Why I Run Even Though I'm a Turtle

Saturday, I ran the relay portion of the Iron Mom half marathon our town holds on Mother's Day weekend.  Last year, I did the whole thing (slowly), but my foot injury several weeks ago dashed any dreams I had of doing that this year.  When a friend of mine asked me to run it as a relay I figured I could keep my foot in decent enough shape to manage that so I agreed to do it, along with a couple of other ladies.  Here's our team, Scrambled Legs N' Achin'.

We each had a great morning, performed at our best and came away in tenth place among the 25 relay teams.  We were pretty tickled with that given that none of us is particularly speedy and three of us are knocking on the door of fifty.  High fives and fist bumps all the way around. 

The four legs to the race were of different lengths and one, the longest at nearly four miles, contained all of the hills.  We rolled dice earlier in the week to see who was going to run that leg, and I was the unlucky winner.  I hadn't really been running hills because I was afraid to stress my ankle or roll it before the race, so I wasn't really looking forward to running that rolling section of the race, but I decided that if I wasn't going to do the whole half marathon I at least needed the challenge of the worst leg, so I sucked it up and gave it my best.

When M. finished the first leg and hit the first relay station where I was waiting for her, she came barreling at me at breakneck speed with the timing belt in her hand.  I said to myself, "S****! The pressure is on to finish strong."  My teammate, P., hollered, "You got this!" and in my head, I said, heck yeah, I got this.   I took off and immediately hit the first hill, a low rise that stretched for a half block then turned into a slight dip and then the first big hill.  I figured instead of dreading each one, I would count them off as I came to them and attack each one.  That worked pretty well until about the twelfth hill.  By that point, I was grunting, groaning and wishing for a Coke Zero and a nap.  I kept plugging away and found some renewed energy when I saw Hubby in exactly the spot I had asked him to stand.  Pretty soon, I hit the last hill at the bottom of High Street.  It's named High Street for a reason.  I struggled up it in a race walk and as I neared the top I could hear cheering off in the distance at the next relay station.  It wasn't terribly far away, and something just clicked in my head.  I said, "Self, you got this.  Leave everything on the street and finish strong."  And I did.  I found steam I didn't know I had and kicked into high gear.  I was giving it all I had when I hit the relay station.  B. took the third leg and P. finished up on the fourth leg.  We met her a couple of blocks from the finish line and ran in with her.  It was just a great morning to celebrate our efforts to keep pushing ourselves forward and keep pushing old age back.

And that's why I like this particular race.  Even though many men run it, it has the feel of a celebration of women trying to do something to better their health or accomplish a goal.  And that's why I run.  To stay healthy and accomplish new goals.  A runner was quoted in the local newspaper recently as saying there are two kinds of runners, those who compete and those who complete.  I complete.  Some runs are good.  Some stink, but every time I meet a goal, no matter how humble it is compared to really good runners, I feel good about myself and I learn something about myself.  About my physical strength, my mental strength and my stamina.  I will never be a champion, but that doesn't really matter.  I will never run even an eight minute mile, but that doesn't matter.  I'm working to beat my goals, and that's good enough for me.

The running community is so supportive.  One of the things about being toward the back of the pack is that you witness so many people who are struggling to finish their first race or struggling to overcome a disability.  So many people are trying to complete their first race after taking up running to lose weight.  They may be shuffling down the street at a snail's pace, but they are proving something to themselves.  That's so inspiring to me.  And even the fast folks are supportive of the slugs like me.  So many times I've been encouraged by a really good runner who took a moment to cheer me on or to treat me as if I belong out there just as much as the five minute miler.  And the onlookers are great, too.  During the race Saturday, several people came outside and sat in front of their homes to cheer us on, hand out water they brought out there or orange slices.  In the subdivision where I ran a great deal of my leg, people had written messages on the street in sidewalk chalk near some of the steeper hills.  Things like, "left foot" followed closely by "right foot" and then a little later, "breathe".  My favorite message?  "We are all Kenyans."  That one made me smile and actually pick up my speed a tad.  I can't tell you how encouraging it is for me when a stranger hollers at me to "Go!"  A friend of mine who ran a different leg of the race was trotting down the street and came by a decidedly unfit woman who was standing in her robe with family in front of their house cheering for everyone who ran by.  When J. jokingly hollered out, "Run with me!"  She did.  For one whole block in her robe.  How cool is that?  And when I finished, Hubby and Teen Angel were there with their "Go Mom" sign and a big hug.  God bless them, they're dedicated.  They have to wait a long time for this slow old woman to cross the line, but they're always there, cheering me on as if I were Usain Bolt.

I sometimes wonder how much better the world would be if we could all be that encouraging to each other at all times.  People who don't run often wonder why runners do what they do, especially the ultra runners.  It's to be better.  And those who run best pull along those of us who drag up the rear.  They pull us along with a kind word, some encouragement and sometimes a good kick in the pants when we're being lazy.  It's a crazy sport, but it teaches you a lot about yourself and a lot about other people.  And while I have a bit of a love hate relationship with it, I hope to do it for a long time.  And the day that I have to quit is the day that I will stand by the street in my robe and holler at those racing by me.  Saturday was a great day with friends.  I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

A few Final Thoughts on the Race

I wish I had been wearing some kind of device that recorded and transcribed my thoughts while I was running Saturday. When you’re pounding the streets for thirteen long miles there are all kinds of thoughts that run through your head, some of them valid and some a bit silly. It takes a lot of mental strength to focus intensely on one goal for that long, and honestly your mind travels to crazy places because you’re tryin’ real hard to forget how tired your body is getting or how much farther you have to go. I can’t remember everything that rolled through my noggin’, but I remember enough to recognize that it would be some interesting reading. I also remember thinking about halfway though it that my thoughts or the thoughts of any of the runners for that matter would be an interesting real time play by play activity for spectators if there was some kind of dictation process that posted those thoughts to the web as they occurred. Like I said, I don’t remember a lot of what crossed my mind, but I do remember these little nuggets:


Mile 1 when I saw a runner’s t-shirt that said This Seemed like a Good Idea 3 Months Ago: “Amen Sister.”

Mile 2 when the rain clouds and that first big breeze came along, counteracting the humidity: “THANK YOU, Jesus!” And that was a sincere prayer of thanksgiving on my part that I repeated for about three blocks.

Mile 3 when I saw the spectator sign that said Worst Parade Ever: “I hope I’m in front of the horses.”

Mile 3 in front of the photographer: “Smile as if you’re actually enjoying this, Hula. People will see this on the web later.”

Mile 3: “Ooh, the new Train song. Isn’t that snappy?”

Mile 4: “I’d rather be eating a sausage biscuit and watching Celebrity Rehab.”

Mile 5: “I hate this frickin’ hill!”

Mile 6: “Gotta pee, gotta pee, gotta pee.”

