Hips don't lie, but treadmills sure do

All winter I ran my miles on the treaded treadmill. And they sucked, but I kept on going, and I kept on writing about it, as if one mile was different from the rest. Hard workouts were still hard but the time on the red display in front of me didn't mean as much as the numbers on my watch meant to me today.

I had already planned on doing five miles outside, but after reading about a great Tempo Run I decided this would be a great workout for me. As I stretched out my legs I wondered what my times would be like. I at least had a basis to go off of, I knew what my 800 repeat time had been and I needed to be slower than that to carry on for two miles. So I figured I'd warm up, and then speed up, and then see how I did. No real goal, no real reason to need one. I hadn't even decided on a race pace for the UNITE half marathon and it is in two weeks!

All stretched out and ready to go, I was off. I picked a pace that felt good but not too slow and as I went I began to calculate my split times for a warm up mile. Probably one of my favorite things to do to pass time, is calculate split times. But for the warm up I don't even look at my watch on the first quarter, I decide to check at the half, see where I am and then stay consistent. Half time was 4:58 just on pace for a 10mm, not bad for a warm up but a little fast for me this time of the year. But as always, I am afraid to slow down on the second half of anything so I just keep running until I reach my first mile.

At 9:44. Unreal. And very unexpected. Still I speed up the pace for my first tempo mile and aim for a 9mm on both. The pace I pick feels comfortable and sustainable, but I expect to finish the first mile around 9:15. Much to my surprise I cross the half at about 4:30, right on track. But when I hit three quarters and see that my watch reads 6:46 I am a bit disappointed, only because I did not do the math right in my head. The last quarter mile is spent re-adding the numbers and pushing a little extra which pays off because I finish the first mile in 8:54.

Not expected at all, but I am proud of myself. I promise myself I can hold on to that pace, and If I can just run the second mile in under 9:00 I will have a successful workout and can go home happy. The only downside is my halfway point for the second mile is a turn around point, always a trap for slowing down. But I am determined. I never let myself slow down for anything. Not even in the last half mile when I can feel ever muscle from my chest to my hips tighten up and I feel like I can barely breath. But up ahead I can see the finish, I can see that mark on the side walk that says "you can rest now". I get my hand on my watch ready to hit the split button as I cross the line and with one final kick I am done. I look down

8:35. I am in shock. I slow to a jog and try to wrap my head around what I just did. To some people those times might be nauseatingly slow. But to me, and for it only being April 1st, those times are incredible. Those times are something I don't usually see until well into August after lots of ass kicking workouts. But I guess that is what I have been doing to myself. I have been pushing all winter, when I didn't want to, and when I didn't believe in myself and now I am back close to when I was at my best with the possibility of going even further.

I have two miles left and for a minute I think, maybe I can recover for a half and then tempo another mile. But when I reach that half I know my body isn't ready for it and I would rather end the night on a high note. So I aim to just hit a normal pace by my last mile. I hit four miles with an 11:02 and for a recovery/cool down mile, I think it's pretty good. By the end I can even resume a normal pace and for the last mile I just think of what a good place I am in my running right now. I am not overloading myself with 45 mile weeks, I have time to have a healthy amazing relationship, and I am in the best shape I can remember being in for almost a year and a half. For that last mile I just take in every amazing moment of the night. The sun setting over the river, the families out walking, and the true runners out running. I hit the end of the run with a total time of 47:46:90

As soon as my breathing goes back to normal, I stretch out and get back in my car, the first thing I do is pick up my phone and text Boyfriend to say "Best. Run. Of my life"

Total Workout recap:

Mile 1: 9:44

Mile 2: 8:54

Mile 3; 8:35

Mile 4: 11:02

Mile 5: 9:29

xx Sara

Chronicles of a beginner.

