Suck it up, Buttercup!

It's just one more race recap.  You can handle it.  I know I said I was done with the race recaps for a while, but, well, then I ran one more race.  It would be silly to just leave all the important to nobody but me details floating around in my head, don't you think?

Race #15- Suck it up Buttercup 5k, July 14, 2013
          H-E-Double Hockey Sticks! That's how we spell 'hill' in Florida!

A couple of people in my running group have made this phrase a mantra, of sorts, and everyone's favorite race director friend of mine decided to give us all something to suck up, so to speak.

Remember how I complained about the cold race day weather all those times?  This was not one of those times.  Florida.  July.  100% humidity.  In addition to being hot and sticky, the race course was definitely the hilliest course I've ever run, and likely one of the hilliest in the state.  One person called the hills "lung crushers".  Most people couldn't breathe well enough to get out any words.  Despite being a challenging race from every possible perspective, there were hundreds of entrants, all ready to suck it up and run.  The race directors actually ran out of finisher's medals a few days before the event, ~100 people still registered with the understanding that they were too late for a medal.

I, along with 25 or so other lunatics runners, ran a few miles before the race, and then ran to the race.  Yes, you read that right.  I purposely ran 5.5 miles (2 miles of which were on the very same race course hills) before running the race.  Then, of course, I had to run back to my car, so I put over 11 miles behind me that day.  (See, I'm training for a marathon.  I'm in marathon training.  I'm going to run a marathon soon.  Marathon.  Marathon.  Marathon!!!!!!!!)  Because of the extra miles, and because of the really-truly-significant-I-don't-care-if-it-is-Florida hills, I made it my goal to finish the 5k in less than 30 minutes.

I also made it my goal to sweat until I could wring out each article of clothing.  Congratulations, me!

My dad crushed his under 25 minute goal, and earned himself a 2nd in age group cowbell award.

The only bad part of this race, for me, was my stupid *#$%ing race-day brain.  Nothing makes me want to punch myself in the temple quite like the thoughts of, "Gah-hasp.  I've...ne-ver...pant pant...run...like...this...pant pant...eh-ver...before!" (Yes, I think out-of-breath when I'm feeling anxious.  You don't?).  The worst part?  I was thinking those stupid, breathless, nonsensical thoughts at the start of the race.  I wasn't fatigued.  I had just run the exact same course.  I have run many a race before.  Yet, there I was, slowing down before I even got to the first hill, thinking, "What...am...I...do-ing...pant...run-ning?  I...don't...ruh..huh..huh."  Yeah.  You wanna argue with me about deserving a temple-punch?

It just so happened that the article I had bookmarked in my 4-months-old issue of Runner's World to read last night was:

From what I understand, stupid *#$%ing race-day brain, or "The Blerch" is a bit of an epidemic among runners.  According to the article, it's super important to train and tame the brain and those ridiculous thoughts that pop up and turn swift feet into leaden ones.  I haven't actually finished reading the article yet (the magazine has been sitting next to my bed for 4 months, you think I can read a whole article in one night?) but I think it's good advice to teach your brain to think helpful, true thoughts.  'Specially when you're also training your body for a marathon (EEP!!!).

Result: 28:58

Do you ever deserve a punch in the temple?

Marathon training. (It's on my mind, couldn't help but mention it again.)

Not Even Half Of My Second Half

I took a poll, and discovered that my blog readers are ready for another race recap.  Okay, so, yeah, the poll was in my imagination, but I did think about it very thoroughly.  You can rest assured that your vote counted.  Yes, yours!  Those of you who did not vote for a race recap, stay tuned.  I'll write about your topic of choice soon enough.  Except for those of you who foolishly voted for "golf."  You could check out my scratch handicap shooting brother-in-law's blog for that (I don't know if I worded that right or not.  He's really, super good at golf, though.)  If you're new here and didn't have the chance to vote in my head, you may want to familiarize yourself with some of the options, like rock concerts, really cute kids, things that annoy me, and, well, racing.