Mile 6: “Gatorade looks like pee.”

Mile 7: “I don’t care what my finish time is.”

Mile 8: “I don’t want a bad finish time.”

Mile 9: “Was that a dog or an elephant that dropped that turd?”

Mile 10 as I passed the cheerleaders positioned on the route: “They are just too #$%@ cheery.”

Mile 10: “Did that senior citizen just pass me? Seriously?”

Mile 11 as I very wearily passed a little girl waving at the runners from her stroller: “Aw, crap, that makes me want to cry.”

Mile 11: “I think this headband looks dumb.”

Mile 12 as a road crew member warned me a bad storm was about ten minutes away: “Does he seriously think I’m leaving the course now? I will die of a lightning strike before I quit. Bury me with my Asics on.”

A few minutes later: “Or did he tell me that to try to speed me up? Yeah, I got nothin’ left. It ain’t gettin’ any faster than this.”

Mile 13 when I saw the finish line clock a couple of blocks away: “Go to the light, Hula. Go to the light.”

At the finish line: “GIVE me that medal ‘cause I have earned it, dang it.” And then “I am so eatin’ a big old piece of cake today.”

And I did. Italian cream with cream cheese frosting. Perhaps, if someone had been waving that in front of my nose throughout the course, I might have finished faster. I WILL work for food.

And Because I Don't Want to Give up Cake

People sometimes ask me why I run, especially if they’ve seen me slogging through wet streets on a 30 degree day or dragging down the block during weather that is hotter than a welder’s belly button. Heck, sometimes I ask MYSELF why I do it. To put it simply, I run because I can. It fulfills a need in my life, even if I have somewhat of a love-hate relationship with the sport. In a twisted, grueling way it makes me better. Even when it’s 100 degrees outside and I feel as if my skin is melting off my body and I can think of much easier ways to spend my lunch hour than mangling my feet.


I like to joke that I’m really more of a trotter than a runner since I’m so slow, but I call myself a runner because I fully believe that to become something you have to first declare it so in order to believe you can do it. Then you have to make a plan and follow through. Sometimes it takes a while to get where you want to be. I appear to be on the ten year plan for making a mediocre runner.

I have been running for three and a half years. I started one winter when I looked up and decided that middle age was biting me in the butt. I needed to drop about five pounds that had crept up on me and was likely to attract their friends, ten pounds and fifteen pounds, in the years to come, leaving me with more friends on my hips than I could easily shed. More importantly, I needed to keep my blood pressure and other vitals under control and maintain as much muscle as possible. It’s amazing how quickly the body can start to slide downhill after age forty if you’re not vigilant. High blood pressure, stroke and diabetes run in mama’s and daddy’s families, so it seemed really important to keep things in check. I’m not obsessive about weight and nutrition, but I do think it’s important to be disciplined in those things throughout your life in order to live a long healthy life. It’s also easier to love five pounds here or there than to drop thirty pounds at a time.

A few years ago, I realized I had let work and motherhood take over my life to the point that I had no time for taking care of myself. Stress had left me tired, achy and lethargic. Something had to give. My first move was to change jobs, and as soon as I had settled into the new job, I decided to clean up my diet and exercise. While I’ve never struggled with my weight, I have had more than my share of convenience store burritos and red velvet cake cross these lips, and with a genetic inclination toward heart disease, I probably have more gunk in my arteries than I’d like. And let’s face it, if you don’t get your arse moving, your heart just sits there and gums up. And THEN, I got an invitation to a class reunion, and let’s face it, nothing is more motivating than a class reunion. I looked at my daily schedule, decided I could use my lunch hour for exercise time and started moving.

I started out by walking, but that was soon boring, and I found myself wanting to move faster. I started adding spurts of jogging into my walks and before I knew it I was running the entire stretch. I was hooked. I started feeling better, I had more energy and when I went to the doctor for my annual checkup, my blood pressure was 119/78. Score. Never one to be satisfied for long, I decided to try a 5k, showed up at the local park one Saturday morning and surprised myself by running the entire race without having to walk any of it (despite the fact that I pulled a beginners boo boo and started off way too fast). I worked harder, got a little faster and found a great deal of satisfaction in each new goal I reached.

Some days are good, some not so good. I can run six miles on one day and feel great and then struggle to get through three the next. A lot of it has to do with hydration, nutrition and rest, but even on my worst running days, I feel good that I’ve gotten out there and tried really hard to slap middle age around a little. Now, here’s the thing; I am not fast. As daddy says, I am as slow as an eight day itch. I have never been particularly athletic and probably never will be. I don’t think I’ll ever be very fast either. Without getting too scientific let’s just say my body just doesn’t seem to be naturally acclimated to athletic excellence. At a 5k I usually fall somewhere in the middle of my age category. Once in a blue moon, I’ll win a second or third place medal in my age division, and that’s usually when the crowd is a little thin. I’ve been at the back of the pack in the two half marathons that I’ve done, and the competitive part of me gets very frustrated that I’m not faster. VERY frustrated. The day the seventy year old man with the six pack abs and legs of steel went flying by me at a race made me want to bang my head into the closest tree (right after banging HIS head into the closest tree out of jealousy). I know that if I did some speed work and got a running partner I could probably up my pace, but that requires a bigger commitment than I am willing to make right now, so I will continue to do my best and live with the results that I earn. I am okay with being somewhere in the middle because my health is very good for someone my age, and that’s the big reason I’m out there pounding the pavement.

Also, I find a great deal of inspiration in being where I’m at when running a race. I’m sure it’s great to be chasing the lead, but where I’m at I’m surrounded by people who are like me. They aren’t racing anyone but themselves. They are middle aged mothers who are new to racing, overweight folks trying to get healthy, senior citizens shuffling on bad feet and knees and many others who are just trying to DO IT. They are trying to prove to themselves that they CAN. They can cross the finish line and do what 95% of the people in American don’t do, and that’s to push their body past its current limitations, despite the discomfort, and meet a goal. At the half marathon this past weekend, the last racer running through the chute was a woman who finished a good thirty minutes after everyone else in the middle of a storm. The conditions were horrible during her last couple of miles, but she didn’t quit. It’s folks like her who inspire me, and there are a lot of them at each race.

And the really cool thing? The people who finish first are excited to see the folks who finish last. That’s the thing about running and racing. The people involved, no matter how fast, understand that everyone in that particular sport is reaching for a personal goal. It can be as difficult as setting a new personal record or as simple as crossing the finish line without passing out. Everyone on that course knows the mental strength and courage it takes to stand at that starting line with the crowd and push yourself to the finish line. We’ve all had days when we had a bad performance and fought the urge to puke. Runners are supportive of each other and encouraging. Many times, someone far faster than me has urged me on as I shuffled down the street. That’s why one of my favorite things to do is to run back up the course after I’ve finished and to run the last block or so with a newbie who is struggling to get to the line and needs that last bit of encouragement. (It helps you to forget how miserable you feel if someone is hollering encouraging words next to you.) It’s just great to watch someone’s face as he crosses that finish line for the very first time.

