Right Turns

It happened again.

I was praying for the end of my run by mile 2. At 2.68 I had checked my watch at least twice. I started wondering if there was something wrong with me. I showed up to run rogue, and instead I wanted to run away.

Why was running so hard today?

My legs were dead and my heart felt as though it was going to erupt from my chest. At some point I was struggling just to put one foot in front of the other, and all I could say to myself was, “Just try to hang on to Dead Ass Last and you can turn back with the group that is running 5 miles instead of 6+.”

So, I made a new goal.

I would hold on until the turn, and run the shorter distance. In fact, I got a little cocky with the new plan and I ran side by side with Harry Potter for a few strides. He mocked me gently, I pushed back, and then he dropped my sorry a** like I was standing on the street waiting for the bus. I pushed myself to try to catch him again, even though I know I can’t do that. I pushed myself because I knew I would be running the short route.

The pack bifurcated at an intersection.

All I needed to do was turn left and I would be Dead Ass Last behind the shorter distance pack. A right turn ensured an extra mile of torture.

I stood on the dark corner and watched everyone run away from me.

Head lamps and blinkies were the only thing I could see, though I could hear snipits of conversations. “...said so... Shamrock will be... was fine... elbow now... retirement plan...” FYI~ runners are weird

I had about 3 seconds to choose or I was going to find it excruciating to catch either group. Left for 5, Right for 6.2ish.

3

“Run Short!” my mind screamed.

2

I stepped left...

1

...and turned right.

My spirit sighed in relief even as my legs complained. I dug deep and caught the two women who represented the Dead Ass Last crew.

Why (the f*ck) did I turn RIGHT?

Chasing the group for an extra mile sounded like a terrible idea almost as soon as I did it. It became even more terrible sounding as we started the first in a series of climbs. Yet, I was elated by the terrible decision.  As further validation, one of my companions pointed out that being Dead Ass Last at Rogue is still faster than the average runner, by far.

In other words, we don't suck.  

The last climb was horrible, I might add. I almost quit. I dry heaved about a block from the end, and stumbled to a walk. One of the People I Don’t Know grabbed my arm – “NO! You DID NOT RUN THAT HARD TO QUIT NOW.”

I ran side by side with her to the end. And I appreciated every bit of energy she shared with me for those last steps. She was amazing, and positive, and all the things we need to be for each other on days like today.

Some days are harder than others. And in that way, Running once again proves that it is just like Life.

Today I further clarified my personal distinction between the pain of an injury, the pain of general fatigue, and the deeply satisfying pain of a hard run.

Running is hard. If it was easy they would have named it something else.

Like, “napping”.

~ savor the run ~

Wizards First Rule

Every Runday my alarm goes off before the city is awake. I always lay in bed for about a minute and wonder if I should just sleep in. I can run later. I don't need to go get my ass kicked on a level 10 hill. I don't need to train this hard. I'm not really training for anything. Sleep is an important element of training.

And most Rundays, I tell the inner voice of sense and reason to STFU. I roll out of bed and go. I have run in sleet, rain, and bitterly cold conditions; I ran up hills that made me want to cry. 

But I ran.

On Rundays I run because I want to, no one is making me, except me.

I have nothing to prove, I'm not training for anything. I do this for fun, and because, even though they don't know me, I like running with Those People I Don't Know. 

Except there was a moment this week when I didn't like Those People. Recently, for the first time since joining Those People I Don't Know at Rogue, I had someone try to belittle my efforts.

Silly boy. Don't you know who I am? 
I'm charming...

The man in question reminded me of Draco Malfoy.  Essentially he represented everything that Harry Potter and Q and Coach Black are not. 

He was an arrogant snob. He acted though the fact I have not qualified for Boston made me less of a runner than him. Gosh, what would he have said if I'd admitted my marathon PR is a 4:09? He. might. have. died.

