Toenails are for wusses

I Blame Mother Nature

2010-03-18T10:03:00.007-04:00

I blame Mother Nature.

My last running related post was over 2 months ago, remarking on the start of the official training for my latest endeavor in the world of ridiculous physical undertakings. The past two months were supposed to be filled with countless miles run and hours spent on the trails. Instead, I was a prisoner, held captive by the evil weather gods.

Not one, or two, even three, but FOUR major snow storms dumped record breaking amounts of snow on the east coast, keeping the trails effectively in hibernation until just recently. March came and with spring just around the corner, the snow finally melted thanks to flood producing rains. The trails went from snow and ice covered to drenched in water and filled with mud.

Weekend after weekend has gone by without time on the trails. The treadmill, the streets or the couch have been meager, but ineffective substitutes.

Now with only 9 days to go until race day (or doom's day), it seems that spring has arrived. The sun is shining and temperatures are pushing 70 degrees. Just in time to taper.

Mother Nature has really had her timing all screwed up this year.

However, the 10 day forecast is calling for a high of 56 degrees and only a 50% chance of light showers in Lyndhurst, Virginia on Saturday, March 27th.

It seems like she may be trying to redeem herself.

I Have A Dream...

2010-01-19T13:06:00.011-05:00

This week marks the one year anniversary of the inauguration of Barack Obama and the celebration of the 81st birthday of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Although I have always been inspired by and my life has been shaped by Dr. King, I hadn't realized the extent of it until I watched the inauguration of President Obama. Less than 50 years before he was inaugurated, a man like Barack Obama would have been forced to the back of the bus. A far cry from the front seat on the stage at the base of the U.S. Capitol Building with the nation, and the world, as a captive audience. I found myself deep in reflection about how far we'd come. But how very far we still had to go.

(Although a contrast to the normal musings on my blog, I "wrote" this while running so I guess it counts as a rumination from a life on the run.)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
January 20, 2009

In light of the presidential inauguration and the “new” America, I reflect.

On August 28, 1963, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. told millions about the dream that he had. He dreamed that his children would someday “not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.” He dreamed that they could, one day, walk hand in hand with children of any race and not be judged or hated or killed.

Twenty-six years later, almost to the day, I began Kindergarten at Samuel Powel Elementary School in Philadelphia. As a six year old, I couldn’t understand the significance of the experience that began then and would continue for the next five years. Looking back, however, I am amazed. It was a place that Dr. King could only dreamed would become a reality. My classmates and I were exceptional, though at the time, we were unaware.

We began school together. We learned together. We graduated together.
We were Christian- Protestant and Catholic. We were Jewish. We were Muslim. We were Agnostic.
We had parents who were doctors, teachers, waitresses, activists, military personnel, ex-convicts and artists.
We were neighbors. We were classmates. We were boys. We were girls. We were black. We were white. We were mixed race. We were friends.
We had black teachers and we had white teachers.
We didn’t notice skin color as anything more than pigmentation. We saw only what was inside, the outside made no difference.
We had trust funds. We had food stamps.
We had parents: a mom and a dad, two moms, grandparents, a single mother, a single father, a brother or a sister, a loving guardian.
We were named Abigail, Farrakan, Elizabeth, Lamont, Jack, Bronwen, Mohammed, Debby and Azziza.
We celebrated birthdays, but understood why our Jehovah’s Witness classmates choose to go to another classroom.
We learned about why our classmate Mohammed didn’t eat with us at lunch for a whole month during Ramadan.
We sang “Jingle Bells”, “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” and “Kwanzaa, Oh Kwanzaa.”
We knew that my best friend’s first kiss was with a black boy and no one thought oddly of it, except that it happened when they were both Kindergarteners.
We learned about Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks as figures of the distant past, because their dreams and fights were irrelevant to us, they were our reality.
We drank from the same water fountains. We walked in and out of the same doors. We ate at the same lunch tables. We rode the same buses sitting next to whoever we wanted.
We played kickball every morning together. We sang in chorus together. We learned and played violins and recorders together. We mourned the death of a classmate from a house fire together. We cheered the Phillies in the World Series together.
We were not taught how to hate. We were not taught about ignorance. We were not taught about cruelty. We were not taught about judgment.
We were taught about acceptance. We were taught about tolerance. We were taught about equality. We were taught about freedom.
We were, together, equally black and white: gray, if you will.
We joined hands, “little black boys and black girls…with little white boys and white girls,” just like Martin Luther King Jr. had dreamed we would someday be able to do. We did it everyday.

This was not a specialized, radial, free-thinking, progressive school. This was a small inner-city public elementary school. It was, however, undoubtedly a very special place. A place that, for those who were lucky enough to have attended, shaped minds, promoted independence and fostered vastly intelligent children. I am a better person for having had the experience. I am forever indebted.

The talk of the post-election “new” America is something that I have already experienced. And having experienced it, I hope that America can become like my elementary school class- gray, where we don’t see color, gender, ethnicity, orientation, class. A place where we can all work, live, help, share and love together. Because when that happens, everyone will be amazed at the power we will have.

This Is It....

2010-01-12T20:30:00.004-05:00

Tomorrow marks the official day one of the Ultimate Ultramarathon Training Plan (according to Bess & Abby) in preparation for the grand pooh-bah of my running career to this point: The Bel Monte Endurance 50 Ultramarathon. Just seventy three (yes, 73) days from tomorrow, I'll lace up my sneakers and embark on a journey up, down, over and across 50 miles of trails central Virginia.

I haven't been doing a great deal of running to set a nice base for the start of the official training. The last month has involved:

- record cold and down-right bone chilling weather- the temperatures the last two mornings have been below freezing....COMBINE. 15F on Sunday, 16F yesterday. NOT running weather, if you ask me.

- nearly 10,000 miles of travel (to destinations domestically and internationally)

- two minor but annoying head cold/cough like sicknesses (probably due to the combination of the two aforementioned factors)

- very sporadic running

Although the ultra has been on my radar for a while, it has always been a thing of the future. Lots of statements akin to "when I'm training for the ultra..." and "that would be good for the ultra..." have come up, but it always seemed a distant concept. Not anymore. It's now baby. (Well, tomorrow.)

It's undoubtedly going to be difficult. I know that going in. A trail race, a 50 mile trail race at that, is different in many ways from anything I've ever done. The training is more strategic and specific compared with a marathon or even triathlon. The mindset must be to "just finish" rather than achieve any PRs or top finishes.

There will be a lot of running (and some walking), many sore muscles, probably some bumps and bruises (I've been known to be a bit clumsy on trails), and lots of dirty clothes. But I'm prepared for it and anxiously looking forward to the challenge that the training and race will bring.

Here goes nothing. Or something. Or everything.

26 in 26

2009-12-10T16:42:00.003-05:00

Four days from now will be my twenty sixth birthday. About three years ago, I set a personal goal. I wanted to run twenty six marathons by my twenty sixth birthday.

As you can see by my "Quest to 26" list on this page, I've got a ways to go. A stress fracture two years ago and a running burnout last winter caused stagnation in my quest. Unless I run three marathons a day until my birthday (and then one on my birthday), I won't be achieving my goal.

Fear not, I realized the loftiness of my goal a while ago and made a necessary adaptation.

Twenty six marathons by the end of my twenty sixth year.

So I've got another year. And four days. To run ten marathons.

No problem. Piece of cake. Easy peasy. Right?

Luckily, I have an ultramarathon planned for March so that's one closer. (Or maybe two? I'm thinking a 50 mile ultramarathon should count as two marathons.) Plus, in training for the ultra, I hope to check a few more off the list.

But I've still got quite a few marathons to run. The other day, I went through the Marathon Guide calendar to find probable races. Location, date, time of year and course were considered. I came up with sixteen strong possibilities and many more less reasonable but still viable options.

I realize it's a lofty goal, but I'm no slacker. I aim high. Sometimes crazy high.

That's all for now. I have to run.

I've got a lot of running to do.

Note: The Las Vegas Marathon is the week before my birthday. Seems like the perfect 26th marathon and birthday celebration. Who's coming with me?

So Did You Win?

2009-10-25T21:55:00.003-04:00

It's a question that I get a lot from friends, family or any others with whom I discuss recent racing events: "so did you win?" Usually I giggle and explain that in a marathon with thousands of participants, the goal is not to win, but rather to finish and accomplish personal goals.

Except today. Today I did win (sort of).

Today was my initiation and introduction into the sport of adventure racing with the completion of The Edge sprint distance adventure race in suburban Pennsylvania. After volunteering at a similar event in April, I decided that this was something I wanted to try. Another experience to add to my ever-growing repertoire of crazy hobbies.

With veteran adventure racers Abby and Sue as my trusty teammates, I simply followed behind them like a blind baby duckling. I knew little more than the basics of what would happen and wasn't even physically prepared for even that. I had been on a bike once, yes once, in preparation and had no paddling experience other than the occasional afternoon kayak trip at camp. I did have surprisingly good knot tying abilities and memory recall (rabbit, skateboard, doll, bird, skateboard, keys, ball).

The iskiate-fueled energizer bunny (Abby), the spot-on-orienteerer (Sue) and I had quite the performance today, clearing every checkpoint (even the one at the brew pub in town and the one all the way at the end of the lake, on top of a bridge, behind a cross) and pushing ourselves, but having fun. And we finished first in the female-three division and were one of only about 12 teams to clear the entire course. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

Some scratches on my legs, a large bruise on my left upper arm, a sore tushy and back and some very muddy wet clothes/shoes/bike are the only lingering effects of yesterday. And a desire to do this craziness again.

This Is Not A Race Report

2009-10-14T12:56:00.001-04:00

My lower back is very tender.
My quads feel more like bricks than muscles.
My nose and lips are chapped.
My toenails are bruised, blistered, callused, or missing.
But I deserve it. I ran a marathon. Again.

They never get shorter. They don't really get easier. They are usually fun. They are always a great accomplishment.

Sunday's Steamtown Marathon in Scranton, PA was no exception. In order to spare everyone, I won't issue a play-by-play of the day's events and emotions. For Abby and me, it was our redemption marathon. After the less than planned events of the New Jersey Marathon this spring, we were looking to prove our capabilities. Our training was interjected by summer vacations, swine flu outbreaks, weekends away, job duties and generalized exhaustion. But we did it. We got through the training, atypical as it was. We got to the start line of the marathon. We made it through the miles, some easier, some harder, some longer, some shorter (really, the mile 16 sign was improperly placed). Most of all, we made it to the finish line. Smiling. Running. Together. Holding hands. Redeemed.

