Texting from the back of a tandem recumbent, weighing yourself in the middle of a binge weekend, and other stories

Today is a few random tangents, so I'm sub-sectioning.

Checking in
Monday goal: Stretch & strength (core)
Actual: 30-min Biggest Loser video + 10 min core work
Next day: Very sore

Tuesday goal: 5x400 @ 5K pace
Actual: Achieved!
Pace: 7:55 per mile

Wednesday goal: 3 miles
Actual: 3 miles
Pace: 10:26 per mile
+ 1 hour yoga

Thursday goal: 3 miles + strength
Actual: Nothing

Friday goal: Rest
Actual: 1 hour yoga

Saturday goal: Cross-training
Actual: 25 miles cycling

Sunday goal: Cross-training
Actual: 41 miles cycling

Monday goal: Stretch & strength (arms)
Actual: 20-min Jillian Michaels video + 5 min arm work
Next day: Jillian is a sadist

Tuesday goal: 3 miles
Actual: Nothing

Wednesday goal: 30-min tempo run
Actual: 32-min tempo run (3.15 miles)
Pace: 10:24 per mile
+ 1 hour yoga

Pro tip: Go biking with your grandparents
I improvised a bit from Hal Higdon's schedule this past weekend to make room for a trip to Texas to see my grandparents and get psyched up for RAGBRAI, a bike ride across Iowa held every July. My grandparents are avid cyclists (yes, they are that awesome), and we're riding a few days of it at the beginning of the week together. Luckily, I don't have to haul my own bike all the way from Chicago to Council Bluffs, then back from Des Moines (where I'll depart halfway through to return to the rest of the work week). Why? Because I'll be riding a tandem recumbent bicycle with my grandfather.

I'm going to let that sink in. A tandem recumbent.

Grandpa prepares our noble steed. Yes, those are baby doll legs as a kickstand.

We are the bomb, y'all.

So instead of the 3- and 5-mile runs that Hal had planned for me on Saturday and Sunday, we logged more than 60 miles on the bike (5-6 hours of riding) in the Texas heat. Besides my butt falling asleep and Grandpa losing his lunch on the second, longer ride, it went perfectly. The recumbent style bike uses a different set of muscles than a regular sit-up bike, so part of the goal of the weekend was to get me used to the format and work out any kinks beforehand. My gracious grandparents invested in clip shoes for me, and so I've been getting used to those in spin classes but sitting on a bike for hours at a time is a whole new experience.

During the longer ride, I had the pleasure of hearing from my friend Kay that she completed her first half-marathon that morning. I joked that she should go ahead and sign up for her next one, and she told me she already had -- a shorter run, but another one. Running is addictive, y'all. Congratulations Kay!

Screw you too, scale
Of course, no weekend visit to the grandparents and excessive biking activities would be complete without binging on delicious calories. We ate much and well, and I made the mistake of weighing myself on Saturday. I prefer to think the scale was having a grumpy day, or perhaps I was bloated, but it would appear I've gained back the weight that I'd spent two months slowly shedding. That feels very frustrating, especially in the midst of an energy-sapping workout regimen. And though it's a mistake too many of us make, it's so difficult to live the truth that the scale DOESN'T matter. It feels good to see a lower number than you're expecting, especially over the course of many dozens of pounds. But worrying about five pounds here and there -- if you know that you fluctuate within a given range -- is a waste of energy.

Speedwork isn't so scary
I completed my first interval speedwork last Tuesday with LaJuanda. We ran 5x400 @ 5K pace, meaning we ran five sets of 400 meters (1/4 mile) at "5K pace," which we surmised to mean that if we're going for a 9-minute average in a half-marathon, we should be running a 5K at around 8 minutes per mile.

You guys, that is crazy sauce.

We were dying by the last one, but I admit that it was pretty neat to be done with the day's workout in just 20 minutes. Marathon training acclimated me to spending two hours or more on a training run -- a TRAINING run, not even the races -- so short workouts feel like a treat.

