A vacation doesn't mean a vacation from running

Virgin River at dawn

We spent last week on the Oregon Coast. We spent our days playing in the tide pools, exploring lighthouses, flying kites, and eating ice cream. And before the rest of the family rose from their beds, I went for a run on the beach.

For many people, a vacation is a time to take a break from the rituals of everyday life. For me, as a mom, I love having some time off from cooking and making beds, but one ritual I try to stick with is exercise.

I have a couple of rules of thumb when it comes to exercising on vacation:

1) Get out there. My very favorite part of going on vacation is exploring a city on foot. And going on an early morning run gives me a chance to

Not a tourist in sight

scout out locations to take the family later in the day. The added bonus? There are no crowds at five or six in the morning. In the last year, I've seen the sun rising off South Beach in Miami (where I also had the chance to run with the Raven). I've run on Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco when the only other people out there were actual fisherman, and across the Golden Gate Bridge when the only other people I saw were the security guards. I've seen the first boats getting out on the Columbia River, with Mount Hood as a backdrop, run for miles along the banks of the Virgin River in St. George, and circled Central Park when the streets of Manhattan were eerily quiet. I even did a long run along the rim of the Grand Canyon, where my headlamp only slightly minimized my fear of either falling off the side or being picked off by a hungry cougar. In my opinion, there's no better time to explore the Vegas strip than at six a.m., when my only companions are those staggering back to their hotels after

Sunrise at Ghirardelli Square

having fun all night long.

Of course, sometimes this approach backfires. Last summer, we spent a few days at Sundance, and I went on an early morning trail run on some of the hiking trails. I picked one I thought was relatively easy for the family to explore later in the day, and the kids spent at least two hours cursing me, as I'd misjudged the distance on our "easy" hike. I also thought it was perfectly acceptable to take my seven-year-old on a walk from Times Square to the Guggenheim and back. She wasn't quite so sure, and needed some ice cream to give her strength about halfway back to the hotel.

2) Just get it in. While I love to get out and explore a new place, there are times when hitting the hotel gym is more practical. When Annie and I

6am, Golden Gate Bridge

were in Las Vegas in the winter, I didn't want to leave her alone in the hotel to run the strip, so I put in some time at the gym at Vdara. When we
travel to China, I am way too chicken to run on the streets (the pollution, the language barrier, and the likelihood that I might get lost all make the gym look like an extremely attractive option). Once, while marathon training during a cruise, I did an eighteen mile run on a cruise ship treadmill.

Last week, I was too lazy to venture out one morning when it was pouring, and found myself doing speed work on a treadmill that afternoon (in a very, very hot room with no fans where none of the windows would open) while the rest of the family had some down time at the rental house. When we were in Miami, I mixed up my normal running routine by taking some of the fabulous classes at the Fontainebleau, and Annie and I

112 step cool down 

went to a yoga class together in Vegas. When my mom and I travel together, we climb hotel stairs, and walk halls when there's no gym or the
treadmill gets boring. When we went to Alaska on a cruise a few years ago, people on our ship nicknamed her the "walking lady" because she spent so much time walking the decks. While the gym can get crowded and an unfamiliar machine always takes some getting used to, it's definitely better than nothing, and even if I get kicked off a machine before I get my regular eight miles in, it's still worth it to do as much as I can.

3) Go with the flow when it doesn't happen. At home, I don't miss runs. I get twitchy and cranky if I can't run before the kids wake up, and 99% of the time, I will get a workout in sometime during the day, even if it means I have to stop a hundred times to break up fights or I have someone

Grand Canyon Rim Trail

sitting on my back while I'm planking. It's super fun for all of us. (Did the sarcasm come through in that line?) But on vacation, sometimes it's
impossible to get a workout in. When we went to New England in June, I only ran one day. My friend Leslie, who was hosting us, lives in a town where all of the roads are narrow and twisty, and we were usually getting out to explore early, and Ed wasn't with me to keep the babies, and all of those things made early morning runs more effort than they were worth. On Saturdays, I usually do longer runs. This Saturday, we got in the car at 5am, and finally pulled into the driveway at 8pm, and there's no way I was going

Sunrise over Miami Beach

to hop out of the van and run twenty miles at that point. Other days, getting in a vacation workout might inconvenience our travel plans or the rest of the family's fun. So sometimes even I
can be flexible, and I do my best not to lament the loss of my run, or to skip out on ice cream and wear a long face when everyone else is indulging.

Exercising on vacation can be tricky, but for a regular runner like me, I know that I feel better when I make the effort to work out. And on the days when I can explore a new place, it often turns out to be the highlight of a vacation.

It takes a village (for Mom to run a marathon)

This morning I crept out of my bed at 5am. I managed to extricate my arm from underneath Rose without waking her up, tiptoed past Ed, who had been at work until past midnight, and held my breath when I found Eli snoring in a pile of pillows in the middle of the floor. Somehow, I got downstairs without someone following me for the first time all week, and forced myself onto the treadmill, ready start my long run for the week.

As I ran, I gave half my brain over to Stephen King's Doctor Sleep (which is AMAZING!!!) and the other half tried to fashion the perfect Facebook status update to whine about how piecemeal this long run would have to be: "My 23-mile run this morning: four miles on the treadmill, three miles with the jogger, thirteen while the kids terrorize Suzanne's dog, followed by three more miles with the jogger. Any dad's 23-mile run tomorrow morning? Bye honey, I'll see you when I get back."

But if I'm being honest, that's not fair.

I have friends whose husbands and children would not miss a finish line. Whose spouses come along for destination races. Whose kids hold up signs saying, "Run Fast, Mom!" and "My mom is faster than your dad." While Ed packed up the kids to meet me at the end of a half marathon once (two kids and approximately seven years ago), it's not something I need or even want. In fact, sometimes I think it would be just one more thing to worry about on race day: "Congratulations, you just qualified for Boston. Now how about taking a couple of these kids off my hands?"

What I am grateful for, is the village that allows me to run the marathons.

