I throw this out there because I think it's something lots of moms struggle with -- is this sanity, insanity or just plain selfishness ?
I am reminded of this at a recent gathering of moms to celebrate the pending birth of yet another new life in this world. I try to avoid the entire subject of running, but someone else brings it up. The conversation quickly turns to discussion of various races and spouses training for things. Seems like each woman has given up her regular regime or altered her regime to suit the family. One woman mentions a person who actually recently announced a divorce of a female friend who spent all her time training. I don't contribute to the discussion anymore. I'm not sure what to say, so it's better that I say nothing.
I think I would go crazy without running. It helps me calm down, sort out my troubles, stay focused, and it gives me energy. And, when I have a goal, I have something else to focus on, to strive for, to prove to myself. But, after listening to these women, I wonder if I being selfish.
I run early in the day, often leaving the house at 4:30 to get a run in. There are two mornings a week that my husband gets my son ready for school and drives him in. I get a sitter for my daughter those two mornings. On Saturday's, I leave early and am home just in time for breakfast usually. I skip stretching on Saturday's and any post-run socializing. I just get it in and go. Now I sound like I'm defending myself.
Anyway, with so many moms who put so much of their lives on hold for their kids, their husbands and their family lives, isn't it ok to carve out a little time for yourself?
I'll postpone Boston until 2010 to give my body and my family a break from my training.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
For God's Sake, Finish Already: part 3
I really need to just finish -- I guess that's part of what I said. But, seriously, I'm taking too long to get down to the actual race. Please come back to see my entry on Tiger Balm; I forgot to add that in and my running buddies reminded me -- with much hilarity -- that it was a big part of the experience.
Let's just get to race day. Since I wasn't sleeping, I got up and went to the lobby to get coffee and try to calm the jitters (and, use the lobby bathroom). The coffee didn't taste so great, but I had to get in early. Everything was ready to go, so I just needed to put my clothes on and head with the team to the busses.
We left about 5:45 am. There were tons of people in the lobby and we started walking toward the bus stop. I felt like crying already. I told Lorenzo that I was on the verge of tears. He started reiterating my instructions. That's the gig. He tells me what I have to do and generally I can do it. That calmed me down some, the deflect away from emotion, as that's what we always do before races. I freak out; he stays calm. It's kind of a Moonstruck moment...snap out of it on doggie downers.
We load the busses and head comfortably to the start line. I sit with a woman who'd just done Chicago (I thought you were supposed to rest for months after) and was planning on going to do White Rock in Dallas. Geez...I just want to get through this one. I start to panic again.
I feel nausea and hunger in alternating bouts at my stomach. I can still do the 1/2 I think.
Off the busses and over the the drop section -- nightmare, so poorly organized. We drop our bags and head to the port-o-pot. Someone tells us that there's less of a line at a different location so we haul ass over there. I nearly plow a woman down trying to get there. By now, there's not much time left and I'm anxious to get in line. I have no option for my power gel, so I stick two in my bra, one in my shorts pocket and hold the others in my hand.
When we hit our corral, we see some Gazelles -- Wes and Paul King. I can pretend that I'm in Austin, so that's good. Again, I have to hit the Loo and AT tells me to go for it, I have time. The ladies in line see that I'm in the second corral and they let me go ahead. I thank them profusely and head back in line. I don't know what's going on with the start, but it's messed up and kind of uneventful. Not at all like Austin races, but whatever. First the guy tells us to go and then stops us..it was odd. But, off we go.
I am surprisingly calm. I usually am so wound up that I can't breathe. But, I'm so relieved to start the race and I start to tell myself to stay calm. Lorenzo starts to give me instructions -- this is a good pace to start with; not any faster. Paul King comes up beside us and runs with us for a while which is really comforting. It feels like a long run and not much else now.
The beginning of the course twists and turns and so I have to really stay focused. Plus, I need to do water stops, which I'm not very good at since I don't normally do them. I don't like to get caught up and I'm afraid of falling. But, I know I have to eat power gels and I have to drink water frequently.
We see the Governor and his security detail and we run alongside him to say hello. We see him a lot in Austin running. I want to make a crack about the press conference and how he cut off Sarah Palin, but I decide against it. Sarcasm at this point will bite me later...it's all about karma.
So far so good, but I feel the pain in my leg and try to alter my stride to not pound on the right so much. Turn again and again. Lorenzo starts to tell me about a movie that now I cannot for the life of me remember the title. I'm sure he said the title several times, but it's gone. I know that John Wayne was in the movie and it was not a Western. I think that perhaps Lorenzo is trying to distract me from the pain or that the pace is off and he's trying to get me to speed up. We head through downtown and then I see the Pygmie short cut. That's a Pygmie shortcut I say. Wouldn't you love to take it. No, it's not, Lorenzo shuts me down. We'll see, I say and sure enough we do a big loop and come back around. See, I say, like a 3 year-old, I need to point out that I was right.
