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.