I trained for my first marathon in the fall of 2007. Ed had to be at work before his attending physicians back in those days, and he left early, so I'd get Bryce and Annie off for school, stick Isaac and Maren in the jogger or put them in front of the TV while I ran on the treadmill. Then, on Saturdays, Ed would get up with all of the kids (on one of his few days off), so I could go out and run 16 or 18 or 20 miles in the sticky Texas predawn. When Isaac got sick that fall, I didn't abandon my plan; I borrowed a jogger that would accommodate his cast from a friend, and kept up the training.

When we moved to Utah, I got spoiled. There's a huge community of runners here, and I made some of my first and my best friends on the road. We'd meet up nearly every morning and pound out six or eight miles while solving the world's problems. On Saturday, I'd often meet up with my running group, who were unfailingly positive and supportive, and who made the miles fly by while Ed stayed (once again) at home with the kids. He even gave up his fledgling ward basketball habit so I could meet Michelle on Tuesday and Chelle on Thursday. We had just gotten to the point where the older kids would let Ed sleep on a Saturday morning when Rose arrived and we started back at square one.

These days, although I may be the one running the races, I'm not the only one who puts in the work that goes into running the races. Truth be told, I only run the races to justify the 70 minutes running time each morning, the 20 miles on Saturday (or Friday, if someone has something going on Saturday). Most runners love to cut back in the winter, but not me. That time is a lifeline. And while there have been plenty of mornings (especially lately, since Rose and Eli have supersonic sleep hearing) when I end up on the treadmill with kids watching Daniel Tiger at my feet, and even more when we head out with the jogger (we are regulars at the 7-11 in downtown Holladay, where I bribe the kids with Cheetos and the promise that we will undoubtedly see more doggies before our 8.5 mile loop is over), there are also lots and lots of mornings when Ed sacrifices his own sleep so he can get climbed on for an hour (or three) by two toddlers while I go out for a run. Sometimes I think it's the only time I truly feel like myself these days, and he recognizes that.

I love him for it. A whole lot.

Today, the village extended beyond just Ed. I got into a groove on the treadmill, and decided to do the planned jogging stroller miles on the treadmill instead, and Maren and Isaac entertained Rose and Eli while I slogged away in the basement. My friend Suzanne kept the little ones while I pounded out the second half of the run. Her sister even set out a Gatorade for me at her house up in Harvard-Yale so I didn't have to carry water.  There are other days when a friend will drop by, take one look at my harried expression, and say, "Why don't you go out and run for an hour without the kids." There's the babysitter who drops everything, comes over, and plays with the kids. There's my mom and my godmother who always make sure I get in my Balm of Gilead, my canyon runs, when they visit in the summer.

So here is me, saying thank you to my village. And most especially to my husband, who, as we celebrate seventeen years of marriage tomorrow, shows that he values me and understands me every time he spends a Saturday morning making pancakes while I pound out mile after lovely mile.

We interrupt these book reviews for inane talk about running shorts...

I've been a runner for more than a decade now, and while it's easy to find running tops that work (the technical t-shirts I get from races are great for all but the coldest or hottest weather, and Target has plenty of cheap stuff to fill in the gaps), I've had a harder time with bottoms.

My requirements:

1) One pair of shorts, one pair of capris, one pair of tights. Yeah, one pair of each is enough. I do laundry every day, and unlike a sweaty tank, I'll often wear a pair of shorts for a couple of days before I wash them. And no skirts-- minimalism is the name of the game here, and I don't need an extra layer of fabric or a pair of annoying sewn-in underpants that give me a wedgie when I'm trying to get my fast on.

2) Pockets! Despite what I said about minimalism above, it baffles me that so many running bottoms don't come with pockets. At a bare minimum, there needs to be one pocket big enough to fit my phone (I frequently run alone in the dark, and even if I weren't addicted to my Audible app, I'd still run with a phone for safety reasons), and another to hold a couple of gels and a car key. If I plan to race in the bottoms (which I do, because see #1 above), then I'd like enough pockets to carry five gels, chapstick, an emergency drug stash and my inhaler on race day.

3) A waist that doesn't emphasize my muffin top. While I am not at all self-conscious about my non-existent butt or my skinny legs, let's be realistic-- I am a 39-year-old mother of six, and no one, not even me, wants to see my love handles. While a pair of tights or shorts that hits at the waist is the runner's equivalent to Mom jeans, I'm usually out running in the dark when no one can see me anyway.

4) All that for a price that won't make me rethink the necessity of buying a new pair of tights even when the old ones are full of holes and have been worn so transparent that you might be able to see my stretch marks through them.

That's only four things, and there are hundreds of pairs of shorts and tights out there, it shouldn't be too much of a challenge, right? Wrong. The really hard one is #2-- most pairs of shorts and tights come with a single pocket, either inside the waistband to hold the key or a zipper pocket at the small of the back that barely fits my iPhone 4.

For a long time, I was a reluctant fan of the Race Ready brand. As you can see in the photo to the left, the tights met all of my criteria. And $60 for a pair of running tights is a downright steal, especially since I wear my favorite pair of tights from October to May, basically every morning. I call the Race Ready tights my rickshaw tights, because I always feel like it looks like I'm carrying an enormous load on my back when I wear them. And cute, well, they are not cute at all. I see people staring at my behind when I wear them, and not in a checking-her-out kind of way, but more in a what-the-heck-is-on-her-butt kind of way. But still, these have been my go-to staple for years. This winter, I bought a second pair of winter tights since the first were losing their stretch after three or four winters. But the stitching on the new pair came apart almost immediately, and shortly thereafter, my phone went crashing out of the back pocket of the other pair and onto the ground one morning when a gigantic hole wore its way through the mesh pocket.

I have a bunch of their shorts too, and felt similarly ambivalent about them. Yeah, they're high-waisted enough to prevent a muffin top, but there is such a thing as too high waisted, and these are it. Besides, everyone else who wears them seems to be quite a bit older than I am. And while you might think that I've been pretty restrained by sticking with this one, fairly inexpensive brand, let me disabuse you of this notion-- I have bought PLENTY of other pairs of tights and shorts over the years, and I have decided that I hated most of them after wearing them two or three times. Either they were too tight at the waist, or the legs were too long/short/loose/tight or I spent the whole run pulling them up and driving myself nuts in the process.

