Moments

I'm sitting here at the computer, finally ready to revisit my blog and continue the story I started almost a year ago. I also want to encourage you to pray about joining MASH this season if you are at all interested in supporting MMI and meeting some seemingly impossible personal goals. There have been so many moments...emotionally, spiritually, mentally, and yes, physically...that can't adequately be described in words. And I can't come into the new training season without encouraging others to make the commitment...and start experiencing life changing moments of their own.

I remember a run I had last summer. It was late afternoon and I had dropped the girls off at my mom's house in order to get in a workout. Woodward is just a short walk away from my parent's house so I jogged over the overpass and hit the road that winds its way around the park. I think it was July or August; needless to say, it was scorchingly hot. Probably around 100 or thereabouts. And although I had been training for a few months I felt the effects of the heat and the hills almost immediately. There were few other people out on such a hot day and I remember having to mentally push myself to go on...because, without a cell phone, I really had no other choice.

The hills were the worst. I don't remember exactly where I was...probably the dirt track that winds its way around the outer perimeter...but I do remember the hills. "Just one more hill," I'd think to myself. "And you're almost there." But no. After that hill, there was another. And another. It seemed endless, the slow pace up the hill, the slightly easier trek down. I was so thirsty and wanted nothing more than to get back to my mom's house for some ice water. And I didn't want to slow down and walk...doing so would only get me back that much later...so I kept up my pace and kept going.

That's how it is with training for a half marathon, or marathon...there are so many hills to climb but somehow, someway, you push through. You pray, you sing, you encourage other MASHers on Facebook, you buy a water bottle belt and some good shoes and you keep running. The heat, the freezing cold Saturday mornings, the aching shins, the sore feet. The injuries...although I was blessed to be injury free through my training, others didn't escape the shin splints, the pulled tendon, or the other several injuries runners can be prone to. But everyone I knew that suffered an injury kept going. They took a break, then hit the trail again. They overcame.

Then there is the other side of the hill-the moment you reach the top and begin to descend. These are the moments that made it almost easy to continue training. Watching the sun rise through pink tinged clouds, looking over the bluff on the Eaton Trail on my very first five mile run, keeping pace with Heather while dodging semi-trucks, running in fog so thick droplets of dew clung to my arms. Praying, singing, thanking God for the ability to run. Thinking of the people we were helping, because it really came down to that...packing supplies at the Clovis warehouse and knowing what you were doing was making a difference.

And one of the best parts of joining MASH-meeting the people who would ultimately change my life in a myriad of small ways. Jeff and Mike, the ever so patient MASH trainers. Mike was the one who said I should run with a helium balloon tied to my hat so they could track me easier if and when I got lost on a long run. Kelly, another amazing MASH trainer who does 26 mile TRAINING runs and who might get a spot on next season's "Wipeout" (am I right Kelly? Any updates on that?) Roland, a mentor who led the Thursday evening trainings at Rio Vista...I cheered silently when I saw his time in the Two Cities race report...his name was REALLY high on the list. Danielle, Heather, and of course Kim and Pennie, fellow PCers. Pennie sings in the choir and I found out Kim is good friends with my sister in law. Would I have ever met these beautiful people if I hadn't done this?

Who would I be today if I hadn't had the courage to join MASH? I am now stronger, physically...and spiritually, because God has been with me on every run. And when it comes down to it, He is the reason I run. He is the reason I am able to run. Running is a gift-an activity not necessary to our modern lives. It's almost a luxury. The ability to get on my shoes and go out for a run is something I thank God for. For "all good things come from above" and I can't enumerate all of the good that has come from this. I am a runner, and will continue to run as long as I am able. And I will continue to thank Him for the runs he has given me and the moments I have experienced on this journey.

So pray about joining MASH...not just supporting the ministry, but by signing up and running...because who knows where God will lead you? Who knows what moments are going to change your life?

Music Soothes the Savage Beast

According to Runner's World, there is a lot of controversy in the running community about the use of personal music devices.  There are those that think running with an ipod or similar device poses risks to the runner, and to others who share the road with them.  Loud music distracts the listener from her surroundings and increases the chance of a runner vs. bike or runner vs. car scenario.  Or so the critics say.  Proponents of the practice cite increased motivation and decreased boredom while on the road.  Personally, I'm a music junkie.  I love working out to music, even if it's the blaring, distorted hip hop or wailing alternative my local gym enjoys cranking out of tinny speakers.  There are aspects of silent running I enjoy, however...the way my thoughts can float through my mind in a free fall of consciousness.  I believe, though, that there is nothing like running along a trail on a cool, misty morning with your favorite music swirling in your head.

