I really wrestled with that last post. I didn't know what to say, how much to share, how much to keep to myself. I didn't know whether I should write it at all. Before I hit "publish" I called my brother and asked if he was okay with me posting this.
Ultimately, I decided, I just wanted to be honest. Before my mom died, I had planned to get back to blogging and training and blogging about training, and all the peaks, valleys, pitfalls and discoveries that happen along the way. I have never been through anything as utterly life-changing as this, and it has impacted absolutely everything about me and my plans. I couldn't write about the next months of training and hard work without writing about my mom and how much her sudden absence has effected every aspect of my life. For the most part, "normal" every day activities have resumed. But, really there is no going back to normal after something like this. There is only ache, adjustment, and discovery of what the New Normal means in your life, and learning to live according to that.
It's not yet been two months. Some days, I just don't want to do much of anything. I'm trying to be honest with myself about what I need, without being indulgent, but sometimes I just want to be indulgent, too.
But, still, there is lots to be done. My official marathon training starts in one week, on July 5th and I'll be coached by Josh, aka Speedy Sasquatch. I'm excited and anxious. I have a lot of work to do.
I'm trying not to ascribe meaning to my marathon training and the marathon itself, unnecessarily. But it destroys me to know she won't be there for me at the finish, to tell me how proud she is.
Really, though, as I think about it and organize my thoughts as best I can, I don't think that my planning to run the marathon really had anything to do with anything other than proving to myself that I could do it and do it reasonably well. My mother always was proud of me when I did my best. So, maybe that is the meaning I can ascribe to this now, if it will help me get through those days when Ijustdon'twanna. That this is for me. That this is me doing my best and she would have been proud of that.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
And then, I fell apart...
I had told myself that once I got through the semester, once I wrapped up final exams and papers and projects, I would be able to focus more throughly on running and blogging. I wasn't happy with myself for slacking off on those things, while trying to manage work and school. I was excited to kick things into high gear, as I built up mileage and strength in preparation for my marathon training.
And then, on April 29th, my mother died.
I called home that morning. She answered the phone, but I could tell something was very wrong. She seemed confused and wasn't making a lot of sense. I told her to put my father on the phone. He told me that he wanted to get her to a hospital, but she didn't want to go. I hung up with my father and called my brother at work. "I think you'd better go home," I told him. I called a car service to take me to Jersey. I called Jeremy and told him I was going to my parent's house and that we were going to take my mother to the hospital. He told me to keep him posted.
When the car service pulled up outside my apartment, I was barely keeping it together. There wasn't any traffic on the 25 minute drive, but it seemed to be taking hours.
The car stopped in front of the house. As I paid the driver, my brother walked up. We walked into the house together, into the kitchen. My father was there. He put his hands up to stop us from going any further.
"She's gone." He said.
Police and EMT's arrived. It was too late. I started making a mental list of all the things that would now never happen.
She would never see my children.
She would never laugh at one of our stupid jokes again.
She would never sing Beatles songs with me again.
She would never call me after a race, to ask me if I still had all my toenails.
She would never call just to say hello.
She would never celebrate another birthday or holiday.
She would never tell me she loved me again.
The next hours and days are a blur of phone calls, emails, planning... I don't remember much.
I didn't eat or sleep. I had never been so sad or so angry. Nothing seemed real.
Jeremy and my friends rallied around me. In spite of the incredible sadness, I felt incredibly loved.
Somehow, I got through the funeral. I got through the days that followed. I'm pretty sure I even laughed a few times.
I got out of bed every day. I cried when I wanted to. I reached out to whoever would listen. I made myself meals. I did school work. I watched movies. I laced up my sneakers and went for a run. I got through each day, as it came along. I put one foot in front of the other. Every day. The best I could.
The sadness and the anger and the incredible feeling of loss are with me. Every day. But I am beginning to feel a little bit more like myself. I am beginning to laugh with my whole heart again.
