Peace and a 10K

Here is a 2015 Monument Ave 10K Race Recap... sort of.

For Richmonders there are few things more fantastic than running Richmond. We have a strong running community, well organized and friendly to both the veterans and the noobs. Every year we have a 10K that attracts 30K participants, both running and walking their way for 6.2 miles down the avenue of Civil War statues that slices through the west side of town.

Tree lined streets and a grassy park down the center of the road make this flat fast out and back pretty enough to enjoy without being distracting.

At the last minute I signed up to run it.  I know, it’s “The Year of The 5K”, but the 10K is like twice the Fun and if I’m anything it’s a sucker for Fun Things.

Thus – I’m not short – I’m FUN SIZED.

Saturday I ran with my 30K BRFs

I made a goal – run sub 8’s, listen to your body, be in the moment, run your own race, trust yourself, fight every step of the run for a PR because you’re almost fit enough to do that.... Oh, and above all - look like a sexy beast.

I’d like to say it was the #bestdayever.  I’d like to say I owned the course and that the masses parted and my lungs were clear and I ran sub 8’s and got a PR and my hamstring didn’t complain once and I looked like a sexy beast...

But wha’ hada happen’d wuz...

My hamstring was achy and tired feeling during the warm up, and my chest was tight while I was waiting for the race to start. I hit my inhaler, which makes my heart race. Once again I mildly underdressed, which was intentional, but I wished for more Throw Away clothes as I stood in my corral. I did not run sub 8’s for the whole way.

My name is a little ways down this list.
But for the record:
My name is a little ways down this list.

I ran a 7:56 on mile one, and even though it was a sub 8, I knew my shot at a PR was pretty much over.  Nothing should FEEL THAT HARD at mile 1 that’s what she said.

Mile one was brutal. I also knew, however, that I could still break 50 minutes if I worked hard.

At least I looked like a sexy beast...

I chased down another runner with a blond ponytail, pushed someone else, was pulled at the end, and ran a 49:46.  I crossed the finish line and collapsed into the arms of Coach Black for a deeply satisfying hug.

I knew that my finish time was probably not quite good enough for a place in the TOP 100 in my AG, but ultimately I accepted that it was a completely respectable time. There were 1871 women in my AG at this event. I would later learn I had placed 78^th.  I’ll take it.

As I made my way through the gates and corrals and water lines and photographer, I thought about my performance.  There was a point in my life when a sub 50 minute 10K would have been as unattainable as winning a race. I’ve done both those things twice now. What other “unattainables” are on my “list” that shouldn’t be there?

Plenty.

And they’re going to need to GO.

I didn’t linger at the finish. I was instantly cold. So I went back to around the mile 5 marker and found my friend Dimples. She lent me a jacket so we could spectate together before she sent me back to her house with a key so I could shower and warm up and beer.

Now, here’s the thing. I was a mile from her house... so I ran back through the city with my medal tucked in my bra and my phone in my hand. It felt good to run.

Isn't that silly? I had just finished a race...  

I was on the sidewalk parallel to the course, and there were thousands of runners making their way to the finish.

I was easily on my 8^th mile of the day when you combine the race and the warm up.  But I wasn’t really dead on my feet... I was just enjoying a chilly run through the city... It felt easy. I was completely relaxed and at peace.

The sun dappled through the tree branches, the sidewalk was chipped and crooked, the spectators were teasing me that I was running the wrong way...  my stride was light, and I felt like a beast.

A beast who could fucking run.

Saturday, in that moment, is when I realized how ready I am to run again. I mean, really run again, for me. I want to Run Richmond. I want to be in the city, winding my way down cobblestones to the river, cutting through the museum district, crossing flood walls and embracing this place I love so much. 

I want to run again. Not because I have to, or because someone else tells me to, but because I MUST run in order to be true to ME. 

And in that truth, I will find peace.

~savor the run~

Real Runners Believe

Am I a running snob?

Am I one of Those People?

Recently I was talking to The (washed-up) Mayor and he said something that really startled me...

He implied that he was not fast enough to be considered in the same league as me and my running peeps.

Um, WTF? That’s insane.

Are there some sick athletes among us? Hellz to the Yeah.

Do I consider myself one of them? Not really.
Does speed define one's BadAssery? B*tch Please.

I’m just a runner who runs for the love of the sport. I am not particularly athletic. In fact, I was once told that what I Lack in Speed, I make up for in my expertise on the "Running Psyche". 

