5 days late and 3 miles short: The run of shame

Next year when you pick up the revised Webster's Dictionary and look up 'anticlimactic' you'll likely see this: 'See: Shannon's Beach to Beacon race attempt'.

After all the talk and all the effort, I only made it to mile 3. The truth is...I was knocked unconscious saving Joan Benoit Samuelson from a crazed fan who attempted to kidnap her (with plans, it's believed, to create a Joan clone and profit from gambling on future Olympic races).

Well, that's not exactly true. Really, I shattered my femur after I leapt from the road to avoid a collision with a parade of infants who had crawled into the race course path. I continued to run on the broken leg, grunting in pain and continuing to be hardcore, but 8 race officials forced me to stop.

What do you mean that's a load of baloney?

Truth is (really) the first two miles were a breeze (i.e., I didn't feel like I was going to die). But somewhere just before the 3rd mile my right foot hit the pavement and it felt as though someone had just stabbed my ankle. It was already sore - but not that sore - from running on the bad shoes (at least I'm blaming the shoes) a couple of weeks ago. At mile 3, however, I couldn't even walk on it. I mean, my eyes were tearing, and I'm not one to tear.

So I sat with an ice pack and watched the rest of the runners go by...then the walkers...then the sloooow walkers and the disappointment set in.

How could I come back to the blog after such a horrendous defeat? I've been practicing avoidance since Monday, I admit (though I've also been on vacation, showing a fellow flatlander around Maine...limping) but had to finally come clean.

In an effort to alleviate some of the guilt, I also changed my race number:

I've renamed the race the "Beach Toward Beacon 5K."

Still doesn't make me feel any better. Neither does the doctor telling me "it's just a strained muscle. Take some ibuprofen and try to stay off it." What? A strained muscle? I can't show my face again with a strained muscle! Can't you break it for me or something? Give it a good poke with the scalpel so at least there's a scab?

No such luck, so I guess I'll just live with the shame for years to come.

Wait, what's this? The Trail to Ale 10k in September? How hard can that be?

Congrats to all those who DID finish - especially the Reach the Beacon group. Ya'll kicked arse.

See you on the other side

Remember that post this morning that said later today I'd post some words of wisdom? I lied. I don't have any.

But if you're really in the need, try this collection of inspirational running quotes.

This is my last entry before the race, so before I toss myself to the will of the running gods, I wanted to say "Thanks" for the support and good humor you've offered along the way.

Thanks for reading, thanks for posting and thanks for the e-mails.

For those of you running tomorrow, good luck! You'll do great.

And even if you don't it's just a race. Nothing major can happen.

Well, actually you could get hurt. But no worries, the pain can only last an hour or two.

Actually that's not true - you could permanently damage something. But you won't die.

Well, unless...I should stop.

I'll be back for a post-race wrap up on Monday, but until then I'll be lounging on the Saco River (with beer), getting some rest (with beer), taking it easy (with beer) and enjoying the sense of accomplishment (with beer).

See you on the other side.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I'm freaking, tomorrow

I've been remiss in not updating for the last couple of days -- that's because the only thing I could think of to say is: "I'm scared. Nervous. Borderline crazed."

And who wants to read that?

My heart has been racing since Monday and this time, Turbo can't be blamed. I also picked up my race packet yesterday and spotted the "Notice: Road closings" signs everywhere. I nearly drove off the road in panic.

I know I'm not going to die. I know I'm going to finish (eventually). Even the race time isn't important to me. Under 1:20 and I'd be ecstatic. But my ankle is taking the brunt of what was once a shin issue (must've been compensating, running funky and strained something) and I fear I may be walking a good portion of the race.

But I'll be there and I'll finish.

On a side note, if you've never tried an Icy-Hot Patch, go get one. Pain or no, they're just cool (pun intended).

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

John Rogers (Maine Running Company owner and our Reach the Beacon training captain) sent out this list of tips that hopefully he won't mind me sharing:

DRINK! Keep hydrated all the time. You will feel better and you always want to avoid dehydration. It will sap energy. Concentrate on drinking fluids, especially water, several days before the race.

Try to catch up on sleep! Don't worry about jitters and insomnia the night before a race. If you get good sleep the week of the race, the night before won’t matter. Getting enough sleep a few days before the race will also help keep you healthy and do your body wonders.

Be Positive. During your easy runs, take time to reflect on all the hard work you've done. Let this knowledge bring you a sense of accomplishment and confidence. Visualize yourself running strong and succeeding.

Ensure You Are Wearing Proper Footwear. Did you really think I wouldn't bring this up? Seriously, it is important to wear proper footwear. If your shoes have more than 400 - 600 miles on them, or you've had them more than six months, the cushioning properties have greatly diminished. Get a new pair, but make sure it is not the night or day before.

Don't Take Off Too Fast at the Start. You're tapered, you're ready, you're fired up, the energy of the crowd is exciting and your adrenaline is pumping. All this can lead to a great race. Don't do what your body is begging to do, which is to take off like an Indy car driver coming out of the pits. Pay attention to your early pace. If you don't feel like you're holding back a little, chances are you're running to fast. Although you feel good, the problem is that once your body settles in and the adrenaline rush is over, running too fast in the early miles will catch up with you later

Adjust Your Race Plan as Needed. Once race day has arrived you have a goal you hope to accomplish. Unfortunately, last minute factors may hinder this. If it is a really hot day, just know that your goal time will have to be adjusted. If you have a cold or are recovering from an illness, your time will reflect this. At this point, the key to feeling good about your race is to accept that there are variables you cannot control and let it go.

Have Fun And Enjoy The Day. You have taken on a big challenge and worked hard. Be proud of yourself….have a great race!!!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I have to get back to work (unbelievable, right, that my job makes me work) but I'll be posting some inspirational last-minute words of wisdom this afternoon (once someone tells me what those "words of wisdom" are).

Buy new shoes, but keep the old...

...one is silver and the other...is good for taking out the trash or running errands when you're feeling frumpy, haven't recently bathed and don't expect to see anyone you know.

I welcomed a new addition to the family yesterday - well, two actually, but I'm already playing favorites with "Righty."

I should have bought new shoes four months ago, but I wasn't aware of the "300-500 miles" rule. Even if I had been, 500 miles is an inconceivable concept to me. In my mind, I couldn't reach that distance in a lifetime.

