A PR and a Fractured Foot

I ran the Pengelly Single Dip last year and it reminded me to be grateful to this sport I love so much and for my ability to participate and endure it.  I remember getting to the race and thinking I didn't quite fit in with the other athletes.  It was like when I first started running and felt like an imposter.  But I found my zone and it became my favorite race of 2013.

This year I was excited rather than nervous for the race.  I'd made the route one of my regulars and I knew I could run it strong.

We started off for the base of Mt. Sentinel and slogged up the side of the mountain, already feeling the heat of the day (my nemesis).  I took it slow until I made it down the fire road.  Remember running around as a kid, those times when you just went as fast as you could?  As I came around a turn, I decided to do that.  I just wanted to have fun, so I stopped pacing and ran as fast as I could down the trail.

I passed people, jumped over the dips in the trail, and had a blast.  I let go of all the training and seriousness of trying to maintain X minutes per mile.  I slowed down again once I reached the road, but for those few minutes on the mountain I felt free.

Sam met me at the finish and we watched the Douple Dip finishers and sat in the grass.  I checked my time and saw that I had PRd.  It felt pretty damn good.

Pengelly Single Dip 2014

A little over a week later, I fractured my foot.

I woke up that morning and my foot felt sore, but it felt like the regular soreness of marathon training.  I figured it would fade like the other various kinks do once you start your day.

When Sam and I started, it was drizzling, which was a good thing.  Without having to deal with the heat, the run should have gone mostly smoothly.  A few miles in, I told Sam I was uncomfortable.  I adjusted my stride and tried to take it slow and steady.  It started to rain harder, but I like running in the rain.  My foot still hurt.

At 16 miles in, I had to stop.  I stretched my foot out and tried to put on a brave face.  I told Sam it felt like if I were to take off my shoe and sock, my foot would be black and blue.  But, yes I was fine and yes I wanted to keep going. 

At 17 miles in, I had to stop again.  I'm not a person that cries when I get hurt, I'm more of a suck it up type.  So, I stood there with Sam in the rain and held back tears.  He asked me what I wanted to do and I said that I didn't know, that I wanted to keep going, maybe.  I told him I didn't feel rational.  Could he just decide and I'd do what he said?  He said let's quit and I said two more miles.  Like it would resolve itself in that distance.

So we did two more miles and went home.  When I took off my shoe, my foot was red and swollen.  I couldn't even touch it to the ground, it hurt so bad.  We iced it and I felt stupid, but I cried.

I hoped it was minor and would heal on it's own, but after two weeks of limping around, it didn't.  I went to a specialist, they took x-rays, and told me that it was a stress fracture.  Goodbye first marathon, hello ugly black shoe.

My new nemesis

At the moment, I'm mid-way through the healing process.  I haven't run in almost a month and I'm ready to pull my hair out.  My foot doesn't hurt anymore, but I know it's still healing.  And the fear of re-injuring it worse is enough to keep me out of my running shoes.  Sam and I go on short walks and we kayak and try to stay active, but it's not the same. 

It made me realize something - I'm not, and never was, an imposter.  My race times never mattered.  I woke up before dawn, ate the bagels, and put in the miles just like other runners.  And I miss it.

But watch for the neon shoes, I'll be back soon. 

One Month, Three Races, and Jay-Z

I ran six races last year and by August, I was feeling the burn out.  So, I decided to take it easy this year and register for four, including two I'd never run.  What I didn't realize at the time was that three of the four happened in a one month timespan. 

This year's winter was the hardest I'd been through in the years I've lived in Missoula.  It snowed every single day in February and there was an avalanche in town that took the life of a Missoula resident.  It was a difficult time.

By the time March rolled around, I had been hermiting indoors for weeks.  I nixed Run for the Luck of It that month because I knew I wouldn't run well and that it would just depress me.  Instead, I ran the YMCA Riverbank Run in mid-May.  I wasn't sick (like I was last year), so that was a plus.  I ran it faster than my fastest 5K last year, which meant things were moving in the right direction.

