Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 3,600 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 60 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Why? That’s what Dar asked me. Why? Why? I don’t know. To see if I can do it. To see what happens when I hit the road every day. Will I feel stronger? Weaker? Worn out? Anything is possible.

This is what happens when I come back from an amazing vacation, which is what I did last Friday. Eight days on the island of Oahu may not have turned me into a native, but it certainly helped me unwind (along with my amazing surfer-girl SIL who was our North Shore guide for most of the week). We surfed (ok, I tried…Dar did manage to catch a wave, ever so brief…), we SUP’d (Stand Up Paddleboard…my new favorite pasttime for sure), we lounged on beaches with big waves and small. We hiked (Diamondhead…I know it’s very touristy but I just had to do it). Went to a luau to celebrate my oldest son becoming a (GULP) adult. We swam…lots and lots of swimming. I even fit some swap-meet shopping in, as well as a lazy morning at the spa. And yes, we did run; we only ran 3 times, but we made sure to hit the pavement as often as possible.

Rockin the SUP! (Yes, I know I'm holding the paddle wrong in this picture...I was doing my happy dance!)

And now, back in our everyday world, it struck me that it might be fun to see how many days in a row I could run. Simple as that; nothing earth-shattering. Just want to do it. I don’t have any races coming up anytime soon, so I’ve got no serious training going on.

My rule, what will “count” as a run is a minimum of 2 continuous miles. If I had more than a 30 minute lunch (even 45) I could easily do this during the work day. Unfortunately, I doubt my co-workers would appreciate smelling my running spirit everyday after lunch, and I wouldn’t have time to get cleaned up after a lunchtime run, so, I’ll have to sneak these in after dinner, but 2 miles is only about 20 minutes, so I’m very hopeful that I will be able to keep it up.

Day one was Christmas Day, December 25. Yes, I could have waited for January 1, but how BORING. Then I’m sure to fail! So December 25 it is, today was day 3, I did 2 miles. Only 97 more to go!

I did something today on my 9-mile run that I have only done one other time in my running life.

I burst into tears.

Running, and long runs in particular, usually provides this magical space in time in my life, where my mind wanders as I beat down the path. I think about the sound of my heart pounding, my lungs screaming. Sometimes Dary and I try to solve the world’s problems. If only we were in charge.

But occasionally, the rhythm of my footsteps clears my mind, gentlying pushing everything off to the side, until I am left with one thought. One problem; whatever problem has been vexing me. My mind twists and turns the problem around, tossing it up and down, slamming it into the ground, giving me a chance to see it from angles I’d not thought of before.

The last time I broke down during the run was just this past year, at a half marathon in which I finally found myself alone and at peace after 3 days of nonstop stress, torment, unhappiness, and general toxicity thanks to the gal I’d planned the trip with. We were together day and night until the race started; she’s much slower, and I didn’t feel like staying back with her, not the way she was complaining about everything under the sun. And about mid-way through that race, when I finally found my peace, my mind was quiet, my legs were strong, all of a sudden a burst into tears. Why? I still don’t know. If I had to be completely honest, I think I realized that the closer I got to the finish, the closer I got to resuming my time with her, and I really dreaded the thought, the way you dread spending time with toxic relatives or co-workers. I was so happy to be on my own, doing what I loved (running), in the place I loved (DisneyWorld), and I knew as soon as she finished, it would be hours and hours of angry negativity until we parted ways at the airport the next day. I thought about my family; this was the second time I’d ever traveled without them, and I missed them desperately. I regretted ever getting talked into this trip, I regretted trusting my friend who, in reality, is a very negative person, to be open to having a good time during this trip; this was DisneyWorld after all. The dread, the anger, the fear, the sorry, the longing for my kids, my husband, it all burst out of me like lava exploding from a volcano, only instead of molten lava, it was hot tears streaming down my face.

Today was different. It wasn’t so much a burst of tears as it was a slow, steady stream of tears followed by quiet sobbing that grew louder and louder.

The problem today was that it became jarringly clear to me during that run that I’ve been  tolerating behavior that I find abhorrent: petty jealousy and spiteful gossip fueled primarily by boredom, a lack of compassion, and issues that should have been resolve in childhood. And even worse, I’ve welcomed it; in trying to be open minded and open hearted, I’ve inadvertently sent a message that such behavior is acceptable to me.

And what pushed it over the edge for me? Simple; it’s one thing to treat me like crap; it’s another thing to treat someone I care about that way. But recently that’s just what happened, and I just sat there and watched it happen.  I’ve been conditioned to keep my mouth shut and watch while people behave with total disregard for others’ feelings.

In fact, I sobbed for nearly a mile, and I’m sure I was quite the sight to behold: legs flying, arms pumping, tears streaming, face red and twisted. Dary finally had me stop, step aside, and compose myself. “Someone’s going to think you are in distress,” he said quietly. Really? No shit. I AM in distress. But I didn’t lash out at him; it wasn’t his fault.