Anyway, I'm still feeling ok, good actually, but I try really hard NOT to get excited by that. I know the worst is coming. Suddenly, there he is ...Gilbert -- going crazy. Red, looking good, you see, you are doing it! I'll see you on the back side. I know what that means...when I'm hurting and look like crap. But now, I'm ok, and keep going. That was cool, I say to Lorenzo. Yeah, did you gu? Back to task.
Still feeling good, but looking for the family. Mile after mile and I don't see them, so I start to give up that I'll see them before the wheels come off. Suddenly, I hear Mommy, mommy, go mommy and I see them. My God, they are so cute. They made me a big green sign and they are shaking it. My daughter is excited and my son looks a bit worried. I want to stop. I want to go hug them and call it a day. I start to get choked up, but try so hard to stay focused. I use some energy to head toward them and grab the water with Carbo Pro that Rolph is handing me. I drink, I'm re-charged and I'm so glad they have seen me when I'm looking strong.
I'm still feeling really good which I'm glad about. Lorenzo says he's going to hit the bush. This startles me since he told me I had to hold it for 8 miles of the 3M. Ok, I say but I'm confused by the pit stop. I keep running, keeping my sights up ahead and Lorenzo rejoins me and says, ok, just give me 78 more minutes. Stay with me and he pulls ahead. Crap, I wasn't ready for that and I wonder if I've got more in my. I have a debate within myself. If I go now at mile 18, will I be able to hang until 26.2. If I don't go now, he's gone. Another shout out here to MWoo who told me to practice running alone. I thought Lorenzo would pull ahead, but I thought it would be later and I start to wonder if I can hang all that way alone. Keep him in your sights I say.
Then there's a tight u where the race doubles on itself. I hate those and it also has a slight climb with feels horrible. Crap, how did I go from feeling great to this in about 1/4 of a mile? This sucks. Ok, hang, don't panic and keep Lorenzo in your sights. So far, so good, but I know he's digging and pushing the pace. Don't give up I say. Remember the relay -- you ran alone in the dark. Ok, push, push.
Suddenly, there's an uphill. Very slight, but I really don't need this now. Rolph is running toward me, yelling pick up your knees, pick up your knees. I'm thinking, where the hell are the kids? But, I can't talk anymore, it wastes too much energy. I make it up the hill and turn the corner, ok there are the kids. They start shouting at me. I love you, I tell them. They are both shouting we love you mommy. Don't cry, I say to myself, not now.
Off I go. I don't see Lorenzo anymore and my feet hurt. I can hear myself running and I hate that. I'm plodding. Ugh, it reminds me of "Loud Guy" at the 5K's in Austin and I smile to myself. I decide that I won't look at my watch anymore. I'm not giving up on the pace, but I don't want to get deflated. I pick some other people to target and stay near. Someone is coming at me from the right -- it's my friend Teresa with water and gu. No gu I grunt, can't do it. Ok, you look good. I know she's lying. I'm cratering. I take the water and sip. But I can't hold the bottle anymore. Mile 19, ok, just one more mile, I say to myself. Here comes 20 and then it's just a 10K from there. Gilbert should be coming up soon. I have that to look forward too.
I hear someone call my name off to the left, but I cannot turn my head. I am starting to lose my other targets. Someone is coming at me with a cup and straw and I realize it's Betty with more carbo pro. I take it, sip and say nothing. I just can't get words out and don't want to slow or stop. I never thought of a straw, what a great idea. I toss it and decide it's time for the secret weapon. It's repetitive, it's not for naught and it works. For me, anyway. And, it takes my mind off of me. Hail Mary, full of Grace, I start. They start to roll off and I start to feel instantly better. It's not that I'm not hurting, I'm focused somewhere else and that feels better. I don't know if the pace picked up since I'm not looking at my watch, but the miles are coming quicker.
We converge with the half-marathoners who are spilling on to the marathon side of the cones. I want to scream; get out of my way. But, I still can't talk. Enough people are in the way that I'm having to navigate, which I don't have the energy to do. You need to stay on the 1/2 side, I muster to one crowd. Back to the secret weapon and not putting bad karma out there. I see a guy with a military bib and I thank him for his service to our country. He looks at me and thanks me and I move on. There's that woman with the pink shirt, I pass her. I'm feeling better now, not that far; just one more mile I say at every mile.