There were sing-alongs: a short interlude of The Sound of Music prompted by a local high school band's rendition of "Do Re Me," several duets to the Grease soundtrack, having to resist the temptation to moonwalk along to Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean" playing from spectator radios, dancing the macarena while running up a hill at mile 24.

There were times when the miles felt like they were flying by. Enough that I commented that they must have really short miles up in northeastern Pennsylvania. Foolish, I know.

There were conversations. A recap of our past Halloween costumes. My long-winded, tangential answer to a question from Abby that lasted nearly 5 miles. Small talk with any number of fellow runners who we happened upon.

There were pep-talks. Reminding each other and ourselves that marathons aren't supposed to be easy, our muscles were tired and sore because we'd run for 10, 14, 18, 21 miles, despite our assumed lack of training we were still fully capable, and that the ultimate goal was just to finish, smiling.

And so it was, not quite as planned, but exactly as desired.

A good weekend all around. Got a new t-shirt on Saturday, a lovely Sunday morning run through the fall foliage draping the mountains, a post-race meal of french fries, hot chocolate and frozen yogurt.

Oh, and the pride of another marathon finish. As triumphant and satisfactory as any other.

A New Challenge

2009-10-09T14:34:00.000-04:00

Six years ago, wanting a goal, needing a challenge and looking for something to do, I signed up to train and participate in a triathlon. I was, by no stretch of the means, an athlete, having only taken up biking and running within the previous year and only the swimming skills that I learned in summer camp swim lessons. I’ll never know what possessed me to decide to do it.

Luckily, I don’t need the answer. For six months I trained- swimming, biking and/or running nearly every day. Working up to levels of endurance that I didn’t know I had inside of myself. I loved the challenge and enjoyed seeing the things I was capable of doing. More than anything, it gave me a new identity. After my first race, it was onto the next and the next and the next. Before I knew it I was a triathlete, a marathoner, a runner, an endurance athlete. It was everything I’d never been before. My teenage years were marked with inactivity, laziness, unhealthy eating and being overweight. For no reason other than a desire for something new, I transformed myself.

Six years, dozens of races and thousands of miles later, it’s become an integral part of my life. In describing myself, I usually say “I’m a runner.” My license plate shows my job and my hobby: RNNR RN. I run marathons “for fun” just because I can and I enjoy the challenge and accomplishment.

Now, on the cusp of my 16th marathon, I have decided to enter a new realm of challenge, adventure, endurance, willpower, craziness: the ultramarathon. In the next six months, I’ll have my eyes (and my feet) on training for the Bel Monte Endurance 50, a 50 mile trail ultramarathon in Charlottesville, Virginia. I’m excited and nervous, motivated and scared, anxious and eager.

Luckily Abby, my partner in crime and crazy adventures, will be beside me (or in front or back on the single track) for all 50 miles!

My Neverland

2009-08-29T11:33:00.003-04:00

Does there really exist a Neverland? A place where no one ever grows old and never grows up? A place where everyone is free to act as young at heart as they feel? A place where the real world is never looming around the corner? A place where the everyday happenings in the world have no effect?

There’s a place I know that’s pretty close. It’s the place that I’ve spent my last four summers, enjoying the sun, lake, mountains and air amongst the company of my closest friends. Camp attempts to let us all achieve that childhood status quo of never growing up. As adults we connect with our inner child by running around all day playing games, singing songs and cheers, being silly, laughing, teaching, learning, growing, nurturing. But no matter what, there’s always an end. Camp only last seven weeks and despite attempts to lengthen it beyond its defined boundaries, there comes a point when you must say goodbye. The real world awaits, ready or not, happy or sad.

This year, in particular, I am less ready than ever to return to life outside of small town New Hampshire. In fact, I’ve done a good job avoiding it thus far- nearly two weeks since the end of camp and I’m still in New England. It’s an odd feeling to not want to go home, especially because the place I’m leaving feels like home.

I’m a city girl: I grew up with bright lights, noisy streets, buses and subways, no backyard and tall buildings. The city has always been my comfort zone. I like being able take a short walk to get nearly anything I need. I enjoyed playing soccer in the middle of the street always keeping one eye looking out for approaching cars. I am happy that I know how to parallel park a car in a spot of any size. So when I first came to camp four years ago, I was stepping way out of my comfort zone. The closest store is 2 1/2 miles away. Going to the bank takes 30 minutes round trip. Want to see a movie? Hope you have an hour to get there. It actually gets quiet here; there are times when you can only hear the air moving. Cell phone reception is spotty at best and there are two televisions, both of which are rarely turned on. On a spectrum, the two places are complete opposites. It’s funny that I like both so much.

For my first couple summers, I had no problem going home. Sure I was sad to say goodbye to my friends and would definitely miss the place, but I was eager to return home. Now, as I’ve spent more time here, I have grown more accustom to it. There are many things here that I don’t and can’t have at home. Things that I realize I cherish a lot. A lake in my back yard. Mountains in the distance. A real change of seasons. Most importantly, I have come to realize that the people with whom I spend my summers are my family. We stay close throughout the year, but it’s difficult when the real world is dictating our lives, as opposed to the bugles and a daily schedule.

There is no way to replicate the Neverland that exists for two months each summer. We could try, but there would always be something missing: the kids, the weather, the place, the sounds, the sights, the fun. It would be magical if we could make it happen but it cannot. That’s why each summer comes with such excitement and leaves with such sadness. It can only be summer. Neverland, paradise, oasis, heaven- whatever the title, it’s only temporary. Until next summer.

A Night in t he Woods

2009-06-09T23:49:00.002-04:00

Over the course of 27 hours this past weekend I:
- shuttled 11 different adventure racers (at between 2 and 5 at a time) in my car,
- drove 400 miles through the Catskills in upstate New York,
- went white water tubing down a surprisingly difficult creek in the company of a bunch of drunken college kids, one of whom was standing half-naked, potbellied and very drunk in the middle of the river screaming "ROBERTO, ROBERTO" looking at each passer-by to see if they were Roberto and then saying disappointingly, "you're not Roberto,"
- saved Abby when she was caught in a strainer (which is not like a colander) in the aforementioned creek,
- started what would have been a 6 mile walk with two people wearing bike helmets, bike shoes, soaking wet clothing, hydration packs and carrying kayak paddles,
- scrounged around the woods multiple times in the dark to find anything (sticks, napkins, energy bar boxes) to keep our campfire going,
- loaded 70 bikes on and off trucks many times,
- slept in the back seat of my car for only a total of about 90 minutes,
- made a host of awesome new friends,
- had a total blast,
- the whole time thought "when can I do one of these crazy things"

All in a day (and night's) work for a volunteer at The Longest Day (and Night) Adventure Race.

A Day at the Zoo

2009-06-03T20:45:00.004-04:00

Today is National Running Day, so to celebrate Abby and I went for a run. Revolutionary concept, I know. We actually took it upon ourselves to make it a two day celebration: two runs and a frozen yogurt breakfast.

Yesterday morning, we met for a run. Well, really we were meeting for the chance to have dessert for breakfast, but it seemed that it would be a good idea to run first. We met in Manayunk and decided to run on the tow path as opposed to our usual trail route. What we didn't know was that it would turn out to be a day at the zoo.

About a mile out, we passed a Canada goose along side the road guarding her goslings. We've both spent enough time running along the river to know to avoid these angry geese, especially when they've got their babies. So we ran quickly by them.

Soon after we came upon another animal: a large turtle sitting in the middle of the road. A turtle? Huh? I'd never seen a turtle, especially as large as this one, just chillin on the tow path. We discussed the oddity of this, ran by him. Oh, and we named him Buddy. We turned around shortly thereafter only to come upon Buddy again still in the middle of the road. Many biker, in addition to runners, were out on the path and we worried about Buddy's safety, especially being that he looked like a rock.

I spoke to Buddy trying to coak him out of the road as Abby took it upon herself to literally kick him in the ass.

"Is he a snapping turtle?" Abby asked as she approached him.

"I don't think so," I responded, as she gave him a careful nudge and he arched his head, sprung forward and looked generally pissed off. We both took a quick step or two backwards, giggling the whole while. I continued to verbally coax Buddy. Abby decided to give it one more try. A quick tap on the rear produced a similar although more agrivated response from Buddy. Abby and I took off running, sprinting really, in an attempt to get the hell away from our angry new friend. After sprinting several hundred feet, between laughter, Abby noted "we probably don't have to run so fast, turtles don't move that fast." We slowed down and looked back only to see our Buddy in the same exact spot as he had been when we started.

So much for trying.

Running back on the same path, we encountered our geese friends again although this time Mama Goose, Papa Goose and all the little Baby Geese had taken up residence strewn about the path and grass along the side. Hum, what a pickle. Well versed in sprinting from animals by this point, Abby and I negotiated the easiest and safest path around the goose broad. Mama Goose hissed loudly at us as we ran past. I made the ultimate mistake by looking back and making eye contact with a ticked off goose mama. Luckily, she didn't launch at me and have my leg for breakfast.

With only a mile or so left before the coffee shop where our frozen yogurt breakfast awaited us, we mananged not to encounter any more animals.

A turtle, some geese, dessert for breakfast and always wonderful company and conversation (including discussion of our tendency to give names to everything, alive or inanimate- case in point: Buddy)- a great way to celebrate running, even if it was actually National Running Day Eve.

Destiny, Explained*

2009-05-23T21:41:00.007-04:00

(*please refer here for description of destiny)

I don't remember exactly how or when it happened. Likely it was one of those "sure why not" or "I'll do it if you do it" moments that seem to plague crazy runners like us. Nonetheless, several months ago Abby and I decided to do an ultra marathon. I guess after a marathon, it's the next logical step. (Or illogical, as many would argue.)

Once we finished our last marathon, we wasted no time in planning the next step. Meeting for ice cream just over 24 hours after finishing, we began to search for the right ultra marathon: our destiny. I thought the search would be relatively easy, but it turned out to be a great deal more complicated and in depth than I'd imagined. As we looked into different races, we realized that, unlike marathons, ultramarathons come in all shapes and sizes (literally).

So it was necessary to come up with some criteria in order to narrow down our choices and finally arrive at our destiny. The week long back-and-forth between us revolved around several different categories. I have abridged and summarized this for ease of reading and understanding.

