The Funniest Thing Yet on a Run

A white Pontiac Grand AM is pulled over on the side of the Embarcadero. The car’s radio is blaring an easy-listening station through the rolled down windows. There’s a microphone plugged into the car’s sound system. A young man is singing his heart out and dancing with the microphone, stand and all. He’s really into it. Really into it. I would have thrown some change in his collection hat if I wasn’t empty handed because I was out for a run. I laughed the whole way home. It was an unbelievably funny sight.

The Downside to Running Boston

Qualifying to run the Boston Marathon is one of the most exciting achievements for us everyday runners. When you tell someone that you’re training for Boston, they say congratulations. You feel a sense of pride telling people that you’ve run the Boston Marathon. It’s a trophy to wear the Boston Marathon jacket. It’s a special status that other runners can appreciate. It’s the closest thing everyday runners have to understanding how great it must be to qualify to run in the Olympic trials or the Olympics for that matter.

There is a downside to running the Boston Marathon though. It’s the training. As if training for a marathon isn’t enough, Boston, being a spring marathon, requires you to train through the winter. Cold. Wet. Dark. At least one of the three is pretty much guaranteed no matter what time of day you do your training. Perhaps it’s just the price you pay to have the honor to run in such a prestigious race.

Stay warm and dry when you can.

Harder than the Marathon

I signed up for the Chicago Marathon the day it opened for registration in February. I was six months pregnant at the time. The baby was due in May. The marathon was in October. I calculated that I would have five months to get into marathon shape. Under normal circumstances five months would be ample time for me to ramp up my mileage and feel ready for a marathon. Being a first time mom-to-be I didn’t fully comprehend that normal circumstances would be no more come May.

I stayed in really good shape throughout the pregnancy. I stopped running two-thirds of the way in, but I didn’t stop the cardio activity. I thought I’d be able to bounce back within a few weeks, obviously not to peak conditions, but at least to a comfortable pace. What I didn’t count on was how bloated and weak my body would feel after the baby. The other major factor, which I was anticipating because everyone loves to tell you about it, is that I would be beyond tired.

Three weeks after my special delivery, I left the house in my running clothes. No watch. I wanted to go on my first run by feel. I noticed right away that I felt weighted down by the extra weight and the milk inflated chest. I didn’t feel light on my feet or graceful. I felt like a hippo running down the street. I was short of breath. It was as if I had never run a day in my life. Though, despite how I felt physically, I have to admit that I enjoyed that run. It was one of my first times out without the baby and I knew I was taking steps on the road back to my former self.

That road was long. I was physically tired from carrying the extra weight around, and it didn’t seem to melt off even if I was running 30 plus miles a week. I had a rounder chest to worry about. I was just plain tired from nursing and caring for an infant. I was self-conscious about the shape of my body. I was emotional from being so tired. I was emotional from feeling like I would never be able to get back to my former running form. I couldn’t keep up with my old running crew, and I began to have doubts that I ever would. I couldn’t run five miles without feeling like it was 10. I was exhausted.

Getting up every Saturday to meet friends for our long runs was painstakingly hard. I wanted to stay those extra moments in bed, especially if the little one was finally asleep. I hated putting on the form fitting running clothes that showed the remainders of the baby bump. I hated that I had to work so hard to keep them in my sight when I easily trotted along side them pre-baby. I dreaded going to track on Tuesdays because my repeats were so far off. It often made me want to stop and cry because I felt like no matter how hard I was trying I would never find my former runner inside of me.

Despite the emotional and physical pain though, I preserved. I kept hoping that the next week would be easier. I was so determined to prove to myself that I could do it. I had so much support from my husband and my mother-in-law who often watched the little one so I could sneak out for a run until she was big enough to ride in the running stroller.

As the marathon day approached I wasn’t feeling really ready for the race. Not the same ready I have felt before previous marathons. I did get all the training runs in and knew I’d make it across the finish line. I was so proud of myself for sticking with it despite all the challenges. I wasn’t going to let myself be disappointed by putting time goals on myself. It had been so hard to get there, with so little time to recover from child birth, that I just wanted to run the marathon because I could.

I can most assuredly say that training for a marathon right after having a baby is one of the hardest things I’ve ever put myself through. It was the combination of emotional and physical challenges and disappointments that made it tough. It was a long hilly road, both literally and figuratively. I highly doubt I’ll be as aggressive after baby number two.

