The title is sort of self-explanatory.
1. So far this year, I've only run 111.6 miles. That is despicable, especially since I want(ed) to run 1,000 by the end of December.
2. Like every other aspect of my life, I lack the motivation necessary to truly apply myself to running. On a given day, I can think of multiple excuses NOT to run. A lot of the time, I'm just too goddamn lazy.
3. I don't trust my body whatsoever. It's just not built for this kind of thing. It broke down once and I feel like it might do it again. The fact that I have trouble walking after a shift at work is indicative of this.
4. Life in general just sort of sucks right now. I'm no longer in school and haven't made any plans to go back. My relationships are falling apart. I sleep a lot and am always tired. I wouldn't mind sleeping for weeks at a time if I could.
That's all for now.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
(Not) Running in Canada
Okay. It's been a while since I last posted. The quick and easy explanation is that I was lazy.
So what has been going on in my life? Well, I went to Canada last week for the first time in my life. It was a pretty chill place. And by that, I mean it was goddamn freezing. We've had a pretty nasty winter here in New England, but I still had some trouble dealing with the cold up there. Quebec was a beautiful city and I wanted to explore as much of it as I could, but being outside was sometimes physically painful. It was the kind of cold where you're constantly wiping snot from your nose even though you're not sick (yet).
That being said, I did succeed at running once in Canada. It was our first full day in Montreal, and Andrew and I did an out-and-back loop. Quite frankly, it sucked. The sidewalks were icy, Canadians were blowing cigarette smoke into our faces as we passed, and we stopped every ten feet to wait for the light to change. Some of the people gawked at us as if they'd never seen runners before. Others wouldn't move out of the way for us to get by them. Granted, we were running in a kind of business-y district so I can understand why we may have looked out of place. Just when hope was about lost, we spotted a pair of runners near the end of our route. I can't even explain the excitement I felt. We were not alone!
Later that day, we climbed a mountain. I'm not sure if it was classified as a mountain, but who cares. The view from the top was beautiful; we could see the whole city. As we were climbing up, we passed lots of runners (or, more accurately, they passed us). We glimpsed a giant pack of them running back to the bottom. They were all clad in fancy running gear and looked super serious.
I had multiple chances to run in Quebec. Andrew mapped a route and everything. But it was cold, I felt sick, etc. The usual deal. Except I actually really wanted to run there. It's incredibly scenic and more runner-friendly than Montreal. If I go back when it's warmer, I will.
So what has been going on in my life? Well, I went to Canada last week for the first time in my life. It was a pretty chill place. And by that, I mean it was goddamn freezing. We've had a pretty nasty winter here in New England, but I still had some trouble dealing with the cold up there. Quebec was a beautiful city and I wanted to explore as much of it as I could, but being outside was sometimes physically painful. It was the kind of cold where you're constantly wiping snot from your nose even though you're not sick (yet).
That being said, I did succeed at running once in Canada. It was our first full day in Montreal, and Andrew and I did an out-and-back loop. Quite frankly, it sucked. The sidewalks were icy, Canadians were blowing cigarette smoke into our faces as we passed, and we stopped every ten feet to wait for the light to change. Some of the people gawked at us as if they'd never seen runners before. Others wouldn't move out of the way for us to get by them. Granted, we were running in a kind of business-y district so I can understand why we may have looked out of place. Just when hope was about lost, we spotted a pair of runners near the end of our route. I can't even explain the excitement I felt. We were not alone!
Later that day, we climbed a mountain. I'm not sure if it was classified as a mountain, but who cares. The view from the top was beautiful; we could see the whole city. As we were climbing up, we passed lots of runners (or, more accurately, they passed us). We glimpsed a giant pack of them running back to the bottom. They were all clad in fancy running gear and looked super serious.
I had multiple chances to run in Quebec. Andrew mapped a route and everything. But it was cold, I felt sick, etc. The usual deal. Except I actually really wanted to run there. It's incredibly scenic and more runner-friendly than Montreal. If I go back when it's warmer, I will.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
$99, 3 cities, and 12 miles later, I've run the Wild Rover.
