Anatomy of a Meltdown

Or How Running Prevented a Quadruple Homicide.

Saturday morning I was to meet up with my running group for our long run of the week. We were to meet at 6:30am. Did I mention this was Saturday? I’d been out with a friend Friday night to see a play to which I had  been long looking forward, but I didn’t get home until midnight (way past my customary 9:30 bedtime).

It started at 4am – the waking, looking at the clock every half hour, trying to decide what time I really needed to get up. At 6am I made the decision that I would not get up to meet my running group. I drifted back to sleep. I didn’t feel relieved at letting myself off the hook, I felt defeated.

About an hour and a half later, I became aware of my husband curled behind me, spooning. This should have felt safe and lovey, but instead it felt predatory. (This has nothing to do with my husband - just scars of injuries past that become inflamed without warning.)

Moments later, the other man in my life appeared. “Mommy, can I snuggle?” So I moved over to be sandwiched between the two in our wholly inadequate double bed. In short order the middle child padded in and curled up at the end of the bed on my feet while the dog became increasing ly frantic, racing from one side of the bed to the other trying to find a gap he could jump into.

Thus I enter consciousness under siege, like a soldier awakened by incoming rounds. I started flailing around and hollering for everyone to Get. Off. Me. and finally managed to extricate myself. I left everyone behind thinking, “Why is she rejecting me?” The truth is that it couldn’t be any less about them.

I head into the living room/kitchen/great room - an area that is being secured by the National Park Service as a monument to chaos and disorder. I make my coffee and assume my position for my daily morning ritual of study, prayer and contemplation. This practice is essential for me and the reason I get up so early. I need that half hour before anyone else in the house is up, but since I have slept late, I have missed my window. Instead, my study time is punctuated with distractions and demands.

As I start briefing everyone on the day’s schedule and what needs to happen to make it all possible, I feel myself getting tighter than a piano wire. I stop what I am doing and say, “I am going for a run. You all have approximately 1 hour and fifteen minutes to do something that will not make me want to burn your flesh off with my eyes.”

Had I stayed any longer, I would have had a classic meltdown involving any of the following: yelling, shaming, belittling, martydom, condescension, hysteria, and tears (theirs or mine). Instead, it took 50 minutes of running before my meltdown occured in the form of rivulets of sweat streaming down my face. I literally left it all on the road.

In my dreams, I am Kenyan.

I picked up this headband at the post-race expo after my first half marathon. It is made out of COOLMAX, a performance fabric that I had hoped would solve my little problem of being blinded by my own torrential downpour of sweat.

Turns out, I just look like a complete ass in a headband. I might as well throw on some shiny leggings and thong leotard, but I am so not going to go there.

This headband has, however, become part of my pre-race ritual. In the privacy of my own home, I put it on, lay back, and visualize myself as a “real” runner, the runner of my dreams, crossing that finish line with ease, victoriously.

OK, I really bought it because I thought it was funny. I thought the idea of me wearing it was freakin’ hilarious, not just because I look like Olivia Newton John’s (circa Let’s Get Physical) dowdy older sister, but because I am the polar opposite of Kenyan.

Kenya is well known for it’s production of super-elite runners. I’m pretty sure their training regime goes something like this:

1. Wake up
2. Start running
3. Up steep mountains only
4. Repeat steps 1-3 over and over

Now in fairness to myself, I am much more well-rounded than my Kenyan runner brethren. And by “well-rounded”, I don’t just mean in that fleshy way that a forty-something woman of sturdy anglo-irsh stock is well-rounded. No, I mean that my life doesn’t actually revolve around running. For all the time I think about, talk about, read about, and write about running, I still only actually run 4-5 hours a week, 20-25 miles per week (and I may or may not be exaggerating those numbers in any given week).

The other 163 hours per week I am sleeping, eating, working, housekeeping, reading, writing, teaching, relationship tending, traveling, going to church, class, games, parties, Tweeting, Facebooking, and so on. I have a very full life, so not completing a sub-4 hour marathon is just going to have to be OK for me.