This attractive man sat beside me at a table with his back to me, talking pointedly to everyone except me. The deep frown etched into his face was only lifted when it was replaced by an unnatural smile for a camera. When he could not avoid speaking directly to me, he coated every word with disdain and thinly veiled sarcasm. At some point I realized he was judging me.  

Shortly after that I thought, "and he clearly thinks I'm not bright". How fascinating.

Additionally, he made it clear that as one of the "Dead Ass Last" crew, I was unworthy of his time and attention.

I confess:  There was a nanosecond where his low opinion of me hurt my feelings. I thought, If I was only (better, a BQ, skinnier, taller, nicer, prettier, more charming...) then he would (like me, respect me, acknowledge me, at least be civil to me).

And then I looked into his unhappy dead eyes and thought, I'm enough. His bad behavior shows far more about him and his lack of (grace, manners, happiness) than it does about me and my lack of (nothing). 

Isn't the first rule we teach our children in life is to treat others with respect? How did he miss that one growing up?

Because let's get real, if I was any smarter, better, nicer, or more charming, the world would not be able to handle it. As it is, I am intimidating as all hell.

Draco Malfoy may be an exceptionally gifted wizard who runs a blistering fast marathon and all that rot, but he's an unhappy small man who is missing out on the things life has to offer. My innate happiness must irritate the piss out of him. 

I laugh when I get high, and I get high when I run. I smile freely, and I am gracious to those in the Back to Last crew who come back for me when I am Dead Ass Last. I work hard to be better for my own personal satisfaction. I couldn't care less about Draco Malfoy's opinion of me.

I am enough.

~ Respect ~

WINE and CHOCOLATE and RUN. oh my

The Flowers my Run
got me for V'day

Yesterday I spent the morning with my Valentine. As I said before, my Run and I are in a deeply committed relationship. 

Its "The Year of the 5K", and I have made it a priority to get my speed back in 2015.  So in order to do that, I have to make goals.

The Long Term Goal – beat 23:25 22:59

Saturday’s Goals in no particular order:

Win.

Run Sub 8-minute miles.

Try Not To Suck.

Pretty simple, eh?

And beyond these things, anything else was just icing on the cake. And to be clear, there wasn’t cake, but the 5K was at New Kent Winery, so it didn’t matter.  There was WINE and CHOCOLATE and RUN.

Almost all of my favorite things together in one place.  ~pinch me~ 

So let me just start by saying what had’a happen’d wuz the weather was bitterly cold. But I thought it was just on the edge of my “skirt” vs “tights” line.  So I decided to wear a skirt for racing and change after. 

Maybe shoulda rethought that one, but s’ok. I survived. And the feeling slowly returned to my legs after a hot shower that drained the hot water heater...

Dash, Dot and I arrived to the race nice and early, parked, and headed up to the porta potty line, all the way commenting on how beautiful it is out there at New Kent Winery.

100% beautiful. And 100% cold. Freakishly cold. Way colder than I like. Way way colder than my lungs tolerate.  Back to that in a minute...

We checked our bags, ran about a mile warm up with a few strides thrown in, and since the race was scheduled to start at 9, I lined up on the start line at about 8:55.

An echo floated on the wind, "If you toe the line, you have to race."

 ~ Coach HP ~

And there I waited in the freezing cold. Standing still. Did I mention the cold? No? Ok. It was chilly.

That wasn’t a big deal though.  'Cos it was only for 5 minutes. Except that 15 minutes later I realized it was going to be a problem. 'Cos we were still waiting and my body was locking up. My lips could barely move. I was bouncing in place trying to keep warm but nothing was working.

My lungs questioned our sanity. I told them to STFU, my Run and I were on a date, Lungs would have to sit tight.

The race started at closer to 9:15, so I’d been standing still for 20 minutes in freezing temps with a wind chill of well below freezing. Wearing a skirt, ‘cos I’m legitimately stupid a Galactic Badass.

It was only a 5K though, and I knew it would be over soon.  

As usual, I didn’t wear a watch. Why bother? My race day strategy for the 5K distance is “Run on the edge of death, and when you want to die, push yourself just a little harder”.