Today (err, technically yesterday now) was the last race of the 2011 Wild Rover Series- the Hynes Tavern 5 miler. I went into it with pretty high expectations for myself so I was kind of nervous. Although the beginning of the day was a slight train wreck, everything turned out way better than I thought it would.
To start, as we were driving to Lowell, it began to rain. Rain can be ominous, especially when you've psyched yourself up so much. After getting out of the car, we noticed that it was probably about 10 degrees colder than the weather man predicted. The race attire I had selected consisted of my lightest-weight tech t-shirt and shorts. Some people were dressed for the Arctic. And then, with a half hour to go before the race start, I went to use the bathroom only to find about a hundred people in front of me. Any logical person would have taken care of business before leaving the house. I did so. But my system always freaks the hell out on race days and I repeatedly find myself in this type of situation. With about 10 people in front of me in line, I chanced a look at my watch. 12:50. The race was to start at 1:00. Panic much?
Needless to say, my warm-up consisted of jogging to the starting line. At least I made it in time. At the last second, I found Dad and asked "What do you want me to run?" "8" was his reply. The race itself went really well. I went out at a quick but steady pace, not wanting to burn out (which I did a little bit around mile 2 but I recovered). This course was neat because we got to run on highway overpasses and through a cemetery where supposedly Jack Kerouac is buried. There were no Mt. Claddaghs in this course but there were "rolling hills," which are like the ones around my house, so I didn't worry about them too much. I went by the 3 mile mark in 23:12, which is my exact finishing time from the Frozen Shamrock 3 weeks ago. I went by the 4 mile mark in about 31 minutes, faster than I ran Claddagh. At that point, I know this sounds awful, but I realized it was literally impossible to miss my 40 minute goal time, so I didn't kill myself in the last mile. But a car almost had the pleasure- it pulled out into the street in front of us and just hung out there for a few seconds. FYI- runners hate cars. It's like, yeah, we're trying to get somewhere in a hurry too, and we're working a hell of a lot harder than you are, Mr. Lexus.
Anyway, my parents were both at the finish, screaming my name. My final time was 39 flat, over 4 minutes faster than I ran Bradford a month ago. As was the case last week, my splits were almost perfectly even (not sure how that's happening but cool). But the thing that impacted me most was my parents' enthusiasm after I crossed the line. They were beyond proud of me that I'd broken the magic 8 minute barrier; my dad let out a whoop that earned us quite a few stares. Per usual, I sacrificed my free beer to him ("Next year it will be mine," I assured the volunteer passing them out). We'd brought my series medal and a pair of pliers in my backpack so I could wear the completely assembled medal right away; it looks awwwwwesome. We then had a kind stranger take a picture of us all together. And THEN, I saw Mr. Lou Peters finish his race and I was lucky enough to snag a photo with him. I pretty much love that man.
When I got home, I chewed some Pepto tablets (since the race wasn't physically agreeing with me all that well), curled up on the couch under a blanket, and watched some of Snow White on ABC Family while Dad did his daily walk around the block. Eventually I mustered up enough energy to shower and change- into my new shirt, naturally. And obviously it made sense to wear my medal around the house. Ruby and Anjie were impressed, at least.
So it's past midnight, Ruby's trying to eat the plastic bag that my race t-shirt came in, and I'm seriously contemplating doing the Disney Wine and Dine Half and/or the Disney Marathon Weekend half/full/both. But I also have about 10 race fliers for local events taking place in the next few weeks. Decisions decisions.
To start, as we were driving to Lowell, it began to rain. Rain can be ominous, especially when you've psyched yourself up so much. After getting out of the car, we noticed that it was probably about 10 degrees colder than the weather man predicted. The race attire I had selected consisted of my lightest-weight tech t-shirt and shorts. Some people were dressed for the Arctic. And then, with a half hour to go before the race start, I went to use the bathroom only to find about a hundred people in front of me. Any logical person would have taken care of business before leaving the house. I did so. But my system always freaks the hell out on race days and I repeatedly find myself in this type of situation. With about 10 people in front of me in line, I chanced a look at my watch. 12:50. The race was to start at 1:00. Panic much?
