As I sit here very late at night with news reports breaking in that our government may be shutting down tomorrow, I figured I would make a state of the union analysis of my marathon training.
Week 12 of marathon training. I'm not dead yet. But, I may be close. I'm certainly on life support.
I was moving along ok. Nothing spectacular. No speed records. No feeling like I'm a badass runner. Just getting in the miles. Check. Check. Check. Went on some group training runs to keep me accountable. Met up with running friends to get my inspiration and my runs in. Did some cartwheels.
Fast forward to today. The last two weeks have been rough. I have only run TWICE in the last 18 days. Yikes.
Cliff notes version: On my 15 mile long run 18 days ago I started suffering severe foot pain. Could barely walk or stand for the next few days. Gradually got a little better, but still quite painful. Plantar fasciitis. Oh Goody.
So, next came my half marathon. I should have never started this at all because the pain was so bad. But, I'm a bit stubborn, so started with the intent of going 1-2.5 miles. I made it 6 miles before I gave myself the hook at the mile 6 medical tent. What followed was a few days of more horrible pain. Lots of foot rolling. Weird duct tape measures because I was too impatient to wait for the "miracle" sock I ordered to arrive.
Oddly enough.... my MacGyver'd leg did help. My foot quickly felt better. Great? No. But, no longer excruciating. 6 days after I DNF'd. my half marathon I planned to try to get in a long marathon group training run. I had low expectations. But, at the same time I planned to try for the 12-13 that was on the agenda that day (cut back week, thank God!). Low expectations but yet pushing myself to the max. Yeah, not the smartest tool in the shed. Made it through about 9 feeling pain, but managing. My hobble was pretty bad. But, I was moving. After that point, I hit a major wall. Mentally and physically. 2 weeks of no running other than my DNF caught up to me. I was beat. My foot hurt. A lot. I was in the woods, alone, thinking I was lost. I doubted I could get those last three miles. I wanted it to be over. I wanted everything to be over.
I reflected a lot about how I used to run fast and fierce, for me anyway. When I would get out on a trail and just run. Then run faster. Push myself further. 9:15 - 9:30 pace on 5.5 mile runs. Consistently. I miss those runs. I miss that person. I miss that runner. I mourn that runner. Sometimes I really hate the runner I am now. That sounds so awful. But, it's true.
I yelled at myself quite a bit. Seriously. I was PISSED. That I once again had gotten this far and my body was once again failing me. That I wanted to give up on myself even though I've wanted this all so badly. That so many others CAN do this. CAN get through the marathon training. CAN get up in the morning and run when I just can't and get it done. I'm in sincere awe of all my friends who train for and run marathons. You people are truly amazing. I mean that. What you endure mentally and physically to get this done is downright badass. Truth.
It's just not in me. I mean it's in me. But, way deep down inside me. And, it's screaming.
I'm just not sure if it's screaming for somebody to give me chest compressions.....or, pull the plug.
Apparently, my marathon training begins this week. So, my friend tells me at least.
It's not like I didn't know it was coming. However, I was kind of hoping it was a bit further off. Sure I've been "kind of" running. Nothing serious. Nothing planned. Just a run here or there. To keep moving. To keep my feet going. Forward. It's not been easy. But, I've been trying to run free. Relaxed. No pressure.
I guess I've been avoiding actually focusing on this upcoming training. I guess I'm scared. Duh. No shit. It's me we are talking about. We all know by now I'm a marathon scardy cat. We know my history: Signed up and trained for two Chicago Marathons only to break 3/4 of the way through and never made it to the start line. Epic cheerleader instead. Always the bridesmaid. With a damn ugly dress.
So, yes, I try a third time. Sadly, I turned in my Chicago dream for a smaller race. It's in my hometown. It's on my running trails and paths. I could literally stop and use my bathroom along the race course (and may depending how well my stomach behaves!). I won't have a million of people cheering me along like Chicago. In fact there certainly will be long stretches of NOBODY cheering. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.
