Run Free

Remember that song?  "Young hearts...run free" (you have to sing it or the effect is lost).  I particularly loved the cover version on the Romeo and Juliet Soundtrack, which I listened to over and over again during my youthful days of obsession with Leonardo DiCaprio (actually, it was more like years).  I also watched the movie repeatedly whenever I wanted to cry and my poor soulless eyes refused to cooperate (happy to report though: apparently in the past couple year or so I've develop a soul--I cried while watching the Home Depot marriage proposal on Youtube last week...and also when Luca won Master Chef, I was just so proud of the high-pitched Italian).

But I'm straying from the point with all this parentheses talk.  The point is, this week I've felt like I've been free to run.  Free to run when I want, for how long I want, and however fast I want.  And free to not run if I so choose--yet that choice seems to be the less likely one in this world of freedom.

Let me explain.  Over the past year or so, my running seems to have morphed into something different.  From training for and running San Diego last summer then jumping into Goofy then the Seattle RNR then right into the recent half Iron, my life has been about nothing but training for over a year and half.

I've been focused on schedules, run times, speed work, hills training, long runs, and pace goals.  I've been focused on "getting all my runs in" and pushing as hard as I can while doing as much as I can without injuring myself.  There have been charts, excel spreadsheets, and mileage and pace calculations.  There has been guilt over missed workouts, fears that I'm running too fast, and fears that I'm not running fast enough.

Not to say that joy hasn't found its way into any runs in the past 21 months.  It's just been a different kind of joy.  It's been the joy of hitting a pace, conquering a hill, or logging a ridiculous number of miles.  It's been the joy of getting out there and doing it.  Or the joy of getting through a run and not feeling miserable.

All of these joys are wonderful, self-affirming, and motivating.  But they aren't the same kind of joy and satisfaction I used to feel before I became race-obsessed.  Running has turned into the method by which I reach an end goal.  But that's not how it started.  And that's not how I got here.

I remember the first day I started running.  It was miserable.  It was exhausting.  I couldn't manage to run for even a minute straight, let alone a mile.  Then there was the day that Lucy refused to run.  I suddenly felt a determination to make her move like you wouldn't believe.  There was something in me, pushing me to run that had nothing to do with racing or pace or mileage.  It was a desire to do something good for myself.  And my dog.  A desire to change my life.

Over that first year, as I was finally able to run a mile, and then 2, and then 3, racing was nowhere on my radar.  I was proud of myself for simply running.  For slowly getting fitter and increasing my mileage.  Somewhere between the 12 to 18 month mark of being a runner (which I didn't think I was at the time), I started to enjoy it.  I found stress relief in it.  It actually became a necessity at the end of my work day in order for me to calm my brain and decompress.

I found joy in running, just because I was running.  That's it.  No hidden agenda.  No race to train for.  Just running.  For me and for Lucy.

Remember the days when she was a happy runner?  Not
so much anymore.

Back in those not-so-long-ago days, I ran because I wanted to.  Then I ran because I needed to.  But I never ran because I had to.  And most days when I was out there running, I loved it.

Then I started racing.  Slowly but surely I eased my way in, and in the beginning days it was great.  It was another way to keep myself going.  To take pride in my new-found love for running.  To make myself run further.  To test my limits just a little bit more every time I laced up my shoes.

There was a time when my race wall looked like this:

Seems like so long ago, but this was taken in November 2011.  Two short
years ago.

It took me 2 years to earn those 3 medals and run the few 5Ks and other random K runs that accompany them.  Today my race wall looks like this:

22 months = exponential growth, and medals quadrupled on each hook.

Each of those medals and each of those bibs represents an amazing experience, a great day, a challenging day, or a day that I pushed myself harder than I ever thought I could.  Each one is a piece of pride and joy and I don't regret a single race or any decision I made to take part in them.

But slowly, those pieces of pride and joy have seemed to suck the untainted, unhindered, simple joy of running out of my running.  Running has become something I "have" to do, because that race is looming ahead.  And yes, I do realize that I am the one that chose to sign up for the race, but often those decisions happen on a whim, or during periods of motivated excitement.  And then I am left with the fact that now I have registered for a race.  And I'm not the kind of person that is going to just not do something I've committed to because I don't "feel like it."

The past two years of racing have been amazing.  I've challenged myself in ways I never imagined I could.  I've accomplished distances, paces, and races that I wouldn't have even considered humanly possible 3 years ago.  I've learned how to mentally push through when your body is calling it quits--some days more successfully than others.  I've learned what makes me tick and keeps me going and drives me to continue.  All these things I treasure and wouldn't give up for the world.  But now I'm tired.  And frankly, I'm a little burnt out.

There it is.  I've admitted it.

I've fretted and worried about it and tried to avoid it, but there it is.

My brain is tired of fighting.  It just wants to be happy.

And now that I've happily crossed the finish line of Black Diamond, now that I've fought that fight successfully, my brain is ready for a break.  Which is just what it is getting.

Yes, I am doing 2 half marathons in the next couple months, but I'm not going to stress over them.  I also officially signed up for my next big race--the Eugene Marathon--but it's not until July.  That's a whole 9 months away.  Nine glorious months of running free.

From November to May, I am going to be coaching for TNT.  I am going to focus all my energy on helping other people fight the fight.  Helping other people run the miles, hit the paces, and feel the joy.

And when I'm not helping them, I'm going to run free.  I will run when I want to.  I will run when I need to.  But I won't run because I have to.  I'll run because it makes me happy.  Because it helps me decompress after work.  Because it allows me to untangle and release the complicated string of thoughts that roll endless around this head of mine.  I'll run because it helps me feel like me again.