1. Distance- The major question was 50K or 50 miles. Although an ultra marathon is "technically"anything longer than a marathon, the vast majority of ultras are either 50K or 50 miles in distance. (There are, of course, longer 100 mile and longer ones, but let's not get in over our heads for the first one.) For metric system phobics, 50K is equal to about 31 miles (31.06 to be exact), about 5 miles longer than a marathon. We said "forget about the 50k races. Just doesn't sound like a huge challenge (though it could be, since it'll be on trails, so maybe I shouldn't say that so absolutely)." We agreed that based on the decision of desired date (see category #2), we would have the proper time to train for a 50 miler. We also wanted the challenge of a race nearly twice as long as anything we'd done before. I was, of course, sure to add this statement: "We can reevaluate this decision during training when it seems we're running more than sleeping and thinking 50K sounds like a really nice idea.)

2. Date- The next major decision was to figure out when this would all pan out. Initially, we thought the fall would be perfect. Take the summer "off" and then train again together come September for an ultra in December/January. Then we realized how quickly December comes after September. It's like 3 months, who knew? With the seemingly great amount of training recommended for an ultra, it seemed wise to push back our destiny date. In addition, as you will find in the rest of our decision process, December/January is not prime ultra marathon season, if such thing exists. So we expanded our search to spring time (and just for kicks added a fall marathon for another shot at a BQ).

3. Location- Unfortunately, we were unable to find an ultra marathon in our back yard so we knew from the beginning that travel some distance for any event. I decided that if we're going to travel any great distance, I think the ultra should be official. I don't want to train all this time, travel to wherever (Canada, Arizona, Kansas) and the "race" end up being some schmata Sunday morning run that the local running club organizes. People will look at us as if we're crazy for traveling so far for their silly run. In December/January being that it is winter, there are, quite obviously, very few events in the northeast. As we expanded our search, there became more options closer to home.

3. Course- When discussing the course, several different subcategories that come into play:
a) Loop vs point-to-point vs out-and-back- I'm not liking the loop idea. Two 25 mile loops, that's fine. Three loops of a 15-20 mile loop, I could handle that. Fourteen 4 mile loops, not so much. Fifty times around a 1 mile track- kill me now! I'd prefer a point-to-point, maybe an out-and-back or a longer loop course.
b) Terrain- If I'm going to run 50 miles or more anywhere, it had better be pretty. No roads. No farms. No "like someone else's lawn" crap. No flatness. I want trails. Real trails.
c) Elevation- I definitely want some elevation change, but I don't know that I want to run up a mountain. I ran up the hill behind the Art Museum today and I was a little out of breath. Obviously, we will train for the elevation and will welcome a walk break up a hill, but it's just something to think about since we don't have "real" mountains in Pennsylvania. We might be getting ourselves in over our heads thinking that we could make it up a real mountain, alive.

5. Weather- Ah the weather. So obviously weather is a great unknown and you can't ever predict what it will be like, but we can definitely make some grand assumptions. New England in the winter will be cold. Very very cold. Not fun 50 mile run weather. Virginia, Maryland, North Carolina in the winter- very hit or miss. Probably going to be ok, but they do get freak blizzards or ice storms. Florida is always hot. Even when people in Florida think it's frigid, it's still hot running weather. The weather was definitely something to think about, but not get caught up on.

6. Website- Being that it's the 21st century, we did all of our research online so we were easily able to compare the websites of different events. An event website that hadn't been updated in a few years was taken with a grain of salt. An obvious "homemade" website left question about whether the event was official or not. A colorful, informational, organized website made us happy. So we decided, as trivial as it seems, that the event had to have a nice website. It's really a security feature to ensure that we were choosing a legitimate event.

7. Name- Going along with the trivial website category, we also considered the name of the race. The Hellgate Ultramarathon kind of scared the crap out of me- why do something that is admittedly hell? The Mountain Masochist goes along in the same vein. (I should note that Abby said "I kind of like that it has 'hell' in the title :)" Most events don't have such intimidating names, but those that did were more heavily scrutinized, at least by me.

So what came of all of this? A decision.

Our destiny is the Bel Monte Endurance Run.

Distance- 50 miler, check. Date- in late March (March 27th, ahem potential spectators), check. Location- Charlottesville, Virginia, check. Course- one (very long) loop, primarily trails, definite elevation changes, check. Weather- hopefully not frigid, hopefully not scorching hot, still a wildcard, check. Website- very nice and official, check. Name- good unintimidating name, check.

Now onto figuring out how to train for this. I know one thing: there will be lots and lots of running. And plenty of good stories, I'm sure. Stay tuned.

Similarly Different & Differently Similar

2009-05-17T19:09:00.005-04:00

Much of my weekend was spent on a search for a new pair of trail running shoes. I've worn the same brand, style and size of running shoes for the last 5 years, but my new entry into the trail running scene has necessitated the need for different footwear. I have a pair of Salomon Gore-Tex trail shoes, but with summer coming I need something more breathable.

After trying on many pairs yesterday, researching shoes online, buying a pair of shoes that were way too pink (and too small), I set out again today to continue the search. At one point I stopped into DSW, which has a surprisingly good selection of sneakers. I found several pairs of sneakers and sat down to try them on. Several minutes later a man who worked there came up beside me and asked if I was a runner. I barely glanced up while saying yes.

"Oh yeah, did you run Broad Street?" he added.

Still concentrating on my shoes and paying the man little mind, I said "No, I did another race that day, but I've done it many times."

He obviously didn't mind that I wasn't paying attention. Continuing the conversation that he wanted to have, he said "yeah, well that was my first time. It was great."

Now I was intrigued. I stopped looking at my feet and turned my attention and my body to him. He was, to say the least, an atypical runner. Tall and heavyset with a chipped snaggle-tooth and large, wire-rimmed glasses sitting crooked on his face.

"Whenever I see someone trying on sneakers, I like to come over and see if I can help them." He quickly added, "I did the Philly Marathon 8K too. That was great."

I realized that he was no "ordinary" runner. I could sense that running was new hobby and that he was extremely proud to laud his accomplishments. I wanted to know more and I wanted to continue to let him talk and beam with pride. I asked what he was doing next.

"Oh I don't know," he said, "I run with a group called Back on My Feet so..."

As he mentioned Back on My Feet, I nodded excitedly causing him to stop mid-sentence.

"You know about Back on My Feet?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's a great organization. Good for you." I responded. Back on My Feet is an organization started in Philadelphia to help the homeless get "back on their feet" and gain self-confidence, strength, pride and motivation through running. I frequently see people in BOMF shirts out running. I've read about the organization and seriously considered volunteering.

Acknowledging that I knew about the organization, my new friend and I looked at each other with a mutual sense of understanding. He needn't say more. I knew about his past, just without the details.

We continued talking for several more minutes, talking about brands of shoes, future race plans and nagging injuries.

At one point, he added, "at the shelter, we run at 5:30 in the morning. It's a great way to get the day started."

I was humbled. And stunned. And in awe. Here was this man, who likely at times in his life was at the lowest of low- homeless, jobless, likely suffering from addiction, without friends or family and definitely without a hobby like running. Now he had a roof over his head at night, a job when many don't, accomplishments in running, a reason to wake up in the morning and undeniable pride encircling him. In an instant, he put my whole life into perspective. I felt like the luckiest person in the entire world for what I have and for having met him.

We ended our conversation as he went to go help another costumer and I went to pay for my sneakers. As I walked away, I realized I hadn't asked his name. I wanted to know his name, but I also wanted to commend him. On my way out, I stopped the manager-looking person standing near the front door, "excuse me, what is that man's name?" I asked as I pointed towards him, already happily helping another customer.

"Charles," she replied, with question and trepidation in her voice.

"Thank you. He was really nice and I just didn't get his name."

Relieved, her face lit up with a huge smile as she said "oh wow, thanks, that's so nice."

As I walked out and reflected on my encounter, I teared up, moved and inspired. I've said that the reason I run is because I can. So, obviously, does Charles. There are undoubtedly few similarities between Charles's life and mine. But we're both runners.

Tomorrow morning, we will both wake up at 5:30 to run and greet another day.

I guess we're more similar than I thought.

Pretty Toes

2009-05-07T20:37:00.002-04:00

Nearly four months after the blister from hell took possession of my big toe causing me weeks of pain, then an open wound, then an infection, then more pain, then a scab, then a scar, today I finally got a long-awaited pedicure! A lovely post-down-pouring-rain trail run (which involved "running" knee deep in water across a creek and skipping over, across and through many mud puddles) this afternoon with Abby and Brent presented the perfect opportunity for a pedicure. My feet had been soaking in my water-logged shoes for an hour so there was no need to soak at the nail salon.

A cautionary note: this picture is deceiving because it make it look as if I have a full complement of toenails. From the left, toes #1, #5 and #7 are without toenails. Pedicurists are miracle workers!
(I will save us all the agony by not posting the before pictures, nor any of the pictures of the blister.)

My Next Run

2009-05-05T20:39:00.003-04:00

After each race, there's always one question: so what's next?

Very often, my next race is planned before the current one is over. This time I had nothing officially on my calendar until September. However, big plans were (and still are) in the works for the next adventure. (Stay tuned for the full low down when Abby and I determine our destiny.)

My next run, however, was today. I took yesterday off and got a massage to ease my sore muscles. By this afternoon, I was SO ready to run. When I got home from work, I quickly changed, put on my new race shirt and went outside ready to brave the cold, rain and a couple tight muscles. I walked the first couple of blocks, nervous to start running.

Then I started running and everything just fell back into place. My quads may not have been so excited that they were being used again, but everything else felt great. I ran to a nearby park. I ran around the park and onto a little trail through the woods. And then I ran it again. And again. I didn't want to stop.

Feeling so good just reaffirmed to me what I've known for some time, but still occasionally question- I am meant to be a runner.

Last night I didn't fall asleep until 3:15 am. I was WIDE awake. Not tired at all. I had to force myself to get into bed and close my eyes with the hope that eventually I'd drift off. Less than four hours later, well before my alarm clock went off, I was bright eyed, bushy tailed and antsy to start another day. What the hell was wrong with me?

Simple, I hadn't run. I had WAY too much energy and no way to burn any of it off. Sometimes I feel like I'm spinning around but going no where, like a hamster in a wheel. My legs and mind restless to get out and explore. Luckily, the cure is simple. Lace up my sneakers and put one foot in front of the other. No matter what, it always feels good because it what I'm meant to do.

With apologizes to Bruce Springsteen, baby I was born to run.

