Race Report: Pacers Crystal City Friday 5k

This race served as a fitness test for me in my first week of Ironman training. I was excited to see what kind of speed I would have coming off of a marathon training plan. I had a great run at a great race, and I was happy with my fitness!

As I get older (or maybe just wiser), I find that I benefit from a longer warm-up. It may be that I was just too lazy in past years to take 15-20 minutes for preparation. I could get away with it in my early twenties. Now that I'm approaching thirty, I'm more mindful of how my body feels, and my body feels better when I take at least 15 minutes to warm up.

That said, I ran the 1.2 miles to my closest Metro station and took the train to Crystal City. I picked up my packet, stopped in at Crystal City Sport & Health (right next to the start line, thank you very much) to pin my number and have a drink, and then took another 1.2 miles to warm up. My left ankle felt tight on the inner side, just behind the ankle bone (I think these are annular ligaments that are tight and cranky from all of my ankle injuries last season). It loosened up within a few minutes, though, so I wasn't too worried.

Standing on the start line, I felt nervous. I haven't run hard and fast in many months. I remember, though, that 5ks hurt, and I was not excited about the 30 minutes of pain. I think I seeded myself well, since I didn't have to pass very many slower runners early on. And, considering the tight quarters, the pack thinned out relatively quickly.

I bought a Garmin 910XT with the leftover budget from my bike purchase; this was my first race using my new GPS watch. I ran by heart rate, trying to keep it under 170 BPM for the first mile, then shooting for around 173 BPM until the last half mile. After that, I let 'er rip, and ended up at a full (probably ugly) sprint across the line. Finished in 27:26, and didn't throw up! But it was a close call.

There was one woman who ran near me the whole time. She was probably 20 years older than me, with a similar build, wearing an Ironman cap with green stripes. We went back and forth through the whole race. For a while, I was running behind her and we were perfectly in step, stride-for-stride. I passed her with a little over a quarter mile to go, and held her off until the end. After I got a water bottle and established that I wasn't going to puke, I started looking for her. She found me first, though, and we chatted about our race together. Thanks, lady in the green cap, for pushing me to run my very best! If you ever need a running buddy, call me!

The other person I saw on-course who really impressed me: There was a woman, probably a new mother I assume , heavy-set in the way that new mothers often are. She was almost at the very back of the race, probably only half a dozen people behind her; I passed her as I was heading the opposite way, towards the finish line. She was pushing her baby in its stroller, wearing blue spandex tights, a cute, turquoise shirt, and a floppy, sparkly tutu. She had a huge smile on her face, as she walked along the race course. She looked so proud and happy to be doing this 5k. So good for you, mom with the sparkly, blue skirt, and congratulations on your 5k!

I enjoyed this race. It had a great feel to it, and it was cool to run on the roads of Crystal City, which had been closed to traffic for this race. There was an exciting mix of people: strong, fit runners, walkers doing their first-ever event, an older women (late 70s, maybe?) wearing salmon-colored jeans and a nice sweater, the mom with her sparkly tutu, and a bunch of middle-of-the-pack runners like me. Everyone seemed excited to be there, and the race was well-organized. I would definitely do this race again. In fact, I might sign up for another one! They run every Friday through the end of April. So let me know if you're going to do one, and maybe I'll see you there!

Runner's High: No, a Real High

Every now and then, after a long, hard run, I experience a genuine runner's high. It actually feels like the kind of high you get when . . . well, never mind. Not like I know anything about that, anyway.

My working theory is that I'm running so hard that I'm killing brain cells.

Runner's High: Game Day

Best part about running long on Superbowl Sunday afternoon?

You get the roads all to yourself.

Runner's High: Slow Down and Enjoy the View

Sometimes it's worth taking a break to snap a picture.

Runner's High: Sore

You know the feeling.

It's when you can't walk down a flight of stairs. Oh sure, going up the stairs is a breeze. But coming back down? Not so much.

It's when you go to sit down on the commode and you have to lower yourself slowly, with sound effects for emphasis.

