Revival of the Blog, Revival of the Runner. Ready for Tecumseh!

I was going to wait until after the marathon to write this, but in the midst of all of these psychological effects of taper, I feel like the time is now.  Last April I finished my second marathon, and it was even more of a disaster than the first.  I walked away from that finish line feeling defeated and trapped in a cycle of promising training followed by disappointing races.  I felt like I had so much speed potential that peaked through in my training, but never stayed for long, and never even appeared on a race day.  I was plagued with injury.  Each time I began to make progress in my endurance, my bad knee would give out, and I'd be forced to the couch for weeks.  Each time I thought I was ready for a race, I let my anxiety overwhelm me and control me.  I crumbled into a pile of weak mush, and I was defeated before I even crossed the start.

Feeling like I want to die in the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon.  April, 2012.

It was time for big changes.  Anyone that knows me well knows that I have a pretty extreme aversion to change.  If you don't know me too well, that may seem strange, given the world traveling, alternating lives in tents and houses, etc.  Still, I'm about the most structured, rigid person that I know.  Desperate times, however, call for desperate measures.

Like most things about marathon training, these changes carried over into a lot more of my life than running alone.  Do any of you follow my travel blogs?  If you do, you might remember this entry from my first day in Uganda, titled "Value in Solitude":

"The thought of spending hours upon hours of time when I am in my most focused, most driven state with another individual yapping at me, expecting me to share my deepest thoughts and redirect energy to connect with them has never drawn me in.  When I run through town, breezing past crowds of students standing at a bus stop, or alongside groups of friends walking to class, I feel like I am all alone in a comforting sea of people, zipping by a stationary scene within my tunnel of observation.  It is one of the few times when I can be around other people, observing them, wondering about them, without ever having to bother with formalities of small talk or polite “hello’s.”  I can be entirely focused on my own thoughts, or the people around me, or the sights, or even the position and motion of each part of my body (which I spend a surprising amount of time contemplating). "

So yes, that was me.  Rigid, focused, determined, loner-Alicia.  In fact, that's always been me.  I had one or two really close friends that I would actually share things with, but for the most part, I liked to talk about two things: running and research.  Small talk made me uncomfortable.  Those are valuable traits for a field researcher, but, as it turns out, that lifestyle does not mesh well with crowded races.

I decided that if I was ever going to run a marathon that didn't turn into an utter disaster of nervous vomit (I'm not being hyperbolic or metaphoric there.  That is what my marathons consisted of), I needed to change everything about my training style, especially my aversion to interacting with other people.  So, I took a giant metaphorical gulp and then made the dive:  I joined my local running club.

I'd seen BARA (Bloomington Area Runners Association) on their group runs around town or in races before, and I even knew one or two members.  They seemed like a cult to me.  Then again, most tight networks of alliances struck me as cult-like.

The other thing that I decided to change was my running surface.  I love hiking, and chasing monkeys and apes through dense rain forests has made me pretty great at it.  There seemed to be a shift toward trails happening in the running world, so I thought I'd give the fad a try.  Mixing the place where I felt most comfortable and at ease with the sport that gave me the highest sense of accomplishment seemed like a win-win risk to take.  Plus, soft earth rather than harsh pavement sounded like a knee-pleaser.

So, on one cool, sunny Sunday morning I pulled myself out of my warm bed, took my coffee and toast on the road, and I met a group of runners from BARA at an empty ice cream stand to explore some trail.  I'm sure they had no idea that I was so nervous about running with them that I felt nauseous on the way to the park.  With in the first 5 miles of the run, however, something crazy happened.  My nerves began to settle.  I was so focused on my heavy breathing, my even strides, the drops of sweat on my forehead, that I forgot to feel socially awkward. I found myself opening up, making small talk!  They all knew so much about running, training, gear, the best races, the worst races.  Those were the fastest, most fun 13 miles of my life.  I came home already feeling like I was a member of something, a part of a team.  It sounds incredibly cheesy, but that's a feeling that this nerd has never really had.

Over the next several months each member of BARA that I ran with made me a better runner and a better person in their own way.  I began registering for races on a whim, something this rigid planner never would have done before.  My first race with my new friends was on a trail outside of Indy.  The start gun went off, and I felt my body start to lock up, like it usually does.  My stomach was upset, I wanted to vomit, my legs were cramping.  One of the BARA runners, Craig, flew around me as we ascended the first hill.  It might as well have been a mountain from where I was panting and staggering on it.  My eyes were firmly planted on the dirt beneath me, my head on the powerful ascent ahead.  Through heavy, struggled breath I heard Craig mumble to me, "Come on Alicia, just like the hills on Low Gap.  You know how to do this."  That was all it took.  I smiled, shook my arms, and reached deep enough for that second gear that I'd never been able to find in a race before.  And then the success followed.

My first trail race with BARA:  I won 2nd place in my division!

I finished a race with a smile that day.  And a PR.  And a new outlook on running.  The next several months I would win more prizes and confidence than I ever had in my life, and I would owe most of it to these people, this organization, and my willingness to let go of a bit of control.

Miranda, another member in the group, became one of my female running-heros.  She fooled me by letting me keep up with her in training.  She never let on how fast she was, the PR's she was hiding under her belt, the pure grit she had on the trail in a race.  Then I would see her on race day, focused, intense, and fast.  Afterward, if you tried to ask her about her speed, she'd assume her typical shy, humble demeanor and write it off.  My new pacing strategies in races became to finish within sight distance of Miranda.  Sometimes I managed, others it was just too much.  There was Evan, who talked about training seemingly impossible distances like 50 milers.  He invited me to run on a relay team with him and some others.  Again it will seem silly to them now, but I was the kid that was picked last for every team in school.  Just being asked to be on a team made me feel like a new person.  Other BARA runners, like Hazler, Christy, Heather, Rachel, and Chris had this infectious attitude toward running that I needed more than anything.  They talked about it like it was just plain fun, like a party.  What a novel idea.  Running for fun?  Turns out, it makes you a better runner.

Another group photo before a recent rail race.