When you are a beginner, just getting your butt off the couch and running a fraction of a mile a day, the term 5k can be anything but a comfort. The idea of running two miles with out any stopping can be as daunting as I consider a 15 or 18 miler run to be. Up until a few weeks ago Boyfriend was doing all his 5k training on the treadmill at his apartment complex's gym. I had made up a winning training schedule that increased his longest mileage by 1/4 mile a week, and included one day of some kind of intervals or hills.

But a few weeks ago it started to get nice outside, and as much as I needed to train my body to run in real life, so did Boyfriend. The first few times you conquer long runs outside it feels like an eternity. Sometimes the only thing that keeps you going is knowing that you aren't going it alone. A running partner, or coach, or just a friend along for the journey, the idea that someone else is right there going through everything with you helps ease at least a little of the pain.

So when the weather got warm enough to venture outside with out gloves I suggested Boyfriend and I try running together. His long run distance was close enough to one of my easy days that it worked out perfectly. We ran about 2 miles and it went well enough to plan to do it again the next week. Only this time we would do 2.5!

Did I mention Boyfriend recently bought two snazzy new pairs of REAL running shorts? Not those god awful basketball shorts that could swish and sway as you run and weight close to ten pounds. He is wearing said adorable grey Adidas shorts with three red side stripes when I pick him up outside his apartment building for our two mile run. He is wearing the black ones with white stripes when I arrive for our three mile run.

Only he doesn't realize he is about to run three miles. The wonderful thing about transitioning from runner to coach is you hold the power. As the coach you make the decisions, the plans, the mileage, keep time and offer words of encouragement when things get tough and seem impossible. As the runner you are only responsible for two things, showing up, and doing what the coach said.

So today when I showed up at Boyfriend's apartment, chattering away about my day, and my fundraising plans, I had no intention of telling him my plan. I just say ok to start running and we take off down the usual train by the Manayunk Canal. Of course we also sometimes run down West River or Kelly but that trail has a marker every quarter mile, and I didn't want Boyfriend catching on to my plan. What was my plan? To run three miles of course. But I know what it's like to do a long run when you watch every quarter mile you are crossing. Quarter miles are too daunting to watch under your feet when you are running the longest distance you have ever run.

The first mile goes by easy, as we spend the whole time talking about our days. The weather is cool enough so that we are comfortable in our shorts and tee shirts as we stride along the gravel path. As we make our way back out onto the street I remind Boyfriend to keep it slow, relaxed and steady. I remind MYSELF that three miles to him, is like twelve miles to me, and is nothing short of a challenge. But I know he can do it, it may feel impossible at times but I know he can do it. We are passed by dozens of runners in both directions, all taking advantage of the sunshine and warmth and I am tempted to pick up the pace, but don't. Our turn around point is at the top of a gentle hill, and I can tell as we make the slow climb that Boyfriend is starting to feel the discomforts of pushing yourself into the unknown. His arms held close to his body, his pace slowing ever so slightly, but I encourage him to keep going.

Steady and relaxed, relaxed and steady, are the mottos of the evening as we make our way back. It's not easy to pretend we are just sitting on the couch having an after dinner conversation but that is the attitude I try to portray. I try to make it seem like this is normal, easy, just an every day thing we do while talking. And for a while it is working but it seems that in Boyfriend's eyes this run could not be over any sooner.

I always start by asking "are you ok?" If I get an answer I always consider it a good thing, even if the answer is no, because if you are able to answer you are more ok than you think. If the answer is yes, I have no more questions. But the answer was "my legs hurt", so then we get into what muscles are hurting and land on the calves. I suggest trying different strides which quickly becomes awkward, and suggest possibly adding an extra day of leg strengthening to the workout schedule.

"I thought I was strengthening my legs by running" Boyfriend says to me, obviously a little taken aback by my suggestion.

