Vernonia Race Report

It is 5am. Sunday morning. I pull up to the Cheetah and the Warrior's house to see the dark of night still shining through and groan. Crap. We’re supposed to leave in 20 minutes. I go in and thud thud thud, 30 seconds later down the stairs comes my Squirmy girl, jumping and licking and squirming all over. I turn on the lamp and sit down with my tea and book. The Cheetah comes down in his race shirt and fleece pants. Hey buddy. Hey. You ready? He smiles at me, just a little. You bet. Squirm alternates between trying to convince me to let her sit on my lap and trying to convince her dad to feed her. Next comes the Bear, whimpering and whining the whole way down the stairs. She scrunches over to me and the Cheetah brings her some doggie painkillers. She's a special kind of drug-seeker, our Bear, but no one can say it's not earned. Finally the Warrior, hair in braids, all geared up and ready. We fumble around getting food. Finally the Cheetah goes to put the seats up in the car and I grab my bag, then the Warrior’s, then his. They make their coffee and we all kiss the dogs, and then head out into the world where the rain has started to gently fall. Today is a day, it is a day to run. Must gas up the car, then head east on 126. We joke and talk, tell work stories and dog stories, try to find good music, do not mention what is about to come. And after a pit stop which my brother is so kind to provide, we arrive at our final destination—Banks Junior and Senior High School, in Banks, OR. 6am.

The cafeteria is lit with volunteers. It is a small operation and so the race director is hauling boxes and helping to set up the tables. As we get our race bibs, more and more of the Running Chicks trickle in, until there are 7 of us and the Cheetah. We take pictures, potty breaks, pump each other up, sit silently and watch the sky lighten. 7am. We--minus the Cheetah, who is not doing the early start like the rest of us--board the school buses heading to Cedar Ridge in Vernonia for the early start. We claim the big bench seat in the back—“the cool kids” seat as my SnortBuddy puts in, and rumble and bounce our way over 40 minutes of hills. Cedar Ridge is a great camp and we use the frigid toilet, sit in the warm hall, and eat our prerace snacks. Then come pictures, our arms around each other, offering bits of our hearts to each other. The start is up the hill, it begins as a road race and for a while we will end up playing chicken with traffic. The starter goes through the rules and reminders, and as we all count down from 10, the Chicks huddle up for a high five, and we are off!!

What happens next, those miles, each burning step and dark moment, is indescribable. If you haven’t done it, you don’t know. I don’t mean that to be pompous or offensive, I sure thought I knew, but oh man, it’s a test of the will and the soul. You question why you chose this, what is going to come of it, decide on your next appointment with a psychologist because clearly something is wrong with you. Towards the end you begin to yell at yourself, vocally percuss your way through each step “ne-ver ne-ver ne-ver ne-ver ne-ver ne-ver give up”, occasionally have serious conversations with the sheep in the fields you are passing. At each aid station you feel a little foolish, clearly you are not cut out for this. But when you tell the volunteers that they are amazing, the answer you hear is unexpected: so are you. And in the slow torturous uphills, the rain trickling down your face, and the surges you take when you are passed by faster runners, those words keep you going. Good friends find you along the way, Fanatic runs with you for part of it or all of it, keeping you sane in seconds of pure glorious insanity, feeding you gummy bears, do you like the red ones? Yep! Good, we can be friends then. Mile 8 is when the lead runners start passing by, the first one says nothing, nor the second, but the third-fourth-fifth in a tight pack offer us praise, you're doing great, keep it up, good going! We cheer back and they swing out of sight. The Cheetah passes Fanatic and I around mile 11, he is all smiles and high fives. The final descent is a rough switchback; at the end you see the traffic cop who is holding up the stop sign giving everyone hive fighs and big smiles. Fanatic drops back. And you hit that flat running, run your goddamn heart out, finish strong no matter how many tears are rolling down your cheeks.

In the personal record you did—8 whole minutes from my last half!! 23 from my first half, oh so many months ago—you find a joy; in catching your brother as he comes across the marathon finish line, his first, and falls over, oh man 3:55 for reals?! you find a pride wild and screaming—in being part of the pack to run your sister into the stadium to finish her first marathon in 10 years, you find a family. It is indescribable. No words. Perhaps the best I will come up with are these, written on the inside cover of my first Non-Runner’s Marathon Trainer book and written in between each rib and on top of my toes: your feet will take you oh-so-far. Your heart will take you further. (the signature reads, all our love, the Cheetah and the Warrior.)

So here in the chilly hours and minutes of uncertainty, a place familiar and jumpy before each race, trying to get my butterflies into the perfect flying V formation, I reach for that knowledge and find it. To me there is no greater feat worth undertaking; if I can do this I can do anything and I can do this. If in no other part of my life am I sure, here I know that I will succeed before I ever begin.

