I'm Tired

There are moments when I think that this really isn’t worth it.  I’ve been running or trying to run for 18 months.  I’ve been trying to work my way back to moderately healthy for nearly seven years.  It’s exhausting.   The amount of energy that I expend simply talking myself back into my sneakers each week astounds me.   

I’m just so damn tired.

This was what was running through my mind as I stood by the track after the workout Tuesday night that wasn’t a run.

I’m just so damn tired.

I couldn’t get my heart rate to slow.  Thirty minutes of modified cross training had rooted me to the edge of the field.  If I sat down, I wasn’t sure I could get up.  If I walked up the stairs, I thought I might collapse.  My legs were shaking.  So I stood there.

I ran back through the workout in my mind.  Lunges, bunny hops, sprinting, crab walking, crunches, squats.  I knew the sprinting was trouble, but really, no single part of it should have done that much damage.   Then I got it – that was the magic.  The individual parts of the workout were manageable and only moderately challenging alone.  Put them together, speed them up, and you have me, standing by the side of the field, feeling like I’ve worked harder than the last race that I ran.  

Still, as I stood there shaking and tired, all I could focus on was the frustration.  All I could feel was the disappointment that it was still so hard, that there was still so much work to do.  Had I not made any progress at all?  Was it always going to feel like this?  

Wednesday morning something interesting happened.  I didn’t hurt much.  I didn’t get dizzy when I walked up the stairs.   Oh, I felt muscles that I hadn’t been acquainted with lately.  I was completely cognizant of the number of stairs I was climbing.  I was, in fact, hyperaware of that body in space thing that we usually take for granted.  But I was considerably better than ok.

As the day went on, various other muscles groups announced themselves…but so did a vague sense of something missing.  I was missing the Tuesday night run.  We had done this challenging new task but I hadn’t run…and I missed it.

I missed the sense of accomplishment when I make it back to the parking lot.  I missed the chatter of the group before we leave and the laughing congratulations when we return.  I realized, with something of a shock, that I missed the comfort of the run.

Then, like the Grinch on Christmas day, I really got it.  Tuesday night was the whole process in miniature.  Each part of the process is small and incremental, but when added together, the impact is tremendous. I am going to have very bad nights and challenging runs.  There are going to be moments when I am convinced that I am making no progress at all.  But eighteen months, four training programs and three races later, I have days when running is like dancing.   I have mornings with the group that make me smile for days.  I remember when walking across a room was a challenge and yet when April comes, I’ll run for nearly five miles and be able to walk back to the car when the race is over.

 This is maybe the lesson that I need to keep learning.  It isn’t the individual parts that make the difference, it is the whole. 

Ability, Motivation, Attitude

Ability is what you are capable of doing.
Motivation determines what you do.
Attitude determines how well you do it.
--Lou Holtz

On the bulletin board in my kitchen is a recent picture of my mother.  It is a spectacular photo.  She is standing next to the nurse in charge of the cardiac rehabilitation program that she entered after a quadruple bypass.   She is, quite literally, the poster child of the program.  

If I ever feel that my motivation is lagging, I’m going to look at the picture.  The truth is that while I am delighted to have inherited my mother’s ready laugh and her tendency to collect stories as she moves through life, I am less excited to have inherited the cardiac risk that her surgery represents for me.  Heart disease runs right down the line in my father’s family as well.   My parents are healthy wonderful examples for me and for my children.  They eat well, exercise regularly and pay attention to all the things they should.  They still have faced considerable cardiac challenges.

February is American Heart Month.  There are websites and photo ops and even bottles of wine that tell us to “Go Red” in support of heart health awareness.   These are all great.  I’m a fan of anything that makes people more aware of the risks associated with heart disease.  But looking at the picture of my mother reminds me that this is ultimately up to me.  I can’t wish away the family tendency towards heart disease anymore than I can wake up tomorrow fifty pounds lighter and twenty years younger.

  

I can, however, lace up my shoes and get moving.