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| Running through the cemetery. Photo by J. Rhoades |
Anyway, my parents were both at the finish, screaming my name. My final time was 39 flat, over 4 minutes faster than I ran Bradford a month ago. As was the case last week, my splits were almost perfectly even (not sure how that's happening but cool). But the thing that impacted me most was my parents' enthusiasm after I crossed the line. They were beyond proud of me that I'd broken the magic 8 minute barrier; my dad let out a whoop that earned us quite a few stares. Per usual, I sacrificed my free beer to him ("Next year it will be mine," I assured the volunteer passing them out). We'd brought my series medal and a pair of pliers in my backpack so I could wear the completely assembled medal right away; it looks awwwwwesome. We then had a kind stranger take a picture of us all together. And THEN, I saw Mr. Lou Peters finish his race and I was lucky enough to snag a photo with him. I pretty much love that man.
When I got home, I chewed some Pepto tablets (since the race wasn't physically agreeing with me all that well), curled up on the couch under a blanket, and watched some of Snow White on ABC Family while Dad did his daily walk around the block. Eventually I mustered up enough energy to shower and change- into my new shirt, naturally. And obviously it made sense to wear my medal around the house. Ruby and Anjie were impressed, at least.
So it's past midnight, Ruby's trying to eat the plastic bag that my race t-shirt came in, and I'm seriously contemplating doing the Disney Wine and Dine Half and/or the Disney Marathon Weekend half/full/both. But I also have about 10 race fliers for local events taking place in the next few weeks. Decisions decisions.
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| With Coach/Dad and my completed bling |
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| Me with the two most important people in my life. Awww. |
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| Me and Lou!! |
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Lethargy
For the last few days, I've been physically drained. You know the part in the Disney version of Hercules when Hades makes the deal that to save Meg, Herc has to give up his god-like strength and be a weakling? Kind of like that, only without the huge guns. Yesterday, after making a pilgrimage to Whirlaway to get my new orthotics and drool over all the running clothes and unsuccessfully inquire about a job (and stopping at the MSPCA for some quality time with some deserving doggies), I came home and passed out for 4 hours. I was absolutely fried. I woke up today feeling the same- just no energy. But by around 4 pm, I mustered enough motivation to drag myself out the door. I wore one of my Boston Marathon volunteer jackets, a fluorescent yellow-green number, to reduce the chance of being hit by a car by a couple percentage points. Because I was feeling so reluctant, I allowed myself to bring my iPod along. I also wore my new shoes and orthotics for the first time.
It was a 4 miler on a course that I run at least once a week. What I noticed about the run that it felt like it was taking me longer than usual to reach certain spots on the course. I attributed this to my lack of energy and forced myself to keep going. Every so often, my feet would twinge, complaining about their new surroundings. Eventually, I found a groove, probably around the time that Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones" came on. One of the things I love about running on the roads around my house is that it's entirely possible to never see a passing car. Downhill from my house is an open property where a couple of cows are usually hanging out, watching me run by. The route I ran today features a nice pond that's very picturesque when flowers are blooming or snow has freshly fallen. Today, it was kind of in an in-between state, like it was waiting for spring to arrive (aren't we all?!)
The last leg of the Cedardale loop is Governor's Road. No matter what, that road seems to suck all the remaining energy out of me. Maybe it's because I have to be hyper-vigilant in order to avoid twisting my ankle, given that the winter weather hasn't treated the Governor especially well. Also, ever since I first started running with my dad, I've kicked at the end of every run. I feel that it's an important habit to develop; no matter how exhausted you are, you always leave something in the tank for the end. Speaking of Dad, as I was suffering on Governor's Road, I saw him walking toward me. I'm very proud of him because he's made walking every day a routine and now walks at least all the way around the block (2.3 miles). Eventually, I hope he can join me on the bike for my long runs in preparation for Middlebury. He obviously could tell I was struggling and offered some words of encouragement as I dragged myself past him.