While we're talking about shopping, I need to make a confession-- if I can't buy it online, I probably won't buy it at all. Ever since I've birthed and adopted a permanent entourage, there's not much that is more stressful and less rewarding than trying on clothes in a store, with my kids in tow (except maybe trying to write this blog post with both of my two-year-olds on my lap or going to the post office). So I'd buy online, hate whatever I bought, then not return it (because of how much I hate going to the post office). And I'd only buy from places that were for "real runners" because that's how I see myself.

This weekend, Annie and I went to Las Vegas. Long story, but she was stressed out by the idea of a birthday party, so I told her to scrap the party and we'd go stay in a hotel and eat dinner somewhere fancy one night. Mostly, she wanted to spend the money she'd gotten for her birthday at the mall. I wanted to do something spa-y, but didn't want to pay to go to the spa, so we decided to take a yoga class at the Lululemon at the mall.

Until this weekend, I'd never stepped foot in a Lululemon. I was a real runner, after all, and based on making totally judgey assumptions about the women I saw wearing Lululemon, I decided the brand was the ski bunny version of workout clothes (when you want to look cute but don't want to work out that hard). Besides, I knew they were blisteringly expensive.

I don't know if it was the fact that Annie and I had a wonderful, free class at Lululemon, or it was the happy endorphins that were coursing through my system after doing yoga, but I decided to look at their running tights on the way out of the store (shopping with one kid is actually kind of fun!). And lo and behold, I found a pair that had a mid-rise, and FIVE pockets! Better still, when I tried them on, they didn't make me look like a camel! Yes, I balked at the price tag, but again, remember that a good pair of tights will last me three or four years of daily use for six months at a time. And they're soft, and they feel so amazing on that I bought a pair of shorts (three pockets!) too. Didn't spring for capris though-- a minimalist can live without capris.

So what's the point of this blog post, other than that I'm bragging on my new bottoms? Not much, other than, I guess, not to judge your workout wear until you've run twenty miles in it. And to retire the bottoms that make me look like I have an extra butt ASAP.

The winter runner

Remember running? When I first started this blog, I wrote a lot about running. I wrote about my training programs, and my races, and everything I was thinking about as I ran. But after a while, my pace started to plateau and I stopped setting goals for myself, and I realized that reading about someone else's running was pretty boring, so I stopped writing about it. But I still run about 60 miles a week, and most days you can find me at 5am on the streets of Salt Lake, trying to get a run in before the crazy day sets in. But just for a minute, indulge me as I write about running.

The summer runner gets ready in less than five minutes. At five am, all she needs is a tank top, a pair of running shorts, socks and shoes. She pulls her hair into a ponytail, and she's out the door. It's dark most mornings when the summer runner sets up, but she's always rewarded with a gorgeous sunrise. She can't run much past sunrise, because it's too hot by midday, and she picks routes where she knows she'll find water fountains. She also sees people she knows almost every morning, and takes welcome breaks to chat. On mornings when it's not too hot, the summer runner can take the kids out in the jogger if they keep her from getting out the door. The summer runner can also escape to the trails when she's sick of running the same routes week after week.

The summer runner also feels the pressure of speedwork, tempo days, and race training.

The winter runner sets out her gear the night before, but it still takes her 15 minutes to get dressed. A pair or two of tights, a shirt or three, an outer layer, heavy socks (with the tights pulled down so not a millimeter of skin shows), reflective gear, a hat, and gloves. Oh gloves-- the bane of the winter runner. She never knows which gloves to wear, despite checking the weather app on her phone more regularly than her email. If it's over forty, she doesn't need anything on her hands. Between 30-40 and she wears a shirt with foldover cuffs. Between 20-30, she adds a pair of light gloves. Between 10-20, she swaps out the gloves for mittens. Between 0-10, she adds hand warmers. Below 0 and her hands will be cold, no matter what she does. But the science is inexact, and most mornings her hands are either sweaty or freezing.

And chapped. Every inch of the winter runner is chapped. She has cracks in her heels and her fingers. A friendly pat on the back or the butt is liable to elicit a howl of pain, and no amount of exfoliating or shaving will help with her dry, scaly legs. She knows the limitations of every kind of lotion on the market, and super glues herself on a daily basis.

The winter runner often finds herself alone in the dark. I don't mean she's running by herself, I mean that she might not see another runner the entire time she's out, and the beautiful winter sunrises happen long after she's inside and getting started for the day. And in the dark, she has to be careful not to slip on ice or step in puddles of freezing water. She might even fall a few times during a winter, and spend days hobbling around, convinced she broke something in her back or her elbow (she didn't).

If the winter runner can't will herself out of bed before dawn, she could go any other time during the day, providing she has someone to watch her kids. And she feels no pressure to run fast or meet goals or to really do much of anything other than to stay upright when she's out during the mornings.

You might think that the winter runner spends the whole season pining for summer, or at least for spring, but she doesn't. She loves the quiet meditative mornings with no one on the roads. She loves the brisk air and the bragging rights. Her favorite times of the entire year are when there's fresh snow on the roads and she can be the first one to put her footprints in it. Of course, those feet might be a little bit tentative and her heels are certainly full of cracks, but she wouldn't change it, not for a whole year of summer running.

Running and Racing

One of the highlights of my year for the last five or six years has been my spring marathon. I love shaking off the winter sloth and getting myself back into racing shape. For the last two years, I've been lucky enough to do that by racing down Ogden Canyon in what has got to be the most beautiful course in Utah marathons (I know, all the canyon marathons are gorgeous, but this one has my heart). Last fall, I entered into the lottery for this year's race, knowing that life would be crazy, but also confident that it would be manageable enough for me to be able to get away for one morning and run the race.

The truth is, I could get away for a morning and run the race. I could probably clock a respectable time, too. And it would probably be fun.

But I'm not going to run.

It's true that Annie has a dance competition that day. I thought the competition would be early in the day, which would require me to find a ride up to Lagoon for her, then drive directly from the race to the amusement park, where I'd sit all day in my filth (at least until I went on Rattlesnake Rapids and got soaked). But I just found out that we don't even have to be at the park until 3:15, which would have given me plenty of time to get home, shower, take a quick nap, kiss my babies, and head out.