While the pain of her absence is immense, so is the joy of all the good memories I have. Every day, I go on with my life and my plans. She won't be there. But I have to do the best I can. For her. And for me.
And then, on April 29th, my mother died.
I called home that morning. She answered the phone, but I could tell something was very wrong. She seemed confused and wasn't making a lot of sense. I told her to put my father on the phone. He told me that he wanted to get her to a hospital, but she didn't want to go. I hung up with my father and called my brother at work. "I think you'd better go home," I told him. I called a car service to take me to Jersey. I called Jeremy and told him I was going to my parent's house and that we were going to take my mother to the hospital. He told me to keep him posted.
When the car service pulled up outside my apartment, I was barely keeping it together. There wasn't any traffic on the 25 minute drive, but it seemed to be taking hours.
The car stopped in front of the house. As I paid the driver, my brother walked up. We walked into the house together, into the kitchen. My father was there. He put his hands up to stop us from going any further.
"She's gone." He said.
Police and EMT's arrived. It was too late. I started making a mental list of all the things that would now never happen.
She would never see my children.
She would never laugh at one of our stupid jokes again.
She would never sing Beatles songs with me again.
She would never call me after a race, to ask me if I still had all my toenails.
She would never call just to say hello.
She would never celebrate another birthday or holiday.
She would never tell me she loved me again.
The next hours and days are a blur of phone calls, emails, planning... I don't remember much.
I didn't eat or sleep. I had never been so sad or so angry. Nothing seemed real.
Jeremy and my friends rallied around me. In spite of the incredible sadness, I felt incredibly loved.
Somehow, I got through the funeral. I got through the days that followed. I'm pretty sure I even laughed a few times.
I got out of bed every day. I cried when I wanted to. I reached out to whoever would listen. I made myself meals. I did school work. I watched movies. I laced up my sneakers and went for a run. I got through each day, as it came along. I put one foot in front of the other. Every day. The best I could.
The sadness and the anger and the incredible feeling of loss are with me. Every day. But I am beginning to feel a little bit more like myself. I am beginning to laugh with my whole heart again.
While the pain of her absence is immense, so is the joy of all the good memories I have. Every day, I go on with my life and my plans. She won't be there. But I have to do the best I can. For her. And for me.
Monday, March 1, 2010
In which I blog about you...
Since I started running, I have loved the fact that it is "me time." I put on my headphones, I lace up my sneakers, and it's just me, the road, and my thoughts. I have choreographed elaborate dance routines, written lesson plans, rehearsed conversations, come to conclusions, outrun a bad mood or a slight cold. I have achieved goals that only I knew about and set knew ones.
But, since the world is so plugged in and connected these days (indeed, it seems lately that mine is about an 8'x8' box and every one I know fits inside it and knows every one else), I started getting involved with runners on the interwebs. First, at Livejournal, then on Facebook and Twitter. I've met runners and gone on practice runs for upcoming races we were both doing, raced and then met up for hot toddies on a particularly cold and rainy day, done long runs downtown with new friends for breakfast, or met up after a race for brunch. And when we're together, it seems we don't really talk about running. Sure, it comes up. And there are things you can only talk about with other runners (detailed conversations about blisters and vomiting at mile 10 of a race, for instance). But we talk about movies and books and just silly details about our lives.
This past Sunday, I left the apartment at 6:45 to go to Prospect Park in Brookyn for a 4 mile race. This was a bit scary, as this would be my first time running outside in 2 weeks, since coming down with severe bronchitis and managing only a few death-rattly sounding runs on a treadmill since then. But, as I sat on the train, with my race bib affixed to my pants leg I smiled at other runners as they got on at each stop. We all had the same goal today. Our best.
When the train chugged along in Brooklyn, an older man sat next to me. He said something to me in a thick accent and I had to ask him to repeat himself.
"Ees dees you firs race?" He asked.
"Oh. Oh no, " I replied and told him I'd been running seriously for a few years now.
