We all know the saying that goes something like, 'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.'
As winter drags on much longer and cooler than it should be allowed, I'm digging deep to stay motivated.
Those first few steps out the door truly are the worst ones of a run. Especially when it's cold and windy and you live right on top of the lake.
I went out on a six mile run two Sundays ago in the later part of the afternoon. Instead of running early in the morning, I was waiting for the rain to break and for the warmest part of the day to appear.
When I finally hit the road, I realized I had forgotten to grab gloves or a hat. It was windy drizzling slightly. As I turned a corner, the wind pushed it's way hard in the opposite direction. It nearly sent me home.
I wasn't even a half mile into the run. I couldn't allow myself the thought of heading back 'just to get gloves and a hat' because I might find some excuse to not go back out. You can't run just a mile of a six mile run.
So I toughed it out. My hands were tingling from the cold. I tried to pull the sleeves down on my outer layer to cover them. I reminded myself that things would get better once I warmed up. They had to. It couldn't get much more uncomfortable.
A mere ten minutes later I was passing my turn around for a 3 mile run. A stretch I run often before work in the summer. I started thinking about summer - Shorts. Sun. Heat. Baseball Games. Beach. Music Festivals. Marathon Training. Breakfasts. Crazy Early Runs. Gu. Chafing. Brunch with Bananas Foster.
Thoughts of summer and training turned what started as a miserable run into a fine one.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Yoga at the Lab
Sara and I have been on a city yoga studio tour over the last year. We've had some great teachers and breakthroughs with poses. No stop on this journey can quite compare to the Lab.
No, the Lab isn't a nickname or code for a yoga studio we've been visiting. It's a real place (and that place means serious yoga business, as any place using the name The Lab should). The Lab is located in a spacious location in the West Loop. It's recommended that all new students spend a number of sessions in level one classes. That's because a level one class at the lab is a level two or three at other studios (or at least the studios we've visited). But don't let that scare you. Remember, it's through being challenged where you can grow the most.
The Lab is big on inversions. I had this intel going in to the studio last month, but one doesn't have to look very far up an unassuming white wall to see its been given some tough love. Students before us had learned the basics with the walls support to take on some of yoga's most fearful positions.
For example, it's become standard operating procedure to do a forearm stand during our level one class. You know, forearm stand, that thing in between a headstand and handstand -
You start using the wall. Then graduate to no wall.
Then, I guess, as you get more comfortable with the pose, maybe the mood strikes you as you're watching tv.
Or on your deck.
Maybe during a trip to the beach.
Or while visiting an abandoned urban building.
Regardless of when or where, once you can do it, you could do it anywhere. And why wouldn't you?
Would you, for example, come home and be so inclined to demo forearm stand to your half-interested boyfriend? Why yes you would.
And maybe one day when forearm stand seems just too easy, you challenge yourself to a modified pose, maybe even a scorpion.
But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.
No, the Lab isn't a nickname or code for a yoga studio we've been visiting. It's a real place (and that place means serious yoga business, as any place using the name The Lab should). The Lab is located in a spacious location in the West Loop. It's recommended that all new students spend a number of sessions in level one classes. That's because a level one class at the lab is a level two or three at other studios (or at least the studios we've visited). But don't let that scare you. Remember, it's through being challenged where you can grow the most.
The Lab is big on inversions. I had this intel going in to the studio last month, but one doesn't have to look very far up an unassuming white wall to see its been given some tough love. Students before us had learned the basics with the walls support to take on some of yoga's most fearful positions.
For example, it's become standard operating procedure to do a forearm stand during our level one class. You know, forearm stand, that thing in between a headstand and handstand -
You start using the wall. Then graduate to no wall.
Then, I guess, as you get more comfortable with the pose, maybe the mood strikes you as you're watching tv.
Or on your deck.
Maybe during a trip to the beach.
Or while visiting an abandoned urban building.
Regardless of when or where, once you can do it, you could do it anywhere. And why wouldn't you?
Would you, for example, come home and be so inclined to demo forearm stand to your half-interested boyfriend? Why yes you would.
And maybe one day when forearm stand seems just too easy, you challenge yourself to a modified pose, maybe even a scorpion.
But let's not get too far ahead of ourselves.
Friday, February 08, 2013
Opening Day
Much like major league baseball, the racing season has it's share of rare yet popular experiences.
The Cubs may never win a world series, but just about any better than average baseball fan wants to step foot in the friendly confines. And what if the Cubs did make it to the world series? Imagine the fans that would come out of the woodwork to see it!
Along those same lines, most runners train for their first marathon in Anytown, USA. Some of us are lucky enough to have a big city marathon be our first. Sometime after that first marathon, most of us have thought about the Boston Marathon. Or for the Ironmen reading, Kona. The big event of your sport.
In cases of the true hallmark events, a vast majority of us average marathoners will never have the chance to run Boston or London (unless we get in through a charity race entry). The difference between our PR and the minimum for qualification into the race is too great. And even if we did meet those qualification standards, we'd still have to be sitting at our computers that first minute on opening day.
Opening day for Chicago baseball is usually a cold, sometimes wet, day in April. But it's opening day never the less, and tens of thousands of fans from all sides of the city and suburbs come out for it.
Opening day for your 'A' race depends on when it's held. In general, a fall marathon's registration opens in the first few months of the year. As endurance events have gained in popularity, registration on opening day has become imperative. Looking back to 2008, my first marathon, CARA training had started before the Chicago Marathon had sold out (about five months). Since that time, the race has added 5 or 7,000 additional entries and still, last year, sold out in a number of days.
So, on an upcoming Tuesday, I will be posed at my computer as the clock strikes noon to register for the 36th annual Chicago Marathon. Thousands of other runners from around the world will join me. I can only imagine the race will break a record again this year with the shortest period of time to a sell out.
The thought had crossed my mind (albeit briefly) to not run Chicago this year. I find myself thinking about the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington D.C. Marine Corps will be held at the end of October this year (ironically on my birthday). Registration opens mid-March and sold out in mere hours last year. So I will try again on Marine Corps opening day.
In a few weeks I could have entries into two marathons, one marathon or none.
Opening Day will decide.
The Cubs may never win a world series, but just about any better than average baseball fan wants to step foot in the friendly confines. And what if the Cubs did make it to the world series? Imagine the fans that would come out of the woodwork to see it!
Along those same lines, most runners train for their first marathon in Anytown, USA. Some of us are lucky enough to have a big city marathon be our first. Sometime after that first marathon, most of us have thought about the Boston Marathon. Or for the Ironmen reading, Kona. The big event of your sport.
In cases of the true hallmark events, a vast majority of us average marathoners will never have the chance to run Boston or London (unless we get in through a charity race entry). The difference between our PR and the minimum for qualification into the race is too great. And even if we did meet those qualification standards, we'd still have to be sitting at our computers that first minute on opening day.
Opening day for Chicago baseball is usually a cold, sometimes wet, day in April. But it's opening day never the less, and tens of thousands of fans from all sides of the city and suburbs come out for it.
Opening day for your 'A' race depends on when it's held. In general, a fall marathon's registration opens in the first few months of the year. As endurance events have gained in popularity, registration on opening day has become imperative. Looking back to 2008, my first marathon, CARA training had started before the Chicago Marathon had sold out (about five months). Since that time, the race has added 5 or 7,000 additional entries and still, last year, sold out in a number of days.
So, on an upcoming Tuesday, I will be posed at my computer as the clock strikes noon to register for the 36th annual Chicago Marathon. Thousands of other runners from around the world will join me. I can only imagine the race will break a record again this year with the shortest period of time to a sell out.