Lessons

Got new kicks today!! Oh man so excited. And they're red and shiny too. I'm finally retiring THESE-->

because after 10 months and about...oh...500 miles, the seams are split and the heels are worn down and the laces are frayed and the insoles are coming apart...they're great shoes though, and I'll be using them for workouts and walks and bouncing around the office. (TOTALLY aware I'm getting all geeked out and sentimental about shoes, but wow have I gone so many miles in that pair. Farther than I ever thought I would.)

Well, today was my long run and last run in said pair of shoes. It was originally supposed to be 8, but seeing as I'd kicked out a solid 7 on Thursday, I decided to stretch a little further and go for 9 or 9 1/2. I'm digging this shorter training runs dealio, it's allowing for some wiggle room in my run distances and that's leading for better workouts. Yesterday was some good hard strength training and I could feel it today in my abs (oh dear sweet lord, people, ab work is going to be the death of me!). I got to the turn around point for 9 and decided to keep on trucking. Not as fast as Thursday, but solid nontheless.

The Runner seemed determined to run across my path as many times as she could, which led to several meetings of my feet and her hind paws, followed by several hurt and pathetic looks. Apparently she's forgotten how this works! We synced it up after a while and when I slowed my pace she took every opportunity to sniff and snuffle and look up at me reproachfully. Oh, how I love the Runner. She's such a little champ!! Of course once we got home, she ate 1 1/2 dinners and crawled up on the couch, where she barked at me to tuck her in under the quilt, where she's been snoozing ever since.

We did 10.3 today! So much fun, I have to admit. It was a real struggle off and on; I handicapped myself out the gate with some less than positive thoughts, but they were familiar and I knew how to fight them off. We hit the edge of the St. John's bridge and I marveled. Today was one of those days that makes me believe in a higher power. Or would, if I wasn't so very much my atheist grandfather's progeny. There was blue mist sitting over the west hills and the spires of St. John's bridge seemed to stretch farther than usual, scraping the sky. Sunny and cold and perfect; I love these days.

My SIL was very right about the strength training. I could feel it today, my sore abs and tired calves, but I'm getting faster and stronger. And 10.3 in 2 1/2 hours makes me very optimistic that by the time May rolls around, I'll be doing my 13.1 in under 3, which is all I want to do. Although I'm going to have to start doing some of the long ones without the Runner...sad day... but she's not allowed on the race course, so I'll have to be used to going along without her.

The lesson of the day was being overprepared. My last mile and a half was brutal. I hadn't eaten enough real food beforehand to do 10 and the GU's and jelly beans helped, but I was wavering by the end. When I stopped at the last crosswalk I just about fell over; I'm positive that 3 of the drivers stopped thought I was rather intoxicated. But hey, I was still upright! Annnnd I'm not gonna lie, if need be I'll crawl across the damn finish line. My favorite runner's shirt says if found down, drag across finish line. Well, that and in my dreams, I'm a Kenyan. We're crazy, but it comes with a side of a wicked sense of humor.

For the three of you who are still reading, I hope you're enjoying my traverses as much as I am. So many people have told me that they find nothing so boring as running; I have to respect that and believe me, I'm not going to talk anyone else into taking on those challenges. It's something you have to come to yourself, much like everything else in life. And there's something for everyone, you know? I can't ever see myself rock climbing or surfing. But I have to have serious respect for those who do.

My goal for this year is 15-20 miles a week. First week out and I did 22. Yes!!!

Daily miles: 10.3
Total mileage for the week: 22.7

what the what?!

so this evening i set out to do 4 miles. well, i set out to do 4 miles w the new Lunatic who is going to join us, but she couldn't make it. so i went home and grabbed the Runner, put on my new 3/4 running pants (thank you big fat man in the red suit--also Mom) and the running vest i picked up today (because you can't run when you've been hit by a car, folks!) and set out to do 6. well...mayyybe 6. more like 5. or 4 1/2. i figured anything more than 4 was good. after all, it's january. the sun was down and it was about 12 (ok, possibly 13) degrees out and let's face it, i haven't done more than 3 in a very long time. it would be slow. and it would be painful. i've been here before, this starting out place. every footfall is heavy, the clothes are uncomfortable, that right song never comes on. i fought through it the last few miles of the marathon. and i prepared to do so tonight.

