Creepy Camry

Distance: 9 miles 8 miles
Pace: 12 min 11 min/mile
Number of calls to police: 1

Yesterday I set out to run 9 miles. I've been building: eight miles last week, seven the week before that. I'm experimenting with fuel and pace, because I tend to lie around exhausted all day after a long run, and I want to continue to have a life on the weekends. So I'm eating before the run, eating during the run, and slowing it down for the long runs. This worked beautifully last weekend for the 8-mile run, and I was anticipating a no-problem 9.

I started at Bethany and Central on Murphy's Bridle Path at 7:05 a.m. It was supposed to be 7, but Pixie, my running companion, said her alarm didn't go off (a likely story) after I texted her at 7:04 to see where she was. I'm sure I've described the Bridle Path a zillion times, but for any non-local readers, it is a dirt path that follows Central north to the canal, about 2.5 miles. It is very popular with walkers, joggers, and bicyclists.

After I got about 1.5 miles in, I saw a car waiting at a side street to turn onto Central. It was a silver car, and the driver's side window was down about four inches. I thought he seemed eager to make the turn, so I ran behind him instead of in front so he wouldn't have to wait for me. I ran on, vaguely pleased with my civic-mindedness, and forgot about him.

A few blocks later, there was the same car--silver, with the window down four inches, waiting on a side street. Major deja vu. I thought, that's weird. This time I took a better look. Four-door Camry, dude inside. I thought, maybe he's lost. I ran past, this time in front of the car.

A few blocks later...the same car was waiting at a side street. I now thought something was up, but couldn't quite believe it. Silver Camry, window down more. Got the driver's face. I made a WTF expression and ran past him.

A few blocks later--you got it. SAME DAMN CAR, waiting at a side street.

I was completely freaked out at this point and ran past it and approached two women out walking. I said, "I'm sorry, you don't know me, but I think I'm being followed." They listened to me tell the story, and as we were talking, the car pulled up ahead of us on a side street, waiting. I was like, that's the car. Then another woman approached us and said, "Are you talking about that silver car? I saw that guy following you. He waits til you pass then turns around."

Well. This was all a bit much. I called the police on him, and they promised to send someone out. While I was on the phone with the police, he turned off the side street and drove past us on Central. We all stared at him.

I don't know if the police caught up with him or not, because last I saw him, he was driving. I left my new friends and continued my run up to Dunlap, but I didn't do the sketchy half-mile up into Sunnyslope or the canal portion of the run because those are isolated stretches and I thought I had better stay around other people. It was nuts. Plus, because I was flooded with adrenaline, I was completely unable to maintain my plan of running slow and ended up all over the place with my pace, which then caught up with me later when I decided eight miles was plenty, thank you, and screw mile 9.

Some male friends of mine have asked why I didn't get my phone out and take a picture of the guy or the license plate or be more aggressive. Well, for one, if I took his picture and he got out of the car and came after me, that would not be a good situation. What am I gonna do, fight the guy? I am unlikely to win a physical fight with a man. For another, my instinct at that point was saying very loudly, "Get away from him." I trust that voice.

Anyway, I guess this isn't my lightest or funniest post ever, and next week it will be back to describing chafing in embarrassing places. But I wanted to share it, and also to just note, be careful out there. Bring a buddy. Bring a dog. Bring your BFF bear spray. Most people are good, like the women who circled around me while I called the cops. But for that one creeper out there...just be aware and be careful.

Faster Than A Hobbit

Distance:  13.1

Time:  1:57:23

Pace: 8:54

Hobbits On The Course:  1

I am not a fan of Disney.  Disneyland rivals an oversold Southwest Airlines flight and Trader Joe’s on a Sunday afternoon in its ability to make me hate people.  And yet, on a whim, I find myself signed up to run the Disneyland half marathon.  Because who wouldn’t want to go to Disneyland on a major holiday weekend????  Daughter #2 turned 5 a couple weeks ago.  We told her the trip to Disneyland was part of her birthday present.  It’s not lying.  It’s parental multi-tasking.  So off to Disney we went on Saturday morning.  A five and a half hour drive made more bearable by my friend, Bandana, who hooked me up with a sweet Dodge Charger rental car.  A far preferable ride to Cali than my ancient Prius that’s pushing 150K miles.  (Though now the horsepower in my Prius seem insufficient.)  

I went into this race with exceptionally low expectations, both for my performance and for the overall experience.  I’ve been running quite a bit this summer because I’ve traveled a lot.  But I kind of gave up on pacing because . . . summer. And my longest run in the last couple months was only 8 miles.  So I wasn’t particularly trained for a half marathon and wasn’t expecting greatness in the timing arena.  As for experiences . . . well . . . Disney.  Ugh.  This view was reinforced when I showed up to pick up my race packet and was nearly run down more than once by grown women in sparkly princess wear pushing double-wide strollers.  

But I did immediately find some silver linings.  First, my previous half-marathon time of 1:50:04 scored me entry into Corral A (evidently the elites do not turn out for this race).  Not only that, but my race number of 412 (sorted by anticipated finishing time) meant that I got to go to the very first booth to pick up my race packet.  Most windows had lines for packet pick-up.  The 0-500 window?  Not a soul.   Second, Disney apparently takes pity on folks who pay $200 to register for a half marathon (no, not a typo) by giving us slightly discounted tickets and a break on room rates at the non-Disney properties around the parks.  I saved a little over $40 for our family’s tickets and was able to pick them up at the expo.  I navigated the expo, expertly avoiding stroller collisions, and met the family at Downtown Disney for lunch.  What a clusterf&#%.  We paid $100 for mediocre food and much needed wine, then checked in at the Anaheim Marriott.  

The Marriott was great.  The staff were super nice and it is just over a mile from the parks.  Our stay was made a little more interesting by the convention for recovering drug addicts going on this weekend.  There were some very inspirational (okay, interesting) tshirts.  And nuns.   After checking in, we went to Newport Beach so the girls could play in the ocean.  It did not disappoint, though both children got nailed in the face by powerful waves more than once, so they might disagree there.

(Pools in Phoenix do not have waves like this.)

We had a beach-side pasta dinner then headed back to the hotel for an early bedtime. Mo Jo will be happy to know I made all my race preparations that night:  making sure my bib (which held my timing chip) was properly affixed to my shirt and all my clothes were ready.  I also packed a bag of dry clothes and flip-flops for Husband #1 to bring to the finish line.  I’ve learned there’s nothing quite so divine as being able to shed wet running clothes and shoes within a few minutes of crossing the finish.

The next morning went off without a hitch.  Well, almost. No coffee shops were open before 5:00, so I had to settle for crappy hotel room coffee.  But other than that, it was great.  I had planned on just walking to the start line so my family could sleep, but ended up catching a shuttle right outside the hotel.  It was still very dark outside as the runners drowsily streamed through Downtown Disney to the start line (many adorned by glowing and/or blinking accessories).  And then I got to go through several check points to Corral A.  Yes, thanks for asking,I am very important.  The race announcers were trying to get everyone pumped up before the 5:30 am start, a tough job in Corral A.  Us expert runners were just so cool at the start – having done this hundreds of time before, at least.  One of the announcers yelled “WHO’S GOING TO SET A PERSONAL BEST TODAY????”  The response in Corral A was a resounding and unenthusiastic “meh.”  We all knew we weren’t going to PR at Disney.  They also announced that Sean Astin was running.  Cool!  A celebrity! 

(My race bib said "Corral A," but surprisingly, nobody asked me for my autograph.  Lame.)

And then we were off, Corral A going off one minute after the wheelchair racers.  The first 3-4 miles wound through Disneyland and California Adventures.  It was completely dark and the parks were beautiful.  There were many photo ops for runners to stop and take pictures with characters.  That involved stopping, so I skipped them all.  There were also race photographers every 50 feet or so.  I’m usually pretty good at spotting photographers and putting on a photo smile, but they were like ninjas.  I’m sure I will be rewarded with some hideous race pics.  Disney employees lined the dark pathways and enthusiastically cheered and offered high fives (with Mickey hands – ingenious for avoiding touching sweaty runner hands).  It was really cool to have such a supportive cheering section so early in the morning.  

