Who needs speed? (or sun?)

Can you tell it's mid June in Seattle?

See the clouds?  See the gloom?  At least it's
not raining...

This weekend is Fremont's annual Summer Solstice Parade and Fremont Fair.  I love this occasion.  The parade is very risque and tons of fun.  The fair is entertaining too.  And the forecast for this weekend?

At least it'll be in the 70's.  That's a bonus.

Last year, my brother and his fiance came out from NY to visit during this time.  We went to the Solstice Parade together, which they loved, despite the fact that it looked like this:

Rain jackets, grey skies, giant geoduck replica.  Yep, looks like
Summer Solstice in Seattle.

My "little" brother.  If we look uncomfortable, it's because
we are.

Anyways, despite the gloominess outside, I had a really great run today.  I've been having a lot more just me and Lucy runs lately, and to be honest, I've been getting a little frustrated with them.  I get bored running by myself now.  And by myself, I mean without another human capable of conversation.  I think too much about what I'm doing.  And I've been really focused on pace lately.  It seems like mentally all I want to do is go faster and still feel better, but this hasn't been happening.  I've been pushing my solo runs to around an 8:50-9:00 average.  I start out feeling great, but then of course am exhausted by the end of the run, just counting the minutes until I'll be home.  And then there's Lucy.  Lucy doesn't like to run fast.  She drags behind and I end up getting really frustrated as she "ruins" my pace.  But this is so silly.  Why do I need to go that fast right now?  I just ran a marathon.  I may feel normal again, but that doesn't mean that I didn't severely beat up my body a week and a half ago.  Just because my muscles feel fine now doesn't mean that my body is fully recovered.

I've now been on 5 runs since the marathon.  I did the Roadrunner Adventure Run the Thursday after the marathon, which was fun, but my body was still tired.  Last Saturday, I went to TNT practice, which was a hilly 4 miles that tired me out more than I wanted it to.  Another 4 miler on Sunday felt OK, but not great.  Then on Tuesday, I came down with a cold.  So instead of waiting until the 6:30 team practice, I went out and ran earlier with Lucy by myself.  Just a flat 3 miler around Greenlake, but with the sore throat and runny nose, I wasn't feeling that run either.

I intended to have my last run of the year with my teacher group yesterday, but by the time the school day was over, my throat felt like sandpaper, I couldn't breathe through my nose, and I felt a pounding headache coming on so quickly that I "borrowed" a Tempadot from the nurse's office to make sure I didn't have a fever (I didn't).  So instead of running, I took advantage of the fact that Lucy had been at day care all day (and therefore didn't need exercise) and went home and did nothing.

This rest paid off, because I felt a little better this morning and then even better by the afternoon.  And now, I just have an annoying runny nose that keeps trying to drain down the back of my throat (too much information?  Oops, sorry).  Anyways, the point is, when I got home from work today, I was excited to go for a nice, easy 5 mile run.  I didn't want to push myself though.  I wanted this run to feel good, the whole way through.  Which meant taking it slow at the beginning.  But when I have a nice fancy watch on my wrist telling me my pace, I have trouble trying not to beat the numbers.  So instead of looking at my watch the whole time (I couldn't bring myself to leave it at home though...), I decided to use this as my pacer instead:

So much happier when she gets to decide
how fast we go.

As long as Lucy was trotting happily near my side, we kept that pace.  If I sped up and suddenly felt a tightening of the leash behind me, I slowed down.  Pretty simple.  And in the end, everyone was happier.  Here's how Lucy paced me:

So, I figured out that the weird percentages tell me how much faster or
slower I went than the previous mile.  I'm guessing with the intention
of helping me focus on making every mile green and therefore faster
than the previous one--as a proper run should be.  Fail here, but oh well.

I was surprised we still kept it under 9:30.  I assumed Lucy would keep me a little closer to 10:00, but she seems to have sped up recently with me lately.  Lucy was even so full of pep and energy at mile 4 that she was inspired to play a little game of leash tug of war.

Look at the focus in those eyes. Ready to chomp on.

And then the tug.  There's lots of growling and jumping
involved.  She likes to try to catch hold as close to my hand
as possible.

The last time Lucy had enough spunk in the middle of a run to play leash tug of war, she caused me to eat shit in the middle of the gravelly outer loop of Greenlake.  So I made sure she stayed to my side this time.  But I also took out my phone and took pictures.  Those 2 things may have cancelled each other out in improving the safety of this situation.  Nonetheless, no face plant this time.  No skinned knees.

During mile 5, you'll notice that the pace slowed a ton.  This was not because we were tired.  It was not because we didn't feel great.  It was because of this:

Not the "30 minute load and unload only" sign,
the ginormous hill behind it (ha, I did not think
ginormous was a real word, but spell checker
isn't yelling at me for it).

