2 Marathon PR's in 1 Week

This past Sunday I participated in my first full marathon. More details on that to follow, but first I want to commandeer the photos my mom took from her camera. Trust me, there are some great action shots that are going to show just how dorky I was during this whole adventure.

Yesterday morning I woke up to find this in my inbox:

My first thought was, gee, the course did feel a little long.

I was timing myself with my Nike+ chip that syncs to the watch. I know that a marathon course is calculated by the runner taking all of the shortest trips around corners, and if you are on the outside of a turn you are going to add on distance.

So at that point I just figured that I took all of the outside turns a little wide. I did not even think about the course being mislabeled.

And thus I learned that my original PR (since I had never run a full marathon before) of 04:54:58 was now slashed and changed to 04:53:18.

I PR'ed for a marathon twice in three days!

And now I will do a little victory dance, because that must mean I am pretty much a superhuman. Along with about 8000 other participants, but who's counting?

The Winter Warpath

My first mistake was thinking that if my sidewalks were cleared off, everyone would be diligent enough to clean off theirs as well.

This face about says it all. I would like to publicly thank all the folks that remove their snow in a timely fashion. For those that are not as diligent, well I was always told that if you don't have anything good to say--

Anyways, I am going to take the suggestion of my blogger buddy Sharla and consider this to be my own personal Warrior Dash/Muddy Buddy/Hell Run. But I would also like to add in a new kind of race -- The Winter Warpath.

In the course of just over an hour, I trudged through snow drifts, splashed with slush by on coming cars, climbed over snow banks, and slid on icy patches. It was awesome!

A couple highlights, as I was running over an over pass I almost rolled my previously injured left ankle. That would have stunk, thankfully after stretching it out for a bit the tenderness wore off. Was able to continue on with no pain.

At one point I had to go into the road because there was simply no way to stick to the sidewalk. Of course there are vehicles who do not understand the whole -- lets slow down because it is slick outside -- mentality. Nervous that they would swerve at me, I threw myself into a snowbank, also listed on the graphic above as "Dug tunnel through snowbank".

It was windy, it was slick, and it was snowy. Thankfully my feet stayed pretty dry and I was able to finish my scheduled 7 mile run. Absolutely tickled pink with my 8:51/mile pace considering the conditions. Honestly, I felt like I was going like a snail, so it was a bit of surprise when I plugged that into my computer.

A side note: I love that the nike run girl on my green chart is wearing shorts and a tank, because she would not. survive. it. in. Wisconsin. Just sayin'.

Apparently playing in the snow makes me feel like a kid again. Makes me wonder if there are winter run races with snow tunnels and required snow angel making during the course? If so, could someone send me the info because I think I may have found my new love?

In the Light of the Moon

NOTE: I feel rather introspective today since the temps around here are perfect running weather for--I don't know--only an abominable snowman. Let's see how I do with being serious:

My middle school cross-country coach used to bike along side us during our warm up and then subsequently subject us to quarter sprints. I am not built to be a sprinter, even at 12 years old I recognized this fact. I would groan under my breath and mutter to myself,

"That which does not kill me will only make me stronger."

The winter brings not only the frigged cold to the frozen tundra, it brings the long, dark nights. It tests my resolve in strength, and I pull out my mantra from many years ago. If I dig down deep enough, I can make my mind will away the cold, but I can not create light.

Bundle up in layers, throw on my gaudy reflective shirt on top, and take to the streets.

And on that rare evening when the winter sky is clear and a beautiful full moon is out I find my contentment. The daylight is gone, but the moonlight is alive. It does not warm like the suns rays, but it illuminates bouncing off the snow covered ground.

I wander down pathways and main streets that are alive in the summer with pedestrians, but near silent in the winter. Only the headlights of passing vehicles join in the moonlight.

Five miles, that is all I need this evening. Five miles in the night.

My checks are chapped. My thighs are most likely a bright red under my running tights. The temps are now in the low single digits.

I hit my halfway point and turn back. The moon illuminates the icy patches and I do my best to navigate around them. It is so bright tonight, much better than the street lamps.

I have no sarcastic musings, no deep profound thoughts. Just a girl running in the freezing cold in the light of the moon.

The Freedom of the Moon by Robert Frost

I've tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I've tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone, or in one ornament combining
With one first-water start almost shining.

I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I've pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.

ENDNOTE: This being serious stuff is hard work. How does Anderson Cooper keep a straight face night in and night out?

Keys to Surving Teen Night

Friday night is my time to go to the gym and work out. I have no work the next day and generally few obligations over the weekend. Friday is perfect for working out because it is typically quieter than any other night of the week and more of the machines are open.

