Why I run part 2

I have learned that fear is another motivating factor in why I run.  

I am afraid of getting old, and as long as I can keep running and getting faster, I must not be old yet.  This is partly why I keep moving up in distances and trying new races, because every new distance is a PR and PR= not old. 

I also have this fear that people will recognize that I am not as fast as I pretend to be, that someone will identify me as the imposter I am. I'm sure any day now someone will point and say "What is she doing here? She's not really fast, she just wants to be." 

So I work hard to keep age at a distance and to try and fit in with the really fast runners, even though no one really cares how I run but me.  No one ever said the psychology of running made sense, but there it is. 

Marathon mama

I did it.  I ran the st George marathon on Saturday, October 5.  I set a huge PR, and even finished about a minute faster than my most optimistic goal time.  Officially, I ran a 3:08:56, which placed in the top 7% of finishers. the most important stat to me is that I beat the goal time I was shooting for (3:10), so I felt good about the day. Additionally, that time is a Boston Qualifying time, which is kind of the industry standard for cool.   I feel like it was a major victory, so although no one asked for it, here is my victory speech.  

I need to give credit where credit is due.  I couldn't have made it without the support and sacrifice of my family.  My husband and kids encouraged me through many hours of training, and put up with me in the last week of nerves and self-doubt, (which translated into grouchy mama). And you would have loved me even if I had failed miserably.  Thanks.  

My mom and sister at the finish line:  I knew the only way you would be disappointed was if I couldn't finish, so when I wanted to sit down and rest, I had to keep going.  Thanks for being there waiting.  

To my speedy sister who ran with me:  I knew if I slowed down that you would be right on my tail, even if you thought you were going to run slower. You shared the joy and misery of training long distance, and believed in me and encouraged me when I needed it most.  You're the best! And you probably will beat me next time, but thanks for letting me win this time.

To my dad:  thanks for always believing in me.

To Mother Nature:  thanks for working the cool temps and tailwind the first 6 miles.  It was perfect.  

To the kids on the side of the road cheering and handing out high fives:  you make me feel like a hero!  I hope I can inspire you to challenge yourself someday, and I hope I can be like you by cheering indiscriminately and handing out high fives so freely.  I really fed off of your energy the last few miles. 

To all the other runners:  if misery loves company, we should be one happy bunch.  It was great to run with you and share the struggle.  Thanks for pushing me.

Thanks to the race organizers and city of St George.  It is a massive undertaking to out on a race for this many people, and we couldn't do it without you.  It is great to be part of something big.  

Believe it or not, all the hours of training were worth it.  It is an amazing feeling to run for three hours (and 6 months) to realize that you have reached the goal at long last. So even though I will maintain that marathoners are crazy, I am even considering running another one, just not for a while.  And I know, I must be crazy.

The problem with running

The problem with running is that you are never done.  I promised myself that if I ran a 3:10 marathon or faster, I would be perfectly content and never run another marathon.  If I hadn't run the goal time, I would've been unhappy and had to run another one to prove I could do it.  But now that I did it, I am wondering how much faster I could go. Maybe if I do this or that differently in my training....alas.  It is an endless cycle.  You think I would have learned that by now.  So be warned, once you start running you will never be able to stop!

Taper time

Taper week should be renamed second guess week, or stress week.  Here I have all this energy and time from not running as much and I spend it worrying if I am ready or not.   I think I get even more nervous now than I did when I was younger running arguably more important races, because now I know I have fewer chances to get it right, and it takes a lot more out of me to try.   It is taking a lot of faith to trust my training and believe that I am ready to run. I guess we will find out Saturday!

Dad

I started running with my dad when I was about ten and running in a youth track club.  We would run two miles together in the hot summer evenings.  The course was always the same: one mile out, walk a block, then run the rest of the mile home.  I still remember the sounds of the frogs we tried to avoid and the snails crunching that we couldn't.  I don't remember what we talked about, but I remember feeling pretty grown up to be running with my dad.  Dad was never the type to push me or the pace, and we never started a watch or logged miles, but we just ran and talked. It was perfect. 

As I grew and became more serious about running, we still ran together, though less regularly. When we did run together, the course varied, and the pace picked up, but when I needed him for a running companion, Dad was always there.  When I was running faster than he wanted to, Dad even followed me in the car or went with me to the track to keep a lookout. I knew he was right behind me as always, watching, supporting, silently cheering.  

After I left home for college, I treasured my occasional runs with dad even more. I ran with Dad whenever I came home for a holiday.  I would be chatting the whole time as I matched my pace to his, he prompting with a question now and again. He never told me what to do, but asked my opinion and let me work out ideas for myself.  It was my chance to have the undivided attention of a busy man whose approval I needed, and I think it was his chance to show me how much he loved me.   At least that was the messge I got.

