Hurricane Sandy.

As we all know at this point, Hurricane Sandy has left a significant mark on New York City. 

It is devastating.  It is tragic and heartbreakingly sad.  People have lost their homes, their cars, their most personal belongings, their livelihoods.  We've seen the pictures of the subways flooded and neighborhoods completely wiped out, of fires raging through buildings and the wind ripping cement apart.  We did get strong winds and rain outside of Boston but ultimately ended up so very lucky.  Brian and I were both able to work from home on Monday, we had power all day (still do), certainly never lost water, had no damage done to our building or car… we basically came out of the storm completely unscathed.

It wasn’t until Monday night into Tuesday morning when news start to spread of just how bad NYC had been hit that I realized how severe the aftermath of Sandy was.  I became glued to Facebook, Twitter, the news… any form of social media that could give me more information.  My thought process went something like this

• This is terrifying.  And serious—so much more serious than I imagined.
• I hope that our friends in the city are okay.
• The marathon.  What about the marathon?

I've felt really conflicted the last few days as to whether I wanted to write about Sandy vs. the marathon but I ultimately decided that since preparing for these 26.2 miles has pretty much become my life these last six months, I needed to share what’s been on my mind.

Selfish.  I've felt very, very selfish.  People have lost everything and I’m stressing out as to how I’m going to get to the city, if we’ll have a hotel, if I’ll get to run the race and have and EXPERIENCE everything that the marathon is supposed to be.

As it turns out, I still have no idea how we’re getting into the city.  The train lines are still out of service and if we can’t take the train, we’re left with the option of driving and attempting to park somewhere and then retrieve the car in the midst of post-race chaos. 

As of this morning, we had no hotel.  Back in July, immediately after receiving my confirmation and registration number for the race, I booked our hotel at an amazing location overlooking the Hudson River.  I figured if you’re going to NYC to run a marathon, you’re going to NYC to do it up big!  That was my first and most important check off of my list. 

The hotel happened to be in Battery Park City. 

Battery Park City was evacuated on Monday and is confirmed to be without power until Monday.

So I spent two hours this morning scouring Manhattan for a new hotel that was operational, had availability, and wasn’t $700.  When you’re three days out from when you need to check in and a natural disaster has completely wiped the city out, New York City becomes an even more expensive place to stay than it already was.  Regardless, somebody out there was on my side because I found a really nice hotel that could accommodate us all and is actually way closer to where the charity bus is picking us up Sunday morning.  Big “phew” on that one.

Most importantly at this point, we’re all waiting for Mayor Bloomberg to officially announce if the marathon is still on or not.  They’re setting up the expo, which is scheduled to open tomorrow, and several higher-up people have said that all plans are continuing, but I feel like I won’t be completely convinced until the head honcho says “Yes, marathoners—come to NYC and run your hearts out.” 

That brings me to my next struggle— is it insensitive to run the race with all of the disaster surrounding this event, or does it show how a city like New York can persevere and still shine when it’s at its lowest point? 

The opinions are, of course, split down the middle. 

People supporting the marathon to go on as scheduled are runners like me.  They’ve paid so much money and invested so much time into their training, and they are READY.  There are also people across the city who feel that bringing everyone together in an event like this, the ultimate example of hope and perseverance, is what New Yorkers need to bring a little of that sparkle back to the Big Apple, if only for a day.

People pushing for the marathon to be cancelled say that the millions of dollars being spent on the marathon should go towards food, shelter and provisions for those who have lost everything, that the entertainment along the route is in poor taste considering what other New Yorkers are struggling with, that all runners should opt out of the race and defer to next year, an option which is currently being offered due to the thousands of runners traveling from all over the world who won’t be able to make it to the city to race… the list goes on.

I keep telling myself that though I do understand what they’re saying and my heart and sympathy goes out to every single person affected by this disaster… these people who strongly oppose the race going on as planned are clearly not marathoners.

They haven’t spent every waking moment of the last 20 weeks consumed with the marathon.  They haven’t hit the pavement in the pitch black darkness at 5am with only their thoughts and the steady rhythm of their movement to occupy them.  They haven’t missed afternoons of work to lie on the table of their physical therapist and be massaged and pushed and prodded on to work out the kinks and aches and pains that running 30 miles a week gives to your body.  They haven’t spent hours researching to find the perfect shoes, the lucky hairband that never slips off, the best song playlist to keep you motivated when you hit The Wall, the energy gel that will give you an extra kick but won’t make you vomit.  They haven’t spent every single Saturday for the last four months running long run after long run, feeling invincible then exhausted, fed up then elated, collapsing into an ice bath at the end with a hint of an “I did it.” smile. 

