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.”

Tech tools

My coach suggested I lose weight if I want to run a 3:37 marathon. My coach also suggested that I stop saying I needed to run a 3:38 marathon because the truth is if I see 3:38 on the clock as I am approaching the finish, I have missed it. Unlike Boston, New York doesn’t count the seconds. It has to be 3:38:00 or less.

My coach suggested I get the SparkPeople app to track my intake. I wonder if Coach can see what I am eating? Today is the first day I have kept track and to date, due to a user error, it is a work of fiction. I did not have one cup of blueberries for lunch but I did have two ounces of mango juice and two chocolate samples at Costco so the calorie count is probably about the same.

I have yet to run but the chores and weekly shopping are done. The library books are back where they belong and I have new tunage on my iPhone. Time to go! I don’t have a plan from my coach yet so I suspect I can run as far as I darn well please. I wonder what that will be today?

I wrote a recommendation for a student this week and as I was reflecting on her I remembered an early morning in a remote parking lot last year following practice when the head coach was describing the next cross country challenge she said confidently “Bring it!”. I think that will be my new motto. I’m ready, Coach. Bring it!

Run for Maggie’s Place Race Report

Short form: 44:13 (7:54 per mile)

Long form:
Got there early. Way early. These shorter races are so much different than a marathon! Found a Starbucks using Yelp. Enjoyed a short mocha. Took notes on my iPhone. Walked back to the start. Still way early, but I started to see some of my girls. This was a mandatory race for my cross country squad and 7 out of 11 girls showed up, which is about what I have come to expect. There were other girls from school there and some parents I really enjoy, so I had fun visiting before the start. I had a challenge on with the girls: for anyone who beat me, I would donate an extra $10 to Maggie’s Place. This could be an expensive day for me. I didn’t have the best training week.

The girls lined up at the start, but near the back. I nudged my way forward. I didn’t want to be weaving around people. Two grandmas were in front of me and they didn’t have a fast vibe. The man in front of them turned around and said “Mom, you really should line up in back.” The two women reluctantly left. He did the right thing. I was struggling with my typical pre-race jitters. Finally, the race started and I was passing people left and right in the first mile, but there were no mile markers. When I caught a guy in a yellow shirt and started to pass him, he said “It doesn’t seem fair that you have to work so much harder to get just as far.” What on earth was he talking about? It dawned on me that he was calling me short. “In my mind I am tall.” I answered. He said “I have been listening to your cadence and you are really working hard.” First of all, at this point in a race, my footfalls are as quiet as can be and second of all, I was feeling fine. I knew in my heart there was no way I was going to let Mr Yellow Shirt beat me today. No chance at all. I zipped ahead of him.

At the start the announcer had warned us to be on the look out for envelopes on the course containing free entries for next year. So, it was a combination 9K run and treasure hunt. I wanted an envelope. Just past what I think was mile one, I saw one in a bush to the left. There was a woman in front of me, but she ran right by it. I snatched it out of the bush and held it in the air before folding it to carry for the rest of the way. I found out later that the envelope contained TWO free entries for next year. This will help pay for my runners who can’t afford it.

Mr Yellow Shirt caught me at the sharp turn to head North on Priest Drive. He engaged me in conversation for several miles. I kept trying to ask questions. I didn’t know what our pace was, but at this pace, I couldn’t talk. As long as he was going to hang with me, I was going to make him work for it. At what I thought was about 2/3 of the way through the race, he glanced at his Garmin and said “We are going faster than I wanted to today. We’re running 7:45s right now, but at one point earlier it was 7:15.” I figured he could either hang tough or back off. Up the hill, I tried to think like a gazelle and Mr Yellow Shirt was lost. I didn’t have much left and I didn’t know the course well enough to know where to pour it on. There wasn’t another woman close enough to me to motivate me to speed it up. The few people cheering on the course let me know how close the person was behind me because I could hear them cheering for him or her. This helped me make sure I beat Mr Yellow Shirt. I knew he was behind me, but I didn’t know how far. No one passed me in the last mile.

