Disney Half--Back on the Road to Runnin'

Note: This post was written immediately after the Disney Half Marathon on September 6th, but I neglected to post it in a timely manner. I thought I'd re-visit it and write it a little better, but life got in the way. So here it is, unedited and probably a little rough. xoxox

Yesterday, September 6th, was the (drumroll please!!) Disneyland 1/2 Marathon. I've been building up to it--although, interestingly, not actually training for it--for the last four months, ever since I reached deep into my wallet and pulled out my Mastercard to pay the (gasp!) $120 registration fee.

It would be my first race (loosely referred to as "race" since there is no way in God's green Earth I was even within wishing distance of placing a top spot--or even a spot in the top 100) since last September, when I ran the Disney Half Marathon. That little excursion re-injured the disks in my back that I had originally thrown out of whack in May (2008) and sent me directly into physical therapy. After a few months of exercises that looked like a piece of cake when done by my PT but were actually muscle-straining agony when performed by me, my back was as good as it was gonna be. That being said, it was still achy enough to wake me up a night once in a while and touching my toes was a thing of my past.

So naturally, I was afraid to try to run again. I'd gotten the original injury over-training for the 2008 San Diego Marathon (I just had to get under 4 hours--ha ha on me, since instead of doing it I was laying prostrate on my couch eating Vicodin by the double handfuls and calling my husband to help me to the bathroom whenever I had to pee). I was pretty sure I'd hung up my Avias for good. But after a while, whenever I'd sit at my desk, I'd look at the various race medals hung up on the wall next to me, and think, "Wow, I'd really like to do at least one more..."

So before I had time to think better of it, I signed up for the 2009 Disney Half. I'd already done it two prior years (2007 & 2008) and had tons of fun (despite the soul-searing heat of the 2007 race--90 degrees at the 6:00 am start). And once it sank in that I'd actually committed to do it, I started to worry.

Oddly, though, I didn't train much. The farthest I ran prior to the Disney Half this year was 6 miles--6 miles!! And I was planning to run 13.1?? What was I thinking??? Many of my friends hinted that I was a little crazy. My husband went so far as to call me certifiable. And to be honest, there were a couple weeks where I agreed with them. I was in no shape to run a half. I'd just eat the $120 and not do it--after all, I had the perfect excuse (my baaaaccckkkk...).

But then, my 10-year-old daughter's Girl Scout Troop Leader told me with a big, happy smile that the whole Troop had signed up to attend the Disney Half to hand out waters and cheer on the runners--all because of me! Well, obviously there was no getting out of it now. In the weeks before the event, I ran 3 - 4 days a week, 3 or 4 miles a day. Short runs, but endurance builders. Up a long hill, then a mile and a half at a slight but continual incline. My back protested, but not overly so. I'd worked so much on my core during PT that my stomach muscles were stronger than they'd been since I was in my 20s (of course, they're hidden by a layer of fat that was non-existence when I was younger, but if you push real hard, you can feel the six pack hidden under there). The core muscles support your back and take off much of the pressure. So note: if you have a back injury, strengthen your core.

But I was nervous. When my dear friend Janelle and I went to the Expo the Friday before the race to pick up our numbers, shirts and goodie bags, the chrysalis in my stomach released not one but several large-winged butterflies, and they were not happy. But that's not to say that I didn't feel the familiar pre-race rush. I love race expos--if you're a runner, and you've been, you know what I'm talking about. The charged up atmosphere of all those about to test both their physical and mental endurance...well, it's contagious. Anyway, mixed in with the adrenalin were those alarmed butterflies. I just didn't know if I would be capable...I comforted myself with the thought that there were several medic stations along the course, along with the thought that if I did collapse, somebody would stop and help me...right? Right?

The morning of the race was cloudy and cool--maybe a few degrees over what I consider ideal race temp (I like it around 58-60 degrees--the bod heats up quick). There was a cloud cover. At 6:02am, corral B got the gun, and we were off.

I'd made sure to tell everyone that my goal was just to finish, that I wasn't in it for a time, but secretly I had to finish it at 2:30 or less. I'd even picked up a timer bracelet at the Expo the day before. Not only had I picked up the 2:30 bracelet, but I also picked up a 2:15 bracelet. (A timing bracelet is a little paper bracelet that goes on your wrist. It has every mile listed and where you should be, time-wise, when you hit that mile. For example, if you are trying for a time of 2:15, you need to be at the first mile by 8:50 or something like that). Anyway, my fastest Half Marathon had been the Huntington Beach Half 2008 at 2:05:18. My "least best" was the 2:18 I'd done at the aforementioned incredibly hot 2007 Disney Half. In that race, had it not been for my BF Jackie, I would have succumbed to heat prostration and general discouragement.

