Half Marathoner

This is what we in the race world call a "Race Recap."

For those who have a life and have no desire to hear my step by step experience of Sunday's big race, go do something else like take a nap, type a paper, or go to the bathroom.  Anything really.  But for those who pretend to care, this is a long, boring post (unless you love race recaps like I do).

Saturday night Mr. G and I loaded Caroline the Corolla with running gear, apples (yum), my race information, etc.  We hit the road and drove south to the land of the Massholes.  We found our lovely (sarcasm) hotel without a hitch.  Checked in, had a brewski, and off we went to dinner.  Got some pasta, some wine, some gelato.  Nothing out of this world, but it still hit the spot.

I was in bed by 9:45 with a goal to be asleep by 10:15.  HA.  All night I dreamt about racing.  I constantly woke up up because I was nervous and anxious.  It was not a swell night of sleep.

At 6:20 my alarm went off.  I popped out of bed to order my room service breakfast (wheat toast with peanut butter and a hard boiled egg, please!) only to find out that my hotel did not have room service.  WHAT THE MOTHA FUCK!?  I threw on my clothes and went down to the shatty ass "marketplace" in the lobby and got a wheat bagel with peanut butter, a banana, and a fake scrambled egg, (which I immediately tossed in the garbage when I left).

By 7 am we were walking to the shuttle over to the race.  I was nervous but calm.  At the shuttle stop we were surrounded by people who were also running, the energy was fantastic.  We loaded the busses and headed over to the start.

We arrived about 35 minutes before race time.  We walked down to the race start line and were blown away by the thousands and thousand of people.  There was music playing, 6,000+ runners and spectators milling about, stretching, having fun.  It was amazing.

Until I looked at the lines for the 45 or so port-o-potties.

Of which 3,000 people were waiting for.

And of course I had to go pee again, even though I had gone moments before loading the bus.

We jumped in line and stood and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  30 minutes went by and I still had a good 12 people in front of me.  And a good 30 behind me.  And that was just in my row for my port-o-potty.  There were lines like that in front of all other 44 port-o-potties.  The announcers asked for the runners to line up.  People in the bathroom lines started looking nervous.  The national anthem was sung.  People in line started shifting about.  They started announcements about the route, people started dashing to the trees to pee so they could start on time.  I was a nervous wreck.

5 minutes later it was finally my turn.  I jumped in, peed, and sprinted over to my starting corral.  Mr. G was sweet and ran with me, stood to the edge of the coral, and started snapping pictures.  Bless his heart.

There were so many people, we could not all fit into the corral.  We stood outside of it, hundreds of us, and just waited for the gun to go off.

When it finally went off, the crowd cheered and I teared right up.  (Emotional wreck, right here.)  People started moving, and about 3 minutes later I was finally able to get into the corral.  I waved good bye to Mr. G and started walking towards the start line.

I had a huge smile on my face for the first 2 miles.  The crowd support was fantastic.  The energy of the runners was even better.  It was downhill.  Everything was great.  I was able to listen to my music and not focus on others, but was also able to thrive off the energy of those around me.  I saw momma and poppa PB at mile 1 and was just on cloud nine.  The entire race was an out and back course, so we also saw the men from the wheelchair division already coming back when we were between miles 2 and 3, and the crowds went wild.  The runners were just so thrilled for these bad ass mother fuckers and we were cheering and shouting for them.  It was the highlight of the race for me.

(Another highlight was the fun signs: "You are all Kenyans today!" and "Your stamina turns me on.  Call me."  And finally, "That is not sweat, that is your fat cells crying.")

The runners high lasted until mile 5.  At mile five we turned around and started back for the first out and back leg of the course.  I was feeling a bit tired and started thinking about running, which is never what I want to do when I run.  I took some shot blocks and carried on.

At mile 8 I was pretty pooped, but my friend Kali and her husband where there waiting for me.  Kali jumped in and ran with me for nearly 4 miles.  She is a seasoned half marathoner and was so positive and supportive.  She talked me through those 4 miles and was right by my side.  When I needed to slow down and walk (which happened a lot during those 4 miles) she was telling me it was ok, I needed to listen to my body.  I still do not know why I was so tired, I have certainly done 8,9,10,11, and even 12 miles numerous times this summer.  But regardless, I was just completely exhausted.  And Kali was right there telling me I was doing great, that I could do this, that if I needed to walk that I should walk.