I’d like to say that crying like a baby during my long run made all my problems go away. But of course it didn’t. But I’m grateful that I had an opportunity to really let loose, let the tears fly, and sob like a blubbering idiot far, far away from my house where really, nobody could see or hear me. By the time we got close to home, my tears were dry, and that horrible knot in my stomach was not as tight. I was still angry and frustrated, but I felt that much of it had been released, left on the streets.

I’m also grateful that I don’t have worse problems in my life, ones that my compell me to cry every time I run.

Mostly I’m grateful to have running in my life; it has served me so many purposes, including catharsis.

Of course, the issue of gaining weight during marathon training is hardly novel. Just google “weight gain during marathon training” and you’ll find a plethora of articles and forums, all documenting this frustrating, seemingly paradox phenomenon. Was I more hungry as I ran all those miles? Heck yes. Did I see that my weight was going up? Well, yes (I did boycott my scale during a brief period over the last year, probably because I didn’t want to deal with the numbers I was seeing). When I’d run 12 miles and gain a pound, the only thought that crossed my mind was SUCK IT SCALE! Don’t believe me? Go run 12 miles and see how you feel about a little piece of technology stating that you’re only getting fatter. SUCK IT!

But the reality is, I’ve been eating to much. Never at once…instead, I have become the ultimate grazer, conveniently forgetting the half a cookie I ate when I ran downstairs to grab my purse, or the 3rd slice of pizza I grabbed as we were clearing the table. Never wanting to go to bed hungry, I admit to snacking before bedtime, usually on something salty and greasy.

Even when I was 5lbs lighter, I was still about 5lbs overweight. Making me 10lbs overweight. As the dust began to settle on our recent marathon, I starting thinking about this; what if this trend continues? I doubt I’ll be running another marathon next year, meaning I’ll be putting in less mileage. What if I end up 15lbs (or more) overweight by the fall of 2012??

So I decided it was time to get serious. Come hell or high water, I need to slam these last 10lbs into the ground once and for all. But I’m not interested in following a diet plan; my past experience with weight loss has shown me that I am a portion-control type. Or lately, a portion-out-of-control type. So I really just want to count my calories (keeping an eye on my carb-protein-fat ratio). For that, most diet plans HIGHLY suggest keeping a food journal.

Well let’s face it. I’m a weekly blogger at best; keeping a daily written journal is highly likely to result in blank pages. So I went searching for an electronic solutions. And I was very pleased to quickly discover a website: MyFitnessPal. It really is everything I was looking for; a site that tracks my calories (intake and burned through exercise). It has a food nutrition “wiki” that blows my mind; it has, so far, contained all but one food item that I consum (that item being Casa Noble Tequila). But every other restaurant, every other product, has been there. When something isn’t there, it allows users to enter it and share with others. And it allows others to “verify” accuracy, so if something has been verified by a number of others, you know it’s probably right on. It also allowed me to enter the ingredients to a couple of my recipes, calculating the calories and other nutritional info for me. WOW!

There are other weight loss tools that are helpful, especially as you set up your profile and set your goals. Answering a few questions posed by the tools, I was able to determine my ideal weight (which is actually 12lbs lighter than my current weight, not 10lbs), my BMR, the calories I typically burn, and it came up with a plan to allow me to lose the weight in about 12 weeks. Sign me up!

PLUS I can enter my workouts, and it adds those calories burned to the calories I have left to eat, so I know how much more I can eat thanks to my work outs. (And it is MUCH less than I thought it was, which explains my upward creeping weight.)

The final beauty part is that I can do all of this from my iPhone, which is at my side virtually all of the time. It’s easy to use, so I have no excuses. I’m on day 4, and I’ve lost 2lbs (I’m not eating enough, and falling below my calorie intake goal, which I need to fix so I don’t screw up my metabolism).

And for more accountability, I can share my progress through Facebook updates (Twitter too, but I don’t tweet), and a badge on this website (as shown below and to the right of the screen).

So here’s to conquering those last few pounds. There are also running benefits to losing these last few pounds, but I’ll share that another time. Cheers!

]]> http://vegaspixie.wordpress.com/2011/10/22/going-down-a-different-path/feed/ 0 vegaspixie http://vegaspixie.wordpress.com/2011/10/09/im-in-love/ http://vegaspixie.wordpress.com/2011/10/09/im-in-love/#comments Sun, 09 Oct 2011 17:06:51 +0000 Kim P http://vegaspixie.wordpress.com/?p=796 Continue reading →]]>

Saucony ProGrid Kinvara....ooh la la!!

