The mental race

So, I ran my second marathon and didn't write about it anymore than the last one. Even though I felt so much more on the journey to this race, both the training and the actual travel, so much it was almost overwhelming. I felt even more on race day, so many thoughts and emotions. Anyone who has ever run a marathon knows what I'm talking about. That time between start and finish changes you. This time, though, getting to the start line was considerably harder than getting to the finish line.

My husband is reluctantly supportive of my running habit. He knows I love it, that it's healthy and generally considered a good thing, but he doesn't like the time it takes to train and travel. He will often be caught in conversation proudly sharing my accomplishments in races or miles and all the weird food I eat to get there, but when I need that 20 mile run that leaves him alone with the kids all day after a super busy week, he's not so excited.

I was originally signed up for the Georgia Marathon, but even though it had been on the calendar for almost a year, the stress of our children's activities on that weekend was causing a lot of tension. We talked and argued. He made me feel like a horrible mother. I'm sure I made him feel like a pretty crappy husband. The calendar was clear the following weekend, and as I looked around for relatively close marathons I found the one in Knoxville. I had never been there, but a marathon is a marathon, right? No schedule conflicts. I found a buddy to travel with me, registered and began trying to figure out the logistics. Even then, though, in yet another argument, he said, "I would just rather you not run." I felt like that was the actual truth. I reacted, and he said I misunderstood him. He says he meant that he would rather I not run a race that time of year. I asked what time of year would work given our extremely active children, and he gave the middle of July as an example. I'm pretty sure I laughed one of those 'you've got to be kidding me' kind of laughs in response. Anyone who lives south of the Mason Dixon should understand why that's just not the best time to run a marathon. Besides, running isn't a sport you can pick up here and there at the most convenient times. It has to be a consistent passion or you're never gonna get anywhere, at least not comfortably. Blah, blah, I was beating a dead horse with all my defenses of this habit of mine, and he was still annoyed that I was leaving for two days right before Spring break and the beach. He came around by race time, and did his best, actually sending me just the message I needed right before race start, but I still left feeling guilty and worried, hearing over and over in my head, "I would just rather you not run."

I made it all the way through my training healthy and feeling good, but that last long run was a struggle, barely eeking out 18 miles. It was on a new trail in bad weather, but I was super discouraged about how hard it felt and the fact that I didn't do the 20 I wanted before the race. I took a gamble on a coaching theory I had read about, 13 days out being the best day to make your last hard workout. 13 days out worked for me with childcare (during school hours), and the weather was perfect. I decided to test my legs and just do 10 first, reevaluate and do the other 10 if I felt like I could handle it. I did 20+ easy and felt great! I could now taper with confidence.

The next 12 days I ate clean and focused on active rest, and getting my kids through to their Spring break. I did load up on carbs, but I tried to make sure they were the healthy kind, very little sugar. Physically, I was doing great. Emotionally and mentally, I was falling apart.

Depending on my confidence level in a particular area, I tend to be one of those "you tell me I can't and I'll show you I can" kind of people. Sometimes, somebody laughing at me or telling me 'no' is all the motivation I need to throw myself into something so completely I'm in danger of losing myself in the process. If you (others) tell me I can't, then I'll prove you wrong. But, if I tell myself, that's a whole other thing.

Also, I have identity issues. You can filter back on my other blog for the root of those issues, but the long and short of it is that I spent the first part of my life checking off boxes and living up to other people's expectations of me. Now I feel like I'm stuck in a life that doesn't really fit me because I didn't make my choices based on what I wanted to do, but on what I thought I should do. Not always bad, listening to the people around you, especially for this girl who is extremely indecisive sometimes. Nobody's fault but mine, but that's where I am.

I'm no psychologist, and I won't continue to ramble about my existential crisis. However, the shaky ground I feel like I'm living on currently, and the struggle to be a good mother and wife have added stress to my running and training. This wonderful thing that makes me feel alive, helps me deal with stress, makes me feel strong and confident beyond anything I've ever felt before. It in itself started stressing me out and causing me pain. The time. The struggle with my husband. The guilt that I'm taking time out of my children's lives and spending it on just me. The state of my house when I'm running 50 miles a week. The tiredness. Oh, the tiredness. It used to relax me and make me feel calm like I couldn't explain. Now it was making me feel guilty.

The closer I got to race day, the more guilt and trepidation I felt.

My traveling buddy is a fit mama, but she doesn't run. This was my first time traveling to a race with someone who wasn't racing. It was a wonderful thing traveling with someone who a) wasn't completely neurotic over a stupid race that they paid to participate in, and b) super fun and easy to talk to. We talked and shared and vented and laughed and ate. Knoxville has yummy food and escalators in their grocery stores. But, then the night came.

