When Illness Kicks You in the Shins

This post was in my drafts from September of last year. I was signed up to run the Oregon Marathon on what turned out to be the weekend the remnants of a tropical typhoon slammed Oregon with high winds and drenching rain...

I recently missed my second half-marathon due to illness. I was signed up way in advance. I had trained. Each training session had been better than the ones leading up to the first half-marathon. This time I just got sick.

So what did I do? What anyone else living in the age of technology does. I googled running with a cough. Dr. Internet, via Runner's World, Web MD, and various other sites (and believe me, I checked with quite a few) told me to hold fast, to not run. Actually, the going advice is that if it's above the neck it's okay, but below the neck (and I guess this includes chest congestion and hacking cough) means sit it out. But I paid! And I have a hotel that I purchased with the internet advanced purchase, non-refundable rate. Sit it out. Besides, I have a sister to support, a sister who does NOT have a hacking cough and deserves to run her second half marathon.

Three days out, the weekend of the race looked to be fabulous, 70s and sunny. We were running the Oregon Half-Marathon on the Vernonia-Banks trail when the leaves begin turning their beautiful fall colors. I was willing my cough away, and I almost did it.

As fickle Oregon weather tends to do, the forecast changed on us. Apparently the remnants of a tropical typhoon had circled around and were bringing tons of rain and wind to the region. (Did I mention the non-refundable hotel room and the sister?) I packed my running gear: shorts, long shirts, short shirts, jacket, hat, gloves. I forgot the protective garbage bag. (Did I know I wouldn't be running?) I met my sister at the hotel and we had a great chat, including planning for the next morning.

Sometime during the night I woke up with that hacking cough. Oh, my God! Not today! My sister rolled over and mumbled, "I really don't think you should run with that cough." I agreed and went back to sleep.

I woke up early race morning. The buses were slated to leave fairly early, and we needed to be out there when ours headed out. We were scheduled for the first bus, which left at 6:00 a.m., and our hotel was about 15 minutes away from the finish line/bus pickup. I looked outside. Gloomy. Sprinkling. I put on my clothes. My sister asked if I was going to run, and reiterated that I shouldn't. I didn't want all of that training to be for nothing. I told her I could always opt out when I got there, but I would at least have all of my stuff if I decided to run. She talked me out of it.

Sometimes it's really good to have a running buddy.

I decided to drive her all the way to the start. We sat in the car and watched the runners in garbage bags line up for porta-potties, then I got out and saw her off at the start. By that time it was raining a little harder, but her spirits were up.

The first part of the run was up and over a hill, then it was all downhill from there. I was able to drive up ahead and cheer her on at a couple of spots, then I drove to the finish and waited. And waited. And waited. I didn't waste my time. I cheered other people on. I stood under a tree and tried to stay dry. Everyone was SO wet!

Finally I saw my sister. She hadn't passed by the time I expected her to, so I knew something had happened. Sure enough, her knee was giving her problems. Thirteen-point-one miles are murder on a sore knee. I ran the last 3/4 mile with her, encouraging her as much as I could although I could see how much she just wanted to stop. She made it across the finish line, grabbed some grub, and she limped along with me back to the car.

This was a major disappointment for me. I had trained and felt better about this race than the first one. I was looking forward to the trail (although my vision was of a crisp fall day and not a deluge). I will get over the disappointment, but I won't have a chance to run this course as a race again. Next year it's moving to Mt. Angel and the Oktoberfest.

Have you ever had to miss a race due to illness or injury?
What's the prettiest half marathon you have ever run?

Looking Back

Two days post race. The first part of this post will be of no interest to my non-running friends, I'm sure. Just skip ahead if you don't want to go through the data analysis.

In the past 2 days I have iced my knee and IT band. I have massaged, stretched, moaned, squealed, and rested, rested, rested. During that rest stage, I did data analysis. I know, nerd, right? I went through my running program and calculated my 10 minute averages, then tried to figure out where I was in the race and what was happening at the time. Then I clicked on this little arrow at the bottom of the app (after about a half hour of painstaking recording of 1 minute increments of a 2:37:00 race) and saw that it gave me mile averages. Wow. So much easier!!!