I don’t know what my pace was at any given point, but at mile 1ish (the course was unmarked) I was running side by side with the 2^nd place female. At the turn into the golf course I dropped her and set my sights on the 1^st place female and she dropped me like one of Those People I Don’t Know on a Tuesday Morning.

I couldn’t catch her, so I entertained myself by chasing down the next available Male I spotted. I repeated my mantra in my head, "How bad do you want it?" as my body started to fatigue.

I finished on the uphill without looking too deeply at the clock.  I walked a few hundred yards past the smattering of volunteers with shaking legs while fighting to draw air in through my quickly narrowing wind pipe.

After I grabbed my checked bag and threw on all the clothing I’d brought, I headed back to the finish line just in time to see Dot then Dash cross the line. I grinned at Dash, “I hope you don’t mind if we hang out for a while... cos I’d like to stay for the awards ceremony...”.  I sounded like Hell; OH yeah, and at the wine tasting after the race, we ran into my Jr High boyfriend.  As in, the boy I "went out with" in 1990ish.

True. Freaking. Story.  

What are the odds? Well, apparently, when I'm involved, the odds are good that the world will continue grow smaller and smaller.

Back to the running. My personal best is still a minute out of range, but I’m making progress.

24:31 earned me Female Open Second Place.

7:53 avg. pace

I did not suck.

I failed at my goal of winning.

This is what failure looks like, if you want to know.

Failure looks like taking :45 seconds off my 5K time in two months.

Failure

Failure looks like an open bottle of wine at 10 a.m., a few beautiful roses, and many smiles. Failure can further be defined by the copious amounts of laughter and badassery that was exchanged across the span of a white tablecloth.  And by the frozen “My Banana is Hard” jokes. And by the hours that passed in the company of new friends as we grew increasingly breathless with laughter from the hilarity that ensued.

No one could have predicted that a 5K in New Kent would result in Jesus on a Log stories, the discovery of a really charming vineyard, and a deeper appreciation of why it’s important for women to surround themselves with a good support system.

our new friends - seriously, these
women define Galactic BadA**ery
without even trying.

I ended my day by having two pretty severe asthma flare-ups. I leaned on my support system for one, and relied on my own knowledge for the other. It will likely change my run strategy this week, but I’m hopeful that this was an acute event, not the beginning of anything else. 

This will be a “recovery”/”baby myself” week, but I'll be out there chasing the Back To Last crew as soon as my lungs allow.

Finally -

To the Race Director of the Vinterra Race for the Chocolate there's only a few things I would change about your race. The Race Tent needed heaters inside or a Fire Pit outside. There was no place to wait before the race that was warm.  The race should have started on time, or the runners should have been advised that it was 15 minutes behind schedule.  The course was great, exactly as advertised. I will definitely run this one next year.

The Year of The 5K : The Updated Stat Sheet.

Another 28 Days

It’s been a little more than a month since I first showed up to run and found myself running Dead A** Last behind The People I don’t know.

In these weeks I have come to realize that I still love running. Even when I hate it. 

And there are moments I hate it.  Mostly when I'm tasting iron on my breath or unsure about the route.

Despite the "hate", I look forward to it every week.  The cold and dark are miserable, yet I love to run with the rogue group that stampedes through the city every week.

I wasn't Dead Ass Last today.  Mmm Hmm. BOOM.

Yeah. I said it. I was 3rd or 4th from last!  Pretty sure that on a day like today that means I was kick ass.

But I struggle with bragging, because, I know that a good run today doesn’t necessarily mean a good run tomorrow, or the next day, and you never really know when your run is going to turn around and kick you in the face.

When I was bantering with Harry Potter about my successful runs of late, I was humble by his praise and in an attempt to be modest, I reminded him, “Well, it’s all relative to who shows up on any given week.”

You know what I like about Harry Potter as a coach? 
He doesn't let me do that whole "My efforts aren't really worthy..." nonsense that I get sucked into.  