Once I turn the corner where Governor's meets Seven Star, I'm home free. It's a flat straightaway to the finish- my driveway. I picked up speed and click my watch to stop the timer. After I lean over and spit, I check the time. 33 flat. I ran it about as fast as I raced Claddagh on Sunday, although this might not be a fair comparison because Cedardale doesn't include a mountain. A fair comparison would be saying that this is the fastest I've run that loop so far this year. Looking through my log later, I realized that it was also my fastest paced training run so far this year of any distance (in other words, I'm getting faster!!). As I'd promised myself before I finished the run, I did 4 strides. They felt amazing, like I was flying. For someone with as sloppy, awkward form as myself, this is a big deal. It was one of those rare moments when running actually felt natural. In the words of the great philosopher Charlie Sheen, I felt like a total bitchin' rock star from Mars.
Not bad for a day that getting out of bed was a struggle.
It was a 4 miler on a course that I run at least once a week. What I noticed about the run that it felt like it was taking me longer than usual to reach certain spots on the course. I attributed this to my lack of energy and forced myself to keep going. Every so often, my feet would twinge, complaining about their new surroundings. Eventually, I found a groove, probably around the time that Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones" came on. One of the things I love about running on the roads around my house is that it's entirely possible to never see a passing car. Downhill from my house is an open property where a couple of cows are usually hanging out, watching me run by. The route I ran today features a nice pond that's very picturesque when flowers are blooming or snow has freshly fallen. Today, it was kind of in an in-between state, like it was waiting for spring to arrive (aren't we all?!)
The last leg of the Cedardale loop is Governor's Road. No matter what, that road seems to suck all the remaining energy out of me. Maybe it's because I have to be hyper-vigilant in order to avoid twisting my ankle, given that the winter weather hasn't treated the Governor especially well. Also, ever since I first started running with my dad, I've kicked at the end of every run. I feel that it's an important habit to develop; no matter how exhausted you are, you always leave something in the tank for the end. Speaking of Dad, as I was suffering on Governor's Road, I saw him walking toward me. I'm very proud of him because he's made walking every day a routine and now walks at least all the way around the block (2.3 miles). Eventually, I hope he can join me on the bike for my long runs in preparation for Middlebury. He obviously could tell I was struggling and offered some words of encouragement as I dragged myself past him.
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| With my biggest fan before the Clipper Relays, September 2007 |
Not bad for a day that getting out of bed was a struggle.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
In memoriam
Today, I learned of a tragic loss in the running community. Sally Meyerhoff, one of the most elite runners in the country, died when her bicycle collided with a pickup truck. She was only 27 years old. Reading her last blog entry, dated Sunday the 6th, this part gives me chills:
"I cannot express how HAPPY I am with where I am in my life right now though, and how grateful I feel for being able to do what I do. I just wouldn't trade it for anything and any time I am feeling not very motivated, I think about how miserable I feel when I am not training or doing something else I don't LOVE. I totally and completely love this life I'm living and the most fabulous thing is that I know it's only going to get 20 times better by the end of the year. Woo hoo baby!"Reports of the accident say that she died instantly. I wonder what her last thought was, or if she even had time to process what was about to happen. She died doing something she loved: pushing herself to her limit. She was slated to run the NYC Half Marathon 11 days from now. She collided with the truck because, according to police, she failed to yield at an intersection. Another one of those freak accidents cutting short the lives of extraordinary people. All premature deaths are unsettling, but especially are those of talented athletes- these are some of the healthiest people in the world, and yet they can still be snatched from the earth in a blink of an eye. What does that mean for the rest of us?
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Why it sucks to be a 20 year old runner
Disclaimer #1: Running is great at any age. Whether you're 8 or 78, the physical and mental health benefits of running are indisputable, so do it.
But as I was saying, being a 20 year old runner just sucks, period, if you're of average quality.
Why? Until January 22nd, 2011, I was lumped in with the 19 and unders or the 14-19ers. But now I'm with the 20-29ers. I no longer have the pleasure of competing against children for age group awards. As a 19 year old, I won 6 medals, a trophy, a beer mug, some gift certificates, and a free pair of $145 New Balance shoes. Not a bad year. In the process, I ran my "real-world" 5k PR (I'll explain what I mean by that in a future post) and my 5 mile PR. Other race times were pretty mediocre, but I was able to delude myself into thinking I was talented because I walked away with hardware around my neck.
