The Year of No Runs

You may have noticed a severe lack of something on this blog for 2018.  An elephant in the room of sorts.

It's true.   I have yet to run a race in 2018.  

In fact, I've barely even run at all in 2018.  

Honestly, a part of me is sad for this.  But an even bigger part of me is somewhat relieved.  Between the move this spring/summer, having an active toddler, working full time, teaching part time, and wanting some personal free time for myself ... well, in a nut shell ... after having a baby, I came to realize it's OK sometimes to be lazy in the name of personal sanity.

So cheers to personal sanity in 2018.  

And to a slightly fatter bank account (which I very promptly spent on furnishing my new home instead).  

And to a more than slightly fatter waist line (which I'm not going to guilt myself over, for right now).

Here's to a possible race in the future ... but for now, no pressure or expectations on when that will be.

Defining Dedication

Today I had zero interest in going out for a run.

ZERO.

In fact, I should have actually been going out for my second run of the week today, but instead it was still just my first.  And yet, despite that, I was still procrastinating.

Perhaps my reason for not wanting to run today was due to PTSD.  You see, last week, on the last tenth of a mile split ... a bird pooped on my head.  And it was huge.  HUGE! A HUGE POOP RIGHT ON MY HEAD!  I'm talking, I touched the top of my head to see what just glanced it, and the entire bottom half of my palm came back crusty.

So gross.

Well, technically, I pretty much suppressed my memory of poop-ageddon until I went to suit up for today's run.  I had actually totally forgotten about the poop, to be honest.  So really, that can't be what made me not want to go. 

Instead, I was already dreading today's run when I was reminded of last week's incident.  Because that's when I saw it: apparently when I pulled my sports bra over my head last week, post poop-pocalypse, the poop from my head smeared all along the bottom edge of my bra.  Right in the front where it would lie on my rib cage.

Lovely.

Since I was already mostly undressed and didn't want any other reason to NOT run, I winged it.  I hand washed the nasty off my bra, grimaced as the wet spot on my bra brushed my face while I pulled it on, and took off for my run.

Of course, that wasn't the end of my woes.  First, my audio started beeping at the 2.5 mile mark, since my Bluetooth headset was running out of juice.  Funny enough, my iPhone had just finished playing "End of the World as We Know It" by REM, and the battery died right as Amy Winehouse was singing "They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said no, no, no".

So there I was. With at least 2 miles left in my run, I was stuck wearing a poopy bra and a dead headset.  And that means, of course, that I should start to chafe. 

Awesome.

But my goal was to make it a minimum of 4.5 miles.  So I pushed.  And as my watch dinged "goal met" ... I realized ... F it!  Let's make it an even 5.

So I ran. 

And I finished 5 miles.

And today, the birds didn't poop on my head.

Lately

Well, I guess the theme of this blog these day is "so I know I haven't posted in a while, but ..."

Instead of continually repeating that line, I'm going to mention a few recent personal highlights instead:

(1) I'm on week four of a regular running schedule, and have a consistent mix of strength and swimming in there too. 

(2) I have improved my overall pace running from 11:30 a mile to 11:00.  Not fast by any means, but I'll take it.

(3) I have weighed in on the scale below 200 lbs on a semi regular basis in the last two weeks.  I hope to finally see that be a standard weigh in instead of an "off day".

(4) My son is officially one - hooray!  Where does time go?!  (And in other news, I am currently in the process of going cold turkey from nursing ... which is a slow and sometimes painful process, but I'm getting there).

And lest I leave out some sarcasm in this post ... a short story:

For the last 4+ weeks, I've been trying to be healthy.  You know, eating right, getting more exercise, all that jazz.  The scale has been heading in the right direction, and I feel better about myself, so that's a sign that I'm on the right track.  Which is great!  So today, though.  I go get changed over lunch.  Head out for a run.  I'm almost all the way back when I feel something tickle the top of my head.  I reach up and ...

 

 

 

Yeah.  A bird shit right on my head.  Way to support my journey back to fitness, ya jerk.

Happy Tuesday!

Couldn't Repeat It If I Tried ...

So I've been trying to get back into running shape, which is no small task having not really followed any kind of training plan in the last two years.  (Not to mention having basically done no running at all since fall of last year). 

Despite my lack of time on my feet, I found it interesting how much my body "remembers" on pacing for distance. 

Check out my finish time for a 3 mile run on Tuesday of last week (March 28th), and again on Tuesday of this week (April 4th):

The strangest part is, last week I ran a much less even pace per mile, whereas this week I held a fairly consistent pace.  And yet, they still netted out to the exact same finish time. 

I don't think I could do this again if I tried!

The Skinny Model Law

A brief "deep thought" for today.


