A Road To Recovery

Daylight Savings Time shoved our morning start time of 6:30 back into the dark.  Lisa, Kelly and Stephanie were smart enough to remember headlamps.  Pat, Melissa, Arlane and I made sure to stay in close with them.

We started our way down the dark trail grateful for the headlamps illuminating the path ahead.  Spring rains had left ruts and muddy sections we carefully navigated around.  We fell into comfortable paces and within a few miles we had spread apart yet remained within eyesight of each other.

Leaving the park, the skies lightened up enough and we can easily see the road ahead leading us to the marina.  The boats sleep and very few people are walking the path.  Melissa and I are enjoying the views while talking of our marathon plans for the year.  In a few short weeks she will be heading back to run the Boston Marathon.

As we round a corner, we are happy to see Arlane running alongside of us.  Kelly and Lisa had reached their miles and headed back to the starting point.  Arlane caught up to us and the 3 of us easily fell in pace.  Arlane and Melissa were both at the Boston Marathon last year finding themselves in the midst of the terrorist attack that pierced the heart of every runner and angered a nation.

The miles clicked by as we each shared deep emotions from that day in April.  They talked of the things they saw, the smallest things their minds grabbed onto to keep them focused, the anxiety of getting through to loved ones to let them know they were ok, the intense stress of trying to find each other and the horror of the not knowing.

Although I was not there, I told them of the helplessness we felt trying to find out their whereabouts, if they were ok, injured...or worse.  The emotions bubbled to the surface as I recalled all we did from 3,000 miles away.  In a small way, sharing our stories this morning brought us down a road of recovery.  With Melissa going back this year, she will face the ghosts of marathon past and we will be sitting at our computers tracking her every step along the course.

The 9 mile turn around point came as a surprise as we had been lost in conversation.  The route we picked for this day was designed to be tough.  The first 9 miles were downhill, the 9 mile run back was now all uphill.  With Melissa running Boston, Arlane running Nashville and me doing Vancouver USA, hill training is essential.  

Mile 10 was straight uphill and somewhere in the mile I was struck hard with the realization this wasn't difficult.  For the last 2 1/2 years I struggled with my running.  I was always tired, found myself walking on runs I could do easily before.  

A trip to the doctor told me I was severely anemic.  Despite iron and a diet strong in iron, I was still struggling.  Last September I ran The Tunnel Lite Marathon and at this race I hit rock bottom.  The day before the race, we discovered my Mom's cancer was no longer treatable and thus putting me emotionally unavailable to run a marathon.  The day of the race I was having medical issues and my anemia griped me tight.  Two years of fighting the anemia and it effecting my running as it did, I felt destroyed.  The mental crush of the condition had finally broken me.  My mind was in a very dark place.

In October I had a procedure done that controlled my medical issues and brought my anemia under control.  And right there - somewhere near mile 11 - I realized how good I felt.  For the first time in 2 1/2 years I realized how hard running had been for me because of how good I was feeling right at that moment.   The feeling was incredibly freeing.

The next miles pass us by as we watch the town starting to come alive.  A St. Patty's race was happening in a few hours and we could see the road crew putting up cones to keep runners safe.  People were dressed in green.

The park had a steep hill and we grew quiet as we each focused on running the hill strong.  Our pace was not faltering despite the hills we were tackling; telling us we were running harder than before.  Melissa likes to push herself the last mile of a long run, but coming off a rigorous training week she was content to keep the current pace.

Little did she know.

We are running up the trail closing in on the last mile.  My watch chirps 17 miles and with a smile, I pick up the pace.  Melissa and Arlane are in conversation and then notice I have pulled ahead.  I giggle to myself knowing picking up the pace will spark the competition in them both.  .35 miles to go and I hear Melissa calling to me, "Really??"
 
"You've got .35 miles to go, we are almost done."  She picks up the pace, catches me and passes me despite the hill we were cresting.  She turns and yells, "You aren't falling behind, stay on my heels."

"Oh, I ain't goin' anywhere sister." and I stay in her shadow.

Arlane is right behind us shouting encouragement to stay strong.

My watch chirps telling us the mile is over and we have just clocked the fastest mile of the day.  Mile 18.  Uphill.  Yea, we just did that.

Sipping our coffee and looking at my friends sitting around the table, it's hard for me not to get emotional.  These days I cry a lot but today I felt so happy.  My running family who was there for my last few struggling years are there still holding me up and celebrating these small steps I have in getting better.  They understand how hard the marathon is, they understand how dark the mental game can be and they stand firmly at my side; they share every step on this road to recovery and I can't help but feel incredibly blessed.

