Solitary Until It Isn't

A good friend recently told me he is training for his first marathon. I was ecstatic. He told me this at a party, so I responded how any rational runner would -- by completely ignoring everyone else and geeking out about marathon minutiae. We talked about shoes. We talked about diet. We talked about spreadsheets. We talked about unpleasant bodily reactions. We knew we were being rude. We didn't care.

So much of running is solitary. There are nights at home, opting to rest before a long run rather than go out with friends. There are cold, early mornings while your partner sleeps in but you are lacing up your shoes. There are quiet miles with nothing to motivate you but your mind. Marathon training is all-consuming. It's all you can talk about, but very few people want to listen. Despite their good intentions, not many loved ones actually care about your negative splits or hill workouts. (They'll listen because they love you, so be sure to return the favor when they want to talk about fantasy football or band practice).

It's a solitary event...until it isn't.  

With one conversation, my friend and I were in it together. He instantly had an ally for all the pain and the excitement, and I had a fresh excitement for the sport. The running community is large and strong. We all have our own story and our own reason for running, but the experiences are parallel. We care about the process, and we care about each other. 

I'm so excited for my friend. He'll be exhausted. He'll be sore. He'll know deeper pain and greater euphoria than most people experience. His life is going to change, and he's working toward a goal he can be proud of the rest of his life. 

By running a marathon, you are part of something much bigger than yourself. 

Good luck to you, buddy. 

Now What?

The race is over, and by most measures it was a huge success. I crossed the finish line with no injuries, I ran faster than my most recent half marathon, I completed an insanely hilly course without losing my cool, and I had an absolute blast. 

But now what? For months I've had a set plan and a strict schedule. My Friday nights, Saturday mornings, and Tuesday and Thursday afternoons are all suddenly free. 

The immediate post-race plan is easy: rest, rest, and more rest. Granted, this wasn't much of a choice. Every muscle hurts, and stairs are far too intimidating to leave the house. My body did everything I asked of it yesterday, so I can't complain that it completely shut down today. 

Soreness will fade within a day or two, and the rule of thumb is to allow one day of rest for each mile raced. After the two week hiatus, my instinct is to register for another race and immediately begin training again. There are plenty of advantages to this approach. I have discipline,  I have momentum, and I have a running-shaped hole in my schedule. 

I may decide I want more time off to focus on other activities like yoga, or I may decide I want to keep right on running. There's no wrong answer. What matters is that I set a goal, I stuck to a plan, and I finished what I started. 

So what's next? Who knows. I'll go wherever the road leads, as long as I'm moving forward. 

Race Day

After months of preparation, the half marathon is tomorrow. I've completed my training. I'm rested and hydrated. There's no cramming for a race, so this is as ready as I'm going to be.

I rekindled my relationship with running 10 months ago. Despite a slow start and numerous setbacks, I made it here. The hardest parts are over -- waking up at 5:00 a.m. every Saturday, running 12 miles alone in the rain. There was no audience for these cold, dark runs, and no immediate reward. 

But race day is a celebration. Runners will smile and encourage fellow participants. The streets will be lined with cheering people. Volunteers will give me food and drink, and place a medal around my neck.

I'm thrilled to wake up early tomorrow and celebrate with the running community. Together we'll enjoy the rewards of having a goal, sticking to a plan, and crossing the finish line. 

Let's do this.

Thighs Are Not the Enemy

I don't remember a time when I didn't hate my thighs. I can't recall exactly when I learned how a woman's body "should" look, but approximately 30 seconds later, I began dwelling on my thighs. Even at my thinnest, I wished they were smaller, stronger, with fewer bumps or jiggles.

But maybe I need to be easier on them. 

These thighs ran 10 miles today. They ran 10 miles last week, too, and they'll do it again next Saturday. I'm deep into training, and my thighs are doing their job. They pushed and propelled me, and kept going long after my mind wanted to quit.

I've been running casually since age 14, and running seriously since age 22. Throughout my running career, I've had my share of pain. My knees, shins, back, arches, and even the dreaded blackened toenails have all hurt and hindered my training. But never my thighs. Never once. 

So I'm calling a truce. 

My thighs are imperfect, but they've done everything I've asked of them. They've completed a marathon. They've traveled the world. They help me get to work, and allow me to walk, run, and dance. 