You can't quit, you've done the hardest part. Focus I say. Suddenly, the road is clear, and I see an officer with a motorcycle and this crazy, Cirque du Soleil type person leaping into the street -- it's Gilbert! and he's going nuts -- he's singing and dancing and having a blast in the middle of the street. Red, look at you, look at you, here you come. He falls in next to me and, knowing about the secret weapon, he seems to pick up the Hail Mary exactly where I am in the prayer. I think I'm delirious now...did that just happen? Ok, you look good he says, you are doing a great job. I told you you could do it. He's so excited that I start to get excited too. Let's call Susan. What, I say in my head. Is he kidding? I'm running a marathon here. He's running along side me dialing on his iPhone. I think, ok if he hands me the phone, I'm going to get mad. Hey, he says. Red's doing it. She looks great, we're at mile 23. Wow, here talk to her. No, really. I don't put my hand out to get the phone and he holds it to my ear. Red, Red...UGH is all I muster. He hangs up and looks at his watch. Ok, do you want to know the time? No, I say in my head (no words are coming out) It's 3: something and you are on track for 3:20 plus, go, dig in you can do it. And, just like that, he's gone.
I can do this, I say with renewed vigor. People are starting to list sideways and tighten. I won't look anymore, I can see the Alamo dome. Around the corner, it's almost over. I did harder, crap a hill on the last .2 miles. What the heck? I dig harder, I just want to be finished now and it's so close. I turn and there's the finish and I hear Rolph and the kids yelling. Wow, they made it to the end, I know how hard that is and I try to pick it again. There's the finish, I cross it and immediately go from running to walking like 102 year old woman. I shuffle, I reach out for my medal and follow the herd. MOO...I start to sob from by gut. I want to collapse and cry and cry, but I keep moving ahead. There's a line for pictures and there's no easy way through it; I just have to wait and get my picture taken. There's a line for food; I'm not hungry, but I grab some stuff.
I see Rolph's UT hat and the sobbing is coming fast and furious and then I see the kids right with him and I think I cannot let them see me this way. But my son has seen me already and he looks worried. I head to the fence and Rolph hugs me tight, I start to cry. Was that the hardest thing you've ever done? No, it's the second hardest; giving birth to Aidan was the first. I can't finish the sentence, I'm too tired. But I want to say, then, someone's life depended on it -- his. Aidan asks me if I'm ok, mommy you are crying. I'm fine, I lie. I'm just sore and I stop crying immediately. Aidan and Lourdes both hug me and then take the snacks I've picked up. I thank them for being there and cheering for me. Did it make you go faster? Yes, of course it did I tell them.
It's over and I don't feel like I normally feel at races...no sense of elation, no fist pumping, no, wow, that was awesome. Just a, whew, it's done. I'm done. I head for my bag and see Lorenzo Blanco. We hug -- you did great, he says. Good job. You were awesome, I tell him. Thanks for everything. I know we'll de-brief later on a run, mile by mile and plan the next one.
Let's just get to race day. Since I wasn't sleeping, I got up and went to the lobby to get coffee and try to calm the jitters (and, use the lobby bathroom). The coffee didn't taste so great, but I had to get in early. Everything was ready to go, so I just needed to put my clothes on and head with the team to the busses.
We left about 5:45 am. There were tons of people in the lobby and we started walking toward the bus stop. I felt like crying already. I told Lorenzo that I was on the verge of tears. He started reiterating my instructions. That's the gig. He tells me what I have to do and generally I can do it. That calmed me down some, the deflect away from emotion, as that's what we always do before races. I freak out; he stays calm. It's kind of a Moonstruck moment...snap out of it on doggie downers.
We load the busses and head comfortably to the start line. I sit with a woman who'd just done Chicago (I thought you were supposed to rest for months after) and was planning on going to do White Rock in Dallas. Geez...I just want to get through this one. I start to panic again.
I feel nausea and hunger in alternating bouts at my stomach. I can still do the 1/2 I think.
Off the busses and over the the drop section -- nightmare, so poorly organized. We drop our bags and head to the port-o-pot. Someone tells us that there's less of a line at a different location so we haul ass over there. I nearly plow a woman down trying to get there. By now, there's not much time left and I'm anxious to get in line. I have no option for my power gel, so I stick two in my bra, one in my shorts pocket and hold the others in my hand.
When we hit our corral, we see some Gazelles -- Wes and Paul King. I can pretend that I'm in Austin, so that's good. Again, I have to hit the Loo and AT tells me to go for it, I have time. The ladies in line see that I'm in the second corral and they let me go ahead. I thank them profusely and head back in line. I don't know what's going on with the start, but it's messed up and kind of uneventful. Not at all like Austin races, but whatever. First the guy tells us to go and then stops us..it was odd. But, off we go.