It was humid.  By the end of mile 1, I was well on my way to being drenched with sweat even though I wasn’t breathing hard.  My plan was to run a 9:00 pace so I could squeak in under 2 hours.  In those early miles, I wasn’t sure I would be able to do that because I was sweating so heavily and thought it might be unsustainable, being prone to dehydration as I am.  Around mile 4 we turned out of the parks and on to the streets of Anaheim.  This opened up our space and allowed for a bit of a cooling breeze.  I was running just under a 9:00 pace and decided to go with it as long as I could.  The sun didn’t come up fully until about mile 7, which kept the temperature manageable.  I started drinking Powerade at mile 4 and walked most of the water stations while doing so.  

Because I was being a Disney grinch, I hadn’t bothered to check out the course.  It turned out to be pretty darn cool.  In addition to the early miles in the park, we actually ran into Angel Stadium and did a lap around the field.  The lower level of the stadium was packed with cheering fans.  I’m not sure how they got all those people there to cheer for random strangers, but it was amazing.  I felt like [I don’t follow baseball, so insert Angels player’s name here] rounding the bases after hitting a home run.  Even beyond the Disney crew and the Angels fans, the course support was fantastic.  There were numerous bands and cheer squads and members of the general public.  There were even a couple miles filled with a classic car club with their cars parked along the side the road.  They sat out there beeping and yelling at us from their classic cars, sipping their coffees, which I envied.  

The miles flew by as quickly as 13 miles ever can and before I knew it, I was heading back into Downtown Disney.  The humidity had taken its toll.  I could feel multiple chafing locations and a couple of blisters.  My clothes were drenched  and I was dreaming of the dry clothes awaiting me at the finish.  When the finish line came into view, I sprinted to it, got my medal, picked up  runners’ snacks (for the girls), and went to meet my family.  The girls were adorable – full of excited congratulations.  I did not share their enthusiasm, however, as Husband #1 had forgotten my bag of dry clothes.  Something I did not handle gracefully.  My mood improved slightly as we were leaving and I heard the announcer say Sean Astin was crossing the finish line.  I beat him.  Woot!  (He didn’t know we were racing each other, but that does not make my victory any less sweet.)

I walked the 1.3 miles back to the hotel in my dripping clothes and climbed into the shower, where the water scalded numerous points of my body that were newly deprived of skin.  Then I downed some Pedialyte and we hit up Disneyland (walking the 1.3 miles back).  The temperature climbed to 90 degrees.  By 2:00, I was done.  We hit the room for a bit and then returned at night for the parade and fireworks, this time finally taking the shuttle.  I am pretty sure I cleared 20 miles Sunday.  

I am still not a fan of Disneyland.  The lines were insane and many of the tourists were oblivious or downright rude.  The food was overpriced. The Haunted Mansion was closed.  But the kids had a great time (which is good, because we won’t come back for 5 years).   And the race itself surprised me.  It was exceptionally well-organized and fun.  Plus, I did more than victoriously race a hobbit.  (Though I did get beat by a few people in costume.)  I finished 1,027 out of over 15,000 racers and 260th in my division (1,398 people).  The race was a confidence booster, for sure.  I might even consider doing it again in the future.  

Mo Jo: There Is No Tri. There Is Only Do Not.

Distance: 0
Pain pills popped: LOTS
Whimpering noises: Many

I know you were looking forward to your race report. Did someone try to swim over me in the pool? Did I yank that jerk's goggles off, per race plan? How did the transition go? What was the ride like? What were our times? Would we do it again?

Well, let's back up a bit.

On Thursday, I did my final training ride on the bike--spent about an hour. I decided Friday and Saturday would be rest days so that my legs would feel strong for the race. TST and I were coordinating how to get to the race, which had an insanely early start. We considered whether she should just stay over at my house, which is closer to the race, and whether than meant that we would sabotage our efforts by drinking a ton of wine together per usual. I also planned to head over to the triathlon store on Friday afternoon to figure out what the hell I was going to wear, as the tri suit I had ordered online was really not going to be suitable for me to wear in public. Not if I planned to exit with any self-esteem, anyway.

In other words, we were mentally ready.

On Friday morning, I took a shower and was getting dressed. I reached into my closet to grab the skirt for the suit I needed to wear (yes, on a Friday), and something horrible happened. My back went into spasm.

I know "indescribable" is a sucky adjective, but holy moly, the pain. Indescribable.

I stood rigid for a while hoping it would subside, then decided I had better go into the living room and get my phone in case I needed help. But the phone was on the couch, and I couldn't bend to get it. I somehow managed, after much puzzling over how this was going to happen, and then thought I'd try lying on my back on the floor.

This did not help. Instead I was in a lot of pain on my back on the floor in my underwear, but at least I had my phone. I googled back spasm. Google said ice and advil. Well, that would require me to get off the floor. I discovered that there was no way to get off the floor, and I was now stuck on the floor. In my underwear. I was reminded of that Sex in the City episode where Miranda wrenches her back getting out of the shower and Carrie has to come rescue her naked friend. I really, really did not want to be Miranda right now.

Some time passed. I got a good, long look at the ceiling of my house.

I finally determined that I had to get up and get some pain reliever and ice. I managed to get onto my side and push up a little, then grab onto the ottoman and get upright. This hurt. Got the ice. Started texting friends for advice, including my friend H (who would have been the one to get the Carrie call, as she lives in my neighborhood, has a key to my house, and wouldn't care if I was in my underwear). At this point I was really almost crying from the pain, because the spasms kept coming.

A doctor friend kindly called me in response to my texts for help and told me basically to take all the drugs I had. I complied. Vicodin? Check. Muscle relaxant? Check. What else is in here? Xanax? I like Xanax too. Check. The only thing separating me from Heath Ledger at this point was the lack of Benadryl in my system.

Despite my drug cocktail, my back continued to hurt. I wanted to attend a special ceremony for a friend, so another friend picked me up and I went, but I may have been a little high during this ceremony. Pretty sure that I was reacting three seconds behind everyone else. Then I went home and slept and slept and slept.

Now, due to triathlon training psychosis, I was still thinking maybe I could do it. But on Saturday, the pain was still QUITE present and robust, so I texted with TST and said I probably needed to drop out, but I could crew her. She was kind enough not to insist that the bad back lady stand around for three hours while she did a triathlon, and she decided, given some work pressures and deadlines, that it made sense for her to skip this one, too. What a relief that she didn't mind--I didn't want to miss the race, but I didn't want to let my friend down, either.

We're signing up for something else. First, I'm going to get a spine transplant, and then we'll be ready!

Mo Jo: Cross Training Is for Realz

I'm going to date myself here, but I used to LOVE step aerobics. Secretly, I still do. It was awesome. Loud music, complicated routines--the more complicated, the better. I liked how I had to fully engage in it and concentrate on the pattern, lest I go flying off one side and injure myself (that happened). It was like meditation with cardio benefits.

I'm thinking about step classes today because the instructors generally made us do some sort of strength training as part of the class, and we usually had to do push ups. I was young and fit and I could KNOCK OUT some pushups. How many? 25? I give you 50. I had toned arms. They did not keep waving after I stopped waving.

15 years and 20+ pounds later, we have encountered some changes. I cannot do pushups. I hate them. I would not describe my arms as toned. No one compares me to Michelle Obama in any way. And alas, my beloved step classes are not something one finds on the Group Fitness Schedule anymore. Times have changed, and now people want GROUP POWER KICK SOMEONE'S FACE OFF class. That doesn't sound meditative at all.

All is not lost, however. I have made an important discovery while training for this triathlon (which is THIS SUNDAY OMG not that I'm worried but OMG). And that discovery is this: Cross-training works, yo. Why have people been keeping this secret from me for so long?

Okay, it's no secret, and everyone advocates cross training. I didn't listen. Running is, frankly, easier. Put on your shoes (and your water belt, and your anti-chafe cream, and your headphones, and your sunscreen, and your special running sunglasses) and go. No worrying about cars hitting your bike and safe routes and flat tires. No worrying about how your hair and makeup will be restored after the pool if you need to go back to work or look acceptable for happy hour.