Focusing solely on what my body looks like is a waste of time and energy. Aesthetics only get you so far. Instead, I intend to refocus my energy on working on what my body is capable of. 

I have discipline, strength, and stamina, and I am capable of greatness. 

Motivation

There are many noble reasons to run: to inspire children, to channel addictive tendencies, to raise money for charity. The running community is filled with amazing people who work to make the world a better place. 

My reasons are a little less dignified. I run because I'm hungry, and I run because I'm vain.

I love to eat. I have no allergies and a diverse palate, so literally everything sounds delicious all the time. Now I could eat hamburgers and tacos without running so much (this is America after all), but then my second motivator comes into play. Since I don't want to weight 300 pounds, I work to strike a balance between calories in and calories out.

This morning I ran eight miles, and promptly followed them up with a hamburger. I have no regrets about my day. 

I use running to supplement my life. Some days it's an hour of reflection, some days a cathartic release, and some days just a good old fashioned calorie buffer. Training can be grueling, so any type of motivation helps. I wish I were motivated solely by splits and PRs, but I'm not. A meal just tastes so much sweeter when it's earned. Bon appetit!

Rain

I love running in the rain. Living in Portland, that's a bit of a necessity. The water makes me feel clean, alert, and powerful. There's no telling where sweat stops and rain starts. Drops of water on my glasses keep my focus short, seeing only what's in front of me. A casual runner may  opt for a treadmill or skip the run to avoid the rain, but I love it. 

The last half marathon I ran was three weeks before I moved from Minnesota to Oregon. It rained the entire day. My fellow racers complained, but I viewed it as an omen that I had made the right decision to move. The rain forced me to focus my thoughts on something bigger than the race. What was I running to? What was I running from? What adventures would I face in this city with so much rain?

I am now less than two months away from my next half marathon. Yesterday I ran eight miles in the rain. I saw only one other runner, and we nodded in solidarity as we passed. Rainy runs are not for the weak of heart. 

As it always does, the rain helped me focus. Eight miles means I have only five more miles to train. I am closer to the finish line than I am to the start. The miles will become exponentially more difficult, but I'm feeling strong, disciplined, and ready for the challenge -- rain or shine.

Unexpected Progress

Sometimes progress sneaks up so slowly, we don't notice it from one day to the next. Change is subtle. Growth is quiet. Without even realizing it, four miles has become comfortable. 

Several months ago, I completed my first four miler in ages. It wasn't pretty. Since then, I've had numerous bumps and setbacks. Discipline and motivation have been constant struggles, requiring me to completely rework my routine. My former method was no longer successful, so I tried a wide variety of options -- strength training, biking, yoga, swimming, Zumba. The results of these experiments have not always been apparent. I'm often the least advanced in the class, and my small weights are nothing compared to the beefcakes who bench on either side of me.  I hadn't noticed much progress, but I continued to try. 

Finally, it's working. 

I committed to a half marathon in October 2013, and last week I began my formal training. I anticipated a rocky start, as many of my recent endeavors have not gone well. Four miles was the plan for Day 1. I did it. Quite comfortably, at that. Thinking it may have been a fluke or just adrenaline from the excitement of a new race,  I tried the course again on Thursday, and yet a third time this morning. Each time, I felt strong and prepared. 

By no means do I expect this to continue for every run. As I continue to increase the distance, there will no doubt be bad days. Some runs will hurt, some will be slow, some will make me turn red and sweaty, and some will fill my head with negative thoughts that I can't quite shake. 

But my positive four mile streak gives me hope. If I can push through the bad runs, I can make it to the good ones. And before I know it, I'll be crossing the finish line. 

In Defense of Treadmills

Treadmills, I owe you an apology. For years I've avoided you at all costs. Rain, ice, snow, dark, traffic, mosquitoes, smog, cold, and wind all somehow seemed preferable to to the monotonous whir-whir-whir of a treadmill. Recently, though, I've started to come around. 

Treadmills offer a way to run that is always safe, well lit, and 68 degrees. They provide an area that is entirely mine, no sharing required. I no longer need to meander around mommy joggers with their enormous strollers.  I never have to red-rover my way through social walkers, chatting three abreast. There are no dogs, or gum, or puddles. It's a 3' x 6' space free of hazards or distractions. 