Now, not so much. In the Bradford Valentine 5 miler, the top three in my age group were coincidentally the top three female finishers overall. In the Frozen Shamrock 3 miler, I was about 30 seconds away from placing third in my age group. However, I was about 15 seconds away from winning the age group that I just grew out of. In the Claddagh 4 miler, which I wrote about yesterday, I would have come in third in the 19 and under group, but I was about 3 minutes too slow to place in my own age group. You and I both know what this means: in order to place from now on, I have to actually get faster. To an extent, this is already happening; I ran my 5 mile training run today faster than I raced Bradford less than a month ago. But Dad and I want me to be in the mid 7s or below for races, which will take some work.
I know what you're thinking. I'm lucky that I'm even physically capable of running. It's not always about winning medals. I know these things perfectly well because 1) my body was broken for 8 months straight and during that time, I cried about not being able to run and 2) I'm the one who used to run 11:30 pace for a 5k and who used to routinely finish last in track races, remember? Trust me, I'm very blessed to be able to do what I do. Do you want a real reason why it sucks to be 20 when running road races?
I can't have any of the free beer that's included in my registration fee. I'm currently in the middle of an Irish race series sponsored by local Irish bars. After my hard effort, my dad uses my drink ticket and imbibes my free beer as I sit and watch and cry on the inside. Disclaimer #2: I am not a heavy drinker and you don't need to be concerned about my well-being. All I want is my free beer after nearly killing myself first in a blizzard and second on Mt. Claddagh. Is that too much to ask?
On a similar booze-related note, I'm seriously considering signing up for the Disney Wine and Dine Half Marathon depending on how my inaugural half goes in Middlebury in less than 2 months (gosh golly geez, is it really that soon?!) but as Andrew conveniently pointed out, I won't be able to wine at the Wine and Dine Half and should wait until next year when I can do so. But the food at the festival is so good, you don't even really need to have any of the wine to be satisfied, and the Wine and Dine is run at NIGHT, which is pretty freaking epic. Thoughts?
Disclaimer #3: Running is one of the most stable aspects of my life right now, and while I may complain about some things, it's all in good fun. You will find this to be a trend in this blog, I think.
But as I was saying, being a 20 year old runner just sucks, period, if you're of average quality.
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| If you didn't know better, you'd think I was a fast runner. |
Now, not so much. In the Bradford Valentine 5 miler, the top three in my age group were coincidentally the top three female finishers overall. In the Frozen Shamrock 3 miler, I was about 30 seconds away from placing third in my age group. However, I was about 15 seconds away from winning the age group that I just grew out of. In the Claddagh 4 miler, which I wrote about yesterday, I would have come in third in the 19 and under group, but I was about 3 minutes too slow to place in my own age group. You and I both know what this means: in order to place from now on, I have to actually get faster. To an extent, this is already happening; I ran my 5 mile training run today faster than I raced Bradford less than a month ago. But Dad and I want me to be in the mid 7s or below for races, which will take some work.
I know what you're thinking. I'm lucky that I'm even physically capable of running. It's not always about winning medals. I know these things perfectly well because 1) my body was broken for 8 months straight and during that time, I cried about not being able to run and 2) I'm the one who used to run 11:30 pace for a 5k and who used to routinely finish last in track races, remember? Trust me, I'm very blessed to be able to do what I do. Do you want a real reason why it sucks to be 20 when running road races?
I can't have any of the free beer that's included in my registration fee. I'm currently in the middle of an Irish race series sponsored by local Irish bars. After my hard effort, my dad uses my drink ticket and imbibes my free beer as I sit and watch and cry on the inside. Disclaimer #2: I am not a heavy drinker and you don't need to be concerned about my well-being. All I want is my free beer after nearly killing myself first in a blizzard and second on Mt. Claddagh. Is that too much to ask?