YMCA Riverbank Run 2014

One week later, I ran 11 Miles to Paradise and faced that whole getting lost in the woods issue I have.  I started (after four nervous pees and VERY reluctantly taking off my jacket) in the second wave of runners.  We ran the first mile on a fire road before making a sharp left onto the trail.  This is what I've been waiting for, I thought to myself.

Quinn's Hot Springs, home of 11 Miles to Paradise

The announcer told us before we started, "Stay on the trail.  If you step left, you'll fall down the mountain and into the river.  If you go right, you'll be scrambling up the mountain."  Solid advice.

I ran that race for the enjoyment of it.  I had embarrassing thoughts about bounding around the forest like a deer and being one with nature.  I'd never run a race so happy.  I hiked up steep inclines and hopped over rocks, listened to the river below me and the sound of my own breathing.  It was a kind of solitude I'd never felt in a road race.

And then I heard it...

"We doin', big pimpin', we spendin' G's
Check 'em out now, big pimpin', on B L A D's"

Another racer's motivational music.  Solitude is overrated anyway.

The last turn in the race was under water because of flooding, so I scrambled over and around some rocks to get to the finish line.

I knew, right then and there, that I'd be running this race again.  Jay-Z or no Jay-Z.

11 Miles to Paradise 2014

...........................
Next up is the race that made me want to run trail races, the Pengelly Single Dip. 

I Run Monterey Bay

Sam told me that the Big Sur Half Marathon might have to be an annual thing I do to give us an excuse to come back to Monterey.  I agree.

All the pretty.

We arrived the Friday prior to the race and went straight to In N' Out.  Carb loading, ya know?  Saturday, we walked around the expo and I picked up my bib and shirt.  We took a drive and learned a little secret about the Central Coast of California: it's most beautiful weather is during the fall.  Shh.

We were there in late July and while it was nice, it was definitely foggier and colder.  That Saturday was the kind of weather that makes you want to quit whatever thankless job you have and move there.

Anyway, that evening we stopped at the market for bagels, peanut butter, and juice.  I went to bed early and slept as well as I ever do before race day.

By 4 a.m. I was up and trying to figure out how to cut open my bagel with no knife.  Sam improvised with a stirring straw and our room key.  We would kick ass on Survivor.  Is that still on?

I got ready and we went down the street to the shuttle stop.  I met a nice woman named Maria and we chatted until it was time to get into our corrals.  I made one more pit stop at the porta-potties and then looked around.

"TWO MINUTES!"  The announcer said.

How do I get into my corral?  I thought.  I'd looked at the map of the starting area, but anyone that knows me knows I have the directional sense of a goldfish.  I couldn't see an entrance on my side so I raced to the end of the corrals and around to the other side.  Still no way in.  I got to my fenced off corral and asked a girl who said she didn't know.  Some helpful guy told me to jump the fence.  Because with my luck, I definitely would not fall and I most certainly would not hurt myself.

At this point, I was fully prepared to run along the outside of the fence and hop in at the last minute.  I jogged up to the front of my corral and asked a married couple how to get in.  The man told me to jump the fence.  I was debating the mechanics of that when the woman told me that the fences snap together.  "Here," she said, and unsnapped the fence.  Success!

My adrenaline was going and I was finally in my corral.  The announcer started our countdown and everyone started clapping.  My nerves evaporated.  Oh, that's right, I do this because I enjoy it!

Cannery Row, pre-race

Sam was at Cannery Row when I got there.  He took pictures and ran alongside me for a few yards.  A woman said we were cute.

For the first five miles, I felt great.  I saw the elites coming BACK when I wasn't even quite halfway.  We cheered for them and everyone around me was having a good time.

