Where's the VIP Port-a-potties?

Whelp, the race season is finally at a close.  I ran my last half marathon in Rehoboth last Saturday.  And, much like the other races this year...it was something.

I arrived in my favorite place in the world, Rehoboth Beach on Friday around noon, cranked the heat in my parent's trailer and wandered aimlessly for a bit before heading down to help out with race bib pick up.  Since I do not have the ability to entertain myself for more than a few minutes, I headed to the tent a bit early and got to hand out with some pretty awesome other volunteers. We frantically handed out race bibs and bags until 4, then I headed back to the mobile home village (village because we are fancy) to meet up with my girls.  We joked, laughed, ate too much fried food, and headed to be at 9:00pm.

Saturday, we all work up ready to complain about the cold far more than actually running.  While in line at the port-a-potties, frantically checked my watch for the billionth time, and realized that there were approximately 5 minutes until the start of the race and that's when I started to FREAK. Despite desperately needing to stay in line, I left and headed to the start.

The gun goes off, and away we go.  I clicked through the first mile in a decent, but not too fast 6:45.  Halfway through mile 2, I was thanking my lucky stars that port-a-potties were stationed every 2 miles.  So, needless to say, I took a very fast pit stop.  One of the greatest advantages to being in a lead pack in any race is that if you have to stop on the course, the bathrooms are virtually spotless. Which is awesome.  So, back to running.  I clicked through the next 5 miles in good shape, right around the 1:31 pace which was my goal.  Mile 7 was rough.  We were back in town and heading out to the gravel trail section.  All of a sudden stomach cramps hit, and hit HARD.  I was barely running, doubled over, and trying not to throw up.  Pit stop number 2 was at mile 8 and I barely made it.  At this point I was running with an older guy and he gave a huge sigh when he saw me haul it into the bathroom because he knew he was back to being a lonesome runner.  Sorry dude.

When I finally got out and back to running, one of the women who looked to be in my age-group-ish was just ahead.  I caught up to her and we ran together for the next few miles.  Once I hit 11, I knew I had to stop again and give up on the dream of beating the girl in the green shirt.  Another quick stop (which has NEVER happened to me before), and I headed back on to Rehoboth Ave.  By mile 12.5, I just mentally said "F#$k it", you're killing yourself to take off a few seconds, you already didn't meet your goal, just have fun.  So, I started high fiving little kids, congratulating other runners (mostly dudes that I was passing near the finish line), and getting a huge hug from one of the volunteers that I had worked with the previous day. 

I can't say I was thrilled with my performance, but sometimes you just have to remember that as runners, we are all in this together and we just need to be thankful that we can put one foot in front of the other. Let's face it, the alternative to that sucks.  Big time.

In the end, as I look back on this year, it was certainly emotionally exhausting.  I did not come close to a PR, but I can end the year with being satisfied with having a lot of new experiences like running Boston, RW Half, Philly half, and ending my year with having an amazing weekend with some of my best running girlfriends.  Now, it's time to bring on the holiday binge eating and starting to prepare for a happy, injury free 2018.

Cheers friends, and happiest running to you!

I had no intention of running 3 half marathons in the course of less than 2 months this year, but guess. what. happened.  Yup, that's right, I am in the midst of doing such a thing.

A few months ago, I decided to basically take off from training for this fall.  And like most other manifestations in life, in the course of just a few weeks, I signed up for more and more races.  First came the opportunity to volunteer and run the RW Half marathon in October, then a free entry to Philly half (Shout out to National Running Center Ambassador Team for that one!!), and now the piece de resistance, Rehoboth this coming weekend.  So, needless to say, what was supposed to be a super low key fall has been anything but that.  Oh well, it's always an adventure.

So, running re-cap, how has my training been going you ask? Gah.  Okay.  A lot of treadmill time, until it recently broke again- but that's another story....and some outdoor running, but no real plan.  And guess what? It's been great.  My half marathon times have not been stellar (1:32.50 at RW and 1:33.54-ish in Philly) but not too terrible, and this annoying hamstring injury that has been hanging around is not making me nuts, so I am going with okay.  Now, before my next freak out for this weekend, here's the recap from the mean streets of South (and North) Philadelphia.

