A message popped into my inbox this morning from an unfamiliar sender. It started, "You do not know me but your stories have inspired me so much."
The sender went on to say that she stumbled on my blog last year while searching for Team In Training info after her parents received a fundraising letter from a family member.
Apparently she bookmarked the site and, while in the midst of a divorce, returned regularly to read about my progress -- probably both emotionally and physically.
"It gave me the strength I needed to start thinking of myself," she wrote.
Never in a million years would I have imagined that I would inspire someone to take care of themselves. My whole hang-up about looking out for myself has been that it goes against my instinct and desire to help others. I always thought of it as selfish. It took me a long time to realize it's not selfish at all. And now I realize that taking care of myself has helped others.
Beyond the fact that I have apparently inspired and helped a total stranger through a difficult time, I certainly never thought I'd inspire anyone to start running.
But that's exactly what this woman has recently started doing -- admittedly taking on the challenge of running during the toughest season of the year, especially in New England. (I strongly believe that if you can train in this weather, the rest of the year is a breeze. It really is!)
I've been very moved by the onslaught of messages I've gotten from people after my last blog post on my experience with the Hampton Half Marathon. They've shared stories about how I've been inspiring them to start running, asked about joining TnT groups around the country and told me they feel a little better taking on a challenge after seeing my success.
Turns out, I might even take a trip to Toronto later this year to re-connect with my cousins for a 10K -- and I'm very excited about that prospect. (I should warn them ahead of time that if I'm traveling internationally to run six miles, they best be at the starting line with me!)
Words cannot express how I felt when I heard these things, and in particular, when I received the message today.
I may be inspiring her, but she and the other supporters I've apparently touched, also inspire me to keep going and never look back.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Day In The Life
Today I ran my sixth half marathon. Wow, I never thought I'd be saying that.
Just a little more than a year ago, I completed my first 13.1 mile event in Disney. A little more than 18 months ago, I hadn't even run a mile and thought that 13.1 seemed nearly impossible.
I finished today's Hampton Half in 2 hours, 15 minutes -- my second-best finishing time since the start of my running career and six whole minutes than I finished the race last year.
But the day really wasn't just about a finishing time or even a race at all.
It was day to appreciate the commaraderie and support of friends and teammates. And it didn't really matter if those friends and teammates even made it to the race. Their commaradie and support was evident, even when their physical presence wasn't.
Here are a few snippits in one day of my running life:
6 a.m. - Awake in the guest room of my parents' house after spending a Valentine's Day dinner with them. I'm awoken by the gentle nudge of a German Shepherd nose, as I am every morning. I get out of bed and quickly dress in my race-day gear -- running tights, wicking turtleneck, fleece jacket and my trusty sneakers. It will be the last race for this pair.
7 a.m. - Head to Portsmouth for the first run of this season's new Team in Training team. It's chilly but sunny. Great running weather. Am happy to see the usual group of mentors and Coach Jack, along with a small but seemingly lively group of new runners. Can already tell it's going to be a great season.
8 a.m. - Knowing that we run a half marathon later in the day, Shawnna and I don't join the team on the course. Instead, we opt to drive to a turnaround point to support the team -- barely making it to the mark after running into (almost literally) a former teammate and stopping for a quick chat. (Surprise.)
9 a.m. - The team's first run is quick. The miles are low. We have a couple of hours before our race, so a handful of teammates head to Dave and Nancy's for breakfast -- not just some store-bought bagels and OJ, either. It's a full-blown, homemade breakfast - suitable for pre-race fueling, of course. Baked oatmeal, pancakes, fruit and more.
10 a.m. - Out the door to the race. Shawnna and I drive together, having a lively and amusing (but somewhat deep) conversation along the way. We make our way to the registration, pick up our numbers and shirts, attempt to figure out the new disposable timing chip and stand in the slow-moving line for bathrooms before the race. See co-worker Dan, who's running the race and in training for the Boston Marathon, and his wife, Jenn, who I hadn't seen in many, many years since my old reporting days. Quickly decide she's one of the prettiest people I know.
11 a.m. - At the race starting line with nearly a thousand other runners. Hear my name called out. Turn around to see a smiling face -- and admittedly can't immediately place it. He's wearing sunglasses and a hat. A running friend? A work friend? "David Silver," he said. Total shock. David and I went to school together in Presque Isle, Maine. (I would probably even consider him one of my first school-age boyfriends, if you have such a thing in middle school, after a crush at summer camp one year.) We both moved around a lot and lost track of each other through the years. We start the race together and chat about what we've been up to for the past 20 years or so. Wish I could have kept up with his pace a while longer to catch up more. I lose both him and Shawnna in the crowd.