The idea of speedwork is that in order to train your body to run faster in general, you should run faster than normal for short spurts. And it definitely has an interesting effect -- I ran my slowest in the last few weeks the next day, at almost 10:30 per mile, mostly because it felt so slooooooow, like I was barely moving, and I got frustrated and kept slowing down even more. But as LaJuanda says, I got the mileage in, so no worries.

Yesterday we did our first tempo run -- meaning it starts with an easy warm-up, builds gradual speed in the middle, peaks about 2/3 through, then cools down at the end. We started slow, gradually sped up, and broke into a sprint at mile 2 for about 1/2 mile. My lungs were burning, and I stopped to walk for a minute before jogging the last 1/2 mile, but it felt good to run for the first time in a week.

And now I'm off...to run!

Stayin' Honest

Sunday goal: Cross-training
Actual: Cleaned my apartment
Pace: Not as fast as my cat sheds

Monday goal: Stretch and strength
Actual: Biggest Loser DVD ftw
Duration: 30 min

Tuesday goal: 3 miles
Actual: 3.24 miles
Pace: 9:56 per mile

Wednesday goal: 3 miles pace
Actual: Yoga (no running)
Duration: 1 hour

Thursday goal: 3 miles
Actual: 3.05 miles pace
Pace: 8:56 per mile (WHAT WHAT)

Friday goal: Rest
Actual: 2.54 miles
Pace: 9:54 per mile
+ rec league softball game

Saturday goal: 5 miles
Actual: 8 miles leisurely cycling

Sunday goal: Cross-training
Actual: 5K walk

This past week I had to mix it up a bit to make room for life, but one thing is firmly certain: I'm prioritizing fitness in my schedule again. And it feels so, so good.

Also, I ran my first ever pace run on Thursday -- alone, no less! -- and I made it in under my goal of 9 min/mile! My body was like "WTF IS THIS," but I kept up my running even through a side cramp and flashes of feeling like I wanted to collapse on the side of the path. I knew I had to write about it on the Internet later, and so I just did it. Thanks for keeping me honest, dear readers. *fistpump*

Also also, my boyfriend walked his very first 5K yesterday! We did the Color Run in Grant Park, and it was a blast. I'll be digging colored chalk out of my ears for a week.

Thanks to our friend Jill McBride for photography!

Today is the official start of my 12-week Intermediate training program. (Thanks, Hal Higdon!) First up is an ab-busting strength/stretch day with LaJuanda. The "Biggest Loser" boot camp DVD will be making a prominent appearance on Mondays after my initial success last week. Where "success" = "my abs hurt for two days." Fitnessheads are total masochists, you guys.

"First" Week Down

Wednesday goal: 3 miles
Actual run: 3.15 miles
Pace: 9:44 min/mile

Thursday goal: 3 miles
Actual run: 0

Friday goal: Rest
Actual run: 3 miles (make up)
Pace: 9:35 min/mile
+ 6 miles cycling

Saturday goal: 4 miles
Actual run: 4 miles (with LaJuanda)
Pace: 10 min/mile

This is the first week since before the marathon last October that I've run four days. This is a big deal. I feel great; my pace got slowly faster on my solo runs, and LaJuanda and I busted out a good "long" run on Saturday, complete with stretching at the one-mile mark and a sprint to the finish.

One more week of Novice cobweb-clearing training to go, then the real training starts. I'm most nervous about speedwork; with so many long runs under my belt in the past, the distance doesn't intimidate as much as the idea that I'm going to have to, like, run faster. That takes a kind of motivation that I haven't identified in myself yet.

I biked over a huge pothole on Broadway, just north of Wilson (the road is terrible there), on Friday night and popped my tire. Womp womp. Need to make the first trip to the bike shop, less than two months after buying the bike.

I'm feeling optimistic, but also like I'm at the start of a rollercoaster ride -- one that will last 13 weeks and test my patience, endurance, and grit.

Also, I desperately need a new running playlist. Anyone have suggestions for key pump-up songs?

Day 1, Again

Today's goal: 3 miles
Actual run: 3.6 miles
Pace: 9:50 min/mile

A year ago today, I began training for the Chicago marathon. I wrote about it on this blog, and I went into summary detail of my entire life's fitness up to that point.