It's when you try to get up off the couch and it takes more than one attempt.

Oh yes. You know that feeling. And I know that feeling.

But normally I don't get that feeling after an easy, 3 mile run.

Runner's High: Blisters

See my cute little blister? I got that while running the half marathon on Sunday. It looked a lot worse right after the race. Now it's in the shape of a heart! It's as if it's saying, "I love running!"

What a magical feeling. Even my blisters love to run!

Runner's High: Dad

This is us at the opera. This is not what we look like running.

I love my Dad. He is the epitome of the phrase, "Slow and steady wins the race." He's one of my biggest fans, and one of my most constant companions. He started cycling a year or two before I did; he's run for as long as I can remember (off and on . . . okay, more off than on). When I was young, he always tried to get me to go out running with him. On several occasions, he signed me up for local 2-mile races . . . which I may or may not have wanted to do (but mostly the latter).

As of yesterday, he's still trying to get me to run.

Because I overslept yesterday morning and missed the wonderful companionship of the Derby Sunday morning 10-miler group. And so I told myself I would go running on my own. But it didn't take much convincing for me to avoid the 15 MPH northern winds and stay in my bed reading a book instead. I took the dog out for a run (all of 15 minutes in the cold and breezy). Then I spent the afternoon watching basketball.

Let me make it very clear: I did not want to run yesterday.

But I made the mistake of asking my dad if he planned to run. His response? "Sure! I'm ready whenever you are!"

So we went out to do a little 2 miles. I made the additional mistake of telling him I planned to do a 2-mile warm-up, followed by 14 minutes at tempo. After we finished our little 2-mile out-and-back (with me grumping all the way about how my legs hurt and I didn't want to run and my body didn't feel like it wanted to do this), he said, "I'll take your coat in if you want to keep running." Whine . . . sigh. I walked back and forth, debating whether or not I wanted to go ahead with the tempo run, and finally told myself, "It's only 7 minutes out and 7 minutes back; it would be silly not to do it." So I sighed again and said, "Alright, I'll do it. If it hurts too bad, I can always turn around and come back after a few minutes."

What does my dad do? He runs with me. "You can just run on ahead, and I'll turn back whenever you turn back." Of course, once we got started, I had to finish it. So I ran my full warm up, and my full tempo run, and another 10 minutes of cool down, as well.

And I wouldn't have done any of it without my dad.

Runner's High: Hit by a Train

After this week's training, I feel as though I've been run down by a locomotive.

:-D

Runners' High: De-stress

I don't want to go into the details of cortisol production and clearance in the body and how that all relates to weight loss, weight gain, eating habits, working out, and so on. Part of that is because it takes too long to explain, and part of it is that I don't really understand it myself, and you can Google it just as easily as I can.

But while I may not understand the details of stress hormones, I do know when I feel that stuff pumping through my blood. I know it makes me want to eat, and it prefers sugars and fats to get its kicks.

Tonight, someone made me mad. They hurt my feelings and pissed me off. I'd already been working for 13 hours, and still had one hour left to go (on a Friday, by the way). I wanted to cry but couldn't. I wanted to call a friend and vent my spleen, but didn't have time, since I had one more appointment to make it through.

My last client of the day was what I call a Baby Swimmer--someone who is so new to swimming that she still fears to put her face in. Working with these swimmers is a very hands-on process, which means me in the water, sometimes lending a hand when Baby Swimmer says, "You're not gonna let me sink, right?" Point is, I was active. I was moving. I was in the water and (sort of) swimming, but at the very least using my body.

And I didn't really start making connections until I got out of the pool, into the shower, and started thinking about the situation that so greatly upset me in the first place. I was considering sending a nice, private e-mail, making sure my feelings were understood, and that everyone was on the same page. And as I was mentally composing this e-mail, I realized that I was thinking sensibly and rationally and reasonably and I was no longer feeling the flood of stress in my bloodstream.

In other words, a gentle workout helped to clear that shit out.