11:30 a.m. - Struggling with the zipper on my windbreaker -- again. The same thing happened two weeks ago when I ran with it. (Why did I give it another chance?) I try to unzip it, and the zipper gets stuck, holding only the very bottom seam together. My jacket fills up like a parachute when the wind hits it. I struggle with it for a few more miles and try to zip it back up -- which I do successfully, but now the zipper at the bottom of the jacket is separating, leaving me with just a small zipped portion near my mid-section. Can't wait to get to Mile 6 at the planned TnT waterstop to ditch this jacket.
12:00 p.m. - See the purple and white balloons at the Mile 6 water station. Can't wait to get rid of the jacket and this "wardrobe malfunction." Get closer and realize it's not the TnT stop. Consider ditching the jacket anyway, but decide to hold on to it for a while.
12:15 p.m. - Run strong miles between miles 5 and 9. Feeling really good - except for my ongoing battle with my frustrating jacket. See Dan again. He notes my iPod (not technically allowed in the race - I'm a scofflaw). Asks me what I'm listening to, which happens to be Def Leppard at that moment. But I run the gamut of musical selections throughout the race.
12:30 p.m. - Finally get to the TnT waterstop with the aggravating jacket just barely fastened. I can see Coach Jack laughing. (He fixed the zipper a couple of weeks ago -- and was probably wondering why I had it on again.) He hands me a GU gel. Happy to see it was espresso flavored, not "Lime Sublime" (which makes me want to throw up). Think to myself how nice it was of him to be there for me and Shawnna. Later find out that he was assigned the task of handing a GU gel to every runner.
12:45 p.m. - Start to feel the twinge of IT band pain as I approach Mile 11. Stop and stretch frequently (and sometimes walk) for the last two miles. Annoyed that I have to do this, but made good time until this point. Plus, no use risking injury for a race that's just supposed to be about fun. Annoyed that Geoff catches my stretching and stopping while photographing us from the sidelines.
1:15 p.m. - Cross the finish line with an official time of 2 hours, 15 minutes. A little disappointed because I thought I might be faster, but satisfied that I pulled in my second-fastest half-marathon finish. Vow to myself to add stretching to my daily routine. (Stretching is definitely my weakness!) Plenty of upcoming races to improve my time. Find Shawnna at the finish line (she finished in 2:01, awesome) and make our way to the post-race gathering for a complimentary beer.
2 p.m. - Back to Dave and Nancy's to shower, then head to another post-race celebration of margaritas and dinner. Geoff pulls out a laptop to show us the slideshow of pictures (literally, a slideshow) he took of me and Shawnna during the race. I am, of course, critical of myself in Spandex tights (do I really wear those in public?), but happy with one particular profile shot of me running along the coast -- with good running form for a change. I look like I might even know what I'm doing out there.
3 p.m. - Answer an ongoing series of congratulatory text messages from co-workers and friends -- new and old. Realize how supportive people are, even if they aren't on the sidelines. I hope they know how much it means to me. Update my Facebook page to show another successful race under my belt. More supportive message pour in from teammates from various seasons. Messages quickly turn into plans for the next race. Typical.
6 p.m. - Say good-bye to the teammates after a fun-filled day with some of the most supportive and caring people I know. I say that not only about the people who physically helped me by cooking breakfast or handing me water, but also for the many people who help me on an ongoing basis to realize that running these types of races is something I can do - and do well. Crank the CD that was dropped off to me with a good luck note on Friday and sing along to some of my favorites while heading back to my parents' for a little rest on the couch with the pooch. Still feeling a bit of strain on my IT band, I take an Advil and ice my left side.
8:30 p.m. - Realize that the couch is way too comfortable to consider heading out for the drive back to Manchester. Am coaxed to stay another night at my parents'. Okay, it didn't take much coaxing. I'm exhausted and it's been a long day.
10:30 p.m. - Decide I should document some of the highlights of what really turned out to be a great day. It didn't matter what the clock at the Finish Line said or even how I felt during those last two miles. The day turned out to be about something much more important: the importance of friends, family and teammates - once again.
11 p.m. - Lights out. Good night, friends.
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Friday, February 13, 2009
A Do-Over
If you look in the margins of this blog, you'll see a picture of me running last year's Hampton Half Marathon. I'm pretty bundled up, snow's falling. And, honestly, I'm not enjoying it.
I wrote a post about the race - and I think I may have vowed never to run it again. But on Sunday morning, I'll be at the starting line for a do-over.