…with my new Saucony Kinvaras! I’ve had my eyes on these for a while, but as we got closer and closer to last week’s marathon (I can’t believe I ran 26.2 miles only one week ago), it was too late for me to break in new shoes. Now that the marathon is over, I decided to reward myself with a new pair of shoes. The Kinvaras are lightweight, light support, neutral shoes, kind of a step in the direction of minimalist running, with a bit more protection and support than is offered by Vibram Five Fingers (or going bare foot). I definitely feel free in them, my toes have tons of room, they feel feather-light on my feet, and they work well with my Chi Running style.

And of course, being pink makes them even more awesome!! (We were shopping for them yesterday and I heard a woman nearby saying in disgust ‘not ALL women want to wear pink’ to which I responded ‘I do…’ Not sure if she heard me, but her daughter did and starting laughing.)

I’ve written about being in the “in-between” before, which is where I am now. We had such a great race last week, I’m really just trying to come down gracefully (for once) and let myself just enjoy running without a purpose for a couple of weeks.  We ran 8.5 miles for 90 minutes (in my new shoes!!!) this morning; I was surprised at how fatigued my legs still feel, but they took a beating last week. Ironically, I think I’ve actually dropped a couple of pounds this week, despite cutting way back. I’m thinking I want to focus on 5k and half marathon distances for a while, get fast, I dunno. Like I said, I’m just enjoying things for now, until I find a race.  And I’m loving my shoes!

We began our race weekend on Friday, arriving in St. George just after noon and heading straight to the expo. As race expos go, this one was pretty typical; most of the vendors from the Disneyland Half Marathon a few weeks ago were present in St. George, peddling the same merchandise. There were a few event items that I was tempted to purchase, but

Bib and event shirt, that's all I need.

I reminded myself of the many silly running shirts I’ve purchased in the past, only to end up throwing them in the donate pile years later, having never worn them once. So aside from picking up our bib, race event shirt, and goodie bag, we were in and out of the expo pretty quickly. Our pre-race dinner consisted of a pizza and bread sticks from Pizza Hut.  I know, probably not the most healthy of foods to eat, but I figured it was food my tummy was familiar with, so I shouldn’t run into any weird tummy troubles like I might have had we opted for the Thai restaurant down the street. So huddled up in the room, race gear layed out, tummies full but not stuffed, we turned the lights out by 7:30 p.m.

Race Day!

Smiling because we have no idea of the pain in store...

Our alarm was set for 3:30 a.m., and thankfully I felt wonderfully rested and ready to get up. Race morning is always so exciting, filled with a sense of purpose in our every movement as we dressed and prepped to leave. We ate and stretched in our room and left by 4:00 a.m.; our hotel was a mere 5 minute walk to Worthen Park where the buses (and finish line) were, so we felt no rush as we boarded and headed north the start.

It's like a party....but not really...

Upon our arrival in Central, Utah, we exited the bus to the sight of bonfires that lit up the night for quite a stretch along the starting area. Hundreds if not thousands of people were in all stages of wakefulness, lounging beside the warmth; I saw more than a few people bundled up in sleeping bags, fast asleep! I chose to get in line for the port-a-pottys. Given my history with bathroom issues, I got back in line three times (yes, I took a turn, then walked to the back of the line to go again, and again). After my three rounds, the darkess of the early morning sky began to give way to dawn, and runners began lining up along the highway. There were no corrals in this race, despite having over 7000 registered runners (only 5800 actually started). We stayed toward the back, wanting to start at a slow and comfortable pace. “Let’s start slow, and then taper off, “ I joked to Dary.

I thought I heard a starting gun, and the crowd surged foward, but then the crowd came to a stop. We didn’t actually make it past the starting line until 10 minutes after the first runners started. And unlike many of the half marathons we’ve run, I found it telling that nobody around us began running until the second their foot crossed the start (in some other races, it seems like people are already on their race pace 50 yards before the start). After months of waiting and training, Dary and I were starting the St. George Marathon!

The Course

Dary's got the grey shirt, black shorts, and white hat...

Much has been written about the St. George Marathon race course. It is a beautiful, scenic course that starts in a rural setting, complete with farms, grassy hills and trees, then plunges (yes, plunges, a net total of more than 2200 feet) into the red desert, with dramatic sandstone cliffs. I think what struck me about this course was the solitude; the highway we ran on was closed to traffic in both directions; the runners quite literally took over a stretch of 20 miles of highway. We owned the road. So you didn’t have to worry about dodging traffic, or crossing streets. Without the chaos and noise of traffic, this was beautiful opportunity for a peaceful, serene run in the middle of the crazy universe.

The most painful mile ever...