When it comes to running, I’m neither good nor swift. I AM persistent. I plan to do it as long as I enjoy it and I am physically able. I’m not particularly good at it, but it makes me feel good, both physically and spiritually, and that my friends, is worth sweating in the heat and wiping a runny nose in the cold. Flaws and all, I am a runner. I run because I can.

Run, Forrest, Run!

What a fulfilling weekend.  The Iron Mom half marathon was Saturday, and I finished it.  I wasn't the fastest kid on the block, but I wasn't the slowest either.  Definitely back of the pack, but  I did okay, which was a dadgum miracle.  You see, I didn't get to train at all in May.  We were supposed to have the race on Mother's Day weekend.  Get it?  Iron Mom?  And then our community flooded, and all of the barricades they needed were in use on flooded roads and people were struggling.  And part of the Greenway Trail they planned to use for the race was washed out.  So they bumped it to Father's Day weekend, which immediately made me groan.  First of all, June in western Kentucky is often hot and extremely humid.  Secondly, I knew my training time in May would be very limited with our trip to New York and all of Teen Angel's graduation festivities.  You can count on one hand the number of times I ran in May, and when I tried to run it was in the upper 90's, which meant long runs were impossible unless I wanted to get up at 3:30am, and THAT was not happening.  Long story short, I was very ready in May but not ready at all in June.  But daddy always said to finish what ya' start, and bailing just isn't within this stubborn body, so I ran about five miles last Tuesday and had a little talk with myself, getting myself in the right frame of mind.  I decided to grit it out, run the race, walk a little if I needed to and just do the best I could.

 

It's been hot here, and I was extremely worried about the heat yesterday morning and had Hubby stationed at four stops along the route with Smart Water and Gatorade in case the race organizers had not planned well enough for the 800 people registered.  In the end, the heat wasn't an issue.  It started out very humid but then lightly rained on us throughout the thirteen miles (thank you, Jesus!) and actually came a downpour not too long after I crossed the finish line.  I wouldn't have gotten too wet except I waited to run the last block with a couple of friends who were behind me, like the lady in the middle of this picture.  She's my neighbor  and goes to my church.  M.'s been thumbing her nose at her numerical age for years, and I just love her.  She wanted to run her first half marathon this year and started training with the lady on the left, P., who is relatively new to running and goes to my church, too.  

They ran together most of the race in the same vicinity as me, and we saw each other throughout the race.  It was a wonderful inspiration to me to see them reach their goal.  I consider it a privilege to know these ladies and to go to church with them.  It is folks like that who keep me reaching for new goals.

   

I'd like to run the race again next year, and hopefully, my training will work out better.  I'd like to be faster and stronger next year.  Much faster.  I could have shaved a good fifteen minutes off my time if I'd trained well in May.  I want to, as the race organizers said in their materials.....Run Like a Mother!

On My Feet

My running lately has been excellent, which is a dadgum miracle. Don’t ask me how it happened, but somehow I managed eleven miles Saturday. Actually, it was ten miles of running and one mile of run a block, walk a few steps, run some more, walk a few steps, repeat. That last mile kicked my arse. I was dog tired when I got back to the van. I have found that if you run far away from your car without cab money in your pocket you have no choice but to run back to your vehicle. Or hitch a ride, and while I may risk life and limb for a few daffodil pictures I’m not about to take up hitchhiking. To see my old Town and Country van in the distance is like seeing a lake in the desert. It beckons from a distance, calling my name. “Hula,” it says, “Shuffle just a little farther.” What it should say is, “Suck it up and RUN! Move it, move it, move it!!”

Eleven miles is not a big deal to many runners, but it’s a huge deal to me. I’ve been running for three years, and I have struggled with building distance. I knew it was a mental issue, and somehow, some way, about two months ago I broke through that mental weakness that was keeping me from pushing harder. I’m not sure how it happened or why it happened when it did, but it did. And to that I say, “It’s about dang time.” I am training for a half marathon that our city is holding Mother’s Day weekend. This will be the second one that I’ve run. The first was two years ago, and while I finished, I didn’t do nearly as well as I wanted to. I didn’t train enough the first time, so I struggled with that race. I don’t want to struggle this time. I want to be challenged but well prepared, which is why I’m pushing farther than my training schedule says. I want to get as close to thirteen miles as I can before the race. Slowly and surely, I’m getting there, one blister at a time. By the way, I highly recommend the Band-Aid Blister Care bandages. They’re excellent, and they’re helping me to get by while I work out the shoe-sock thing that’s causing my blisters. I’m also working on a couple of really nice calluses in my second toes. What do you call those? Index toes? By May, my feet should be gloriously ugly for flip-flop season.

My biggest challenge during those long runs is to stay focused. After that first hour, my mind can wander aimlessly if I’m not careful. Using my iPod has been a big help with that. I usually put it on “shuffle” and enjoy the surprises that brings. I plan to put together a well timed playlist for the race that will hopefully, put the right song in my ears when I need it most, but Saturday, it seemed the good Lord was giving me the songs I needed most at just the right time. During those last couple of miles as I started to get tired and struggle, a really inspirational song would drift through my ears, giving me a little extra push.

Now, I have all kinds of songs on my iPod as my music collection is pretty eclectic, but the songs that seem to inspire me most are spiritual. Nothing makes me run faster than David Crowder’s version of I Saw The Light or the Reverend James Cleveland’s Get Right Church, but the song that made me pick up my feet and keep me shuffling along during that last mile Saturday when I really wanted to sit down on the curb and wait for the bus, was this one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm1lW2RZD5k&feature=related

Blogger wasn’t letting me post the actual video, so you’ll have to live with the link. Sorry.)

I discovered Saturday that Jaci Velesquez has a really sweet way of saying, “Move it, move it, move it!”

You didn't hear it from me, but.....

It snowed here again today. Just an inch or so. But in this part of the country that’s enough to start the looting of bread and milk at the grocery store in a manner fitting Sherman’s army. Fortunately, we’re not big milk drinkers in our house and I bought three loaves of wheat berry bread last Friday for Hubby’s poker night sandwiches with the boys, so the Hula-gen’s should survive this little winter blast just fine. AND get plenty of fiber.

My distaste for winter weather is well documented on these pages, so I shall refrain from typing anything that makes my brothers and sisters in the north roll their eyes. Nothin’ makes a Yankee more annoyed than someone south of Indiana whining about a few centimeters of snow. Sorry, we have a weak constitution when it comes to freezing weather and snow. Now a good old fashioned tornado? That’s something we can sink our three teeth into.