I tried to take a picture of this hill that exemplified the grade and length of the hill, but found it impossible.  Let's just say it's big.  And about 5 blocks long.  And steep, really steep.  And Lucy paced me well enough through the run that I confidently ran this hill, albeit slowly, all the way to the top.  And I didn't fell like I was going to die.  And my legs didn't feel like they were going to fall off.  And I start a lot of sentences with the word "and"...even though I know perfectly well that this is grammatically incorrect.  Don't judge me (no "and" in that one).

So today, after having a bit of a rough week, I'm feeling great.  My legs feel happy.  My confidence is cushioned.  I ran my longest run since the marathon, and finally felt great.  And I can attribute all of it to my faithful (and now very tired) running buddy.

She is also faithfully keeping my toes warm.

Thanks Lucy.  Again.

Life with Lucy: Flashback

Oh, the plans I have in store for you...

To the first graders of the class of 2023

At this time of year, we often hear commencement speeches written for graduates from high school or college.  We see and read these speeches as they go viral on facebook, twitter, or youtube.  High school students and college grads listen to them as they ponder the wide vast world that lies ahead.

And this is great.  Let them ponder.  Let them imagine, hope, and dream abstractly.  But we teachers of lesser age groups, we teachers of students not yet capable of abstract thought, we have words of advice and dreams for our students as well.  But the best we can do, come our final day with them, is to hope that one day in the far off future they will imagine what we once dreamed for them, and that they will understand why we dreamed it.

So let's suspend reality and pretend that the 26 first graders I will be sending off on their long and winding road into the future can for a moment understand what the "future" really is and think deeply about advice that may not become relevant to them for many years to come.

June 12, 2012

Dear first graders of the class of 2023,

In 10 years, you will barely remember me.  Do not look aghast, do not feign shock...we all know this to be true.  I will become a name on a list as you reminisce with old friends about "who you had" in elementary school.  I will become a distant fuzzy memory in your past.  You may remember certain things, maybe a book, maybe the way the room smelled, maybe a certain pair of shoes I owned.  But all those memories you hold so clearly in your heads now, the vast majority of them will fade and then disappear completely.  These memories will fade for me as well, but know that I will not forget you.  In ten years, I will remember your 7 year old face.  I will remember your struggles, your accomplishments.  A hundred more students may pass through my doors, adding to the near 200 that already have, but I will remember you.

Despite the fact that you may not remember me down the road, I hold a deep seated hope that I have helped to plant the seeds of your future.  I hope that you grow and develop the qualities I see sprouting in you already, and even if you never attribute an ounce of those qualities to me, I hope that I lent a hand in helping you become the person you will one day be.  Here is what I hope for you:

I hope that you do not lose your zest for life.  In first grade, everything is exciting.  Did you know that rocks get darker in water?  When you learned that your eyes almost popped out of your head and your mouth fell open.  Did you know that R can be a thief and steal a vowel sound?  The day you learned that, you scoffed at the unrighteous indignity of the letter r.  And poetry...oh poetry.  You relished in the joy of writing poetry--sitting outside on a sunny day, watching the crows fly over the dusty red soccer field and the trees bend deeply in the wind.  You thought that life couldn't be any better.  Don't let that excitement slip away.  Life is exciting.  Live it and love it.

I hope that you love to learn.  I hope that you love to read, write, inquire, and observe.  Because if you love to do these things, you will love to learn.  And if you love to learn, then your zest for life will never be lost.  You will never be able to learn it all.  Even if you live to be a hundred years old, you could still learn more.  And the more you learn, the more I hope you want to learn.

And as your hunger for learning grows, I hope you break the rules.  I hope you take risks.  I hope you challenge the status quo.  I hope you think creatively.  I hope you push the boundaries.  Because how do you know where the boundaries really are if you don't try to cross them every now and then?  (Just wait until after June 20th to do this...)

I hope that you continue to make mistakes.  All year long, we have celebrated our "great!" mistakes, shared them with our classmates, and learned from them.  You have learned that mistakes are OK and that the world will not end if you get the answer wrong.  I hope you continue on in your life unafraid to try something new and fail.  Because from that failure, you can learn and grow and try again.  And then you will do all the better on the second try.  But there is a caveat to this hope.  I hope that you learn that some mistakes cannot be fixed.  Certain words cannot be unsaid, and certain deeds cannot be undone.  Life will go on (in most cases) and you will learn from these mistakes, but you will be different.  You and others will be changed by these unfixable mistakes.  Try to make as few of these as you can.

I hope that sometimes you are sad.  Because sadness is a part of life.  And without true sadness, how will you ever be able to know true happiness?  Be sad, and be OK with it.  But then move on and enjoy the happiness that will inevitably come.