Somewhere around mile five, the sun came out.  Unfortunately, when I get hot, I wither.  I made it to the turn around, but enough time had passed that the sun was still in my face going the other way.  I ran by sheer will.

Look at the pretty ocean, don't be a baby, be grateful.  Look at all the people cheering!

I'm hot.  I'm hot.  I'm hot.

I had a blister on my left foot and a side stitch which I was able to mostly ignore.  Keep running, I thought, and you'll finish faster!  That was enough to keep me going.  After that, I didn't think of anything else except being done.  But I was supposed to enjoy the scenery, that was what everyone said.

I'll enjoy it later.  In a car.

I crossed the finish line and a little girl gave me a medal.  I couldn't remember what I'd been complaining about because it didn't matter anymore.

Sam was smiling and taking pictures at the finish line.  A photographer took our picture.  Since we were still separated by a fence, we agreed to meet on one of the piers after I went through the food tent and grabbed my things.

While I was waiting on the pier, a couple with their dog came up to me.  She asked me about the race and said that she was a marathoner.  She was funny and friendly and helped me to remember to enjoy the day. She asked me if I'd ever run that race before and I said no, but that it might become an annual destination race.

I learned a lot from this race for next time.  And there will be a next time!  One, there are uphills.  They were rolling, but I hadn't been prepared for that.  Second, bring sunglasses.  Third, enjoy it.  Monterey is one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen.  Fourth, figure out how to enter a corral.

Last, I want to give a special thank you to all the organizers and volunteers.  This was one of the most well organized races I've ever done.  Thank you to everyone that made it happen!

Here are a few more pictures from the race:

Runners be crazy

The elites rounding the corner at Cannery Row.  The winner, Jacob Chemtai, is at the front in red.

Crossing the finish line.  Actual finish time: 2:34:21.

Me in a nutshell

The Race I Trained For

"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think." 

- A.A. Milne

I started training for the Missoula Half Marathon in March.  I always use a spreadsheet when I'm training because I get a little obsessive and also, I like to cross off each day's workout with a different colored marker.  

Code that only partially makes sense.

The carb loading began about three days before the race, or if I'm being honest it started about ten years ago.  I got a good nights rest two days before the race and tried to sleep the night before.  Side note: Does anyone else have weird dreams the night before a big race?  I dreamed that I was in this huge crowd and the race was over; I didn't know my time or anything.  I'd run, but totally missed the experience.  Telling, no?

I woke up at 3 a.m. and made breakfast.  I can't even describe how much thought went into a bagel with peanut butter, an apple, and a smoothie.  Sam came over (he slept elsewhere because I live in a studio apartment and was going to bed at 7pm on a Saturday) and helped me with my chip and bib.

Sam drove me to the shuttle stop downtown and we said goodbye before I joined the several hundred runners already in line.  I chatted with a woman with princess stickers on her hat and saw the shortest pair of shorts I've ever seen on a man, even as a runner.

Heard on the shuttle: "Welcome to the south Missoula refugee camp."

Thirty minutes before the start I got in the giant line for the port-o-potties, peeled off my jacket, stretched, and had a gel.  Then it was time to line up.

We had a moment of silence to remember Boston, to remember why we run and who we run for.  

After another minute, we were off.

I started slow, but strong, and stayed that way.  I let the fast starters go ahead of me instead of trying to keep up with them and bonking later.  I kept a mostly straight line instead of weaving around people.  I listened to the pounding of feet, my own breathing, and the conversations (woman to her husband at mile one: "I can already tell I'm going to have to pee." Husband: "There's lots of trees off to your left, just go.")

It's all smiles when you're only six minutes in!

A short way past the mile three marker, I realized I'd run a 5K without slowing down.  At mile five, I had half a gel and had the same realization.  At mile nine, I had the last half of my gel.  It was the longest distance I'd ever run without having to slow to walk once.  In retrospect, it kind of made me think of that part in Forrest Gump where he talks about running and how he might as well keep on going.

