The dawn of running

As expected, despite the best of intentions and planning, there’s pretty much nothing that can combat the feelings of frustration and immobility I’m feeling post surgery.  I’m not a person that was meant to sit still, so this business of sitting in a recliner, no matter what is attempting to entertain me at the time, is pretty much a mental death sentence.  I have come to resent the fancy HDTV (Sorry guys, Scott already called dibs on it), as well as the laptop, the magazines, and even my Nook.  I know what you’re thinking.  This is going to be one of those annoying blogs where the writer throws a pity party and I click “Next blog” to save myself from being sucked into her narcissistic depression.  Not so fast, Jose!

Granted, I’ve grown a little bored with the Nook.  That’s only because I’m reading it not because I want to, but because it’s a lack of options.  I already read through Dean Karnazes’ Run! 26.2 Stories of Blisters and Bliss, in which I was half inspired, half grossed out, by the level of commitment that crazy fool has demonstrated for the love of running and the love of humanity.  He is amazing, and completely insane, and I am scared of love him.  My goal isn’t to be anything like him.  My goal is to be about 1/50^th of him.  It would be hard for any running story to follow Dean’s words of inspiration, so in all due respect I should have switched gears to a different genre.  Instead, I followed it with Chicken Soup for the Soul: Runners.  Also a good book, also with many inspirational stories.  I think it would have been a fantastic book for me to read when I first started out running.  It would have provided me with a lot of inspiration as well as education about running, gear, and grit.  Reading it now sounds familiar, as if many of these stories took tiny bits of my life and stretched them across many different tales.  After reading about the 20^th story of another underdog/out of shape/middle aged/overcoming tragedy/bittersweet tale describing the entrance to running, I lost interest.  That might be too strong.  It’s not that I lost interest, but in reading so many stories with such familiarity, it made me reflect on my own personal journey into running.  That, I feel, is a tale worth telling.

I started running in 2009.  Similar to reading Chicken Soup, it wasn’t so much done out of desire as out of a lack of options.  I was one of those people that was occasionally very committed to going to the gym.  I would get a gym membership, and go religiously for a couple weeks testing out each of the different ellipticals before becoming “too busy with personal obligations” to continue fine tuning my elliptical skills.  When my job was relocated 60 miles north, getting to the gym before or after work became a real challenge.  It was about this time that I coincidentally had started taking my health a little more seriously, was eating better, losing weight, and was determined not to let this latest challenge unravel all of my hard work.

This is where my friend Kerri comes in.  Kerri was an established runner and cyclist, completing grueling long distance races such as the Pan Mass Challenge and the Boston Marathon.  Doing this required Kerri to overcome some personal challenges, and she was a great role model.  She taught a spin class, which I attended with consistent irregularity, so when we were relocated it was natural that I would turn to her again.  Kerri is the original lunch-runner.  Her solution to longer hours and longer commutes was to squeeze workouts into her lunch hour.  With a little cajoling, Kerri suckered me into coming along.

Kerri promised to start slow, and we would do a walk/jog routine along the perimeter of the company property.  She showed me the locker room, which at the time was used by no one but us.  Back then, running at lunch was a very foreign concept and we were met with some strange looks by co-workers as we walked through the building in our sweatpants.  Our first couple of outings were a little rough, with me gasping to catch my breath while she effortlessly glided along.  She doesn’t know this, but she was a mentor, an educator, and an inspiration.  When I told her about my blisters, she told me about proper fitting socks and running shoes.  When I confided in her about the unsightly, bloody chafe marks I endured under my shirt, she enlightened me to the wonderful world of sports bras. 