I don't think I can really explain the struggle going on in my mind. I never sleep before a race. I'm often neurotic and worried, but this time was different. This was legit fear. This was chest tightening, breath taking, panic inducing horror at the thought of standing on that line in the morning. Over and over all night long I fought the panic. "I'm not ready." "Why do I do this?" "Do I really like running? Is this some kind of psychosis I should get diagnosed and treated?" "My last marathon was horrible. I swore I would never do this again." "It's too cold." "I didn't pack the right gear." "My husband hates this." "My kids miss me." "Little man is worried I might die while I'm running. Could that happen? What if that does happen?" "Is this really worth it?" "God, is my running selfish? Should I stop running?" "I can't do this. It's gonna hurt. I can't do this. It hurts. I can't do this. I just can't." My chest would tighten and I would feel like I couldn't breathe. Then I would cycle through trying to think of other things, trying to reassure myself, trying to pray, trying to quote scripture to myself, trying to calm the storm. Nothing really worked, round and round I went in my mind dreading the sound of my alarm. Off it went. I rose from that bed to eat and nearly vomited. I couldn't get much down. Nothing tasted good. I was cold. I was stiff. I was tired. I was discouraged and defeated, and I hadn't even taken a step. All I wanted was to go home.

I've decided I must hide the crazy better than I think. My travel buddy didn't seem to notice my neurosis. She got up with me and walked me to the start. I don't know if she fully understood what a big deal that was for me. Had I been in that hotel room alone, I may never have walked out the door. The excitement of the race started to lift my spirits a little, but the closer we got to the start line, the tighter my chest got. I started to worry I was going to have a full on panic attack at the start line. More worry, more tightening. I was already sweating. A trip to the porta potty and a text reply to my husband telling him about my panic. I felt like I was shaking, but no one seemed to notice. Maybe because of the cold. I kept hearing what my husband said in that argument a month before, "I would just rather you not run." I was agreeing with him at this point. I would rather not be running. Seriously, I wanted to be home warm in my bed.

Our exchange went like this:

"Good luck, girl. Love you. Proud of you.

"I'm freaking out. Like full on panic. Text you when I'm done."

"Fight like mad. I've seen you scared. I've never seen you quit."

I almost cried when I read that text, but it was time to get in the corral.

It was 27 degrees. I was cold, but still shed one of my layers knowing I was gonna get hot after we got going. There was a guy who had the same GPS watch as me. He noticed and said something. We talked for a second. They were playing Rocky Top at the start. I laughed. My husband went to Auburn and is a die hard fan. His brother is a Tennessee fan. I almost took a video just to send it to them both for a good laugh. The race started. We were moving. People were cheering. I was actually smiling and starting to relax. Off I go, and I didn't feel alone or nearly as scared. Marathons aren't like other races. There's something really special about them, about the people who run them. Solidarity. We were all in it together. Once I got into a rhythm, I started feeling alright. I remember thinking, "well, if I finish, I finish. If I don't, I'll have a good story and might get to meet some cool people."

And that text. Liar. I met him when I was 12. We started dating when I was 19. He's seen me scared for sure, but he has also known me long enough to know that one of my special talents is starting strong and then not following through. So, he has seen me quit. It was really nice that he was trying, though, and that first part. "Fight like mad." That part replaced "I would just rather you not run" on repeat in my head. Fight like mad. Fight like mad. Over and over. He's definitely seen me mad, and he'll tell you, my fighting mad is scary.

Honestly, the race got easier the farther I got. The support of my traveling companion, knowing she would be waiting for me at the end, and getting that text from my husband followed by pictures of signs my kids made to cheer me on. The burden was lifting with every step until I felt light and fast, well at least fast for me. I ran the whole race minus the dozen porta potty stops. I know I wasn't dehydrated for sure. I didn't pee so much in my first marathon, but that one was kind of a disaster, so... I stayed hydrated. I consumed at least 100 calories every half hour. I didn't push the pace, but I didn't let up either. When I reached the finish, more than 15 minutes faster than my last marathon time, I remember feeling like that couldn't be it. I felt great! How was that possible?

Maybe it was the training. Maybe it was the short taper. Maybe it was the way I hydrated and fueled. Maybe it was the support that came in right on time. Maybe it was how focused and prayerful I was throughout. Maybe it was just the fact that I was done and it was time to eat. ;-)

I know that my God was there with me, running along side of me, reassuring me. There were parts of the race where I feel like he was offering me reassurance that my running wasn't wrong, that he gave me my legs and my lungs and loved to see me use them. He didn't want me to quit running. I was relieved to have my husband's support after feeling like he didn't want me to run. The support of your family is so important for endeavors like this. I felt secure in knowing my buddy was at the end waiting for me with a bottle of Coca Cola and my car. But, honestly, I feel like it was the change in MY thought pattern that made the biggest difference. That change wouldn't have happened without all those things coming together, but when I quit telling myself I couldn't do it, I did it.

