Boozer Street

I visited my parents in Omaha this weekend. 

The three day weekend started by almost giving my dad a heart attack.  For once, my mom and I kept my visit a secret.  She picked me up from the airport, made plans to meet him for lunch, and the second my dad got in the car, I jumped up from the back seat and said nice and loud, "Hi, Dad!" My dad jumped backward out of the car, tripped on the curb, and left only the elegant words behind, "OH! SHIT!"

Yeah, I have that effect on people.  Once everyone dried themselves from the pee inducing laughter, we had a great weekend.  We ate some great food, I made late night sand angels in the sand traps of their local golf course, and I had a nice 6 mile run at what felt like sea level.

My mom and dad recently moved to a new side of Omaha and I don't know the area well.  So my mom offered to help by plotting a path along the "Boozer Trail." She said it would spit me out somewhere near a lake.  Sounds good.  But who is the drunk guy?

Dad's theory was Boozer must have been some infamous drunk who got hit by a train years ago and they renamed the road after him to serve as a lesson to future drunks.  I cackled at my dad's hilarious theory.  "Hey kids, don't pee on the third rail.  Look what happened to Boozer!" 

Unwilling to leave it at that, I grabbed a smart phone and I found the story of an incredible man. Bob Boozer was not a drunk.  He was born in Omaha, Nebraska in 1937.  He was an African American who graduated from Kansas State University, won a gold medal in the 1960 Summer Olympics, and was drafted into the NBA where he played for the Cincinnati Royals.  As if that wasn't enough of an illustrious career, when he retired from basketball, Bob became an executive for Bell systems (the phone company), and dedicated much of his wealth and volunteered endless hours at Boys Town, a local home for troubled youth.

Bob Boozer's honorable image is the one I carried with me on my 6 mile run to Lake Zorinsky.  The trail follows the Boozer Highway, which is situated next to the rail road tracks.  It winds next to some high school stadiums, a few neighborhoods, and many quiet hidden gems along the way. 

While many of the runners on the path were quite rude, refusing to return a smile or "hello," I felt honored running in the shadow of a great local man.  I would have never known of Bob Boozer had running not created that connection.

Denver Rock 'n Roll 2013

After every race, I have a myriad of mixed feelings.  Did I go hard enough?  Did I start too fast?  Should I have stayed with a pace group?  Overall, I am happy with my new PR at the Denver Rock 'n Roll Half Marathon yesterday.  I earned a 1:52:06.  Compared to last year's time of 2:01:49, I'd say that's a worthy improvement. 

Before the race. It was actually a pleasantly warm morning!

Monica, my husband Randall, and I all stayed ahead of the 1:50 pace group for the first 10 miles.  Somehow at mile 10, there was a crowded water station that forced people single file and the next time I looked up, not only were the 1:50 pacers ahead of me, but I'd lost my friend and husband in the crowd. 

My husband photo-bombed me at mile 4.  I love running with my husband and friends.  They keep it light and fun!

I didn't start the race wanting a specific time.  Start strong, finish fast.  That's it.  I wanted to improve on last year's 2 hour finish and I knew I could accomplish that goal.  If I felt good I would maintain between an 8:20-8:40 pace, averaging right at 8:30 miles.  Every time I looked at my watch it read right at 8:30.  Seeing the reality of that goal, mile-after-mile, boosted my spirits and kept me feeling strong right to mile 10.  I knew the 1:50 pace group was right at our heals starting at mile 8 and if I wanted to stay ahead of them we'd need to speed up for the finish. 

The 10th mile was at the top of a long but not very steep hill.  People were tiring out and the water station was extremely crowded.  I saw Monica slip behind me, as did Randall and I assumed they were grabbing a drink.  Then the dreaded pace flag bounced along in front of me and I became really mad at myself.  How can I hold them off for 10 freaking miles, and let them go just like that?  I surged forward as fast as my tired legs could run, but those 15 people kept pulling away slowly and I couldn't keep up. 

