Bandits

Last night I went to a party for a friend who was turning 40. It was a surprise arranged by her husband. It was really nice. I hope she felt special.

While I was there, I started talking to a runner I hardly ever see anymore. She’s really gifted and can show up to run a 3:15 on no training. Or what she professes to be no training. I asked her about her last marathon and she said it was Marine Corps. She asked about my next one and I told her Memphis. Then I told her how I had to raise $500 to get in. She said “Oh, I am not going to do that. I just go to Kinkos and copy the number.” I know she did that for Boston a few years ago and I remember when I crossed the finish line at Boston they were completely out of food. I was really hungry and I blame the bandits for stealing my food.

I try to be accepting of different perspectives and realize that not everyone holds the same decision making process as I do. I know anybody can back into trouble. But I just can’t figure out how running as a bandit is OK. It is stealing. And we aren’t talking about a seven year old stealing a Bazooka from the corner store. This is big stealing. Race entry fees are often close to $100. They need this money to keep the race supplied and a going concern. I am dumbfounded.

The Voice of God

I don’t know what I could do if I couldn’t run. My morning routine is pretty predictable. I get up early. I putter getting ready for the day a little bit and meet my first running buddy at 5. She and I run through the dark streets to meet the others one by one before we head up to the canal.

This is absolutely my favorite time of day. I love my buddies. They allow me to share my anxiety. They share useful bits of information I might have missed. I can’t count the number of times I have said “That’s tomorrow?! Thanks for the reminder. I totally forgot.” They share their humanity and allow me to share mine. After we are done and I am running home alone, I make a small gratitude list of the gifts in my life. It’s a great way to start the day.

It has turned a little cooler this week and I have been wearing long sleeves and running tights. For the first mile I regret not having gloves, but then I am glad I don’t have to worry about losing them as I would take them off and tuck them in my waistband. I love the feel of the cooler air as it fills up my lungs. I feel like I could run forever. Yesterday I was feeling so strong, I put in an extra three miles after the last of my buddies had gone home. Usually, we run about five miles. Often, running makes me feel like I could do anything. It makes me feel strong and in control. I feel ready for any challenge and was thinking my new motto must be “Bring it!”

But on Sunday, as I stepped out of the hospital room and got just down the hall, I wasn’t so sure. Thoughts of God, thoughts of being strong and in control, were the furthest thing from my mind. I felt lost. Alone in the woods and cold. Vulnerable, which is the opposite of the way running makes me feel. “Help!” was what I wanted to scream, but I didn’t know who would hear me. I didn’t want anyone to hear me.

Later, I felt as if I were standing at the beginning of a dark and scary path. The helplessness set in full force. The tears streamed down my face and I couldn’t stop as I muffled my face to no one would hear me. I remember the time when I as little and my dad cried about his mother dying years earlier. I was amazed. I didn’t know my dad could hurt so much. He always seemed so strong and in control. It made me very very sad.

Unlike Robert Frost’s whimsical musing about which path to take in the yellow wood, I had one path before me and I did not want to take a step. I was just as scared and just as frozen as the time I was stuck in the Betatakin Indian ruins at the Navajo National Monument. Literally paralyzed with fear.

I suspect it is in these times when God looks with softness and says “I will provide a lamp so you can see just a little bit of the way down the path and it won’t be so scary.” Like a running light shows just the path ahead so you won’t stumble. Acceptance is the answer. Even though it feels like hitting the wall, accepting that the only way out is through. The only way to get to the finish line is to take the next step. Even though it might ease the pain to walk for a bit.

This morning when I got back from my run, in the darkness I noticed a stack of mail next to my front door. Funny, I had been so busy the day before I had forgotten all about the mail. I scooped up the flat package and some other mail to take inside where I could see. My sister sent me a chocolate advent calendar from Victoria, Canada. I laughed out loud because I could hear the voice of God saying “And I’ll pack some sandwiches so you won’t be hungry.”

Fundraising

I have decided to join my friends doing athletic events to raise money for worthy causes. The cause I chose is St Jude’s Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. My fundraising goal is a modest, yet daunting $500. Any donation is gratefully accepted. Please visit: http://www.mystjudeheroes.org/auntfun

Thank you.

Quitter

I woke up this morning and I decided to quit my quest to run a marathon in every state. Nebraska was staring back at me from my closet door where I color in each state I have run and it was pure white. I didn’t run Nebraska and it was there on the map taunting me. Calling me a failure. In my defense, I had the flu and I could no more have run a marathon that day than shuffled out to check the mail. But there it was reminding me of the money I’d spent on nothing.