It's Muggy

Sweat stings my eyes.  My watch is yelling at me.  It wants me to slow down.  I have no desire to listen to it.  I don't.  



I push forward.

I am on my second 800 meter repeat and the air is thick with humidity.  Why oh why did I wear a hat?  My watch chirps at me to stop my 800 and cool down before picking up the pace again.  The data on my watch tells me I ran my 800 meters a second faster than the first one.  The easy pace I'm doing ensures I cool down.  My watch begins to beep; it's time to pick up the pace again.

The pace is a hard comfortable.  Oh my gosh it's muggy.  Why did I wear a hat again?  I notice a teenager doing strides while her dad tries to keep up.  I smile at the incredible father /daughter bonding moments that will come out of sweating out hard workouts together.  My watch is telling me to slow down.

Beep, beep, beep.  My 800 is over.  A second faster again.  Nearing my water bottle, I flick my hat off and it lands right next to the bottle.  SCORE!  I take a swig or two of the liquid gold and continue on my cool down pace. My watch beeps again telling me break is over.  I am completely unsure how this is possible as I thought it told me to slow down only 5 seconds prior.

Have I mentioned it's muggy?  My 4th 800 repeat goes by quickly and I've knocked another 2 seconds off my previous time.  Calculations quickly tell me I am now 4 seconds faster than my first which is 15 seconds faster than what the training plan called for.  I'm sure a coach somewhere would be yelling at me to slow it down.  I'm a week into my 3 week taper and the Taper Tantrums have struck.

Two more repeats to go.  The heat is getting to me and I notice my 5th 800 meter is 5 seconds slower than my last; more in line to what it should be but my effort seemed harder.  My cool down time is less than a millisecond long before my watch is telling me to get going again.

Last one.  Thank you Lord.  I push it knowing I am on my last one.  I try and wipe the sweat from my eyes.  It stings.  Suck it up princess.  It's almost over.  I round the last turn and with mercy my watch beeps again telling me it's time to cool down.  2 seconds slower than my last.  I'll take it.  It's muggy.

My friends and I start our cool down mile and talk about today's workout.  The easy pace feels good.  The conversation is good and before we realize it, the mile is over.  We stretch our well-worked muscles and talk about football; finally the season begins.

Walking back to our cars, we high five each other and solidify the weekend's running plans.  Sitting in my car, I turn the key and reach to press the button which puts the top down.  It's definitely a top-down kind of a drive.  

After all, it is muggy.

A Much Needed Answer

To say I've been struggling with my running over the last year is to understate my battle.  Although I've tried to keep my struggle private, it often flowed out into my words as I told of my races; most notably the Wintrhop, Bellingham Bay and the California International marathons.

Any runner can attest to having a bad run or a bad race day; I was experiencing a bad race year.  The head games birthed from so many consistent bad races left me feeling more than overwhelmed.  I spent many quiet moments debating on giving up racing, especially marathons.  My friends are the ones who would push me when I couldn't.

About 6 weeks ago a group of us met for an easy 8 mile run; it was 8 miles on a simple route at a conversational pace.  I couldn't keep up.  I was walking at mile 6.  Mile 6.  I felt as if I had no skeleton and was running on empty despite a solid week's sleep and eating right.  Once I got home the only thing I wanted to do was sleep.  For 3 days. 

This is when I knew something was wrong.

Not one to run to the doctor for a sniffle or an ache or a pain, my doctor knew something was amiss simply because I was sitting in her office.  She asked a multitude of questions, poked and proded.  We sent my blood sample away to the lab and awaited results.

The answer didn't take long to receive.  I am anemic.  Never have I been happier to hear there is something wrong with me.  This diagnosis validated my struggle.  It wasn't that my mind wasn't tough enough, or I wasn't determined enough, or I wasn't good enough.   My body could not physically do what I was asking it to do.  Iron deficiency stole my ability. 

I stand now in the middle of hope and promise.  There are millions of people who live with this every day and I know I am not alone.  But right now it has given me an answer, a much needed answer, to questions I faced for too long. 

A new marathon season lies ahead and now, finally, I am excited to see what it holds.

The Taper : An Itch One Can't Scratch

Last week I entered into The Taper; the time in marathon training where the last long run has taken place and the mileage decreases before race day.  The hardest work is done, the endurance ability is created and the body is given permission to actively recover through less miles all in hopes to hit race day with a body well rested and ready to go.

Marathoners love to hate The Taper.  You think we would kick back and enjoy taking it easy; we don't.  Here are just a few reasons why.