(As an aside, I came back to work from the pool and my office mate, MR, said, "You look like you've come from the beach or the pool!" I said, "Oh, is my hair beach-tousled? Do I look tan?" He said, "Um, yeah... And you have goggle marks around your eyes.")

But here's what I discovered in this four short weeks of training: Biking is kick ass for runners, or at least this runner. The muscles you develop biking make your running easier. I have been feeling so strong on my runs lately, and I can even feel the difference in my legs--there is more developed muscle tone. I even checked ROW's favorite source, Runner's World, and various articles definitely support my theory that biking develops the power muscles: quads, glutes, calves. Other authorities (is the website "nomeatathlete.com" a solid source?) agree, plus note cycling is less impact on the body. You can get a great workout without the pounding on the joints.

Swimming has been good, too. Admittedly, I have had some issues with swimming. First, I appear to have some sort of weird allergy to pool water. Apparently it can't be a chlorine allergy, but the chlorine can aggravate existing sensitivity to allergens. Or, simply put, I sneeze and have a runny nose and feel generally like I would if I had snorted ragweed for about five hours after a swim. Second, as detailed in other blogs, I don't know how to swim. I thought I did, but after lots of coaching, I have discovered I have a lot to learn, like "don't inhale the wet stuff." Third: my poor hair.

But we are positive here at ROW, so let's get back to the positives: TONED ARMS. Weak sister here is a slow swimmer in part because my hard won push-up muscles appear to have atrophied over the past 15 years of sitting at a desk and typing. But even swimming a few times a week over the past few weeks has made a noticeable difference: my tricep muscles are back!

So that's pretty cool. Here I thought I was going to have to start a Retro Step Class (maybe the Jazzercise lost souls can come too) to find my triceps, but no! I can do it in a more acceptable way--by getting my very slow and awkward Missy Franklin on. Sweet.

Wish us luck on Sunday!

In which TST writes a blog post and realizes she sounds a little bit like a crazy be-yatch.

Miles:  12

Pace:  8:48

Friends saved from heart attack:  1 (you’re welcome, Thompson; I accept gratitude payments in wine)

Today is Thursday, which I have long-since declared to be my running day, yet have failed to actually make it so since Napa.  I forced myself to skip the boxing gym this morning and make good on my plan to cycle through 8, 10, and 12 mile runs.  I chose 12 miles today because I ordered a bunch of smaller sized clothing online this week for a conference I have next month.  I would like them to fit when they arrive tomorrow.  It was somewhat easier to skip boxing this week due to the maiming of my hands that occurred almost two weeks ago during approximately 45 minutes of throwing power right crosses at the mitts.  They are nearly healed, but still scabbed over and it still hurts to punch with my right hand.   (A time lapse progression of my gross hands follows.)

(This is what my hand looked like when I took my wraps on Friday the 13th.  Fitting, no?)

(A couple days later.  Still waiting for real scabs to form.)

(One week out.  Scabs are there, which is nice for protecting the knuckles, but they have a nasty habit of getting caught on things)

(10 days out.  I finally realized I had no choice but to wrap my knuckles in gauze very dramatically to keep my scabs from ripping off every time I reached into my purse.  Sadly, there is no other way to bandage a knuckle.)

It was hard to push myself to go fast when I’m not actively training for a marathon.  Yes, I am training for a triathlon, but the running part is only 10K.  It is not stressing me out.  The swim stressed me out a little bit, but I got myself a day pass to 24 Hour Fitness last Sunday and swam 1600 meters to prove to myself I could.  It took me just under 50 minutes (alternating freestyle and breast stroke with each lap).  It was monotonous, but not hard.  My shoulders screamed at me the next day, but I am now confident I can swim 1600 meters.  This weekend I’ll hop on a bike to prove to myself I can still ride one.  But back to today’s run.  I decided I’d like to do sub-9:00 miles, thinking that would be easy.  It was harder than I expected.  Lack of motivation may have factored in.  My run was uneventful, but since I need to develop some content for this blog, I’ve come up with the following three events.

• I had to stop and wait to cross a major street.  While I was waiting, a less-fit appearing man chugged up to the same stoplight, but across the street from me (running parallel).  When the light changed, I jogged across the intersection and saw that he took off faster than me.  The HELL?  Running has taught me you cannot judge a runner by his or her body type – a lesson I routinely ignore when people run faster than I do.  I also have a running mantra that I use when people pass me early in a race and I am tempted to speed up: “Run your race, TST [of course, I use my real last name because I do not call myself TST in my head].  Run your race, TST.  Run your race, TST . . . ”  Since I was less than 3 miles into my run, I decided I was not going to race this man.  He was probably running a much shorter distance, or alternating walk breaks, or . . . “Run your race, TST.  Run your race, TST.  Run your – oh, eff it!  He is NOT GOING TO BEAT ME!”  I totally smoked him. 
•  At about 6:15 am, I ran past Thompson’s house.  I considered banging on her door and saying hi.  Then I realized she probably sleeps normal human sleeping hours and banging on her door this early might give her a heart attack.  I kept running because I like her and do not want her to have a heart attack.
• I stopped at my boxing gym 6.65 miles into the run (dangerously close to 6.66, I know).  I said hi to a couple friends, took a salt pill, and refilled my water.  Then I saw that a new guy TOOK MY BAG.  Let me back up.  I have boxed on the same heavy bag for the last 3-4 years.  It is my bag.  It is marked with my blood, sweat, and tears (okay  . . . sweat).  I let it slide when New Guy used my shower room a few weeks ago (not bothering to remove the clothes I had in there, which prevented me from using the other shower room).  But this is beyond the pale.  When my hand heals, I will request a sparring session.  No, I was not boxing today.  But that doesn’t matter.  It’s like he peed on my fire hydrant!

I finished my uneventful run with no further concerning events.  I did forget that the sun comes up much earlier these days and spent the last 3ish miles running directly into the bright sun because I forgot sunglasses.  I miss winter already. Husband #1 drove by with Daughters #1 and 2 at 11.5 miles.  He honked and waved.  He later told me I looked "strong."  I did not feel strong at that point, but looks are what matter, amiright?

Mo Jo: Athena Division--Say What?

Run: 3 miles
Pace: FASTER THAN TST. Oh, yeah. (Explanation below--I know, you think I took her knee out Tonya Harding style)
Athena Division Jokes: Many

TST invited me and another friend, Thompson, to Pinetop for a leisurely weekend of wine, Scattergories, and training. We are competitive, if dirty-minded, Scattergories players. In case you are unfamiliar with Scattergories, you have to come up with words that start with a certain letter (selected by a roll of the die) that fit a phrase. For example, if the phrase is "cosmetics/toiletries," and you have the letter "R," then both Revlon and rouge are acceptable answers.

I have instituted a "no adjective" rule after what is known as the "jumping puppies" incident of 2011, in which a certain player who shall remain nameless argued that this phrase was acceptable for animals starting with the letter J. You can see from this rule that I am a ton of fun to play games with.

On our way to a healthy and light meal at the local Mexican restaurant, TST and I talked about our recent triathlon entry form, which had given us the option of competing in the "Athena" division. For this particular race, it means you weigh more than 150 lbs for women. TST, of course, did not qualify, but I did. May I just say right now I am 5'9? 150+ pounds does not seem like a gigantic amount to weigh for a tall woman. Plus, the male version is the Clydesdale. Thompson and TST pointed out that this sounds like a gigantic man clomping along. At least the Athena sounds tall, glistening, and glam. Like a goddamn goddess, not a Budweiser horse. Athenas also get to order the combination plate and beef tamales if they want to.

TST had Daughter #1 and Daughter #2 with her, so on Saturday morning, she packed the kids, Thompson, me, and two bikes into the car and we went to the lake so her kids could bike along the trail. She has described in this blog her methodology: the eight-year-old bikes ahead with TST for a little bit, then TST sprints back to the four-year-old who is peddling slowly but steadily along, then she runs back to the older kid, and so on. I got to encounter this first-hand. Thompson and I were doing a normal-pace jog along the lakeside trail when TST, who had been ahead of us with Daughter #1, came flying by us at a sprint to Daughter #2. Thompson and I appreciated each other's pace at that moment.