The physical training is very important, but mental training is probably more so. I haven't figured it all out exactly, this balancing act between training and my chaotic life, but I've decided I need to quit telling myself I can't do it. I have to stop giving up when it gets hard, and I have to stop being so hard on myself. A bad run is better than no run. A messy house during the height of training is ok. It's good for my kids to see me pursuing something visible and measurable. I think they like me better when they spend time away from me, and Lord knows I'm a happier mommy after a good run.

The spousal support, that one isn't in my control, but I can filter how I take it. Generally, it's from a place of frustration because he doesn't understand it. I can let him vent and hope he comes around like he has done so many times before. I really don't want to add running to my list of things I started and then gave up, and I really think that's something he can respect. I think he's figured out it's not going away. Maybe he'll join me one of these days. I'm actually praying specifically for that to happen. I want him to understand it. Only, once he gets going, he'll blow my doors off because he's super fast. Even though he's older and way bigger than me, he'll be running races in half the time it takes me, IF he ever decides to jump in. Then we'll have another kind of problem. How do we balance both of our training schedules and our chaotic life? I guess I should be grateful he's not a neurotic endurance runner like me, but I want crazy. :-)

The mental difficulties we face in training and prep for a race are tougher than the physical difficulties because where the mind goes the body follows (I think that's a Kara Goucher quote). This next marathon training cycle, I'm planning some specific techniques to help control the crazy. I'll let you know if it actually works.

Happy running.

I wish I could....

I wish I could run on busy days without guilt.

I wish I could manage my home better.

I wish I could blog real content and on a consistent basis.

I wish my journal entries weren't obligatory bores.

I wish I could eat candy and it be good for me.

I wish I could eat the veggies I buy every week before they spoil.

I wish I could stop eating out so much.

I wish I could slow down.

I wish I could be the mother, wife, Christian and woman I want to be.

I wish I could be happy with my imperfections.

I wish I could better recognize the difference between times when speaking up is a moral obligation or a futile conversation with fools.

I wish I could care less about the things that aren't important.

I wish I could care more about things that matter.

I wish stretch marks were reversible.

I wish I had more time.

I wish I had more Jesus and less me.

I wish I were running.

Why?

This past Tuesday, I had the freedom to run, but I didn't have the will. I try to run on a 10 day cycle. So, that means I alternate between Tuesdays and Fridays for my long runs, well, at least while my weekends are tied up in kid sports and activities. I'm usually chomping at the bit to get out and get some miles in whenever I get a chance. I like to run with a buddy, but solo is fine as long as I'm out there. Weather doesn't really matter. Unless it's unsafe, I'll be out there. Hot, cold, rainy, sunny, icy or snowy even, I'm out there. Sick, tired, crazy, unless I'm injured or bed ridden, I'll be out there. Running is something I usually gravitate toward rather than away from. I look forward to it, crave it and need it to stay sane. It has become so much a part of my life now that I can't imagine my life or my personality without it. Tuesday, though, I was ready to scrap the plan almost as soon as I drug myself out of bed. It was rainy and cold. I was tired. I was going solo. I didn't eat well the day before or that morning. My fireplace and a good book were calling my name. I just wasn't feeling it. I was even questioning why I run in the first place.

I texted a friend to tell her I didn't want to run. She offered to give me fake time splits or call me ugly names (we're reading the same running books right now, that's from Born to Run). I told her to yell at me in Spanish (that's from Eat and Run). She texted back "Soló quince millas!" Only 15 miles. Only. Ugh. I complained to myself as I strapped on my junk. I griped to the bathroom and back out. I forgot my hat. The rain stung my face. I trudged through the 1st mile. Had to pee, so I turned around. Passed people smiling, looking all happy. I was miserable. My hips were stiff and sore. My stomach was not happy with my cereal bar and water. My feet were aching. 2 miles in, and I felt like I had run 20 miles already. Back out there. "Just suck it up and get it done. You know you'll hate yourself for quitting before you're done." Over and over, I told myself. "Suck it up and get it done." By mile 4, I was soaking wet, cold and tired of the rain in my face. Then I started to settle in. My pace evened out. My heart beat and breathing combined with the rain, my hair brushing the back of my shirt and the sound of my feet hitting the ground, it all started to sound like music. It felt like music. I finally felt like running.