My only goal this year is to finish strong, enjoy the race and know that I conquered a race that left me with a negative impression last year.
I'm not saying it wasn't a good race. It seemed well organized. I've heard good things about it from other runners. Looking back, I think most of the bad impression was due to the fact that we ran through rain, slush and snow. (I cannot stand running with wet feet, especially for 13.1 miles.)
Since then, I've run in all sorts of weather: torrential downpours, snowstorms, sub-zero temperatures, scorching hot days. Weather doesn't faze me like it used to.
Last year's race in Hampton was my first half marathon after Disney. I believe I dubbed it the Anti-Disney. I remember finding the race very lonely. I missed the support of the hundreds and hundreds of TnT-ers on the sidelines offering their support and cheers.
Things are so much different this year. Even after my Disney race, I stuck with the team. I developed stronger friendships in the miles I've run since my first race than I ever thought I would.
And on Sunday, my teammates will be there - some running with me, some on the sidelines, some joining us for post-race drinks.
The support will certainly help, and with some good training runs under my belt and a flurry of recent cross-training, I feel ready to have a great race. At least I'll know it will be better than last year.
I wrote a post about the race - and I think I may have vowed never to run it again. But on Sunday morning, I'll be at the starting line for a do-over.
My only goal this year is to finish strong, enjoy the race and know that I conquered a race that left me with a negative impression last year.
I'm not saying it wasn't a good race. It seemed well organized. I've heard good things about it from other runners. Looking back, I think most of the bad impression was due to the fact that we ran through rain, slush and snow. (I cannot stand running with wet feet, especially for 13.1 miles.)
Since then, I've run in all sorts of weather: torrential downpours, snowstorms, sub-zero temperatures, scorching hot days. Weather doesn't faze me like it used to.
Last year's race in Hampton was my first half marathon after Disney. I believe I dubbed it the Anti-Disney. I remember finding the race very lonely. I missed the support of the hundreds and hundreds of TnT-ers on the sidelines offering their support and cheers.
Things are so much different this year. Even after my Disney race, I stuck with the team. I developed stronger friendships in the miles I've run since my first race than I ever thought I would.
And on Sunday, my teammates will be there - some running with me, some on the sidelines, some joining us for post-race drinks.
The support will certainly help, and with some good training runs under my belt and a flurry of recent cross-training, I feel ready to have a great race. At least I'll know it will be better than last year.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The First Mile
Last weekend, I attended another TnT Info Session. I've lost track of how many I've attended in my short time with the program.
The goal of an Info Session is to educate potential participants on what we're all about -- our running program, the events, meeting goals, crossing the finish line, and of course, the mission of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
Despite the fact that I've seen the tear-jerking video a million times and heard from the coaches and participants and cancer survivors, I always come away with a little something that reminds me why I do this -- for the love of running, a good cause and my teammates.
Sometimes my team has so much fun that we forget we're actually making a difference, a difference in the lives the each other, the participants we train -- and a difference in the lives of those touched by blood cancers.
Back when I started TnT, my mentor, Dave, sent me an email sharing something he holds special. It's called "The First Mile," and every word of it is true.
It applies to running and training just as it does to everything in life. We all have a first mile.
Dave shared this with the group last weekend, and since it was way back in 2007 that I first posted it, I decided to share it again:
THE FIRST AND LAST MILE
I just finished running.
It's 6:12am.
During the run many revelations came that paralleled this morning's run to life.
There are two very difficult miles to run no matter how long the run.
The First and the Last Mile.
I usually run five miles or more.
The first mile is the hardest and the one most missed.
You see, you have to get started to run the first mile.
It's hard to get started.
I have to get out of bed.
Those first few steps that wake a sleeping body are part of the first mile.
They are tougher than the steepest hill.
You have a race to run, a course to complete, or a project that awaits you.
You too have a first mile. And your first mile is tough, just like mine.
When I take my first step outside most of my run is completed.
I've accomplished the hardest part.
I've gotten started and stepped out.
The next few steps bring out the stiffness of your body as the muscles stretch and your lungs fill with the crisp, cool morning air. It's still dark outside and menacing shadows reach out from strange corners.
Darkness creates a different, somewhat eerie world.
There could be dangers in the shadows but danger usually doesn't get up this early.
If there are any aches and pains, the first mile will bring them out.
The greatest probability that you will give up and turn back is in the first mile.
The vast majority make new year's resolutions each year. Most have broken them at the end of the first two weeks.
The first two weeks is the first mile.