The thought had crossed my mind (albeit briefly) to not run Chicago this year. I find myself thinking about the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington D.C. Marine Corps will be held at the end of October this year (ironically on my birthday). Registration opens mid-March and sold out in mere hours last year. So I will try again on Marine Corps opening day.
In a few weeks I could have entries into two marathons, one marathon or none.
Opening Day will decide.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
Road to Nowhere
The nice thing about training is it gives you a road.
A weekly schedule of workouts. Strength exercises, track interval runs and long runs.
The road's clearly marked for the number of months you'll follow it until race day.
You don't question the road, rather just follow it on the journey it's taking you.
When it's raining on the road, you run in the rain.
You continue on the road until your run ends that day.
Many times you're doubling back on the part of the road you've just came from to get back home.
But what happens when the road ends? Not literally, but the training road.
Where do you go then?
Some of us take shelter in our home gym, athletic clubs, yoga studios, and cross fit centers to mix it up the training regime.
Some move on to the next road. A recovery schedule to prep for their next race.
Then there's the unmentionables. The ones that just stop.
I've met a few people like this. They run the marathon and stop running the minute their feet cross the finish like for months.
My post marathon training program hasn't been the best road I've ever been on. Mostly because instead of being on a rigid, clearly marked highway, I'm instead stuck on a windy road in the country that keeps changing names and direction. I may be running (read a lot) less than recent years' comparison, but I continue to enjoy the yoga studio and look forward to future success there.
Now where are my running shoes?
A weekly schedule of workouts. Strength exercises, track interval runs and long runs.
The road's clearly marked for the number of months you'll follow it until race day.
You don't question the road, rather just follow it on the journey it's taking you.
When it's raining on the road, you run in the rain.
You continue on the road until your run ends that day.
Many times you're doubling back on the part of the road you've just came from to get back home.
But what happens when the road ends? Not literally, but the training road.
Where do you go then?
Some of us take shelter in our home gym, athletic clubs, yoga studios, and cross fit centers to mix it up the training regime.
Some move on to the next road. A recovery schedule to prep for their next race.
Then there's the unmentionables. The ones that just stop.
I've met a few people like this. They run the marathon and stop running the minute their feet cross the finish like for months.
My post marathon training program hasn't been the best road I've ever been on. Mostly because instead of being on a rigid, clearly marked highway, I'm instead stuck on a windy road in the country that keeps changing names and direction. I may be running (read a lot) less than recent years' comparison, but I continue to enjoy the yoga studio and look forward to future success there.
Now where are my running shoes?
Fearless
Remember when you were fearless?
You know, when you were a kid and you were willing to try things without worrying about the consequences?
Back before fashion woes, make up, or attraction to the opposite sex?
Before you were concerned about falling, a potential of hurting yourself or failing?
Can you think of a moment?
I found myself going back to middle school last night as I stared down an unassuming white wall in a yoga studio. Our instructor went over the set up for a handstand as I tried to reason with myself.
My first reaction was fear, and with it came anxiety and less confidence and physical stability. We were being asked to stay in the moment as we're tasked to do in yoga. Instead I went back there. Into the Rolodex of my memory to my last handstand. Where was I the last time I did a handstand? The truth is, I probably don't remember the very last handstand I did. It was probably something unassuming as a youth. Little did I know it would be my last one. I don't think any of us think that way as kids though.
What I did remember was doing handstands against the bookcase in my parents family room.
So I stood there staring down the wall and asking myself 'How did I used to do this?'
Then I tried. The worst that could happen was to fall and take out the girl next to me. That wouldn't be ideal, but I should proceed with that risk rather than watch others succeed because they were less fearful than me.
I tried a dozen or so times until I finally got the right momentum to get both legs up. Once I did it, I was able to hold myself there. I wondered, how tall was I the last time I did this? How much did I weigh? Most importantly, why did I stop doing this? This is fun. Certainly more fun than sitting on a couch or in an office chair. Why wouldn't I still be doing this?
You know, when you were a kid and you were willing to try things without worrying about the consequences?
Back before fashion woes, make up, or attraction to the opposite sex?
Before you were concerned about falling, a potential of hurting yourself or failing?
Can you think of a moment?
I found myself going back to middle school last night as I stared down an unassuming white wall in a yoga studio. Our instructor went over the set up for a handstand as I tried to reason with myself.
My first reaction was fear, and with it came anxiety and less confidence and physical stability. We were being asked to stay in the moment as we're tasked to do in yoga. Instead I went back there. Into the Rolodex of my memory to my last handstand. Where was I the last time I did a handstand? The truth is, I probably don't remember the very last handstand I did. It was probably something unassuming as a youth. Little did I know it would be my last one. I don't think any of us think that way as kids though.
What I did remember was doing handstands against the bookcase in my parents family room.
So I stood there staring down the wall and asking myself 'How did I used to do this?'
Then I tried. The worst that could happen was to fall and take out the girl next to me. That wouldn't be ideal, but I should proceed with that risk rather than watch others succeed because they were less fearful than me.
I tried a dozen or so times until I finally got the right momentum to get both legs up. Once I did it, I was able to hold myself there. I wondered, how tall was I the last time I did this? How much did I weigh? Most importantly, why did I stop doing this? This is fun. Certainly more fun than sitting on a couch or in an office chair. Why wouldn't I still be doing this?
Photo credit: crazybreather.blogspot.com
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Missed [Running] Opportunities
Do you ever have one of those days where you just can't get your sh-t together?
Yesterday was one of them for me:
I woke up and checked my weather app. It read 60 degrees. In Chicago. In January. Amazing. A run must happen today!
I went through my get-ready-for-work routine and left the house for the bus stop. As I walked down to the bus stop, I recalled my backpack being quite light. I had left my running shoes at home. And not just any running shoes. A brand new pair of shoes that I planned on breaking in today. A brand new pair is heaven after running in a pair towards the end of their useable life.
The thought crossed my mind to go back home and grab the shoes. How negatively could my commute be effected if I left ten minutes later?
I looked down at my phone and saw a text from my mom. It read 'Lunch?' and that was it. I kept walking to the bus stop and didn't turn around. A few things happened in a matter of minutes that sidelined my lunchtime run plans.
As I looked up to cross the street to the bus stop, a fast runner passed me with a bright pair of compression socks on. This only made my situation worse. He was out there, getting his with his bad ass compression socks and I was waiting for the damn bus. Fail.
I boarded a crowded bus and stared longingly out the window and we traveled down Sheridan and on to Lake Shore. I saw more of them. Men and women. Wearing shorts. Smiling. I was on the wrong side of the road right now and couldn't help but beat myself up about it.
I tried to console myself by saying I'd run when I got home. It would still be in the high 40's then and incredibly warm for a January evening. As my workday progressed, I watched the weather outside my window change to rain and dark.
I walked back to the bus stop as a light rain began. A little rain is nothing. I'll run through rain I thought. Then the skies opened up and it poured buckets. Around 20 of us waited for the bus with only the cover of our somewhat useless umbrellas. Our feet became wet followed by our pants and then our backs. Eventually the bus arrived and all the wet dogs piled on the bus with the other wet animals.
I tried to take myself to a happy place while in this situation and imagined if I'd gotten up early and run like the guy in the compression socks.
Yesterday was one of them for me:
I woke up and checked my weather app. It read 60 degrees. In Chicago. In January. Amazing. A run must happen today!
I went through my get-ready-for-work routine and left the house for the bus stop. As I walked down to the bus stop, I recalled my backpack being quite light. I had left my running shoes at home. And not just any running shoes. A brand new pair of shoes that I planned on breaking in today. A brand new pair is heaven after running in a pair towards the end of their useable life.
