Mental Whack-a-Mole
The 35th running of the Charlottesville 10 Miler happened this past weekend, and most people know this race to be one of the best and one of the toughest courses around. I’ve dreamed of being able to complete the 10 miler for 10 years now – maybe longer – but it wasn’t until a year ago that this became a distinct possibility.
Every time you sign up for a race you have some goals in mind. One may be to shoot for a certain time or to get through the whole thing without walking, or maybe just finishing is the accomplishment. I had my goals. I had two time goals: one was my stretch goal and one was my maybe I can live with this goal. My third string goal was to finish. I didn’t really take this one too seriously.
The first half of the race I was on pace for my first goal, but something happened at mile 5. I hit a wall. I can’t explain why exactly, but I questioned how much more I could do and seriously considered quitting. I’ve rarely felt that way in training, much less in a race. This was supposed to be my sweet spot. I’m just getting warmed up at 3 miles – up to mile 8 or 9 is usually the best part of my run – but not on this day.
I rallied a bit and managed to keep myself in the game. I had to dig deep to remember that last ditch goal: to finish. I had to convince myself at various points along the way that even if I had to crawl in, I was going to finish what I started.
I made that goal, and I even made it to my I can maybe live with this goal. But I was really, really disappointed with the outcome. I was disappointed in my performance. I was disappointed that an event on which I had hung so many hopes and expectations, was a huge let-down. Mostly I was upset with myself that I had not prepared properly. I took some things for granted. I cut some corners, and I did not get away with it. Somewhere in the back of my head I must have thought I could get away with it.
Why not? I’ve been getting away with it. I’ve been passing myself off as a runner, while standing in the midst of them I feel like a fraud. The sting was really the feeling that I had been busted.
Of course that’s not truth. The truth may be that I was unprepared to give my best shot that day, but it is not true that I am a fake runner. I’ve worked really hard – too hard – to let these “lizard thoughts” (as my friend describes them) rob me of my faith in myself and the joy of my achievement. I think of these thoughts more like snakes that slither out of dark places. What reasonable person would look at one of these creatures and think I should grab that and hold on to it? No, most of us would grab a shovel and cut its head off.
I imagine these thoughts more like that arcade classic “whack-a-mole”. They keep popping up and I must diligently whack them down as soon as I detect one.
My Top 10 C’ville 10 Miler Moments
1. Sitting in the parking lot of the JPJ arena watching the sunrise. I was so worried about getting a parking space I got there early. Really early. I was actually the first one there besides the volunteers. This bit of solitude is a gift.
2. Gathering at the start line under the cherry blossoms and crystal blue sky. The start is on a hill, so you are looking up at the sky. The weather was perfect and the crowd pleasantly chatty.
3. Singing the national anthem. Not every race begins with the national anthem, but someone began singing and the crowd stilled. Hats came off, people were singing, and I became a little verklempt. Just the first time I would shed tears this day. The “official” singer got to the end of the song and was trying to take a little artistic license with the timing, taking a lengthy pause. The crowd jumped into the pause finished it off for him.
4. The view from the back. Running at the back of the back might be discouraging for some, but it’s fun to see the bobbing mass of humanity fill Alderman road as far as you can see.
5. The drums on McCormick. I don’t know if these are the same guys that do drum circles on the downtown mall, but it had that insistent tribal sound – great for running - and reminded me of my dream of being Kenyan.
6. Vintage UVa. The course takes you through central grounds, past the pavilions of the Lawn, the Rotunda and the chapel. Two blue-blazered, bourbon swilling boys with their Jefferson cups and lawn room appointed rocking chairs kept the patter going all morning – friendly, in a town-drunk sort of way, but with an edge of superior douche-baggery. They pissed me off on the first pass in mile three, and kept me alive on the second pass in mile 9. They liked my earrings and articulated one of my life axioms: It is better to look good than to feel good.