He asked if I'd ever done a marathon and I told him proudly that this year would be my first one.
Then he told me about the four marathons he's run, including Boston. I was tempted to ask his time, but just told him that that was fantastic instead (really, it is, whatever your time). He hadn't run much the last few years, he said. But he missed it. I told him I'd run a great race for him today, and he smiled as I got off the train and wished me luck.
I didn't run my best ever, but I did the best I could that day, and I did my best for the man on the train. 4 miles in 35:27. Not bad considering the recent illness and the cold.
If I hadn't been wearing my race bib that man and I might have had nothing to talk about. And if I hadn't decided to start running one day, I wouldn't have left the park and made my way to brunch with over a dozen new friends.
I still love my me time.
But I'm always grateful for new friends.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
AllworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
The bad news is I'm still really congested. The good news is I can breathe through one nostril and didn't feel like crying when I woke up.
That means I'm going for a run on the dreadmill at lunch. No set goal. Just going to take it easy and see how I feel.
That means I'm going for a run on the dreadmill at lunch. No set goal. Just going to take it easy and see how I feel.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Old Man Winter
What a jerk. Seriously, Winter, what did I ever do to you? You were my favorite season for years and years. Are you really that angry that I've turned my attentions to Autumn these last few years? Are you really so spiteful that you blanket us with snow repeatedly and give me, not one but TWO, respiratory infections, this latest one complete with glands a-poppin'? Was all the phlegm really necessary? Was the sore throat? The body aches?
Whatever, Winter. Spring is totally gonna kick your ass. You just wait.
(In the meantime, I'll be here... probably not running for another day or two... allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy
allworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazyallworkandnorunningmakeSharongocrazy...)
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Jai Guru De Va Om
Last night, I hiked (courtesy of the D train) to a part of New York City I'd never been before; a part of the city for which my only experience has been viewing Saturday Night Fever and marathons of The Honeymooners. Yes, I I went to Bensonhurst.
Why would I go there, you ask? Well, the answer is fairly simple. Have Beatles, will travel.
Anyone who's known me for more than a minute is very aware of the fact that the Beatles are, and always will be, one of the greatest influences in my life (see what I did there?). I've actually met many of my dearest friends and my husband because of the music of the Beatles. I have traveled across the country for years to attend a convention for Beatles fans. So, when I heard from a colleague at school and Bensonhurst native that there was a yoga class in her neighborhood that was set to the music of the Beatles, clearly I had to check it out.
I went to the instructor, MacKenzie's website and saw that the class I'd be attending was called "Let it Be," and was focused on Restorative Yoga. After the half-marathon and the personal training sessions, I've been quite sore, and have had some stiffness in my hips and have taken it easy with the running, so this sounded like it was EXACTLY what I needed.
I arrived at the exercise studio early and met MacKenzie, who was immediately warm and delightful. I grabbed a mat and sat my creaky muscles down. We began in silence, with some gentle breathing as MacKenzie explained that the class would be a series of gentle poses, held for several minutes and breathing with an emphasis on inward focus and relaxation. Yes, please.
The soundtrack for the evening included Here Comes the Sun, selections from Cirque du Soleil's Love show, an early recording of George Harrison's All Things Must Pass, Hey Jude, Across the Universe and many other wonderful songs. As we concluded the class, MacKenzie reminded us that the Beatles said it best when they said, "And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." And then we held our final pose for the evening, listening to John Lennon's Imagine. It was really a lovely experience, one for which my achey muscles and joints were incredibly grateful. The joy was only deepened by the experience of listening to such wonderful music, which has meant so much to me for so many years, and has brought so many wonderful people into my life as a result.
My biggest failing as a runner is my tendency to be undisciplined when it comes to nourishing the inner aspect of my running. Not nutritionally, I mean, I'm pretty good about that. But I mean just taking CARE of myself, stretching, remembering to breathe during the day, strengthening myself. More often than not, I forget that simply running isn't enough to make myself the best runner I can be. I get so caught up in going forward, faster and faster, that it can be really easy to forget to just be where I am sometimes. To... you know... Let it Be.