Happy  Belated Valentine’s Day!

Scratch - plus one

It was fifty five degrees and cooling quickly last night.  The sunset was just finishing as I pulled into the parking lot and walked over to the group.   I had my spy belt, my clip light, my Saucony running shoes over my technical socks.  Yes, there are technical socks.  I had my NOBO windbreaker and my favorite new comfy shirt.

I was ready to run.  

Is it strange to say that I’m a novice veteran or perhaps a veteran novice?  This is my fourth beginning running program.  I’ve had better and worse paths through these training programs.  I always begin simultaneously convinced that I can’t do this and clearly aware that I’ve already done it.  I know many of the running routes by heart. I can tell you with confidence that I will curse the hills, trip on the roots and wonder aloud why I ever thought this was a good idea.   I will also, with equal volume and enthusiasm, marvel at the accomplishments of the group, laugh with the new friends that I encounter, sleep better every single time I go running, and cross the finish line with a ridiculously large sense of accomplishment. I love that.

Here is the other thing that I know.  I always start from scratch.  I arrive at the first workout sure in the knowledge that I will be happy when it is over.  I don’t necessarily expect to enjoy the actual running.  The actual running is really hard for me.  I suspect that it is really hard for many of us.  The most accomplished runners that I know – and they keep popping up in new places in my life – will tell me that running is about working with your mind and your body.  Since my mind and my body don’t actually communicate all that well, every new session is a new beginning.  My heart learns the rhythm of my feet.  My voice remembers the limits of my lungs.  My mind understands that it isn’t allowed to stomp all over my new-found courage. 

So, it was fifty-five degrees and twilight when I laced up my shoes last night.   I stepped off with my friend beside me, my daughter in front of me and nothing but the knowledge that I will love this fueling my feet.   About 40 minutes and two miles later, I was back – in every sense of the phrase.

Race Day

I'm sitting in my living room with my medal around my neck.  I've worn it to Sunrise Biscuits, because I was definitely having post-race biscuits this morning.  I wore it walking the dog when we got home.  I thought about wearing it in the tub, but worried that it might get damaged in the bubble bath.  I've paired it post-bath with my official race t-shirt.   Like bread and jam for Frances, I may need this combination every day for a while. 

This race was a big deal.  We woke up early and headed out to park before the roads closed.  There were crowds of people on every street corner, wearing race clothing and numbers.  3,500 people registered to run in circles through some of the most beautiful real estate in Chapel Hill.   The ten milers headed out amid cheers.  Thirty minutes later, it was our turn.  I paired up with Kathleen, braced myself for the intervals and took off.

An hour later, I turned the last corner and heard the Fleet Feet/NOBO team call out my name.  The finish line band was playing something l don't remember.  The last five hundred feet were longer than the first mile but suddenly, I had crossed under the finish line arch and someone was hanging that medal around my neck. 

It was not a seamless event.  I walked a lot of the hills, including the infamous laurel hill challenge portion of the course.   My hands began swelling somewhere around mile two and were throbbing and aching by the time I crossed the finish line.   But my legs didn't give out and I had only about 30 seconds where I thought I might be in real trouble.  Kathleen was a great running partner and we were making plans to go running together by the end of the course.    Halfway up Laurel Hill, Trish from Fleet Feet powering through her 10mile course, tapped me on the shoulder and told me to keep going.   We walkers yelled encouragement to the runners and heard it in return as we recharged and kicked into gear.  

I ran this race with a timing chip, so there will even be official record of the time it took me to loop through the four mile – or four and half mile by all accounts – course.  There will be an official finish line photo I can choose to buy.   Natalie gathered the group before we lined up to remind us that the race was the culmination of the journey – and the journey was the important thing.  We all started NOBO with stories of limits.  We were finishing firmly wrapped in knowledge of possibilities.   There will be no official recognition of the distances we all travelled to cross that finish line, but we will know.  

In the meantime, I'm going to go the grocery store…wearing my medal.  