"You are, but if they hurt I'm just wondering if they need to be even stronger." I am of course no expert, and I am just speculating based on all the knowledge I have compiled over my years of runs, races and injuries. In all honesty I could have no idea why Boyfriend's calves hurt. I could be making suggestions that are completely bogus, and I make sure to point that out. But by this time we are back on the two path and can just barely see the end of the run. He picks up the pace a bit and I remind him he doesn't need to push any harder than he wants to, he keeps going and I hit the stop button on my watch as we take our final steps.

Done. Our workout is complete. He puts his arm around me, kisses my sweaty forehead and asks me how far he just ran. I hold up three fingers with a proud smile to signify the miles we just ran, and congratulate him on his new PR.

xx Sara

The fit of it all

Thanks to my job, I know far too much about the fit of my clothing and the shape of my body. I spend all day fitting pants and reciting off standard size measurements for a size 6 and can also tell you where I fit in. I know that my body is not proportional, to a standard shape and I am ok with that. I have a tiny waist and larger hips and I have come to accept this as part of what makes me, me.

Lately though, I cannot help but notice that my jeans feel looser at the waist, and tighter in my calves. When I look at my legs, stretching out on the carpeted floor after a hard workout I notice my ankles are looking smaller in comparison to my expanding calves. But my stubborn hips refuse to get smaller. I think of how interesting it is that your body can transform with out you really asking it to. I never asked for a smaller waist, or a certain look to my legs. I never asked for quads as hard as rocks. I just asked that my body take me as far as I asked it to for the day. I ask that it do so with out too much pain, and in return I try to give it eight hours of sleep a day. Sometimes I throw in a couple of Advil and an ice bath. I ask that my stomach not loose my lunch on a particularly difficult day of intervals, and in return it gets the occasional cheeseburger and ice cream Sunday. Although we both know it's my taste buds and not my stomach that get the read benefit. My stomach is probably just cursing me for filling it with grease and processed food it has to work even harder to break down.

So today, in fitting, when I was asked to try on a pair of shorts to cross fit on a smaller body, I didn't think anything of it. But when I put them on and they practically feel off I was feeling a little WTF. I had always been a little smaller, but this small? We started taking guesses on my waist size, which I gauged to be somewhere around 27"? 27 1/2"? how small could I be really? What? my waist is between a 0-2? oh but my hips are between an 8-10? Oh that is just fabulous news, really I am jumping up and down with excitement right now.

Dear Body,

I am good to you, I don't smoke and I only drink sometimes (and only the good stuff!). I work out, and I eat good things, I sleep and I stretch my muscles often. Why do you hate me so much you cannot learn to grow proportionately! I am not sure what more you want me to do. I tried the organic dairy free thing, remember how much you didn't like that?? I can't take you off coffee, things don't go very well for either one of us. I am not even planning on running a marathon this year!!

Love and Kisses - ME

In all reality I get over it quite easily. I have given up on having smaller hips many years ago. Let's face it, I am not cut out for a restrictive diet. I would rather have a normal life. I would quite honestly rather be able to eat ice cream, and I think those around me would agree, I much more enjoyable when I am fed.

xx Sara

marathon is not a synonym for race

Nothing frustrates me more in life, than speaking to someone about a marathon and having them ask, "How long is this marathon?" I understand that it would be akin to me making a mistake about anything they take interest in and I do not.

But let me just clear something up in case there is any lingering confusion. The word "marathon" is not a synonym for the word "race". If I say I ran, signed up for or am training for, a marathon, the distance will always be the same.

Marathon = 26.2 miles. Always. It will be the same distance tomorrow, next week, ten years from now. A ten mile race is not a marathon, it is a 10 mile race. A half marathon is exactly that, it's half a marathon, 13.1 miles. An ultra marathon is anything that exceeds the length of a marathon, such as 30, 50, and 100 miles.

Although because I do not want to be mean, if you DO ask, I will probably just answer with a smile, shaking my head inside that you do not remember from the last time we talked about it. Just please, PLEASE for my sake try to remember? I put in all this hard work and dedication and I don't have a whole lot of energy left at the end of the day so can't you please do this one thing for me and remember these distances?

