Giving It 62.7 Percent

I usually pride myself on being healthy. Generally speaking, I feel good. I tend to escape winter colds and flu. And if I happen to get a bug, I can usually sleep it off overnight.

Not the case lately, though.

I started with a common cold last week -- nine days ago to be exact. It came on quickly. At first I thought it was springtime allergies. But soon I felt hot, tired and way too stuffy. I tried to deny it. I walked in the Memorial Day Parade for work, went out to eat and tried to go about my normal business.

A few days into it, I realized I wasn't going to win this battle so easily.

The cold worsened. So I stocked up on cold medicine, cough drops and tissues. I ate soup like it was the last food on earth. I went around in fog for most of the week, struggling to make it through my workdays so I could get home to sleep. In fact, I even left work early twice and came in late one morning. (Anyone who knows me knows that ain't my style.)

I think my body was sending me a message -- a strong one. I'd been operating on too-little sleep for a while and pushing my body with running and riding. Although I felt great doing it, maybe I just needed to be smarter about it.

I was (and am) reminded of something veteran runners have told me over and over: listen to your body. Mine was yelling at me now.

More rest, some good nutrition and a little more general balance should do the trick. Balance in life is always a challenge.

I took a whole week (and a day) off from running and riding. Luckily most of the week was cold and rainy, so I didn't miss it. But as soon as the weather turned, I got the itch to get outside.

I resisted last weekend, despite near-perfect running temps and bright sunny skies. It pained me to stay inside and rest. But I knew it was best. I even skipped practice with the team on Sunday -- the team's last long run before the race.

I couldn't help but think of my two upcoming weekends -- with a triathlon relay this weekend and the Lake Placid half-marathon the next. I needed to get better!

I finally decided I felt well enough, despite a persistent cough and lingering overall stuffiness, to try a run. I needed to get my legs moving before the relay.

My urge was to run all-out -- far and fast -- but I took the smarter route (somewhat surprisingly) and decided I'd do an easy four-mile loop.

Boy, I'm glad I took the easy route.

I guess I didn't realize how much this cold had taken out of my body. I felt winded and slow. My legs felt heavy and uncoordinated. It was like I hadn't run in months. I was sweating like crazy, breathing harder than I should have been and mentally counting down the miles. I just wanted to get home.

I finally found a bit of a groove after a couple of miles, but realized it was much harder than I was expecting. I was thankful it wouldn't be a long run. I felt a twinge of panic as I thought about the upcoming relay and half-marathon.

How would I do this?

Honestly, I'm still not sure. I'm feeling better every day. I don't need a handful of cold medicine to make it through the day and I can actually participate in activities other than working and sleeping.

But I'm still trying to conserve some energy and rest up. I'll probably try another little run tomorrow before the triathlon relay. It won't be at 100 percent effort. But I'm thinking I might be able to swing 63 percent.

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Runner's Tool Kit

There were a lot of things no one told me about when I started running. For example, no one told me that I'd stockpile a bunch of items that I'd use to fend off or deal with the not-so-pleasant effects of running long distances.

Last weekend, as I packed up my bag for the team's long run, I took note of a few items: Body Glide, Band-Aids, GU, The Stick.

Non-runners probably don't even know what those items are or at least what they'd be used for in a running context. My runner-friends are probably smiling -- maybe cringing a bit if they can relate.

I guess it's all part of the deal we make with ourselves -- even unknowingly -- when we commit to push our bodies to places we'd never think they'd go.

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Just A Number?

Last weekend, as I finished up what was certainly my longest bike ride to date, I asked my cycling companion how far we had gone.

He consulted his trusty bike computer, which tell hims not only the distance but also the time and rate of speed, and said casually, "26.2 miles."

My head whipped around and I looked at him. "26.2 miles? Like, a marathon?"

He admitted that the distance, the actual number, didn't strike him as significant until I mentioned it.

I, on the other hand, immediately thought of the marathon. And quickly -- almost instantly -- was reminded that in a few months I'd be running that entire distance.

Even on a bike it seemed far. I'd be running that?

I thing is, I know I can't psyche myself out by making those types of comparisons. I know I shouldn't even try to imagine myself running the route we cycled. But I can't help it.

And I just can't seem to escape little reminders about the upcoming -- and somewhat daunting -- 26.2 miles.

Just yesterday, after a long day setting up a show for work, I stepped outside the theater (which happens to be right on the Manchester Marathon route) and saw this:

The Biggest Loser

One of my guilty pleasures is to occasionally tune into ABC's The Biggest Loser.

