TST: My Name Is Toe-Shoes Tina, And I Am A Runner

Distance:  15 miles

Pace:  9:50

Wine:  I didn’t open a second bottle, which is pretty awesome because it is the Friday before Christmas

Aaaaaah . . . the holidays.  Work slowly grinds to a halt as people tend to the endless shopping and wrapping and card-sending and party-going.  Well, that’s what I think every December, anyway.  And then am shocked when caught in an avalanche of work leading up to the 25th.  Then on top of it, my marathon training is reaching its peak during the holidays this year, because, you know, I have so much extra time.  So Friday the 20th, I left work and Husband #1 graciously took the girls to sushi so his crazy-eyed stressed out wife could unwind a bit.  I jumped at the opportunity to cook myself some brown rice, topped it with soy sauce, poured a glass of merlot, and started catching up on DVR’d Criminal Minds.  I gleefully texted Slo Jo to tell her about my well-balanced dinner.  She wondered about protein.  I figured the Godiva chocolate I ate at work (yay holiday gift baskets!) had some protein.  It’s made of milk, right? 

(This is totally a nutritionally complete dinner . . . if you ignore the need for vegetables, fat, and protein.)

I had a 15 mile run scheduled for this week.  We were planning to head to the mountains midday Saturday and the girls had a birthday party to go to at 10:00 am.  That meant I had to run early on Saturday.  Very early.  So, on a Saturday, I got up at 5:15 am and made myself a small latte.   I forced down a banana and pulled on running tights and a neon orange running shirt.   I packed gels into my running pack, filled my water bottle, and set out.  It was dark.  Not even a hint of dawn.  And it was cold, for Phoenix, at 45 degrees.  There was also a "fog warning," though it turns out that means there was a mist hanging over every golf course I passed.  No discernible threat to people traveling on actual roads.  I also realized as I began that my MapMyRun app had updated itself somehow and I couldn’t figure out how to change the coaching function, which was currently set for an 8:00 pace on a tempo run.  Oh well.  I set out prepared to be told for the next several hours I was going too slow.      

It is funny how marathon training changes your perspective.  Three months ago, 13.1 miles was a strenuous distance to be attempted once a year when there is beer at the finish line.  I’ve run that distance or more now for several weeks straight.  I ran 18 miles last week and felt good, like I could have kept going.  So on Saturday, my outlook had noticeably shifted.  “I only have to run 15 miles,” I thought. Sane people do not use the words “only,” “run,” and “15 miles” in the same sentence.  But I didn’t care.  I was excited.  I was actually planning to pick up my pace, hopeful that I could do a sub-10:00 pace.  I planned a route that would take me by my boxing gym at 9.25 miles, delighted that when I popped in to say hi and pee I’d “only” have 5.75 miles to go. 

(This is the most memorable image that came up when I Googled "crazy runner."  I have not yet reached this level of crazy and do not aspire to it.)

It went great!  I started easy.  My first mile was 11:06 and my next two were over 10:00.  Then I pushed myself.  I ran so that I could feel myself breathing hard and sweating, hoping the pace was sustainable.   I took my gels and my salt pills as planned and stopped in at my boxing gym.  They were having “egg nog boot camp” on Saturday morning and I expected to be sorely disappointed at missing out.  Two of my favorite things!  Egg nog and boxing! But a strange thing happened.  I said hi to everyone and then didn’t even feel a twing of regret at heading back out.  I had a goal to meet and was excited to see if I could do it.  Plus, I’m a little embarrassed to admit I’m addicted to the Jack Reacher series on audio books.  They are cheesy, improbable fluff.  They are, however, fast paced and Jack Reacher (if you can ignore the fact that he “shrugs” once every three minutes on average) is a likeable enough guy and fit.  Like a human machine.  I want to emulate his fitness.  It is perfect for running.  I hit 13.1 at 2:08:40 – a half marathon PR (though 9 minutes slower than my January goal).  Then I chugged through my final 2 miles without bonking.  I conveniently ended at a convenience store where I bought a Gatorade to drink on my way home. 

As I walked home, basking in the glow of a good run (hey, I’ve had my share of lousy runs lately and I’m savoring it!), I started thinking about how far I’d come mentally since my training began.  I’ve always been athletic, that’s not the issue.  I’ve been running here and there for years, but have never considered myself “a runner.”  I’m not “a runner”; rather, I run.  It got me thinking about a Newbie Chronicle I read in a recent Runners World.  He pondered when one can truly consider oneself a runner and concluded it is when you have heaps of dirty running clothes on your bedroom floor.  Well, I’ve had that for a while, but only because I box in running clothes.  I still don’t pretend to know where the line is, but I concluded wherever it is, I’ve crossed it.  I woke up hours before dawn, on a dinner of wine and brown rice, squirmed into neon-colored skin-tight not-cheap running gear, and dutifully left my house on foot when most normal people were sleeping.  I ran so long the sun came up and then I kept running.  I was not concerned about missing boxing (and egg nog!) for running.  And what is more, I enjoyed it.  I spent about 5 minutes this week Googling future marathons I want to do (Napa March 2015, anyone???).  I think I can finally go from saying “I run” to “I am a runner.”  Happy holidays, everyone!  Now go drink some egg nog!