Music to my feet

I have my own personal soundtrack.  I don't mean a playlist or an Ipod – my soundtrack is entirely self-contained .   I have been known to share it with the populace through humming and steering wheel drumming  if I am in a particularly good mood.   Saturday morning, I was in a very good mood.  We ran our last distance workout - 4.5 miles.

I have repeated that several times over the last few days, just testing out the general sound of it.  4.5 miles.  4.5 miles.  4.5 Miles.  Can you hear the backbeat, people?   This is Chariots of Fire, Eye of the Tiger and the Theme from Rocky in a glorious twisted mash up.   This is longer than the race that will cap my second NOBO outing on April 9^th.  It is longer than the distance from my house to downtown.  It is longer than I have ever run. 

It was, in fact, longer than many of us Nobo-ers had ever run.  Hands shot up and waved high when Natalie asked who had just bested their personal distance record.  Many of us had both hands up as if we could underline the magnitude of the accomplishment with the fortitude of the arm waving.  Two weeks shy of the race; we had just completed the distance.    

This is not the end of training, not at all.  We will reduce distance as we change up our intervals and work on endurance.  We will tackle Laurel Hill one more time before we meet it during the race.   We will remind each other to stretch and hydrate and stretch some more.   Natalie, ever ready to help, made sure I met someone on Saturday who could give me hydration tips for running in warmer weather.   Critical information if the race is on an 80 degree day instead of Saturday's lovely 50 degrees.

The importance of NOBO and the group that shows up each week really can't be overestimated.  Mary, Diane, Geneva, Felicia, Natalie, Jessica, Hazel and Loretta are just a few of the people who have looked me in the eye and told me that I could do this.   They are just a handful of the folks who have clapped as I walked, hobbled, ran, trudged or even sprinted into the parking lot at the end of a run.   In a nod to the outer music of the inner world, Natalie has been known to park her car and play "running" music as we arrive to warm up for a run.  

The last time I ran a race, my son made me a playlist and handed me his Ipod.  He had carefully crafted the mix to have slower and faster songs so I could lean into the music when my legs wanted me to stop or my heart needed a break.   He hit my favorites in the middle so I could use their energy to boost my own.   He realized, perhaps even more than I did, that distraction is often half the battle for me in running and that music replaces conversation when the run is a race and not my usual social event.

I don't know if I'll use the Ipod this time.  My own soundtrack, championship music all of it set to a 4/5 beat, is pretty loud these days. 

Good news in the end

I woke up late this morning.  This is not an excuse so much as an explanation.

 I woke up late and headed out the door to the run on autopilot.  A small voice in the back of my head reminded me that we had a trail run coming up.  I knew something was supposed to be different this morning, so I figured it was the trail run that was clicking in the background.  Proud of myself for remembering a detail on autopilot, I pulled into the parking lot two minutes after we were supposed to be running.  

I pulled into the parking lot and noticed….that it was empty.  It turns out that the trail run is Wednesday.  After sitting in the car feeling like an idiot for a few minutes, I realized that I had an opportunity in front of me. 

I could go home!  I could go out to breakfast by myself or read the paper.   There was absolutely no way I could make it to NOBO in time to join the group, so I was annoyed with myself but off the hook.   I could soak in the tub for an hour.  I could paint my toenails.  I had an unexpected hour available just for me.  The very possibilities made me giddy.

I went running. 

I smiled at the dog walking crew by the entrance gate, pulled on my Elmos cap and started jogging.   I've been paying attention to my stride and my heart rate lately.  Wednesday's workout was a challenging pleasure because I started at the back of the pack and planned to stay there.   As rising temperatures push my particular system buttons, I'm learning how important it is for me to travel slowly.   This morning, by myself, I was acutely aware of the various body cues I was receiving. 

First, I breathe really loudly.  I apologize to everyone I've ever run behind because it must sound like a truck is hanging on your heels.   I was jogging up a hill on the loop and I swear that I got a nod of recognition from the English bulldog panting his way down the hill in the other direction. 