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A few months ago I came across this article talking about how a scandalously thin model was used in an Gucci ad campaign:

Rightfully so, the article mentioned that: the Advertising Standards Authority of Britain ruled that the ad was “irresponsible” and that the model looked “unhealthily thin”.

Shortly thereafter, the ad was forcibly pulled by the British standards group and the model's image was removed from the ad campaign.

Interestingly, just a few days prior, I had read about France's skinny model law.

Here's the law:

The new law calls for models who want to work in France to present a doctor's note attesting to their overall health and proving a BMI of 18 or over. (In the BMI system, 18.5 is the cutoff between underweight and a healthy weight.) Agencies and brands who break this law could be looking at a six-month prison sentence of 75,000 euro fine. Another proviso notes that advertising images that have been digitally altered — whether that means making the models appear smaller or larger — must contain the words "retouched photograph," or risk a fine of at least 37,500 euros.

To put the above into perspective, using the current exchange rate:
75,000 euro = 81,675 dollars
37,500 euro = 40,837 dollars

To further quote the skinny model law article, I particularly liked reading this:

There is some precedent for this kind of government action, at least abroad. Italy, Israel, and Spain have all passed similar "skinny model" legislation, Denmark is considering doing so, and the U.K.'s Advertising Standards Authority has cracked down on images of what it deems to be too-thin models, notably in a recent Saint Laurent ad.

When you pair the above with the post I put up a few weeks ago about Tim Gunn and the plus size clothing industry, it makes for an interesting time in the fashion world ...  no?

An Open Letter to Men from Female Runners

We are about to enter an interesting time in the United States.  As a woman, I am concerned.

For anyone who says I shouldn't be ... maybe you should read a letter like this and think twice about what kind of world we live in. 

Because I had already been taking precautions like the below, and that was before someone who openly admitted to sexual assault was elected into office.


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An Open Letter to Men from Female Runners
By Dorothy Beal

On the surface, the question was relatively benign, aside from an abrupt delivery: “Do you know what time it is?” he asked.

“No, I'm sorry I don't,” I said as I picked up the pace a bit.

I could tell he didn't like my answer. I was wearing a watch and holding a phone, after all. I could check the time if I wanted to, but that's just it—I didn't want to.
“You can't check on your phone?” he said, with an agitated tone to his voice. No, no I can't, I thought.

Still, the part of me that was raised to do as she was told and to be polite to everyone ignored my inner voice and forced a reluctant glance at my phone before shouting back the time. Simultaneously, I picked up the pace even more.

I'm not sure what his intentions were. Maybe he did need to know the time, but the fact that he noticed I had a phone didn't sit right with me. Was he trying to catch me off guard? Was it just an attempt at getting me to stop? Thoughts swirled in my head over a seemingly innocuous interaction.
Then I got mad—mad at him and mad at myself for the way I felt.

I don't like judging others by looks, their gender, or even a few words. I don't like thinking about whether you really are lost and in need of directions or if you see me, a lone female out running—miles from any help—and think that this is your chance to have your way with me.

It makes me sick to think about but, as a female runner, this is the world that I live in.

I've been called vile names after not returning a hello to a passing male runner. I've listened as a male volunteer at a marathon pointed out another woman’s “camel toe.” I've had stuff thrown at me out the window of a car by a man. I've been whistled at, cat-called and objectified by men. I've had to call the police on more than one run because of a man.

So, here's my open letter to the man on the trail—and to all men, really. I'd like for you to run a mile in my shoes.

That time you asked me for directions and I said, “No, sorry, I'm not stopping,” I wasn't being a jerk. I was worried for my safety. These days I worry about my safety more than ever, as stories of women being attacked, raped or even killed while out for a run continue to surface. I worry that if I don't take extra precautions, I will become a victim. I need to be extra careful around people I don't know.
I think I know you are probably harmless, but there is also a part of me that doesn't know. Men sometimes react in ways I don't understand.

One day, a man yelled at me out of his car window while I was pushing my three children in a running stroller. Regrettably, I reacted in the heat of the moment. I didn't know that showing him a certain finger would unleash the beast inside him. I didn't know that he would turn his car around and chase me down. I didn't know that morning when I went for a run that I would fear for my children's lives.

But back to you.

The day I saw you walking along the dirt trail, it was hot. Do you remember? You were dressed in black pants, a long-sleeve black shirt, and a hat. It seemed like an odd choice for such a hot day. You turned around and we made eye contact, making it more difficult for me to decide what to do. I didn't want to offend you by turning around but I was also afraid to run past you.

When you said good morning, I didn't respond because I was out of breath. I was running fast—as fast as my legs would carry me, actually. I wanted to get around you and away from you, just in case. I'm sorry I didn't say good morning. I hope you understand.