As with most people, music tends to mark specific times in life.  Of course there's the pop culture tunes that most of us grow up listening to.  In my case, along with U2, it was Paula Abdul, Sting, Bon Jovi, Madonna, and various soundtracks.  I can remember the song I danced my first slow dance to, or the song they played for years on network TV during April and May, at the height of high school graduation..."This is the tiiiime to remember, 'cause it will not last forever."

Music, for me, helps me move my feet.  Although I do enjoy the occasional jaunt without my ipod, for the most part I'm always listening to something.  On one of my gym workouts last month I geared myself up for a long (for me) run.  I changed, made sure I had water bottle, wallet, and hair tie, dropped off the girls at grandma's, drove to the gym, and climbed on the treadmill.  But when I pushed the play button on the ipod strapped to my arm...nothing.  Battery dead.  Completely dead.  I think I stood there for about thirty seconds wondering what to do, and even considered asking someone if I could borrow theirs for a short while (I know, preposterous, but I was almost desperate.)  I ended up doing the run anyway, listening to the distorted hip hop blaring from the tinny speakers overhead.  I ended up running to several worship songs playing in my head.  I help lead worship at our Wednesday evening service so I'm able to keep up with a lot of the Christian music trends.  It helped.  But it wasn't the same.

My half marathon anthem is "I'm Gonna Go Crazy If I Don't Go Crazy Tonight".  Don't let the title mislead you.  It's an up tempo declaration of persistence, of encouragement.  It's an artistic melody of change.  

"It's not a hill, it's a mountain, as you start out the climb.  Listen for me I'll be shouting...but we're gonna make it all the way to the light..." or in my case, "line", as in finish line.  Although I still have my doubts about that.  Because in the end, I know it'll be me WITHOUT my ipod, as I believe they're "illegal" in the Two Cities race.  I'll puff through the race in the cool mist of the early morning, and my music will still be swirling around in my head.  After all, it's really a "mental game", isn't it?  And the music in my head will help me as much as the music in my ears.  

Music can soothe the savage beast, praise God, and keep the tired runner from falling.  

In my case, it will help get me through. And I know I'll need all the help I can get.

The Long Run

Two months ago I had never run longer than three miles in my life.  When I signed up for this crazy thing called M*A*S*H the realization never really became concrete that I would be training to run 13.1 miles.  Somehow, I thought I'd do a couple of nice workouts a week, ask the trainers about an achy knee or a stiff muscle, then jog the 13.1 miles with energy in my legs and a smile in my heart.  Little did I know.

This journey has been a bit like uncovering a treasure.  I'm digging it up shovelful by shovelful, piece by piece.  Sometimes I'll uncover a truly precious gem...the one minute it took  Roland to explain to me about having your footfalls land in a line, rather than far apart from each other, is one of those gems.  Since adjusting my form my strides have become easier and, dare I say, a bit faster.  Another treasure I discovered is the advice I gleaned from "Jogging and Running for Idiots", (my cousin really snickered at me when I bought that one at a used bookstore in San Francisco...thanks for the support, Bach) which explained that those who are running a half or full marathon should not waste time with intervals shorter than 400m.  200m intervals are fine for those running 5ks, but longer intervals are more suited to longer distances.  When I started doing fast 400m intervals with 200m recoveries, I felt stronger and faster at the next long run.   A lightbulb moment.

One time, however, I uncovered something I didn't like.  I was browsing through the MASH website when I stumbled upon the training schedule.  I skimmed the Saturday runs and saw the plan...four miles, five, seven, ten...ten miles?!  Ten miles for a training run?  How on earth was I ever going to do that? 

My first long run was a four miler.  At the time I had no idea how far I was going.  I didn't even know where I was half the time.  Once around the river bottom, then to the first bridge and back.  I remember trying to keep another runner in sight for fear of getting lost.  I remember being warm and sweaty, and gratefully downing the water offered back up at the Eaton Trail.  Then Mike directed me to go "to the first bridge and back" to finish out the run.  I remember plodding along, thinking, "Where on earth is this gosh forsaken bridge?!"  Needless to say, I survived.

On the five mile run we had to run along the Eaton Trail to the gazebo and back.  I had such an irrational sense of exhilaration, and even joy, as I stood at the gazebo looking out over the bluff.  It was a first for me.  Five miles.  I was getting through.

Six miles was on the Old Clovis Trail.  Starting at the Medical Ministries warehouse, the trail took us along a shady path and across parking lots to where Jeff and Mike stood.  It's always nice to see them on a run-they either represent water or a turnaround point.  And a nice dose of encouragement.  I turned and ran fairly strongly back to the warehouse...then helped pack some medical supplies for shipment along with the other MASHers.  We learned more about MMI and came away with a deeper understanding of why we were running.  It was a real eye opener.