The Best-Laid Plans

2009-05-05T02:30:00.007-04:00

"The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry."
-John Steinbeck

Today was a shining example of very well laid plans not being executed as thought. As Abby, Ali and I lined up for the start of the New Jersey Marathon, we all felt remarkably good. Not that there weren't nerves circling around and not that we didn't worry or question the task ahead of us, but we were loudly singing obnoxious songs while waiting for the race to start, so we weren't that bad off. Unfortunately, that changed pretty quickly.

We decided to run (at least for part of the race) with one of the pace groups, so that we would start off on pace and remain consistent. But when the pacer neither starts slow nor runs a consistent pace, it's hard to stick the aforementioned plan. The weather was opposite of typical race day weather. It was muggy and humid to start and cold and rainy in the later hours of the race. There were approximately 9000 people running today (only 2500 or so running the full marathon), which seems like a nice small race. But when the race starts out on a thin boardwalk and meanders through small streets, running with 9000 others feels like the running of the bulls.

And then there was the part where I hit the proverbial wall. At mile 2.

For some unknown reason (or reasons), around mile 2, my upper legs began tingling, feeling heavy and tight, my finger swelled up like sausages, I already had a sweaty salt mustache, my heart was racing, my breathing was inconsistent and felt like absolute crap. I pushed through trying to find my rhythm (or any rhythm, for that matter). But my legs continued to tingle and it was spreading down my legs, eventually getting to a point where I had little feeling in my calves and feet. By mile 5, after ditching the paceless pacer, it was becoming obvious to Abby that I wasn't doing well. I continued to assure her that I was hurting and confused, but okay. Having compiled a song list pre-race, we were excited to have a 26.2 mile sing-a-long. Trying to take my mind off my ailing and failing body, Abby offered to sing and I happily welcomed the distraction. She began singing "Maria" from The Sound of Music (a personal favorite soundtrack to sing during races because I know every word and singing all the songs start to finish occupies a good chunk of time). She sang the first two lines and then I tried to join in. I couldn't even my breath enough to do anything remotely close to singing. I exhaustively exhaled every third word or so, even though I desperately wanted to sing each and every one and do the arm motions as well. I knew things weren't going well and likely wouldn't be getting better.

Throughout training, Abby and I were very clear that we would attempt our goal, but should we be having an off day, midrace reevaluation could and would take place. I staved off reevaluation for almost 7 miles before realizing that I was getting worse and couldn't foresee getting better. We reevaluated. I told Abby that I was disappointed in myself for feeling as I was, especially because I couldn't determine a cause or explanation. More importantly, I knew I'd be more disappointed if I let my problems affect her. She was feeling and looking great. So I told her to go. I hesitated doing so, not because I didn't want to run alone or want her to go ahead, but because I was extremely scared by what was happening to me and wanted someone there in case I got worse. I told her I was positive that no matter what I would finish the marathon, I just didn't know how long it would take me or what physical shape I would be in by the finish. We made a few promises and shared a good luck hug. She ran ahead (looking fantastic) and I began walking (looking like hell). At that point, I was quite sure that I would be doing a 7 hour marathon.

When Abby and I parted ways, I was demoralized. I was upset with myself, upset with my body, upset with the weather, upset with the pacer, upset with a lot of things, upset for reasons I didn't know. One thing I did know and was completely sure about was that I had the ability inside of me to continue on and refocus myself away from the pain and towards my new goal: finishing the marathon. After a short pity party and dismissing the worst case scenario (being so dehydrated and hyponatremic that I would have an abnormal heart rhythm and pass out on the side of the road), I composed myself, drank some Gatorade, stretched my legs and continued moving forward.

I have done races of many distances, with varying levels of difficulty, in most every type of weather condition and with differing amounts of training. As a result, I know that I have an amazingly innate ability to get through just about anything. When I started doing endurance races (triathlons and marathons), I quickly discovered something about myself that I hadn't known before: I have a ridiculous amount of willpower, a extremely high level of endurance and am as stubborn as the stubbornest mule ever. Simply put, I do not give up.

So as defeated, distressed, upset, disappointed, troubled, saddened, confused and pissed off as I was, I quickly shook off these feelings and reminded myself that I had the power within me to overcome all that had already happened and anything that would come. Having little to no feeling in my legs for nearly 8 miles meant that even as I felt better, my legs were not 100% and would not return to such. I did, however, have one muscle in my body that was working better than ever and would end up having the performance of a lifetime: my brain. (OK, science buffs, I know the brain is not actually a muscle. Details, details.)

Just as Peter Pan said, I thought lovely, wonderful thoughts and up I went, flying. (Actually, I was running, but you get the point.) Stopping to walk and drink Gatorade and water at every water stop and running in the interim, I found my rhythm by mile 11 and was feeling much better. But I continued to remain overly conscious that my positive thoughts were the most important thing keeping me going.

I began noticing inspirational quotes on the back of other runner’s shirts:
“You don’t realize your own strength until being strong is the only option you have.”
“We are put in situations to build our character. Not to destroy us.”
"Run if you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must, just keep moving forward."
"If we did all the things we are capable of, we would literally astound ourselves."
"It matters how you are going to finish."

I thought of things to humor myself:
- how silky (or not so silky) the roads were
- wondering how many comfortable beds there were in the mansions we ran past
- looking for runners with wedgies
- thinking about how much I would have to tip the person who did my post-race pedicure (my toes were in bad shape before the marathon and surely didn't improve after running most of the race in soggy shoes)

I sang songs to myself (some appropriate, some just plain random):
"We Shall Overcome"
"This Land Is My Land, This Land Is Your Land"
"I Have Confidence"
"Pocketful of Sunshine"
"I Want It That Way"
"Chasing Pavements"
And of course, the Rocky theme song, from miles 24 1/2 until the end.

I tried to help and inspire others:
- as I ran passed a woman breathing heavy and painfully sauntering along, I looked her in the eye and reminder her that the Ironman Finisher hat she was wearing meant she could do anything. We would later meet up and run together for a few minutes, sharing Ironman stories.
- at mile 21, I heard a man say "they said this was easy." I quickly responded by saying "there's no such thing as an easy marathon, that's the point. But you are closer than you've ever been to finishing this one, so keep going."
- while I was taking a walk break, a man ran past me and said "c'mon you've only got less than 4 miles left" prompting me to quickly begin running and blow past him. He yelled out "what the hell just got into you?" I turned around and said "you telling me the best news I've heard all day!"
- when I saw Ali at mile 23, I told her that in less than three miles, she was going to finish the fastest marathon she's ever done and that I couldn't wait to see her cross the finish line with her arms in the air. About 20 minutes later, I very loudly cheered and screamed as she sprinted across the finish line with her arms triumphantly above her head.

I also looked into myself for inspiration. The day before the race, someone at the expo shared a great late race inspiration strategy. He told us to think of 6 people who we would tell about our marathon accomplishment. Starting at mile 20 of the marathon, we were to picture one person per mile and imagine their response, visualize their reaction and envision how proud they would be. I had picked my six people, but I never got to the second part. That's because I realized I had far more than six people who would be proud, who would be amazed, who would be happy, no matter how I finished. I knew that the amount of perseverance and strength that I displayed today was enough and perhaps more impressive than a fast time. I started thinking, instead, of people who wouldn't be impressed. I couldn't think of a single person.

I was easily able to think of the one person who I knew would be the proudest: me. As I rounded the corner onto the boardwalk and ran the last mile with the ocean to my right and a host of rain-soaked spectators to my left, I knew what I was about to do would be one of my greatest accomplishments. I crossed the finish line ecstatic, relieved, tired and beaming with pride. My body had tried to fail me, but my mind performed better than I expected. In the face of challenge, you can either alter the challenge or alter yourself to meet the challenge. I couldn't change the marathon; it wouldn't get shorter or easier. I could and did, however, change my mindset to reach up to the challenge, knowing that what was inside of me was stronger and more powerful than the task ahead of me.

Today did not go as planned. But it was still a great day.

Marathoners pre-race, smiling
(Abby, Andrew, Bess, Ali)

Marathoners (and support crew) post-race, still smiling
(Bess, Andrew, Abby, Brent, Rob, Ali)

It would be remiss if I failed to mention the stellar performances by my fellow runners. Abby, Ali and Andrew each triumphed at points and struggled at others but, most importantly, finished strong. With personal best times and performances to boot. I hope they are as proud of themselves as I am of them.

As requested....

2009-05-02T20:52:00.000-04:00

Far too infrequently, I sit down after a race and write up a race report. In fact, thinking about it, I have only written two that I can remember. Now that I'm a "blogger" this will likely change.

It has been requested that I post my Ironman race report. (My first, and to date only, Ironman was Ironman Lake Placid in 2007.) This was written as an email that I sent to friends and family. Every so often, when I need inspiration, courage or a reminder of my abilities, I reread my write-up. So I post it now to serve as inspiration, motivation or maybe just a good read.
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July 22, 2007

Well, I did it.

Three years of planning, six months doing intense focused training, thousands of miles covered while swimming, biking and running, countless calories consumed and burned, hundreds of dollars spent on equipment all in preparation for one day (albeit one very long day). All that time, money and energy for 14 hours, 6 minutes and 47 seconds. Two days ago, I completed what will very well always be the most amazing, astounding, phenomenal, spectacular, breathtaking, extraordinary, impressive, miraculous, staggering, stunning, wonderful, unreal, crazy experience of my whole life.

You each have helped me in making this day happen. Whether it was the simple act of saying "good luck"; telling me "your crazy" (which I am); asking me how my training was going; coming along with me on a training run or bike ride; always, always encouraging me; never letting me think that I would do any less than great (even at those times when the training was so tough that I couldn't fathom how I would ever do the actual event); always seeming astounded at my training and my ultimate goal; calling me an Ironman even before I earned the title, allowing me to envision crossing that finish line and hearing those words; questioning my sanity, but never my intentions; freaking out with me as race day got closer and closer; assuring me that no matter what, I would finish and it would all be worth it; and most of all, for supporting me through the whole journey. I can't imagine having done it without each one of you.

A race of this magnitude takes a great deal of sacrifice on my part, but it also takes sacrifice on the part of my friends and family who support me. You have allowed me to use the "I'm tired" or "I have to go for a long run or ride tomorrow" excuse more times than I should. You've come on runs with me or biked along side of me on my crazy adventures. I did this for myself, as a goal, as a challenge, as a dream, as another chapter in my crazy adventures. But I did it because of all of you. Without your support, I never would have been able to start. The goal would have stayed a goal, the dream just a dream, I would have no challenge and no further chapters would be written.

I want to share with you a recap of the day. I won't do a minute by minute play-by-play because it would take me fourteen hours to write and you equally as long to read-- I wouldn't want to make you suffer like that.