7. The old man on his front porch. This course goes through the University, downtown, the Park Street neighborhood and the the border town of Grady Avenue. As fraternity houses give way to a rougher city neighborhood, I couldn’t help but smile at the old folks on their front porches waving and encouraging us runners. We must seem so alien.
8. The joy of the Lord on 10th & Grady. You know that little white clapboard church with the dark green trim on the corner of 10th & Grady? If you ever pass it on a Sunday morning, the whole building is literally throbbing with gospel music. Their praise band was ROCKING IT out on the sidewalk with singers, drums, electric guitars. This is what ministry is all about.
9. The cemetery on Lexington. In the seventh mile, I pass this downtown graveyard. I am suffering mightily at this point. I amuse myself by joking with the volunteers that I wish this really were my final resting place.
10. Beautiful liars. I’ve been watching people with finishers medals heading back to their cars or out to brunch for half an hour already. I’m still going. Rounding the last corner with just under a mile to go, the volunteers are unflagging in their optimism. They clap and shout things like, “Way to go!”, “Looking good!”, “Almost there!”. The cranky 70 year man who has just pulled up next to me grouses, “We are not almost there. We’ve still got at least ¾ of mile.” But after 2 hours of rollercoaster hills and emotions, we are soon at the finish line collecting our medals. Thank you to the many volunteers, friends, strangers, spectators and fellow runners for making me feel like a winner all along the way.
I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.
That’s not exactly true, but I’ve always wanted to use that line.
It came to me as I was arriving at my latest race, the Martha Jefferson 8K. I arrived early, alone, and sat in my car chilling out until it was time to hit the bathroom and head for the start line. As I watched other cars streaming in with families and groups, I was again reminded of my separateness. My family is very supportive of my running, but they have never come to watch me or wait for me at the finish line. They have never been there to witness and celebrate my accomplishments in those heady post-race moments. This has mostly been a practical matter of work schedules and child care issues.
My very first race, I asked my parents to come. I envisioned them at the race with my children, watching, cheering, and celebrating. Lots of other women enjoyed this. But I caught a vision of the reality of this situation. While I was running for an hour, they would be bored to death or uncomfortable due to the many unpredictable conditions of an outdoor event. By the time I was done and ready to celebrate, they would be anxious to get the hell out of there.
No. I could relax and enjoy my experience more if they didn’t come. I could focus on the race instead of where they were or what they were doing or if they were enjoying themselves.
Do I feel a little pang that I am alone at these milestone moments? Sure. But I have come to rely on the wonderful camaraderie of the running community. The truth is that it has been strangers that have helped me deal with my weight issues, that kindly and gently introduced me to running, that kept me motivated, that offered me training and coaching, and that have been there to celebrate my successes.
The MJH8K was a dreary, wet day. Many, many volunteers got up early and stood outside in the rain for and hour or two all along the race course to direct, protect and cheer the runners and walkers on . I made sure to smile and say thank you to each and everyone I passed. I may not impress anyone with my speed, but I hoped to impress a few with kindness and appreciation.
As I came off the Belmont bridge in the last quarter mile, I was running with a woman who looked to be about my age. She was fighting for every inch in this last stretch. On the sidelines appeared her teen-age son. He shouted out to her: Come on Mom, I’m gonna run it in with you. He kept talking, cajoling, encouraging and pushing her forward. Half-jokingly, I said to them: I’m gonna lasso myself you two and let you pull me in. This boy – this stranger – turned around to me and said: Come on, I’ll bring you in too. You’re with us.
I don’t know who this family was; I may never see them again, but it was a pleasure to share their joy for a moment. I thank them for their kindness to me.
I do not run with scissors or music.
My husband and I have a great marriage, in spite of the fact that we disagree on almost every mundane daily task – how to load the dishwasher, paper towel usage, how to park a car. He doesn’t think we disagree about everything, but that just proves my point. (Thankfully, we are in agreement about the big stuff.)