Then there were Steph and Ben, the founders of the group.  They were like super heroes from the first time that I saw them run.  They were such seasoned, real runners.  Running seemed like walking to them, so easy, effortless, like a given part of their day.  Their breath barely changed as they would surge ahead on a climb.  They seemed to know everything about races and training.  One day, Steph, the running super hero herself, gave me the final boost of confidence that I needed to finally find the third gear of my race speed.  "Don't take this the wrong way," she once said on a run, "but your half PR surprises me.  I've seen you on training runs, and I know you're faster than that."  Finally, the validation that I needed.  Then she paced me, pushed me a little, and tried to keep me talking.  "You could BQ," she concluded.  I don't think she had any idea what that comment meant to me, or how far it would carry me in the next several races.  I went on to begin placing in my age group.  And in the next half, I created a new PR, the one that Steph told me I could get.

I placed in my division or in overall females in every race that I did after that, except for the Monumental Half Marathon, where I wiped out my previous PR.  Every race was a PR, a new award, a new me, a fun party with my friends.

Is that a SMILE?!

So, on Saturday I am about to run my first trail marathon, my third marathon.  More importantly, I am about to run the first marathon that does not turn into a nerve-vomit-mess.  It will be the first marathon that feels like a party, a new me, a successful marathoner.  After the amazing season that I've had, I don't even care that much about my time (okay, I'm still me.  I care a little).  I finally know what the good anticipation feels like before a race, because surely this is it.  I picture the finish line not just with me crossing it, but with each member of my team running across.  I can't wait to see them at the start, to feed off of the excitement, to shake away the nerves, to be a part of a group.  That's right, loner me, a part of that group.

Thanks, BARA.  You guys helped me find a new version of myself this year.

The Race Report: IU Mini Marathon March 31, 2012

The Line-up:

The icy pre-dawn air of a race morning always seems to conceal my nerves a bit.  I tell myself that the shaking and fidgeting is a consequence of the cold.  After running back and forth to the port-a-potties countless times (nervous pee-er: that's me), I found my way to the crowd beginning to gather at the start line.  That is always an energy that you cannot replicate anywhere else.  Some people are chattering uncontrollably, laughing too loudly, nervously.  Others, like me, stand in silence, exchanging glances, wondering if anyone else feels as nervous as them, feels more ready than them.  I swear, standing there, motionless, thinking about the task before you; that is always the longest ten minutes of a race.  I usually jump up and down, half-heartedly stretch a few more times, bounce my legs around as though I'm going to magically cure all of the knee problems that I'm fretting over in the minutes before a race.

Miles 1-3:

When the gun goes off, I have to summon all of the self-control that I have to not burst forward like a tornado of pent-up energy, tension, nerves, and well-conditioned muscle.  That is my favorite thing about long distance races, though.  They are about more than the muscle you've worked so hard to train and condition.  Distance races are more than anything an exercise in wisdom, restraint, self-awareness, and perfect timing, not pure power.

I held myself back this time better than I ever have before.  This was actually only my second half marathon.  In the marathon last year, I was a bundle of energy for the first 6 miles, hoping over curbs, onto sidewalks, speeding around people, waving my arms.  I felt almost like I was dancing.  We all know that feeling did not last all 26.2 miles though.  My goal for the mini this time was to test my ability to pace myself, to control my power, plan every mile, and stick to that plan.  I started slow.  I checked my Garmin (GPS runner's watch) obsessively for the first 5 miles.  "Don't go under 9 (9:00 minutes per mile), don't go under 9," I kept repeating to myself.  I may have even said it out loud.  People were flying by me, some of them clearly in far worse shape than me.  I saw people waving their arms around, engaging in a personal celebration on mile one, giving each stride their full forces of energy stores.  I swallowed my pride, stared down at my watch, and let them go by.  "Save them for later," I kept telling myself.  Aside: Yes, I do actually talk to myself this much on every long run.  It's the only way I'd ever get through a whole marathon training season of solo-long runs.  I call it runner's-schizophrenia.

On mile 2 we hit Jordan Hill.  For those of you that know Bloomington, it begins at the intersection of North Jordan Avenue and East 17th Street then travels all of the way through Fraternity lane until you reach the intersection with Law Lane.  For those of you that don't know Bloomington, it is 1.04 miles of winding, non-stop-uphill, and it gets steeper with each block.  I'd been practicing this hill twice per week.  Each time taking fewer walk breaks, making it farther to the top.  This time I'd decided to make it all of the way up and over, and I did!  As I reached the crest of the hill, two girls were holding a sign that said "You're almost there!  The next two miles are all downhill!"  As I passed them and crested the hill I gave myself a smile, a nod, and a short celebration of my victory.

Miles 3-6:

As we reached mile 3 people were no longer flying by me.  Things started to reach a sort-of status-quo for a while.  The mood was cheerful, but much more subdued.  My legs felt warm now; my heart rate was steady.  As I ran past my supporters (Mom, Dad, Adam, Adam's parents) I slipped off my arm warmers and handed them to my mom.  Warm-up completed.  Now I let myself settle in to 8:50 per mile.

Passing off my arm warmers. Warm-up completed!

  

This is a good time to mention my other goal for this race: hydration.  Usually I relied on the aid stations set up every two or so miles with water and gatorade.  In last year's marathon, however, I found real problems with my hydration, and this ultimately led to the longest final six miles of my life.  This time I chose to carry two 10 oz bottles on my own hydration belt.  One bottle was filled with Powerade Zero, the other with Vitargo S2.  Rather than try to gulp down water every two miles at an aid station, wondering in between when that next station will be, how crowded it will be, how much I should drink, I sipped constantly and slowly.  As we approached aid stations, everyone would move to the right side, slowing down, stopping, crowding, gulping down water.  I would move to the left and glide around everyone, sipping away at my own, perfectly mixed concoctions. 

