How would you rather spend 3 hours?

I'm home for the holidays in Rochester, NY (yes, the same Rochester near Webster, NY, now made famous by another act of gun violence just before Christmas...but we're not going to discuss that now), and the thought of writing a blog post is a little daunting.  Instead of having my alone time in my 1 bedroom apartment with my Lucy dog, I am now in a home filled with my parents, 2 brothers, a sister, 2 dogs, and 2 cats.

Meet Maxwell and Sadie.  They are exhausted from all the
commotion in their usually quiet house.

With all these people, animals, and the action that is inherent in having so many lives in one place, it's hard to sit down and find a quiet moment to write something.  It makes me realize why I might treasure my alone time so closely--I never had any growing up.

Nonetheless, I have a lot to write about, and if I don't get started now, I just may not be able to inform you of all the wonderful things that have happened in the past few days.  And then the world would simply end.  

For today, we're going to talk about what happened on Saturday, and two separate, very different 3 hour chunks of time.  First though, some background info:

For the past 4 winter breaks as I head back to the East Coast, I usually pass Lucy off to Aunt Sierra (and Uncle Travis) who in turn take her down to Portland where Sierra's family is for the holidays.  Lucy then spends her holidays in Portland with them and then is back up here in Seattle by the time I get back into town.  This year, however, Aunt Sierra and Uncle Travis were heading down to Portland a few days earlier than my flight to New York, which in turn meant that I had to give Lucy up to them a whole 3 days earlier than expected.

This was unthinkable.  Three days in Seattle without my little girl??  I don't think so.  So the only other option was that I drive the 3 hours down to Portland on Saturday, dropping Lucy off and spending a nice evening with Sierra and my West Coast family, then driving back up to Seattle on Sunday to pack up real quick and take a red-eye flight out on Sunday night.  This was obviously the better option.  

Now, before driving down to Portland on Saturday I of course had my longest long run in preparation for Goofy training.  My 3 hour long run.

So here's what Saturday's schedule looked like:

1)  Run 3 hours

2)  Ice bath and eat

3)  Drive to Portland

4)  Eat, sleep, and enjoy an evening in Portland

Not a long to-do list, but a burdensome one.  But, just for comparison's sake, I want to talk about my Saturday in terms of of 2 chunks of 3 hours...and how one of those 3 hour chunks was about a thousand times more enjoyable than the other.  Take a prediction and guess which I enjoyed more.

The first half hour running.  We had a small showing for our TNT team Saturday morning, as most of our teammates were already off to far away places to celebrate their holidays.  However, the few of us that were there were strong and ready to go.

Erica, Annemarie, and I started off together, and pretty soon into the run Annemarie was already talking to Erica and I about how much more we were capable of as runners compared to what we usually do.  She's convinced that we could be 8 minute average runners if we just pushed ourselves a little harder.  While I would like to get there eventually, and do believe I can, starting during the longest run for Goofy was not the place to do it.  Annemarie even agreed with that.  However, I think we still probably were running much faster than we would have had it been just me and Erica.  

The first half hour driving.  Lucy and I stopped at Starbucks to grab some caffeine before heading out on the road.  I was excited to be in a warm car with warm coffee, because I still hadn't completely warmed up from the run and ice bath.  After getting back into the car where Lucy anxiously waited, I rolled up the window and promptly shut her tail in it.  After some crying and panic, I convinced myself I had broken her tail and almost went to the vet.  Then we both calmed down, realized she was fine, and kept driving.

30-60 minutes running.  Almost 4 miles into our bowtie route run, Erica, Annemarie, and I decided to go a little further than we were supposed to on our first half of the bowtie to extend the time on that end.  On the return, we were somewhat jokingly criticized by teammates for altering our route and "getting lost" on the Burke Gilman trail (this is funny because it's impossible).  We laughed and kept running.

30-60 minutes driving.  I settled in to listening to my audio book that I had started the day before.  It's a good one, so I was excited to have a big chunk of time to listen to it.  Lucy curled up in her bed in the back and passed out, having forgotten about her obviously-not-broken tail.

60-90 minutes running.  In this chunk of time, we made it back to the water stop where we started, said hi to our volunteer for the day (a former teammate that it was great to see!) and then set off on the second half of our bowtie, saying "See you in an hour and 40 minutes!"  My legs and my body were feeling great.  I was comfortable at the pace we were running and happy to have good company on the run.

60-90 minutes driving.  Having finally passed my exit for work, I got to see some different scenery to keep my brain more occupied.  The audio book was interesting.  Lucy continued sleeping.

90-120 minutes running.  We were running north, knowing that we had 53 minutes out from the home base water stop before we turned around.  As we kept running, I was thinking that I'd never run this far north on the Burke.  I'd definitely done some bike rides that far north, but running from the U-district (our southernmost turn around point) to Bothell and back again was something I never imagined I'd do.

90-120 minutes driving.  I found myself looking at the clock a little more often.  How far away could Portland really be?  It was dark and rainy, but I tried to stay focused on the audio book.  Lucy slept.