When I first started running I wasn’t confident enough to go out and run a few miles on the streets.  This walk/jog routine may have been acceptable on a lunch break in the confines of a parking lot, but I didn’t want to look like a loser in front of passersby every time I stopped for a walk break.  Stupid when I look back on it, but it was a true concern at the time.  Instead, I decided to take my walk/jog routine to a local track.  It was summer and school was out, so I didn’t have to worry about the track being used by student athletes.  I will never forget the first time I went to the track.  I was determined to look like a real runner, so as not to look bad in front of the absolutely no one that was looking at me.  I grabbed my iPod, did a number of impressive stretches in the parking lot, using my car door for balance, and headed up to the track.  My first obstacle was entering the track itself.  I remember scouring the chain link fence, with sheer panic, unable to find the break in the fence.  Foolishly I wondered if each of the runners on the track had actually climbed the fence to get in.  I made eye contact with a runner, and although I was mortified with embarrassment, I hoped he would at least give a nod to point out the entrance to the track.  He didn’t.  Eventually I found my own way onto the track, and looked for a place to set down my belongings.  I placed my water bottle down on the ground, but couldn’t bring myself to set my car keys down.  I was convinced that one of the other 3 or 4 runners on the track would swipe my keys and take off in my SUV, so I decided to stash them in my jacket pocket.  This was a time long before I realized that I only needed to take that single car key with me.  On this track debut, I brought the whole jingle-jangle keychain.  I started off in my warm up jog, feeling the weight of the keys, the bottle opener, and the palm tree key chain bouncing in my pocket.  The “I won’t tell you where the break in the fence is” runner passed me, glancing over in irritation at my jingling metronome, and I responded by turning up the volume on my iPod and staring straight ahead.  I’m proud to say I’ve come a long way since then!

A lot has happened since those initial runs in the parking lot and on the track.  I have logged thousands of miles on the roads and trails.  My very first race was a 10k, and I’ve entered in at least one race a month ever since.  I still avoid the gym as much as possible but instead of dodging stationary bikes, I embraced mountain biking as a form of cross training.  I joined a running club and recently received an annual award for their Grand Prix race series.  Our lunch run has grown into a group of five, and we constantly support and motivate each other to keep running.  My confidence has improved, and I’ve realized that whether I’m running or walking down the street, I’m still doing a lot more than the person driving past me.  I hope that someday I can be a role model for others as Kerri was for me.  In the meantime, I’m proud to report that I have finally convinced Kerri to join my running club.  Now that is an accomplishment!

Big things in little Rhode Island

I have a tendency to make fun of Rhode Island.  The weird accents, hot weiners, corrupt government, huge debt, and doomsday street names (Can you say Breakneck Hill Road?).  Don't get me wrong, some of my favorite people are from Rhode Island, and my favorite place to ride my horse is in Rhode Island.  And then there's Newport, a favorite of mine for shopping, dining, beaching, perusing mansions, and strolling down the Cliff Walk.  Yes, Rhode Island does have lots to offer if I stop and think about it.

A couple months ago I bought my son a new Cannondale mountain bike.  He had borrowed mine and loved it so much he wanted one for himself.  I was thrilled at the idea of having an activity to share with him, but I wasn't thrilled about the pricetag on the bike.  If he truly wanted to ride this bike, I explained, he would have to be willing to ride it regularly.  For our first ride we went on the trails behind my house.  There are some good gravel sections but also some more technical trails with rocks, roots, and hills.  In hindsight I probably should have started him off with something easier.  He did pretty well, but I think he got a little discouraged when he took a couple tumbles.  After that debut, we decided to get on some easier terrain, which is when we scoped out the Milford bike path.  That was our first time on a bike path and Andrew loved how much easier it was.  Instead of rocks and roots and hills, the only obstacles we had to work around were crowds of teenagers.  I let him ride this path a couple times as confidence boosting rides, but then we headed back to the trails.  The trails have gotten a little easier for him and I've avoided the more difficult ones.

In the meantime, we had heard of another bike path in Rhode Island.  Although personally I like the challenge of the trails, I thought Andrew might like a change of scenery to keep him interested.  I have to skillfully manipulate encourage him and thought another bike path would be fun for him.  The Milford bike path was nice, but short and some of the questionable characters we passed made me a little uneasy.  I heard the Rhode Island bike path was longer, so we decided to check it out.

Another reason for my sudden interest in checking out the bike path was that I just bought a new bike rack!  No more stuffing bikes into the back of the SUV.  So naturally I was dying for an excuse to test it out.  Of course, never having used a bike rack before I was instantly confused and started panicking a little.  I made an emergency call over to Scott, who lives in Missouri.  Yes, the only person I could think of at that moment that might be able to help me out lives 2,000 miles away.  So I verbally explained my confusion, and he walked me through some steps.  I snapped a couple pictures of the bike rack with the bikes attached and sent them over to him for review.  After some gentle heckling regarding my purple mountain bike, he gave me the green light.