So anyway, in spite of my protestations that I didn't care what time I'd get, I really, really, really wanted to get somewhere between 2:15 and 2:20. I even strategically placed myself next to the 2:15 pace group.

And guess what? Right up until mile 6 (when I got stuck in a 3-mile long line at the port-o-potty) I kept on pace with the 2:15 group. I was astonished...

And my final finishing time? According to the official race time on my chip, it was 2:19:21. I'd done it. A little part of me grumbled that if I hadn't had to pee so gosh darn bad, I would have come in 3 minutes sooner, but really, if I had skipped the potty, I would've been runnin' in wet shorts, if you get my meaning.

And I had alot of things going for me, don't forget. The weather cooperated--I didn't get sun until mile 10, and then it was on my back, rather than in my face like the poor souls who had the misfortune to be stuck in corral G (start time: 6:26 am). I had my tunes--just downloaded "Kings of Leon" and the "Best of 311" to keep my feet moving when my mind wanted to stop. Plus, most importantly, I had those girl scouts--along with their 10 x 6 banner that said "We Love You Kim!" How can you not run well when you have a huge banner dedicated just to you, accompanied by 8 smiling (if tired) faces?

So the 2009 Disney Half Marathon is now a memory that I am so, so glad I have. And now I have something else to look forward to...in the world of running, that is. I've already signed up for my next Half--the Carlsbad Half Marathon in January 2010. This time, I promise, I will train!! (maybe I can get back up in the 2:00 - 2:15 range--hey, you never know!--wink wink)

And as long as those girl scouts are there to cheer me on, I have no doubt that I will!

An Obvious Lesson it Took Way to Long for Me to Get

Yesterday, I clicked the "follow" button for Tony Robbins on Twitter.

Tony Robbins, you say? Tony Robbins, the toothy, tall-haired self-help guru of the '90s? He of the ubiquitous life seminars, personal growth tapes and Personal Power workbooks? Yup. Him.

Years ago, his face, with its long-tooth, almost predatory smile, was inescapable--it peered out at passersby from bookshelves, billboards, and late night infomercials. Tony Robbins was part of the background landscape of my life, like the Mazda Miatas that zoomed around on the freeways and the self-consciously sarcastic TV shows like "Roseanne" that were so popular at the time. Back then, I always smirked at him. I was in my 20s in the 90s, Tony Robbin's heyday, and was pretty certain I already knew everything. I figured anyone who'd buy into the change-your-life schtick he was selling was a loser and I had no use for them anyway.

Now that I actually have some real life experience under my belt, I'm a gentler judge of character than I was back when I thought everything--relationships, career, the world--was all about me. I realize now that many people do find themselves stuck at various points in their lives. Learning techniques to move forward is far better than wallowing in inertia. Some people take community college courses. Others go to therapy. Still others find a guru, ala Tony Robbins (actually, I believe he goes by Anthony Robbins these days). And people like me, try to muddle through it on their own.

For about a year I've been muddling. The girls are older and don't need me as much, my frantic days of volunteering are mostly behind me (I have taken a sacred, cannot-under-pain-of-death-be-broken vow to never be the committee head of a silent auction/dinner dance again), and I can only have so many lunches with friends before feeling useless (not to mention bloated). I do have things going on--I'm co-authoring a cookbook, plus working on a spec article for Runner's World about youth running clubs--but I've still felt that I haven't moved forward with my life for a very long time.

I suspect, from the casual and sometimes intense conversations I've had with friends, that many people are in a similar situation. At least, I'm reassured, I'm not alone.

So what to do? That is the questions I've been wrestling with for the better part of a year. How to move forward. Then, last night, in a rare conversation with my husband (the man is so busy at work he rarely has time to eat dinner, let alone engage in long conversations with the likes of me) the answer--at least, what I think may be the answer--revealed itself.

Acknowledge your strengths, and build upon them. Let everything else go.

Seems obvious, I know. But let's delve into it a little deeper. I'll be the subject. My greatest strengths are writing and interacting (on both a social and professional level) with people. I'm also pretty good at art, public relations, and marketing. I make a fair pass at decorating and design, too. And therein lies the problem for me--and for most people in my situation, I suspect. I'm pretty good at alot of things--but don't really excel at any. The reason I don't excel in one particular area is because I haven't focused on developing any one talent. I've been all over the board--I've taken art classes, writing classes, I've made abortive attempts at re-starting the public relations consulting business I had when I was in my 20s, I started a less-than-successful mural painting business. And the result is that I haven't made any forward progress. I've been floundering around in a mess of my own creation.