I started this week.  I got home from work yesterday and ran because I missed it (only my 3rd run since the half Iron).  I pounded out 5 miles at an 8:33 average pace and smiled as I did it.  I smiled because I wasn't trying to "get the miles in."  I was running because I wanted to.  I was running because I felt great doing it.  So when I hit the turn that would get me home in 4 miles, I took the path that led to a 5 mile loop instead.  For the first time in a long time, I wanted to run longer instead of getting it over with.

In fact, it was such a great run I had to brag about it on Facebook.

Then today, running club started at my new school (a group of 36 3rd through 6th graders that are going to do the Seattle Children's Marathon in November).  I logged about 2.5 slow (for me) miles with the kids.  On the way home, I teetered back and forth between wanting to get out there and put in a few more miles and just relaxing for the rest of the evening.  I decided not to push myself, because I didn't have to.  A nice dinner and some blog-writing time sounded good, even if I felt a little tug telling me to run.  Then Erica texted to see if I wanted to run, and my immediate response was yes.  We ran another 4.6 miles through hilly Ballard at an 8:34 average pace.  And again, I felt great.  I was out there because I wanted to be.  Not because I had to be.

So, from now until Eugene training starts in May, outside of coaching runs, I'm going to run for me.  When I want to.  How long I want to.  How fast I want to.  I'm going to be selfish.  Because I miss the joy of running "just because."

In fact, I'm going to make that the final item of my "30 things to do before I'm 30" list:

29)  Rediscover the joy of running.  

This is another one on the list that you are more than welcome to join me for.  Rediscover (or discover) why you love to run.  Let's spread this joy together.  Because it's a pretty great feeling when you find it.

Settling back into normal...if there ever was such a place

Normality is completely relative.  Your normal is different from everyone else's.  Sometimes drastically and sometimes just a bit.  Normal is a place that exists out there in the universe somewhere.  And nobody lives there.

I'm not really sure what my normal is.  But here's one thing I do know: it's pretty far away from that invisible place where no one lives.  And I love it.  I don't want my normal to be like anyone else's.  I selfishly want my normal to be mine.  Because when my normal is mine, it means that I am unique, individual, and me.

As a self-deprecating adolescent, one of the things I hated most about myself was my wallflower-esque tendencies.  I didn't want to blend in.  As much as it terrified me, I wanted to be noticed.  I wanted to find the one thing that made me different.  

Over time, as I've developed from that sad and scared teenager, I've discovered all the little things that make up my normal.  And the things that make my normal so different from many others.  In my normal, I am a runner.  I am a writer.  I am a teacher.  I am a person who cares for others.  I am generally positive.  I might be a triathlete, but I'm not sure yet.  I am an introvert who loves to be social.  I am a sister.  I am a daughter.  I am a friend.  I am a dog lover.

Best dog in the world?  I think so.  Also, a pretty handy footrest.

All of these things and more make up my normal.  But my normal is not static.  It is fluid.  It grows and shifts as life throws it's changes at me.  Or as I throw my changes at life.  It is a pendulum whose equilibrium shifts as the world moves underneath it.

For the past few months, I've felt as though I couldn't find my equilibrium.  Back in June, when I got a new job and started saying goodbye to what had been my normal for 5 years, I felt the equilibrium begin to slide away.  Then summer started.  And as great as summer is, it always throws normalcy completely off kilter.  Then there was triathlon training, which was something new and different and certainly not normal for me.  Then I actually started my new job, and that took my equilibrium and flipped it completely on it's head.

In my lack of normalcy, I lost track of where I was for a bit.  I didn't write.  I got fed up with training.  I didn't have teaching to remind me that there are things outside of my life that are far more important than I am.

But this week, things have suddenly started sliding themselves back into place.  I'm halfway through my 4th week at my new job (my 3rd with the kids), and it seems as though I'm starting to feel out my niche there.  I'm getting to know my coworkers and starting to feel like a competent teacher again.  I'm back into my non-summer daily routine, and my daily routines always help me feel normal again. 

And today, I went for a run.  I know, not earth shattering news.  But it was the kind of healing, therapeutic, mind-settling run that I haven't had in a while.  I was trying to be good and give myself a break after Saturday's race.  I gave myself 3 full days of rest, but today as I wrapped up the day at work with muscles feeling fully recovered I thought about my options.  I could run.  Or I could not run.  And for the first time in what has seemed like a really long time, I wanted to run.  Not because I needed to run.  Not because I was on a training schedule that told me I had to run.  There was absolutely nothing in the world that told me I needed to run today.  And I still had the perfect excuse not to run.  But I wanted to run.

So I did.  And I almost left my watch behind on purpose.  Maybe I should have, but I still didn't look at it from the time I pressed start to the time I pressed stop.  And I'm not going to tell what my pace was.  Because it doesn't matter.  What matters is that aside from a slight nagging tightness left over in my right hamstring, I felt great.

I felt balanced again.  I found an equilibrium I haven't felt in a while.  I found what must be something close to my new normal.  I may not have quite found it yet, but things are beginning to level out.  And in that, there is great comfort.

But now, to throw the balance back off just slightly for a moment, I'm going to take this opportunity to check something off my 30 things to do before I'm 30 list:

#6:  Publish a short story to the blog.

I wrote one this summer that got good feedback from my writing class and seems to fit in quite nicely with this theme.  It was a prompted free write (the prompt having something to do with being in a box rolling down a hill) with a 500 word limit that I went over by 120 words.