Indoor running also allows a higher level of spontaneity. Rather than commit in advance to a three, five, or seven mile loop, I can determine in real time what kind of run I want to make it. If I'm feeling strong and light, I can increase my speed with the touch of a button, or let the clock continue to run as I extend my miles. Hills and elevation changes are my own creation, and if I ever feel exhausted or hurt, I just step off. There's no fear of being stranded or injured miles away from home. When I need to be done, the run is over, no questions asked. 

Even competition is minimized, as each runner in the row looks straight ahead, concerned only with his or her own performance. The run is entirely personal. (Granted, healthy competition has its advantages. When I was feeling sluggish and tempted to quit on a long training run a few years ago, I was passed by a 70-year-old in a GRANDMAS TRI HARDER shirt. After that, I couldn't not finish the run. Shame is one hell of a motivator). 

I certainly won't be eliminating outdoor running anytime soon. The sunshine, the fresh air, the scenery, the using-your-legs-to-propel-your-body-forward-rather-than-letting-the-treadmill-belt-pull-them-back -- these are all important and beneficial aspects of running. Battling the elements is part of the reason we runners are so proud of our sport, and I have no intention of running exclusively in a sterile environment. But for the days when the great outdoors is just more than I can handle, it's nice to have a safe place to run. 

New Routine

One of my first jobs was on an assembly line in a packaging factory. Hour upon hour, repeating the same motion. Take it from the left, move it to the right. Again. And again. Sound like hell? It wasn't. It wasn't a dream job by any means, but it was pleasant, peaceful. I knew what to expect, and I did it. Every. Day.

I love routine, especially when it comes to running. Meals, paths, brands, race organizers, even specific annual races--if I like something once, I'll repeat it as regularly as possible. I don't do well with chaos, so I find order where I can.

For almost entirely positive reasons, routine has been out of the question this month. New job, new house, new dress code, new commute, new responsibilities, all in a city that I'm still discovering by the minute. Each change has been for the better, but adapting can be painful.

On my first run in the new neighborhood, I got lost. Despite Google Street Viewing and MayMyRunning the course, the turns happened sooner than I expected, or later. I don't know where I went wrong, but I did. No landmarks looked familiar. I hadn't set out on a long run, so I couldn't be that far astray, but it was enough to shake my confidence. I twisted and meandered my way back to a major street and found my way home, nowhere nearly as neatly as I'd intended.

As much as I try to hold on to structure and sameness, change just keeps on coming. But that's what's wonderful about running. Change can lead to exciting progress and new discoveries. The motions of running are consistent, but there are new variables every day. I can change location or time of my run, change my motivation for running, the distance, or level of difficulty. If I'm not getting the results I want, I can add a new element and improve the way I run.

Maybe I'll join a running group. Maybe I'll try an obstacle course race. Maybe I'll stop running with a watch and run until I feel finished, not until I hit a certain time.

There's always a way to change and make it better. Even it's not the direction I intended to go.

Boston

It's been a week and a half since the Boston Marathon bombing. As a running blogger, I felt a sense of duty or obligation to write a response. But I couldn't. That Monday, I had no words. I watched the news as helplessly as the rest of the world. The images of the senseless crime made me nauseated and angry, but I couldn't reign it in. Tuesday came and went, and Wednesday, and Thursday, and I had a million emotions and reactions to the tragedy, but couldn't process them into words. The longer I waited, the more beautiful responses were being written and posted by other writers--professional journalists and blogger friends alike. They were all finding the words. They all pulled meaning and beauty out of the sadness. They all offered hope and strength in an insightful way. Why couldn't I?

This type of thinking is toxic, and it takes the focus off what actually matters. Boston was never about me.

I can't begin to understand the pain and heartbreak of the victims. My heart goes out to their families, and I sincerely hope they eventually find peace. The hateful acts of two people took the lives of three, and forever changed an amazing event. The Boston Marathon should have been the ultimate celebration of tenacity, and it forever will be, but now with an asterisk.

The race will return stronger than ever due to the strength of the city of Boston and the tireless community of runners. Runners will do what they have always done. We will come together to cheer and encourage. We will coach, and we will teach. We will push each other through pain, and help each other heal. It's who we are, because as runners, that's what we do. We move forward.

