The fond memory of a runner

Time to hammer...

11:00 pm. POW
We're running.
Curve.
Straight-away.
Get out of the trash.
Curve.
Straight-away.
Three to go.
Relax, and get comfy.

Somewhere deep inside me, I know. I don't have to think. My body knows what to do. I'm running harder than I've ever begun a race before. Tonight's the night. This is the year. Senior year. I'm going to make it to regionals if I have to grow wings and fly across the finish line.

Fifty meters to the 800m mark.
Get ready.
Half way there.
Time to hammer...


This is the lap I've been visualizing all season. This is the lap I've been training for for two years. This is the purpose for the agony I have voluntarily endured for weeks, months. I'm breaking a trend, the barrier that has kept me from prolonging said agony for another two weeks since freshman year. This is the most crucial lap of my life (little did I know, then).

Hammering.
Good position.
1, 2, 3, me.
No, wait--
I am 3!
400 meters left.
Hold it.
Hold it.

The last lap is all about heart. Strategy has nothing to do with it, not intentionally, anyway.

300 meters.
1, 2, me...
200 meters.
1, 2, 3...me.
No!
150...I want it more.
100 meters.
  
These last 100 meters are filled with pain, dread, fear, and hunger. My legs have never run this fast (I swear I grew shorter with each step). I pass my target, the third place runner at the time, on the outside at the 100 meter mark. First and second place are inches in front of her. She is blocked in, nowhere to go. To my former coach and others, I look as if I had planned it this way. Strategy. I wish I could take credit. Really, I am just determining in my mind that I CANNOT BARE ANOTHER "RUNNER-UP" FINISH.

 ...

The four of us crossed the finish line within two seconds of each other. Had my mind been present, maybe I could have summoned enough strength to take first. But that wasn't important. I was moving on. I had earned regionals. I fell into the arms of a friend, not strong enough to carry my body another step. The White Gazelle finished only seconds later. When she gathered her bearings, she came over to congratulate me, giving me a light shove on the shoulders out of excitement. I went down like a sack of potatoes; my heart and strength were still on the track.

Goals to reach goals

Now that it's official, I can finally share with you what I've been excited about for months: if God allows it, I will be running my first marathon in January. Kat and I registered for the Disney Marathon a couple of days ago, and training begins in August.

In order to prep myself for training, I thought it would be beneficial to sit down and do some goal setting. I used to hate when my coaches would require us to write down our goals for the season. I thought it was a waste of time; after all, I know what I expect of myself. What does it matter to anyone else? However, being on my own (running wise) for almost a year now, I've come to realize that writing out those goals for other people to read and know served as a form of accountability. When others know what your ambitions, dreams, expectations are, they can provide the encouragement you need to reach them. Furthermore, it never hurts to put your goals on paper, sort of like signing a lease--through this act, you are declaring your commitment to follow through with whatever you have set out to accomplish.

So here is my list of goals, which will probably and hopefully grow throughout the next six months:

1. Discipline myself by getting up early enough to complete a quality workout. The heat and sun serve as mental barriers, so I must strive to overcome these obstacles, even if that means taking the longer road around them.
2. Hydrate. "Hydration, hydration, hydration," is what my college coach always preached. Typically, I let my body decide when it's lacking hydration, nutrients, vitamins, electrolytes, and so forth. But I could definitely drink more water in order to prevent dehydration, not just to cure it.
3. Keep my legs healthy. As I've mentioned before, shin splints have haunted my running dreams since the very beginning. And since senior year of high school, I have been plagued with various minor, nagging injuries that could have been prevented if I had only taken better care of myself. In order to save my legs, I will need to stretch often, replace my running shoes before they start causing problems, and allow my body time to rest between workouts. This may also mean taking two to three days off at a time (which is no problem for me).
4. Develop an efficient workout routine. With a marathon in sight, one cannot, or at least should not, simply put on miles. Just like in every other sport, running often relies on strategic planning. Long runs, speed workouts, recovery runs, cross training, rest. A workout schedule will have to be determined in order to maintain effectiveness.

I can't wait to begin training, but in the meantime, my main goal is to develop a firm base while keeping my legs healthy. This means slowly building mileage and giving myself plenty of time to recover. As August draws near, I will be researching marathon guides and developing my own training manual. I'll be sure to post my schedule once it is developed.