And last night, Dave gently suggested I let it all go--and just pick one thing, one thing, to strengthen. And once I'd pick that one thing, I'd need to commit to it. So that's the decision I've made. And when I brainstormed by list of strengths, the top one was writing. And since I have already started (albeit a short way) down that path, I will (try to) let the other things fall to the wayside and put my effort into building my writing muscle. That's not to say I won't still paint the mural or two. But instead of scattering my efforts around in alot of places, I'm going to pull them in and focus on the main thing.

Sort of like Michael Jordan. I know--not exactly a right-on comparison, but it will do to underscore my point. Basketball legend. Tried baseball--not as good. Tried golf. Not his true thing either. So it was back to basketball, where arguably he should have stayed all along.

And as for Tony Robbins--ahem, Anthony Robbins--while you won't find me at any of his seminars any time soon, I have to admit that the daily affirmations that come across in his Twitter feed are pretty encouraging. And I guess when it comes down to it, when you're stuck in a rut, sometimes one of the most important tools to get yourself out of it is a belief in yourself--and a bit of encouragement from others.

Makes Ya Wanna Run!

Today is the 2009 LA Marathon. 

When I opened my eyes this morning, I was instantly aware of two things: I was slightly hung-over from the four glasses of wine I'd had at a friend's welcome-to-summer party last night, and that my running shoes were lying in a small, dispirited heap next to my closet. I'd worn them to the track a couple days before--not for my own workout, but to watch my 9-year-old practice with her track team. My running shoes were a reproachful reminder to me that while I have a great deal of passion for track, marathons, and the sport of running in general, I haven't run a race since last September's Disney Half Marathon. It's been nearly 9 months. 

And the third thing to cross my mind as I slid out from beneath the covers of my warm bed into the chaos of the girls clamoring for pancakes outside my bedroom door ("Mommy, we're sooooo hungry!") was my friend Jackie. 

She's running the 2009 LA Marathon--and is likely still doing so right now, at 10:42 in the morning. Last year, we ran it together--we crossed the finish line with hands clasped at a solid if uninspired 4:52. The important thing was that we did it together.

I pictured Jackie now at the start line, bouncing on her heels to keep herself warm in the cool morning air, knowing she was feeling excitement and apprehension in equal measure. I selfishly hoped she missed me. I sent her good luck via mental express, and  went downstairs with the girls at my heels to make them breakfast.

It was only 6:37am (my children have absolutely no respect for Saturdays, holidays, or their mom's overindulgence in Cabernet) and I was feeling rather muddled. My husband, who'd just come in from a 6-mile run of his own (sick with a cold, hung over, going on 3 hours sleep--you name it--he never misses a run), asked me if I was going to watch the Marathon.  

Instantly I was awake and excited, the vestiges' of the half-hangover dissipating like smoke. He turned on the TV for me (why he has to turn it on is a long, frustrating and ultimately silly saga that has to do with my complete inability to work a universal remote) and found live coverage of the LA Marathon. The wheel chair racers were on their way and the elite runners had just begun their journey. The camera panned to the thousands of people waiting for the their turn to dash across the start line. I felt a moment of complete and utter envy that I was not there among them. In other circumstances, I know I would have been. 

I don't have a big dramatic back story to share of why I haven't run a race for so long. I injured my back last May (last May 25th, to be exact)  training for the 2008 San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon. I had the goal of breaking 4:15. It was to have been my fourth marathon, (2 LAs, one previous Rock n Roll). My previous PR was 4:21:26. 

To many competitive runners, that's not an especially impressive PR. But to me, it was an amazing accomplishment. I'd spent a lifetime avoiding running just on general principal--it was boring, too hard, it made my boobs bounce and hit me in the eyes (okay, maybe not that). But I'd never been interested in it. I wasn't a particularity athletic girl. I was on the High School Drill Team for a while, and then a cheerleader, but back in the 80s (yes, I'm old) song and cheer was vastly different than the competitive juggernaut it is today. It was more about smiling, being enthusiastic, and knowing the difference between a offense cheer and a defense cheer. And luckily we had the Head Cheerleaders to tell us which cheers to perform, because honestly, not being particularly knowledgeable about football or basketball (the two sports we cheered for) I would not have known the difference. 

So last year I decided I would best my amazing (in my eyes, anyway) achievement by hitting 4:15. If I could hit 4:15, I reckoned I would be a REAL runner, someone who had taken the leap from recreational runner to someone who really had what it took to be a winner (I know, I know). So I completed a 21 mile training run--ignoring the entire time the small but nagging twinge in my back. In fact, I pushed myself even harder that training run than I ever had before, leaving my running companions far behind me in a dash down Taft Ave. that left me feeling exhilarated and a bit smug. (yes, karma is on it's way...)