I've got a brief 5-day window to break these puppies in, and all the interns have turned down my request to walk around in my shoes for me. The Tuesday night run will have to suffice, though I'm still a bit nervous about the shins. They still hurt, but I've made it a point to massage them (the interns turned down this request, too) and wearing shoes with decent support.

I have thought about suing Target for making cheap flip-flops...or maybe I'll sue the city for using such hard bricks in the sidewalk. Aren't there squishy bricks out there somewhere? Maybe rubber bricks that can just bounce you down the street. Heck, why don't we have any of those moving walkways you see in airports?

And no, I don't see the irony in asking for a motorized walkway to help prepare me for exercise.

On a side note: Thought I was getting ill, but I realized yesterday that my constant state of nausea is tied directly to my intense nervousness about the B2B. Is it weird to run with a barf bag?

7 days to go - and I'm in pain

I never thought I'd grimace to hear the words: "You should take it easy. Rest your legs." In fact, I've dreamed of hearing such a command.

In my dream I run so easily that each stride bounces me gently into the air, slow-motion like, and eventually I become so light that I never touch the ground at all. I just run, mid-air, along the streets of the neighborhood I lived in when I was little. Then Chef Ramsay (Of Hell's Kitchen fame) calls to me from below, "Shannon, I've cooked you a splendid grilled cheese sandwich. Take a break and have a bite, yeah?"

But in reality, my running hasn't been nearly as carefree. Seems the combination of running in two-year-old shoes, walking to work in paper-thin flip flops ($5.99 at Target, thank you very much) and too much running (that's right - too much) has irritated my leg muscles. From just under my knee to the inside of my ankle there is a distinct pain that started during a run and, well, hasn't left since.

With the race only a week away, another run or two isn't going to make much of a difference in my training - beyond where I am right now. It could further agitate the legs, though. So, I'm at peace with taking it easy the next several days - and getting new running shoes.

As for the flip flops, I'm too cheap to buy well-crafted ones with adequate foot support. Instead, I think I'll staple some Dr. Scholl's inserts to the ones I already have.

Triumph begins with a T (shirt, that is)

Last week the Reach the Beacon group got tech tees. We were able to choose from several colors, but for some of us the choices were limited due to...um...inappropriately sized shirts (seriously, anything smaller than an XL on me wasn't fit for public viewing).

So I went for peach. Or maybe it's orange. I think it looks like the Crayola color I used to draw myself when I was little.

Now I'll let you in on a little secret. This isn't the first time I've trained to run a race (Gasp! Could it be true?!). I trained for a half marathon back in Chicago in 2005 - but don't start thinking I actually ran 13 miles. Not even close. My running group ran a 13-minute mile on a 3:1 run/walk ratio. We never ran for more than three minutes at a time.

So yes, I finished the race, but my race time wasn't anything to brag about (Instead I just bragged and said "Yeah, I ran a half-marathon" and left it at that. If someone asked for my time I'd say "It was the fastest half-marathon I've run so far." If asked for more specifics, I'd just pretend to have a seizure).

At any rate, a good lesson I learned about the shirt: Make sure your name is prominent on it. Sure, now your stalker will know what your real first name is, but it's worth the risk.

If the cheering crowd sees your name, they'll YELL IT. Seriously, strangers will call out your name. And isn't it about time strangers yelled at you in public for something other than dressing funny?

How to lose your confidence in 10 days

Ten days until the Beach to Beacon. And yes, that realization this morning sent me into a heart-racing panic. Or maybe it was the four cups of coffee. Either way, I can admit I'm already nervous.

Here's where you say, "You can do it" and I say something self-deprecating like, "I'll probably be waving to the finish line from the back of an ambulance," or "I just hope I don't die."

Truth is, I know I can finish without emergency assistance and without a six pack dangling from a stick in front of me - just out of reach [pause here to give readers time to visualize].

I'll surely have to walk some of it. I've made great progress since April but I'm nowhere near running 6.whatever miles non-stop. And I'm cool with that.

My fear, however, is an out-of-nowhere debilitating cramp or nausea or fatigue that compels me to walk all of it, depressingly slow, training group long gone, and me, disappointed, crossing the line while the sponsors are folding up their tents. Optimistic, isn't it?

There are 5 good group runs to go - between the Reach the Beacon training and the Hannaford Tuesday runs - and these will help dictate my mood going into the 10K. No more Monster, no more Turbo (it's true) just me and the H20 (and some Clif bars and some Gatorade and some bagels and apples and, oh, gum. Gum helps keep my mouth from drying out and giving me that MUST HAVE WATER feeling).

I'm very confident the race will go well. At least, it should go fairly smoothly. It won't be awful anyway. The likelihood is that I'll cross the finish line of my own volition. Just in case things go sour, though, I'd like to be buried with my couch.

I am Jack. Jack is me.

I don't read those lame celebrity gossip magazines. But every once and a while one just falls open on my lap and in the process of closing/removing the "literature" I accidentally catch a glance of a page...or two...or the whole thing.

This picture of Jack Nicholson seems at first repulsive, but I found myself drawn to it.

I couldn't look away. I just stared and stared. I don't know what it is, there's just something about him that makes me feel this strong but unnameable connection.

Oh Jack, you and I are kindred spirits. Your boat and wealth and fame complete me.

Only the BEST RUN EVER!

Last night was raining and crappy all over, but I'm hardcore remember, so I went to the group run anyway.

I'm glad I did - the rain kept all the (less hardcore) runners away from the Back Cove. Guess some people (sissies) just can't handle a little water. No judgment here (weak! They're weak!).

After realizing the dehydrating (and devastating) effects of the Monster energy drink, I opted for the old standard: water.

Trying to guzzle 20 ounces just before a run doesn't work (another learning) so it's a concerted effort to drink water all day. But wow, what a difference.

Last night's run was the best ever - 4 miles - nearly all of it without stopping. That's a first. I've always been reliant on the regular walk break. But last night Anna and I were both feeling strong and we kept up the pace for approx. 3 miles. Three miles!

Not a big deal for most runners. But dammit, it's a big deal to me.