I am surprisingly calm. I usually am so wound up that I can't breathe. But, I'm so relieved to start the race and I start to tell myself to stay calm. Lorenzo starts to give me instructions -- this is a good pace to start with; not any faster. Paul King comes up beside us and runs with us for a while which is really comforting. It feels like a long run and not much else now.
The beginning of the course twists and turns and so I have to really stay focused. Plus, I need to do water stops, which I'm not very good at since I don't normally do them. I don't like to get caught up and I'm afraid of falling. But, I know I have to eat power gels and I have to drink water frequently.
We see the Governor and his security detail and we run alongside him to say hello. We see him a lot in Austin running. I want to make a crack about the press conference and how he cut off Sarah Palin, but I decide against it. Sarcasm at this point will bite me later...it's all about karma.
So far so good, but I feel the pain in my leg and try to alter my stride to not pound on the right so much. Turn again and again. Lorenzo starts to tell me about a movie that now I cannot for the life of me remember the title. I'm sure he said the title several times, but it's gone. I know that John Wayne was in the movie and it was not a Western. I think that perhaps Lorenzo is trying to distract me from the pain or that the pace is off and he's trying to get me to speed up. We head through downtown and then I see the Pygmie short cut. That's a Pygmie shortcut I say. Wouldn't you love to take it. No, it's not, Lorenzo shuts me down. We'll see, I say and sure enough we do a big loop and come back around. See, I say, like a 3 year-old, I need to point out that I was right.
Anyway, I'm still feeling ok, good actually, but I try really hard NOT to get excited by that. I know the worst is coming. Suddenly, there he is ...Gilbert -- going crazy. Red, looking good, you see, you are doing it! I'll see you on the back side. I know what that means...when I'm hurting and look like crap. But now, I'm ok, and keep going. That was cool, I say to Lorenzo. Yeah, did you gu? Back to task.
Still feeling good, but looking for the family. Mile after mile and I don't see them, so I start to give up that I'll see them before the wheels come off. Suddenly, I hear Mommy, mommy, go mommy and I see them. My God, they are so cute. They made me a big green sign and they are shaking it. My daughter is excited and my son looks a bit worried. I want to stop. I want to go hug them and call it a day. I start to get choked up, but try so hard to stay focused. I use some energy to head toward them and grab the water with Carbo Pro that Rolph is handing me. I drink, I'm re-charged and I'm so glad they have seen me when I'm looking strong.
I'm still feeling really good which I'm glad about. Lorenzo says he's going to hit the bush. This startles me since he told me I had to hold it for 8 miles of the 3M. Ok, I say but I'm confused by the pit stop. I keep running, keeping my sights up ahead and Lorenzo rejoins me and says, ok, just give me 78 more minutes. Stay with me and he pulls ahead. Crap, I wasn't ready for that and I wonder if I've got more in my. I have a debate within myself. If I go now at mile 18, will I be able to hang until 26.2. If I don't go now, he's gone. Another shout out here to MWoo who told me to practice running alone. I thought Lorenzo would pull ahead, but I thought it would be later and I start to wonder if I can hang all that way alone. Keep him in your sights I say.
Then there's a tight u where the race doubles on itself. I hate those and it also has a slight climb with feels horrible. Crap, how did I go from feeling great to this in about 1/4 of a mile? This sucks. Ok, hang, don't panic and keep Lorenzo in your sights. So far, so good, but I know he's digging and pushing the pace. Don't give up I say. Remember the relay -- you ran alone in the dark. Ok, push, push.
Suddenly, there's an uphill. Very slight, but I really don't need this now. Rolph is running toward me, yelling pick up your knees, pick up your knees. I'm thinking, where the hell are the kids? But, I can't talk anymore, it wastes too much energy. I make it up the hill and turn the corner, ok there are the kids. They start shouting at me. I love you, I tell them. They are both shouting we love you mommy. Don't cry, I say to myself, not now.
Off I go. I don't see Lorenzo anymore and my feet hurt. I can hear myself running and I hate that. I'm plodding. Ugh, it reminds me of "Loud Guy" at the 5K's in Austin and I smile to myself. I decide that I won't look at my watch anymore. I'm not giving up on the pace, but I don't want to get deflated. I pick some other people to target and stay near. Someone is coming at me from the right -- it's my friend Teresa with water and gu. No gu I grunt, can't do it. Ok, you look good. I know she's lying. I'm cratering. I take the water and sip. But I can't hold the bottle anymore. Mile 19, ok, just one more mile, I say to myself. Here comes 20 and then it's just a 10K from there. Gilbert should be coming up soon. I have that to look forward too.