In short, Friday night is my zen time at the gym.

All except that one Friday night a month where the entire building is inundated with overzealous mongrels know as, dare I say it, preteens.

Their parents happily dismiss them from there presence in a rather abrupt manner. Dad pulls the family mobile around the front door, comes to a rolling stop, while Mom shoves Junior out the door toward the building. The now childless parents barely stop to wave pleasantries and remind their child to behave before gunning it down the street to their night of freedom.

The preteens congregate in the lobby where they are checked in and start to form herds with their friends who have just been rolled out of their family mobiles. The herds move in large clusters down the hall, and unsuspecting adult members are forced to duck into wall crevices. Dare an adult try to go head on into a herd assuming they will show courtesy and make room on the side will likely be trampled. The preteens will hardly even notice the lump curled up on the ground as they continued their texting/mindless walking/path of destruction.

The adults will try and find sanctuary in areas where "Individuals under 18 are prohibited". They will find little solace as there are continual announcements over the PA, "Junior, please report to the front desk. This is your herd, we are planning a coup d'état of the Judo class in session. Junior, please report to the front desk."

In order to take back my Friday night at the gym, I am proving my essential survival skills to make it through preteen night.

1. Befriend the preteens. This may at first appear to be counter-intuitive, such as, if they know you, they are more likely to pester you. However, I volunteer at a youth organization and mentor many preteens. I garner a small amount of respect, and hold a secret weapon, their names. When I am trying to go through the herd gauntlet I shout out, "Hey Junior, how's it going?" And instantly he looks up from his texting and walks with me a bit to catch up, proving safe passage amongst his peers and reducing trampling risks.
2. Avoidance. Take the back passages in the building when possible and find low traffic routes in and out of the adult areas.
   
3. Travel in packs. Every other adult is in the same predicament. They understand the delicate nature of the situation. Under the circumstances, it is imperative to leave the locker room in groups no smaller than four. Find the scrappiest one in there and flank her until you reach safety.
   
4. Work on your "mom voice" and "the look". Even if you have no children, borrow some to practice on. Two mothering techniques that have mystical powers and served women for centuries.
   
5. Invest in a pair of headphones with some sound proofing. Ignore the pesky PA announcements. How likely is it anyway that an actual emergency or something you need to pay attention to is said anyways?
   
6. Never show fear. The preteens can sense your weakness. No hesitation, no exceptions. The moment your hand trembles or your lip quakes, you are a goner.

While not an absolutely comprehensive listing, it is important to develop your own personal pre-teen night plan. This evening I was able to make it unscathed through the masses. Others were not as fortunate.

Remember, zen is worth it. You are worth it.

Even I will look on the bright side of the situation, I rather like knowing the preteens are at the gym and not out--I don't know-- toilet papering my yard or something. At least they are accounted for.

Cat Motivation in the Morning

The one thing harder than to start training for my first marathon, is training after a nasty cold. I feel physically weak, and it does not help with the whole mental attitude either.

I wake in the middle of the night feeling hungry. Apparently dinner is not satisfying enough. It is 1am and I really want to just go back to bed and sleep in.

My alarm goes off at 6am and I try to hit the snooze button. My brain wars between not having enough sleep and finding the motivation to just get out of bed.

My cat makes the decision for me. He nuzzles me for a moment then agilely leaps to the floor. For some reason my body instinctively follows, albeit not as gracefully. Standing beside my warm bed I seriously contemplate diving back in and resetting my alarm clock. Instead I force my feet toward the chair with my laid out winter weather running clothes and mindlessly dress myself as my kitty rubs against my leg looking for his morning breakfast.

I shuffle to the kitchen and grab kitty's food first. He is so demanding. I pull out some Greek yogurt, pumpkin flax granola, and a little honey. Kitty eyes me suspiciously, as if he knows I am dragging and do not want to head out the door.

My hat and mittens are on and I am out the door. It is cold out, but not unbearable. Still dark outside, and a light covering of snow is on the ground. A little traction on the slippery sidewalks I muse. In my revised running plan this run is just a feeler, about two miles. Just enough to see if I am really over this nasty cold.

I take it easy the first half mile or so. At first I am not as self conscious about hocking luggies.

"A mass of mucous and saliva that is forcefully ejected from the mouth onto a person or object. "

Not very ladylike behavior, but I am stuffed up. Pretty sure by body wants to expel that crude in an efficient manner, and it is still dark out. Who is going to catch me?