Drinking to prevent psychosis

It's been five weeks since I announced the Beer Moratorium and I'm happy to announce that it's over. And by "over" I mean that it ended about three weeks ago when I went to "Thursday Night Thunder" at the Beechridge Speedway.

For those of you who have never been there...let's just say having a beer in your hand really completes the experience.

But I've been good about consuming moderately and - let's be honest - the Monster drinks have really taken over my life anyway (but NOT just before a run...that's very, very bad).

If I've learned anything at all over the last few months it's this...

[WARNING! SERIOUS MUSINGS AHEAD. SARCASM LEVELS FRIGHTENINGLY LOW]

You don't need to completely alter your life if you're looking to make a positive change. Want to run? Go run. You like beer? Then drink beer. Discovered a new addiction to buffalo chicken wings? Then by all means, chow down.

There's no sense in torturing yourself - that's what causes inevitable break-downs and psychosis.

So I'll keep running. But I'll also keep drinking. I'm drinking to prevent psychosis.

Any love for the lactate?

That's lactate, not lactose - so you non-milk drinkers don't need to run screaming.

I'm having a severe case of calf soreness ever since the Tuesday Hannaford run, and yesterday's runs around Cheverus' track didn't help the matter. When I get sore after exercise (you know, that one day back at the gym after 6 months of sloth and you think it'd be a good idea to do the stair climber for an hour and a half) I usually say, "I'm sore as hell - but it's the good kind."

Meaning that I'm sore as hell, but that's only because I did something productive - as opposed to being sore after being thrown from a wild Vespa.

I started looking into the soreness issue and gleaned some information on lactate - which historically had been blamed for the pain.

I can't feign any real knowledge on the subject other that this: It's not the lactate's fault. Lactate, these days, is considered a good thing that keeps runners from fatiguing as quickly.

So what or who is to blame? I say the Hannaford reps who made us stretch on Tuesday.

I've never been a stretcher (once heard that you're more likely to injure yourself by stretching than actually prevent any injury). So, I don't stretch. I figure it's one less thing for me to do, and I like doing less.

But I stretched with the group Tuesday (damn peer pressure!) and my calves are feeling the pain. Is it really the fault of the stretch? Probably not - but I have to point the finger somewhere, right?

The stomach-tormenting Monster

First off - thanks for the comments on the "trial run" video. Even though I fake ran, it was a good bit of effort to put together. But I aim to please (that's not true - I aim to entertain - I displease often) so I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Yesterday evening I went to the Hannaford Beach to Beacon training (remember, I'm kicking July's arse and stepping up the training). They did have food at the end as rumored (well, if you consider bananas and unbelievably hard seed crackers food) but my stomach was in no mood for any newcomers at the end of that run.

You see, I'd found a new addiction (yes, the Dunkin Donuts Turbos were cast aside).

For the past few weeks I've been all about the Monster:

Last night I decided to drink one right before heading out to the Back Cove.

Not smart.

We ran (or were supposed to run) 3.5 miles. I was approx. 1.5 into it when my insides revolted. I rarely get cramps when running (though I do get pains in my clavicle. Yes, my collar bone...is that weird?) but this was a cramp to end all cramps.

You know that movie scene (I recall it from "Maximum Overdrive") where a lizard-like alien that's been growing in someone's belly starts moving around - then aggressively rips through the person's skin trying to get out (then, perhaps, jumps on the bar and starts singing show tunes)? It felt like that.

It wasn't fun.

I had to walk a few times - but ultimately was able to run it in with a time of 40:something. According to my poor math skills, it was about a 11.5-minute mile.

Personally, considering I must have given birth to six lizard-aliens along the way, I think 40 minutes is just fine.

Video: Beach to Beacon trial run

I know, I know - I promised the video three weeks ago. Unfortunately I'm about as proficient at video editing as I am at running.

So without further adieu, See. Shannon. Run...Sort of...

I'm sorry July, but I'm going to have to kill you

That's right - I'm taking July down. I don't care how much humidity or rain or bacon hamburgers it throws at me - I'm kicking this month's [censored].

Four weeks until the Beach to Beacon and I plan to finish with my dignity - yes, I have dignity...somewhere...I think I packed it up with my winter clothes...

Anyway, in an effort to get the momentum back up, Anna (a friend from the running group) and I are adding another group run to our weekly training. Hannaford is again hosting a five-week B2B training that meets in the Hannaford (Forest Ave., Portland) parking lot on Tuesdays at 5:30.

The bonuses are aplenty: 1. It's free. 2. Group runs (i.e., the overwhelming peer pressure associated with being in a group of people that are better runners than I am) are extremely motivating. 3. Rumor is that there's food at the finish. 4. It's free. 5. There's food. You get the idea.

Keeping up on the activity level over the weekend hasn't been a problem - Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday have been a different story.

But not anymore. July, you've met your match.

Now that's embarrassing

Tuesday marks the second time I've been spotted, stupidly smoking a cigarette and/or holding a beer when someone's asked, "don't you write that Beach to Beacon blog?"

I say, "Yeah" enthusiastically, both because I appreciate that someone's reading (besides you, mom) and also because I'm hoping to distract him/her from the smoking butt in my hand. I figure, flash the pearly whites and maybe they'll be nice enough not to call me out.

They're not.

It doesn't follow - all this chatter about running ugly and skinny pants and oh! the chafing! Even I can't figure out how I've convinced myself that having a cigarette immediately after (and before - sometimes during [I'm just kidding!]) a run is OK. Or maintaining the habit during this training - it seems so counter-productive.

I admit I feel guilty when I'm caught smoking - almost as guilty as when good old (but not THAT old) mom asks, "How're you doing with the smoking."

I'm guess I'm doing fine, depending on your perspective.

The final stretch - and I've slowed to a crawl

Last week was complete bunk. Humidity is draining - and after three days of sweaty, oily discomfort last week I had had enough. I wasn't made for hot weather (think flushed red face, white girl afro and a trail of sweat following me wherever I go). By Thursday I was almost ready to buy an air conditioner.

I debated the purchase - along with whether or not to go to the group run.

I decided to forgo them both.

I figured, with only one month left until the Beach to Beacon, my opportunities to play hooky were rapidly decreasing. All along I've said, "Sure, I'm not 100% committed, but I don't really have to be until July."

Now it is July. Crap.