I like watching the constant battle that the contestants face as they change their bodies and their lives. I am often amazed at their transformations -- both physical and emotional.

If you're not familiar with the show, let me fill you in a bit. The show takes a group of people who are severely overweight, some topping the scales at 300+ pounds or more, confines them to "the ranch" with two intense trainers.... and works their butts off, literally.

The workouts are focused and hard. Contestants sweat like they've never sweat before. They experience things they've never experienced before. I've seen them break down in tears, throw up, collapse and relish personal victories.

They learn proper eating habits, although they all struggle to continue these as they enter "the real world" back home.

And the see the pay-offs, each week dropping more pounds than what seems possible (or healthy?) and becoming a new person. By the end of the show, when they reveal the before and after shots, it's difficult to imagine that it is the same person.

Of course, it's a game and the show's gotta keep the audience engaged, so each week the two people who lose the least weight face elimination, which is determined by a vote of their fellow contestants. (Imagine that, you've lost 100+ pounds, but sorry, not good enough.)

I happened to be home to catch last week's episode -- and I'm glad I did.

At the last "challenge" of the season, the final four contestants ran a marathon. That's right, people who did no exercise and paid no attention to their eating habits just a few months ago ran a marathon. The whole 26.2 miles.

If they can do it, so can I. (Do I get live-in trainers for the next few months to help me be focused?)

And, oh yeah, I developed a new goal: beat the finishing time of The Biggest Loser's marathon winner -- 4 hours, 55 minutes.


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Logging Miles

Although I haven't "officially" started my marathon training, I've given it a little push this week -- and it feels great.

On Monday, I took the bike out for a spin and logged 19 miles. On Tuesday, I ran a good, strong 7.5 miles (in the cold an pouring rain). And on Wednesday, I went back and rode the 19-mile loop again.

Phew! 38 miles on the bike and a 7.5-mile run in three days!

No doubt the bike and running miles will increase, something I'm really looking forward to.

Only six months until the marathon. Only? Six months seems a lifetime away... Just hope I can keep up the motivation and stamina until then.

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Adventures on Two Wheels

I've been toying with the idea of getting a bike since last summer -- and now that I think of it, both kind of "bikes" were on the radar: motor and pedal.

It's been an internal back-and-forth between the two for me, knowing that my current budget wouldn't likely support both of my two-wheeled hobbies.

After a couple of trips looking at both, I ended up getting one last weekend -- with pedals. Apparently, they are very uncool, amateur pedals, almost embarrassing so rest assured that my plan is to get rid of those as quickly as I feel comfortable moving into some clipless models.

I think it's a pretty good decision. Not a hint of buyer's remorse.

Don't get me wrong, there's something about a rumble of a motorcycle and the thrill of the open road that you just can't beat. Plus, I successfully passed my motorcycle license test last fall and wanted to put my new skills to work.

But I know that I'll get a lot more personal satisfaction from my shiny, new pedal bike.

From everything I've heard and read, cycling is great cross-training for runners. It helps with hill training and endurance without the constant pounding on your body. Great for anyone training for a marathon or just runners in general.

Plus, my new bike isn't just any ordinary bike -- at least that's what I gather from the feedback I'm getting from my friends who are "in the know"... It's an all-carbon, pretty-darn-sleek-looking, "seriously" comfortable riding machine.

According to my friends, it's a good choice and I'll be flying down the road with ease in no time at all.

Those people obviously didn't see my first ride.

I might have looked the part (and I'm not even sure of that) in my brand-spanking new gear, but anyone who watched me for more than a minute would know I wasn't a cyclist.

I certainly didn't have a comfort level on the bike that I've seen others have. My shoulders were tense and at times I was conscious of how tight I was holding on. At times I felt as if I were crawling along in slow motion.

And don't even get me started on shifting, which I played around with -- for the entire 16 miles -- as I tried to get a feel for the bike.

Still, I liked everything about my first ride -- the wind in my face, the smell of fresh air, taking in new sights, even my frustration as I climbed harder-than-expected hills or wobbled as I tried to keep the bike going while I reached down for a drink.

I'm looking forward to this new challenge and some great cross-training.

See you on the road. (Just please don't hit me.)

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Marathons Ain't Just For Runners

I watched my first Boston Marathon with a runner's mind.

Having challenged and pushed myself to go only half of that distance, I appreciated (perhaps not even fully) what Monday's marathon runners accomplished.

