Hills, Like White Elephants: GA ING 2010 Marathon Race Report

Prologue:
This is my third time sitting down to write my 2010 GA marathon story. It has been 3 weeks since I ran ING and I think I can finally write what I have long wanted to say. This is not to say that I am so full of myself that I really think anyone cares or wants to know-- or doesn't already know for that matter-- how the marathon went. But I need to tell it.

Just so I can move on.

For me a good story is one that first and foremost entertains. Second, I like a story I can chew on, taste. You know, one that may not necessarily inspire--though that is the ideal-- but at the very least beg a thought. So when I come to write at my blog those are my intentions: first to entertain, second to leave the reader with something to think about.

My favorite compliment, well favorite after being told I am thin or pretty or funny, is when someone brings up something I wrote. Even if they didn't agree with it, like it, say something nice or whatever, I know--just by them remembering it and mentioning it-- that something I had to say stuck with them beyond words on a page, (or screen if you are the hair splitting type.) That is huge. And it let's me know that. Me? I. Was in your brain-- whether you liked it or not. And well, that's a little bit of power, don't you think? (Hmmm, maybe THAT is the hurricane I am looking for . . .)

So, the first time I started writing my race story I was bored by the second paragraph. And surely if I was bored writing it I was fairly certain you would be bored reading it. So I quit on it. Set it aside.

Now, I like to tell stories. Anyone who has ever met me will be the first to say they are not all good. And if you are long time reader of this blog you know first hand that I am not afraid to tell a long ass boring story. Sometimes, okay a lot of times, it is just Nat wanting to hear herself talk about herself. And I will warn you, this is a little bit of that.

The marathon story though, I think we all know that is always one of my favorite stories to tell. I want to do it justice. I want to tell it right and if I am being honest, I do want my little 26.2 mile journey to inspire because, well, the marathon does inspire me. It is always a story and that story, no matter how it plays out does have a viable end. It is up to you, the runner, to reach that end--the finish line-- and live to tell that story and all the delicious details. And I have to say that one of the very things that motivated me during the marathon three Sundays ago when I was most ready and so desperate to quit, was that I really wanted to see how the story that day ended. That kept me going. Well, one of many things that kept me going. And that day, I needed a lot of things to keep me going.

Let me tell you. That was one hell of a "story" I ran. But trying to tell about it has some how been harder, even more painful that the 3 hours and forty one minutes and some odd seconds it took to run the damn thing.

On my second writing I thought for sure I could do it. Ryan was out of town, the kids were occupied--Carmella with a play date and Beau with a 250 piece Lego Star Wars model. There were no excuses! I had time to write. . .

As I sat down to write I found myself going down the same path as before and not exactly telling the story. I was frustrated. Beau, next to me with his gazillion Lego pieces spread out around him, was also frustrated. He wanted my help. I told him that putting a gazillion tiny puzzle pieces together to form a rocket ship was too frustrating for me and would just make me cranky, okay, crankier. I tried to tell him that doing the hard work himself would make him feel good-- proud in the end. But even as I said that I knew that wasn't exactly true.

Hadn't I worked my ass off these past months through injury, illness and training? Pushing myself through long training runs in subfreezing temperatures. Running even when I didn't always want to. Didn't I do the hard thing? Hadn't I earned myself a good race? Wasn't I due? And while I will I admit that finishing did feel good--mostly because it was over-- it wasn't what I expected. It was not the catharsis that I was looking for, the denouement that I really, really needed.

How in the hell was I going to write a feel good race report about a race that left me feeling not so good, still so un, undone?

So for awhile I decided the answer was that I wasn't going to write about it. I mean really, couldn't we just leave it that it sucked, it hurt and I am just fat, old and slow.

The problem of course is that writing is a little like running for me. I always feel guilty that I am not writing. For some reason, and I have had this in my head at least since I was in middle school is that I am suppose to be writing. I promise you, no one ever told me that I needed to or should be writing. Just like no one ever told that I should be a runner. But not doing those two things causes me a great of deal of guilt and inner turmoil when I don't do them. And most of the time, I just live with it. I get by.

So the not writing has nibbled at me to no end. The other day I went out for my first long run since the marathon and I realized that problem was not about me having to write about a bad race but rather one of me trying to write what I didn't know about. Funny how the simplest answer is often the right answer. I know. I've heard it a thousand times over. You know it, don't you?

Say it with me now: write what you know. . .

And that is when I realized that I needed to write about the elephant in the room. The one that has been hanging out with me for the past 8 months . That I need to write about my white elephant and say the things I that haven't said. Because that is my story. The story that has been hurting me, troubling me and has kept me away from blogging. And for certain, if you have made it this far you've probably figured out that the only thing I am borrowing from Hemingway is his title.

The Race: Ga ING Marathon 2010. Marathon #11 for me

I had gone to the expo Friday afternoon. The kids and I chilled at home and went to bed early. Ryan was turkey hunting and had taken the dog with him. Saturday I was to drop the kids off after lunch at Bubbles and Poppy's to spend the night. Ryan would be picking the kids up Sunday when he got back in town. So the next 2 days were mine to think only about me and my little race and of course, the best part, the after race festivities.

Saturday morning I did wake up with a new and weird pain/sensation in my left hamstring. I stretched and jumped up and down and figured that it was not a muscular injury but something nerve related. I even thought it was most likely just in my head, you know, pre race nerves. So I did a little yoga and while I felt off and had some issues with the left side I figured again, just in my head.

After lunch I dropped the kids at my in law's. Pulling in the driveway I grabbed the mail and the first thing I noticed was a big yellow enveloped addressed to the Parent's of Beau Fischer with "confidential" stamped across the front. Though surprised to have it so soon I knew exactly what it was.

In January I had demanded that the school evaluate Beau for a learning disability. Bet you didn't know you could do that. I didn't either until his teacher, in brief passing, mentioned that he "might be a candidate for retention." When she said that I was at first devastated and then I was very, very angry.

Had I not asked repeatedly in kindergarten if Beau should repeat kindergarten?
Yes, I had.
And had I not told them that both Ryan and I had been retained in 3rd grade and I did not want to hold my child back after kindergarten?
Had I not asked all.the.damn.time. if they saw signs of ADHD or dyslexia?
Since these things tend to run in families and Ryan, his mother and his brother all have Dyslexia and I was diagnosed at age 6 with ADHD? Never mind the fact that children with phonological processing disorders, like Beau has, almost always have some other disability that impacts their learning wouldn't it make sense to assume that rather than he was just "young".

Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do think I mentioned all of these things -- all.the.time.

But until January I was always assured that he was fine, just a little behind in reading-- but because of his speech issues this was somewhat expected. They felt with some extra help he would just catch up. All the while I had been working with Beau nearly an hour everyday after school and riding Beau's ass to straighten up his act.

I have to wonder, if the intention was always to retain him why was he, why were we, bothering to work so hard? I mean if your going waste someones time and make them do it all over again why ask them to bust their asses like it is going to make one damn bit of a difference?

So I insisted that before I would even consider him to be retained they must evaluate him to see if ADHD or some other language based learning disability was impacting his progress at school. I could see the writing on the wall and the "he is immature" crap wasn't flying with me. This MY child we are talking about and you are not going to rob him of a year of his life even if he is just 6 years old. I do not care that his birthday is July 28th and the cut off is September 1st. I know the immature story well having both the luck of having ADHD and also a July birthday. It doesn't matter. If you have a learning disability that is not being addressed you are not going to outgrow it and waiting another year to figure it out and address it just a waste of time. Beau's time. Why set him up to under achieve his entire life when what he needs is some special intervention, instruction or so be it, medication? You think repeating a year is going to cure that?

They tried the "well he is making progress, why don't we wait six weeks and then re evaluate?" spiel but I was having none of it and insisted on the evaluation. They told me the evaluation would be complete by mid April.

So I was not expecting it in mid March. And certainly not in a yellow envelope on the Saturday the day before my marathon when I was home all alone. I contemplated opening it. Knowing that what I might read might me a little sad. It occurred to me that it might be better to wait until after my marathon, in case the evaluation was really upsetting. But I just couldn't not open it. I told myself that no matter what Beau would still be the Beau I know and whatever the evaluation said would not change that.