It would please me so very much

xx Sara

The thing we dread the most is the thing we most want to do.

When Boyfriend calls me at 3:30 to say hi as he is driving home from work, he doesn't stay on the phone long. He says he doesn't want to keep me because I am very stressed. Only I am not stressed at all, and I tell him that. I am not stressed, upset, or any negative emotion. I have caught up on all my work and am helping out other members of the team. But for some reason my body just did not get the memo that it is not a day to be lazy, because I am TIRED. Ok and I will admit it I am feeling pretty anti social. Maybe it is the rain pouring down outside the window, or the fact that Boyfriend has promised me a tall bottle of red wine when I get home, but the last thing on my mind is going to the gym.

It's a Tuesday, which means I should be resting tonight after work but instead I will be trotting out four miles on the endless belt of boredom. Actually I will be churning out four mind numbingly difficult miles just to punish myself for the sluggish attitude I have had all day. This all because I did my longest run on a Sunday, and didn't want to go back to back into Monday. Instead I will run Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

I change my Itunes playlist from Carrie Underwood to Kanye West. Because yes, despite all the controversy surrounding him, I still love his Graduation album. It reminds me of the summer I graduated from college and several long lazy runs along the river. The right amount of chill vibe mixed with the kind of steady beat that keeps you going.

But this does not perk me up at all. The trouble is I want to do a hard workout. I want to do crunches, and lunges, and squats. I want my hamstrings and abs to burn, and shake and I want to feel like I am making progress. I want to be in the gym but I know I am tied to my desk. Don't get me wrong I love my job, I love my work, but I WANT to be in the gym. I want to be sweating and working hard. I want my headphones on, blasting rhythm in my ears as I go for another set of reps. Just thinking about my workout is getting me more energized. And that's when I realize my lethargy is not being caused by my lack of desire to work out. The fact that I am NOT working out is causing me to feel lazy.

Twenty two more minutes and I will be in my glory.

xx Sara

The real deal

The piercing sound of my ringing phone breaks me from my peaceful sleep. Crawling out of my cave of blankets and pillows I reach to shut off my alarm only to realize it is my mother calling. I muster up all the energy I have to say "Hello" and when she asked If I am ok, I don't sound that good I respond with "You just woke me up, I am tired". She let's me go, and at first I plan on going back to sleep but then I realize the sun is streaming through my windows. I'm awake, I might as well do this running thing and get it over with right?

But my body begs to differ. It feels like I am hungover, my whole body, even my head, aches and my throat feels dry. But I didn't drink last night, so what gives. Well instead I awoke at 5am on Saturday to take the train into Manhattan and spent the day with my mom and sisters directing them every which way, to shopping, eating, more shopping, and finally a show before they we were both on our way back home. I stretch my legs out, roll over onto my back, and try to convince by body to get out of bed. Clearly I need to work on being a little stronger at convincing myself because the next think I know it I am waking up again, and it is an hour and a half later. The sun is gone, and once I can keep my eyes open for more than a minute at a time I call my mother back. I tell her how tired I am and how cold it is outside.

Her response is "so wear gloves" and this is why I love my mother. She knows everything I've been through and then some. She knows there are no excuses. But she also knows when you can make compromises. When I tell her about my dilemma with all the plans I am trying to fit into one day she tells me to run with whatever time I have, and then move onto the next thing. And she's right. I may not be able to fit 13 miles into a 35 degree Sunday after spending Saturday walking around Manhattan and then be ready to go to Boyfriend's Parents house for Palm Sunday by 2pm. Just too many things. But does that mean I should skip my run all together? Certainly not. So I roll my sore body out of bed and get it some water, Ibuprofen, and a whole wheat bagel with peanut butter. All the basic necessities for recovery. I pick out all the essential cold weather gear, running tights, sports bra, technical tee, Nike running jacket (aka the speed skater jacket), gloves, and for today my white and navy Boston Red Sox hat. Just to be clear I am a Phillies fan, but I grew up in Massachusetts so I own a white had with a navy blue B on the front. And I wear it when I need a little kick in the butt to remind me one day I want to run Boston. And I wear it when it rains.

