I sort of have a running coach, though I don’t pay him well - or at all.  I’m not really sure what he gets out of the deal.  It’s probably humorous for him to watch me struggling or maybe it’s nostalgia for the old days when he made “rookie” mistakes.  Sometimes he tries not to laugh at me, but he fails, so maybe he does it for the amusement factor. Whatever the reason, he’s helping me run better - at least when I listen to him. 

Most of my life I’ve compared myself to others.  I always tend to hold myself up against people who are “better”, “prettier”, “faster”, “smarter”.  Whenever I pull out the yardstick it’s always me on the losing end.  Apparently the yardstick disappears when I’m “better” at something.  I don’t give myself much credit for the things I do well.  Writing is so simple for me that it has no value in my mind; it seems like something a monkey could do, and do better than me. 

I was all hopped up on Saturday because my run was fun, and it was not difficult.  I couldn’t wait to share the news with my coach.  Then I got a text from him that simply said, “1st place!!!!”  He had run a 5k and won overall.  He’s won plenty in his age group but it’s big deal to be the fastest out of everyone.  Suddenly my 5 miles didn’t seem so newsworthy.  I’m not in competition, so I became very irritated with myself that I could be so happy for him and so negative about myself.  We don’t even run in the same universe so one is not equal to the other. 

I had a terrible run this morning.  FIrst, I ran too late in the morning.  Coach K says, “Well, dumbass, run earlier!”  (He also repeats, ad nauseam, “there will always be faster runners than you”)  Yes, but unfortunately I can’t leave my sleeping children unattended in the house while I run in the cool shade of 5 AM.  Secondly, there was an air quality alert in effect.  Thirdly, the humidity was killer.  Fourthly (is there such a thing?), I ran too fast out of the gate.  I ran with John, and he still runs a lot faster than me.  I get caught up in this guilt cycle where I feel like I’m holding my friends back so I push myself harder until I want to die.  It’s really counter-productive. 

I texted him after my run today - and admitted I couldn’t finish the mere 3 miles I was supposed to.  I can’t remember the last time I quit like that, but I just had nothing else in my system to give.  He called a few minutes later and chewed my butt for a good 20 minutes.  He was right, of course.  I do know better.  He’s tiring of telling me the same things over and over again, and I know that if I don’t listen to him, I’m not going to make it through the training program.  This probably means I should run alone more often, but I hate running alone. 

I sucked it up and took some money out of my savings account and bought a Garmin 305.  I polled the Twitterverse and it got high marks.  I found one on sale and it should be here in a week or so.  I’ve given up using my iPhone - today it told me I ran 38 miles in 32 minutes.  Um, no.  Unfortunately I need something reliable to pace me while I get used to naturally pacing myself.  If I need to be running an 11.15 when it’s 92 degrees outside, then the Garmin will tell me in black and white whether I’m going too fast.  The heart rate monitor will tell me if I’m being a wuss or truly need to slow down.  It’s definitely worth the money.  Apparently there’s some sort of training log feature and my coach is going to store my runs there so he can gripe at me in person.  It appears that I need the ass chewing and the supervision. 

We talked about realistic goal setting.  Mine for the half:  finish without walking.  So if I’m not focused on how fast I run the half, why am I so focused on it now? 

I’m terribly fortunate to have both Theresa and Kevin in my running life.  Kevin won’t be able to watch me finish the half (and I WILL finish) as he’ll be running with the team he coaches for the marathon.  I’m bummed that he won’t see the fruits of his bitching and the fruits of my labor, but I know Theresa will be there and that means a ton to me.  And maybe I’ll get lucky and be able to keep the back of John and Stanley’s bodies in view.  Sort of the carrot in front of the horse.  I just have to remember that they are kidding when they make comments about my speed.  Theresa has even gotten sensitive about distance - she used to say, “I only ran 8 this morning”.  Now, she catches herself and simply says, “I ran 8 this morning.”  I can handle it, but appreciate the sentiment when I have days like today, where I can’t finish 3. 