Miles 7-10:

Things changed as we reached mile 7.  This is one of the hilliest half marathons in the country.  As we crested yet another hill, I saw people start to fall apart.  The mood had swiftly changed, and so had the pace.  This was when I let my legs loosen up more, and I gave my body permission to assume its most comfortable pace.  I dialed it up to 8:20, and I began to do just what I'd been waiting the whole race for, picking them off, one by one, mile after mile.  People started walking, curling over, shaking their heads in disbelief that we'd only reached the half-way point.  I started smiling, having fun, dancing with my strides.  Halfway was where I'd planned to let my body go and begin to enjoy the race.  I popped a couple of Cliff Extra-Salt Shot Bloks, sipped away at my Vitargo bottle, and motored on.

Miles 11-13.1:

8:20 was not my 5K pace, and I still had one more speed-up planned for the finish.  As we reached mile 11, we ran past a restaurant with outdoor seating, cresting a hill as everyone cheered at their tables.  My legs were starting to feel fatigued, my mind just a bit more foggy.  I popped one more shot blok, took a gulp of vitargo, and shook some tension from my fists.  Within minutes I felt the sugar wake me up, and I knew it was time for the final stretch.  I found that extra reserve in my legs, the extra beats my heart was ready to give, and I set my legs completely free for the first time in the race.  My pace ducked below 8:00, hanging around 7:50.  I used the extra muscle left in my arms to propel myself as my legs tired.  Most importantly: I smiled.  Smiling in a race is the best thing that you can do to keep your spirits up, and your focus on the finish line.

The final 800 meter push was uphill.  Still, I'd planned to sprint this, and I pulled every energy reserve I had left to do it.  I passed at least 5 people on that final stretch as we all saw the finish line, and I even had enough energy for full victory arms as I crossed the line.  That was the best I've ever felt after a race.  I was smiling, celebrating, feeling reassured that I was almost ready for the real race day.  My final time was 1:56:30, not a PR, but as good as I'd hoped for on an extra hilly training race without any taper.  Bring on the home stretch of training!  Next time I'm going for a PR!

Sprinting and passing on the final stretch!

I did it!  Feeling good after the finish!

And Adam finished his first 5K!

Post-race celebrating

Race day preparations: IU Mini Marathon

The day before a race you can bet that I will always be an anxious bundle of energy.  I can hardly sit down the whole day, and my mind is constantly pacing through all of the race plan details.  I think about exactly what pace I can run each mile at, and waste time mulling over where I can shave off minutes from each mile.  I think about exactly when I will drink, what I will drink, when I will eat, what I will eat.  I try to picture every hill, every turn, every little detail about the course.  Most of all, I focus on the final stretch, over and over again.  I picture myself sprinting, think about that final store of energy that is always hidden at the end of a race, picture myself reaching for it, grabbing it, and powering right through the finish line.  I even decide on exactly which pose I will take as I cross that line.

This is why I have trouble focusing on any detail of my day before a race.  People try to talk to me, hold a conversation with me, and I have to fight to keep my eyes glued to them, to keep some part of my mind present.  Race anxiety always hits me like a brick wall.  This is why I knew I needed a training race before the marathon this season.  I pick the IU Mini Marathon, a 13.1 mile extra-hilly race through Bloomington, IN, almost exactly one month before marathon-day.  The race did exactly what I'd hoped it would for me.

Rituals are my solution for this type of anxiety.  I have a whole list of pre-race/pre-long-run rituals, most of which are meaningless physically, but ease much of my tension by giving me a mindless activity to feel as though I am making myself more prepared for the next day.  I chug Powerade Zero for 24 straight hours to hydrate myself as much as possible.  It is really hard for my body to absorb hydration while I am running, so it is best for me to start out at full hydration capacity.  I also protein-load.  Many runners still carbo-load, but I feel like it is becoming an outdated nutrition strategy.  As a vegetarian (or technically an ovo-lacto-pescatarian - someone who eats dairy, eggs, and fish only), I've found that my body demands an extra amount of protein while I'm training.  I carry a giant protein shake of Spiru-tein and chocolate soy milk around and chug it all afternoon.  For dinner I always eat a veggie burger on spelt bread with hummus.

I keep a bottle of nail polish tucked away that I only apply the night before a race.  It's fluorescent pink, which has sentimental significance (see this post).  Pink and purple are my power colors, and I am always decked out in them on a race day.  I use my foam roller on my quads, my IT bands, my gluteals, my hamstrings, and my calf-muscles for 30-40 minutes before bed.  This works out any leftover knots in my muscles and also heats them up enough to be more pliable for a little bit of pre-bed stretching.  More importantly, it seems to melt away my anxiety.  Let me warn you though, this is a painful therapy if you have tight or overworked muscles.  I meticulously select each article of clothing and gear that I will wear, laying out my watch, shirt, shoes, shorts, socks, etc. on the top of my dresser, then stuffing them into my bag made from a Kenyan flag (again, don't ask why this makes me faster.  It doesn't, it's silly, but it's a part of my ritual).  Then, I lay in bed with an ice pack wrapped around my bad knee while I watch motivational videos on youtube (see post).

I rarely get a good night's rest.  This is why two nights before a race it is important to sleep as much as possible.  As early as 4:30 AM, I pulled myself out from the warm covers, slipped on the running clothes that I'd so carefully prepared the night before.  I lathered on some anti-chaffing creme and laced up my shoes.  I prepared my strict pre-run breakfast: a bowl of steel-cut oatmeal with brown sugar and a cup of coffee with chocolate soy milk followed by a package of Cliff Extra-Salt Shot Bloks and a bottle of Powerade Zero to snack on before the race.  Adam gave me full rein of the music on our way to the start line.  We listened to my running power mix and tried to make small talk before running back through my pacing and hydration plan.  Before I knew it we were there, and it was time for line-up, my least favorite part of every race.

Thank you, Kathrine Switzer

http://www.npr.org/blogs/thetwo-way/2012/04/02/149876890/photo-the-first-woman-to-enter-the-boston-marathon?sc=fb&cc=fp

Motivational Videos: Recent Youtube Favorites

I love motivational videos.  Here are some of my recent faves:

Enjoy!

The Hydration Chest: I unlocked it!