Miles 2, 3 and 4 are usually uneventful, but the last mile is a doozy. There is something about the last mile that's a real stretch and it doesn't matter whether I am running 2 miles or 10 miles. The last mile is a real stretch. The effects of the previous miles pile up but at the same time you can ‘see’ the finish.
And so it is with life.
To get started is a strain.
To finish is a stretch.
The First and The Last Mile
What's your first mile?
The goal of an Info Session is to educate potential participants on what we're all about -- our running program, the events, meeting goals, crossing the finish line, and of course, the mission of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
Despite the fact that I've seen the tear-jerking video a million times and heard from the coaches and participants and cancer survivors, I always come away with a little something that reminds me why I do this -- for the love of running, a good cause and my teammates.
Sometimes my team has so much fun that we forget we're actually making a difference, a difference in the lives the each other, the participants we train -- and a difference in the lives of those touched by blood cancers.
Back when I started TnT, my mentor, Dave, sent me an email sharing something he holds special. It's called "The First Mile," and every word of it is true.
It applies to running and training just as it does to everything in life. We all have a first mile.
Dave shared this with the group last weekend, and since it was way back in 2007 that I first posted it, I decided to share it again:
THE FIRST AND LAST MILE
I just finished running.
It's 6:12am.
During the run many revelations came that paralleled this morning's run to life.
There are two very difficult miles to run no matter how long the run.
The First and the Last Mile.
I usually run five miles or more.
The first mile is the hardest and the one most missed.
You see, you have to get started to run the first mile.
It's hard to get started.
I have to get out of bed.
Those first few steps that wake a sleeping body are part of the first mile.
They are tougher than the steepest hill.
You have a race to run, a course to complete, or a project that awaits you.
You too have a first mile. And your first mile is tough, just like mine.
When I take my first step outside most of my run is completed.
I've accomplished the hardest part.
I've gotten started and stepped out.
The next few steps bring out the stiffness of your body as the muscles stretch and your lungs fill with the crisp, cool morning air. It's still dark outside and menacing shadows reach out from strange corners.
Darkness creates a different, somewhat eerie world.
There could be dangers in the shadows but danger usually doesn't get up this early.
If there are any aches and pains, the first mile will bring them out.
The greatest probability that you will give up and turn back is in the first mile.
The vast majority make new year's resolutions each year. Most have broken them at the end of the first two weeks.
The first two weeks is the first mile.
Miles 2, 3 and 4 are usually uneventful, but the last mile is a doozy. There is something about the last mile that's a real stretch and it doesn't matter whether I am running 2 miles or 10 miles. The last mile is a real stretch. The effects of the previous miles pile up but at the same time you can ‘see’ the finish.
And so it is with life.
To get started is a strain.
To finish is a stretch.
The First and The Last Mile
What's your first mile?
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Give Me A Break, Mother Nature...
It's only about three weeks until the Hampton Half Marathon.And I can only hope that the next three weeks of weather are better than the last three.
This winter has been brutal for an outdoor runner. It seems like every time I'm ready to go out for a run, I'm facing another snowstorm, ice storm or record-breaking temperature.
I tried my best to stick to some sort of training schedule, keeping my goal finish time in the back of my mind, but I've really been thrown off track.
I've expanded my cross training activities, including a shot at a few spin classes, and even resorted to running 9 miles on the DREADmill the other day. Yes, 9 long miles.
It was a new record for me - and not one I have any interest in trying to break anytime soon.
Hopefully the warmer temps (yes, 20-something degrees actually seems warm these days) will get me back into the groove and help me cross the finish line next month.
And I no longer care how long it takes me to finish the 13.1 miles -- unless it's below-zero. Then I definitely don't want to be out there for any longer than I have to.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Friends on the Road
Sometimes, somebody else really has a way of capturing what we're all thinking. Below is the recent NH Runner column, written by Maureen Milliken.
There's always a friend on the road
New Hampshire Sunday News - Sunday, January 4, 2009
AH, THE LONELINESS of the long distance runner .
The introspective, pensive athlete glides along silent streets alone with the deep thoughts that only such a solitary, yet noble, figure can think as the rest of the world gazes on in distant, uncomprehending awe.
What a load of hooey.
Every runner knows there's no such thing.
Every run is an exercise in trying to keep the outside world at bay just enough to get through it in one piece. Unfriendly drivers, dogs, unyeilding groups of pedestrians, leaf blowers (or snowblowers) make solitary introspection a joke.
And lonely? Hardly.