A man at the back of the pack kept belching out weird support-driven tirades, "Don't fade now!"  "Keep going!"  "PUSH! PUSH! You are stronger than that weakness in your knees!" "Finish strong and speed up, even if you might pass out!"  To be honest, he provided the demotivation I needed to slow down a bit.  I didn't want to hear him screaming at the top of his lungs for 3.1 more miles about how good he felt and how crappy I was suddenly feeling.  It is funny how one moment I can feel unstoppable but the second someone screams at me not to be tired, my legs feel instantly wrecked and I need  to find a cold place to cuddle up in the grass with a Tangerine Gu.

From the Oatmeal.

I put headphones in my ears to drown out the sounds of my heavy breathing and suddenly exhausted thoughts and pushed towards the finish.  Last year I felt like a complete rock star when I crossed the finish line.  Crowds were screaming, lights were flashing, music was playing, and I was smiling at cameras left and right.  This year, I am sure all that stuff was equally as thrilling, but I was focused on a ruthless lady in green.

She was wearing a long sleeved, green pullover and her blonde hair bounced in unison with our steps.  I felt boxed in and tried to move around her.  I surged forward but I was in no way racing her to the finish until she suddenly sped up and wouldn't let me by her for anything.  I found that insulting and made it my life's goal to pass her.  No success was more important at that moment.  We raced each other those final 200 yards to the finish in an all out sprint.  Why?  I don't know.  If I had that in me still, why didn't I use it to catch the Oatmeal's Blerch in that damn pace group?  Where was my fire 20 minutes ago? 
 

My husband Randall, me, and Monica

I crossed the finish line excited about my new PR and felt suddenly remorseful for engaging with that green lady.  I walked over to her and patted her on the shoulder to make amends.  After gathering a banquet of Gatorade, water, chocolate milk, bagels, and granola bars, we headed back to the car to nurse my chafed legs and enjoy some nicely stocked warm sweats and Irish hot cocoa.    

My precious Irish hot cocoa post race listening to Atlas Genius.

I am strong

While I was training for the Colfax Marathon, I came up with a really simple mantra to get me over the hard spots during training.  It wasn't anything awesome, but it worked.  "1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2-3..."  Mind-blowing, eh?  Yeah, I tried more creative sayings like, "Run harder!" or "Keep Go-ing," or "Get it done."  I found those sayings downright distracting and they defeated their purposes entirely.  The reason I employed self-talk, was because I couldn't run harder.  I was desperately trying to get that 20 miler in the books, and I didn't know if I could physically run anymore.  Counting seemed basic.  I found myself getting from one step to the next and starting all over again.  My feeble mind couldn't think of much else. 

I've used my counting strategy often while running the trails behind my house this summer, but it lost its effectiveness.  Every time I try to count my way up a hill, I get distracted and find myself counting the actual steps, which only leads to me thinking of how many more steps I must have until I get to the top of that awful hill. 

My mom suggested a long time ago that I sing a song in my head instead of repeating a mantra.  She thought "Ants go Marching," would be relevant and slightly hilarious.  How many revolutions of that song could I get through when running 26.2 miles?  I tried it and it quickly changed to "The ants go marching 4 by 4, Harrah, Harrah.  The ants go marching 4 by 4, the little one stops to wretch on the floor...."  It didn't work. 

This morning I ran my 5 mile loop on the same trails behind my house that find me every morning.  This particular loop has a mean 2 mile long hill that feels relentless.  It's grade varies from 5% up to 12% inclines.  Halfway up the hill I desperately wanted to stop and walk, but I thought about all the goals I have for new PRs in the half marathon and full marathon distance.  I can't get there by walking.  I told myself, "I am strong."  Instead of counting, I repeated, "I am strong. I am strong. I am strong," with each step. 

It worked.  I got to the top of the hill, tired as all get out with another 2 miles of hills to go, but I made it and I wasn't slow.  I ran those 2 miles under an 8:30 pace.  I AM strong dammit! 