And it's not because I don't want to burden Ed with the kids all day. In fact, he has told me repeatedly that I should run the race.

I think it all comes back to my motivations for running marathons. I used to get a lot out of being one of the fastest girls on the road. I used to want to push myself harder and harder. I used to get upset when I didn't PR. I used to have a lot of my identity wrapped up in my speed. It was a way for me to distinguish myself-- to be more than "just" a mom of a bunch of little kids. And it really worked for me for a long time.

But this spring, I'm just trying to keep afloat. While I write this, Rose and Eli are emptying my dirty laundry basket, which at this time of day is stocked with everything I need to take downstairs-- laundry, cookbooks, dirty cups, and probably a few poopy diapers. When I go into the next room, I'll find another mess. We'll clean those up, run an errand, make lunch, start the laundry, put the babies down for a nap just as Bryce is coming home from school, and so on. In terms of the mental challenge of my life experience, feel like I'm running a marathon every day of my life. I can know see that there's no "just" about being a mom. Although I've been clocking 60 mile weeks and somehow got in all my 20 milers even with China and Ed's crazy work schedule, my head is not in the racing game right now. Running is a lifeline, a sanity, a much-needed escape to be with friends or just by myself. And although a good speed workout still gives me a rush, I'm not pushing myself like I did in the past. As a result, I doubt I'd run a fast race, and then there would be just one more thing to feel guilty about (as if the toddler battles and the lack of piano practice and my inability to just generally keep my life together like I used to weren't enough). I do feel like I'm starting to get my groove back, but I don't need a race to either a) prove I'm there, or b) show me that I'm not.

But I did train. I did work hard. And so, when everyone is getting up at their hotels in Ogden, I'm going to be heading out my door, to embark on my own little solo marathon. I've mapped out a route from here to the Capitol and back. I'll plant Gatorade and leave my Garmin at home. I already know where all the portapotties and bathrooms are. It won't be as scenic as Ogden, but it will do. And, as a bonus, I'll come in first!

And after that race is done, I'm sure that Rose and Eli will be waiting for me at the door. They'll probably even leave me some surprise messes around the house. The next week, I'll start to train hard. Because it's only four months until my fall marathon, and I'm going to be ready.

Ogden Marathon report

After hating the last three marathons I've run, I decided that this was going to be a decisive race for me: I was either going to love it or I was going to quit running marathons. I did everything right-- I trained hard, I tapered, I got plenty of sleep and drank all my water the days before the race. I also decided to run with a pace group and have fun and not kill myself in an effort for a PR at this race (I've tried hard for a PR at the last three races and failed each time).

The day could not have been more perfect. It wasn't too cold up at the race start, and the sun showed herself for the first time in a week just before the race gun went off. I was also surrounded by great friends from my running group, which made the hour waiting up in a muddy field pass much faster.

Traci and I started with the 3:30 pace group. We kept them in our sights for the first 10 miles, not too worried if we were slightly ahead or slightly behind. I don't think I even registered a mile marker until we'd gone a dozen miles. We just chatted and enjoyed the scenery and breathed deeply and didn't run too fast. There were a bunch of little hills between 7-11 and we trudged up them without any difficulty (I guess the Hill Run Mondays paid off). We passed lots of people on the one "big" hill on 14 (which wasn't even very big). Traci dropped back a little around 17, and I picked up the pace once I hit the canyon at 18. I turned on my tunes around mile 20, and still felt great when I hit the park around mile 22. Shortly after I entered the park a guy came up behind me and challenged me to keep up with him, which I did for a few miles, but eventually he had more energy than I did. I was feeling great until the last mile when I turned onto the streets of Ogden. Then I had no gas left. I'd run a block and walk through the intersection, but I still managed to finish ahead of the pacer (he was on my heels) and with a time of 3:28.

It wasn't my fastest marathon-- in fact, it was the fifth fastest of the nine I've run, but I felt great at the end. I was happy-- and I loved racing again. I know I have the endurance to finish a marathon. I know that 3:30 is a fast marathon for most people. I know that I could probably run faster. But it felt great to finish and feel satisfied and be happy with a 3:28 rather than finishing in 3:18 and feeling miserable, or running too fast early and completely self-destructing and finishing slower. I can be fast, but I'm not sure I can be that fast for that long. Running a little slower and finishing happy makes me feel like I could run ultras, or even run more than a few marathons a year without completely dreading the experience.

Falling in love again

It's been a long winter. Don't get me wrong, I like winter. We had delightful friends and a lovely house in Houston, but when we got the chance to move back to the temperate zone, I jumped at it, and I think a lot of it had to do with wanting four seasons again. There's something about year after year of warm temperatures that didn't work with my raised-in-New England self. I'd probably even get sick of living in Hawaii after a while.

As much as I like sweaters and slippers and taking a long, hot shower after running through the snow (and being the first person to lay track through that snow, gliding down the street in the darkness with snowflakes in my hair is completely magical), I'm also glad when winter comes to an end. By my estimation, winter should have ended about six weeks ago, but he's been hanging around here in these parts like a party guest who doesn't know that his hostess is eager to go to bed. The front page of yesterday's paper showed a picture of Alta, completely snowed under and looking like January. It's the middle of May.

I usually run with friends early on Thursday mornings. It's part of my routine, just like my Monday speedwork, my Friday tempo run, and my Saturday long run. You could even call it a rut, if you want to. But ever since Eddie helped the ward team win the championship for the Salt Lake Valley, he's been eager to maintain his basketball skills, and he wanted to go play with the guys at church this morning. So I sacrificed and decided to run after I took Maren to school. I haven't been excited about running lately. I'm doing the Odgen Marathon in a week and a half, and I've run so many crappy marathons in the last two years that I'm not excited about it. It's not nerves-- this will be my ninth marathon-- I know I can finish, but I put lots of pressure on myself to run hard, and I've fallen out of love with the racing part of running. The parts that involve talking to friends in the quiet hours of the morning, feeling strong as we trudge up the ice, or sensing the wonder of watching a moose on a mountain trail, I still love that. I also love ice cream and having a cute butt, but the racing part of running has been so miserable that it's made me question the whole endeavor.