120-150 minutes running.  As we turned around and started in on the last 5 miles running, my IT bands started tightening up a bit and my very uncomfortable sports bra that I will never wear on a long run again started bothering me.  Other than that, I felt great.  Erica, Annemarie, and I talked about everything from running faster to our holiday plans to reality TV.  

120-150 minutes driving.  More audio book.  More rain.  More Lucy sleeping.  My legs started hurting from being in the same position for so long, tightening up as the muscles tried to recover from the run.

150-180 minutes running.  As we hit the last water stop and starting getting closer to the end, I looked at my watch and realized that we just might make it 20 miles on this run.  On my 3 hour runs in the past (one for each marathon I've run) I'd run, respectively, about 17 miles, then 18 miles, then a little over 19 miles.  Another little piece of evidence showing how I've gotten faster over the years.  I'd never run a 20 mile training run before.  Suddenly, it became the goal.  As we hit the last couple miles, I switched my watch from displaying my pace to my mileage.  I watched the mileage tick away slowly.  At the end of the 3 hours, when we made it back to our home base water stop, I was a tenth of a mile away from 20 miles.  I had told myself that if that happened, I'd run just a little further until my watch turned past that 20 mile mark.  So, Erica, Annemarie, and I, after already having run for 3 hours, pushed it just a little past where we needed to go so that we could round out our even number.

When we finished, my legs we stiff, my IT bands were tight, but I felt wonderful.  I had made it 20 miles in 3 hours!  Annemarie later told me that our average moving pace (not includeing water stops) was 8:45.  I couldn't be happier with how the run went.

150-180 minutes driving.  My brain stopped focusing on the audio book.  After going backwards and playing it back a couple times, dangerously having to take my eyes off the rainy road to change it, and then still not focusing on what was happening, I switched the audio book to some music and started singing as loud as I could to keep myself alert and awake.  Lucy went on sleeping.  We were almost made it all the way in those 3 hours.  Not quite.

So...3 hours.  Three hours of running, feeling alive, moving my legs, talking with friends, ticking away the miles.  Three hours of driving, listening to a book, Lucy sleeping in the back, trying to keep mentally awake enough to be safe on the road.

Two chunks of 3 hours spent in completely opposite ways.  Active vs. sedentary.  Outside vs. stuck in a car.  Mentally alive vs. struggling to keep focused on anything.

You tell me, how would you rather spend 3 hours?

I think my answer is clear.

To run speedy or not to run speedy...

...should it be a question?

I like to be the fastest.

When driving, I've often heard the comment, "yep, I can tell you're from New York."  I drive in the left lane and when people drive under 10 mph over the speed limit in that lane, I get severely annoyed.  Did you ever see the Pemco ad for the Northwest Profile "Oblivious Left-Lane Occupant"?  One of my biggest pet peeves ever (aside from leaving your blinker on endlessly for no reason...just turn already!).

Even when me and Lucy are out for a leisurely walk, I feel the need to pass people on the sidewalk.  That person 5 blocks ahead?  Yep, I'll catch 'em.  I am sooo the faster walker.  In NYC, I think I could have tried out for the speed-walking event in the Olympics with the paces I had to keep to pass people on those sidewalks.

But with running, things are a little different.  I certainly like to be the fastest.  On some days, like this week, I even like running fast.  On other days though, not so much.  Sometimes running fast feels great.  And sometimes running fast makes me feel like crap.

The term "fast" in running is very relative.  Some bloggers I follow consider "fast" to be a sub-3 hour marathon (actually, I think anyone would consider that fast).  Others consider anything under an 8 min pace to be fast.  Still others happily speed along at anything under a 10 min pace.

Even for me alone speed seems to be a constantly shifting relative term. About a year and a half ago, I was ecstatic if I had a run that averaged under 10 min/mile.  Then a year ago, paces between 9:30 and 9:45 were fast.  6 months ago, 9:15s were my speedy paces.  And then by the end of the summer, I ran under 9s for my speedier runs.  Now?  I consider things closer to 8:30 min/mile to be speedy for me.  Really pushing it is more like an 8:00.

By anyone's standards, I've certainly gotten faster in my years as a runner.  And I don't feel that this trend will stop anytime soon.  I don't really want it to.  It's something I'm quite proud of.  And another thing to add to the list of "Things Tessa Thought She'd Never Do But Did."  Let's take this week's runs as examples.

First, Saturday's long run ended up being 16.6 miles.  I ran with Erica and Annemarie, who's been running with us on our past few long runs.  We averaged a 9:37 pace for the run, but that includes multiple stops at TNT water stops and little chats with the volunteers without stopping the watch.  Looking at the mile averages for any miles that didn't include a water stop, the average ends up being something closer to 8:45 min/mile.  If I could keep that pace up for an additional 10 miles, I'd run a marathon in 3 hours and 49 minutes.  The question is, could I?  Should I?  Why would I?

That's 3 questions.  Moving on.