Just a reminder, then, of something we all probably know already: exercise makes you feel better. The next time you feel the tides of cortisol corroding your brain, make time for a little workout. Guarantee it'll clear your head, clear your heart, and clear your blood of those nasty stress hormones.

Runner's High: No Big Deal

I can remember when a 10-mile run was a huge undertaking. Hell, I can remember my first 10k, which at the time was the farthest I'd ever run. Oh, and it was in my first-ever Olympic distance race (stupid, stupid, stupid).

Last Saturday, I headed out to Derby with one of the athletes I coach for a moderately-paced 10-miler. Weather was perfect, if a little humid: minimal wind, overcast, and cool. There's a surprising amount of elevation change in Derby, so the course I planned was pretty challenging.

And know what? It was no big deal. It was a 10-mile run, and it was no big deal. Which, when you're looking at training for an Ironman (and I'm not, by any means, saying that I am or will be any time soon), should be expected. Because 10 miles is really not that far.

On the other hand, 10 miles is HUGE! That's more distance at once than most people--even most everyday runners--will ever consider doing! And when I consider the fact that two years ago I had never run more than 6 miles at a time . . . that's pretty cool.

Okay, now that I've written that out, it really seems like not a big deal. I feel a little silly.

Silly, but still awesome. 

Runner's High: Knocking it Out

 Today I was thinking about a drive I made a couple years ago.

I was dropping some friends off at Griffith Park for the inaugural running of the Los Angeles Half Marathon. I don't remember why I'd volunteered to wake up before the ass-crack of dawn and drive an extra 20 miles or so on a Sunday; may have been simply because they were teammates.

I do remember waiting for them to get ready. I remember them talking about taking a long-sleeved "throw-away shirt" to keep warm pre-race. I remember them discussing warm-up methods and field size (which was big, for a first-time event--about 10,000 people). I remember conversations about how they thought they would fare in what was essentially, for them, a training run, one for which they'd done no specific training.

I remember being astounded at the fact that they could just knock out a half marathon like it was no big thing, like it was just another training run. I remember thinking it remarkable that a person could have so many race t-shirts that they wouldn't mind throwing one away like it was disposable.

I would never just knock off a half-marathon; I would never sacrifice one of my precious race shirts to the pavement. My race shirts were like medals in themselves; I could wear those around campus, and everyone would know that I am a triathlete. And a half marathon is a long, long race! It takes hard training and planning and (like approaching the Most Holy Place) a good amount of fear and trembling (and maybe bells on your ankles).

But that was three years ago (two-and-a-half?). And now?

Now there's a half marathon/5k next weekend, the weekend before my half-ironman. I haven't done any special training for a half marathon; it would be a last-minute decision; I'm definitely not evidencing any signs of fear and/or trembling. But I'm still entertaining the thought of doing it.

So what? It's only a half marathon. I can just knock it out.

Runner's High: With Friends

You guys have already heard me grouse (twice) about how the training gods jealously foiled my first date with my new bike. And I wasn't the only one (although TriGreyhound did manage to get out on his new ride this weekend).

Of course, other Wichita triathletes were equally bedfuddled by the nasty weather--we all had long bikes and/or runs planned. So one resident tri buddy (who coaches for the Wichita YMCA) organized a spinning soiree in one of the Y's (small, poorly-ventilated) aerobics studios.


And let me tell ya--that was a blast.


Last night, when I was spinning to my own music and watching the NCAA men's tournament, I had trouble keeping my heart rate above 130; today, 145 felt effortless. I got to meet and talk with a bunch of relative newbies I'd never met. One of the athletes I coach was there and we ran and swam together after a couple hours of trainer time.


Working out in a group (even for an introvert like me) is just better. Solo workouts are great too; but they can't match the ease and intensity of swimming, biking, and running with friends.

Runner's High: PR

10.21 miles.

1:35:01.

Average pace? 9:18/mile.

I have never gone that far that fast. Ever.

And the split for my last mile was 8:38.

This is how I feel about that:

I've said it before--this is going to be a breakthrough year for my running.