I started out my Philly adventure with my co-worker at the expo on Friday.  Everything was fine until we country girls tried to park our cars in center city.  We legit couldn't figure out how to back our gigantic mom-mobiles into the spots and the attendant had to do it for us.  There was a lot of head shaking and rolling of eyes.  But whatever.  Parking cars and/or driving for that matter have never really been my strong suit.  We go to the expo, all is well, I get all my stuff, do a 'Thank you and see you on Sunday!', get in my car and head home.  Around 7:00 pm my girlfriend who is riding with me to Philly texts me asking what I am wearing to the race tomorrow.  "It's not tomorrow silly, we are running Sunday", I text back, and then my stomach drops to the floor. Yes, indeed we are running TOMORROW.  WTF?!!!!???  Up until last year, Philly has always run the half and full marathons on Sunday.  Nope.  Not no 'mo.  Holy crap.  I have not had my customary pre-race, small child sized burrito, my nails are not painted, I don't have my pre-race granola bar...OMG. I am literally ready to cry.  I get the kids to bed, then try to go to sleep myself knowing that I have a 4:30 am wake up call.  After a few hours of barely sleeping, I get ready, pick up my friend and we hit the road.  We arrive at the art museum and there's no parking.  AT ALL.  We drive in loops looking for a lot, and NOTHING. Finally we roll up on the police station mere feet from the entrance to the security check for the race, and like Moses himself had parted the traffic, someone is pulling out and the most gorgeous FREE parking spot is waiting for us.  We breathe a sigh of relief, say a quick prayer that I will avoid the homicidal rage of my husband if the car gets towed, and head to the start.

It's cold, it's windy, and it's time to run.  Mile 1-6 I am cruising through South Philly.  I stay slightly ahead of the 1:30 pacer.  I click through the halfway point and I feel myself start to shut down.  The 1:30 group passes.  I curse at them under my breath.  Mile 8, 9, 10 are miserable, but it can't get much worse.  Yup.  It can.  Now I'm heading up a 1/4 mile hill in the park.  I feel the life slowly seeping out of my body.  Mile 11 and I am heading back to the art museum.  I feel like I am barely shuffling.  Mile 12.  Crap.  This can only last less than 8 more minutes.  I see the finish, and it feels like it's still miles away.  I finally get there and barely crawl across.  Ok, so that's a bit dramatic, but it sucked for the last 35 minutes.  I gather my pretty sweet liberty bell and wait for my friend.  It's cold.  I am tired.  But I finished, and some days that is all you can ask for.  Just finish.

So, on that note, here's to another 13.1 on Saturday! Hopefully a much more upbeat recap to come soon! Cheers!

Runner's World Half Marathon race review! Sometimes you just don't suck.

Hello. My name is Brooke and I am a half marathon junkie.  It's been 5 days since my last half marathon, and I have already signed up for 2 more.  Don't judge.

Ok, so here's the race review.... I started last Friday off by schlepping my 8 year old son up to Bethlehem to volunteer at the t-shirt table at the RW half marathon.  I tried to play it off as a 'life lesson' for my kid so he learns about giving back to the community and all that crap, but let's face it, there was an ulterior motive....getting mommy into a race for cheap.  Volunteering was fun, other than my son being a whiner by 1:00pm, but overall, it was a good time (at least for me).

Sunday was the big day. I woke up at zero-dark-thirty literally shaking.  My feeling has always been that I will never be able to run a race for 'fun' because I am an obsessive compulsive weirdo, but it's also because I care.  On the day when I am not a complete and total lunatic about a race, it'll mean I stopped caring.  And when I stop caring, I won't bother to fork over the fee for the registration.

So, anyway, I got to the race super early, as per usual and wandered aimlessly for about an hour.  Seven bathroom trips later, it was time to ditch my bubblegum pink backpack, change shoes, and get ready to roll.  I worked through my normal warm up routine, and headed to the start.  Not so surprisingly, the start area was pretty chaotic, but I found the 1:35 pacer and cozied up to Steve, who was destined to be my new best friend for the foreseeable future. The race started, and we started cranking out miles through the streets of Bethlehem.  Mile 1 clicked by, mile 2 was around 6:40, and then the bitching began.  Running with a group of dudes can seem intimidating at first, but let me tell you, they can be a bunch of whiners.  The questions started- 'why are we running so fast?' 'don't you realize that we should be at 7:15 pace for a 1:35?'..... Steve's answer was perfect, 'trust me, I am a professional.' Was Steve actually a professional? Most likely not, but whatever.  It seemed like a good idea to trust him at the time.  Mile 4 started the hills.  We hit the 4 mile mark, turned the corner, and it looked like the gates of runner Hell had opened.  A gigantic hill was looming up ahead.  I think a collective groan came up from our group, but I put my head down, pumped my T-rex arms, and shortened my already miniature stride and made to the top.