Thompson and I jogged around the lake. I was feeling chatty.

Me: "Oh, look at the reeds."
Thompson: "Mmm."
Me: "Guess what song this is on my phone? Bass bass bass bass."
T: "Hmm."
Me: "I wonder if I should get a Vitamix."
T: [silence]

Thompson was focused and probably trying to shake me, but I was feeling strong and kept up. "Guess what song is on now?"

We got back to the beginning (it is a one-mile loop) and Thompson said, "What should we do now?" I said, "We go around again!" Thompson declined, opting to walk in the relative silence. So I ran around by myself and encountered TST, who was doing box jumps onto a park bench. She explained that having to push Daughter #2 up hills had killed her pace time and she was running 11-minute miles. I had been running in the mid-tens and decided this was the ONE AND ONLY time I was going to have a pace faster than TST, so I am telling you all about it here. Yes, I had been running flat out and she'd been taking burpee breaks, but that is of no matter, none.

Anyway, I had the Athena Division in my head. WTF, Athena Division? Who set this arbitrary weight anyway? Apparently it is not, as I first thought (in a possibly reactionary way), meant to shame the athletes. According to Runner's World, weight categories offer another change for people to place and make the races more accessible. The article says:

In running, we know that weight does make a difference. The body supplies oxygen and energy to working muscles, so the lighter the load, the better.... within reason, of course. If you took two runners, identical in all physiological aspects except their weights, odds are that the lighter runner would finish with a faster time than the heavier runner. There are formulas that predict how much time a runner can pick up in a race by dropping weight, especially over the marathon distance. In that sense, you could refer to weight as a "handicap" of sorts, perhaps similar to a handicap in golf, bowling, or even bridge.

My golf handicap is pretty high, too.

Being heavier = more challenging workouts is no big shock. The first third of Matt Fitzgerald's "Racing Weight" could be summed up as follows: Lean people run faster. Got it. Or, there is a different way to think of it (supplied by Coach): Skinny people are cheating.

Or perhaps there is another way to think of it: Athena could be considered an adjective, depending on the usage. It violates my no-adjective rule. And as it is in Scattergories, so it is in life. :)

TST Slacks

Swims:  0

Bike rides:  0

Runs:  Eh.

I had a plan.  I was going to keep doing one longish run per week after my marathon, alternating 8, 10, and 12 miles each Thursday in a 3-week cycle until my next marathon training season begins.  Of course the Thursday after my marathon, I justifiably skipped the run and went to boxing instead (oh, how I missed punching things!).  It was okay, though, because my friend KO Kennedy talked me into doing a hilly 15K that Sunday.  I kind of killed it with an 8:22 average pace (killed it for me, anyway).  I really really really needed a good race after my disappointing marathon time.  I then intended to jump back into my long runs the following Thursday.  But the week after that I knew I’d be up in the mountains for my kids’ spring break, which meant no boxing for 10 days!  So I skipped Thursday’s run in favor of kick boxing.  It was about this time that Mo Jo proposed we do a triathlon.  In my head, I was like “Sure!  Of course I can do an Olympic distance tri.”  What I should have been thinking is “you haven’t been on a road bike in years and you don’t have access to a pool, dummy.”

So now, here I am up in the mountains.  Just me and the girls.  I have to be very creative to get workouts in.  For instance, here is my track workout:

1.  Run four laps, play one game of red light/green light.
2.  Run four laps, play two games of red light/green light.
3. Run four laps while ignoring children screaming at each other, play three games of red light/green light.
4.   Run four laps, keeping an eye on the maintenance guy who has suddenly showed up at the track, play four games of red light/green light (mediate dispute over who gets to call the game).
5. Run four laps while maintenance guy turns on a couple sprinklers and kids go nuts because . . . WATER!  Sprint to Daughter #1’s Kindle to ensure it is out of range of water.  Play Simon Says. 

 And here is my lake trail workout:

1. Put girls on bikes and start the 1-mile loop around the lake. 
2. Keep up with Daughter #1 for 100 meters, then run back to Daughter #2 so she knows you’re not leaving her.
3. Repeat sprint, double back pattern while trying to talk Daughter #2 out of taking a break at every park bench.
4. When you can no longer persuade Daughter #2 to keep pedaling, stop at park bench and use it for burpees, push-ups, and box (bench?) jumps.
5. Let girls take a break at the top of a short, but steep, hill.  Run 5 hill sprints.    (I got 1.75 miles and dozens of jumps/burpees/pushups out of a one mile trail.) 
6. Take girls to play ground and squat jump across sand, lunge back.  Ignore other parents staring at you.

Finally, when all other options are exhausted, I’ve binge-watched The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt while running on the treadmill.  I can only make it about 30 minutes per treadmill session because IT IS THE MOST EVIL OF ALL EVIL TORTURE DEVICES.   So I have to break it up into multiple sessions per day.  What do you think, should I write a book about balancing kids and workouts?  Yeah, probably not. 

(Not even Kimmy Schmidt can make this fun!)

Through this, I have managed to get about 4-5 miles in per day, plus whatever hiking the girls and I do.  This will not keep me in marathon shape.  Nor will it help me train for an Olympic tri.  But it is only a week.  And Shoe Killer has nicely offered to let me use her road bike.  I just need to figure out how to clip in.  This means I will need to buy clip in shoes.  Add that to the hideous tri suit I’ll need to buy and this is turning in to quite the investment.  Mo Jo, I hope you’re ready to do a bunch more triathlons so I can get my money's worth out of this gear!

Mo Jo: Mo Jo Eats Everything

Run: 5 miles (Sat), 5.5 miles (Tuesday)
Swim: 1300 meters (Sat), 1500 meters (Mon)
Bike: 18 miles (Sun), 12 miles (Tuesday)
Calories eaten: 9,243,265

Training has begun. Here's my main thought so far: what else can I eat? I'm not used to working out like this, and body has decided we are on a death march and wants very much to preserve my, um, curves.

One mistake people make when they start exercising for weight loss is pigging out afterward because they feel they have earned it. (I was going to find an article to support that, but got lazy. Just trust me.) So you burn 300 calories, and then you eat an extra smoothie or a delicious Mexican pizza from Taco Bell, and boom, you are no longer in a calorie deficit.

I never really had trouble with this concept while I was running. But put me in a pool, and I come out like a building-eating Godzilla in a pink swim cap. What is it about swimming that makes you immediately need sandwiches?

So, enough about sandwiches, and back to training. Swimming, as previous posts have pointed out, is hard. I can run six miles no problem, but one length of the pool tends to have me panting on the edge. But this time I have some help. Coach meets me at the pool and observes me swim freestyle. I'm not going to say it isn't weird having a man observe me swim while I'm wearing a bathing suit, as I'm shy about things like my bottom, but on the other hand I'm sort of over it, and that is one of the great things about being over 40. One gets over certain things.

So, I freestyle down the pool and come up gasping, as usual, and here is where he changes my life. "You're kicking like crazy and it isn't moving you down the pool. It's just making you tired."

Lights shine down from the heavens. A choir sings. It's an a-ha moment.

I'm KICKING too hard. No wonder I can't get across one length of the pool without wanting to collapse from oxygen deprivation. I'm flutter kicking like mad. It's like I'm trying to sprint through a marathon. I TOTALLY get it.

There are about 500 other things wrong with my stroke but seriously, the kicking comment changed my life. I could suddenly go up and down and up and down the pool and still have air. Now I had the oxygen to worry about things like how my arms entered the water, keeping my body long like a ship, and breathing like a pirate and saying "Arr." (Coach teaches kids.) And when I got back in the pool on Monday, it felt much, much, much easier.

One thing though: ill-fitting goggles, contacts, and chlorine appear to be a very bad combo. I have to figure out what to do here, and fast, before blindness comes. Also my goggles have caused the side of the bridge of my nose to swell. It is a tiny spot on my face that I admit I have never paid adequate attention to. Now I am.