The day you came up behind me on your bike, you were just being friendly. I know that now. When you said “nice” as you passed me, a thousand thoughts went through my head before the next word followed. In that moment, I wished I was a huge football player with the strength to push you off your bike. I wanted to make you feel fear and pain. I was ready for your words to make me feel gross for wearing tight shorts that day. Then you said “pace” and instantly I felt remorse for wanting to hurt you.

Thank you for that compliment. I was running fast that day, wasn't I? I didn’t mean to be, but I began to worry that I’d gotten too far from home and I was low on energy. When I get low on energy, I worry—not because I'll have to walk, but because I'm concerned that, should things go south, I won't have what it takes to fight someone off.

Remember that day you were out running, blowing off steam? You saw me up ahead, your eyes never leaving me, so I averted my gaze—something I do often when I pass men. You said hello and I didn't respond. I should have said hi, but I was worried that if I did, it would seem inviting. I wasn't sure why you were staring at me.

You cursed me out because I was quiet. When people are silent, it's often for a reason. I didn't deserve those words. I wonder, do you speak to women you know like that? Or just women you don't know? Either way, you scared me that day. I wanted to tell you that you were frightening me, to leave me alone, but the car incident I mentioned above taught me to run from people like you.

Then there was the day I fell off my bike. Thank you for asking if I was okay. You looked friendly and I thought it was nice that someone cared enough to pause and check on me. Here's the thing, though: Even if I was hurt, I would have told you I was fine. I immediately texted a friend, not to tell her of the fall, but because I wanted you to see that I had a phone. I know it sounds crazy, and it is, but the world is a crazy place and sometimes even offering help can seem threatening.

My husband understands, but only because I've taken the time to explain to him how men can make female runners feel. He doesn't approach women when he is out running. If they appear to need help, he asks and offers assistance from a distance. When running past them, he announces his presence while he’s approaching. He doesn't want to startle them. He says hi with no expectation of a response.

He's a guy—a good one—but he also knows how some men think. One morning, as I walked up my driveway after a 4 a.m. run, he jumped out and scared me. I was angry, and rightfully so. He said he wanted to teach me a lesson that morning beneath the moonlight—and he did.

“Don't let your guard down when it's dark,” he said. “You felt safe because you were close to home, but you aren't safe until you are inside your home.”

I don't like always feeling the need to be on guard, I want to get lost in the moment and just run. But he was right.

So, man on the trail, as a mother to two amazing boys, a sister to a wonderful brother, the daughter of a loving father, and the wife of a strong husband, I don't hate men—nor do I think that all of them are evil and out to get me. I worry for my safety, mostly for my children's sake. I don't want them to grow up without a mother.

I don't want to stop running, either.

You are one of the good ones, but don't forget that the woman you see out there running doesn't know that. Unfortunate as it may be, she—like me—has to consider whether or not you intend to hurt her.

Her life literally depends on it.

Webster Education Foundation 5K 2016 (Pushin' a Stroller)

 

Webster Education Foundation 5K (3.15 miles)

38:03

Average Pace 12:13/mile

Well, folks, it's August.  I suppose that means it's time for another go at the Webster Education Foundation 5K.

As I said last year, this race is one of the few that I've participated in every year since conception.  And it's particularly special to me now, for two reasons: I placed first it my age category there in 2013 (though I couldn't quite repeat that in 2014), and I ran it in 2015 when I was just suspecting I might be pregnant with my baby boy.

It's only fitting, then, that this race marked my first go at running with a baby stroller in tow!  Right?  Right! 

Let's run!


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On Saturday morning at about 7:45, after a lot of rushing around trying to get not just me but also baby ready for our first race together, my husband drove our SUV up to the 5-12 school in Webster and put it in park. 

Yes, you read that right.  A 7:45 arrival for a race at 8:00.  Quite a bit later than my usual 30+ minute check in.  What can I say?  Life changes when you have a kid.  (Not to mention, I value my sleep more these days, too.)

Even though my arrival was later than normal for me, since this is a smaller race without a lot of hullabaloo around it, I had plenty of time.  In a matter of minutes I was in and out with bibs and race t in hand - yes that's plural bibs, singular T ... we gotta work on these races to start offering onesies or baby Ts I guess, LOL!

Here's this year's T:

 

 

And yes, once again this shirt may look familiar to you, since it's the 2014 and 2015 design on a different color base.  This shirt the last two years now has been a wicking T, which you know I'm not a huge fan of, but at least this one is a heavier weight meshy style fabric ... so, I'll allow it.  *cheeseball grin*  I still prefer cotton, though.

As I exited the school building, I had a large grin on my face.  Making my way back to the car, I proceeded to pin our bibs on. 