Wednesday night, Erica and I got together to do our last speed work out for Goofy.  It was raining.  It was cold.  We were tired and grumpy.  But I wanted to get out there and get it done.  And I'm glad I did, because I felt great.  We decided on intervals of 1:3:5:5:3:1.  That means a 10 minute warm up, then running fast for those minutes, with a minute break in between each, then a 10 minute cool down.  I didn't set my watch to split the intervals, so I've only got the mile splits, but here they are:

Intervals happened in miles 2-4 .

Those close to 8 minute paces mean that the actual intervals were faster than that because the "rest" minutes were slower.  When I looked at the splits for this run, I was surprised and beyond happy.  I ran hard, and felt like I could have pushed even harder.

Then today, another day when I wasn't super excited to get out and run, Lucy and I did this:

To some, this doesn't look very speedy, to others it does.  To me,
the jury's out.

Let me say first, that I am very proud of my little Lucy dog for holding these paces with me today.  She is NOT a fan of running fast, but she has slowly gained speed as I have over the past year or so (although she's usually a few paces behind where I want to be).  As a result of this run, she now looks like this:

You obviously can't tell from the picture, but she is deep
in leg-kicking, eye-twitching puppy dreams.

Because I knew I wasn't super excited about today's run, I told myself before I started that I would run the miles to enjoy them today.  No marking my landmarks that tell me how much closer I am to home.  No negative "ugh, I just want to be done" thoughts.  I would relish in the joy of these miles, absorb the steps, feel the pace, and slow down if I got uncomfortable.  Don't look at the watch.  And I'm very happy with seeing the paces of some of those middle miles where I was "running comfortably."  I didn't know I could run comfortably at that speed.

But aye, there's the rub.  Speed and comfort don't always mix for me.  I want to run fast.  But I want to be comfortable and I want to enjoy my miles.  So I guess the question really seems to boil down to "Can I run faster and love running at the same time?"

Sometimes, on days like today or yesterday, I would say the answer is yes.  But other days, not so positive days, I just want to run a 9:00+ pace and be ok with it...not be disappointed with it.

The thought of actively trying to run faster just makes me nervous.  Up until now, my speed has come naturally with my training--I haven't consciously tried to get faster.  It just happened.  But recently, I semi-noncommittally have undertaken a new goal: to run a sub 4 hour marathon in April.  I have a race in mind but am not ready to name it publicly because I'm not quite fully mentally committed yet.

My current marathon PR is 4:18.  I know I can do better than that.  I've had multiple coaches, fast runners, etc, who've run with me tell me that I could most definitely run a sub 4 hour.  But the thing is, despite having heard it and seen myself run faster, I still am not sure I believe I can.  And to be honest, it scares me.  What if I put that kind of pressure on myself and I fail?  I could potentially drop 17 minutes off my PR and still be disappointed.  That's a lot to take in.

Before I fully commit to training for a sub 4 hour marathon, I need to admit to myself that I can actually run a sub 4 hour marathon (and that I can run a marathon without Team in Training, because it would be my first without them).  I'm hoping Goofy will help add a boost of confidence to my mental state.  But who knows how Goofy is going to play out.  I'm keeping positive thoughts though.

No matter what happens, this speed question is always on my mind.  Until I remind myself to step back...

and breathe...

and look at the bigger picture...

because 2 and a half years ago, I had never run a marathon...

and 3 and a half years ago, I had never run a half marathon...

and 5 years ago, I wasn't a runner and never thought I could be...

so just the fact that I'm having a "speed" argument in my head for what will hopefully be my 5th marathon is enough to make me smile...

and the "Things Tessa Thought She'd Never Do But Did" list is pretty huge...

and still growing...

and that is enough for me.

For now.

I am a teacher too

Most of you have come to know me as a runner.  It is what I write about and think about a lot of the day.  I've been told on more than a few occasions that I have inspired people through my blog and my dedication to running.  I love that I can influence others in a positive way and treasure this ability I never knew I had.

But in my life, I am something that is 1000 times more important to me than being a runner.  I am a teacher.  I am a first grade teacher.  And today, as I sit down to write, it is not running that has been on my mind.  I could tell you about my long run on Saturday, my recovery run on Sunday, or my lack of running today.  But that is not where my mind is.

Since 11:15 Friday morning, my mind has been in Newtown, CT.  Along with the rest of the country.

I was in the library with my 1st graders for our weekly 30 minutes of reading with our 4th grade reading buddies.  The 4th grade teacher mentioned to me that someone had heard about a school shooting that morning.  I had not had a single break to look at a computer that day, so I didn't know.  My heart sank.  Then she said it was an elementary school.  My heart dropped out of my chest.  We looked up a few news reports with the librarian and the library assistant, out of sight of the prying eyes of the children.  The first words that sunk in on the screen were "18 children" and "Kindergarteners."  My mind started convulsing in disbelief.

This kind of stuff doesn't happen in elementary schools.  It is a fear and violence that exists in middle and high schools, in movie theaters, in shopping malls...not in elementary schools.  Not to these little children.  I felt like something had shattered.  Some shield had just fallen away.