So of course I read it and while I didn't understand all of it I did get the gist. Beau is ADHD and it is severely impacting his life at every facet. I knew this. I've always known this. But of course, I didn't want it and seeing it made no more denying or wondering if I was wrong after all. What I really wanted was it say that Beau had been pretending. That he is so smart that this is all trick he is playing on everyone for his own entertainment. That really, he is a genius. So gifted that we are all a joke to him. But no. That is not what it said.

Unfortunately, Beau is like me. And I think, I can safely say, that as parents we only want our children to inherit our gifts not our baggage. And certainly not the very thing that has burdened us our entire lives, making us question our validity as a person. If life is an uphill battle then having ADHD is a life spent trying to shortcut that hill but finding that instead you always, always run the longest zigzagged tangent to reach the top. That is if you even make it to the top. And if you do? The downhill slope is even longer, even steeper and more treacherous.

I was six when I was diagnosed with ADHD. Apparently, as my mother tells the story, she was called in on my 3rd day of first grade and pretty much told that if I was not medicated I would not be able to make it through school. So, to me, it is ironic that I had to jump through hoops and beg to get Beau's diagnosis which is, apparently, equally as obvious.

I hated, even at age 6, Ritalin. I often would pretend not to take it and would, of course, always be figured out no matter how hard I tried to fake it. My personality was so different on/off medication. My parents tried some of the alternative methods but the only thing that ever worked for me was Ritalin. It was, literally, the difference between flunking out of school or making honor roll. There was no in between for me.

I even had F's in behavior without it. God bless the patience of my sixth grade English teacher Mr. Wright. My parents tried the first quarter without Ritalin and Mr. Wright, determined to make it okay for me, tried so many different things. The final straw was when he moved me to a place in the classroom where no one was sitting next to me because there was no one I wouldn't talk to. So, I made up an imaginary friend: Fred. Mr. Wright was so obliging of my imaginary friend that he would even grade Fred's tests and answer all the questions that "Fred" would ask. Of course, Fred and I both got F's because I was rushing through not only my work but Fred's as well. Finally, Mr. Wright had a chat with me about maybe it was time for Fred to stay home and by that point Fred was already gone and I was back on the Ritalin and did well the rest of the year. And so it went, for 15+ years of my life--all the way until I finished (finally) undergraduate school--I would try school without the aid of Ritalin. And the results went like this, always: fail classes, go back on Ritalin, catch up and make straight As. My first quarter of high school I failed 3 classes and got d's and c's in the other classes. It took Ritalin and making A's and B's and taking extra classes to get my GPA up to a 3.0 by the time I graduated. Only thing I can say for myself is thank God I can take a standardized test like nobody's business or I would have never gotten into college. And I will say I am most proud that I made it through graduate school and made a 3.7 GPA without ANY medication. But like I said, only took me 15 or so years of being medicated to figure out how to do that.

And obviously, somehow I survived but I am hardly a success story. And of course, why would I want this for my child? Why would anyone?

After reading the evaluation and before I let myself completely lose my shit I did the one thing I always do when I need answers: I Google and go look at books. I sat for an hour in Borders on the floor in front of the learning disability shelf glancing through every book they had on ADHD. I don't know what I was looking for. I've lived with the disorder my entire life. I don't think there is a single book out there is going to tell me anything that I don't already know.

Okay, I do know what I was looking for. I was looking for the chapter where it would tell me that Beau is going to be okay. That my child is not going to have a life long struggle. That he won't be running zigzag uphill forever his life too. I wanted to read the sentence that said your child will lead a blessed existence.

But where, for anyone, is that ever written?

And I did realize that enough in the bookstore to collect myself and made it to my car before I lost myself to a sea of tears and blubbering hiccups as I drove myself home. I cried til I had no more tears and I finally decided I was done with it. I drank 2 beers, wrote a wistful blog about hoping for a hurricane, ate my dinner, set 3 alarms and crawled into bed at 8:30.

Of course I didn't sleep. And at midnight I got up and took a Tylenol. My hamstring still felt funny and because of all my crying I had a raging headache. Then I commenced laying in bed waiting for 4 am to come. I was eager to run. Hopeful even. Thinking, ridiculously, that if I could conquer all the hills that ING threw at me and run a good race, - then Beau could too. My mind is simple and confused and sometimes the equation x +y equals whatever the fuck I want it to. Okay?

So on to the race! I know, finally, huh? It is a marathon. . .

I was up at 3:58 am because oversleeping is something I rarely do and I hate to be awakened by alarms. I might have some problems with my attention span but my body has time nailed down. I went about my routine and since I had packed two days prior it was a pretty effortless morning. Especially since I had no kids, husband or dog to worry about. I was in the car at 5:15 am headed to my sister's. Pulling out of the driveway I wrote HTFU on my arm, deciding that today, if there was ever a day, I was gonna need a motto.

I arrived at my sister's as planned at 6 am. Pookie was again running the half--I have yet to convince her of the awesomeness of the marathon. Her bff from childhood, Leah, was also running the half--her first, and new girl Caroline was running the half as well. Oddly, Pookie and I were dressed exactly alike in our black skirts and white singlets. It was not planned but alas, how it often happens.
Here is me and the other girlies: Caroline, Leah, Me and Pookie.

Wes, as usual was our handler. He was tired (read hungover) from his race the day before. He is crit dude.Not so sure about his outfit here. I think he was confused and thought by marathon we meant safari. Nice compression socks!

On the ride to the start we discussed finish line plans. It was suppose to rain so I didn't count on anyone staying to see me finish; especially since they were all doing the half. Even on my best day and their worst an hour is still too long to ask people to wait for you in the rain and cold. I told them that I wasn't feeling it and I would be lucky to go under 4. They laughed at me and said don't you always run under 4? Yes, most times I do but I've learned, when it comes to the marathon, expectations are not your friend. Anything can happen. So we left it with I would text when I finished and we would figure out a meeting spot then. I wasn't worried. I figured I would find away home somehow--assuming, I could get myself to the finish line.

Wes dropped us in front of CNN with about 35 minutes until start time. I still had to drop my bag at gear check so I decided to jog the bazillion miles to the park. Okay it was like one but geez could they have made any more of maze at the start . . .

I made it to bag check and then scoped out the potty lines. Uhm, yeah I wasn't waiting in that. I popped a squat behind a dumpster near some guys and not far where I saw some rent-a-cops chatting. Renegade am I!!! This is the beauty of wearing a skirt. I can almost make it look like I am tying my shoe but really? I am peeing! I had similar talent in 6th grade when I was like the only girl who didn't wear a bra and could completely change for gym without anyone seeing my underwear or rather, lack there of. My talents? Many and varied.

I pushed through the ridiculous crowd up to corral c. Then I excused and pardoned myself to the front of the corral. I spotted the 1:40 half pace sign and fell in near it. At the same time I saw my friend Greg. I pinched his ass as a way to say hello. He startled but then rolled his eyes when he saw it was me. Then I realized I was standing next to Nora. All happy! My biking riding peeps. Actually, Greg is also my 5am swim buddy too. I tried to be hopeful but really I was not. I tried the it is going to be an AWESOME day self talk! Which by this point, I have to say is total bullshit. Sometimes I think it is going to be an awesome day and it is and other times I will still think this and it totally sucks big giant ass.

The night before I had printed out a bunch of pace bands: 3:25, 3:30 3:35 and even, insanely, for shits and giggles: 3:19. I threw them all in the trash on the way out the door to the race. So I had all these splits bouncing around in my head. I do, after all these marathons of going for 3:30 have the 8 min mile splits by heart. For whatever reason this year the only marathon pace groups were 3:40, 4 hours and I think 4:15. Since I, of course wanted to PR and having run 3 times sub 3:45 (my BQ time) on this course I felt the pace groups were not of much help and that my best bet was to not see any of them.

I decided my best game plan (if you can call 3 minutes before the gun formulating your game day plan a plan) was to stay behind the 1:40 pace group until they went off around 7 miles and try to hit the half in under 1:45. I figured I can always hobble out a 2 hour half for a BQ at worst case (or you know, just quit) but under 1:45 for the first half would still give me the opportunity to possibly PR.

As we waited for the start I bemoaned that I wasn't cold. I had trained happily all winter in the freezing temps and have come to realize that my body performs much better in the freezing and dry than in the cool and humid. At the start it was around mid 50's and humid. I was, quite frankly, a little warm in my singlet, skirt and calf compression sleeves. I was glad I left the arm warmers behind but I knew I was going to be hot anyway.

