My gym (one of them) has a sign that says, "We're not here to kiss your butt, just kick it sometimes."
I've always liked that sign for some reason - even though I don't find it appropriate for a gym that is really hands-off. Any butt-kickings I've ever gotten there have been purely self-inflicted.
I guess I just think we could all use a good butt-kicking every now and then. And so I've decided to take on another challenge - track workouts.
Not just track workouts. Track workouts with an intense group of runners.
I've been toying with the idea of joining a running group in Manchester since I moved here last summer. Although I don't plan on giving up my Seacoast Team In Training runs, I thought it would be a good idea to branch out to meet some other local runners.
My spin teacher suggested track workouts as a way to improve my running and give it some focus.
Almost by accident, I connected with Athletic Alliance. My first introduction to the group was from a marathoner who sits on an event committee with me. I asked him if he ran with a group and he told me a bit about this group.
A few days later, I was taking down our display booth (for work) at the Manchester Marathon and noticed that the Athletic Alliance booth was next to ours. I chatted with the woman and her husband behind the table - who happen to be my neighbors.
She and I have stayed in communication for various things - so when I received an email from her last week telling me that the group's spring track workouts were about to start, I gave it another look.
I confess that this group intimidates me. I've seen them run. They're fast. And they're serious. (Not too serious, though, as it was explained to us that part of the yearly dues are used to throw parties and social events for the team... and the first "meeting" was in a bar. Definitely a "work-hard-play-hard" group.)
I told her about my hesitation, but she encouraged me to come and check it out. (I'm well aware that this is clearly called recruiting and that I was sucked into it hook, line and sinker.)
And I dragged Shawnna with me. And she dragged her sister and another friend.
The four of us joined about 40+ people in a test-run for a 5K course last night. Our finishing time would determine which track group we'd be in.
The group took off - and I mean that literally. As soon as the word "go" left the lips of the woman at the starting line, the people in the front were a blur. They ran ahead with seemingly little effort - long, perfect strides.
We made our way down Commercial Street, around the Fisher Cats' stadium, over the new footbridge - and back. A very fast 5K indeed.
Normally, I fall smack-dab in the middle of the pack on race day. I usually finish at the 50-percent mark for my age-group. But that wasn't happening last night.
I soon realized that my goal would be to not finish last. It was a close, but I wasn't last. I finished with a very unofficial time between 26-27 minutes. (We used only our watches to gauge our run-time, which included two stops at the lights at Granite and Commercial Street - a busy intersection in the after-work hours.)
That finishing time puts me in the "yellow" group - not the slowest, but certainly nowhere near the group of gazelles (pink group) that sprinted through last night's 5K.
The newly formed groups will assemble on Wednesday evenings at the track. The coach will coordinate interval runs - starting with 1/4-mile intervals and eventually working out way up to 1-milers.
This new workout will certainly be a challenge - but I'm usually up for a good challenge. So a good butt-kicking on Wednesdays is just fine by me.
TO POST A COMMENT, CLICK ON THE "# comments" LINK BELOW
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Did I Mention...?
I've officially signed up for the Manchester Marathon. Yep, 26.2 miles in November. With that in mind, I've added the following street to my running route.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Life's Balancing Act
Sometimes life has a way of throwing us off track from our plans. And despite the fact that I am certainly a "planner" by nature, I realize it's not always a bad thing for things to not go exactly as you expect.
My latest plan was to take on the Great Bay Half Marathon in a couple of weeks. A big part of me wanted to conquer this course after last year's experience - which ended with Scott pretty much dragging me through the last six miles (if not literally, most certainly figuratively).
Looking back, I probably wasn't ready for the race. March is a notoriously busy month for me at work -- with my weekends eaten up by young spellers, sometimes challenging parents and a whirlwind tour of the Elks lodges throughout New Hampshire. (Sure sounds like fun, doesn't it?)
But, in true Teresa fashion, I had committed to last year's race (part of that race series for that jacket - the one I never received), so I showed up at the starting line, ready or not.
And I made it the 13.1 miles. Not really enjoying it, but finishing it nonetheless. Another race checked off, another challenge completed, another accomplishment.
Scott and I have talked about this race a lot since then, including more than our (his) fair share of mentions of the belly dancers we saw. I told him early on of my plans to finish it better this year - and he even marked time aside in his schedule to specifically be there to help me along if I needed it.
But then life got in the way. But for a nice change, it wasn't in a bad way.
After the Hampton Half last month, I struggled to keep focused. I purposely took a few days off from running to give my legs a rest before I started consciously working toward the next race.
A few days turned into a few more days, which turned into only sporadic runs. I was lucky if I was getting out once a week with the team. I even stopped logging the miles on the calendar (which probably added to the fact that I wasn't motivated to get out more).
It wasn't like I didn't want to run - although with a bout of cold weather and some snowy days, I didn't feel like I was missing much. Running can be a chore in New England in March.
I can't really even tell you what exactly I was doing. I just wasn't running.
Work was only part of it. I was spending more time getting to know a new companion (who I'm sure I will give an appropriate blog name at some point, but haven't yet come up with a good one) - and perhaps as a direct result of that was severely lacking in sleep and struggling to catch up on some much-needed shut-eye whenever I could grab a few moments.
That isn't to say that my new companion (gotta come up with a name here) is a negative influence. It's very much the opposite - he understands more about what running means to me and encourages me in ways that I don't even think he's aware of.
In fact, I didn't mind my brief break from running (although I never really stopped, just ran less and without as much focus). It might have actually been a good thing to give my body a rest - and a good thing for my mind to focus on something (someone) else for a while.