Without further ado or chance of backing out, here you go...

The Deal

By Tessa Kaplan

“Get in,” Sammy says as she pulls her long blonde hair back into a pony tail.

“What?” I say.

“Get.  In.”

“Why?”

“Because for once in your life, Amelia, you need to let go.”

I look down at my feet, wondering if they will move.  I will them to move.  I want them to move.  But they plant themselves firmly into the sidewalk. 

“Come on,” Sammy says as she shoves me towards the middle of the road.  My feet dislodge from the pavement and lunge forward to keep me from face-planting on the concrete.

“I don’t know,” I hesitate.  I look down at the contraption Sammy has rigged up and placed at the top of the steepest hill in our neighborhood.  A cardboard box precariously balanced upon a skateboard, attached with layer upon layer of silver duct tape.  “Why the box?”

“Because then you can’t bail and roll off.  It’ll hold you in.”

“Oh.”

“Seriously, Amelia, this was the deal.  I do my homework, you get paid for helping me, and then you do something, for once, that’s just a little bit scary.”

I press my hands against my plaid skirt, feeling the pleats of the school uniform.  Looking at the pattern comforts me.  Its regularity is predictable, reliable, and safe.  This cardboard box on wheels that sits in the middle of the road in front of me is none of those things.  I unbutton the top button of my blouse and take a deep breath in.

“Ok, fine Sammy.  But if I break a bone or scrape my face off, I’m blaming you.  You will have to explain to mom how I ended up in that thing rolling down the hill.”

“Perfect. Get in.”

I creep my way over the edge of the box as my younger sister holds the edges, giggling.  I don’t remember why I agreed to this deal.  Yes, I’m trying to earn money for a new tennis racket, but is this really worth it?

Before I have a chance to think anymore, I feel Sammy pushing me.  She giggles, and I clench my eyes shut.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I mutter.

“Me neither,” Sammy says.  I feel her smiling.

Suddenly, Sammy stumbles and I hear a thud as she crashes to the ground.  I open my eyes, whip my head around and see her laughing, staring at me as the box starts moving faster down the hill.

“Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.”  It feels amazingly wrong to say that.

I turn around and face forward as I gain speed.  The houses in my peripheral begin to blur and the parked cars on the side of the road pass by quicker and quicker.  I focus on the bottom of the hill, waiting for the upswing of the road to slow me down enough to tip myself over.  As fast as I’m going, it’s taking forever to get there.

My heartbeat is moving at a pace I’ve only felt before a big exam.  The exhilaration of the thumping makes me feel alive.  I close my eyes again and feel the wind rush through my hair.  I sense the breeze on my face and take a big, deep breath.  When I open my eyes again, I am different.  I’ve never felt this before.  Slowly, I lift my arms, stretch them to the sky, throw my head back and let out the longest, loudest yell I’ve ever allowed to escape my lips.

And then it’s over.  I hear the pounding of Sammy’s feet as she comes barreling down the hill behind me, trying to catch up.  She reaches me and grabs the box to pull it to a stop.

“So?” she asks.

I’m beaming.  “Let’s do it again.” 

Black Diamond Half Ironman Recap: I couldn't have done it alone

I did it!  I can now check "Do a half-Ironman" off my 30 things to do before I'm 30 bucket list.

And not only did I finish, but I had a great time pretty much the whole way through.  However, as seems to be the theme with all of my biggest endurance races, the reason that the day was so amazing had very little to do with me.

I've mentioned several times before as I recap races that the feeling I often get is that what I'm doing simply isn't about me.  However, I typically say this because I am a part of a team (Team in Training) that has trained for an entire season while fundraising for a cause much greater than our 26.2 (or 13.1) miles.  As we run our races, we run for those who can't, will never be able to, or still do because we have fought for them.

Saturday's race was a little different though.  I didn't train for this one with TNT and I didn't have a lot of teammates out there competing on the course with me.  So as I pushed through the swim, smiled through the bike (that's right...smiled...we'll get to that), and grimaced through the run, while I still kept my TNT motivations close to my heart, it was a different group of people that made the day feel amazing.

My race was amazing because of this:

And this:

And this:

My fabulous Cheer Squad

And because of the numerous supportive Facebook posts, text messages, and phone calls the night before, morning of, and evening after the race.

I fully and wholeheartedly believe that I would not have been able to finish this race alone.  I wouldn't have made it through the day without my incredibly supportive friends who sacrificed what very well could have been the last warm sunny Saturday in Seattle to drive an hour south to come and cheer me on.  I wouldn't have made it through months of training without the encouraging words of my friends and family (both near and far).  I wouldn't have been successful in logging all my training miles without the patient support, training advice, and workout company provided by Ironman Jason and Ironman MacKenzie (and I wouldn't have had all of the gear I needed without Ironman MacKenzie's generosity--I happen to have all 3 of her wetsuits currently in my possession).  I wouldn't have had the heart to fight through the tough parts if I didn't know that my family was out there cheering me on from all the corners of the globe that we are spread out on.

When I finally crossed the finish line 6 hours and 27 minutes after I dove into the water, I felt like I had an entire army of support that crossed with me.

So before I get into the recap, in case I haven't said it enough:

THANK YOU

While I spent the majority of the race day out on the course by myself, I never once felt alone.  Not for a single moment.  And it made all the difference.

Pre-race:

The morning of the race, MacKenzie, Dorothy, and Erica (who had generously "volunteered"/were forced to be my pre-race sherpa crew) picked me up at 6 AM and we took the hour drive down to Black Diamond.  As soon as we got to the start/finish/transition area, the nerves kicked into high gear.  I picked up my race packet, stuck numbers to my bike and helmet, got marked up for the race, and set up my transition area.

