Welcome to 2012! PRs and Pride

Welcome to Heartland's Harrier 2012!!

After an ass-kickin' 2011 Twin Cities Marathon, the denouement of late fall slid into the warmest winter on record here in the upper midwest. I  took a long vacation from blogging. As an academic, my writing energy was funneled elsewhere. I'm opening up the racing season of 2012 with a list of personal records and a bit o' philosophy concerning pride.

First, the PRs:
5K: 21:43 7/4/2008 Firecracker race, Williamsburg, IA tied with 2009 Park2Park 5K, Cedar Falls, IA
10K: 47:40 Run For The Schools, 10/15/2006 Iowa City, IA
7 mile: 54:20 Run The Flood, 6/11/2011, Cedar Rapids, IA
10 Mile: 1:19:57 MDRA 10 Mile, 5/29/2011, St. Paul, MN
1/2 Marathon: 1:43:33 Sturgis Falls 6/26/2011, Cedar Falls IA
Marathon:  3:49 Twin Cities, 10/2011, Mpls-St. Paul, MN

Most of these PRs happened for me last year. The training journey continues, and as I grow ever-more comfortable with my body in my 30s, I am racing and running better than ever.

I started keeping a running training log in 2003, when I began graduate school. It was instructive to go back and read how little I ran compared to now--and note the comments I wrote about how stressed out I was! Back then, I also experienced a lot more pain running. In more than a few entries, I comment on knee pain, hip pain, and heel pain throughout the 2003 season and into 2008.

In the past two and half years--since I began training for the 2010 Twin Cities-- I have learned much about my body, strength training, and fueling. It's a wonderful thing to start a training season feeling that 15 miles is kind of hard,  but by the end, feeling that a 24 mile run is the new 15, because 15 is "easy."

I credit a lot of this success to various teachers. I've been running since 1992, but only since 2010 did I really learn how to do specific strength for running, based on the weakness of my body. Butt! Hamstrings! Back! Who knew? I certainly didn't. A friend and Doctor of Physical Therapy (shout out Pura Vida PT!) clued me in to my weaknesses. A few personal training sessions, and supplemental kettlebell and pilates classes at NRG Pilates have made a noticeable--and quantifiable--difference in my running times, and better, how I feel during runs and in races. Even Runner's World is jumping on the kettlebell and pilates bandwagons! RW Kettlebell; RW Pilates

This past weekend I raced my first 5K of the season (Go The Distance for Crime Victims), with my hubby, who has taken up running in a whole new and serious way! (I am so happy and proud of him!) He ran 21:41--a PR for him--and I ran a respectable 22:20. Saturday he'll race an 8K, and I will race the 1/2 Marathon in Des Moines as part of the Drake Relays events.

Now for the philosophy (briefly). Pride is one of the seven deadlies, and the sin I probably commit most frequently. But as I tell my students, "Own your shit." It's important to be proud of who you are--not to the point of narcissicism--but rather, so that you can hold your ground when necessary, and so that you have the desire, the motivation to push yourself. My numbers, compared to many, are painfully slow. Others may think they're crazy fast. But for me, they're the best they've been--and that's all I'm gauging. That's why I love running and other individual sports--it's about you, the work you've put in, and the comfort of the clock.

What makes you special?

I haven't blogged in awhile. I've been enjoying not training for anything and having my runs be spontaneous mileage based on what I feel like that day. My runs have averaged between 6 and 8 miles. It's nice to feel like 6 miles is a short run! I've been in Minneapolis these past few days, and have enjoyed two runs around Lake Harriet and Lake Calhoun. I did the 8.79 mile loop this morning in 1:21, about a 9:13 minute mile. Yesterday I did the same run and logged a 9:40 pace. Interestingly, this morning I was sweating out the Fulton beers* and Amstels I drank last night with one of my best friends. We went to the amazing concert at the Cedar Cultural Center featuring Sophie Hunger and Tinariwen. Last night's activities reinforced how much I love Minneapolis. I reconnected with one of the most amazing women I know. Our conversation all night was invigorating, refreshing, and comforting all at once. Together we enjoyed the cultural offerings brought by other enlightened individuals. She is special because of the bigness of her heart, the openness of her mind. This empathy is reflected publicly by the promotion and support of global music and culture within the city. While last night and this morning were fantastic, yesterday morning's run left me feeling annoyed. A small incident on my last mile left me with a feeling of negativity towards humanity because I experienced the opposite of the open empathetic interest in which I participated last night. Rather, two individuals jogging around Lake Harriet showed themselves to be selfish, arrogant, and totally unsympathetic to the comfort of others, or in tune to the realities of safety. How did joggers offend a fellow runner so deeply? By running with their 60 pound dog off-leash.