 

Life is Just a Fantasy

Week after week as the miles build, the daydreaming begins.  During the last 22 miler before the marathon, you run and fantasize about all the free time you will have by not running so many miles each week.  The Taper and it's lower mileage look tall-stack-of-pancakes-smothered-in-syrup good; but it's not.  As soon as you cut the body a break, your brain takes over and you are acutely aware of every single twinge or ache or muscle or broken leg.  Panic sets in and you wonder if you are suddenly injured and question if you will make it to the starting line.

You realize the unicorns and glitter fantasy of The Taper has been stomped on by a T-Rex in full speed pursuit of it's dinner.  Which leads me to...

I Want a New Drug
Your brain is a magnificent organ which easily and happily facilitates your running addiction.  With The Taper in full swing the brain is no longer playing 9 year old boss of the playground with your legs.  The brain does not know how to handle this and looks around the body to find something else to pick on.  Without fail, the brain lasers in on the stomach and you are not thinking of marathon training anymore, you are thinking of milkshakes, french fries and pizza.  And somehow you convince yourself this is completely acceptable forms of carbo loading.

She Blinded Me With Science

There are many different training plans each with their own thoughts and ideas on how much to run in The Taper.  Yet all agree, The Taper is a necessary evil component to training.  The guys in white lab coats have proven resting does more good for the body than training hard up until race day.  Since they have lots of capitalized abbreviations behind their names, and shiny pocket protectors, I tend to listen to them.   Obeying them?  Well, um, that's not so easy.   

And The Walls Come Tumblin' Down
Once The Taper has started, nothing no longer stands between you and the marathon.  Waves of fear and anxiety become bedfellows with your nerves.  Before that last long run every run was a training run for an upcoming marathon; a marathon which was weeks or months away.  The Taper knocks down the wall you hid behind and shoves you right smack into reality.  The training is over, the marathon is almost here, and you are ready - no matter what taunts The Taper whispers in your ear.

Here I Go Again

With several marathons under my belt, one would think The Taper would be easy.  It isn't; and in honesty I would not want it to be.  My nerves doing the tango prove the marathon still matters to me.  The distance is hard, and it hurts, and it makes me learn things about myself.  I can't see the starting line without experiencing The Taper.  I can't see the finish line without crossing the starting line. 

And the finish line is worth it.  Oh, is it worth it.

Carol King's Story

Carol stood at the starting line of the St. Jude’s Memphis Marathon alone; this no different than how she lived most her life.  It took years before being alone no longer felt lonely.   Her nerves somersaulted inside her.  Self-doubt crept in; perching itself on her shoulder whispering it’s all too familiar haunts.  She shook it off.  Not today.   Today was her day.

The horn blew and the sea of people ebbed forward.  Carol began running her first marathon.  The nerves she felt moments before lost their potency in the familiar and rhythmic steps of her running.  Comfort surrounded her as she found her pace.

Becoming a runner was something Carol never thought she would do.  Running was for athletic people – fit people – not women in their 40s, with weight to lose and had spent a life far away from sports.  The image of her beloved grandmother comes to mind as she recalls a private moment between them.  Carol, the youngest of three children, was a young child when she learned the truth about her birth.  Life was not easy and a third child to feed was not ideal.  Carol’s mother was not happy about the third pregnancy and tried to conceal it.   Carol felt the harshness in the reality of her grandmother’s words and vowed to never be a burden to anyone, never to ask for anything including the playing of sports in school.  An innocent conversation between a grandmother and granddaughter solidified walls Carol spent decades living behind.  Bricks of “don’t ask for anything”, “take care of yourself”, and “be self-sufficient at all costs” were mortared into the walls around her heart with a thick layer of doubt and low self-esteem.

“Walking In Memphis” plays on Carol’s iPod and pushes the memory from her mind.     She is running the streets, not walking them.  She loves the irony.  The route is peppered with bands all feeding her energy as she passes by.   Mile 10 a woman runs next to her, struggling to finish the half marathon.  Carol encourages her, telling her “You got this.  You can do it.”

These are not empty words of encouragement.  This is truth spoken from lessons learned after hard earned victories.   One of Carol’s first victories came at the end of a training run.  Brand new to running, she had just run 20 minutes without walking for the first time in her life.   The realization of what she just accomplished overwhelmed her, Carol is amazed at what she just learned she is capable of.  In the middle of the park’s path she breaks down and cries; each tear stripping away deep seeded self doubt.  

The woman listens to Carol’s encouragement and forges forward.  Two miles later they part ways as the half marathon route turns and the full marathon runners continue forward.  Here the runners greatly thin out.    With less people around, Carol realizes how few people run 26.2 miles.    Something happens within her.  Instead of feeling out of place with this realization, it strengthens her determination.  A lonely road did not scare her, it empowered her.