We really part ways when it comes to music. Even though we are only 4 years apart in age, it’s a generation, musically. He’s all 70s classic rock and I, well, I like music made in every decade. He likes listening to a radio station called “Generations” which is just another word for “oldies”. I resist “oldies” stations because I am not old, thank you very much. I am of a certain age, but I’m hip. Really.
Here’s the rub: They play that oldies station at my gym, and I sadly know every word to every song. I was totally digging Gladys Knight and the Pips’ Midnight Train to Georgia yesterday morning, and I think I even did the train whistle “woo woo” thing with my arm while running on the treadmill. Awkward.
This is why I don’t normally run with an ipod. Once when I did, I found myself jogging through my staid suburban neighborhood singing, or rather hollering, along with the Clash: This is…a public service announcement…with guitaaaaaars! Woooooo!
Then I remembered: They can hear you.
Discotheque Looks-I’ve been waiting for this comeback. Haven’t you?
I’m really posting this because these pics are by my awesomely awesome brother and his wife, but if I thought I could get away with this look…
Posted via web from Bite Size
Recovery Run?
The recovery run is the short easy run that comes on the heels of the weekend long run. Sunday was the long run, Monday was rest day – or rather, the knocked flat on my ass with a virus day. Tuesday I felt better, but my gut was still a little grinchy. I was not recovered quite enough to do my recovery run.
Today, however, it needed to get done. The first ¾ of a mile was some of crappiest running I’ve experienced in a long time. My gut was still angry, and I don’t doubt that the Indaian food and several glasses of wine last night was ill advised. As I closed in on the first mile mark, my griping intestines finally started to relax – but not too much. That would be catastrophic for a whole ‘nother reason, and you can rest assured that I will NEVER, EVER, write about such things.
I hit the mile and a quarter turn around mark, and I soon found that my 3-4 minutes of comfort were fleeting and now I was really sweating – not in a busting a good work out way, but more like a hormonal hot flash or deadly tropical fever way.
I clawed my way up the gentle incline that I had never noticed was uphill before and all I could think was: That pile of leaves in the storm drainage ditch looks comfy. Maybe I could just lie down there for a minute. I was concerned it would take a long time for some on to find the body.
At the 2 mile mark, I started feeling as if I might live after all and finished out my run without further incident. Really, really glad it’s over.
Distance: 2.4 miles
Time: 29:19
Avg Pace: 12:04
The Long Run
Sunday – long run day.
I put in a full week of training runs, logged all the miles, felt good, even with my additional day. I expected this run to feel good. Actually, it would probably be more accurate to say I felt entitled to feel good. So I’m sure it was no coincidence that the Sunday school lesson I taught this morning included the value of suffering with regards to spiritual growth. Sometimes, when you get tired, you have to go a little farther. You have to do a little more than you think you can, because it is in this space that growth happens.
I didn’t feel fast and light, but I pushed on through and was glad for it.
Distance: 8 miles
Time: 1:41:14
Avg Pace: 12:37
Now we are getting into distance that requires more than water. I’ll probably have to start packing a snack again, but this time I added Gatorade to my water. 20oz of half and half seemed to do me about right.
Today’s Run
I was feeling anxious that I blew off yesterday’s run, but I’m glad I saved it for today. Yesterday was crazy rain all day, and although I will run in the rain, today’s cool clear afternoon presented ideal conditions for a nice mid-distance run. I felt good and light and busted out a pretty good pace for me. Today’s objective: a strong, steady, even pace for 4.5 miles. I’d classify today’s run as a tempo run – a little beyond conversational pace, but not quite race pace. It felt like work, but not too hard – just right.
Distance: 4.62
Time: 51:14
Avg Pace: 11:05
I didn’t carry any water, although I wish I had. I forgot my little hand held water bottle. I did drink up through out the day and ate light, and I’m not feeling too guilty about those two lacey toffee chocolate cookies I had this afternoon. Well worth it!