He makes me realize that the reason I wasn’t dead ass last was a good reason.  

He pointed out that I'm getting faster.

28 days of consistently chasing Those People through the streets are paying off.

I am getting faster.

I’m looking forward to my 5K this week so I can see where I am in the hunt for a 5K PR.  I’m combing through the race calendar for March.  And April.

Even though it’s hard and lonely to run with the People I Don’t Know, I will keep showing up to run in the dark with Them.  I will strive to stay in the moment, and work as hard as I can, especially when I’m passed by Harry Potter and Those People.

And because I’m me... I will savor the run.  Even when it’s hard.

~savor~

Get Dropped. Keep Running. Repeat.

I could hear myself breathing. I could hear the air whining in my throat. A hundred running soles in the dark could not deafen me to the sound.  The back to last crew was about to catch me.  I could hear that too.

Male voices - 

      "I got nothing."

         "No?"

      “Nothing.”

OMFG. seriously? Those People were f*cking talking? About NOT talking?

My stomach churned a bit. I settled in on Harry Potters heels next to Ed.  I’m sure my watch would have indicated some blistering pace, but I couldn’t look at it. Every ounce of my concentration was being put into not getting dropped.

At that moment, I wanted to die. Or vom. Or vom and THEN die.

So many choices.

Too many.

Talking was not one of them.

David spoke up - "I do my best thinking when I can't breathe."

Everyone laughed. And I don’t know if it was the moment, or the endorphins, or the fact that I’m too clever for my own good, but the next thing I knew, I managed a sentence,

“Hypoxia:  The birthplace of innovation and creativity.”

It was worth a hearty chuckle, and I let them pull away. No worries. They’ll be back.

I’ve gotten into a habit now of running intervals on Thursday mornings. I think everyone should try it. I credit hypoxia with this great idea. 

Truly, I do.

Every time the Back to Last crew thunders past, I jump onto their energy and hang in as long as I can. It’s fun, and it gives me something to think about besides dying. Or vom. and only someone suffering from decreased O2 would think that this sounds fun.

It’s been four weeks since I started these hellish intervals, and every week it’s about the same. 

Jump on, Hang in, Get dropped, Keep running. Repeat.

Today was particularly interesting though, because when Back to Last caught me on Hanover Street, instead of latching on and sliding off, like I normally do, I stuck to it. I guess part of it was that as we neared the end of the run I wasn’t worried about using all my energy.

So I ran. “Great Job, G. 2/3 of a mile to go.”

I couldn’t reply. There was no extra air. Fire burned in my lungs, I was being torched from the inside out. I couldn’t stop myself though, all I could do was just keep going. Anytime I felt myself fading, I sucked it up and pushed harder. I could feel Harry Potter at my side, and I matched him for as long as I could.

He pulled away. It's a familiar feeling though, so I wasn’t worried. His orange shirt served as a beacon. I was running on the edge of death for no reason other than it was a Thursday.

F*ck. Me. 

Who do I think I am?

This is insane.

Why am I doing this?

My inner voices were raging with every miserable breath and ultimately the battle came down to two important concepts:

I want to die.

-Doing battle with-

You can do anything for 2/3 of a mile.

And that’s where it ended. 2/3 of a mile later I found myself dry heaving at the end of a dark street in Richmond. 

I didn’t die.

At the end of the run, as the spots faded from my vision, I flashed my smile at Harry and Ed. I was high. Severely high. And PROUD of myself. It’s probably a good thing that I had to get home right away. No one needs to witness that much “high” in one runner on any given day. It should also be noted that people this high have impaired judgement.

Running with Those People I Don’t Know, showing up, and bringing it every week is really starting to pay dividends. It's like therapy for my MOJO. It feels good to work that hard.

I was in the thick of the pack today. I learned someone’s name this morning. That felt good too.  

Yep. Huge dividends. 

Pretty soon I’ll know Those People I Don’t Know.

~ savor the run ~