Double Time: Road to San Antonio

My father was a military man..well, boy.  He lied about being 18 so he could run away from his drunk father and join the Coast Guard.   He craved order, fair discipline, and rituals like unloading the dishwasher the moment it finished its cycle.

My mother was...well, the opposite.  She was an untamed, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, wild-child who would rebel just for the sake of rebelling.

Clearly, it didn't end well.  But before their impromptu marriage fell apart, they managed to raise a daughter who sees no point in making the bed every morning, but who tries to do it because that's what you're supposed to do.

Which is exactly why, when I could not find a running group that fit my schedule, I made my own.  You see, I need the discipline of a group.  I find comfort in knowing that every Friday at 9am I must be ready to help my group tackle the next incremental step on our training schedule - a schedule that I devised.   I need the ritual of dropping my 5 year old off at Kindergarten, and zooming down to our meeting spot 20 minutes before the others arrive in order to sap the last bit of baby's on the stairs.  I love working on group communication e-mails that offer weekly tips and remind me to practice what I preach.   I crave the high that comes from looking down at my watch and reading that we've already done twice the miles than I realized because they melted away in conversation.

Otherwise, there's an awfully strong chance I would say To Hell With It and get stuck at 6 miles.   Without others counting on me, I don't push myself as hard as I should; my log book doesn't have as many miles in it (if I'm writing in it at all).  Of course, I WANT to run farther and faster, but I can't help but getting distracted by the rest of my life, including that ridiculous voice that says Go on, check Facebook one more time, maybe something fantastic popped up.  Or Oh, run tomorrow, today let's drag the kids around a new part of town on a whim despite their protests.

So, for 8 weeks now, 10-15 of us have been on the Road to San Antonio.  We're training for the November 14th Rock & Roll Half Marathon that tours the art district, several missions and of course, the Alamo.  We started at 5 miles and have worked our way up to 10 so far.  Each week, our gang varies slightly according to their schedules, but we have a strong 6 person core group on which the others depend.   They all expect me and the baby to be there, ready to talk their ears off (or as I like to think of it, distract them through the miles).  And they all apologize profusely if they've missed a run, promising to make it up the next day.

I guess we get along so well because we're have a common bond.  We all make our beds...unless, of course, no one is looking.

A break up note

Dear 6 Mile Run,

I'm over you.  I know we've been together every week for the last few months, but I moved on today...to a 7 mile run: something I haven't done in over a year and a half.  I'll be working my way up to half-marathon distance soon, because I have a group now, and they'll help me get there just like they helped me leave you behind.

I'll see you again, but just for fun, nothing serious.  You can't keep me down forever.

Sincerely,
Crumbs

Southern Hospitality

My Country Music Nashville Half Marathon Story can be found over here.

Third Time's a Charm

Three half marathons, in 4 months.
First (November), a wee bit slow because of sore foot.
Second (January), I was pace leader so I had to stay put.
Third (February), I blew my PR out of the water by almost 14 minutes.

Hoorah for me.

March is a Sprint Triathlon with a half mile swim (WTF?)

April is half marathon number four.

May....who knows.

Three

For the last 10 months, I was a bit overconfident in the idea that I just might have some natural talent for creating another being. Really, I've been two-timing Luck and Manifest destiny, pretending that if I bought that size four dress and committed to being a half marathon group leader for 5 months, certainly I'd get pregnant! It affected me in subtle ways I'm just now understanding.

Among other (more important) things, it's impacted my training. I've become overly cautious, perhaps not working as hard as I should. Even the 1/2 training pace I volunteered to take is comfortable, not really challenging. Certainly, I've procrastinated registering for races too far in advance for fear of the "No Refunds" policy.

No more. I'm taking charge again. I'm going to work my butt off, pushing farther, going faster, because, damn it, I want to. I have the time. I have the motivation. I need the distraction.

I officially signed up for the ING 1/2 (like I should have 5 months ago when it was half price) and I've got my eye on a long distance Triathlon in March. I don't expect to place in the top 2/3s, but I do expect to finish.

Space Coast Half

Although I trained for and ran a marathon last January, and although I have kept up a somewhat respectable training routine since then, Sunday was my first official half-marathon. I was timid, mostly because my left foot has been aching; a mysterious soreness that seems to alternate between my plantar and my achilles. Basically, I feared that a long run at race pace might knock me out of the sport for a while. No one has ever confused me for being Kenyan, so it wasn't a huge shift to slow to a 12 minute mile or slower.

I drove up to Cocoa for a warm Florida race that unveiled a new theme this year: Space. From the countdown of the Space Shuttle on the jumbotron at the start, to the alien costumes running past me, the excitement was in the air. I even saw dolphins twice along the Indian River route. Without the lust for a PR, I was able to pay attention to the moment and really enjoy running for running's sake. After feeling fine at the turn-around, I started to pick it up a bit. By the last 5K, I was full of energy and inspiration. I was passing people left and right, even skipping my intervals with little effort. All was well, I had made up lots of time and was ending up a little faster than predicted.

When I came around the corner of the public park, the crowd went wild. Not only did I have the regular race photographers snapping away, I had video cameras surrounding me. People were clapping and yelling "Looking good!" I felt like a million bucks....until I hear a bicycle approaching from being and a man yelling "Get out of the way!!!!!"

Thirty-three year old, Ezekiel Ruto, was hurtling towards me and quite possibly would have mowed me over had the "Lead Runner" biker not come through. Ezekiel was completing the full marathon just about the time I was finishing the half. Still, it was a great race. And basking in the winner's glory for 25 seconds was nice, too.