I'm keenly aware that I need to work on achieving "balance" in my life - always has been an issue for me, wanting to jump in with two feet with everything I do.
Running had been a way to escape for me - a way to inject something positive into a negative time in my life. Now that that negativity is gone and is slowly being replaced by more and more positive things, I just need to find a way to balance all the positive things in my life. (What a nice "problem" to have!)
After a few weeks of slacking (if running 10 miles a week or so is considered slacking), I began to find myself getting frustrated with myself for losing focus - and make no mistake, it was entirely my "fault" that I skipped the runs or lost focus. I was distracted for sure.
I finally broke out of my slump last week - actually logged 24+ miles last week. Really good, productive miles. I ran better than I have in a long time.
I felt stronger and faster. It felt so good to be outside - my legs finally set free from those darn running tights that I hate so much (especially by this time of the year).
Still, I have mentally scratched the Great Bay race from my calendar. I know I could finish. It probably wouldn't be easy, but I would finish. But the thing is, I don't have to.
Nothing's nagging at me right now to finish those 13.1 miles. Maybe it's an inner protest not to shell out the $40 entry fee to the same group that didn't give me that jacket last year -- the one I earned after running all those miles last year. (I know, I need to get over this.)
It wouldn't be like me to not feel a twinge of guilt for not running the Great Bay Half in a couple of weeks. (I suppose there's still a chance I could go for it... but it's very, very unlikely.)
Instead of feeling guilty, I'll just continue to enjoy the challenge of balancing the good things in life with running and work -- and set my sights on the next race.
Hmmm... perhaps Big Lake?
TO POST A COMMENT, CLICK ON THE "# comments" LINK BELOW
My latest plan was to take on the Great Bay Half Marathon in a couple of weeks. A big part of me wanted to conquer this course after last year's experience - which ended with Scott pretty much dragging me through the last six miles (if not literally, most certainly figuratively).
Looking back, I probably wasn't ready for the race. March is a notoriously busy month for me at work -- with my weekends eaten up by young spellers, sometimes challenging parents and a whirlwind tour of the Elks lodges throughout New Hampshire. (Sure sounds like fun, doesn't it?)
But, in true Teresa fashion, I had committed to last year's race (part of that race series for that jacket - the one I never received), so I showed up at the starting line, ready or not.
And I made it the 13.1 miles. Not really enjoying it, but finishing it nonetheless. Another race checked off, another challenge completed, another accomplishment.
Scott and I have talked about this race a lot since then, including more than our (his) fair share of mentions of the belly dancers we saw. I told him early on of my plans to finish it better this year - and he even marked time aside in his schedule to specifically be there to help me along if I needed it.
But then life got in the way. But for a nice change, it wasn't in a bad way.
After the Hampton Half last month, I struggled to keep focused. I purposely took a few days off from running to give my legs a rest before I started consciously working toward the next race.
A few days turned into a few more days, which turned into only sporadic runs. I was lucky if I was getting out once a week with the team. I even stopped logging the miles on the calendar (which probably added to the fact that I wasn't motivated to get out more).
It wasn't like I didn't want to run - although with a bout of cold weather and some snowy days, I didn't feel like I was missing much. Running can be a chore in New England in March.
I can't really even tell you what exactly I was doing. I just wasn't running.
Work was only part of it. I was spending more time getting to know a new companion (who I'm sure I will give an appropriate blog name at some point, but haven't yet come up with a good one) - and perhaps as a direct result of that was severely lacking in sleep and struggling to catch up on some much-needed shut-eye whenever I could grab a few moments.
That isn't to say that my new companion (gotta come up with a name here) is a negative influence. It's very much the opposite - he understands more about what running means to me and encourages me in ways that I don't even think he's aware of.
In fact, I didn't mind my brief break from running (although I never really stopped, just ran less and without as much focus). It might have actually been a good thing to give my body a rest - and a good thing for my mind to focus on something (someone) else for a while.
I'm keenly aware that I need to work on achieving "balance" in my life - always has been an issue for me, wanting to jump in with two feet with everything I do.
Running had been a way to escape for me - a way to inject something positive into a negative time in my life. Now that that negativity is gone and is slowly being replaced by more and more positive things, I just need to find a way to balance all the positive things in my life. (What a nice "problem" to have!)
After a few weeks of slacking (if running 10 miles a week or so is considered slacking), I began to find myself getting frustrated with myself for losing focus - and make no mistake, it was entirely my "fault" that I skipped the runs or lost focus. I was distracted for sure.
I finally broke out of my slump last week - actually logged 24+ miles last week. Really good, productive miles. I ran better than I have in a long time.
I felt stronger and faster. It felt so good to be outside - my legs finally set free from those darn running tights that I hate so much (especially by this time of the year).
Still, I have mentally scratched the Great Bay race from my calendar. I know I could finish. It probably wouldn't be easy, but I would finish. But the thing is, I don't have to.
Nothing's nagging at me right now to finish those 13.1 miles. Maybe it's an inner protest not to shell out the $40 entry fee to the same group that didn't give me that jacket last year -- the one I earned after running all those miles last year. (I know, I need to get over this.)
It wouldn't be like me to not feel a twinge of guilt for not running the Great Bay Half in a couple of weeks. (I suppose there's still a chance I could go for it... but it's very, very unlikely.)
Instead of feeling guilty, I'll just continue to enjoy the challenge of balancing the good things in life with running and work -- and set my sights on the next race.
Hmmm... perhaps Big Lake?
TO POST A COMMENT, CLICK ON THE "# comments" LINK BELOW
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Inspiring and Being Inspired
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.
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.
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.
TO POST A COMMENT, CLICK ON THE "# comments" LINK BELOW
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)