Feet don't fail me now

Less than 24 hours to go. Arrived in Chicago yesterday. I checked the weather all week but still failed when it came to packing, picking long sleeves and pants for run around gear. It's actually in the 70s and low 80s expected today. We went to the runner's expo yesterday to get our bibs, timing "d-tags" for our shoes,technical shirts and other swag. I've been to other expos for races, this one was over the top. Brooks, Nike, Adidas all pulled out the stops to show off their wares. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, and sightseeing. A late dinner, and a good night sleep. This morning, a shakedown run , just to loosen things up. Then more sightseeing. Sunday's weather is expected to be a little warmer than ideal. But the really warm temps won't hit until afternoon. My goal now is to mentally prepare and try to relax.

Reading And Running

Running long distances can be boring. Music and good conversation help, but aren't always enough. And when you're hurting, a little laugh can go a long way.

That's why I've come to love those silly spectator signs. And it makes me appreciate the creative minds that came up with them.

Like this one:

And I saw this one in Akron:

I'm guessing this one is popular in Chicago? 

And check out the look on the young runner: 



So I'm hoping Chicago brings out the funnies! And I hope they stick around long enough by the time I come by.  

 



A Letter To My Left Leg

Hey Lefty, how’s it going? Can I get you anything? Another ice pack? Some IcyHot?

I know you don’t check the calendar, but we’re almost there. You’ve been great. A real trouper. You don’t complain much, although I know something is going on in there. A strain, or maybe a few minor tears. I won’t even mention that other no-names-please injury. But you know the one. Let’s not even think about it.

Thanks for being a good sport about the compression sleeve. A bit garish, and not your style, but you haven’t complained. Thanks for that.

Sunday will be tough. You up for it? Twenty-six long miles. No cushy towpath. We’re on the streets. Rough, bumpy and uneven.

And can we call it? What mile do you think those whiney feet will pipe in? I’m putting my money on mile 10. We all know the right one will start first. Babies.

I’m going to keep it short and sweet. Thanks for all you’ve put up with. You can do it. I know you can. If you do, I make you this promise: no high heels for a week. You can take it easy. And no more 50 pound weight gains for pregnancies. We’re done with that, and at my age, I think they would lock me up. I promise to lose a few too. No halloween candy, I swear.

So, we’re a go right? In it together? Normally, Righty leads the way. At the end, I'll make sure you're the first to hit that finish line. You’ve earned it.

With much love and admiration,





Me

The Runaway Runner

There are famous brides who’ve done it.

And local businessmen.

Oh, Canada. Welcome home Pat.

But has a runner ever gotten to the start line, only to turn, run the other way and not look back? Can I be the first?

The runaway bride runner

Six days before the Bank of American Chicago Marathon and I have cold feet. Blocks of ice, frozen in the Cuyahoga River cold. Why? How long do you have?

My running buddy, personal cheerleader and person who talked me into doing this stupid race is out. Sidelined with a stress fracture. So, in a crowd of 45,000 runners, I run alone. I’ll see my coaches, and plenty of TNT supporters. They’ll cheer me and tell me I’m doing great. But for the most part, I will run alone. There are many times in my day to day that a little alone time is welcomed. This isn’t one of them.
My 18 and 20 mile runs pushed me to the edge and beyond both physically and emotionally. Forget the sore legs and blisters. I became physically sick both times. Who does this to themselves on purpose?

What if I fail? What if that proverbial tap on the shoulder comes that tells you your time on the dance floor is over? Chicago can only shutdown its roads for so long, and for those that can’t maintain a certain pace, they’re asked to leave the party. Or worse, a bus comes and picks you up to take you to the finish line. No congratulatory hugs from race staff. No medal. Just a walk of shame to a recovery tent. They’re probably told not to make eye contact with you either. At least, this is horrible scenario I’ve constructed in my mind.