On a similar booze-related note, I'm seriously considering signing up for the Disney Wine and Dine Half Marathon depending on how my inaugural half goes in Middlebury in less than 2 months (gosh golly geez, is it really that soon?!) but as Andrew conveniently pointed out, I won't be able to wine at the Wine and Dine Half and should wait until next year when I can do so. But the food at the festival is so good, you don't even really need to have any of the wine to be satisfied, and the Wine and Dine is run at NIGHT, which is pretty freaking epic. Thoughts?
Disclaimer #3: Running is one of the most stable aspects of my life right now, and while I may complain about some things, it's all in good fun. You will find this to be a trend in this blog, I think.
Monday, March 7, 2011
"Hill is my last name"
So I know it's a little ridiculous to post twice in one day but I ran a race yesterday that I want to talk about. I signed up for the Wild Rover Series, which is three Irish-themed races in the Merrimack Valley on three consecutive Sundays. Last week was the Frozen Shamrock 3-miler in Haverhill; aside from the blizzard and lack of time clocks on the course, it was a decent event. Yesterday was the second race in the series, the Claddagh Pub 4-miler in Lawrence. My dad had run it twice before and warned me of The Hill. "Some people will be walking it," "It's pretty tough, I'm not gonna lie," etc. On the Facebook event for the race, everyone was talking about "THAT DAMN HILL!" So I was understandably ridiculously intimidated by this hill, but I resolved I would walk no part of it. After all, Hill is my last name.
Mom, Dad, Andrew, and I arrived in Lawrence to much better weather than I had last week at the Frozen Shamrock. It was in the low 50s and although there was a light wind blowing, I'd take it over blizzarding anytime. Dad, who is also my official/unofficial coach, had discussed with me that I should shoot to run the race at 8 minute pace or less. I should go out in about 7:45 or 7:50 for the first mile and settle in, and tackle The Hill. Sounded good to me.
In some races, you know pretty early on that it's not your day. This was one of those races. I was already getting fatigued and I hadn't even seen the mile mark yet. Could I have missed it? Nope, there it was- 8:01. GREAT. I was already tired and I wasn't even going fast! Our plan was already down the drain. I felt myself deflate a little. I continued on, knowing the worst was yet to come.
About 1.5 miles in, I saw The Hill. To my surprise, it wasn't even as bad as some of the hills I run around my house. So I cut my stride and increased my arm pumping, just as one of my coaches taught me, and soon I was at the top! That wasn't so bad! It was all downhill from here right?
Wrong. Soooooo wrong. I turned the corner, and there it was. It was a mountain. What was a mountain doing in the middle of Lawrence? I saw people near the top of it walking. Oh God. In my head flashed images of myself collapsed on the side of the road, not having enough energy to make it to the top. Still, since my time goal was out the window, I knew I at least had to keep my promise to myself to run the entire thing. So I did. "Hill is my last name," ventured my subconscious. Shreds of the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack floated through my head. I was reduced to a shuffle at some parts, but I never stopped. Turning the corner and still heading slightly uphill, I ran by a water station. I've literally never taken water in a race, but I still felt the placing of this stop was ridiculous. After a much appreciated downhill, I spied the 2-mile clock. 16:59, 17:00. You've got to be kidding me.
After I had climbed Mt. Claddagh, it seemed I had used up my stores of mental energy, so I switched to autopilot. All I could really think about was not stopping. Every so often, a thought would slip in about how I've disappointed Dad and myself, but it would evaporate away like sweat. Soon, I was at the 3 mile clock- it was either in the late 24s or early 25s; by this time, I was a bit disoriented and I can't remember what it said. I attempted some quick math in my head and realized I had run a negative split. This makes sense since I climbed a mountain in mile 2, but in my fragile state, I was just happy that I had sped up and it helped convince me I could keep going.
Soon, I knew I was approaching the finish, but I couldn't tell where it was. My slightly blurred vision spotted Dad's red Boston Marathon volunteer jacket first, and then I heard Mom and Andrew yelling my name. "It's just around the corner!" she yelled. Now I must tell you that even in training runs, I always kick to the end, no matter how dead I am. I spotted a pack of three runners ahead of me and I decided I wasn't about to let them beat me. With my last shred of energy, I rocketed past them. According to the official results, I beat them.