I hope I can count on all of my readers to send encouragement from time to time. Thanks for reading.

The perfect shoe

The perfect shoe: it's not for two.
It works for me, but not for you.

The last time I bought a pair of running shoes, I took along a friend who is not a runner. She seemed baffled by my evaluation of each shoe that I tried on. I asked questions about each pair, making comparisons based on fact and feeling, comfort and credibility. My last thought, as I made my purchase, was how the shoe looked.

Like I told my friend, if I'm going to spend so much money on one pair of shoes, it sure as hell better last me a couple hundred miles (at least), whether it sparkles, shines, shouts, or shimmers. The perfect shoe for a runner is one that bounces back with every step you take, can handle the heat and holler of every terrain, compliments your arches, hangs onto your heels, stabilizes, neutralizes, or controls the motion of your foot (depending on your foot type), and helps correct your gait (the way you walk, or run). Furthermore, the perfect shoe for an athlete depends on the types of workouts one conducts: speed, long distance, on the road, on the track, on the field, with a jump or a leap, cutting, sliding, kicking, and on and on and on.

When I run, I don't even want to notice that I'm wearing shoes. I've had shin splints far too many times to trust just any shoe or brand. Just like people, the prettiest shoe isn't always the nicest. My shoes are like armor, protecting me against the evils of the running world, the mighty stress fractures, the dreaded Iliotibial Band Syndrome, and the ferocious, ruthless, merciless runner's knee, while providing the flexibility and breathability that my toes and feet desperately need. As materialistic as this may be, your running shoes should become a part of you, otherwise you'll find nagging issues with them, particularly blisters.


Every foot is different, like snowflakes!

The smells of life

What's your favorite smell?

It's amazing how many smells are out there--on the road, in the fields, on the track, in a house with a mouse, or a box with a fox. I couldn't help myself. But seriously, just the other day, I re-realized how full of smells life is. I've heard that smell is one of the strongest memory "strikers," for lack of the real term. I believe this with all my being.

Any true runner can tell you that there is a smell for each running season. I can't describe the smell of track season or the smell of cross country season, but they are definitely distinguishable. Even being a retired collegiate runner, I still find myself walking out the door or to class and thinking, "Ah, the smell of (track/cross country) season!" And there's almost nothing more appealing to me.

On my run the other day, I attempted to count the smells I encountered, but instead I can only recall these: freshly cut grass; the humidity (yes, it has a smell); a rotting animal hidden in the brush; laundry detergent, chlorine, pancakes, and garbage as I ran through a residential neighborhood; dust and dirt; cattle and manure (I live in Stephenville...); my own sweat; a port-a-potty near a construction zone; pine and other trees; more.

One of my least favorite smells on a run is food--all kinds. There's little more sickening to inhale on a run than the smell of freshly-baked doughnuts or greasy hamburgers or fried anything. I've even had to adjust some of my routes to avoid these fragrant curses during prime eating hours. And the dumpster truck! When I see one, I turn, whether I break from my route or make it longer. I believe The White Gazelle can attest to this.
My favorite smell, whether running or otherwise, believe it or not, is the smell of roses. I'm sure most, if not all, of my readers know that I'm not the girliest gal out there, but roses provide a refreshing scent that can calm my mind...and stomach.

Next time you work out, or even the next time you simply go outside, try to distinguish as many smells as you can. It could be like bird-watching! Keep notes.

Smell you later.

Self-sufficiency? Yeah, right.

It's been over a year since I've run competitively. And it's been over a year since I have even had a consistent running/workout routine. I used to be so self-disciplined, or so I thought. Maybe I don't give my coaches and teammates enough credit. Sure, it was my choice to stay on the team and therefore get up at the crack of dawn for a workout and then again later in the day. But now that I have no team or coach to report to, I find it that much harder to get up early, to start a daily routine (for more than one week at a time), and to give a 100% effort when I do hit the pavement.

I'm not stupid: I knew this would be the case, as it is for most athletes when they leave the team setting. But it has come to my attention just how important a team can be in the development of an athlete. First of all, the commitment to my fellow runners held me in place. Without knowing that my teammates were nearby, struggling as I was, I wouldn't have lasted long after junior high. And since we were all hurting in our own ways, we could count on each other for encouragement and understanding.