MacKenzie's class reminded me of that. And for everything else that it offered me, and for how wonderful I felt when I left, I'm really very grateful.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Too late for me! I have the muscle fever! Can't! Go! On!
Ow. Mostly just ow. And also, ow.
Yesterday, I had my second (of two) sessions with a personal trainer at my new gym. I love my new gym. It is clean and organized, the staff is friendly and helpful, and it is beautifully free of hairballs in the shower, rat traps in the bathroom and bugs in the locker room (all things my old gym had lots of). My trainer, Yesenia, was really excited to work with me. When she asked me what my goals were I said, "The New York City Marathon in 4:15." Her eyes lit up.
We spent most of the first session doing an evaluation of where I'm at fitness-wise. The second session, though... daaaaaaaaayum.
The leg strengthening exercises started out fine, but then we got to deadlifts.
It felt fine at the time. Absolutely fine. But today, my hamstrings are screaming. Actually, literally screaming. They have grown mouths and are screaming. And I refust to type what it is they are screaming at me. I'm thinking of the children.
Then, we started a killer ab workout, in the hopes that I will develop an ab. I did planks, with my arms on a balance board, and I held it for 2 minutes.
Sure, my whole body was falling victim to the Shake of Truth, but I was fiiiine!
And then we did burpees. It sounds funny. It is not. It is not funny at all. It is the stuff of nightmares.
During my third set of burpees, Yesenia said, "I know you're tired, and I know you want to quit..." I replied (through the panting), "No! I can't quit! I'm too tough to be tired!" She laughed and clapped and I cried and finished my goddam stupid burpees. And then we did more ab stuff.
Today, it kind of hurts to breathe. In a good way. Except not really.
*Note: I know this will all benefit me. And for that, I kind of love it. Even when I hate it.
Yesterday, I had my second (of two) sessions with a personal trainer at my new gym. I love my new gym. It is clean and organized, the staff is friendly and helpful, and it is beautifully free of hairballs in the shower, rat traps in the bathroom and bugs in the locker room (all things my old gym had lots of). My trainer, Yesenia, was really excited to work with me. When she asked me what my goals were I said, "The New York City Marathon in 4:15." Her eyes lit up.
We spent most of the first session doing an evaluation of where I'm at fitness-wise. The second session, though... daaaaaaaaayum.
The leg strengthening exercises started out fine, but then we got to deadlifts.
It felt fine at the time. Absolutely fine. But today, my hamstrings are screaming. Actually, literally screaming. They have grown mouths and are screaming. And I refust to type what it is they are screaming at me. I'm thinking of the children.
Then, we started a killer ab workout, in the hopes that I will develop an ab. I did planks, with my arms on a balance board, and I held it for 2 minutes.
Sure, my whole body was falling victim to the Shake of Truth, but I was fiiiine!
And then we did burpees. It sounds funny. It is not. It is not funny at all. It is the stuff of nightmares.
During my third set of burpees, Yesenia said, "I know you're tired, and I know you want to quit..." I replied (through the panting), "No! I can't quit! I'm too tough to be tired!" She laughed and clapped and I cried and finished my goddam stupid burpees. And then we did more ab stuff.
Today, it kind of hurts to breathe. In a good way. Except not really.
*Note: I know this will all benefit me. And for that, I kind of love it. Even when I hate it.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Just chillin'
Like this here adorable wombat, I've been taking it a bit easy with the physical activity for the past few days. Since the half-marathon (and if I'm being perfectly honest with myself, even a bit before), I've had a bit of tightness and soreness in my hips. It's finally feeling a bit better, and after yesterday's 3.5ish mile run and several miles of walking around New York City with my friend Nico, who is in training to walk the L.A. marathon, I'm doing okay.