What the data shows me is that I did a great job during the part of the race that I was really trained for. My times were good through mile 9 (well, for me anyway). I remember feeling energetic. I had run 6 miles consistently, and the longer distances enough times that they were okay; tough, but I could do them without feeling miserable. My times slowed down drastically toward the end. I had only run 12 miles before on one occasion, and that with a bathroom break in the middle. (The plus side of running 2 loops past your own house is the bathroom/water break is really nice.) I thought about water and food - plenty of both. Hubby is convinced that I drank too much water. Is that even possible drinking from quarter-full Dixie cups? I ate my jelly beans. He also thinks I didn't need those. (My mom accidentally tagged him as my running coach. I think he took that title to heart.) My conclusion after looking at all the data? I just needed to run more long runs.

Groan.

At this stage in my running life, the long runs are not easy by any means. I wanted so much to be able to shortcut that, but the realization was that there is NO WAY to shortcut a long run. You just have to run longer. You have to hit that hard part and power through it one time, two times, three times, until the word long takes on a different meaning. (Remember when 6 miles was the "long" run?) Insert heavy sigh here.

I have said before how running is a metaphor for life. This is so true. How many times do we come up against something hard, something that will benefit us in the end, and we want to take a shortcut. We buy on credit instead of saving up. We blow off our college class and sleep in instead of attending the lecture and studying for the test. We let the dishes sit in the sink instead of just taking care of them in the first place. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. I'm a slow learner.

There is no room for slow learning in distance running. Slow learning brings pain, injury, defeat of the spirit. Nike, in their wisdom, chose the right slogan when they said, "Just do it!" There are no shortcuts. You can't skip to mile 9. You have to run up to it, and then keep going.

"We all have dreams. But in order to make dreams come into reality, it takes an awful lot of determination, dedication, self-discipline, and effort." 
--Jesse Owens

Race Day

Yesterday was the day. After all of the research and training, the injuries and healing, the moments of doubt and inspiration, I found myself lining up WAY back from the start line with my running buddies, both of them wonderful support systems, my sister and my husband. The day was perfect, cool temps and cloudy; not too cold for standing around in a running shirt and shorts. There was excitement in the air. I offered to take a picture of the smiling couple in front of me. Their bibs read "just got" and "married" respectively. What an awesome bonding experience!

There were around 8,500 runners in this race. Such a crowd! Yet it did not feel crowded. The race was so well organized that we didn't bunch up like I have experienced in smaller races. The wave for our corral left about 10 minutes after the first runners, and we ran well as a pack (in my opinion) well into the race before it started to spread out. The crowds in Eugene are energizing. So many cowbells! So many signs! So many people with lawn chairs out in front of their houses cheering us on. I was toward the back of the pack, so the fact that they were still there was awesome. People had told me that the first 6 miles were great, and they were. I had energy. I was very used to running this distance. I kind of had broken the race up in my mind into 3 sections, and had asked my husband to take his photos of me at mile 4, 8, and 12.

Between mile 7 and 8 there was a hill. We had driven the course the day before, but somehow had missed this one. We have a favorite route on our training schedule that involves a couple of hills, so I wasn't too worried about it. This hill seemed to take forever to get up. I passed a lot of people who were walking. I burned a lot of energy here. There are a lot of hills in my bucket-list marathon, so how to tackle these mid-run hills is something I'm going to have to do a lot of thinking about in the future. The next few miles were not as fun as the first 6, but they were doable, and I still had energy. I was still interested in talking to my husband, who stuck by my side the entire way.

We passed the starting line, which happened to be mile 9 with Hayward Field on the left. The stands were beginning to fill up with people.

At about mile 10, I started to really lose my energy. This must have been about 2 hours into the race, and maybe I wasn't good about replenishing my fuel. I downed the last of my jelly beans, the only fuel I trusted at that point to not upset my stomach. I turned the corner and my knee locked up. I had to walk a little. (Up to this point I had made a point of walking through all of the water stations and drinking something at every chance. Who can run and drink?) Mile 10-13 were pretty hard. I walked a couple of times for just a short stint, maybe 30 seconds to 1 minute. I spent a lot of time just trying to get into the rhythm of the run, focusing on my pace and my breathing. The last mile was almost a zen experience. My husband was trying to be encouraging and kept up the chatter, but I finally asked him if we could just have a silent last mile. I needed the focus more than the encouragement at that point. I just needed the chance for my will to overcome my body's desire to quit.