Why the grin, you ask?  Well, because ... I finally got to be #1! 

 

And of course, what's #1 without a trusty #2 right by my side?!

 

 

This kid definitely knows something about #2, too.  Let me tell you!  (Yes, that was a gratuitous poop joke.  Moving along ...)

You'll notice in the above photos that I put a mosquito netting over the jogging stroller prior to our run.  Having just completed the bug-ma-geddon that was the Gandy Fly In 5K a few weeks back, I decided I had better start learning from my mistakes and preparing better for less than desirable run conditions.  Preparation - something that is especially important now that I have a kid along for the ride.  #adulting

Of course I say this, and then what happens?  It starts to rain on race morning.  Which I was not prepared for AT ALL.  Whomp-whomp.

At least the rain was only an intermittent fine mist, which actually was just light enough that it beaded up on the netting and rolled right off, so the inside of the stroller stayed completely dry the entire morning.  Plus, the overcast weather ended up keeping the overall temps relatively cool/comfortable.  So ... win for me on that one.  But loss for me too, since the mist was just enough to remove any bug spray I applied.  A huge issue later in the run.  More on that later.

(Side note to self - better order a rain shield for the stroller, too. Time to turn on that money sucker known as Amazon.com.)

Despite the mist and overcast skies, and my late arrival, my GPS was a champ on race morning.  Just a minute before I needed to line up for the run, I clicked that thing on and it was good to go.  I can't figure out why, given my issues in a previous race ... but ok then!

With a happy GPS and an even happier baby (who was babbling and cooing away, loving the excited energy of the crowd), I pushed the stroller towards the start line and mentally prepared for what was to come: zero training, with or without stroller. 

Well, here goes!

Shoot!  Suddenly I realized I should probably tuck my phone into the diaper bag and keep it protected from the mist during the run.  So of course, as I'm doing this, I hear the race announcer yell "on your mark, get set ..." 

In a rush, I shoved my phone away, barely managing to fumble the diaper bag zipper shut while a very loud bang of an official track gun went off. 

Shoot again!  Not even thinking pre-race about my choice of start point, or how loud the gun was and how close I was to it, I nervously looked up to check on what was happening inside the stroller.  To my amazement, instead of crying I heard an excited laugh.  Could he really be this happy to be in a 5K?  Must have been all that racing I did while pregnant, eh?! 

Alright, the gun has been fired and you're ready to go.  Let's run little boy!


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In years past, this course made a figure 8 of sorts through "downtown" Webster and along the Gandy Dancer trail.  Since we headed along that usual path, crossing over the main street of town, I figured we were on track for a repeat again in 2016.  But then we kept going, and going, and going ...

Where the heck is the Gandy trail?! Don't we usually hit that within the first mile of the run?  I thought. 

Am I really running that slowly?  Ugh, if I am, this is going to be one long race. 

Despite my happy start, my internal running narrative was becoming none too chipper.  Trying to keep myself distracted, and to keep my son entertained, I echoed back the excited coos coming from in the stroller (and very likely sounded insane to anyone within ear shot of me).  Thankfully, before I could get into too much of a hate spiral, my watch beeped that I had completed mile one. 

10:40?!  What the heck?!  I never would have expected to run a mile that fast with the ZERO training I've done, especially with the addition of a stroller.  Pat yourself on the back, lady!

Once I cleared the first mile, I realized there must have been a course change for 2016 and my mood vastly improved. 

Since I was making OK time (and also sucking air), I decided to slow for a walk break and debated my pacing strategy for the rest of the run. 

Strategizing was tough.  While I was happy with my 10:40 continuous run on my first mile, and I really would have liked to try to run a continuous third mile in this race, I doubted the viability of being able to make that happen.  Realistically, I knew that the mile I just completed felt hard, and I wasn't sure I could repeat that a second time.  Sure, I could push and potentially peter myself out prior to hitting the finish line ... if I were running alone ... but I had a kid with me that I was responsible for getting to the finish.  Knowing that, I figured another full mile wasn't in the cards for me. 

So, having no real strategy beyond finishing with a decent pace, I followed a rough 3/3 interval for mile two (three minutes running, three minutes walking).  It was during this mile, at where I estimated to be the 1.5 mile mark, that I got a little nervous - I finally passed the 1 mile marker and started to wonder if my GPS was off.  Not to worry, shortly after I passed the 2 mile marker ... so I figure that was just a mistake in sign placement. 

Anyway!  Going back to my race strategy and intervals, remember how I said it was misting and my bug spray was getting washed off?  Take a look at my intervals in mile two versus mile three.

Can you guess what started happening? 

Let's just say ... they don't make mesh running netting in adult sizes.  LOL!