People ask me all the time if I really like to run. Sometimes I can honestly say “yes“, but more accurately, the answer is that I love NOT running, but the running part makes the not running parts way better.

Taper Week IS Training

If you have been training with an eye on a specific race, you have probably followed some kind of plan or program. (Please say you have!)  Your training plan will most likely conclude with a week of reduced mileage and training intensity, known as your taper week ( maybe longer, if you are competing in a full marathon).

Even though you’ve  have been training hard, you may still harbor some doubt that you can do this thing. You may be tempted to sneak in a little extra training for good measure. Don’t – and here’s why:

•  Even if you sat around all week doing nothing, you would not markedly affect your fitness level.
•  Even if you add another workout or a few extra miles, you will not markedly improve your fitness level.
• If you do too much, you may actually hurt your performance.

 The ENTIRE basis of training - incrementally increasing time, distance, and speed – is to stress your body. It is in the recovery and rest periods that your muscles actually repair themselves, building and strengthening so they are prepared for the next effort.  Your muscles are like those scientists that made the Bionic Man: “We will make him better, stronger, faster.”

 Taper week is time that your body will recover and repair the micro-tears and stresses imposed by training, and a little more of this is exactly what you need to perform your very best on race day. Do not dismiss the power of the taper week. You will be amazed!

Taper week is my favorite week of a training program – not just because I get to “slack off” and still stay on plan – but it is a great time to reflect on the work I’ve done and start visualizing the race and how good it’s going to feel to cross that finish line. Running is as much a mental discipline as a physical one, so use your taper week to rest your body and get you head on straight.

Paying it Forward

This morning I had a little “show and tell” time with my running group. This was hard for me. Even though I am feeling pretty proud of what I’ve accomplished over the last year and a half, it is still hard to look at those pictures – and embarassing to share them.

I posted this on Facebook last night: “Getting ready to share some of my ‘before’ pictures with my running group. Even my kids don’t recognize the ‘old’ me.” One of my high school friends (that I haven’t seen since high school) asked, “What was wrong with the old you?” Gosh, what to say? He hadn’t seen the wreckage of the in-between years.

 The “original” me was a girl that was pretty bold and confident, despite never recalling a time I wasn’t acutely aware of my weight. I was cute enough, smart, popular, captain of the cheerleading squad – all with the pluck of one who may have been genetically burdened with short legs, thick thighs and wide hips, but wasn’t going to be held back by them.

Then some years of hard livin’, poor choices, plummeting self-esteem, and babies – all those damn  babies – and the “original” me disappeared inside the “old” me. One of my dear running ladies asked, “Don’t you feel like a new person?” My answer was, “No, actually, I feel like who I used to be,”  the point being: I feel more like my authentic self.

So it’s not about being fat all my life and then thin, or thin-then-fat-then-thin-again, or fat and not quite so fat now. I run to move closer to who I really am. I coach and write and share my experiences – funny, embarrassing, painful, hopeful, triumphant – for only one reason: gratitude. I’m not exceptional or genetically gifted or the great overcomer. I’m just a woman willing to let it all hang out in the hope that someone else will find the courage to run or walk towards her real self again.

And another thing about hills…

I’ve been on vacation, so the blog has been on hiatus, but now I’m back and ready to follow up my hill post.

First, I should clarify one point: I advised keeping “perpendicular” to the ground when it would have been more accurate to say “plumb”. Imagine you are a plumb-bob, hung on a string from heaven – you remain upright, neither crunching forward into the hill or leaning back to slow yourself down. I really did not intend that you should be defying all laws of gravity by maintaing right angles with the ground regardless of the grade of the hill. Make sense? Good.

Now, I’d like to share a little hill story from my vacation…

I was in Maine last week, staying in a little community called Bayside. It can be found mid-coast, between Camden and Belfast, situated on Shore Road which hugs the coastline for 5-6 miles. The terrain is ”gently rolling”, much like the Charlottesville area. It’s a pretty perfect route for me.

