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.

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.

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.