Racing the Hare

Train Compete Finish Repeat has been revamped, renamed, and relocated. Please check out http://racingthehare.wordpress.com/

Take Two

I said I wouldn't do another. Training was brutal, and once was enough. I lost sleep. I lost toenails. I lost touch with friends. For half a year, I did nothing but work, eat, and run. Completing the 2011 Twin Cities Marathon ranks among my proudest moments, but it came at a cost. 

So I thought I was done. I worked hard, I crossed the finish line, and I successfully checked it off my bucket list. 

But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I tried to push it out of my mind by focusing on the worst aspects. Remember how gross your feet looked? Remember how boring your weekends were? Remember losing all small talk skills and blabbering on endlessly about negative splits? None of it helped. I still felt pangs of envy when I'd hear about friends training or when I'd see strangers in marathon shirts.  I wanted back in the club.

Portland Marathon, here we come. 

My weekends for the next five months are booked, and I couldn't be happier. This time around, I'm starting with open eyes. I know what I've signed on for. There will be no delusions of grandeur; I accept the bad with the good. Bring on the aches. Bring on the pains. I'll take it all quite literally in stride. 

It's not a romantic process, but I love it, I missed it, and I'm ready to do it all again. 

Friendly Reminder: Be Nice

If you've participated in any type of community race, you've run amongst tutus. They're everywhere. They're silly, they're festive, they mask imperfect butts and thighs. A little childish?  Sure. A bit stupid? Perhaps. But deserving of nationwide ridicule? Of course not. A good reason to mock someone who has cancer and runs a nonprofit? Hellllllllll no. 

If any of you read SELF magazine, you may want reconsider that subscription. SELF recently published a story on their "BS Meter" about the tutu trend, and they used a picture of Monika Allen wearing a tutu in the LA marathon. What SELF didn't learn until after publication was that the photo was taken while Allen was undergoing chemotherapy for brain cancer. 

SELF's facebook and twitter pages have been understandably flooded with people posting complaints and criticism. The editor has apologized, but it may be too little too late. Even if Allen didn't have cancer, SELF -- a magazine intended to empower women -- published a photo with no other purpose than to make fun of a woman who was currently running a marathon. 

Hating tutus is fine, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters. The runner next to me could be wearing a bikini, an animal costume, or a suit of armor and it wouldn't affect me one bit. We are all running our own race, literally and figuratively. 

Running a marathon is hard enough, and tearing another runner down won't make you any faster. Just be nice. 

JFDI

Some days running is pure joy. Today was not one of those days.

I'm waaaaaaaay behind schedule. Way behind. I'm scheduled to run a half marathon in two months, and prior to today I hadn't trained more than three miles. Motivation has been a huge problem this spring. I've still laced up and gone running several days each week, but I simply haven't wanted to run very far. 

Tip of the hat to Jolie Kerr for introducing me to my new life motto: JFDI. Just fucking do it. 

I ran five miles this morning. I didn't want to. I wanted to stay in bed and be warm warm and cozy. But I got up, I put on my shoes, and I just fucking did it. 

JFDI does not just apply to running. Many parts of life are unpleasant but necessary. No one likes flossing their teeth or paying bills or cleaning the bathroom, but they need to be done. Of course these things are uncomfortable and gross. That doesn't make them any less mandatory.

Signing up for a race is more than a one day commitment to cheering crowds and a medal. It's a commitment to the entire process, and I voluntarily signed on to do it.  I know it will be worth it in the end. Some days along the way will be difficult, but dwelling on the hard times won't get me any closer to the finish line. I just need to shake it off and do the work. 

Quit stalling, quit complaining, and JFDI.

Do You Even Lift, Bro?

I'm not afraid of much, but the weights section of the gym terrifies me. Not the equipment itself (although that can be daunting), but the the other weightlifters. They're big. They're strong. They know what they're doing. At my local gym, most weightlifters fall into one of two categories: hulking, grunting muscle bots or tan, beautiful selfie-takers who want everyone to know just how good they look. 

Now add to the mix one pale, awkward woman in glasses and you'll see my discomfort. 

Every running program advocates strength training, but for years I've willfully ignored that advice and stuck to cardio and little else. Well, I'm finally facing my fear. Call it a new year's resolution, call it a change of heart, or call it finally acting like a nearly-30-year-old and not a baby. Twice a week, I vow to get over my insecurities and lift weights. 

I've been at it nearly a month, and it's going well. To my surprise (and relief!), my presence hasn't caused nearly the stir I feared. On the contrary, no one seems to mind at all. The other lifters have been too focused on their workout, their music, or their own reflection to pay any attention to me, and I've been able to slowly navigate my way in peace. 

I'm easing my way in, starting with a few reps at a low weight, and gradually building from there.  My tiny weights look silly compared to the massive weights on my neighbor's machine, but I'm not lifting to get ripped. I'm lifting to be stronger at running hills, to be less prone to injury, and to be able to open the goddamned pickle jar without Jared's help. 

I honestly don't love lifting, but I do love feeling strong. I imagine I'll always be a little intimidated by people who are stronger than I am, and I'll need to continue to give myself pep talks and remember that I have as much right to use the weight machines as anyone else.

There's no question that I don't fit in with the other weightlifters, but that doesn't mean I don't belong. 

We Need the Eggs

"A guy walks into a psychiatrist's office and says, hey doc, my brother's crazy! He thinks he's a chicken. Then the doc says, why don't you turn him in? Then the guy says, I would but I need the eggs. I guess that's how I feel about relationships. They're totally crazy, irrational, and absurd, but we keep going through it because we need the eggs."

This joke from Annie Hall refers to romantic relationships, but the sentiment also applies to a runner's relationship to the sport. Long distance running is crazy, irrational, absurd. Explaining it to a non-runner is almost impossible. 

Why do we put ourselves through the pain? Why do we battle the elements? Why do we give up our Friday nights to prepare for early Saturday mornings? Why do we spend money on organized races when we can run outdoors for free?

Because we're compelled to. Because it's worth it. Because we can't not. Because we're a part of a community. 

Every runner has bad days (or bad miles) where we question why we're even out here. Sometimes everything hurts. Sometimes we don't see progress for weeks. Sometimes running just stops being fun. 

But these times are the exception to an otherwise fulfilling rule. Running is more than just exercise. It's a lifestyle and an identity. Of course there are difficult times when we want to quit, but we just brush it off and try again tomorrow. 

Because it's who we are. Because we love it. Because we need the eggs.

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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