I never remember how it starts; whether there is gun or someone just tells us to go. In bigger races it really doesn't matter since I am never on the front of the line. I just know to go when the crowd goes. You move forward like cattle trying to get out of the holding fence to a greener pasture. And it is funny--not haha funny, but funny peculiar-- because there is always a bit of congestion. Again, borrowing the cattle analogy, everyone tries to push through the gate opening; all wanting to be the first cow out. Only in a race it is just the start line and the road hasn't narrowed like a gate opening would but nevertheless everyone still gets all jacked up on each other trying to get across the line and hit their watch at the same time. And I would guess, considering the congestion, that most runners when asked this question: Can you run and chew gum at the same time? Would have to say no since most of them can't seem to start their watch as they cross the start line without slowing or stopping. And yes, since I have ADHD I can run and start my watch at the same time without slowing down at all. Small gifts people, there are small gifts associated with ADHD and multitasking stupid stuff is one of them.

I always feel like I am holding my breath until I get across --and maybe I am-- but there is always a freeing, even relaxing moment when you find yourself finally on the race course; on the other side of that line.

I love that the ING marathon starts in the dark. You can still see because of all the street and building lights but I love running, at least in my mind, into the light. It doesn't happen all at once but as those first miles go by you are getting into the day little by little and leaving the night, the darkness behind. And I just think that is a very optimistic way to start a race. That is good race chi; even if you aren't feeling the good race chi yourself.

But I don't worry too much about how terrible I feel in the first mile. I try never to think about running for at least the first few miles ever because they are almost always terrible. If I can get to the place in my mind where I can forget that I am running by the time I need to actually think about running I am already in a rhythm and feeling the good vibrations. Unfortunately though during the first mile I immediately knew I was off. Something just wasn't right. I tried hard to ignore it. Tried to tell myself that my body would loosen up and it would all be good.

So I ignored the ache in my left hip, the tingling in my lower back where I had injured it two weeks before and my always argumentative and tight left Achilles. I wanted to think about other things, positive things and disassociate from the uncomfortableness but I was just sad and I couldn't let my mind think about the thing that was heavy on it.

Everyone always talks about how 90% of running is mental and I absolutely believe that. And never is this more true than in the marathon. Your greatest competition in a marathon is not the people you run against or the time on the clock but it is yourself. Ultimately, in the marathon, it comes down to how well you can argue against the negative self talk that will arise as the race progresses. Unfortunately for me during ING, not only was I having the internal battle in the first 10k but I was on the losing end of the argument.

I kept my eye on Greg who was going for sub 1:40 and tried to stay behind him and the dudes with the 1:40 pace sign. My first split was okay, about like last year around 7: 30. In fact I think I pretty much ran exactly has I had last year until about mile 8 or 9. At least that is what I remember thinking at the time.

I should say that I don't have a Garmin or even a traditional runner's watch. I have a watch I found around the house bought at some drugstore with unfortunately large start/stop/reset buttons that apparently I hit and reset or pause the time on. This leads me to believe that I must run like how Phoebe did in the Friend's episode that made Rachel too embarrassed to run with her. I also have a knack, because of this spastic style, for hitting the emergency stop button on the treadmill in the middle of my interval sprints. That is always awesome too.

Some what luckily, and also later unluckily, the course had clocks at about every split. So I got to spend the first few miles trying to reconcile the time on my watch with the time on the clock. I figured that I was about 20 or seconds behind the clock but I was never too sure of this. What would have probably helped me most was if I had just noted the actual time of day on my watch when I started. But I didn't do that. Instead I got to have fun doing math for my marathon.

Around 4 miles I usually feel good. Like my body finally gets on board with the program of running a marathon-- or maybe that is just when the endorphins kick in. Either way this was not the case that day. Even still, I was maintaining a good pace. From my calculations I was running around a 3:23 marathon finish time. This is of course, probably, too fast for me but really, nothing that I haven't done in many marathons. So at this point I am still entertaining that a PR, which would be sub 3:28, might actually happen . . .

Problem was that around 4 miles I was NOT feeling good. In fact, I was feeling worse. I had this new sensation in my right thigh along with my achy left hip and tight lower back. After struggling last fall with ITBS in my left leg I knew the pain well. Only I have never had in my right leg. I kept my pace and puzzled over the next 2 miles over what it meant. Yay! Something new to think about. Bad news is that it never works well for me to think about me while running.

My guess was that my stride was off. I wondered if it would correct itself or would it get worse, as ITBS pain usually does. There wasn't much I could do about it and decided I would still stick to my plan of getting to the half in under 1:45. I was able to maintain my pace but I knew that unlike last year it felt much harder to do this pace. It wasn't a heart rate thing so I didn't think I was going to eat the paste but it just wasn't comfortable. And if I have learned anything from the marathon-- no matter what your pace is-- that first half shouldn't feel hard or uncomfortable.

Sometime after 6 miles and before the half split I came to an aid station. My mom was working it and I was really happy to see someone I knew. I yelled out hi! And told her I felt awful and she said I looked good. Lies I am sure but I was glad that my misery wasn't apparent.

I will say I was doing very well with my nutrition. This was my 11th marathon and countless run over 20 miles so if nothing else I have my nutrition for running down. I had had a GU along miles 5-6 ( I divide it up, little bits over the span of a mile) and had hit every aid station I had come to with water and a little Gatorade. I was feeling hot but nothing I couldn't handle. But my body was not comfortable. Mostly that pain in my right thigh was most bothersome. I felt like my right leg was slapping the ground hard. My left Achilles, which had bothered me at the start, though was loose and was feeling better. My left hip still ached and my lower back would spasm every now and again. But most of all my heart, it just wasn't with me. It was heavy with self pity, mommy worry, and ultimately, failure--for me and for Beau.

It was then that I picked a new mantra--do the hard thing. Thinking about Beau and knowing that having ADHD, while not the most devastating diagnosis in the world, does mean that you have to make yourself do things all the time that hard for you and seemingly effortless for others--you know, like sitting still, paying attention, maintaining focus (long enough to get through a ridiculously long blog post. . .)

So even though I wanted to NOT run, and wanted to quit right then--in mile 8--I knew that I couldn't. For one thing I had no more marathons on my schedule until late next fall. I could not let myself go through another year of training without seeing one to completion even if it meant not PRing or even meeting my B goal of getting another Boston Qualifier.

While I had been okay about having taken a DNF at the Atlanta marathon in November I knew that ING was sort of my last stop. I had to finish. Also, I just wasn't at the point where the pain and discomfort really warranted quitting. My stride was off and I was quite uncomfortable but I still entertained that it could get better. My pace, though uncomfortable and harder than it should have been, was still good--I was still running sub 3:28 pace. I knew I wouldn't be able to hold it forever but honestly, 26.2 miles is a long way to go. Over that sort of distance a lot can change; nothing, especially only 8 miles in, is certain. Quitting then would have been giving up too early. Besides I had done a 13 mile run the week before( longest run since my back injury) so I KNEW I could run at least that far. Beyond that though . . .

So I became committed to doing the hard thing, for Beau. At some point I reasoned that I will have to explain everything to Beau. And by way of that I will tell him (sagely so, I am sure) that everyone in this world has obstacles, things they must overcome. I will tell him that some of us wait our whole lives to find out what our obstacle is, but some us, like me, like Beau-- get find out earlier. We get the gift of knowing what we are fighting against. We have the upper hand in that regard. And, I figure, if I want my child to do the hard thing everyday then I better have at least one specific example of where I did the hard thing and saw something through to the end.

In mile 8 I also realized I had stopped my watch since it had read 52 minutes for at least the last mile. This was sort of a downer because just having a running clock to go by gives me a distraction. Now I had to depend solely on the clocks placed at the splits and extrapolate the math from there. This meant that I would not have a constant math distraction but one that would only show up every 8-9 minutes or in some cases when there wasn't a clock even longer.

It was somewhere in mile 10 when I realized I had to let the PR pace go. It just wasn't going to happen.The pace was just too hard. I don't train by heart rate but I do have a pretty good idea of how my marathon pace should feel. And it was just feeling too hard. It shouldn't have, my training ( I think) was solid. Whether it was the warmer temperature, my recent back injury or because the pain I was feeling was causing my heart rate to be higher than it usually is-- it was just not going to be my day to have my race. You know, the hurricane in my pocket race. It wasn't going to happen--no matter how much I wanted it to be my day.