A little over a year ago, at the prompting of my dad and sister, I joined the West Volusia Runners group.  I was reluctant, at first, to do so.  It wasn't the dues ($10/year-not a typo, it's really that cheap) or the commitment (none), it was just that I was intimidated by the other runners.  I had seen some of them at races in the past, wearing their cool matching shirts, finishing before me, and talking together about shoes and pace goals and courses.  I feel my face getting hot as I type.  It's embarrassing, how silly my reluctance was.  Especially now, when some of my favorite things to talk about are shoes and pace goals and race courses.  My dad was the first of our family members to join the group.  My sister and I scoffed, at first.  "We don't need to join a group.  We can always run together.  We love to run; what do we need with motivation?"  Then, my sis moved out of reasonable running distance from me.  Then, I stopped running with any regularity because of the Baby growing in my belly.  Then, she took Dad's advice and joined the group.  Once I returned to running, postpartum, I squashed my fears and nervousness and brought my $10 dues to a group run.  Just like that, I was part of the group.

The most recent of many group pictures without me in them.

To say that I'm glad I joined would be putting it mildly.  So many of the people I've met are truly inspiring.  There's M, who ran her first 5k in August, her first half-marathon in December, and her first marathon in February.  I literally didn't recognize her when I saw her for the 2nd and 3rd times after a couple of months, because she had lost so much weight and had increased her speed by so much.  (Sorry, M, that you had to keep introducing yourself to me!)  There's P, who is so kind and sweet and encouraging and persistent.  She constantly motivates others to improve, and seeing her finish her first marathon was nothing short of beautiful.  There's W, who races in the 70+ age group and is the friendliest morning person I could have imagined.  He's usually one of the last people to rejoin the group, but his dedication is unmatched.  Another M whose pace went from normal to jaw-droppingly fast over the past year.

Group founder/president/chief motivator/proof that good things come in small packages.  See why I'm embarrassed now, that I was intimidated?  

There are people who run while battling cancer, and dealing with tragedies.  There are young runners, old runners, married couple runners, single and looking runners, really fast runners, really slow runners, walkers, ultra-marathoners, trail runners, triathletes, runners that push their babies in strollers, runners that joined to exercise as a family, people trying to lose weight, people trying to improve their overall health, people running to cross items off their bucket lists, people running to meet people, people just running for the love of running.  I could go on, but I'm sure that you get the gist.  It's a great group, and getting to know some of the members over the past year has been wonderful.  Erm.  Maybe I should clarify- I just mean that I don't know all of them, only some.  Not that I only like some of them.

Race #11- Swamp House Half Marathon, March 3, 2013
              Psychological Prowess
When I was less than 2 weeks from delivering Baby in 2012, I volunteered at the running group's inaugural race.  Of course, the individuals had raced before, and many of them had run races together, as a group.  But this race was actually organized and put on by the WVRs.

At that point, I had run a half-dozen or so 5k races, and had briefly considered training for a 10k, but growing a tiny person had taken my focus far off of my running goals.  Many of my family members had signed up to volunteer at the half-marathon, and I agreed to get up at 4 a.m. and help with packet pick-up for reasons that I can no longer really remember.  I do recall thinking that my giant belly was a perfect, obvious excuse for the fact that I wasn't running in the race, and when people said things like, "See you out here next year!" I could just smile and nod and feel confident that they wouldn't recognize me the next year.  (I was right, you know.  Nobody recognized me.)  One year later, the race would be directed by our group president's new race management company, and I may have been more surprised than anyone to find myself so excited about running it that I wouldn't risk volunteering again and messing up my race.

Now, this post is already pretty long, and the fact that I've just now gotten to the beginning of the race might be a little discouraging.  Therefore, I will leave you with some teasers, continue this recap soon, and let you get on with your day.