I need the support. I value the support. I couldn't run a single mile without thinking about somebody in my life who supports my silly running journey. Whether it's the co-worker who got me started a few years ago, or my daily texting buds who lift me up in not only running, but also life, or my little running cheerleaders who no matter what seem to always be in my corner. Those cheerleaders send me words of encouragement at the most opportune moments. It's like they know. They all matter to me. Every last one. Hell, if I'm going to climb Mt. Everest I'm going to need some sherpas. Thankfully, I've got the very best.
It's funny, people come and go. Friends change over time. Some of my biggest supporters while training for the last two marathons are long gone. So strange to think people who were so very important to me at a much needed time no longer exist in my life. Kind of makes me a bit sad. Some have sped off to faster pastures, leaving me in their trail dust. That's ok. I may not be speedy. But, I'm on my own little journey. Slow and steady.
However, a few have been along for the entire ride. (Park's closed, moose outside should have told you) I am so very grateful to them. They will never know how very grateful. Truth.
I have no clue what I'm doing. Seriously. So, I grab the super novice training plan. I take a deep breath. I do it the best that I can with my crazy work schedule. I change up the days a bit. I run my long runs mid week if I have to. I run outside at 11 pm. Oh dear Lord I'll get up once or twice at the crack of dawn and get my bitchy self through some run before work. I skip a short run from time to time because, well, just because. Because of life. Because I want to have fun instead. Because my brain needs a break. Just ....because.
But, I will give it my best. I will try. I will certainly cry. I will puke. I will feel overwhelmed. I will freak out that I'm about to break. But, through it all it will be that little text. That random message. The stranger running by me telling me I'm looking great on my run. My niece telling me that she's proud of me. Perhaps someone will actually come cheer me on race day. Or run with me when I want to quit. It all. Matters. Every little bit.
Oops, I did it again. Yes, I signed up for a marathon again.
I saw that. Yes, you. I saw your eye roll. Trust me, mine is better than yours.
Every day on my way to work I drive by my running path/trails. All along the river, then along the lake, a good healthy 7 miles or so. At my old job I also drove alongside the other path/trails I use as well. I could see miles into the prairie, always looking for a bobbing head in the distance. If I was injured I would usually get a twinge of jealousy, a bit of anger. However, this morning on my way to work I saw a bobbing head along the river and smiled. With hope. For me.
Yesterday I signed up for my third marathon. Two years in a row of DNS at Chicago Marathon due to injury. Apparently I think it's a brilliant idea to try again. However, this time it's not Chicago. Oh, I'd love it to be Chicago. But, I think Chicago is too big for me. Not too big of a race. Not too many people. Too big of pressure. I wanted it so badly that I pushed my body too hard. A body not meant to run cannot be pushed to run more than it can sooner than it should. But, I ignore that. Because I wanted it. My mind broke on me. My body most certainly broke on me. Chicago is amazing. If you have run it you know. If you haven't spectated it, you must. It's an unforgettable experience.
Then Naperville Marathon came along. Wait, what?!?! A marathon in my hometown? Are you kidding me? How can I NOT do this? I HAD to do this. I was so excited about this. Then, a few days ago they announced they were charging $150 for the full marathon. Um, excuse me? W.... T..... F ?!?!? Needless to say there was a bit of an uproar throughout social media. I may, or may not, have had a word or two for them. Thankfully, the race directors responded quickly and properly and dropped the fee $45 (ultimately $55 with a coupon). Ok, then.... I'm back in.
I woke up at 4 am yesterday. I couldn't sleep. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I was excited to register? I don't know. But, shortly after 6 a.m. there I was trying to register. Unfortunately, so was everyone else. The server was overloaded. Finally 45 minutes later I was in.
Crap. What did I just do?
I'll tell you what I did. I tried again. I am trying again. I'm not giving in yet. I can't. How could I NOT run this marathon? How could I not try THIS marathon? It will be taking place on MY trails and paths. In my backyard. Literally. The paths and trails I bike and ride all the time. I know these things forwards and backwards. This is where I found myself. This is where I lost myself. This is where I ran fierce. This is where I broke. This is where I cried many a tear. Sometimes in pain. Other times in absolute joy after hitting a running milestone. A new distance PR. A new pace PR. A comeback from injury.