Not that I've been completely useless. I do stuff. Like...like...just stuff, okay! Quit harassing me!

But this next month will decide whether I run across that finish line or wave to it from the back of an ambulance.

Nothing says team spirit like an Etch-A-Sketch

This morning I got an e-mail from Jan, another runner in the training group. She'd gone and made an Etch-A-Sketch image of the group photo she took back in April.

I thought, "Aw, how sweet that she was thinking of the group." And I also thought, "Wow she's talented with that Etch-A-Sketch."

It's been over 10 weeks since I started the Reach the Beacon training, along with 20 or so others. In my less-than-optimistic mind, I expected at least half the group to drop out by week eight.

It's not that I didn't have faith in the group (I didn't) it's just inevitable that some people are going to lose motivation. Some will get sidetracked. And some will sell all their belongings in a two-day yard sale, shave their heads, ditch the mortgage and drive off to Mexico under the assumed name Poncho Arbol.

It happens.

But not this group. This group is sticking it out. This group says, "Sorry Mexico, you'll just have to wait."

In addition to the Etch-A-Sketch photo, Jan passed along some powerful words of wisdom:

I hope to make it to next weeks run and GLB for some carb loading. What can I say??? I'm a alcoholic with a running problem!!!

Running? Who cares! Keep talking about beer

And here I thought this blog might garner support for my efforts - a few words of encouragement or advice at the very least.

I even fancied I might inspire other Geary's-drinking, cross cut fries-eating, afternoon-napping non-runners to give it a shot.

But alas, I see what gets your attention:

See that spike in page views? That's from last Monday, when I announced the self-imposed beer moratorium.

It was a proclamation to be commended - a noble attempt to loosen the death-grip of another vice. People will surely back this moratorium, I thought, maybe even start a moratorium of their own.

It could be the start of a totally new movement - people giving things up for a period of time (say, 40 days) as evidence of their dedication. It'd be unlike anything ever done before. Can you imagine?

But encouragement I didn't get. No "way to go, Shan" or "You can do it." Instead, I got:

The other option is to switch to something less caloric....for example, a corona has 150 calories...a captain and diet coke, or a vodka soda has roughly 70 calories. You could have two and still not drink as many calories as were in the beer. :) Just a suggestion.

and

Coors Light = 105 calories per can... it's the beer when you're having, well, you know, several!!

and

what if you just work on your psychological outlook and convince yourself mentally that the beer, (being its own food group of course) and all those healthy, tasty and good for you treats (aka wings, nachos, fries) are REALLY building your strength

God forbid I was some raging alcoholic (or am I?) on the path to recovery.

Lesson learned: No one wants to read about running in a running blog. What was I thinking?

To be a champion, be the only one running

My friend Liz and I went out yesterday to shoot video of the Beach to Beacon course. We intended on biking the route with the camera somehow duct-taped to my bike - and no, I really don't think that would have worked.

As we drove along to scope out the course, I realized that 1) there's barely a bike lane most of the way (and I prefer not to have my brains knocked out of my skull by the windshield of a VW) and 2) the course is incredibly hilly. My quads trembled just looking at it.

Inevitably we drove the route - stopping a few times to throw in some entertaining commentary.

FYI, running while talking and drinking a beer is not easy.

It was worth it though, to get that rare feeling of actually "winning" the race. I've always wanted to be the finish line banner breaker, and since I was the only one running...

The awards ceremony was kind of a bust, though. I was presented with a "Good Eater Award." Not really what I was aiming for.

I think the disappointment is fairly evident in my expression.

The entire video should be edited and live this week.

Cotton is the devil

I'm hardly an expert on running gear. Or anything else, for that matter. But I do hear things and my ability to regurgitate information is working at a functional level.

I hear things like "cotton is the devil." It's not that cotton makes you do bad things ("Cotton once made me kill a man" or "The cotton talks to me at night and tells me to light fires"). It's just that for a runner, cotton sucks.

This blog entry by Peter Hadzipetros says it well:

Cotton holds in the sweat, keeps the moisture right next to your body. That's bad, whether the weather's warm or cold. Cotton's a recipe for pain that you will only discover later in the shower. Damp cotton rubbing against your skin means chafing.

Yeah - chafing. That's a bothersome issue. I went head to head with chafing last month - or should I say thigh to thigh. It'd been so long since I'd run in shorts I had forgotten what one sweaty patch of skin can do to another.

Chafing is a rascally sort of fellow - unobtrusive at first and then BAM! you find yourself running like a three-year-old who just wet himself.

Chafing takes days to heal, but Body Glide, I've discovered, can stave off the burning skin. It's like wearing a mouth guard when you and your friends play a rough round of human pinata - just a smart preventative measure.

And while preferences differ on the right running shoe, these probably aren't a good idea:

Which is why Anna and I were surprised to see two young guys running the Back Cove last night wearing shoes not unlike those pictured above. Had it been later in the summer, I could have passed it off as preparation for a college hazing event. They were otherwise dressed in appropriate running gear (shorts and t-shirts, at least) so the whole spectacle just didn't make sense.

It wasn't an isolated event, either. A few weeks ago we spotted the same guys running in similarly odd footwear.

I haven't any photos of the feet, but you can bet I'll be bringing my camera phone on next week's run.

Effective immediately: self-imposed beer moratorium

It's true. I'm tired of this half-hearted attempt to "Reach the Beacon." I haven't been serious about it. I do the group runs, but I'm still eating junk and drinking more than my share. The contradictions in my training are funny, to be sure, but wasn't I doing this for something other than entertainment value?

I recently checked in with my skinny jeans pile - you remember those pants I haven't worn in over a year, those pants that stare at me in such a patronizing way whenever I open my closet.

See the difference between all my jeans (left) and the three pairs still in regular rotation (right):

Really, I think the skinny pants are sad - never being unfolded, never seeing the light of day, never being worn but instead being cursed at and thrown around the room.

The good news is - after over eight weeks of training, I can now fit into...Oh, wait, NONE OF THEM!

How could that be? It doesn't make sense. Or maybe, all along, the beer has been quietly sabotaging my efforts.

Geary's isn't on the Beer100 calorie list, but I think we all get the idea. Beer = evil.

Course, it's not just the beer. It's the chicken finger, fries, nachos, etc. that beer just goes so well with.