Today, I'm having my second meeting with a personal trainer at my new shmancy gym. I suspect that I will not continue paying for the trainer, but in our first session, she showed me some great endurance and strength building exercises that I can begin to incorporate into my regular routine.
I'm really looking forward to getting out and doing some running this weekend.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I'm Alive. I'm Still Running
Hi!
Apologies for being a terrible blogger, to the two of you who might still be reading this (Leigh? Lauren?).
Anway, there is lots to report. After my last unofficial 10K, I got utterly mired in final exams/projects, and an apparent case of the plague (I kid), that racked my respiratory system and left me pretty useless, fitness wise, for the second half of December. I did not meet my 100 mile goal for the month.
Likely, I will not meet my 100 mile goal for this month, either.
However, this past Sunday was the Manhattan Half-Marathon. My first race of the new year and the new decade (WEIRD!). I got up at 5:30, and went through my morning race morning ritual. Made sure my timing tag was properly affixed to my shoe, my race bib properly affixed to my pants, layers properly layered, scarf down half a bagel and a banana and tiptoed back into the bedroom to kiss Jeremy goodbye. As he looked at me, sleepily, he whispered, "There's one thing I want you to do for me." "What's that?" I asked. "Win," he said, grinning. Oh, Rocky movies. My endless source of inspiration.
As I made the 20 minute walk from our apartment to the subway, I realized that I had forgotten my Garmin. My fancy new running toy! I had been all excited about running with it for the first time in a race, and now it was too late to turn back and get it. I hmphed my way around the subway platform and waited for the train.
When I approached the start, I was a bit chilled, as it was only 37 degrees but some other runners and I started comparing war stories from last year's Manhattan half, which was, I believe, 12 degrees. I'll take 37 any day, thank you.
Once the race started, I decided that since I was Garmin-less, I was just going to run whatever felt comfortable. My previous PR of 2:08 seemed like a bit of a long-shot, since that was back in May and I hadn't had that stellar a winter in terms of my training. I was expecting to come in around 2:12 and would have been utterly happy with that. I ran and ran, and didn't really pay attention to the clocks at each mile... until I got to mile 4, that is. I knew it had taken me 4 minutes to get to the start, once the clock started, and here I was now, crossing mile 4 at 36 minutes. Take away those 4 minutes from the start and I was running 8 minute miles. Really? REALLY? I'd felt so slow and sluggish lately, and my expectations were so low. I checked in with my body and was delighted to realize that nothing hurt, my breathing felt fine and while I realized that I was working hard, nothing seemed out of control. I started doing intense mathematical calculations, such as adding and subtracting, and realized that if I was able to keep this pace going, not only would I beat my PR, but I had a chance of coming in under 2 hours!
I tried to tell myself that I would just keep it comfortable, though. No need getting all excited now. But I couldn't help it. I ran hard. I ran and ran. And while my brain kept tripping over itself, trying to do more mathematical calculations, my feet just kept running.
At mile 8, I started to feel a blister forming on top of my second toe. I kept running. At mile 9, Night on Bald Mountain came on my iPod, and I started pretending that I was one of those giant monsters from Disney's Fantasia, flying around a mountain (this was both incredibly silly and incredibly helpful when it was time to run up those hills). At mile 10, I could feel that I was slowing down, but everything still felt good. So, I kept running hard.
Finally, the finish line was in sight. I knew I'd slowed down quite a bit. I didn't feel like I had much left in the tank, but I gave it a good ole 400 meter sprint towards the finish. Final time -- 1:56:37.
A 12 minute PR.
Oh... Speedy McDoubterson? Turns out she ran the same race. Now, I don't enjoy running for the competition of it. I'm only competing against myself. But, I must say, it does feel pretty good to be able to say that I finished a full minute ahead of her.
After the race, I called Jeremy and breathlessly told him about my new PR and that I couldn't believe it. He told me what he always tells me when I doubt myself, "Baby, you're tougher than you think."