As soon as I went over the line, I was spent. I managed to grasp the medal a volunteer held out to me, then staggered away. When Dad came over to me, I leaned against him and closed my eyes. I told them about my time at the mile mark and that I was faked out by the miniature hill. Dad laughed and said he should have warned me about that. We headed upstairs to grab some pasta, bread, and salad, and then we left because I had to get ready for work, aka change my clothes and spray on some perfume so the customers wouldn't smell me.
Here's the rundown on my finish:
Mom, Dad, Andrew, and I arrived in Lawrence to much better weather than I had last week at the Frozen Shamrock. It was in the low 50s and although there was a light wind blowing, I'd take it over blizzarding anytime. Dad, who is also my official/unofficial coach, had discussed with me that I should shoot to run the race at 8 minute pace or less. I should go out in about 7:45 or 7:50 for the first mile and settle in, and tackle The Hill. Sounded good to me.
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| Photo credit: http://jimrhoades.com/11/claddagh/ |
About 1.5 miles in, I saw The Hill. To my surprise, it wasn't even as bad as some of the hills I run around my house. So I cut my stride and increased my arm pumping, just as one of my coaches taught me, and soon I was at the top! That wasn't so bad! It was all downhill from here right?
Wrong. Soooooo wrong. I turned the corner, and there it was. It was a mountain. What was a mountain doing in the middle of Lawrence? I saw people near the top of it walking. Oh God. In my head flashed images of myself collapsed on the side of the road, not having enough energy to make it to the top. Still, since my time goal was out the window, I knew I at least had to keep my promise to myself to run the entire thing. So I did. "Hill is my last name," ventured my subconscious. Shreds of the How to Train Your Dragon soundtrack floated through my head. I was reduced to a shuffle at some parts, but I never stopped. Turning the corner and still heading slightly uphill, I ran by a water station. I've literally never taken water in a race, but I still felt the placing of this stop was ridiculous. After a much appreciated downhill, I spied the 2-mile clock. 16:59, 17:00. You've got to be kidding me.
After I had climbed Mt. Claddagh, it seemed I had used up my stores of mental energy, so I switched to autopilot. All I could really think about was not stopping. Every so often, a thought would slip in about how I've disappointed Dad and myself, but it would evaporate away like sweat. Soon, I was at the 3 mile clock- it was either in the late 24s or early 25s; by this time, I was a bit disoriented and I can't remember what it said. I attempted some quick math in my head and realized I had run a negative split. This makes sense since I climbed a mountain in mile 2, but in my fragile state, I was just happy that I had sped up and it helped convince me I could keep going.
Soon, I knew I was approaching the finish, but I couldn't tell where it was. My slightly blurred vision spotted Dad's red Boston Marathon volunteer jacket first, and then I heard Mom and Andrew yelling my name. "It's just around the corner!" she yelled. Now I must tell you that even in training runs, I always kick to the end, no matter how dead I am. I spotted a pack of three runners ahead of me and I decided I wasn't about to let them beat me. With my last shred of energy, I rocketed past them. According to the official results, I beat them.
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| Photo credit: http://jimrhoades.com/11/claddagh/ |
Here's the rundown on my finish:
- 33:03, only about a minute off my goal time. Aside from the second mile, which included the ascent of Mt. Claddagh, I ran almost perfectly even splits.
- Overall finish: 158/736 total participants
- 13/68 in the 20-29 age group
Hello!
Hi, everyone! I've decided to start a blog about running because, well, it's something I love doing. I have a log where I write stats like mileage, times, and overall feelings about every run, but that's just the bare minimum. The experience of running is a lot more than that. I plan on writing about training runs, races, things I've read about in Runner's World- basically whatever strikes me.
So a little about me. I'm 20 years old and the first time I "went for a run" was the summer before sophomore year of high school when I was 15. It was only a mile, and it took me a long time to finish it, but that didn't really matter to me. On November 23, 2006, I ran my first race, the Turkey Trot 5k at Maudslay Park in Newburyport, and finished in 35:33. The next year, I ran it in 27:05. In 2008, 26:17. In 2010, 24:32.