It's complete coincidence that June 4 is once again the first day of my training program, this time for the Chicago Half Marathon on September 8. In a year, I've probably changed a lot, though it doesn't feel like it. My thighs still touch. I still could eat an entire tub of buttered movie theater popcorn and only feel a little bit ill. I still drink alcohol. My cat is still surviving under my care. I am, thank you baby Jesus, employed.

But I have changed. I'm in a committed relationship. I'm actually proud that my thighs touch. When I'm in the middle of a terrible run, I don't have an excuse to quit because there's a voice in the back of my head jeering at me: "What are you complaining about, three miles? You've run 26 in one go. Get over yourself and run faster."

Today I went for my first official training run of the season along Lake Shore Drive. I wore new workout pants from Target (retail therapy always helps jump-start a training program) and my 2012 marathon technical t-shirt. I felt my belly bouncing with each step, and my bicep strained against the strap holding my smartphone, which I used as a music player and a run tracker (friend me on MapMyRun.com!). My mind wandered, as it usually does, from one recent event in my life to the next, mulling over the changing tenor of a friendship and pining over my out-of-town boyfriend and wondering if this run would make me feel less guilty about eating a cheeseburger during bar trivia later tonight. (Answer: Probably not.) I noticed how many other people were out on the trail; I spotted at least half a dozen of the same shirt I wore. I got passed, I passed others, I nearly got clipped by a cyclist. It felt like walking into a favorite bar I hadn't visited in awhile. I know these people.

(Also, June is totally the New Year's Day of the running community -- everyone begins their resolution on a strong note, since lots of training programs are 12-18 weeks and lots of runs take place between August and October, notably the Chicago Half Marathon and the Chicago Marathon.)

Last year on this day, I began an 18-week training period that tested my resilience as well as my patience. I got frustrated a lot, especially when I didn't feel like going on that day's run, or my pace was slower than I wanted, or I was unable to resist my favorite bad-for-you foods. I spent that four months (four months!!) obsessing over my running, my eating, and how I fit into my yoga pants. I can't promise I won't do that again; after all, it never really goes away. The belly fat, I mean. Also the self-doubt.

But what I can do is be accountable to my goals and to my community. I will again be fortunate to train with my friend and roommate, LaJuanda, who is already excitedly suggesting high school tracks at which we can perform our speedwork workouts (a first for both of us). I will feed off her enthusiasm, just as I will feed off the approval and Facebook "likes" I get on posts to this blog.

I get inspired when other people write about their journeys, especially when they don't censor their own frustrations, failures, and inevitably imperfect humanity. I hope to do that here. If you're out there, and you're reading, I see you. I'm glad you're here.

Crawling Back

Hello, abandoned blog. I'm still here. I ran the Chicago marathon last October in 5:04 and change, and I've been working on a long-form piece about it that I hope to have published somewhere that will either pay me for it or at least publish it inside something with a glossy cover. I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I've followed the path of many a first-time marathoner: I fell off the wagon. After the marathon, I didn't run a single mile for two weeks. I went for a few easy runs in November and December, and I completed a half marathon (my third, and my slowest) in January, but other than that my mileage has settled between 1 and 3 miles per week, if that. I did buy a bicycle and start attending semi-regular spin classes, to prepare for riding three days of RAGBRAI* this summer, but I haven't ramped up intensity nearly to the level of my previous running training.

A friend asked me if I'd run the marathon with her this year, and I declined because I didn't want to spend four months of my life obsessing over it. I will run another marathon -- maybe even in 2014 -- but this year, I decided to work on speed. Of course, that was before my running dropped off a cliff, and right now I can't run three miles without stopping out of discomfort/weak mindedness.

So, as I begin the laborious journey once again of getting my body and my mind into race-ready shape, I turn to this blog as a way to document the process and get my thoughts on the Internet, where they belong. I wrote the Hal Higdon Intermediate Half-Marathon training program into my planner, and it actually isn't due to start for two more weeks, so I tacked on the first two weeks of the Novice 2 running program. I'll have to make a few adjustments for the long bike rides and a couple events this summer (I am not running 9 miles on the third day of Lollapalooza, nosireebob), but otherwise I plan to stick closely to the program, a feat I haven't accomplished since my first couch-to-5K in 2010. (I cheated a lot on the marathon training program last year. That shit is arduous, the summer was hot, and I'm a complainer -- but I did finish alive, so it was not for naught.)