I know next year, one of the cross country runners is going to beat me, but I managed to hold on this year. The awards were only for the top three over all. I missed third place by two minutes, which I suppose is better than a handful of seconds. As I mused about my time, I realized that in order to qualify for New York, I will have to hold near this pace for 33 more kilometers than I did today. That seems impossible at this moment.

Iron Girl

I ran 12 miles this morning in 1:45. That’s an average pace of 8:45 per mile. I know the miles I was running with Claire were faster than some of the others and they were hilly miles. And they felt good. Some of the other miles were slower. I told my buddies this morning that I was thinking about running the Iron Girl 10 miler again this year. They were thinking about it, too! I didn’t tell them that I looked up the results from last year and in my age group, an 8 minute per mile pace would place. The prizes are little necklaces and I want one.

The week before that is the 5.6 mile run for Maggie’s Place that my girls are running. I guess that will be a good test to see if I have 8 minute miles in me. I am excited to be running this short stuff again.

Lucky in Love

I love running. Mostly I love running. Except on mornings when I am running alone and my brain mites have taken over. “You can’t do it.” they tell me. “Just stay in bed.” “Run later.” If I am lucky enough to have rationality win over the brain mites and I put my running shoes on and get out there, usually I feel better. Unless the brain mites launch an insurgency. “Isn’t that your IT band that’s hurting?” “Ouch! Your ankles! You can’t run on sore ankles. You might as well go home.” To combat the brain mites, I try to run with other people who get me thinking about something besides the ongoing dialog in my head.

This morning I was facing the prospect of running alone. I set up the Map My Run app on my new iPhone. At least that would be fun. I headed out the door listening to tunes on my iPhone and hoping the new app was working. I stopped to check it at about half a mile. It said I was running at a 14 minute mile pace. I knew I was slow, but not that slow! Stinkin’ iPhone app. I began running again and by mile 1 it said I was running at an 8:23 pace. That’s better.

By three miles, the brain mites were winning and I thought I might just retrace my steps and go home. I ran up to the meeting spot for tomorrow’s cross country workout for no reason at all, but as I was running back, I saw a guy and two girls run past the street lights down by the canal. That has to be Frank and Theresa, I thought, and I sprinted to catch up with them. They were running with Cindy, who I had never met. She was nice – younger and faster than I am. Frank is just back to running after 8 months off with an injury, so he was only running 10 miles. They hit their turn around sooner than I expected. But, lucky for me, Theresa is training for Ironman and had to put in 6 more miles.

It was hot and muggy as soon as it was light, but we managed to slog through it. Theresa makes me run a little faster than I would have on a day like today and that is a good thing. We picked up another runner who I saw last week who is also training for Ironman. He wants to improve his running because it is his “weak link.” He buys a Coke at his turn around and I am dying to tell him how bad that is for him, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t have any data on the deleterious effects of drinking Coke, but just reading the label is all I need to know.

I ended the day happy with 15 miles. My iPhone App died somewhere after 8 miles (the last time I checked) and I didn’t really care. I won’t use it again. It’s too much technology for a run. Too distracting. Like bringing a generator on a camping trip to the woods.

I know I am lucky to be able to run. I know I am lucky to be able to overcome the brain mites. I know I am lucky to actually enjoy running once I get out there and have company. My body doesn’t fail me, just my brain. For some people, running is more of a struggle. My friend Alan finds that he isn’t a natural runner, but knows that when he does run, it enables him to manage his diabetes more effectively. He writes a terrific blog http://dommy.com/ihaterunning/ and he is raising money for diabetes research, education, and support at: http://bit.ly/3hSxyN I am not raising money but, if you, dear reader, are so inclined, I ask you to support Alan. He allows me to see that I should never take running for granted.

Passing the torch

My closet floor is cluttered with old running shoes I can’t bear to part with, my Boston drop bag, Brooks shoe boxes and other detritus of a Marathon Maniac. There was also a bag filled half full with excess swag I picked up at conferences, marathon expos, and through the generous donations of people I asked for give-away goodies. I use them as prizes for my kids running team. Every time we met, at the end of our run, I would pull out my Brooks shoe box containing slips of paper. Each slip held a child’s name. You must be present to win.