So I'm committing to steer clear of beer (oooh, rhyming) until the Beach to Beacon on August 4th.

Geez - that's eight weeks smack dab in the middle of summer (prime beer garden season).

30 days sounds like a more reasonable goal.

Oh - that would include the Fourth of July.

How about: I commit to not drink beer until I deem it appropriate to drink beer again.

Another foolproof plan, Shannon.

Thanks Shannon, I try.

Blood, sweat and hills

The Thursday running group headed over to Baxter Woods yesterday to...well, run. It was a welcome break from the Back Cove which, as lovely as it is, was starting to get monotonous. That's what I thought, anyway, before the reality of running in the woods really set in.

Baxter Woods, off Stevens Ave., is a great place to walk (yourself or your dog) and it has within it's forested confines a looped trail that measures 1,000 yards (so I'm told). The entire loop is also on a slope, so either direction you go, one side will be up hill and one side will be down. And when I say hill, I mean HILL. An I-want-to-collapse-and-die kind of hill.

Those in the slower pace group (i.e., me) ran 800 of the 1,000 yards, then walked the final 200. Some did two laps, some three. A handful of us hearty folks stuck it out and did four.

The view wasn't too shabby and there's a distinctive coolness in the woods. There's also the distinctive presence of mosquitoes, who were no doubt overjoyed to see a herd of sweaty, barelegged runners traipsing through.

A tiny bite here, a tiny bite there. At least it was a distraction from the throbbing in my quads.

When we finally walked - I mean ran - out of there, I had keep pausing to either scratch something or rub off a clump of bug guts. You know, when you hit the mosquitoe just right and it's belly full of blood smears across your leg and you go "ewww" and look for a place to wipe it, but you're in Baxter Woods and it's not like you have a tissue with you so you resort to wiping it on your shorts, which is nearly just as gross. It happens. I'm just saying. Talk about running ugly.

It was a good change of pace - but don't attempt it without the bug spray.

Another Couch to Bacon update. Did I just say bacon? I meant chicken fingers.

My friend Victoria called me up yesterday wanting to go to the gym. After quickly talking her out of that, we agreed to meet up to "fast walk" the Back Cove. Which we did, kind of. We had the "walk" part down.

I won't even crack jokes about really, really wanting to run - but darn that bum leg.

It was a conscience restraint. My group run is tonight and if I've learned nothing else, it's to not overdo it.

Yes, yes. Laugh all you want. But it's a system that works for me. Two days in a row just doesn't work - if I ran yesterday I'd struggle today. And I don't want to struggle in front of the group (remember the "not-wanting-to-look-like-an-idiot" discussion we had at the beginning of this training?

Another lesson I learned? Even a saunter around Back Cove deserves a meaty reward.

Okay, okay - enough with the chicken! Back to the running tonight.

Why I'm running. Really.

I've been running from my ex...

He's gotten word I've moved to Portland and recently posted this craigslist message (he used to call me "Amy," though I never really knew why...).

Must. Run. Faster.

When God says "No," he means it

People don't always have the best decision-making abilities. That thing people call "will power"...well, I never got an ounce of it.

I'm not good at telling myself "No," and the slightest reference to food makes me hungry.

At the office, for example, a colleague might mention that he's having computer trouble, which is a problem. Having a problem makes me think of how people, if they're overly optimistic or a little passive, refer to a problem as being "in a pickle" (which makes me laugh, because "pickle" is a far cry from the language I use). And then of course the pickle makes me think of a sandwich - not just any sandwich but a chicken salad sandwich. And you can't eat a sandwich without chips - preferably Fritos - and hot damn I have $5.00 in my wallet right now.

But sometimes, even though it seems the world practically led me to my chicken salad sandwich destiny, a voice in my head reprimands me for not buying carrots instead.

And sometimes, God even intervenes, knocking the sandwich clear out of my hand.

There was nothing salvageable. Within 2 minutes I experienced every step in the grieving process, and with a tear in my eye I laid the destroyed mess to rest in a trash receptacle.

So long, good friend.

I'm not lazy, I'm resting

Hello. My name is Shannon. It's been one week since my last blog entry.

It's been a hard recovery from Memorial Day weekend - and I was more than a little worried that the Thursday night run wouldn't go so well. My last outdoor run was...well...a while ago (having missed last Thursday's group run and having spent much of the holiday weekend carb-loading [which is just a nice way of saying eating, drinking and eating]).

So it was with trepidation that I started last night's run around the Back Cove. And yes, this time we were going the ENTIRE WAY AROUND.

And holy crap - who'd have thunk it - I knocked this run to the ground. Anna and I kept a consistent pace the whole way and only took three - very brief - walking breaks.

I was dumbfounded at first. How could this be? I'm still doing so many things wrong - not runnning nearly as often as the schedule suggests, etc.

But then I remembered what John Rogers (owner of the Maine Running Company and the guy leading the training) said to us back in April. It was something like, "Nutrition is important... yadda, yadda, yadda...don't get dehydrated...yadda, yadda, yadda...DON'T TAKE YOUR REST DAYS FOR GRANTED."

Epiphany! I'm not being lazy, I'm appreciating my weekly rest days - all six of them.

All I'm saying is, if it works, don't mess with it.

On a side note, Maine Running Company was just ranked one of the 50 Best Running Stores in America, by Runner's World Magazine.

Not bad, I say. Not bad.

Drowning my guilt with Turbo Ice

I had no choice really. I was forced despite my better judgment. I wanted to run - should have run - but I didn't.

I missed the group run for the first time yesterday - though I swear I had good reason. I was not out drinking or stealing coasters from local restaurants. I wasn't napping or getting up close and personal with a fried bologna sandwich.

No, all those things I love were left undone this week (okay, maybe I had a couple drinks). It's life - it gets busy. But still I feel guilty.

Add to that the fact that my couch (you remember Cocoa Microfiber, Jr. don't you?) now suddenly feels neglected and is no longer speaking to me.

Feeling overwrought this morning on my way to work, I decided to assuage my inner pain with the most splendid of all caffeinated drinks: the Dunkin' Donuts Turbo Ice.

Criticize the chain coffee and donut shops if you must, but I swear to you there is no heaven without a Turbo in it.

So I step to the counter.

Guy working: "What can I get you?"