The next few miles were a total blur. I think it started to rain but I hardly noticed it other than that it made me feel a little cooler. I was mostly absorbed on not walking and just getting to the half split. I had another GU and did my best to try and fix my stride. By this point my right quad felt like it had a knot the size of a tennis ball in it. Periodically I would reach down and push hard on the spot, which did absolutely nothing.

As much as I would like to say I managed to keep my shit together I didn't. I was just running along--through I guess Decatur at that point-- and was totally miserable and crying. Thank goodness it was raining so no one could tell I was crying because for me the absolute worst thing that can happen to me when I am crying is for someone to ask me what is wrong. It always makes me feel even worse because then I have to add embarrassment to my litany of whatever reasons of why I am crying.

I was so happy to hit the half point. The clock said 1:42 and while I didn't know what I was going to about the next 13.1 miles I still had to run I was just so happy to have finished the first 13.1 and met my time goal. If nothing else, I thought, at least I ran a pretty good 13.1 miles for the day. And even met part of my plan.

And like last year when I hit the half I ducked into the open porto potty. I didn't really have to go but I just needed to be alone for second. Away from the marathon. I have no idea how long I was in that porto potty but it was enough time that I talked myself out quitting for the 100th time in the past hour and tried to stretch out my right quad that was in a complete knot. Stretching proved yet another pointless endeavor because the ankle over knee stretch sent my back muscles into a spasm. Frustrated, I started crying again which was immediately replaced by a string of cuss words because of the glance at the HTFU on my arm and Simon and Garfunkel's The Boxer that was playing on my shuffle:
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of ev'ry glove that layed him down
Or cut him till he cried out
In his anger and his shame
"I am leaving, I am leaving"
But the fighter still remains


So, it wasn't a clearing but a porto potty and I am not a boxer by any means but at that second I was sure feeling like I had had the shit kicked out me as if I had gone head to head with Ali. I was angry but I am a fighter. I am a fighter I told myself and I ran back out onto the course to continue to fight for more than what was just a silly race. Sometimes, if you want to do something-- finish something-- you have to figure out a way make it more important that in reality it is.

And so, with the ideals of Pr and sub 3:30 gone I headed into the Druid Hills section of the course. It is rollers. Up and down. And I ran when it didn't hurt so horribly to run. I did have some good moments. Some fleeting periods where I thought I could maybe recoup my race but then the pain would be horrible and I would have to walk. Walking is the absolute worst! You not only get passed by people you passed a few minutes before but because they are running and you are walking you feel almost like you are going backwards. And the walking is even worse when you have to walk up a hill. And there is a reason why this area of Atlanta is named Druid Hills. I've yet to see a Druid in there but hills? Oh yeah. In past years I have loved this section and actually have run it really well.

Not this year. I did not love it but I did make it my best effort to run the uphill if I was able and save my walking for other areas. I also tried to be encouraging to others in this section.

I personally felt like a lost cause and was just set on somehow finishing. My discomfort increased the more I ran and while I was in total misery I was somewhat in awe at how horrible it all was. A part of me, okay a big part of me, really wanted to see how it played out. I entertained a few different versions in my head: there is of course the obvious crawling across the finish line scenario. Then there was the collapsing on the course. In that scenario I wondered if people would just run by and ignore me or maybe I would get lots of sympathy and attention. You know me, I hoped for the latter.

Yet I still ran on and finally found myself at Piedmont Park but I was absolutely dismayed upon the scene running into the park. I knew there had been course adjustments so that the full marathoners wouldn't have to run with the half marathoners but I was very unhappy about the methodology in the park to make that happen. There was this crazy out and back loop. You could see it--it was like a maze of white temporary fences with orange tape. This is also the portion the first winner of the marathon left out. He, of course got DQ'd. He says it was because he followed the pace car but really I bet he just didn't want to run that part. I know I didn't.

But I did and it was at that point that both my feet went completely numb. I was pissed. I thought: this is the final straw. My back hurts, my hip huts, my right quad is useless, I have a headache and now I can't feel my feet. I ripped my headphones out of my ears because everything was just irritating more than I could stand for that second. I slowed again to walk and just went a long cussing in my head, hating on the world more than I even thought was possible. I thought: That's it. I'm gonna call Wes to come get me. I pulled out my phone and looked along the park to see where I could tell him to come get me. And it hit me. That if I wanted to quit I was going to have to walk at least a mile to even get to a place where Wes could pick me up. Then I would probably have to wait another 20 to 30 minutes. And who quits a marathon at 22.5 miles with HTFU on their arms?

So I put my ear buds back in my ears. Staying Alive by the Bee Gee's was playing and I figured at least that much was true. Then I saw the the leader of the 3:40 pace group. That was not happiness for me. That meant that I had to really really HTFU if I wanted my Boston Qualifier. And that is when I told myself that really, I was doing the best I could that day. I wasn't flaking out, as I have done in the past. It wasn't success but if I was being honest with myself, it was the best I could do that day. I was doing the hard thing. Sadly I was getting my ass kicked by a course that I have run much more successfully in the two years prior but on that day I was giving the best I could. And really, that is all anyone can ever ask of themselves. And I told myself, next year would be a better year. Oddly it made me happy that as miserable as I was and as much as I was hating my race that I still wasn't giving up on the marathon.

Running up some hill in mile 23 I came up on my friend Kirk. He was looped out and while he said hi to me and seemed to listen as I prattled on alongside him as we inched painfully up the last of the slow hill hell to the finish line it was a few minutes before he realized that he really did know me. I felt again a little surge of getting 'er done and I picked up the pace, leaving Kirk behind.

I leap frogged those last miles with a variety of runners and mostly tried to stay ahead of the 3:40 pacer I had seen in the park on that out and back portion. I knew at that point that I was over a 3:40 finish but still under 3:45. Doing math at that point proved impossible. And even though I was running I felt like I might as well have been crawling for how slowly those last miles were passing. I know it took me about 35 --give or take minutes to go from Piedmont Park to the finish line but it felt longer than the whole first half of the race had taken me to run. Time was just moving ridiculously slow. It was Twisted Ankle all over.

In the last mile and half the 3:40 pacer finally caught me. We chatted and he tried to encourage me, thinking I was part of his group, that I would go under 3:40. I was too tired and hurt too much to try to explain any of it to him. He surged on and I was in the middle of the pace group but at that point I couldn't tell who was a part of it and who wasn't. I did make me feel better that everyone, except that pacers, looked pretty miserable. At one point a girl, in the last mile, stopped and started walking. I had been doing the exact same thing since the half point but I snapped her to "Get moving! You are almost done! You have this!" She looked at me in absolute shock so I must have had my mean Nat voice on. I had meant to be encouraging but from her expression I could tell it did not come across that way. So I decided no more talking, just get it done.

Around this point I recognized one of the runners I had been leap frogging with as Christian from Run 100 miles. We have never met personally but I know of him because we have lots of mutual friends and I have read his blog. He seemed pretty focused and my back was killing me so I didn't say anything. I have always run the last mile of every marathon I have run but about a half mile from the finish my back started spasming and I had to walk. I had the talk again and checked my arm, HTFU, and told myself less than 5 minutes if I would just run. I could see Christian up ahead, since he was running and I was walking he had manged to put some distance between us. He became my focal point. I chased him down. In the end he still beat me, crossing the finish line a second before me but he reeled me in. I introduced myself to and congratulated him on a great race. It was a PR day for him. So congrats!

I was happy to finish but it was not that same "I did it!" feeling I usually have. But I guess they can't all be great. While I wasn't proud of my time or at all how I ran I was proud of myself for doing the hard thing. I guess the life lesson here is sometimes you work your ass off, you can cry a bazillion tears and sweat like you deserve it and the result can still be a let down. The way I am choosing to see things is that even if I fail I am still better for having tried. It is still more than a lot of people ever do. And that's right, everything is a competition. And if it is a race for who tries and fails the most, I might very well have the gold in that race.


I left the finish area and headed towards the very far away bag check. It was nice, albeit still quite uncomfortable, to not have to run anymore. I could see where the bag check was and mentally navigated from my vantage point the shortest route to it. However a volunteer informed me that this was the exit to the park. I could not go this way. The shortest way. She explained, that I had to go further down the sidewalk to the entrance. At first I thought she was kidding so I just stood there. She again explained where I had to go and I said "but then I have to walk up a hill to get where I want to go." She seemed not to understand how terrible that was for me so I sighed and shuffled towards the entrance turning down the bananas that were being offered to me the whole way to the bag check. I must have looked pretty awful or exactly like a monkey for the number of times someone tried to give me a banana in the span of the 10 minutes it took to walk to bag check.