The thought crossed my mind to go back home and grab the shoes. How negatively could my commute be effected if I left ten minutes later?
I looked down at my phone and saw a text from my mom. It read 'Lunch?' and that was it. I kept walking to the bus stop and didn't turn around. A few things happened in a matter of minutes that sidelined my lunchtime run plans.
As I looked up to cross the street to the bus stop, a fast runner passed me with a bright pair of compression socks on. This only made my situation worse. He was out there, getting his with his bad ass compression socks and I was waiting for the damn bus. Fail.
I boarded a crowded bus and stared longingly out the window and we traveled down Sheridan and on to Lake Shore. I saw more of them. Men and women. Wearing shorts. Smiling. I was on the wrong side of the road right now and couldn't help but beat myself up about it.
I tried to console myself by saying I'd run when I got home. It would still be in the high 40's then and incredibly warm for a January evening. As my workday progressed, I watched the weather outside my window change to rain and dark.
I walked back to the bus stop as a light rain began. A little rain is nothing. I'll run through rain I thought. Then the skies opened up and it poured buckets. Around 20 of us waited for the bus with only the cover of our somewhat useless umbrellas. Our feet became wet followed by our pants and then our backs. Eventually the bus arrived and all the wet dogs piled on the bus with the other wet animals.
I tried to take myself to a happy place while in this situation and imagined if I'd gotten up early and run like the guy in the compression socks.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
The F^3 Lake Half Marathon
On Saturday, I'm doing something many would think is crazy. I'm running a half Marathon. In Chicago. On the lakefront.
Around 10am on Saturday, approximately 1500 runners and a hundred or so volunteers will gather at Montrose Harbor for the 4th annual F^3 Lake Half Marathon.
What's F^3 you may ask? The F'n Freezing Frozen. Appropriately named considering the weather forecast for Saturday wouldn't you say?
This race is the brainchild of my friend Kim S. She gathered a group of her friends together a few years ago to celebrate winter training with a 13.1 fun run. I didn't get a chance to participate that year. I was rehabbing a sore knee and weak hip. But shortly thereafter that first race, Kim knew she had a unique event to bring to the Chicago running community.
It's been fun and truly amazing to watch Kim grow the race since that first year. She has connected a subculture in the Chicago running community. Some may call us crazy. Others could say hardcore. Truthfully, I think a lot of us share the same disdain for treadmills.
(Fast forward a few days to today, the day after the race. I didn't manage to wrap this one up before the race like I hoped).
Brian and I got together on Friday night to keep to our ritual of drinking three the night before a race. Dinner was followed by laying out race gear (a more intricate task in the winter season) and going to bed. Dave and I headed to the race around 8 ( Dave volunteered), but not before I had to turn around together my bib off the refrigerator. (I'd forgotten the critical step of pinning my bib onto my shirt the night before).
The temperature that morning was what most would call freezing. The light snow the day border made a white blanket over the landscape. Perfect for photos. The wind was light and sun was out.
Dave took a great shot of the start area.
Brian, Jeff and I ran together for most of the race. That is, until Jeff left us in the dust around mile 10. We saw a few friends along the way and marveled at all the faces we didn't know. How quickly Kim's race has grown. We had a few quick walk breaks to alleviate a cramp or to take down fluids, but other than that, we're pretty happy with our performance. Especially with the lack of training we'd both done.
Shortly after the finish, we all met at the after party. It was great to see it so well attended and the crowd excitement for the race. For a short period, a large mass of the crazy winter runners were gathered in one place. We talked, laughed and had a few drinks. Then left each other's company saying we'd see each other soon - whether it be out on the path next week or this summer.
Around 10am on Saturday, approximately 1500 runners and a hundred or so volunteers will gather at Montrose Harbor for the 4th annual F^3 Lake Half Marathon.
What's F^3 you may ask? The F'n Freezing Frozen. Appropriately named considering the weather forecast for Saturday wouldn't you say?
This race is the brainchild of my friend Kim S. She gathered a group of her friends together a few years ago to celebrate winter training with a 13.1 fun run. I didn't get a chance to participate that year. I was rehabbing a sore knee and weak hip. But shortly thereafter that first race, Kim knew she had a unique event to bring to the Chicago running community.
It's been fun and truly amazing to watch Kim grow the race since that first year. She has connected a subculture in the Chicago running community. Some may call us crazy. Others could say hardcore. Truthfully, I think a lot of us share the same disdain for treadmills.
(Fast forward a few days to today, the day after the race. I didn't manage to wrap this one up before the race like I hoped).
Brian and I got together on Friday night to keep to our ritual of drinking three the night before a race. Dinner was followed by laying out race gear (a more intricate task in the winter season) and going to bed. Dave and I headed to the race around 8 ( Dave volunteered), but not before I had to turn around together my bib off the refrigerator. (I'd forgotten the critical step of pinning my bib onto my shirt the night before).
The temperature that morning was what most would call freezing. The light snow the day border made a white blanket over the landscape. Perfect for photos. The wind was light and sun was out.
Dave took a great shot of the start area.
Brian, Jeff and I ran together for most of the race. That is, until Jeff left us in the dust around mile 10. We saw a few friends along the way and marveled at all the faces we didn't know. How quickly Kim's race has grown. We had a few quick walk breaks to alleviate a cramp or to take down fluids, but other than that, we're pretty happy with our performance. Especially with the lack of training we'd both done.
Shortly after the finish, we all met at the after party. It was great to see it so well attended and the crowd excitement for the race. For a short period, a large mass of the crazy winter runners were gathered in one place. We talked, laughed and had a few drinks. Then left each other's company saying we'd see each other soon - whether it be out on the path next week or this summer.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Channeling My Inner Gymnast
I fondly remember watching the 1988 Olympics in Seoul, Korea. The air or re-air time was such that I could watch some of the gymnastics coverage while eating breakfast. I recall tumbling in the living room imagining I was there, even though I had no idea where Korea was.
After my connection with gymnastics and Korea over those few weeks, I asked my parents if I could take gymnastics. The following summer, I found myself in the gym of what would one day be my high school, learning the basics of gymnastics. I loved it.
Tumbling was fun. You could flip and turn, land on the floor spring board and pop right back up. You could pretend you were competing in the Olympics with your hair in a high pony tail and a glittery outfit. You could watch others complete a move then try yourself without fear of failure. I vividly remember practicing vaults over and over again while the radio (does anyone remember the radio station Z95?) played Rick Astley and other great artist of the late '80's. Keep in mind I was 8.
When the summer session ended, I went to Gym Kena in...wait for it... Mokena. Truthfully, I can't remember how long I continued to train. Maybe a year.
At this point in my life, I was already the tallest girl in my class and going through another growth spurt. At 9, I was easily an inch or two over 5' and wearing a size 9 shoe. Right around this time is when I started getting asked if I played basketball and/or volleyball. Little did I know those questions would never end. I remember a male and female instructor at the gym. I was as tall as the woman already.
Towards the end of the last class of the session, I remember one of them pulling me to the side and telling me in a very nice way that I was not cut out for gymnastics. I'm sure there was some sort of basketball mention made as a way to segway the conversation into what could be assumed was my athletic future.
Fast forward to last winter when I picked up yoga again at the first studio. I'd practiced yoga at my gym in the mid 2000's, but now I was practicing with some advanced instructors and students. Inversions were not an if, but a when in each session. Imagine my delight when the wheel pose was mentioned towards the end of class. Why yes, I remember doing this in gymnastics, and in fact, I could still do it. Yoga breakthrough.
Since then, I've been trying to channel my inner gymnast. Some poses I recall doing when I was younger. Can I still do them? Just like when I was a kid, I should feel free to attempt in yoga practice without judgement/fear of failure.