So, I ran. The next 11 miles were bliss. I prayed. I sang. I soaked in the rain. I enjoyed the scenery around me.

I reveled in the beauty of the run, and I was so glad I didn't scrap it all. I would have missed it. If I ever have to give it up for good, I'll miss it 'til I die.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to explain why I run. The time to myself, the connection and community I get from other runners, the endorphins and other happy side effects of pushing myself physically, the connection I feel with the world around me, it all somehow intertwines into this beautiful thing that makes me happy. I run because I can, and I'm so very grateful for that.

Just get it over with

The theme for today's run: Just get it over with. I think it was the very definition of 'wog'. You know a slower workout that isn't a walk because you jogged a little and isn't a jog because you walked a little. A wog is not a run/walk because in those workouts the walk is planned recovery for the harder running. This whole run was a struggle. I couldn't get my heart rate to stay in the right zone, and I had to keep walking to get it under control. It took FOREVER to fall back down to the recovery zone. Eventually, I just decided walking was going to work better and let myself walk. A surrender test? Overtraining? I don't really know the answer. All I know is that I want to get back at the hard fast fun stuff soon, but my body seems to be slowing down rather than speeding up.

I'm supposed to start my marathon peak training next week. I'm always telling fellow runners that walking is an excellent cross training activity for runners. Maybe I should take my own advice, slow this week down and walk more than I run.

The current plan for this week:

Monday - Easy 5 (actually only did 4.4 since I was a little ahead from last week)
Tuesday - Long 15
Wednesday - Easy 5
Thursday - Easy 5
Friday - Easy 5
Saturday - Hills/intervals 5
Sunday - Rest

We'll see if I can stick to it.

I surrender

I've run 61+ miles this month so far. That's more in 10 days than I ran the whole month of December. I'm super stoked about that. What I'm struggling with is how much slower I have to be to keep my heart in the right zone for my easy runs.

Today I had to run on the treadmill due to our crazy sport schedule, and I prefer treadmill workouts to be fast so I can get off the darn thing. Today, though, I kept having to walk because my heart rate kept shooting above the zone I wanted. I was struggling and frustrated with my body not doing things the way I wanted, not being efficient enough for the speed I needed for the time I wanted to spend. Then one of my new favorite songs came on my iPod, Multiplied by Needtobreathe. "God of mercy, sweet love of mine. I have surrendered to your design." My mind wandered to the design of my body, my mind, my schedule, and I found myself actually saying out loud, "I surrender."

I lowered the speed below (yes, I said below) the 12:00 minute mile pace I only allow myself when I'm out on a run with good conversation. I took some deep breaths, stopped counting my cadence and settled into a nice rythm. Soon my heart slowed, and I was singing along without a struggle. I was even able to bump the pace back up toward the end of my run allowing my ego a little less bruising, and I finished feeling like I could have done a few more miles if I had more time. That's not normal for a treadmill run for me.

It's amazing what we can do when we quit fighting ourselves, when we quit fighting all the unchangeables in our lives, when we accept our bodies and our limitations as they are. So much energy spent creating stress that will only spend more energy.

Some days are just gonna have to be slower. If I'm gonna meet this 2,015 in 2015 goal, I'm gonna have to allow for more of these kinds of runs. I have to surrender the idea that I have to be faster so I can reach the goal of going longer without injury setbacks. A work in progress for sure, but today I officially surrender, even if it means I have to walk.

As my five year old would say, "Let it go."

*Sigh*

I surrender.

2,015 miles in 2015

First run on New Years Day

If there was ever any doubt that I have officially crossed the line and passed the point of no return with regard to my running, it's official now. I signed up for a challenge a few days ago, a big one. The first time I saw it, I thought, "that's cool but crazy." The next time I saw it I thought, "I couldn't even get to 1,000 miles this past year. This one seems impossible for me." Then it just stuck with me. I kept thinking about it. I kept trying to talk myself out of it. I tried to find someone to split it with me, but then found myself hoping no one did. Not that I didn't want them to do the challenge, but I didn't want anyone to jump in to split the miles with me. That way I would have an excuse to do the whole thing. Then, I decided that meant I had to do it. So, I have signed up to run 2,015 miles in 2015.

It's through Run the Edge, a running site I follow. I'll get a medal and a tshirt, and if I actually succeed with this challenge, I think I will have leveled up as a runner.

Next up, Boston, then maybe an Ultra. After that, who knows.

I'm anxious to see what happens. Can I stick with it? Will some catastrophic event stop me? Will I be this happy about it December 2015? We'll see.

I'm 9 miles in, about to log a mind numbing 5 or 6 on the treadmill after I get the kids to bed. Off I go.

Happy New Year and Happy running.