What is your running mantra?  When do you need it most?

~Roadburner

Mama Penguin

It is 2 days after the Highlands Ranch Half Marathon and I still couldn't run if a bear chased me!  It was a point-to-point downhill race.  With 1,000 feet of total elevation loss, I banked time in the first 6 miles, letting gravity push me down the hill at 7:30-8:00 miles.  Using gravity to push me down those steep grades felt like flying at the time, but getting up the next day made me feel like I jumped off a 10 story building and let gravity do its worst.  My legs, butt, back, arms, shoulders, and stomach all feel like I was hit by a city bus. 

My kids have aptly named me "Mama Penguin," over the last 48 hours.  I waddle like an Emperor Penguin and take nice slow steps wherever I go.

Stairs are my nemesis and I've been reduced to crawling up them slowly, belly down, grunting like an angry bird.  If I could install a slip 'n slide inside my house, I would slam the floor, belly down cruising from room to room, avoiding all contact with my legs for a week!

The idea of an ice bath has never looked so appealing!  I've never had to ice my legs this much after a race.

 
The race itself was a blast.  It was the inaugural year and of course there were some kinks that will need to be worked out: excessive waiting lines at the packet pick up, limited or no water for post two hour finishers, and a 10 minute delayed start, but overall it was very well managed.

I ran with 5 great friends.  We each ran our own race and met at the end for a good beer and constant laughs.

 

If you've never run a race with a group of friends, I highly recommend it!  Monica, my training partner, shopped for all of our race day throwaways at the local Savers and she found some treasures.  The race start alone, made everything worth it.  I haven't laughed that hard before a race, EVER!

Thank you Caitlin, who played volley ball in '05. 

I am not sure why any Grandma would have thrown out this invaluable purple valour jumper, but this women's medium sacrifice made my husband look great on race morning!

Throughout the race, we passed each other, cheered one another on, and took bets on who would bomb out first.  My husband finished first of our group in 1:46:43.

We waited for all 6 of us to cross the finish and each complained equally the next day about our unmatched sore muscles and nasty feet. 

While the race "hangover" left me swearing I would never run that hard again, I woke this morning proud of my new PR (1:53:40), and desperately trying to figure out how I can run the Denver Rock 'n Roll faster than my 8:40 average pace.

Sick Pup

Tucker runs with me every morning.  He pulls me up the hills and is relentless when I beg for a slower pace.  He hasn't run with me in over a week.  Every dog needs dental work now and then, but somehow his dental procedure ended up far more complicated.  He was sedated for over 7 hours and had 6 teeth pulled.  Afterwards, I was instructed he would be okay to run again in a day or two and expect normal behavior within 24 hours.

Sadly, he was severely allergic to every medicine they administered.  The night after the surgery I sat with him outside for hours as he laid in the rain, ill beyond belief, and unwilling to come inside.  I finally wrapped him in a warm towel and held him on his bed until he fell asleep.  We've been in and out of his veterinary clinic every evening and while I know he hates me every time I bring him in for more examinations, I see his unconditional loyalty.

When I got up on Sunday for my long run, I looked at him laying fitfully in his bed.  I expected him to jump out the door and demand his leash, but he rolled over and let me leave without incident.

Obviously, he will be fine in a few days.  It is five days post operation and he is finally able to eat rice and chicken broth.  He is only 7 years old and Brittney Spaniels live a long time, but it made me think how lucky I am that my dog is the type that can run 14 miles without hesitation.  He can outlast me in almost every distance and can maintain a 7:00 per mile pace for 10K.  Tucker is amazing.  I know someday he will loose his ability to run.  That happens to all of us.  But for now, I love the look in his eyes when he sees my running clothes.  He doesn't love to run.  He loves the run.  Yes, there is a difference.


Who is your favorite running partner?  Do you like running with your pets, or without?  What is the one thing about running that you can't live without?