When I can get in this mindset, I find I can push through any preconceived notions of what I should or shouldn't be able to do. It was through this thinking that I was able to do a headstand recently in practice. I'd had a stressful day at work, but in that moment, I was 8 again, listening to Rick Astley and loving life.
After my connection with gymnastics and Korea over those few weeks, I asked my parents if I could take gymnastics. The following summer, I found myself in the gym of what would one day be my high school, learning the basics of gymnastics. I loved it.
Tumbling was fun. You could flip and turn, land on the floor spring board and pop right back up. You could pretend you were competing in the Olympics with your hair in a high pony tail and a glittery outfit. You could watch others complete a move then try yourself without fear of failure. I vividly remember practicing vaults over and over again while the radio (does anyone remember the radio station Z95?) played Rick Astley and other great artist of the late '80's. Keep in mind I was 8.
When the summer session ended, I went to Gym Kena in...wait for it... Mokena. Truthfully, I can't remember how long I continued to train. Maybe a year.
At this point in my life, I was already the tallest girl in my class and going through another growth spurt. At 9, I was easily an inch or two over 5' and wearing a size 9 shoe. Right around this time is when I started getting asked if I played basketball and/or volleyball. Little did I know those questions would never end. I remember a male and female instructor at the gym. I was as tall as the woman already.
Towards the end of the last class of the session, I remember one of them pulling me to the side and telling me in a very nice way that I was not cut out for gymnastics. I'm sure there was some sort of basketball mention made as a way to segway the conversation into what could be assumed was my athletic future.
Fast forward to last winter when I picked up yoga again at the first studio. I'd practiced yoga at my gym in the mid 2000's, but now I was practicing with some advanced instructors and students. Inversions were not an if, but a when in each session. Imagine my delight when the wheel pose was mentioned towards the end of class. Why yes, I remember doing this in gymnastics, and in fact, I could still do it. Yoga breakthrough.
Since then, I've been trying to channel my inner gymnast. Some poses I recall doing when I was younger. Can I still do them? Just like when I was a kid, I should feel free to attempt in yoga practice without judgement/fear of failure.
When I can get in this mindset, I find I can push through any preconceived notions of what I should or shouldn't be able to do. It was through this thinking that I was able to do a headstand recently in practice. I'd had a stressful day at work, but in that moment, I was 8 again, listening to Rick Astley and loving life.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
North Shore Runners
There aren't many Saturdays in January that reach 50 degrees. When you get one, you have to capitalize on it. With the F^3 Lake Half Marathon just two weeks away, I had a good distance planned for this weekend. This morning I ran 10 miles through the communities of Wilmette, Kenilworth, Winnetka and Glencoe.
Running through the North Shore is so different than running in the City. First you have the obvious differences. The streetlights are fewer and further apart. The sidewalks are wider. There's fewer high rises and more lawns.
Bikes and cars mix here and with no honking or yelling. Drivers seem to be more aware of runners. They yield to runners in cross walks. They look for us as they pull up to an intersection and let us cross in front of them. Sometimes they even back up to allow you the right of way before crossing the street. This behavior is mind blowing when you're used to playing frogger further south on Sheridan Road.
The thing that throws me any time I run here is what I'd like to all the runner's code of the North Shore. In the city, you may smile or nod at a fellow runner, especially if it's at a time or off season. But you wouldn't do this to every runner or any person you pass by. You wouldn't feel compelled to extend your contact with a greeting like "Good morning" or "How are you?"
But this morning, on my run, I heard this type of chatter. It's nice. Which made me wonder, why is it we don't do this in the City? Is it because we're too busy or don't want to be friendly? Maybe it's because we're scared. Maybe we're trying not to stand out.
Over the years as my contacts in the Chicago running community has grown, I do see us out there. On Friday I ran into George down around the Chicago Yacht Club. We were both a good five miles or more from home. I see George often. Which makes me wonder, how many times had I saw George before I met him?
Maybe if we had been greeting each other all along, we would have remembered each other's faces and started talking sooner. But we wouldn't want to seem creepy doing that in the City, would we?
Running through the North Shore is so different than running in the City. First you have the obvious differences. The streetlights are fewer and further apart. The sidewalks are wider. There's fewer high rises and more lawns.
Bikes and cars mix here and with no honking or yelling. Drivers seem to be more aware of runners. They yield to runners in cross walks. They look for us as they pull up to an intersection and let us cross in front of them. Sometimes they even back up to allow you the right of way before crossing the street. This behavior is mind blowing when you're used to playing frogger further south on Sheridan Road.
The thing that throws me any time I run here is what I'd like to all the runner's code of the North Shore. In the city, you may smile or nod at a fellow runner, especially if it's at a time or off season. But you wouldn't do this to every runner or any person you pass by. You wouldn't feel compelled to extend your contact with a greeting like "Good morning" or "How are you?"
But this morning, on my run, I heard this type of chatter. It's nice. Which made me wonder, why is it we don't do this in the City? Is it because we're too busy or don't want to be friendly? Maybe it's because we're scared. Maybe we're trying not to stand out.
Over the years as my contacts in the Chicago running community has grown, I do see us out there. On Friday I ran into George down around the Chicago Yacht Club. We were both a good five miles or more from home. I see George often. Which makes me wonder, how many times had I saw George before I met him?
Maybe if we had been greeting each other all along, we would have remembered each other's faces and started talking sooner. But we wouldn't want to seem creepy doing that in the City, would we?
Friday, January 11, 2013
The First Few Steps...
It's on rainy, dark days like this week that I truly appreciate Pinterest. From time to time, the social networking site which focuses on million dollar room remodels, outlandish vacations and all-too-perfect deserts has sucked me in. But within this time I've built a pretty awesome "Fitness and Motivation" Board.
The images I've included here are part of the build. They focus on the getting a move on to start a run and the sense of accomplishment at the end.
Oh summer, how I remember you with your warmth and 12+ hours of sunlight. Waking up early to run before work was easy. Now in the dark depths of winter, I need a little motivation to keep on moving.
I ran a 10 mile training run for the F^3 Lake Half Marathon last Sunday. I waited until later in the afternoon when the day's temperature was at it's peak (feels like 26 is what my weather app said as I left the house).
I'd put on my gear a good hour before I left. I had to really work to talk myself into doing this run. I had a few good excuses going like 'I've been sick' and 'I don't really have to do 10 miles today.'
Finally I left the house. The first few blocks around Loyola aren't my favorite. Truthfully, the first mile usually isn't great. But by the time I'm closing in on two miles, my body has warmed up and I feel good. 2 mile Laura is happy to be out and in this run for the long haul. Whatever the assignment may be today. But man, 2 block Laura or even 2 step Laura for that matter, was not sharing in the 2 mile presence of mind.
Amazing how a few thousand steps can change your outlook.
Wednesday, January 09, 2013
Finding The [Right Yoga] Mat
I reintroduced yoga into my weekly life about a year ago.
I picked up my yoga mat, a towel and water bottle and headed to practice. Practice was a challenge, and with the challenge, came sweat. Sweat produced sliding and waterpark noises in the studio.
It didn't take many practices before I realized I needed to up my gear.
When I started running, I bought a pair of shoes at Kohl's and hit the road. It wasn't too long after that I was advised to try a specialty running store for real running shoes. Once I went through the shoe fitting process and loved the product, I was sold. Why would anyone not purchase running shoes this way?
After a few practices I visited my friends Google and Amazon. Surely a new yoga mat, being a simple piece of rubber, could be purchased through these sources, right? As I read I discovered there was so much I didn't know about yoga mats. I read testimonials from men and women swearing by one product over the other. Long mats, super cushioned mats. $10 mats, $100 mats.