I will fall short of my goal this year. I feel like I do when I set a goal to run a marathon in under four hours, but I pass the twenty mile mark in over three fifteen. There is usually no way I can make up the time and I spend the last six miles kicking myself and rehashing the first twenty, wondering where I could have sped it up. Here I am in early October with almost three months left to go in the year watching my goal slip through my fingers with no idea what to do about it. And questioning my stupid goal. If it was really important, wouldn’t I strive for it to the exclusion of all else? Am I really balancing all the other priorities in my life or am I, at the core, just a quitter?

We have a phenomenal athlete on our cross country team. She has fans. Yesterday at a meet she didn’t attend, several of her fans came up to meet her. I must say I was disappointed by the lack of graciousness some of her teammates showed to the fans, but this is heady stuff for anyone, let alone the teenage teammates of a phenom. I offered to record a video greeting of the girls for the phenom. They were delighted. Do we need fans in order to run? Or are the fans a result of doing what you know you were meant to do and doing it well?

One of the coaches from another team said that if you weren’t in it to win, it wasn’t worth doing. I respectfully disagreed with him. I said “If I only ran the races I thought I would win, I would never show up at anything.” And I started to wonder… Why show up at all? Maybe that’s why I thought I would quit. But life fully lived is in the mundanity of every day living. God’s will is showing up and doing the next right thing.

I have signed up for 9 marathons this year (10 if you count Iowa in a few weeks) and I have only run 7. I decided that next year I am going to keep a spreadsheet and write down all the money I spend on marathons – the airfare, hotel, registration – including those I run and those I pay for but don’t run so I can get an accurate picture of how much money I am spending on this quest. I guess this means I am not quitting after all. Stupid quest.

Run with the Horses Marathon Race Report

Short form: Wyoming – CHECK!

Long form:

If I hadn’t already bought the plane tickets and had my sister coming, I would have stayed home. Some injuries to my feet (completely unrelated to running) have kept me off them for weeks. I had barely run at all since San Francisco last month. But, it was my sister’s birthday and she was flying in and it was Wyoming… I still regret not going to Texas when Mary was sick. Not sure bundling her up for a long car ride would have been a good idea, but I wonder if there could have been a better solution than the one I chose at the time.

So, with trepidation, I packed my bags on Friday morning and headed to the airport. In the back of my mind, I thought my experience with previous marathons might just pull me through. Muscle memory and all that.

It wasn’t a long flight to Salt Lake City and when we got there we didn’t have too much trouble finding the rent-a-car counter. The young man behind the counter told me with a tinge of disgust, the same way I talk about palm kernal oil, that we had a Chevy Cobalt. The implication was obvious – I should upgrade. I had no idea what a Cobalt was, but I just wanted the cheapest.

The drive over was uneventful. I felt like we climbed to a higher elevation coming out of Salt Lake City and never went down again. Green River, Wyoming sits at just over 6,000 feet. Turns out, our hotel is at mile 2 (and 24) of the marathon course, so my sister and I decided to drive the course. It is on the Wild Horse Loop and we thought we might see some wild horses. From the hotel, it is pretty much uphill until past mile 5. There is a 1200 foot elevation gain in this marathon and I suspect 1100 of it is between mile 2 and 5. It was dusty. There was no shade. Despite the 6:30 start, I suspected this run would be hot. It’s a good thing I am from Phoenix and accustomed to this, I thought.

At the “expo” – which was just a packet pick up – we got really cool race shirts/jackets. It is a bright yellow that will be easy to see on those cold dark morning runs in the winter. This is a very nice shirt, especially for such a low priced marathon. Then we went to the art fair and shrimp boil. I don’t think shrimp is the best pre-race meal, but it was the thing to do. I like getting the local flavor out of the marathon experience. We met other Maniacs and 50 Staters and it was fun. Afterwards, we went back to the hotel and I slept better than I have in weeks.

Race morning I got up and got dressed, still unsure of what the day would hold. Could I make it all 26.2 miles? My foot was not quite healed. I hadn’t run. Doubts filled my head. I showed up anyway. It wasn’t too cool a morning, although it had been predicted that it would be 50 at the start, it didn’t feel that cold to me. I left my gloves and sweatshirt in the car. I brought along Bruce’s iPod because I couldn’t find mine and I thought I might be alone out there for a long time. I wanted something to listen to. There was a line painted on the road, someone shouted “GO!” and we were off. 140 marathoners, a bunch of half-marathoners and some running the 10K.