I have been very consistent in my running in the last few weeks, so I really wanted to run today. All morning I watched the snow fall and dreaded the idea of running in the cold, wet weather. In between all of the phone calls and memos my head was all, “Run, skip it. Run, skip it.” I finally decided I should just suck it up and give it a whirl. I figured if it was really horrible I’d circle a few blocks and head back to work. By the time I reached the locker room that voice in my head was, “Skip it, skip it, SKIP IT!” And finally, a big, “Are you CRAZY?” That voice in my head is a noisy wench. And lazy, too. I thought the best way to shut her up would be to layer up and then just hit the door in a run before I had time to weenie out of running. I threw on two layers of running pants, two shirts, my gloves and then tucked my hair into a hat and ear warmers to keep my head dry. I was wishing I had my trail shoes ‘cause as Lt. Dan says, you need to keep your feet dry and don’t get killed, which oddly enough is good advice for running on the streets of this town amid soggy weather and a host of stupid drivers.

I burst out the door and hit the street, and tried to remind myself that folks in Minnesota run in this kind of weather every day. Except I’m not from Minnesota. It was cold. And windy. And wet. I concentrated on staying focused on my pace and not the weather. I also kept looking down to keep from splashing into a puddle because of the whole wet feet thing. The tap, tap of my feet sounded in my head as I found a comfortable pace and put block after block behind me. I turned a corner and the wind hit me in the face at full force. I looked at my shirt and saw that it was speckled with snow. I kept moving and told myself to soak it in. Savor the moment, Hula. Enjoy the miracle that is snow. Isn’t it beautiful? But my head was whining, “But it’s COLD.” And then something clicked. I’m not sure why or how, but the voice in my head shut up, and I noticed how quiet my surroundings were. The traffic was less than usual, and the streets had a nice silence to them. The snow had covered enough ground and scattered little sparkles along fence tops and lawn decorations to make it really pretty. Instead of looking at the snow, I really began to SEE it. And enjoy it as it drifted from the sky and onto my shoulders. I rounded Fountain Avenue, and the chimes on the Methodist Church began ringing a hymn to mark the stroke of noon. And it was one of those moments when I felt very in touch with nature and very spiritual. And I didn’t notice the cold anymore. In fact, I felt inspired to run well. I did the four miles I had time for within my lunch hour and finished quicker than usual. It was a good run. A beautiful run. I didn’t mind all of the stares I got from drivers thinking I was crazy. And I really didn’t mind the snow. I truly enjoyed it.

Just don’t tell anyone. A Hula Girl has a reputation to uphold.

This What The Heck Moment Brought to You by Marlboro

So I’m running at lunch yesterday in the bright midday sun, minding my own business when a passing car slows down in the lane nearest to me. An elderly woman in the passenger seat who looked as if she could barely sit up and draw a breath, pulls the cigarette from her mouth and crabbily says to me, “Watch after those knees.”

My initial reaction was to shout, “Thanks. Watch after those lungs! And that heart! And your skin!” But I didn’t. Only because God performed some kind of miracle right then and there that was the equivalent of parting the Red Sea. Seriously, what the heck?!!

Why It's Dangerous to Run After Dark in a Poorly Lit Neighborhood

Whilst dashing past a street light last night I took a deep breath and accidentally sucked a bug into my nose and down my throat. I didn’t taste it. Much.

A mile and a half later I took another deep breath and sucked another bug into my mouth and down my throat. It tasted like chicken.

Running A Temperature

Holy moly! Sweet mother of Mabel! Check this out. Weather.com said our high temperature today was 71 stinkin’ degrees. Sweeeet. I ran outside today at lunch for the first time since before the ice storm…and wore shorts. Yes, shorts. And let me take just a moment to apologize to the people driving up and down our city streets at noon today for the pearly whiteness of my legs. The sun was peeking through the clouds and it was warm. I sweated like a thief in Sunday school. Great, big stinky drops and I loved it. I had to dodge only four piles of storm debris, and I had more energy than I’ve had in a while. I did startle two tourists in our downtown area when I rounded a corner and hollered, “Whoot!” at them. No wonder people are scared of southerners.

And guess what. Tomorrow? 76 degrees. Ha! This weather is a balm to my spirit. A salve to my soul. A boost to my droopy attitude. It tells me that spring WILL come after all. That winter’s end is drawing near, and flip-flop weather is soon to follow. And all those names I’ve been calling Mother Nature lately? I take them all back. I guess she’s not a total wench after all.

Shut Up And Sit Down, Hula

I’ve been somewhat frustrated with my running lately. I did a four mile race recently and was lousy. I wanted to improve over last year’s time for that race, and I did not. In fact, I was a minute slower. I have been winded and out of steam for about three weeks. I have blamed it on exhaustion, the heat and asthma, everything but me. I have whined and moaned and griped and have been all blah, blah, blah and waaa, waaa, waaa about it. In fact, I whined more than I ran last week. I was so busy belly aching about it that I couldn’t see the root of the problem….until I opened up my email this morning.

Like you, I get a lot of stuff in my email-box, everything from goofy jokes and funny commercials to mandates directing me to drop everything this second and pray a special prayer to keep from going to Hell. Amidst all of the junk emails that had collected over the weekend was a little nugget that I have nicknamed Why Hula Pulled Her Head out of Her Butt and Got a Better Attitude. This came just when I needed it, (Is that God winking at me?) and I’m going to share it with you. Promise me that you’ll watch it. I think it’s worth four minutes and 36 seconds of your time. You may have even seen it before because the father and son in this video have been quietly winning hearts in the running world for several years. In all of the reading I’ve done on running since I started this hobby last year, I had not stumbled across them…until now…..and I’m kind of glad it happened now and not earlier.

Their story is one of a young man who asked his father to run a marathon with him, even though neither one of them was a runner. He did. They tried another and then another. They kept going, eventually tackling the Iron Man Triathlon. As you watch this, keep in mind that the Iron Man consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride and a 26.2 mile run (full marathon). Now, you’ll have to go watch the video before you’ll understand the rest of this post. If you’re a softy like me (this means you janjanmom and mia) you might want to grab a tissue. And because I’m a blogging idiot and haven’t taken the time to figure out the whole how to post a video thing you’ll just have to use this link. Go ahead. I’ll wait. I mean it, don’t cheat. I’m waiting.

Team Hoyt video

Done yet? Okay. How moving was THAT?! Since 1979 they have competed in 958 events, including 224 triathlons and 65 marathons (25 at Boston). They have won numerous awards, and their paces are fast. They are not in the back of the pack.