I'm running the Chicago Half-Marathon on September 9, and I want to complete it in under 2:10:00. My best time is approx. 2:15:00, and that was in October 2011 and partially due to the fact that my friend and I were late to the race, panicked, and ran the first half incredibly fast. It was also raining/hailing, which is a really good way to motivate yourself to finish. The entire time, I was chanting in my head, "Ann Sather cinnamon rolls. Ann Sather cinnamon rolls." This strategy also helped me through miles 20-24 of the marathon. Ann Sather is a goddess.

And that, dear reader, is a look inside my training regimen and motivation. If you see me along the trail, do me a favor and start whispering, "Cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon rollsssss."

Let's do this.

*RAGBRAI is a party on wheels, once you forget the 60-90 miles of rolling Iowa plains you have to cover each day in order to claim your butter-slathered corn on the cob and rehydrating beers. This is a promise I made to my grandmother, who had knee surgery in December. I told her the day before her surgery that I'd ride RAGBRAI with her, something she's done about a dozen times, if she recovered in time. I'll be damned if she wasn't back on that bike six weeks early, giant scar and all. I will visit her and my grandfather in Texas in a few weeks, and we'll ride about 100 miles in two days -- the equivalent of the 20-miler about a month before the marathon. I'll be riding a recumbent tandem with my grandfather, and I'm psyched. Check out this post from last summer about my first ride on a recumbent.

The Marathon Training "Diet"

Someone asked me today what my diet is while training for the marathon. She asked me this right after I'd finished scarfing three loaded potato skins and was moving on to the first of many fried chicken wings dipped in ranch dressing. This was in between beer number one and beer number two.

Since my grandparents are probably reading this, I should clarify that I don't drink two beers every day. I assure you, usually it's either much more or much less.

Anyway, as I told my friend when I'd wiped the grease off my face, my "diet" while training has been the same "diet" I've been trying to stick to for three years: "clean." My friend John and I defined "clean eating" a couple weeks ago as "basic common sense." Common sense eating includes lots of whole grains and lean meats and fruit, with as many vegetables as possible. Avoid fried foods and processed foods, and choose water over every other beverage.

Of course, I'm not immune from the charms of a bar menu, as demonstrated in the opening paragraph. But indulgent gluttony aside, clean eating is actually pretty simple in concept. If it comes pre-made or in a box, or the ingredient list is more than a few items long, don't eat it. But as I started reading fitness magazine articles and recipe blogs and food labels, I realized that eating less of the processed foods that made up the bulk of my youth and college diet -- pizza, mac n cheese, bread, cereal, things in boxes -- meant that I'd be really hungry if I didn't start eating more filling fibers. I needed to replace the loss of my old diet with something new.

This meant vegetables. For me, this was the central challenge of permanent diet change, since I've always nurtured an extreme distaste for anything green. Lettuce, broccoli, bean sprouts, spinach -- from birth to my early twenties, I wouldn't deign to taste it, it looked so gross.

 I've always liked peas, which are green, but my liking may have something
to do with the pat of butter I serve with it...

The answer at first was things I liked already -- peas, potatoes, and corn, supplemented with lots of fruit. My first vegetable experiment was cooked carrots, which I doused in sour cream (and still do to this day). After four successful recipe completions, I decided they were not only edible, but desirable. This was huge.

Over the course of a few years, I moved on to mushrooms, then cooked onions (I still haven't come around to raw onions), then spinach and broccoli and sweet potatoes. There were failed experiments too -- turnips and kale are too earthy, and there is no form of raw tomato that doesn't make me cringe.

But persistence paid off. As I worked new things into my diet, they become not a chore, but an opportunity for delicious variety. As I learned to rotate, my diet stabilized, and I whittled my grocery list down to about 40 items -- mostly from the produce, meat and diary aisles -- that I swap in and out as the seasons change.