And by the way, you know the bugs are bad when (1) the cops directing race traffic are ALL complaining about it, every time you pass them and (2) the woman at the finish line asks you if you're OK because you're covered in hives from your neck to your ankles.  Seriously, as I'm writing this it's already 3 days post race and I STILL look like I have the chicken pox.  Ugh!

Lucky for me, despite the mobs of mosquitos, I was well into my 3rd mile by now and coming back towards our start point.  Trying to pretend I wasn't getting eaten alive, I waved to my husband and headed towards the final stretch on the school's track.

 

Oh, that reminds me.  When I first entered the field just outside of where the race course joined the track, I was pleasantly surprised to see a 35 on the clock in the distance, and debated if I could pick up the pace and pull off at a 36 and change.  But the harder I pushed, the worse I started to feel.  Not wanting to really overdo it in my victory lap, I decided to just keep a level pace and do my best.

Which takes me to the last photo you see above - right into the finisher's chute, where I was handed TWO of these babies (which were generously provided by an unmentioned donor - ahem):

 

 

 

After finishing the race, my husband greeted me in the stands and was amazed to see a gleeful baby in the stroller.  Unbeknownst to us, he thought cowbells were GREAT and was over the top to hear people ringing them and cheering as more runners came through the chute.  While he giggled away, I grabbed a banana, a bottle of water and a coconut granola bar from the snack table and took a rest on a nearby bleacher.

That's when I saw this:

A dog in a race T and a finisher's medal?!  YES!  I had to take a picture.

In addition to this amazing dog, my husband and I had to chuckle at the chatter amongst the crowd.  We were sitting nearby a man who had just finished walking.  Ready to go home, he was warned by another spectator he couldn't leave yet, since age grade awards were about to begin.  With a loud bellow and a snicker, he proclaimed "Well might as well sign me up for the 100+ category because I'm going to win that goddamn thing!  I'm 73.  Everybody I know is having a heart attack and my doctor says I'm as healthy as a horse!"

I love people who have zero F's to give.  :-D

Shortly thereafter, as I finished my snacks, the top runners were given a second medal for their performances, and we all went home.


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And that's the story of how race bib #73 joined my collection, which if you've been watching makes #2 for baby boy.  Here's to another race soon ... which *gasp* might include my whole fam-damily (me, baby AND husband)! 

Froyo 5K 2016 (Baby's 1st 5K)

 

 

 

Froyo 5K (3.15 miles)

38:04

Average Pace 12:05/mile

Having done two races on my own post baby, I started to think awhile ago ...  maybe it's about time I got baby into his own race?  I mean he is 3 months old now.  Why not?

So in a nutshell, with the promise of a very froyo finish, this is how baby's first 5K was born!


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Let's start this recap by saying, things are getting into a pretty good rhythm for me when it comes to race morning post baby.  I am pleased to be able to say that minimal effort or planning was required the night before or morning of this race, and things day of went off without a hitch.  Quite the pleasant surprise!

I suppose it helped that this race didn't have a gun time until 9 am, and we didn't have to be out the door until 8 am, but whatever.  I'll toot my own horn whenever I can these days, since that's not often.  LOL!

Being that race morning went so smoothly, my family - eek, it's funny to say that, haha - arrived at the race day designated parking lot pretty much right when we planned, just after 8:15am.  And it must have been my lucky day, because even more good vibes seemed to follow us there: the staff at the parking lot was friendly and fast, taking our money and getting us into the ramp without any delay.

Yes, I said money.  Unfortunately parking was $10 cash on race day.  I suppose we could have tried to skirt that by parking in a non-approved location but ... it was for a good charitable cause, so I'm not going to complain. 

I will complain, however, that event organizers chose a ramp that was not handicapped accessible.  How is one supposed to exit a 2nd/3rd story+ parking ramp with a stroller or wheelchair ... via a stairwell?  Hopefully they recognize that flaw and figure out a solution in 2017.  Moving on ...

As far as I can tell, the Froyo 5K/10K was new to Minnesota in 2016.  And conveniently for us, it was slotted to take place in Bloomington as opposed to Minneapolis (or some other equally distant location).  In fact, the course was planned to circle around Normandale Lake - an old stomping ground for my husband in his younger days. 

Since the Froyo is in its first year, and knowing races that feature a food treat at the finish have a tendency to draw large and unruly crowds (ahem, Bacon Chase, ahem), I was figuring organization and check in times would suffer at this race.  Yet, somehow my luck continued, because within minutes of arriving at the check in area we had all our swag and were looking for the rest of our race day party.  Whoop!

Speaking of swag, here it is.

Registration for the 5K included one hat and one pair of mirrored sunglasses.  The overall quality of the swag was so-so, but I did kind of like one of the hidden details inside.