"Runner's High": Gracie

Gracie is not technically our dog. She belongs to the neighbors ("neighbors" in rural Kansas means anyone residing within 3 miles of your house). But she might as well be ours. She came to our house to hang out with Blazer (R.I.P), our golden retriever. We fed her and loved her and put blankets out for her in the winter. She doesn't come around much anymore, because Blazer is no more. But every now and then, she'll hear me running past and come out, tongue lolling, panting like crazy and run home with me. She whines and wags her tail, pushes her head into my hand for a rub. She's not the best pacer, but she is a great listener. And she's done everything from 2 miles to 10 miles and has never pooped out or slowed me down.

Most importantly, when it's Friday afternoon and I'm coming down from a long work week, she makes my run bearable. She puts a smile on my face and a spring in my step. And if I slow down, she stops and looks back at me as if to say, "What do you think you're doing? C'mon!"

Thanks, Gracie, for being my run buddy.

Runner's High: He Will Make A Way

I've made no secret of the fact that I'm not exactly religious. My church is the Church of the Long Run. And I'm okay with that.


I used to be. I grew up as a conservative, Evangelical Christian. Amazing how coming out of the closet throws a monkey wrench in all that.

I'm finding my way back, slowly but surely. Actually, I prefer to think I'm finding my way forward. Because if I just go back to what I was before, what was all the suffering and confusion and questioning and all that for?

At any rate, I still retain some of the edifices of my former belief in my everyday life: a desire to reflect, a sense of fairness that I just can't shake, and Christian songs in my running playlists.

There's one song that keeps coming up, run after run. I mean, of course it comes up; it's on the playlist, it's gonna come up. But it always sticks with me, gives me encouragement to run a little faster, and (dare I say) kind of speaks to me. Don't know what it is about this song; it's sweeping and epic and the lyrics are exactly what I want to hear in the last 2 or 3 miles. Here it is.

He Will Make A Way
Kathy Troccoli
I know that you're discouraged
But you're not alone
There is absolutely no situation
Out of his control
One door may close
Another will open
Jesus is healer of all that is broken


He will make a way where there is no way
He will bring his peace where there is no peace

Watch him put together what's been torn apart
He can soften up the most hardened of hearts
He will make a way where there is no way


Don't you go believing lies
He's not forgotten you
There's gonna be another higher, greater place
He will take you to


Watch him move mountains, ride you through the way
He can deliver in the darkest of days
He will make a way where there is no way
He will bring his peace where there is no peace
There is no war he does not will
When you're at your end he's just beginning
He will make a way where there is no way


Our only hope is in him
No matter what this life can bring
Jesus stands alone
As the god of impossible things


He will make a way where there is no way
He will bring his peace where there is no peace

Watch him move mountains, ride you through the way
He can deliver in the darkest of days
He will make a way where there is no way
He will bring his peace where there is no peace

Runner's High: Pool to Myself

 

Yesterday morning, I did my (measly) 1200 meters in the pool and I had it all to myself. Truly, when there's no one in the pool, and the water is still and reflects everything so beautifully, it's all I can do to resist jumping in and disturbing the water myself. Having the pool to myself takes the workout to another level. Makes it totally worth waking up at 4:30 a.m.

Runner's High: Contentment

You know you're in a good place when you go to bed thinking, "Hey! I get to swim and run tomorrow!"

Yeah. I'm in that place.

"Runner's High": Running Anyway

Sunday, November 30. I want to do a 10-mile run. Somehow sucker my dad into getting out in the cold Kansas weather to jog the first couple with me. Fifteen minutes before we had planned to leave, it starts sleeting. Not raining. Not snowing. Sleeting. Like hail, but colder. And the wind is blowing so hard that the sleet is coming down at a 45* angle to the ground. Wind from the north. Like really cold wind. It stops after 5 minutes, but the clouds still look menacing.

We run anyway.