As we learned more throughout the day--20 children, 6 adults--20 year old shooter--the principal, the counselor, a first grade teacher, a substitute teacher--my hands began to shake.  Suddenly it felt like it was my life, my kids.  My adorable, precious, enthusiastic 1st graders that have so much life left to live.  Those awful images that usually exist only in nightmares kept coming to my mind in flashes as I spent the rest of the afternoon with my children, pretending that nothing had happened, carrying on as if nothing was wrong.

At their afternoon recess, I watched Obama's tearful speech and read more news reports.  When they came back into the classroom I wanted to hug them tighter than I ever have and tell them how much I love them.

That night, I went home and lit candles for the ones who had their lives taken from them.  And as I lit the candles, I couldn't help but think about my family.  So I told them all I love them.

My family.  Healthy and safe and alive.

On Saturday, I woke up and decided that, even though I run with Team in Training and we run to cure cancer, today my miles were being run for something else.

After my run, any spare moment I had I was looking up more news reports, my thoughts consumed by any information I could learn about what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary School.  They released the names of the children, confirming that they were all either 6 or 7 years old.  They released the names of the teachers, and one of them, Vicki Soto, was a 27 year old first grade teacher.  The facts too closely aligned with my own life to ignore.  This tragedy has nothing to do with me, is not about me, but it sure felt like it could have been me.  And I just can't seem to shake that feeling.

I can't imagine what those families are facing, and will face as they mourn their loses.  And I especially worry about the 1st graders who watched as their teacher and classmates were brutally killed.  Or the students who saw the bodies as they left the school.  Or those who simply heard the shots or were present in the school.  Those images, those sounds, that fear will haunt them for years to come.  Their innocence was stolen from them, and they may never be able to get it back.  It isn't fair.

Today, as my students entered my classroom, I again saw those horrific images I had composed in my mind, but just I smiled and hugged them and welcomed them back to our classroom.  A classroom I didn't feel quite as safe in as I did on Friday morning.  I wondered what they knew, what facts they had heard and what misinformation had not been clarified.  I couldn't ask them, I couldn't talk to them--that is not my job.  I am not their parent.  I am their teacher.  As much as I want to talk to them about it and reassure them if they are scared and help them understand if they do not, that is not my job.

When one student walked up and hugged me tightly, looked me in the eye, and said "I missed you, Ms. Kaplan," I couldn't help but think does she know?  Is this just a first grader's loving hug after a weekend away from school or was it something more?  But I couldn't ask, I couldn't probe.  That is not my job.

I heard nothing from the students until the very end of the day.  During writing time, something sparked a student to comment about the tragedy.  He spouted off a few facts "20 children, 6 adults" and a few pieces of misinformation "the guy's mom was a kindergarten teacher and he shot her kids," before I could quickly stop the conversation and keep these statements out of the ears of nearby children.

But as he spoke, he said one thing that made me cringe and want to cry out in anger.  "My brother says that this is why teachers should be armed too."  I know his brother.  A few short years ago he was a 1st grader in my class too.  I know this family and I know this is not the beliefs of the parents.  But somehow these boys now think that their teachers need guns in their classrooms to make them feel safe.

I don't often get political on this blog, but today I feel a need.  Today, I am sad and I am angry and I don't believe that Americans should be allowed to own semi-automatic weapons.  This is the gun that Adam Lanza carried into an elementary school so that he could shoot 6- and 7-year-olds as they learned to read:

Plus 2 other handguns.

I like to consider myself a pretty open-minded person, but why on earth does any American civilian need a gun like this in their home?  I have heard the arguments of pro-gun enthusiasts: 

Guns don't kill people, people do.  Why don't you outlaw knives and shovels and cars while you're at it? Yes people kill people, but guns make it a whole lot easier.  Knives are meant for chopping, shovels are meant for digging, and cars are meant for driving.  But guns...guns are meant for killing and nothing else.

It's for protection, defense.  Really, when an intruder breaks into your home, do you think you'll have time to run to the gun safe and grab your ammo and gun before they get to you?  And if you tell me you could keep it loaded in your bedside table, then I will never knowingly set foot into your house and hope no child ever does either.

I use my guns for hunting.  That's fine, but do you need a semi-automatic rifle to hunt deer?  And if it's only for hunting, there's no need to keep ammo in the house.  And the gun should be locked tightly away.

Whatever the argument, I am not open minded about gun control.  According to a CNN article I read over the weekend, "There are an estimated 270 million guns in the hands of civilians in the United States, making Americans the most heavily armed people in the world per capita. Yemen, a tribal nation with no history of strong central government or the rule of law, comes in a distant second" (source).  Now is the time for a conversation about gun control across the country (actually, it was the time for talk about gun control after Columbine or Virginia Tech or the Aurora shootings and long before).  It is time for a change, and I will stand strongly behind any movement to take assault weapons out of the hands of civilians.