Miles 9-12 felt entirely up hill.  Not major hills, mind you, just slow, gradual uphills.  And for God's sake, they were such long miles.  Miles 9-12 felt longer than miles 1-9.  I wanted to face punch everything.  WHY WAS THIS TAKING SO LONG.  HOW COULD THIS MILE BE LASTING FOREVER?!  Shortly after mile 11 we were back at the start of the race.  "Oh good," I thought.  Almost done, I can see the stadium, hear them announcing names, see the smoke from the grills."  But OH WAIT.  Mother fuckers have you run another mile out and back before you finish.  FUCK.  We ran through the zoo, I was barely surviving.  People said they saw giraffes but I only saw the brown ground in front of me.  I thought I was going to die.

Finally we hit mile 12.  Kali's perfect doll of a husband was waiting there, cheered for me, and Kali left.  *Dear god, Kali, thank you for your support!*  At that point I knew I could make it.  No more walking.  Just run.  JUST DO IT.  I ran, slow, steady.  I saw a sign that said "800 meters to go!"  And before I knew it I saw another that said "Only 500 meters left!" I rounded the corner and could see the stadium.  I heard Mr. G shouting "Shauni!  Go Shauni!  You are awesome!" (or something to that affect, but I like to think he said that I rocked or some such thing.)

I entered the stadium.  I turned the bend.  I saw the finish line and the clock and I ran as fast as I could manage.  Which was not fast, as I was being passed left and right by those around me.  But I crossed the finish line, threw my hands up over my head and smiled.  And immediately stopped running.  I just wanted to walk.

I went and got my medal, and Mr. G called.  We met in the food tent, where I was stretching.  All I wanted to do was stretch and rest and drink water.  Fuck everything else.  I was exhausted.

My official time was 2:21.  I am disappointed in my time, but I am also extremely proud of myself.  This is the most challenging thing I have ever done, and had you asked me a year ago if I could run 13.1 miles I would have laughed in your face.  I have never felt more proud of myself.

I did not have any pain while running, however after the run and all day yesterday I was stiff and sore.  My toes still hurt and I am waiting for some of the nails to fall off (my worst running nightmare).  It is terribly painful and inconvenient.

Regardless of how exhausted I felt and how sore my body was after the fact, I already cannot wait to run Boston again next year.  And the Covered Bridge half in VT next June.

After all, I have to shave time off my pace!

Thanks for listening,
One Bad Ass Granny

Thoughts on Running

This is going to be a slightly different blog post than usual.

This is going to be more like me rambling about my thoughts on something with no care as to how readers might react.  This is strictly for me to just "get it all out there."

A little over a year and a half ago, while living in the most physically active town ever, I heard friends and colleagues talking about running.  They all ran.  They were members of running clubs.  They ran to the office.  They ran every day for fun.

"What in the...?  Why would you want to do that?"

I never had the desire to run long distances.  While I thought it would be cool to be able to run for say, 30 minutes, when I heard people speak of running distances I was appalled.  That sounded horrible.

But I knew that 30 minutes of running was something I should be able to do--I was pretty active.  And by pretty active I mean I went to the gym and used the elliptical for 40 minutes 4 times a week.  If I could do that, I could try running, right?

(Note, while the elliptical is a good workout, it in no way prepared me for running.)

So I went to the local high school track and forced myself to run.  It was horrible.  I would go and do 4-6 laps, walking in between, with lots of aches and pains.  This only lasted a week though, as I lived in the Sierras, and wouldn't you know it, but we continued to get a shitload of snow way in to the month of May.

Then we moved back to Vermont.  I had a wedding dress to fit in and no money for a gym membership (woe is me).  So I started running again.  I ran from my house to the covered bridge a mile away.  I could  again *barely* do this.  There was one hill in the middle of this mile run and for months I could not run the mile without walking up the hill.  Eventually I was able to run up part of the hill, but then I would need to stop and rest at the top.  And always, after I made it to the bridge, instead of turning around and running home, I would walk back.  This lasted for a few months.

Then winter came and the desire to run completely went away.  I joined my gym and it was back to the elliptical I went.  And the stair master.  And weights.  But not running.

For some reason in February, I decided to sign up for a 5k.  It was a month away.  I started running on the treadmill at the gym and once again, it was awful.  I could maybe run for a mile.  I would do my mile, then walk a little, then run another little bit.  Over the time period of a month, I slowly and painfully made it to the 3.1 miles I needed to be able to run for the 5K race.  I ran the race, it was challenging, and I finished in 31:58.

I continued to run after that.  It was a slow process.  I felt that it had taken me a month to get up to 3 miles, so adding another mile to that distance would also take me a long time.  By April I could run 4 miles.  I called my mom, my sister, my friends, Mr. G to tell them all I was up to 4 miles.  I was so proud of myself.

It should be noted as a reminder that I have never ran.  Not ever.  In High School sports and for the presidential awards you better believed I walked my skinny (back then it really was skinny) ass around the track for the mile test.  Fuck running.