After enough research to make my head spin, I decided to visit a Lululemon. We walked in and were helped immediately. I explained my predicament. The girl helping me was great. She thought The Mat would be perfect for me.
I checked out with The Mat in a cute bag and went along my way.
I'd read that The Mat had a horrible smell that took time to air out. I was prepared for it to smell like a tire factory - not that bad. The level of cushioning is supreme compared to any other mat I've used. Though with this superior cushioning comes weight, so weaklings may not want to tote it around.
Now onto the first practice with The Mat. A nice, warm vinyasa flow class. Sweat was eminent within the first five minutes and would continue for a solid hour. As advised, The Mat wicked sweat away from the surface. It provided a thicker cushion for my knees in poses where I would have doubled up my old mat. I found it comfortable to lay on during final relaxation pose.
I do wish The Mat was slightly longer. I'm over 6' and sometimes find myself adjusting poses to keep all points of contact on the mat.
But overall, I think it's a great product and recommend it to the big yoga sweaters out there.
Thursday, January 03, 2013
Making Fuel with Fire
In order to train, we need to eat. In order to eat, sometimes we need to cook.
Though my last name may mean Cook in German, It couldn't be further from my culinary abilities.
To say it simply, I can't cook.
When I left for college, I could make one hot meal. Kraft Mac & Cheese. This meal, though low in nutritional value, was a staple in my diet for years.
My friends and family seemed to think that once I was out on my own I would learn to cook. That didn't happen. I had a college roommate who loved cooking and hated cleaning. We made a deal. And with that deal, I was never hungry. That is, until he graduated.
I graduated and moved back in with my parents. My mom cooked some evenings. Other evenings we went out.
Then I moved out. On my own. Maybe then I'd finally venture into cooking. In the last six or so years, I have tried my hand at a few things - lasagna, dips for parties, lemon chicken. But never caught the cooking bug.
Then Dave moved in. Not only is Dave good at cooking, but he finds it relaxing. He makes dishes without measurements or recipes. He says he enjoys 'winging it.' Whereas i prefer the timetables and precise measurements of baking.
While I was taking wood shop and drafting in high school, Dave was taking foods class. I think this explains a lot.
So it was to great surprise that I came home from work last week and decided to make dinner. Now let's use the dinner term loosely here. I thought of pizza bagels. So I asked Siri (cause as you can now tell, I need help) and together, we made something that looked edible.
Maybe there is hope. Though I'm not ready just yet to say 2013 will be the year of cooking.
Though my last name may mean Cook in German, It couldn't be further from my culinary abilities.
To say it simply, I can't cook.
When I left for college, I could make one hot meal. Kraft Mac & Cheese. This meal, though low in nutritional value, was a staple in my diet for years.
My friends and family seemed to think that once I was out on my own I would learn to cook. That didn't happen. I had a college roommate who loved cooking and hated cleaning. We made a deal. And with that deal, I was never hungry. That is, until he graduated.
I graduated and moved back in with my parents. My mom cooked some evenings. Other evenings we went out.
Then I moved out. On my own. Maybe then I'd finally venture into cooking. In the last six or so years, I have tried my hand at a few things - lasagna, dips for parties, lemon chicken. But never caught the cooking bug.
Then Dave moved in. Not only is Dave good at cooking, but he finds it relaxing. He makes dishes without measurements or recipes. He says he enjoys 'winging it.' Whereas i prefer the timetables and precise measurements of baking.
While I was taking wood shop and drafting in high school, Dave was taking foods class. I think this explains a lot.
So it was to great surprise that I came home from work last week and decided to make dinner. Now let's use the dinner term loosely here. I thought of pizza bagels. So I asked Siri (cause as you can now tell, I need help) and together, we made something that looked edible.
Maybe there is hope. Though I'm not ready just yet to say 2013 will be the year of cooking.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Refocus
Part of training is being honest with yourself.
Even the most disciplined person can fall off the wagon. Or, at least partially.
I had a great marathon this year. There were times in training this year where I was beginning to feel burnt out. I've focused on running as the main form of training for about 7 years now. That's a lot of time. A few injury periods may have put me on the bike or in the pool for awhile, but shortly after the all clear came from the doctor, I've been back at it.
So I decided to dial down the running focus on training. Some parts of that process were quite easy. Like the not running part. Some parts were difficult. Like attempting to adjust the food intake and missing out on some mild late fall days to run.
I'd read a few articles on changing up training in the winter. It seemed great in theory. Truthfully, it's been a slippery slope. So much so that it's now the end of December and I have not blogged once.
I have been running, but it's been less miles and less often. I've been very picky about when and where I've run. There are mornings where I've woken up, looked outside, and decided to not put on my running shoes. I have missed beautiful days to run by not setting a lunch date to do it.
I'm sharing this because I think it's important that I own up to my current state and refocus on my training for the F^3 Lake Half Marathon (in less than four weeks) and then on to a spring half marathon most likely.
Though The path I've been on over the last month hasn't been the training straight and arrow, I can say that I have enjoyed some of my shorter runs lately. I head out and don't worry about time or pace. I take the time to find good music.
Shortly after starting, I am happy I'm out there, running in the winter in Chicago. When I finish I feel accomplished and know I can get back on the right track.
So with all the New Years resolutions out there, I guess I'll add one to the pile - in 2013, I will fall back in love with running.
Even the most disciplined person can fall off the wagon. Or, at least partially.
I had a great marathon this year. There were times in training this year where I was beginning to feel burnt out. I've focused on running as the main form of training for about 7 years now. That's a lot of time. A few injury periods may have put me on the bike or in the pool for awhile, but shortly after the all clear came from the doctor, I've been back at it.
So I decided to dial down the running focus on training. Some parts of that process were quite easy. Like the not running part. Some parts were difficult. Like attempting to adjust the food intake and missing out on some mild late fall days to run.
I'd read a few articles on changing up training in the winter. It seemed great in theory. Truthfully, it's been a slippery slope. So much so that it's now the end of December and I have not blogged once.
I have been running, but it's been less miles and less often. I've been very picky about when and where I've run. There are mornings where I've woken up, looked outside, and decided to not put on my running shoes. I have missed beautiful days to run by not setting a lunch date to do it.
I'm sharing this because I think it's important that I own up to my current state and refocus on my training for the F^3 Lake Half Marathon (in less than four weeks) and then on to a spring half marathon most likely.
Though The path I've been on over the last month hasn't been the training straight and arrow, I can say that I have enjoyed some of my shorter runs lately. I head out and don't worry about time or pace. I take the time to find good music.
Shortly after starting, I am happy I'm out there, running in the winter in Chicago. When I finish I feel accomplished and know I can get back on the right track.
So with all the New Years resolutions out there, I guess I'll add one to the pile - in 2013, I will fall back in love with running.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
[No So] Perfect 10
Last year was the Chicago Perfect 10's first year.
It was held on the same weekend this year.
Brian and I started on Saturday being just a month out from running the marathon. Just like last year.
Yet this year, for some reason, it didn't start out like last year's race.
Very early on in this race I had a feeling we wouldn't be pulling the 9:40 average we had last year.
Talk about starting the race off on the wrong foot.
I think Brian could have left me in the dust many miles before the finish. But he didn't, because, well, that's not Brian's style usually.
As we ran, we discussed why today's effort (though it wasn't exactly over yet, was it?) wasn't going to compare to last year.
The number one reason being that neither of our drank three the night before. We did what? What were we thinking? We spent all of last winter and spring testing this groundbreaking hypothesis and conducting hours of self analysis. Yet we throw it out the window and have just one drink the night before the Perfect 10? Honestly, what were thinking?