Well, I had to watch this video twice and when I quit I told myself to just SHUT up and sit down. “That’s right, Hula. Quit your itchen’ and shut up. You’re mouthin’ about being slow while some folks are climbing over mountains much bigger. The good Lord gave you two good legs when others have none. You’ve got two good lungs while others can’t breathe, and two good eyes and ears when some folks can’t see or hear (including your father in law.) If that man can run, swim and bike a triathlon while carrying, dragging and pushing his son, you can haul your happy butt down the highway for a few miles and be happy that God gave you the tools to do it and another day to try. So just shut up.” And I did. And you know what? I ran at lunch today and had the best run I’ve had in a month. If you need me, I’ll be right over here in the corner thanking the good Lord for all of my blessings and keeping my mouth shut. And if you’d like to read more about Team Hoyt and their trials and successes, you can check out their website. I highly recommend it.

The Post Game Show

The trail run was definitely a learning experience for me. You learn a lot about yourself when you’re trudging through the woods for four hours, and it would be a mistake not to reflect on that. I am so very glad I did it, and I am proud to be able to say I did it. I wanted so badly to wear the green shirt they included in our race packet we picked up the night before the race, and I didn’t feel like I could wear it unless I finished the race. I will wear it out now. I wanted to sleep with it Saturday night, like Ralphie did with his Red Ryder BB gun in A Christmas Story. Putting it on was more satisfying than looking at seven loads of freshly washed and folded laundry on a sunny summer Saturday.

Also, it occurred to me that I wasn’t just running for myself Saturday. I was running for all you middle aged folks who want to try something but are afraid you can’t do it…for those of you who weren’t stars of the basketball team in high school but still have dreams of being an athlete. I hope YOU will leap with both feet into something you have been thinking about doing but have been afraid to try because you think you’re too old or that it’s out of your reach. The average age of the people in this race was 42. Every race I’ve been to, including this one, had several people who were obviously just trying to prove something to themselves and no one else. There are a lot of Phil’s, Joe’s and Hula’s out there, but I wish there were more. I encourage you to be one of them.

Among the many things I learned this past weekend:

1. Michael Jordan was right. Winning is 10% skill and 90% mental strength. I really get it now. I thought I understood that before the race, but I didn’t know diddly about having your mind in the right place until my little mental breakdown on Mile Marker Nine.
2. I picked a rough run for my first half marathon, especially with the weather. I should have tried a pavement course in Memphis, Nashville or St. Louis first. Trail running is a bear. I did add a stripe to my badge for doing it on ice and snow, though.
3. I need to train more before I try another half marathon. No doubt about it. I should not have had to walk any of that course. I didn’t even have the energy to crawl into the hot tub Saturday night. My legs are still sore, and I am not as far along in my training as I thought I was.
4. I am even more stubborn than I thought. Really…really..stubborn. Donkey with big ears stubborn…and while sometimes that’s a problem…sometimes it’s a good thing.
5. Overall, runners are nice people. They understand why you’re out there, when others around you don’t. They get it, and they are supportive of the strangers running around them. I can’t believe Phil was honest enough to tell me he cried during his first half marathon. He didn’t know me from Adam but was willing to share that because he understood what I was going through. Several other faster runners shouted out words of encouragement to me as they flew by me. I like my fellow runners. I really, really do.
6. Bloggers are great people, too. You guys left some really kind comments for me and said prayers for me Saturday. Thank you all so much for your support. It was absolutely wonderful, and I really appreciate it.
7. Most importantly, I am loved. I have an absolutely wonderful family. We have endured all kinds of heartaches together, many of which are waaay to personal to blog about, but we always prop each other up. There were more than 300 runners there Saturday, and while a few of them had a spouse or friend waiting on them, NO ONE had the welcoming party I did. I am one lucky gal, and if I never run another race, I feel as if I have won the best prize of all.

Going Home

March 8, 8:14am
I head into the trail for the second leg of the race. The quick visit with my family has buoyed my spirits and given me the confidence to go on. I don't realize yet how fragile my confidence is, though. My bathroom stop almost wasn't necessary making me worry a little about dehydration. Running in cold weather is tricky. You don't always realize how quickly you are losing fluids because you don't feel sweaty and hot like you do when you run in the heat. You can get into trouble fast. I make a mental note to force down more sports drink at each aid stop and to listen to my body if I start getting light headed.

Immediately the trail takes a steep rise, reminding my legs that I've been running two hours. I didn't make it to this part of the trail during my practice run the week before, so I don't know that the next three miles will be the toughest on the course. The path winds higher and higher, sucking the air out of my lungs and forcing me to slow to a crawl. The path is slick, and the wind off the lake is sharper and colder here. It pelts me in the face, making me wince. It blows snow from the tree branches onto my head, surprising me. It has blown over the tracks of the previous runners, making the trail less obvious. The lake is beautiful though. I try to take it in, but can't make myself care about its beauty. I am distracted by the slope of this hill. I am walking again. I just don't have the energy to move any faster. I stretch each leg higher and higher with every step, thinking the trail will drop any minute. It does not. I am reminded of the time we walked up hill to Clingman's Dome in Gatlinburg. My side starts to hurt. I try to ignore it. The sun is bright now. When did the clouds go away? I am bothered that I didn't realize this sooner. I take a step with my right foot and it slides out from under me. I grab a young tree next to the trail and hang on. I don't go down, but it startles me, and I realize how tired I am and how unprepared I am for twelve miles of trail. I have gone only a half mile since the welcome station pit stop, and I simply can't go on. I stand there holding onto the tree, trying desperately not to be frustrated. Just keep moving, Hula. Just keep moving. I cannot force myself to move. I am stuck to the tree, unsure of my next move. I want to go home. I think about how warm my bed is at home and how the world won't end if I bail. But bailing isn't easy. Going back down the trail to the welcome station is not a good option. It's too steep and too dangerous. I have to move forward, but the next aid station is a good three miles away. I just don't think I have the strength to take another step. I wonder how I got so low so fast. My confidence is gone. I feel completely out of my league. I realize I should have trained more. Up ahead I see Phil moving on slowly but surely. Joe is right behind him. I stand in my spot, glued to the tree. I decide to have a little chat with God...again.

8:34am
All I ask for is strength and wisdom. I want to get out of this dadgum forest. I want to MOVE. I am mad at myself...and frustrated. Then it hits me. I finally realize just how much of a role mental focus plays in doing something like this. I thought I knew before now, but I really didn't. I get it now. I know I have lost focus and need to get it together. I make a plan. Just will yourself to get to the top of this hill, Hula, then focus on the next section. Break it down into tiny pieces and chew up each piece slowly. I focus my eyes on the top of the hill, point to the spot I want to be and force myself to turn loose of the tree. I take a step...and then another. It's as if my feet have become unglued. Ha! I am moving again, slowly. I have to pause next to another tree a couple of minutes later but pause only briefly. I press on and somehow, I am at the top of the hill. This forest may kick my butt but not without a fight from me. I see Phil in the distance. Joe is much closer to me. He is holding onto a tree and catching his breath. He moves again, and so do I, grateful for the small downhill slope ahead. It doesn't last long. Another big hill is in front of me, but I have just passed the nine mile marker. I feel a little better. I am a little closer to the aid station.