Whoa, nice rack!


On Saturday we ventured out in search of the bike path.  I got directions to the start of the path which took us deep into Woonsocket, which also has questionable areas.  Driving through the city, I had very low expectations.  My biggest concern was the value of the goods attached to the back of my vehicle.  I was thankful I opted for the rack that has a locking hitch and a locking cable that goes around the bikes.  No one's stealing my precious cargo!  We got to the parking lot safely, and when I started unloading the bikes I realized two major errors I made.  In my excitement of using the bike rack, I forgot to 1. pack my Camelpak, and 2. check the air pressure in my tires (which for some reason were a little low).  It was a rookie mistake and I'm sure as I get more comfortable with packing up the truck I'll develop a better routine.

After double and triple checking that everything was locked up, we headed towards the path.  Since my tires were a little low and I didn't have any water in the 88 degree heat, I didn't expect we would be out very long.  Immediately after getting onto the path, we were amazed at how nice it was!  The path follows the Blackstone River (the name of the bike path is actually the Blackstone River Bikeway).  We could not have been more shocked or pleasantly surprised at this path.  There was a cool breeze coming off the water, and the path was tree lined and very scenic.  There wasn't a lot of traffic on the path and everyone we passed was pleasant.  The path was well groomed and maintained with plenty of places to pull off, benches to sit on, and access to the river for fishing.  We even spotted a pair of deer!  We stopped at this scenic waterfall in Lincoln, RI.

It may not have been the challenging workout I was aiming for, but Andrew and I had a blast and before we realized it we had already gone six miles.  We stopped for a water break and then turned around for the return six mile trip.  What's great is that we only scratched the surface of the length of the path, so I'm anxious to go back and go further!  I also thought that in the future this will be a nice place for me to get in some long runs when preparing for any upcoming half or full marathons.  It's a safe and mostly flat route, and it would be a great way to get in long miles without the interruption of cars.

So, Rhode Island is starting to grow on me.  It seems that the things I like about the state are starting to outweigh the things I don't like.  I even just learned about a new race in Newport called the Newport Bridge Run, which sounds incredibly cool.  It's a loop around Jamestown and then 2 miles up and over the Newport Pell bridge.  Depending on how things go with my hip, I might think about signing up for it.  As long as they don't serve hot weiners at the post race party!

Click here to see our route

Pressure-free running

My miscellaneous activities have continued over the last few days, due in part to my hip, the weather, and a mysterious new toothache.  This is also the first time in a long time that I haven’t had a race train for.  My next half marathon isn’t until October, and until then I just have some 5 mile trail races and a couple 10k’s over the summer.  Without a need to build up long distance miles, I find myself in this unusual position of pressure-free running.  In some respects it’s a nice feeling, but in others it worries me that I might become a little unfocused.  So, while I continue to log a small handful of miles a week, I’ve focused on finding other things to keep me interested and motivated.

The weather has played a big factor in outdoor activities over the last few days.  It’s been pretty soggy and cool in New England, but that didn’t stop us from taking the horses out on Saturday.  We brought the horses over to the Upton State Forest for a nice ride.  We were pretty lucky to get in most of our ride without substantial rain, although the wet leaves on the trees still got us pretty damp.  The horses really seemed to enjoy the cooler temperatures (maybe a little too much) but on the way back we got caught in some pretty steady showers, and we didn’t waste any time getting out of the rain.  Well, actually we wasted a little bit of time taking this picture.

Later on Saturday I was supposed to meet up with Kerri for a run, but at the last minute she had to change plans.  Since it was rainy and dark I had little-to-no motivation to run solo, so I was pretty content to lounge around and nap in the afternoon.  Eventually I talked my mother into going to the Milford bike path with me, where she biked while I ran alongside her.  This worked out pretty well because she had been looking forward to biking, and I had to work fairly hard to keep up with her.  As a bonus, because it was lousy weather there were very few people on the bike path so we didn’t need to worry about navigating around a lot of people (or getting mugged).