These are the thoughts of a marathoner.  My choosing to run the marathon this Sunday says nothing about how much I care for the people who are struggling right now.  It DOES, however, speak volumes for my character because I have persevered through some damned hard times throughout this training and this is MY time.  May that sound selfish, so be it.  But it is.  I have worked so hard and dedicated so much to this race.  The people in my life who mean the most to me have supported me through all of the ups and downs, and 56 people, including my family, friends, and their families have made personal donations towards my fundraising goal to help me help Boston Children’s Hospital.  I’m running this race for me, and I’m running this race for sweet Ellie, my Patient Partner. 

The marathon is (hopefully) in four days.  Well, three and some change.  Until then, I’m going to focus on being excited about my family flying in tomorrow.  I’m going to iron my name onto my race singlet and continue to line up all of my race clothes and gear and gadgets along our bedroom floor so that I can try to act calm and collected but really smile and giggle every time I walk past them.  I’m going to  wrap up my itinerary and mark the final things off of my To Do list.  

My body is as prepared for this race as I can be, and finally, finally… my heart and mind are ready too.  Let's do this, New York.

20 miles-- my longest run ever (and the longest blog post, too)

This 26 year old body has officially reached a level of achievement previously unknown to me... and most of my other sane friends.  I ran 20 miles yesterday.  TWENTY.  2-0.

My legs?  They are tired.  Exhausted.  Worn out.  

Judging by my hobble today, you'd guess I have the hips of someone the age range of 70+ and the back to match it.  

The arches of my feet are sore like I never thought they could be.

I think that a toe on my right foot is slowly separating itself from my body.

You would also think that I haven't eaten in a week because I am absolutely FAMISHED today.  Perhaps it's due to the 2800 calories that I burned yesterday.  Yes, I think that I'll attribute my insatiable craving for EVERYTHING towards that.  Case in point: someone halfway across my office made Cup-A-Soup (guilty pleasure for sure) and I can smell it.  And I want it.

So yea-- my 20 miler is done.  I'd love to say that it was glorious and fantastic and pain-free, but I would be lying through my teeth.  I had initially planned to run Saturday morning and had everything prepped and laid out Friday night.  To give you an idea of what "prepping for a long run" entails, allow me to share my process with you:

Lay out clothes:

Nike hat

UA Capris

UA long sleeve shirt (to wear under my lovely BCH Miles for Miracles singlet for the race)

Sports bra

lululemon running socks (the infamous $7 per sock pair)

Brooks Adrenaline shoes

Charge gear:

iPod

Garmin

Phone

Gather/prep gear: 

Fill and chill two 2-liter bottles of water

iPod armband + earbuds 

SPIbelt 

Gu Chomps, 3 packs
Body Glide 

It is nuts.  So I got all of this together Friday night, laid it out, ate my pasta dinner and headed to bed around 11.  I set two alarms: 3am and 5am, because guess what I do at 3am every Long Run Eve?  I wake up and eat peanut butter toast with a drizzle of honey, a dash of sea salt, and a banana sliced on top, obviously!  Can I just pause for a moment to say that as enjoyable as it may sound to snack on peanut butter at 3am while blearily watching an episode of Friends (late night on Nick at Night!), I'm so over this.  Anyways, wash this mess down with a liter of water, and head back to bed.  5am comes to soon and I inevitably snooze it out for another 5-10 minutes.  Climb out of bed and gear-up, leaving the apartment by 5:45 at the very latest.  

(Sidenote which might be entertaining for those readers who know BGK): 

Three weeks ago when I woke up for my middle-of-the-night breakfast, someone was still awake playing video games.  As I pulled the bread and toaster out, Brian looked at me, at the bread, at the toaster, and at the clock.

B: What... are you doing?  Do you know it's 3am?
K: Yes... I'm eating breakfast.

B: Yea... do you know that it's 3am?
K: Yes, I have to eat my breakfast now so it digests and settles before I run at 6.

B: Huh.  Do you do this every weekend?
K: Yep.

B: You did this all summer, eating toast at 3am?  And turning lights and the TV on.

K: *blank stare in his direction*

B: I had no idea.

Welcome to the world of living with someone who sleeps like the dead.  

Once I was in the car and driving towards Scituate, I started to not feel so hot.  And it was raining.  AND it was humid and muggy outside.  I've gone into all of my outside runs with the mindset of running through any/all weather conditions, knowing that anything can happen on race day, so I kept on.  Feeling a bit better, I drove the route that I'd planned, parked at the King's (hi Bill & Kathy!), and geared up.  As much as I tried to positive self-talk myself into this run, I made it about half a mile before I realized there was no. way. that my body was going to tolerate that run.  The humidity combined with my long sleeve top was suffocating, and I felt dizzy, nauseous, and kind of floaty, so I turned around and walked back to the car.