In the first mile, we passed a house where two women were standing inside looking out the window at us. Each had a beer in her hand. I thanked God I was on the outside of that window. Then we climbed up and over a bridge that took us over the railroad tracks in the Union Pacific yard. The bridge appeared to be made of concrete and steel, but it bounced like the bridge at Tom Sawyer’s Island and I was scared I would lose my footing.

My first mile was 9:15. Was this a sustainable pace? Too fast? Too slow? My breathing was still getting adjusted to the altitude. I was unsure what the next mile would hold. At mile 2 the pavement ended and the uphill began. I was trading places with some women who were running then walking, running then walking. I decided that I would walk from mile 3 to mile 4. I put in the ear buds and turned on the iPod. This was not my music mix, but I thought it would be interesting. Eric Clapton was first, followed by Surfin’ USA. I removed the iPod.

I started talking to a woman from the Genome Project at Washington University in St Louis. I told her about Girls Have IT Day and asked her if they had outreach. She said yes and told me about their summer intern program for high school students. I have to remember to look that up. This woman was sponsored by Anhauser-Busch to come out here and give out their energy drink at the finish. She’s run a bunch of marathons, but today was only doing the half as she was targeting Disney in January. I enjoyed talking to her. Along the way, we’d started running again. I wondered if I would just turn around with her at the half turn around or if I could really go 26.2 miles.

About mile 6, now on rolling dirt road, we passed some guys who were talking about San Francisco. They were Maniacs and I adjusted my pace to talk to them. They were from the Seattle area and Denver. Denver had run San Francisco and I enjoyed talking to him about our experiences. It sounds like we had a similar experience, but Denver has run many more marathons than I have, so this was not his first time at SF. We ran a little faster than Seattle, so he dropped back. We weren’t setting any speed records, but I enjoyed having someone to talk to and this wasn’t my day for speed records.

The half turn around came and went. We were 1/4 of the way through the marathon and my watch said 1:15. This was going to be a long day, I thought, but it was all ok. I was ready for a long day. Denver and I stopped at every aid station and chatted with the volunteers. They weren’t handing out cups like they do at other races, but they were setting them on the table for us to pick up. It was conducive to chatting.

A woman driving a car and ringing a cow bell was cheering for Val, whoever that was. Her car had “Go Val Go” written in the dust. Then I saw a man with “Go Val Go” on the back of his shirt. Denver and I told him how much we enjoyed his cheering squad. He ignored us. He was wearing ear buds and I could hear the music blaring. I told Denver that he couldn’t hear us because his music was too loud. We would find out later that he was indeed hard of hearing and had left his hearing aids out for the marathon. His one woman cheering squad told us that’s why she used a cow bell – so he could hear her.

Denver asked if my sister was behind us or in front of us. I said she was way in front of us and we’d probably be seeing her soon. I suspected that she would already be at the turn around. The first woman to come past us looked tired and she was sweating profusely. My sister was not too far back and she looked fresh and ready to go. I thought “She’s right where she wants to be.”

At the half turn around, Denver remarked on the buffet. There were chips, M&Ms, fruit and all sorts of stuff. Two hours and thirty-five minutes had passed since the start. He’d been encouraging me to go on without him every time he had to stop and walk, but I was enjoying our run together and I thought it was helping me not get injured. I have trouble setting appropriate limits for myself. This was good. I thought I might leave him at mile 16 and run in, but at mile 16 I was feeling nauseous and I didn’t want to run ahead. I just wanted to finish.

We saw what people told us were wild horses, but they could have been anything they were so far away. A sheriff rolled by in a pickup and shouted something to us. We both said something like “OK!” and then simultaneously turned to each other and asked “What did he say?”

Somewhere along the way I learned that Denver’s name was Craig. We stopped and read the signs at the overlooks. I don’t think Craig minded the break and I had promised myself the day before on our course tour that I would stop and read them. We saw bands of white and brown in the distant hills. The signs told us that the brown was oil shale and Craig worried out loud about the folly of extracting the oil.

He saw the sheriff at the side of the road and stopped to ask what he had said. Turns out there was a big rattlesnake in our way. We missed it.

One hot dusty mile after another we made progress to the end. I was tired, but nothing felt injured. The blood I had anticipated to be pouring out of my left toe was not. All was well. I think I talked too much. Part of me was just focused on telling stories to fill the time and focus on something besides any pain or tiredness I felt. In retrospect, I should have asked more questions.