But the problems behind what happened in Newtown are two-fold.  Gun control would go a long way towards solving some problems, but we also need to make changes to our mental health care system.  This blog post presents a few of the problems with our system.  Right now, people who need help can't get it until they are charged with something.  Until it's too late.

I have seen these children in my classroom.  The angry ones.  The violent ones.  The self-destructive ones.  And I do what I can for them, but I always wonder...where will these children be 10 or 20 years down the road?  If they don't get the help they need, will they be the next Adam Lanza?  What will they have to do before they get what they need?  I am scared for these children, I have been scared of these children, and I am scared for their friends and family when something goes wrong.

We all know that prevention is the key, but where is the government, where are funds to help make this necessary prevention happen?  And why are most of our prisons filled with the mentally ill, biding away their time without counseling or help?

I hope that if we have to live through this massacre of children, teachers, and school staff that we can do something productive with it.  But I fear that as with most other things, as the news begins to fade and the general public begins to forget in a few weeks, the conversations we are all so passionate to have right now will blur into the background.  

But for me, it will be a long time before I can "forget" what happened at Sandy Hook Elementary.  This shooting has shaken me to my core more than I could have thought possible.  In one week I will be back home in New York celebrating the holidays with my mom, dad, sister, and brothers.  I will hug them and tell them I love them because I can.  Because they have not been taken from me and I have not been taken from them.  I will cherish those moments all the more this year.

And I will try my best to remember the children and brave staff members of Sandy Hook...I will try my best to fight for the kinds of change that could have saved their lives.  I hope you do too.

Charlotte, 6                                       Rachel Davino, 29

Daniel, 7                                           Dawn Hocksprung, 47

Olivia, 6                                            Anne Marie Murphy, 52

Josephine, 7                                      Lauren Russeau, 30

Ana, 6                                               Mary Sherlach, 56

Dylan, 6                                           Victoria Soto, 27

Madeleine, 6 

Catherine, 6 

Chase, 7 

Jesse, 6 

James, 6 

Grace, 7 

Emilie, 6 

Jack, 6 

Noah, 6 

Caroline, 6 

Jessica, 6 

Avielle, 6

Benjamin, 6 

Allison, 6

Have you fartlekked today?

I didn't today, but I did yesterday.

However, due to my compulsive need to retell stories in chronological order, we'll have to come back to that.

Last week when I left you, I had had 2 pretty amazing runs.  I was getting my mojo back.  The streak of finding my mojo still continues...do not fret...but I have to tell you about Saturday's run.  To start off, let's look at the splits:

Miles 1-6 = awesome. Miles 7-11 = not so much.

The first half of this run was perfect.  I felt great.  My legs were strong.  I carried along at a pretty swift pace for me for a long run.  But on our out-and-back run, just after the midway turn around point, I felt some sudden pangs of pain in my side and tummy.  At first, I ignored it.  But the pains gradually worsened.  In mile 7, I made a pit stop, but to no avail and the pains continued.  They turned slowly into a massive side stitch under my upper left ribs, which then stretched all the way across my tummy.  As I continued running, the cramp crept slowly down my side.  By the time it hit my lower ribs, it was pinching so badly that I had to walk for a bit (hence mile 8's pace).

I was running with one of my teammates, Annemarie who thankfully stuck with me through this pain, the walking, and the pit stops, despite my urging her to continue on her own without me.  She's already typically a much faster pace than me, then add my tummy troubles to it and I knew I was like a lead foot to her.  But she insisted she wasn't going to leave me.  Which I was extremely thankful for.

After we walked for a minute or so, I tried to pick back up the pace again and probably made it another half mile before attempting a pit stop again.  No luck, and the pain continued.  I kept running for a little and then needed another short walk break.  Annemarie kept reminding me to breathe deeply, which I focused on, but it's tough to breathe deep when every breath results in a crippling pain in your side.

After the second walk break, we had about 2 miles to go.  So I gritted my teeth, counted down the minutes, and just kept pushing until we finally got back to the start (hence the slightly faster paces in the final 2 miles--just trying to get through it).  By the time we finished, my cramp had slid all the way down my side next to my hip bone and extended across my lower abdomen.

While I chatted with a few other teammates at the end, I had to keep doubled over for about 10 minutes before I was able to stand fully upright somewhat comfortably.  And then by the time we had gotten back to the cars, driven to breakfast, and ordered our food, I was totally back to normal.

I have no idea what caused this.  The only thing I can think of was that I added some Seitan (wheat protein) to my pasta the night before.  But this didn't really feel like a bathroom tummy issue--it was an honest side cramp.  Nonetheless, no more Seitan on Friday nights.

*Side note for those who don't know of the term: this experience is NOT what a fartlek is.

But, despite all of this, I must point out my mental state during my struggle.  I was annoyed and frustrated, but in a completely different manner than all of Negative November.  I knew I could do this run.  My legs felt great.  My lungs (aside from the pinching cramp) felt healthy and full.  Mentally, I was 100% there for this run.  Instead of giving up and calling someone to come get me, or sending Annemarie on to go fetch someone, I mentally and physically pushed through whatever affliction decided to attack me on that run.  And now I believe that I passed whatever test it was that somebody decided to give me that day.  A++ for effort and mental stability.  Go me.