So this morning, I took to the hills. I hadn't been up on the trail since last October, when my mom fell and we had to carry her off the mountain. I was a little nervous the first few miles. Would there be anyone out there to rescue me if I biffed it? It grew warm. There was snow on the ground, but I peeled off my long-sleeved t-shirt and ran in my bra (no one out here to look at my Mommy tummy) and felt the sun on my back. The grass was that impossibly new spring green, and the creek rushed past me. Instead of feeling frustrated by running, frustrated with my self and my body for putting the pressure on and then not meeting my goals, I just felt grateful to be out there, pale-skinned and squinting, like an animal shaking off a winter's hibernation.

I don't know if this summer will hold half marathon PRs or if I'll ever manage to fall in love with running a marathon again. But I do know that I'll be up on the trail with my legs feeling strong. And it will be worth it, even if they have to carry me down.

Book #40: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running

Title: What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Author: Hirouki Murakami

Was this book written just for me? Murakami talks about how running has made him a better writer and writing has made him a better runner. Apparently the two skills are highly compatible. Who knew? I loved this book. I was sad that it was over so quickly. I'm even temped to start reading Murakami's postmodern surrealist fiction so I can spend more time with the guy-- he feels like a kindred spirit. 

Hobble Creek Half Marathon Race Report

I ran this race last weekend, but just got around to writing the report. If you saw the cryptic message of 1:27:03 showing up on my facebook status last week, here's the back story.

We had a busy day on Friday. We took the kids on the Heber Creeper, then went rafting on the Provo River, then had shakes at Granny's, then rode the chair lift up at Sundance, then had dinner at Brick Oven. With a belly full of pizza and milkshake, I fell asleep alongside Maren at about 9pm.

We spent the night at my IL's cabin in Hobble Creek Canyon, and the race ran right past the entrance to their neighborhood. So I was able to wake up relatively late (5!), ride down the canyon, and hop on a bus. By the time I made it up there, some of my running group arrived and we shivered and hopped as the sun rose too high while we waited for the race to begin. I saw Sheree and was really happy to see her. There are five or six "fast girls" in my running group, and four of us were running the race, and we all decided to head out together (with our coach) in hopes of finishing in the 1:30 range. Coach and I ran side-by-side, and the other three girls weren't far behind.

The first seven or eight miles of the race were really fun-- fast, cool and easy with the downhill. But I knew when the race started late that it was going to get hot, and it did around mile 8. Then it became a matter of enduring. I knew I was slowing down a little bit (my first four miles were all in the 6:20 range) but the key was not to slow down too much before the finish.

Finally, I saw the sign indicating the last half mile. It felt like it lasted forever. I could see what I thought was the finish line. But it wasn't it. Then I spotted something further down the road that looked like it, but it wasn't it either. Finally, I turned a corner and ran in. The time said just under 1:27 as I started through the finisher's chute, and I crossed the line at 1:27:03. Although I'd lost my girlfriends around mile 5 and my coach around mile 8, one of the girls had saved a lot for her finish and came in about 5 seconds behind me. We stood on the sidelines and cheered in the people in our group until everyone finished.

Then I jumped back in my car and drove to the cabin, where my mom was waiting for me so she could do her workout. While I was gone, she walked 60 times around my IL's cabin, and was depressed to discover that each lap was only 227 feet. I grabbed a calculator as she walked out the door, but wasn't able to catch her in time to tell her that she'd actually walked 3 miles! She didn't come back until she'd walked six more, and by now it was the heat of midday. She'd never hiked the Y before, and she wanted to do it (and we'd told the kids we would), so after she showered, we drove to Provo, where I strapped Maren and a lot of water into my backpack, and we spent the next hour and a half sweating our way up and down Y mountain. Honestly, I'm not sure if running the race or wearing a 3 1/2-year-old up the side of a mountain in 90+ degree weather was harder. The kids were all troupers, and we rewarded them with a late lunch at the Creamery, where I ate every bit of my cheeseburger, fries, and ice cream sundae.

When I got home, I had texts from friends in my group letting me know that I'd placed 1st in my age group and had won a plaque and a pair of socks! (LOL!). The race was a 5 minute PR for me, and my overall pace was 6:39/mile.

Girls' Weekend Out

Every June I get together with some of my best friends for a girls' weekend. When most people think girls' weekend, they think good food, sleeping in, shopping, and hanging out by the pool.

We'll be eating out of the back of the van and running in the middle of the night. In a couple of hours, I'm off to run the Wasatch Back relay, a crazy race of about 190 miles, from Logan to Park City and all spots in between on the east side of the Wasatch. I love this race. It's the third year I've run it, and while I was pretty sure I'd never walk again after the first year, I always come back for more.

Are you running too? I'll keep an eye out for you. I'm runner 9 (my first time in van 2!), which means I get to do the first half of the big mountain climb, which we're scheduled to hit around high noon tomorrow. Sounds like the perfect girls' weekend to me!

To run or not to run?

If you know me, you know that my answer is almost always, "to run." But what about this weekend? I've been training for the Ogden Marathon since January. I've done my speed work consistently, run all of my long runs, been out there pounding the pavement to the tune of about fifty miles a week. Then, on Saturday night, I came down with a scratchy throat. By Sunday it was a full-blown sore throat. Yesterday and today my face and head and nose have been so clogged I can hardly breathe.  I went for a run yesterday and felt terrible, and shivered through most of the day. So what's a girl to do?

I could run. I've run sick before (my first marathon, when I wanted to DIE during the entire second half). I'm pretty confident that even with a raging head cold, I could finish. But is it really about finishing anymore? I've finished seven marathons. The last two have been disappointing, because I haven't done as well as I thought I could. If I run sick, this one is also likely to be an underwhelming finish. Is it worth it to wake up at 3:30am to run 26 miles when I'm sick? I'm not sure. I hate being a quitter. It's not in my nature. If I were giving someone else advice for the race, I'd probably tell them not to run, to bag it, rest, and focus on St. George instead. Why is it so hard for me to give myself the same advice?