Despite looking like speedy downhill course, there is a very tricky, deceptively challenging uphill portion outside of Veyo, Utah. This is also where I had to make an unfortunate bathroom stop (unfortunate, because it cost us 5 minutes — GAH!!). Once done with that stop, I was determined to run the entire climb up the Veyo hill. Because of all of the hills we run during our normal training runs, I didn’t think it would be a problem. But the fact that, after about five minutes up this hill, almost nobody around us was still running, was telling; no exageration, we were quite literally passing people right and left up this hill. I chalked it up to losing those 5 minutes, thus being in a pack of slower runners. Until about three-quarters of the way up, when I thought my hamstrings were going to explode! “I gotta walk,” I uttered to Dar, and I took a few steps, feeling horrible that I couldn’t keep up the pace, feeling horrible that I’d cost us 5 minutes, feeling horrible that my legs were screaming at only mile 8. I didn’t have the heart to subtract 8 miles from 26, to face the reality of having 18.2 miles yet to run.

When it hurts, time to push

I receive daily inspirational running quotes from Runners World. Recently I received one, from James Dyson (the inventor of the Dyson vacuum): “What I’ve learned from running is that the time to push hard is when you’re hurting like crazy and you want to give up. Success is often just around the corner.” My takeaway from it was this: when it hurts, time to push. When I run a race, I like to have a mantra, something to repeat over and over to get me through. In the past, I’ve used “run without fear” (as in, fear of running so hard or fast that I puke or collapse), and “why don’t you just run faster?” (to keep myself mindful of pushing my pace). For St. George, I decided my mantra would be “when it hurts, time to push.”

I didn’t think I’d need to start using the mantra so early on, though. I was originally saving it for mile 19 or 20. But somewhere between mile 8 and 9 (where there is, like, an 7% uphill grade), when I started walking up the hill, the mantra kicked in; it hurts, it really, really hurts, so it’s time to push. As quickly as I slowed to a walk, I picked up and starting running again. And it hurt. So I pushed. For several miles the pain was agonizing; there were water stops every 2 miles, and our plan had always been to walk the water stops. I found myself running 2 miles races, pushing through the pain, then slowing to gulp down as many gatorades as possible.

Finally, somewhere around mile 14, the road blissfully shifted downhill. I could literally feel my hamstrings hand off the work to my quads, as if they were saying “we’ve done our job, now it’s your turn…good luck.” For a moment I thought perhaps I could pick up the pace enough to start making up for those damn 5 minutes. But that thought didn’t last long.

See, before the bathroom break we were at 1:02 for six miles; my goal was to be at 1:06, or an 11-minute mile. I knew at that pace I would meet my goal of a sub-5 hour marathon. So I felt great about having a 4-minute buffer. So much so that I wasn’t initally that upset about having to stop. But at that bathroom stop, I literally waited 4 minutes for one man (ONE man) to use the bathroom. I was next. That was it. I don’t know what the hell he was doing in there, but when he finally came out I wanted to punch him. Really? Dude? Seriously? I did my business in 1 minute…and it was a LOT of business. Maybe my years of bathroom breaks have helped me streamline the process. I don’t know. I know the person after me was seriously grateful I didn’t stay for 3 more minutes to fix my hair or whatever the hell that guy was doing before me. Sheesh! At any rate, at that point we fell back to 1:07, or 1 minute behind goal pace, but I was still hopeful that we could make up the time and even make another buffer since we were really running so effortlessly for those first 6 miles.

So there we were, 1:07, I’m hoping to make up some time, then BAM we hit the Veyo hill mountain, followed by 6 miles of running misery, and it’s all I can do to barely keep an 11 minute mile. We didn’t fall further behind my goal time, but we certainly didn’t make anything up either.

He smiles because he doesn't realize downhill hurts too (and worse)...

Unfortunately, my hopes of a downhill surge disappeared within steps; running down a 8% grade is HARD. It hurts in a totally different way than a steep uphill hurts; it feels like your joints are going to explode each time your feet land on the ground. What was that mantra again? Time to push again? Ugh!

So I wouldn’t say I ever hit “the wall” per se, more like I slammed into the Veyo hill and never fully recovered. At around mile 22, with just over 4 miles to go, my watch was telling me that all I had to do was keep up the same, painful pace and I’d make my time goal. Unfortunately, at that very point along the course our quiet, peaceful (if not painful) road started filling with people. Spectators, sparse at first, screaming out their support, their well meaning “you’re almost theres” (no, if I don’t see the finish line, I’m not almost there, but thanks anyways…), holding out their hands to high five runners. I know I should love those cheers, I should feel carried by that enthusiastic support. But during that race, all I wanted was to turn down a quiet street where I could sputter to a stop. Instead, I continued my “time to push” mantra, pushing as hard as my legs would allow. We twisted and turned through ordinarly quiet neighborhood streets, today filled with cheering familes offering a spray of water from their hoses (the temperature had climbed into the 80s by 10am), frozen pops, and wonderful applause and shout-outs (our names were on our bibs). I could see yet another turn, and in my mind I felt that if I could not finally see a finish line around the corner, I was done. Mentally, emotionallly, my tank was empty. Physically, I felt broken. I had no more push.