I managed to get my bag and then realized that I wasn't going to be able to put my pants on without twisting into a pretzel from cramping. (Right, but I hate bananas.) Bending over just was not something I was capable of. Being cold would just be easier. Finally, I reconciled misery and easy. Better than hard and miserable, right?

Wes texted me to meet him in the Tabernacle's parking lot. Oh, hell. I looked over the grassy field of the park, past the black wrought iron fence to yet another hill to walk up. I like hills, really I do but I was just done with them. I wanted at that second as I tin man walked towards Luckie Street to my waiting ride at the top of the hill, was to pull the fabric of Atlanta and straighten her crooked ass out. Then fold her up neatly in a prefect square that would fit in my pocket. Like a map. A simple, flat, easy to read-- even easier to traverse--map.


Epilogue:
Regarding that white elephant. Wikapedia says this:
To possess a white elephant was regarded (and is still regarded in Thailand and Burma) as a sign that the monarch reigned with justice and power, and that the kingdom was blessed with peace and prosperity. The tradition derives from tales which associate a white elephant with the birth of Buddha, as his mother was reputed to have dreamed of a white elephant presenting her with a lotus flower, a symbol of wisdom and purity, on the eve of giving birth. Because the animals were considered sacred and laws protected them from labor, receiving a gift of a white elephant from a monarch was simultaneously both a blessing and a curse: a blessing because the animal was sacred and a sign of the monarch's favour, and a curse because the animal had to be retained and could not be put to much practical use, at least to offset the cost of maintaining it.


Similarly, some people say that ADHD is both blessing and curse. I definitely agree. I do enjoy having more natural energy and having a mind that jumps the tracks allows for some pretty cool out of the box ideas to pop in my head. The trouble lies in harnessing all that energy and those wild lightening thoughts. So I think it is a fair analogy to compare the struggles that come with living with ADHD as to being the owner of a white elephant. It is a gift but until you figure out exactly how to use that gift, make it work for you-- it will remain a curse. Unfortunately, I am still working on that part.

And to tie this back to the marathon and take a parallel step to about a fellow runner who has a white elephant of his own and always impresses me. My friend Jon Obst is a fantastic ultra runner who happens to have type 1 diabetes. He finished 7th at this year's ING running 2:45. It is knowing people like Jon and others who have the odds stacked against them and see them come out triumphant tells me that the white elephant is really what you make of it: burden or just a decoration that makes you a little more sparkly than everyone else. I think it really is a choice and a matter of perception.

I know that this was a ridiculously long race report and probably one of the least entertaining to read. I apologize because I feel I may have misled in my earlier assertion that I think a story should be entertaining. Certainly, I am a person that likes to laugh and strives to be funny but it has been hard to find humor in something that just hasn't always been so funny to me. I have spent a huge portion of my life trying to hide my ADHD, even being ashamed of it and often flat out denying it. And I am not saying I am all the sudden flag waving proud and ready to shout it out at every opportunity: I just don't want my son to grow up questioning his intelligence, his value as a human being like I did. So I had to put it out there. And it just seemed easiest to cushion it in between the hills of the GA ING marathon. Thanks for reading.

Some after race pictures:
This is Shannon. She is a chiropractor. I went to see her after the race and she took an x-ray of my pelvis. And guess what? The left one side was higher and forward. So I was crooked after all. My stride really was off. She fixed me up. I am still a bit crooked but it has all been better.
Leah celebrating after her first half marathon:


Alexis is going to be a marathon runner when she grows up.
Caroline and Pookie
I gave Wes the best wedgie ever. That's what happens when your underwear is hanging out of your pants.

Beer really does make everything better, even a not so great race.

Doubling the Happy

As I said last post. That is my new running mantra.

But boy today did I ever set myself up for possible disappointment and definitely not running happy by doing a 5k and a 10k back to back. I needed a speed workout and I needed to get miles over 50. Also, as soon as I finish the Twisted Ankle marathon I am going to shift gears and focus this summer on finding some speed. I would like to run a 3:20 marathon next year (really 3:23 but might as well shoot for 3:20).

At my current level I don't have the raw speed to support a 3:20 marathon. So before I set myself up for too ambitious goals I need to make some speed gains at the shorter distances. The McMillan Calculator is a pretty handy tool for figuring out training paces and setting races goals based on recent race times and various distances. But let me warn you: the calculator is just a tool, not a contract. So don't get your heart set on anything you may see there. Like it has been telling me based on my shorter races that I can run a 3:24 marathon. That hasn't happened yet. But to me this just means that if I can get faster at the shorter distances than I am now that I might see such a marathon eventually. . .

So, yeah, anyway . . .

My goal for the 5k was to PR--which is anything better than 21:10.

My goal for the 10k was to run next year's goal marathon pace which is (hopefully) 7:35-45 range.

And today . . . I met one of my goals and exceeded the other.

I ran VERY happy today.

Okay, that isn't entirely true. I felt like hot dog poop the entire 5k except the first 30 seconds. But for the 10k I felt AWESOME almost the whole time--until the last 1/4 mile where suddenly I felt like I was moving in slow motion.

You know I can drag anything out so here is the long race report but I have pictures too to help you wade through my lengthy discourse.

Here I am driving to the race:

It is early!

Here is the sun coming up as I drive down Willeo. This road sucks. It screws me on the bike. It is a long down hill that we ride to the river--after several miles of uphill. The downhill is fabulous but it is little reward for the uphills you just rode because you always have to stop at the light. And that takes all the fabulousness out of the downhill because you have to remember to down shift so you don't fall over when the light changes because you are in a high gear. Then leaving the river you have to ride up Willeo. It isn't hard just really really long. You just can't win on this road is all I am saying. But it looked pretty this morning. Ignore my dirty windshield please.
This morning was also warm. It is probably going to be the warmest day we've had all year. The sun wasn't even up and my car said it was 58 degrees. The high today is suppose to be in the 80's. For the 5k I would say it was about 60-65 and for the 10k it was probably almost 70 at the finish. Driving back my car said 74. Luckily the race was by the river which is one, mostly shaded and two, you get a bit of cool breeze coming off the river for most of the run. Oh it helped that both course are pretty flat. Hills and heat are never my friend.

I got to the start and found Doug.
Doug was running the 5k/10k double with me (we are also running the Twisted Ankle Trail marathon in a few weeks together too).

His wife Steph was pushing the girls in the jogger for the 5k and then taking the girls to do the fun run.

Doug and I have known each other since middle school. He and his guy friends use to call me in the middle night and tell me what they wrote in sharpie on whoever had the misfortune of passing out first (usually Ross). Steph we met our freshman year of college. The three of us live very close and have been training together for the past 3 years.

Unfortunately Steph has had plantar fasciitis pretty bad and has been sidelined for awhile now. But she is starting to make a come back.

Here is Steph also with her sister Jen. I think this was to be Jen's first 5k. But just before the start she got the call to come catch a baby and had to leave. (she's OB/GYN). Congrats to whoever had a baby today!

Then I had to put my camera away because I didn't want to run with it. Doug and I lined up the front. He had us smack in the middle and I insisted we move to the side. Finally some of the really fast boys showed up and got in front of us and I felt better about everything.


Mayor Woods, in his bow-tie said go. Really. He said "go". I was kinda waiting for a horn or a gun so I a bit caught off guard.

As I mentioned before I felt pretty good the first 30 seconds. I knew I was going to run fine since my calf hadn't bothered me at all in my warm up. I had been worried since I ran 21 miles Tuesday (8:26 pace) and then 12 (8:14 pace) on Thursday. Sometimes I recover fast; sometimes I don't. I usually don't know until I try to run fast. I could run every single day so long as it was slooowwwww. Fast (again fast being a relative term) is always hard for me: it takes more out of me than long runs.

The only split I have for the 5k is the first: 6:12. Totally ridiculous. I have never run a 6:12 mile ever that I know of.

The first mile and a half I was right beside or on the heels of first and second women. They had racing flats on. Me? I had my marathon trainers on. Clearly, not a professional. As is always the case in a 5k I begin to fade hard and the girls pulled away from me. I cheered for the first place guy as he passed me when I was approaching the turn around. I think I surprised him cause he looked at me like I was crazy. But I wanted to let him know that 2nd place wasn't that far behind him. Just trying to be helpful.