Along the paths, while I always run alone, I was and am never alone. There was always someone with me. I can remember countless runs where some friend was texting me along the way. Telling me I was kicking ass and to keep on keeping on. Telling me to get out of the thunderstorm into safety. Telling me to get the fuck off the ground and stop crying and start running. Telling me it was going to be ok. Again. That I would be ok. Again.
So, I try again. I will not throw myself into this just yet. Geez, I am not even running now. Imagine that, I'm not even running and I sign up for a marathon. Huh, I'm really stoopid. Like you didn't know that already. I will continue my swimming. Work toward my goal of kicking ass in my June triathlon relay. Let Coach tell me when I can start back with the run. It will be baby steps. It will not be much. It will not be far. It will get me to the start of training healthy, not injured. Something I haven't done before. It will be as he promised. I hope. God, I hope. I need to still get over the speed thing. I need to let that go. I will not be doing sub 9:00 pace on anything ever again. I'll be lucky if I'm doing sub 11:00's. That's a hard thing to swallow. But, I have to if I want to get to the start line in one piece.
Another reason I had to do THIS marathon is the people. It's always about the people. But, this one will be special. Hopefully, my family will finally show up. They better. It's only steps away for them. Hopefully, many friends will as well. Even better is how many friends signed up for this race yesterday. They got on the train quick too. The race sold out in 12 hours. Wow.
My best friend from grade school is doing the half. I ran my very first half marathon (my running debut) at Rock n Roll Chicago with her four years ago. We had not seen each other in many many years and reconnected over running (and wine). My long time swim teammate and fellow coach is also in on the half. My high school sophomore dance date is in for the full. Apparently, he's a kick ass runner these days and will certainly BQ once again at this race. We recently reconnected and I can't wait to see him again. My former running partner and now co-manager at work is in for the half. In fact as I saw the slots filling up quickly yesterday I made her sign up over lunch to secure her spot. Several of my Daily Mile local running buds are in as well, including my Daily Mile bestie. I'm expecting him to run an ultra that day -finish his marathon in kick ass time and then come back and drag my ass over the finish line somehow. It's what any good friend would do after all. Amirite? ;)
I will have low expectations for you. This way you will not fail me.
I won't have huge hopes of what you have waiting for me. I will just go along with each day. And, perhaps. one of these days......
I will run. It will not be fast. It will not be far. But, I will run.
I will swim. I will swim more than I have since I was a teen. I WILL swim fast. I WILL swim far.
I will do that SheRox Triathlon relay once again. This time we will be ready. We will kick ass. Perhaps, this time we will win.
I will swim The Big Shoulders 5K. My first real open water swim. Should be interesting.
I will perhaps work toward an 11 minute headstand. Or not. Conquering that 10 minute goal on New Year's Eve was pretty awesome. It also was very, very hard. However, if I'm a bit more consistent at doing it, than perhaps I may have the strength to go further. However, if I don't, that's ok. I hit my goal, a pretty lofty one in my opinion.
I will continue to support my friends in their training. In their lives.
I will be there for those friends fighting with health issues that try to knock them down, as they continue to keep getting up. I will give them a hand up if necessary. But, no matter what, they WILL get up. I will have it no other way. No. Other. Way.
I will also keep helping my self up, should I get knocked down (we know I will). I perhaps may, this year, allow others to help me up from time to time.
I will visit some of my running friends. I have some thoughts in mind. It was be fun.
One thing I have decided I will not do... is sign up for the Chicago Marathon. It pains me so. And, makes me incredibly sad. But, my body just can't and won't allow me. Being injured once again after this latest 10 mile run proves to me once again that I cannot push a body that keeps pushing back. Unless I drop another 60 pounds I don't think I can keep putting such pressure on myself to do something that my body refuses to do. As much as I want it mentally, it just won't be.