Mile Marker 10
I have trudged through another mile, stopping to catch my breath in several places but never stopping long. The last mile has been a struggle. I know it will take every ounce of energy and mental strength I have to scratch out the next couple of miles. I am trying to keep my mind focused on anything but the amount of miles left between me and the edge of these woods. I am walking the whole time. I cannot run. My left thigh is throbbing, and I'm hungry. I need an energy gel. I regret giving my fanny pack to Teen Angel back at the welcome station because it was weighing me down. I want to sit down. I think about sitting down. I think about those old movies where people wander around in the dessert or the frozen tundra and die because they sit down and can't get up. I laugh at how dramatic I'm feeling. I want to go home and sit down in my comfy recliner. I reach the top of another hill and smile because a big drop is ahead. Knowing I can make up some time I start running again. Hmm, not so bad. It feels okay. Not good, just okay. I am right behind Joe and he steps aside to let me pass. I can tell he is still struggling. I glance at my watch, realize I'm farther behind than I had hoped and decide not to check the time anymore. A little farther down the trail I suddenly hear pounding behind me and someone shouting, "Passing on the left." I jump off the trail as another runner flies by me. He is obviously on his second lap through the trails. I have just been lapped by a full marathoner. I am in awe. In the next ten minutes, two more runners pass me. One is wearing shorts and moving so fast he is sweating. I think he's the runner from China. He must be doing eight minute miles through these woods on snow and ice. Wow. Again, I feel out of my league, but before I can dwell on it I see the next aid station right in front of me. Please let them have an energy gel.

Aid Station 4
Phil is at the aid station. The volunteer manning the station tells us we're at mile marker eleven. It dawns on me I have to grind out only three more miles in order to finish this thing. Surely, I can handle three more miles, even if I have to walk the entire thing. I want to finish. It does matter if I bail....to me. It really does. I decide not to ask for a ride back to the finish line and watch Phil run down the trail. He seems strong.

I discover that one of the pitfalls of being in the back of the pack is that all of the good snacks are picked over by the time you get to the aid stations. The only flavor of energy gels is raspberry. It doesn't taste anything like raspberry. I suck it down anyway. I drink some water and sports drink but don't take advantage of the porta potty. I worry that I don't have to pee. I take off again. I don't see Joe anywhere behind me. The sun has started to melt a little of the snow on the trail, leaving slushy muddy spots on the course. Mud splashes over the tops of my shoes with every other step, and I am grateful for the duct tape wrapped around my shoes. My feet are dry. I just couldn't take a blister at this point in the game. The trail is easing out now. The hills are smaller and fewer. I start to speed up. Three more runners pass me. They are moving fast. I want to move with their fluidity and speed. I feel clumsy compared to them. Oh well. It doesn't matter. All that matters is finishing, even if I have to drag myself over that finish line. I will do this. I WILL do this.

Mile Marker 12
The gel is starting to kick in, or maybe it's just my confidence coming back. I feel better now. I am running all of the time, even leaping over a small fallen tree. I am almost giddy. I try to focus on the beauty around me but can't. I don't care about the scenery. I quit caring about the scenery some three miles back. I try to sing songs in my head. I write a blog in my head. I make a list of people I need to call. I look for Phil and can barely see him up ahead. I don't see Joe anywhere. I pass the twelve mile marker and shout for joy...out loud. Two more miles. I can do this. I know now that I can do this. In less than a half mile I will be out of the trails and back onto pavement. Sweet, glorious, even pavement. I reach a clearing and realize I'm not far from the trail head. I am moving at an even clip and feel good. I hear someone shouting my number and up ahead I see Hubby standing at the end of the trail. He is waiting for me, shouting me in. God, I love that man. I move even faster. Before I know it I am at the end of the trail. I grab a kiss from Hubby. He offers me water, and I turn it down. A race director asks to see my number. He has to record my lap. I pull up my jacket and show him the #94 pinned to my chest and shout "94". He points to the aid station on my left and tells me I can head right toward the highway and the finish line when I'm ready. I ignore the aid station. Go home, Hula, I think. Go home. Take it on home and finish what you came to do. One point seven miles of running left. That's all. It seems like nothing compared to what I've just done. I start running again.

The Last Mile
As I near the highway I see Phil to my left. He is walking. He has lost his steam. As I near him I tell him I can't imagine doing three more laps like the 50 milers. He laughs and talks about how he's lost his wind. I tell him this was my first half marathon. He says I'm doing great. "You're moving well and you're still smiling," he says. "The first time I ran a half marathon I cried," he tells me. I am grateful for his honesty. I don't feel so bad about my mental breakdown on mile nine. I wave bye and move on. I'm anxious to go home. I hit the highway and start up the hill over the canal. It doesn't seem as tall as it did when I came over it four hours earlier. Hubby drives by me in the van, rolls down the window and whistles at me. I laugh. I have snot running out of both nostrils. The sun has melted most of the ice and snow off the highway. I have a clear path. I start to lose steam about a half mile from the finish line and have to walk for a few yards. Up ahead I see the race volunteer waving me to the right onto the road that will lead me into the tiny town that hosts the finish line. I start to run again. I want to finish running. I no longer feel the throb in my thighs or the dryness in my mouth. I am tired, but I don't feel tired. At this moment I feel like I could run forever. I AM going to finish. I really am. I see my family standing near the finish line with their signs and grass skirts. They start shouting, beckoning me toward the end. I pound away the last steps, waving to them as I pass them and breeze into the path marked by orange cones that takes me across the finish line.


I...am...done. I did it. I shout for joy and immediately ask for my time. I can't resist. Four hours, ten minutes and 47 seconds. An eternity. When the results are posted, I will be near the bottom of my division. I had hoped to come in under four hours, but I am disappointed only for a moment. Teen Angel showers me with balloons and a gift, a white tank top covered in flamingos. I tell them I want a Coke, the real thing, not diet and with lots of ice. Hubby says we'll stop and get one on the way home. "Let's go home," I tell him, smiling. We start across the street when I look up and see Phil coming down the hill. He is headed toward the finish line. "Wait," I say. I start shouting at Phil, telling him to bring it home, telling him what a good job he did. He smiles gratefully as he passes me, and says thank you, thank you. Our eyes connect for a second, and a flicker of understanding passes over his face. He knows what this day means to me. I know what it means to him. I watch him cross the line. I wonder what happened to Joe. I hope he finishes, too. My exhaustion suddenly hits me, and I realize I need to sit down. "Okay, let's go home now," I say. "Let's go home".

Ready, Set......

Whew! We escaped the first round of snow with nary a flurry. However, the second round has moved in, and there are plenty of flakes in the air. See.