At the Eugene half-marathon there's an intersection at the end of the run before you hit Hayward Field. You can hear the crowds. You can hear the band. You have just run through the park, mostly in solitude with other runners. There are spectators lining the entrance. The stands are full. The energy is high. The track is soft after 13 miles of road. The excitement I felt when I saw the finish line was like the excitement I feel when my kids come home from college. I was able to find the energy I didn't think I had to finish strong. (Well, at least I thought it was strong.) I grabbed my husband's hand and raised it with mine as we crossed the finish line.

We just ran a half-marathon!!!

I got my medal and headed back to meet my sister, who it turns out had beat me by 10 minutes. I started feeling lightheaded and cranky. They wanted to hug and congratulate, and all I could think was that I have to keep moving. (I looked it up later. This is common. Your body needs a cool-down after a hard workout or you experience light-headedness.) I walked a maze through the cooling down, refueling runners spread all over the recovery area. (It would be nice if race organizers had a cool-down area separate from the eating area.)

I finally got in line for pancakes (sounded yucky at that point) and chocolate milk (best recovery drink ever). This is the first race that I haven't eaten much afterward. I just felt sick and tired, but victorious. I had a hard time sitting down to eat, and once I sat down my body was clamoring for the bathroom, so I had to heave myself back up to go stand in that line. It probably took a good 45 minutes of rest (and the chocolate milk) for me to start feeling like I could fairly comfortably move around. We checked out the massage tent, but there was a 45 minute wait, and the breeze was starting to feel chilly, so we just hobbled to the shuttle instead and headed toward home.

This was an amazing experience. I would run Eugene again in a heartbeat. I know I made it sound bad at the end, but that was my own experience, and I have to remind myself that I was equally uncomfortable at the end of each of my firsts. I didn't know if I would make it to the end of my first 5K. I was sweaty and sore, but victorious. Each 5K after that became a little easier. I ran out of energy at the end of my first 10K in Redmond (wisely choosing Gatorade toward the end of that race). I was sore, but victorious. The second 10K I ran was good and I knew how to pace myself. Each of my long runs has been horrible, yet I go on to do one more mile the following week, making the previous one seem almost like a short run. It's true what they say, that the last mile is always the worst.

This morning I have the time to ice my knee and think about my race, time to research and plan for my next one, time to think about that marathon...

Happy running!

To Dream the Impossible Dream

Today was my 6 mile run.

Six miles. A 10K.

As I ran with my husband at my side, I thought of when my daughter's dance coach was training for a half-marathon and was running 6 miles. At the time I thought she was quite an athlete. Six miles is quite a run. Oh, to be young again, I had thought at the time.

As I ran, I thought of the kindergarten teacher I subbed for a couple of years ago so she could go run her half-marathon. Amazing, I had thought. Who does such things?

As I ran, I thought of my daughter running her 10K when I ran my first official 5K. Of course I always think she's amazing, and that day was no exception. I thought of my daughter's half-marathon, the one I signed her up for because it touted amazing scenery, not thinking about the hills involved, the one where the heavens opened up and dumped on them at the start, and she came out of it smiling. 

Today I ran 6 miles.

It's not a huge deal. I've run two 10Ks now, so I've done it before. The difference is that at that time it was the end of my training. Now it's a benchmark toward something greater - my own half-marathon.

Running has taught me a lot about self-limiting thoughts. I look back on all the things I didn't think I could do that I am now doing. I reminded my husband (at around mile 5) how this all began. My son, then a 5^th grader, signed up for our local 5k. I saw his friend's mom sitting on the sidelines and asked her if she was running next year. She laughed and shook her head no. Some switch in my head flipped and I thought, why not? Not for her, but for me? Why not? Why couldn't I run this race also? There was no reason. (Well, except for the fact that the race is run on a parade course in front of everyone from my town.) I started running the next week. If you want to read about that, you'll have to go back to my first post.

The important thing is that now I'm doing what I once thought was impossible.