Until a turn and see an older gentleman coming outside of his house bundled up in a hunting parka. I shrug unapologetically and continue on. If he wants to scold me, he has to catch me. Which may not be as hard as it sounds since I am still fairly sluggish.

A mile out I can feel how the inactivity is affecting my muscles. Even after a short run they are strained. I run around a small block and double back.

I pass the hunting parka man who is now walking down the block. I smile and nod, he just stares impassively. Grumpy.

My pace picks up a bit as my muscles warm. Still strained, but feels lighter too. They need the release after a sleepless night. Sprinting the final stretch I stop my watch and am amazed my pace was clocked at 6'44/mi those last few meters. There is still some energy in the tank. That is good news.

Overall, I run 2.4 miles in 21:01. A 8'44/mi pace. Not terrible considering I am hocking up more luggies into the snow bank as I enter my kitchen to finish my breakfast and make lunch.

I discover that grilling chicken breasts that have marinated all night is soothing after a short trip outside. Kitty jumps on the counter and eyeballs me, I get some too, right?

Pull out the kitty treat jar and he relaxes. Darn him and his cute little pouty face. But he deserves something, he motivated me to get out of bed after all. He commandeers his prize and runs from the room to terrorize his little kitty sister. I'll sneak her a treat later for putting up with him.

I pour some chocolate milk into a cup. After all, my bed was calling, but I ran instead. Treat for me too.

Pumpkin Creme Pies & A Run

I loved Oatmeal Creme Pies growing up. Like to the point, where if my mom splurged on a box, between the two of us we inhaled them within a couple days. Probably not the best idea in the world, but I can hardly blame Little Debbie for making such delectable treats.

A few days ago I was perusing through websites and stumbled upon Pumpkin Creme Pies. I was intrigued. Could they hold up to the awesomeness of my childhood favorites?

There was only one to find out.

I went to the store to pick up a few of the ingredients I did not have; pumpkin, nutmeg and cloves. Then I came home and realized I did in fact, have full jars of nutmeg and cloves...oops. Guess that meant if the recipe went well, I would be making more.

Followed the recipe pretty much to a "T", but made a few substitutions. Lets face it, with as much sugar going into this thing as there is, it is not going to be the most healthy creation, but I could help it out a touch. Highlighted substitutes in bold.

The Cast:

For the Cookie:

• 1 cup Brown Sugar
• 1 cup Sugar
• 1 cup Vegetable Oil
• 1 can Pumpkin (15 Oz.)
• 1/2 cup Egg Beaters
  
• 1 teaspoon Vanilla Extract
• 3 cups Wheat Flour
• 1 teaspoon Baking Soda
• 1 teaspoon Baking Powder
• 1 Tablespoon Cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon Ground Ginger
• ½ teaspoons Salt
• ½ teaspoons Ground Nutmeg
• ¼ teaspoons Ground Cloves

For the Frosting:

• 1 package Cream Cheese Softened (8 Oz.)
• 1 cup Cocoa Butter, Room Temperature
• 1 package Powdered Sugar (16 Oz.)
• 3 drops Vanilla Extract
• 2 dashes Cinnamon

The Method:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Pumpkin Creme Pies:

Mix the brown sugar, sugar, oil and pumpkin. Add the egg beaters slowly, and continue mixing. Add in the vanilla -- I am still spoiled with the stuff I brought back from the Dominican Republic. I honestly can taste the difference.

In a separate bowl, mix together the dry ingredients.

Combine the dry ingredients into the wet ingredient bowl slowly.

Cut 3 inch squares of parchment paper, the original recipe calls for 24, but because I cut the pastry bag tip a little smaller, I ended up with 30. Using a pastry bag plastic baggie since I don’t have any pastry bags around, cut a hole in the tip, start making a swirl pattern on the pieces of wax paper. Mine were also a little larger then the original recipe, about 3 inches wide.

Put the piped batter circles onto the sheets, and allow them to bake for 12 minutes, you want them firm enough, but overall pretty soft. Pull them off the baking sheet and onto a cooling rack or a towel to settle.

Cream Cheese Filling:

Mix together cream cheese and butter. Add in the powdered sugar, vanilla and cinnamon.

Once the pies are cooled (if they are too warm the frosting will melt off and drip down the sides more than necessary), frost a flat side of one pie, and add another on top to sandwich it off.

I ate a freshly warm Pumpkin Crème Pie and one that had sat in the refrigerator overnight, you know – for testing purposes. Preferred the cooler version, and the pie portion stayed nice and soft.