When we turned that corner, to my horror, I saw no finish. Dary continued running, not realizing I had slowed to a walk. “I can’t….” I called out, quietly.

Time has a funny way of moving in slow motion at unexpected times. Although it felt like I walked forever, in reality I think I only took 3 or 4 steps before I came to my senses and started running again. So many thoughts raced through my head. I knew I had a sub-5 time, so why did I need to run? Who cares? I’ve made my goal, I think I’m close enough. On the other hand, in just those few steps about a half a dozen people passed me, the same people I’d been running near or around for the last 4 or 5 hours. I wanted to keep up. Ah, screw it. RUN KIM!! By the time Dary turned to see what happened to me, I was running again. “There’s the finish line” he said. I didn’t see it, but he is nearly a foot taller than me, so I cranked my head and sure enough, I saw the balloons that decorated the finish line. A couple of people surged past us. Huh? If you have that much energy dude….oh well. Whatever. “Hold my hand?” Dar asked as we approached. I smiled and grabbed his hand….and we realized we held hands too soon (it can be tiring not having an arm to swing) so we both laughed and let go, and then when we were much closer (I’d say, maybe 10 yards from the finish) we held hands, raised our arms, and crossed the finish line. I looked up and saw that the race clock was still at 5:01:05, so I knew our actual time was definitely under 5 hours. I stopped my watch; it said 4:50:43! We did it!!

Post Marathon

Right after the finish line there was a tunnel; it looked like about 6 feet of PVC, all spraying ice cold water. It felt wonderful to walk thru and get drenched. Then a volunteer placed a medal around my neck and sent me through a gauntlet of volunteers offering frozen pop bars, ice cream bars, fruit, lemonade, ice cold towels, water, you name it. Dary and I had our hands full of stuff as we ambled through the park looking for an open spot under some shade. There were bodies strewn everywhere. Some people had bags of ice duct taped to various body parts. Others sat and powered down food. But everyone’s mood was uplifted, despite the fatigue. I plopped down and made the mistake of laying back. Aaaaaaaah, it felt WAY too good to lay down. Dar had to help me back up to a seated position so I could munch on my goodies and admire our finisher medallions. They are beautiful, polished sandstone; each one is unique in its colors, but all are etched with the race name, logo, year, and the word ‘finisher.’ That’s us!

I could have sat there for hours, but Dary wanted to head back to the hotel before our legs shut down permanently. If you can imagine moving in slow motion, knees locked, taking steps of maybe three or four inches at best, and multiply that by about a few hundred people, all moving in different directions at a park, that was the scene as we headed back to the hotel. We stopped to get our times engraved for our medals (only $5, compared to $20 at the Disney races, AHEM, Disney…). The walk that took 5 minutes at 4:00 a.m. took more like 20 minutes now. To add to the struggle, the hotel was “uphill” from the park. I had to laugh as we shuffled down the street; visualize Tim Conway’s “Old Man”…that was us!

Will run for maragarita.....yummmmm!

When we finally got back to the room, it was hard to decide between falling directly into bed for a nap, or showering first, so neither of us sat down. We just stood around in the room, trying to figure out what to do. Showers won (probably a good idea, we were pretty gnarly), followed by a long, blissful nap. Gosh, for a non-napper, I slept HARD! We woke up and headed out for a steak; we’d brought the makings for a nice post-race margarita, but wanted some food in our bellies first. After dinner and a nice margarita, we mixed a second round of drinks, headed over to the hot tub (nobody else was around…still sleeping??), and had a nice, relaxing hour (yes, exceeded safety warnings), in the hot tub, followed by some sci-fi (X-Men: First Class), and more sleep. Nicest post-race evening ever!

The next morning we woke up to discover that our legs had died. Tragic. I think they are still mad about that whole 26.2 mile thing, or perhaps that whole “when it hurts, time to push” thing I was rocking during the race. We were up early, mostly because I couldn’t stop thinking about EATING at Cracker Barrel (I love those breakfasts, especially those yummy, cheesy, breakfast potatoes). And I was still beaming from our time. I have a marathon time that begins with “4!” WOOT!

I am proud!

And although I know it is way, way too early, as we drove home, I couldn’t help but wonder…could I go faster? But I won’t mention it to Dary, not just yet.

It happened so fast; I don’t remember it in slow motion at all, the way you think you would. We were mere seconds away from the end of our run this morning; the last “long run” before our marathon next Saturday. An easy 8 miles; yes, after running 22 miles last Sunday, and 20 miles the Sunday before that, 8 miles feels like an easy run. We didn’t take walk breaks, because we didn’t feel like we needed them. Dary set the pace, somewhere between a 9:30/mile and a 10:00/mile; the few uphills we faced felt like a cake walk. The morning air felt wonderfully cool with no wind and a bright, blue, early Sunday morning sky.

It was all going so great. And I, for my part, was making sure to keep my eyes on the ground before me, watching for trip hazards, avoiding anything that I might roll an ankle on.