The forecast says up to six inches, but I’m hoping for no more than three. This stuff isn’t supposed to end until early tomorrow morning, so I won’t have any idea what I’m dealing with until I wake up in the morning. I’ll be doing the dance of joy if this system slides north and we get little accumulation. One thing’s for sure, the wind is a killer right now, and it needs to die down significantly in the next twelve hours or it could be a real problem. I’m planning for the worst and hoping for the best.

Ear band-check
Sock cap-check
Vaseline to protect and warm face-check
Chap stick-check
Neck gaiter-check
Under Armor, top and bottoms-check
Dry weave shirt-check
Wind pants-check
Wind jacket-check
Gloves-check
Hand warmers-check
Thin socks-check
Thick socks-check
Plastic bags to layer between socks-check
Extra socks-check
Trail shoes-check
Duct tape to insulate and waterproof trail shoes-check
Racing bib-pick up before 5:30am
Energy gels-check
Bananas-check ($1.39 a pound today!)
Smart Water-Hubby is picking up
Bag of dry, clean clothes-check
Fanny pack-check
Mental health evaluation-postponed

My New Favorite Number

Well, there’s no backing out now. I sent in my registration for the Trail Run. Can you believe I’d pay $65 to torture myself? I don’t want to think about the amount of crazy in that decision. I bought the shoes (another $100) and have been breaking them in, and I blogged about it, so I’m committed right? The race is March 8th, and as that day inches closer, it’s all I can think about as I go about my daily business.

14.25 miles. I hear it in my ears. It pops up in my dreams. I think about it when I’m driving down the road and singing along with Fergie. 14. 25 miles. It bounces around in my brain when I’m taking a shower, cooking dinner and ironing clothes. 14.25 miles…..over dirt paths…up and down hills…dodging puddles and jumping over roots and rocks. March in Kentucky is unpredictable. It could be warm. It could snow. It could be wet and cool. It will definitely be muddy, and I will definitely get dirty. This is what one guy looked like when he finished two years ago.

Hmmm. I guess I shouldn’t count on my white shoes staying white. I’m trying not to be nervous about this thing, but I really am. I’ve thought about it so much that I’m ready to tackle it and get it over.…all 14.25 miles. Fourteen miles is nothing to a serious runner, but remember, I’m a pokey, 40-something woman who never ran for anything other than Italian Crème Cake until a year ago. I won’t be winning any medals next weekend. This race is all about beating myself.

Since I’m a Trail Run virgin I’ve tried to set realistic goals. Most importantly, I don’t want to fall and hurt myself. I’ve already taken one tumble this past year. I don’t need another. Besides, there are two to three miles between every aid station. That’s a long way to hobble. I want to run as much of the race as I can. I want to finish and to cross the finish line running. I’m guessing it will take me about three hours, but I’m not going to worry about time….much….I don’t think. At the end of the day I just want to be able to say that I ran my first half marathon…all 14.25 stinkin’ miles.

The other thing I’m looking forward to is being exposed to some seriously strong runners. This race also has a full marathon (26 miles), a 60K (36 miles) and a 50 mile run. 50 miles. That’s right. 50 miles. It will take them anywhere from seven to eleven hours to finish. I can’t imagine. I want to imagine, but I can’t. Therefore, I shall watch, and hopefully, get a little inspiration for the season. Oh, and did I mention that the average age of the runners is 42 years old? How about that? This race is for mature folks, most of who are like me, running from old age. Old age…the other thing that runs through my mind almost as much as that 14.25 miles.

Wing Beneath My Wings

It was a blustery day in the forty acre woods, Pooh fans. Thirty-six degrees and wind gusts of 27 miles per hour. That would have been a good thing to check before I ran today. Bluh! Running around the deck of a fishing ship in the north Atlantic would have been easier. Anyone behind me probably thought I’d had a two finger tequila breakfast, the way I was drifting on the sidewalk. It was brutal. Note to self: Running with the wind BEHIND you most of the time is easier than running INTO the wind. Trust me, I reeeeeally needed the wind behind me today.

I last ran ten days ago. Ouch. I worked overtime all last week, including a half day on Saturday. Saturday afternoon and evening, we had a birthday celebration for Hubby and Mama J., and yesterday afternoon was spent curled up in the fetal position trying to catch up on sleep and watching 100 One hit Wonders on VH1 Classic. With the exception of one aerobics class Thursday night, I didn’t exercise at all last week, and I felt it today. I also ate a lot of meals on the run last week, things like pizza and candy bars. I felt like a lazy old slug oozing down the street today. I kept slogging away, though. I have just nineteen days until the trail run. Nineteen measly days to get my shoes broken in and log enough miles to feel as if my pokey butt can withstand the 14.5 mile test.

The closer I get to the date, the more nervous I get. I was so afraid last week that I’d talk myself out of it, that I went to the store and bought trail shoes. I’m too tight to spend that kind of money on something and not use it, so I kind of forced my own hand…er feet… by buying the shoes. Now I have to get back on track, building up my mileage and eating right. Poor nutrition can lead to a lot of, shall we say gastric distress, during a long run. I’d rather not have to cop a squat in the middle of the woods. I’ve got to clean up my diet pronto, or I’ll be toting the Sears catalog in my pit stop bag. I also have to get my mind right or I’ll start wavering the first time I get a side ache or a little winded on the big day.

And that’s what I was trying to do today when I hit the street, get my mind right. I wasn’t doing a very good job of it. The wind was pounding down my spirit, and the sunshine disappeared behind the clouds as soon as I started running. My energy level was low, and I ended up running on fumes. About two-thirds of the way into the run, I was feeling pooped and starting to act like a big ol’ quitter, when a little blessing dropped out of the sky. As I crossed a street, I spied a woman sitting on her front porch in her housecoat with her head wrapped in a towel. Obviously, she had just showered and for some reason was sitting out in the cold, having a very loud phone conversation. She didn’t look like the exercising kind, but apparently, she appreciates the effort. As I passed in front of her house, she paused long enough in her phone call to shout out to me, “You go girl!”, and immediately went back to her phone call. I didn’t know that woman, but I sure am glad she took 1.2 seconds to holler out those three little words of encouragement. It made me feel good. Like I’m not a quitter. And that I need to quit thinking like one. It put enough wind beneath my feet to get me through the last mile, and I actually ended the run with a pretty good sprint. Isn’t it amazing what a little comment or word of encouragement can do for a body? I wish I could remember to do that every day for someone. You never know when it’s the words they need to keep them hanging in there. I may just run by that woman’s house every day during the next nineteen days, in hopes of getting a little push here or there. Better yet, I’ll see if she can plop herself on every third mile of the trail run. I don’t care if she brings her phone, as long as she remembers to holler at me.