I had to take a picture of my transition set up so that
MacKenzie could pre-approve it and tell me I hadn't forgotten
anything.  When she realized that I hadn't brought an extra
pair of socks for the run in case the socks from the bike
were all wet, she took hers off her own feet so I had them in
case I needed them.  That's what I call a dedicated
friend/race sherpa.

After setting up, as more of my cheer squad showed up, we had a while to wait around until the start.  Dorothy, with her keen, observant eyes noticed my nervous, shaking hands that I had been trying to keep under cover.  I couldn't quite hide it well enough.  But that's ok, because I was happy to be nervous.  Nerves are good for me.  If I wasn't scared of a race like this, I shouldn't be out there doing it.  I was glad I had excited nerves coursing through me.

We bumped into another TNT teammate that happened to be doing the race also.  It felt nice to have someone who was experiencing the same nerves as I was, especially as we listened to the pre-race announcements and made our way into the water.

Me and Emmie, just before hopping in.

The Swim (1.2 miles):
Anticipated Swim Time: 40 minutes
Actual Swim Time: 40:10

Nervously fidgeting with my cap before the start.

I had been told repeatedly by people that the water for this race was absolutely freezing.  But after the elites took off at 9 o'clock and the men at 9:01, I stepped slowly into the water and the temperature felt perfect.  We had unseasonably warm temperatures in Seattle the week before and day of the race, so I think it kept the lake pretty warm.

At exactly 9:05, after waiting the longest 4 minutes I've had in quite a while, they finally started the women off and I was suddenly in the race.  As long as I had waited, that moment happened so quickly that it took a second for me to collect my thoughts and remind myself that this was just the beginning of what was going to be a very long day.

Starting off the swim, my arms were tired.  But I expected that.  I've learned from my numerous Green Lake swims that it takes about 15 minutes for my arms to warm up and feel good.  I know this exact time, because I usually am extremely unhappy swimming from the shore out at Green Lake.  I turn around at the 15 minute mark and all of a sudden feel great, almost disappointed to be heading back so soon.

So as I started the swim, I tried not to get discouraged by tired arms.  The swim itself was a 2-loop diamond-shaped course through the lake.  By the time I had gotten from the bottom to the top of the diamond on the first loop, I was already starting to feel better.  As I rounded the bottom of the diamond again on the second loop, I started feeling great.  I pulled my arms through the water, trying to efficiently spin them as fast as I could.

Luckily, I didn't bump into too many people.  After the first quarter mile, we had all spread out enough that I didn't have to trample anyone or get trampled.  Things sometimes got tight around the buoys, but nowhere close to the horrific things I've heard (and feared) about full Ironman races.  As I pulled up to the finish line though, I suddenly found myself barricaded behind 3 swimmers in front of me and had to slow down just before the end.

Nonetheless, I finished the swim feeling strong and ready to go for the bike.

Weirdest feeling ever: getting out of the water and running in a wetsuit.

The Bike (56 miles):
Anticipated bike time: 3:45:00
Actual bike time: 3:19:57

There I go on my circa 1989 clunker of a road bike!

The bike was by far the biggest surprise of the entire race.  It was the part I was the most nervous about, most unsure of, and most inexperienced with.  So maybe it shouldn't be a surprise that it ended up being the best part of the entire race?

I started off the bike simply thinking please don't get a flat.  Yes I had practiced, yes I had prepared for it, but I had no idea what it would have done to my mental state to get a flat out on the course.  I tried to push that to the back of my mind though, and focus instead on simply making it through the ride.

I was really happy that Ironman Jason and I had gone out in early August and ridden most of the bike course.  Here's my Garmin map:

From the green start, we went north to do the upper loop (about
24 miles), past the park and south to do the lower loop (only 8 or
so miles), then back up again to repeat the upper loop.

When Jason and I had ridden the course together, he noticed that it was a mostly undetectable uphill for the first 8 miles (to the sharp left turn in the upper right corner).  He had strategized with me to take it easy on the first loop, cruise on the downhill across the top, and then do what I could throughout to the lower loop.  Then when I got back to the second upper loop, if I had it in me to push up the hill, do it.  If not, just repeat what I did the first time.

As I was on the bike, I paid little attention to my watch, other than to keep an eye on elapsed timed to ensure I was eating frequently enough.  I paid no attention to what pace I was going.  Instead I went fully based on feel.  If I felt good and strong, I'd push a little.  If I started to get too tired, I slowed down.

Through the first big loop, I finally realized exactly how much I had learned from my spinning classes.  From posture to pedaling power to breathing, every little bit of it helped keep me spinning efficiently and comfortably.  I leap frogged with a few people through the first loop, passed a few (including someone that I noticed was in my age group--our ages were marked on our calves), and got passed by some.  For the most part though, I was out there by myself.

And I loved it.  I loved cruising down the hills.  I loved pushing through the uphills and spinning through the flats.  Anytime a negative "I'm tired" thought crept in, I remembered MacKenzie's words of wisdom: "Any time I get grumpy on the bike, I know I need to eat something."  So I did just that, and the negative thoughts slipped quietly and quickly away.

As I began to tire just a bit towards the end of the first big loop, I passed by my cheer squad and was immediately pepped to pedal hard through the lower loop.  The time passed quickly and before I knew it, I was passing back by my cheer squad on my way to the second upper loop and over halfway done.