I’m a run Guru; I’m not a BQ.
But yeah, I'm a Galactic BadAss and I OWN THAT SH*T.

Still, though, when he pointed out that he wasn’t as fast or as athletic as the running crew I chase every week, and that he wasn't a "runner" like me, it made me question whether or not I come off as a running snob or something.

Do I? Am I the runner girl version of Draco Malfoy? Am I coming off as an elitist?

I hope not, because if I am, I have not represented myself very well lately.

My personal belief is deep rooted in the idea that for every runner there is a (race distance)(trail)(non-race)(route) that will meet their particular needs. That is one of the things that makes running SO great.

Anyone can find a way to make this sport THEIR own personal FLAVOR. It just happens that right now my flavor is the kind that comes with wizards and a coffee shop.

Of course, this is a running blog. I love running. I could wax poetic about why running is the Cat’s Meow all day long.

 For years.

 I have, in fact, essentially done that. 

               For years.

When he said it my gut response was to say, “But that’s silly. You are athletic. You run for your reasons; I run for mine. That doesn’t make one of us a better runner, it just makes us unique in the way we practice our sport.”

Right?

amiright?

After all - my “running peeps” and I don’t necessarily run for the same reasons, even though we run together. And by together I mean I chase them and they come back for me. Or something like that.

Even runners training together for a BQ are not running for the same reason. Everyone has their own story that makes their BQ dream unique.

All the contemplating made me really consider the Why behind my run these days?

My answer is varied and complex.  Why do I run? Primarily because my children will sell me on ebay if I don’t... and also I’m obsessed with it... and because it’s the “thing that gets me high” instead of illegal drugs. I run so I can drink Starr Hill and not look like I drink Starr Hill. 

Oh, and I like running... even when I hate it. And I like the anticipation when it’s about to start. And I like the feeling of finality when it’s over. And most of the time I like the steps in between where I wrestle with my pace and my self-worth does battle with my self-doubt. 

Ultimately my run is my hobby, my therapy, my therapist, and my drug. ~ like a love sick crack head ~

I run for 10,001 reasons. And maybe they’re similar to yours, and maybe they’re not, but at the core, if you believe you are a runner, then you are a runner.

~savor the run~

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~

Selfishness and Awesomeness

I flinched as the cold wind bit my cheeks. Water filled my eyes, and I blinked back tears that meant nothing.  With a temperature hovering in the mid twenties, and a wind chill in the high teens, it seemed the sun was completely ineffectual despite the brightness.  Never the less, we set out and laid down 5 miles on the icy pavement. They weren’t effortless, but they got done.

We were having a double date, My Run and I. It was nice to go out with another like-minded pair.

I’ve been exclusively dating My Run for a few weeks now.

It’s going well.  There’s no drama with My Run.  Ok, ok, I admit that there’s some drama: I’m borderline obsessed with My Run. Since we are old friends with a long history, it’s been relatively smooth to just step into a full blown relationship again.

Not that it’s without any tension. Mmm. There’s all kinds of chemistry here.

I’d mention our run together the other day as an example, except I don’t want to run and tell. Suffice it to say, afterwards I was sweaty and laughing, and My Run was very satisfied with the effort.

yeah, I work on the 6th Floor

I am reminded of something Professor Holton, a badass cyclist, often says about cycling, “It never gets easier, you just go faster.” That quote applies to My Run too. Not that speed is the ultimate measure of awesomeness. A hott figure is another measure. Or is that spelled hot?

So yesterday, as I climbed the stairs at work, I realized I was only doing it for my run. My run likes a strong a**. It’s kinda My Run’s obsession. That, and strong hips. And don't get me started on what I'm doing in an effort to get a more Run worthy core. Planks, handstands, etc.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m intentionally changing my habits for the benefit of my partner.

Further fueling my concerns, My Run and I are chasing our dreams together again, but we are doing it at the exclusion of others. I turned down a date the other day with a man, because I wanted to spend more time with My Run. Maybe it was also because he wasn’t someone who I wanted to spend time with, but still... I suspect my mother would have an opinion on that.

Handstand
Difficulty Level:
Puppy

This intimacy, this commitment, this everything... well, it rocks on so many levels I can’t even begin to explain it. It is deeply satisfying to be monogamous with My Run when there is no real race on the horizon.