The day started early. Somewhere in the 3 o'clock hour I awoke first, looking at my watch wondering what time it was. From then on, every 20 minutes my eyes would shoot open again as I would look at my watch wondering if it was 5am, when my alarm would go off. Two minutes before 5, I could no longer stare at the back of my eyelids, the anticipation was becoming too much. I was dreadfully nervous about what was ahead, but anxious about getting started. My clothes were fully lied out in perfect order, for fear that I would forget to put on something- although in hindsight, I wonder how I could have messed up putting on ONLY a bra and spandex shorts. But with the nerves I had been feeling the day before, I'm lucky that I didn't walk out with my bra around my feet and my shorts on my head.

My friend Bess (who was sleeping in the same room) woke up shortly after I did. For several minutes, we said nothing. There was that sense that no words were necessary. I tried to eat breakfast, but the rock in my stomach was consuming much of my appetite. I packed some food and Gatorade, but it went uneaten. Our rental house looked out onto Main Street and I could see the stream of athletes passing by on their way to the start. Some were talking to each other, others were smiling, most were munching or drinking something. I was silent. I grabbed my wetsuit and walked out the door. It was an eerie feeling leaving for such a long day with only a wetsuit and the clothes on my back. (The rest of my gear was already at the race area.) Bess and I walked the block up to the race start. I went through the motions.

Went to my gear bags- they were still there- check. Went to my bike- took off the plastic bags protecting the seat and bars from the morning dew, put my water bottles on the bike, squeezed my tires (for a reason unknown, I wasn't going to put any extra air in because I was too nervous that it would do more harm than good), patted the seat for encouragement like you would to a small child on the head, everything seemed well, at least as well as it was going to be- check. Went to get body marked- nothing like having a stranger draw on you with permanent marker at 5:30am- check. Went to drop off my food bags- check. Put on my wetsuit- probably the biggest challenge of the day...damn wetsuit- check.

My nerves were beginning to fade at this point. I was told that it wouldn't be until the gun went off and the swim began that I wouldn't be nervous anymore. The crowds were out, each with there own set of colorful signs. Some people were already in the water, gliding around, warming up, or just trying to keep calm. I watched the start of the pro women's race from the side of the lake. It was only 35 minutes then until the official start- by the time everyone else started at 7am, the pros would be well over half way done...good thing they started them early, I wouldn't have wanted to get in their way! I made my way over to the other side of the lake. Standing close to the start line were my parents and Julie, Andrea, Rachel and Shawn. Walking over to them was when it all hit me. I fell into my dad's arm and began sobbing. The nerves, emotion, fear and excitement all caught up to me at that point. The countdown was on, the crowds were cheering, there was no turning back now, the biggest day of my life was about to begin...ready or not.

Composing myself, I put on my swim cap and goggles, said goodbye, and just went. I couldn't focus on being nervous, I just had to move on. Getting into the water eased me. Stretching out my arms as I swam towards the start line. There were hundreds of people directly under the long start line. Hundreds more stood on the shallow sand along the side of the lake, where they would wait until the crowds dispersed. I was with Ken treading water and waiting. I remember him asking me what time it was.

"6:59" I replied.

"Well then, we should go" he said back.

And then, all of a sudden, I look in front of me and everyone ahead is swimming. I heard no countdown, I heard no gun or cannon, it just happened. Without notice, the day had begun. I found a spot and began swimming. Right arm, left arm, right arm, breathe...kick, kick, kick. The start was hectic- people swimming over each other, grabbing body parts that are usually only grabbed in private, pushing, kicking, but never in a malicious sense. Each person was simply trying to find their space among 2500 people in a relatively small lake. In the midst of the chaos of 10000 flailing limbs in a sea of neoprene wetsuits, there was an odd sense of serenity. Each person knew that the task ahead was none too easy. No matter how many times it's been done before, each time brings a new unknown. A list of uncontrollable factors- the weather, the course, the people, how you feel, something breaking, getting injured- each that could make or break the day, streams continuously through each athlete's head. It's being able to mentally focus on the here-and-now, each stroke, each pedal, each stride, mile by mile, never thinking "what if?"

I continued swimming, pretending that I was alone in my own lane at the pool, forgetting about the thousands that were swimming all around me. It made the swim simple. After getting out of the water after finishing the first 1.2 mile lap, I walked back into the shallow water slowly, allowing myself to hear the announcer, see the fans lined up along the beach, enjoy the moment...and take a little break. And then I began swimming again. "I've done this once, I'll just do it again, easy the first time, easier the second." And it was. After the turn-around at the end of the lake, I was so focused and in a rhythm that in order to keep my mind occupied, I counted my strokes. (In case you're wondering, 1031 strokes from the turnaround to the shore). As I was coming back towards the beach at the end of the second lap, I said to myself "slow down, make this last a little longer, enjoy it." I couldn't believe that I, Bess Staebler, was enjoying swimming, especially after swimming over two miles. But I didn't slow down, I kept my pace and then I saw sand. Getting out of the water, I looked again up at the crowds and made my way to get my wetsuit taken off. Truly the most phenomenal part of Ironman is the fact that they have "wetsuit strippers" who do all the hard work of taking off your wetsuit. I thoroughly enjoy this aspect because, by far, my least favorite part of triathlons is getting my damn wetsuit off. As I walked up the beach on to the carpet, a lovely looking gentleman stepped out several yards in front of me and motioned me towards him and his spot on the carpet. I laid down on the ground and in less than 10 seconds he had my whole wetsuit off- lie down, arms off, butt up, middle off, point the toes, feet off. AMAZING! After he pulled my midsection off I began to giggle uncontrollably. He wrapped my wetsuit into a tight ball, handed it to me and wished me a good race. And I was off.

Moving right along. As I made my way into the transition area, I reminded myself to take my time. There's no rush on a day like this. Five minutes extra would likely mean nothing in the end. Time went by but before I knew it, I had checked, rechecked and checked again and I was ready to go. Off and onto the bike. Now this would be a while. Knowing that the greater part of my day would be spent with my ass on a bike seat, pedaling round and round and round. Feeling good, strong and ready, the first few hills seemed like nothing. I flew up them, momentarily forgetting about the 112 miles ahead of me, surely not all of them would feel like this. So just as I did in the swim, I got in my rhythm. I knew that I would have to keep my mind occupied somehow because it was going to be a long ride. Even at my fastest, it would be long, really long.

I have a tendency to get songs stuck in my head while I ride and, unfortunately, they're usually ones that I don't know that well and that I don't really like. So I tried to think of something that I could sing, that I knew and that would occupy some solid time. And that is why for 7 and half hours, I sang the entire soundtrack to The Sound of Music...several times. And yes, when there was no one around me, I sang out loud (and proud). The hills of Lake Placid were alive with the sound of my singing. I think at one point I even began making up my own lyrics to "My Favorite Things" with things that I would have liked at that time (mile 70 or so of the bike ride). This included, most importantly, not being on my bike anymore.

Many people have asked what the hardest part of the day was. Certainly it was the second loop of the bike (miles 56-112). There's nothing like biking 56 miles, getting back into town, seeing some people already running, only to know that you have to go out and do it all again. And the hills got much longer and steeper the second time around...although they say it was the same route. There was no sense in rushing it thought. The more I pushed myself, the more tired I would be. And I still had a marathon to run. Coming back into town at the end of the bike was a phenomenal feeling. I knew that once I got off my bike, the rest was cake. Biking comes with a lot of uncontrollable variables because you are reliant on a machine which can break, not work or malfunction. With running, you only need your body and your mind. No matter how tired I would be, I knew that I could do the marathon. Run, walk or crawl were my options. The first two I was completely open to doing, the third, I would prefer not to have to do, but it was good to know it was an option.

As I rode around the tight corners of downtown Lake Placid, through the screams of the thousands of people lining the street two three and four bodies deep, waving signs, ringing bells, motivating, cheering. I heard the announcer say "and here comes Elizabeth Staebler, just 23 years old from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania." And I started pedaling faster, charging up the last little hill and zooming down into the the finish of the bike ride. Again I made sure to remind myself to take my time in the transition area. I changed my clothes, got my left leg massaged, rebraided my hair and mentally prepared to run a marathon. Nothing like having a nice swim and bike ride as a warm up for a marathon. I worried about how my legs would feel when I started running. And then I started and surprisingly my legs felt fine. I think my legs were so numb that I could have sawed them off with a rusty axe and not felt any pain. Surprisingly, however, when I started running my chest and core were absurdly sore. I guess being hunched over on a bike for 7 hours really does a workout for your abs. I felt like I wanted to pull my skin off. But persevere...I kept going.

I told myself at the beginning that I would do 20 minutes of running and two minutes of walking. That lasted ONE cycle. The running became less (more dictated by the water and food stations locations) and then walking lasted a little longer. And sometimes I forgot to look at my watch so I didn't know when I stopped last. More than anything I was just enjoying it. I couldn't stop smiling. Whether it was chating with the other people running sharing stories of the last many, many hours, seeing my parents or my friends and having them excitedly cheer me along (or having them run in front of me up a hill that I was planning on walking up telling me to catch her and teasing me that this was the only time that she was beating me-- thanks Bess!), the wonderful volunteers at the water/food stations who would have gone over the moon to get me anything I wanted- including the best piece of watermelon that I've EVER had and I don't like watermelon, seeing Ken, Jess, Steve, Lt Tom (my buddy from the New Hampshire police department), hearing the roar of the crowds as you ran back into town, seeing people furthur along that me closer to finishing the race looking so excited and relieved knowing that sooner than later that would be me, the smile never left my face. It was one of those things that I just couldn't help. I had no idea how I would feel while running so the fact that I felt good was a HUGE relief. As I came into town and went to run the last 2 miles before entering the Olympic Stadium for the finish, my body suddenly felt as if I'd done nothing all day. A surge of energy came over me and I felt like I was flying. I wanted to be done, I wanted to feel that sensation of crossing the finish line, I wanted to take my shoes off, I wanted to take a shower.

And then I was back. As I turned the corner and saw the Olympic Stadium ahead of me a rush of emotion came over me. As I entered the stadium, I began sobbing. The ups and downs of the day all caught up to me at that very moment. It had been over 14 hours, but it felt like only several hours, albeit a jam packed several hours. There was a guy running along side of me who asked "you first or me?" I told him to go first because I wanted to enjoy the moment, make the day last just several seconds longer. And then the finish line was there. Excitedly I threw my hat in the air (ala Mary Tyler Moore). "Elizabeth Staebler, You are an Ironman" and I grabbed the finishing tape. 14 hours, 6 minutes and 47 seconds was over. And I was still walking. I hugged my dad and then went to find the rest of my "fan club." Seeing them at the far end of the finish chute, I weaseled my way towards them. I gave them each a sweaty grimmy hug. In my mom's arms I began crying again and she sobbed too. Then I relished. This was my moment. I was an Ironman.