Once out the door, I am pleasantly surprised that I am not greeted by bitter cold air and happily start down the street at a decent pace. This is the part of the run where I feel the best. All the doubt and excuse pushed aside, when I finally get out that door and before my body has realized what has happened, I am happy. It only takes a few moments before I realize how grey and dreary it is outside and how empty the streets are. I pass a man running in the opposite direction and we nod and say a quick good morning to each other. It's as if we both acknowledge that it's a crappy day but yet we are both out running, so we must be serious hard core runners. Joggers don't come out on days like this.

Twelve minutes into my run I realize once again I forgot to take my inhaler before leaving my apartment. I am at least a mile out, only have one hour to run, and refuse to go back home. Smart people would probably turn around and go home, but smart people probably wouldn't be out here in the first place. So I keep on going, and I don't even slow down. I just decide to push myself at a moderate pace and see how far I can get. I had decided to run along the Lincoln Drive Trail because it always seems to feel shorter than two miles and the hills break up the run really well. I say 'Hi' or 'Good morning' to every runner that passes me, not because I am feeling particularly cheery, but because I have a respect for them being out here on a day like today. If I had been feeling down on myself earlier for not being able to run the distance I had wanted, I had pretty much let that feeling go.

Sometimes it's not about the distance you cover, or the speed at which you run, but the difficulties which you overcome to get out and run. I don't know many other people that would choose to leave a warm comfy bed and cozy pj's for a cold rainy early afternoon run. In fact had it not been for my mother, I probably would have made up enough excuses to convince myself it was ok to spend the morning in bed. By the time my watch has hit 20 minutes I have passed a handful of real hardcore runners and the secluded path by the creek is ending.

It opens up to Main Street and I have to cross traffic to continue my run. Ahead of me I see the light flash to walk and I don't know if I can muster enough energy to get to the crosswalk before the light turns back to red. But then the caution hand appears and a countdown from 12. I think "this is it, I have to make it. I am being challenged by the hand, can I make it in twelve seconds" My legs whirl underneath me as I come out of the trees, the sign taunts me, 9, 8, 7. My lungs burn as I watch the orange numbers flash before my eyes, 5, 4 and then I am across. Panting for air, people gathered at the bus stop must be looking at me like I am some sort of alien, running in the rain, racing against traffic lights, but I continue on. I am not going to let anything slow me down. I reach the top of a hill just as my watch hits 28 minutes and decide this will be the turn around mark. The wind immediately whips at my face and I realize I have been running with it and the second half of this journey is going to be more painful than I thought. Although by this point it is raining, and sunny, and cloudy all at once. I am halfway done and should be feeling great but fatigue is building in my legs and lungs as I charge back down hill into the wind.

I will myself to keep going and start breaking my run into little bitty pieces so they don't seem so scary. Just have to make it past the CVS, and then just have to make it past the movie theater, just have to make it to the top of the hill, and then the next hill. And when I get to those hills I make my legs really work. There will be no easy jog up these hills, I make my quads and hamstrings burn in pain as they climb me to the top. Nothing like a lot of pain to help convince me the slower I run the longer I have to stay out here. Every hill I tackle I remind myself that I am out here when no one else is, so just keep going at a steady pace and finish. I climb the last hill, and make may way out of the woods again, pushing myself as far as I can go until I am stopped by a red light. I am a mere 1/8th of a mile away from the finish and I jog in place stretching my arms out away from my sides. I realize to the cars passing by I must look like some crazy person trying to take flight, but they do not understand, so I do not care. The light is green, and I take off.