Miles were clicking by and an old injury began to flare up.  Exhaustion coupled with pain can weaken the strongest of resolve.  Carol does not want to quit.  She looks up at the apartment building she passes.  Above the street on a private balcony a young girl waves at her.  The girl’s smile gives Carol motivation.  There would be no giving up.  Carol pushes herself forward to show that little girl on the balcony and to prove to the little girl sitting across from her grandmother so many years ago, that there is no limit to the greatness within each of us. 

A sign reads ‘Mile 20’.  Carol is now running the final miles of the marathon.  These are the toughest miles and her injury adds to the difficulty.    Seeing Carol’s pain, a stranger runs alongside her and offers her some Advil.  In desperation she accepts.    This injury would not be what stops her.  She had come too far, she had too much to prove.

Standing in their kitchen, full of excitement after walking in a local race with a friend, Carol told her husband of her plans to run the half marathon the following year.  A terrifying goal for someone who had never run before, yet she could not deny the spark of desire she felt.  He looked at her and sneered, “Yeah.  Right.”  The spark had now became a flame.

To run the marathon had been her decision, her goal and it gave her tremendous purpose.  He tried to feed her self-doubt. Years of haircuts and hair colors, diets and exercise plans all failed to make him love her more than each of his passing girlfriends.  He knew how to make her feel worthless.  Yet, she continued to train.   Running was giving something back to her.    It was chipping away at the walls she hid behind.

Mile 21, 22…the bricks kept coming down.  Her whole life she believed in the fallacy of the smile she wore.  The marathon stripped her of that smile and showed her it was ok to struggle.  The marathon was showing her the struggle is what makes you stronger; it lays a foundation of greater strength than the bricks of self-doubt she’d always known.

Mile 23, 24…Carol reflected on the changes running has given her.  She remembers those first months of running.  Afraid of anyone seeing her, Carol’s running took place well into the night.  If anyone saw her, she felt surely they would laugh at her.  After all she wasn’t a real runner; she was an overweight housewife completely dead on the inside.  Real runners are fast and svelte and athletic and happy.  Carol is no longer the woman hiding in the cover of night.   She runs in the daylight through the park she loves.  Bags of clothes - now several sizes too big - were donated to charity and at 40 years old her training has made her an athlete.  She no longer needs the anti-depressants that sustained her.  Carol knows, even now at mile 24 with a body tired and wanting to quit, she is happier than she has ever been.  Running has given Carol herself.

Completing Mile 25 brings comfort knowing she is now in the final mile of the marathon.    Her determination to finish pushes away her pain.  Carol puts one foot in front of the other.  Each footstep taking her farther away from the woman she once was.  She runs from 20 years of infidelity and pain, 20 years of not being good enough.   She runs from the divorce he told her of.  She runs from the sad and scared child sitting across from her grandmother.

The final 385 yards lay ahead of her. Carol runs toward the finish line.  Each step drawing her closer to the woman she has become; a woman who proved to herself she owns a strength she hadn't dreamt capable.  Carol became a woman who came out from behind the walls confining her and began living in the world of possibility.  She had given herself a goal and she was achieving it.  In doing so, Carol has given herself one of life's greatest gifts, the gift of confidence.

The end is in sight.  Her friend Debby is waiting.  Carol runs across the finish line and collapses into the arms of her friend. Carol weeps.  She cries because the person she once was is gone forever.  She cries for the new woman born out on the marathon course that day.  Carol cries for her birth into a new life.  A life she was meant to live. 

Hopes and Heat

To say I struggled in writing this is simplifying the post. As I type this opening line I am still unsure if I'll publish it.  Yet, this is a blog about running, struggles and honesty regardless of how brutal they are.

In signing up for The Wintrhop Marathon I knew it was to be my race.  The course is beautiful (preventing boredom) with a large net elevation loss boasting huge PRs to those running it in previous years.  A small race with big extras ~ I was fed the night before and after the race which also included free beer ~ all at no extra cost outside of my $65 registration fee.  

Coming back from injury, my training started out cautiously.  Once I saw the healing had taken place I ramped up in preparation for a very strong race.  My speed got faster and I had some of the strongest long distance runs I've seen.Two months before the marathon I set a 30 second 5k PR. 

Months leading up to the marathon I monitored my eating and increased my rest.  Everything I could do to prepare for this race, I did.  Lasered in on my goal I knew it was mine to take.  Never in my life had I felt more ready, more determined or more focused on this goal.  I was ready.