But something else stands out to me, something I didn't even think about as I made plans to watch the race.

I was positioned at the top of a hill, just before the participants would make the final turn. It didn't look like a monstrous hill -- it certainly wasn't Heartbreak Hill. But it was a hill at Mile 26.

Running it was challenging, no doubt. But the ones who struggled the most to make it up the final hill weren't runners at all.

Everyone thinks about the marathon runners. They get most of the glory, at least in the news coverage.

What most people don't think about is the group of non-runners -- the wheelchair racers and hand-cyclists. People should think about them more. They're impressive -- in many ways.

Not only did they complete a grueling 26.2-mile course, they did it under notable conditions.

It probably goes without saying that a lot of the hand-cyclists and all of the wheelchair racers were part of a special group -- people who, for whatever reason or circumstance, had been handed a tough situation to deal with. Many were amputees, determined not to let a disability stop them.

I give this group a lot of credit. (And that's really an understatement.) I'm sure it would be easy to become bitter or depressed facing a situation like these people faced. I'm sure it would be easy to dwell on the negative and wonder "why me?"

For this group of people, the thought probably never crossed their minds.

For them, overcoming life's challenges -- even just garnering the mental strength to deal with the day-to-day events -- is impressive enough. Deciding to race is another. Doing the Boston Marathon is another incredible step.

That final hill was a true test of character and perseverance.

Their sheer will and conviction was evident as they pushed and struggled their way up the final hill, at times coming to a complete stop mid-hill. Their eyes closed, their jaws clenched. It seemed as if time stood still.

They fought gravity, which fiercely wanted to pull them back down to the bottom of the hill.

(I've sometimes noted when I've passed cyclists on the road that they get a "break" going downhill, while "us runners" still have to keep working. Seeing the uphill battles I witnessed on Monday might give me a new appreciation for the work it takes to get to the top of that hill. Perhaps they've earned that downhill "break.")

Each time a racer creeped up the hill, the crowd roared and offered encouragement. Some athletes managed the slightest smile upon hearing the overwhelming support from complete strangers. The more a racer struggled, the louder the cheers became.

At times it seemed as if the crowd's cheers literally pushed the wheels forward ever so slightly.

Shortly after making up that hill -- and every one of them made it -- they would cross the Finish Line. But the race probably wasn't about the finish at all.

As the words posted at the top of this site remind me, it's about having the courage to start. These people reminded me you should never be afraid to start. If you want something bad enough, you can make it happen.


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Bring It On

I'm ready to run 26.2 miles.

Maybe I should clarify: I'm mentally ready to run 26.2 miles. The physical preparations are just starting.

My surge of excitement to take on this crazy task comes after a day of watching the runners of the 113th Boston Marathon -- the elite athletes, the struggling ones, the happy ones, the crying ones, the ones in pain, the ones in costumes.

Nearly every single one passed by me yesterday as I stood atop a small perch on a street corner near the Finish Line.

I never thought standing for 5-plus hours on a chilly day could be so rewarding. But watching the pure emotion of the runners, so close to accomplishing this monumental goal, was inspiring.

When I returned from my first half-marathon in Disney last year, I remember thinking it would be hard to put into words exactly what the weekend meant to me. How would I truly be able to capture the experience?

I find myself struggling with the same thing today.

My mind is filled with snapshots -- rows upon rows of water bottles lined up at the finish line, sidelines packed with cheering fans for hours, the raw emotions painted on the runners faces as they rounded the last corner.

Despite the million spectators and 25,000 runners, a few stand out.

I remember the man crumpled on the ground holding his leg in agony as the crowd cheered him on for the final stretch. Awkwardly and in obvious pain, he rose to his feet and somehow kept going.

I remember the older woman in a homemade T-shirt marking it as her 40th straight Boston Marathon. Yes, forty consecutive marathons.

I remember runners waving their arms to build up crowd support and runners on the verge of tears -- some actually crying.

I remember the runner clicking his heels at he topped the hill at Mile 26. I remember many runners stealing kisses from loved ones on the sidelines.

I remember the runners with one leg -- and another with none -- both running on specialized fin-like prostheses.

I remember the costumes -- Capt. America, a Batman and Robin duo, tutus, tuxedos and top hats, shirts with every name and slogan imaginable, head-to-toe body paint, crazy wigs. And many, many more.

I remember countless runners encouraging their fellow runners -- almost there, you can do it, they told anyone in need of a little boost.