How Chicago turned out is a whole other post.

BQing and with my Best Friend

CIM Finishers

After running the Chicago Marathon in 85 degree heat, I decided to give post-baby BQing another shot at CIM. Stephen was already training for it as his first marathon and it was seven weeks away.

I thought I had a BQ in me, but I felt like the time and energy I could devote to training was really curtailed. I knew I wasn’t back to my pre-baby condition, but I was hitting all the basic training standards for qualifying. My original plan was to run with the 3:40 pace leader. The goal was to make Boston.

That goal changed a few weeks out from the race. Dan was running a week night run with me. We were talking about how many marathons I’d run and what my goal was. He questioned why I felt the need to go to Boston again, “You’ve done it twice”. I said I wanted to go because Joanne was going, and perhaps just prove to myself that I still had it in me after having a baby. He told me that I should run the race like I want to set a personal record. Why run a marathon and not try to do better than the last?

That’s all he had to say. I felt like it made so much sense for where I was in my life. I knew I was capable of BQing–my goals before getting pregnant were well under 3:40. After all, I was on pace in Chicago for 18 miles before the heat got to me and that was only five months after having a baby. This time I had seven months. And if I didn’t make it, I’d already been there, so it didn’t matter.

You know that race where you are running a bit faster than you think you should be, but you feel great? You feel like you should pinch yourself because it’s almost surreal when you pass the mile markers. You check your breathing. You’re fine. You scan your body for odd feelings. You’re fine. That was my race. Nothing was going wrong. The weather was cold and crisp. The course was gentle rolling hills. And the best part for me was that I was running this perfect race with my best friend, and he was feeling just as good.

The whole first part of the race I felt like I was along for Stephen’s first marathon ride. I let him set the pace, but I focused on keeping us even. He decided we’d get in front of the 3:35 pace leader so we weren’t bumped around in the pack and so we didn’t have to fight at the water stops. Stephen broke up the race into manageable goals for him. I just ran beside him. We checked in on each other randomly.

It was nearing the 18 mile mark that I sensed Stephen getting tired. It was his first one and I knew no matter how well we paced he was going to have to get his head around the mental part of the marathon soon. He hung in there though and started ticking off the miles in two mile increments. Mile 18. Mile 20.

At Mile 20 we scanned the crowded for Joanne, Sam and John. We knew they’d be watching. I heard our names and it seems like a split second in time. Their energy was rejuvenating, but temporary. Just after Mile 21, Stephen started to fade. We didn’t say anything to each other, it just happened. I thought about hanging back with him but I was feeling great. I also knew that it was time for him to run the end of the race how he wanted to without feeling any pressure from me, so I let him go.

I began running each mile for someone: Cary because she couldn’t make the race that day because her family was sick,  Kim because the last time I ran CIM he was alive, Paulette for all of the emotional pain she’d been through, Stephen, Addy, and of course my post-baby self. After mile 20 my head always starts swimming with emotions. Having someone to run each mile for kept me focused. I thought about how I’d run the last six miles of this course the last two years with friends who’d made monumental achievements as they finished. I thought about how running was really about pain threshold and how I knew I could endure what I was feeling. I focused on getting one step at a time closer to the finish line.

The best part about the finish of the CIM course is that once you hit Sacramento you can start counting down the blocks to the finish line. The turn to the finish line is at block eight… I was at block 51. One block at a time is manageable to me. Especially when I got to the single digits and realized that I was ahead of my goal pace and I was still “fine”.

I saw Christine and Garth…then John, Sam and Jo…I felt like I didn’t have to force myself to pick up the pace because I’d already proved to myself that I still had it in me. I cruised into the finish line and felt elated that it was over and that I could finally take a break…though I did rush over to the men’s finish to make sure that Stephen had someone to collapse into after he finished…after all, he’d done it for me a half dozen times already.

I was so proud of myself. It’s a silly thing to say, but I was. It had felt like a long road–not the marathon course itself, but the task of getting fit enough to run a marathon–and I was proud. And of course, I was beyond proud of Stephen. He’d finished his first marathon and I was there to see him cross the finish line. I know we’ll run another one again someday soon and next time I’m sure he’ll beat me.

See you in Boston.