PS.  I hate Virginia in the summer.  Passionately.  I can’t tell you how much running in a steam bath sucks the life out of me and makes me want to move to Alaska.  I miss Michigan terribly in the summer months. 

Here’s a few photos of the people that regularly inspire me to run or instill me with so much guilt that I run anyway. Some are nearly professionals, some are just like me (with problem areas and concerns about running tops showing off their “arm or back fat”), some don’t run at all.  Each one flits through my mind as I run - a little bit of extra juice to keep me going.  Color me lucky to have them in my life. 
(note:  i’m posting pictures without their permission.  too bad!!!) 

Theresa, before the Boston Marathon:

Kevin, half marathon: 

Stanley, my personal hero:

John, running partner and teacher in “suspect apprehension techniques”:
>

Robey, who says she never runs but actually does (or she has a tapeworm):

Prissie, who is tiny and fast . . .

Mark and Gina (especially Gina who still is in better shape than me at 9 months pregnant):

Cathleen, followed by Jennifer, who both ran with me in Run Like A Mother:

And of course, Susan, even though she doesn’t run.  She’s the most amazing person I know. 
(love you Susan)

I’ve been really struggling with my runs lately. 

Let me rephrase that.  My runs lately have made me want to jab a fork in my eyes, rip my lungs out with dirty hands and pretend to be roadkill. 

Apparently my problem was fairly simple, but I refused to listen.  I’ve been running too fast.  I took my running friends’ advice and slowed my roll.  It helped that the weather was cooler, and the humidity much lower - but the 5 miles was actually fairly simple.  I didn’t worry about time, how many people were in front of me, or when the run would be over.  I looked around at the big beautiful houses around me and talked to new people I hadn’t met on my training team. 

Tomorrow I go back to the three miles, but I’m going to slow it down there as well.  My biggest competitor has always been myself, but when I’m pushing myself so hard I’m ready to quit everything because it’s no fun anymore, it’s time to step back and be realistic.  My insistence on improving my time has something to do with the people I hang out with.  They are all better runners - they’ve been running for years - and they actually win trophies and medals when they run.  I’m running to burn calories, improve my fitness, and prove that I can do it.  I’m so far from competing I can’t even fathom winning anything, unless it’s the fat girl category (and yes, there actually is a category for women over 150 lbs - the Athenas - and I’ve never wanted to be less greek in my life). 

I’ve traditionally been terrible with any form of slowing down.  This is a bigger challenge to me - nearly - than finishing a half marathon.  I’m going to keep at it, and maybe the heavens will rain a Garmin down on me and I’ll be able to force myself to slow down.  My stupid iPhone running apps are terrible and either tell me I’ve run 0 distance in 3 hours 42 minutes or they say I’ve gone 23.3 miles in 5.45 minutes. 

Mom:  “How are you going to have enough money to go to Disney with the girls?”

Me:  “I don’t know.  I’m going to wing it.  First step is to register.  That might get me motivated.”

Mom: “Well, save money.”

Lily:  “Live Better.”

Arden:  “Walmart.”

(insert rash of giggling and more repetition at the Church Of Walmart’s slogan altar)

I had one of those mornings where I felt lucky to live in Richmond.  It wasn’t too hot and there was a breeze.  The humidity was still there, but not as bad as it has been.  I had a training run to complete and John suggested Belle Isle.  It’s been years since I stepped foot there.  Running across the footbridge yields beautiful views of the James River, downtown, and a bunch of very decrepit buildings that look perfect for a Texas Chainsaw Massacre re-enactment. 

photo credit

Since I was out sick last week, any run is hard for me.  3 miles, which used to be annoying but easy, is no longer easy. 