At the turn around I saw Doug and we high-fived. Then in mile 2 I passed Steph going out and we high-fived. The guy manning the traffic at Riverside and Dogwood threw me a thumbs up and I gave him one back.

Just as I was approaching the 3 mile marker Doug surged past me. I thought bastard but yelled "Go Doug!" He beat me by 5 seconds (but I beat him in the 10k.)

I ran down the finish and hit my watch for 20:49!!!!! A 21 second PR. Not smashing, I know, but my goal was to Pr and (secretly) to run under 21. So I did it! I was 3rd woman over-all and first in my age group.

My friend Todd--who I must give a shout out for having just run 2:54 at Boston this week--was handing out flyers for the Big Peach 5k and congratulated me.

Some old man told me if nothing else I won for best hair style. I appreciated that since this is the only hair style I can do that doesn't leave my hair a matted mess of dreadlocks. Glad someone thinks it looks good.

Doug and I filled out our cards, grabbed some water and I had a Gu and checked my watch: 7:55 am. The 10k was starting in 5 minutes and we had a bit of walk to get to it so we high tailed it to the start for the 10k.

The 10k didn't start promptly at 8 am as I thought it would. Which was probably good since it gave my heart a little more time to get out of my throat. My plan was to run the first mile recovery and then see how much I could push it. We lined up mid pack and waited.

Finally we were moving. And instantly I was ready to roll. I weaved through the crowd and tried to remind myself to take it slow. When I passed the guy manning the intersection at Dogwood and Riverside he did a double take and gave me a little applause. Guess he remembered me.

I was both surprised and happy at the first mile split being 7:15. I was feeling really good! Today? Today I LOVED 10k's. Much better than the 5k.

Check out my splits:
Mile 2: 7:15
Mile 3: 7:15--3/4 of this mile was on gravel road. I thought I would slow but I didn't.
Mile 4: 7:29--I walked an aid station to drink some water. I also saw on the turn around that I was probably in 4th or 5th place for the girls. This really surprised me.
Mile 5: 7:14 Still feeling really good. Pass guy at the intersection again and he gives me 2 thumbs up. I throw one back to him.
Mile 6: 7:22 I started to slow a bit in hopes that I could really sprint it out.
Mile .2: 1:54 Unfortunately as soon as I passed the 6 mile sign I felt like I was suddenly moving in slow motion or wading through molasses. I was very hot and, well, suddenly, tired.
But the finish was there and I crossed at 45:47 for an average 7:23 pace.

I was 31st over all, either 4th or 5th woman and 2nd in my age group. Not a bad day at the races.

More pictures:
Annika with her award

Dagny with hers (I told her to hold it up)


Doug was first in his AG for the 5k. He did not want me to take his picture.


And me, with my bookends:

Bad Race Gone Happy

So behind here, I know . . .

Last weekend I ran a 10k and I totally bombed it.

But I am okay about it. I knew I would bomb it. I had some great workouts last week. Most mentionable I ran 20 miles at Kennesaw Mountain (that's off road!) with Ms. sub 3 hour marathoner Kate Brun (good luck at Country Music Marathon! You will do awesome!)

I LOVE running with her. She is everything I am not--most notably, positive. Running with her pushes me to not only run faster and stay honest but also stay positive. She even gave me a hat that says "Run Happy".

Here I am on our run around 17-18 miles--"running happy."

Last week ended up being a big week considering it was less than 3 weeks from GA ING. I say big week for me because I know there are many runners out there who put in a lot more miles than I. On Friday I was at 53 miles for the week and my legs were dead; swollen even.

I know what you are hearing is excuses--I hate them too. But a smarter runner than I would have said--Wow! I am toast this week. I am in no shape to race.

But I had planned to race something on Saturday.

Never one with the best laid plans, am I?

A few weeks ago I was having beers with my good friend Dee Dee. She told me I should do "this 10k" by her house--"you could totally win," she added, dangling the carrot. Whatever I thought. I never win (that 5k was a total fluke.)

But still, the line? It was baited and I am a dumb fish.

My original plan was to run the Sweetwater 5k that day and drink copious amounts of beer at the festival after wards (that part of the plan I did adhere to).
But I never got around to registering and I when I tried online registration it had been closed. I didn't want to worry about driving downtown and not getting a number. Dee called me Friday afternoon and reminded me about the 10k and offered to go sign me up. So I was on board--all the way though nay saying the sense of me racing in my condition.

While we were on the phone--discussing the next day's plans-- we stalked last year's results together. Winning woman was 44:xx.

I've run several 10k's(though I've only run about 8 10k's in my life) in the 44xx range and even one sub 44. But, as I told Dee, I was not in the shape to run 44 tomorrow. I kinda wondered if sub 48 was even in the cards.

I am not kidding; my legs were in bad shape. Too much mileage not enough recovery. I had run--since the Ga marathon and including the marathon--almost 150 miles in 2 1/2 weeks. That is a lot for me--at least after a marathon.

Then I looked at Dee's time from last year: 1:02 xx. What's that about I asked her? That is about the same pace you run a half marathon at. You should definitely be sub 1 hour 10k, I told her. She responded with "I just run my little pace for everything"

I told her she should try to be faster.

She told me she didn't really care.

I, of course, did not believe her.

First, let me say this about Dee. She is beautiful. All the boys drool for her. Wait, I know this blog is "useless without pictures" so here is an oldie but goodie of me and Dee: Strangely, the only pictures I have of her and I we are wearing costumes. She is, if nothing else, a kindred spirit.

But sadly, she is not as much the runner as I am but is rather lady-who-is-tennis-who-sometimes-runs-a-half-marathon--occasionally-a-10k-just because she can (with very little training).

I woke up race morning and the legs were still not good. Trying to be Positive Nat instead of Negative Nat I stuck with my plan. I got to the start early and had tons of time to warm up. I ran, stopped and stretched and ran and stretched some more. My left calf was not with the program. I kept thinking if I could it warm it up really good I would be okay and could nail some hard paces. But the reality of it was I just wasn't feeling it. I knew it but I go in with the attitude of you don't know until you try. Fact of the matter is though; that sometimes you do know. You just hope you are wrong--even when you know you are right.

I met up with Dee before the race and she instructed me to "get in front." I did but then I got intimidated by a few girls who were much faster looking than I that were also toeing the front line. So I stepped a row back.

Off we went and after a bit I thought, hmm I feel pretty good. This might be my day after all. . . Then I checked my watch and saw that only 45 seconds had passed.

I tried my best to stay behind she-who looked-the-fastest-of-them-all but I did end up passing her pretty early on. I could "feel" her on my heels though and it really really really bugged me. I felt like she had picked me out and I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted no part of competition--which, of course, was because I knew I couldn't win. Who wants to compete if you know you are going to lose. You have to think you are going to win to win-- or at least have some tiny, teeny part of you that thinks that. I had no small--even microscopic-- parts of me thinking that. And as it turned out--my whole being was right on. And this is one of those times where being right was really not what I wanted . . .

About a half mile in my calves were locked and the suckage of a 10k was hard upon me.

I hit the first split in 7:05. I was fine with this time--this is a hilly 10k and I really wasn't expecting much out of me--but my calves were just getting worse and now we were starting on an uphill. I started thinking about it and decided that wow! 10k's suck and I was NOT having fun! The idea of 37+ more minutes of this agony was just not something I was up for after all. This? Was most definitely not "running happy." And me? I am about the happy (or so I keep telling myself). So when I saw the water stop I stopped and decided I would wait for Dee. I decided it would be more to run with a friend.

I waited for what felt like FOREVER but really was only a few minutes.

She saw me and was like; "What the hell?! You were doing good!".I told her I wasn't doing good and wasn't up for the fight. But I would be helping her run a PR and she would be going under the hour. She didn't seem as happy at this news as I thought she should be.

What.EVER!!! And so began my cheer leading and chatter for the next 4 and so miles. I knew I was being annoying and Dee kept saying "Really, if you are feeling it you should go on! Really."

And I would assure her I was right where I wanted to be. Running fast? Over-rated. Painful. 10k's? They suck! But she? She was doing awesome!

Do you feel like you are going to throw up a little? I would ask.

Yeah-- a little, she would admit.

And I would cheerfully tell her THAT is AWESOME! That means you are running EXACTLY how you should be!!

She looked at me like I was crazy. Or like she wanted to trip me.

