We did it!

Last Friday, a $35 donation put us over the $1,000 American Cancer Society fundraising goal! Given that the support and donations are still rolling in and there are 100 days until the race, I'm putting my tennis shoes where my banana bread is: The goal is now raised to $1,500! Click the photo to donate!

Thank you so much to everyone who has already donated, many of whom have shared their stories with me of how cancer has touched their lives. My list of rock star donors includes:
Ashley Benson
Susanne Bessette-Smith
Jason Branden
Dennis & Fran Ferrazzano
Mary Hawkins
Michael Kato
Andrew & Julie Levin
Brenda Grevson Marshall
Gabe Matlin
Andrew Nieland
Don & Kirsten Patterson
Jim & Denise Petersen
Jon Ramos
Kevin Rinz
Michelle Rutz
Vanya Smrz
Michelle Spina
Todd, Cindy, & Lauren Steinke

It's Friday night and I'm about to go to bed so I can wake up at 5 a.m. and run 11 miles with CARA. I'm feeling grumpy about this, especially because a) I am not a morning person, and b) I just waved goodbye to my roommates and friends, who are on their way to a fun night out on the town. C'est la vie!

What it looks like to go the distance

I am completely mesmerized by this video. A guy put a camera on his head and took 8,273 photos while running the entire length (18 miles) of the Chicago lakefront path. He ran it last week and posted the time-lapse video on YouTube yesterday.

If you've ever wondered what it actually looks like to run for more than two hours (a thing I've only done twice, for half-marathons), this is it.

Thanks to Erin Dostal for the heads up on this video.

Week One Confessional

Forgive me, blog, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.

I didn't run five miles on Sunday, as planned. I could give you excuses -- it was hot, my family was in town, I had a ceremony to attend -- but I'll be honest: I could have made it happen. I could have chugged some water, tied my laces, and gone for an evening run along Lake Shore, after the ceremony was over and everyone had left. But I didn't.

I feel despondent when I fail to reach a goal, especially one as simple as following a schedule. I mean, it shouldn't be that hard. That's one of the reasons I wanted to train for a marathon -- the schedule is a cinch, well-vetted by others, tried and true. But it's hard. It's hard to work out six days a week, even if I've been doing nearly that for three years. It's a matter of shifting mindset from "working out for fun/fitness" to "training for an athletic event." It requires more physical exertion, sure, but the bigger challenge is mental.

This is why people at all levels hire personal trainers. With a trainer, there's someone there to gently suggest exercises (or to flat-out yell) throughout your workout, no matter your mental state. A trained eye can see when you're not trying, when you're holding back, and when you start to give up, and they push you. My trainer and friend Nikki knows before I've even raised my arm that I'm going to half-ass it, and so she teases my efforts until I strain, grunting and sweating, completing more push-ups and sit-ups and planks than I knew I could. She sees what I'm capable of and she forces me to achieve it. It's maddening in the moment but satisfying afterward, when you know you've done something better, faster, farther than you had before. But I have trouble recreating my efforts outside her watchful gaze. It's difficult to push yourself to the point of exhaustion on pure grit.

Some people are natural athletes who can recreate this push without outside reinforcement. They find it within themselves to pedal until their legs burn, to stroke until they've swum the channel, to run until their ankles turn to jelly. In my better moments, I am a member of that group. I reach a comfortable cruising speed, and when I realize I'm not breathing as hard as I could be, that my body is adapting to the plateau, I go faster. It's a literal burst of speed, and I'm tickled when it happens because it's evidence of not only my body but also my mind getting sharper.

But just as often, I fail to kick up to that gear. I phone it in. I complete the mileage or the sets, and then I go home and eat cookies. Those are the moments when I realize the importance of outside motivation. Maybe world-class runners are always giddy to sprint solo out the gate, but I'd bet you a five-pound dumbbell that there are days when even Olympic athletes would rather sit on the couch eating potato chips and watching Full House. We're all human.

So the solution, in my mind, is to be aware of how my emotions are affecting my will to train. I strive to be better at taking care of business on my own, and in conjunction I will continue to rely on the support network I've developed, the people whose gaze makes me stand straighter and complain less -- trainers, running partners, running groups.