Apologies for being a terrible blogger, to the two of you who might still be reading this (Leigh? Lauren?).
Anway, there is lots to report. After my last unofficial 10K, I got utterly mired in final exams/projects, and an apparent case of the plague (I kid), that racked my respiratory system and left me pretty useless, fitness wise, for the second half of December. I did not meet my 100 mile goal for the month.
Likely, I will not meet my 100 mile goal for this month, either.
However, this past Sunday was the Manhattan Half-Marathon. My first race of the new year and the new decade (WEIRD!). I got up at 5:30, and went through my morning race morning ritual. Made sure my timing tag was properly affixed to my shoe, my race bib properly affixed to my pants, layers properly layered, scarf down half a bagel and a banana and tiptoed back into the bedroom to kiss Jeremy goodbye. As he looked at me, sleepily, he whispered, "There's one thing I want you to do for me." "What's that?" I asked. "Win," he said, grinning. Oh, Rocky movies. My endless source of inspiration.
As I made the 20 minute walk from our apartment to the subway, I realized that I had forgotten my Garmin. My fancy new running toy! I had been all excited about running with it for the first time in a race, and now it was too late to turn back and get it. I hmphed my way around the subway platform and waited for the train.
When I approached the start, I was a bit chilled, as it was only 37 degrees but some other runners and I started comparing war stories from last year's Manhattan half, which was, I believe, 12 degrees. I'll take 37 any day, thank you.
Once the race started, I decided that since I was Garmin-less, I was just going to run whatever felt comfortable. My previous PR of 2:08 seemed like a bit of a long-shot, since that was back in May and I hadn't had that stellar a winter in terms of my training. I was expecting to come in around 2:12 and would have been utterly happy with that. I ran and ran, and didn't really pay attention to the clocks at each mile... until I got to mile 4, that is. I knew it had taken me 4 minutes to get to the start, once the clock started, and here I was now, crossing mile 4 at 36 minutes. Take away those 4 minutes from the start and I was running 8 minute miles. Really? REALLY? I'd felt so slow and sluggish lately, and my expectations were so low. I checked in with my body and was delighted to realize that nothing hurt, my breathing felt fine and while I realized that I was working hard, nothing seemed out of control. I started doing intense mathematical calculations, such as adding and subtracting, and realized that if I was able to keep this pace going, not only would I beat my PR, but I had a chance of coming in under 2 hours!
I tried to tell myself that I would just keep it comfortable, though. No need getting all excited now. But I couldn't help it. I ran hard. I ran and ran. And while my brain kept tripping over itself, trying to do more mathematical calculations, my feet just kept running.
At mile 8, I started to feel a blister forming on top of my second toe. I kept running. At mile 9, Night on Bald Mountain came on my iPod, and I started pretending that I was one of those giant monsters from Disney's Fantasia, flying around a mountain (this was both incredibly silly and incredibly helpful when it was time to run up those hills). At mile 10, I could feel that I was slowing down, but everything still felt good. So, I kept running hard.
Finally, the finish line was in sight. I knew I'd slowed down quite a bit. I didn't feel like I had much left in the tank, but I gave it a good ole 400 meter sprint towards the finish. Final time -- 1:56:37.
A 12 minute PR.
Oh... Speedy McDoubterson? Turns out she ran the same race. Now, I don't enjoy running for the competition of it. I'm only competing against myself. But, I must say, it does feel pretty good to be able to say that I finished a full minute ahead of her.
After the race, I called Jeremy and breathlessly told him about my new PR and that I couldn't believe it. He told me what he always tells me when I doubt myself, "Baby, you're tougher than you think."