Teaser #1-

Teaser #2-

Teaser #3-

Teaser #4-

Of course, I also listened to your mind messages about how much you love that I give a bit of unsolicited advice in each blog post.

Great saying, right?  Although that relates to today's post, it actually just served to remind me of something I feel very strongly about advising on: DO NOT pay money to see "Fast & Furious 6".  I haven't seen it, and I won't, unless at some point in my life I have some valuable information and someone is trying to torture it out of me. The fact that a movie like that made $120 million last weekend makes me want to take my family and move to a tiny village where there is no time or money or resource wasted and there are no televisions or people whose names start with "The".

Ever been intimidated by something/one embarrassing?

You only pay for quality entertainment, right?

Looking Back

I went for a run today.  It was (relatively) short, in beautiful weather, on familiar roads, with only my iPod for company.  Sometimes, I plan what I'm going to think about on my solitary runs.  (Although I don't think it's actually possible to plan one's thoughts.  Is it?  Go ahead and try, why don't you.  Try to think about sleep disorders and dreaming.  I bet that within seconds, your thoughts will have drifted off to a recent dream you had, or why you're tired, or whether it's normal to fall into a deep sleep within mere seconds, while holding a glass of red wine water and having just been in the midst of a not-even-slightly-boring conversation. Ha!  Now you're thinking about me, aren't you?  Wondering if I have narcolepsy?  I don't.  I'm almost positive.)  Today, I was going to think about zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzhuh?  Wha?  What was I saying?  Oh, yeah.  Ahem.  Anyway, it isn't important what I planned to think about.  What I ended up thinking about was how far I've come (har dee har) as a runner.  

Me on the left

I shared my how I became a runner tale a while back, but I'm not sure that I made it clear how much of a runner I was not before those early morning drag outs with my sister.  I was one of those, "Do you need money for gas?" people when I talked to runners.  I didn't understand why anyone would run when walking or driving takes so much less effort.  During my previous fitness phases, I had always skipped cardio.  I mean, I would pretend, of course.  I would sit comfortably on the stationary bike, pedaling at the nice, I-can-still-read-my-magazine pace of around 3.5-4 m.p.h.  I would use the rowing machine for 8 minutes and then check my pulse, making sure to look concerned, like I had just exerted myself SO much, but made it look effortless.  I smoked a lot of cigarettes.  I tried to walk 5k  to benefit breast cancer research and literally could not make it up the first hill.  After working out in front of my tv with the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders or Jillian Michaels, I would brag for days about, "I was sweaty."

Now, I'm a runner, and strangely proud to call myself so.  I know about PRs and BQs and carb loading and negative splits and Yassos and that I over-pronate.

My black toenail

1 of 7 medals

During today's run, I found myself looking for roads I could run down to add a bit of mileage to my planned route.  I smiled a bit, remembering that my sister used to have to threaten and ridicule me (in a nice way, of course) to get me to add on an extra tenth of a mile.  Not too much later, a woman came running toward me, and then slowed to a walk before she climbed the hill between us.  She had on (what I hope was) her oldest t-shirt, raggedy cotton shorts, and was more than a little overweight.  We grinned happily at each other as our paths crossed, and I remembered how many times I have walked up the hills.  Walked for no reason.  Walked because an injury forced it.  I wanted to tell her, and probably should have, that she was doing something great for her body, her mind, and her life.  As I looked back at her, I thought she might want to know that it does get easier, better, more fun, and faster.  I would love to see her again someday, zooming up the hills with that same happy grin on her face.