Wednesday, December 3. I wake up at 6:00 a.m. to reports of a severe wind advisory. Seriously. The National Weather Service issues tornado and thunderstorm and flash flood warnings. Well, in this part of the country, they also issue severe wind advisories. Our local NPR broadcast journalist reports in a friendly voice that the today we'll have a high of 39 degrees, a low of 18, and winds from the north at 30 miles per hour gusting to 45. I crawl out of bed and throw tights, arm warmers, leg warmers, windproof pants, a scotch-guarded top, a hat, and gloves into my (too small) bag. I go to work. The wind howls around my car, and I spend my first two training sessions watching the trees outside the windows bend in the semi-darkness and listening to the scratchings and creakings of blowing branches.

I don't care. I run anyway.

Running is empowering. Whether it's too hot or too cold or too windy or too rainy or too snowy or just plain miserable outside, an athlete (or anyone, actually) who really wants to run is going to go outside and run. And that's it.

What's more, if the athlete is worth his or her salt and has any measure of endurance experience, he or she is not going to whine or brag about it. He or she might casually say, "Oh yeah, I ran earlier today." But will not regale listeners with tales of brutal conditions.

That's why I'm falling in love with running. It makes me feel tough. It makes me feel strong. It makes me feel that I don't need anyone or anything to approve or praise me. Or need anyone or anything at all, for that matter.

That's why I run. It's difficult to start running. It's difficult to keep running. And if it doesn't hurt by the end, then I'm not doing it right.

But afterwards, in the glow of the runner's high, I feel strong and capable.

And that's enough to get me out there again next week.

Race Report: Route 66 Half Marathon

I forgot to put up a pre-race post for this race! Well here's what it would have said:

"13.1 miles on Sunday. Longest run since August? 8 miles. But am I nervous? Hell no! Actually, I think I'm in denial."

Or something like that.

This race was a brand new experience for me. I mean, I'd done a half marathon before. Last year, my dad and I did the Wichita Marathon as a two-person relay. So I ran 13.1 miles that time. I was a lot better prepared then, too, and hadn't been fighting injury all season. But this half marathon felt way different from that. I'll explain how in a minute.


Tulsa hosts the Route 66 Marathon, which includes a half, a quarter, and a 5k as well. The mayor of Oklahoma challenged her city to log a million miles of walking and running leading up to the marathon, which doesn't have anything to do with my story, but is pretty encouraging. My parents were kind enough to accompany me; we drove up on Saturday night and settled into our relatively cushy hotel room.


Sunday morning involved a relatively late wake-up call; I didn't have to be up until 6:45! That's way better than your standard 4:00-5:00 triathlon wake up call. Navigating to the race and parking once we got there were ridiculously easy. The race was very well-directed in that respect.


We got to Veterans Park just in time to see the full marathon start at 8:00. I knew that this would be a relatively large race, but I didn't understand just how many people were involved until I watched them all run by. Relative to a race like the LA marathon, or even San Antonio, which was also this weekend, Route 66 was tiny. But I think that this may have been the largest race I've ever been in.


It was certainly the biggest mass start I've ever experienced. We packed into the start corrals, self-seeded (and I think most people did a good job of seeding themselves appropriately). I lined up right behind the 2:15 pacer. I thought to myself, "2:15. I can do 2:15. No matter how I feel, I can do 2:15."


Of course, as soon as the crowd started thinning out, I jetted ahead, running about a 9:30 pace. I figured the 2:15 group would probably catch up to me eventually, at which point I could always hop back in with them. My hope was to pick up the pace again in the last two miles, and finish well ahead of the pace group.


There isn't much to say about those middle miles. The 2:15 group did catch up with me about 1.5 miles in, although I don't know how; I was still running a 9:30 pace, so they must have gone out a little fast, too. At mile 2, there were port-a-potties, and I availed myself of their presence. Of course, while I was in there, I completely lost the 2:15 pace group. I wasn't sure how much farther ahead they were--too far away to see the balloons, at least. I fartleked my way through the next mile (I can't help fartleking when listening to music), and caught the pace group again just a little bit past the 5 k mark.