Mind Games

One of my goals for the new year is to increase my running speed. I’d like to move up from the back of the pack to the middle of the pack in local races. Finishing a 5k without feeling like I’m going to die is a secondary goal, but I can only focus on one thing at a time, so speed is the big priority now. I use the term “speed” loosely, by the way since I’m a loooong way from a 6 minute mile. I couldn’t do a six minute mile if a tornado were chasing me. I need some help and I’m not rich enough for a personal coach so I did what any American does when he needs free information these days…I Googled it….and then went to the library. I loaded up last week on running books and have been soaking up all kinds of advice. I’ve been trying to put that advice to good use on my latest runs, but it’s kind of tricky because most of it involves mental exercises. The experts say to use positive thinking when you’re running, but I can’t seem to get the knack of it. For instance:

What I’m supposed to tell myself when adding an extra mile: “I think I can. I think I can.”
What I say: “You have freakin’ lost your mind if you think I can add one more mile. Besides high blood pressure can’t be that bad. Maybe I’ll just quit salting all of my vegetables.”

What I’m supposed to tell myself when I’m starting to lag: “Just focus on getting to the end of this block. Then keep going and focus on the end of the next block.”
What I say: “If I hang a left on the other side of this building, I can cut through their yard, dodge two pit bulls, hit that alley and be back to home base in no time.”

What is supposed to motivate me to get out there on days when I don’t feel like it: The good feeling I’ll get when I’m done.
What really works: Someone running backwards in front of me and dangling a donut on a stick.

What is supposed to be my reason for pounding the pavement: Keeping away heart attacks, stroke and diabetes.
What actually makes me do it: The fear of my backside becoming the size of my grandma’s.

What is supposed to be my reward for reaching a running milestone: A new jogging outfit or running shoes.
What I really get: A large chili cheese dog with fried mushrooms.

What I’m supposed to be tuned into while running: The rhythm of my heart and the pull on my muscles.
What I’m actually listening to: Dirty Prince songs from the 80’s.

What I’m supposed to be focusing on while moving down the street: One particular point in front of me.
What I’m really looking at: That hot construction worker in those tight Levis on the other side of the street.

Needless to say I’m easily distracted. Getting into the game mentally is going to take a while. I have a new tactic I’m going to try tomorrow though. I’ll run directly toward the donut store instead of to the park. And I’m going to buy a new jogging outfit now instead of later…something with pockets big enough to hold a jelly donut.

Put Me In Coach

I’ve decided that I’m a real weenie. I don’t want to be, but I am. I’m just not rough and rugged like some folks. Part of the problem is my size. I’m scrawny and weak. I have no muscle. In fact, if my survival depended upon climbing a rope, I would be a goner. I’m especially lacking in upper body strength. If you’re old enough to remember those President’s Physical Fitness tests they used to have in grade school, you know what I mean when I tell you that I failed the chin-up portion. I could dangle from the bar all day, but I couldn’t pull myself up. In fact, I have years of mediocre PE performance under my belt. Oh, I tried to be athletic. I warmed the bench in grade school basketball and summer softball, but the closest I ever came to athletic prowess was playing on the championship intramural volleyball team in college. Trust me, it’s not too hard to win when most of the other teams are drinking their way through the tournament. I was proud of our win though, and still have the T-shirt after all these years. Post college, I found success in other areas, and that was enough to make me feel good about myself for most of my adult life, but that desire to be good at a sport, any sport has never gone away. And I’m not giving up. Barring any major illnesses or disasters, I still have a few more years to take a shot at it before my knees give out, the gout creeps in and the bad vision screws up my depth perception. I think that’s why I’ve taken up running. I figure if I stay at it long enough I’ll eventually outlast enough folks in my age bracket to win some races. In other words, I don’t have to be fast, I just have to be tenacious.

Tenacity is what I need in the next few months. A friend of mine has challenged me to run in a trail race in early March. The distances? 26K (13 miles), 26 miles, 50 miles or 60 miles. Up and down hills, over the river and through the woods. Muddy if it’s raining, which it tends to do here in March. Blech. IF I decide to do this I will do the 26K. Thirteen miles is nothing to experienced runners, but I’ve never run that far before. I’m sure I would have to walk some of it. I…am….so….scared…of….thirteen….miles. But…I’m….tempted. I want to see if I can do it. My only goal would be to finish the race.

I really am intimidated by the challenge. I thought a little research would help, so I did what I do whenever I want to learn something new, I Googled it. What did I find? Page after page of folks with blisters the size of half dollars, ACL injuries, people throwing up in mid race. People with diarrhea in mid race. People falling down and hurting themselves. I read some articles from Runner’s World. Same thing. Nothing to quell my fears there. Just a bunch of people pushing their bodies to the limit by running 100 miles and such. And while I don’t have the stomach for that kind of test, a part of me would like to be that person…just one time. That’s why I will toy with the idea of running this race over the next few weeks. It’s why I will pick up my running schedule and start pushing myself down the street harder. It’s why I’ll check out the trail shoes when I’m shopping in Nashville after Christmas. And maybe…just maybe….I’ll shed my weenie-ness for one day and give it a shot. I don’t know…..

Still Running

I ran another race this morning and was thoroughly mediocre. Nah, make that pitiful. I finished though, and that's the important thing. I wanted it to be a good race day for me, but I suspected beforehand that it wouldn't. When I ran earlier this week, I struggled so badly that I decided not to run again until today. I have been exhausted and stressed over work and some family matters. I told myself I just needed rest. That was just an excuse, and I knew it about half way through today's run. I was slow because I didn't get ready for it. I didn't put my heart and mind into it. If I want to be faster, I need to work harder at it, plain and simple. If I'm not willing to work for it, then I need to be satisfied with just finishing the race and quit worrying about time. BUT I WANT TO BE FASTER, so I need to get off my candy *** and do something about it.

I gave myself a mental tongue lashing as I hit the finish line, and told myself to refrain from putting on the pity party hat. Why? Because there were way too many shining examples of dedication around me today. There was the first grader who ran and finished only a minute behind me. There was the really young boy who ran a five and a half minute mile in the youth run. There were several 40, 50, 60 and 70-somethings who ran very well. But above all, there was Frank. Remember the elderly fellow I told you about in June who ran in the same race I did? Well, he was back today, and about a minute after I crossed the finish line, he came through the chute, holding his head. Blood was dripping from his face. Somewhere back in the race, Frank fell. He busted his head pretty good. It brought back memories of my spill a few weeks ago. But he kept running...and running...and running. He finished, bloody head and all. He spent time with the medics. An ambulance came, and he had to go with them. Probably for liability reasons. He was walking when he left, so I think he was okay. But he finished. he trudged through several blocks of blood and pain...to finish. God, he's inspiring. He gave me a butt kicking today and didn't even know it. Thank you Frank, for not letting up on me. I hope you're at the next race, too, because I need you kicking my hind end all the way to the finish line. If you can do it, so can I. That's why I'm leaving my pity party hat on the shelf. Frank didn't ask for one, and I shouldn't either.