~Roadburner

Runner's lows

If there really is a runner's high,  I have perfected the runner's low.  During the longest run before every major race, I get sick.  I am not sure if I push my training too hard, or if I just psych myself up too much a week beforehand, but there is definitely a level of consistency here.  Last year, I ran 5 major races all within 8 weeks of each other, covering over 50 miles total.  I knowingly didn't give myself proper recovery time and I paid the price in the final 2 races.  While running my 20 miler for the Colfax Marathon in May, I ungracefully pushed back vomit the last 8 miles or so until I crossed the 20 mile mark and killed the grass while young kids watched in horror.  This weekend, I ran 12 miles on an extremely flat trail.  It should have been an easy run and yet, I stopped 3 times, throwing my head between my knees as my running partner, and good friend, bantered, "Should I get out my camera?" 

Heck, why not get out the camera?  Maybe it will serve as a good reminder for future training runs. I take great care of myself just before a race.  I tell myself things like,

• "Start drinking loads of water 3-4 days before the race."
• "Load up on healthy carbohydrates."
• "Don't drink too much wine, beer, or other stuff." 
• "Taper properly.  Don't overwork your muscles."
• "Don't eat junk, it will taste awful tomorrow!"
• "Start slow, finish strong."
• "You love running and you love competition.  Have fun with it!"

Somehow all those ideas only apply to racing weekends and I find myself miserable on many long training runs. 

• "That pizza, wings, and beer tasted better the first time!"
• "Cross training makes me faster, so why not double up workouts?"
• "Run your training miles fast!  Forget LSD Runs (Long Slow Distance).  Go quickly and move on with your weekend!" 
• "Why am I up at 4:00 am?  This is not fun!"

Maybe I need to feel miserable sometimes to help refocus my priorities.  I love that racing is not a one day commitment.  It takes months to train and life happens along the way.  The Highlands Ranch Half Marathon is Labor Day, Monday.  Wish me luck, I promise not to vomit!



Do you ever feel horrible during training runs?  Is it something that you could have avoided but did it anyway?  How do you enjoy life without messing with your training?


~Roadburner

SNAKE!

A little over a month ago, my friend, Monica, and I were on the trails behind my house in Highlands Ranch, Colorado.  Heading home from a hilly 6 mile run we were hot and tired.  On the last mile stretch however, I found renewed energy as I tried to throw my good friend off of a cliff to save myself from a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake.  Beware, ladies and gents, when it comes to my life over yours, I will toss you overboard! 

Monica was right on my heals focusing on my footfall when I jumped backward at the sight of a 4 foot rattlesnake.  I couldn't say anything but, "SNAKE! SNAKE! SNAKE!"  I was literally inches away from the serpent.  She didn't understand what I was talking about and wasn't moving out of the way so I turned towards her and began pushing her backward as hard as I could.  "SNAKE! MOOOOOVE! SNAKE!"  Once Monica moved far enough back, I glanced back to the spot where the confrontation began.

"What is wrong! Jen, what happened?"

"RATTLESNAKE!"

"Okay, seriously, how do you know it wasn't just some snake?  It could be a bull snake.  We have those around here right?"

"Yes, we have those.  But I know that was a rattler.  It had the hoods over it eyes, the sharper nose.  I used to have bull snakes mate in my back yard every spring.  Trust me.  That was no bull."

Bull Snake

Western Diamondback Rattlesnake

From the other side of the trail another woman came running towards us.  "STOP! Stop, snake!"  She couldn't hear a word I said because her music was turned up so loud.  It took until she was almost right up to us for her to finally understand what I was screaming.

After waiting about 5 minutes for the rattler to move away from the trail, we ran home.  Well, in truth, I sprinted.