I surprised myself.  This past year I've been wrapped up in my struggle for speed and I never stopped to think about strength.  Every mile marker I ran past surprised me.  How was I still running at this pace?  How have I not had to walk?  How have I kept going all this time?

It's a heady thing to know, not to believe but to actually know, that you are stronger than you think you are.  It made all the training, the injuries, the time spent alone on the trails at 6 a.m. worth it.  I worked damn hard and every minute of it was worth it.

Law enforcement running to commemorate a fallen officer.

I had a few little goals for this race: to run the second half faster than the first, to not have to stop to pee (I had to stop last year and it has irritated me to no end ever since), and to enjoy it.  I had no time goal; I just wanted to run strong.  I ran the second half of the race 9 seconds faster per mile than the first half and ran right by every single port-o-potty!

Ultimately, I ran 5 minutes slower than I did last year, but didn't care.  I loved the experience and knowing that I'm stronger than I was last year.

Goals accomplished and on to the Big Sur Half Marathon in November!

And now a few more pictures from marathon weekend:

Goodies from the expo.

Half marathon finishers flyin'.

Top men's finisher in the marathon, Jason Delaney.

Finishing strong.

Run like a girl!

Conservative Runs and Coughing Up Lungs

A couple weeks ago, I was getting ready for something and noticed (if I squinted with both eyes and the lights were dim, maybe I took out one contact) that my body was starting to show real results from training.  Maybe.  I think.  Regardless, with a race coming up, it felt pretty good.

The YMCA Riverbank Run was my second race of the year and I was hoping to see some seconds/minutes shaved from my 5K time.  I have a terrible time psyching myself out, so the week before the race I never uttered the phrase "PR."  I thought it a lot though.

A few days before the race, I caught a cold.  I'm not one to take so much as an aspirin, but this time I bought the pharmacy.  Zicam, Mucinex, multi-vitamins, it's all in my cupboard now.  I took Advil when I spiked a temperature.  I drank water and tried to eat regular meals even though I had no appetite and couldn't taste anything.  I took two days off from work and running.  I felt atrophied.

The race was a Saturday morning and by Wednesday, I felt enough cabin fever to pull off a slightly disastrous four miler.  Thursday, I did a little better at two miles and on Friday, I tried four miles again.

The problem was the breathing.  I couldn't really do it.  My chest was congested, my nose was stuffy, and I was wheezing by a mile out.  On Friday, I took my last Zicam, went to bed early, and hoped for the best.

Pre-race tree pose

The 5K course for the Riverbank Run is probably my favorite of all Missoula races.  It starts downtown and curves through the University of Montana campus, passing through the U neighborhood on the way.  It makes a sharp turn onto the Kim Williams trail and then is a straightaway to the end.

And they're off!

The first mile went great.  It was a beautiful morning, all the runners were chatting and laughing, and there was a guy ringing a giant cowbell about half a mile in.  Partway through the second mile, my stuffy nose caught up with me and I had trouble catching my breath.  It slowed me down pretty significantly.

Huffing and puffing

No, it wasn't my best race, but I had a good time.  Sam and his mom were there cheering and having people cheer for you is one of the best feelings ever.

All the pretty

Lessons for next time:

• Add speed work.  I have a couple ideas how, Sam to help me with timing, and a track I can use.  I want to make a "need for speed" joke here, but that would be silly.  Right?
• Nothing beats a positive mindset.  
• And last, don't get sick.  Like ever again.  

My next 5K is in October where I'll still be chasing that elusive PR.  And next month is the Pengelly Double and Single Dip.  Bring on Mt. Sentinel!

  

Bad Days Make for Great Races

My best run was the 2012 Riverbank Run 5K.  It wasn't the best because I was in the zone, or had a good night's sleep the night before.

It was my best run for one reason - I was pissed the hell off. 