Many of you know that I have been battling some major hydration issues during this training season.  I tried everything, and I just couldn't seem to get it right.  I often drank so much that I felt nauseous but still incredibly thirsty.  I was suffering from indigestion, and this delirious, dizzy feeling that left me feeling utterly drained by the end of each long run.  Well I think I've just about worked out my perfect combination.  I should point out here that, unfortunately, this combination is always completely different for each person.

Pre-run: Vespa!  This is an amazing amino acid supplement in liquid form.  You gulp down a little packet of it and you are promised improved, long-lasting mental clarity.  The amino acid formula is supposed to initiate the utilization of fat, a much more efficient source of energy, instead of glucose.  I've had blood sugar problems all of my life.  My mother and sister suffer from hypoglycemia as well, so I can't believe I hadn't considered that the problems I've been having are related to the way that my body metabolizes sugar far to fast.  I take a gel, it rushes to my bloodstream, gives me an instant high, and then crashes my entire energy stores within 20 minutes.

Pre and during run: Powerade Zero  Apparently all of the gatorade that I was drinking was doing bad things to my energy stability and digestion as well.  Powerade Zero is loaded with sodium, potassium, and electrolytes, but sugar and carbohydrate free.  It keeps me hydrated without the sloshing feeling or the extreme highs and lows.

During Run:  I take one Clif Block (Extra Salt, Caffeine-free) every 7 miles.  If my stomach is starting to hurt or cramp, this seems to calm it down quickly.  I carry two 10 oz bottles on my awesome hydration belt.  The first bottle is full of Powerade Zero, and I drink that within the first 7 miles.  Next I polish off a bottle of Vitargo S2, which gives me a more constant supply of carbohydrates to sip away at.  I station two 20 oz bottles of Powerade Zero along the rest of my route, so that as I empty these first two bottles on my belt, I can refill them with as much Powerade Zero as needed to finish the run.

Post Run: I keep a Nu Go Protein Bar (Dark Chocolate Pomegranate is my favorite) in my car and down one on the drive home from a long run.  This makes sure that my body has the protein that it needs for instant recovery and muscle building as soon as I finish a run.

And in the end... I felt great!  This was the first time ever that I caught myself grinning during mile 17 of a 20 mile run.  Next week I will be repeating this scenario for the IU Mini Marathon!

The Doubt Battle

"Sometimes, the moments that challenge us the most - define us."  - Deena Kastor

Every day we are surrounded by hundreds of dissenting opinions, and a few of those opinions may even be directed at us.  I don't know about you, but I occasionally encounter some negative opinions (expressed both verbally and nonverbally) mixed in with the good.  Normal? I think so.  Why is it, then, that a single negative voice can have such a lasting impact on us?  If we hear a constant mix of the bad and the good, why does the bad always seem so much louder, so much truer, so much more memorable?  Listening to those ever-ringing negative voices more than the positive ones can have such detrimental effects to all areas of our lives, and they become even more dangerous when we hear them enough that the negativity becomes the voice that we repeat inside of our own heads, day after day.

I might be guilty of this more than most, or maybe I'm just not aware of how much other people listen to their own negative little voices all day.  Either way, it cuts into my fitness, my career, and my personal life more than I should let it.  A few weeks ago I went to the track for a very important speed workout designed into the training plan that I am following.  It's called the "Yasso 800" workout.  Basically, after a 1-2 mile warm up, you run a series of six 800-meter repeats at 100% effort, with 400 meters of slow jogging in between to let your heart rate recover (then you run a 1-2 mile cool down at the end).  Everything I've read tells me that this amazing workout is the best predictor of your marathon finishing time according to your current fitness.  If you average all 6 repeats at 4 minutes, you should finish your marathon in 4 hours.  If your time is 4 minutes and 30 seconds, your marathon finish will be 4 hours and 30 minutes.  I was hoping to average out these repeats in 4 minutes each to put me on target for a marathon finish of 4 hours.

I ran the first set and looked down at my watch.  Then I looked again.  Then I squinted and rubbed the sweat out of my eyes before I held the watch closer to my face.  3:28!  That's right, my watch said 3:28, a whopping 32 seconds faster than my goal.  Before I even gave myself a pat on the back, I heard that awful little voice.  "It's only the first set.  There's no way you can hold this for 5 more.  Clearly you didn't warm up right.  Clearly you're doing these wrong, or the articles are all completely wrong."  Suddenly I caught myself.  I realized how ridiculous this was.  Mid-lap I shook my head and shut my eyes, unclenched my fists and shook the tension out of my wrists.  "Let's try this again.  3:28, you ran 3:28!  The work is paying off!"  I realized I was smiling now, and I'd started my second set.  I felt my arm muscles take charge and my feet striking faster.  Throughout the whole workout I did this.  I kept hearing the negativity, feeling it creeping up on me, and then shoving it down deeper, forcing my own praise and realizing that I'd earned these faster times.

I averaged all of my 800s in exactly 3 minutes and 30 seconds.  The negative voice was not ready to give up.  I walked away from the track coming up with all of the reasons that this kind of time really meant nothing that important, that I still had so much more progress to make.  The sound of my own negativity can almost be deafening at times.  I stopped it again though, and I celebrated.  I celebrated this single small victory, and smiled all of the way home, because I don't think that any of us do that enough. Training will break you if you don't celebrate the small victories.  Life will break you if you don't celebrate them.  If you let your whole life pass you by while you are acknowledging all of the tiny things that you could have done better without stopping to truly reward yourself for the daily improvements and milestones that you make, it will all have been for nothing.  The big steps are nothing compared to the hundred small ones we make.

That celebration paid off.  Days later when I was in the midst of an 18 mile run, feeling my fuel running low, the water sloshing in my gut while the rest of my body cried with an unquenchable thirst, I told myself that I surprised myself once this week, and this was one more chance to do it again.  Had I never celebrated that, I would have never been able to conquer my doubts when I needed to most.

Training Updates for Fellow Runners

Quick non-philosophical rundown on how training is going:

Knee pain kicked in two weeks ago.  I was forced to terminate a short, easy run when I felt the pain that I knew was not a typical ache, but a more serious inflammation of my patellar tendon.  I felt it again for most of my long run that Saturday, but I made it through 16 very slow miles.  I spent most of this last week not running.  I replaced each run with swimming, elliptical, or cycling.  I bought some foam rollers and started rolling out my leg muscles at least twice a day.  If you've never tried foam rollers before, do it now.  They hurt so bad that I kind of want to cry while I roll my quads, and I make a lot of painful noises.  Afterward, I feel like a new runner.