What goes up must come down, am I right? Kind of.  Bethlehem appears to defy most of the laws of physics, so the next few miles seemed to either be flat or uphill.  Around the 8 mile/1 hour mark I started to bite it.  My legs felt like a million pounds, my arms and chest were sore, and I started to panic.  Not like the 'I am in a cage with a shark and it may eat me' kind of panic, but the kind of panic that eats away at your sole.  For the first time that I can remember, I didn't say F-it and allow myself to tank.  I started to do a sprint for 2:30, run for 2:30 set of intervals, which actually seemed to make running bearable.  Around 11.5 miles, you run back over the bridge into 'town' and then I started to fall apart.  At this point, I had been in 11th place (or so I thought) and what seemed to be a teenager passed me.  She was running very strong, and I had not seen her anytime during the race, so I assumed that she was in great shape.  I let her go without trying to chase her, knowing full well that unless the wheels totally fell off, I would still make my goal of beating the 1:35 group.

12 miles passed, a final hill, around a corner, another corner, then 200 yards to the finish.  I was certainly hurting, but as I looked at my watch for the billionth time, I say 1:31....1:31.30....holy moly.  I might actually make my goal.  I mustered up every last bit of whatever, and crossed the finish line in 1:32.52 and later found out that was good enough for 3rd in my age group.

Now, it's Friday.  My legs and chest still hurt, but I got a pretty sweet new pint glass and I can wear my race shirt with pride, knowing that this was a day for not-sucking.

When your fall is shot to s%^t.

Yup.  You read that right.  This fall racing season got shot in the crapper.  And you know what....I don't hate it.  After the suck-ness that was Boston, I had every intention of getting back on the Gatorade and GU soaked saddle of the marathon horse and riding into the sunset of a multitude of fall marathons and ultras, and then shit got real.  Like, REAL realz.  With a 'z'.

First, I hit the year mark of my hamstring/nerve injury in early July and still felt like junk.  Stride was still off, foot numbness was still wrecking my world, and long runs just sucked.  They were painful, miserable, and just hard to fit into my schedule without miserably waking up early on a weekend morning and slogging through double digit miles.  By the end of August, I made a super hard decision to bail.  I cried, I was pissed, and then on an over 90 degree Sunday morning (in which I did not have my children at home, so I totally could've slept in), I said F it.  I was no longer enjoying running, and I needed to get back to that.  I decided to keep this fall light, and remember what it was like to have fun.

So, here's where this journey has come full circle.  When I let myself go, and not put so much pressure on each run, I actually started to have FUN.  WTF?! You mean you don't have to pound every single mile at race pace? You don't have to make GU a food group in your diet? You can SLEEP IN? Sweet Holy Moses.  Amazing.

I run for a lot of reasons.  I like carbs.  And by 'like' I mean bagels are life.  I like to unapologetically eat the other half of my 4 year-olds gigantic soft pretzel.  I like to move.  I like to feel successful when winning or placing well in a race. But mostly, I love running because it's the only time during my day when I shut down, tune out, and the constant noise silences for a bit.  I suck at things like yoga and meditation, but running allows my brain to quiet and re-start to deal with the zillion things that I need to do at works, as mom, as a wife, etc.

Now that running is fun again, I have also taken the opportunity to try some new things I am really excited about.  Next week, my son, Carter and I will be volunteering at an expo, and I will run the Runner's World half for the first time.  I started experimenting with running fuels that I can shovel in my mouth while on the trail or treadmill and I have stolen many a great recipe from Pinterest (see below)

Breaking from my plan has been awful and beautiful at the same time, and I am so excited to share my race report next week, so stay tuned and try out these energy bites below, and you'll see what's up too.  ** Plus mini chocolate chips are freaking awesome and for the most part, dark chocolate ones will be vegan!!

Ingredients

• 1½ cups old fashioned oat flakes
• ½ cup peanut butter or almond butter
• ⅓ cup honey or agave (if going vegan)
• ¼ cup raisins or other dried fruit
• ¼ cup mini chocolate chips
• ½ tsp vanilla
• a little sea salt to taste 

Instructions

1. Add all of the ingredients to a medium sized bowl and stir well until everything is combined.
2. Roll into 1-1/2" balls and set them on a silicone baking mat or parchment paper. Wash your hands after every 4 balls to help keep the ingredients from sticking to your hands.
3. Refrigerate for 20 minutes to help them harden. (Optional).
4. Store the leftovers in a zip lock bag in the fridge

You gotta love the 10 lb honey bear

So, a few weeks ago I ran a 5k. What's that you say? Brooke.  Seriously.  You have run 5 marathons and why do we care about a 5k? Well, I am here to tell you why it was awesome...YOU GET A FREAKING BRONZED HONEY BEAR FOR A TROPHY.  Yup, that's right.  A freaking honey bear.