And then that night, I celebrated/tried to forget about the run by putting on a little black dress for a Holiday Ball and drinking too much with my HLM Sierra and other friends I haven't seen enough lately.

Yes, there is a lot of leg in that picture, but I put those
guys to work daily and they deserve to be shown off
once in a blue moon.

Then on Sunday, I allowed myself a day of nothing.  I slept in until 10, then curled back up in bed with my friend Hulu until 2.  Then I moved to the couch and my friend Netflix kept me company until I ordered dinner from the Thai place down the street.  I had a guilt-free productivity-less day (which may or may not have also had something to do with the amount of alcohol consumed the evening before).

Monday was a rest day on the schedule.  I thought about running since I had taken Sunday as a rest day, but then Erica asked if I wanted to drink wine instead.  So I did that.

Then on Tuesday, I fartlekked.  I'm not sure how I've made it 4.5 years as a runner without a fartlek.  I've known what a fartlek is for a few years, just never really did it.  For those that are curious and have no idea what a fartlek is, let me educate you.  It is not quite as interesting as the word may suggest.  Fartlek means "speed play" in German according to Coach/Ironman Kelly--so if that is incorrectly translated you can totally blame her :)

As technical as that may sound, it's kind of a fun speed work run.  If you're with other people it's a great challenge.  Erica, Ironman Jason, and I all ran together.  After a 10 minute warm up, one person chooses when to start sprinting.  They choose a starting point (ex. "that stop sign") and an ending point (ex. "the next crosswalk").  Then you slow down, recover, and a minute or two later, it's the next person's turn to choose the starting and stopping point.  You're typically sprinting for no more than a minute and a half.  We continued these starts and stops of bursts of speed for 40 minutes, followed by a cool down of 10 minutes.  And there you have it.  A fartlek.  Very little structure, but lots of challenge and speed work where your suffering is totally dependent upon you and your running buddies' whims.

Last night, I had lots of energy and speed at the beginning after having rested for 2 days, but by the end I was spent.  In a good way.  I'm excited to do another one next week.  I'd rather do fartleks or speed intervals over hill reps any day.  Just sayin'.

And after last night's fartlekking, I woke up this morning for pre-dawn run #3.  It was raining and Lucy was protesting against any pace faster than 9:00.  But my mojo-filled mind didn't care.  I got out there and ran and had 4.5 miles under my belt before 6:15 in the morning.  The sun didn't even start rising until close to 8:00.  I was out pounding the pavement over 2 hours before he even thought about waking up.  Go me again.

And so now I have a new goal: Make Wednesday morning runs a regular occurrence (after next week, because I'll be fartlekking with Erica again next Wednesday evening).

Anyone want to become my Wednesday morning running buddy (I'm looking at you, Ironman Jason)?  We leave from my place at about 5:20 AM.  No big deal.

P.S.  Mr. Spell Check does NOT like the word "fartlek" or any derivation thereof.  I defy you again Mr. Spell Check.  Bwa-ha-ha.

P.P.S.  Happy 12/12/12!!  I hope you did something awesome enough to give yourself at least a mini "go me."  It feels pretty good when you do.

2 runs to change it all

I feel like myself again.

Negative November has been washed away in the rain, and Determined December has stepped in it's place.

It's funny how 4 years of pretty awesome running (with some ups and downs) can seem to disappear in one discouraging month.  But now, I'm back.  I'm retraining my brain and loving the miles again.  Not just having the miles done with, but the actual miles themselves.

Take last night's run for instance.  Usually, on Tuesday nights I practice with TNT at Green Lake.  But after a last minute meeting at work and some traffic on the commute, I got home with no time to take Lucy for her walk before I left for my run.  So out of fairness to her, I decided to skip practice (it's a "rest" week anyways, so I wasn't missing hill repeats or tempo runs) and take the loveable Lucy out with me for some exercise.

Because this sleepy puppy is way better to have around in a 750 sq ft apartment:

So sleepy and cuddly.

Instead of this neurotic mess:

So. Much. Energy.  Pictures cannot capture it fully.

On the way home from work, the rain was just a steady light sprinkle.  This is typical Seattle rain, and I don't mind much running in it.  It's not soaking, and at times can even be refreshing if it's not too cold out.  So when I got home, with the decision to skip practice made, I put Lucy on her leash and headed out for a 5 miler through Ballard.

Five minutes into the run, the rain turned into more of a steady rain instead of a sprinkle.  That I could handle.  I don't melt.  Although I think Lucy has convinced herself that she does.  She's a trooper though and trots along behind me.

But 10 minutes after that, it started POURING.  I was already about 2 miles from home, so there was no turning back.  I started puddle jumping and enjoying the seconds of pass-through under dry trees, thinking the downpour couldn't last long.