It’s selfish feeling, but in a healthy way.  

Except, here’s the question that haunts me:  Can selfishness be healthy? Is there a time where selfishness is the right choice, especially when it leads to awesomeness?

Do we, as a culture, place too much negativity on selfishness?

Or, am I just justifying my selfish behavior of late?

And My Run and I don’t have the answer to any of those questions.

We will just keep getting up in the morning and going out together. We will take the stairs so my assets will be stronger. We will sacrifice our sleep. Sometimes we will join a group, and sometimes we will go it alone. Sometimes we will even rely on mechanical assistance to get us through our miles when we pound it out on a treadmill.

I’ll worry about the selfishness later.

~ savor the run ~ respect the distance ~

About Time

In my travels I have raced quite a few races, and I’ve run a few as well.  

Each has distinct characteristics and the differences are as palatable as being a Runner versus a Jogger.  

Runners are serious. 

Joggers are jogging... 

One of my deepest fears is that I’ll be on a badass tempo run cranking out a 7:14 average one foggy morning, I’ll get run over by a car, and the newspaper will read: 

“Henrico Jogger Struck Friday Morning”.

Imagine.  Me?  A jogger?

No.

Racing is something that runners get – When I race I am out there to beat (someone).  Usually, in my case, that someone is MYSELF.  Contrary to popular belief, I am not out to kick anyone else’s booty. 

Unless I’m in first place with less than a mile left to run.  In that rare condition, nothing I’ve written applies and I am out to beat EVERYONE.

Or if I am REALLY stressed.  Then I may decide that everyone wearing a red shirt is my prey.

Or if I am PISSED OFF.  Then I will hunt down anyone wearing a red shirt.

Or... redshirt...  it’s not my fault.  Red shirts make it easy, you know?

Running a race is less serious, however. 

That’s a fun event.  I’m certainly out on a racecourse with a bib#, but I might not be out there for me.  Or I might be using the race as a training run.  Or I could be having an off day, or getting over pneumonia, or any number of things that would lead me to just run instead of running at the edge of death.

I love running at the edge of death.  I love pushing my body to the end of my limits and listening to the air whistle as it forces it’s way out of my lungs.  The use of my cadence to dictate when the air is pulled in and expelled is like a drug.  I live for the mantra, “you didn’t run all this way to give up your race now”.

But Saturday I was not going out to run at the edge of anything.  For one thing, I didn’t exactly train.  I ran a bit, and tacked a few longish runs into my life periodically, and I didn’t taper as much as I took an entire week off from running.

Iron J, MCM Mama, GBA GF pre-race in the rain

This year was The Year of N+1.  My bike was my focus.  So Saturday I went out to run The Richmond Half Marathon with no expectation of EPIC.

My friend, Iron J, and her husband The Officer wanted to break 2 hours.  I wondered if I could keep up with them.  So the three of us set out to run a half marathon together in the rain.

Sadly, it became evident that he wasn’t going to be able to hang at the pace.  IronJ and I kept pulling ahead, simply because we were feeling amazing.  We would drop back and check with him, coach him, cheer him on, but to no avail.  It wasn’t going to be his day.

We looked back at some point and he just wasn’t there.

You know, Iron J...?

Yeah... I know... we can maybe still get it.

And so we kicked it into gear and tried to shave 4+ minutes off the second half of the race.  Not gonna lie.  We came damn close.  Damn close.

“GBA, how do you feel?”

“Well, this feels like Race Pace, not Chat Pace”

The joy of the day was NOT in my chip time, garmin time, or race time. 

This was not about time.

The satisfaction of the day was in the start corral with MCM Mama.  It was in the time spent on the course with Iron J & The Officer.  It was in sharing his ridiculous PR (I think about 15 minutes?!) and in the fun of running negative splits with Iron J as we hunted down a pack of (blue?) shirts. 

GBA GF & Iron J

It was realizing that Iron J is back in true form and ready to train again.  It was in seeing The Good Dr, my spectator, on the course, and knowing I am loved.  It was in the raindrops that soaked me at the start line, and the raindrops that soaked me at the finish line.

It was in remembering what it feels like to be a Galactic BadA**.

Could I have run a sub 2?

Oh yeah.

But did I need to run Sub 2 to prove to myself that I could run that fast, and potentially miss out on the chance to run with my friends and share the day?

Oh Hell No.

Saturday was about way more than that.

~savor the run~