I am admittedly not the best night runner. I freak out all day long about what I am eating, drinking (or not drinking), plan and re-plan my outfit, stuff my car with snacks, and pack and re-pack my shoes.  And by shoes (yes, that is shoe with an 's' at the end), I mean flip flops, 2 pairs of trainers, 2 pairs of flats, and god only knows what else.  I literally could've outfitted a family with the amount of crap I pack for 20 minutes of actual racing.  I digress...

So, on race day, I had not signed up before since I am a habitual procrastinator, so I said 'later' to the kids and headed out.  While turning into the parking lot, I realized that I am the personification of millennial-ness and didn't have cash, so I had to head out and grab some.  By this point, I am having a minor nervous breakdown because I am not my typical hour early. I grab my cash and head over to sign up and I am told that the last on site registration has been taken.  WTF. I mean what the actual f*&k.  My friend sees me literally starting to shrivel up and die in the parking lot and runs over.  She, being the awesomely bad ass chick that she is, joins me in giving the registration table volunteers the evil death stare until they are forced to take my money and give me a number.  Great success.
We warm up, line up, and take off.  Mile 1 clicks by.  Mile 2.  Mile 2.000001 hits and I know that I am starting to hit the evil lactic threshold.  Luckily, I am in the lead and have about a minute on the next female.  Life sucks after that, but luckily I can hold on and make it over the finish line semi-intact.  My girl, Becca, finishes right after me, making it a 1-2 win for Team New Balance Harrisburg.  Thank the lord.

We do a have assed cool down and wait for the awards.  I am super pumped because it was a decisive win, and there's no question I will be walking out with my second honey bear.  They start calling the top 3 guys...then it's my turn...."and first female, Jesse something-or-other" . My stomach falls into my ground.  WTF.  Well, turns out, a dude was registered as a female.  I find this out only by scouring the scene to find this guy with no help from the timing company, who basically told me to suck it.  We get it figured out, and I leave the race with an envelope of cash and MY FREAKING HONEY BEAR.  In the words of Ice Cube, "today was a good day"

Cutting back on the fries might be a good idea

In the past few weeks 3 races happened, and two finishes almost didn't.

First, I had the opportunity to do an evening run at the end of June in Harrisburg, PA.  It was a very hot and steamy night, but it was a race that was sponsored by my team's home store, so running was a no-brainer.  A fellow NB Harrisburg team member ran as well, so it was nice to catch up.  A simple 5k across a bridge, down a steep slope, along a river path, back up and over the bridge.  I can't say it was an easy win, but a win non the less.  I ran just over 20 minutes for the 5k, which was so-so- and certainly not a PR, but I was starting to feel like I was coming back after last year's injuries and marathon focused training. 

Next, we headed to Rehoboth beach for our family vacation, which involved lots of take out and French fries. I had every intention of running a bunch of races, but opted for only 1 on the 4th of July.  Again, very hot, humid, and steamy conditions and I felt good when we showed up at registration, but everything started to fall apart from the get-go.  Long lines for limited restrooms meant that I didn't get my customary 3 trips before the race, which is never good- especially after you've birthed children.  About a mile into the race, I knew the wheels were going to fall off, and it was a miracle that I finished with just some dry heaves.  Stomach issues are never a good thing, especially when trying to run all out in very hot and humid weather. 

The Saturday after was my least favorite race EVER in my hometown, which I try to make excuses to avoid at all costs, but this year the charity was an organization that my mother has helped to spearhead, so I ran as a favor to her.  As I showed up to the 5 miler in my normal team gear, I was greeted by some of the people involved in the charity and asked to wear a cotton t-shirt that featured the logo.  Cotton= terrible idea.  Within the first few hundred yards my rolled up sleeves were falling down and I spend who knows how much energy re-rolling the too long sleeves back up.  The temperature and humidity seemed to swell to exponentially high proportions and I started dying.  And not just figuratively dying, like legs exhausted, heaving, tunnel vision dying.  I started throwing water at aid stations on myself and running through the neighbor's hoses that they were spraying out in the street.  Stupid.  Very Stupid.  My mile 3, my shirt was soaked and weighted at least 5 extra pounds.  At this point, I gave up.  A race turned into just getting to the finish.  With a mile to go, I got passed by a 12 year old girl.  Literally, 12.  I wish I was lying, but I am not.  I finally finished around 36 minutes, which I have not finished a 5 miler in that slow of a time in years.  I did throw a pout-fit for a bit, but then I reminded myself that this race was not for me.  It was a favor to my parent to show support for a charity that she finds so important.  So, I sucked it up, changed clothes, drank 4 bottles of water, and put on a happy face.  The 12 year old girl eventually found me, and actually thanked me for the encouragement our on the course when she passed me.  The weird thing, she called me by name.  I asked her how she knew me, and she said that her mom was a high school runner when I was HS running, and she knows that I am really fast and run marathons and told her to come over.  It was so sweet and lovely, I have to admit, it kicked the old ego back up a little.  We hugged, and stood together and chatted for a bit about her upcoming junior high running season.  It was pretty special.