I have a dog. I know how much dogs love to run around freely. I also know how instinct-driven dogs are, no matter how well-trained you think your dog may be. Dog parks and leash laws are meant to provide a balance of comfort and enjoyment of public resources for both dog owners and those who choose not to have dogs. Whenever I see this phenomenon of dog owners flouting leash laws, my reaction is always negative because I am so aware of how selfish the act is. I always think "what makes you so special?" Other people's dogs are on leashes. MY dog is on a leash. Why do you get to let yours run around? Ultimately why I am so bothered is because this seemingly liberating action shows the arrogance and hubris of humans. To think a human can actually control an animal with only voice commands! I don't care if 99.9% of the time your animal is under voice control. There WILL be the .01% time that some juicy squirrel runs past your dog, and your dog runs after it into the street and gets hit by a car. Or, the .01% chance that someone else's dog hates your dog, and starts a fight because your "friendly" dog wanted to check that dog out. Or the .01% chance that your "friendly" dog runs up to someone who is deathly afraid of dogs. Or the .01% chance that your dog, running free as it is, runs in front of someone, and trips that person. The first scenario reflects how thoughtless selfishness can have totally opposite effects than intended--instead of freedom for your dog, your dog dies or is injured. The other three scenarios show how selfish hubris not only adversely affect others, but also can be liabilities for the dog owner.

What makes you special? I hope it is that you consider other sentient beings' feelings and comfort before your own.

*This a delicious beer brewed locally in Southwest Minneapolis. I went to Fulton elementary K-3rd grade; my parents still live in the Fulton neighborhood.

A Perfect Day

On my mind these last few weeks: E.O. Wilson and Social Conquest of Earth (see this month's article in The Atlantic , Sebastian Junger's War and our current human predicament. When I'm feeling down, I sometimes think we should look to animals to remind ourselves about the simplicity of things and the importance of living in the moment. Animals' needs are so basic, their actions so geared towards their immediate instinctual desires, that when those are fulfilled, they are contented. Indeed, what was so striking about Junger's book is that soldiers who had experienced combat found it extremely difficult to live a civilian life again because at war, every action is significant. Moreover, every action is significant not just personally, but towards the group. The possibility that someone's loose bootlace could affect everyone in the platoon, because if one person slowed the others down everyone could die, is not how most people live. The mundane in combat still requires constant vigilance, whereas the civilian prosaic is often so thoughtless.

This resonates with me--not because I wish to experience the intensity of combat that makes soldiers feel "alive", but because the thoughtlessness--indeed the selfishness-- of so many people around me makes me sad.

The best part of my last couple days--weeks really--have been my early morning runs. Now that sunrise isn't until after 7:30 a.m., all my runs start in the dark. Monday morning I saw two horned owls along 27th Street, out in the hinterlands of Cedar Falls. It was awesome to watch them swoop gracefully and hoot eerily in the morning mist. I took them as omens for a good day. On Tuesday's 6.5 mile run, I didn't see any neat wildlife, but for the first time in a month, I felt relaxed and mentally prepared--I was able to run in the moment rather than worry about my body or what lay ahead.

It's been very difficult for me lately to focus on the moment, to live in gratitude for the simplest thing. I've been distracted and depressed by the big picture--the constant degradation of our environment (eg: The Keystone Pipeline), the plight of the 99% (of which I count myself), the gridlock in Congress, money woes Europe, and the ignorance of Americans that if not glorified, is not helped by U.S. media. Junger notes that combat soldiers don't think about the big picture. Our pets don't either. And the best part about a great run is what I can only assume is a similar feeling--the love of the moment. The glory of fresh air in your lungs, the wind in your face, the misty light of dawn, the muted colors of fields put to rest for winter.

