Running in the 302- Rehoboth 1/2 marathon race review

Rehoboth girls' weekend is one of my favorite 48 hour time periods of the entire year.  2 days with some of my very favorite people, lots of laughs, enough food to feed a small village, and some running- what could be better? Oh yeah, the fact that we have NO KIDS.  That's the most awesome part- and this year did not disappoint.
As per usual, I was running late (shocker.) to pick up my friend Eileen. Once we eventually got on the road, it was fairly smooth sailing to the beach.  We arrived in nearly record time and didn't get lost, so major bonus.  We tooled around for a bit, then volunteered at the race for a few hours.  We later met up with the rest of our group, did the obligatory dinner at the Pond and had an early evening.
Day 2: Race day.
Eileen and I got up at the ass crack of dawn to head down to the start.  It was FREEZING, but of course in typical Brooke fashion, I was in my classic outfit of shorts and compression socks.  It was certainly a cold start, but after the initial eye watering and nose dripping, I was good to go.  The 3 miles out to Gordon's pond were great.  I was cranking through miles perfectly on pace.  Next 5k I was in good shape as well.  The I hit my typical stomach cramp wall just before jumping on the trail around 6 miles.  I could see port-a-potties just ahead, so I breathed a sigh of relief.  When I went to open the door, no such luck.  The doors were still zip tied. WTF.  Like big time WTF.  I could not have possibly been more pissed.  And like literally, pissed.  Alright.  I can hold it together until the turn around at 9.  It was a pretty miserable 21 minutes, but I made it.  Again, first port-a-potty, freaking zip tied.  Now, I am hurling curse words left and right.  A few feet ahead is another one, thankfully this one was open.  After a minute or two we were back in business.  While this definitely affected my time, it was so worth it.  There's nothing more miserable in the world than the feeling that you want to die due to your bowels.
The last four miles went by like a blur.  From my calculations (which mean nothing as I am no scientist nor math whiz), I was in the top 20 which I was fine with.  I cruised in the last mile or so while being cheered on by my friends and their cowbells.  I walked through the finisher area and called it a day.
In all, I ran a solid 1:35.50-something, finished 17th female, and 6th in my age group.  Nothing to write home about, but for the first time in forever, I didn't tank out or have a miserable race.  There's nothing specific that I can accredit this to, training has not been super lately, but a nice solid race really puts it all in perspective.
Up next, spring marathon training! I have the feeling my treadmill (that I affectionately call 'Tina') will be having a special relationship over the next few months.  Here's to an awesome 2019 and crushing goals.

Running with purpose...and Trader Joe's

WTF Baltimore.  Who the hell would've thought that a city by the bay would be so freaking hilly.  Every time I went up a hill, there was another freaking hill! Holy cannoli.  
So, here's the basics of the race.  This year I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to find an opportunity to raise money for one of my favorite charities, Back on My Feet.  What is BOMF you ask? Here's the deal, it is a charity organization that is based in major cities around the country, including Philadelphia and Baltimore.  BOMF reps go into homeless shelters or transitional living facilities and recruit individuals that want to participate in a running program.  BOMF develops personal relationships with each person and helps them not only complete a running program, but also helps to create an individualized road map for financial independence.  Each member attends financial literacy classes and job skills training provided through partnerships with our corporate partners. Members can earn financial assistance to remove barriers to employment and housing such as work supplies, transportation and security deposits. Members who achieve employment and housing become Alumni Members. Within six months of becoming a Back on My Feet Alumnus, 90% of members maintain their employment, 60% receive a wage increase and 20% achieve a promotion. Many of the participants are folks that are experiencing homelessness due to unfortunate circumstances and really do want to change- running provides them with the confidence to pursue success. Pretty awesome.  

So, that was the why part of my race- here's the how.  For quite a few months I have been dealing with implementing a new job schedule, kid activities, and so much going on with life in general, running has been an uphill battle. My initial plan to run the full marathon had to go on hold for the moment, so I dropped back to the half.  It was a gorgeous fall day to drive down to Bmore, and with a 9:45 start, there was plenty of time to park and saunter over to our staging area.  Luckily, the Raven's stadium parking was totally free to runners and only about 3/4 of a mile walk to the star area of the race.  Baltimore (much like any other city- don't hate) can be intimidating- especially when you are on a time crunch.  Kudos for that.

The race started much like any other.  Me wiggling my way to the front of the starting area, barely paying attention to race announcements, fiddling with my watch, and off goes the cannon. Immediately, there's a four or five person pile up.  Luckily, I got out of that one unscathed.  Miles started clicking away.  I was running with some dude and we were chatting a bit.  'Don't go out too hard.' he said.  Yeah.  Ok.  Sure.  6 miles in and I totally saw what he meant.  Hills upon hills with a side of incline.  At 45 minutes, I knew I could no longer keep beating myself up for not making goal finishing time, so I started doing 2:30/2:30 on/off (for nonrunners, this means 2:30 fast, and 2:30 recovery) but that really didn't even happen because of course I timed it as the 'on' part was always uphill and the 'recovery' was on a blistering downhill.  Everything went out the window around 8 miles and it was just a push to the finish.  At 12 miles, I started having a back spasm, but kept up all the way to the finish, and of course then immediately disappeared.  Awesome.

I wandered aimlessly for a while before returning to our tent to change. I threw on some dry clothing and headed out to the after party.  There was beer! And wine! And food! Annnnddd….the results table.  For whatever reason I was a hot emotional mess, and when I checked my results and found out I placed 3rd in my age group and finished around 26th female overall I literally cried a little.  To finish 26 out of over 4000 with a race that more or less sucked and was pure grit was pretty awesome.  At the very least, it finally gave me the confidence boost that I sooooo needed.  The last few months have sucked, but I am starting to feel like myself again, and it was exactly what I was literally chasing.  