Mom on the bike

It rained very heavily Saturday night and it was just far too wet on Sunday to ride the horses, so instead I was able to connect with Kerri for a run.  I had mentioned the bike path to Kerri and she wanted to try it out, so I met her there for a run in the rain.  I really enjoy running in the rain, and I’m not the only one it seems, because I saw a fair number of other runners out on the roads dodging puddles.  Kerri and I had a great run at a nice casual pace, and went further down the path into Hopkinton.  Our run was just over 6 miles, and by the end I was getting tired. 



Milford natives on the bike path



I took full advantage of the fact I had run 6 miles, and spent most of the rest of the day just lounging around the house.  Later that evening, I ended up going for a little bike ride with Mom in the trails around the house.  It was a very casual pace (i.e. I could have run it faster) but it was nice to get out.

After my active weekend I would gladly have taken Monday off from running, but thanks to our Monday night pond run with the running club, I had motivation to lace up.  Running this trail on Monday nights has become a regular routine of mine, and I look forward to running with other girls from the club.  This time, however, I was the only girl.  I was a little surprised at the low turnout since the weather ended up being fairly decent but it was still a fun run.   I was actually really excited about running because of my new gadget.  When I bought my Garmin last year, it came with a heart rate monitor.  This heart rate monitor has remained in the box that it came in for the last year.  I had little interest in monitoring my heart rate, and the strap kind of freaked me out, so I thought just tracking my miles would be enough.  Over time I became more interested in tracking pace, and finally just a couple months ago I learned how to track my individual mile splits.  Now, with a little encouragement from my dorky friend Scott, I have accepted the fact it’s time to take a look at my heart rate.  The way Scott explained it to me is that if I’m only looking at the pace and distance, I’m only seeing the “output”.  If I really want to see how hard I’m working, I need to look at the “input” (i.e. how hard my heart is pumping at a certain level of effort).  This could of course become a slippery slope for me, since I have a tendency to overanalyze things and I’m a bit of a numbers person.  After reading the directions I strapped the monitor on and tested it out.  Just walking down the stairs my heart went from 59 to 68.  Yup, this is going to become my new obsession.  I noticed for most of the Hopedale pond run my heart was in the 170’s.  Now of course I have to research that to see if that’s a reasonable level.  I think this will come in very handy when logging long slow miles, as it will prevent me from working too hard.  I’m considering wearing this thing everywhere now: Watching the Bruins game, at work, commuting.  After the club run I took a swing through Dairy Queen to get ice creams for the family, where my pulse was back to a comfortable 64.  It seems that even without a race to prepare for in the immediate future, I still have something to motivate me.  Yup, obsessed.

Kettle-Hell: When Runner Meets Kettlebell

After three successful treadmill runs, I started to gain some confidence.  My nine-day hiatus from running had made me nervous about the upcoming half marathon, but all of the miles I accumulated over the weekend helped to ease my mind.  My legs were starting to get tired after their sudden jolt back from vacation though, and I decided today to take it easy.  After a full year of going to the gym, I had never once ventured past the cardio equipment.  I decided to branch out a little, so over the weekend I grabbed a class schedule and spoke to one of the employees about some good classes to get into.  I felt that this would make me stronger overall, would target different areas of my body while I rested from running, and break up some of the monotony of going to the gym. 

I thoroughly analyzed the class schedule to narrow down my choices.  It was a tossup between a spin class and kettlebell, but ultimately I decided against spin since it would be working my legs exclusively, which I was looking to rest.  I asked a few people about kettlebell and the responses ranged from “no idea”, to “it’s an okay workout”, to “sweet workout!”  In hindsight, the most positive response came from my running buddy Todd, who as we know is very enthusiastic about anything athletic and in my opinion is a bit of a masochist. 