(it’s still annoying)

I may be one of those people who hate 90% of the runs, but love how I feel after.  I’m going to wait til the temperature cools before making my assessment.  John is already much faster than me which seems not fair, but then again, most roadkill is faster than I am.  I had dinner with a runner last night who finally dropped the “Uber Coach” attitude and told me how his runs really are, when things were hard for him, how a marathon feels mentally and physically, and how he’s gotten through the bad times.  His advice and his stories are invaluable to me.  Some I’ve experienced myself, others I hope to never experience.  His best advice yesterday?  Ignore the rest of the training schedule except the week I’m currently running.  This was good advice, considering looking ahead is giving me a runner’s version of panic attack which includes sweating preemptively, weak knees and a bad stomach.  It also sounds like a bad crush, but trust me, the crush is more fun. 

In the meantime, I’m scheming, trying to figure out a way to do this.  I want to take the girls, and since I’ll have already completed a half marathon (I hope!!!) in November, staying trained shouldn’t be too difficult.  I’m going to pull a Laura Posey and act “as if”.  I’m just going to plan for it, try to save some money, and make it happen. 

This week has been much better than the past.  Once I stopped fighting against what I’m learning, I settled into it and began making small changes to my life.  I cut back on the amount of work I’m doing.  I asked for help with things around the house.  Beds are going unmade and laundry piles up, but I’m feeling okay about it.  I’m acting “as if” I don’t care.  I am not sure why, but I feel abnormally calm.  I’m doing what I said I’d do, minus the yoga.  Still haven’t figured out when and how to slam that into my day.  My list goes 1.) Kids 2.) Work 3.) Run.  And right now, that’s about all I can handle. 

In a strange weird incident, I shared what was going on with me with someone I have known for quite a while.  We’re not super close, but it was like I had to tell her.  Turns out she’s been through the exact same thing and had an amazing amount of insight and advice to share with me.  After that conversation, I felt lighter and less like the world was ending.  The world is not ending, but my life is definitely changing.  In that moment between uncertainty and fear and the desire to share with my friend, I decided I was going to be open.  In the past I’ve been open - too open - and most of the time amazing things have come to me because of it.  When I wrote about the hospitalization, complete strangers and people I’d known for decades came out of the woodwork to tell me both privately and publicly that they too had been where I was.  Part of my protective coating right now is battening down the hatches, and this means more hibernation, more caution, more working on me and worrying less about others and their perceptions of me.  It feels lonely but it feels right. 

A little Tears for Fears reference reminds everyone including myself that I’m so a child of the 80’s. 

I thought I’d hit rock bottom last September.  I’m guessing now that there is no real bottom - life goes up, goes down, goes sideways, busts off the rails, wrecks and reassembles.  I bounced down again last night, but I think that as horrible as the rocks feel right now, they are there for a reason. 

It’s really hard to see the silver lining in a snowstorm, but I’m trying.  All year I’ve been pushing myself to my limit and beyond.  The most important things in my life have been smashed down to make room for other, more pressing things.  My health has taken a serious hit.  I’ve already had one major health scare; this latest one isn’t a scare. It’s a fact. 

I’ve got to make some sweeping changes.  I have to take care of my children, then my businesses.  In order to do that, I have to take care of me.  This means that with the exception of work I have to do, I’m focusing solely on my kids and running and yoga.  That’s it. 

This past year has been physically challenging, but some of the emotional challenges have been far more demanding.  I’ve got some serious trust issues right now and they aren’t going to be resolved overnight.  And it’s no surprise to anyone that bad things happen to good people - all the time.  My friend Susan is a shining example of this.  I wondered, sitting up at night, if this is karma and I’m being punished.  Then I tell myself that these are all lessons, some packaged in prettier paper than others, and I need to be mindful and aware of what is happening to me.  None of this is accidental.  And maybe what it finally took for me to admit I need to slow down was a health issue. 

I’m trying to get over the part where I let people down, where I fail in delivering on things I said I would. I need to be okay with hibernating and protecting myself for a little while.  The hurts this year have come hard and fast.  Some of them were sucker punches; others were slow, drawn out kicks.  Nearly 12 months after this all began, I feel like I’ve been in a year-long car accident and my body is finally begging for mercy.  I’m giving in to it.  I’m giving it what it needs.  I’m giving it a break.