The Run:

I went out for a nice and easy four mile run before I baked the yummy-to-my-tummy Pumpkin Crème Pies. For some reason during most of the run my body felt out of sorts. I at my usual pre run snack, and had a good breakfast and lunch earlier in the day. I had hypothesis that I wasn’t hydrated enough, or if it might be the lack of sleep the last few days. But I would make the case that it was the Pumpkin Crème Pies fault. The mere thought of them is quite distracting.

To illustrate my point:

The whole time I was out on my run I knew in the back of my mind that the ingredients to this delectable treat were sitting on the counter awaiting my return. My focus was definitely on reviewing the recipe in my head.

A little over the halfway point I started to visualize the completed project. The fall favors of soothing pumpkin and spicy nutmeg. Drool escaped the corner of my mouth. And the frosting, heaven almighty, the frosting! The distraction was overwhelming, as evidence by my running graph.

So, in conclusion, it was definately the pies fault I was sluggish. There really is no other explanation.

Built like a Mule or a Clydesdale

Power meal before my run last night. Yummy pesto goodness. Cooked some noodles, pulled out a couple of frozen pestos pieces from its respective ice cube tray in my freezer, and topped off with some mozzarella cheese. Dear me, the drool is escaping down my chin.

Before my run I did a little reading on NY Times, because I like to have something to ponder as I pound away the miles. Sort of like in high school when the English teacher would give a writing prompt in order to force you into creating some literary awesomeness (my teacher's would be so proud of my use of language). I do this for two reasons:

• Keeps my brain from thinking about running. Kind of like highway hypnosis. Thinking about abstract ideas takes all the mental energy that I would use to think, "Why am I doing this?", "How can I create a shortcut on my route and get home to watch Dancing With the Stars on Time?", or, "Am I crazy?" and puts that energy into more meaningful topics. For example, "How can I reduce my environmental impact?", "What new and healthy recipe can I use to entice my office mates?", or, "Did I TiVo Dancing with the Stars?"
• Thinking about a prompted topic keeps me from accidentally singing out loud to the tunes on my iPod. That is more for everyone else's sake rather than my own.

The NY Times article that peaked my interest today was on weight classes in road races. Why it interested me was because I would currently fall under the women's weight class for a Clydesdale, if not at least an Athena. But not just that, I would have also fallen under this category when I was much fitter in high school.

Never one to really think dwell on weight so much as feeling healthy and fit, I've also never run a road race with the intention of winning. My goal is generally to stay in my PR range and enjoy the energy and fun of running along side others. And the cool swag, I love me some race t-shirts.

In high school I lovingly referred to myself as the mule. Never a sprinter by any stretch of the imagination, but I could finish any long distance run our coach threw at us. To me, fast was fast, and finishing was finishing. But I never put myself into a weight class.

The concept was not foreign though, even as a teenager I listened as two of my best friends would talk about weighing in for Power Lifting competition. Their sport recognized that there was a difference in performance between size, enough to justify different weight classes. However, I also learned of the pressure they faced before each competition to maintain their current weight, because even gaining a couple pounds. Because if they were pumped up into the next weight class, they would be on the low end and that could throw them off, not only physically but mentally as well.

All this thought provoking internal monologue carried me through mile two of my run. Then Kat DeLuna started belting out "Whine Up" and I started to jam along proving the second bullet point up top to be absolutely accurate. Inner dialog momentarily put on hiatus.

I finished my daily running and ponder time with a wild berry protein smoothie. Then I flipped on "Dancing with the Stars" and settled in for my final thoughts on my mental running prompt.

Which brings me to my parting analysis. Quite honestly, I really do not have a strong position formed on Clydesdale racing. I know there is a distinct advantage to small, lean racers. However, winning is not why I run. Even when I was younger I ran more to beat my own personal best rather then to race the pack. But that does not necessarily mean that is how everyone else sees this. Some folks want fairness, but on the flip side other folks do not want to be classified.

Its the competitive versus those folks just going out to have fun. I fall on the side that just wants to be healthy and enjoy myself. None of the races in my area have really offered this option for racing, but I will be interested to see if in the coming years if it gains popularity, that it pops up at more races.

***

On a side note, happy "International Walk to School Day!" If I had kiddos, I would definately make them lace up their tennis shoes and trudge it to class.

Fox Cities Half Marathon ::: Recap

Last year I slipped on some gravel and my ankle bent one way and the rest of my body went the other. It swelled up pretty quickly, and the next day I went into the doctor where he immediately informed me that I tore the ligament in my left ankle. It was the middle of the summer and I was training for the fall races, but that was going on hold.