 

 

Since the day was a little on the sunny side, baby asked if he could try out his hat for a second.  I decided he could see if it fit at least and played along. ;-)

 



 

Of course, I couldn't let him wear the hat for the whole race, though.  Wearing your swag on race day?  Not in this family!  LOL!

Post swag pickup, I texted the rest of the crew we were meeting at the race and started pinning on our bibs in preparation for our pre race photo.  You can't see baby's bib in this photo since it was on the front of the racing stroller, but it's there - don't worry.

 

BTW, ignore what some affectionately call my "ghetto purse" in the bottom center of that photo.  A lot of people give me crap for using a zip lock as my purse on race day, but guess what?  When I'm done running, my phone, cards and cash are sweat free.  Can YOU claim that?  Boom.  Redemption.

While we were pinning bibs and taking photos, the rest of our race day crew showed up and we started towards the race corrals.  There, a few minutes before the national anthem played, we took a "before" photo (sorry, this is a little dark, but you get the gist of it):

 

 

Oh, if you can see through the shadows, you may recognize these folks from a few of my previous recaps, such as the Suds Run or Women Run the Cities, as well as others.  They're part of my husband's extended family, and usually down to participate in the occasional race day antics with me.  In other words, they are A-OK with me!

 

After lining up for our pre race photo op, our race crew divided themselves into two camps - we'll call them boys versus girls.  Since the boys were only really there on race day to walk in celebration of boy #3's birthday (boy #3 not being my husband or my son), the girls decided to split off into a faster start corral and test out my fancy GPS watch's 2/1 pacing.



 

Speaking of my GPS watch ... during our discussions on how to split the group, I turned on my GPS watch and waited for it to connect to a signal.  And waited.  And waited ... 

The race organizers played the anthem, released wave 1 of runners, wave 2 of runners  ... still no GPS connection. 

Oh no!  With the rains overnight, the clouds from the storm must have been wreaking havoc on my GPS watch.  I began getting REALLY nervous that my group was depending on my watch to pace us and it was going to fail.

But somehow, my luck of the day hadn't run out.  Just as our wave of runners began the countdown to run, my GPS watch beeped, and by some small miracle (after 10+ minutes of searching) I finally had a signal.  I let out a victorious "Yes!" and did a small fist pump.  We were ready to go.

And just in time.  Bang!  Time to run!


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The morning seemed relatively cool when we started our run, so the four of us "girls" were quite surprised that within our first 2/1 interval or so we were already starting to glisten.  While the pace seemed easy enough to keep and none of us were over extended, we were all starting to sweat.

By mile one, despite a relatively flat course and an even pace, our ever growing "glow" was starting to become obnoxious.  Obviously, the air was still holding a lot of humidity from the overnight rain and it was resurfacing on our skin - blech!  Trying to ignore our dripping, the four of us chatted about various topics as we scurried along.  One of the topics was regarding race swag and how this race didn't give out t-shirts, which is unusual, though we were actually all OK with it - especially me, since I had just cleaned out my closet pre-baby and finally let go of my hoard of race Ts ... to the tune of over 50 shirts donated to Goodwill.  Yes, 50+! 

Remembering this donation made me remark out loud:  "Wow, I must be getting close to 100 races at this point.  I wonder how many I've done?  I should check." 

(Answer: per my year in review for 2015, I have completed 71 races.  When you add in the 2016 completions of Tri U Mah, Rainbow Run, Freedom 5, and this race - I'm up to 75!  While I won't likely hit 100 races this year with the baby keeping me busy, I don't think it's unrealistic to expect I'll be at 100 by next race season.  Let's see if I'm right!)

Aside from talking about our sweat and race Ts, one of the things we discussed on our run was the organization of this race and the course.  First, we all agreed that the race was handled amazingly well, especially because as we ran we started to realize the volume of participants was much larger than we had imagined at the start line (a sure sign of good race management, since we didn't experience any log jams or pushy crowds).  Second, we all thought that the course was pretty, and we liked that a good portion was shaded and relatively flat.

The one challenge we did have was that sometimes the trail was too narrow for the volume of runners, which made passing difficult depending on where we were on the route.  This was easily amended with what the other girls in my group called "duckling formation" (apparently a family tradition of theirs).

And yes, the formation did include quacking.  More than once.  Come on.  Did you really think we wouldn't do something dumb like that with me in tow?

As we scurried along, since my watch beeping wasn't quite loud enough for the whole group to hear, I would occasionally yell out "one minute" and we would all slow down to a brisk walk, or "two minutes" and we would all pick up our pace again.  Although I felt a bit like a drill sergeant and maybe a tad bossy, I have to admit ... I did somewhat enjoy this role.  I mean, how often can you boss around three other people and make them run 3+ miles in the process?  HA!