But it did.  And 10 minutes later, I was drenched, starting to feel a little miserable and tired of jumping around puddles at the same time that Lucy aimed for them (she likes to splash through them and then try to catch the splashes in her mouth...so charming).

Then, about a mile and a half from home, as I waited at long stoplight, imagining what a soaked pair me and Lucy must look like to the passing cars, I gave in.  I started laughing at how heavily the rain was coming down and streaming through the gutter at my feet.  I was soaked, and cringing miserably under the downpour wasn't going to help matters.  Instead, I surrendered to it.  Let it rain.  Let it pour.  Let it come down in sheets.  I will take it all.

And then the rest of the run felt, simply, like freedom.  I pumped my legs, jumped into the puddles with Lucy, and forgot about caring.  It was all about running and enjoying it.  No matter what conditions surrounded me.

The rain washed it all away.  Whatever "it" is.

And then I got home and took a long, hot, well-deserved shower.  I might be exaggerating, but I can't help but say that it was one of the best runs I've had in months.

But, it didn't end there.  Remember this post back in early October when I made of lovely list of all the things I've learned since saying goodbye to the snooze button?  And remember how I so optimistically ended my list with this?:

8)  Perhaps, one day, I could become a morning exerciser.  Who knows...crazier things have happened.

Well friends, that day has officially arrived, and a lot sooner that I'd ever expected.  Actually, the first momentous morning run happened a few weeks ago, but it was in Negative November, I felt awful and I frankly didn't feel like writing about it (I know...bad blogger).  But this morning, after my body cleansing run last night, I woke up and ran again.

Due to scheduling conflicts this evening, I knew I wouldn't get my run in.  And with the Goofy Challenge lingering over my shoulder, I'm hesitant to miss any runs right now.  So I decided I would re-attempt a morning run.  I was in bed by 8:30 last night and asleep by 9:00 (yep, I'm a cool kid).  The alarm went off at 5:00 and I got up and ready to go.

Luckily, it was not raining.  As much as I embraced the rain the evening before, the thought of another drenching run at 5 AM didn't seem too appealing.  I bundled up, put on my headlamp, attached Lucy's flashy red light to her collar, and took off.

And again, I felt great.  The usual stiffness I feel on weekend or vacation day morning runs wasn't there.  My lungs felt great.  My legs were a little sore, but sometimes that only helps me push harder (I'm hurting already, why not push just a bit more anyways?).  I was also surprised to run past a pack of about 15 runners making their way around Green Lake.  And a few other solo and pair runners as well.  On my first "official" morning run, I had seen 2 other people out braving the elements.  It was nice to have some other morning runner smiles this time.

I did my 4.5 mile loop around Green Lake and the zoo.  It wasn't my fastest run ever (about a 9:00 pace), but I wasn't aiming for speed.  My main thought during the run was: "Enjoy it."  So I ran at a pace that I was completely comfortable at.  A pace that felt easy.  A pace that Lucy could easily keep up with.

And then, I was back home by 6:15 AM, with my daily run already under my belt.  And again, it felt pretty amazing.  I went to work knowing that I ran that morning.  I taught my first few lessons knowing that I got up and ran in the morning.  I ate lunch knowing that I had already done my run.  And through the afternoon  and on my way home from work, I knew that I didn't need to run when I got home (even if I wanted to).

Let me make this clear, in case it's not: I ran in the MORNING.  Pre-sunrise.  Pre-work.  And it felt good.

In less than 12 hours, I ran close to 10 miles in two very different but two very encouraging, self-affirming runs. My mind is getting back to where it used to be.  And I'm starting to feel like me again.

So, my official goal for Determined December:

Enjoy Running.

Because really, otherwise, what's the point?

Going Goofy is getting serious

I'm not sure if you've noticed this about me yet, but I'm quite adept at distracting myself from things that I'm not quite ready to think about yet.  Sometimes this pays off, reducing stress and eliminating unnecessary worry.  Other times, it doesn't work out so well and I find myself panicking in the final moments.

You may have heard me mention a few times in passing that I somehow decided that it would be a smart choice to sign up for Goofy's Race and Half Challenge in Disney World, which takes place on January 12 and 13 (for those who don't know about this race yet, it's a half marathon on Saturday followed by a full marathon on Sunday).  Technically, I've been training for the Goofy challenge since early September when we kicked-off the Team in Training winter season.  I've been attending Saturday long run practices and Tuesday strengthening and speed practices.  I've been trying to fit in my weekday runs and Sunday recovery runs.  I've been following the schedule the best I can and going through the motions.

But my mind has been elsewhere.  To simplify things, here's bullet list of all the other things I've been thinking about:

• starting school after an amazing summer
• my first triathlon
• becoming a "morning" person
• the Nike Women's Half Marathon
• figuring out how I want to eat
• dealing with stress (both good and bad) at work
• being sick for a long, frustrating time
• holidays
• the Seattle Half Marathon
• etc.

The one thing that I have certainly not been focused on is running 39.3 miles in one weekend.  But now, pardon the expression, shit is getting real.  