Seven miles was two days ago.  I was so freaked out about going seven miles I was singing gospel songs to myself as I was getting ready (as you FB people already know.)  Eaton Trail, left down the path to the road, then along the road to the Holloway (?) House.  I started fairly strong, but slow, and jogged most of the way with a friend, Heather, who was back after nursing an injury.  She walked most of the way while I jogged, which tells you a little about our respective speeds, although in my defense she's taller than me with longer legs.  It was hot, I was hot, I needed water, and my breathing and heart rate were fine but by the end of the run my legs were giving out on me.  If not for Kelly, who ran nine and a half miles then turned back to run the rest of the way with us, I probably would have walked my way in.  Instead, I picked up the pace and finished strong.  Then I gulped my water, drove home, showered, and fell in bed for a nap.  

So I have quite a few more to go.  Next month I think we're going to be up to ten miles.  Ten miles.  That's like from my house to People's Church.  That's going around a track forty times.  That's, for me, about two hours of running, about a thousand calories burned.  

As I'm sitting here in a cool house typing this, at least a month away from attempting ten miles, I say, "bring it on."  But check back with me three and a half weeks from now...I may be starting a whole new set of gospel songs to get me through.

"Pass me not, O gentle Savior..."

That's a good one.  I don't need anyone else passing me.  I'm slow enough as it is.

Until the next run...

Adidas vs. Brooks: Finding the Perfect Shoe, part 1

Remember back in the 90s when the Nike Air Jordans first hit the stores?  Finally, the answer to many young basketball player's prayers...the perfect shoe.  The formula was simple-beg your parents, find the store, find the size, drop the $100 plus dollars and hit the playground with a new swagger in your step.  With these shoes, a player could jump higher, run faster, and hit the basket with a one handed dunk, tongue out, spectators cheering.  Of course, many of these dreams were not realized on the court, but having the perfect basketball shoe went a long way in upping your cool status.  

Finding the perfect running shoe is a bit harder, and much more important, to an amateur runner training for an event.  The right shoes absorb the shock with each footfall (up to three times your body weight!) allow plenty of room for toes in the toe box, and last for miles without losing too much support.  Being a voracious reader, I had researched shoes when I first started jogging.  I learned about pronation, supination, and motion control.  I loved the Runner's World spring and fall shoe reviews.  I compared different models on the internet and browsed the aisles at Sports Authority.  But, due to expense and the fact that I was more of a recreational jogger than a "real" runner, I had never gone to a specialty running store to get fitted, which is the most recommended way of buying your first good pair of training shoes.

So after a long Saturday run and an informative shoe clinic at Sierra Running Company I was finally ready to take the plunge.  I had discovered that my flat feet caused me to over pronate, which led to painful arches and shin splints, among other possible injuries.  And it was true!  After every run in my cheap Nike cross trainers my arches ached and throbbed.  My poor toes were cramped in the front of the shoe, and my discount store inserts did little to support my non existent arches.  

I was concerned, at first, that I might have been buying in to the snake oil and sleight of hand of the crafty salesman, but everything I had learned at the shoe clinic was affirmed in all of the research I had done previously.  So with bated breath and a budget, my husband and I dropped the girls off at grandma's and headed to Sierra Running Company.

The store was fairly busy for a Tuesday afternoon.  We were helped immediately, however, by a young woman with a pleasant demeanor.  I was asked to walk in my socks to the front of the store as she knelt and peered at my feet and ankles.  She stood almost immediately and announced that I had flat feet and was over pronating.  She then walked briskly into the back room and returned with two boxes of shoes.  I tried on at least six pairs...Adidas, Brooks, Saucony.  The only brand that was conspicuously absent was Nike.  What, no Air Jordans?  Not even a Nike Shox?  But these thoughts were chased out of my mind the moment I stood after lacing up the Brooks Ariel.  It felt like my knees popped out into a more comfortable position and my feet were now resting in their proper place.  They were made, as I read in a review later on, for "heavy runners with flat-as-a-pancake feet", which described me to a T!  The shoes felt great, and my mind soared with the possibilities of pain free running, shaving minutes off my mile time, and soaring past the finish line with tongue out (I'll probably be really thirsty) and spectators cheering.    

The Brooks, however, were not cheap.  Even with my 10% MASH discount they were the most expensive shoes I had ever looked at.  And to a...I'll not say "cheap", I'll say "thrifty" shopper like me, parting with the money wasn't easy.  But this was an investment.  Training to run 13.1 miles in the wrong shoe would only set me up for injury.  And what would I accomplish on the sidelines with shin splints and throbbing feet?  With a little prayer I handed over the money and took the box home.  