So, in the end, 1 outta 3 isn't bad.  And sometimes a little running love from a sweet kid can go a long way.

Product Review - Buddy Pouch

Holy cannoli.  Ever think, "Damn.  I should've come up with that..."? Well, that's exactly how I feel about a product I was asked to review for National Running Center recently.  The Buddy Pouch Mini is freaking amazing- and I don't use the word 'freaking' lightly. 
The basic idea is that it is a little half IPhone sized pocket that you flip over the top of your shorts to store stuff like keys, a gel, or debit card for those inevitable Gatorade stops on long runs.  There's a super-strong magnet attached to the non-pocket side that keeps everything in place. 
I was very skeptical going into this experiment for a few reasons.  First, I hate extra stuff.  I would definitely call myself a minimalist in the way of gear, mostly based on many, many years of not having to give a crap about all of the extras like fuel and hydration (stupidly, I should add). Secondly, I am a miniature person. At a whopping 5'2" (and I lie for the most part and make myself far taller, like 5'3"), NOTHING fits like it should.  Extra smalls are laughable- I either look like a sausage stuffed into some random garment or belt, or they fall off.  At least I know I can still fit into a small, dorm-sized refrigerator, but please don't ask how I actually have these facts in my wheel house.  Needless to say, between genetics and my own stupidity, I hate stuff...but I love this product.  My first run with the Buddy Pouch was on my treadmill.  I was planning on shooting for a 5 miler with the pouch filled with my ID, a gel, and a few miscellaneous keys.  At the 5 mile mark, I actually forgot why I was stopping and just continued for another 5 miles and totally forgot I was wearing it.  Treadmill trial 2 did not go as well, but I was wearing my 'fat shorts' and they started to fall down a bit.  Definitely not the best idea on my part, so please rule out the 'fat shorts' (or basically your loose cotton-esque styles).  Trial 3 was at a 5k. My basic uniform is the classic super short biker-style shorts that never have the extra inside 'little pocket' so I end up tying my key to the drawstring, which is super annoying and looks strange- use your imagination here.  I put my key into the pocket and actually attacked it to my back near my back bone indent and again, totally forgot about it until I needed to get into my car. That's super amazing, since a stray hair usually makes me freak out like a tarantula is crawling across my skin. 
Essentially, this little product freaking rocks, and they can 'shut up and take my money' any day of the week.  Run, don't walk to http://www.nationalrunningcenter.com/  and buy one ASAP.

Global Running Day

Global running day...sounds like one of two things, a pseudo holiday made up by running shoe manufacturers to sell stuff or THE GREATEST DAY OF THE YEAR!!
Yes, I love running, but I love it for transcends just being fast.  This year has been quite the year of trial and error and potentially missed opportunities, setbacks, and readjustment of goals. 

Last year, on the first weekend in June, I ran one of the best Red Rose Runs that I have ever been able to pull off.  A just over 32:00 5 mile run is certainly good, but not quite incredible, however, it was not completely miserable and I was just coming off a very heavy season of racing.  About 2 weeks later I ran my first ever trail 5 mile run (outside of cross country races of course), and it was a total disaster and the perfect set up for a year long injury.  One more 5k in the end of June, and I was down for the count with a massive hamstring tear.  Not like, wow, this hurts, like I went to the PT and they were amazed I was still walking and trying to hobble through a few miles.  It was devastating.  It wasn't like there was a snowball's chance in Hell I was going to quit running, so I stupidly kept at it through horrible pain and very little actual movement.  Months and months passed, and my disappointment in my big comeback was totally overtaking every aspect of my life.  I was so used to pounding out miles, placing at races, and getting out my frustrations, that to have such a setback was very difficult to handle. 

Late September finally rolled around, and I signed up for the Boston Marathon, with huge amounts of apprehension.  I could barely make it through an hour run, how the heck was I going to pull this one off? Not so sure. 