And there's not much to say about the next 7 miles. The course followed the Arkansas River away from downtown Tulsa on a long out-and-back. The sun was warm and bright; the light had that autumnal quality that makes fall such a wonderful time. The road was completely closed to traffic and littered with a handful of spectators. There were trees lining the lane. It was really a beautiful course. And all this time I was getting to know the few people who remained in my pace group.



The out and back took us through mile 9, and we had about another mile of running through peaceful, pretty neighborhoods. Then, just a little past mile 10, the hills started. And didn't stop.


I got dropped on the first big hill. I got dropped on the second hill. I got dropped on the third hill. Every time, I tried to stick to my own pace, then booked it on the downhills (which is a skill I possess, at least) to catch the group again. We rolled through miles 10 and 11, and I was starting to suffer a little bit. It was getting harder and harder to hang on to my pacers's heels. I just kept telling myself, "2:15 isn't bad. I can run 2:15. I can run 2:15." Knowing that I could hold that pace enabled me to hold that pace, and I kept picking it up to stay with the group, ignoring my heart rate monitor, which was starting to tell me that I was working a little harder than I normally should.


There was a long hill that led us back into downtown Tulsa, and that's where I got dropped for the last time. For the rest of the race (about 1.5 miles to the finish), I kept trying to reel in the pace group again, but I never did. It hurt to let it go; I'd worked hard to stay with it for 12 miles, but in the end it was taking all I had just to keep my feet shuffling along.


I was helped along greatly, that last mile, by one of my favorite songs. To spectators and fellow competitors, it sounded something like this:


"I can't explain all the feelings that you're makin' me feeeel! *pant pant pant* My heart's in overdrive and *pant pant* steering wheeeel *pant pant.*"


No joke. At the top of my lungs. The weird thing is that no one gave me strange looks. No one looked at me at all, really. At that point, we were all focused on our own suffering, on getting ourselves to the finish.

The downside of allowing myself to have such a great time singing was that I paid less and less attention to my running form. At that point, I was so tired that it might not have mattered, but my quads sure took a lot of pounding from the downhills! I noticed at one point how sloppy my running was, and briefly tried to fix it. But then gave up. It was too much work, at that point, and I was almost there.

Coming around the final turn, there was a guy holding a huge sign that said, "SUCK IT UP!" And I really wanted to; I really tried. But by that point, I had so little left that my "kick" was just enough to bring my back to what my pace had been the first mile. Maybe.

Long story short, my time was 2:13:46. Last year, I ran a half marathon in 2:29. That's like a 15-minute PR. And I did it on way less training, with way less pain. And something else extremely significant?

I enjoyed it.

That's right. Before the race, I remember thinking, "Why am I doing this? I don't even like running!" But somewhere around the turn-around for the quarter marathon (when I found, to my surprise, that I wasn't wishing I were running 6.5 miles instead of 13.1), I realized that running actually is enjoyable. Which isn't to say it's easy or even fun all the time. But something about it makes me feel strong and empowered and capable and good. It feels right.

And that's why this marathon was a new experience. It didn't feel like the hardest thing I've ever done. It didn't suck. I didn't spend the last 20-30 minutes thinking, "I am never doing this again." In fact, the race seemed like part of a process; I was excited about this race, because after this one there will be another one. And in that next race, I'll be faster and stronger and better. In short, I couldn't wait to do it again.

So a half marathon no longer seems like a big deal. Which probably means it's time to schedule my first 70.3.

Note: Pictures to come as soon as I find the time to upload them.

Runner's High: Sara Ramirez

It was a good day. It began with a few miles of cross-specific bike training (which was quite the cold, muddy, rainy adventure). In the middle there was some core training (not like that) and a kick-ass cycling class. Seriously. Kick. Ass. I kicked my students asses. And they were kind enough to return the favor. I could have had a swim workout in the lake underneath my bike when I was done.

But the best part of the day was the end. The part after my 7:00 client. You know. When Grey's Anatomy came on and I decided to do a long run on the treadmill because if I drove home to watch it I would miss the first half.



Now I was really hating the treadmill tonight. But I had no problem running fast after that, I can tell you.