Moab Canyonlands Half Marathon Report

At 5:30 on Friday night, I still wasn't sure whether or not we'd be going to Moab to run the race. We'd had a busy week, and Bryce was still skiing, and Eddie was still at work, and I didn't know if it would be worth it to drive all the way out to Moab and then turn right around and drive back home. But everyone got home, we got on the road by six, and got the kids safely dropped off with their cousins an hour later, and drove in the dark, through the snow and past the police cars, down to Moab.

On Saturday morning we got up bright and early and dressed in all of our warmest layers to hop on the bus and wait for the race to start. I was staying with my running friend Marie, and a few of her other running friends, and we debated about what we should wear. I decided to dress warmly, with a sweatshirt and a vest to go in my sweat bag (you pick that up at the end), and a t-shirt, my favorite sweatshirt, a headband, tights and gloves to wear for the race itself.

We drove up the canyon (so pretty!) and waited a LONG time for the race to start. Most races start at 7 or 8am, but this one starts at 10, which is nice because we didn't have to wake up at 4am or stand around in the dark, but it makes it harder to gauge eating and drinking, and we ended up standing around and freezing our butts of for quite a while. It was COLD up there. I've now lived in Utah about nine months, and I was surprised at the number of people I ran into who I knew. There was Marie of course, but also my awesome running friend Julie (who came in 3rd woman overall!) and Maren's preschool teacher and Bryce's Primary teacher, and the husband of one of my blogging friends, and lots of other faces that looked familiar from other races I've done this year.

The race itself went well. I always want someone to talk to, and this time I couldn't find anyone. I thought I was going to run with two other guys, but we'd lost track of each other before the end of the first mile. I really needed to go to the bathroom by mile 3, so I found a campsite with a toilet and made a beeline for it. That mile was a little over 8-1/2 minutes, so I figure that my others averaged just under 7, since my overall pace was 7:04. And while I'd bundled up well, it got hot too, so I sadly bade goodbye to my favorite turquoise outer layer (I miss you!), and my cool reflective gloves, and the only headband that keeps my dang short hair out of my eyes.

Overall, I felt really strong during the race, especially during the uphills, which gives me some hope for Wasatch Back this year. It was a pretty course, which helped a lot, because I had no one to keep me going and Taylor Swift was just irritating me with all of her complaining about stupid boys.

I felt strong coming into the last two miles. I'd heard that they were tough because the terrain switched from canyon to city road, but I think my friends had adequately prepared me for the switch, so it wasn't too bad. I was focused. By the time the finish line came into view, I was ready to be done (it's funny how we mentally prepare for just that race and no more-- I run more than 13 miles almost every Saturday, but I felt like I couldn't go another step once I finished). I almost missed seeing Eddie because I was trying really hard to pass one more girl before I crossed the line. I ended up finishing in 1:33:02. My PR for a half is 1:32:39, but that was at Provo Canyon, which has a serious downhill, and I didn't take a bathroom break during that race. So I'm pleased. I came in 4th in my age group, and the 19th woman overall.

The only bummer of the weekend was that I couldn't shower after the race because the sewers in our condo were backed up. So I scrubbed myself down with a washcloth, threw on some clothes, and Eddie and I headed out to Arches and hiked to Delicate Arch. We were back in Springville with our kids in time to watch BYU lose to Kansas State, which was a rather sad ending to what was otherwise a great weekend.

Rock and Roll Arizona Race Report

I had a great weekend in Phoenix with Lyn and Sheree and Sheree's sister Bekah and her family! We did some good shopping, ate really yummy food, saw a bunch of friends, and got to soak up some of the sun that has refused to shine up here in Utah. In fact, it was so nice that the only thing that would have made it perfect would be to go and not to run a marathon. But run a marathon we did, and here's the race report:

We woke up at the relatively late hour of 5:45 and got to the start line about an hour early. Instead of freezing up in a canyon, we merely shivered a little bit as we walked around the runners' village. About fifteen minutes before the gun went off, we bade each other farewell, and got in our corrals with our pace groups. I'd decided to run with the 3:15 group, since that would give me a PR. I hung with the group for about 18 miles, and I don't know if it was the flora or smog, but my asthma started acting up shortly after the race started. I tried to take my inhaler while I was running, but I couldn't breathe deeply enough to get it in my lungs and get it working. Finally, around mile 18, I ran into the bathroom and made myself relax for a few seconds while I peed to get the albuterol in. By the time I left the bathroom, the 3:15 pace group was too far ahead to catch easily, and while my lungs were feeling better, I'd committed the cardinal sin of marathoning; I'd stopped. Getting started again was really hard. My left foot and calf started cramping up, and wouldn't stop seizing. I did what I always do when I need to keep going, I looked for someone to talk to (social runner that I am) but everyone around me had looks of determination on their faces and earbuds in their ears. Finally, between mile 19-20, I ran into Dave, who had started in the 3:10 pace group with his sights set on Boston, but was plagued with a cramping quad and blisters. I asked him if he wanted someone to run with him, and he didn't object. At this point, I wasn't sure if I was going to stay with him for the rest of the race, or just until I got myself feeling better, but I started thinking about it: I could get back in a groove and finish in 3:20 or 3:25, and go back to Utah feeling sore for a week, or I could stay with Dave, and go home feeling good and be back to running in a few days. I decided to stay with Dave. We walked when we needed to walk, ran when we felt good, and finished in 3:38.

A year ago, I probably wouldn't have called this a successful race. I would have been disappointed that I didn't PR (and I still know that there are a bunch of things I need to do better before Ogden in May, including not sluffing off on the speedwork and tempo runs I'm supposed to do on the days when I don't run with my friends, and running with the fastest people and not taking big rest breaks during my long runs), but in a way, I'm proud of myself that I was able to pull back and not feel bad about it. I know that marathoning has become a way of life for me (why, I'm not quite sure) and there will still be good races and PRs in the future, even if they weren't in Phoenix.

As for my companions, Lyn and Matt (Sheree's brother-in-law) both did a great job in their marathon (which is always the hardest one), and Sheree had a good race too. None of us came home with great racing times, but I think we all had a great time regardless of our chip times..