That last one, the running group, is new to me; in fact, my first official group training run with the Chicago Area Runners Association (CARA) was this past Saturday. It was fun: The group leaders had us run in pairs, in two parallel lines, so as not to block the path, and we ran at constant timed pace, so I didn't have to think about it. It was like being a cog in the machine, putting one foot in front of the other, occasionally exchanging quips and "hoo-rahs" with my fellow runners, but otherwise not thinking very much. It was a relief to hand the responsibility to someone else and just focus on moving.

I'm still new to the club, but CARA is its own established community. People know each other from previous races, and there's even a lingo -- "Good morning, CARA!" is a popular early morning greeting along the Lake Shore path, as if "Cara" is a name and we all share it. It's a bit cult-ish, but given my years in a university marching band, I think I'll fit right in. And I'll take any help I can get when it comes to sticking to my training schedule, because the best thing you can do to exercise more/better is to find someone who will keep you honest. No excuses should be tolerated, period.

Except excuses that involve cookies. Or Full House.

Thank you!

Apparently, people like banana bread.

My offer of baked goods in return for donations spurred rapid fundraising, and now we're more than 60% of the way to my fundraising goal of $1,000! If you haven't yet, please visit my ACS DetermiNation Participant Center to donate in the name of cancer research, support, and education.

And my offer stands -- if you donate $40 or more, I will bake you a custom banana bread. And you'll love it.

A friendly reminder of the bounty that awaits your generosity.

It's Friday, so I feel like I should get to celebrate the completion of Week One of marathon training, but I still have two longer runs this weekend -- 8 miles on Saturday and 5 miles on Sunday.* In between the runs, I'm also going to clean my apartment, cook a bunch of food, throw a party, and graduate from DePaul. I have a massage scheduled for 5 p.m. on Sunday, after my family leaves. If I survive until then, it will be well-earned.

* I flipped Hal Higdon's plan so my long runs coincide with the Chicago Area Running Association group runs on Saturdays. I figure motivation in the form of other people panting and sweating around me will be effective in keeping me from stopping and rolling off the path and into the lake.

Banana Bread

I made banana bread today. I have a lot to cook this week, since my family is coming to visit this weekend to celebrate my graduation from graduate school. I'm excited to see them, and I'm looking forward to playing hostess to two sets of grandparents, my dad, my aunt, and my best friend since high school, all of whom may still be a little unsure about what exactly I got a master's degree in. I also get to spend the weekend with my roommates and friends who will celebrate with me, a pitcher of sangria, and a gluten-free German chocolate cake with buttercream frosting.

But the banana bread is for something different. As part of my commitment to run with the American Cancer Society, I pledged to raise $1,000 for the organization. I'm a quarter of the way to that goal, but I need help. And I'm willing to offer baked goods.

That's right, it's a good old-fashioned bake sale for charity. I figure since I successfully organized the fifth grade bake sale that raised enough money to buy a class pet, I can do this too. And with all due respect to Snowball the Hamster, this is a much, much better cause.

I'm fortunate in that cancer hasn't taken anyone from me, though a few close friends and family have suffered scares and surgeries. Cancer always starts the same, as an abnormal growth of cells. Sometimes that abnormal growth is no big deal, but sometimes it invades surrounding tissue, and that's when it becomes a problem. Some abnormal cells multiply until they form tumors; others are washed through the body by the blood stream, allowing multiple growths to form simultaneously.

Half of all men and one-third of women in the U.S. will develop cancer in their lifetimes, according to the American Cancer Society. The ACS has led in providing education, research, and support to the cancer community, from patients to family to doctors. They also lobby lawmakers on behalf of cancer patients and their families. I'm honored to be running an inhuman distance in the name of an organization that brings help and hope to so many humans around the country.

And just to sweeten the deal, I made banana bread.

For any donors who contribute $40 or more via my Participant Center, I offer a complimentary, homemade loaf of banana bread. It's healthy whole wheat, with no oil or butter, and I'll offer your choice of "nutrient dense" fillings: walnuts, dark chocolate, white chocolate, and/or berries.

Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I offer a few images from my kitchen this evening, where I baked the test loaf. I wanted to see how cherries held up in the bread. As you may imagine, they went over quite well.

Hey BFKNers! This mini-loaf will be in my office on 41 on Thursday, June 7 for tasting purposes!

For the record, I'm really good at banana bread. Said my roommate after biting into a slice fresh from the oven: "Fucking amazing."

Click here to make a donation, and I will email you promptly for your banana bread order!*


Note: If you live outside the Chicago area, your banana bread will be delivered to your hands the next time we see each other, which I will make sure is soon.

Time to get a helmet

My Twitter* followers saw my retweet today of this article, which appeared in yesterday's Slate: All Men Can't Jump: Why nearly every sport except long-distance running is fundamentally absurd.

This is what I'm talking about.

Running is like water. It's pure health. There's nothing better. According to the article, humans evolved to be long-distance runners. Our bodies aren't covered in hair, so we don't overheat like most animals. Our butts are bootylicious because they contain big gluteus maximus muscles to aid stability on two legs. Our brains are wired to remember and record complex details, likely because our ancestors ran down their meat and then they had to remember where the water hole was, whether to take a right or a left at the fork in the mountain, what berries taste best with antelope meat. (Now playing: Rachel Ray Cooks with Cavemen)

It makes sense that humans are biologically evolved to be good runners. It is, after all, the most basic exercise. One foot in front of the other, no equipment but shoes (and even that's not necessary, according to the purveyors of barefoot running). Though it's fun to imagine cavemen dribbling skulls and swinging planks of wood for recreation, reality is that neither Michael Jordan nor David Beckham could directly apply their sport-specific skill sets to survival, namely hunting and outrunning predators.

Of course, any exercise is good exercise, and I'm relieved that cross-training is built into the marathon training schedule because I have no intention of running every day for the next four months. In Hal Higdon's plan, Mondays are designated cross-training days, which I've decided to achieve by biking to work -- a six-mile each-way jaunt from my northside apartment to the Chicago loop.

Previously, my cycling was confined to leisurely strolls down Lake Shore and quick trips to Target. But I'm hoping it's in my blood, as my grandparents are accomplished cyclists. They ride recumbent bicycles (see photos below) and are famous on organized bike rides, like Iowa's RAGBRAI, for having bubbles and bells on their handlebars, crowns on their helmets, and fake rubber feet hanging from their bikes. They have fun while cycling, which is the key to exercise.

From the backseat of a two-person recumbent bike with my grandparents last September.

That's Grandma leading the charge, with neon fake hair sticking out the back of her helmet.

 With Grandpa after my inaugural ride on the tandem recumbent.

Of course, I'd never strap a fake appendage to my bike. And I've also never ridden the 400-mile RAGBRAI or other such bike ride. My crowning cycling achievement occurred when I was 11 and I rode (almost all of) a 25-mile ride called "Hotter Than Hell" in Texas. (I got in trouble for wearing the "Hotter Than Hell" t-shirt to my fifth grade class the following week.)

But my work friend Jackie is a diligent bike-to-work enthusiast, and she offered to show me the safest route into the city yesterday. It went well, so when she texted me last night to say "Same time, same place?" I didn't hesitate to say yes.

It's like a revelation: My bike is a legitimate form of urban transport. I don't have to sit on the el in the morning, half-asleep, praying that my train doesn't get stalled (or worse, my entire line gets closed). On the bike I'm slow, and my legs burn after a few minutes of pedaling, but I know I'll get better -- just like I got better at running -- and then I'll have even more control over the speed of my commute and thus the shape of my day.

Next goal: Buy a helmet. I confess, I was playing fast and loose with my safety when I was only riding within a one-mile radius of my apartment, but this morning I got up close and personal with a CTA bus as we played leap-frog down Halsted. I didn't need any more convincing.

But if I did, this would do it.

Every sport but long-distance running may be absurd, but riding a bike without a helmet is, as we said in the '90s, downright whack.