At the finish, I saw my sister with a nice award hanging around her neck. Turns out she finished second, but the woman who beat her got a rolling aid station at mile 18. For the last 8 miles of the race, where my sister had anticipated wearing her down by making her rush through the quaint aid stations, the rival had aid handed to her out the window of an SUV and she didn’t need to stop. We debate over whether she knows this is against USATF rules or not. My sister is prone to giving her the benefit of the doubt. I just say she cheated.

That afternoon my sister and I went to get moose burgers (well, she was going to have one, I was going to have the veggie option) but it turns out I was duped. The moose burgers were made of beef. We washed the car because we didn’t want the car rental company knowing we drove on a dirt road and there appeared to be a horse shoe nail in the front tire. And we attempted to climb up the hill to the giant GR on the hillside, but there were signs warning us of a $200 fine for doing so. Thankfully (because I was wearing flip flops) we stayed on the valley floor.

The horse shoe nail was a rock. We had a nice little run this morning and everything was working. I’m set for running with my team tomorrow. And our plane was on time. All in all, a very nice road trip. A very nice finishers medal. And a very nice Wyoming.

Missoula Marathon Race Report

Short form:  3:48, second best marathon time yet

Long form:  We had a nice dinner the night before with all the kids, Mary, Cliff and Tony at an Italian restaurant in Missoula whose name I have forgotten.  Cafe Mambo, maybe.  There were a gaggle of other marathoners there and Cliff had wisely made a reservation for us.  Afterwards we walked to Bernice’s Bakery so Mary could get her requisite piece of chocolate cake.

Marathon morning I woke up at 3:30 AM thinking, yet again, “Why am I doing this?!”  I questioned my sanity, which seems to be dangling on a thinner thread as I get older.  After I got ready, Bruce walked me to the bus.  Our hotel was located rather close to everything we wanted to do.  We did a lot of walking in Missoula.  The bus ride to the start took forever.  I was sure he’d made a wrong turn, or missed our turn entirely.  At the start, Mary connected with old friends, but I didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

The gun was terribly loud and I was lucky to get to the start just seconds before it went off.  We ran the first nine miles past beautiful farm land and a paper pulp mill, which I found interesting.  The pacer for the 3:50 pace group was driving me crazy, so I set my goal to beat her.  I ran for many miles with Kim, a local woman who was running her first marathon.  She ended up placing in our division and beating me by over 10 minutes!  What a great first marathon!  She has a farm in Missoula and I enjoyed chatting with her.  At around 10 miles or so, she was feeling very good and decided to speed up.  But by then I had found Ed, a 37 year old from Idaho.  His goal was 3:40 and we seemed well matched.  He had served in the middle east like my brother and he had four kids about the same ages as mine.  He was good company for much of the marathon.

At around the halfway point, we turned into a wooded area and ran up a hill.  Ouch that hill took more than I thought it should.  I loved the downhill that followed.  The last ten miles or so were through neighborhoods that I didn’t find as interesting as the farm land.  Maybe because the last five miles were tougher than I thought they should be.  I had lost the spring in my step.  I had tried to take Gu every five miles so I wouldn’t bonk, and I didn’t, but my stomach wasn’t happy at all.  It was hot.  I was sighing a lot and wishing for the end.  Much to my pleasant surprise, the end wasn’t where I thought I was, it was closer by two blocks!  That felt great!  My boys were there to cheer me on at the finish.  My sister was stunned to see me.  Her goal had been to beat me by an hour and here it was just 29 minutes after she finished.  That was fun.

The volunteers were great all the way along the race.  The course marshals did a fantastic job with traffic control and telling us where to go.  The drinks were plentiful and there were even two gel stops, although I carry my own, it was nice to see.  The half marathon walkers, who were on the same course, were very nice about moving over when I shouted “On your left!”  (I had little lateral movement left and they were often spread four and five across making it difficult to pass them.) The only bad part was at the end.  There was no plain water at the finish, just flavored water and I really sincerely just wanted plain water.  I would absolutely recommend Missoula to any marathoner.  Nice town.  Lots of fun.  Well done race.

Later in the afternoon, my sister, Charlie and I hiked up the mountain behind the football stadium to the M.  I have pictures of it somewhere and will try to remember to add them later.  It was fun and a great way to recover.  I don’t feel sore at all.  Ready for SFM in 10 days!

Fort Collins Marathon Race Report

Short Form: Colorado…CHECK!

Long Form:
Bruce and I flew up on Saturday. Excited but filled with trepidation. Neither one of us had had the training we’d hoped for due to myriad reasons. Arriving at the Denver airport, the counter clerk at Avis tried to “up sell” me to a full size car – which would give me more head room and comfort – I stuck with the sub-compact, which turned out to be a Toyota Yaris. The Yaris is a lot like the ‘Cho and I felt right at home.