And for some reason that paragraph reads as a script for a political ad. Farewell, election season, farewell.
I've had some tightness and strain in my right calf ever since the 20 miler in September. I nursed it along and ran through a dull pain during the marathon. I said that afterwards I would do what I always read about - give my body a break from running. That theory lasted three days. I somehow manage to forget that it's been bothering me until I warm up around a mile and some change, then wham, it's throbbing.
But for some reason, during the Perfect 10, I didn't have any pain. I was hopeful that I could chalk up this slow and average run turning a corner on recovery. That was, until today when I ran and had another flare up.
PT, looks like you're getting a call. Soon.
It was held on the same weekend this year.
Brian and I started on Saturday being just a month out from running the marathon. Just like last year.
Yet this year, for some reason, it didn't start out like last year's race.
Very early on in this race I had a feeling we wouldn't be pulling the 9:40 average we had last year.
Talk about starting the race off on the wrong foot.
I think Brian could have left me in the dust many miles before the finish. But he didn't, because, well, that's not Brian's style usually.
As we ran, we discussed why today's effort (though it wasn't exactly over yet, was it?) wasn't going to compare to last year.
The number one reason being that neither of our drank three the night before. We did what? What were we thinking? We spent all of last winter and spring testing this groundbreaking hypothesis and conducting hours of self analysis. Yet we throw it out the window and have just one drink the night before the Perfect 10? Honestly, what were thinking?
And for some reason that paragraph reads as a script for a political ad. Farewell, election season, farewell.
I've had some tightness and strain in my right calf ever since the 20 miler in September. I nursed it along and ran through a dull pain during the marathon. I said that afterwards I would do what I always read about - give my body a break from running. That theory lasted three days. I somehow manage to forget that it's been bothering me until I warm up around a mile and some change, then wham, it's throbbing.
But for some reason, during the Perfect 10, I didn't have any pain. I was hopeful that I could chalk up this slow and average run turning a corner on recovery. That was, until today when I ran and had another flare up.
PT, looks like you're getting a call. Soon.
Thursday, November 08, 2012
Fall Back to Dark Runs
Last weekend we changed the clocks and 'fell back' an hour.
The hours of daylight are growing shorter each day as we approach winter solistice.
By 5pm, the sun has left the sky.
I change into my running gear which includes a long sleeve shirt, capri's and gloves.
Somehow at night, the city seems quieter.
A few cyclists pass along the lakefront path with their bright lights.
I see a handful of runners on my 4 mile run.
The marathon seems much longer than a month ago.
I run based on comfort, rarely looking at my watch.
Tonight I'm grateful for the stress relief running provides.
The hours of daylight are growing shorter each day as we approach winter solistice.
By 5pm, the sun has left the sky.
I change into my running gear which includes a long sleeve shirt, capri's and gloves.
Somehow at night, the city seems quieter.
A few cyclists pass along the lakefront path with their bright lights.
I see a handful of runners on my 4 mile run.
The marathon seems much longer than a month ago.
I run based on comfort, rarely looking at my watch.
Tonight I'm grateful for the stress relief running provides.
Monday, November 05, 2012
Creating a [Marathon] Monster
A few days after the marathon, I talked to Doug.
Doug is a friend of mine who ran the marathon for the first time this year.
He completed the race with an amazing time of 4:34.
We were on the phone for some time.
He went over each section of the race, giving me the play by play I wanted to hear.
As he talked about the last few miles, I could tell he was disappointed and asked why.
"Well, because I had muscle cramping and had to walk." He said.
I told Doug I understood his frustration, but I also wanted him to bask in his newly found marathon glory. He finished a marathon! Regardless of what his pace or overall time was, he should be happy.
Doug paused for a minute, and then said "So, I've decided I have to do it again." to which brought a smile to my face.
I've created a marathon monster. I can think of nothing better than to bring someone else into and share the love, glory and pain of this sport.
Then Doug reminded me of the last few summers as we've run together. During our runs, the topic of the marathon would come up. I would encourage Doug to sign up the following year. I argued that he was a strong runner. I knew he could do it if he trained for it.
In the last few moments of our conversation this week, Doug commented that I was right. - He could do it.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce Doug, the marathon runner.
Doug is a friend of mine who ran the marathon for the first time this year.
He completed the race with an amazing time of 4:34.
We were on the phone for some time.
He went over each section of the race, giving me the play by play I wanted to hear.
As he talked about the last few miles, I could tell he was disappointed and asked why.
"Well, because I had muscle cramping and had to walk." He said.
I told Doug I understood his frustration, but I also wanted him to bask in his newly found marathon glory. He finished a marathon! Regardless of what his pace or overall time was, he should be happy.
Doug paused for a minute, and then said "So, I've decided I have to do it again." to which brought a smile to my face.
I've created a marathon monster. I can think of nothing better than to bring someone else into and share the love, glory and pain of this sport.
Then Doug reminded me of the last few summers as we've run together. During our runs, the topic of the marathon would come up. I would encourage Doug to sign up the following year. I argued that he was a strong runner. I knew he could do it if he trained for it.
In the last few moments of our conversation this week, Doug commented that I was right. - He could do it.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I introduce Doug, the marathon runner.
Marathon Joy
Crossing the finish line of a marathon is an emotional experience.
The best way to describe it is an overwhelming sense of joy.
Like the sense of joy when you've done something very thoughtful for or helped a friend.
But this time, it's something you've done for yourself.
It's not like buying your self a gift. Or graduating college. It's nothing like that, actually.
At some point in our lives, we've all thought the marathon was impossible. Over the many months of training and just a few hours of running, you've made the impossible a reality.
Complete joy.
Suddenly nothing seems impossible.
Ok, maybe an Ironman does. At least for now
The best way to describe it is an overwhelming sense of joy.
Like the sense of joy when you've done something very thoughtful for or helped a friend.
But this time, it's something you've done for yourself.
It's not like buying your self a gift. Or graduating college. It's nothing like that, actually.
At some point in our lives, we've all thought the marathon was impossible. Over the many months of training and just a few hours of running, you've made the impossible a reality.
Complete joy.
Suddenly nothing seems impossible.
Ok, maybe an Ironman does. At least for now
Sunday, November 04, 2012
Chicago Marathon 2012
Sunday morning arrives. The sun has not yet risen.
I rise to put on my carefully laid out outfit, adding a layer of bodyglide with each article of clothing.
I eat the same breakfast I have every morning - maple brown sugar oatmeal, flax seed and milk.
I run over the race day checklist, carefully checking that each item has been placed into the partcipant bag.
This year, thanks to the cool weather, I am wearing pants, gloves, arm warmers and my Team Universal Sole warm up jacket as I walk out the door.
The streets are quiet. I'm reminded of my very early morning runs in the heat of summer around this time. A wait a few minutes, then board the bus.
Jeff, Brian and I have planned to meet at the Congress Hotel (which on race day functions as the CARA compound) just before 7am.
We meet inside the hotel among the bus of hundreds of CARA shoetag wearing runners.
The line for the bathroom is long, so we head to a special set of porta potties for CARA members in Grant Park. Porta Potties are a hot commodity on race day, and CARA knows all too well what it's runners need!
We drop off our bags at gear check, pack our Gus into our compartmentalized shorts, grab a cup of water and head to our corral.
This year the marathon is using a wave start format. Each runner is placed in a corral based on a past race time (for the faster runners) or estimated finish time (for the average to slower runners). We are in wave 2 which starts at 8am.
As we stand in the corral, I think about how lucky I am to be not sick (like last year) and not injured (like the year before). The three of us make fun of the music being played (Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run' pumps people up to run? We don't get it)and talk about the aide station strategy and other miscellaneous small talk as we wait.