It was hard to be patient while it healed. I knew I was not going to have time to train for the fall season and that was a bit disheartening. The brisk fall air was out, and I wanted to be pounding on the pavement. Instead I was wrapping my ankle trying to be a good patient. I felt a bit lost.

Sunday was the Fox Cities Half Marathon. I have been training for this since the doctor gave me the go ahead that everything was healed up. I followed my training schedule religiously, took my cross training seriously, and have been eating like a lean-green fighting machine.

And in part of that preparation I made schedule from my anticipated pace so that my family would know where to show up and cheer me on at what time.

Unfortunately my prep work was slightly flawed, but I am getting ahead of myself.

The Start

Mom proved once again why she is a saint, she picked me up at 6am and drove me to the starting line. She also served as my official event photographer.

The guns went off at 7:00, and it took a few minutes before my pace made it over the start pad. I did have my 2 seconds of fame on the local news. In their marathon video package I appear for a blip at 0:21 mark. At least they captured us when we were still looking fresh.

For the first couple of miles I just went with the pack of runners, and maneuvered my way around until I found a group of folks who were at a comfortable pace. It appeared we were all strangers, but keeping up a nice conversation. I do not know if it was the adrenaline, but I felt amazing, me legs were fresh and the weather was crisp and perfect for running.

We approached the first "hill" of the marathon, an overpass going over Highway 441. I felt confident, having added a lot of hill practices to my training schedule. I cruised over, and lost much of the group I had been pacing with the first couple of miles.

Settling in I turned up my tunes and ran to my own groove.

The Pace Sheet is Going to be Off

I hit the 5K marker and looked at my watch to see my time at about 25:25. Doing some quick mental math I panicked for a bit.

Alright, I might have slightly hyperventilated, but nothing bad enough to scare the other runners around me. I was way ahead of the pace I set for myself, but I had found such a groove that the miles just slipped by.

Worried I would overwork myself now and have nothing left for the end, I pulled back a bit. Even so, I knew I was ahead of my pace chart now.

At the halfway maker I glanced at my watch and knew I was just a bit over an hour. Still well ahead of pace. Scarfed down an energy gel and continued on my merry way.

It was at mile 9 that I finally found my Mom again. I waived frantically to get her attention. It was apparent that she was not expecting me yet, because she fumbled for the camera and tried to get a snapshot. Of course she yelled for me to stop to make sure she had a record for photographic posterity, but I knew if I did, I would never start up again. Thus starting the first in a series of amazing rear shots.

The second came a mile or so later when my Mom drove down a side street and found me again. Unfortunately resulting in another derrière exhibit.

Of course, the only shot of me actually running where my face is visible was taken at the start of the race and I look entirely too happy.

The Finish Line

My race settled in so well that I started to pick back up again after the halfway point. I cruised through the final "hill" aka bridge, surprising myself as I continued to pass folks during the charge. On the final stretch I began looking again for my family, needing some support to carry me through the last mile and a half.

I scanned the crowd lining the street, Mom was ahead. I gave her a grunt in acknowledgment and she cheered me on. One of my friends was there cheering on her husband and gave me a shout out. The rest of my family was MIA. I had a feeling that they were following my original spread sheet quite religiously, and were going to show up after I had passed through.

Knowing they would be there in spirit, I rounded the final turn up the lake front. The last time I ran this stretch in the half marathon I had been chaffing and feeling ready to throw in the towel. This time I was moving steadily and determined to finish strong.

The final 200 meters were killer. I wanted to sprint it in so badly and finish strong. My legs were jell-o. I ignored the pain and just pounded in. The clock overhead read 2:03, and something or another. I knew I started about a minute after the gun went off.

The volunteers wrapped us up, gave us our metals, and pushed us to the food tent to refuel. All I could think was my time was somewhere in the 2:02 range. I had beat my PR by over 15 minutes!

It took me a bit to find my Mom in the crowd. She was by the finish line area when I came up behind her as she was talking to a woman who had her blackberry out. The woman asked my mom, "What's your runner's bib number?" She looked at the screen, "She already finished."

"What?" I head my Mom say.

Coming up behind her I said, "Hi Mom!."

"Oh my gosh! When did you finish?"

I shrugged and looked at the time clock, "About 10 minutes ago."

"But, how did you get past me?" I shrugged again.

Mom was distraught she did not get a finishing photo, and after promising her I would buy one of the official race photos, she smiled and we took a couple of celebratory shots with my metal.

My official finish time was 2:02:56, demolishing my previous PR. I had to push myself--there were a few times during the race where I grimaced, but my thoughts were positive and I knew I was well trained. I was determined to finish that bad boy.

