it's not a giant metal chicken

sometimes it's important to remember that things that seem like a big deal today, are probably not a big deal at all...

And that Giant Metal Chickens are #FirstWorldProblems

And an unplanned restday is a GOOD THING.

Perspective. Now you have it.

Fear and Adventure

We’re in Buxton. It’s a tiny village, and the lack of human presence on a cold spring night is palatable.  The tourists don’t venture this far south for spring break. Mostly there are just a handful of dedicated surfers and fishers and us.

On a cloudless night the sky is illuminated by the light of countless stars, but tonight the rain soaked ground is steamy. A thick haze coats the air, dimming the human experience, cuing an ethereal quality. No human presence disrupts the spell, save one; The false white beam of the Cape Hatteras light house beacon slices through the inky sky.

A naïve puppy strains at his leash as we walk in the black. He doesn’t know what the darkness holds. He just wants to run. Let me RUN! he shouts with his desperate puppy legs.

The dark is scary though. There are hidden dangers he cannot understand. Even the grass, innocent in its appearance, holds a dark secret. Prickly burrs are nested among the blades.

“They will hurt the tender pads of your paws if you step on them”, I caution.

He can’t hear me though, so determined he is for adventure. So I protect him with a thin lime green leash.

One day I hope he can run without getting hurt by some prick hidden in the grass. I hope that he can look for adventure with confidence, instead being over sheltered by my fear.

I mostly hope that there is no pain to take away the joy of his adventure.

Of course, I worry I’m holding him back. I wonder if I could just let him go.... Would he run as fast and far as he wanted?  Would his successes be extraordinary? Would he exceed all the expectations laid before him, simply because he was able to run without a thin leash?

And of course, would his stories always start with “Remember that time...”?

~ savor the run ~

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~

BRAGGING WRITES

The text read:

"He can't graph the systems of equations when one of the equations is in standard form instead of slope intercept form"

There was a time in my life that those words would have made me panic.  Or, probably write back, "This is GBA_GF... I think this text is for someone else."

Instead I wrote, "first have him isolate the y term.  then he can solve for y."

I suddenly pictured me calling my spanish speaking friend for help, and having her write something back in spanish...
so... I called the texter and we math'd it out.

And life was good, and as far as I know she didn't sell her son on ebay, and he didn't call her any names.

Why am I sharing this?

You know that moment when you help your friend's kid with Algebra, and you just want to call your Dad to brag that not only did someone think to call you for math help, you actually KNEW THE ANSWER?

THIS was that moment.

Now, if only I could convince my kids that I'm actually smart.

~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 ~

To The Pain

Pain heals.

Chicks dig scars.

Glory lasts forever.

Shane Falco – The Replacements

Don’t you love when you’re having a totally meaningless conversation with someone you barely know, and suddenly you think, “Ah HA!  That’s why I...”?

My friend, the Galactically Badass Rower – so he claims, and I’m willing to entertain him on his claim – pointed out that if 98% of Runners Are Weird, 99% of Rowers Are Masochists. 

To which I said, WHOA there buddy, don’t try to out PAIN a marathoner.  Runners are masochists too.  Only we like to do it for hours.  (That’s what she said)

Wait, are we really bantering about who likes pain more? Runners or Rowers?  I bet Cyclists would want to weigh in.  And Triathletes.

The bottom line is, for those of us who are amateurs, enduring fitness-induced pain on a daily basis makes all of us masochists on some level. We aren’t getting paid to hurt. We are choosing the hurt in exchange for personal glory. (and abs, or assets, or...)

I suspect that 99% of people would try to argue that No one really likes pain. 

I mean, no one does...  Do they?

Me especially.  I mean, I am 82% sure that hate pain as much as the next person.  Except that 94% of the time I label myself as a runner, and approximately 99% of the Rogue miles FECKING HURT.

So, probably I can’t say that I’m “anti-pain”....  I can’t be, or I’d take up crochet or knitting or shuffle board like normal women my age.

Drills.  Speed Work.  Hell Repeats.  Handstands.  PT exercises.  All of these things hurt on some level.  But I do these things despite the pain, or because of it.   Lately when I run, I frequently push myself into the red zone.  I want to see how far I can push myself so I can “see if we can make it hurt, without hurting ourselves”...  Even the stairs at work are just another pain in my ass, and that is just another source of pain that I can’t seem to stay away from.

And so even though my new obsession with pain the 5K PR started as someone else’s idea, I have fully embraced it.  It’s starting to grow into a curiosity about the 10K. Way back in my mind the Half and Full Marathons are getting jealous.

Every time I have another epic training run I wonder if there’s a way to get there from here.

And no matter where I go from here as far as race distance - no matter if I run with The People I Don't Know at Rogue or run solo on the streets near my house - I'm going to have to run through the pain to get where I'm going.

~savor the run~