I hear someone call my name off to the left, but I cannot turn my head. I am starting to lose my other targets. Someone is coming at me with a cup and straw and I realize it's Betty with more carbo pro. I take it, sip and say nothing. I just can't get words out and don't want to slow or stop. I never thought of a straw, what a great idea. I toss it and decide it's time for the secret weapon. It's repetitive, it's not for naught and it works. For me, anyway. And, it takes my mind off of me. Hail Mary, full of Grace, I start. They start to roll off and I start to feel instantly better. It's not that I'm not hurting, I'm focused somewhere else and that feels better. I don't know if the pace picked up since I'm not looking at my watch, but the miles are coming quicker.
We converge with the half-marathoners who are spilling on to the marathon side of the cones. I want to scream; get out of my way. But, I still can't talk. Enough people are in the way that I'm having to navigate, which I don't have the energy to do. You need to stay on the 1/2 side, I muster to one crowd. Back to the secret weapon and not putting bad karma out there. I see a guy with a military bib and I thank him for his service to our country. He looks at me and thanks me and I move on. There's that woman with the pink shirt, I pass her. I'm feeling better now, not that far; just one more mile I say at every mile.
You can't quit, you've done the hardest part. Focus I say. Suddenly, the road is clear, and I see an officer with a motorcycle and this crazy, Cirque du Soleil type person leaping into the street -- it's Gilbert! and he's going nuts -- he's singing and dancing and having a blast in the middle of the street. Red, look at you, look at you, here you come. He falls in next to me and, knowing about the secret weapon, he seems to pick up the Hail Mary exactly where I am in the prayer. I think I'm delirious now...did that just happen? Ok, you look good he says, you are doing a great job. I told you you could do it. He's so excited that I start to get excited too. Let's call Susan. What, I say in my head. Is he kidding? I'm running a marathon here. He's running along side me dialing on his iPhone. I think, ok if he hands me the phone, I'm going to get mad. Hey, he says. Red's doing it. She looks great, we're at mile 23. Wow, here talk to her. No, really. I don't put my hand out to get the phone and he holds it to my ear. Red, Red...UGH is all I muster. He hangs up and looks at his watch. Ok, do you want to know the time? No, I say in my head (no words are coming out) It's 3: something and you are on track for 3:20 plus, go, dig in you can do it. And, just like that, he's gone.
I can do this, I say with renewed vigor. People are starting to list sideways and tighten. I won't look anymore, I can see the Alamo dome. Around the corner, it's almost over. I did harder, crap a hill on the last .2 miles. What the heck? I dig harder, I just want to be finished now and it's so close. I turn and there's the finish and I hear Rolph and the kids yelling. Wow, they made it to the end, I know how hard that is and I try to pick it again. There's the finish, I cross it and immediately go from running to walking like 102 year old woman. I shuffle, I reach out for my medal and follow the herd. MOO...I start to sob from by gut. I want to collapse and cry and cry, but I keep moving ahead. There's a line for pictures and there's no easy way through it; I just have to wait and get my picture taken. There's a line for food; I'm not hungry, but I grab some stuff.
I see Rolph's UT hat and the sobbing is coming fast and furious and then I see the kids right with him and I think I cannot let them see me this way. But my son has seen me already and he looks worried. I head to the fence and Rolph hugs me tight, I start to cry. Was that the hardest thing you've ever done? No, it's the second hardest; giving birth to Aidan was the first. I can't finish the sentence, I'm too tired. But I want to say, then, someone's life depended on it -- his. Aidan asks me if I'm ok, mommy you are crying. I'm fine, I lie. I'm just sore and I stop crying immediately. Aidan and Lourdes both hug me and then take the snacks I've picked up. I thank them for being there and cheering for me. Did it make you go faster? Yes, of course it did I tell them.
It's over and I don't feel like I normally feel at races...no sense of elation, no fist pumping, no, wow, that was awesome. Just a, whew, it's done. I'm done. I head for my bag and see Lorenzo Blanco. We hug -- you did great, he says. Good job. You were awesome, I tell him. Thanks for everything. I know we'll de-brief later on a run, mile by mile and plan the next one.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Smashin' the Freakin' Wall: Cannolli's part 2
I have so much to say about this experience, it's been hard to get it all out of my head.
I'll pick up where I left off. I had some great long runs and made it through the relay, which, while everyone thought I was crazy to do it, I really do think it helped my confidence in terms of getting the job done. But, a week and a half after the relay, I was hurting again, even after a session with Peter, which really got me going on the worry train.
On Tuesday before the race, I headed to Peter and I was very glum about the whole thing. I was quiet, not my usual manner with Peter as we always talk about politics and such before we even get down to work. I got up on the table and Peter started to look glum too. "Look, Red, we always knew that you had a very narrow margin of error on this leg and I have to say, I think that doing the relay was probably too much for you."