Months later, I would line up in Hopkinton, walk run the last few miles...but finish anyway. 

Last weekend, I took to the streets of Lancaster once again for another Red Rose.  I was very apprehensive going into the run.  Would it be another disappointment? Would I feel like junk? Thankfully, I decided to completely change up my routine.  Different race kit (which I have not changed in years), different nutrition, and new race plan.  I found some friends at the start, and decided that instead of going out like a crazy person and taking advantage of the few down hills, I would hold back and save it for the inevitable gigantic finishing hills. I stuck to the plan, and shockingly, it was not terrible! I finished in a hair under 34:00, BUT I had a good time, didn't feel like death, and even won my age group.  I know there's a lot to work on, but it feels like I am finally getting back to racing shape and moreover, getting back to my love of running.  Here's to a great summer. 

Track's not easy

Yesterday, I read an article in my local newspaper (link below) that somehow was aiming to indicate that track and field is somehow an 'easy' sport in which athletes just run around or throw things.  Let me tell you, this made me lose my mind. 

From the athlete perspective, track is one of the most technically difficult sports you can 'play'.  There's a certain strategy to running a race, throwing an object, or jumping over something.  You simply can't just decide this is something you want to do one day and be successful.  It take years of practice just to get the simple techniques mastered.  For example, let's talk cadence.  The most efficient runners' feet will hit the ground 180 times per minute.  Not 179, not 181; 180.  Go out and try  this for a 400 meter run.  It's excessively difficult to time your steps, length of stride, arm swing, torso angle, etc.  Also, try running full speed for 800 meters without knowing anything about strategy.  See how that works out for you. 

Training is an entire different story as well.  Does anyone think a high school kid WANTS to miss out on a Friday night with their friends because they have to pile on to a bus at 6 am to go to an all-day Invitational? Or not be able to eat because they are so nervous about their track meet that starts after school? From my observation, most football players and soccer players never had this issue. 

Injuries are also a factor.  I have been known (as well as many other track athletes) to suffer through catastrophic injuries and long rehabilitation periods, while still showing up to practices to sit on the side lines and cheer for their teammates through their tears because they know they worked for months in the pre-season. 

As a coach, my athletes inspired me every single day.  I was one of the faster kids at my high school and was able to insulate myself into my self-indulgent 'super-star status', so noticing the struggles of some of the other kids was not really an observation until I had the opportunity to coach.  One of my favorite kids, Don (he won't care that I used his name, he knows he's one of my favorites), showed up on his first day not being able to run for more than a few minutes, but every freaking day that kids showed up, never complained, and frankly, added so much to our team that we dragged him along to the meets that he didn't even qualify for.  Kids like this enrich the fabric of the team and everyone is a little better because of them. 

Lastly, as a parent, I find it perfectly offensive that one person would essentially de-value an activity that kids were participating in.  I don't care if my own children are running track, in the band, or on the debate team.  As long as they are not sitting around the house, or getting in trouble, whatever they want to do is fine with me.  Who is to say that one sport or activity is superior to another? Certainly not me, and certainly not some hack writer.  Shame on anyone that puts kids down for wanting to participate in something with their friends.  Shame on Lancaster News Papers for perpetuating our football culture and re-emphasizing gender role stereotypes.  We need to work together to make all of our kids feel included, appreciated, and encouraged or we will keep repeating the cycle of feelings of inadequacy, insecurity, and lashing out. 

Change the story. Go for a run.

Read the article here: http://tinyurl.com/lt7896f

That was something....

Well, the Boston Marathon kicked my ass.  Not just like, it was a hard race (which it was) but like it set me on fire, kicked me off a cliff, then ran over me with a truck.  I have never had a harder race in my entire life, and never felt as though it was a miracle that I finished.  Here's a brief re-cap.

Sunday, the 'rents and I leave for Boston.  Dad drives 6 hours with a few food stops along the way.  What can I say? The dude likes to eat.  We get to the expo, and I think all of us were overwhelmed by the amount of people, which turned out to be absolutely nothing compared to the actual race.  We get my  stuff, take the customary pictures, and head off to the hotel.  The rest of the night is pretty mundane, but of course none of us sleep all that great in anticipation of the day ahead.

Monday morning 5:30.  I finally let myself get out of bed after a pretty restless night.  I throw on my racing clothes and throw away shirt, and inhale a bagel and coffee.  A few hours later, I am standing in a corral with my BRF (best running friend) and the field of 5,000 plus people goes absolutely silent.  And not silent like when you just shut out sound in your own head, but silent like we all know this is going to be a long 4 hours ahead of us and we are all a bit apprehensive, but excited about what is going to happen.  Marathons are a strange animal and anything can happen.  The 26.2 gods laugh in your face when you think you have a plan.  Good luck with that one....