And now I am mentally getting to a place where I can start training for the full marathon. I felt good during the race, my recovery after it has been fantastic. Now I want to work on the next challenge.

I also want to work on pacing charts, because *ahem* apparently I am not too efficient at that.

"What did you do to me?"

My friend claims I broke her. She said so herself this morning in a very public fashion:

Vero said she would start training for a 5k next month, and I eagerly said I would help out a bit. So last night after work we both suited up and left from the office.

The weather was perfect. Sunny, gentle breeze, and temps in the high sixties. Simply perfect.

Knowing Vero does not run a lot, I was planning on taking it out slow, warming up, and then picking up the pace after the first mile.

But being the head strong woman that Vero is, she started pacing ahead of me.

"Are you sure you want to go out at a 8:45 min mile?"

"Yeah, yeah, it feels good," Vero responded.

"Well, just let me know and we can pull back a bit," to be honest I was looking forward to easing into the workout, and here she was kicking my rear into pace. I told myself to just take it like a champ and continue on.

When we hit the one mile mark, we were hit by a slight distraction.

"That looks like my niece up there," I pointed to a lean pre-teen with bright clothes on ahead.

"That's because it is your niece, Clarkie."

We veered off the path and crossed over to my nieceie, who happened to be holding a couple of packets in her hands. I saw the surprise in her face to actually see me out running, and then joy. At first I thought that jubilation she was exerting came from seeing her favorite auntie.

But then I caught sight of the packets in her hand and remembered she is my brother's child.

"Want to buy some wrapping paper or cookies?" She said with a grin on her face. Yeah, all she really wanted was my money. I stopped the watch while Vero and I did the obligatory peruse through the catalog's for her choir's fund raiser. We placed our orders and continued on our way.

"So, do you find it ironic that out of everything in the catalog, both of us decided to buy cookie dough while we are out for a run?" I asked Vero.

"Hmm--" Vero grunted and I took that as a signal to ignore the obvious and pick up my slack to start moving again.

On the running graph there is a drop at mile two.

That is when I was told we would start going slower. Vero is very demanding.

It did not bother me though, I felt good, and the slower pace was okay. I think I started to annoy Vero though when I started doing donuts around her and veering around the path. I swear I was not showing off.

Okay, maybe just a little bit.

But we finished just over 30 minutes. I figure that not being a regular runner, that was a great place for someone in Vero's shape to be at. She does cardio at her gym several times a week, including strength training. She has run before, just generally not as far or fast. If we put together the right training program for her, she should be able to vastly improve her time for the 5k.

So I really did not break my friend. We finished in a respectable time, did not even have to walk (other than our distraction at mile 1). And if she says anything to the contrary, I will remind her again that I tried to pull her back, but she pushed the pace.

And if all else fails, I will blackmail her with the cookie dough.

That one time I was passed by a speed walker

My mom and I apparently cannot talk enough. Even after my impromptu stop at her house during my last cross-training workout, we had an hour long conversation on the phone. We live about ten minutes away, I probably could have just biked over, but ehhh *shoulder shrug*, I just finished a short three mile run and just felt like being lazy. The bon-bons were calling.

We got on the conversation of speed walkers. I am absolutely fascinated by them, especially the uber competitive variety.

My mom and I were chatting and she suddenly broke out laughing.

"Wouldn't it be funny if you were passed by a speed walker during a race," her laughter continued, but suddenly halted when my end of the line remained silent, "Honey, are you still there?"

"Yeah, um actually--I have been passed by a speed walker before."

"Oh."

"It was kind of cool though, she had the motorcycle following along side and everything, you were there..."

At first I could hear the remorse in my Mom's voice about bringing it up, but then she started laughing again, "You were passed by a speed walker!"

Why I associate speed walking with comedy

The first time I had ever heard of competitive speed walking was during an episode of Malcolm in the Middle. It's the one where Hal decides to take up completive speed walking. Bryan Cranston who plays Hal always cracked me up, but when he put on the whole outfit, and topped it off with the helmet, it made me chuckle.

To top it off, Hal was naturally talented at it and trying to figure out why one of his rivals was suddenly so much better than him. He went so far as to video tape his competitor and analyze his gate. The punch line of the show was when Hal realized his competitor was letting both of the feet leave the ground ever three steps, an illegal move that made the walk be considered "running".

I loved how ruthless and competitive Hal was.

When the next summer Olympics were broad casted, I watched the speed walking race with my brother. He was hesitant at first, but I wanted to see the real thing in action, seeing as my only exposure was a thirty minute sitcom. It did not take long, we were soon both mesmerized.