Now, I've read other bloggers who have done these types of races, and everyone talks about how "before I knew it, the bike was over!"  During my training, I did not at all believe this to be possible.  The bike is the longest, most grueling part of the race.  You are on the bike for hours. How on earth could it pass by "before you know it."  But as I cruised through the race, I began calculated time and mileage in my head.  I realized how much faster I had been going than I had thought.  As I hit miles 40 and 45 and 50 with legs still feeling strong, I began to realize that it's actually kind of true.  I had been on the bike for 3 hours already and it certainly didn't feel like that.

Not to say I wasn't tired.  I was.  But I wasn't exhausted.  I still had some strength in me, which I hadn't expected.  I had expected to be absolutely spent after the bike.  But instead, I was energized and excited to get out and run.  I was more than halfway through this race.

In the last 4-5 miles though, I did start to feel it.  I ate a little more and kept telling myself that I was almost there.  About a mile or so from the finish, I passed some of my cheer squad, Dorothy and James, and as I heard Dorothy's cow bell I suddenly felt the last burst of strength I needed to get through that final mile.

All of a sudden I was coming in to the bike finish through the cheers of the rest of my cheer squad, dismounting the bike, and heading in to transition to tackle the last little bit of the race.

My bike splits.  I don't think I ever averaged anything close to 17 or
18 miles an hour for training rides.  My legs found some sort of
strength they'd never felt before.

The Run (13.1 miles):

Anticipated Run Time: I gave myself a huge window on this because I had no idea how I'd be feeling.  I figured somewhere between 2 and 2.5 hours.

Actual Run Time: 2:16:35

Feeling surprisingly strong coming off the bike--no weird transition aches
or pains as I had expected.

As I got off the bike, I was nervous about the run.  The last taste of solo racing I'd had in running was my not-so-fun Seattle Rock N Roll Marathon.  And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified of what my mind was going to do to me during this half marathon.  I felt like I got stuck in a negative rut during my last marathon, and it wasn't a place I liked.  I'm scared of being in that place again and desperately wanted to avoid it during this race.

So I listened to my cheer squad as they sent me off on the run and tried to keep them in mind as I pushed through.  I also reminded myself that I had made it through the swim and the bike.  The run was nothing new to me.  Just a half marathon...I've done a couple handfuls of those in the past.  I could do this.

Look at me.  Running.  It's what I do.

To be honest, I was about 95% sure all along that I was going to finish this race (barring any major injuries, catastrophes, or bike malfunctions).  I'm not trying to sound cocky or anything, but I knew I had put in my training (even if I felt I had slacked a little in taper), and I've learned over 5 marathons that I have enough fight in me to drag myself across the finish line, despite how I may be feeling.  As I started on the run, it wasn't "finishing" that I was worried about, it was just exactly how much it would hurt.

The first couple of miles, I felt great.  I even had to slow myself down a little, reminding myself that I did in fact have a half marathon ahead of me.  Not exactly your typical run--and my body had already been through a lot that day.  I took a potty break in the second mile (quite proud of myself to be hydrated enough to need to pee, yay me).  I ran through the first 7 miles, only stopping to walk through the water stops and stay hydrated.

But by about mile 7.5, I could feel the negative thoughts creeping in.  So I took a reality check.  This was not a normal half marathon.  I did not need or want to run this in any sort of record time.  I was out on this course with 2 goals: to finish and have fun.  Pushing myself miserably through a half marathon was not a goal for the day.  So I gave myself permission to walk.  For the next couple miles, I ran when I wanted to and walked when it hurt too bad.  I continued walking the water stops.  I walked most of the few hills on the course.  And in the end, I was happier for it.

The run course itself was not the greatest.  It was basically a bunch of out and backs and turn arounds that felt like they had just been trying to fill in the mileage where they could.  There wasn't anything particularly pretty about it, and a large section of it repeated the lower loop of the bike course.  Also, none of the roads were closed down for any portion of the bike or run course, which meant we were restricted to the shoulder of roads.  On the bike, this was fine.  But on the run, this meant I was running on a severely canted road shoulder.  By about mile 5, I was already feeling a pain in my right hip and a cramp in my right hamstring because of the uneven surface.  All in all, I wasn't impressed.

But that didn't mean I was going to let myself be grumpy about it.  I ate some GUs, tried to stay hydrated in the sun that finally broke through clouds about halfway through the run, and worked on keeping only positive thoughts in the forefront of my mind.

At about mile 11, I hit the final stretch back into the park and couldn't wait to see my cheer squad.  As I entered the park around mile 11.5, they were there in full force as loud as they could be.  And I couldn't help but smile and be relieved.  They were just what I needed to push through the last mile and a half.  I might have teared up a bit in the next half mile or so just thinking about how great that felt.

Which was good, because the last mile and a half was not easy.  It was a trail that looped around the lake we had swam in earlier that day.  Initially I had been excited, thinking it would be a great way to end the race, but I was wrong.  It you are at all familiar with Discovery Park's Loop Trail (gravelly up and down and up and down), this is exactly what it was.  The gravel, roots, and large rocks that stuck out in the path were an accident waiting to happen on fatigued, wobbly legs.  And the steep inclines and declines wreaked havoc on my joints.  There was a lot of walking.

My run splits, obviously decreasing in pace.  However, I find my
run time to be very significant.  I ran a 2:16 for my first first half
marathon back in 2009.  It seems only fitting that I do the same here.

As I rounded the last quarter mile, I could hear the finish.  I passed the 13 mile marker and came out of the trees, all I could hear was my friends screaming as loudly as they could.  I threw my hands in the air and booked it through the finish, feeling more proud of myself than I have in too long of a time.