Besides the obvious companionship found in running clubs and charity groups, every runner , no matter how solitary his or her actual running, finds a level of fellowship.
The "accidental companionship" of running is actually one of the treats of the sport.
The most basic level is the "hale fellow runner well met." This is when two runners pass on the street and give each other the friendly runner nod. Sometimes there is also a friendly runner wave. And sometimes there's even spoken greeting. Or a knowing grimace if the weather is bad.
And you know you're not out there alone.
There is also the "running buddy."
This is when you have a friend who also runs who you tell all your running tales to because your spouse, friends or coworkers don't want to hear it.
Running buddy: "How did your run go?"
Runner : "Pretty good, until about one mile, when my ankle started doing that thing.."
Running buddy: "Oh yeah, like my thing with the achilles..."
Runner : "Right. So it did it for about seven-tenths of a mile. Then I got to that hill, you know the one at the white house?"
Running buddy: "I hate that hill. It must have a nine grade or something."
Runner : "Right. So I was going up the hill and by the time I got to the blue house, the ankle felt okay. So then I really picked up my pace, etc., etc."
Who else is going to listen to that?
Then there are the temporary running buddies, who you meet in a race, run with, chat with, commiserate with, but will never see again. But for however long you run with them, they are some of the best running buddies you'll ever have.
Sometimes you don't even need to talk. Sometimes you're running in that race and there's that woman in front of you in the purple shirt and you tell yourself "if I can just keep up with her, I can do this." And you follow her for miles. She's the reason you PR. And she never even knew you were there.
There's always a friend on the road
New Hampshire Sunday News - Sunday, January 4, 2009
AH, THE LONELINESS of the long distance runner .
The introspective, pensive athlete glides along silent streets alone with the deep thoughts that only such a solitary, yet noble, figure can think as the rest of the world gazes on in distant, uncomprehending awe.
What a load of hooey.
Every runner knows there's no such thing.
Every run is an exercise in trying to keep the outside world at bay just enough to get through it in one piece. Unfriendly drivers, dogs, unyeilding groups of pedestrians, leaf blowers (or snowblowers) make solitary introspection a joke.
And lonely? Hardly.
Besides the obvious companionship found in running clubs and charity groups, every runner , no matter how solitary his or her actual running, finds a level of fellowship.
The "accidental companionship" of running is actually one of the treats of the sport.
The most basic level is the "hale fellow runner well met." This is when two runners pass on the street and give each other the friendly runner nod. Sometimes there is also a friendly runner wave. And sometimes there's even spoken greeting. Or a knowing grimace if the weather is bad.
And you know you're not out there alone.
There is also the "running buddy."
This is when you have a friend who also runs who you tell all your running tales to because your spouse, friends or coworkers don't want to hear it.
Running buddy: "How did your run go?"
Runner : "Pretty good, until about one mile, when my ankle started doing that thing.."
Running buddy: "Oh yeah, like my thing with the achilles..."
Runner : "Right. So it did it for about seven-tenths of a mile. Then I got to that hill, you know the one at the white house?"
Running buddy: "I hate that hill. It must have a nine grade or something."
Runner : "Right. So I was going up the hill and by the time I got to the blue house, the ankle felt okay. So then I really picked up my pace, etc., etc."
Who else is going to listen to that?
Then there are the temporary running buddies, who you meet in a race, run with, chat with, commiserate with, but will never see again. But for however long you run with them, they are some of the best running buddies you'll ever have.
Sometimes you don't even need to talk. Sometimes you're running in that race and there's that woman in front of you in the purple shirt and you tell yourself "if I can just keep up with her, I can do this." And you follow her for miles. She's the reason you PR. And she never even knew you were there.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Ringing It In On The Right (?) Foot
There's only one thing crazier than running a New Year's race in sub-zero temps -- running the race, then jumping in the ocean.
At least I can say I'm not as crazy as those runners, who after running a bone-chilling 10K on Thursday, decided they'd plunge into the frigid ocean -- an ocean that one person commented at the starting line looked "angry."
He was right. I looked at the ocean, with the wind whipping across the beach, and saw dozens of white-capped waves. Go in there? No thanks.
It was enough just to get me to the Hangover Classic that day.
I had signed up a few days earlier, thinking that (like last year) I'd start the year off on the right foot. A good race would get me out of the house, get in a training run and put me in the right frame of mind for the New Year.
But when I awoke on New Year's Day and heard the wind literally howling outside my window, I had second thoughts.
I had an internal struggle -- between whether it was really worth it to run in sub-zero termperatures and whether I had an obligation to because (thanks to a status update on my Facebook page) I had recruited a few friends to join me.