We cannot see the start line from where we stand. 7:30, the start time of the first wave, comes and goes. Slowly, the mass of people moves north. We step over piles of clothes and water bottles. Then, in the distance, we see it. The red arch that is the start line.
We cross the start line and start our watches. We're nervous, but excited to get started. We want to warm up and get this show on the road. The weather is great. Cool with a slight breeze.
Jeff presents a new fact at each mile. Brian and I follow with a comment to Jeff's fact. The only one I remember now is that we all talked about prom. Just goes to show that while running, you talk about everything but.
Jeff and I both have our names taped onto our shirts. People cheer for one of us or both of us. It's encouraging to hear random spectators cheer your name.
As we reached Wrigleyville, Brian decided to slow down a bit and saw us off. Jeff and I both ran in to family and friends around Addison. No matter where family and friends may be on the course, it always proves to be a huge boost to my morale. Instead of the race being about miles to go, it's how far until I see my Mom, or my Dad and brother, or Kim.
We work further south and I see my friend Maggie who's out today, a few months pregnant, with her husband Mike. I look for her on the steps of the Lakeview Athletic Club, but then see them standing on chairs just south of the club by a Jimmy John's. I'm happy to have spotted them.
As we work our way back through the loop and then head west, Jeff and I talk about how we feel. We're approaching the half marathon mark and we both feel pretty good. We thank the cool and overcast weather for letting us conserve much of the energy we're usually using at this point. As we hit 13.1, Jeff comments that we're on pace to run a 4:24. I try not to think about that number. A lot can happen in the next 13.1 miles. But as we continued on through the high teens, we seemed to keep a great pace. Maybe that time wasn't out of reach.
We traveled through the party zone that is Pilsen. Far off the street, I saw two tall men dressed in a combination of Carhardt and camo. They both held Dunkin' Donuts cups in their hands. That had to be my Dad and Dan. I waved and they smiled and waved back. Jeff and I checked in with each other, yep, still feeling pretty good.
Soon 20 miles came in to view. It was around this time that we began making motivating comments to each other. We were both impressed with each other's efforts. Today was (probably) going to be a PR for both of us.
Kim met us around Archer. She's a great coach. She was happy to see we were together and keeping a good pace. We worked our way through Chinatown and Bridgeport.
As we crossed the 33rd street bridge, I saw my Mom, Dave and Sara, then Tricia and Jim not long after. Tricia jumped in with me for a few minutes. She asked how I was feeling, then said I looked great.
Now it was just a matter of finishing the last piece of the south before turning north on Michigan. Here's where I truly started to feel the hurt. My body was done with this experience. But my mind was set on that time. How close could we get to it? What would our excuse be if we slowed down now?
Truthfully, I don't find myself on south Michigan Avenue all too often. But when the course takes me to mile 23 of the marathon, I have 23 blocks of it to take on. They are the longest, toughest, 23 blocks of the race. This year, I try not to focus on the numbered cross streets, starting at 35 and going down to 13 before I reach Roosevelt Road.
Jeff had been looking for a porta-potty for most the race now. We really wanted to stay together, so he said he'd only jump out if he found one with no line. As we finally turned north on Michigan, he pointed off to the right. He said I could go on without him. The porta pottys are positioned at the beginning of an aide station, followed by medical, gatorade, then water. Each aide station is a few blocks long. As the race had progressed, we'd gone from running through the aide stations to power walking the portions where we were drinking and running in between, to a slower version of power walking. As Kim and I reached the end of the water, she asked if I was going to start running. I looked back for Jeff. I didn't see him. I decided I would count to 20, then go. As I reached 20, I started shuffling my feet. At that time, Jeff showed up next to me. This made me very happy. Ok, now we can go!
We kept together and kept pushing. All the way until we were staring the Roosevelt bridge in the face. Then we were running over it and turning the corner. There it was. The finish line. As we turned onto Columbus, Jeff looked over to the spectators and raised his hands to encourage cheer. They return with cheers and call our names.
We both had huge smiles on our faces as we crossed the finish line side by side at 4:32:54. A huge PR for both of us.
Chicago Marathon 2012 was a huge success.
Thanks, Jeff. Thanks, weather.
I rise to put on my carefully laid out outfit, adding a layer of bodyglide with each article of clothing.
I eat the same breakfast I have every morning - maple brown sugar oatmeal, flax seed and milk.
I run over the race day checklist, carefully checking that each item has been placed into the partcipant bag.
This year, thanks to the cool weather, I am wearing pants, gloves, arm warmers and my Team Universal Sole warm up jacket as I walk out the door.
The streets are quiet. I'm reminded of my very early morning runs in the heat of summer around this time. A wait a few minutes, then board the bus.
Jeff, Brian and I have planned to meet at the Congress Hotel (which on race day functions as the CARA compound) just before 7am.
We meet inside the hotel among the bus of hundreds of CARA shoetag wearing runners.
The line for the bathroom is long, so we head to a special set of porta potties for CARA members in Grant Park. Porta Potties are a hot commodity on race day, and CARA knows all too well what it's runners need!
We drop off our bags at gear check, pack our Gus into our compartmentalized shorts, grab a cup of water and head to our corral.
This year the marathon is using a wave start format. Each runner is placed in a corral based on a past race time (for the faster runners) or estimated finish time (for the average to slower runners). We are in wave 2 which starts at 8am.
As we stand in the corral, I think about how lucky I am to be not sick (like last year) and not injured (like the year before). The three of us make fun of the music being played (Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run' pumps people up to run? We don't get it)and talk about the aide station strategy and other miscellaneous small talk as we wait.
We cannot see the start line from where we stand. 7:30, the start time of the first wave, comes and goes. Slowly, the mass of people moves north. We step over piles of clothes and water bottles. Then, in the distance, we see it. The red arch that is the start line.
We cross the start line and start our watches. We're nervous, but excited to get started. We want to warm up and get this show on the road. The weather is great. Cool with a slight breeze.
Jeff presents a new fact at each mile. Brian and I follow with a comment to Jeff's fact. The only one I remember now is that we all talked about prom. Just goes to show that while running, you talk about everything but.
Jeff and I both have our names taped onto our shirts. People cheer for one of us or both of us. It's encouraging to hear random spectators cheer your name.
As we reached Wrigleyville, Brian decided to slow down a bit and saw us off. Jeff and I both ran in to family and friends around Addison. No matter where family and friends may be on the course, it always proves to be a huge boost to my morale. Instead of the race being about miles to go, it's how far until I see my Mom, or my Dad and brother, or Kim.
We work further south and I see my friend Maggie who's out today, a few months pregnant, with her husband Mike. I look for her on the steps of the Lakeview Athletic Club, but then see them standing on chairs just south of the club by a Jimmy John's. I'm happy to have spotted them.
As we work our way back through the loop and then head west, Jeff and I talk about how we feel. We're approaching the half marathon mark and we both feel pretty good. We thank the cool and overcast weather for letting us conserve much of the energy we're usually using at this point. As we hit 13.1, Jeff comments that we're on pace to run a 4:24. I try not to think about that number. A lot can happen in the next 13.1 miles. But as we continued on through the high teens, we seemed to keep a great pace. Maybe that time wasn't out of reach.
We traveled through the party zone that is Pilsen. Far off the street, I saw two tall men dressed in a combination of Carhardt and camo. They both held Dunkin' Donuts cups in their hands. That had to be my Dad and Dan. I waved and they smiled and waved back. Jeff and I checked in with each other, yep, still feeling pretty good.
Soon 20 miles came in to view. It was around this time that we began making motivating comments to each other. We were both impressed with each other's efforts. Today was (probably) going to be a PR for both of us.