Look at me fly.

Anticipated finish time: 7:00:00

Actual finish time: 6:27:29

Post Race:
During the last 4 miles of the run, all I could think about was how much I wanted my finish line beer and how badly I wanted to get my sore legs and hips back into that cool water.

So that's what I did as soon as I could after
crossing the finish line.

HLM Sierra had come equipped with 2 bottles of champagne and some OJ to share with the cheer squad (knowing that champagne is a post-race staple for me).  She prepped those as I soaked, and then we all toasted the finish.

After getting out of the water, I ate some post-race food while enjoying my late afternoon mimosa.  Ironman Jason came running up to inform me that I had placed 3rd in my division, which was a pretty exciting added bonus.

There may have been only 8 girls in my division, and only
5 that crossed the finish line, but I still got a bronze medal!
I think it counts for something...

We all hung out long enough to watch Emmie cross the finish line and then started the trek back north to Seattle.

Two half Iron finishers and an amazing group of friends.

And on the way back home, I couldn't help but think back on the day and conclude that I met both my goals.  I finished.  And I had fun.  And it was all because I wasn't out there alone.  I knew every step of the way that I had some massive support behind me.  So I smiled the whole way through and the whole ride home, and the whole night after as we celebrated with a few drinks back at my local bar.

All in all, I'd say it was a pretty amazing day.

FAQs:

I've gotten two FAQs since finishing the race, so in case you're wondering too, here are the answers.

1) Was it really easier than a marathon? My answer for this one is convoluted.  Physically, no.  It was just as difficult as a marathon.  Mentally, yes.  The race is broken up into 3 different segments that break it up into manageable parts.  Instead of going out and just running for hours, you get to focus on different sports, transitions, etc.  So I guess the answer to this is yes and no.

2)  Are you going to do a full now?  And the answer to this one: I don't know.  I would eventually like to hold that Ironman title, and I think it would be amazing to complete one, but I just don't know that I'm ready.  Training for this half was difficult.  It was time consuming.  It was mentally overwhelming.  And I wasn't working for most of the time.  In the last two weeks while back at work, I've struggled to fit in even my taper workouts.  In order to train for a full, I would have to give up the rest of my life.  And to be frank, while I love training and my training life, I also love the rest of my life.  I'm just not ready to say goodbye to everything else for 6 months to a year.  Maybe a couple years down the road, that will be different.  But for right now, it's not.

That said, I do think I would do another half.  Because after doing this one, I'm beginning to think of all the things I could improve on.  And isn't that how I got addicted to marathons?

But right now, I have other things to focus on.  A new year of teaching.  A new adventure of coaching for TNT.  And simply trying to enjoy my life as it is now.

Because if this weekend proved anything to me, it's that my life is pretty great.  Not because of me, but because of all the other people that are in it.

So once again, THANKS!

I couldn't have done it without you.

It's almost here, so let's ignore it

In exactly 48 hours, I hope to be hobbling my way 2 blocks down the road to my local bar to celebrate the completion of my next big endurance challenge with all of my wonderful friends who supported me (whether from near or far).  With the upcoming half-Ironman looming over my head, I have a laundry list full of worries coursing through my brain.

But I've done my training to the best of my physical, mental, and time-constrained ability.  I put in my best effort.  I gave what I had to give.  I even put in my time practicing changing tires.

I broke a total of 3 levers in the process, but I can now take
the tire off the rim, remove the tube, replace the tube, and
then replace the tire in 5 minutes and 13 seconds.

#proof.

I also scared the crap out of my poor little pup
when I opened the valve on the tire and the air
came hissing loudly out.  It took quite a while to
coax her (and by "coax," I mean pick her up and
remove her) from the kitchen.

So with all of it said and done, what will be will be.

I have just one goal for this race:  Finish!

Actually, I lied. Two goals:  Finish and have fun!

Instead of regaling you with the awful and graphic details of everything I'm freaking out about right now, I figured...let's just ignore it.

Instead, let's talk about something that has absolutely nothing to do with triathloning or marathoning (well, it might sneak in there, but only just a bit).  I want to talk about turning 30.

Lately, my Facebook newsfeed and overbooked calendar seems to be filling up with 30th birthday celebrations.  I've already been to a few.  As as I think about my encroaching 30th birthday (in just over 4 months), I can't help but be cheesy and reflect back up on these 30 years of living.  And as I do, I start to wonder just what exactly is it I have left to do before I'm 30.

So being the person that I am, I decided to set a challenge for myself.  Because after this race is over, I'm not going to be training for anything in particular for quite some time.  I'm going to have some spare time on my hands where it won't be the end of the world if I don't go for that run just this once.  I'd like to fill that time with other productive and useful things.

Here's the new challenge:

30 Things I'd Like to Do Before I'm 30 that I've Never Done Before

I started thinking about formulating this list a while ago and have had some stray thoughts in my head for a few weeks.  However, whenever I tried to actually formulate a list, I found it pretty difficult.  I could come up with a quick 10, but after that I was lost.

And I have to admit that I'm pretty proud of having a hard time coming up with 30 things I've never done.  That means I've done a lot.  Which is a testament to how I've chosen to live these 30 years of life.  For example, some things that I couldn't add to my list of "things I've never done" include:

1)  Move across the country for no other reason except to find happiness
2)  Find a job that you love and are fulfilled by
3)  Run a marathon (or 5)
4)  Do something that terrifies you (see items 1 and 3)

All in all, I'm pretty proud of how I've lived these near 30 years.

But I'm not done.

There's so much left to live and so much more to do.