Throughout the morning, I received text after text from people telling me they wouldn't brave the the weather. Phew, I thought, still in my pjs on the couch.
I sent a final text to Erika, who ran Disney with me last year, telling her I was out.
Almost immediately, my phone rang. "I'm already on my way to the race," she said. I had forgotten she was coming from Portland.
So we chatted for a while, mostly reminscing about the Disney trip and wondering where the past year had gone. Finally, out of the blue, I told her I'd join her for the Hangover Classic. I could hear the excitement in her voice.
As I made the drive to Massachusetts, my car shuttered in the winds whipping across the highway. One entire lane was blocked by snow that had drifted into the roadway.
I couldn't help but wonder how I'd run in this. Radio news gave warnings to people to cover all exposed skin. Luckily I'd bundled up and was pretty much prepared -- I say pretty much because I don't think one can ever be fully prepared to run in windchills of -14 degrees.
I squeezed my way through the crowded bar where registration was being held, picked up my number and somehow found Erika among the crowd of runners bundled up from head to toe.
I also saw Geoff, who's recently gotten back into running, which reminded me of yet another person I'd coaxed into running this crazy New Year's race.
He and Erika were in for the 5K and made their way to the start. I had signed up for the 10K. If I was coming all this way and dragging my butt to a race on New Year's Day, I was a least going to make it worth my time.
At the start line, runners literally huddled together in an unsuccessful attempt to keep warm. We all questioned our sanity. Then, after what seemed like an hour wait, the gun went off.
I heard the sound of hundreds of sneakers scrunching along on the packed snow. It was like no sound I've ever heard. Runners whooped and hollered, some screamed.
It was cold. Actually, cold doesn't even begin to describe it.
We made our way through the small oceanside streets, at one point even having to duck under an enormous town plow that was blocking the way. Then, in a mean twist of fate, we ran by the lots where we had parked our cars. I could easily jump out of the race and back into my car, I thought.
I seriously considered it. Seriously.
I couldn't feel my toes and my legs were cold all the way through. The wind burned my face, despite the neck-warmer I had pulled up over most of my face, the winter hat I had pulled down to my eyes and the sunglasses I had covering any other exposed skin.
I realized I'd forgotten my watch. I certainly wasn't in this race to set a personal best, but I like to use the watch to gauge my pace. I soon realized that there were no mile markers either.
It was like being in a timewarp. I had no idea how long I'd been running or how far I'd gone. My sneakers had a tough time getting traction on the semi-packed snow, and at times it felt as if I was not moving forward at all.
But luckily, I must have been moving forward. Fifty-seven agonizing minutes later -- and after passing by a beer stop, seeing a runner in a full gorilla costume and witnessing ocean-divers strip down naked after their plunge -- another New Year's race was behind me.
Given the circumstances, I'm not sure if it was the right way to start off the New Year.
There could have been worse ways to ring in the New Year. But maybe there could have been better ways, too.
At least I can say I'm not as crazy as those runners, who after running a bone-chilling 10K on Thursday, decided they'd plunge into the frigid ocean -- an ocean that one person commented at the starting line looked "angry."
He was right. I looked at the ocean, with the wind whipping across the beach, and saw dozens of white-capped waves. Go in there? No thanks.
It was enough just to get me to the Hangover Classic that day.
I had signed up a few days earlier, thinking that (like last year) I'd start the year off on the right foot. A good race would get me out of the house, get in a training run and put me in the right frame of mind for the New Year.
But when I awoke on New Year's Day and heard the wind literally howling outside my window, I had second thoughts.
I had an internal struggle -- between whether it was really worth it to run in sub-zero termperatures and whether I had an obligation to because (thanks to a status update on my Facebook page) I had recruited a few friends to join me.
Throughout the morning, I received text after text from people telling me they wouldn't brave the the weather. Phew, I thought, still in my pjs on the couch.
I sent a final text to Erika, who ran Disney with me last year, telling her I was out.
Almost immediately, my phone rang. "I'm already on my way to the race," she said. I had forgotten she was coming from Portland.
So we chatted for a while, mostly reminscing about the Disney trip and wondering where the past year had gone. Finally, out of the blue, I told her I'd join her for the Hangover Classic. I could hear the excitement in her voice.
As I made the drive to Massachusetts, my car shuttered in the winds whipping across the highway. One entire lane was blocked by snow that had drifted into the roadway.