It was NOT an easy decision to make.  There may have been tears, and I was just angry at myself as the NEGATIVE self-talk now set in:

"What if you feel this same way on race day?  Are you going to quit then?"
"Only an idiot would wear a long sleeve shirt. You've lost your mind."

"Everyone knew you were planning on running 20 today.  What will THEY think?"

And then I sat back down in the car, dried my tears, and blasted "Dog Days Are Over" on repeat while I drove to Panera to pick us up a very early breakfast.  I dropped my stuff off in the apartment, grabbed my Kindle, and did the hour of XT that was scheduled for Sunday while watching "Love Actually" on the elliptical.  Post-shower and getting ready (thank God for a good hair day), we were off to Salem for a wine festival, which was exactly what I needed.  Following the ideal pre-long run dinner of margherita pizza, I was in bed and blissfully asleep by 10pm.

Wouldn't you know that everything happens for a reason?

Sunday morning I did the same routine, only later (and with POSITIVE self-talk.  Yea, I talk to myself a lot. When you're alone with your thoughts for 3+ hours, something's gotta occupy your time).  Brian was going to be gone golfing and watching football all day, so it was the first weekend where I had an entire day to use however I wanted, so I opted to start my run as close to the start time for my marathon wave as possible (10:55am).  I woke up around 7, ate my breakfast, drank water, ran the dishwasher, changed the sheets, watched a little TV, and got myself ready to leave.

I'd found a trail around a 1.6 mile looped path about 5 minutes from our apartment that's all nature-y and water-y and with a park ranger station with a water fountain and bathroom-- perfect.  The weather was so much cooler and breezy, the sky was a gorgeous bright blue, and as I ran along the trail, leaves were drifting down out of the trees.  I may or may not have been singing "What A Wonderful World" to myself:

Don't be jealous.  It was approximately two laps later, when I'd hit only 5 miles, that I realized the novelty of the pretty scenery wore off and that it was going to be a really long freaking day.  It was also tough because I usually run with my Camelbak water backpack which holds 2 liters of water and drink constantly during my long runs, but I knew I wouldn't use it for the marathon and wanted to get used to having to stop for breaks, so I'd left my water in the car, which was about a 3 minute walk off of the trail, so I kept having to start and stop my watch AND start and stop my body.  Of the things I've learned with this training, one of the most important is that it's almost always better to just keep moving because once you stop, your legs feel like cement blocks... and the pain sets in.  If you keep moving, you can remain blissfully unaware of your self-induced torture.

I could tell that I was definitely getting dehydrated.  In retrospect, partaking in a day of wine the day before a 20 mile run wasn't the best idea, but I drank close to 4 liters of water from the time we got in the car until before I left for the route Sunday morning, so in addition to the 3 liters I was drinking throughout my run, I thought I'd be okay-- not so much.  There were definitely moments of feeling a little blurry.  I chose to go with the "Smart Runner" conscience versus my "Stubborn Runner" conscience and slowed down to walk a bit, eat a few Chomps, and get my bearings.

By the time I'd reached 16 miles I was battling with myself.  I was exhausted but knew that I'd run 18 before and was completely fine, so it was a mental block, not physical.  The time was also wearing on me-- with all of the starting and stopping my watch, I was getting close to having been at the park for 4 hours.  Even though all of my runs were perfectly on pace, and I'd only been running for 3 hours, which was exactly where I needed to be, factoring all of the time I had to take a break and get my head together added A LOT of time. Since I was running so late and wasn't yet finished, I had to cut my run short to take the car back to the apartment for Brian, so he could drive to Part 2 of his day.

The walk back to the car, with my legs shaking, dirt all in my socks and shoes, grimy salt and sweat on my face, and knowing that I still had 4 miles left to run, was the longest walk of my life.  I bought a Coke at the Park Ranger Station and GLORY BE, nothing has ever tasted so good.  I knew I needed sugar in my system and FAST, and thankfully it worked.  Brian headed out the door as soon as I got there, and I knew I had to as well or the last 4 miles weren't going to happen.  I grabbed The Savior (my Kindle) and headed to our gym in hopes that the last half of Love Actually would canvas my pain/misery and just GET ME FINISHED.

The Dancing Prime Minister
Love Actually — MOVIECLIPS.com

This scene may have replayed 2 or 6 times.  

It was hard.  The last 4 miles SUCKED, big time.  That whole keep running, don't stop thing I mentioned before?  Yea, practice what you preach, Katie, because OH MY the pain.  And tired.  By that time, I'd been in some sort of forward motion for the last 6 solid hours and was just... done.  When the distance finally changed over from "3.99" to "4.00" I left the treadmill, walked back to the apartment, and BAWLED.