Here are the things I buy most, off the top of my head:

- Fruit: Bananas, cantaloupe, berries, grapes
- Vegetables: Spinach, carrots, onions, sweet potatoes, mushrooms, zucchini, squash, corn, asparagus
- Dairy: Greek yogurt, skim milk, nonfat cottage cheese, goat cheese, fresh mozzarella, low fat butter, low fat sour cream
- Eggs
- Meat: Turkey (ground or deli), chicken (raw or rotisserie), fish and shrimp (frozen), steak (I'm from Iowa, this is a given)
- Whole grain bread, English muffins, and cereal
- Pantry: Baked beans, veggie broth, peanut butter, Nutella, jam, espresso, Truvia, an array of spices and baking products
- Gatorade products (G1 gels and G2 chews and fluids)
- In-shell pistachios
- Popcorn (air popper = great investment)
- Hummus
- Guilty pleasures: Alcohol, baguette, Coca-Cola and chocolate*

*I do not apologize for these, not even a little.

I still hate tomatoes, sprouts and cauliflower, and a bunch of other things. My diet is far from perfect; a few meals a week are eaten out, and I never leave the grocery store without one thing I don't need -- Tuna Helper, ice cream, Doritos. Sometimes I go to the movies just to eat movie theater popcorn loaded in fake butter solution. We're all human.

But forcing a new good thing (in my case, a vegetable) into my diet about four times a year for more than three years -- while simultaneously exercising my ass off, counting calories, attempting "gluten-free" months, and basically spending a lot of time thinking about food -- has led to a greater bulk of my diet being...well, conscious healthy choices! And that seems like a good thing, especially because now I'm less crazy; I'm no longer needing to count calories, because now I can look at a food and make an educated guess as to its caloric content; and I've emerged with an understanding that spinach and Snickers can coexist in my diet peacefully. The trick is to set the balance, the clutch-gas pressure that keeps the car rolling forward without stalling.

And it probably needn't be pointed out that distance running helps immensely by burning more "oops" calories than even I can keep up with.

I know there's more in there...I can smell it...

One Week

The marathon is one week from today! There is a light at the end of the 18-week-long tunnel! Or rather, the rollercoaster is about to tip over the edge of the first huge hill, which I've been slowly climbing toward for 18 weeks. AHHHHHHHHHH HERE IT COMES!!!

Melodrama aside, I feel prepared. My longest training run was 20 miles, and I was hobbling by the end, but I made it in 3:33 and change. This gives me hope that a sub-5-hour marathon is within my reach. As excited as I am to finish, I'm also curious to see how my body will respond to the distress. My 5k pace is a consistent 10 minutes a mile, if not faster, but stretching that pace over 26 miles is not so easy. According to veterans and various articles I've read, the body is not meant to run more than 20 miles. After that, it starts to shut down. So, uh, that should be fun.

I can't believe there's only a week left. There's so much more to say. I've been working on some creative writing throughout the 18-week training season, and I'm excited to share pieces of stories over the next couple months. Actually running the marathon is just the beginning; for the past three years I've been trying to determine the best way to tell the story of my weight loss journey and my discovery of running. I struggle with sharing the story because I'm aware of how unoriginal it is -- oh, so you stopped eating processed carbs and started exercising? Astounding!

Except that it really was. The long slog from my peak of 215 pounds in the summer of 2009 to my current state, around 155 pounds and in marathon-ready shape (knock on wood), was painful and arduous and empowering and full of setbacks and friendly encouragement and risk-taking. It all sounds bland and generic until the details are uncovered: the fact that I used to sneak into the kitchen after bed to snack on a nightly basis; the realization that if I wanted to reap any benefit from the tear-jerking pain of boot camp, then I'd have to eat less bread, my favorite food group; the terribly disheartening workouts, like when I'd step on the treadmill intending to run four miles and only make it four minutes; the #humblebrag successes, like when my roommate and I broke every one of our Personal Records running through sleet at the Polar Dash in January.