Today I ran 6 miles. Two years ago, I never would have believed I'd be doing this.

“It always seems impossible until its done.”
Nelson Mandela

Fear

What would you do if you were not afraid?

This half-marathon has been a while in coming. Even so, we are still not officially committed. Like a foreign affairs delegation, we have been taking our sweet time deciding, going over every angle, every nuance of the race and of ourselves. Will there be hills? (We don't like hills.) Will we be able to do it? (We've only ever gone 6 miles, and that was tough.) Are we traveling? (Turns out, we're not.) Can our bodies take that much tortuous pounding the pavement? (According to Chris McDougall, it's what we were born to do.)

As I stated in my previous post, we've worked our way up from the very beginning, from sedentary to runner. I'm still waiting to look like a runner. If you saw me in the grocery aisle, I would hope you would be able to tell, at least from the nutritious food choices, or the way I walk a little taller and lighter on my feet. I'm still lacking the sleek running body, and at my age I don't really expect to get it. (But who knows? I just saw an article about an 80-year-old weight lifting woman!) I'm running for fitness. I'm running because I still can.

As for the half-marathon, Eugene has beckoned, and we are answering her call. We've heard that you should travel for a half, that all that training should lead up to something special. We've talked about going to California or Washington, or even Arizona, although the sweep through the apparently dangerous Arizona canyon to pick up stragglers was a little off-putting. We decided, for many reasons, to run in our own backyard.

Eugene is very welcoming to runners. It has the honor of being known as Track Town, USA, and has been home to Alberto Salazar,  Bill Bowerman, and Steve Prefontain. The Eugene half-marathon ends at Hayward Field, where I understand anyone sitting at home can still witness you running to the finish over a live stream. Even so, I hope my loving supporters will be there in person to cheer me on (and perhaps carry me home). If you don't know, Hayward Field was the location for the Olympic trials last year. (I wonder if I will feel like an Olympian running into that venue after 13 miles.)

So the half-marathon is decided.

So is it crazy to register for a marathon when we haven't ever run more than 6 miles? Is it insane to plan for something that is still a year away? I want to run the Big Sur Marathon the year I turn 50. I think that would lessen the blow of being a half-century old. I would run a half mile for every year of my life, and then some. So we've been looking into it. It's beautiful. We're from Oregon, so we know the majestic beauty of the rugged Pacific coastline. It's brutal. There are hills, many of them, not least of which is Hurricane Hill, a tortuous 700 ft climb over a distance of 2 miles. My sister is dubious. Can we do it? We can walk it. I'm more worried about the distance. Twenty-six miles is a heck of a long jog! So I go back to my nowadays mantra: What would you do if you weren't afraid? Am I afraid of running the half marathon? Absolutely! Am I afraid of even thinking about a marathon? Without a doubt! But I know if I don't try, then I absolutely won't be crossing any finish lines. I've made it this far. How far can I go? I'll keep you posted.



"The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotion, spends himself in a worthy cause; who at best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement; and who at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who have never tasted victory or defeat."

Teddy Roosevelt

And the Journey Begins Anew

Today was the third of my long runs, 5 miles to be exact. As I turned the corner and saw the killer hill, the bane to my running existence and the challenge that I long to overcome, my mind went back to my ideas of starting a blog to chronicle my journey. The killer hill, mind you, is a 100 ft climb in the short distance of 1.5 TENTHS of a mile, no small feat. I am not an experienced runner. While others were keeping themselves in shape, I was raising four kids and making plenty of excuses. This hill is the metaphor to my life's challenges.

I am on week 3 of my half-marathon training. I am 48 years old (which I don't admit to just anyone because it sounds so... old). I started running when I was 45. Oh, I played at running when I was young. My high school stint on the track team consisted of me running the mile, but slowing down to talk one of my teammates through a tough time, then watching her turn around and beat me. I kind of gave up after that, thinking that I'm not really the competitive type. I jogged for pleasure, rode my bike, and walked plenty, but most of my life has been pretty inactive.