Second, I am incapable of controlling my own speed.  This might explain the occasionally tense expression that crosses my passenger's faces when I drive on an open highway.  If there is nothing in front of me, I just keeping moving more and more quickly trying to get to whatever destination I'm headed toward.  This is a little foolish when running in a loop since most circles are well, circular.  I can go faster but it just gets me where I already am but much more tired and with sore feet.     There were several points during the run where I ran myself into stadium surround sound level of panting, requiring longer recovery intervals simply because I couldn't seem to move slowly.  

Third, I run better wearing a hat.  Don't ask me why.   It makes no sense, causes me to sweat more and is unnecessary while running on trails in the shady woods.   Maybe it's the Mardi Mask effect; I'm looser if I think I'm less identifiable.  Other people go to Vegas, I put on a hat.

Aside from the body cues, I heard quite a bit from the voices in my head.   I had the requisite chorus of negatives telling me to slow down, stop running and reminding me that I could have been READING.  But this time, I also had a large contingent of cheerleaders in there.  I was running, by choice, alone on a Saturday morning.   There was my favorite mentor, Felicia, who ran with me last week when my leg was cramping because she said, correctly, "If I leave you, you will start walking."  There was Neena, one of the Trail goddesses, who won't let anyone quit.   Natalie was all over that trail with me as was my friend Mary, who ran on Wednesday at the back of the pack with me and made me believe that she liked the slower pace.  

 I thought about having conversations with some of the NOBO crew where we  seem to talk more about what isn't working for us than on what is.  It's true.  We are acutely aware of what isn't going the way we want.  We tend to track that progress toward goal very tightly.  And yet…there we are, week in and week out, accomplishing things. 

I know that this is my last NOBO session for a while.  The increasing heat is causing me some problems with dehydration.  My right leg needs me to spend some time working on those weakened muscles if I'm going to avoid longer term problems.   Still, today was an unexpected gift.  I could see the shape of my running life in between NOBO-ing.  I finished the loop and remembered to stretch, realizing that we are awfully close to the end of this program.   The good news?  No matter what happens on April 9^th, a large part of this race is already run.

Wednesday

By all reasonable accounts, I shouldn't have gone running on Wednesday.  My daughter was sick.  My son was slammed with homework.  My husband is leaving in a few days for a two month trip.  I had a meeting with someone who was only in town for a week.  I shouldn't have gone running.  

Saturday's workout reduced me to tears.  My legs hurt.  My chest was on fire.  We completed the loop only to discover that we had missed a turn and only run 2 of the planned 3 mile route. How do you miss an entire mile?  What had felt manageable last NOBO just felt hard and depressing.  I shouldn't have gone running. 

I tried to run by myself on Monday.  I couldn't even get through a two minute interval without needing to stop and breathe.  I couldn't seem to regulate my speed so that I could sustain the pace at a manageable level.  I shouldn't have gone running.

It was raining and I didn't have a waterproof jacket, or my spy belt or a water bottle.  I definitely shouldn't have gone running.

I went running.

I went running and it felt pretty damn good. 

The first mile was challenging. The second mile was kind of exhilarating.  Mile three was somewhat peaceful.  When I rounded the corner and headed down the last stretch, I was almost dancing.  I felt a little like a drunk karaoke singer – It might have been embarrassing for everyone else but I felt like the real deal. 

I remembered the body adjustment suggested by the Chi running coach and discovered that gravity can actually be a force for good.  I started focusing on my arm motion and discovered that apparently my arms thought that I was trying to fly.  I'd been crossing my arms across my body and then swinging them out looking no doubt like a cross between a bad tae bo instructor and a bird recently evicted from its next.  Once I began swinging my arms in line with my body, I found a little boost to my speed.  Go chi running!

When I started NOBO, I did it for me.  It wasn't about my family or my job.  It wasn't about meeting someone else's expectations.   It became more than running.  It became more than the first race. 

I definitely shouldn't have gone running on Wednesday but I'm really glad that I did.