I hope that someone is unkind to you.  Yes, I do hope this.  Because it is during these times, when people are unkind to you, that you will develop your compassion.  I hope that you remember what it felt like when someone was unkind to you, and then try your best to never make anyone else ever feel that way.

I hope that someone is kind to you.   So that you know the joy that one person can give another.  So that you will want to spread the joy, to pay it forward.

I hope that you do not become jaded by life.  I hope that you do not believe us when we try to tell you that the most important measure of your success is a test score.  I hope that you do not become bogged down by power standards, learning targets, and the common core.  I hope that you do not become so cynical that you can't move forward.  I hope that your parents provide a kind and loving home for you, but if they don't, I hope that you grow up and leave it all behind.  I hope that you do not continue to spread the neglect and apathy that you may face in the coming years.  I hope that you take life's difficulties in stride and grow from them instead of letting them push you down.

I hope that you smile.  I hope that you find something that makes you smile, something like teaching, running, or taking care of a dog, and I hope that you hold on tight to it.  I hope that you shape your life around it.  I hope it is the root of your life, all other things growing out of it.  And I hope that in the sad times, the unkind moments, the harsh realities of life, you remember where your root is.

All these things, I hope for you, little ones.  Because you have so much growing to do.  And there will be so many challenges you must face.  So finally, I hope that you are strong.  Because the road you must walk--no--the marathon you must run for the remainder of your years requires a strength beyond anything you could possibly imagine.

Good luck with the future.  It can hold great things for you if you choose to let it.

Sincerely,

Your first grade teacher

Rest and Recovery

Was it really just a week ago that I ran the San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon?  The memories already seem mired by time.  My legs are no longer plagued by the soreness that enveloped them up until 2 or 3 days ago.  My brain is already begining to fuzz over memories of the toughest parts of the race, readying me for the inevitable choice to run another one.  Last week I was consumed with the marathon fever--it was all I could think about, all I wanted to talk about, all anyone asked me about.  And now, a week later, it seems like a far distant past.  Life moves so fast, moments so fleeting.  How does anyone ever hold on to the things they want to last?

This week I've been busy enough to let the memories fade fast.  We're down to just 7.5 school days left in the year, and so much to do before it all ends.  Missing 2 days for the marathon at this time of year was pretty tough, but worth it nonetheless.  Now I'm playing catch up, trying to get grades in, write report cards, and have enough time to let my kids celebrate the completion of their first grade year.  There just isn't enough time in the day right now.

In my running life, this week has been all about recovery.  Post-marathon recovery has always been tricky for me.  It becomes a balance between wanting to get back out there and avoiding beating up your body so much that you injure it.  I had thought about going to Team practice on Tuesday night, but on Tuesday I could barely sit down or stand up without wanting to scream in pain.  And those 3 little stairs that lead up to the porch of my apartment building were pure torture to descend (going up them hurt, but not nearly as bad).  Did I complain about the pain though?  No, I earned it.  It was my badge of honor.  Co-workers laughed at me as I waddled down the hall or attempted to get out of a chair.  I was proud of my pain because it was my accomplishment.  Lucy and I walked instead.

I thought about running on Wednesday with my teacher running group, but burdened by work and uplifted by the thought of a couple extra hours at school while Lucy played at day care, I passed on that too.

By Thursday my legs were itching to hit the streets again.  They weren't fully recovered, but they had progressed to a mere "normal" muscle pain (like the kind you feel after a really tough workout) and not the paralyzing marathon pain anymore.  It was perfect that Thursday night was one of Roadrunner's Thursday Adventure Runs.  If you haven't done one of these runs before, you should think about it.  I'll do it with you.  The general idea is that they post a map of checkpoints throughout the neighborhood (if you pre-register, they email the map to your smartphone!).  Then you have 1 hour to get to as many checkpoints as you can to collect tickets.  At the end of the hour, tickets are dumped into a bucket for a prize drawing.  With over $5000 in prizes including Garmin watches, shoes, and gift certificates to local stores and restaurants, it's pretty worth it.  No, I didn't win anything this time, but in the past I've won a free piece of Brooks clothing (I got a rain jacket that cost $75).  The run is free, so the worst that can happen is you walk away in the same position you got there.  And there's a beer garden.  Yay, beer.

This run was perfect for my return after the marathon.  We ran a leisurely pace and with all the stops along the way, there was lots of rest time.  There were very few hills.  And, since everything is outside, Lucy got to come along too (I just had to have my friend MacKenzie pick up tickets for me inside some of the checkpoints, which are local businesses.  No biggie).  Lucy was a little confused by all the commotion, but she settled right down in the beer garden while we laid our tickets out in front of us for the drawing.