* Follow me on Twitter!

Day 1

Today is Day 1.

Actually, today is like Day 784. I started running more than two years ago. I was inconsistent -- five minutes on the treadmill, maybe a whole mile if I felt sassy and motivated. I was more concerned with losing weight than becoming a runner, so to structure my efforts, I did a Couch-to-5K program in May 2010, concluding with my first timed 5K (3.1 miles), the Ridge Run in Beverly, Chicago. I ran with my friend Alexandra, who had convinced me to sign up in the first place. It was Memorial Day, and it was hot even at 7:30 a.m. And despite never once encountering a hill in the entire Chicago metropolitan area, I found that Beverly is full of them. I was panting hard by the end of mile one, and I walked some of it. I don't remember my finish time, something like 40 or 45 minutes.

But I finished.

Me and my friend Alexandra at the 2010 Ridge Run

I did another 5K later that summer, in slightly better time (less than 40 minutes). Then I rested, got tired of the treadmill, did other things -- dancing, boot camp, anything to keep me off the hamster wheel. Winter passed, and in the name of weight loss I begrudgingly logged a few miles here and there, but I still didn't run easily, or happily. It was a chore, just like it had been in high school gym, when I inevitably finished last in the class. Every time.

As summer 2011 approached, I signed up for my second Ridge Run 5K, partly out of nostalgia and partly out of recognition that running was an expedient way to get in shape, and it would behoove me to learn to like it. It was like learning to like vegetables or doing my taxes. I knew it would make life easier if I liked to run. And apparently the sporadic running had actually made a difference, because I did a little better in my second annual Ridge Run -- 35 minutes or so. I felt rejuvenated. This was progress.

 My friend Rita and me at the 2011 Ridge Run

I started running more often, mostly on the treadmill since I worked out during my lunch hour and I was scared of running outside where people could see me. My runs got slightly longer, and I made an effort to keep my legs moving until I gasped for air and had to jump onto the edges of the treadmill to rest. My lungs burned, and I got frustrated. I had more bad runs than good ones; I'd intend to run three miles but only get through one before moving on to something else, ab work or elliptical, anything to get me off the treadmill. Running was boring, even more boring than taxes and cauliflower.

This was about the time I remembered that I live on one of the world's most beautiful and recreation-friendly lakefronts. My friend Brittan and I started going for runs outside, at night, after work. On July 4th we ran three miles, from our apartment to Belmont Harbor, watching people walk home from the fireworks that they didn't know had been rescheduled to the day before. It was invigorating, dodging around people on the sidewalk, trying to keep up the pace despite physical obstacles. Prior to that, my only obstacle was my own inertia. In the face of people staring at me as I ran past, I ran taller, faster. I had something to prove.

And I absolutely loved running outside.

I signed up for more races, shifting my training from the treadmill to Lake Shore. I ran timed 5Ks every other month. I still struggled to complete the training mileage I set out for myself, especially on days I had boot camp or dance class or a very big cheeseburger or important TV shows to watch. But I kept signing up for 5Ks, with friends or alone, and so then I had to run them. As running became routine, my 5K race time slowly crept down, from 35 minutes to 30 minutes, but I barely noticed. I was happy just to run three miles without stopping. I was happy just to finish.

I decided to be daring and signed up for a 10K (6.2 miles), a distance I'd never attempted. I ran it with Alexandra -- who knew I had such a community of runners around me this entire time? -- and then, two months later and on a whim, I ran a half-marathon (13.1 miles) with my friend LaJuanda. I'd never run that far, ever. That race, in my mind, made it official. I trained for it, pushing myself harder, running farther without stopping, four and then five and then six miles. After the race I bought a "13.1" bumper sticker and proudly stuck it on my (otherwise sticker-free) car. I'd achieved something that a majority of the population does not attempt. I was now a runner.