As for biking, I met my friend Dig for a ride on Sunday at her house. She immediately proved herself a good cycling buddy by showing me how to put the front wheel back on my bike. I had managed to forget how to put the bike carrying device (what are those things called??) on the car, so I just took the wheel off and threw it in the back. Then, uh, things got complicated when the wheel refused to go back on. But Dig is competent at bikes and solved the problem, nimbly retrieving all the parts I had dropped into her yard and assembling them back into a bike with two wheels.

We rode through Tempe and through Papago Park and then into Scottsdale. It was really a beautiful ride. I was following Dig mostly so I would remember to take my clips out of my pedals at intersections. I really did not want to tip over into the path of a car or something. And then, of course, with all my fear of clipping in and falling, poor Dig fell over. We had been talking on the sidewalk planning our route, and she clipped in and began to go when a cyclist came flying around the corner and startled her. She had one of those slow-speed tip-overs and got a lovely bruise on her hip. She says her career plans to be a nude model are temporarily on hold.

But, being a tough cookie, she got back up and started riding again to finish the ride. 18 miles down. And then? Time for LUNCH.

Mo Jo: We Become Olympians (i.e., olympic-distance triathletes)

Distance: Five miles
Pace: Moderate
Confidence level: Way out of whack

You may recall, loyal reader of ROW, that back in June 2014--nine months ago--TST and I confidently told the world we were going to do a triathlon.

Then we didn't.

We tried. We both got in the pool. I got my bike adjusted and got the cool clip-on shoes. We ran, per usual. But we just didn't sign up for anything. In the meantime, TST ran her second marathon and did lots of other cool things, and I got busy and got the flu and got unmotivated and otherwise did NOT do a second marathon.

After I got the flu, I was sick for two weeks and then was convalescing for another three. I tried to go back to running, mostly because Coach is a nag and won't let me quit forever, but I would run a quarter mile and want to DIE. I felt like I was back to square one. I had never run before ever. This sucked. My lungs hurt. My feet were like lead. I was exhausted.

(I was, however, feeling super skinny because frankly, that flu was kind of awesome.)

Last week I did a wretched, complaint-laden three-and-a-half miles, telling Coach weakly around mile two, "Just go on without me (whimper)." He did, scampering off like he'd been freed of a slow, whiny albatross. Two days later I did a slow four by myself, and then on Sunday I did six. And today I did five and felt JUST FINE.

I'm back, bitches!

So in a burst of feeling fit, I looked up some races and found a triathlon about a month away. I emailed TST to see if she wanted to do it, and she said (of course, because she is awesome and up for anything), sure. "Do you want to do the sprint or olympic distance?" she asked.

Sprint distance is a 400-meter swim, a 12-mile bike ride, and a three-mile run. Olympic is a 1600-meter swim, a 24-mile bike ride, and a six-mile run.

"Olympic," I said. Note that I have swam exactly 0 meters since June, but hey, I am feeling pretty good. I looked up some training plans, and they seem to think one has 16 weeks to train. Where is the four-week plan, I wondered? Eh, I'll just wing it.

So we're on for the next challenge! Keep an eye out for updates.

TST: Suffering Is Optional (Alternate title: Let It Go)

Distance:  26.2

Pace:  11:06

Official time:  Yes, this  time I got one.  4:50:47.

Wineries visited:  4

This morning, I woke up at a beautiful B&B in Napa.  Then Husband #1 and I hopped in the rental car and drove to Sacramento, where we boarded a plane to Vegas to collect our children (who were staying with grandma and grandpa).  Now I am typing this on the drive from Vegas to Phoenix.  Longest travel day ever!  Two days ago, I ran my second marathon. 

Husband #1 and I arrived in Napa a little before noon on Saturday.  We stopped at the race expo to get my bib and ridiculously awesome retro swag.  It wasn't like the big races I'd done in the past.  It was a small gathering of people who looked like serious runners.  At the expo, I realized I had forgotten my gels and my salt pills (they were unhelpfully sitting in the trunk of my car in Vegas).  I found some Gus, but no salt pills.  No worries, we found a pharmacy, where I bought 2 liters of Pedialyte and some electrolyte gummies. 

(This bag should play "Eye Of The Tiger" on a non-stop loop.)

 (Pedialyte:  Not just for vomiting toddlers.)

We checked in to our B&B, where we were greeted with a chocolate truffle and complimentary glass of bubbly.  Yeah, the marathon was less than 24 hours away.  But a glass is fine.  We went to lunch and, of course, I had to have a glass of refreshing rose.  It is Napa, after all.  Upon returning from lunch, our B&B host informed us there would be a wine reception in the wine cellar at 5:30.  It would have been impolite to say no to that.  We joined the other guests to sample some local favorites with the other guests (one of whom called cabernet “the Taylor Swift of wine” because every week they come out with a new one – puh-leaze!).  We ate an early dinner at a highly-rated Italian restaurant for some pre-race carb loading.  And you know what?  I am pretty sure the Romans made it a cardinal sin to eat gnocchi without a glass of red wine.  Okay, so over the course of a day I drank more wine than I intended before a marathon.  I also downed a liter of Pedialyte, though, so I feel like they canceled each other out. 

(Mmmmm . . . pasta and (fermented) grapes.)

I slept really well up until about 3:30 am when I started having nightmares about oversleeping.  Husband #1 drove me up to the start (stopping for a latte on the way) in Calistoga before the sun came up.  I couldn’t find my electrolyte gummies, but didn’t look too hard because I figured the Pedialyte would carry me.  I would come to regret that decision.  The start line was dark and cold.  I found the porta potty and then begged my way onto a school bus to escape the chill.  I sat there with a handful of other chilled runners, all of whom were expecting to qualify for Boston.  This was a small race full of serious runners.  I didn't see a single person in costume.  I kind of had to pee again, but couldn’t bring myself to leave the bus.  Another mistake I’d regret.

(It is the perfect shirt for the race and for this blog, but not for the weather.)

The sun came up and we started soon after.  I had one bluetooth earbud hidden under my headband (which I was so happy to have for ear warmth!) playing at the lowest volume possible.  There were no corrals, so I headed toward the rear of the pack, not wanting to be run over by all the fast runners I’d seen wandering about.  Miles 1 through 7 were dreamy.  I kept 9:45 to 10:00 miles over stunning rolling hills.  My “Run Now Wine Later” shirt was a hit with the few, but devoted and enthusiastic, spectators.  Then my bladder told me I had to take a break.  Damn.  Should’ve gotten off that bus.  There was a porta potty at mile 7.  I lost 4 minutes waiting in line.  It was okay, though.  I was still well on pace to run a 4:20 or better if I could give a good finishing kick.  Then the wheels fell off at mile 12.  My stomach cramped so badly that I was having flashbacks to childbirth.  I eased off the pace and eventually started incorporating walk breaks.  I drank water and Gatorade at every water station, but they never seemed to quench my thirst.  The nausea and cramping continued and I’ll simply say I stopped at more porta potties, which fortunately did not have 4 minute lines. 

I began to text Husband #1 on my walk breaks and make myself run as much as possible.  Husband #1 told me to take it easy because somebody had already collapsed at the finish line, which was scary.  (And yet, that person beat me by almost an hour . . . )  Around mile 23, I managed to figure out a slow jog that I could (mostly) sustain.  Although my abdominal pain was pretty awful, the rest of me felt good.  My legs weren’t tired and I could have easily maintained a conversation or given a State of the Union address.  People would see me walking and ask me if I was okay.  I would smile and say yes and they would reply, puzzled, “well you LOOK really strong still” polite enough to not continue “why the hell are you walking?”   Before I knew it, I was rounding the corner at mile 26  with only .2 to go.  Husband #1 had his phone out snapping photos, so I put on my best finishing smile and slowly jogged across the finish line, proud of myself for finishing in under 5 hours.  A very nice high school boy met me at the finish and told me how I looked “strong and ready to go back out there.”  Thanks, kid.  He personally escorted me to a water bottle, my medal (also fantastically retro), photo ops, and gave me detailed instructions on how to find the food and showers.