When I got home, I foam rolled and then remembered why I don't foam roll often enough.  It hurts.  A lot.  Especially when you're still sore from running a marathon.  But, it certainly helped because Friday morning I woke up almost completely back to normal.  There was no run Friday, because of my double work day.  Only one more of these to get through before the summer!  Can't wait.

Even though I didn't run on Friday, I did say goodbye to a toenail.  After my marathon, I was a little surprised that my toes felt good.  In the past I've killed off one or 2 during my marathons.  And then Friday night I learned why it didn't hurt--it was in fact already dead.  I must have killed it at the Whidbey Half and it finally decided to fall off.  I took a picture of the red painted toenail separated from the toe, but I'll spare you.  Now the toe itself is painted red, and the untrained eye would never know the difference :)

Saturday morning I went to Team practice at Redmond Watershed.  I was asked to do the mission moment before practice (where someone tells their story about their connection to cancer to remind us runners why we are doing this).  I decided to read Part I of my San Diego story to the team, which was a little more difficult than I thought it would be.  When I write, sitting here at my computer, it's easy to say what's on my mind because I don't see who's actually reading this.  I'm not face to face with you.  In front of this crowd, I got nervous though.  I don't typically get nervous speaking in front of groups anymore, but this was a little different.  These were my words I was reading, my feelings, my emotions (things I'm not generally good at sharing).  I made it through though, and I was thanked afterward for sharing.  The run was really pretty, but muddy and very hilly.  I did a little over 4 miles, which felt perfect.  After a marathon, I always feel like I lose my breath more quickly than normal.  I think shorter runs for at least a week are reasonable.  Although next week I'll up it a little in preparation for the Seattle Rock N Roll Half Marathon in 2 weeks.

Today, Lucy and I went for another 4 mile run and averaged about a 9 minute pace.  Lately I've begun to realize that I may be running faster than Lucy's preferred pace.  Especially when we're on a gravel path, she tends to not want to go much faster than a 9:30 pace.  And in all truth, I think she's happier at a 10 minute pace.  But today, she trucked along in the "heat" (I think we were pretty close to 70 degrees today) with me at a faster pace.  My legs felt strong and my breathing more normal.  And I didn't feel like I had run a marathon a week ago.

It's weird, you spend 5 months or more training for this big event, and then it's all over in a few hours.  And then so quickly, it fades as if it didn't just happen.  As if this time last week I hadn't just run 26.2 miles.  Life goes on again as it did before.  But for me, after every marathon, I feel different.  I've learned new things about myself, my body, and what I am capable of.  And even if the memories fade, the changes that a marathon makes somewhere deep inside me won't fade.  And the next challenge I face, I'll be all the stronger for it, knowing that I can take on the world and not fall down.

And now my puppy pillow and I are going to get a little sleep as we face the last full week of the school year!

Sometimes I wonder why she tolerates me so.
She must love me, I guess.

San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon: Rocked It? (Part II)

At our Inspiration Dinner on Saturday night, John "The Penguin" Bingham served as emcee for the evening, telling a few jokes that only marathoners, or those in training for a marathon can really understand.  I've heard him speak once before (at my Inspiration Dinner for my first marathon in Seattle) and will hear him speak again at the Inspiration Dinner for the Rock N Roll Seattle Marathon in a few weeks--I'm running the half.  If you've never heard of the Penguin before, look him up.  He is a huge supporter of Team in Training and its mission and cause.  He's written several books about his running life, of which I've read one called the Accidental Athlete.  Until his 40s, he was an alcoholic smoker who'd never run a mile in his life.  Now he is the ultimate self-deprecating "back of the pack" marathoner who's run more marathons than you can count on both hands twice over.  He's known as the Penguin because of the way he describes himself "waddling" through his races.  He was jokingly introduced at our dinner as the most famous marathoner who has never come close to winning a race.

I've heard many of his go-to jokes before, but at this dinner, he described a moment in the marathon that will become extremely relevant later in this post as I relive the race.  Most runners refer to the point where your mind breaks down, where your body doesn't want to go any further, and where you simply think you can't make it any further (usually starting about mile 22) as the wall.  But the Penguin told us Saturday night that there is no wall.  He told us that there is what is simply called the "Bite Me" zone.  In this zone, you will tell all those wonderful people you've been training with for so long to simply "bite me."  As a preface, I told no one I care about to "bite me," but I may have minorly yelled at someone around mile 24-25ish.  Maybe.  Let's just start the race recap and you can decide for yourself.


3:15 am: Alarm goes off.  Pretend to snooze once.  Remove clothing from pre-dressed chair that has been waiting since the night before.

Shoe tags in place, throw away sweatshirt
ready and waiting.