But like with all good things you enjoy, eventually our run started to draw to a close.  Not that this was a bad thing, because at the 3 mile mark my watch noted a mile split of 12:10 - our fastest mile of the day! 

Hoping for a negative split overall, I crossed my fingers and pushed the crew to the finish ahead of me.  Then I crossed the mat myself, and we all headed to the best part ... the post race froyo.  Which was as delicious as you'd expect.

And yes, if you were wondering, I finally did it.  After 5-6+ years of racing, my first ever genuine negative split!!!

 

Victory at last!  And even sweeter when I got to finish with these two!

  

 

Speaking of finishes, check out the medal at this race:

"What do you mean I can't eat with this thing?!"


---


And that's the story of how race bib #71 joined my collection, and how I hit magic race number 75.  75 races?!?!?!  I can't believe it.  What a milestone to celebrate with baby. 

Here's to another race soon!

24 Hour Relay for Aaron (Runnin With Spidey)

 

 

 

24 Hour Relay for Aaron (10-11pm Hour)

70 Laps, AKA 6.36 miles

Estimated Team Pace 9:26/mile
 

This past Friday, I walked into a room full of strangers and ran in memory of a man I never met.

When I say it like that, it seems incredibly odd. Why would someone do such a thing?  And the truth is, when I was put on the spot about it upon my arrival, I realized it was truly a weird thing to do. 

Let me back track a second. 

I wasn't really put on the spot, and it wasn't entirely a room full of strangers. First off, I had a friend in tow who was going to run with me. And second, I was technically just asked:

"So, how did you know Aaron?"

But that simple question stuck with me the rest of the night. Because I didn't know Aaron, and would now never know him, and yet ... there I was. So I started asking myself why. 

---

Walking into a room full of complete strangers is always somewhat awkward. Even more so when you sort of know someone in the room, but they don't know you at all. I say this because I've been reading the blog Steve in a Speedo for about a year now. So showing up at this event gave me some sort of weird stalker feeling in the pit of my stomach. Even though his presence had nothing to do with my participation what so ever. In fact, I was kind of hoping he would have gone home for the night before I arrived. But no such luck. 

So there I was. With my friend, but feeling incredibly awkward and introducing myself to Steve.

And internally asking myself why was I doing this.

Oh, and also feeling EXTREMELY slow. Seriously, WTF. The relay group the hour prior to us was running mile paces of 5 and 6 minutes. And they were making it look easy.

At least the mood lightened a little when the guy who just ran a 5:08 mile asked where the bathroom was.  Because when he returned in what felt like 30 seconds, someone mingling on the track said "Geeze, he even goes to the bathroom fast."

To which someone else snarked to his wife girlfriend (see correction in comments below) "Soooo... how is he in bed?"

The conversation ended with a perfect response from her "I wouldn't know, we're just friends."

---

Before I knew it, it was time.  The 9-10pm team was KIILLING their last lap at warp speed, and my partner was queuing up to take the baton - er, Spiderman action figure (which was the size of a Barbie doll).  Yes, it's true.  No, I'm not kidding.  That was our "baton".

Thank goodness my partner had volunteered to run the first mile, which was actually per my request given my stupid sore feet and not having run since the Mankato 10K back in October.  I had suggested she start because I wasn't sure how fast I'd be able to "run", or if I'd end up walking, and I wanted to maximize our average speed.  So I figured if she started, we'd at least be able to get 5 miles in total: 3 with her, 2 with me.

Unexpectedly, this plan appeared to have worked out huge in my favor, as it meant I would not have to show my mad slow running skills to this group of elite runners.  Or at least I thought.

(And say what you want, but if you can run a 5-6 minute mile, that's elite in my book.)

Anyway, my friend ran her first mile in something like a 8-9 minute time.  But shit.  The fast runners hadn't left yet.  God damn it, I thought to myself.  I guess that means I have to pretend I can run sort of fast.

And I again internally asked myself why was I doing this.

But there was no time for hesitation, I was committed and I had to do it.  So, I grabbed the Spiderman and away I went, with a little pep talk of course: move fast, light on the feet, don't make an ass of yourself now...

---

Aretha Franklin.  Stevie Nicks.  The Spiderman "baton" telling me I "have a face only a mother could love".  I was being assaulted by sounds I had never heard while running, and would likely never hear while running again.

But mixed into the chorus of sounds?  Cheering. Encouragement.  From the fast people.  They were encouraging me.

And I again internally asked myself why was I doing this.

But before I could contemplate it too long, I was done.  Somehow, I cranked out a mile at just over 10 minutes.  How, I don't know.  It was some sort of voodoo magic, that's all I could figure.