And that's my story....sorry it took so long to tell...it was a long day.

This was the ultimate test of my endurance, commitment, motivation, willpower, heart, determination and spirit. The feeling I had crossing the finishing line knowing I had completed the ultimate and the feeling that I still have now is completely indescribable. I encourage each of you to find a similar test for yourself. It need not be an Ironman, but it should be something that presents you with your own individual challenge. The feeling of personal accomplishment you'll have is incomprehensible.

I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming along with me on this journey. It's one I'll never forget.

And yes, I will do another one.

P.S. I realized the coolest coincidence. I finished a 140.6 mile race in 14h:06min..............I think I have a new favorite number.
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Because I Can

2009-05-01T23:28:00.001-04:00

I've been tapering and preparing for my next marathon in just two days. Tapering is never something that I've done well. I am pretty well fixed into my routine and get too antsy to slow down. It also always seems that the weather suddenly becomes really nice in time for tapering (case in point: this week). And tapering means that an event is coming up and the nerves, questioning and self-doubt grow and fester. When I get nervous, I run. When I am having issues, I run. When I need to clear my mind, I run. You can see my problem.

It is around this time in training when I tend to look for inspiration to keep my spirits up and my mind at ease. In the days before a marathon, I question what I'm doing. I wonder why I do these crazy things, subjecting my body and mind to such stress and brutality. I wonder why I stuff my face with food and hydrate so much that I pee constantly. I wonder why I wake up at 5am (or earlier) to go for a run. I wonder why I voluntarily choose to run more miles in a day than some people drive in a week.

For inspiration, I read, watch, listen, remember.

In a radio piece about the Boston Marathon, there was discussion about why we (marathoners) run:

The marathon experience is like no other I've had. For twenty six point two miles runners and spectators cheer for you like a rock star. The exhilaration...cannot be manufactured. And that never gets old. It makes every ache and pain, every long cold snowy run worth it.
But for me the most important part of running, and running the marathon, is not the medals and the bragging rights. It's the life lessons I've learned. Lessons like "hard work pays off," "no pain, no gain" and "one step at a time." Running has taught me patience, it's taught me the thrill of being in the moment and that the best things in life don't come quickly.

It is true. Running has taught me a great deal about myself and about life. Through running- the goals I have set and the limits I have pushed passed- I've gained a great deal. In addition to pretty muscular legs and a vast wardrobe of running gear for all conditions, I've had many experiences that have tested my will or inspired my passion.

The Boston Marathon in 2007 was a tour through the season of the year, all in one day. In the days preceding the race, the word "nor'easter" was used far too frequently in the weather forecast. Snow and ice in the early morning. Constant rain while waiting outside for two hours before the start. The wind blew against my wet clothes and cold skin. The air was bogged down with 99% humidity. I knew no one else running. My dad was the only person in my family who braved the weather to come out and cheer. I saw him first at mile 4. I was cold, wet and unhappy. I saw him several miles later, feeling the same way. The last time I'd see him was at mile 10. I was utterly miserable. I didn't want to go on, it seemed pointless. As I ran up to him, he cheered, smiled and snapped some photos, beaming with pride. "You're looking great kiddo." "Keep running." "Go Bess!" "I'll see you at the finish." And all I wanted to do was stop. I told him I wanted to take a break. Less than a minute later, he patted me on the back and reiterated his comforting, supportive words. I knew that I had to go on. Muster up the strength and go, I told myself, this is nothing. Not finishing would have an impact much more detrimental than being miserable for the next 16 miles. I finished knowing that I'd forever be able to say "if I made it through that, I can do anything."

My dad gave me this photo from the marathon, appropriately captioned
"Why Bess kept running"

In one of my first triathlons, I was midway into the bike portion. Biking up one of the eight hills in the 25 mile course, I approached another biker teetering up the hill. Getting closer I noticed the man's left leg was a prosthetic. I pushed myself to get to his side. "You're doing great, keep going," I said. "I'm just glad the swim is over," he exhaustively responded. I closed my eyes imagining the challenge of swimming with one leg, the strength required to propel a bike up a hill with stiff metal for muscles. I ended up passing by him, thinking then, and knowing since, "if he can do that, I can do anything."

Doing Ironman Lake Placid was by far one of the most indescribable experiences I'm sure I'll ever have. For multiple reasons, that day and the months (or years) of training and planning before it caused my personal willpower, strength, endurance and soul to grow. (I've probably yet to discover the full extent of it.) An undertaking as daunting and foreign as an Ironman is not easy for anyone. Watching people at the absolute end of endurance continue moving forward (and at points convincing myself to do the same) forces you to realize the true capacity of the mind. The experience can be easily equated to many other struggles- "being able to conquer that, I can do anything."

I keep a loose record of the races that I've completed. I keep a list in a Word document on my computer and update it occasionally. The medals from each race are hanging over a frame in the hallway outside of my bathroom. I pass it multiple times on a daily basis, but rarely look at it. But every so often I stop and look, reflecting on the meaning that they hold. They don't mean that I am physically strong. They don't mean that I have a great sense of adventure. They don't mean that I am just looking for a challenge. They don't mean that I like having a ridiculous number of race t-shirts.

Each one means that I had the courage to start and the strength to finish. Despite nothing.

Because I can.

Click here to watch video (because I can't figure out how to get it uploaded in the blog)

Worrywarts and Nervous Nellies

2009-04-28T20:53:00.005-04:00

The countdown to marathon day is on. It's marathon week and the big day is just four days away. It's around this time that marathoners start worrying about what we eat, drink, wear, do, etc. We want to make sure that we eat enough to fuel our bodies for the race, but not eat anything that we aren't used to or that might upset our stomachs. We need to drink lots so we don't dehydrate while running, but we try to abstain from alcohol, even though it might actually do our nervous minds some good. The stilettos and blister-inducing shoes are thrown aside in exchange for supportive sneakers, all the time, whether they go with our outfit or not. We taper our running routine, doing only short, easy run mostly to keep our mind at ease and burn off excess energy. We make sure we get extra sleep, even if we're not tired. We don't do anything silly or stupid, that could result in broken bones, pulled muscles or any other unwanted blunders. We abandon our typical healthy habits, and now drive instead of walk, take the elevator not the stairs and become veritable couch potatoes for the week.

Before my first marathon, I was an utter nervous wreck for the preceding week. I ate bread like it was going out of style, swore off lettuce, stared at my feet while walking, looked both ways twice before crossing the street. In hindsight, it was ridiculous. No lettuce? Really?

For the dozen or so marathons I've done between that one and now, I've become much less regimented and much less crazy. In fact, I've done some things in preparation that most wouldn't dream of doing. Not that I recommend having two colonoscopies, doing a half Ironman triathlon or getting hit by a bike and nearly breaking your elbow the week before running a marathon, but I'm glad I've loosened up.

For me, the week leading up to this marathon has been oddly different than those in the past. I am, for the first time, training with someone else who I plan to run with on Sunday. I have a specific goal in mind, one that is harder to achieve than "just finishing." I have also trained for this race much more intently and focused than for others. Don't get me wrong, all of these new things are positive, but they have had me more aware than usual. The training has been absolutely fantastic. It's been amazing to see my goals and desires take flight. Especially having a kick-ass running partner to share my runs, stories, injuries, everything.

With just a few days of pre-race preparation left, I'm trying not to make myself crazy. I found myself worrying about the high pollen counts, even though I'm not allergic to pollen. I have already planned the sneaker-coordinated outfits that I'm wearing to work for the rest of the week. I had a massage today with someone other than my usual therapist and made sure to tell her several times to "go easy on my legs." I stayed up later than planned last night because I needed to make granola so I could have my usual breakfast this morning. One of my toenails fell off this weekend and I worried it would cause a problem, but it's a rarity that I have my full complement of nails. Abby and I have sworn off our much loved trail runs for fear that a slip, trip or fall would lead to a twisted ankle or undesired battle scar. I'm drinking so much water that after the forth time I went to the bathroom today, my co-worker asked if I was feeling alright.

Sounds crazy, right? Well, it is.

Runners are certainly a neurotic breed. But at least in my case, I'm aware of it. And I accept it.

Taper Schmaper

2009-04-25T21:02:00.005-04:00

I guess it's all downhill from here. The last long training run is done and over. The next long run will be exactly 26.2 miles long. The real deal, the big shebang, the grand poo-bah. The marathon.

Abby is gallivanting in Vegas this weekend so the typical weekend long run was switched to Thursday, on an afternoon that turned out to be the dictionary definition of perfect running weather. Our attempt at a "nice easy slow run" was easier said than done- taking us several miles before we were able to slow our pace appropriately.

The weather today was positively summerish. We had one day of spring last Saturday, then another cold spell and now it's time for summer. Nothing like jumping right from cool 40 degree weather straight to the 90s with no middle ground. I felt the need to run today. After all, it's the weekend. Sans my training partner for the weekend, I met Ali for a run this morning. I had strict instructions to not run too much. I decided that 6 miles would do the trick: get enough energy out, but not over do it. It was certainly not my best run (humid weather and oddly sore muscles to blame I guess) but it did the trick. Mission accomplished.

Following the run, I took the opportunity to stretch for a l-o-n-g time. I assumed that my quads burning while I was running was a not-so-subtle sign from my body telling me that I needed to stretch. I took my time stretching, enjoying the weather and people watching from behind the Art Museum. At one point two runners ran by, stopping when the got to the sidewalk leading up to the museum. I noticed that they had Texas A&M singlets on (likely in town for the Penn Relay and out for a quick jog). It seemed as if they knew where they were going, but confusion and disappointment came over them as they looked around.

"I thought there were more," one said as they continued to walk past me and up towards the museum.

"Yeah, me too," the other responded.

I quickly realized the problem.

"Are you looking for the Rocky steps?" I asked.

Excitedly, they both said yes and nodded. The 20 or so steps that lead up to the back of the museum are not nearly as impressive and monumental as those made famous by a sweatsuit and Chuck Taylor clad Sylvester Stallone.

"They're on the other side," I said, and pointed them in the right direction. "And yes, they're are more."