The end of a run has never felt as good as that last two minutes running back to my front door. The pain I had experienced that morning has all but left me. My feet, cushioned by my wonderful sneakers are no longer throbbing in pain, my legs no longer feel like lead. I feel energized, and alive, so glad, and proud that I managed to fit in a run. I ran with out my inhaler and didn't need to stop along the way gasping for breath. I managed to keep around a 10 mm pace. It is not always the goals you think most important that give you the most glory. Sometimes just getting out and running in the rain, convincing myself to keep going despite any doubt and discomfort I may have been feeling, is the thing that makes you the strongest. Anyone can have a good run, but a real runner finishes a bad one no matter what.

xx Sara

Regaining my confidence.

I know there was a time when I was a confident runner. I remember it, so it has to be true right? I thought with enough hard work I could conquer any goal, achieve any PR, even qualify for Boston if I really wanted to. Larry believed in me, he pushed me, and in the months leading up to Hartford I felt like I was on top of the world. My goal was to break (or at least come close to) 4 hours. Everything about that day was perfect, except my race.

I held it together for the first ten miles, keeping in close to the 4:00 pace group. I remember starting to doubt myself around mile twelve when my breathing was becoming more labored than normal. I had mentally given up before I even met up with Larry to run the second half of the race and I fought with myself over stopping until I reached the finish line. Knowing you want to give up at the halfway point and forcing yourself to run 13 more miserable miles is probably the most brutal punishment one can give themselves. I had PR'd by 8 minutes which boggled my mind because it felt like I was dying most of the time. I didn't have the 'first marathon' high that I had at Philly. My family, dressed in red shirts painted with "Go Sara, Break Four" gathered around me to congratulate me, they were so proud. But I was crushed. What had happened to me out there? Instead of making up a reason or excuse, I simply settled on the fact that maybe running a 4 hour marathon was not in the cards for me.

If marathons were as dreadful as the nearly five hours that I had just suffered through I never wanted to go through that again. If ever race all I could manage was a mere 8 minute PR, I wouldn't be qualifying for Boston until I was almost 50. I decided to take time off from running until I could figure out my life. I finally singed up for the Philadelphia Half Marathon late in the summer of 2009 but neglected to train and that race too, was a failure. Fine. The marathon clearly isn't for me, it is just too much distance and I am not strong enough a runner to finish one I am proud of so I just won't do them. I turned my back on the marathon and instead went back to my good friend the half. It started with one, just one race to prove to myself I could still do it. But with my first race being in April that left the rest of the year a little empty. Ok so maybe I could do two races, one in September, but that still left the whole summer with no goal to keep me going. That's when I stumbled across Boston 13.1 and began training with Team Challenge. It was on my first training run with this group that I really began to look inside myself and all the doubt I had been putting on my ability.

One of the common topics of conversation while running with new people is your running history. When did you start, why did you start, races you have run etc. I told my story of running two marathons, failing at the second one, and taking time off before starting to get back into it. Talking about my failure out loud, in a way made me conscious of why I had failed in the first place. I couldn't breathe. And I spent a year going to a spread of doctors to find out what had been wrong with me. But now I knew what was wrong with me, and I knew how to fix it. I had experienced runs recently where I forgot to take my inhaler beforehand and felt the same suffocating feeling from Hartford. So if I had fixed the one thing that was broken, who's to say I really CAN'T run a 4 hour marathon. Who's to say I CAN'T qualify for Boston in the next few years? In the past few days I have been doing a lot of thinking, and realizing that I have not been giving myself enough credit. I am famous for saying "No Excuses", but maybe admitting the race sucked because of my asthma is not an excuse. Maybe it's just something that happened, that I learned from and am not a stronger person because of. After all I did finish the marathon although in total agony. I have spent enough time beating myself up for it, it's time to just get out there and just RUN.

UNITE Half Marathon @ Rutgers in 23 days.

xx Sara