See Dee? Dee runs pretty. I kept thinking she is looking too good; we should go faster. And I would try to pick up the pace and if she lagged I would slow, otherwise I would hold it and she would run faster to keep up.

At four miles--after the worst of the hills-- I told her that she had 24 minutes to run 2.2 miles to get under the hour. That she had this, I told her. And that seemed to rally her. Her miles were actually getting faster. I guess she realized that the only way to get rid of my annoying presence would be to get this race over with.

As soon as we passed the 6 mile marker I picked out a tree 50 or so feet ahead of us and told her: See that tree? (she nodded blindly) When we get to it I am going to start sprinting and you better chase me. She nodded. You see that young girl in the blue shirt, I asked. She nodded again, looking at me like I was little crazy (I am). She's going down, I told her. You are going to beat her. She nodded but didn't look like she believed me.

And then I took off; calling over my shoulder to her: "Go Dee Go Dee! Kick it!" And I saw she was chasing after me. I sprinted past girl in blue shirt and down the straight a way to the finish. I crossed just under 57 minutes and then stopped in the shoot to wait for Dee. I got yelled at to "keep moving "but I stood my ground, letting people go around me, loosing my place, and yelling for Dee.

And at 57:13 she zoomed in, one second before girl in blue shirt, for a new pr and a 5 minute improvement over last year's time on the same course.

After she caught her breath she thanked me; saying she "never would have run that fast" on her own (which, of course isn't true.) Then said she could not believe I talked the WHOLE time.

So yeah, MY race sucked but my race was great because I got to watch a good friend have great success and that, for me, last Saturday, was what running happy meant.

But by golly, I sure hope that tomorrow--when I attempt a 5k and 10k back to back double-- that running happy means fast! I hope. . .

If not, I will find a way to the happy, some how.

Good luck to all my racing friends this weekend--cyclists, triathletes, and runners alike. May you all have happy races.

Switching Horses Mid Race and Jumping the Fence to the Inside Track

Or alternatively;

Hey there impostor; if you wouldn't bite off more than you can chew and you might find that even a blind hog can find an acorn every now and then.

Or the Jog for a Cause Race Report.

Or, don't be a loser and just stay home already!

But you know, every dog has got a few fleas and sometimes good sense is just not part of the equation with me.

Okay, so, you know how I wrote a few posts back about how the running was good? Well, as I properly predicted, pretty much since I wrote that sentence the running has NOT been going good.

Same old story here: dead legs. My calves are swollen which makes my feet hurt which makes running not impossible but very uncomfortable and slow. Just a general un-pleasurable experience. I did not hit a single one of my planned workouts last week. I will say I did have about a month of hitting every single workout and rocking them but the streak came to a banshee screeching, earsplitting, Natnonstop whining halt last week.

I really don't know what is going on but I took a huge step back and really tried to not to freak out. ING marathon is looming 2 weeks away. My training is done-- I just need to rest and get to the starting line uninjured. Even still, I kept all my fingers and toes crossed and hoped all would be resolved and I could nail my planned 10k (Jog for a Cause) on Saturday.

I didn't run Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday (okay, I tried each day but the legs just weren't up for it). Instead I rested (Tuesday), rode my bike (Wednesday) and did yoga (Thursday). Friday I tested the legs out on a 6 mile run. It did not go well. It was better but definitely far from 100% or what I would all ready to nail a 10k PR ready. But I thought maybe I just needed a run to shake the legs out and Saturday morning they would be golden for the race. And you know I think I am an optimist (also known as dumb) and think that you just never know until you try.

Saturday morning arrived after a fitful night of sleeping next to Grizzly Adams (aka my husband Ryan). Please note the Bin Laden beard:
The beard showed up after we went to the Band of Horses show on New Year's Eve. The lead singer has this creepy kidnap and molest you beard. It was about a week after the show I noticed that Ryan had stop shaving. The kids call it "the thing". When I asked him the other day about when he was planning on getting rid of "the thing" he told me he was going to grow it out until next year's NYE Band of Horses show.

It was then that I remembered at the show Ryan had been in line to buy beer behind 2 "hot college girls" who were discussing "how hot the lead singer was and how cool his gnarly beard was." I put the beard and the eavesdropping on hot college girls conversation together and guess he is thinking those hot young college girls will talk to him next year. Good luck with that honey!

So I got no sleep race night. No biggie. I never get sleep race night and have put up some great marathon times on 3 hours of sleep so surely I could rock a 10k-- uncooperative calves aside.

Strike 2 was that it was barely 40 degrees and raining. Geez, could I please have some decent weather for a race? Where o where for art thy temperate and fairer days? Why has thee forsaken I?

I had no idea what to wear. The weather site I consulted said "real feel" was 37 degrees and that there was a 9mph wind. Not really sure if that is windy but it sounded like it was a little. And rain and 37 degrees sounded pretty damn cold to me.

Since my calves were feeling crappy I decided to wear my over the calf compression socks--which I had also slept in. I wore my skirt with a draw string since the others without a draw string fall down when they get wet and heavy. I couldn't decide on a top. I put on my under armour sub zero compression top and then packed extra tops, socks and dry clothes to change into after the race. Of course, I forgot an extra pair of shoes.

Strikes 4 and 5 were that I could not find a rubber band and while I was searching for one Beau got up and did his litany of morning demands. Demands I tried to meet whilst I ran in vain (read much f-bomb dropping to scare rubber bands out from hiding) around the house trying to find one.single.GD F-ing.rubber.band.to pull my f-ing long ass hair back with.

I could not scare the rubber bands out --though I will say upon returning home I found out that it was because they were nestled snuggly in American Girl Doll hair.

Grizzly Adams, annoyed by all the racket I was making, told me to just leave and stop on the way to the race at a gas station and buy some rubber bands. So that is what I decided to do, after taking another moment to fight with my five year old.

Okay, just so you know, gas stations--at least the 2 I stopped at--do not sell rubber bands. Resigned to dread locked hair in my future and drove over to the race start thinking really, how bad could it be? It was just a 10k, right? I'd wear a baseball cap and all would be fine.

As I drive to the race-- noting the rain, the 39 temperature my dash is flashing, my disorganization, my fatigue-- I ask myself "what the hell is wrong with me?"

"Stick to your plan," the angel on my left (dumbass) shoulder aserts.
Best laid plans of dumbass and stupidass, I think.
Like arguing with a fence post.

So I get to the start-for those familiar with the area the race started in front of the AMC theaters on North Point Parkway. The course is North Point Pkwy, right on Haynes Bridge, right on Mansel Rd and right into the parking lot: repeat the loop for the 10k.

I sit in my car and start filling out my registration form. I hesitate over the 5k or 10k box. I recall how the last time I did this course (William's Run in 2006) I remember thinking then: why would anyone run the 5k when there is an opportunity to run a 10k--especially when they cost the same?

I think about downgrading to the 5k but then dumbass pipes up again with the whole "stick to the plan" crap. I listen because I have NOT been sticking to the plan all week. I WANT to get back on track!

I run over to registration area, hand in my form, pay, get number and my shirt (nice! Black technical. Can't beat that for $25!) and run into Brett. We discuss our outfits and I decide I am going to be hot so I go back to my car to change shirts. I change to a short sleeve technical top. I decide against arm warmers and I am a sad kitten that I left my mittens at home. I jog back to Brett's car, tell him I need to pee (again!) and then meet back up with him for a warm up.

Brett and I jog in the rain and I tell him he is running too fast for me for the warm up. This of course does not bode well. My calf really feels okay but I am just tried. I think I will be able to suck it up. After we warm up we still have a few minutes so I go pee (Again! You know me. Never one to waste a potty opportunity).

I meet back up with Brett and few others at the start. We all go to line up. A guy thinks he recognizes me and asks if I ran the Jingle Jog. Yes, I tell him, I wore a costume. We all laugh and introduce ourselves. It is Ace and Coldfire from the Beginner Triathlete board. We commiserate on the cold, the rain. Ace and I swap sad stories of calf issues and not running.

Friday I had stalked the times for this race for the past few years. The fastest woman's time for the 10k was slower than my 3 fastest 10k times so I seeded myself up at the front but off to the far right side. I ask the boys around and behind me to please not run over me.

It starts to rain harder and I am just ready to get this over with. I am a little worried that when the guy with the horn says go there is going to be a pile up because someone will slip and fall. I don't want to fall down. The road looks very slick.

We are off and no one falls. For about the first 30 seconds I think everything is going to be okay; that this might turn out to be a good race. I am passed by a LOT of boys but do not see a single girl.