My first run was to be my “long” run for the week. I didn’t have mileage markers, so I decided to just go out 40 minutes and return for a relaxed 80 minute run. Since it was my first run on this route, I didn’t know quite what to expect. All was good and uneventful until I reached the 35 minute mark – almost at my turn around point.

I found myself at the top of a hill that goes down and curves around sharply to the left, so that I couldn’t see exactly how far or how steep. There was, however, one of those yellow road signs that warn truckers about steep grades and checking their brakes. That did not bode well.

I had a decision to make. I could turn around and head back at this point. That would still be a very respectable run, and only cutting myself short by 10 minutes. Maybe I could even make it up on the other end – but I know myself.  The reason I like an agressive out and back course is that I have no problem getting to the halfway point, and once there, I have no choice but to finish. If I were to cut it short here, there’s no way I would make it up on the other end.

As the angel and devil on each shoulder debated the point, I couldn’t help but think about all the advice I’d been smugly flinging around about hills, and what a loser I’d be to chicken out on this hill now, even if it was in the privacy of my own vacation run.

So I barreled down the steep grade and around the curve. It eventually bottomed out and I began ascending another, more modest hill. I reached my 40 minute mark and knew it was time to turn around and face THE hill from the other side. It wasn’t immediately in sight, but I came back around that curve and that hill rose up before me like the Great Pyramid of Tenochtitlan .

It had been lightly raining. The morning fog was burning off and steam was rising unearthly from the pavement. I half expected to see the hounds of Hell waiting for me as I crested the hill, snarling and slobbering and greedily eyeing me to determine if I was weak enough to pick off or too weak to be any fun. I employed my best hill running techniques (which now included visualizing vicious dogs in hot pursuit) and before I knew it, I was up and over. No dogs. No pain. No throbbing, bursting, bleeding. None of that.

So I’m glad I didn’t cheat myself. Maybe Sarge was right. It’s not a hill. The mountains to be moved are mostly in my head.

There is no wagon.

I wish I could claim the following as my own original idea, but I have to give credit to my dear, funny, wise WeightWatchers leader Denise for this inspiration.

Have you ever tried to do something hard? Like stop smoking, lose weight, start running or make your bed every day (well, that’s hard for me)?

When your new habit or discipline fails, you might say, “I fell off the wagon.”

So here’s the question: If you fell off the wagon, where were you sitting? Too close to the edge?

If you weren’t too close to the edge, then the question is: Who’s driving the wagon?

What is it you want to achieve? How do you think you will get there? Are you waiting and hoping the wagon will come by?

I’ve got news for you: There is no wagon. There is only right now. Turn in the direction of your desire and start walking (or running). Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Run the Race Marked Out for YOU

Let us throw off everything that hinders … and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.
~Hebrews 12:1

This week marks the first time some W4MTP participants will leave the safe confines of the track and head out on the road. Some of you may be glad for it – going round and round on that track can be BORING! If you are like me, however, leaving the track can be scary.

The track is safe, measured, predicatable and FLAT! The road – not so much.

Hitting the road is an important milestone for a new runner. It will teach you a lot about freedom and adventure and pushing your limits, but one of the most powerful lessons you will learn about running – and life – you learn on the track.

On the track, everyone starts in the same place. The crowd moves out and around the oval, everyone settling into their pace, marking their laps. You will find that sometimes you are in crowd jockeying for position, and sometimes you are on your own for a stretch. After a few laps, it’s impossible to tell who is ahead or behind. All you can do is run your course.

Your journey is uniquely your own. There will always be someone ahead and someone behind. Sometimes you will be in the middle of the pack and sometimes you will have to go it alone. You can’t keep count of everyone else’s laps, only your own. If you can embrace this idea, you will be set free to be who you really are, free to look forward, free to slow down, free to reach out to others on your path who need a word of encouragement or instruction, free dig deep and find out what you are really made of, free to fly.