“Let me pick this time, Mrs. Wyman!” “Can I pick, Coach?” They gathered around me like little birds in the nest begging to be fed the latest worm. Depending on the day, I might ask one of the kids who could read to draw the name. If I had a lot of prizes in my bag and a lot of kids in front of me, we would draw another name. If there were still a few minutes before the bell rang, we would draw another name. The kids who were lucky enough to have their name drawn would dive into the bag looking for the perfect prize. I kept about ten prizes in the bag at any one time. If these winners had to go through all the swag to find their perfect prize, we would still be out there waiting. This was coveted swag.

I don’t want to say I had favorites on the team. Each kid on the team was special. Although there were often close to 70 kids aged from four to eleven on the team, at workouts we usually had 40 to 50. Sometimes fewer if it was really cold. There was one boy who ran with us every year for the past five years. When he started, he had to wear leg braces. Big white molded plastic contraptions that strapped on with wide Velcro straps. He hated his leg braces. He didn’t want anyone to see the tears that would form in the corners of his eyes at the thought of his ugly leg braces. I imagine they were painful, but I never asked. The neat thing about this kid was that every single time I saw him on campus, which was just about every day, his face would light up and he would ask “Do we get to run today, Mrs. Wyman?” He needed no swag. For him, running was swag.

Last year, my youngest son spent most of the time curled up on the ground crying. It was a tough year for him. His Tourettes was coming into full flower. He wanted 100% of my attention, but I couldn’t give it to him if I was coaching. I figured my turn as coach was coming to an end. I didn’t enjoy coaching with my son crumpled on the ground crying. I couldn’t coach if I was helping him. It was time to give someone else a turn as coach.

On Sunday, I pushed the shoes aside and hidden underneath the dresses I never wear was the swag bag. I put it in my car and dropped it off at the new coach’s house. I miss the swag bag. Running is swag for me, too, but so is running with the kids.

Serially Misunderstood

Thanks to the amazing tools offered by WordPress, I learned that someone has linked to me in their blog! Wow! Readership! Fans! They like me. They really like me.

Not so fast. I went and read the blog that linked to mine. It was written by a half marathoner in San Francisco. He said that I whined a lot! What?! Finishing a full marathon is hard work. That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it, but I accuse anyone who says a marathon isn’t hard of being disingenuous. I think whiners are people who are saying “My life is so hard! It just isn’t fair!” To the contrary, I was laughing at myself for not being prepared for the hills. I was recounting my own difficulties of running with an injured leg. But through it all, I was intensely grateful to be able to run at all. I was filled with joy for being able to run a full marathon through a beautiful city rich with history. I was thrilled to the tips of my toes that 50% of my immediate family showed up to wish me well when I needed it. And given the opportunity, I would do it all again.

I guess you had to be there. A joke isn’t funny if you have to explain it. Writing isn’t meaningful if it requires justification. I think I’ll stop checking the statistics from Word Press.

I recently read “What I Talk About When I Talk About Running” by Haruki Murakami. It is an excellent memoir about the honest challenges and joys of being a marathoner. He wants to write on his headstone “At least he never walked.” I want to write on mine “At least she never quit.”

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!

Kids Running

This week I ran over 55 miles.  That’s a high mileage week for me, especially so soon after a marathon.  One persistent thought was with me as I ran:  “How lucky am I?”  I get to run with some wonderful friends.  I get to stay in shape so I can keep up with my kids.  And I get to enjoy all be benefits of physical activity.  What a gift.  And I thought about all the people who aren’t so lucky.  All the kids who don’t get a chance to enjoy running.

I have become involved with an organization called Chances for Children.  This group brings running and nutrition programs into schools that have had funding cuts and no longer are able to support PE and health programs.  They also support camp programs for underpriviledged kids that emphasize lifelong fitness, running, and nutrition.  They are on the front lines fighting childhood obesity.  Please visit my fundraising page and help me get to my goal:  http://www.active.com/donate/TEAMChances/cwyman

http://www.active.com/donate/TEAMChances/cwyman