It's one of the reasons I love running. Support and camaraderie, even from strangers. They see a true appreciation for reaching a goal -- and there's never a hesitation to help someone else achieve theirs. It comes from runners and it comes from a supportive crowd on the sidelines.

I intently watched the thousands of runners pass by, reminding myself of the mental and physical challenges they had just experienced. I think most were running on pure adrenaline -- and heart -- by the times they reached the corner of Boylston and Hereford.

At that point, finishing was within reach. They could do this. And they would.

Each one of those runners -- the elite, the well-training and the struggling -- deserve that respect. They earned it. And based on the cheers, the signs and the constant ringing of cowbells, it seems as if the million spectators agree.

Just makes me hope that a similarly supportive crowd turns out for the Manchester Marathon in November.

I'll need them. Bring your cowbells.

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Runner's Perspective - Boston Marathon 2009

Support From A Sideline Sherpa

A few posts ago, I declared that I was totally content not to run the Great Bay Half. And I was.

A day or so after my post about the race, I did "a 180" and signed up for the race. Ready or not.

I'm not sure exactly what changed my mind. Certainly my friends encouraged me to give it another shot -- to mentally get over what was a tough race for me last year.

My memories weren't too pleasant, as I noted earlier, with thoughts of struggling through many miles of the race clouding any positive memories. Even the bellydancers weren't motivation to get back on the course.

I had a twinge of panic after I hit the "send" button to complete my registration. I hadn't really gotten any productive, long runs in and knew I'd need to put one on the calendar -- pronto.

Sometime last week, I blocked out some time for a good 9-miler. Incidentally, my friend's Facebook status noted she would be running later in the day and we soon concocted a good plan for me to ease the middle-miles with her. (I parked three miles from her house, ran to meet her for a few miles, then ran back to my car. It worked perfectly!)

With a good 9-miler under my belt, I felt pretty confident and ready to go... although as race day approached, I wavered with inexplicable doubt about the upcoming 13.1.

But I had a secret weapon with me this time -- some big-time sideline support.

This sideline support came in the form of a two-wheeled, Spandex-wearing Sherpa. (I'm actually stealing that term from a Seacoast TnT legend -- Sherpa Steve -- who carried water for and ran with his girlfriend every step of the marathon training. Every TnT'er -- and probably most runners -- want a Sherpa Steve. Like I said, he's a legend on our team.)

I extended an invite to my trusty companion shortly after I signed up, inviting him to watch the race and join the team for post-race festivities. But he took it a step further -- actually, a giant leap.

He mapped out a route he could access with his bicycle, keeping in mind the specific points where I might need the most support -- whether it came in the form of a water bottle, a GU packet or a smile on the sidelines.

Admitedly, I was a bit nervous about the idea of having him there. This was unchartered territory for me. Would I be distracted by having him there? What if I had a terrible race? Would I be embarrassed? Would I be hesitant to use his support as much as I might need it? What does one do, exactly, when they have a supporter on the sidelines?

As usual, I worried for nothing. Everything fell into place, naturally.

Somewhere after I left him at Mile 5, where I feuled up, took a sip of water andsoaked up some encouraging words, I decided I might christen him Sherpa Jr. or Sherpa II or Sideline Sherpa for purposes of this blog. (That idea seemed a lot better mid-race and even immediately following the 13.1 miles ... so we'll see if it sticks.)

He was waiting patiently precisely at every stop we planned -- water bottle in one hand, GU in the other, just waiting for me to tell him what I needed. I resisted the urge to stop and chat too long (I was in a half-marathon, after all!) ... and everytime I took off back into the road, I left hearing, "You still look strong" or some other encouraging phrase.

I later found out that Sideline Sherpa (still seeing if any of these work) also supported my friends along the way -- despite the fact that he had only met them briefly at the starting line. Big points scored, for sure, with the team and with me. (Not that I'm keeping score. No, not me.)

It wouldn't be like me to feel a bit of guilt for being so attended to -- isn't that my job? I urged SS to get a ride in on his bike and enjoy the day while I ran. Don't worry too much about my run. I've done this solo plenty of times. But he wanted none of that -- insisting that he was there to support me that day and his ride was secondary.

He certainly took his job seriously, even snapping photo at the finish.

I finished with my second-best half-marathon time -- 2 hours, 10 minutes -- and was certainly pleased with that, especially given the challenging nature of the course. (Last year, I came in around 2:21.)

Even more important than the clock time was that I felt strong -- and very much supported -- the entire way. Thanks, Sideline Sherpa. We're a pretty good team.

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