(". . . went the distance, now I'm back on my feet, just a man and his will to survive . . . ")

All I wanted was Pedialyte.  Fortunately, Husband #1 had it in hand when he met me.  I crumpled to the ground and sipped Pedialyte while I changed into flip flops.  My stomach started to ease when I got through half the bottle.  We walked to the car and by the time we got to the B&B, the Pedialyte was gone and my stomach was almost completely better.  Our well-appointed room had a jacuzzi tub, which I put to good use.  My legs were stiff, but pretty good and I was able to walk to a nearby brewery for lunch.  After a post-lunch nap, Husband #1 surprised me with a massage (the lady came to our B&B!).  We walked in to town for a delicious tapas dinner, where I almost fell asleep at the table. 

Overall, it was a good day.  I didn’t kill myself.  I didn’t forget my timing chip.  I didn’t lose any toe nails.  I ran through beautiful wine country.  It will surprise people who know me well that I am not depressed by my performance.  I could have had a better time, but it is what it is.  I didn’t hit the wall.  I didn’t fall short because of conditioning or injuries.  I made a stupid nutrition mistake that I will never repeat. My confidence is actually bolstered, not shaken. Haruki Murakami said “Pain is inevitable.  Suffering is optional.”   I ran 26.2 miles, 14 of them in pain.  I am not going to suffer by beating myself up over my finishing time.  There will be other marathons and I will run them faster.  My 20 mile training runs prove that I have faster marathons in me.  

Believe it or not, this has encouraged me to shoot for a 50K trail run.  When my stomach forced me to slow down and forget about pace, I was able to really enjoy my surroundings and my legs felt like I could go forever.  You can watch a YouTube video of the beautiful course here.  I realized I might really enjoy a race where the goal is to finish and I get to walk the uphills.  So next February I plan to do the Phoenix marathon with the goal of breaking 4 hours and then follow it up with the Crown King Scramble, a 50K trail run (with my only time goal being to beat the 9 hour course limit).

Monday after the marathon, Husband #1 and I went on a wine tasting tour.  Five people in our ten person group had run the marathon, two of them qualifying for Boston.  It was fun and I felt great (which confirms I didn't push my legs anywhere near as hard as I could).  We bought a bunch of wine, which led to my only true injury of the weekend -- a bruised arm from carrying a heavy box of wine through the airport.  

(The struggle is real, my friends.)

TST: Missed it by THAT much!

Distance:  13.1

Pace:  8:24

Seconds by which I PR’d:  43

Seconds by which I missed my goal:  5

The PF Chang’s Rock n Roll half marathon was yesterday.  Last year I wanted to break 2 hours, a goal I smashed with a 1:50:47 finish.  When I got done celebrating that, I realized that running 48 seconds faster would have brought me below 1:50.  So that was my goal this year:  break 1:50.  My recent 13 mile nightmare shook my confidence a little bit, though.  And I realized that last year I was already in the taper phase of my marathon training, whereas this year I am just ramping up to my 20 miler.  So this might not be my year.  That’s okay.  Anything under 2 hours would be great.  That was what I thought until my badass ultramarathoner friend Dave Krupski assured me I could do a sub-1:45.  Say what now?  Nope.  Not me.  I’m keeping my expectations low.  This led to a message exchange in which I told him I’d like to take advantage of his coaching services to run a sub-4:00 marathon next year.  (Dave has founded a coaching program called Zwitty Ultra Endurance Coaching, which you can find at www.zwittyultra.com.)  Dave replied sure he could help me, but rather than trying to break 4 hours, I should shoot for a Boston qualifying time.  Once again, say WHAT now?  I laughed at him and then looked up my qualifying time.  Oh.  I’d have to run a sub-3:40.  Hm.  Is it endorphins or is that within reach?  I’d have to train.  Like for real speed train.  I’d have to give up more boxing workouts in favor of more running and drop about 10 pounds.  But.  Hell.  If I could run a full 5 seconds per mile faster than I ran my last half, could forever say I’d qualified for Boston!  Trying not to get my hopes up for 2016 goals, I just said I’d see how this half marathon and my next marathon go.  Of course, I was already planning my Boston strategy in my head and had recommitted to my goal of a sub-1:50 half. 

Back to the race.   After my terrible awful no good very bad 13 miles a couple weeks ago, I wanted to do this race right.  I had a plan (go out at 8:30s, drop to 8:15s at mile 6-7).  I made sure I ate some simple carbs the days leading up to the race.  I had a half bagel instead of skipping breakfast.  I hydrated by drinking lots of water and a bottle of Pedialyte the day before.  I put my timing chip on my shoe the day before and triple-checked it was the right part.  Oh, and I have new wi-fi headphones that are covered by a headband I plan to use for Napa.  The Rock n Roll would be my testing ground for that setup.  When I left the house Sunday morning at 6:45, I was ready!  My friend E-Bay met me at my house and Husband #1 dropped us both off. 

(My shoes!  One with my timing chip correctly placed and one with a little plate reminding me that not all pain is significant.  It is a quote from Scott Jurek's book that gets me through tough running moments.)

I was planning to stick around and watch two of my Ragnar teammates (Peppy and Go Pro)  finish their first full marathon, so I decided to check a bag this year.  I have to say, I am amazed at how easy that process is and will now do it every race.  E-Bay and I met KO Kennedy, two of her friends, and another Ragnar teammate, Sparky, at gear check.  One of KO Kennedy’s friends was assigned to corral 4, so we all decided to head up there except for E-Bay, who wisely decided to start around slower runners so she wouldn’t feel pressured to go out too fast.  I’ve never started in a corral that reflects my true estimated time (I usually go back so I can pass people all race).  It was nice.  Way less waiting around and we were off before I knew it.  This is my first major race with a GPS watch.  It went a little nutso and told me I was running 7:15 for the first half mile.  I just ran comfortably, loosely, letting people pass me, confident I was not running that fast.  True enough, I ran my first mile in 8:28 – the plan was in effect.  I settled into that pace and just planned to enjoy my music for the next couple hours.  I ran negative splits for the first six miles with mile 6 clocking in at 8:11. But I forgot that miles 7-8 are a slow climb followed by a steeper climb in mile 9.  This did not help my pace, which dropped to 8:30, 8:22, and 8:35 for miles 7-9.  The course crested a hill at 9.3 miles, so mile 10 was back up to 8:22, but I was tired.  Miles 11 and 12 were 8:29 and 8:37 respectively.   I’m glad I had my watch because there were no mile markers for 11 and 12, which would have been totally demoralizing if I was relying on markers to know where I was.  My watch said I was at 1:41 (no seconds were displayed, so I wasn’t sure how close I was to 1:42) when I hit mile 12.  1:49 was still possible!  I gave it everything I had and managed to run mile 13 in 8:08.  I sprinted that last .1 as fast as I could (according to the watch, it was a 6:48 pace).  But, alas, it was not enough.  I finished in 1:50:04.  It was better than last year, it was a PR, but it did not start with a “1:4.”   AAARGH! 

Just past the finishing line, a woman vomited right in front of me.  In fear of my own stomach upset, I willed myself not to look.  I collected my medal, a water, a Gatorade, and a banana in the finishing chute and got to the gear check.  The great thing about starting and finishing so early is that the crowd is minimal.  There was no line to collect my bag or for the portapotty where I changed into my dry clothes (my race clothes were so wet I had to wring them out).  I was spent.  I called Husband #1 and told him there’s no way I could have run it 5 seconds faster.  Sure, I’d stopped at a water station to take a salt pill, but without it I may not have been able to run so fast at the end.  Who would ever know, right?  Well, I know today.  My legs are fine.  A little tight and stiff, but I was still able to coast through a boxing class this morning that involved pulling a tire while sprinting and doing 120 squat jumps and 30 burpees. Clearly I could have raced harder.  Although I do have a 20 mile run on Thursday, so I guess it’s good I didn’t kill myself in the half.  Yeah.  That’s it.  I was saving myself for my training run . . .

(Me and E-Bay at the finish.  Note how my bib says "TOESHOESTINA."  Too bad I was wearing my Newtons, not my Vibrams.)