My heart sank and I could feel the tears welling up. I have to say, I was really surprised that Peter said what he said that I got even more nervous about the race. I also couldn't believe that I was almost crying. I mean, it's just a marathon -- I am not an elite athlete, an Olympic hopeful -- just a person trying to do a marathon.
I felt stupid and I hit the phone. I called everyone hoping someone else would tell me something else. Lorenzo Blanco quickly shifted to the "you can always do the 1/2" mode -- I panicked even more. Crap, if LB was telling me to shift, I was now a spiral of nerves and pre-teen dorkiness all over again.
What else could I do? Call the running super hero! Gilbert, it's me. Yeah, Red, what's up? I need to talk to you in person, can I come see you? Sure, meet me at RunTex in 10 minutes. Instant relief, no questions. I dreaded that he might say the same thing Peter did...you shouldn't have done that relay. I think he knew what was up. I head down there, and the infamous red truck pulls up, anxious runners waiting for his commands, African music blaring from the car and a slight figure with a huge smile climbing out, dancing, of course. I tried to calm down. I was in a full on panic. Let's walk, he says after his runners get their instruction and head out for their workout.
I start talking and fast...he listens and just looks at me for a minute. I mean that look that only he has drilling into you. Red, you are scared. You go to see Peter too much. You need to learn to heal yourself. (Whew, no slap on the wrist for the relay.) I think you are just nervous that's always been your problem; you don't think you can do it. But, you can Red, I know you can. You can a run a 3:15 he says (no pressure there). You just have to believe Red; you know what to do. He gives me a big hug and then we are on to the next subject. Suddenly, I feel slightly more at ease, but not enough to stop me from talking to Bernard too.
I head in to RunTex to buy socks and there's Bernard, smiling.
Hey Red, how's it going? You ready.
No, B, I'm in a lot of pain, my hip and leg are acting up. Peter scared me just now. I think I might do the 1/2. I know I can do that.
No way, Red, you have to put it all out there; you have to try. You are ready. You can't do the 1/2.
I'm inspired again by my Burundian friends -- here's a guy boosting me up when he's just come back from Chicago and had to bail on his first marathon from cramping.
The rest of the week, I scrap the training plan. I take it easy and that's hard. I head out and do a few miles here and there, but I'm still hurting.
On Saturday, we head down to San Antonio with most of our crew from the relay. That's very comforting to me to be around them and listen to them about their experience. Everyone is drinking fluid and seemingly eating constantly. I do what they do and up the fluids and food intake.
We head to the expo and I start to get excited. Lorenzo Blanco and I change corrals to be up closer to the start. I feel better already. We all walk around and then head to the hotel to check in and get our feet up for a while.
At dinner, the panic comes back. At one point, one of my friends looks over and asks me if I'm ok. I feel pale (paler than normal) and want to bolt out of the restaurant. I'm fine, I lie. Just nervous, it's part of my thing. It's true, I get nervous at every event, but this is the big one. But, I want to go home. I miss my kids and my husband and I'd rather really just forget this whole thing.
Back to the hotel to hit the hay early. I don't sleep a wink all night. I mean not a minute. The room is near the elevator and people are talking in the hallway as if they are outside. My mind is churning and I wax and wane between panic and remorse. Why did I sign up for this?
I'll pick up where I left off. I had some great long runs and made it through the relay, which, while everyone thought I was crazy to do it, I really do think it helped my confidence in terms of getting the job done. But, a week and a half after the relay, I was hurting again, even after a session with Peter, which really got me going on the worry train.
On Tuesday before the race, I headed to Peter and I was very glum about the whole thing. I was quiet, not my usual manner with Peter as we always talk about politics and such before we even get down to work. I got up on the table and Peter started to look glum too. "Look, Red, we always knew that you had a very narrow margin of error on this leg and I have to say, I think that doing the relay was probably too much for you."
My heart sank and I could feel the tears welling up. I have to say, I was really surprised that Peter said what he said that I got even more nervous about the race. I also couldn't believe that I was almost crying. I mean, it's just a marathon -- I am not an elite athlete, an Olympic hopeful -- just a person trying to do a marathon.
I felt stupid and I hit the phone. I called everyone hoping someone else would tell me something else. Lorenzo Blanco quickly shifted to the "you can always do the 1/2" mode -- I panicked even more. Crap, if LB was telling me to shift, I was now a spiral of nerves and pre-teen dorkiness all over again.