Because suddenly, it's December.  And December happens to be the calendar month that comes before January.  Which means that I have just a short month and a half until I'm headed down to Orlando to run through all the parks in Disney World.  Twice.  

There are a couple of things that happened this week to suddenly make Goofy seem real.  First of all, the Seattle half was my last big distraction race before Goofy.  Now it's over, and the only thing left to focus on is Goofy.  After just a day of rest on Monday, I've run every single day since then (it's Sunday again now) and it feels like running the Seattle half happened eons ago.  According to my Dailymile log, I put in 41 miles this week.  For me, that's a pretty heavy mileage week.

On Tuesday, we did an hour long "tempo" run where we kind of just ran fast for a long time.  My tummy wasn't feeling too happy with me by the time I finished (eating half a box of cheez-its as a mid-morning snack = bad news bears for evening run) and my legs were still sore from the half, but I pushed through 6 miles.

On Wednesday, we had our somewhat belated "half-way" party for TNT to celebrate being half-way through winter season.  But due to scheduling issues, it was really more of a three-quarters-of-the-way party.  Another reminder that the race is getting closer.  I squeezed in a quick 30 minute run with Lucy before heading to the party.

On Thursday, Erica and MacKenzie met me at my place to go for a girls' night run with Lucy and Lottie (MacKenzie's furry four-legged best friend).  I'm sure we looked awesome with our headlamps and flashing collared dogs running around Green Lake.  We tried our best not to bowl anyone over, including ourselves, for the 5.4 mile run.  

Then on Friday, I went for a completely solo run (not even Lucy joined me).  Usually in TNT training seasons, Fridays are rest days.  But for Goofy training, we've been running Friday runs to get our legs nice and tired for our Saturday long run.  Kind of a simulation of what it will feel like on marathon day after we've already run a half marathon the day before.  This Friday, it was absolutely pouring rain, but as I drove home, I realized I actually wanted to get out there and run.  This was huge.

If you've been following along, you know that I've been not feeling so positive in the past 2 months or so.  I can't really remember a recent time when I had that innate urge to really want to get out there and run.  That urge is what got me running in the first place and what has kept me running for so long (and so far), but I just haven't felt it in a long time.  I haven't felt the bodily need to run like I usually do, I just got out there because I felt like I had to.  And when I was out there, I felt awful both mentally and physically.  But Friday, suddenly I wanted to run.  Pouring rain and all.  I decided to leave Lucy at home, because puddle jumping in the rain is hard enough, and even harder with a pup who loves to go splashing through the puddles instead of avoiding them.

I just wanted to get out and run.  For me and no one else.  I wanted to feel that feeling again of just running and loving it.  And I did.  I was soaked and I was cold, but in my mind I felt like I was in a place I haven't been in far too long.  And of course, to make it real, I had to declare it so on Facebook.

Which people seemed to like.

I think the Seattle half may have just given me the confidence that I needed to get my head back into the game and ready for Goofy.  I think it reminded me that I can fight through the tough times, that I have in the past and I will continue to in the future.  I think it gave me the push I needed to get me past this hiccup of a few months.

And then Saturday, with my new realization under my belt, I tackled 17 miles without too much worry.  I've gotten used to typical Saturday long runs ranging between 8-13 miles, but this was the first time I'd run longer than a half distance since San Diego training last spring.  At TNT practice, me, Erica, and our teammate Annemarie ran together in perfect running weather (the weather report called for rain, rain, and more rain--but it held off just for us).  We ran up and down Lake Washington, starting in the middle at Genesee Park, running down to Seward Park, back up again all the way past the 90 bridge, through Leschi, and past Madison beach.  Then we turned around and headed back to Genesee Park.  Minus some water stops and bathroom pit stops, our average moving pace was 9:00 min/mile.  I believe those would be the fastest chunk of 17 miles I've ever run.

And mentally, I was there.  No, it was not easy the whole time (anyone who thinks 17 miles could be easy the whole time, go try it), but when things started hurting and my body got tired, I had a fight in me that I haven't had in what feels like a very long time.  In the final miles, when my legs didn't want to run any farther, I told them to, and unsurprisingly they did.  It was just what I needed.

I even tolerated my post-run ice bath better than I have in past weeks, knowing it was healing up those tired muscles, getting them ready for the next run.

Today, I went on a 30 minute recovery run.  My legs were tired and tight and I took it slow with Lucy, but I still felt great.  However, I oddly felt like people were staring at me as I was running around the lake, and when I got home I realized that I looked like this:

Not my best running clothes outfit combo ever.  I may have
blinded people as I passed them.

I feel as though the more I run, the less concerned I am about my running appearance.  But that is the least of my concerns right now...

Because I have just 6 short weeks until my biggest challenge yet, and I hope this current mental uptick I'm feeling stays with me solidly until then.  Because there are still a lot of miles to go before I even get there.  But when I get there, if I survive it all, I'll get to come back to Seattle wearing these three shiny medals around my neck:

Donald for the half, Mickey for the full, and Goofy for both.

And the biggest smile you've ever seen.