"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?

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.

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.

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.