---

Eventually, the fast folks left.  And although I could sense some hesitation from Steve, as it seemed he wanted to stay all night, he eventually left as well.  It was down to my friend and I. 

Not too slow, but nice and steady, we tallied up lap after lap. 

And I again internally asked myself why was I doing this.  So, on my turns running, I thought about how young Aaron was, and how much it sucks to know someone in their 30's could die so young ... and leave their wife and child behind. 

I thought about a friend of mine, also in her 30's, who fought melanoma of the eye last year just to find out the week after Thanksgiving that it has resurfaced on her liver. 

I thought about the odd coincidence that on the morning of this relay, two more deaths had entered my life: my husband's uncle died of a sudden and unexpected heart attack, and my relay partner's long time family friend was laying in a hospital bed, brain dead from a terrible fall in her own home.

Despite these thoughts spinning in my head, I couldn't help but smile too.  How could I not?  My partner and I looked ridiculous.  And we were running/dancing to an odd compilation of doo-wop and 70's rock which was being piped into the gym below where they were cleaning up after a gymnastics event.  Not to mention, we were running in continuous circles carrying a talking Spiderman doll.

---

Somehow, the miles were flying by.  I completed my second mile, our fourth as a team, and handed off to my friend.  Shortly after our transition, the 11pm-1am group showed up (they had a large head count and were going to fill two hours worth of the relay). 

Oh great.  I realized it was another group of EXTREMELY fast runners, and it was my time to run again.

And I again internally asked myself why was I doing this.  But before I could even doubt myself - cheering, encouragement.  From another group of fast people.  They were genuinely excited to see the baton passed, regardless of my speed.

---

Finally, our time was winding down.  The clock was showing 10:56.  My partner took Spidey for one last time.  At 11:00.16, she finished her 4th lap.  At 11 laps per mile, and three full miles covered by each of us individually, with her last 4 laps we had hit 70 laps total.  Something I thought was inconceivable not even 60 minutes prior.

And then there it went - the Spidey doll had left our hands, and the entire group of runners took off for their first lap, welcoming Spidey into their possession.  And instead of running, we cheered.  And took photos for them.  And cheered some more.

But alas, it was well after 11pm, and my bed was calling.  So we wished them luck, waved goodbye, and headed for home.

---

The next morning, as I lazily climbed out of bed and started getting ready for my day, I again asked myself why I did this.

And I realized something.

Here's why.

Because I guarantee you read this whole post going, where the hell are all the pictures she usually posts in her recaps? 

In the thousands of words above, I could say a million things.  I could have good intentions to the heavens and back.  But until I show you I actually did it, does it really mean anything?

Team Skin and Bones.  We did it.

And yes, we DID do something.  We found out that something shitty happened to someone.  And we tried to make a difference.

We didn't just sit at home and click like on a Facebook status.

We didn't just say to ourselves "Gee, that's too bad."

We got up off our ass and said - they are asking for help, and we can offer it.  So we did.

---

So now I ask you - what are you going to do?

http://www.youcaring.com/medical-fundraiser/24-hour-relay-for-aaron/270922
 

AH! A BEAR!

Thanks to this blog, I don't know if I'll ever be able to trail run again... I'm having flash backs to my bike ride at the cabin last summer and my own black bear encounter. 

 

Scary!!

 

 

Run100 - ULTIMATE CHALLENGE, Part Two

For those of you who didn't catch it last Friday morning, in May I threw down with a fellow run club member in an effort to finish our 100 mile goal.

Somehow, in the process of doing so, I ended up needing to change the name of this post from EPIC BATTLE to...

"The One Where I Do A Beer Mile"

I dunno how I talk myself into these things.  But here's a photo journey of my 100th mile, done and done.

 

First up, my bike.  Refer to my Facebook status for more details...

 

 

 

 

Yeah, I should be running, and given the flat, I almost didn't bike... but I worked it out.

Besides, I couldn't exactly drive home from what was about to follow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

True story, I biked to the start with that on my back.

 

 

 

 

Title this: Before.

I wore my skull shirt to look intimidating.  That's my tough guy face...

which apparently doesn't really work given my competitor's smile.

Or, maybe he's laughing because his wife just got done pulling splinters out of my butt.

That's what happens when you sit on a wooden bench in running tights.

 

 

 

 

Ok, ok.  Down to business.

Line 'em up and... go!

 

 

 

 

First lap down.   Time to drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clearly I am the better beer drinker.

And the better burper - I worked it out each lap, that's for sure!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming in for the final mile...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 It's a photo finish!

 

 

 

 

 

 

And - end scene.

An Epic Battle ... laid to rest via running and beer.