Me: "A large Turbo Ice, please, with cream and sugar and a shot of caramel [just for fun]."

Guy working makes a quick - but obvious - face of disgust.

I know that face. It's the face I get when I, for example, tell people I can't eat baklava because it reminds me of cadaver skin (not that I really know what cadaver skin is like).

When I call the guy out on the face he says people are always so serious and he's just making "nice faces."

Sure. Whatever.

Tell me my pants make me look fat - tell me I don't know how to dress myself - tell me I'll never be able to run a 10K. But please, don't insult my Turbo.

Who needs a gym on a day like this?

There are plenty of reasons to avoid running in the morning. Here's one reason not to:

Feeling utterly guilty for my "no sun, no run" mentality last week, I felt compelled to get up early and run this morning. How could I not? I mean, LOOK OUTSIDE.

I've had trouble running in the mornings - I run out of energy after 10 minutes. For a while I couldn't understand it - my Thursday evening runs were going well.

Other than time of time day, what's the big difference? Food.

I'm just not hungry in the morning. A cup of coffee suits me just fine (until 10:00 a.m., of course, when the all-day grazing officially begins). I discovered during the Sea Dogs 5K that coffee isn't a good running fuel.

By the time 6:00 p.m. rolls around on Thursday, I've eaten the edible equivalent of a Volkswagen. And even though what I choose to consume might not be the most ideal, it still makes quite a difference.

So this morning I ate half a bagel and drank some water before I went out and wow what difference.

Lesson learned: My anorexic college roommate was wrong. Food IS my friend.

Alert to runners: New invention allows you to run inside!

Running inside? Could it be true? Yes!

Last week's rain hampered my morning run (and by "hampered" I mean entirely prevented).

Call it a fragile constitution, call it a cop-out, either way I'm just not ready to run in the rain. Ask me again in the summer when rain is considered refreshing rather than pneumonia-inducing.

Anyway, a comment from Holly that morning caught my attention:

Ran 5 miles on my treadmill before going to work.

What is this "treadmill" and where would I find one?

Who knew that a recent invention, referred to by users as a "gym," enables people to exercise inside! It's raining? Who cares! Blizzard conditions? Won't stop me!

And these running machines - treadmills - get you running without ever going anywhere. Boring? Some may say so. But speaking as someone who's found themselves 2 miles from home and completely exhausted, I like the idea of being able to just step off the machine when the energy runs out.

The problem with that: it's way too easy to just step off the machine.

Then again, cable television is an excellent motivator. Get your run in while you glean useless information from the Discovery Channel (such as the evolution of the toilet and myths about Thomas Crapper, which I watched in its entirety).

Three cheers for indoor running when the whether stinks!

And a solemn goodbye to one more excuse going down the tubes.

Miles fly when you talk while you run

I'm a 100% backer of the group training movement. Maybe it's a dependency issue on my part - after the Beach to Beacon, maybe I'll work on that.

But for now I'll continue to marvel at the positive effects of peer pressure.

What? Thought peer pressure only revolved around booze, drugs and sex? Those things are nice too, but a little arm twisting might be just what you need to put down the tequila and go for a run (once you've sobered up, of course. Running drunk isn't as fun as it sounds).

And there's that camaraderie thing, too. It's nice to know that when I show up to a Thursday run and mumble something like "I don't like the sound of 'tempo run,'" I can count on someone nodding in agreement. "'Tempo run' sounds fast. I don't do fast."

The Thursday group is a good one - and Thursdays have become the upturn day on a quickly plummeting week. I rock on weekends - doing a long run and trying to keep the drinking to only the necessary minimum. On Monday I figure I just ran over the weekend, so I ought to take a rest.

On Tuesday it's either raining, or it's not. Either way, I don't run. Wednesday I work ridiculously early - can't run before work and too exhausted to run after.

By Thursday afternoon the good spirit from the weekend has been entirely quashed and I'm tinkering with the idea of pursuing a competitive eating career.

But it's Thursday - it's the group run day - and every week I go despite the imperfection of the previous three days.

Running with someone else makes all the difference. Instead of focusing on how tired you are or how slow you're going or how far the finish line is, you can get some decent face to face social time. I'm a talker by nature anyway, and while I can (and do) talk to myself regularly, I feel like I've heard all my stories before.

Talking (despite the panting) to someone else and hearing new stories and laughing at the people running the Back Cove in dress shoes makes the time fly by.

In fact, you might just get 5 miles under your belt without even realizing it, which is exactly what happened last night.

For a change of pace - and to work on speed - we ran from the Maine Running Company store to the Back Cove soccer fields. There we stepped up the pace and ran the field perimeter several times (running the straights, walking the curves). Around and around we went - and Anna and I chatted the whole way.

My perception of distance is non-existent, so when we were told that we'd run 5 miles (adding up the run to the field, around the field and back) I was pretty surprised. And impressed. And suddenly very tired.

See - I knew my incessant talking would come in handy one day.

I would, but not for the treacherous weather

I wanted to run this morning, but couldn't due to the severe drizzle storm.

What? Stop looking at me like that.

Sea Dogs 5K: I'm a winner!

And by "winner" I mean 1150th place.

If I wanted to be pessimistic, I'd say that 1,149 people are faster than me. But hey, I choose to focus on the bright side: I beat 289 people. (All race results here.)

I participated in the Sea Dogs Mother's Day 5K yesterday (since the training group was asked to run a 5K to test our progress). I ran again with Anna (also in the training group) and we tried to stick to the run 10/walk 2/run 9/walk 2/run 8/walk 2/etc. schedule that was so successful last Thursday.

Immediately I realized two things: 1) while coffee has water in it, it isn't a good pre-race hydrator, and 2) water is wonderful and I miss it when it's not around.

I was surprised to find no water available on the course (bad assumption on my part - I thought that's how it worked even in shorter races). After mile one (and the confirmation that water was, indeed, absent) I couldn't think of anything else.

I didn't run as surely as I might've had I not been focused on the ever-increasing drought in my mouth, but Anna ran strong and I was determined to keep up.

Finally - the finish line - and WATER! But wait - no water yet! We were corralled into a fenced in area that was intended to guide us toward water and food. We waited and waited and took a couple steps and waited some more.