i was right. the first few miles were ROUGH. everything i did was wrong! the shoes weren't tied right and the new vest kept creeping up; the Runner kept giving me the look (for an example, see below) and i'm pretty sure i cried there out of sheer frustration. but i did one thing right. i didn't stop. and somewhere around mile 2 1/2, it kicked in. what's it, you're asking? well. it's hard to explain. but see when the breath began to be more rhythmic and my brain realized that my legs wouldn't stop and just gave in, when the Runner started to pick it up and actually run along excitedly, instead of loping and sniffing and shooting me whatthehellamidoinghere looks, that's IT. suddenly i was going and there was no stopping this time. my feet plonked like they were playing a tune and each sidewalk crack seemed to bow and smooth underneath me. it felt like magic, you guys, magic born on sweat and tight lungs and struggle and finding that halfway point to turn around and know that i would indeed make it home on my own two feet. it felt faster than usual, and i pushed it just a little. didn't want to run out of steam--my 2 Gu's and my lack of hydration weren't exactly smart choices to being prepped for much more than 4, but i figured it wouldn't be much farther than that. still, i felt pretty good. even the Runner stopped sniffing long enough to trot out ahead of me and have some fun--put her tail up and stuck her head in the air and waggled her behind in that way she does when she's having a good time (yes, i'm aware that she is a dog and that i'm probably spending too much time with canines and not enough time with people but whatever. she doesn't judge!). we pulled it out down the last little hill, singing along and disturbing the neighbors and being total freaks.

you guys, i got home and we'd gone 7.1 miles. doing 12 1/2 minute miles the whole way. i'll be damned if that wasn't the fastest i've EVER gone. maybe it was the little engine that could psychology, or the freezing mist that began, or the Runner ahead who was suddenly VERY hungry and ready to be home-uh now Auntie come ONNNN-UH. whatever it was, i liked it. saturday was going to be 8. now i'm aiming for 10 and i'll be happy with 9.

again, i must say WHAT the WHAT?!

today's mileage: 7.1
total mileage: 12.4

postscript:

YEAH. it's like that -->

(worst part is, it's actually really really stinking cute and so i just want to run faster to make her happy.)

it's all in your head

dodgeball day!! always fun and a great shake up the week activity!

and now it's the night before a big interview and i'll make this brief (for once), but days off always present a challenge. my SIL seems to have a 6th sense as to ,when i'm needing a pep talk, and today was a good time for her reminders. i'm NOT starting from the beginning. and while the next two or three weeks will suck, i've done the 8s and the 10s and hell, the 15s and 20s. i know what to do in prep, how to power through, what i love the most about it. i'm serious about it...but that doesn't mean i take it seriously!! the miles are familiar, they are not comfortable but from tonight i can hear them singing to me.

this week i have been living for the end of the days, when the sky has come down and i can go run. it's been a wobbly start, low mileage and whatnot, but even from here, i know that this weekend i can do 8. next week my mileage goals are 5s and 6s and 7s, and then a solid 10 next weekend. it's a mental game, telling yourself that you can do it and then when you are in the desperate questioning miles, actually believing it. because once you get past the terrible first mile (or two), it's all the same. the work is mental, and that is so much harder than the physical! are the Runner and i ready?

well, tonight, i do believe we are.

(see? short!!)

miles for today: none
miles total: whatever they were yesterday
snort count (for you, BofF!): 19
dodgeball "kills": at least 7

oh my, what a day!

Big news in Lunatic's world: I've been published again! Big news in The Runner's world: I came home with my running shoes already on and then we DIDN'T. GO. ANYWHERE. Also, her mama's new roomba (nicknamed Pepe, thank you Bro) is fraying her little nerves. Poor Runner.

Today marked the start of my challenge-within-my-challenge (think of it as a Lunatic's version of A Midsummer Night's Dream...you know, a play within a play?). This one was brought about by my crafty SIL, who is a new proponent of strength training. She promises I will be a stronger, faster runner who has more fun with it by the end of my month. I am skeptical but as she gives good advice (and because I'm a product of my genetics and canNOT resist a challenge), I've decided to rise to it. Why not? Worst that can happen is that it doesn't help at all. Best that can happen...well, who knows? I may as well put everything I've got into it. Added to that, due to my schedule, one day a week will be run AND strength train day. So that was today! Happy Tuesday! My legs are sore, my abs are jello, and I'm officially exhausted. Cross train SUCCESS.

Thursday the Runner and I will add another buddy to our jog, a buddy of mine from work who wants to get into it. I'm not sure if s/he gets that when I say slow I mean oh my god there are dying sloths who move faster than that slow, and that when I say that this is a slippery slope to hooked I mean didja see the methheads outside work today? Yeah, like that. I think s/he will do just fine though, and I'm excited to have a pace partner!! The Runner will take a few times adjusting, but hey, after she learned that if she runs across my path I will inevitably go down and take her with me (concrete hurts, y'all), we got right into a good rhythm; I have no doubt that she'll find a way to rise to the challenge of having two Lunatics to herd instead of just one. I mean, it'll be tough. But she'll get it done.