Peeking out the hotel window at 5 a.m. there was not a cloud in the sky.  It was going to be hot.  I do not do well running in heat.  AT ALL.  I sharpen my mental game.

Before the race, Kathy and I did our normal pre-race routine which included light running to warm up our muslces.  Here I felt a struggle to breathe and was taken aback by  this. Allergies?  Elevation?  I am confused.

The race proceeded and although the day got warmer I held right on pace until mile 9.  Mile 9.  I backed off my pace in hopes to have a strong finish despite losing my goal time.  By mile 16 my watch told me a new PR wasn't in the works.  And that is where anger collided with disappointment and sadness.

The raw emotions I feel are many, yet one stands out overwhelmingly, and that is sadness.  Don't be mistaken, this is not feeling sorry for myself and it is not self-pity.  I am standing neck deep in the heartbreak of a goal hoped for and pryed out of my grasp by the heat of the sun.

Just as in the race I put one foot in front of the other and I will continue to do so with my training.  There are other races this year and more training to do.  My motivation is gone and I am mentally exhausted.   Not one to ever curl up into a ball and give up, however I do feel as if I am sitting on a curb emotionally and physically spent.  My crossed arms perched on my knees cradling my head which rests on them. I am sitting on the curb and have no desire to get up from it.

And that's ok.

One day the spark of motivation will come and it will be the extended hand I need to pull me up off the curb and start my training again.   Until then I'll lace up my shoes, run, and heal.

The Rain

My tires cause the puddle to spray up and over the side of my car.  Several times through the night the rain fell with such intensity the sound of it hitting the skylight woke me.  Now the rain fell in a heavy mist; the mist so thick it concealed the stoplight ahead as if it were enshrouded with an early September fog.
 
The roads were quiet.  I was greeted by only a handful of cars as I made my way into town.  Turning down the parkway, I look for my friends as they were running more miles than I would and I knew this road was to be a  part of their route.  A short time later, I see the glow of their reflective rain jackets as my headlights illuminated them.  I honk and wave as I drive by.
 
Winter’s rains had swollen the creek close to overflowing.  The rushing current gave evidence to the amount of rain which had fallen.  Two deer stand huddled at the side of the creek, blending in perfectly with the naked trees and shrubs around them.  Their stance tells me they seem chilled from the rain.

I park my car up the hill and wait for my friends on a corner of downtown.  In a short time, I see them and recognize each one by their gait.  I can tell who is in the group before I can see their faces.  Brad, Pat, Arlane, Melissa and Kathy make it up the hill and meet me where I stand.  I catch their rhythm and we disappear on to the Interurban Trail.  Already running for an hour, they are wet and miserable.  I feel guilty for having dry shoes.
 
We wind our way to the edge of the ocean.  A large light shines in the distance out on the ocean, its source hidden in the misty rain.  Everyone assumes it is a boat, but no one can tell for certain.  The grey of the wet mist erases the line on the horizon separating ocean from sky; the two blend perfectly.  The ocean swallows the rain and slowly lulls the ducks on it’s waves.
 
 No one sees the puddle until its too late, the coldness taking us by surprise and we all leap, scream and splash.  I no longer have guilt or dry shoes.  I am now wholeheartedly part of the group, my initiation complete.
 
The canopy of trees does little to keep us dry.  The mist collects heavily on the tree’s branches and falls in big drops as we run underneath.  Each of our hats drip rain from the brim.  We pass time talking of Melissa’s incredibly warm trip to Texas the week before.   Each of us longing for summer and looking forward to spring arriving shortly.
 
Kathy and I turn and head back toward the city while the others forge ahead to ensure they get their mileage.  Coming off an injury, it is the first time in weeks Kathy and I run together.  We seemingly pick up right where we left off so many weeks ago.   We talk, we laugh, we make our way down the trail. 
 
The only others out in these weather conditions are fellow runners.  Each one is greeted with enthusiasm, as if we all belong to secret society of hard core endurance, or of crazy – one can’t be too sure.  Although we are soaked to the bone, the only thing we look forward to is a hot shower.

We maneuver our way through the alleyways as careful as we can to avoid the rivers of rains running through them.   It is futile and we splash through the moving water.  Our watches chirp the end of another mile and we walk the remainder few feet to the car.  Finally, it is over.
 
These are the training runs to remember.   The building of endurance comes not only in the miles but also in the conditions.  You teach your body to run further, and your mind to endure.  The sun brings heat, the clouds bring rain and we run through it all.  We may not like it, but we always appreciate it.  There are more miles to run, and we are blessed to be able to run them.  Even in the rain.