In a nutshell... from www.ag.purdue.edu

Since then, I have had three other rattlesnake encounters.  Two in one day.  That's left me thinking, is the trail really worth it?  Today, I only ran 1 mile on the trails and spent the other 3.75 on paved trails around my house.  Sure it was relaxing not having to worry about needle sharp teeth grazing my ankles.  And I even pumped my music on high for the first time in months, but I felt bored.  The views were lacking, and the adrenaline was weak.  We chose our new house because of the trails.  And now I am going to avoid them until the snakes return to hibernation?  I don't think so.

Instead of letting fear dictate my next few summer filled months, I decided a little research was in order.  Surprisingly, what I found soothed my fears.  I will number my findings in the order I found it most helpful.  Running makes us a little oxygen deprived and the key points should definitely stick out in time of need...

1. If you are bitten, don't put a tourniquet on the wound. Stay calm (yeah right), and try to keep your heart rate low.  It will decrease the rate in which the venom moves through your blood.  Remove any restricting jewelery (yes runners, that includes GPS watches).  Also, not all bites are venomous.  In fact, 20% of all rattlesnake bites are simple warning bites.  Get help either way!

2. Step ON rocks and logs, never over them unless you can see the other side.  Rattlesnakes don't like to be in the open.  They hang out around places they can hide easily.

3. Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes do NOT always use their rattles to warn of their existence.

4. Always carry a cell phone when running.  If you can get help within 2-6 hours, you will be okay. 

5. Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes are NOT inherently aggressive.  If you leave them alone, they will leave you alone.  Most bites are to dogs and according to the Colorado Department of Fish and Wildlife, 85% of bites nationally are delivered to drunk humans wandering off trails.  (I feel safer already!)

6. NEVER run on trails with both ear phones in your ears.  (This is probably a good suggestion across the board, but let's stay focused!)  Two days ago, I encountered 2 rattlesnakes, one deer, one coyote, numerous zooming bikers, and one horned lizard within 6 miles.  I heed this advice strictly.  I don't like things sneaking up on me, whether it be a human or Bambi. 

7. Don't handle a freshly killed snake.  They can inject venom for up to an hour after death.  (Now that's fascinating!)

8. Rattlesnakes enjoy the summer evenings the best.  The sustainable temperature for this coldblooded animal is between 70-90 degrees.  Therefore, they hunt and are most active during these temperatures.  This doesn't mean you are safer to run in the mornings (ALL of my encounters were between 7-9:30 am), it just means watch even more carefully in the evening hours.

9. If you see one, MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!  A snake can strike one and a half times its length when coiled.  15 feet is a safe distance according to the California Division of Fish and Wildlife.

I know I am going to have some wicked snake dreams tonight, but it is always better to be informed than fearful.  I fully respect wildlife and understand every animal has its purpose.  And part of that respect, is avoiding confrontation.

Any other advice you have I would love to hear!

Here are a few helpful links if you want more information:

http://www.ext.colostate.edu/pubs/natres/06501.html

http://www.crgov.com/DocumentCenter/Home/View/1239
http://parks.state.co.us/SiteCollectionImages/parks/Programs/ParksResourceStewardship/Rattlesnake%20Management%20Prescription.pdf

Colfax Marathon Pics

I don't make a habit of buying every set of professional pictures from my races, but there are a few moments that I hold close to my heart and I want every image of that day to last.  The Colfax Marathon was a highlight of my life.  If I could relive that moment every day, I would. 

8 Miles in.  The first pass through Sports Authority Field. 

20 Miles in.  Second Pass through Sports Authority Field. Check out the people behind me walking.  I am deliriously celebrating and they are looking around wondering, "Is there a toilet in here?"

6 Miles away from finishing.  Getting ready to ride my bike. 

I love to run.  Don't worry, the smile fades dramatically in about 2 miles.

Victory...Almost. 

 

Exhaustion, pain, happiness... Yeah, bring on the tears.

 

The moment you realize you don't have to run another step, but you CAN'T STOP.

I did it!

Colfax Marathon Mission Accomplished!