People were not pleased - for while we stood panting and sweating and stinking to high heaven, runners who had already passed through the line sat in the stands above us guzzling water and casually chewing bananas. It was torture - and had I anything to throw, I likely would've tried to knock one of them out.

CAUTION: Heartfelt interjection ahead

But alas, it was Mother's Day. And since my mom is back in Illinois, I felt like the day's efforts were done partially in her honor. She says she's my No. 1 fan, but I'm a big fan of hers, too. [insert tears here.]

I'd be remiss not to also thank the little people who helped me accomplish this goal:

Without you guys I'd be sore, chafed and bleeding. Thanks for being greasy - or sticky - as needed.

This is - ouch! - the best run - ouch! - ever - ouch!

Yesterday afternoon I was depressed. Much to the thanks of my stellar training diet, I was drained of energy, feeling crappy and in an all-around bad mood.

I knew, too, that some runners in the group had done the weekly Back Cove 5K on Wednesday and wouldn't be attending Thursday night's run. It was the perfect out. If I didn't show, people could just assume I was resting after an evening of record-breaking speed runs (or, at the least, that I jog-walked Back Cove).

But at the last minute I pulled out the dreaded running shorts that are still a little tighter than I'd like and went to the group run.

I'm happy to report that not only did I run/walk 4 miles - it was actually my best run yet! Thanks to the inspiration of Anna (who is also training and who runs in the same pace group) we opted to head out strong and taper off the running times - we ran 10 minutes - walked two - ran nine - walked two - ran eight...you get the idea.

It was a brilliant idea - and we managed to improve our pace this week to a 11.5-minute mile (from 13 last week). Woooiiieee!!

Unfortunately, the lure of my running shorts overshadowed a painful reminder of running in shorts in years past: THE CHAFING!

Halfway around Back Cove the skin on my inner thigh was rubbed nearly raw - and I was tempted to run "peed pants" style. But remember the hardcoreness!

I went four miles, dangit, and wasn't going to let the burning of raw flesh stop me!

Despite regular fuelings, I'm running short on gas

Oh how quickly the enthusiasm wanes. I was on-target this weekend - doing a 3-mile training run on Saturday (yes, by choice) and a bike ride on Sunday (despite a well-enjoyed Cinco de Mayo the night before). I figured, after three weeks of really keeping putting in the effort, I was in the clear.

People always claim that getting started is half the battle. I disagree.

I've been riding my laurels since Sunday.

This rut is totally unexplainable, too. I've been doing everything right.

Through this training process I've learned that hydration is key during physical exertion - so I'm always drinking.

I've even been trying new energy drinks to really push me to the limit.

I pay close attention to my food intake, focusing on a protein-rich, carb-light diet.

I even make it a point to get outside throughout the day to take in the sun and the air - how invigorating!

Seriously, what more can I possibly do?

Here I am, stuck in the seven and two

Emotions are mixed this morning - while half of me is impressed I've been sticking with the schedule and not ditching the Thursday runs, I don't seem to be moving forward. For two weeks I've been running 3 miles at the run 7 minutes/walk two minutes pace (finishing in approx. 40 minutes - a 13-minute mile average).

For those of you not familiar with running and pacing, a 13-minute mile is really, really fast. For those of you who know that's a lie, stop laughing! I'm working on it!

At first I was thrilled to even run for seven minutes - that's no easy feet when you've been mostly sedentary all winter long. And I got swept up by thoughts of myself waking at dawn for a five-mile sprint through the streets of Portland - leaping over parked cars for fun.

So I'll admit some disappointment this week - I haven't improved by a second. The run is still rough - I'm still panting and red faced and tired before I finish. It's a sure sign I'm not ready to move forward.

But stop trying? Naw, I plan on kicking the Back Cove's arse...eventually.

On track? Only the 5K will tell for sure

Until this morning I was feeling confident in my training diligence. I've been following the schedule (mostly), steering clear of deep fried foods (on the whole)
and foregoing the afternoon nap (nearly 80% of the time).

But the group e-mail that went out yesterday afternoon from the folks at the Run Walk Company sent me into a near panic:

"I would like everyone to see where they are by participating in either the Weekly Back Cove 5K on Weds., May 9 @ 6pm or The Seadogs Mother’s Day 5K on Sunday, May 13th."

Ahhhhhhhh!

Running a timed race with other people is like the running world's version of truth serum - and I'm thinking that I'd rather not know the truth.

Oh dear, I'm feeling a little flushed...I think I'm coming down with something...Ebola maybe...

Hurry summer! Wait, not yet. I mean, summer! No! I need more time!

Inspiration is a wonderful thing - and nothing inspires like 50-degree air temps and the presence of the sun. Even I couldn't talk myself out of jogging the bike trail to Bug Light this weekend. I mean - it felt like spring. Spring!

With two slices of cinnamon toast in my belly (with real sugar for extra energy) I attempted the (approximately) 3-mile (round trip) trail on my own. Sure, 7 minutes running/2 minutes walking is easy to maintain when running in a group. The fear of public ridicule is an excellent motivator.

But it's just me - and I let myself cheat all the time ("Shannon, what's that over there?" "Where?" And down goes a tater tot). I'm not going to lie - it was a struggle, and I threw a couple extra one-minute walks in the mix when all the saliva disappeared from my mouth. But I kept myself honest the whole way through - I'm proud of myself, and so am I.

Of course, by the end I was roasting and it became clear that pants were just too much to wear. Not a big deal, seeing as I have running shorts from last year that were just the right length to a) not make me self-conscious when stretching, and b) not ride up (forcing the wearing to continually yank the inside seam down while running, which I must say is not conducive to proper form).

But alas, those splendid shorts have become too small for me (or I too big for them)! I'm not ready for shorts yet - I need a few more weeks of running before I can fit back into my running shorts.

Ah! The irony!

Please warm weather - come slowly!

I ran ugly, and I'm darn proud of it

I've seen the way people run on TV and in Runner's World magazine - perfect form, controlled breathing, hair flicking in the wind and just enough sweat to enhance an already perfect tan on already perfect calves.

I don't run like that - and I imagine not many real world runners run like that. But my run isn't just unpretty - it's ugly.