Now to put the shoes to the test.

Could I Possibly Be Any Slower?!

My husband liked to tease me when I first started "running".  He used to say that he could walk as fast as I ran.  And it was true, too, but at the time I would think, "So? At least I can keep it up for a while."  And I also thought that in time I would get fitter, stronger, and faster.  Fast forward seven years, and in the place of that runner stands a thin, wiry, fit woman who easily keeps up a nine minute per mile pace for four miles.

Er...not quite.

Before I go any farther in this musing, I would like to state three things: a)I KNOW it doesn't matter how fast I go, just as long as I get there. b) I KNOW I will become faster and stronger as long as I continue working hard. c) This is NOT a whiny showcase of low self-esteem.  You don't have to encourage me with a "No, you're doing great!" although those comments go a LONG WAY in helping me continue.  No, this is just a field note about where I am in this journey, and it will help me appreciate how far I've come when I get to my destination.

So back to the thin, wiry, fit woman.  I'll be the first to say I am neither thin (well rounded is how I like to describe myself,) wiry (more like stout,) and my "race pace" is a blistering twelve minutes per mile on a good run.  

I suppose it does bear saying that I had two long breaks in my seven year running career.  The first was when my daughter Mia was born in 2005.  I probably didn't get back into the rhythm of running for at least a year.  Then in 2007, when my second daughter Nikki was born, I quit running for another year.  In the summer of 2008 I joined a gym and started weight training, took a few group exercise classes, and around February of this year got on the treadmill and started slowly cranking up the speed.  And by "cranking up" I mean starting off at 4.0, then 4.5, then 5.0...two miles in 30 minutes, two miles in 28 minutes...I remember how much I worked to get my two miles down to 24 minutes or so.  I should add, however, that this was with a quarter mile or so of walking to warm up.  Then, in May of this year, I saw the little blurb in the People's Church bulletin..."Think you could never run a marathon?  Well, you can!"   That was all I needed, that and a little prayer to push me completely out of my running comfort zone and into the world of half marathon training.

It's both exhilarating and intimidating to train with a group.  A person finds out she's not the only runner in the world.  She also finds out she's not the fastest, or the slowest (if you include the walkers, God bless their souls,) the most fit, or the most out of shape.  But it certainly is an eye opener when you think you've been working hard and realize you are probably one of the slowest, if not THE slowest, runner in the group.  

I've been lapped several times by the trainers when out at the track.  Yes, these are the trainers, the "elite" of our little group.  But I've also watched in dismay during a Saturday run as an older lady with a bum knee slowly pulled away from me, then disappeared.  I was passed last week by just about everyone running the five miles, and some even doing the six, even though I turned back early out of concern for a friend.  I gasp on intervals at an 8mph pace.  I run out of gas so quickly on striders it's almost like someone pricked a balloon with a pin and *pffpfffffff*....aaand she's down!  

But I will continue on.  On my last run at the gym in my brand new shoes I did three miles in under 40 minutes, even though it felt like I had two concrete blocks strapped to my feet (more on that in the next post.)  So I am doing better.  I can go farther, if not all that much faster.  I can do the "warm ups"- although for me it's more of a workout-the skipping, high knee running, etc., with Roland fairly easily.  I can puff through a few 200m intervals at, say, an 8:30 minute pace fairly well.  I think I'm getting faster on the Saturday runs, although it's nearly impossible to tell for sure how far I go.  

So I'm not going to quit.  I'm not going to quit, and I'm going to continue trying to up my speed.  I may not be fast in my legs, but I'm fast in my mind.  And someday, the two just might meet up.  The fastest I've ever run a mile was in junior high when I was on the volleyball team.  A monumental 9:27 minute mile.  It was such an accomplishment I remember the time to this day.  And if I can ever do that again, I'm sure the time will be locked into my brain with all of my other hard earned accomplishments, large or small.

I was on Runner'sworld.com the other day and was reading John "The Penguin" Bingham's blog about running for no one else but yourself.  He'd said he was finishing a half marathon and was nearing the finish line when the crowd started cheering.  "What!" he thought.  "Are they cheering for me?" Then he realized the leader of the marathon runners was about to cross the finish line ahead of him.  But John didn't let this bother him.  He realized his accomplishment of finishing the half was just as remarkable as the other man's winning the marathon.  After all, he stated, "The miracle wasn't that I finished.  The miracle was that I had the courage to start."

Until the next run...

Coming soon..."Adidas vs. Brooks: Finding the Perfect Shoe"