What else could I do? Call the running super hero! Gilbert, it's me. Yeah, Red, what's up? I need to talk to you in person, can I come see you? Sure, meet me at RunTex in 10 minutes. Instant relief, no questions. I dreaded that he might say the same thing Peter did...you shouldn't have done that relay. I think he knew what was up. I head down there, and the infamous red truck pulls up, anxious runners waiting for his commands, African music blaring from the car and a slight figure with a huge smile climbing out, dancing, of course. I tried to calm down. I was in a full on panic. Let's walk, he says after his runners get their instruction and head out for their workout.
I start talking and fast...he listens and just looks at me for a minute. I mean that look that only he has drilling into you. Red, you are scared. You go to see Peter too much. You need to learn to heal yourself. (Whew, no slap on the wrist for the relay.) I think you are just nervous that's always been your problem; you don't think you can do it. But, you can Red, I know you can. You can a run a 3:15 he says (no pressure there). You just have to believe Red; you know what to do. He gives me a big hug and then we are on to the next subject. Suddenly, I feel slightly more at ease, but not enough to stop me from talking to Bernard too.
I head in to RunTex to buy socks and there's Bernard, smiling.
Hey Red, how's it going? You ready.
No, B, I'm in a lot of pain, my hip and leg are acting up. Peter scared me just now. I think I might do the 1/2. I know I can do that.
No way, Red, you have to put it all out there; you have to try. You are ready. You can't do the 1/2.
I'm inspired again by my Burundian friends -- here's a guy boosting me up when he's just come back from Chicago and had to bail on his first marathon from cramping.
The rest of the week, I scrap the training plan. I take it easy and that's hard. I head out and do a few miles here and there, but I'm still hurting.
On Saturday, we head down to San Antonio with most of our crew from the relay. That's very comforting to me to be around them and listen to them about their experience. Everyone is drinking fluid and seemingly eating constantly. I do what they do and up the fluids and food intake.
We head to the expo and I start to get excited. Lorenzo Blanco and I change corrals to be up closer to the start. I feel better already. We all walk around and then head to the hotel to check in and get our feet up for a while.
At dinner, the panic comes back. At one point, one of my friends looks over and asks me if I'm ok. I feel pale (paler than normal) and want to bolt out of the restaurant. I'm fine, I lie. Just nervous, it's part of my thing. It's true, I get nervous at every event, but this is the big one. But, I want to go home. I miss my kids and my husband and I'd rather really just forget this whole thing.
Back to the hotel to hit the hay early. I don't sleep a wink all night. I mean not a minute. The room is near the elevator and people are talking in the hallway as if they are outside. My mind is churning and I wax and wane between panic and remorse. Why did I sign up for this?
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Holy Cannolli's: I Did it!
It's Thursday already and it's hard to believe that I ever actually crossed the finish line of a marathon, yes, 26.2 miles, this past Sunday, November 16, 2008. It's been a long freakin' road for me since I suddenly, slowly, coercively, maybe considered that it might be a good idea to see if I could actually perform the feat of running, walking or crawling to the finish line after 26.2 miles. The Greeks used to do it in the buff, what the heck?
Anyway, it all happened (settle in now, this is the Irish story telling part, it'll be awhile) last year when I joined Gilbert's Gazelle's in Austin, Texas. I'd wanted to join for a while, but for family reasons and yes, fear, I delayed. Finally, I got out there and started kicking myself into some sort of shape. You see, I've never been an athlete at all -- kind of a loner, dork -- really. I was not really good at any thing athletic when I was young...ask my mother. Anyway, there I was, working hard, doing the hills, the speed work and, honestly, having fun.
Except that everyone kept asking me -- what marathon are you doing? Ugh, I'm not, I would say. Then why are you out here; why are you running such long runs? I want to be prepared for the 3M I'd say. Finally, Gilbert stopped asking me what marathon and started asking my why not marathon. I'm afraid, I fessed up. I just can't imagine myself running that far. 13.1 miles, sure; 5K; 10K, no problem. 26.2. Get the Hell out of here!
But, I loved to talk to the marathoners...which one have you done?; how many have you done? What's Boston like, what's NY like? What did you wear? What did you eat? Did you sleep? I followed my friends through their training. I joined people for parts of their marathons. I guess I was living vicariously. I was in awe of them all. Some had done 5; some 10; some 18. I really admired them and what they endured because I just knew I didn't have what it took mentally to cross that line into marathon land.
Last Spring, after a few local races, I was gently pushed and let myself be gently pushed by my running compadre Larry, aka, Lorenzo Blanco. Commit, sign up, he'd tell me. So, I did. Then I got hurt -- don't we all.