"Look how smooth they are," Bro said with wide-eyed amazement.

"How do they move their hips like that?" I pulled out a notebook to take diagram notes and planned to dissect them later.

"They look like gazelles in water, with hideously colored lycra feathers."

"So beautiful," A stopped myself before the drool started to drip from my chin.

Speed walkers are even more amazing in person

Flash forward to the same fateful half marathon that RB and I ran together. The same one that the chub rub incident occurred. Just after the time my chaffing started to kick in somewhere between mile 11 and 12, I heard a motorcycle pull up behind me.

An official placard donned the front of the bike and the rider was cheerfully talking with the leading speed walker. The speed walker, a rock star woman was leading the pack (victory fist pump for women's awesomeness) and keeping up her part of the conversation without even sounding winded.

"I've finished second and fourth place the last couple years," she told the cyclist, "But this year I want to be first."

They passed me, and a whole pack of folks up on our right side --see, no shame if it was a mass passing, she obviously was just that good--and continued on for the last two miles.

After I reminded my Mom about the race she suddenly gasped, "I remember that now! I was by the finish area and everyone was cheering her on. That was really neat."

Neat-o indeed. I wished I could have seen her finish too, but I was still about a mile back grimacing with my red, irritated chubby thighs.

No shame

There is just something about speed walking that is so mesmerizing. It is not like most folks go out and say, "Honey, I'm going out around the block for an amazingly fast walk. Be back before supper."

No, its that they will go out for a run. I am a runner. I do not think I would have the patience to go out and learn the technique to be a competitive speed walker. But there is something about that just makes you want to watch. There is no way to look away.

I suppose it might be a bit of an ego blow for some to be passed up by those walking gazelles, but I thought it was awesome to witness. No shame in watching someone so talented in their craft that they can just leave you in their dust.

I will eat it humbly.

Chub Rub

I know what if feels like, but I did not know it had a name. In fact, I am intimately familiar with this particular phenomenon. That phenom would be “chub rub”. Such an affectionate name for what is essentially the most painful chafing I have ever encountered.

The worst part is that it could have been deterred.

But I get a head of myself. Let me jump back to the events that lead to my fateful experience with chub rub.

Prepping for my first half marathon

I stood in my local sports outfitter store with my accountabilabuddy. We had already picked out the fateful Pepto-Bismol pink matching race shirts and now moved over to the shorts.

“I’m getting these,” RB said holding up a pair of soccer shorts.

“Alright, if you want too. But I am thinking about these,” I pulled a pair of long compression shorts, “They look comfortable and won’t bunch up during the run.”

“Oh, no—you don’t want those,” a voice came from behind us. A tall, lean women in a store shirt stood behind and reached into the rack and pulled out a short, loose looking pair, “I’ve run several marathons, and these work the best.”

“I don’t know, these look comfy—”

RB cut me off, “Clarkie, she obviously has a lot of experience. I think you should get those.”

Two-to-one. I wanted to ignore both their advice and go with my gut. They were both built differently then me. I was short and a little stout. They were both taller and thinner. Despite going with my gut, I put the compression shorts back onto the shelf and took the pair from the saleswomen’s hands. Darn you passive-aggressive personality.

They were cheaper then the pair I was going to buy, so that did make me feel like the experienced saleswoman was trying to legitimately help me out.

Mile 10 of the half marathon

I felt my inner thighs start to burn. I knew my skin had been hitting itself throughout the race. I call this the skin wobble.

When you are just standing still, the thigh skin stays a respectable distance apart. However, add in the bounce from running and that once stationary skin starts to act a little like jello and moves all over the place.

The shorts had been fine the first few times I had worn them before the race, but now when I think about it, they had only been out on short runs and cooler days. Obviously my second mistake after purchasing them was not wearing them in race conditions.

With the midmorning sun beating down and the extended distance, I could feel the pain coming from my legs. Not to mention they kept riding up and giving me a wedgie, and I am fairly certain that I gave the runners behind me quite a show as I dug them out.

I grabbed some Vaseline from one of the water stations off what I believe to be a very sanitary piece of ripped of cardboard mounting the gel in a big glob. But the damage was already done. The gel on my legs made it even more painful as the skin was red and raw.

The aftermath

At work the week following the half marathon, I waddled around the office. Every time my thighs would come in contact with each other I would cringe. Of course the waddling style would not win me any bonus points as the awesome long distance runner that I am. So I spent the entire week hiding in my office and only came out when I was able to get a hold of one of the office interns and ask them to roll me around in my office chair.

I just told everyone it was part of my effort to get everyone else in the office to be as in shape as me, and that started with a chair pushing workout.