My plan for today was simple: go to the gym, attend the 50-minute kettlebell class, run 4 miles on the treadmill.  If I just ran a simple 4 miles, that would bring my total for January up to 50, and that would make me pretty happy considering I was at a mere 30 just a few days ago.  When I arrived at the gym, I was in complete shock at how busy it was.  I speculated that the extreme cold temperatures would deter people from leaving their houses, but instead it appeared people needed a warm escape.  I parked near the back of the lot and was further shocked at the number of people inside occupying the machines.  I signed into the class and when I entered locker room, had a tough time even finding a free locker to stuff my bag into.  Indeed, the New Years Resolute were in full force.  I realized that I, too, fell into this category of sorts.  Never having attended this class before defaulted me to rookie status and it was an odd feeling.  It was also somewhat comforting because I could easily ask people questions without shame.

The class was very full and when we entered the training room, people immediately scurried around looking for equipment.  No one was there barking instructions so all I could do was follow some of the others.  I had no idea how complicated this setup would be.  I had to grab a kettlebell (or two of different weights), a weight bar, a mat, and then I had to construct a step with building blocks.  A quick little checklist would have been helpful, but I managed well enough by following others and asking for help along the way.  When the class started, the instructor addressed the rookies.  He said, “When you are done with this class, you will hurt.  Your butt will hurt.  Your legs will hurt.  Your thighs will hurt.  You won’t be able to climb stairs.  It will hurt to stand up.  It will hurt to sit down, and it will hurt to go to the bathroom.  This pain will last for days.  But it will make you stronger and it’s worth it”.  His scare tactic worked on some, and I glanced around the room at some of the rookies that were clearly about to meet their maker.  Luckily I knew I wouldn’t suffer such trauma since my legs were so strong already from running.  On the other hand, I was hoping to give my legs a bit of a break today, so I wasn’t really welcoming the idea of a tough lower body workout.  

I will spare everyone the details of the massacre that ensued.   But here are the highlights:

·         I was sweating profusely during the warm up

·         The instructor said the rookies could do half the number of reps.  I didn’t take advantage of this, and that was a huge mistake

·         I hate looking at my body in the giant mirror

·         I hate that monster instructor with his ripped body and enthusiastic attitude.  If my legs weren’t jell-o and I wasn’t out of breath, I would have run right out of the room

When the class ended, everyone collapsed.  Literally, 30 of us moaned and collapsed on our backs, where we laid for a few minutes before painfully rising to our feet and slowly returning all of the equipment to its location.  I slowly made my way back to the locker room and tried to figure out how I would possibly be able to run 4 miles on the treadmill.  I wasn’t sure I could even walk TO the treadmill in the condition I was in.  I had promised myself some miles on the treadmill though, and I couldn’t imagine leaving the gym without logging them.  So, I willed myself over to the row of treadmills and picked the first one I came to.  With any luck, I figured once I got started running, my legs would spring back to life.  Unfortunately this never happened.  Every step I took hurt, and the weak legs under me threatened to collapse.  Right then and there I promised never to again complain about achy legs while I was running.  After two very painful, strenuous miles, I gave up.

When I ran a half marathon in October, my legs weren’t sore.  Every mile I’ve ever run, I was never this sore.  I’ve been achy, sure, but never so sore that it hurt to walk.  This class delivered me an extra large slice of humble pie.  Today, I was the rookie.  My butt hurts, my legs hurt, my thighs hurt, it hurts to walk, it hurts to stand up, it hurts to sit down, and I haven’t even attempted yet to go to the bathroom.  At least he promised it would only hurt for a few days.  Perfect, just in time for the next snowstorm. 

My blog, my rules!

It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of winter or winter sports.  All of my favorite activities are warm weather related (or at least snow-excluded): Running, horseback riding, mountain biking, golfing, sunbathing… You may ask why I choose to live in New England and suffer through every winter of my life here.  Well, as much as I don’t like snow, I like earthquakes, landslides, tornadoes, rattlesnakes, crocodiles, gumbo, coal mines, and ice fishing even less.  A few years ago, I decided that if I was going to mentally survive winter, I would have to embrace it somehow and find something I truly enjoyed doing.  Skiing and snowboarding were obvious choices, but those just aren’t the sports for me.  I have no desire to, a. ascend a mountain on a precarious ski lift, or b. careen down said mountain on a piece of timber.  Ice hockey became our pastime, and my homemade ice rink provided endless hours of fun (pain), exercise (exhaustion), and excitement (bruises and groin pulls).  But, kids grow up, ice rinks get sold, and soon I was looking for a new winter weather sport.