On nerves

The night before I ran my first marathon, I didn't sleep much. I forced myself to bed before nine o'clock, and then woke up at least once an hour all night long. It was nerves. Big-time nerves. I'd heard of runners feeling like they were going to throw up after a race, but my stomach rolled all the way to the starting line. When the gun finally went off, a surge of adrenaline went through me, chilling me right to the bone.

The nerves, combined with a disappointing race performance and an injury left me feeling sorry for myself as we drove home. But before the sun set on that day, I'd signed myself up for another marathon.

I recognized the feeling; as a high school swimmer, I loved practice, but hated races. I'd never skimp on my laps during practice, but I felt so intimidated as I saw the other teams' swimmers entering the pool deck that I wanted to run back into the locker room and cry. The only time in my life that I ever faked being sick was when I managed to snag some entries into the district championship meet. I just couldn't take the pressure. 

At the second marathon, the nerves were still there, the same feeling of dread set in a couple of weeks before race day, the clock taunted me all night long once again, but at least I could eat breakfast. The next time, I slept and ate breakfast.

This weekend I'm running my seventh marathon, and three days out, I'm not nervous. I don't know if it will be my best race (I've had sort of a nagging IT-band injury, and my training wasn't as focused as it could have been), but I'm no longer afraid. If I do well, great. If I don't, there's always another race (I'm already signed up for Ogden and plan to sign up for New York once I get back). If my knee doesn't cooperate and I have to pull out, it will be a bummer, but I'll live.

Not being afraid is pretty liberating, and it's something I never really thought would happen. Even if I never get another PR, then I consider overcoming my game-day fear to be a reward that will translate beyond running.

Hiatus

One of the highlights of this summer was discovering the world's most perfect running trail in Millcreek Canyon. At least once each week I'd park the car at the Pipleline Trailhead parking lot, hike straight up for a mile, then run for six more until I looped back to the car. Once the kids went back to school, it got too dark in the mornings to get the run in and get back in time to get everyone out the door, so I tried to fit a run in on mornings when Eddie was around, or someone was home to watch Maren. Every week slipped into every couple of weeks, and then I started thinking my last run had already happened. I ran it about ten days ago and figured that was my last run for the season.

But today was a beautiful day. It was sunny and warm, and Ed was home from work. So I took Isaac to preschool and headed up to the canyon. I hiked the hike, ran along the trail, and enjoyed the peace. During the summer, there are lots of cars and bikers and dogs up there, but today it was just me. Before I reached the road (three miles left in the run) I looked down and realized that the road's shoulder was covered in snow. When I got down to the road, it was slippery, covered with black ice, and even with my trail shoes, I felt nervous that I'd go sliding into the path of an oncoming car. Eventually I ran out of the snow, and I figured out that if I stayed on the shoulder, I wouldn't slip. But I'm retiring the canyon run. At least until the spring.

Early-morning running

This morning the alarm went off. I stumbled to the bathroom, pulled on my running clothes, and dashed out the door into the darkness. When I got to my friend's house to meet my running buddies, they weren't there, but my friend's son was up ridiculously early, practicing the violin. So I started off on the run by myself. I waved at some teenage girls at the bus stop (early band practice at Skyline?) dodged an unusual amount of traffic on 3300 South, and once I made it back to my neighborhood, noticed that it was getting light out. It gets light late here. Very late. Around the time my kids head out the door to school. But it was cloudy, so I figured that the cloud cover might just make it appear lighter than it really was. I asked a walker for the time and she said she had no idea. But I started seeing sun, and realized I was in trouble. I dashed home, and made it in the door, exactly an hour after I usually get home. The good news is that the kids still got out the door on time, and I got an extra hour of sleep, but I think I'll be double-checking the time when I set my alarm clock tonight.

Why we need two straight legs...

Over the last few weeks, I've run a couple of races: on July 24th, I finished the Deseret News 10K in 39:39; this morning, my mom, my brother and I all ran the Provo River Half Marathon. I ran the first half of the race with my little brother (his first half!) and then ditched him, coming in at 1:32:39 (I think). Summer running has been so great here-- a couple of days each week I try to hit the trails up in Millcreek Canyon, which is so much more scenic and temperate than the sidewalks of Houston in August. I feel like I'm finally inching off the plateau I spent most of the last year hanging out on. So this summer I'm happy for my healthy, straight legs.

Someone in my family hasn't had healthy, straight legs for the last two years. And while we've hoped that Isaac's leg would straighten on his own, and he'd be able to run without a limp, it hasn't happened. He has made a lot of progress, hiking to the Great Salt Lake and Timpanogos Cave this week, but unless he has surgery, his leg is never going to allow him to do the things other kids his age can do. So on August 20th, he's going to have his leg reset. I haven't blogged about it yet, because I think I'm still in denial. Yes, it's a pretty serious operation. Yes, it means he'll have to be in the hospital again. Yes, it means at least another six weeks of a spica cast. Yes, it means he'll start preschool late this fall. Yes, it's going to be hard. But in the end, if he has two healthy, straight legs, legs that can carry him, then it will be worth it.

Please tell me it will be worth it.

My new favorite running tune...

I'm dreaming of a flat sidewalk
Just like the ones I used to know.
Where the treetops glistened and children listened,
But there was never any snow.

I'm dreaming of a flat sidewalk
With every blog post that I write.
May your legs run quickly and light,
And may your hamstrings never feel too tight.

Every morning when I wake up I have three thoughts:

1) We really need some shades (it's bright at 6am!)
2) I love living here
3) I miss my treadmill

I love running up the hills and in the canyons, but what I wouldn't give for an easy flat run one of these days. I am officially a hill wussy. I stopped four times today to catch my breath while out on a run. I guess I'm not as tough as I thought. It's a challenge, right? An opportunity to grow? By next year, I hope to be whipping up the side of the mountains. Or at least not staggering.

Boston Marathon Race Report

I left Houston on Saturday morning. It was raining hard enough that they canceled the first day of MS 150-- a big bike race between Houston and Austin. So I was lucky to get out of waterlogged Southeast Texas without incident. Les picked me up at the airport and we stayed up way too late chatting.