Lesson Learned

Although the woman at the sporting outfit store had good intentions, she was thinking about the experience purely from her own perspective, not the perspective of a then novice runner who had still has chubby thighs.

In the future I could rectify the situation by doing the following:

• Only shop with other thick thigh gals. They understand my plight, and we can work together to deter any pesky sales folks.
• Only shop primarily online. Sure, I can’t try the stuff on, but there is no one to stop me from purchasing what I want and manipulating my passive-aggressive demeanor.

Or, I could:

• Just go with my gut and tell the sales folks, “No thanks, I’m good. Been in a couple of these races before, and this is what works for me.”

Another lesson learned; why did I let RB help me pick out shorts in the first place? She never ran a race in her life and picked out soccer shorts. Smart move, runner girl.

In conclusion

I had always just assumed what I had was a really bad case of chafing. Imagine my surprise to learn it did indeed have a technical name: chub rub.

So aptly defined in my latest issue of Runner's World:

“When the inner thighs chafe, causing redness and pain. You don’t need to be chubby for this to happen.”

Ahhh, you don’t have to be chubby, but it certainly helps. But I do appreciate they are trying to help us big thigh gals feel better about ourselves that this could happen to anyone.

But I have found my own way to help. A combo of my compression shorts and some glide gels and I’m good to go.

In fact, I think the sporting goods store should hire me and help them attract a whole new group of customers: runners who have experienced extreme chafing. I’m telling you, there is a huge untapped market out there.

The Spirit of the Marathon

I have been putting off watching The Spirit of the Marathon on purpose. It is two weeks to the Fox Cities Half Marathon, and figured this would be the time in my training I would need a little inspiration. It has been sitting in my Netflix queue taunting me for quite some time, and after my distance run today, it felt right to pull it out.

"The triumph over the adversity, that is what the marathon is all about. And therefore you know there isn't anything in life you cannot triumph over after that." -Katherine Switzer

The premise of biopics following these six runners in various stages of training and experience is well thought out and relatable. I loved the little bits of running history thrown into the documentary. And oddly enough, the tension building music was not too terrible either.

It is interesting because the film points out how non-runners see this almost obsession with such a personal sport as crazy. The motivators for every runner is different, but the commonality of the race binds us together. The elites along with the "others".

Entirely unrelated to Spirit of the Marathon:

And onto a mini rant. The comment of the day happened during my long run by a man who resembled Al Borland, "Look at her, she's wearing shorts--she's crazy!"

No Sherlock, its only 60 degrees, which is in stark contrast to last weeks high temps. However, contrary to popular belief it does not warrant snow suits and stocking caps quite yet. In fact, if you were up to about six miles of running, you too would need to cool off. But it appears you are drinking a beer outside of your garage and making random comments about folks who you think are not listening because they are wearing earphones instead.

Let this be a lesson to you beer drinker man, runners usually keep the volume down low so we can hear traffic, and random comments from guys like you. Thanks for the chuckle though.

And for the record I am not crazy, just a runner.

Plast'o' from the Running Past'o'

Mom is in a cleaning kick. In the last week my old bedroom that has not been touched in the nearly decade since I went off to college, is the sudden object of her obsession. Yesterday I walked into my apartment to find eight massive black garbage bags filled with my childhood possessions lined up in my kitchen. I contemplated changing my lock, but remembered that she feeds my cats when I am out of town and leaves me yummy treats as surprises and decided to just let it go.

While I spend the better part of the evening emptying out bags to clear a path to my refrigerator (note to self -- highly effective diet plan) I also came across several treasures. One of which was in the same frame I was presented during my senior year of high school.

It was a collage of photos the underclassmen collected over the season and presented at our awards banquet. They had a hard time finding photos of me because I am a tad camera shy, especially when you throw me into one of our skimpy high school running uniform. As a result, most were just random left over shots. The one "good photo" is the goof ball one in the middle that we took at a regional meet on a golf course.

But I love it nonetheless. It reminds me of so many memories, the pain after hard practices, the joy improving over the course of the season. The feeling of belonging.

Running brought together a group of teenagers who most likely would not have come together in any other instance. With a graduating class of roughly 500 students, and a school with about 2000, the odds of this group coming together is nearly unimaginable.

This morning I am going to challenge myself to be even better than that young woman in those photographs. 12 miles scheduled, and it is going to be a chilly morning. Last week we were reaching into the 90's and now it is going to feel like the low 40's when I start me run tomorrow morning.

Looks like I am going to be digging out the underarmour tonight. Love me some Midwest cool runnin'!