In between all those times, a lot happened. For starters, I got involved in high school track and cross country, which I credit for my dramatic development as a runner. Struggles I was having in my life could be dealt with on the roads; if I didn't have running, I don't know how I would have made it through the last two years of high school. The beginning of April represented a dramatic turnaround- I had been accepted to Tufts University and told by the coach that I could be part of the team there, and I set a new PR in the 2-mile: 13:18. I threw myself into training, and just when I thought I had a shot at qualifying for the varsity CAL championship meet, I developed a stress fracture in my ankle. Little did I know, this injury would plague me for the next 8 months and I would essentially have to start over in December, when it finally healed. I learned that I had hypermobility in my joints that caused me to overpronate (whoa big words), and some orthotic inserts for my shoes helped make sure I didn't re-injure myself.
I ran in three meets for Tufts during the spring track season, but I was still miles away from where I had been before my injury (pun may be intended). After threats from the coach that the cross country roster in the fall would be limited, I forced myself to train during the summer for the first time. Although I was logging more miles than ever before and pushing myself to the limit, I wasn't good enough to make it. Having established a great base late in the summer, I ran PRs at 5k and 5 miles in local races and separated myself from the Tufts team.
So where am I now? At home. The Tufts administration put me on academic leave for this semester and honestly, I don't know if or when I'm going back. I'm working, running, reading, and trying to figure things out. I think running will help- it seems to serve that role for a lot of people. Currently, I'm slated to run my first half marathon, the Middlebury Maple Run, on May 1st.
All in all, I'm a self-proclaimed non-athlete who decided to make running my main hobby about 4 1/2 years ago and I couldn't be happier with my choice. Sometimes I struggle to get out the door and lack discipline. My form is sloppy and I'm not built like a runner, but I try my best. I look forward to chronicling my adventures and I hope you enjoy reading about them.
So a little about me. I'm 20 years old and the first time I "went for a run" was the summer before sophomore year of high school when I was 15. It was only a mile, and it took me a long time to finish it, but that didn't really matter to me. On November 23, 2006, I ran my first race, the Turkey Trot 5k at Maudslay Park in Newburyport, and finished in 35:33. The next year, I ran it in 27:05. In 2008, 26:17. In 2010, 24:32.
In between all those times, a lot happened. For starters, I got involved in high school track and cross country, which I credit for my dramatic development as a runner. Struggles I was having in my life could be dealt with on the roads; if I didn't have running, I don't know how I would have made it through the last two years of high school. The beginning of April represented a dramatic turnaround- I had been accepted to Tufts University and told by the coach that I could be part of the team there, and I set a new PR in the 2-mile: 13:18. I threw myself into training, and just when I thought I had a shot at qualifying for the varsity CAL championship meet, I developed a stress fracture in my ankle. Little did I know, this injury would plague me for the next 8 months and I would essentially have to start over in December, when it finally healed. I learned that I had hypermobility in my joints that caused me to overpronate (whoa big words), and some orthotic inserts for my shoes helped make sure I didn't re-injure myself.
I ran in three meets for Tufts during the spring track season, but I was still miles away from where I had been before my injury (pun may be intended). After threats from the coach that the cross country roster in the fall would be limited, I forced myself to train during the summer for the first time. Although I was logging more miles than ever before and pushing myself to the limit, I wasn't good enough to make it. Having established a great base late in the summer, I ran PRs at 5k and 5 miles in local races and separated myself from the Tufts team.
So where am I now? At home. The Tufts administration put me on academic leave for this semester and honestly, I don't know if or when I'm going back. I'm working, running, reading, and trying to figure things out. I think running will help- it seems to serve that role for a lot of people. Currently, I'm slated to run my first half marathon, the Middlebury Maple Run, on May 1st.
All in all, I'm a self-proclaimed non-athlete who decided to make running my main hobby about 4 1/2 years ago and I couldn't be happier with my choice. Sometimes I struggle to get out the door and lack discipline. My form is sloppy and I'm not built like a runner, but I try my best. I look forward to chronicling my adventures and I hope you enjoy reading about them.
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