On Thursday I broke my running hiatus for my March time-trial.  I went from 7:19:04 on February 1st to 7:13:99 on March 1st.  I know I can do much better next month.  Most of my celebrating afterward was because I felt zero pain in my knee during the trial.

Yesterday I polished off my 14 mile long run.  I started out feeling amazing, probably from the combination of extra foam rolling, stretching, and rest.  I made a rookie mistake and took this as a chance to go way too fast for the first 7 miles.  I made it through the first 10 miles at a pace of 8:10 per mile, and then started to fall apart.  I was walk-running by the last mile.

This week I'm going to continue foam rolling and try to return to my usual running schedule at a controlled, slow pace.  Next Saturday I'm scheduled to run 18 miles.  My goal is to begin at a 10 minute pace and finish at 8:30 or 9.  I am also trying to workout some hydration issues.  Suggestions are very much welcome!  I have been drinking about 10 ounces of gatorade mixed with two scoops of Vitargo S2 for every 16 miles.  I down one caffeinated GU at mile 10 or 11.  Afterward I get really burpy and have some pretty bad stomach cramps, but I feel like I have an unquenchable thirst from mile 10 on.  I just can't get my hydration figured out!  Also, I don't really like GU.  The texture usually gags me.  Does anyone have any gel alternatives that they like?  Help!

Selfish or Selfless?

Have you ever felt guilty about working out?  Like maybe that time should be spent on something more important, less selfish?  I know I have.  People have even made comments.  I love when people tell me things like, "I think it's so great that you run all of the time, but my life is just too busy for that."

Here's what I'm thinking when someone says that.  Every person I have ever met has filled their life completely.  In fact, not just every person, every primate that I've studied does it.  We are allotted a certain number of hours to acquire enough resources, maintain enough social bonds, provide enough care to offspring, and it is up to use to figure out the most ideal trade-off and balance between those things.  We all do it differently, and we all need to.  After all, we are all occupying our own unique micro-niche in the world.  Believe me, I am still figuring out how to maintain my own balance.  I'm trying to earn a PhD, manage several major research projects in the hopes of publication, taking classes, teaching classes, keeping pets alive, being a partner to my fiance, looking presentable, helping my friends, and I would have much more time for those things if I weren't training for a marathon.  Or would I?

My biggest problem with allowing for no exercise in that scenario, is that you will eventually let the entire balance collapse if you have not taken care of yourself.  All organisms need rest.  We need recovery.  We need play.  I chose to do it in a way that recharges me, reenergizes me, and makes my body and brain the healthiest it can be when I shift my focus back to all of those other things.  I can guarantee that every person who claims to be busier has hours that they fill with some other form of play, and if they don't, they are not performing as well at all of their other life commitments as they would without the time away.

This semester, while training the best I ever have, I have become more academically productive than ever.  I've begun to feel like my research is picking up and taking off.  Things are becoming clearer, more cohesive, and more focused than ever.  When I am running, my brain enters a different form of consciousness than at any other time.  I lose control of my thoughts, but I am still aware of them.  I shift so much energy to my heart and my muscles and my lungs, that my neurons begin to fire at random.  What I get is a sort of cleansing or organizing of my thoughts and worries.  I find myself considering my dissertation for a few moments, then my relationships, then back to my research, then onto my house or one of my friends.  After several hours, I feel like I've moved through enough worries to move them each aside, and my body is so exhausted, so sweat soaked and sore, that all of those thoughts fall away.  This is when I shower, sit down, and find an amazing focus and clarity to my work.  This is when my best ideas come to me, when I understand a reading the most.

Most importantly, this is how I've discovered that selfless and selfish are not mutually exclusive.  Spending hours upon hours by myself, running just to run, is definitely not selfless, but it is not selfish either.  It makes me a more cheerful, balanced person.  It makes me a more focused student, a better listener and clearer writer.  I inevitably reach an exhausted point in each day where I feel I can't handle the stress, or I'm losing focus on my work.  This is when I lace up and run it off.  I lose an hour of my workday, but I gain an increase in productivity when I return.

This is why my fiance and I never make one another feel guilty for leaving for a workout.  We are both incredibly busy, and rarely get time together.  It would be easy for one of us to tell the other not to go out today, to stay and and sacrifice.  We understand, however, that taking care of ourselves means being able to take care of one another.  I'd like to think that if I ever become a mother I will be able to maintain this outlook.  I know mothers that, no matter how difficult it occasionally seems, work to keep their physical health and time away from everything as a priority.  I think it makes them enjoy motherhood even more when they're home with their children, and therefore helps their children.

Of course, in the long run, I am already giving any future children a gift.  Each year that I maintain a high level of personal health, fitness, and emotional confidence adds another year of physical self-sufficiency to my long term future.  It means I'll be there for my fiance, my siblings, my whole family once I'm old.  So have you ever felt guilty about taking care of yourself, taking time for yourself?  If you have, remember, taking care of yourself only increases your efficiency in all other areas of your life, so make it a priority.

Wear your pink however you want.

Once or twice a week (depending on how my knee is feeling) I substitute a lunch-hour lap swim for one of my short, easy runs.  I usually arrive just a few minutes before the open lap swim begins, while the IU Master's Swim Team is still having their daily practice.  If you've never heard of a "Master's" athletic team, it's the name given to a group of endurance athletes that are usually 45-50+.  Master's competitions are biggest in swimmers, probably because swimming leaves the least wear and tear on the body, so people who began in their early teens really are masters at it by the time they reach 70.  My guess is that a lot of them are former runners and cyclists as well.  The first few times I arrived early on accident, and felt a little annoyed when I had to sit and wait.  Lately, however, I aim to get in there at least 10 minutes before I'm allowed to enter the pool.  I love to sit and watch them for a few minutes, and I've found that once they're done, I leap into my workout with far more gusto than I do on other days.