At about 3 minutes in I guess my mind has gotten the note from my body because everything is sucking. I note that we are at a little hill and decide that must be why and try to ignore the tightness building in my calves and wave to Zimmer as he passes me (Bastard!). I watch Brett and Coldfire fade into the gray horizon ahead of me.

I pass some high school boys walking because they had blown themselves sprinting for their lives in the first half mile. They have this disoriented what the hell just happened look on their faces. It is kind of cute. Cute from the perspective of one who is more than twice their age, female and now passing them. Ah, there's that hubris knocking. Do not answer when it comes knocking. Hide and pull down the shades like you do when the Jehovah Witness's come by with their pamphlets.

About 5 minutes into the first mile I realize I am painfully cold! I am so damn tired of being cold in races! Being hot may make my head swim but being cold freaking hurts! I regret my lack of mittens, arm warmers and hate hate hate with all my heart on the rain. My calves are tight and my feet just plain hurt. My socks and shoes are already soaking wet. While I am having this pity party a tall blond girl runs past me. I think maybe she is doing the 5k. Then I decide, I don't care either way. I am just not happy. I do not want to be running.

Finally the first mile split: 6:57

Holy crap that is slow!

My split from my 3 fastest 10k's the first mile has come in between 6:23-6:45. This is not good. I know PR is out of the question and wonder if I can even pull it together to run under 45--which I do in training all the time (and it never feels this terrible).

We have a little downhill and I think I am picking up the pace. Calves still suck and feet still hurt but I am thinking about my hips and quads and hammies and they don't hurt. I pass quite a few guys that had run themselves out in the first mile. I get a few annoyed looks and few "go get 'em's" too. So I am surprised when I hit the split at the second mile and it is 7:22. What the fork?

Not good, not good. Okay, I decide. No good can come of this. I need to make a call. Time for some race day assessment:
Can I finish?
Of course. I ran 6 miles yesterday and an 8:30ish pace.
Can I pick up the pace and negative split it?
Not looking likely. Calves are getting tighter and more pained.
Next question, can I at least keep this pace for the rest of the race?
Maybe but maybe not.
Last question: Is this going to injure me for ING?
Maybe but probably not. Assuming things go how they always go my calf will just be tight and I won't run well until all the swelling is gone. It does feel like something might pop but so far that hasn't happened.

At this point I mentally envision myself on the 4th mile; out on the second loop. I think about how it will still be raining, I will still be painfully cold, I will be sad about my time and there is a real chance that I might have to walk a bit. Really, it is the walking part that will kill me. I do NOT like to walk. Especially not ever in the cold rain.

Just then, around 2 and half miles a woman pulls up on me. I actually have no idea if other women have passed me or not--except the blond one that I never saw again after we turned off North Point Parkway. I only notice this woman because she WON'T pass me. She is hanging RIGHT ON MY SHOULDER. I try to slow a little and she is still there. Then I speed up a little and she is still there.

Hmmm. This has never happened to me before. I figure this must be some sort of race strategy cause she doesn't seem like she wants to be friends with me. No hi, how ya doing, I'm Sally I love 5k's and 10k's in the rain. Cute skirt!

Nope, none of that. She doesn't even look at me. I do notice that her calves look nice and her hair, short in it's perky pony tail, is nothing like the knotted dreaded mess I got going on in my baseball cap. She also looks a little older.

I wonder if she is doing the 5k or 10k.

I guess probably the 10k and she is trying to decide the same thing about me. Am I her competition or not? So then I am annoyed because this is absolutely the last thing I want to shoulder for the next 3 or so miles considering how crappy my legs feel and how miserably wet and cold I am. Not to mention my hair looks so much worse than hers. I can't have race pictures with my nappy hair next to her perky pony. Geez, can't I at least look like a cute loser?

We continue to run next to each other and then take the turn into the parking lot and prepare to head out for the second loop.

I hear the man calling 5k go right, 10k go left. And there it is, just a hundred feet in front of me, calling my name: The Finish line. I can see the clock! Oh, so pretty the yellow digital numbers framed in black, glowing. I feel gravity pulling me to them. And I go right, without really giving it much consideration. I don't even speed up for the final sprint into the chute. In fact I think I probably slow down.

As I enter the chute the man calls out: First Female Overall!

What?! Oh nooooo!!! No no no no.

And he yells out "Congratulations!"

I shake my head no and wave my hand at him to as if to say no, not me. I'm a quitter, not a winner I think as I walk across the finish line and then hit my watch. Final 1.1 mile: 7:50. Total time 22:10. Geez, that really sucks. Even if that was my 10k split time that wouldn't have been good for a PR. Yuck.

I walk down the chute and there is no one else (at least that I see) behind me or in front of me. The girl tears off my bib tab and I tell her that I signed up for the 10k and she looks blankly at me and puts my tab on the ring and says "but you ran the 5k right?"

I agree that this is true.

The next girl in the chute hands me my time card to fill out. I tell her that I signed up for the 10k and only did the 5k. She looks at me like "yeah, so?" and waits for me to take the card out of her hand. I do and wander around for a second figuring out what to do; who to tell the mistake. I feel like I have cheated.

I see the tables to fill out my card--I had walked past them in my daze the first time. I pick up several different pens and think they don't work but realize they don't work because I am so cold I can't press the pen down hard enough to write. I manage to get most of my name and time down and then decide to go ask someone what to do.

I see the lady taking the cards. I hand her my card and she says "Oh you are first!" And I tell her that I actually signed up for the 10k and she said,"Oh! Well go do your other loop!"

I explain that I decided to just do the 5k because I was having some trouble. I was trying to explain to her that I wasn't sure if it was fair that I win the 5k when I had planned to do the 10k but I could not articulate that because I think dumbass and stupidass were in cahoots and had frozen my cognitive processing completely.

The lady then asked me if I did the whole 5k and I confirmed that I did and she said well then it is okay and filled out the rest of my card for me.

I walked off and as I did I saw a woman hand in her card. I felt terrible since she would have been first had I done the 10k as I planned. As it turned out she was first female master.

I ran to my car and I thought about changing into my dry clothes but it was still raining and I wanted to see Brett finish. I grabbed my camera in hopes that I could snap a shot.

I got back over to the finish area and only 10 minutes had elapsed since I finished. Brett was shooting for a sub 40 so I still had awhile. Around 34 minutes first place male came zooming in and was shortly followed by second place. And then no more 10k runners came through. I watched the 5k'ers finish and saw more than one time someone squeeze past someone on the finish line after they had already crossed. I am annoyed but then feel guilty since I was not totally ethically in the right today having switched horses and jumped on the short track. Who am I to judge race ethics?

While I am waiting for Brett to finish I see someone else who I think might be in charge and tell him that I planned to run the 10k but ended up just doing the 5k and was first female. I guess he thinks I am bragging and just tells me congrats. So I give up on trying to right things since it doesn't seem to matter to anyone.

Finally I see Brett coming up the tiny hill and he has about 35 seconds to come in under 40. I scream to him to RUN!RUN!RUN! and he comes in with 15 seconds to spare-- good for 3rd place over all: first in the young/old dude age group. Brian (ColdFire) zooms in behind Brett good for fourth overall/first in the a lot younger than me age group.

After that I finally change out of my clothes but still am so cold. Several of us head over to Starbucks and grab some coffee. When we get back to the race area where they are doing the awards. I see that the prize is a mug. I LOVE a prize mug! I actually have one from the 10k I did a few years ago on this same course.

They've already done the 5k awards but I go over to the announcer area and spy on their sheet and see that my name is still there for first female overall. I tell them that is me and they excitedly hand me my "winner's" mug (even though I totally feel like a loser since I bailed on my race)!

Happily though I take my giant mug and pour my Starbucks coffee in it and hug it with my hands and try to get warm while I wait for Brett, Brian and Chris (in the older than me age group) to get their awards for kicking ass in the 10k. Way to represent guys! And yes, I totally felt like an impostor hanging out in the winner's circle. But whatever, I like my mug.

And even though I am a total 5k impostor winner I still went to Steph's and celebrated with Doug's home brew like I am winner.
Hey, what's that quote from Talladega Nights that Ricky Bobby says? Oh yeah . . . "If you ain't first, you're last!"

Okay next post hopefully I'll get around to writing about the most awesome time we all had seeing The Pogues! I am still giggling everyday thinking about those shennanigans.