Water bottles are filled and waiting in the fridge.  Breakfast is pre-packed and ready to be taken to the start line.  Nerves are shaky.

Suited up and ready to go.  At least I look
that way.

4:15 am:  Meet team in the hotel lobby to congregate prior to race start.  Talk excitedly with teammates, some of whom are getting ready to run their first full or half marathon.

Look at us marathoners, ready to take on the day.

4:30 am: Board the Team in Training shuttle to the start line.

4:45 am: Arrive a start line area.  Immediately begin the bathroom line wait.  If you've never witnessed the race day port-a-potty experience, here's how it works.  Get in line for the bathroom, use bathroom, immediately get back in line so that you can use the bathroom again 30 minutes later.  I'm going to be fairly blunt and say here that there is something that must happen in the bathroom that isn't #1 before a marathon.  Because if it doesn't happen before the marathon, it will certainly happen during.  What made me the most nervous that morning was that this didn't happen for me until the last bathroom trip before the start.  Very nerve-wracking.  Nonetheless, it happened.  Enough said.

6:15 am:  Race starts.  The first corral takes off.  I'm in corral 11, so still a little while before my start.

6:26 am:  My corral starts.  Here we go.

Over 30,000 people ran this race.  The energy
and adrenaline at the start is amazing.

Erica and I had a plan for this race that included two main things.  1) Stay at a 9:30 pace for at least the first half.  2) Walk the water stops.  #2 might sound silly, but this ended up making a huge difference for both of us throughout the race.  There's several reasons to walk the waterstops.  Firstly, it's really difficult to drink water out of a small cup while running.  May as well slow down and get it all in.  Secondly, it's a pre-planned, guilt-free, mini break every mile or two.

The first half of this race, I felt pretty good.  Erica and I ran along at a pretty steady pace, a little faster than our 9:30 pace.  We saw one of our coaches at about mile 4.  We saw a teammate running the half at our mile 10 (her mile 6).  We saw a TNT cheer stop where we recognized a few friendly faces.  We saw another teammate running the half at our mile 12 (about his 10?).  We even managed some mid-race pictures.

Running down the highway--our half of the
road dedicated to full marathoners, the other
side had half-marathoners.  

The energy on the first half of the course was awesome.  High energy=running faster.  Every few minutes, we were looking down at our watches, reminding ourselves to slow down, take it easy.  There were many miles to go before we were done.  Here's how the first half went:

Nike just changed their website, making the splits look funny
here with weird percentages in the middle.  If you click on
it, it'll get bigger.

You can see that we were a little up and down with our pace, sometimes holding on to the 9:30 goal, but many times running faster and closer to 9:00.  The funny thing about the first "half" of the marathon is that it isn't really the first half.  Yes, mileage-wise, this is considered the halfway point, but the marathon isn't really half-way over until you hit your "bite me" zone.  Then the biggest battle begins.

8:38 am:  Pass the half-marathon mileage marker.  This was a 2:02 half marathon.  I was impressed by this, but wary as well.  In my last marathon, I ran the first half in 2:15.  This is a big difference.  I knew I was faster than my last marathon, but was I pushing too hard?  Only time would tell.

At the half-way point, I swallowed my first salt packet.  The weather in San Diego was perfect "June gloom."  Cloud cover, upper 60's, but more humid than I realized.  I was sweating a ton.  I was losing more salt than I realized.  Should I have taken more salt packets earlier?  Would it have made a difference?  Oh the mysteries of a marathon.

Let's pre-load the race splits for the second "half" of the race.

Can you tell where my "bite me" zone started?  Bet you can guess.

I felt like I was holding strong and steady until about mile 18.  At 18, I started to get tired.  My legs started feeling a little heavier, my body a little more burdensome.  But it was right around this time that we saw Nadine (remember coach Nadine from yesterday's post?  Whose dad passed away the week before?).  Nadine was there on the course, smiling brightly, ready to support us.  And seeing Nadine helped me to remember that this race was not about me.  And so I started my chant.

If you've ever talked to a marathoner, they'll tell you that there comes a point in the race where words just seem to repeat themselves rhythmically in your brain.  If you can control the words that are repeating, give yourself a motivating mantra, you can help push yourself through the tough parts.  In my first marathon, my mantra was "you can do it."  This worked, but I wanted more.  So for the second race, I adopted "pain is temporary."  This also worked, until I hit my bite me zone and wanted to say "Screw it. THIS HURTS NOW."  So for this race, I wanted something better, and I had decided on it at the Inspirational Dinner the night before: "It's not about me."  And seeing Nadine reminded me of this.