And then I stopped at Trader Joe's on the way home.  It was awesome.  

5ks are not my bag.

How is it humanly possible that a girl who used to cry when assigned to anything over the 800 meter run in track meets now can't finish a 5k without looking like death was about to warm over? Well, yes, friends it is possible.
Over the summer and fall I have competed in 2 5 mile races (one sucked, one not so much) and 3 5ks.  Take a wild guess which sucked wayyyy more? Ding ding.  You got it.  F 5ks.  Here are the things I have recently learned.
Getting old sucks.  At 36 I am definitely in prime shape, but no longer successful long sprint shape.  Anymore a 5k is simply 20 minutes of life just sucking.  For the life of me, I can't even break 20 minutes anymore, which used to be a walk in the park.  While it's disappointing, it has taught me that there are much more important things than winning. Accepting that in my ripe old age, it's time to focus on some different stuff.
I have heard the frustration of many of my mom friends that they simply don't have time to train, I must be so lucky to fit long training into my schedule, etc.  and here's the deal...there's no secret.  While I refuse to wake up at the ass crack of zero-dark-thirty to shove in a miserable (and frankly dangerous) long run, I will head out at 2 pm and squish in some miles.  I will also spend lots of quality time in my basement on the treadmill, binging a random ultra-violent Netflix show (currently, season 10 of the Sopranos) with closed captioning on, while taking 15 minute breaks to make sure my children are not strangling one another.
I see some other runners on social media posting about their amazing last race and how they 'get' to run miles and miles outdoors while their kids are in school, and OF COURSE I am jealous.  It sucks to know that the 'if onlys...' start to creep in.  If only I could get up earlier...if only I was more dedicated....if only my job was different....but guess what.  I am working with what I got.  Maybe that means one race every 6 months or missing out on something I want to do, it is what it is and I have to be happy that I have a supportive family, a great network of running friends, and the ability to put one foot in front of the other.  Maybe I am not in as good of shape as others, maybe I am dying to travel across the country to race, but at this point, none of that matters.
So, 5k PRs might be a thing of the past, or maybe not.  No matter what happens, I will always be thankful I can do what I love to do.  And that's run.

And eat.  Let's not forget about that.  ITS PUMPKIN SPICE SEASON.  Yes, I am that basic.
Cheers friends! Happy Running

I really never need to hear 'Sweet Caroline' again

Did I miss the memo that Sweet Caroline is the official song of Boston? Whelp, according to the folks that braved the terrible elements of the 2018 Boston Marathon...it is.
Let's back track.  My husband and I arrived in Boston on Saturday night.  We are lucky to have a cousin that lives in the burbs, so we were able to shack up at her place for the duration of our stay which was AWESOME.  Sunday, we hit the expo, and weather reports continued to take a downward turn. And by downward, I mean totally shooting to shit.  Like 30 mph wind gusts, pouring rain, potential freezing rain kind of shot to shit.  Sigh.
So, we did what any runner preparing for a HUGE race would do. We went to a micro-brewery.  Unfortunately for me, I was FAR too nervous to enjoy a delicious beer, but there were dogs.  Yes, dogs in the brewery.  It was awesome.
A couple of hours later, we threw down some pasta, and headed to an early bed.
Monday, I woke up to rain.  Lots of rain.  And wind.  My running outfit for the day, a totally sweet new singlet and favorite shorts were totally out of the question.  Being that I am so pale right now I am practically florescent, pants seemed like a good idea anyway.  I layered up, wrapped myself in an old space blanket and topped it all off with a Star Wars plastic poncho.  It was quite a look indeed- very fashion forward.  The hubs dumped me off at the bus pick up location near the finish, and off we were.  After what seemed like YEARS, we finally got to the athlete's village.  Typically, one may assume that this is like Disney World for runners, but on this day, it was a bootleg version with huge puddles of mud, runners laying around on dirty yoga mats, and frankly, it was just depressing.  We all knew that over the course of the next few hours we would be in the rain soaked, freezing cold sixth circle of Hell.  And that was pretty much what it was.
Once the race finally started and I stripped off layer after layer (don't think for one second this was sexy in any way whatsoever.  It was not.), I knew that it was not going to be a day for a PR or anything close to a PR.  I just closed my eyes and planned to gut out every single step and try to run close to even half marathon splits.  Miles clicked away and I ran through the first half in right around 1:43- right where I knew I needed to be to re-BQ.  Around mile 17, we hit the hills, which consequently did not suck nearly as bad as they did last year.  I powered through the inclines and finally at mile 21 they were over.  The rain did not cease for a single second and it was almost comical at times.  By 24, I rounded the bend and finally saw the freaking Citgo sign.  I may have cried a little at this point.  Without much fanfare, I crossed the finish, and it was quickly clear that I was done.  Like put a fork in me, I am so done I don't know if I will make it to the train.  I found my husband, thankfully pretty quickly and we headed out.  I was so desperate to change into semi-dry clothing, I changed in the disgusting train station bathroom.  This may have actually been one of the more difficult parts of race day as the stall was tiny, and at this point in the game, I started cramping.  Do you know how hard it is to put on pants with a leg cramp? Impossible.  Don't try this at home.
So, in closing, running in the cold rain sucks, don't try to put on pants with a leg cramp, but be thankful for finishing and tossing around your bad assery.  That crap may have sucked, but in the end, running a smart race makes you a better runner every damn time.

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.