We were heading up the sidewalk into the strip mall where we park our car, on the mornings that we take the Pittman Wash trail. I glanced at my Garmin, and it was at 7.93 miles; only .07 miles left. It would be a perfect Sunday: great run, lots of rest, hang out with the kids, a little yard work, a little de-cluttering, a beautiful margarita and a fat, juicy steak (maybe only 1/2 a steak, given the reduced mileage).

You know how the sidewalk sometimes has those metal doors in them? At least, around commercial buildings? Doors that open from the ground to reveal water meters, or perhaps cables, or some other utility. I was about to cross one of those. No big deal, I run across them all the time. I looked down to watch my footing, and it appeared that the doors were flush, nothing to think about. My right foot landed on the door closest to me; by then my eyes were further down the sidewalk, eyeballing the turn into the parking lot, thinking about the 20 seconds left until the end of our run.

Turns out, the doors weren’t flush. At least, not when I landed on the one closest to me, which I later on realized must have sunk when I landed on it. My right leg pushed off the door and my left leg swung forward; just then my left toe got caught on the edge of other door. Unfortunately, my forward leaning “Chi Running” stance meant that my upper body continued to move forward, and then I took flight…

Ooh, what a sexy, swollen, purple chin

…And then I was laying on the ground, moaning “no, no, no, oh no, oh no…” Dary said I layed face down (plankinganyone?) for more than a few moments before he finally rolled me onto my back. By then I’d attraced two nearby runners, who rushed over and offered their phone to call for help, or to take a picture (“you clearly have a lawsuit against the City, that’s a dangerous hazard” ….um, I work for the City…). All I know is that while I was laying there, staring at the sidewalk, I felt like the Terminator doing a systems check: wrists: ok; elbows: ok; jawbone: OUCH, but can move mouth; ankles: ok; left knee: ok; right knee: CRITICAL SYSTEM ERROR. CRAP.

Not one, but TWO big bloody bruises...oh boy!

I hobbled back to the car, blood dripping down my leg and my chin feeling like it was going to burst. And yes, I cried a little; not because it hurt, but because HOW FREAKING STUPID CAN I BE? I thought I was okay, that I’d cleared that f!*^(@%$ door. No it’s not the City’s fault (but I will be reporting it, if for no reason than to hopefully prevent anyone else from faceplanting at that spot). It was just a stupid accident, and there was no way to anticipate that the door I landed on would sink as much as it did. But if I really wanted to be careful, I could have been running on the street (Dary was).

So other than being purple, swollen and stiff, my knee seems okay. I will be sticking to a very strict RICE routine today. And I’m going to keep my thoughts positive; it’s just too dang exciting being on the home stretch of our marathon training to be overly bummed out about being a flying idiot.

Today we tackled this 20-miler, completing the distance at an easy pace (about 11:50/mile-ish), under a mellow sun and a starting temperature in the 70s. We have 21 days to go until the St. George Marathon, and after today we only have one more brutal distance (22 miles) before the taper. I was surprised how tired my legs were, until I thought about the fact that we just ran the Disneyland Half Marathon a week ago and we both PR’d at that race; no wonder the calves and quads are aching! Not only that, but my feet were aching as well, and that’s not normal for me. Usually my feet hold up fine, but around 16-17 miles, they really felt fatigued with each step. But I guess that’s why we do these long runs, to get the body used to pounding the pavement for 4 hours. I feel like a big reason we did so well at the half marathon is that we’d been training at distances well past 13 miles; it actually felt like a “short” run! But that doesn’t mean I’m interested in training to 30 miles for the full marathon…no thanks!

Because the heat wasn’t too intense, I wasn’t feeling drained at the end of our run. But I’ve been trying to listen to my body after these long runs and rest. Today that’s what I did; in a nice dark bedroom I layed down, figuring I would just enjoy some nice, peaceful, quiet alone time. I have a hard enough time falling asleep at night; seems like I can never fall asleep and nap (I envy people who can). But the next thing I knew, it was an hour later; I felt a little groggy and grumpy at first, but once I “woke up” I felt so refreshed!

Just in time for a nice, juicy steak and a margarita! (Garmin says I burned 2510 calories….so make mine a double!!)

We had low expectations as we headed to this race, mostly because our focus is on the St. George Marathon, which is only 4 weeks after this race. We’ve been going loooooooong on our long runs (18 miles so far) and dropped our speed workouts in favor of slow and steady mileage. But I’ve also welcomed about 10lbs of clam chowder to my “gut” region (ok, more like 6 or 7lbs), which I’m pretty certain isn’t helping my speed.

But there’s just something about this race, and the fact that it was “our” first half marathon together, and we’ve done this 3 times now, that just makes it feel special. That, and all the fun Disney characters that hang out during those first 4 or 5 miles. And running through the parks at the crack of dawn. And the amazing volunteers. I could go on and on; this is really my favorite race, it’s true.