So from about miles 18-21, as Erica and I continued running, that is what I repeated in my head. "It's not about me...it's not about me...it's not about me."  I said it with the rhythm of my breathing. "It's not about me."  The rhythm of my feet.  "It's not about me."  The rhythm of the race. "It's not about me."  

By mile 21, my legs were hurting.  We hit a water stop, started walking our way through, and when it was time to start running again, my legs said no.  So I waved Erica on.  And then it was just me.  You might be thinking, well you made it through 21 miles.  There's only 5 miles to go.  That's easy.  But those 5 miles...they were 5 times as hard as the first 21.  Those 5 miles were where my torn heart finds its confusion.

You'll notice that at mile 21, my pace drops off.  I walked for a bit.  During mile 22, I made a port-a-potty stop.  After sitting in the port-a-potty and then standing up again, my legs screamed that NO, they WOULD NOT be running anymore.  But they still had four miles to go.  So I repeated my mantra "it's not about me it's not about me it's not about me." And I started running again.  I told myself I'd run to the next waterstop. Then I could walk again.  This got me through mile 23.  I walked through the water stop.  I took another salt packet (why didn't I take more??)  I walked a minute longer.  I thought about running, but my stumps hurt so deeply that I walked another minute.  And then I tried it again.  I told myself I'd get to the next waterstop.  I told myself it's not about me.

If you are at all familiar with San Diego, from miles 22-25, you circle Fiesta Island before crossing over into the SeaWorld parking lot for the finish.  Fiesta Island is NOT a fiesta.  At this point in the marathon, it feels like a deserted island.  There's no one out there.  No enthusiastic onlookers, none of my coaches around.  No running buddy at my side.  Just desolate, sandy beach, and no indication of how much farther to go.  I thought I'd make it to the next water stop, but I couldn't see it, and my thighs were cramping so badly I felt like I was running on inflexible stumps.  I walked again.  And then I remembered that it's not about me. And then I ran again.  And I walked again.  And this continued until I finally hit a medic tent at mile 24, where I crashed onto a cot and told them to massage the cramps out of my thighs.

Another one of my coaches, Shelby, owns a running store that sells running items and offers sports massages.  Sports "massages" involve a masseuse digging at every tight muscle, releasing every built up ounce of lactic acid.  When Shelby works out a cramp on you during practice, he takes an elbow and digs it into your calf or thigh as deep as he can, or takes a fist and pounds it until it's gone.  But these medics in the medic tent sprayed me with something, put some sort of oily stuff on me, and lightly massaged my thighs. This is not what I wanted.  And this is when the bite me phase sunk in.  I let them "work on me" for a minute until I said enough.  And they all jumped back, but no one offered a hand to get me off the cot.  So I looked at them and bluntly said "HELP ME UP!" and then took off again as I heard them yell behind me "Only 2 miles to go!"

Looking at more specific splits, I ran the next half mile at an 8:45 pace.  Because it's not about me.  Because I can run 2 miles.  But then I couldn't.  Or at least I thought I couldn't.  I was angry.  I was high on marathon crazy emotions, I was fully in marathon "cloud" brain where even the simplest math problems can't be solved (one of my teammates had convinced herself in the final miles that a marathon was 26.6 miles).  I saw a TNT coach from another chapter, and remembered how throughout the race I had been a little annoyed with coaches from other chapters that paid me no attention.  The coaches were there for all of us, not just their local participants.  So when I saw this coach stare at me blankly as I walked through mile 25, I looked at him and simply demanded "GET ME RUNNING AGAIN!" (with the implied, "stop effing staring at me and do your job!" or in other words, "bite me").  So he ran along with me, talking my ear off, doing an admittedly excellent job of distracting me, until suddenly I saw one of my own coaches and relief washed over me.  The other coach dropped away.  With a mile to go, Clint stayed with me until the 26 mile marker.  Here's how it went:

Tessa: "My legs are cramped.  I can't run."

Clint: "Alright, let's go.  Not much more left."

Tessa: "Where's the finish line? I can't see it!"

Clint: "I'm not sure, it's right up there, past those tents."

Tessa: "ugh, I can't!" [starts walking] "Ok, I'll start running at the next garbage can.."

Clint: "Ok.  Control your breathing, deeper breaths."

Tessa: "Where is the finish line?? I don't see it!"

Clint: "Right up there, see that banner?"  

We reach the trash can.

Clint: "Ok, ready?"

Tessa: [starts running].  "Where is the finish line?? It's so far away!" [looks at watch] "I'm still going to PR no matter what I do from here."

Clint: "Great.  It's right up there.  See the black and red banner?"

Tessa: "No!  It's too far away!" [stops running] "Ok, I'll run at the next post."

Clint: "Ok, deep breaths."

Tessa: "Where is the finish line??  IT'S SO FAR AWAY!"

