helped soften the blow that we were about to leave them in our dust...

 

P is for Port-a-Potties: Road, Van, Port-a-Potty. That about sums up where I spent my time from Friday Afternoon through Saturday evening.

very few of our photos don't include those grody little units

 

Q is for Quirks: Lord knows I have plenty of my own. After spending that many sleep-deprived, physically hard hours together, I learned quite a few of my teammate's, too. Somehow, we all managed to not kill each other. 









 

R is for Roadkills: When you pass another runner, during your leg, you get to count them as a "roadkill". Each team tallies up their "kills" throughout the day, and at the end. For the most part, it's all in good fun. The teams that went overboard in their celebrating were annoying, to me.

our sad stats during the night, when all the other teams were long gone

 

S is for Slap Bracelet: This is what all teams use as a baton, when passing off to the next runner. The "seamless handoff" attempts were pretty funny to watch. I stopped even trying, after a while. I just kinda put it somewhere near a wrist and hoped someone would start running. Fun fact: No one wanted to keep the stinky, moist souvenir after the race. So, I brought it home! The husband was thrilled.

waiting for my very first "slapping"

 

the "eyes closed" handoff is particularly tricky to master

 

T is for Towels. We used these, after our legs, to sit on and protect the van's seats. All the towels in Florida couldn't have withstood the sweat we produced over the weekend. Think about this next time you're sitting in a rented van...

 

U is for Unbreakable. Regarding our spirits, and determination during some very undesirable conditions? Yeah, that word about sums it up. 

 

V is for Vests. Good for safety, bad for running. I should've definitely practiced running in them before the race. They were so uncomfortable and distracting. We were, literally, counting down the seconds 'til 7:30 am, when the race directors had deemed it safe to remove them.

flashlight? check. Stupid vest? check. Annoying my teammates with my dumb smile? check.

 

W is for Winning. Yep. Last place team came back to win our division. (mixed ultra) In addition, we ended up beating 436 other teams, by placing 56th overall. How, you may ask? See the letter U.

 

X is for X-rated. Don't panic! No pictures for this one. One of the exchanges (the start of my last leg, in fact) was outside Adult Superstore. Plenty of obvious jokes, ensued. I was just trying to focus on rallying my tired legs and completely destroyed stomach to pay any attention.

 

Y is for Yummy. The piping hot, fresh, burgers (black bean, for me) we inhaled after stumbling happily away from the finish line were beyond yummy. I did comment, however, that they could've handed me a hot shoe and I would've eaten it with the same gusto. After a couple of days of Non-Perishable Van Goods, a hot meal hit. the. spot.

We made it to one pub, after our quiet, reflective beach burgers, before passing out. (some of us may or may not have done so at the table) At the pub, I finished off my Post-Race Food Wishlist with a basket of giant, crispy fries. My mouth's watering just thinking of those golden brown sticks of heaven. Or, possibly, I'm feeling the residual blisters from tearing into them while they were still smoking. Either way...it was all yummy.

the shoes I was drooling over while waiting for my burger

 

Z is for Ziti. Yes, I did have ziti, mid-race. No, it doesn't fall under the Yummy Hot Food category. It was scraped from the edges of a giant, tin serving dish at a major exchange. Again, we were the last to arrive, so we weren't given a lot of options. It was well after 10 pm. The food was ice cold and the cheese was questionably crusty. I didn't care. My body wasn't used to what I was putting it through and had decided it was starving during my 6 mile leg right before this point. That heaping plate of old pasta couldn't have looked more appetizing, at that moment.

hot parking lot, cold ziti, delirious runner

 



Have you ever participated in a relay?

 

Which part of this recap made you most want to run one?