So as I was planning my list and realizing that it was going to be quite difficult, I turned to Facebook for help.  Because people are always so willing to provide suggestions on Facebook.  The only limitations I set: ideas must be reasonable and achievable in the next 4 months.

I got some interesting suggestions (my favorite being "buy a toaster," which did make the list--see this post for an explanation if you need one).  I got some that were just funny, some that made me feel uncomfortable, and some that were quite frankly simply unaffordable (unfortunately, when I found that job that I love and am fulfilled by, it didn't really pay much).  But I also got some pretty good ones.  I added them to my own, and here is what I ended up with:

1) Do a half Ironman.  This may be cheating because it was already on the books, but I count it.
2) Get my tattoo.  I tried to this summer, but the place/artist I chose has been really disappointing.  So now I'm looking elsewhere for quality work/service.
3) Take a cooking class.  Simple enough.
4) Volunteer at a women's and/or homeless shelter.  Community service is good for me.
5) Take a road trip to somewhere new.  Ideas?
6) Publish a short story to the blog.  I wrote some this summer.  I need to work up the nerve to make them public.
7) Ride the Ducks in Seattle.  I've ridden them in Boston, but not here.  I've heard they're a hoot.
8) Run the Golden Gardens stairs.  This sounds horrible, miserable, and torturous, but it is something I feel the need to eventually do.
9) Do a mud run.  Pineapple Classic, anyone?
10) Buy a toaster.  Mentioned above.
11) Take a dance class.  I love being spun around the dance floor.  Any tall men out there want to be my partner?
12) Get 8 hours of sleep every night for a week straight.  This one was my idea.  I want to know if it's humanly possible.
13) Get rid of horrible commute/be brave and start a new job.  Yes, I've already done this but I think it's recent enough and life changing enough to warrant making the list.
14) Walk a dog at a dog shelter.  I know just which TNT coach I'm going to talk to about making this happen.
15) Make a delicious baked item.  I love cooking.  I simply don't have the patience for baking.  I'm going to steal some of my "teaching patience" and give it to my "baking patience."
16) 30 random acts of kindness.  I think this is going to be harder than it sounds.  What qualifies as a random act of kindness?
17) Be a coach for TNT.  I think I've got this one in the bag.
18) Go to the top of the Space Needle.  I've lived in Seattle for over 5 years and have yet to do this.
19) Hike to Camp Muir with Yanni.  Yanni is an amazingly strong, fabulous, and sparkly cancer survivor that I will be racing in honor of this weekend.  I want to hike 10,000 feet with her.  I just hope we can find that time before the weather turns gloomy.
20) Cook something new.  Perhaps this will happen simultaneously with the cooking class?
21) Make a list of 40 things to do before I'm 40.  With 10 years ahead of me, that could be a much more interesting list than this one.
22) Run one more half marathon.  I've done 9.  Why not round it out at 10?  Seattle Amica half, here I come.
23) Try a new sport.  This might be hard considered the gloomy days of Seattle will be fast upon us.  I'm surprised they aren't already.  Suggestions for this are welcome (and I'm a snowboarder who has also tried skiing, so neither of those work). Oh, snowshoeing!!  Who wants to go snowshoeing??  Speed walking was suggested, but I think I'd have trouble keeping a straight face.
24) Try a new cuisine.  I've eaten quite a large variety of cuisines.  I'd be interested to see how I can expand my palate.  Must be "mostly vegetarian" friendly.
25) Watch a meteor shower.  I looked this up.  There's one that peaks the night of January 2nd.  I'm on winter vacation so it's totally doable.
26) Volunteer for Make a Wish.  I would love to volunteer to this organization and help kids in a different way from my everyday role.
27) empty
28) empty
29) empty
30) Skydive!!  This is last on the list because it is the one that I absolutely want to do the most and is the only costly one that I'm willing to put in the investment for.  I won't be doing this by myself.  Who's with me?

So there it is.  The project I have set before myself for the next 4 months.  And there are three empty slots.

Here's what I need from you:  help!  Whether you help fill those 3 empty slots with ideas or volunteer to have fun while accomplishing one of these oh-so-burdensome tasks with me, I need help.  I don't want to do any of these things alone.  That just wouldn't be any fun.

Leave a comment--either here or on Facebook or Twitter or whatever social venue is out there.  Volunteer for an excellent cause :)  Help me cross every one of these things off my to-do list!

Thirty better watch out, I'm coming in strong.

I'm thankful for...

As I drove home from spin class tonight contemplating the happenings of the past week or so, I couldn't help but realize that I have a a lot to be thankful for.  So, with no further delay, in no particular order, and for no particular reason, here is a list of all the things I'm thankful for at this moment in time:

1)  I'm thankful I'm in taper!  Normally taper is not a time I get excited.  The pre-race taper is usually filled with pent-up angst creating anxiety about the necessity to not run as hard and fast as I can.  While I'm still experiencing my typical tapertime anxiety, it's for completely different reasons.  Right now, I am worried about not getting enough training in.  I've had two 3-day weekends out of town in a row and I'm also back at work full time now.  Squeezing in all the workouts I need to (even though they're taper workouts) has been really tough.  I can't say I've been successful at getting it all done.  But here's what I've learned during my previous taper experiences: it's okay.  Everything is going to be okay.  I got my training in.  I am ready for this race.  I will fit in what I can in the next week and a half (eek!), but I'm not going to worry too much about missing workouts.  Because it's tapertime.  And it's ok.

And I'm trying really hard to believe the above line of thinking.

Cue anxiety.

Moving on...