Clint: "It's right up there.  Ready? Let's go."

Tessa: [starts running again] "Is that the finish line?? I can't tell."

Clint: "It's right there.  Here's mile 26.  .2 to go, you can do the rest."

Those aren't exact quotes for this half-mile to mile-long conversation, and I may be underestimating the number of times I asked where the finish line was.  Thanks for being patient Clint.  I know it's what you're trained to do, but I appreciate it.

After that, I hit the finish chute, ran 2 tenths of a mile through cheering crowds, and finished my marathon in 4:18:43.  I beat my last marathon time by 10 minutes.  This is awesome.  I am extremely happy about it.  But I am left with a very small, bitter taste, thinking maybe I could have done better.  Maybe I could have pushed through the pain more.  Maybe I forgot in the last mile that it was not about me.  

But that is not the point, because the point is that I did it.  I finished. 

I'm kind of small, but my arms are raised and
rejoicing finally being able to see the finish
line.

And we finished.

Erica waited for me just across the finish line
and snapped that awesome photo above.
She finished in 4:07.  Totally rocked it.

And we all finished.

Our smiles look a little more haggard than the pre-race photo.

And we may have done it for ourselves.  But it wasn't all about us.  We didn't get through that race by ourselves.  We are a team, running together to fight something way bigger, and way scarier than 13.1 or 26.2 miles.

When we were done, we went back to the hotel, took ice baths, ate lots of food, and went to our Victory Party that took place in the same location as the Inspiration Party.  And what did we do there?

We danced.  We danced on worn out, tired, broken down, sore legs.  We dance for over an hour.  Because we were celebrating being a part of something way bigger than running a marathon.  Because it wasn't about us.

I can't wait to do it all again.

San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon: Rocked it? (Part I)

I used to think I was a person who couldn't do things.  Back in NYC, there was once a time when I thought I couldn't change my life.  But then I did.  Not so long ago, there was also a time when I thought I couldn't run.  But then I did.  There was even a short time, after witnessing the brief life of Maya, when I thought I couldn't get another dog.  But then I did.  Three short years ago, I thought I couldn't run a half marathon.  But then I did (and have done it 3 more times since).  Two short years ago, I thought I couldn't run a marathon.  But then I did (and now have 2 more times since).  I could go on and on about all the things I once thought I couldn't do, and then did.  The point is that I've proven myself wrong enough times, that now I find myself believing that I am a person who can do things.

But there's one problem with becoming a person who believes that you can do things.  When there comes a time that you don't do what you've set out to do, the disappointment is deep and biting.  Because you know the only thing that held you back from accomplishing what you wanted was yourself.

I'm not saying that I am in any way disappointed by my performance in the San Diego Rock N Roll Marathon...but I'm a little torn.  I'm torn between being elated with my PR of 10 minutes, putting me at a 4:18:43 marathon time (if you had asked me if I could have done that after I ran my first marathon, I would have laughed in your face) and feeling that I quite simply could have done better.

In order to explain these mixed feelings, let's chronologically relive my 4 day weekend in San Diego.

Friday


Erica picked me up at 6:00am to get to the airport to make our Team flight to San Diego.  Because I fundraised for LLS for this race, my flights and hotel were booked for me by Team in Training.  These were group reservations that included all the members of my team that were running or walking either the half or full marathon in San Diego.

We arrived in San Diego around 10:30, were shuttled to the Grand Manchester Hyatt in downtown San Diego, which looked like this:

Yep, both towers.  Easily one of the nicest,
biggest hotels I've ever stayed in.

From there, we went to the Race Expo to pick up our race packets.

Yay, happy pre-race excited faces!

The expo was filled with a ton of vendors wanting to sell me stuff I absolutely didn't need.  But we did stop by the Team in Training display, which included a wall that was quickly filling with signatures.  This was the first time that the thought occurred to me that this race was not about me.

Signatures of hope, joy, thanks, dedication,
and sadness--for cancer patients, survivors,
and lost loved ones.

After picking up our packets, we made use of our free tickets to Sea World (given to us with our race registration by the Rock N Roll group).  This was my first time in San Diego, and therefore my first experience at Sea World.  I was unprepared for the the Disney-like theatricality of all of the shows, but I still got to see lots of cute animals and take about 100 pictures to show my kids at school today, as promised before I left.  

Hi inquisitive dolphin, you are super cute.  I almost got to
touch you, but not quite.

Then after a tasty Mexican dinner that quite unfortunately did not include any margaritas due to my "no alcohol for a week before race day" rule, we went back to the hotel and fell fairly quickly off to sleep.