The after-party was fun once I was in dry clothes and drinking my free beer.  KO Kennedy and E-Bay crushed their goals and were pleased.  I did not see Sparky after the race, but I think he was pleased with his race, as well.  We hung around and watch the Wallflowers perform at, literally, a distance of 20 feet from Jacob Dylan himself.  Then we went to the marathon course to watch Peppy and Go Pro finish.  By then, the temperature was well into the mid-70s and felt much hotter because there was sun everywhere and no shade or cloud cover (my sweaty clothes had caused condensation to form inside my plastic gear check bag – gross!).  Oh man, watching those marathoners turn the corner into the finishing chute brought back memories.  Most resembled zombies, as I’m sure I did, painfully lurching toward the finish.  It was very interesting to see them turn that last corner.  Some pepped right up and ran the last .1 with a bit of spring back in their step.  But some couldn’t manage to alter their tortured gaits as they hobbled to the finish.  I cheered for all of them because I remember how invigorating it was to see friendly faces when I felt the lowest.  Then Go Pro whizzed by, looking strong and happy.  Peppy was right behind her.  She was running like she was finishing an easy neighborhood jog.  They did not look like miserable zombies.  I hope they are happy and proud.  They deserve it.  

(The Wallflowers.  Up close and personal.  My 17 year old self is, like, so jelly.)

Mo Jo: Clifford Gets Into Shape

Distance: 3 miles
Pace: Oh, 11s, with sniff and pee breaks
Mood: Happy

This is Clifford. Clifford is big boned.

Clifford is my 90-pound American Bulldog mix. He is shaped a bit like a sausage. He does not taper from the chest. His round belly protrudes like he is a pregnant lady. He is very, very good at cuddling and couch time. Basically, there is more to love.

He is not an active pup. When the other dogs hear someone outside, perhaps innocently walking their dog, my other two race to the door to bark and then run outside to let that dog know he should GO AWAY. Clifford will raise his head up from the arm of the sofa to assess the situation, conclude the other two have it handled, and then return to his sleepy meditation on doggie issues.

The vet, however, does not use words like "big-boned" and "slow metabolism." She says Clifford is fat. I grow concerned she is looking at me as well. You know what they say, fat dog, fat owner. I feel a sudden need to produce Betty Bamba, my slim and trim dog.

Now, as someone who runs fairly regularly, you would think there would be an obvious solution here. Take Clifford running. But I haven't wanted to for two reasons.

First, running with a dog is not going to produce good running times. Maybe you have trained your dog perfectly to run to your pace on a leash, but I find that I run more slowly, am more focused on making sure the dog is safe and not about to trip me, and take way more breaks. I've been working on my pace this year so it has not been convenient to take a dog along.

Second, Clifford usually has about a mile in him. Then he slows down. Then he falls behind. On one memorable run, he stopped and refused to proceed. Poor guy was Over It. I threatened to leave him, and he said fine, he would find a new home on that block. We had to walk home.

But, I am also worried that my good, sweet, cuddly boy is going to die prematurely because I'm selfish in my running goals and won't help him lose weight, so we've been doing some run walks so that he can get into better shape. It's basically a couch to 5K program. And today he did amazing! Three whole miles--just .1 short of a 5K. I thought he'd flag for sure after two, but he did not fall behind. He seemed to be having a great time.

We:

• Sniffed some street signs
• Got barked at by an angry beagle (one-third the size of Clifford)
• Checked out a pair of gorgeous Golden Retrievers
• Tried to go make friends with some children 
• Loped around the park without a leash

It was actually a really happy run. Did I kill it on pace? Nope. Did I go very far? Nope. But did I have a good time and enjoy my morning with my Very Good Boy? I did. And he is taking an extra long nap right now to celebrate.

TST Gets Her Groove Back

Distance:  18 miles

Pace:  9:58

Vomiting Incidents:  0

After quitting a 17 miler at 15 miles and becoming violently ill from pushing myself too hard through 13 miles, I really needed a good run.  Before Saturday’s pity party/pukefest, I was pretty confident.  After running hills at altitude in the bitter cold, I thought my upcoming 18 miler in flat, temperate, practically sea level Phoenix would be a walk in the park.  Then, after discovering that altitude training did not, in fact, give me supernatural running powers, my confidence was shaken.  But more than that, I was not looking forward to the run.  At.  All.  I’ve reached a comfortable place with my long runs.  I know they will be long and tedious, but I look forward to the solitude and repetition and, most of all, the accomplishment.  I had none of that going into today’s run.  I was filled with trepidation.  I was afraid it would be miserable.  I was afraid I would get sick.  I was afraid I’d just want to give up.  Oh yeah, and I had to get up at 4:00 am so I could get ready, make the family’s smoothies, and my coffee would have time to settle before I started running at 5:00 am.  I spent the last half of Wednesday actively dreading my run. 

The dread was far worse than the run. When my alarm went off at 4:00 am, I almost went back to sleep.  I drank coffee, then set my alarm for a 15 minute snooze on the couch while my coffee kicked in.  My dog decided this was an invitation to lick my face every time I closed my eyes.  No snooze for me!    

Okay, okay, I can't resist you.  Even when it is 4:10 am.  

I left the house right on time at 5:00 and made myself start running without thinking about it. I told myself to shoot for a 10:30 pace and just take it easy.  Not surprisingly, I ran my first mile in exactly 10:00.  But I felt fine, so I tried to back off a bit and just sank into the rhythm of the run.  The moon was very bright and still high in the sky (though intermittently hidden by scattered clouds).   The weather was cold, but not biting.  I was generally comfortable.  I planned to stop at my boxing gym 11 miles into my run, so well over halfway.  About mile 5, I started feeling kind of tired.  I realized I was hunching my shoulders, which was affecting my breathing and making my upper back sore.  Plus my audiobook was not engaging.  I branched off from crime thrillers to listen to “The Husband’s Secret,” which I found on this article recommending books for long runs.  It is narrated in a delightful Australian accent, but I found the story moved a little slowly at first.  And I was growing increasingly concerned this book was going to be generic chick lit.  I almost put on my music, but really wanted to save it for the last portion of my run.  I’m glad I stuck with the book.  By the time I got to the gym, I was actually a little sad to switch to music. 

My average pace was 10:07 when I stopped at the gym. I refilled my water, peed, said hi to my coach and to Yogi (from my Ragnar team), switched over to music, and set right back off.  “Only seven miles,” I thought.  And I was not being sarcastic.  I was over the hump and loving the run.  With music playing, my average pace dropped to 10:04 then 10:03.  It was just me and the music and the sun coming up.  The remaining miles ticked away.  I call this experience "Zen running." I wish all runs were this way.

I hit 16.85 miles when “Fight the Power” came on and I decided I felt so good, I’d run fast for the remaining 1.15 miles.  I flew through the last mile (considering it was mile effing 18!) in 8:52, which dropped my average to 9:58 – a hair under three hours total.  And I felt good!  My hamstrings and hips were tight, but I could have run farther.  I peeled of my clothes and barely remembered to weigh myself before jumping in the shower.  Other than the scary dehydrated number I saw on Saturday, this was the lowest number I’ve seen on the scale in my adult life.  But I felt much better today.  Score!  Once in the shower, the first streams of hot water hit me and I screamed “OW!  AYEEEEEE! SON OF A . . . MOTHER FUCKER!!!!”  I can only conclude that a half pound of my weight loss was skin that chafed off along my sports bra.  Then I giggled because I realized that, technically, all men are sons of people who . . . um . . . had relations with their mothers.  It wasn't a very inventive or obscene curse.  Then I put on pajamas and worked for a bit from home before dragging myself to the mall to reward myself with new (and smaller!) pants.

And now, several hours later, other than the fact that my bra clasp is rubbing right where my sports bra stole my skin so I keep awkwardly and inappropriately adjusting myself, I feel good.  A little tired, sure.  But I’m wearing smaller pants and I’ve kept down all my food (a delicious grilled cheese – god bless a 2,097 calorie burn).  I’ve even wearing heels!  Kitten heels, but they are still heels!  I’m happy because I got my groove back.  

Mo Jo: Wait, the Marathon Is in Eight Weeks?