Kim met us around Archer. She's a great coach. She was happy to see we were together and keeping a good pace. We worked our way through Chinatown and Bridgeport.
As we crossed the 33rd street bridge, I saw my Mom, Dave and Sara, then Tricia and Jim not long after. Tricia jumped in with me for a few minutes. She asked how I was feeling, then said I looked great.
Now it was just a matter of finishing the last piece of the south before turning north on Michigan. Here's where I truly started to feel the hurt. My body was done with this experience. But my mind was set on that time. How close could we get to it? What would our excuse be if we slowed down now?
Truthfully, I don't find myself on south Michigan Avenue all too often. But when the course takes me to mile 23 of the marathon, I have 23 blocks of it to take on. They are the longest, toughest, 23 blocks of the race. This year, I try not to focus on the numbered cross streets, starting at 35 and going down to 13 before I reach Roosevelt Road.
Jeff had been looking for a porta-potty for most the race now. We really wanted to stay together, so he said he'd only jump out if he found one with no line. As we finally turned north on Michigan, he pointed off to the right. He said I could go on without him. The porta pottys are positioned at the beginning of an aide station, followed by medical, gatorade, then water. Each aide station is a few blocks long. As the race had progressed, we'd gone from running through the aide stations to power walking the portions where we were drinking and running in between, to a slower version of power walking. As Kim and I reached the end of the water, she asked if I was going to start running. I looked back for Jeff. I didn't see him. I decided I would count to 20, then go. As I reached 20, I started shuffling my feet. At that time, Jeff showed up next to me. This made me very happy. Ok, now we can go!
We kept together and kept pushing. All the way until we were staring the Roosevelt bridge in the face. Then we were running over it and turning the corner. There it was. The finish line. As we turned onto Columbus, Jeff looked over to the spectators and raised his hands to encourage cheer. They return with cheers and call our names.
We both had huge smiles on our faces as we crossed the finish line side by side at 4:32:54. A huge PR for both of us.
Chicago Marathon 2012 was a huge success.
Thanks, Jeff. Thanks, weather.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Chicago Marathon 2012 - Race Preparation
Unofficially I've been preparing for the marathon 2012 since the day after marathon 2011.
The mild winter allowed me to keep my weekly mileage up in what are typically low mileage months. I ran a number of races in the spring, leading up to a good base once marathon training officially started in early June.
In the last 18 weeks, I've spent roughly 70 hours training or racing and another 50 hours in the yoga studio. That's not counting Ragnar Relay, because, well, it should be it's own thing.
And there's marathoners who dedicate significantly more time than that.
All for one day. Not even a full day.
A morning. One morning in October.
Normally I find myself obsessing about the weather or my nutrition strategy during the taper. This year I tried to remain calm. In the end, maybe a bit too calm.
When Brian, Kim and I headed to the Expo on Friday. We walked throughout the Expo - a hundred thousand square foot utopia of all things running. I managed to spend a mere $8 on Gu and forgot to pick up Spectator Guides for my family and friends. Not my normal expo strategy.
Then it was off to dinner where we had delicious pasta and a few glasses of wine. (Wine less than two days before race day?)
But I did do some things right. I hydrated and ate well in the week leading up to the race. I logged good hours of sleep. I felt ready.
That is, until Saturday night.
Shortly after my Mom came over, I started going through my pre-race ritual - laying out the outfit, pinning the bib number onto the shirt, etc.
I looked all over the condo and couldn't find Dave's famous cowbell sign. He always has that big yellow sign. So I made a new one.
Then I couldn't find duct tape to attach my name to my shirt. I searched high and low for it. Just before walking out the door to CVS to buy some, I looked one last time in a place I'd checked six times before and finally found it.
Oh boy, it's going to be a long night.
I went through the marathon check list, sealed up my participant bag and went to bed.
In a few short hours I'd wake up and head downtown for my fifth marathon.
The mild winter allowed me to keep my weekly mileage up in what are typically low mileage months. I ran a number of races in the spring, leading up to a good base once marathon training officially started in early June.
In the last 18 weeks, I've spent roughly 70 hours training or racing and another 50 hours in the yoga studio. That's not counting Ragnar Relay, because, well, it should be it's own thing.
And there's marathoners who dedicate significantly more time than that.
All for one day. Not even a full day.
A morning. One morning in October.
Normally I find myself obsessing about the weather or my nutrition strategy during the taper. This year I tried to remain calm. In the end, maybe a bit too calm.
When Brian, Kim and I headed to the Expo on Friday. We walked throughout the Expo - a hundred thousand square foot utopia of all things running. I managed to spend a mere $8 on Gu and forgot to pick up Spectator Guides for my family and friends. Not my normal expo strategy.
Then it was off to dinner where we had delicious pasta and a few glasses of wine. (Wine less than two days before race day?)
But I did do some things right. I hydrated and ate well in the week leading up to the race. I logged good hours of sleep. I felt ready.
That is, until Saturday night.
Shortly after my Mom came over, I started going through my pre-race ritual - laying out the outfit, pinning the bib number onto the shirt, etc.
I looked all over the condo and couldn't find Dave's famous cowbell sign. He always has that big yellow sign. So I made a new one.
Then I couldn't find duct tape to attach my name to my shirt. I searched high and low for it. Just before walking out the door to CVS to buy some, I looked one last time in a place I'd checked six times before and finally found it.
Oh boy, it's going to be a long night.
I went through the marathon check list, sealed up my participant bag and went to bed.
In a few short hours I'd wake up and head downtown for my fifth marathon.
The Bus Dancer
(Written with less than a week to go to race day...)
In a city of a few million people, one would think you wouldn't run in to the same person twice. Or not twice a week.
Not me. I run into a guy I affectionately call 'The Bus Dancer.'
I've come to know him for a few reasons.
Whenever he's seated on the bus, he's on his Samsung flip phone. He talks. A lot.
Whenver he is standing, well, I think you can guess what he does. He can't stand still.
Keep in mind that bus is usually pretty full. As in, the standing passengers are close to if not touching each other already.
Yet he moves around. Leaning on one foot and then the other. Changing the hand that grips the bar. Doesn't grip the bar for awhile. Sighs. Looks longingly out onto traffic. The cycle restarts. Sometimes he does some weird stretching.
I try to ignore him when I see him.
However, last night, he was standing right next to me in the vestibule of the bus's back door. He used the pole he held onto to stretch out his foot, constantly changing his position. Sometimes his position would back into me.
I kept hoping that my stop would come before he stepped on my foot or fell on me.
It would really stink if The Bus Dancer put me on the injury list for the marathon.
In a city of a few million people, one would think you wouldn't run in to the same person twice. Or not twice a week.
Not me. I run into a guy I affectionately call 'The Bus Dancer.'
I've come to know him for a few reasons.
Whenever he's seated on the bus, he's on his Samsung flip phone. He talks. A lot.
Whenver he is standing, well, I think you can guess what he does. He can't stand still.
Keep in mind that bus is usually pretty full. As in, the standing passengers are close to if not touching each other already.
Yet he moves around. Leaning on one foot and then the other. Changing the hand that grips the bar. Doesn't grip the bar for awhile. Sighs. Looks longingly out onto traffic. The cycle restarts. Sometimes he does some weird stretching.
I try to ignore him when I see him.
However, last night, he was standing right next to me in the vestibule of the bus's back door. He used the pole he held onto to stretch out his foot, constantly changing his position. Sometimes his position would back into me.
I kept hoping that my stop would come before he stepped on my foot or fell on me.
It would really stink if The Bus Dancer put me on the injury list for the marathon.
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