Celebrate

Lately, everything calls for a celebration. Spring has arrived in Oregon, and the sunshine and flowers are welcome sights. I completed my taxes early (by myself!), and got a surprise refund. And most significantly, I said goodbye to a job I didn't love and get to move to a career that excites me. It's been a good week.

My running schedule has also hit a nice rhythm. Longer days have allowed me to switch to evening runs, which are much more relaxing. Through the winter, I woke up early and ran before work. This was the only way to run in any sunlight, but the strict deadline of having someplace to be by 9:00 a.m. often caused me to cut a run short. Evening runs, however, are free. My responsibilities have been completed, and I have nowhere else to be. I run as I want. The only deadline is the sunset, which is getting later by the day. 

Running in the evenings has reminded me why I loved running so much in the first place: it's fun. It's really fun, actually. Running gives me a reason to be outside, to embrace sunshine or rain, to eat better, to drink more water, to sleep when I'm tired, to wave hello to neighbors walking their dogs, to be motivated by runners who pass me, to set goals and meet them. Running makes my brain feel clear and my body feel cleansed. Running makes me feel alive. Running makes me happy.

And that's worth celebrating. 

Agency

All things considered, there isn't much I can control. I have no say in the weather. I can't break up traffic jams. No one asks for my input on tax policies. 

This isn't the case when it comes to running. I do have control over my own body. I chose what I eat. I chose what I drink. I chose how to move, and how often. Running is up to me.

The past few weeks have been busy and stressful, and I've been feeling overwhelmed. Given how little control I have over outside factors, it's been even more important to hold on to what I can. When I leave the house with my running shoes, I control each step. I pick the course, I pick the distance. This level of authority is a rare luxury.

Some runs are amazing, and I feel strong and free. Other days I'm sluggish and slow. Neither of these results happens by chance. Successful runs are largely caused by the choices I've made, and I can turn around a poor run by making better choices tomorrow. 

When it comes to running, I have a choice. I have control. I have agency. And I love it.

Resolutions

I've never been much for New Year's resolutions. January 1 is an arbitrary date to make a life change, there's already so much pressure during the holidays, and surviving the winter is daunting enough as is. 

But that's not to say there isn't value in taking a step back. It's important to evaluate where you are, what could be better, and what needs to change. There is always room for improvement. 

Tomorrow is my birthday, so today seems as logical a time as ever to reflect on the past year.

27 started with running, but the running ended abruptly. I ran a half marathon in April, and almost immediately after that I packed my boxes and followed my heart to Oregon. Previous posts have dug deeper into this, but running stopped being a priority for several months. Getting back in a healthy routine has been a slow and difficult process. Worthwhile, of course, but difficult.

So here are my hopes for 28: 
To run with strength and confidence. 
To run my own race, regardless of who else is with me. 
To focus on what my body is capable of and not what it looks like. 
To stop when it hurts, but push when I'm tired.
To finish what I start. Even when it's raining.
To train smartly and safely. 
To be healthy. 
To be happy.
To be well.

Here's to a great year.

The Reward of Running

Running is a an enormous sport, to the point where it's unofficially split into two categories: those who run to compete, and those who run to complete. As someone who has never been fast (even in peak fitness I average 11:30 minute miles), I've always associated with the latter group. Any competition is internal. Can I go farther than I did last week? Can I break my PR? Can I make it to the top of that hill? If I even think of another runner in a race, it's only as a means to motivate myself and not to defeat them. 

Races do give out shirts and medals...to every single participant. The top finishers often receive special prizes, but competing for those never even enters my mind. I run to be a part of the community, to have a deadline, and to celebrate what my body is capable of achieving. Running is its own reward.

That being said, I certainly appreciate an award! The oh-so talented Miss Katie from Brave Juice recently received the Liebster Award for her stunning and introspective blog. Please be sure to read and follow her. She writes with a rare thoughtfulness. As part of her recognition, she kindly passed the honor on to me. 

The Liebster Award is given to new blogs with fewer than 200 followers. The intent is to shine light on lesser known writers, who in turn pass the award on to other deserving blogs. The only catch is the writer must share eleven random facts about herself. Here goes!