I ran 460 miles between January 1, and May 19; all those miles spent preparing for one 26.2 mile race.  Throughout the first 10 miles I smiled at the cameras, glowing ear to ear.  I earned this moment and I wanted to enjoy it. 

Sporting my $3.99 Goodwill "throwaways," which I didn't have the heart to throw away...

For months before the race, everyone asked me whether I had a goal time.  My answer was always simple.  NO.  I wanted to finish upright.  I didn't want to wallow in self-inflicted pain for weeks after the race.  I thought it plausible to finish under 4:30, based on all my training runs, but there would be no regret if that ideal was not reached.
 

My husband, Randall, and me 30 minutes before the start.

Race morning arrived much quicker than I anticipated and while I spent a whole week plagued with fear, questioning if my training would prove me ready, I woke rested.  I didn't want to start too fast, but we were tightly trapped within so many runners on narrow streets.  Adrenaline rushed through my body and I was euphoric. 

After running through the stadium.

By eight miles in, my spirits remained high.  We ran through the middle of Sports Authority Field at Mile High and came out one minute per mile faster than we started.  The energy of that empty stadium was ironic. 

Heading uphill after the stadium.

Two miles later, my knees started to ache and I felt a horrible cramp forming in my calf.  I knew it was from salt depletion and luckily my training partner, Monica, had a salt packet at the ready.  Salt helped, but I knew my knees were going to be sore and I couldn't maintain at the pace Monica wanted.  We were headed uphill and while the overall elevation gain was slight, nothing during a marathon feels slight.

We reached the halfway point and Monica tried to surge ahead.  A man behind me yelled out, "Hey Orange Team!  You guys are going too fast!"  He was obviously joking, but my legs agreed.  I was going too fast to be able to finish strong.  I needed to regroup. 

Ethan drew the two of us at the finish, then told his dad what to write.

Monica and I said all along we would train together and finish together.  At mile 10, I knew that wasn't realistic.  At mile 13, I knew it was impossible.  I pulled back reducing my speed to a 9:50 pace and felt tears welling in my eyes. I felt defeated.  We promised we would run together the entire way but I knew staying with her would only lead to regrets later as I couldn't continue at a 9:00 pace for the next 13.1 miles.  I would end up hurting myself, or holding back my friend's finishing potential.  Either way, I wouldn't be happy. 

At that moment, I learned a powerful lesson.  This was a journey I had to complete independently.  I couldn't worry about other people's pace or goals.  I had to be selfish.  I stopped running, pulled out my phone, sent my husband a Glympse (GPS tracking so he knew where I was on the course), strapped on my headphones and turned on my favorite running music.  I watched runners pass me around a corner and I waited until I couldn't see Monica's bright orange.  Knowing she would be great, I took a few moments to regroup and I started off again. 

By mile 15, we were headed back downhill and my legs felt strong.  Working at a comfortable 10:00 pace, I returned to nose breathing and enjoyed watching the buildings pass by.  Spectators read my name off my green bib and I was so grateful for their energy. 

My kids said our orange shirts and hats looked like tigers. 

I passed the 20 mile marker feeling good.  My legs were tired, but not finished.  I smiled as I ran through the next mile knowing I was actually going to make it.  I ran back through the football stadium and again, my energy was restored.  Miles 21 and 22 were solid.  I wasn't moving fast, but I was moving and proud of every step. 

Somewhere around 21 miles, another marathoner, wearing a bright yellow shirt stopped, looking destitute.  I patted her on the back softly, "Come on, we can do this!  I feel your pain!"  She smiled at me, and we ran together for the next mile and a half. 

As I rounded my way back up 17th Street and headed into the depths of Denver, the hills sadistically reappeared.  Relay runners, who divided the 26.2 mile stretch between 4-5 runners had fresh legs every few miles.  They charged up those hills, passing my exhausted limbs without mercy.  I glared at their gait and gave myself permission to walk up the remainder of the steep hill, about a quarter mile.