Does this mean I won't ever run a marathon? I don't know. Maybe one of these days. I want Chicago. This is the one I want. But, I just cannot commit within the small time frame before it will sell out. Perhaps I'll run well and pain free and somehow train for a marathon by accident? Huh, wouldn't that be funny. Well, well, then perhaps I'll do a smaller one instead. One that will allow me to sign up closer to the race date. (and, I know which one my local friends will be nudging me towards)
I will run the F^ing Freezing Half in three weeks (foot willing). I will run the half marathon race of the inaugural marathon in my hometown in November. I have to. It will be on all the running paths/trails I run on during training. I hope some of my running friends will join me. That would be nice to do the full, but again, it will sell out before I can commit.
I will go to two weddings of running friends. I'm excited to be in attendance for both of these weddings for two pretty amazing people.
I will try to stay healthy. I will hopefully be happy.
For you, I wish you all a year filled with peace, love, happiness, good health.... and no injuries. I thank you for making me smile. For lifting me up. For making me giggle. For being my friend. I'm lucky to have you in my life.
Sometimes life is going to hit you in the head with a brick. Don't lose faith.
~Steve Jobs
My day today began with a radioactive breakfast. I headed to the hospital for the bone scan on my shin. To finally figure out what's wrong with me. Why I am in pain. Why I cannot run. Sadly I am very familiar with this hospital as I spent many hours here in the recent years with my dad and grandma. I haven't been in the hospital for me since I fell out of a tree when I was 7 years old. I watched in the monitor as the radioactive crap flowed through my body. It was actually pretty cool. As it hit my shin, it lit up like a Christmas tree. Yeah, there's something, something going on there for sure.
For some reason after my tests were over I couldn't leave the hospital. Every time I had been here before I couldn't wait to leave. Many times I was leaving with a knot in my stomach. Another doctor's appointment where my dad received bad news once again. Another emergency visit where we thought is this the end? But, today, I needed to pause. Reflect. I walked outside to a garden area and sat on a bench. On another bench sat an elderly man. Alone. Visibly upset. It broke my heart. I knew what this man was feeling. I was there once.
After my tests I decided to head out for a long bike ride in honor of my dad today. It was a gorgeous day. Warm, sunny, clear blue skies. A day my dad would have loved. He was a private pilot. Along the trail I pass a private airstrip in a local subdivision. A private plane landed over me as I rode. Today would have been a perfect flying day. A day when I was a kid where he would wake me up out of bed and say, "Wake up, Andrea. We are flying to Wisconsin for breakfast." <Love>
Riding my bike today I remembered a funny story about my dad. When I was home from college for a break we were heading to my sister's for some family function. Just before we were ready to leave my dad announces that he will be riding his bike there. Huh? Um, what? She lived 10 miles away. I couldn't remember the last time my dad was on a bike. He wasn't someone who worked out. He was overweight. But, at the same time he would jump in at any opportunity to do something athletic if challenged or asked. Or, maybe if he just felt like it. A very, "What the hell. Why not?" attitude. He was the guy in the belly flop contest, just because. The parent who jumped in the parent relay at the swim meet and killed his leg. And, apparently he was the guy who without any recent working out decides to throw his 250lb body on a bike. We were praying for those tires I tell ya! Dad made it to my sisters. A little out of breath. But, he did it. I was quite proud of him.
Dad was a Chicago guy. A tough guy. He took risks. Did fun things. Did things just for the hell of it. He made his own wine. (My sister and I stomped the grapes!) He played Santa in my pre-school. He cooked a mean steak. He tended a killer garden. He swam with sharks. He flew a plane.
I was not my dad. At least I didn't think so. I'm a girlie girl. I like to wear 4 inch heels and short skirts. My dad kind of got screwed out of having a little doode. But, not really. I was also a great tomboy too. Yes, I was a ballerina, a figure skater, a cheerleader. But, I also fished, climbed trees, played in the dirt, camped, raced the boys. He pulled me in a pick up truck on a frozen lake with me on a sled behind yelling "faster daddy! faster daddy!" Yup, faster he went. He threw me in the air across the pool as I screamed, "throw me higher!". He snuck me in a casino at age 14. And, he couldn't be prouder that I got in. Ha!