When I was 40, I got the wake-up call I was not anticipating. A routine mammogram detected something abnormal and I was called back. A second abnormal reading led to a biopsy, which led to many things and many feelings, including a lumpectomy, radiation, a bilateral mastectomy, and a sense of my own mortality. To say my life changed at forty is a complete understatement. To say that it began at forty is a given. I was lucky. My tumor was small, 4mm. At this writing I am in good health and have been kicked out of the cancer treatment program due to not needing their services. (Ladies, be proactive with your health.)

With my new reduced breast size, I figured it was a good time to start running again. After all, getting all of that weight off top had to be good for something. I am a big fan of "The Biggest Loser," and had watched them run a race. I thought, if they can do it, why can't I? So I ran. Well, I ran/walked. Ninety seconds running, ninety seconds walking, all counted in my head. I ran one day, two days, three days, but I seemed to be slowing down and getting very sore. After about 6 days of doing this daily I hobbled home in tears, barely able to walk. My sister suggested the Couch to 5K program and offered to be my running buddy. We live about 2 hours apart, so we couldn't run together, but we could provide each other with support and encouragement through texting, Facebook, and phone calls. We set a goal, to run a 5K by August so she could tell her teacher support team about her accomplishment. She started, but I had to wait a week and let my shinsplints heal.

We walked and we ran. At first I was not able to run one lap around the track. As we progressed, we congratulated each other on our first lap, our first mile, our first 25 minute non-stop run. The day of the 5K was growing closer, and I was getting nervous. This was difficult, to say the least. Each new hurdle I crossed just brought another into view. There would be bridges, which meant running uphill. I was having a hard enough time running on a flat surface. What if I couldn't do it? I wasn't about to let myself walk any of this 5K. (Okay, if you are a newbie, I give you my permission to walk, but try not to.) I had never raced before. A 5K seemed so... long.

The day finally arrived. The gun went off, and the racers were off, passing me as we went up and around the on-ramp to the bridge. I kept telling myself to take it slowly, but there is something about running in a herd of people that makes that advice really hard to listen to. At least the hill was at the start. It would be flat for the rest of the race. I happened to know that the other bridge had a pedestrian crossing at the level of the promenade. I had good music on my playlist and I was getting into the groove. I would pick a person in front of me to keep up with and maybe even pass. Things were going fine until I got to that other bridge. Instead of routing us across the footpath, we were directed up a switchback handicap access to the main bridge. Ugh. I hadn't anticipated this, and I think I told one of the directors that I thought it was mean of them to do this to us. Of course he just smiled; he wasn't the one running. I made it over the bridge when Queen's "Don't Stop Me Now" came on my playlist. I had strategically placed it at the point I knew I'd need it most, fueling the last stage of my run. I ran on, ignoring the man who kept running past me, then walking as I passed him, then running past me, etc. I saw the finish line. Uphill? Really? I poured on the juice and tried for a good finish. How was the race? Exhilarating. Exciting. Fun. Red faced and sweaty, we posed for finish line pictures, basking in the glory of our accomplishment. There's nothing like meeting a challenge head-on and showing yourself that you have what it takes to beat it.

We went on to run the Octoberfest 5K. My daughter did the 10K. I thought, wow, I'll never do that. I have since run 2 10Ks. My daughter ran a very challenging half-marathon. I thought, wow, I sure admire her. I could never run one. Which brings me to today, my 5 mile run, and my challenge hill. The challenges we face are nothing compared to our determination, yet determination alone is not enough. Support, encouragement, and planning are all necessary ingredients. Yet so often it is only our minds holding us back from what we most want to accomplish. As I continue this journey, I wonder where it will lead. As I look up the hill, I can't plan on reaching the top in one try, but if I plug away at it once a week or so, going a little further each time, one of these days I'm going to make it to the top.

Peace, and keep running.

Run for the River 5K  Fun Run (Yay! I did it!) 8/10
Oktoberfest 5K (hill!) 9/10
Race for the Cure 5K 10/10
Strawberry Run 5K (WARM!!) 6/11
Summer Solstice 5K 6/11
Smith Rock Summer Classic 10K (Whew! Exhausting!) 7/11
Race for the Cure 5K 10/11
Turkey Trot 5K (COLD!!) 11/11
Cinco de Mayo 5/12
Sunriver Race for the Cause 5K 9/12
Scrubs Run 10K 9/12
Race for the Cure 5K 10/12