I thought, with some relief, this is my way out. I could just do the 1/2. I know I can do that. But, I went to Gilbert's best guy -- PK at SPI and, along with T at SPI, we set to work. Orginally, T told me, you can't run; you need to lay off for 8 to 12 weeks. I started to cry; right there, right in front of him and everyone in that big room who had surgeries and other more difficult injuries to overcome. I felt like an idiot. It's just a marathon -- it's not like I'm some pro or something. I'm just an average 42-year-old mom who finally decided to commit. But the tears were rolling and they wouldn't stop.
I had to quit workouts for a while and that was awful. I missed the group and I missed Gilbert. But, I couldn't go. LB created a conservative plan for me to stay with running while I tried to fix the problem.
Suffice it to say, I went to PT every week until the marathon -- it was a long, long road with some set backs along the way. P really let me run a little more each week until I finally clocked a serious 20 miler. Once the PA at the practice said, wow, only one 20 miler. You aren't going to make it. That really pissed me off and got me going and I dug in hard on training.
I ran more miles than I ever had in my life. I called everyone I knew and asked them what they did. One Saturday, M Woo gave me great advice...run alone, Red. If you are used to running with someone and you get separated for whatever reason, it will mess with you. So, I ran alone. I NEVER did that before, but it helped and it would come in handy.
I did one of the craziest things I have ever done....the Ragnar Relay from San Antonio to Austin, 181 miles, with a team of 6. LB said, you'll thank me for this in two weeks when you do the marathon. After 29.36 miles, no sleep or shower for 28 hours, not to mention the plumbing issues, I hardly believed him. Never again, I thought. This is nuts....More to follow
Anyway, it all happened (settle in now, this is the Irish story telling part, it'll be awhile) last year when I joined Gilbert's Gazelle's in Austin, Texas. I'd wanted to join for a while, but for family reasons and yes, fear, I delayed. Finally, I got out there and started kicking myself into some sort of shape. You see, I've never been an athlete at all -- kind of a loner, dork -- really. I was not really good at any thing athletic when I was young...ask my mother. Anyway, there I was, working hard, doing the hills, the speed work and, honestly, having fun.
Except that everyone kept asking me -- what marathon are you doing? Ugh, I'm not, I would say. Then why are you out here; why are you running such long runs? I want to be prepared for the 3M I'd say. Finally, Gilbert stopped asking me what marathon and started asking my why not marathon. I'm afraid, I fessed up. I just can't imagine myself running that far. 13.1 miles, sure; 5K; 10K, no problem. 26.2. Get the Hell out of here!
But, I loved to talk to the marathoners...which one have you done?; how many have you done? What's Boston like, what's NY like? What did you wear? What did you eat? Did you sleep? I followed my friends through their training. I joined people for parts of their marathons. I guess I was living vicariously. I was in awe of them all. Some had done 5; some 10; some 18. I really admired them and what they endured because I just knew I didn't have what it took mentally to cross that line into marathon land.
Last Spring, after a few local races, I was gently pushed and let myself be gently pushed by my running compadre Larry, aka, Lorenzo Blanco. Commit, sign up, he'd tell me. So, I did. Then I got hurt -- don't we all.
I thought, with some relief, this is my way out. I could just do the 1/2. I know I can do that. But, I went to Gilbert's best guy -- PK at SPI and, along with T at SPI, we set to work. Orginally, T told me, you can't run; you need to lay off for 8 to 12 weeks. I started to cry; right there, right in front of him and everyone in that big room who had surgeries and other more difficult injuries to overcome. I felt like an idiot. It's just a marathon -- it's not like I'm some pro or something. I'm just an average 42-year-old mom who finally decided to commit. But the tears were rolling and they wouldn't stop.
I had to quit workouts for a while and that was awful. I missed the group and I missed Gilbert. But, I couldn't go. LB created a conservative plan for me to stay with running while I tried to fix the problem.
Suffice it to say, I went to PT every week until the marathon -- it was a long, long road with some set backs along the way. P really let me run a little more each week until I finally clocked a serious 20 miler. Once the PA at the practice said, wow, only one 20 miler. You aren't going to make it. That really pissed me off and got me going and I dug in hard on training.
I ran more miles than I ever had in my life. I called everyone I knew and asked them what they did. One Saturday, M Woo gave me great advice...run alone, Red. If you are used to running with someone and you get separated for whatever reason, it will mess with you. So, I ran alone. I NEVER did that before, but it helped and it would come in handy.
I did one of the craziest things I have ever done....the Ragnar Relay from San Antonio to Austin, 181 miles, with a team of 6. LB said, you'll thank me for this in two weeks when you do the marathon. After 29.36 miles, no sleep or shower for 28 hours, not to mention the plumbing issues, I hardly believed him. Never again, I thought. This is nuts....More to follow
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