Athleticism looks very different on the master team members.  It looks like a self-assured, steady-stroked confidence that I don't see in the perfectly fit 19-year-olds at the larger fitness center across campus.  They swim far faster than me, but this is not so impressive (I've always been one of the world's slowest swimmers.  My body just does not perform the same in water as it does on pavement).  When they swim, it looks so natural and consistent.

These women are nothing like I pictured aging to be when I was a little girl.  Young women in our society are taught to fear reaching the age where they lose control of their bodies and their skin.  We are taught that when you grow up and become a mother, you eventually get old and spend all of your time crying over the loss of purpose and your expanding hips.  The older I get, the more I realize, however, that there are so many ways to grow up and then grow old as a woman, and these ladies are the picture of what I want aging to be.  After their final sets of 50 meter sprints and slow cool down, they peel off their swimming caps and then lounge in the shallow end for a few minutes gabbing about their children's latest problems or the academic or recreational project they've been working on.  They chuckle together and tease, then lift themselves out of the pool and towel off as they enter the locker rooms in small gangs.  They don't look like women that have lost control of their bodies.  These women carry themselves with an air of confidence that you can only earn after years of struggling with identity the way that all of us do.  They own their different balances of muscles, their well-defined quads and rippling shoulders.  My favorite part is the way that they all treat me.  Most women of my age are polite to one another in the gym, but we give one another that infamous glance of comparison.  These women give me smiles of approval or camaraderie.  "Have a nice swim," or "lane's all yours," they always shout as they pass me by.

And this is what I love about sports as a girl.  Athleticism is about control, not finish lines, and not perfect bodies.  When everything else in my life seems to be falling apart or under scrutiny, I have the right to go work out, and I can look however I want to when I do it.  I can wear make up if I want, or not.  I can wear pink or black and any kind of shoes that feel good on my feet.  Female can mean so many more things than I thought it did when I was a tiny child, and these women have spent decades figuring out what it means to them and running with it.

A few days later I was out for a hill run around town.  After the first few miles of hill repeats, I descended into the park for a lap or two of recovery.  That was when I passed a small girl of about 5 years old holding her father's hand.  She had a little pink skirt with frills and big clunky ugg-boots that her little legs were struggling to lift with each step.  We were moving toward one another on the path, me much faster than them.  Her father did not pay any attention to one more runner in the park, but I quickly realized that the little girls eyes were glued to me.  For the first time since I started the run, I became aware of how I must have looked.  Left foot, then right foot striking the asphalt, shaking my sparkling shoelaces in the sunlight as my heals moved from under me to behind in a steady, powerful rhythm.  My arms were swaying at my sides and across my stomach in bright purple flashes of compression sleeves against my black shirt and black spandex pants.  I could feel beads of sweat falling from my bright pink headband that pulled my tangles of blonde curls away from my salty brow.  She was following each step, each swaying arm, and giving me a look that was so familiar.  It was the same stare I'd given those women at the pool, and I felt flushed with pride and responsibility.  I smiled back at her as if to say, "that's right, you can wear your pink however you want."


It's a truth that took me many years to discover, but I'm so grateful that I did.

A Typical Training Week

Just last week one of my students was asking me how I train for a marathon.  Do I run every single day?  Twice a day?  Well it definitely varies from person to person.  Everyone has their own favorite training system or strategy.  A typical marathon plan usually involves working out at least 4-5 days per week.  Many people choose to run all 4 or 5 of those days.  The runs usually include at least one of hill training, one of speed work, and one long run each week.  The long run is just about the only thing that all marathon training plans have in common.  Some people cross-train a lot more than others, and that often depends on a history of injury (like knee problems in my case).  Cross-training is any endurance activity other than running that increases your running fitness.

Mondays:  Hill training!  I run anywhere from 6 to 9 miles of the hilliest route I can find.  Lately I've been trying to incorporate the two largest hills in one of my race courses that I'll be competing in in March.  One of them is nearly 2 miles of steady, unrelenting uphill climbing.  The other is slightly shorter, but much steeper.  Sometimes I'll even run back over these hills, or try to get a few smaller hills in at the end of the run.  In the evening I spend two hours in a Bikram-style Hot Yoga class.  The class gives me an increase in flexibility, and strengthens muscles all over my body that support my form and posture when I'm running.  We also do a lot of deep breathing exercises to slow down the heart rate which I try to incorporate in some of my hill-climbs on my runs.  Adam keeps teasing me that Bikram Yoga has become my answer to anything.  It's really what's keeping my knee problems at bay this time though.

Tuesdays:  Easy running with speed-work at the end.  I run anywhere from 4 to 7 miles at an easy pace with a more moderate number of shorter hills.  I try to focus on enjoying the run and finding a rhythm that is comfortable to me.  At the end of the run I finish at a flat stretch of sidewalk where I run 4 to 6 strides.  That means I let my heart rate slow down to a lower aerobic zone.  Then I speed up as fast as I can until I reach 90% of my max effort.  I hold that for 5 seconds, then slowly decelerate, allow my heart rate to slow back down to a comfortable zone, and repeat.

Wednesdays:  Semi-rest day (3 weeks per month... see below).  I spend 2 hours in a Bikram-style Hot Yoga class.

Thursdays: Currently I spend 30-40 minutes on weight lifting at the gym on campus.  I focus on arm and core strength usually.  Then I attend a 45 minute spinning class that uses stationary cycles to stimulate both hill climbs and speed-work.  In a couple of weeks I will probably be adding in an easy run earlier in the day (maybe just 3 or 4 miles).

Fridays:  Recover swimming.  I swim easy-paced laps for anywhere from 30 to 50 minutes.  This is just to keep my heart rate elevated and my muscles loose before a long run.

Saturday:  The all-important long run.  The distance varies each week as I approach my peak training run of 22 miles 3 weeks before the marathon.  Last weekend I was at 13, and this weekend I will run 15.  After the 22 mile run I will taper for two weeks, so my running intensity and distance slowly decreases to allow my body to recover before the marathon.  Long runs are all about controlled, slow pace and working through race-day strategies.  I practice different ways to carry my water, times to stop for a drink, supplements to use before, during and after the run, and endurance plans for the race.