1. I'm an extreme creature of habit, and this becomes even more evident when I'm training. I have the same dinner the night before a long run (Jimmy Johns Vito sandwich with Gatorade), the same breakfast before a long run (one cup of black coffee and a Clif bar), and intense brand loyalty to running gear. If Asics ever discontinues my beloved GT 2170s, I will wear black for days and grieve.
2. My biggest fear is tripping on stairs and losing a tooth.
3. I'm a closet college sports fanatic. Autumn Saturdays are devoted to football, and I like March Madness more than Christmas. 
4. I prefer mustard to ketchup in almost every scenario.
5. I like my cat more than I like most people. Four years ago I adopted a rescue cat named Clyde. He plays fetch like a puppy and watches birds. It's adorable. 
6. I'm pro-Oxford comma. Keep your lists nice and clear, folks.
7. I'm a recovering coffee addict, down from 2-3 cups per day to 2-3 cups per week.
8. Confession: I tell people my favorite actress is Frances McDormand, but secretly it's Catherine O'Hara. Best in Show and Home Alone are the greatest two movies ever made.
9. I'm relatively low maintenance, but I love to indulge with a pedicure.
10. Avocados are my favorite food. I could eat one with every meal.  
11. I'm a complete sucker for a coming-of-age story. Go on and find yourself, girl.

Please enjoy these terrific blogs (and new Liebster Award recipients!):

Free Range Quest: Kristina and David are converting a school bus into an RV, and documenting each step in their journey. This blog celebrates following your heart, pursuing adventure, and trusting love over money. 

Flirty Nerdy 30: As Neah began a new decade, she embraced the change by challenging herself to complete 30 new adventures. Her blog documents each goal and inspires readers to challenge themselves as well.

Thank you again to Brave Juice for the recognition. Please be sure to read each of these wonderful blogs!

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The Enemy of Good

Don't let perfect be the enemy of good. 

I ran one mile this morning. It may seem insignificant, but a short run is better than no run at all.  An endless To Do list and full work day brought me home sooner than usual. I could have skipped the run altogether and jumped right into my busy day, but I didn't. I went outdoors. I saw the sunshine. I got my heart rate going. Outside responsibilities can't be ignored altogether, but neither can wellness. Today I had a tiny sliver of time, and I made the best of it. 

Running can be daunting, and the first step out the door is the hardest. If you only have time for a short run, or it takes 15 minutes to complete a mile, or you need to walk up the hills, don't worry. Wherever you are, it's better than not trying at all. 

You may not be perfect, but you're good. 

Peace of Mind

It's a long day in the middle of a long week. Yes, it's Friday, but the weekend is completely booked with no signs of stopping. It's exactly the kind of day to pull the covers over my head and wait out the storm, but that's simply not an option.

I woke up early this morning and went for a run. Given the long day ahead of me, I considered hitting the snooze button for an extra hour of sleep. It would have been warm. It would have been cozy. But I'm glad I didn't.

Running is my sanctuary. It's one of the few ways I can turn off the noise and decompress. I never run with headphones in -- primarily for safety reasons, but also for sanity. I like to be aware of my surroundings and take it all in. I can focus on my body, my breathing, or nothing at all. This morning, that peace of mind was especially needed. It was a shorter run -- just two miles -- but more than enough to get my thoughts in place.

I appreciate the structure and clarity running brings to my life. And today, I needed it more than ever.

Small Victories

Small victories are rarely celebrated enough. I ran four miles today, and the first one felt great. 

Miles two and three felt fine, and the fourth was admittedly tough, but the first mile felt great. This is an accomplishment worth noting. I haven't run more than three miles in almost a year, but today I completed one strong mile, two average miles, and I muscled through to finish the fourth. I was passed by runners who are faster than I am, and probably were running a greater distance. It's tempting to turn every run into a race, and to compare myself to other people. But their journey is their own, and today's four miles are all mine.

Time takes time, and you can't wait until the end to be proud of yourself. Training for a race is a long commitment. If you wait until the medal at the finish line to feel any sense of accomplishment, you may get discouraged and stop pushing forward. Every step, every run, every new milestone matters. Be proud of the process, and be proud of your progress.

Here's to small victories.

All Are Welcome

Running is the most inclusive sport, which is why I love it so much. All are welcome here. There are no complicated rules to learn, or passwords to memorize, or membership fees to pay. It's just left foot, right foot. You move your legs and go.