Fast forward to the 5k mark.  I am in great position.  Pushing the pace a bit, but at this point, we have spent the last few miles on basically a decline or flat.  I've already lost my friend, so I am just going with it.  10k still in great shape.  Banging out 7:05-7:15 pace and still feeling ok.  10 miles and shit hits the fan.  I feel my body temperature spike and my skin feels like it is burning.  I drop the pace to 7:35-7:45.  I am drinking Gatorade every aid station and also dumping water on myself.  13 miles in kinda shitty shape.  It is just freaking hot.  16 miles and we start a significant climb.  My watch has stopped and I am supposed to be looking for my family somewhere around this area.  I have no idea what my pace is, and I start to panic.  My quads feel like they are just tearing apart, my skin is burning, and I am starting to have tunnel vision from looking for my Sherpa team.  I finally hear my family (before I see them of course, our volume control problem is finally coming in handy) and almost in tears, I hand off my belt pack because it is chafing my skin off under my wet tank top.

20 - 21 miles is Heartbreak Hill.  Well, that wasn't such a big issue, since I was already half running/half walking.  I am at the point where I am trying not to collapse and the medical tents are looking very attractive.  However, I also hear my mother's voice berating me for running marathons if I stop, so I say f- it and continue my walk run.  Mile 24 I see the Citgo sign.  I may have flipped it off.  Now I am pissed.  Not mad because I am not in shape, but pissed that I made some major rookie mistakes.  Going out too fast on a hot day, not breaking in my shoes enough, getting caught in the crowd, I mean really it couldn't have been much worse. 

Mile 25-26 finally turns the corner and heads down Boyleston Street.  I had dreams for weeks of this moment being absolutely life changing and magical, but it wasn't.  It felt like I was absolutely crawling and I couldn't even bring myself to put my hands over my head for the customary Boston celebration picture.  Nope.  Nothing.  I felt nothing.  Even walking over to the medal area and seeing my family, I was glad to see them, but I didn't feel the gut-wrenching pride that I prepared myself for.  Then, we left.  That was it.  Just done.

The marathon is a different animal than any other race, and that day it bit me in the ass.  BUT, there's always next year and now its time to start on the next training cycle, so next time, I bite back.

Are you ready for that race on Monday?

If you have to ask what 'that race on Monday is' you might as well throw out your runner card.  Or burn it.  That race on Monday is the Boston Marathon. Yep.  The big kahuna of races.  Am I ready? Considering it is 4 days away, I better freaking be.  Here are my thoughts about marathon readiness.

1. I have run.  And run a butt-load.  I run when I don't want to, I do laps around the city for 20 mile runs.  I binge on Netflix during my long runs and quality time with my treadmill.  I get up at the ass-crack of dawn or run right after lunch and try not to barf.  Yes.  I have hit the roads and 'mill a lot.  For the running part, yes.  I am ready.

2. I got a handle on my mid-run nutrition.  I learned how to eat on the run.  I have experimented with gels, whole foods, Larabars, dates, drinks, you name it.  I have also done a ton of research, experimented and found out what works for me.  I know that every long race that I hit the wall was because I did not hydrate or fuel properly, so I have come up with a plan (thanks Julie Sparks and @theathletespalate1) to fuel every 3-ish miles or even more frequently.  I also start the race much later in the day (10:30) so I will have plenty of time to front load on some caloric and carb goodness.  I have changed some of my longer runs to reflect the later start time. 

3. Supplements.  I have never EVER really been one to take much in the way of medication, so I was always convinced that taking supplements would somehow break this trend.  Man, I was totally incorrect.  After some suggestions from Julie, my athletic nutrition guru, I realized that not only is my diet B vitamin deficient, I also could use a magnesium supplement, and an inflammation management supplement was not a terrible idea either.  I am still awful at taking pills, but I have really tried to make a concerted effort, and it seems like it's paying off.  Less pain, stiffness, and general feeling of 'funk', so, I guess I am a convert. 

4. Overall nutrition.  My nutrition has never sucked, per say, but it definitely needed some tweaking. I still have the occasional evening binge session of spicy Cheez-its, but I have done my best to cut out the processed foods that were left in my diet. 

5. Gear.  I always act like I don't care about gear, and for the most part, look like a homeless person with a sweet pair of running shoes, so I upped my gear game.  I mean, for God's sake, at least look like you give a crap and try to match.  It's also a great way to show off some of the awesome people and organizations that support my running. 