After church on Sunday, Les took me to my friend Elisabeth's house. Elisabeth drove me the last seven or eight miles of the race route (through Newton and into the city) and we walked through Boston Common and the Public Gardens and around Beacon Hill on the way to the Expo, where we picked up my packet. She dropped me off at Les's house, and fellow runner Rebecca and her husband Patrick came over and we strategized and had dessert.

On Monday morning, Les dropped me off in Hopkinton. Rebecca and I had planned to meet up and sit together while we waited for the race to start, but we couldn't find each other. I spent more than an hour waiting in line for a porta potty, and I expect that she was doing the same thing in line for another porta potty. I was starting to get nervous, because I couldn't find my running buddy, Afton, either. We finally found each other around the time we were walking to the corrals. Les kept me very warm-- I was wearing her entire DI pile-- my race tank, a long sleeved t-shirt, a big sweatshirt, a shearling coat, running shorts, velvet pajama pants, heavy socks (which would come to haunt me later on), gloves, a stocking cap, and a huge warm cozy thing that Les warmed up for me before we left. All of it (except the shorts and the tank) ended up getting discarded along the race route. Call me a stripper if you want, I can take it.

The first few miles were amazing. I've run four marathons before this one. The first and fourth (both in Kingwood, Texas) had virtually no crowd support. The second, Country Music, had fairly good crowd support at times, but other times there was no one cheering. St. George had pockets of fans, but definitely nothing consistent until the last few miles. But at Boston, there are screaming fans the whole 26 miles. Afton had her name on her shirt, and had people call out "Go Afton" literally thousands of times. A girl named Eve ran behind us, and I swear I'm still hearing "Eve," "Eve," Eve." Eve was way popular.

The first mile was a little bit slow as the group found its pace, but we ran the next ten or so miles at a 7:35-7:40 pace, which I felt was going to be a little bit too fast to maintain, but it was too loud and too crowded for us to powwow and talk strategy, so we kept going at that pace. When we hit Wellesley (the halfway mark) we could hear the roar of the crowd well before we could see them. There were hundreds (thousands?) of girls with "kiss me" signs. "Kiss me, I'm a senior," "Kiss me, I'm Asian," "Kiss me, I'm Gay," "Kiss me, I'm a biologist." There was even a cute boy with a "kiss me" sign. I settled for a high five from him, but if I had been willing to break my pace, I may have considered it...

We passed Team Hoyt around mile 17, just as we started hitting the hills. I really wanted to pat Dick on the back but figured that he must get patted and prodded the whole way, so I restrained myself. But I was so close to him! It was really cool.

Les and the Boston Mormon contingent was waiting just before mile 19. They had orange slices and water in Dora the Explorer Dixie cups and a big sign that had my name on it. It was really, really fun to have people screaming my name! They had a cheering section of about 30, and my friend Elisabeth and her son were waiting a couple of blocks later.

After that, the fun was over and we settled into the hard work. We hit hill after hill after hill and the hills were tough. Our pace started to slow. Afton and I had agreed that she might need to walk during the later water stops, but I kept running at a slow but consistent pace because I was afraid that if I walked, I might never be able to start running again. We always managed to meet up with each other again. Heartbreak Hill surprised me because it wasn't extremely steep, but it went on forever. That's when I was really happy that there were lots of people to cheer us on. Climbing up that hill with no support would have been so much harder.

Speaking of support, I often think of running a marathon as kind of a solitary endeavor. I run alone most of the time. But I decided at this race that it takes a village to get someone through a marathon. Eddie was a single parent for four days. My friend Annie kept my kids for a long day on Monday. Leslie and her boys drove me all over New England for the whole weekend. Elisabeth drove from Boston to Western Massachusetts and back. Thousands of people volunteered and passed out water and orange slices and drove buses and did hard work behind the scenes. Thousands more spent a cold, windy day cheering us on.

Speaking of cold and windy, the last six or seven miles were both. The hills got really tough, and then the flats got really tough, and then the downhills got really tough. We saw a sign that said something like "sorry legs, the brain has taken over" and that definitely applied in the last few miles. When we saw the Citgo sign, I knew we were in the home stretch, and when we passed it and rounded the corner, I felt a final burst of energy. Then we rounded the very last corner and could see the finish line (way off in the distance). I kept thinking, "I can't believe we're finishing the Boston Marathon!" Afton's sister called out her name a couple hundred feet before the finish line, which was really cool. We grabbed hands at the finish line and I started sobbing. It was overwhelming to want something for years, to try and fail and try again and then, after a year of waiting, to accomplish a goal that once seemed impossible.

We finished at 3:32 according to the race clock, but when our watches dinged 26.2, the clock read exactly 3:30:00. My watch read 26.48 miles when we crossed the finish line, probably because we did a lot of weaving in and out during the first few miles of the race when the pack was really tight. Even according to the official clock, Afton had a 7 minute PR, which is amazing for the Boston Marathon. It was definitely a harder course than I've run before.

I'm surprised at how good I feel today. My quads are slightly sore, and one toe blistered badly (I could feel it before the end of the first mile, which is always a bad thing. If it hadn't been a race, I would have stopped and adjusted the seam in my sock, but I just left it that way. I'll probably lose that toenail). But overall I felt strong, even after the finish. Les and I stayed up way too late (again) and had fun talking. She put me on the plane this morning, and it was fun to ride home with other racers, share horror stories and have the pilots congratulate us on our work.

Eddie and the kids met me as soon as I got off the plane. The house was (miraculously!) clean and the kids all had on matching clothes. He's pretty good at being the mom! Tomorrow it will be back to business as usual, but it was great to get away, and Boston is definitely a marathon like no other.

*thanks to Ellen Patton for the pictures and for organizing the mile 19 crew!

Tell me I'm ready for this...

I'm mostly packed. One tiny suitcase-- because, after all, I'm making the trip all by myself. Which means that I might actually get to read the three books in my suitcase. If my nerves calm down enough to let me focus.

I've already done the marathon thing four times before. Yeah, the first time was pretty bad, but the last three have been great. So why am I so nervous about Boston? Is it just because it's the Boston Marathon, built up in my mind as the Mt. Everest of marathons?

Wish me luck. I'll be back with a full report on Tuesday. Look to my twitter feed on Monday for updates!