Failure. Isn’t that what we’re all afraid of? It’s certainly on my list somewhere between birds trapped in buildings and scary clowns. Add to the list “the unknown”. Will those overuse aches and tweaks turn into something worse? Or will a new, more painful injury appear?

But if anything, in my advancing middle age, I’ve become predictable. And that’s okay. I will worry. Lose some sleep. Then I’ll remember. I’m running to help those who have it far worse. They’re losing sleep because they’re sick, worrying about their own mortality, or whether their child will survive. They worry about how to pay the bills when they can’t work. They worry about keeping their homes and still paying mounting medical bills. They have reason to worry.

I do not. I’ve already succeeded before stepping over the start line. And whether I finish or not, I am an example to my children. Because you learn more in failure than you ever do in success. Trust me, I know all about that.

So on race morning, I promise to stay in my corral and not run away. And I promise that whether or not I cross that finish line I will hold my head high, because in the words of John Bingham, “the miracle isn’t that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start”.

Thank you:  Mom, Jennifer, Aunt Margo & Uncle Dean. Thank you Gannett Foundation.  To date we've raised $7,845 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society.

Running The Bird

I picked the Roadrunner 1/2 marathon as a good "tune-up" for Chicago.  It's hard to believe that 13.1 miles actually seems like welcome relief from some of my recent runs. Plus, I'm still fine-tuning my hydration and fuel plan. This would be a good test.

The race started at 7am, which meant getting into Akron by about 6 at the latest. That meant getting up by 3:30.  Sleep would be short, but I thought I could get in about 5 and a half hours.  That was the plan anyway.  A sick baby kept Dana and I up most of the night.  I honestly don't think I slept a wink. I did toy with the idea of not going, but remembered the steep entry fee I'd already paid. Non-refundable. Decision made.

I've never run "The Bird" before, but have heard plenty about it. Tough hills. A lung killer. But I wasn't going to be "pushing it" - well, for me anyway.

Akron is also known for putting on a good race. Great fan support, even in some of the sleepiest neighborhoods. Enthusiastic start and splashy finish.  It didn't disappoint.

Race conditions were great. A perfect 54 degrees. Overcast, but no rain. Just how I like it. Saw some great signs. "Run like you stole something".  "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon".  Many funny ones that I wish I could remember today.

It really was fun until mile 11.5 when the half route hits a notorious hill. 5% incline. Brutal.  I can't actually say I ran up that hill. It was more of a walk/shuffle.

The finish was the highlight in more ways than one. Runners head into InfoCision Stadium on the University of Akron campus. Great cheering! Staff support was phenomenal. That thermal blanket was a godsend as I continued my recovery walk. You are handed a bag of food. Water, sports drink and a very heavy finisher's medal (love it)!

I not only felt great finishing strong at the end of 13.1, but knowing I tackled a truly challenging course also bolstered my sense of accomplishment.

Yes I was tired and in bed by 9 that night. But I know I fell asleep with a smile on my face! 

18, 13, and 20

These aren't my lottery numbers. It's been a while since I've posted. They represent major runs, and pounds lost during an unfortunate illness. Here we go. Time to get you up to date.
My 18 miler was on Saturday September 3rd. High temps and humidity found its way back to NE Ohio just in time for this big run. My running buddy Janet and I set out super early to try to avoid some of the heat. We are "Penguins", a term derived from best-selling author/runner John "The Penguin" Bingham. What's a penguin? Here are some qualifications in his words:

You might be a Penguin if... ...you have to politely (for the third time) tell the men in the police car moving behind you that no you do not wish for a ride. ...you wear your jog bra on top of your singlet. This is especially true if you are male. ...during a race, you keep turning around to see if there is still anybody behind you. ...the rest of the pack is out of sight before you have run 100 yards. ...you meet both the hare and the tortoise running back towards you doing their cool-down after a race ...the only reason you don't drop out of a race is that you are embarrassed that the police in the car behind you (closing the course) will see you. ...you get passed on the uphill by a runner pushing a double baby jog stroller. ...you are more worried about the porta-potty lines than the start line. ...you have to memorize the route because you know that you will lose the back of the pack. ...the truck picking up the cones is pressing on your behind. (Don't laugh - this actually happened to me!) ...the awards ceremony is over before you cross the finish line