When I was able to run 4 miles, I happened to be in Boston during the Boston Marathon.  It was completely inspiring.  How can these people do that?  It was so amazing.  It also just so happened that an old friend of mine, who I would never in ten million years would have guessed that she would grow to be an athletic runner, also was running a marathon.  Add that to the 4 people in my office who were all half marathon runners (and one marathoner) and a spark was lit in my soul.

I was going to do a half marathon.


I found a training schedule that was for 12 weeks.  I knew I would need more than 12 weeks to get my body ready for a half.  I have now been training for nearly 30 weeks.

I started on the treadmill.  I was still slow.  But I slowly, slowly added miles.  I was up to 5 miles on the machine.  And then a month later I was at 6.  By July I could run 7 miles and at that point I knew I would be able to do the Boston Half Marathon.  In July I signed up and was so proud of myself for even being able to consider running a half.  And with the ability to (barely) run 7 miles, I was just over half way to my goal.

In late July I finally decided it was about time to run outside.  All this time I had been running on the treadmill most days, with a few runs outside on a hilly 2.5 mile loop.  I had Mr. G drop me off 8 miles from home.  There were some hills and some dirt roads.  I was excited.  But lord have mercy was it a challenge.  It was SO hard for my to transition from running on a flat, steady treadmill to the great outdoors.  I had to stop and walk often.  I walked up some of the hills.  But I made it home and again, I was so proud of myself.

This weekly pilgrimage has not only continued since July, but it has become a ritual that I look forward to most weeks.  Mr. G will drive me miles and miles away and I will run home.  Just me, the road, and my music.

I loved that every couple of weeks Mr. G would drive another mile farther away.  I loved that I had 2 hours to myself to think, run, focus on what I wanted.  Rarely did I think about running, or when I did it was generally "Wow, I just ran 3 miles without thinking about running at all!"  I focused on my breathing, my stride.  I made up games in my head.  I imagined myself running over the finish line in Boston.

Over the course of the summer, I have continued to shock myself.  I can now run 12 miles pretty comfortably.  My speed is not great, but during one run, I did manage to run 2.5 miles (in the pouring rain) in less than 20 minutes.  I can now run hills, even mile long hills, even if they are at mile 10 and 11 on my long runs.  I am strong and I am proud.

Of course there are days that suck.  Sometimes I do not want to run.  I force myself to go out and while I usually end up enjoying myself, other times all I can think about is running.  And I find that when I think about running while I run, I do not enjoy it as much.  I think about how tired I am, or how this is not relaxing like taking a bath with a good book and some Pinot.  I cannot catch my breath and I get frustrated.  There are days like this and they straight up suck.  But for every bad run, for every negative thought, for every little pain my body gets, there are a million happy thoughts, enjoyable runs.  And a few pounds lost, too.

My big race is this weekend.  I would be lying to say I am not nervous.  I have had IT pain this week (if you had asked me a year ago what an IT band was, I would have looked at you crazy.), I do not know the course that I will be running, I am used to running alone, not with 6,000 others or with people cheering me on.  What if I do not finish with a good time?  What if I do not finish at all?  What if I get picked up by the sweepers?

But I know I can do this.  Since February, I have become a runner.  I run.  It is starting to define me.  All I want to do is run, talk about running, buy running gear, surround myself with other runners.  I have comfortably run 12 miles.  I can, on any given day, run 10-11 miles.  I can run outside up hills or inside on a boring treadmill.  I may not be fast, but I can do it.  So come this weekend, while I have butterflies in my chest (and stomach, and mind), I will kiss my husband and put on my music and I will take off, just like I have every other Sunday for the last 3 months.  And I will do this.

Thanks for letting me ramble.  And thanks for listening.

Mature

Last night I was sending a text to a friend and my autocorrect changed "ooooh" (as in, "ooooh, I can't wait!") to "poopy."

I noticed right away and was able to correct the text, but not before giggling out loud.  "Hehe, poopy," I was thinking.

Mr. G heard my giggle and asked "What are you laughing at?"

I told him and he responded in such a way that I knew we would be together for the rest of our lives.

He burst out laughing and started repeating the word, "poopy."

To which I responded with laughter and snorts.  And the word, "Pooper."

"poop."

"pooper."

"poopy."

"pooper scooper."

"poop shoot."

"poop.  poop.  poop.  POOOOOOOP."

This conversation, word for word as outlined above, lasted a good six minutes.

We are so mature.

It is why our marriage will last forever; poop is a top contender for the coveted position of my all time favorite words.  Likewise for Mr. G.

We were fated to be together.

Pooper Scooper,
Granny

What in the...?

