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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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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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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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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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.
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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.
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?
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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.
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
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.