Why I Run

Saturday was my debut as a running coach.

So I’m out on the road with my group for their first one mile run. I pull up alongside one woman to check in. We chit chat a little and she asks me, “So why do you do this?”

I wasn’t quite ready for that question. You’d think that as prone to introspection as I am, I might have a ready answer for this one. My reply? “Well, I used to be 100 lbs overweight, and now I’m not.”

I couldn’t believe I just said that out loud. Not only was it rather blunt and inelegant, but it was startlingly honest in a way I didn’t think I could be. And I think she understood that I really wasn’t talking about running for weight management.

I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve gained from running – all the benefits, growth and “character building” opportunities it has afforded me. Running may have started out as a tool in my weight loss efforts, but both the weight loss and the running have become larger than wanting lose pounds and dress sizes. They have become instrumental in regaining a sense of who I really am, what I’m really made of. The strategies I employ in running I apply in almost every other area of my life: boldly pursuing a vision, setting and achieving a goal by putting one foot in front of the other, getting the right support system and team in place, knowing when to push harder and when to rest, ordering my life so that all its components support my larger objective.

I am awake now. I run to keep from becoming numb and drowsy and disoriented. I don’t ever want to forget who I am again.

You never know how far one step can take you.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one small step.

When I was looking for some inspirational/motivational quotes to share with my new four-miler trainees, this classic Chinese proverb seemed apt for new walkers and runners. It’s very common to be intimidated by the thought of running four miles, especially if you’ve never been a runner. Even as a walker, it may seem way out of reach when the longest trek you routinely make is from the car to the door of your house or office or grocery store.

I was thinking I’d start out with something like this: You may not be going for 1000 miles, but 4 miles may feel that far away to you now.

Then I started thinking, “How many miles have I actually logged over the last year?”

As a middle aged, middle distance, moderately paced (and that’s generous) runner, I have logged about 600 miles since I started my journey a year ago. That means that should you choose to stick with a moderate plan of running 3-4 days per week, 2-4 miles per day, you could easily make your journey of 1000 miles in two years. That’s really pretty amazing.

And it all begins with that first step. No effort is too small, especially when applied deliberately and consistently. You can go as far as you please if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I was built for comfort, not speed.

Yesterday’s scheduled work out on my training plan was speed intervals. I say this with as much dignity as I can muster, because saying I’m doing “speed” work actually makes me giggle a little bit.

I was not built for speed.

Here comes some runner’s jargon, so stick with me a minute. I started with a 1.5 mile warmup at an easy, conversational pace. Then I returned to the track to knock out some measured intervals at 5k race pace interspersed with some recovery laps. For me, 5k race pace is about 2 minutes per mile faster than my conversational pace.

Up until now, one of my primary objectives in running has been to run comfortably. I have taken great pains to camoflauge any evidence of real effort like panting, gasping, grunting, crying…I intend to look gazelle-like when I run, you know – graceful and effortless. But alas, I am not gazelle-like. Rather, I am more terrier-like, low to the ground and determined to root out my quarry, which is usually found at the end of a few miles of pavement. (Note: Terriers are known best for their short legs, disproportionately large heads and powerful jaws, perfectly suited for diving into holes and catching rodents.)

This workout required timing myself at certain intervals, working at specific and varying levels of effort, and what I discovered was interesting. I was right on pace at both the “easy” legs of my run as well as the “speed” portions. Pacing can be a challenge for both new and experienced runners, so it is nice to know that I am beginning to really understand what my effort is yielding.

I couldn’t help but think that this has broader life applications: knowing the boundaries of my comfort zone, when it starts to feel like work, when I’m giving it all I’ve got, and when it’s time for rest and recovery. I’ve been guilty of a reluctance to exert myself for fear I would fail in shame and disgrace. Now I’ve found that knowing my limits helps me push them gently, yet firmly until they yield to my desire for change.