Distance: 12 miles
Pace: Slow
Attitude: Better

I have a confession, loyal readers of ROW. I decided to quit. I tried to run 12 and quit at 9. I was OVER it. I was over the boredom, the low-level pain, the sweat. No audio book could save my mood. I did the walk of running shame back to my car and decided, eff it, I am not doing this marathon. Who wants to run 26.2 miles without music anyway?

Plus the long runs are an absolute killer to an otherwise good Sunday. I come home, eat, drink Gatorade, take a lovely shower, and then lie on the couch the rest of the day like a slug. I think, "Boy, I'd sure like more water, but the kitchen seems so far away..." This is not how I want to spend every Sunday for months and months. I quit.

But I'm afraid to tell TST. So I hint to her that I am now seriously undertrained and probably need to drop out, thinking she'll say, "Oh, that's totally understandable!" TST is not having any of it. "You still have ten weeks!" she says chirpily. Hmm. She's not really letting me off the hook.

So, not wanting to let my marathon partner down, I lace up my shoes and start over. Short runs, slower pace. Try to remember why I like running. Do some fives and sevens at tempo, feel fine. Then I even run twelve and do not die of boredom, despite my chosen audio book trying to kill me with teenage angst. I was trying to listen to The Maze Runner, but sometimes YA fiction just has to be read, not listened to, so you can skim the adolescent "oh, let's examine how I'm feeling for three pages" BS. I changed back to Amy Poehler's book Yes Please for the last four miles, and that helped a lot. Laughing is good for running.

(What is bad for running is gross construction workers that feel the need to pause all work and just stare at female runners as they go by. This is in no way flattering. It is uncomfortable, and I don't want anyone focusing on my ass in running pants--anyone. I had to change my route because I was running a loop and didn't need to provide another sideshow. Makes me want to carry a Taser.)

The other thing that helped--and TST's last post was interesting on this point--was slowing down! I have been working on bringing up my pace to a less turtle-like speed, and so naturally I didn't think I should be doing my long runs at my former, glacial pace. I was, for some reason, putting some low tens in there. But long runs are supposed to be slower than race pace, according to the gospel of Hal Higdon, and it is much harder to recover from long runs if you go faster. You get the physiological benefit of the long-run training from the slow workout. I think both TST and I are feeling stronger this year, so we're making new training mistakes based on our assumptions we can do more.

So, we still have eight weeks or so. I can do this! Just need to get a quick 14 out of the way tomorrow and I'm back on track. I mean, a slow 14. 14 miles? Yes please.

TST: New Year, Same Old Training Mistakes

The good news is I am still on track for the Napa Marathon.  I’ve done all my long runs, all my tempo runs, and most my speed work.  I remain injury-free (knocking on wood as I type this).  My runs have been pretty good.  Overall, I’ve maintained a better pace than my training runs last year.  I spent two weeks up in the mountains for Christmas and New Year and stuck to my training at 7000 feet.  On the days I had the kids by myself, I dragged them to the local track, where I did both tempo runs and speed work.  (PS, speed work is the evilest devil ever.  I hate it!  Also, running with the kids at the track leads to many interruptions.)  The temperatures were often below freezing and I wore layers, which added new and fun dimensions to chafing.  On Christmas Eve, I started a 17 mile long run and it was 18 degrees.  I felt good for the first 10 miles.  Then every mile became more tortuous.  Nothing in particular hurt.  It was just an overall discomfort and, if we’re being honest, ennui.  The temperature climbed to 32 degrees, which is still cold, but was enough to make my triple-layers soaked and miserable.  I gave up and called Husband #1 at 14 miles.  I kept running while he loaded the kids in the car and found me a mile later.  Then I felt like a loser for quitting two miles shy of a 17 mile run.  So a couple hours later, I went back out and ran my final two.  In what passed for a suitable punishment, I ran the first of those miles straight up a big hill.  I made up for it with 10 very good miles on New Year’s Eve, right before a big snow storm hit.  Between December 1 and December 22 (the day I went up to the mountains), I had allowed myself exactly one rest day.  I took regular rest days between December 23 and January 3 (when I returned).  And by “rest,” I mean I didn’t run.  I did plenty of sledding, skating, skiing, fort-building, and hiking. 

Suffice it to say, by the time I returned to Phoenix on January 3, I was feeling great – altitude trained, but rested in a way I hadn’t been for weeks.  When I arrived home at 1:00 pm, Phoenix was a balmy 54 degrees and I thought “what better time to do my scheduled 13 mile long run???”  It was a spur-of-the moment decision.  My nutrition hadn’t been great:  a half smoothie, two lattes, and tater tots from Sonic (the midway point of the trip home).  But my altitude training would totally make up for that.  Oh yeah, and I could tell by my scale I was a pound or two dehydrated.  But so what.  I set off running, thinking I would see just how great the altitude training had worked by attempting to PR a half-marathon.  I ran my last official half at a 8:28 average.  So I decided to shoot for an 8:15 average.  Totally doable because, you know, a few rest days and high-altitude training had clearly transformed me into super-woman.  I did my first mile in 7:47 and was hardly winded.  I began mentally composing my victorious blog post.  By mile 7, I realized I was not super woman.  I began to feel very fatigued and my legs suddenly weighed two tons each.  No biggie.  I’d slow down for a couple miles and then pick the pace back up at mile 10 or so.  I watched my average pace slip from 8:07 to 8:15 to 8:22 to 8:29.  I just couldn’t make myself go fast anymore.  My last mile was my slowest:  9:26, bringing my average pace to 8:34.  Now, 8:34 is still a respectable pace, fantastic for me!  At 8:34, I’m still well under a 2 hour half marathon, a barrier I never thought I’d break.  But I’d been so convinced I could slash my pace on too little water and an order of tater tots, I was devastated at my time.  I was almost in tears when I came home.  I was also missing several inches of skin from various chafing areas. 

I stepped on the scale and realized I’d lost another three pounds despite taking a salt pill and drinking 16 oz of water (it is actually the lightest I’ve ever been in my adult life).  Husband #1 was kind enough to go on a Gatorade run while I showered and curled into the fetal position.  Nausea hit hard and came with serious chills.  I simply could not get warm.  I am well-acquainted with nausea after hard runs, so I knew I needed to eat.  I tried a few crackers.  Gross.  Then I made the mistake of going to a Mexican restaurant with the family.  I drank half a beer and tried for the mildest thing on the menu I could find (a salad loaded with guacamole, sour cream, cheese, and beans).  I took a few bites and realized I needed to go lie down in the car because I could no longer even tolerate the smell or sight of food.  Shortly after we got home, all the food I’d managed to get into my stomach came right back up.  As a two-time survivor of horrific morning sickness, I should have known not to eat Mexican food on an iffy stomach.  It is among the worst types of food to come back up (I’ll not detail it here, but if you need recommendations, I can give you a list of my preferred foods to throw up – pregnancy is fun!).  I curled up on the couch under a huge blanket because I was still freezing.  I half slept and half watched the UFC fights while gingerly sipping water.  Toward the end of the evening, I managed to hold down some brown rice with a little soy sauce.  I know, totally your idea of a wild Saturday night, huh?

The bottom line is I screwed up my run.  I didn’t adequately prepare for it, thinking I could just power through.  I had unreasonable expectations and I started WAY too fast.  Experts disagree on what causes post-run nausea.  In my case, I suspect it is closely tied to dehydration because I lose a lot of water and salt when I run.  But whatever causes my post-run nausea, yesterday was the worst it’s ever been . Even today, my stomach is a little queasy (which I did not help by doing a 90 minute boot camp, but, come on, I haven’t boxed in two weeks!).  I will run the PF Chang’s half marathon in 13 days.  I still intend to try to beat last year’s time, but maybe not by 13 seconds per mile.  And I’ll make sure I start and stay properly hydrated.  Most importantly, my race plan will be to start slower and finish faster – the opposite of yesterday’s run.  I’ve learned banking time early just doesn’t work, a lesson I keep forgetting and re-learning.  Despite my best efforts, I may not beat last year’s’ time.  My secondary goal is to finish in less than two hours.  I promise to try and be happy with that.