The first half of 2012 was full of ups and downs in my love life, and the week of the Riverbank Run was no different.  I was dating someone that I liked very much.  I wanted to be his girlfriend.  At the very least, I was hoping we were headed in that direction.*

*side note: Are these really the stages of dating for the new millennium: hooking up, casual dating, dating, and official-exclusive-dating?  It's exhausting.  And there are probably like, 27 stops in between that I don't even know about.

Anyway, we had the relationship talk.  During which, the guy I really wanted to be my boyfriend said this: "I can't say that I can be exclusive with you, what if I go out tomorrow and meet the love of my life?"

That propelled me to my current 5K PR.

A bad mood can't compete with a runner's high and a new PR.

It was cold and drizzly that day, which suited me fine.  There were hundreds of people in the race and I felt like I had road rage.

In retrospect, it's silly.  This guy was obviously not right for me.  But at the time I was hurt by the statement, so I took it out on the course.  And the rage-running worked.

I'm running this race again in a month.  This time, I'm hoping for better weather and a better mood.  And, just maybe, a happier PR.

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Thanks to MissZippy for this blog idea!  See her best run recap and many more at this link:

What's your recent #bestrun?

Race Recap: Getting Over a Not So Good One

I have a confession to make: after my half marathon this past summer, my running got sloppy.

I was so happy. I had done it!  Now I had no race to train for and was more than willing to take a little break.  It was supposed to be one, maybe two, weeks off from running.

And I had no shortage of things to take up my time.  It was summer and I had a new boyfriend, Sam.  Life was good.  I spent time at Flathead Lake and hiking in the woods.  I went to Arizona for a trip to Lake Mead with my family.  I watched my boyfriend's band play and planned a trip to Oregon.  I did everything except run.

Oh, I didn't give up entirely.  There was a sporadic couple of days in a row here and there.  But without a race to train for and a budding social life, running went on the back-burner.

Time passed, and then a little more time passed.

The days (and free time to run) got shorter.  I was spending more time at work and less time outside.  The lack of daylight depressed me and made me less likely to run.  I didn't want to do anything.  The less I saw daylight, the less I wanted to do anything.

It wasn't until early February that things started to get back on track.  That's when I started this blog to help keep myself motivated and to share my love of running.  Because I really do love it, slump or not.

Anyway, on to my first race of the year.  Run for the Luck of It was the first of several races I have planned this year.  It's fun, people dress up and there's free food and beer.  The Celtic Dragon pipe band plays and everyone has a good time.

Celtic Dragon pipe band

 But I was nervous.  I was psyching myself out, I could feel it.  But this was just a 5K!  It's supposed to be fun!  My friends were talking about how I was going to smoke it, get a PR, leave people in the dust. 

The days leading up to the race, I kept thinking PR, PR, PR.  And more realistically, I thought - if I finish under 30 minutes, I'll be happy.  I didn't want to say that to anyone because I knew they'd be thinking what I was thinking, you can go way faster than that.

I got ready on race day in my shamrock shorts and socks.  Sam and I watched the seven milers take off.  We watched the pipe band play and chatted with friends until I had to line up.

They ran the whole race with that giant rainbow.

The gun went off before I was ready and it set the tone for the race.  My head wasn't in it; I couldn't focus and it showed.  My form and pace were sloppy.  I was too focused on my fall/winter running slump.  After two miles, people started passing me.  I finished in 31:59, my slowest 5K since the one I walked two years ago.

The morning after the race, I went for a run on my favorite route, a 3.2 mile loop along the Clark Fork river.  My pace and cadence were smooth, my thoughts uncluttered.  I paid no attention to how long it took to complete it.  I remembered that I loved running.  I understood that I couldn't expect a PR on my first race back from such a long hiatus and that it wasn't my body that failed me, but my mind.

Stayin' positive!

 My ego is still a little wounded, but I'm getting there. 

And one other thing, a bad run is still better than a day stuck inside.