                Snowshoeing is something I dabbled in off and on for years, but never really put a lot of effort into it.  Last year, a particularly snowy winter, I spent hours out in the woods alone trudging through snow, leaving giant-sized footprints in my wake.  Once I fell through some ice and was stuck in about 12 inches of frozen mud with no idea how I was going to lift my legs out.  Surprisingly, that has been my only real mishap thus far.

                When we received word that a blizzard was headed towards us, I reacted with mixed emotions.  On one hand, I was disappointed that it might interfere with my running.  On the other, I looked forward to dusting off the snowshoes.   Coincidentally, for Christmas two days earlier my mother had given me some new snowshoeing poles and a Camelbak backpack, and I was just itching to use the new gear.  The day the blizzard was going to hit, I hopped out of bed early to hit the food store and run a few errands before the snow started.  My goal was to finish my errands within a couple hours, and still have time for my 6 mile run.  Unfortunately, the storm came in earlier than predicted and there was a thick film of snow on the roads as I headed home.  As much as I like running and really wanted that one last run on the bare roads, I wasn’t going to risk a car sliding into me.  Sadly, despite my best planning, the run wasn’t going to happen.  I was further irritated when, as the snow fell heavily, a runner came trotting down the street and into the woods behind me.  I know it sounds irrational, but I was actually jealous of that fool for running during the blizzard.

                The blizzard hit mid-morning on Sunday, lasting all day and night, and by Monday the snowfall started to taper off.  The wind lingered though, a constant reminder of the blizzard’s power, and created high snow drifts in seemingly random locations.  By midday I was punchy on a lousy night’s sleep, along with way too much shoveling and plowing, and needed to relieve my cabin fever.  Times like this I would normally slip on the sneakers (and Garmin, iPod, fuel belt, High-Vis jacket, energy gel, leave a detailed note as to my anticipated route and return time) and hit the road for an impromptu run.  But… even I’m not crazy enough to run in a blizzard.  Heck no.  Not me.  I’d rather go snowshoeing during the blizzard, by myself, in the woods, and not tell anyone where I was headed.  Yes, much safer.

                I got myself all geared up in the Camelbak, poles, snow shoes, and grabbed my camera.  Figured this might be an adventure worth digitizing.  I realized quickly that despite all the fancy gear, it might not have been the best idea to head out solo during this crazy windstorm.  Trees swayed severely overhead, and the 40 mph gusts of wind spit icy snow at my face.  Undeterred I ventured on, determined to work up a sweat and hopefully get some good scenery shots on the Kodak.  Stopping to take pictures turned into quite a challenge: Stop, unhook ski poles, remove gloves, unzip pocket, find camera, (blow nose), take picture, repeat everything in reverse order.  Needless to say, most of the pictures were taken in the first couple miles of the adventure.  At one point, as I started to make my way over the notoriously windy dam, gusts of wind were so powerful that I would have been knocked down if I didn’t quickly crouch to the ground, with my back facing the wind.  At that moment I realized how incredibly insignificant humans are up against Mother Nature, and the feeling was invigorating.  It was also a little embarrassing, when I noticed a photographer watching me from a safe distance.  No doubt he was thinking, look at this fool, on top of the dam in a blizzard.  Maybe I should stick around in case this goes south, I could make headlines in the paper tomorrow.

                Reenergized from my brush with death (or at least, my brush with a strong gust of wind), I picked up the pace and charged on, alternating between shallow snow and sudden deep drifts.  As I marched along, I remembered seeing a headline somewhere in a magazine about the new hot winter sport: Snowshoe Running.  I made a mental note to go back and check that out.  That could be my next addiction.  My mother later asked me, “Are you allowed to write about snowshoeing in your blog?”  Excellent question, I thought, since I’ve only ever written, or cared to write, about running.  While I don’t want to make a habit of writing about all sorts of silly adventures, I also reasoned that “Thought per Mile” doesn’t need to exclusively pertain to miles covered in sneakers.  And the bottom line, I finally determined, is that it’s my blog.  That means… my rules! 

*Anyone who knows me well enough knows I am mentally preparing my formal list of rules, forthcoming in a future blog post.  J