Sunday, December 6, 2009
10K Race Report/Epic Fail
A little background -- This semester has been really, really difficult and with final exams looming and final projects smacking me about the head and neck, I'm just beat lately. I'm exhausted and cranky and not at my best. So, Saturday night, I was chatting with my friend Mark on facebook and he asked if I was ready for the race. I told him that I probably was, but that I'd frankly rather just stay in bed. Mark went into coach mode and told me that this race would be really important to help determine my current fitness level and help to formulate a plan for the rest of my year of training for the NYC marathon. Newly inspired, I put my exhaustion and lousy attitude on the shelf and set out all my running clothes for the morning.
So, Sunday morning the alarm when off at 6:10 and I hopped out of bed and got dressed. I threw a bagel in my bag, pulled on an extra fleece for the walk to and from the train, kissed my husband goodbye and headed off to the race. At 7:40, I was jogging up to the start of the race. I asked one of the race volunteers where the number pick-up was.
"Ummm... at the Road Runners headquarters on 89th street."
"Oh no!" I cried, "Okay, well the race doesn't start for 20 minutes, I can make it there and back! And I'll be totally warmed up!"
"Ummm... actually, they stopped distributing numbers at 7:30."
"Well... can I run anyway and just time myself?" I asked.
"Yeah, but you can't check your bag without a number," she said apologetically.
Several other people were asking questions about number pick up and were in the same boat as me. I'm glad I wasn't the only one who screwed up.
So, I walked the long, cold, lonely walk back to the subway and headed home to the Bronx. During the ride home, I thought about what Mark said, and I thought about this community, and how I'd said I was going to race a 10K today, and that I wanted to PR. So, eff it, I thought! I'm just going to go home, drop off my bag and head out and race a 10K against my myself!
I figured I'd have to run, as best I could, without traffic lights so it would be close to my previous best 10K time, which was run in Central Park. I pressed start on my new Garmin, took off towards the local woodsy trail and felt fantastic. I was running fast and strong, and the trail was looking pretty good. And then, it got a little muddy. No big deal, I thought. And then, I was running through three inches of mud. Keep going, I thought! And then, my ankle twisted, my feet went out from under me and I was on my face, in the mud. I pressed Stop on the watch, thinking that my run was over. I was just over 3 miles into it and my ankle was hurting pretty badly. I teared up and slammed my hands down on the ground. I threw some expletives up at the tops of the trees and stood up. I took out my phone and started walking. I was about to call my husband to tell him that I was in the woods and I'd hurt my ankle and could he come get me. But, as I started walking I realized it wasn't as bad as I first thought. I can totally walk home on this. But then I remembered that home was more than 3 miles away and I sweaty and cold and now covered in mud. And I got up this morning to run a 10k, goddammit!
I hit the start button and took off again, running back through the mud, into my local park and onto the running track. My ankle didn't hurt and there was no stopping me. I ran at the track until mile 5.8 and then I took off, up a ginormous hill, running as hard as I could towards my imaginary finish line.
My watch beeped at 6.2 miles and I hit stop. Prior to today, I ran a 10k race in 56:34. Today, through the mud, through the tears, through the early morning mess up, I ran it in 51:54. My average pace was 8:23. My fastest mile was 8:03, also a PR.
Epic Fail/Personal Triumph. Sometimes, it's a really fine line.
So, Sunday morning the alarm when off at 6:10 and I hopped out of bed and got dressed. I threw a bagel in my bag, pulled on an extra fleece for the walk to and from the train, kissed my husband goodbye and headed off to the race. At 7:40, I was jogging up to the start of the race. I asked one of the race volunteers where the number pick-up was.
"Ummm... at the Road Runners headquarters on 89th street."
"Oh no!" I cried, "Okay, well the race doesn't start for 20 minutes, I can make it there and back! And I'll be totally warmed up!"
"Ummm... actually, they stopped distributing numbers at 7:30."
"Well... can I run anyway and just time myself?" I asked.
"Yeah, but you can't check your bag without a number," she said apologetically.
Several other people were asking questions about number pick up and were in the same boat as me. I'm glad I wasn't the only one who screwed up.