I need to keep reminding myself of this as I gradually rebuild my strength and stamina. My current pace is slower than it was a year ago, and my current definition of a long run is three miles. But I'm still a runner, and still a part of this amazing community. 

Running isn't determined by your job title or how much money you have. It doesn't matter what your last name is, who you voted for, or the color of your hair. Granted, some people have a genetically favorable advantage, but it ultimately comes down to hard work and discipline. We're all capable of that. If Oscar Pistorius can become an Olympic runner without having legs, the rest of us certainly have no excuse. There truly is room for everyone. 

The running community is wide open to anyone who wants to participate. One block, one mile, or one marathon. You want to be a runner? Then run.

Easier Said Than Done

Well, that didn't take long. 

Less than a week after I started my miraculous spreadsheet, I'm already off schedule. There was the day I overslept, and the day it was cold and rainy, and the day my legs were sore from walking in a hilly neighborhood. All one-offs, but they add up. Laziness creeps up so slowly, and it seems so comforting at the time.

Sleeping in is easy. Relaxing is easy. Taking an extra hour to enjoy my coffee is easy. But I when I do those things instead of running and taking care of myself, everything else gets a lot more difficult.

The easy road does not lead where I want to be. One of the reasons I was drawn to running in the first place was to set myself apart and feel stronger. People do not run marathons because they are easy. People run marathons precisely because they are not, and overcoming that difficulty is a prize on its own.

Like oil changes and flossing, wellness requires regular personal maintenance. It never seems like a big deal to cut corners, but it always catches up with me. Running is an important part of my life, even on the days I'd rather be in bed. I never regret completing a run, but I certainly regret when I skip one. 

So, take two. After a minor setback, it's time to refocus and get back on track. 

Rows and Columns

Spreadsheets give me immense satisfaction. I'm baffled how anyone gets anything done without them. Seeing data plotted out so neatly, in nice straight rows and columns makes any task seem possible. 

I established my training plan today, and it feels terrific. My Excel document is a tidy, concrete way to hold myself accountable without getting overwhelmed. (Bonus nerd points for the accompanying charts and graphs). 

13.1 miles is scary. It's a long distance, and a lot to ask of your body. A half marathon is not to be not to be taken lightly. But two miles here, three miles there? Slowly building up with cushion for setbacks? It's not so scary when it's broken down. 

Parts of training cannot be planned. There will be days when I am sick, or hurt. Days with horrible weather, or personal emergencies. Days when I don't want to. Days when I don't feel like it. 

But I DO want to finish this race, and I've committed that to writing. My spreadsheet has been saved, printed, and stuck to the fridge as a daily reminder. I may stray on occasion, but my path is in order.

Bottom line: I have a plan! I can do this.

Exsiste hic iam

Exsiste hic iam. Be here now. 

I've loved this phrase for years, to the point where I considered getting a tattoo of it when A) I still spoke Latin, and B) I still thought tattoos were a good idea. Neither of those are true anymore, but it's a mantra I continue to carry with me. It's easy to dwell on what I used to be capable of and focus on the past, but running is entirely about moving forward. In order to move forward, I need to be mindful of each step, here and now.

I ran two miles this morning. Correction: I ran one mile, stopped, huffed and puffed, paced around, caught my breath, and then ran another mile. I used to be better than this, and I want to be better than this. But this is where I am today, and it's important to embrace it. I know that in time two difficult miles will become two easy miles, will be come three miles, then four, and so on. But today I'm at two very unpretty miles. 

The only way back to long runs is to work through the short runs. There's no way to skip ahead and magically be able to run 10 miles. I need to push through these rusty miles. It isn't glamorous. It isn't easy.

But I'm here, now, and I'm trying.

Starting Line

A year ago I ran a marathon. Yesterday I ran one mile, and it was hard.

Like most parts of life, running goes in waves. At times I'm incredibly disciplined, at times I struggle with motivation. Some days I feel amazing, other days I feel awful. But I keep at it because running keeps me happier, saner, and healthier in every sense of the word.

The past year has brought countless changes -- a new city, new job, new friends. With so many new developments, running didn't remain a high priority, and I've missed it in my life.

This blog is a work in progress, meant to document my baby steps. I'm working my way back to a half marathon, but more importantly I'm working my way back to structure, wellness, and a healthy, happy life.

Once a runner, always a runner. It doesn't matter how far or how fast. All you need to do is run.