One mile into tonight's group run 'round the Back Bay (not yet ALL the way around - we're working up to it) I could feel the normal flush of my cheeks steadily increasing. Soon enough the skin on my face was not only pulsing with heat, but flaming red (which, I imagine, was made even more apparent by the pasty winter whiteness of the rest of my skin).

By mile two the sweat on my head - combined with the strong wind off the water - had spun my hair into a knotted mess in the back and two frizzy, wing-like puffs on the sides.

Nearing mile three I was running like a drunkard, panting and borderline snotty.

But I didn't notice - or didn't care - and I finished with my group. Three miles we covered - 7 minutes running/2 walking - which may not seem like much to some, but wasn't easy for me.

Had I been alone, I might've cut out early and gone home for some quality time with the sofa. But that's the cool thing about a group - not that other people inspire you, per se, but that you're so terrified of looking like a lazy jerk, you keep going.

It wasn't until I got into the car that I spotted my terrifying transformation in the rear view mirror.

I ran ugly - which really means that I worked incredibly hard - and I must say I feel pretty dang proud.

Run ugly everybody.

Checking out the equipment

Running is just dandy - and I have nothing against it - but running alone isn't going to cut it (as far as my soon-to-be-G.I.-Jane-biceps are concerned). So off to the store I went to pick up a couple key items.

The first is a "matt." Apparently you're supposed to excercise on the "matt," though it reminds me of one of those old-school rollup sleds. I'll have to test the matt out on some snow next winter.

I'm guessing the matt is named after its inventor, whose name was probably Matt. He likely got tired of laying a towel on his hardwood floors to do yoga and having the dang thing slip out from under him. It's surprisingly painful to go from the arching flamingo position to the cracked-head sprawl unexpectedly.

The equipment in the photo on the right are called "waits." I'm guessing that's because even after you use them for what seems like eternity, you still have to wait and wait to see any real results.

Being an instant gratification person myself, I question how long I can swing those things around.

I did something crazy Saturday night

And it has nothing to do with the bar at the Iguana, acrobatics over kegs or waking up on Bull Feeney's bathroom floor (none of which I've done, by the way, but I'm sure there's people out there who have).

No, what I did was surprising, but it's all on the up and up. Saturday night I met up with some friends - and when they were heading off to do some drinking in the Old Port, I WENT HOME. Yes, it's true. Unbelievable, but true.

I was determined to get up early to go for a run on Sunday and no amount of nachos and beer was going to sway me otherwise.

So I went home early, woke up refreshed on Sunday and went to the gym. I realize the weather was ideal for an outdoor jog, but I find running on a treadmill is so much easier. Besides, Planet Fitness has TVs (with cable! Praise Jesus!) and I can get my Discovery Channel fix while I'm there.

It's a nice feeling - doing something good for your body rather than seeking out ways to punish it.

A fellow runner, Janice, was kind enough to send along this group photo she snapped last week. It's before the run, which is why we're all still smiling.

I'm taking bets now as to how many people will last through the entire 18 weeks.

A couch is born - and maybe a runner

IT'S A COUCH!

Cocoa Microfiber, Jr.
Born 1:37 p.m. EST
150 lbs, 87 inches

I feel like a proud mother, who after months (i.e., two weeks) of waiting and hours (i.e. 5 minutes) of pushing (by the movers) I finally have my baby in my arms (i.e., I'm sitting on it).

And love it I do, but that didn't stop me from saying a temporary goodbye for a 2-mile jaunt around the Back Bay with the training group. And to the 9 people who yesterday voted for me to ditch the run and break in the new couch - my apologies.

The run itself went well. Something about the first 50-degree day in what seems like eternity gets me inspired. Not inspiring, though, was the view of Back Bay - it looked more like the aftermath of Woodstock '94 and smelled, well, a little like the aftermath of Woodstock '94. That storm tide sure had it's way with the running path.

But I'm hardcore, remember, so I plugged along. And you know, it felt great.

It's a classic struggle: Woman v. Microfiber

I've been procrastinating the official running start. I've gone out for a jog here and there, but my heart hasn't been in it - my heart's actually be adamantly against it, giving my ribs a good thumping at every attempt at exercise. Mother Nature seems to think running's a bad idea too. Last Thursday I skipped the group run, and here's why:

Of course, that snow quickly melted, so I was preparing myself mentally to run early this week. But then this happened:

Bless the weather for encouraging my laziness! But then today - the group run day - the sun suddenly breaks through - the roads start drying - trees are lifted off running paths. I'm having trouble finding a loophole today.

But then I remembered - my new couch is being delivered today! It's like a cocoa-colored cloud sent from heaven, draped with a stain-resistant microfiber covering. I've been daydreaming of it for days and now that it's home-coming has arrived, how can I abandon it in it's very first moments as my couch?

That'd just be cruel. I owe it to the couch, after it's long journey from South Portland, to cancel any plans and cuddle it 'til morning, right?

Hardcore, with hard habits to break

The actual Reach the Beacon training started on April 5th - the day after a decent-sized snow dump. There was no way - on day one - that they were going to make us run in that cold slop...I mean, great for Iron Man wannabies, but I'm just a chubby jerk who wants to fit into her pants again.

But we did run - and right after my feet lost all feeling, and right before the snow had collected so deeply on my face that I could no longer see - I was glad of it. For all the passersby knew, I did this all the time - blazing (okay, lightly trotting) down the street despite the harsh weather.

I was hardcore. I could barely breathe, but I was hardcore.

Two miles we ran - running 5 min/walking 2 - and I was more than a little relieved that a) I was fairly on par with the rest of the group and, b) I didn't die.

To celebrate the achievement, I had a cigarette in the car on the way home.

Why run? It's a pants issue

Downward spirals are usually pretty easy to spot - they imply a quick and definite plummet, a fall from high. But sometimes plummets are in slow motion and you can easily dismiss the signs. Like when, at 28, you find yourself panting at the top of two flights of stairs (but you were carrying stuff! Those keys are heavy!). Soon, afternoon napping becomes the norm and the 10-minute walk to work is seen as an immense accomplishment.

But I can't ignore the intense feelings of loss, each time a pair of pants passes from the world of the wearable into the dark, hidden corner of my closet where the skinny pants dwell.

The bountiful collection of pants I could wear last year, left, compared to the three pairs of jeans I can still rotate through the week, right.