There's always more on the other side.

I'm Runnin' In The Rain

2009-04-22T21:08:00.004-04:00

(cue music and Gene Kelly dancing with umbrella, jumping off curb and clicking heels)

All runners have experienced it. You go out for a run. The weather forecast says possible showers. The sky is cloudy but the sun is peaking through. You run a couple miles, far enough that you're pretty well into the run. Feeling warmed up, feeling loose, feeling good. Then the heavens open up and begin dumping the Nile River onto you.

If you decide not to run because there's rain in the forecast, not a drop ever falls. If it's raining when you begin running, it will mist slightly for a few minutes and then stop all together. If it's going to really rain, it's going to happen when you're miles from home. It's inevitable.

Luckily for me, I like running in the rain. In fact, I love running in the rain. It is about the purest form of youthful enjoyment I know. Splashing through puddles like a kid in goulashes. Happily waving at passers-by. Trying to keep my heavy water-logged shorts from falling down. Spinning in circles with my arms spread wide. (OK, I don't actually do that.)

Today was the perfect run in the rain. I set out after class for a quick jaunt along the river. The forecast called for rain in the afternoon to evening hours. It was raining slightly as I left class and ran some errands, but had essentially stopped by the time I was ready to run. True to form, I was just over a mile out when it began spritzing, then sprinkling, then drizzling, then raining, then pouring. Awesome. Others out running seemed shocked and disappointed that it was all of a sudden raining. As if the meteorologists were just kidding when they said there was a 100% chance of rain. As if the dark clouds loitering over the city all day were just there for show.

I relished. I didn't turn around. I never would. Some people I know won't run in the rain, as if they fear melting a la the Wicked Witch of the West. I've yet to melt from getting wet and don't anticipate it ever happening, so I'll keep running in the rain.

The rain came down harder and the wind coming off the river practically blew me sideways. I looked for the first puddle I could find. Splash! As I passed other runners, I smiled gleefully and frantically waved. Many waved and smiled back. "They obviously love the rain too," I thought. I didn't have my iPod so I had only the songs in my head. Conveniently, "Splish Splash, I Was Taking A Bath" began playing on repeat in my head.

Those driving by were surely questioning my sanity, especially as it began thundering as well. A cab driver honked at me, apparently thinking that I was trying to hail a ride. Most people seemed to feel sorry for me. Poor runner girl, stuck out in the rain.

If only they knew I was having the time of my life.

I continued along the river. I went under a bridge and came around a bend in the road. The rain began to let up. I was finally able to look up without raindrops pelting my face. The clouds parted and a sliver of sunshine shone through. I was able to see. The trees were breathtaking- some springy green, some fall-like with reddish-orange leaves, others still bare waiting to bloom until winter is gone for good. Hugging the shore of Kelly Drive were the cherry blossoms; magnificently imperfect branches erupting with perfectly pink flowers, almost too bright to be real. The grass was green like AstroTurf. The glimmer of post-rain sun hit the crests of the river current with near perfect precision.

If I wasn't out running today, I wouldn't have seen this. You never know what you'll see when the rain stops. Like the old saying goes, "if you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain." I'm happy to "put up with it." It lets me bring out my inner child.

After I turned around to run back home, it began to rain again.

So I splashed in some more puddles.

If It Ain't Fun, Why Do It?

2009-04-19T20:14:00.006-04:00

Today, I entered a new level of endurance race-dom: adventure racing. (A disclaimer: as you will find out, I didn't actually do a race today, but I can guarantee that I will in the future.) As if I needed another hobby.

Over the past few months of our marathon training, Abby has been subtly but suggestively hinting about the lure of adventure racing. Stories that would make most say "you're crazy" leave me thinking precisely the opposite. I've been the recipient of many "crazy" comments- most justified, I'll admit. I guess I like doing things that others think justify a mental health consultation. Although I've never thought much about adventure racing, I certainly wasn't resistant to it. So today, I took the first logical step into this crazy sport by volunteering at an adventure race in Delaware, in which Abby was participating.

The Savage (appropriately titled, I suppose) is a 6 hour adventure race which consisted of running, mountain biking and canoeing (and wading/fording/swimming in a creek, if desired). Basically like a triathlon, but easier because you canoe instead of swim, right?

WRONG!

The hidden forth event, which I will call "figure out where the hell you're going," makes this a whole different ballgame. What I garnered from today is that adventure racing is as follows: start here, end there, stop at these places, here's a map, hope you have a bike and a canoe, have fun. No mile markers, no arrows, no water stops. It makes marathons (or even triathlons) seem positively elementary.

I began my day helping with registration handing out the maps. As you can guess, the map (or maps, as it were) are a very essential part in the adventure race equation. I learned that when you give someone three elaborate, but deceptively undetailed, maps, it results in the asking of many questions. Few, if any, to which I knew the answer (or even had the faintest idea what they were asking). I answered the first couple questions with an emphatic "I have no idea" and instructions to go ask one of the organizers. Then as I learned a little more about the race and picked up on some key AR terminology, my co-map-giver-outer and I answered many on our own. (I apologize to any participants to whom I gave misinformation, but in the spirit of the race, I'm sure they figured out the truth on their own.) By the end, I had a whole schpiel that I gave to each team. Luckily, I'm a quick learner (or really good at faking it).

After my map duty, I was off to the bike drop where the teams came after running and/or canoeing to pick up their bikes and complete the bike portion of the race. Stationed in the middle of a parking lot, I sat in my Crazy Creek, reading a book, watching for teams coming through the woods, recording their arrival times and continuing to answer questions to the best of my ability. I was sure to tell participants what I knew, but with disclaimers and very little detail. For example:

"So is there more running or do we just bike to the end?" a participant would ask.

To which I would respond with something akin to "well, I know that you don't bring your bikes back here and the end is the same place as the start, but how you get there and what you do between here and the end, I don't know. Have fun!"

I was sure to tell every team to have fun. Seeing the teams jump the curb of the parking lot and venture off into the woods on their bikes looked liked a blast. (Having spent the last 7 years of my biking career on a comparatively fragile road bike, doing things like this on a burly mountain bike seem so fun.) Most teams seemed to be having fun and thanked me for the sentiment. Other teams who maybe veered a little off course or had gotten themselves in over their heads (literally or figuratively) had different responses. My favorite was "if this is what you call fun, you're sick." Probably true.

After waiting for all 100 teams to come through and get their bikes, I was going back to the start/finish area to see the end of the race. I was a little delayed leaving on account of the navigation skills of the final team to come through the bike drop- the aptly named "Lost Boys."

Watching the teams- wet, sweaty, muddy, bloody, tired, exhilarated- bike up a hill to cross the finish line, it hit me that this was definitely something that I wanted to try. I haven't done a triathlon in well over a year, namely because I stopped enjoying them. As I wished fun upon the teams, I realized that was precisely the missing link. I feel that recently the triathlon world has become overly serious and fiercely competitive. This in conjunction with the nightmare logistics of triathlon participation prompted my multi-sport hiatus in exchange for a life of running, running and more running. The experience of the adventure race today, however, may be the ticket back to my former hobby.

Especially if that ticket involves fording a creek as the most logical and appropriate way of getting from point A to point B.

And you don't have to wear a wetsuit.

Blissful Masochism

2009-04-12T17:51:00.013-04:00

This morning, I woke up at 3:45am, drove two hours to northern New Jersey, got slightly misdirected by faulty GPS, ran a 20 mile training run around the nice but lonely town of Long Branch, had a post-run conversation with Abby about wanting to do an ultra-marathon and a race up Mt. Washington, drove back home through heavy Easter traffic, submerged my lower extremities in a bathtub full of ice water for 15 minutes and only just now (13 hours later) am finally relaxing in my sweats with my feet up. Why, you ask, do I subject myself to such masochistic adventures?

Simple- I'm a runner.

And therefore, by definition, masochistic- intentionally and blissfully masochistic.

A more elaborate answer comes from a detailed recounting of all of today's events. As mentioned, today began early. So early that as I drove to meet Abby, the only other signs of human life I saw were the police officer hidden around a corner looking for drivers inebriated from the night's festivities and several young ladies in stilettos stumbling out of Wawa with an arm full of food. I, on the other hand, was just going for a Sunday morning run. Longer and further away than most, but a Sunday morning run nonetheless. The drive up was relatively uneventful: an amusing recount Abby's unfortunately eventful day yesterday, Passover-adibing and gluten-free pre-run fueling with Baked Lays and PB&J rice cakes, respectfully and some discussion about both the absurd and beneficial aspects of what we were doing. The unreliable GPS on my phone led us slightly off course, but with "help" from a gas station attendant and our own logical reasoning we made it to The Shore Runner, where the NJ Road Runners Association meet for their monthly Sunday long runs. This run would include one loop of the actual NJ Marathon course and then additional miles to make your desired length run (ours was 20 miles). A pre-"race" meeting with helpful instructions from the marathon director and we were off down the boardwalk along the picturesque beach, ready or not.

I guess there were 70-80 other runners starting off, although after mile one, I never saw more than 12 different people. It had the potential to be a very lonely, potentially confusing run. Abby and I planned to run together so we would avoid utter loneliness and at least have the company of each other. Shortly after starting, we happened upon a new friend, Andrew, another out-of-towner in Jersey today for the opportunity at a long run change-of-pace. We quickly began conversing and fell perfectly in step with each other. Our pace was brisk, but comfortable. We finished the first mile in under 8 minutes- definitely faster than anticipated or suggested. But we felt good and continued, slowing slightly but maintaining a good kick. We eventually met up with two other runners who joined our Motley Crue.

The organizers of the NJ Marathon take extreme pride in their race and go to extraordinary lengths to accommodate any desires and needs of the runners participating. The course was remarkably well marked with arrows painted on the road, signs warning drivers of road closings during the race (in three weeks) and race directors driving the course assuring runners were staying on track. (We only missed two turns- both times likely due to our own distraction and lack of attention, not poor marking of the course.) In addition to course organization, this training run came with 6 fully stocked aid stations on each loop. Customary water and Gatorade was accompanied by standard chocolate and vanilla GUs, as well as Easter appropriate jelly beans and Peeps (yes, the sugar-coated marshmallow chicks). I had a handful of jelly beans at several points along the course, the closest I got to anything constituting an Easter celebration. The organization and management of this run easily marveled some larger and official races that I have done. I was remarkably impressed. New Jersey just gained some major props in my book.

