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.

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.