So, I walked the long, cold, lonely walk back to the subway and headed home to the Bronx. During the ride home, I thought about what Mark said, and I thought about this community, and how I'd said I was going to race a 10K today, and that I wanted to PR. So, eff it, I thought! I'm just going to go home, drop off my bag and head out and race a 10K against my myself!
I figured I'd have to run, as best I could, without traffic lights so it would be close to my previous best 10K time, which was run in Central Park. I pressed start on my new Garmin, took off towards the local woodsy trail and felt fantastic. I was running fast and strong, and the trail was looking pretty good. And then, it got a little muddy. No big deal, I thought. And then, I was running through three inches of mud. Keep going, I thought! And then, my ankle twisted, my feet went out from under me and I was on my face, in the mud. I pressed Stop on the watch, thinking that my run was over. I was just over 3 miles into it and my ankle was hurting pretty badly. I teared up and slammed my hands down on the ground. I threw some expletives up at the tops of the trees and stood up. I took out my phone and started walking. I was about to call my husband to tell him that I was in the woods and I'd hurt my ankle and could he come get me. But, as I started walking I realized it wasn't as bad as I first thought. I can totally walk home on this. But then I remembered that home was more than 3 miles away and I sweaty and cold and now covered in mud. And I got up this morning to run a 10k, goddammit!
I hit the start button and took off again, running back through the mud, into my local park and onto the running track. My ankle didn't hurt and there was no stopping me. I ran at the track until mile 5.8 and then I took off, up a ginormous hill, running as hard as I could towards my imaginary finish line.
My watch beeped at 6.2 miles and I hit stop. Prior to today, I ran a 10k race in 56:34. Today, through the mud, through the tears, through the early morning mess up, I ran it in 51:54. My average pace was 8:23. My fastest mile was 8:03, also a PR.
Epic Fail/Personal Triumph. Sometimes, it's a really fine line.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Oh yeah! Weekly Training Post!
Hi! Weekly training post a few days late!
Well, after the awesomeness that was last week, this week wasn't fabulous, but that's okay. I'm still feeling pretty good about this month as a whole. When I realized that it was conceivable that I might run 100 miles this month for the first time ever, I got all excited about hitting that mark. I came up just short, at about 97 miles, due to crazy scheduling, Thanksgiving shenanigans, and getting a tattoo (which I LURV). Happily, though, I did hit a monthly distance PR by about 12 miles.
So, that just means that I'll work harder in December (which has 31 days, not a crappy 30 like November!) and will hit my 100 mile-mark this month.
Wednesday, 11/25 -- 4.13 miles (9:03 pace)
Thursday, 11/26 -- 5.02 miles (9:51 pace)
Sunday, 11/25 -- 5.8 miles (9:38 pace)
TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: 14.95. Pffft.
I'm taking it a bit easy this week, because I have a 10K coming up on Sunday, and it would be nice to PR at that.
On a random note, I can't wait for this semester to be over.
Well, after the awesomeness that was last week, this week wasn't fabulous, but that's okay. I'm still feeling pretty good about this month as a whole. When I realized that it was conceivable that I might run 100 miles this month for the first time ever, I got all excited about hitting that mark. I came up just short, at about 97 miles, due to crazy scheduling, Thanksgiving shenanigans, and getting a tattoo (which I LURV). Happily, though, I did hit a monthly distance PR by about 12 miles.
So, that just means that I'll work harder in December (which has 31 days, not a crappy 30 like November!) and will hit my 100 mile-mark this month.
Wednesday, 11/25 -- 4.13 miles (9:03 pace)
Thursday, 11/26 -- 5.02 miles (9:51 pace)
Sunday, 11/25 -- 5.8 miles (9:38 pace)
TOTAL FOR THE WEEK: 14.95. Pffft.
I'm taking it a bit easy this week, because I have a 10K coming up on Sunday, and it would be nice to PR at that.
On a random note, I can't wait for this semester to be over.
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