 Janet and I are Penguins. Proud penguins. We began our 18 miler an hour ahead of the group, so as not to be among the last dragging in. We went out before sunrise, with flashlights to see the towpath. The first few hours were great. Cool, and shady. But then hell woke up. Temperatures hit the 90's. Humidity made the air suffocating. But we slogged on, finishing on wobbly legs. I thought my extreme fatigue and nausea was a sign that I had "overdone it" on such a hot day. But when my husband joined me later that night in our master bathroom/vomitorium - I knew a bug had decended on the Moses house. Both he and William recovered quickly. I did not. 6 days later, many miles missed, I stepped on the scale to find myself 13 pounds lighter. Normally I would delight in such a weight loss. But the road there was beyond torture. And in true Susan fashion, my appetite has returned with a vengence, and so have all but 6 of the pounds. Sad.
This past weekend marked my 20 mile run. It would be my farthest training run to date. In training for Cleveland in '08, we moved on the weekend of the 20 miler, so I had to make due with my 18 miler as my long run. This time around my 20 mile run was actually faster than my 18 miler. The legs cramped badly for the last 5 miles. Salt packets, gatorade, gels and water didn't seem to help.  But overall I felt better immediately after, than I had 2 weeks earlier.  But....that feeling wouldn't last.  Headache soon set in. I tried to nap but couldn't.  Two aleve capsules hit my stomach, but sadly didn't stay there for long. Yes, they along with my post-race meal came right back up.
Life doesn't get much darker when you are physically sick, while simultaneously trying to distract a curious toddler. Perhaps this means Padraig will seek out a career in health care? Or maybe it means he's familiarizing himself with late night college life?  I pray for the former.

This One's Gonna Hurt

We’re at the 18 mile training mark. Up until now, marathon training and my role as a busy working-mom have kind of bumped elbows along the way. A little juggling here and there, making sure Dana knew my run schedule and time away on Saturday mornings. But now my dual personalities have collided – t-boned if you will – at the intersection of my crazy life.

Tomorrow – my running partner Janet and I begin our 18 mile training run. In the pitch dark at 5am. (Believe me, I checked sunrise times in NE Ohio. We’re somewhere around 6:50ish). We’ll run on the towpath, and thankfully Janet is taking the bullet. She’s wearing the uber-sexy headlight-on- the –forehead-miner-gear.

And I am her pack mule, with my equally sexy fuel belt filled with gu, salt, Gatorade. It’s an obnoxious color of aqua to completely clash with my neon pink compresson socks.

We dress to impress dammit.

The super early start time should allow me to race home after running for about 4 hours, hobble out of the car, somehow shower although I will be as stiff as a board and make it to William’s football game on time. We’re also hosting out of towners and immediately following will be heading off to Oktoberfest where I can stagger some more. While my husband will salivate over German beer, I’ll be wishing for my bed and my own personal festival – Slumberfest.

I’ve reached that point where the humor and good times are gone. I am pissed that I agreed to do this. And what do I have to look forward to? Twenty miles next week. The soreness in my left inner calf is permanent although it does slide from upper to lower from time to time. Will whatever is going on in there hang on? Or will I be hobbled just as I reach my goal?

Do people really love marathon training? They must because who would do this time and time again to run 30 – 40 marathons in a lifetime?

As I drove in my car this morning, I tried to picture 18 miles in my head. It’s the distance from my house to the doorstep of Browns Stadium. It’s my morning drive that seems to take forever. That’s what I’m running tomorrow.

Wish me luck.

Oh, and a big thank you to Bradstreet Creative for their donation. I know the owner. He's sexy.