6. Family.  I am here with my parents, which may get a massive eye roll about 743 times in the next few days, BUT I have given these people a ton of shit.  And like real-deal shit, and for whatever reason, they still speak to me.  My kids and the hubs are staying behind, which is a blessing since I will be freaking the f out and don't want to worry about wiping butts or finding lost matchbox cars.  I am very thankful to have them as my marathon Sherpa crew. 

So, all of the above being said.  Thank you.  To all of you.  I would not ever dream that one day I would have this incredible opportunity. 

Swiftwick socks product review #chaseadventure

** Disclaimer- I was in no way compensated or received free product for this review**

I am a self-proclaimed 'cheap runner'. I always buy shoes on discount, wear non-tech fabrics (unless it's a shirt from a race or a gift), I have a pre-used GPS watch that was passed down from a friend, and my nutritionals are laughable for the most part.  It's not that I am not willing to throw down some cash for a race, however, I all but pride myself on my purest views of running.  And I also get really excited about saving money on stuff because I tend to be a serial shopper and a full believer in retail therapy. 

One thing I have fought tooth and nail with myself about is buying good running socks.  I have read the testimonials, seen the technology, and even oogled at the pretty colors, but I have never EVER purchased a high tech pair of socks.  I never really had an issue with the good old packs of 8 pairs of cotton socks from Marshall's and if it ain't broke, why try to fix it?  Well, I am a changed woman.

A few weeks ago, I was working on a blog post for my job and taking some pictures at a local running store.  As I interviewed the manager about new products he let me know about a store discount that we receive as a participating event.  As to not look like a jerk, I knew the best thing was to make a purchase that day.  At the moment, there was not too much else I needed in the way of running gear, and the holidays were quickly approaching so I didn't want to buy something I had already requested as a gift.  I grabbed a pair of Swiftwick Aspire no-show socks that would match my race kit and off I went.  A few days later I hopped on my treadmill and banged out a 10 mile run and couldn't believe how amazing something as simple as a pair of socks changed my run.  No longer were my shoes soaked with sweat and the two toenails that had bitten the dust at my last marathon a few weeks prior didn't even hurt or bleed.  It wasn't like I was prepared to be a foot model or anything, but the results were amazing.  The little bit of compression in the arch of my foot also made a huge difference and even helped to ward off some of the impending arch pain that I typically experience after long dates with the 'mill. 

It's a bad bet to say 'never' for anything, but there's a pretty good chance that I am a convert.  My closing message to Swiftwick is this....shut up and take my money. 

Bean town 2017

Marathons are a different little animal from anything else.  There's the initial joy when you click the 'register' button, pain when the fee comes out of your bank account, self actualization when you realize how bad long runs can suck, and then the WTF feeling when you cross the finish line and get handed a medal.  Most of my marathon training has been a combination of relying on others for advice, reading articles, long runs, short runs, and eating.  A lot of eating.

In November of 2015 I ran my marathon PR of 3:12 (I tend to call it 3:10 since the course was more of 26.45 than 26.2) with just the basics of training.  At that time, I was doing long runs with some friends and other than that just running during the week on a treadmill.  No real plan other than the long runs, but still running decently long distances.  With a finishing time of 3:12, it seemed to work out fairly well, but this year, I have decided to actually do a full training plan (Hal Higdon's advanced marathon plan), up my nutritional game, and (gasp!!!) weight train.  I know that sounds like crazy talk, but it's time to break things up. 

As of today, January 1, 2017, there are 106 days until the Boston Marathon.  3 and a half months.  Hot Damn. 
After my last marathon in early December, the first thing I did during my week off was to write out my plans for each run on a variety of calendars- the huge desk calendar, my day planner, and calendar at home.  This way, at any given moment I can obsess about where my training is at.  Nothing is really all that crazy as far as training is concerned, but there is a purpose to each workout.

My training plan also requires that I scale back on some running during the week, which I am totally cool with since I mostly have to squeeze it in on the treadmill between washing dishes and washing children.  Weekends are going to be a little hectic with long runs on Sunday with pace runs on Saturday, but still totally do-able.

Nutritionally, I am well aware of what I need to accomplish.  A little less sugar and carbs and a little more planning for fuel and performance.  I am not a sweet eater for the most part, but bagels and other bread-ish foods are my total down fall.  A little better planning, a little more water, a little more veggies and I should be good to go here. 

The puzzle pieces are all flipped over and the corners in place, now let's just hope everything starts to come together.  Here's to 2017...cheers :)