On the horizon for tomorrow: DODGEBALL!

The trash needs taking out and oh man do I need to go find my sweats, but there's just one more thing I want to note about today, and believe me I'm noting it purely for my own reminder. In the midst of my (short but hard) run, I did .32 of a mile at an 8 minute mile pace. I'm guessing that .32 isn't very far for most of you. But for me, tonight, it's farther than I ran at an 8 minute yesterday, and it's far enough for now.

Mileage for the day: 1.67
Total mileage: 5.03

the beginning of the trouble

Lunatic

AND

The Runner

I'm the lunatic. She's the runner. Which is never so obvious as on these ohmygodit'ssofrackingearlyandreallyjesuschristicannotfeelmylegsanymorebecauseit'ssocold mornings. Have you ever tried running with a somewhat bored and definitely unimpressed border collie? I get the look at each stoplight: c'mon, Aunt Jo*, pick up the damn pace. She's not quite scornful, if for no other reason than I will be the one feeding her when we get home, fulfilling my role of "food lady #2".

But let's back up a bit, shall we? Above is me after my first ever marathon, almost exactly three months ago. If you had told me two years ago that I would ever try to do a marathon, much less finish it without, say, dying, I would have told you to stop drinking so much. And to maybe stop with the hard drugs, mmmkay? I'm what's affectionately known as a "fat girl runner". Not a derogatory term, mind you, just a descriptive one. So how did this all happen? Well, my SIL, and the Bro, and of course the Runner, started me out when I first moved in and now here I am, 600 miles and sweaty breathless amazement and 2 pairs of shoes and countless tubs of BodyGlide in, hooked. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. I'm a stage manager, a babysitter, a social worker, a dodgeball player--many things to many people--but what the hell? A runner? Uhhhh...

The Runner is a sinewy shiny black thing, a white tipped tail and all border collie herding--lab loving--crazy bad troublemaker of a dog. She was an import from Puerto Rico (seriously, her history so outstrips my own), adopted with about 9 other pups off the streets of Puerto Rico by a nun who shipped them all back here. Her first owner, a lovely man we call her "bio dad", adored her. His lady friend did not, and the Runner is lots of things but not a StarterDog. And once she caught wind of lady friend's...dislike...she did all sorts of terribly naughty things. I won't bore you. But it's our good luck, because she's now my SIL's sweet black shadow and my Bro's little girl and my Runner. From time to time her rotten beast stripes come out and she follows her sister, Big Bear, into household scrapes and garbage forays--but truth be told, they are two of the greatest dogs ever to exist on the planet.

My best friends think I'm nuts. Why would anyone run so much they lose toenails? Or break themselves (true story, says the SIL)? Or collapse from exhaustion? What could POSSIBLY be worth it? And once upon a time I would have agreed with them. Runners are crazy. We are CRAZY. You would have to be, to go 3.1 or 6.2 or 13.1 or 26.2 or dear god, even further (can anyone say ultra marathoner?) than that, and do it willingly, and joyfully. My first run was in the great looming hills outside our city and I cried the whole way. My first race was a 5k, 3.1 little ones, and yet by the end I'd never been more sure of my own two feet. It's a drug, this running business, and I'm hooked. There's no greater high than the endorphins, starting you out, getting you through the first mile/worst mile, the last 3 excruciating ones, and finally across the damned finish line (who the hell decided to put it so far away from the start, anyway?!). At the end comes a great surge of emotion, heady and intoxicating, and three days later when you finally come down, you realize that you did something big. That if you can make it every step of THAT CHALLENGE, hell, you can do anything. I'll be the first to say I'm not fast. Hah! The opposite of, in fact!! I'll never be fast and I'll never finish first. I'll never run a 6 minute mile and no one is ever going to look at me and say, "oh yeah. She's a runner. For sure." That's ok with me. And that's possibly my favorite part about running. It doesn't matter if you're Deena Castor or the slowest kid west of the Rockies. In the end, the distance you cover is the same.

So if you're at all intriguied, or you love running, or you've ever watched a marathon and thought, "what the f**k is wrong with these people?", or if you're really bored, follow along. The Runner and I are embarking on the next great challenge, a sub 3 1/2 marathon in the spring. I've finally recovered from my minor but sidelining marathon injury (subluxed cuboid bones suck, kids) and now we're starting again. It's gonna be fun! I have four months to lose some weight, pick up some speed and strength, and shed at least 15 minutes but hopefully more off my time. But if you follow along, be warned: you may just fall in love with this crazy sport. After all, I did.

Today's mileage: 3.36