 Me and LaJuanda after the 2011 Monster Dash Half Marathon

It took me awhile to conceive that I could not only keep up with other runners, but pass them. I wasn't the slowest on the track anymore, like in high school. Without realizing it, and despite my contrived, melodramatic emotional setbacks, I'd trained my body to handle it. My lungs could handle gulping for air for more than an hour, with few breaks. My leg muscles didn't scream after half a mile. My eyes didn't lose focus. I didn't feel like I wanted to pass out. It was strange to feel good while running, but I'd never felt more alive. I imagined I was a running animal, my body working hard but efficiently, everything lined up and working together. I found a head space I didn't know existed, what some people call "runner's high," when after a few miles your body moves mechanically and your mind wanders. Running not only changed me, but it was also enjoyable. Moreso than cauliflower.

In January 2012, I ran another half-marathon with LaJuanda. It was sleeting, and we arrived late. We bucked across the start line a full 10 minutes after the race began, prompting the announcer to crack something like "Looks like the fun run has begun!" over the loudspeaker. We spent the next two hours chugging forward through the snow and sleet. It took us about five minutes to catch up with the slowest runners, and from then on I was back in obstacle mode. First it was the walkers we dodged, then the slow runners, then the steady pace runners. I kept my head down and moved forward, ignoring the mile markers. It was methodical. I lost LaJuanda after four miles, as she slowed down to avoid injuring her knee. Not one person passed me, since I'd started at the very back, and this inflated my ego. I caught up with the 11-minute mile pace group, then the 10-minute mile pace. I couldn't believe it, even as it was happening. I ran up alongside the girl holding the "10-minute mile" sign, bewildered, and asked whether she was still on pace. She said she was, and I realized I'd run faster than I realized I was capable, for nine straight miles without stopping. I finished under my goal of 2:20 -- and that's without adjusting for the late start.

The day after that half-marathon, I started wondering if I could maybe survive a full marathon. It was something I had never even considered. It was ludicrous. Ridiculous. Completely crazy.

But it just might work.

And as soon as it even entered my mind as a possibility, I knew I'd do it. I thought of nothing else for a week, and then I signed up for the Bank of America Chicago Marathon on October 9, 2012. And then, like the summer vacation before the hardest school year of your life, I took a break. I ran here and there, even taking a sport watch with me on a five-week trip to Europe. I ran a few miles by the river in Florence, a few miles from my hostel to the Eiffel Tower in Paris, a few miles along Lake Zurich in Switzerland. I ran slowly and walked without shame. It was mostly to say I'd done it, that I'd gone to these wonderful places and kept up my running, but it was also to prevent my bones from being completely replaced by pasta. Still, I got home to Chicago and I was shocked at how quickly I'd lost my pace and stamina. I wheezed through a few weeks of self-flagellant runs, and I struggled to remember what it was about running that I liked.

Last week, I got serious. I ran 15 miles in training. I set goals and I met them. Yesterday I ran a 10K (6.2 miles) in 59 minutes, which is slightly better than a 10-minute mile and eons better than any run I'd done previously. This summer, I'm paying attention to race times. Because this summer, I'm training for my first marathon.

Today is Day 1 of the 18 weeks leading up to the marathon, which is the typical official training period. I was advised to enter training with a weekly mileage of 15 miles already under my belt, so I consider last week my soft opening, the evidence that I can handle what's coming. This morning, I wrote my training schedule into my daily planner. On the advice of more than one friend, I'll be following Hal Higdon's Intermediate 1 schedule, which consists of long weekend runs and shorter midweek runs, with a day of cross-training and a day of rest each week. The schedule includes one long run of at least eight miles each week; and two Sundays in September, I'll be running 20 miles.

The structure comforts me -- if it's worked for others, it will work for me -- but I'm still completely and utterly terrified.

Today is Day 1, but if we're being honest, every day is Day 1. It's easier now that I understand the benefits of running, now that I understand the desire to stop is just that -- a desire, not a physical necessity -- but I know myself well enough to know I'll get frustrated. I'll want to stop, I'll slip from the program. Every day I'll have to remind myself that, short of injury, inertia is the only thing in my way. Running teaches you that stopping is the worst thing you can do. If you don't run, you won't finish, and the longer you put it off, the more frustrated you'll get. Just like writing.

No wonder running makes sense to me.