The LIttle Engine that Could

I haven't run with anyone in a long time.  Well, (sorry if this sounds conceited) I haven't run with anyone who could really "get the engine pumping." Now, I used that cliche on purpose. You see, I sometimes sound like a train when I run. But not having run with anyone who could make me work hard enough to wheeze a little, I forget that not everyone expects to hear a locomotive struggling to get out of my lungs when I try to either run fast or uphill. Anyway, the asthma was not too bad today. I remembered to take my inhaler before, so I just wheezed a bit as we slowly trucked up the mtn.  

I joined three guys who run a couple of times a week together. They're trying to make use of the bits of fall as winter keeps threatening to explode cold white stuff all over the trails, forcing them to either run in the city or don snowshoes. We ran up Leatham's Hollow and decided we gained 2700 feet of elevation in  six miles, many of which were flat-ish. So, it wasn't especially painful, but it was our easy day thus we didn't push hard. For that, I am grateful because I would not have glimpsed more than a few back-kicks if they were running hard. I just hope they didn't slow down for me on the way down. I don't care about eating a little dust sometimes. 

But, back to the asthma and the point of this week's blog. I just forgot that I'd have to explain the sound of my breath.  One of them asked if I was okay, just a few minutes into the run. He was probably regretting my tagging along with them and thinking I'd never make it up the mtn, even at the slow pace. I mumbled something and kept on running and I guess he didn't hear me because a  little later he asked again and I said, "Oh, it's just the asthma. That's normal. Not even very bad." "Ah," was probably the reply, but we soon got to the flatter section and I returned to quiet inhalation. But I think they began judging the steepness of the hills by my breath. "Oh, there she goes again. Must be getting steeper." I would have laughed or made a snide remark about me only sounding only like a toy train instead of the usual straining locomotive...but I didn't really have the breath for it.

I love running with people.

Best run ever?

I love running.

It took me longer to recover from this past marathon than my others. It was only a week off but I'd almost forgotten what it was like to be out in the sunshine, stretching my legs over miles of pavement. Ahhhhhh.....is there anything better? I venture to say no. At least not to the running-deprived runner.

My first run was only a few miles and it actually hurt a little, but after a hearty calf massage from my roommate, I was loose-y goose-y and happy on my next run. God bless my roommate for giving me back my running, the kind that feels almost effortless, even when I'm working hard, the kind of running that "hurts so good" and makes me tired but energized.

I'm headed to Lake Powell for a couple of days and will do my running in the lake. People who don't know me very well always think me crazy for wanting to run during a vacation. I say no better time or place to run. No better way to explore your surroundings. One of my favorite runs (which is saying a lot because I've been doing this for almost 20 years) was in Venice. My dad and I ran around the streets/sidewalks (they don't really have streets) and we saw people on their way to school or work, men unloading crates from a large boat to a dock warehouse, boats quietly shuttling people to and fro...It was so real. Real people doing real things in an unreal place. It was so human and alive in a different way than Venice at night is.

Like an 80-yr-old man

I recently sent the following two texts to my sister. "I can go up stairs without having to pull myself up with the banister." "I can go down stairs all by myself!" These were huge accomplishments. I still have yet to run without pain, but that text too will be sent.

Yes, yes...it's recovery time.

The St. George Marathon last saturday zapped me. Quite literally. I...couldn't stomach my goo (Clif Shots actually, and I generally quite like them). I forced down water and some gatorade, but in running 26.2 miles, it's nice to replace at least a few calories, especially when running against the wind the entire time.

It rained for the second time in the marathon's 32 years. The rain wasn't bad. It was nice to not run in the blistering heat, but that wind. Well, I finished and I'm actually just proud that I did. My very nice coach, Tom, later explained that it was dehydration that made my muscles seize up.  I collapsed just before mile 26 and then felt my legs would give way again with about 200 meters to go. I committed a sin and walked. Just before the finish line, I walked but I couldn't help it. I would have crawled to the end, but running, running felt impossible. 

Unfortunately the crowd did not agree with me and cheered louder. I couldn't see anything. Just that loud roar in my ears. I thought they were mad at me but I felt helpless to continue running. I looked behind me once, twice. I didn't want to lose my position to another girl. Someone passed me, a male voice said, "you're fine. just keep running."

I screamed and ran. I have never been in muscular pain like that. More than fatigue, fire and something else that I cannot describe, something that most athletes feel at some point in their competitive careers. 

I hobbled, like an eighty-year-old man who can't straighten his legs, passed the first time pad and collapsed at the far edge of the second. My gratitude goes out to those two nice Army reserve guys who helped me to the med tent, to the nurses who took my vitals and gave me water, and to my little sister who rushed to the med tent, to my older sister who couldn't (bum knee and tired 4 yr old daughter), to my mom who wandered for an hour to find the car with my dry clothes in it, and to my dad (still running at the point when I collapsed) who got me into running when I was 7.

This all sounds horrible. It was not. I ran my second best time (2:53) and finished one place better than last year (4th overall), so it really wasn't a bad race, per say. Just a tiring one. Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself.  I hurt during the marathon and for days after, but there is something in crossing that line...

This is why I call myself a novicexpert. I have been running for years, but still I am learning (learning to force that goo down, learning what my pace is or should be, and reinforcing my long-held conviction that despite the pain, I love running)