2)  I'm thankful for a wine-filled weekend in Portland.  While I didn't get all my workouts in, I did a different marathon of sorts.  That involved lots and lots of wine.

In incredibly beautiful places (Dundee Hills wine country just outside Portland).

It was just the kind of therapy I needed to have one last hurrah for the summer and then buckle down for school to begin.

Yes and yes again.

And now the wine corner of my kitchen looks like this:

Perhaps it's time to invest in a wine rack that's made for more than 3 bottles?
Although I should probably get that toaster first...

3)  I'm thankful for my HLM.  The reason for the wine trip to Portland was to celebrate the onset of HLM Sierra's final year of her 20's.  We went down visit with her family (my West Coast family), dragged a couple other friends along, and spent a wonderful weekend doing wonderful things with some of the people I love most.

Happy Birthday Si-Murph!!  It's going to be a great year.

4)  I'm thankful that the first day of school is over.  Today was the first day of school.  While this excites me, I have to be honest and say that the first day of school is my absolute least favorite day of the whole year, from the teacher perspective.  I have to sit and talk at the kids all day, which is not something I typically like to do throughout the school year.  I have to admit that I can't blame the kids when I hear complaints of boredom on the first day.  It is boring.  There is no intellectual stimulation the entire day as we sort supplies, review routines, and discuss the realities of being back at school.  And no matter how many years I teach 1st grade (this will be #8), I always forget just exactly how small and kindergartner-like they are in the first weeks of school.  I have to retrain my brain and remind myself that in just a couple of weeks they will be growing by leaps and bounds, which is the beauty of 1st grade and why I love it as much as I do.  Everything just gets better from here.  And that's an amazing thought to have for the rest of the year.

5)  I'm thankful to be back at work.  Now, don't get me wrong.  I love my summers off.  I wouldn't give them up for the world.  But there's something about being back in the routine of work that eases my obsessive-compulsive soul.  Life feels normal again when my Monday-through-Fridays are back to their typical routine.  It's also nice to have something else to think about besides the constant self-obsessed running dialogue in my head.

6)  I'm thankful for dogs (but one dog in particular).  All dogs are amazing.  In Portland this weekend, with all the people that gathered for the wine-filled birthday festivities, we acquired quite a pack at Sierra's dad's house.

Clockwise from bottom left: Rex, Lucy, Dexter, Jackson.  So much puppy love.

But while I love and admire all dogs, there is one that I love the mostest (Mr. Spell Check doesn't like the word "mostest."  Neither does my own grammatical squiggly line, but in my book this word is appropriate when talking about lovable things).

In the car en route to PDX.  It was at a stoplight.  And Lucy looks very gray
here.  I got an email from the vet that very day telling me that Lucy is officially
a senior citizen.  I am trying not to freak out about that.

Whenever I take Lucy to places out of her comfort zone, my love for her grows exponentially.  For so many reasons.  When I am away from home, it is a huge treat to be able to have her by my side.  No guilty mommy feelings.  No feeling like a sap for being somewhere on vacation having fun but at the same time missing my pup.  And, every time I take Lucy somewhere lately, I get more and more proud of her maturity.  Up until this point in her life, I haven't really ever trusted her off leash.  But this weekend at the West Coast family's house, I allowed her to roam free whenever I was out in the unfenced yard with her, and she did wonderfully.  She made me a proud mama.

7)  I'm thankful for strong swim/bike/run muscles.  One of the benefits of not getting all my workouts in while I've been off gallivanting in Whistler and Portland or prepping the classroom for the kiddos is that my legs are feeling very rested.  Yesterday after making final preparations for the little ones, I headed to Evans Pool (no more Green Lake open water swimming this season...apparently the "toxic algae" has made it's way back into the waters) and felt great swimming laps for 45 minutes.  Then I decided to do a quick run looping the lake and accidentally averaged the run at an 8:17 without feeling like I pushed that hard.  Today after work I went to a spin class and felt stronger than I have in weeks.  All this combines to help me feel ready for next weekend.  T minus 11 days until race day.  I can do this.

8)  I'm thankful for smartphones and fantasy football.  I've done fantasy football once before.  It was fun, but that year we all decided to autodraft.  Yesterday I got to experience the live draft on my iPhone while walking Lucy before my swim/run (talk about multitasking!).  It went so smoothly and I'm quite amazed by the whole process.  I'm also excited to be in a fantasy league again this year, because I feel like my football knowledge/excitement has waned in the past few years.  This will help me to regain my love for and understanding of football that I so happily attained in my first years in Seattle.

Any suggestions for fun team names are welcome (our league is called the Lovely Lady League, because we're all lovely ladies of course).  I'm still undecided and feeling a lack of creativity.

9)  I'm thankful for the anticipation of life calming down for a bit.  This summer was really busy.  I felt like I was constantly on the go, especially in the past month or so.  Despite the fact that I wasn't working, I managed to keep myself ridiculously busy.  Is it weird that going back to work is going to calm down my hectic schedule for a bit?  I think I'm just better at saying no to excess extracurriculars when I'm working.  My decompression days become a necessity because without them the repercussions affect my ability to do my job, which in turn affects the lives and success of the little ones in my classroom.

Although I'm finding all the dots on my
calendar for the month of September to be
a little worrisome.

10)  I'm thankful for new adventures.  A new class.  A new school.  New coworkers.  A new role as coach for TNT.  A new life balance as I happily say goodbye to my long commute.  So many new adventures and challenges await.  As my "new girl" worries have subsided in the past few days, I've come to realize that this is a really great adventure I'm on.

I can't wait to see where it takes me.