Again, spectators cheered me on, "Yes!  Keep moving!  You are doing it!  Go Jennifer, GO!"  I smiled, mouthed a breathy, "Thanks..." and began to run at the summit. 

Transitioning from running to walking and back again hurt.  I felt like my calves were going to explode and bleed out for the first few steps after each transition.  At mile 23, I walked through the water station and when I resumed running, I swore I was riding a bike.  Delirium took over as my arms moved ahead of me, steering my makeshift bicycle.  My legs pedaled in circles, close under my hips and I wondered who graced me with this beautiful machine. 

"HOLY CRAP!  Pull it together!  You are finishing, not loosing your mind!"  I quickly grabbed another Gu from my bag, sucked it back and decided to not walk another step.  If I walked, I wouldn't finish.  "Run, just run. Don't stop. Just run."  My legs were in "go" mode and walking confused them. 

First sight of my husband at the finish line.  All the feelings of pain and exhaustion vanished.

26 miles down, and I could hear the finish line.  I couldn't see it.  But I heard it.  I wanted to stop but that would be pointless.  Once the actual finish line came into view, I charged forward.  My pace increased and I saw Randall and Mark, Monica's husband, standing there smiling and cheering.  Pride ran through my veins.  I threw my arms up in victory and crossed the line in 4:25:17.

"I did it!  I freaking did it!" played through my head like a broken record.

A firefighter put my medal around my neck and I waddled to food.  Monica intercepted me there and the sight of her brought all the emotions that welled inside me for the last 10 miles to the front. 

I was so tired, I forgot to pick up food at the stations along the way.

Relief and exhaustion.  Well earned!

I cried in relief, pain, happiness, and pride.  From mile 17, every spectator that called my name and every time I thought about finishing, my eyes blurred with faint tears.  "Hold it together, Jen.  Hold it together."  Once I finished, I had nothing left.  The race stripped me bare and all that was left was raw emotion. 

Emotions welled at the finish. 

Monica and I hugged for a long time.  I was so proud of us.  We each ran our own race, but worked together to get there.  I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 

I never drink soda.  But throughout training, I dreamed of an ice cold Pepsi after a long run.  Randall had one waiting for me at the finish line, along with his flannel.

Strength

I don't want to go into the Colfax Marathon with negative memories from my 20 miler so fresh in my mind.  I've been nervous all week as the race rapidly approaches.  On my way to dropping Ethan off at school today he asked me if I thought I was ready to race.  I told him, "It is a goal that I worked really hard for.  I have been working for this since January, which is a long time.  I am ready because my hard work will pay off."  He didn't understand what "goal" meant.  So I explained it is something that you want really badly and you work hard to earn it.  I told him last summer his goal was to learn to ride his bike without training wheels.  He practiced really hard and now he is a confident cyclist.  "Goals make us better people and that is why it is important that we set goals and finish them to the best of our abilities."

Trying on my race clothes.  The boys thought I looked like a tiger.

Then he asked, "Mommy, why is is so important to you that you finish this goal, running so far?"  I've never teared up or put myself on a pedestal when I refer to my goals towards running.  I run for me.  I have never pretended to run for my kids or anyone else.  I like to run.  It is fun and good for my health.  Period.  But my vision started to blur as I told him, "I set this goal because I wanted to see if I could do it.  I want to know what my body is capable of and I want to be strong.  And now that I have set this goal, I have to reach it.  Quitting is not an option because someday I want you and your brother to look back at your childhood and think of Mommy as a strong woman.  If I quit, you won't see me that way.  And what will that teach you?"

"Okay, Mommy.  But I want you to know that you are strong.  I knew that already!"
 

Road-Burned

On Sunday I will run the Colfax Marathon.  Today, I ran my final 2 miles before the race.  I wish I could say it was an exhilarating finish, but it wasn't.  I flew off a curb and into the middle of the road, flat on my face, like Wonder Woman, but not so graceful.  My stupid dog, Tucker, pulled me into the street as I flailed in the air and couldn't regain my balance or my dignity.  Sadly, it was a fitting end to my marathon training.