I want to write about all of it, and in a capacity that reaches beyond a blog. This is a rather forgiving medium, and I so appreciate those who have shared their stories with me as a result of this blog. Please continue to do so! And if you'll be in Chicago next weekend, go out to the marathon race course and cheer on the runners; spectator info is here. In particular, it'd be great to see a big crowd around the 20-mile mark...so if my body does just give out, there will be someone there to pick me up and point me toward the finish line!

Greetings from Outer Space

This is Brittany checking in from Milky Way Sector 7, Planet 8, row 4, second on the left. This summer of marathon training has been rough, especially since I've been in Outer Space and thus unable to update this blog. (There's Wi-Fi, but for some reason the only accessible sites are TFLN, #WSWCM, and the CTA train tracker, which has been a huge tease this whole time.)

The planet's boiling sunshine has been a deterrent to running these last eight weeks. The heat has been oppressive, especially in July. But the bigger deterrent, of course, is my practiced ability to not accomplish the schedule I carefully laid out for myself -- or, rather, that Hal Higdon laid out, bless his heart.

It hasn't been all bad. Last weekend I ran 15 miles with my roommate, LaJuanda (who, uh, also happens to be in Outer Space...surprise!). It was the most I've run in one day. Ever. We started at our apartment in Lakeview and ran down Lake Shore, watching the Air and Water Show and running dangerously close to low-flying jets and suburban tourists. At North Avenue we turned west and ran straight through Wicker Park to Humboldt Park.

Yes, there's a Humboldt Park in Outer Space.

The 15-mile loop took us four hours to run, but that was mostly due to the beer stop we made at Uberstein Wicker Park around mile 8.5. We spent an hour gulping water, sipping beer, and chatting with the bartender and the three patrons present on a Saturday afternoon. They were amused but impressed with us, and the bartender even played along with our suggestion to declare Uberstein a Northwestern bar. (NU only has two bars in the city right now -- Lion Head and Kendall's, both on Lincoln Avenue in Lincoln Park -- so sticking a purple flag in a new neighborhood would be pretty badass. We got the bartender's card, we'll keep you posted.)

Anyway, we left after our one beer even though I wanted to stay for more beer, both because beer is delicious and because my legs felt like they might not sustain my body weight, let alone run. We walked outside the bar, stretched, and began slowly plodding along, a solid 3 minutes/mile slower than our 5K pace. My legs felt stiff and angry. It was a painful 6.5 miles, and it was exacerbated by our getting lost in the Lincoln Park Zoo a few miles from home. (I wanted to see the lions but then we got lost near the rhinos.)

It hurt, but it was fun, thank god. It was a reminder that every run doesn't need to be a race to the finish, and that stopping to enjoy a beer or a lion along the way nourishes the soul.

But then, the following week, out of the 15 miles I was supposed to run over 5 days, I ran only 2 miles. This has been my problem: skipping the shorter, midweek runs. The long runs are terrifying to miss, because the main thing I'm scared of in this marathon is being mentally prepared to run for 26.2 miles. It takes a long time to run that far, and the longs runs are psychological training as much as physical. But the midweek runs are just as important, more for the physical, and I feel like I'm fucking it up.

Today I toughed out 5 miles. They were harder than they should have been, thanks to heat and the lapse of personal record-setting fitness level, and it took me 10 minutes longer than it should have, thanks to walking breaks.

But I did it. I fought inertia long enough to go for a run. It feels like that some days, like you have to actually battle something before you can lace up. It should be simpler -- quit whining and run, right? -- but the human element is a powerful factor. It's always easier to stay put and not do it, and I've always been good at convincing myself to go with instant gratification (watching West Wing and eating chocolate) over delayed gratification (consistently going for runs after work to build stamina to run my first marathon).

My best friend reminded me yesterday that we can't do absolutely everything perfectly all the time. If I want to focus on running, I can't also be trying to start a new job and establish a new writing schedule and update three blogs and get serious with my band and learn to cook souffle. Or rather, I can try to do all that at once, but maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself when I drop a ball every once in awhile.

The marathon is six weeks from tomorrow. This is the ball I need to concentrate on. Luckily, the gravity in Outer Space is wonky, so I have faith I'll at least keep it floating above the ground.

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.

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.