I couldn't help but wonder how I'd run in this. Radio news gave warnings to people to cover all exposed skin. Luckily I'd bundled up and was pretty much prepared -- I say pretty much because I don't think one can ever be fully prepared to run in windchills of -14 degrees.
I squeezed my way through the crowded bar where registration was being held, picked up my number and somehow found Erika among the crowd of runners bundled up from head to toe.
I also saw Geoff, who's recently gotten back into running, which reminded me of yet another person I'd coaxed into running this crazy New Year's race.
He and Erika were in for the 5K and made their way to the start. I had signed up for the 10K. If I was coming all this way and dragging my butt to a race on New Year's Day, I was a least going to make it worth my time.
At the start line, runners literally huddled together in an unsuccessful attempt to keep warm. We all questioned our sanity. Then, after what seemed like an hour wait, the gun went off.
I heard the sound of hundreds of sneakers scrunching along on the packed snow. It was like no sound I've ever heard. Runners whooped and hollered, some screamed.
It was cold. Actually, cold doesn't even begin to describe it.
We made our way through the small oceanside streets, at one point even having to duck under an enormous town plow that was blocking the way. Then, in a mean twist of fate, we ran by the lots where we had parked our cars. I could easily jump out of the race and back into my car, I thought.
I seriously considered it. Seriously.
I couldn't feel my toes and my legs were cold all the way through. The wind burned my face, despite the neck-warmer I had pulled up over most of my face, the winter hat I had pulled down to my eyes and the sunglasses I had covering any other exposed skin.
I realized I'd forgotten my watch. I certainly wasn't in this race to set a personal best, but I like to use the watch to gauge my pace. I soon realized that there were no mile markers either.
It was like being in a timewarp. I had no idea how long I'd been running or how far I'd gone. My sneakers had a tough time getting traction on the semi-packed snow, and at times it felt as if I was not moving forward at all.
But luckily, I must have been moving forward. Fifty-seven agonizing minutes later -- and after passing by a beer stop, seeing a runner in a full gorilla costume and witnessing ocean-divers strip down naked after their plunge -- another New Year's race was behind me.
Given the circumstances, I'm not sure if it was the right way to start off the New Year.
There could have been worse ways to ring in the New Year. But maybe there could have been better ways, too.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Happy New Year
Today is New Year's Eve, and like many people, it seems like I spend this time of year reflecting on the past year and looking ahead to the next one.
It's been quite a year to say the least. I'm not one bit sorry to see 2008 go.
I've had so many ups and downs -- at many points along the way it seemed like the 'downs' outnumbered the 'ups'.
But I know with every one of those 'downs' I learned a little something, a little piece of the puzzle that's come together to make me the person I am today.
I know myself better than I ever thought I would, have a clearer understanding about what's important in life, how I want to live my life and where I want to be in the future. Quite simply, I'm a better me.
I couldn't have done this alone.
It was about a year ago that I was preparing to embark on my first half marathon adventure, traveling to Disney to run with the TnT team. It was something that forced me way, way outside my comfort zone.
I joined TnT as a way to challenge myself to do something I had never done. I joined TnT to meet people. I joined TnT as an outlet to escape some of the negative things I was dealing with in my life.
I accomplished all that -- and so much more.
Never did I imagine that TnT would have helped me so much. The people I've met have truly helped me -- not only helped me to become a runner, to finish a half marathon or to know that it's possible to do the unthinkable.
They've helped me get through a very tough year for me - and probably many of them don't even know it.
They listened to me, they gave me advice, they made me laugh, they made me think, they gave me confidence.
In the days approaching New Year's Eve, I mulled several offers that I had for New Year's plans. It was actually nice to have so many offers on the table, but I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do. A big part of me wanted to just spend it at home by myself.
Spending it by myself seemed somewhat appropriate because I've used this year (and especially the last several months) to really worry about me. I've come to know that caring about yourself and taking care of yourself isn't selfish. It's just plain necessary.
Without a good sense of self, how can you give yourself to someone else? How can you be truly happy? I don't think you can.
I was completely content to spend tonight alone and celebrate how much I've changed for the better this year ... that is, until I spent Monday evening with a group of my TnT friends.
We spent the evening laughing - as usual - sometimes laughing so hard that my stomach hurt (although that might have been the residual effects the ab work I've done at the gym lately).
Our team is about much more than just running or raising money for a good cause. I think the ones who see that get the most out of the TnT experience.
I decided to join them for New Year's festivities. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the evening -- with people who I care about and who care about me and who have really made a difference in my life this year.
Step by step, through all these miles (I wonder how many miles I ran this year), it's been a year to create lasting friendships and really learn a lot about myself. And tonight it's time to celebrate and look forward to next year with great friends.