Oh and I almost forgot the actual running part (that was the point of today). Well, it kicked ass. We kicked ass. Major ass. We more or less maintained our aforementioned starting pace. Despite some slower miles on account of a head wind or slowing to pour our own water and one much needed bathroom break, we were remarkably on pace with our overarching goal. And by "on pace" I mean ahead of pace. We finished 20 miles in 2 hours, 45 minutes and a disputable number of irrelevant seconds. Most importantly, feeling good, really good and very excited at the accomplishment. High fives all around.

A post-race meal with Andrew at a nearby eatery (with a typical New Jersey menu composed of more options than most cookbooks) rounded out the awesomeness of the day. An extremely freaky, candy basket-wielding Easter Bunny was at the restaurant and we took the opportunity for a classic photo-op.

As if running 20 miles wasn't enough masochism for one day, I decided to partake some yet uncharted masochistic territory: my first ice bath. I stopped on the way home to pick up some ice. The gas station was out, the Wawa up the road had only two bags left. Wow, a lot of people must be taking ice baths today. I bought both bags and upon arriving home, promptly emptied them into a tub full of cold water. I changed into tiny spandex shorts, a thick running shirt and heavy ski jacket. And then I got in. Gasp.

The initial feeling was less than pleasant, but once I resigned myself to cold and pain, I got comfortable. I caught up on the latest issue of Runners World- appropriately reading articles about qualifying for Boston and taking care of your body. 15 minutes later, risking frostbite and frozen organs, I decided it was probably time to get out. Feeling cold, but good, I continued to reflect on the day.

It was, for lack of a better term, the perfect day.

Some consider me crazy to willfully subject myself to such experiences. I agree. I am crazy. But I'm a runner.

And if you want to know why, my answer is simple. I never stopped smiling all day long. Who could ask for anything better?

The On/Off Switch

2009-04-09T15:04:00.005-04:00

When it comes to pace, I've always said that I have only two: on and off. It seems to me that no matter how I feel, how long I'm running, how much I've run recently or what the weather is like I always run about the same speed. One day I feel like a speed demon, floating on air in perfect 65 degree sunny weather. Another day I wonder if I'm actually moving forward, my legs feeling as if they're made of pure lead and, of course, it's cold and rainy. But somehow, my pace on either day ends up being only seconds more or less than the other day.

Consistency. I guess it's a good thing.

Except when you're trying to run faster.

In my current training (for the NJ Marathon in May), I want to be faster. Abby and I began training together and from the start had a certain goal in mind. (It's running fast enough to get into this pretty well-known race somewhere up in New England.) We didn't talk about it much, usually speaking only in whisper and looking for wood to knock on if we mentioned it. We both felt that if it happened, great. If not, try again another time. No big deal. Despite our slightly complacent attitude, we definitely tried. Only recently, nearing the end of our training, we've realized we may have a shot.

We found a schedule to follow. And we've followed it, basically. We've done tempo runs, we've done long runs, we've done recovery runs, we've done trail runs, we've done track workouts. Despite numerous types of runs with different purposes, we still don't quite understand this whole "pace" thing.

Many schedules or training workouts have you run certain speeds based on your performance in races (5K, 10K, marathon, etc). The track workout that I wanted to do this week was 800m repeats at 20 seconds faster than a 5K pace. Ok, sounds good. Except that the last 5K I did was Race for the Cure in 2005. Running through the tiny streets of Philadelphia with 40,000 of my closest friends, I think I finished in just under an hour. Probably not a good judge of speed for a track workout. (Somehow I don't think that repeats at a 19:30 min/mile pace is productive or possible.)

Still at square one.

Runner's World online has a function that calculates your pace based on a goal time. Great. Plug in 3:40 for a marathon and presto change-o, paces. What we found out was that, by and large, we were doing a pretty good job. Except for one thing- our long runs. The know-all-and-end-all running gurus at Runner's World said that we should be doing our long runs at 9:26-10:39 min/mile.

Huh?

How does doing a 20 miler at 10 min/mile prepare you to run the necessary 8:23 min/mile pace needed in order to finish in 3:40 and qualify?? I just don't get it. I know that you will likely run a little faster on race day. A little faster. Not 2 minutes faster. Or even 1 minute faster. Remember the on/off switch? I've got two paces, not ten. It's a switch, not a dial.

Luckily, I'm not worried that my training paces haven't been exact (or even anywhere close) to what they "should" be. I've felt good- mentally and physically- throughout training. I've never paid close attention to paces in training and I've managed to do just fine. 14 marathons under my belt and my on/off switch is working as good as ever.

While discussing the pace conundrum on our last run, Abby and I determined that if we're "supposed" to do our long runs approximately 2 minutes slower than our goal race pace, based on our last 20 miler two weeks ago, we'll be running 6:43 min/mile in the marathon.

Deena Kastor, watch your back!

The Incurable Optimist

2009-04-08T22:34:00.003-04:00

After years of attempting to describe myself (and consistently coming up with merely inaccurate, incomplete or wishful representations), I have found the perfect description. My dictionary definition, if you will.

Bess Staebler (n.) an incurable optimist

I should note that I did not come up with this. It is with apologies (or thanks) to Michael J. Fox for providing me with my new description. (It is the subtitle of his new book Always Looking Up.)

I have always been an optimist. It is one of the traits that I consider most admirable about myself. I am almost always able to not only see the silver lining, but believe it to be true. I've only realized the "incurable" part recently. I've worked with people who, on a good day, are less-than-optimistic- always assuming the worst will happen, criticizing others, believing that things won't be done correctly or getting angry over little things. I am not brought down by them (remember I'm incurable). Rather, it has made me realize the benefits and advantages of positive thinking. To spare you typical cliches I am, in short, a happy person.

Not that life hasn't brought me situations where I wonder "why" or think "life sucks," but I truly believe that there's a reason for everything (sorry, that cliche just snuck in there somehow).

Why is there horrible traffic and lots of red lights when I'm in a rush? To teach me patience.

Why does my best friend have to be in Ecuador for a year and I miss her dreadfully? To teach me that a friendship can grow stronger across countries, continents and hemispheres. And that absence really does make the heart grow fonder, even if it sucks while it's happening.

Why am I an only child, despite always wishing for a brother or a sister? To teach me the value of being alone.

Why do I have Celiac Disease and am deprived of so many yummy foods? To remind me that I could have it a lot worse. And because doughnuts aren't good for you even if you aren't allergic to them.

Why did I struggle so much because I was essentially unable to read (and comprehend) until I was 20 years old? To teach me how to listen and force me to learn in atypical ways.

Why did I get a stress fracture in my foot last year? To teach me to slow down and stop for a while.

And to conclude, in an ever-so incurably optimistic mood, I came upon this quote yesterday:

Risk more than others think is safe,
Care more than others think is wise,
Dream more than others think is practical,
Expect more than others think is possible.
-Cadet Maxim

An incurable optimist who risks, cares, dreams and expects more than most. That's me. In a nutshell (or a sentence).

Come Hell or High Water

2009-04-04T12:15:00.005-04:00

or wind or snow or brutal cold or irrepressible heat, I'll run.

Today, for example, it was wind. And hell it was windy. And up hill. Both ways. Really.

I'm not one to get myself worked up over a weather forecast. Especially, in Philadelphia where one snowflake constitutes a winter weather warning and a shortage of milk and bread in the stores. Today, however, the well-paid meteorologists on TV said that it was going to be windy. Very windy. 30mph wind gusts. All day.

They were right.

But just as I don't get worked up over the weather, I don't let it change my plans. So I set out this morning to run at Valley Forge with Abby, Ali and the Team in Training spring race group. For anyone who knows the loop at Valley Forge knows that the first hill sucks. It's long and steep. Today, with the aforementioned wind, it REALLY sucked. Calling the predicted 30mph gusts "gusts" was putting it nicely. Gusts come and go. These stayed the whole way up the hill. Coming from the side. And the front. And overhead. At times it seemed like we were running in a tornado, not just "regular" wind. Fun was not a word that I would use to describe it. But we did it. And the wind died down a bit. Then was resuscitated and came back to life (conveniently on another hill). Then died down. Then came back. Then....well, you get the point.

Despite it, we continued running. Even when it felt that we were going backwards or sideways or both. Abby and I turned around a little early after determining that our "nice easy trail run" yesterday (that was actually 7 miles and more like an adventure race- torn wet clothes, fording flooded paths and bruised battle scars included) meant we didn't need to do the full run today. We finished- relieved, wind-blown and content- about 9 miles in an average 8:44 pace. (It felt more like a 15 min/mile pace, so I'll chalk this up as an excellent resistance workout.)

Today was one of those instances where I am reminded why I run. You can't play golf in the snow. You can't play baseball in the rain and wind (ahem, 5th game of the 2008 World Series). You can't go skiing in the summer. You can't go swimming in a thunderstorm. But you can always run. I've run a marathon in a Nor'easter. I've done a triathlon in sweltering 95 degree Texas heat. I've done countless runs in the rain. I almost never don't run because of the weather. If I do, I feel that I've let the weather win. It's the same reason that I don't own a real winter coat because if I wear a winter coat, it's admitting that it's winter.

Running is so simple: left, right, repeat. It's why I like it so much. And why I keep running. Come hell or high water.

Another one bites the dust

2009-04-02T22:27:00.004-04:00

Once again, I'm without my full compliment of toenails. Back down to 9. (Really 8 1/2 if you consider that the last one to go isn't quite back in action yet.) Despite my wish to, for once, have a perfectly polished set of nails, the fact that I don't is a badge of honor. And, most importantly, proof that I'm not a wuss.

It was more than 6 years ago when I started running- and subsequently loosing toenails. Dozens of lost toenails, hundreds of hours, thousands of miles and millions of random thoughts later I've decided it's time to start writing some of my musings. Stories, experiences, feelings, recollections, opinions, descriptions, adventures and reflections have often left me thinking "you should write a book"- so I am (well, an online psuedo book). My intention is not to change lives or bring world peace, rather it is to clear my head of my internal ramblings. (Hopefully it will free up some space for things like the material on infectious diseases and antibiotics that I am supposed to have learned for my last pharmacology test.)

My intention is to write on a regular basis- not everyday- but often. I should forewarn: I am historically HORRIBLE at keeping diaries, journals, logs, etc. I am filled with good intentions, but lack the focus and motivation for a proper follow-through. Thankfully I never wanted to be a writer because I would be out of work and very poor. Here's to what will hopefully be an amusing and insightful collection of my chronicles of running. And last longer than the cool diary with a lock and secret code that I got for my 10th birthday. I wrote "Dear Diary" and that was it.