Second of all, until last September, I've always had a coach to push me toward success. Despite minor conflicts and disagreements (and sometimes rude thoughts--in both directions, I'm sure), I owe any success in my past to the determination of my coaches. After all, they were the ones who decided on my workouts, adjusted them as they saw fit, and, for the most part, encouraged me when I sucked.

There are so many things I miss about running for a team: the conversations, motivation, encouragement, the meets, the crowds, bus/van rides, the competition, comradery, ice baths. But mostly--and this is the competitor and pride in me--I miss being a strong runner. I was never the best, but at least I could run three miles in under 23 minutes. At least I could run more than five miles at a time without taking a break.

Boo-hoo, right? I know. I'm not asking for sympathy, but if you're reading this, keep in mind that self-motivation only lasts for so long. Mine died out long before I realized it. As much as we may hate to admit it, we all need someone to cheer for us, to push us, even to criticize us every once in a while--especially for the things we care about most.

Peace out

"More than just okay"

As much as I tried not to complain about speed workouts while running cross country and track, I secretly cursed them in my mind and body. 400m repeats, circuit training, 300m repeats, ladder runs, fartleks, strides. Ugh. But as much as I dreaded these workouts from Hell, I always appreciated them. And now that I've been on my own for almost a year, my appreciation for butt-busting, gut-wrenching, confidence-slapping speed workouts has hit a new high.

For most runners, to be considered a good/strong runner means more than going for a run everyday. For me, averaging twenty-thirty miles a week doesn't cut it (not that I've even met that standard recently). Mileage is the foundation, the base, as my former coach would call it. At some point, though, I have to step outside of my comfort zone, pick up the knees, and drive hard for more than just the home stretch.

Lately, my philosophy has been, "start easy and pick it up later (if you feel like it)." That's crap! That's a good plan for new runners, people just starting to get into a routine. That's a good plan for runners who have taken months or weeks off from running for whatever reasons. I've been running since I was twelve, have never taken more than one full month off from running (and even then I found myself on a bike or in the pool), and I have been running at least weekly since September. It's time for me to man up.

So today I ran a fartlek. I ran a very poor fartlek, but that's beside the point. For those of you who aren't familiar with the term, fartlek simply means alternating between high- and low-intensity intervals. For instance, I began with a three-minute warm-up, which is not a sufficient warm-up, by the way, followed by three minutes at a faster pace, then back to 3 minutes easy. I only completed three sets before I had to cool down, but I guess it's a start.

As I'm recovering from my workout, I'm struggling to put my thoughts into words, but here goes: endurance will get you there, but what if you want to get there well? I would say faster, but then someone will argue that patience is a virtue and that first place is not the most important prize. Anyway, I am not content with simply "getting there;" I want people to know I trained, and I trained with purpose. I want to know in my heart that I did more than just finish; I finished strong.

Confessions of a runner: my wall (or at least one of them)

5:30 A.M. run and I haven't met since track season of 2011.

I forgot how beautiful a run before the sunrise can be--no traffic, no irrelevant stoplights, birds singing, and NO SUN. For some reason I can't explain, my mind has been conditioned to believe that the sun is my enemy when running. Whether it's eighty degrees or forty, my body doesn't want to push itself when it faces the sun. I know it's all in my head, but this is an obstacle I haven't been able to overcome since whenever it developed.

Yesterday's run should have been perfect; the sun didn't come out till later in the afternoon, which meant cooler temperatures, though it was pretty humid. Kat and I took off for a five-miler, keeping it easy, and I hadn't skipped a day, so the two-day curse couldn't even apply. Yet I had to stop a couple of times for no apparent reason. Seriously. No apparent reason. I wasn't hurting anymore than I should have been; I didn't feel sick; I wasn't out of breath; I'm not THAT out of shape (though I am pretty out of shape). I just couldn't push myself anymore.

The funny thing is this: we'd turn toward the sun, I'd fall back, lose motivation, sometimes stop for a quick break. Then we would turn away from the sun, maybe find some shade, and I would feel strong enough to push myself harder and try to close the gap. But as soon as we turned back toward the sun, my progress would be erased.

I wouldn't call that run a success. This morning, however, was more enjoyable. Though running in the dark has that I-think-I'm-running-faster-than-I-really-am effect on you, at least I didn't stop for a break or run so slow that I got nothing out of it.

I don't usually like to waste time by rambling, but at least I'm not in the Denial stage anymore.