So as we drove down to Anaheim early Saturday (thanks to a Friday night football game), we decided this one would just be “for fun.” We’ll take it easy on our legs and just enjoy the race for what it is: a run around the Happiest Place on Earth.

Upon our arrival in Anaheim, we picked up our bibs: Corral B! Woohoo! It’s fun to be up with the “semi-serious” runners (we were told you need to be a sub 2:10 half marathoner for Corral B); I find that while this group takes running seriously, they are still is light enough to have fun and not have a meltdown if there are slightly slower runners in the pack (those slightly slower runners being us). They don’t tend to run in large lines (tough to maneuver around), or come to sudden stops. They may slow down to walk for their Galloway minute, but always off to the side so nobody crashes into the back of them. Best of all, they are very inspiring, because they are still of all shapes and sizes (unlike the lean, mean, running machines in “Corral A”), and all ages, making me feel like there might still be room for improvement for me after all.

The rest of the day Dar and I really made an effort to take it easy. We took the Monorail to the park to meet the kids, who decided to eat lunch without us. So the kids took in more rides while Dar and I wandered over to the RiverBelle Terrace. I wanted bland food, nothing I would be re-experiencing later. I chose River Belle’s Roast New York, and it was perfect. Meat on bread, and not much else. Au jus for dipping, but no strange spices. After lunch we met back up with the kids and headed over to DCA. Dar and I took our first ride on the new Little Mermaid ride (the boys didn’t want to….gee I wonder why). Then we slowly wandered back to the hotel. We bought some food from Tangaroa Terrace, a new quick service restaurant at the Disneyland Hotel. I got the children’s salmon, which was perfect: a small piece of grilled salmon and a small pat of white rice, with a few red grapes.

Then Dar and I set out all of our race gear: bibs, clothing, gels, hats, socks, shoes, Vaseline, Glide, room keys, plastic, and cash. By 8:30pm we were all tucked in bed (even the kids; I knew waking them up at 5am would tire them out)! Since we needed to be in our corral by 5:15 a.m. we set our wake up call for 4:25 a.m. I slept so soundly I never heard the fireworks that went off at 9:25…

I don’t think Mickey woke us up at 4:25; instead, it seems like a computerized voice said “this is your wake-up call” and that was all; very unDisney-like. I jumped out of bed to turn off the back-up alarm (my phone) and get dressed. I was so grateful we didn’t have to get up even earlier to catch a bus or drive to the start line: the Disneyland Hotel was worth EVERY PENNY for this reason alone. Dary had some cookies, while I ate a couple of Shot Bloks. I felt rested and excited; we get to run through Disneyland! You can’t help but be happy about that! My oldest son’s voice whispered in the dark “what time should we be at the finish?” We guesstimated around 8:15a.m. to 8:30 a.m. I loved that he wanted to be there! He insisted we set a wake-up call for him and leave the camera so they could take pictures. Our boys are the best!!

Beautiful, early morning for a race!

The corrals were a very short walk from the entrance to the Adventure tower (have I mentioned how AWESOME it is to stay at the Disneyland Hotel for a race)? In no time we were in Corral B; I looked at my watch, and it was only about 5:15 a.m. We had a long wait, but the weather was perfect, just a little cool, but no need for a jacket/blanket, and we had plenty of time to stretch. Dar and I bent this way and that, and just took in the atmosphere. I was excited that we could actually see the start line from our spot.

After a lovely performance of the National Anthem, we enjoyed a festive start for the wheelchair racers at 5:59 a.m. followed by the elites in Corral A at 6:00 a.m. Then at 6:05 a.m., with much music and fanfare, Dar and I were racing! I hit start on my watch (not the Garmin, my pink Timex Ironman) as we crossed the start line and kept a strong and steady pace right from the start. I knew we should start slow, but the adrenaline always lifts me at the beginning of the race, and I went with it. Not too crazy though; at mile one we were at 9:32, faster than I thought but definitely not too fast.

Even though Dar and I run “together” we aren’t fanatical about staying side by side; in a race, it is typical for us to shuttle back and forth, one taking the lead for a while then trading places. We’re more concerned with not having to maneuver around people, and run the straightest line possible. So through most of parks I was out ahead of Dar. Through Disney California Adventure (but not around Paradise Pier, which was disappointing), then across the Esplanade to Disneyland. Once in Disneyland we seemed to run in circles all over the place; thinking back, I cannot retrace our exact path, but I know we went up Main Street, around Tomorrowland, through the Castle, and into Critter Country. We also ran backstage past the horse stables and the train depot. Soon we were exiting the parks and headed down Ball Road.