Sunday:  Full rest day!  I usually go for an easy hike with Adam and the dogs, or spend some time chasing them around at the dog park.  Giving my mind a mental break from training and stress on these days is just important as giving my body a break.

So that is the basis of my training.  I also incorporate frequent strength training into my days in the lab.  I keep a set of weights there and try to take breaks for some arm and core work when I get stumped on a research project or lose focus on a study that I'm reading, or I run through some yoga postures.  On the first wednesday of each month I add in a one mile time trial to track my speed-progress throughout training.  During these, I warm up with a slow jog or fast walk for 10 minutes, run one mile at 100% effort, then slow to a jog or walk for another 10 miles.

In conclusion, basically, I feel like I am always working out.  Hence, the all-important-Sunday-rest-day, because everyone needs a day of rest.

Sponsorship Letter

Below is the letter regarding sponsorship of this marathon:

Dear Family and Friends,

I know that many of you followed my blog during my most recent trip to Africa, and I also know that many of you shed tears with me when I was confronted head-on with the problem of unsupported, helpless orphans all over East Africa.  In case you missed it, here’s an excerpt from that blog entry that I wrote the day I left an orphanage in Kampala, Uganda:

Later that day I was holding a baby that I realized was in desperate need of a change.  This seems the most basic daily need for a baby.  I carried him back to the changing room, only to realize there were no diapers around.  No pampers, and no cloth nappies or towels.  I went into the nearest administrator’s office and asked where the supply was.  She gave me an annoyed glance, then stared back down at her desk and replied, “I gave you the last one an hour ago.”  I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to do then, so I kept pushing, “so should I just wait?  Or should I go somewhere to get more?”  “There are no more,” was all she kept replying, then finally gave me a look that read, you can leave my office now.  I went back to the changing room and stood over this baby in a dirtied diaper, face covered in dried food, eyes seeping tears, and felt completely helpless.  Completely and utterly helpless, that’s what this feeling for the last 24 hours has been, I thought.  I did not know what to do.  I did not know what to do about this baby with no clean diapers.  What to do about this place that needed so much.  What to do with the realization that this was one of thousands of such places, and that thousands more babies existed on the streets in far worse conditions.  What to do?

I honestly have no idea.  I left that day with a heavy heart, feeling completely drained, dismayed, and yet grateful that I’d forced myself to confront this side of my beloved East Africa.  I’ve decided sometimes that’s all we can do.  We can confront an issue.  Confront it, acknowledge the complicated manner, and hope that when the chance arises you will have fostered the compassion needed to do something.  It may sound like a cop-out or a way for me to cope with the troubling issues that I encountered, but the human mind is usually compelled to resolve such conflicts somehow.  This is my temporary resolution.  Head-on confrontation.  I know some of those haunting moments will never leave me, and I am thankful for that.  Haunting moments are what motivate action.

Well, the time is here.  2012 will be the year that I act on the powerful emotions that the Sanyu Babies Home left me with.  A year ago many of you inspired me and pushed me through one of the greatest physical and mental challenges I’ve ever undertaken.  In support of my first marathon, you pulled your funds to raise over $900 for Global Grassroots, and organization that supports female victims of violence in countries scarred by genocide.  I was thrilled by the positive response from everyone, and the idea that something as seemingly selfish as my love for running could bring more awareness to such important issues.  This year, I’m humbly asking for your support again.  The charity that I am trying to bring awareness to this time around is much smaller, and much more personal to me.  That is because a friend that I met in Kenya in 2008 founded it.

Sabina moved to Shinyalu and began volunteering at a local conservation education program just a few months after I’d started working with the monkeys in the forest there.  She is a very kind, generous person that just could not leave Shinyalu at the end of her term without doing more.  She has since formed Little Prinz Children’s Aid Project and is now diligently working on the construction of an orphanage in Shinyalu.  Through her work with parasite prevention and treatment in local children, she and her coworkers felt compelled to take in two severely malnourished children (Eunice and Lawrence) and provide them a chance at life in their own homes.  The children flourished, and Little Prinz became more than just an Aid Project when Sabina and the others started searching for affordable property for an orphanage.  Their newly purchased property has dormitories, a large kitchen, and great indoor and outdoor spaces, things that orphans in the area would not even dream of having in their daily lives.

Eunice in July, 2009*

Eunice in March, 2011*

Lawrence October, 2011* 

Lawrence June, 2010*

My former fellow researcher and roommate in Kenya, Corey, recently visited Sabina and the new orphanage.  Corey was able to raise enough donations of supplies and money to give Sabina a solid start, but much more help is still needed.  About the same time that I heard from her about this, I was preparing to train for my second marathon, and I needed a good enough reason to push myself even harder this time.

A view of the new orphanage from the garden.*

On April 29, 2012 I will be running the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon, and this time I’ll be meeting my older brother at the finish line after the grueling 26.2-mile journey. I am not only hoping for an injury-free training season (unlike last year) and a much faster time, but more importantly a chance to bring more attention to the amazing effort that Sabina and others are putting in at building futures for hopeless orphans in Kenya.  If you are interested in sponsoring my marathon, please read for more instructions on the next page.  All of the money that you donate will go directly to the Little Prinz Orphanage in Shinyalu.  Each comment and dollar that you offered to me last year never left me from the start of training, to the painful series of physical therapy sessions, to the finish line on race day, and I can assure you that it will be the same again this year. For more background on the Little Prinz Children’s Aid Project, the orphanage, or the progress of the two orphans mentioned here, please visit their website http://www.littleprinz.org.

This time around I will also be keeping a training blog.  You can follow my progress or thoughts on the Little Prinz Children’s Aid Project here http://runalicia.blogspot.com (comments are welcome!).  Also, here is the link to the rest of the blog entry that I wrote about the orphans in Kampala http://africa-alicia.blogspot.com/2011/08/sanyu-babies-home.html.  Of course, for more information you can always email me as well at aliciamrich@gmail.com.