The next day, I went to a weight training class with a friend, figuring that weight training was an important component to running that I couldn't bypass. I remember hearing the crunch in my back when I lifted a weight--and the sharp, stabbing pain that went with it. I mentioned to my friend in an off-hand manner, hoping she didn't think I was using the aching throb in my back as an excuse not to lift weights. I gritted my teeth through the pain, mentally calling myself a woos/wus (?? spell?? I've never figured out how to spell that word). I was also beginning to feel the first stab of panic--I had never felt anything quite like this in my back, and I was worried. The San Diego Marathon was just 10 days away. 

But, to my lasting chagrin, I wasn't done being an idiot. After my friend dropped me off at home, I decided that the metal decorative bench in the back yard JUST HAD to be moved. No tomorrow. And certainly not by my husband, though he is vastly stronger than I. So knowing that it was a mistake and determined to do it anyway, I tried moving the bench. 

You know that sound a stalk of celery makes when you break it in half? Yup. That sound. That was the sound I heard as I fell to the ground in agony only experienced in childbirth. I lay there, feeling like a doll with a broken back. Until that moment, I'd never really gotten it when people complained of bad backs. I'd always held people like that slightly in doubt--after all, it couldn't be that bad. Now I knew. I really knew. 

Eventually I made my way back to the house and then to the couch, where I remained in various stages of agony for the next few days. I finally made it to the doctor, who clucked her tongue at me for abusing my body to such a degree. She ordered x-rays and sure enough, I had a slipped disc. Not bad (although with my level of pain I thought for sure she would have found my back full of slivers of broken glass) and definitely heal-able. She laughed in amusement when I asked her if I could still run the San Diego Rock 'n' Roll Marathon.

Thus started a regiment of physical therapy that really worked--or seemed to , until I jumped the gun on my healing and ran in the Disney Half Marathon last year. Two karmic punishments resulted from my completely ignoring my PT's advice not to run quite yet: my IPOD broke at mile two (I'd never run a race without my music and found the experience boring and grueling), and I ended the race back at square one with my physical therapy. Yup.

So I was much smarter this time. At the end of several months, my PT declared me as good as I was gonna get (lucky for me, my injury did not necessitate surgery) and said I could try training for a 1/2 marathon again, albeit slowly and with great care. She wasn't overjoyed with my determination to run another 1/2 marathon, urging me instead to try a few 10ks. 

But a funny thing happened when my therapy was finally over. Even given the green light to train, I just haven't done it. I've been going to the gym regularly (I've even lost a few pounds) but I hadn't been able to get up the gumption to train for a long run. The longest I've gone since March was 4 miles--the resulting back pain was mild but it was enough to freak me out. In a last ditch effort to inspire myself to "get back on the horse" as it were, I paid my $120 (yikes! gulp! Holy crap!) entry fee to run in the 2009 Disney Half Marathon.   But I did that last week and I have yet to run 10 feet, much less started the training I'll need if I'm going to actually get my $120 worth. 

But this morning, watching with ever growing excitement in my heart as Kenyan Wesley Korir dashed past Russian Tatyana Petrova at mile 23 to claim the winner title in a race-busting record of 2:08:23, I found the inspiration I needed. And I ran--from the kitchen where I was preparing pancakes to the family room where the TV was so I wouldn't miss any of the marathon. The girls'  pancakes were alternately overcooked and underdone. For the first time ever I found myself wishing we had a TV in the kitchen. 

  Picturing myself with Jackie running last year, I suddenly knew that I would run in a race again. The excitement, the thrill, the amazing feeling of accomplishment I got from running those past marathons and half marathons (a total of seven events since January 2007) was not something I was willing to let slide away. 

So shortly following watching the winners break the ribbons, the girls begged to play with the Wii. (we have only one TV--yes, I know, that makes us a strange exception to the three-TV standard of most families) so I let them (they'd eaten their burned-on-the-outside, gooey-on-the-inside pancakes without complaint and I figured the deserved a reward). I headed upstairs, where the unmade bed and lonely-looking pair of running shoes called to me. I put them on and snugged the laces.

I'm heading out for my run now--I'm going to take it slow--maybe the old 3.1 mile route I used to take when I only had a free 1/2 hour to run. And now it's 11:42 and Jackie should be coming up on mile 23, if my calculations are correct. I'll think about her as I'm running, try to shoot some mental energy her way. Because 23 is where the wall is, at least for me. And maybe, just maybe, as I'm finishing up my 3.1, she'll be running over the finish line herself, and in some small way, she and I will be finishing up our run  together after all.