Turkeys Trot Faster Dad

The Old Town Eureka Turkey Trot was our first real race as a family. The plan was to coast through the holiday 5k with little Addy in the stroller. Little did I know that Stephen was going to take off! Flying down the street. On two wheels around the corners. Stares of disbelief as we passed runners left and right. Addy was the first babe across the finish line in just over 22 minutes! She won her age group and then some! Faster dad, faster!

Which is Harder?

Right after I gave birth a friend, who also recently had a baby, asked me if running a marathon was like giving birth. A male teacher she worked with had told her that he knew what she went through giving birth because he had run a marathon. At the time this question was hard to answer. I was just two weeks out from meeting Addy and I was physically more tired and sore than I’d been in my life.

During my pregnancy I was certain that all my running would be helpful during labor. That running a marathon would be similar to what I would experience in the hospital- the pushing through pain and the sheer joy of the finish. And I have to say that it is true- at least for me. I used a lot of running visuals to get me through. Visualizing the finish line to keep pushing strong. Visualizing repeats at the track to endure the pain of contractions. Mentally I know that my marathon experiences got me through labor, but I know that most women don’t have that. They use their own source of internal strength to get them through.

Having a baby really does take endurance, strength, and more will-power than I could ever imagine, and the marathon is probably the closest that a guy will ever get to experiencing the physical and mental exhaustion that moms endure. The only thing I’ve done that’s been harder is train for a marathon right after having a baby…but that’s a whole other post.

Lover’s Lane (or Lover’s Pain)

One of the infamous hilly paths that we often take on our long runs through the San Francisco Presidio was featured in the Spring 2008 “At the Presidio”. Turns out the recently paved footpath originally connected the Spanish Presidio to Mission Dolores. During the 1800s, it became the main route used by off-duty soldiers as it was the most direct route into town to meet their sweethearts- hence the name. I still think that Albert’s rename fits the historic footpath more accurately- Lover’s Pain. Anything that long and steep isn’t really a lane, especially when you’re running.

Behind the Belly

It’s an odd feeling when you identify yourself as a runner and you aren’t actually running. It happens all the time to runners. You have an injury. You are ill. You’re on vacation. I don’t feel alone by any means in my non-running stage. I am, however, anxious for it to end.

I haven’t run in three weeks- unless you count my block and half waddle-run to the bus this morning. My last run was five miles and I have to say that despite the bulging belly and weight I felt great. It wasn’t until a few hours after the run that I realized that perhaps my body wasn’t up for the impact anymore. I had minor shin splints and my hip joints ached like I’d just finished a marathon. I healed quickly enough, but I decided that the potential for a running injury just wasn’t worth it to me, especially when I considered how slow I was going. I know a lot of women run until the day of, and I feel physically I could do that, but it just doesn’t really feel like me running anymore. It’s not worth it to me.

I’ve been trying to keep in some sort of “running-form” by spending time on the elliptical at the gym. Between that, walking, some indoor cycling, and pregnancy Pilates, I feel like I haven’t completely lost myself behind the pregnancy belly. Not too much longer.

I Miss Running

I really miss running. I am still running some (I’ve cut back a lot), but I really miss a lot about running. I miss being able to dart across an intersection. I miss feeling light on my feet. I miss surging past someone. I miss signing up for races. I miss the feeling of finishing a race. I miss feeling okay with going for a run by myself anytime of day. I miss my routine running schedule. I miss the speed workouts at the track. I miss feeling fit. I miss running without someone looking at me all concerned.

Mostly I miss my training partners though. I see them still and some of them have graciously offered to plod along with me on a few runs, but it’s not the same. I don’t hear about their weekly life events on Saturday mornings. I don’t know how they looked or felt on their long runs. I don’t get to share in those on-the-run moments that make the long runs worth getting up for. I miss the long courses, the familiar terrain, and some of my dearest friends.

How many more weeks….

Bringing down Boston

Read that Katie Holmes who ran the New York Marathon this past November in 5.5 hours got accepted into the Boston Marathon. I have nothing against Katie personally, but it is upsetting as a runner to see someone accepted that didn’t qualify. The longest running marathon that has been the pinnacle of success to the average runner is being infiltrated by celebrity and sponsored runners that haven’t qualified.

When I think of how hard people work to qualify for Boston and how monumental it is when you finally qualify… it just makes me so disappointed and frustrated. Please don’t take that feeling of achievement from us… we need the Boston Marathon. It’s a runner’s measure of success.