As humans, we have self-consciousness, and so can appreciate these moments. We also want to hold onto them, despite their necessary transience. We write poems, blogs, memoirs, take pictures, play music. A friend of mine photographs pets and local scenery (see Studio HDR). The photo above is his. Interestingly, they are photographs with vivid colors and contrasts, the kind of images we see when our senses are at the height of awareness; crisper than reality can be. Memories are powerful--and while humans have words, visuals, and sounds to heighten our awareness and appreciation of life, alone, words, images, and sounds--no matter how profound-- provide just a shade of the original moment. It may not fit perfectly here, but I've wanted to share Jon Katz's retelling of a soldier's gift to his dying dog. It is a gift of moments, of simple things that make A Perfect Day. The idea is one that I think is powerful not just for our animal friends, but all our loved ones, and even for each of us, as needed. Perhaps it's not a coincidence that it was a veteran of the Iraq war who initiated this.

Twin Cities Marathon--3rd and 30

My Awesome Parents--who ran TC 30 years ago

As I write this, I am stiff, sore, and it's difficult for me to take deep breaths because every muscle feels contracted. But I am happy. I am very glad not to have any more marathons for 2011 and I foresee no more long runs for the year either. I am sore and happy because today I ran the 30th Twin Cities Marathon--my 3rd Twin Cities--just two months after the San Francisco Marathon. I ran for Bolder Options, and easily reached my goal of $1000, raising $1,300 for the organization that matches athletes with at-risk youth. And I ran a PR--3:49:34 officially--a good four minutes off my earlier PR (2010 TC).

Throughout the two months between San Francisco and Twin Cities, I was anxious about my body's recovery and my ability to hang together for another 26.2. What I now think is that a marathon 2-4 months before another 26.2 race--provided one recovers and listens to her body in between-- will help one run that second 26.2 really well. My brother PR'd at San Francisco, and he had run the LA Marathon a short four months earlier.

The race today felt great! I attribute my success to multiple factors, some in my control, others not at all. The weather was good--sunny and 53 degrees at the start, 68 degrees at the finish. Without consciously planning to do so, I had topped off my glycogen stores this week by scarfing cookies leftover in the office from an art opening. I beat myself up about it during those three days of weakness, but now I'm glad I listened to my cravings (which also included waffles, beer, and tortilla chips) rather than my brain! (see "Fill 'er up" in this month's Runner's World). I also ran a confidence-boosting tune-up track workout on Wednesday. I was ready to be disappointed and experience heavy legs, but it went really well, and left me feeling loose physically and emotionally more optimistic (I love sharing the track in the pre-dawn glow with ROTC recruits in fatigues! Try it sometime). That same day, I had scheduled a massage, just to get any last-minute tension out of my legs that the workout might have exacerbated. I did some pilates, and yesterday, I stretched a lot, but the only activity my legs got was a long morning walk. As important as all these physical factors was the emotional support from my family and friends who knew I was running again, and who cheered me on and supported the cause. My husband and my parents especially deserve their own finishers' medals for the many hours and care they have shown throughout!

The race went by really fast. I started slow and even, at 9 minute miles for the first three miles. As I warmed up and felt good, I picked it up a little, especially at mile 5. Looking at my results, it appears I ran the second 10K faster than the first 10K. Overall, my pacing was really even. I hardly thought at all during the race. I was pleasantly distracted by people cheering (including Doug M., Nicole M., Anne S., Jessie T., Charlie L., Meredith S., and my parents), and only put in my music at mile 10.

Mile 7 at the Rose Garden. Clearly in The Zone.

The race was all about little goals and little encouragements. The only thoughts that I remember crossing my mind were similar to: "wow, already mile 5! Eat gu at 6! Will I have enough gu? Parents at 7! Where are the bananas? Already at 10! Gu at 12--I'll get more at 17. Already at the half, and a good pace! I feel good, excellent. This is a good song for this part of the course. Already at 15! I can give my shirt to my parents at 17. Almost 22! Only 4 more. This is a great race if these two miles are the toughest. Only 2 more miles to finish, it's down hill--time to kick it in."