Thanks, Team ... and Happy New Year.
It's been quite a year to say the least. I'm not one bit sorry to see 2008 go.
I've had so many ups and downs -- at many points along the way it seemed like the 'downs' outnumbered the 'ups'.
But I know with every one of those 'downs' I learned a little something, a little piece of the puzzle that's come together to make me the person I am today.
I know myself better than I ever thought I would, have a clearer understanding about what's important in life, how I want to live my life and where I want to be in the future. Quite simply, I'm a better me.
I couldn't have done this alone.
It was about a year ago that I was preparing to embark on my first half marathon adventure, traveling to Disney to run with the TnT team. It was something that forced me way, way outside my comfort zone.
I joined TnT as a way to challenge myself to do something I had never done. I joined TnT to meet people. I joined TnT as an outlet to escape some of the negative things I was dealing with in my life.
I accomplished all that -- and so much more.
Never did I imagine that TnT would have helped me so much. The people I've met have truly helped me -- not only helped me to become a runner, to finish a half marathon or to know that it's possible to do the unthinkable.
They've helped me get through a very tough year for me - and probably many of them don't even know it.
They listened to me, they gave me advice, they made me laugh, they made me think, they gave me confidence.
In the days approaching New Year's Eve, I mulled several offers that I had for New Year's plans. It was actually nice to have so many offers on the table, but I wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do. A big part of me wanted to just spend it at home by myself.
Spending it by myself seemed somewhat appropriate because I've used this year (and especially the last several months) to really worry about me. I've come to know that caring about yourself and taking care of yourself isn't selfish. It's just plain necessary.
Without a good sense of self, how can you give yourself to someone else? How can you be truly happy? I don't think you can.
I was completely content to spend tonight alone and celebrate how much I've changed for the better this year ... that is, until I spent Monday evening with a group of my TnT friends.
We spent the evening laughing - as usual - sometimes laughing so hard that my stomach hurt (although that might have been the residual effects the ab work I've done at the gym lately).
Our team is about much more than just running or raising money for a good cause. I think the ones who see that get the most out of the TnT experience.
I decided to join them for New Year's festivities. I couldn't think of a better way to spend the evening -- with people who I care about and who care about me and who have really made a difference in my life this year.
Step by step, through all these miles (I wonder how many miles I ran this year), it's been a year to create lasting friendships and really learn a lot about myself. And tonight it's time to celebrate and look forward to next year with great friends.
Thanks, Team ... and Happy New Year.
Friday, December 19, 2008
My haitus
Wow, I can't believe that it's been more than two months since I've written here. So much has happened since then -- not the least of which is cutting another 10 minutes off my half marathon time.
I'm still chugging along, but now it seems I'm chugging with a little more ease, a little more speed and a little more confidence.
I've even decided to have another go at the Hampton Half Marathon in February. Yes, that's the one that I swore I would never do again after running 13.1 miles in the cold and wet snow last year.
I'm still hoping for good weather for that one on Feb. 15. Will make for a much more enjoyable race.
Speaking of weather, Mother Nature is throwing another good one at us as I write this... and Coach Jack's even decided to cancel practice, something he rarely does. ("Can't pick the weather on race day," he reminds us.)
But when the conditions become too dangerous for us to run on the roads, Coach Jack makes the call to cancel.
Tomorrow was to be the 10-miler for the new Disney team. I was looking forward to running it with Sarah and celebrating her accomplishment.
We'll still do it. New England weather is just delaying that celebration until next week.
I'm still chugging along, but now it seems I'm chugging with a little more ease, a little more speed and a little more confidence.
I've even decided to have another go at the Hampton Half Marathon in February. Yes, that's the one that I swore I would never do again after running 13.1 miles in the cold and wet snow last year.
I'm still hoping for good weather for that one on Feb. 15. Will make for a much more enjoyable race.
Speaking of weather, Mother Nature is throwing another good one at us as I write this... and Coach Jack's even decided to cancel practice, something he rarely does. ("Can't pick the weather on race day," he reminds us.)
But when the conditions become too dangerous for us to run on the roads, Coach Jack makes the call to cancel.
Tomorrow was to be the 10-miler for the new Disney team. I was looking forward to running it with Sarah and celebrating her accomplishment.
We'll still do it. New England weather is just delaying that celebration until next week.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Maine Marathon Weekend
Had a great time at the Maine Marathon weekend -- and will be sure to write more on it later. For now, enjoy a few pix from the weekend by using this link:
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