When we got to the hotel in Fort Collins, a light rain had started to fall. The expo was modest, but everyone was friendly and helpful. When we got to our room, I decided to check out the results from last year. The female winner was Mercedes Gil, a local gal who would be 47 now. She ran a 3 hour marathon last year and was far and away faster than the rest of the field. There were other women in my age group who ran faster than I expected to, but not a whole bunch of them. Depending on who showed up, I could be competitive. I went downstairs and asked if Mercedes was running this year. She was not. I tried not to freak myself out getting concerned with competition. I wasn’t in shape to be competitive.

The rain grew heavier and colder. I wondered if we would find ourselves at the start in the snow. I decided not to bring my camera with me. I didn’t sleep well. I never do before a marathon. But thank God for podcasts. I listened to queued up episodes of the Wall Street Journal Tech Briefing. I knew 3:15 AM would come awfully early – especially since it was really 2:15 Phoenix time.

When the alarm went off, there was a very light drizzle outside. We drove to the busses that left from near the finish line. I had looked up the race on Marathon Maniacs and there were supposed to be six to eight Maniacs in this race. Turns out, Bruce and I, both Maniacs, were seated with two other Maniacs on the bus. It was fun chatting as we drove through the darkness to the start.

The start was cold, but it wasn’t raining at all and it wasn’t too cold. Bruce and I got separated, but I found myself talking to other women who wanted to run about four hours. One of them, Rachael, would run with me for almost the entire first half of the race. She’s from Denver and spent her college years playing soccer. She was very nice. The scenery was beautiful. A raging river off to my left, mountains going up both sides of the canyon we were running through. Clear, crisp blue sky. Rachael kept saying she was going to slow down, but she never did. She ended up finishing ten minutes ahead of me. I was feeling good, but I didn’t want to pay for running too fast later. My first half was 1:56. Including three minutes in porta potty lines. TMI?

The Colorado Marathon at Fort Collins has a marathon, half marathon and 5K all run on the same course at the same time. The bib numbers were different colors, but bibs were worn on the front, so without being able to see the numbers, I kept wondering when we would come upon some half marathoners.

At about half way, I met Norma. She was a local mom, 43, running her first ever marathon. She was easy to talk to and we held a strong pace. It felt really good running with her. Like running with Susie on days when we are both in the groove and just stretch it out. Her family cheered for her at mile 16, then drove ahead to cheer for her later.

At about mile 17, I passed Bruce. He can write his own race report.

Then there was a hill. An uphill. Norma walked. I kept powering through it. At the top, I wanted to puke. The nausea reminded me of being pregnant. I didn’t like it. I wondered if it was the altitude taking affect on me. We ran through a park with a river for most of the last 10K. At one point, we ran over a long bridge that shook like a suspension bridge. The experience exacerbated my nausea.

Norma got a pacer. She was going to be very close to a BQ. At mile 22, she was just 30 seconds off pace. Norma and her pacer went on ahead. I was unable to keep up. I was digging deep. My muscles were screaming at me. Every step made the one spot I neglected to lube with Vaseline stab with pain. I wanted to throw up. And I would have if I thought it would help, but I feared that once I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. One step at a time. Noiseless steps. Don’t drag that right foot even though the hamstring was a mess. I really must go back to physical therapy.

I tried to say encouraging things to the people I passed or who passed me. Another woman had a spry, fit looking pacer who said to both of us “You can do this! Just one mile left! Anybody can run a mile! ANYBODY!” I know that isn’t true. Not everybody can run a mile. But I could. And I would finish as strong as I possibly could. I did not want to be passed in the last mile by some woman who would place and I wouldn’t. I didn’t mind if I finished like Friesan Fire, but I didn’t want to do it in the last mile.

After we passed mile 26, we turned for the finish. It seemed to take forever. Suddenly, there was a woman next to me and she was accelerating. “Not today!” I said to myself and I kicked it into high gear. I prayed the race would end before I threw up. She gave up pretty easily and suddenly she wasn’t there anymore. I kept running as strong as I could all the way across the finish line. I finished in 3:55, which was just what I thought I would run.

A kind young man wanted to take off my chip. I said “Only if I can hang on to you.” He asked if I was ok. “Yeah” I answered, hoping that I wouldn’t throw up on him has he got my chip. I got my finisher’s medal and it sure looks nice. I grabbed a water bottle and walked back up the course to try to find Bruce. I found him at about 25.8 and ran in with him to the finish. We found the posted results and learned I was second in my age group.

And Colorado is in the books.