Saturday

I had hoped to see a little bit more of San Diego on Saturday, but unfortunately after a leisurely brunch and a fairly restrictive schedule that included a 3:30 team meeting, and 5:30 "Inspirational Dinner," I didn't see much beyond the hotel pool.  Turns out, I didn't mind this so much.

No, we didn't particularly appreciate those clouds on Saturday,
but on race day, we definitely did.

At our 3:30 team meeting, we listened to some last minute details from our coaches and team organizers and took a group picture.

This is just about everyone from the Washington/Alaska
chapter of Team in Training that ran in San Diego.

During this meeting was the second time it occurred to me that this race was not about me.  I met a few other teammates that I hadn't met yet, heard a few more stories, and watched as one of my coaches, Nadine, whose father had passed away after a long battle the Thursday before, stood strongly before us, there to support us on our mission to play our part in ensuring no one else lost their dads too.

And then we went to our Inspiration Dinner, where it hit me full in the face that this race was NOT ABOUT ME.  There were 2,500 participants who raised money for LLS running in San Diego (an LLS sponsored race).  Upon entering the conference center, all 2,500 participants walked through a long column of mentors, captains, coaches, and organizers cheering them on, reminding them of the money they had raised and the challenge they bravely faced.  I have walked through one of these cheering red carpet lines before, but this time, as a mentor, I got to be a part of the cheering squad.  And let me tell you, I found this perspective to be more inspirational than walking through on my own.  I got to watch each face that passed by--the uncontrollable smiles, the tears, the anguish and joy in people's hearts as they remembered why they were doing this, how far they had come and faced their final meal before one of the biggest challenges they've ever put before themselves.

The energy is apparent.  The emotion is palpable.  I'd be
lying if I said I didn't tear up a few times.

After standing there cheering for an hour, with a hoarse voice and tired hands, I didn't want to complain.  Because this was not about me.  This was about them.  Those people I raised $3,075 for.  Those people who also fundraised.  Those people who were running their first half or full marathon.  Those people who were doing it again, because this is what matters.  It was about those people who have watched friends and family members go through the horrors of cancer and cancer treatment.  Those people who have watched their loved ones go into remission and come out with success stories to tell.  Like Darren, who I've trained with all season, who has been in remission for several years and ran his 2nd marathon on Sunday, with his wife by his side running her first half marathon.  It was about those people whose lives cancer has taken.  Like Heather, Erica's sister who passed away 3 years ago leaving behind her parents, sisters, 2 sons, and husband.  Like Siona, a 6 year girl who passed away New Year's Day 2 years ago, whose father and friends ran in her honor on Sunday.  Like Nadine's dad Tom, who had so recently lost his battle.  Like my grandmother, who I never met, who my mother barely knew after she passed away when my mom was 3.  This was not about me.  This was about them, about the cause, about finding a cure.  Because mothers need their daughters and sons need their fathers and brothers need their sisters and no one should have to watch this happen to anyone they love.

Once inside the Inspiration Dinner, we listened to the CEO of LLS tell us that we San Diego runners had raised over $7 million for our cause.  We listened to John "The Penguin" Bingham run through his oft-repeated, but endlessly funny running jokes.  We listened to a man tell the story of his cancer, his treatment, and his thanks for everything we have done to help him survive.  We ate pasta, we celebrated ourselves and our teammates, we cheered, we cried.  Several times in my Team in Training career, I've joked and heard others joke about the somewhat "cult-ish" nature of TNT.  If it's a cult, it's one I certainly don't mind being a part of.

When dinner was over, we went back to the hotel to decorate our race day shirts.  Supplied with permanent markers, puffy paints, googley eyes, and glue, we plastered our purple TNT race day shirts with the names and symbols of those we were running for.  Here's my end result:

I got a special "rock star" shirt because I
raised $1000 over my minimum requirement.

I left my shirt fairly simple.  Every shirt I've raced in has said that I'm going the distance in honor the "The Fam," because without my family I would not be doing this.  My family is everything to me, and if something I'm doing today can help somebody in the far off future, I am going to keep doing everything I can.  The butterfly is for Erica's sister Heather, and the purple and green ribbons we made for Nadine's dad Tom--one for everyone on the team so we could run for him and for Nadine.  There are other names I could have written, but for this race, these people were most prevalent on my mind, so I left it simply with them.

After shirt decorating, it was time for bed.  Time to toss and turn and pretend to sleep.  I only got about 5 hours of sleep that night, but I slept soundly. I fell asleep with the thought in my mind that this race was not about me.  It wasn't about my time, my goals, my pain that I knew I would inevitably feel in the final miles.  It was about everyone else.  I fell asleep knowing that with that thought in mind, I could make it through any challenges the next day would bring.

GO TEAM.

Life with Lucy: Relief

I don't know where you went mom, but thanks for coming back.  I'm sleepy now.