Yesterday my man and I hit the local theaters for a movie.  We break the law and bring in our own popcorn.  We always feel rebellious and slightly bad ass.

Imagine how I felt when I looked across the aisle at one point and saw (what looked like) an older lady sitting with her feet on a crate she must have brought in.  It was red.  And in her cup holder was a giant thermos.  And at her feet (next to the red crate) was a full sized picnic basket.  Filled with bags of goodies (I saw at least one bag of Doritos).  And in her arms was a giant blue water jug.

Like this, only blue.  And large and in charge.

But she wasn't drinking it, just shaking it.

SO MANY QUESTIONS!

Huh?
WTF?
How?
WHY?
Why the large water jug, but also a thermos?
Why never drinking out of it?
and most importantly...

HOW DID SHE SMUGGLE ALL THAT SHIT IN?!

Confused and impressed,
Nana

Grumble

Yesterday I was eating my bag of frozen green grapes.  They were delicious.  Delectable.  So good, so sweet.

Until the very last one which was so horribly disgusting, bitter and nasty that I had to spit it out.

I HATE when the last grape/carrot/berry/etc. is gross after the rest are delicious.

Love,
Deep and spiritual Granny

Well happy Thursday to you as well

Humpday started out like any other day--pretty dece, got all my work done, the sun was shining, Caroline the Corolla was back, etc.

But then I went to the gym.

And fell down an entire flight of stairs.

Follow that by coming home to discover not one, but two pimples for no reason.

And then our beloved Red Sox lost last night.  An epic loss after a small lead all night.  Their last chance.  It was disappointing, but if my newest obsession, Friday Night Lights, has taught me anything it is that it is just a game and we can come back again next year.

I couldn't fall asleep due to some hip pain from my earlier run at the gym.

I finally fell out at about 11...

Only to be woken by the fire alarm blaring at 11:45.

My heart pounding and scared out of my skin, I shouted to Mr. G, who in his regular fashion just shouted "what?  what do you want!?" in the middle of the blaring noise.  We ran downstairs to the alarm that was going off.  And this was no "change your battery" alarm that tends to only go off at night.  This was an all out fire alarm.  We ran downstairs expecting to see our little living room engulfed in flames.

But there was no smoke, no fire.

Mr. G spent a good 4 minutes trying to get the alarm to stop.  Wires were pulled, batteries removed.  Hearts were pounding.  We managed to get back up stairs and safe in our beds after getting the noise to stop and our blood pressures to return somewhat back to normal.

BUT THEN, I though, "what the hell caused the alarm to go off?!"

It must not have been the fire alarm, but instead the carbon monoxide alarm!

I ran downstairs to see if our fire alarm even tested for CM.  It did.  Oh god.  We were going to die.  I just knew it.  I ran and opened all the doors and windows in the house and turned on the fans.  And then went and took a closer look at the alarm.  "For a carbon monoxide alarm, you will hear 4 short beeps.  For a fire alarm, you will hear 3 long beeps."  Oh phew, we had heard a fire alarm.  Well, no harm in sleeping with all the doors and windows open just in case...

So I headed back to bed for the 3rd time, still pondering what had made the alarm go off.

And then I remembered what I had done all afternoon: I read ghost stories.  And of course at that point, I couldn't stop thinking about ghosts.

Of which I don't believe in.  Except that Paranormal Activity was so scary and so real.  

So I stayed up for the majority of the night keeping an eye out and an ear out for any more ghost activity.

My alarm went off bright and early this morning (as fucking usual) and I rolled out of bed, surprised to see that at some point in the night I must have been brave enough to have  turned off the flashlight that I was keeping next to my bed to see for myself the next Blair Witch in action. (Either that or the witchy ghost bitch turned it off herself!)

I am exhausted.

Granny

Freedom

If you recall for the last 10 days Mr. G and I had our hands full watching my mom's little yippy lap dogs.  We finally got to return them on Saturday and have had our house back to ourselves.  It has been glorious.

No crazy barking starting at 6:30 am every time a squirrel walked by the window, a neighbor shut their door, or a leaf fell from a tree.

No more forced energy to walk the two little yippers every few hours starting at 6 am and ending at 11 pm.

I can go to the bathroom by myself again without two little pups staring me in the eyes whilst peeing or standing outside the door whining to come in.

I can get dressed without the demon dogs running in circles around my feet yipping at me.

I do not have 100 slimy grungy dog toys all over the house.

I am not being licked to death as an alarm clock at 5:30 am.

On the other hand, my bed has not been as cozy without the two little snuggle bugs in it every night.

...of course that could be due to the fact that one of them threw up on my white comforter set and I have been sleeping with summer blankets while the comforter is at the dry cleaning...

Enjoying my freedom,
Bubbie