When I said I wanted to live in St. Maarten with college friends the summer after my freshman year my mom suspected what the summer would be like and quickly said, "I don't think so" Dad also suspected what the summer would be like and said, "sure". I went. When I asked if I could study abroad the next summer mom wasn't too keen on it. Dad said he thought it sounded interesting and they would figure out a way they could afford it. I went. When I told them I was planning on moving to Korea after college for a few months my mother said "No way". My dad asked questions. More questions. Then wished me well. Off I went.
I think dad would have been tickled with my little running journey. He, sadly, never saw me start this silly ride. But, I suspect he would have thought it was pretty cool. While very supportive of my swimming while growing up, he was not really a fan of attending my meets. I get that. Swim meets are pretty boring. But, he was there when it mattered; State meets, U.S. National meets. He never pressured me to do well. Always made me feel it was ok no matter what. Mom doesn't get my running. She has no clue what I'm doing. She can't understand why. I'm pretty sure if I would have told him I was planning on running a marathon that he would say, "do it.". And, I'm VERY sure he would come watch.
I kind of liken me deciding to run a marathon to him jumping on a bike for a random 10 mile ride. What the hell. Why not?
Today is my dad's birthday. Cancer ripped him from me 9 1/2 years ago. He never thought he would die. No matter how bad it got, he just never gave up. There had to be another option. Another way. Something. He was NOT GOING TO DIE. Cancer ravaged his brain. Cancer sucked the breath out of his lungs. Cancer weakened his muscles. Cancer eventually took his leg. But, Cancer never took his will to live. Ever.
On the day he died I suspected this was it. He, however, did not. Eventually, though, the breathing became too difficult for him. So, me, his little baby girl, gave him morphine shots throughout the night to help ease the suffering. I would let him go. It was time. But, I would not let him go in pain. My mom and sister fell asleep on the floor beside his bed. I sat next to him, holding his hand. Telling him it was ok. It was ok to go. With his favorite music, Meatloaf's "Paradise By the Dashboard Light" playing in the background, he finally was ready to finish the race. And, then, he was gone.
There were days in my marathon training where I just couldn't go on. Where mentally I was spent. Where physically I couldn't take another step. I look back at that now and think how weak I was. My dad never gave up. Ever. Shame on me for quitting. For letting my mind tell me I could not go on. For not getting up for those early runs, and instead sleeping in. Because I was scared. I bet my dad was scared. Hell yeah. Cancer is a hell of a lot scarier than a marathon. 26.2 miles versus Cancer? No contest.
I hope my dad is proud of me for my effort to run the marathon. I surely gave it everything I had for as long as I could, both mentally and physically. I was mentally at the end of my rope when my body finally gave out. Dad wasn't the most demonstrative guy with love. However, as he was near the end there he did tell me how very proud he was of me. For taking care of him. For being there for him. For helping him fight. For loving him.
I will run that marathon one day. I will not quit. I will fight. Because my dad never quit. He fought his marathon to the finish.
First, I need to add a song to my marathon training running mix......
I just don't get it. So, the men can be paced by men and it's ok. But, if the women are paced by men it's not ok. Listen, I don't care if Paula Radcliffe is paced by flying monkeys. As long they don't fly her through the race and over the finish line she's getting there with her own damn legs. Her legs. Her race. Her time. Her record.
Ugh, really? We will go back to separate races for men and women? Really? We are going backwards are we? Ah, progress.
I think I shall grab my girdle, walk five steps behind men, dragging our cattle. To go do the laundry. While pregnant.
God, I feel like taking off my bra and going for a long run.
Oh, wait, I can't run. That's right. Sucks for me.
I reflected a lot about how I used to run fast and fierce, for me anyway. When I would get out on a trail and just run. Then run faster. Push myself further. 9:15 - 9:30 pace on 5.5 mile runs. Consistently. I miss those runs. I miss that person. I miss that runner. I mourn that runner. Sometimes I really hate the runner I am now. That sounds so awful. But, it's true. 