Hahaha!  I love to find humor in every situation.  Training for a marathon hasn't been my most graceful moment, but it has been a worthy journey. 

Everything went well up until April.  We conquered our 17 and 18 milers like they were nothing.  Don't get me wrong, I was clearly tired at the end, but I felt strong and unstoppable.  Those annoying little doubts that plagued my head weeks earlier, asking whether this was a realistic dream to cover 26.2 freaking miles, curbed themselves in beautiful silence.  If I could run 18 miles, avoid a nap, hide hundreds of Easter eggs throughout my neighborhood for a party later, and be up until 10 with great friends and feel fine, I had it in the bag!

After our 17 Miler

After 18 Miles

Then we moved.  My kids were sick one week before the move with the most horrific respiratory infections we've ever had.  Poor Ethan was on 6 breathing treatments a day, steroids, and antibiotics.  My husband and I were bound to get it, so we buckled down with lots of Emergen-C packets and probiotics.  We fell sick a few days before the move and were miserable on moving day.  The boys got a second round shortly after, Owen suffered from pneumonia, and I was graced with Pleurisy.

Sunrise views from the trails by our new house.

Pleurisy is the most painful lung condition I've ever had, and I was scheduled to run 20 miles that weekend.  A virus causes inflammation in your lungs, which then causes the lining within your lung to blister.  Breathing, coughing, sneezing, all hurt.  I am now three weeks in and I still feel a sharp pain in my right lung when I run or sneeze.  So my training partner, Monica, and I took a break for a week and I returned to running with our 20 miler only one week after being diagnosed.

At the start of our 20 Miler.

The first 8 miles, I felt great.  The route we chose was predominately downhill or flat as I knew my lungs couldn't tolerate large hills yet.  By mile 13, my stomach started to turn.  I had 3.5 miles left until a bathroom break and I buckled down to get that far.  As the Platte River restrooms came into view, I told Monica, I am seriously going to vomit!  But nothing came, so I drank some water, and lumbered forward.

Miles 16 to 20 were the most miserable miles I've run to date.  I had to stop almost every half mile to dry heave in the grass like a pathetic cat passing a hair ball.  It was humbling, humiliating, and I thought it would never end.  Poor Monica, stayed quietly by my side, stopping when I needed and offering help when she could.

Finally, we turned down a long dirt path and sitting at the end was the last road we needed to take before finding our car.  I looked down at my watch and it was 19.something miles and I thought even a tenth of a mile would be too much.  Monica ran ahead to make sure it was the proper street.  I stayed back to throw my head between my knees and the second my feet hit the grass, I finally threw up.  A poor kid rode his bike behind me and screamed, "AHHHHH, MOMMY! SHE IS SO SICK!"  I didn't mind.  My dignity was long gone.  I kept puking until I could finally stand up straight again.

After walking to the car, we found humor in the situation.  No, I am not puking here.  Just poking fun.

Returning upright, I glanced at my watch to see how much I had left to run.  It read, "20.0 miles."  Somehow my body knew I was officially done.  I was so sure I had at least a quarter mile left before I got sick.  But my watch said I was done and I wasn't in the position to question.  We walked back to the car and as we walked, I felt infinitely better.

Thankful our 20 Miles are done!  Monica looks happy.  I am sick and relieved! 

For the last week, I have been tapering and the lung pain is still bad at times, but I got the all clear from my doctor to race.  Today is the best run I've had in a month.  My lung didn't hurt, my legs felt fresh, and best of all, my stomach finally cleared all the anti-inflammatories that wreaked havoc on my 20 miler.  Feeling adventurous, Tucker and I saw a new entrance to the open space on the other side of the road.  I signaled him to turn, caught my foot on the curb, and as he continued leaping foward, I splayed out on the pavement.  My knees and elbows are road-burned, but I figure it is a fitting end.  I am the Roadburner after all!