I don't know how the transformation happens, exactly, from Hater (with a purposeful capital H) to runner (with a purposeful lowercase r, it isn't like I'm a professional or whatever), but it's pretty awesome that it does.  Maybe it's like planned thoughts- suddenly, you find yourself thinking of something entirely different than you expected, and you're not quite sure how your thoughts traveled in that direction.  I'm sure glad that I experienced the H2r change.  If ever you think, "Not me!  I'm no runner.", I advise you to remember me.  My red, burning thighs, as the blood circulated through them faster than ever before.  My whining about an extra tenth of a mile.  My whining about another hill.  My repeating, "I'm going to die.  I'm really going to die" to my ever-so-patient sister during every run.  And now, my planning each day around my run.  My silly grin, when I see other runners working hard.  My 5 a.m. speed workouts.  My hundreds of miles, without a single one regretted.

Sheesh.  I'm sappy lately, huh?  I blame Ronde.  His retirement from my favorite football team has me all sleepy...I mean emotional!  I'm totally awake while I type this.

Okay, for real.  Were you able to think only about what you planned to think about?

Mission: Impossible

I've got to say something about it, even though I feel like I don't have the right words.  Horrible.  Tragic.  Sickening.  Maddening.  Scary.  Motivating.  Unifying.  Gut-wrenching.  Nothing new, I know.  I was thinking that I needed to know more details about the who, how, and why before I could write about it, but then I realized that I kind-of already have those answers.

Who?  A coward.  Someone sick, and I mean that in the most literal way.  Probably, he (in my head, he's definitely a he, not a she or a they) isn't the most hateful person you would ever meet.  He's never picketed outside of a sporting goods store or worn a sandwich board condemning runners at a race.  He's probably never even been in a fight.  I doubt he pointed fingers at the race directors or wrote letters or made angry phone calls to protest the running of the marathon.  He's too cowardly for all of those things, I think.  Instead, he stewed and seethed and plotted against the physical representation of  his nemeses- power, strength, stamina, hard work, accomplishment, joy and unity.  The goodness that is evident when watching runners at a marathon, he can't find within himself.  He has probably never had people- strangers or loved ones- cheer for him.  He has probably never had to dig deep within his soul to find the strength to overcome pain, fatigue, and mental anguish to finish what is impossible for the majority of people on the planet.  And he made the rest of us suffer for his inadequacies.

How?  If someone offered me money, I'm quite certain that I could make a bomb.  (Please read the rest of my blog for context clues, Big Brother and airport security folks, and know that I wouldn't do it).  There are how-to videos on you tube, right?  Or is that just on how to cook meth?  I couldn't tell you right now, this minute, how to do it, but I think anyone with enough desire and time could do it.  I hate hearing these words, and I am a tiny bit disgusted with myself for typing them, but here goes: it could have been so much worse.  For the people injured, the families of those killed, I apologize, and I grieve.  But I think we can all agree that if the bomber had been more experienced or had been more determined to wreak havoc, he could have killed and hurt a whole lot more people.

Why?  Whatever the reason, it can't possibly make sense to us normal, healthy, sane individuals.  I won't say 'nonstop', but I've been thinking about this for a good portion of every hour since 3:ish on Monday, and I simply cannot come up with anything that would justify, even slightly, this action.  Was he trying to make a statement?  Well, nobody is going to agree with his point of view, now.  Was it political?  If so, it's seems counter-intuitive to protest against certain laws, regulations, or political figures with law-breaking actions that couldn't possible change anything for the better.  He accomplished hurt, pain, and destruction.  If I were to venture a guess, I would think that's pretty close to the definition of terrorism.  All of the "why" goes back to the "who".  He's sick, and his incapacity for normal human feelings has led him to terrorize.

For once, an all-over-facebook, fairly-sappy-messaged image that I felt the need to share.

I'm more proud than ever to be a runner.  Becoming a runner changed my life, and I'm far from able to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  I can say with confidence that as a community, runners are stronger, more unified, and tougher now than before.  And we were all pretty stinkin' strong, unified, and tough on Sunday, April 14.  We'll remember the victims whose lives were cut short, and we'll do all that we can to help their families, and the injured, to recover.  He scared us, yes.  Saddened us, to the core.  But stopped us?  Impossible.