Sincerely, 

Alicia Rich


*photos taken from Little Prinz Children's Aid Project

Pace

The most difficult thing about a truly long distance is gaining enough foresight to select an appropriate pace.  This is what makes marathon running so different from a 5K or a sprint race.  It is different from an obstacle course or a game of football.  Marathon running has less to do with pure power, talent, or physical perfection, and so much more to do with control, focus, and wisdom.  The latter of the three can only be improved with each race and injury.  That is why ever year I realize that I have become a completely different runner than the year before.

So how do you select a pace?  How do you follow it?  It seems like a simple task at first, but it has proven to be my most difficult athletic challenge.  My whole life has been about diving head first into challenges.  Sprinting at the sound of a start gun, and crashing into a pile of injuries and defeat within the first lap when I realize I just can't keep going that fast.  The first time I ran a mini marathon, I was running 6-7 mile workouts at 7:30 pace on a regular basis.  Just a few months later my knee gave out and I was confined to the couch for three weeks.

I ran a one mile time trial last week at the seemingly painful pace of 7:19.  A year ago I probably would have kicked myself for this, maybe shed a few tears, punished myself with some extra speed work on my run the next day.  Instead, I rewarded myself.  I wrote the time on my training board and told myself that slow is exactly where I should be at the end of the first month of training.  I have three more months of training, three more months of escalating workouts, pounding on my knees, early mornings, and pure endurance.  The first month is about preparing your body for that.  It is about building strength and stability, feeling out this year's strength's and weaknesses in your body, and proceeding with caution.  For the first time ever, I seem to have mastered that.

So what is the next month about?  The next month is about applying this idea to my workouts.  My goal is to master controlled pace on each long run.  By the time that March 1st rolls around, I want to be able to clock perfect splits on a 15 mile run.  That means start slow, and get progressively faster with each mile.  Splitting a run like this is incredibly challenging, and I've always been terrible at it.  You can never be a successful runner if you can't control your speed though.  You have to evaluate your energy and strength and distribute it evenly and perfectly over 26.2 miles.

Like most principles of running, pace is one that is easy to apply to anyone's life.  I'm sure I'm not the only person that can think of moments in my life where things could have gone so differently if I'd paused at the beginning of a goal or task to think about a schedule and pace that I could actually maintain to the finish.  How often do we waste our successes or days glancing at the person next to us, wondering why they seem to be moving so much faster and stronger?  We forget about focusing on the here and the now, enjoying the place we are at and the progress that we have made.  In the end, refusing to focus on our own perfect pace only leads to failure, injury, and discontent.

So this Saturday, I will set out with a slower pace.  I will enjoy the slow, comfortable rhythm of each breath as my strike the ground comfortably and slowly.  I will look around at my surroundings, feel the change in my muscle tone, and enjoy the pace that suits me right now.

An Intro: My Running History

When I began running it was because I had reached one of the more difficult turning points in my life.  I was leaving behind a younger, more rash version of myself to enter adulthood and tackle an undertaking I had not yet realized would challenge me in so many ways.  My personal life had reached a bottom point, and I knew that I needed something new if I was going to survive it all without crumbling.  In fact, I nearly did crumble.  Then my friend handed me a running plan, and one day I visited unchartered territory: the gym.  I stood at the entrance to the track, pressed play on my ipod, searched for the start button on the stopwatch around my wrist, and began a slow, awkward trot.  Run 30 seconds, walk 60, repeat.  I was dripping in sweat, gasping for air, and my legs felt like jello.  30 minutes later, I felt incredibly cleansed, completely empty.  The pain was gone, the self-doubt had temporarily cleared from my mind, and I felt as though I'd sweat so much that I'd have no tears to release that week.  Two days later, I went back for more.  Each time my gait felt a little less awkward.  My head reached a little bit higher, and my arms swayed more deliberately.  I put myself back together on that track, one run at a time.  Within just a few months I'd dug up this new version of myself.  It was a mix of the best parts of my past and this new confidence I'd never expected to possess.  I kicked all of the most toxic things out of my life, one at a time, culminating with a damaging relationship.  I knew it then.  Running would always have to be a part of my life now.

Of course, life was not perfect after that.  There were more struggles, more hills and battles, but I had this new secret.  Every time life hit me so hard that I thought I couldn't get back up, I'd pound out 5 or 10 miles on the pavement, sweat away all of the pain, focus my mind on the breathing and the rhythm of my feet, and come back to life ready to face it.  Five months after my first 5K (3.1 miles) I completed my first half marathon (13.1 miles) in 1:54:30.  

I thought that I was on top of the world, but many of my real-life issues had infiltrated my training.  Just like running is a metaphor for my life, my life is often a parallel for my training style.  I kept pushing forward until I earned an over-training injury halfway into my first marathon training attempt in February of 2011.

I still crossed the finish line on May 1, 2011.  Those three months between my injury and the race were full of doubt, fear, and both physical and emotional pain, though.  Several doctors told me that marathons would not be in my future.  I kept seeking more opinions until I found a physical therapist who was a marathoner with a history of knee injuries himself.  He worked with me on moderation and balanced muscle tone.  I learned that fitness needed to be about more than pounding out my pain on the pavement.  Running success was about more than fast times and ignoring the pain.  "It will be slow, and it will hurt, but you can still finish the marathon if you start working hard now," he told me.  He was right.  When I crossed the finish line I collapsed into my boyfriend's arms and broke into tears.  I'd done it, slowly and arduously, but I'd done it, in 4:46:04.

So here I am again: crazy, right?  Maybe, but I'm a new kind of crazy this year.  This training season is all about balanced fitness and pacing my progress.  I'm at a far healthier weight, tracking my protein and iron intake, and cross-training frequently.  Most importantly, I'm committed to my Bikram Yoga classes with two amazing instructors that help people work through their injuries by building strength around the joint and flexibility in the muscles and tendons that hurt me most.  I'm taking my workouts more slowly, adding in cycling and swimming, and focusing being able to hold a steady pace on marathon day.

Keep following me, because I know there will be hills, there will be hurdles, and I will learn from them.