Ditching my shirt at Mile 17

My thought at mile 25, just as I was about crest Summit and see the State Capitol and the finish, was that I couldn't cry, not now. I became very emotional and had to tell myself to hold it in. In 2008, I had also been emotional then. But that was because I had been in so much pain, and was so disappointed in myself. Today, I was choking it back because I was overwhelmed with gratitude and love. I felt so not alone. So many people--my parents, my husband, my brothers, and my friends; a community that includes high school teammates, college teammates, Mississippi River Road Runners, and all the people who have supported me in voice and deed and told me they care--were with me there at 25, in my mind and heart.

Crankin' to the finish. Had to use those arms.

You all rock. Thank you!

Old fashioned glazed donuts rock too. 

Reaching Out at City of Lakes 25K

I began writing this when it was 49 degrees last weekend. It's equally cool now. But Sunday 9/11 when I ran the 30th City of Lakes 25K, it was in the high 70s, reaching close to 90 by the afternoon. I suppose I could have made this blog about the 10th "anniversary" of 9/11--but all I want to say about that is listen to the This American Life Episode on "Ten Years In".

The run for me was not about anniversaries--30th, 10th, or otherwise. It was much more selfish initially. It was only about making it. My goal was to finish and to have something left over in my body to run 26.2 three weeks later (just over a week from now!). This would be accomplished by taking it easy and being happy with a 9 minute mile pace over the 15.5 miles. I started off planning not to go too hard, considering the marathons past and future. I was okay with my 8:15 first mile. I was more worried about the mental toll of two loops around the two lakes, Harriet and Calhoun. These two lakes I have been running around since I began running in 1992 (jesu--that's almost 20 years of running for me!). That, and while family members have accused me of being a misanthrope, I do admit I am easily distracted by people around me. Thankfully, around mile 3, I fell into a rhythm with another female runner. After a half mile or so, I felt it would be anti-social not to acknowledge our shared space and pace. So I made some comment about that phenomenon. This led to more queries about how many long races she had done, what her goals were, what she did for a living, and so on. By mile 4, I had learned Andrea and I were both Iowans, that she worked for a non-profit in Minneapolis now, but had attended Coe College in Cedar Rapids, and had never done a marathon. She was hoping to finish with an 8:30 average pace. I invited her to look up the Mississippi Road Runners, and sang the praises of having training partners and making running fun. We passed over four miles together, alternately chatting and focusing on mile markers. While we didn't end up finishing together, those four miles were easily the best of the race for me. Not because they were especially fast, but because they were meaningful. I felt like I was sharing the experience with someone, and getting to know someone new, even if (as is likely) I will never see Andrea again.

Maybe you have noticed this recurring theme of sociability and sharing in my blogs. I've written about training with my twin, positively pushing competitors in the Sturgis half-marathon, and sharing a long run with a good friend this fall. I've befriended fellow runners on airplanes, as I did flying to San Francisco.

The race itself wasn't all that great for me or my Mississippi Road Runner teammates. It was hot, and there was cramping, chafing, and dehydration. As a team, we came in last among women teams, and I was the slowest of all. So what's the point? I achieved my goal--I finished in 2:15, an 8:43 pace. But even at the end, I had to remind myself not to be selfish. My mom was there, just a few meters from the finish. I had cramped up (the first time ever in a race!) the very last half mile. Whatever she shouted at me, I did not want to hear then. I had to get my inner honey badger under control. As Randall says, "the honey badger don't care, the honey badger don't give a shit."



But the thing is, we aren't honey badgers. So I reminded myself why my mom was there (she loves me, supports me, and is proud of me, despite my proclivity to selfishness). This race wasn't just for me--it was for a lot of people, whether or not I know them. It was to get to know people like Andrea, and teach us to support each other. It was for teammates, and for 9/11/01. It was for loved ones cheering all the runners on, because, well, races are microcosms of life.