I loved that in recent years we ran on relay teams together, and that he started getting excited about time, pace and mileage.  We could chat as equals about training, races, and running gear, as well as work, family, and faith.  We still ran together on vacations, and whenever else we could.  It was reassuring that whatever new phase of life we went through, some things were always the same when we ran. 

Until a year ago. My Dad went for a run and never came back.  He suffered a heart attack while on his morning  run. The strange irony is that his heart was fine while he was running; it only stopped when he stopped.   I ran guiltily while he lay in the hospital, because I needed to make sense of the world and yet running seemed to be suddenly dangerous.  I kept planning how our running routine would change when he came home, and tried to figure out how I could keep running if he didn't.  Unfortunately, he never recovered the way we expected, despite heroic efforts, and we had to say good bye. 

Even though he isn't around in person anymore, I still run with my dad.  I talk to him as I log the quiet miles; I hear echoes of his voice cheering during my races (go Emmie! You are a machine!). I know he found peace and joy when running, and I know he would want me and my siblings all to keep running, too.  I never told him how much this meant to me that we ran together, and I realize now that running wasn't the most important thing.  Running itself was just another reason to be together.   But while running, Dad taught me that I was important, that what I had to say mattered, and that he loved me.  So thanks Dad, I'll catch you on the next run. 

Marathon tips

One week until race day, and I am running through my mental checklist of to-do's.  I will share my last minute race prep tips.

Do: double check your race gear when you pack.  You would hate to get there without your shoes.  

Don't: plan on getting any sleep the night before.  Between hydrating that takes you to the bathroom every few hours, worrying about sleeping in and missing the race, and worrying about the race itself, it probably won't be a full night of sleep.  

Do: try and get good sleep every other night the week before the race and you will still be fine.  

Don't: go to Olive Garden at six o'clock the night before a race.  Every other racer in town will be there too. 

Do: eat a reasonable dinner at a reasonable hour and pack snacks you are used to eating.

Don't: forget to bring something to eat in the morning.  Mini mart donuts on the way to the bus are not a good idea.

Do: check the course map to make sure you will have nutrition when you expect it, and bring your own for back up if you need it.  

Don't: miss the expo, and bring your ID.  You need to pick up your packet, but it is just fun to hang out with everyone else and get excited about the cool running gear with people who understand.  

Do: bring a headlamp or other light to the start of pre dawn races.  You can drop it in your gear bag when it gets light, but it helps to be able to see a bit when they drop you off a the side of the road at 4:30am.  

Don't: drop your headlamp into the port a potty.  Or shine it in either for that matter.  

Do: keep yourself amused during the race by seeing if you can make a basket with your water cup into the garbage.  Give yourself a mental pat on the back for not littering.  

Don't: take a cup and stop immediately in the middle of the road.  You will get rear ended.  

Do: print off a pace bracelet with your desired times per mile that you can wear during the race.
When you get tired, it gets harder to calculate and figure out whether or not you are still on pace. (I like www.marathonguide.com)

Don't: start counting miles before 13, maybe even 18.  That just makes it feel longer.  

Do: have fun!  Run hard and enjoy the whole experience.  Happy marathon!

Race pictures

I just got saw proofs from my half marathon official race pictures. Unfortunately they did not look the way I imagine I do when I run.  See, when I feel good, I imagine I look like a cross between Olympians and running models, smooth, strong, lean, well-groomed, and breathing easily with my well-defined muscles in perfect form.  Maybe even smiling slightly, because I look good.  

In reality, even when I feel good, I look like a galloping, red faced hippo.  My hair swings wildly, my smile is a grimace, my body looks contorted instead of smooth, and my quads are always in recoil so they never show the muscles I'm sure must have been present but apparently ran to hide when they saw the photographer.  And on a bad day, it is even worse.

To prevent terrible pictures, I have decided all future running pictures should be taken of me from the knee down.  What can go wrong with the calf? As long as it is clean shaven, the calf always looks how it is supposed to, strong and orderly.  It does its job and looks good doing it.  The ankle and the shoe always follow in line.  This way I won't have to worry about my face showing the strain that I feel, spit hanging from my chin as I gasp for what could be my dying breath right when the photographer snaps the next shot.  Calf-only shots will show none of that.  

My sweet mother in law, who would never intentionally say anything unkind, convinced me of how I must really look when I run.  She saw me after my post race shower and commented, "Wow.  You look beautiful.  Not like you ran at all." At least now I know.  Perhaps appreciating the beauty of a runner mid-race is an acquired taste.