For years Dary has faithfully run by my side. I love him for it. But he is just about 8 inches taller than me, and capable of running much faster. This time, as we passed mile 4, I encouraged him to run ahead; I could tell he didn’t want to leave me, but I wanted him to “open up the throttle” and see what he could do. I insisted; within 5 minutes he was no more than a dot ahead of me, and then lost in a sea of runners.

At that point, it dawned on me that I really needed to push; I didn’t have Dary there to push the pace. So I set a goal; I wanted to stay under a 10-minute mile. I didn’t care “how much” faster, just faster. To do that, I needed to make sure each mile marker reflected a time that was “less” than 10 minutes since the prior marker. For example, when I ran past mile 5, the race clock was at 54 minutes (we started 5 minutes after the clock started, so I was really just at 49 minutes, which is exactly what my watch said). So when I got to mile 6, I wanted to make sure I was “under” 1:04 (and I was; in fact I was under 1:03). And so on. I walked through each water stop, making sure to gulp down a Poweraide or two before starting back up. When it was time to run again, it was usually slow (I guess that’s what happens at age 43), but within 30 seconds I could feel myself pick up the pace.

I ran hard; it wasn’t an impossibly fast pace, but it wasn’t comfortable, ever. In fact, I made sure I was in my discomfort zone at all times, just to be sure I wasn’t slacking off. My mantra? “Why don’t you just run fas-ter?” Imagine a footstep for each syllable, with a beat at the end. Once Dary ran ahead, it became very important to me to finish under 2:10, to keep my Corral B placement for future races. Clearly Dary would be finishing before me; what if I was so slow I ended up back in Corral C? He’d be disappointed, and so would I. So I just kept pushing.

Somehow, running the bases at Angel Stadium was the highlight of the race course for me; last year I was focused on getting video of Dary running around the bases, and I really didn’t pay attention to the experience myself. This time, running alone, I decided to really soak it in; look around at all of the seats, the Jumbotron, the field. It was awesome.

And I knew once I left the stadium there was really only 3 or 4 miles left; our daily run is 4 miles, with hills, so mentally and emotionally I felt very strong and confident in myself. The miles ticked down quickly; 3 miles left, then 2. Then we re-entered Disney property and I did what I could to maintain my strong pace. With less than one mile left, a gentleman started pacing on my heels; normally this would be fine, but he was wearing headphones, and was therefore completely unaware that he was breathing like somebody was strangling him. After a minute or two, it really started to get to me. I pushed, he pushed, I let up, he let up. I couldn’t shake him, so in desperation I slowed to a crawl for about 20 seconds, forcing him to pass me. Sorry dude, your breathing was killing me!

Back on Disneyland Blvd, I knew I was very close to the finish. Going around Paradise Pier, I could envision walking the same route to get back to our room after a long day at the parks. Only this time there was no traffic to watch for, no slowpokes in front of me. I cruised around the turnabout that sits between Paradise Pier and the Disneyland Hotel, and before me was a sea of cheering spectators lined up along the sidewalk. Somewhere in that crowd were my boys (I never saw them); I pumped my arms and my legs flew, the finish line in clear view. About 50 yards before the finish line, I heard my name announced over the speaker; cool!! Hopefully Dar and the boys heard it too (they did!). Daisy Duck was at the finish; I gave her two thumbs up and glided through the finish line. I was elated; the race clock said 2:10, meaning I’d beat 2:10 by at least 5 minutes.

Woohoo!

My official race time was 2:04:45. Rock on! That is 3 minutes faster than last year, and it was without the benefit of Dary pushing me along! I got my race medal and as I walked over to get my Coast-to-Coast medal, Dary appeared in front of me. I was so happy to see him! I hugged him and asked how he did; he wasn’t sure. We were both hoping he was under 2:00, but he said I finished only 2 or 3 minutes behind him. In the end, his time was 2:01; I felt bad that he stayed back with me as long as he did. If he’d run his pace from the start, I’m certain he would have been under 2 hours. But it gives us both a new goal to work toward.

We celebrated our race with a couple of margaritas at Tortilla Jo’s, and just played in the parks the rest of the day. We even got in a couple of hours at the new Disneyland pool (the monorail slides were a blast). And now, three days after the race, my legs feel great. They were never really sore; just really, really fatigued. It was a terrific weekend, a terrific race, Dary has a new PR (to beat), and our spirits are soaring as we head to our BIG goal, the St. George Marathon.

Okay, for my marathon progress, I’ll say that so far this week I have run 22 miles. Since Sunday. And today is Tuesday. That is a TON of miles, I think.

The nitty gritty is that we are just shy of 6 weeks from marathon day, and we survived 18 miles in 90-degree weather, and this morning, only 2 days later, we rocked 4 miles. Speed? Well, fast enough for me. I feel strong, I’m not hurting (my legs are fatigued, but if you run you understand that fatigue is a different kind of hurt). This weekend we’ll decide how to approach the Disneyland Half: all out run, or pictures with the characters? Hmm…….