I did it.  I freaking ran the longest run of my life.  It may have taken me forever and been painful and tear-inducing and exhausting and mentally trying, but I DID IT.  There's this symptom of Crazy Runners Syndrome where you get so used to your mileage numbers being so crazy that you just get used to it, so the "wow" of running so far had dwindled down to me.  At that point, it was just part of my pain for training for the marathon.  But then, THEN... the texts started.  The texts and the phone calls and the "Likes" on my Facebook page and the messages of encouragement and support and it made it all very real.  I'm teary just writing about it now because y'all, my people, are such a big factor in me having it made it this far with such a positive outlook.  

Once I hobbled up the stairs to our apartment, a flood of thoughts hit me:
1. NEED FOOD.
2. NEED ICE BATH.
3. GET SHOES OFF IMMEDIATELY.
4. NEED WATER.
5. LEFTOVER PIZZA.

A mere 3 minutes later, I was blissfully sitting in my ice bath, eating cold leftover frozen pizza and guzzling my recovery drink.  Since I had the rest of the afternoon to myself, I put on my most comfortable clothes and retired to the couch for a marathon of Sex and the City reruns.  It was blissful.

As I hobble around the office today, I feel appreciative of yesterday's run.  There was a definite mix of highs and lows while I ran, which I think is normal.  I'm also sore as all get out today and am taking Advil like it's my J-O-B.  As stressed as I was yesterday, knowing that I finished and that the marathon will be only 6.2 miles more than what I achieved is both encouraging and unsettling at the same time.  I know that I can do it, but it's going to be a hell of a lot of work to get to that finish line.  

I'm as prepared as I'm going to get, and now it's all about the taper, resting my legs and icing any pains as much as possible.  

We have a big team dinner in Boston this Thursday, Brian's birthday is Monday, and then my family flies in next Thursday-- needless to say, I'm so excited for the next two weeks!  Two weeks from today, Brian and I will be driving back from Connecticut only I'll have a new accessory around my neck and I can guarantee I'll be decked out in NYCM gear because I will have FINISHED the marathon.  Amazing stuff, folks.

Running time cancelled out blogging time.

As I'm sure you've noticed by now, my whole "blog through every day of training" plan really just didn't happen for this race.  It was a nice thought, and there are days when I think back and really wish I'd briefly jotted down how bad a particular run was or fabulous I felt on my last long run or about the day that I pushed through The Wall and finished my worst training run to date... but I didn't.  And honestly, I'm okay with that.  Because as if I'm not already a little nuts for running this marathon, I've already decided that more are in my future.  Considering I truly am the girl who would previously walk through traffic rather than run, this decision surprises no one more so than myself.

I'm hooked on this stuff.  I've got a fever and the only prescription... is more racing.  Considering that this is my first marathon, I am pretty darn proud for what I've accomplished and how far I've come.  Don't get me wrong- I've definitely made mistakes along the way and wished that I had done some things differently, but I've also ultimately grown as a runner and as a person and wouldn't trade this learning experience for anything in the world.

I did miss workouts on occasion, but only the very occasional cross training day or midweek run, and only if I'd hit a point where I truly just needed a rest day that week.  The only two long runs that I've missed were when either my sports medicine doctor (for the horrendous pains in the arches of my feet) or my coach (for the worst chest cold I've had in years) told me that I had to sit it out.  You would think that being told that I didn't have to run double digit miles would be a sweet relief-- oh, no SIR.  I knew I'd crossed over to the dark side when they told me this and I cried instead of doing a happy dance.  Cried!

"What do you MEAN I can't run my long run?!  I've been training!  I have to hit my miles this week!  I have so far left to go with my runs-- I can't miss this!"

Well, I did and (go figure) the sports medicine doctor knew what she was talking about.  While sitting out a week did help the pains in my arches, I've continued to struggle with feet issues through the rest of my training and they're my biggest concern heading into the race.  I know that I've done everything that I can to prepare and that I've taken care of my body the best way possible to be ready for race day.  I suppose your feet have a right to protest every now and then when you're pounding them against asphalt for hours at a time, I just hope they don't rebel against me on November 4th.

Last week sidelined me with a beyond awful chest cold.  I was on the couch in my pajamas and tucked under blankets the entire week, and while I pumped my body full of Mucinex and Robitussin the last thing that I was physically able to do was put my body in any sort of forward motion that would be considered exercise.  Luckily I was so sick I didn't even think about running... until Friday.  Friday would be the Eve of the 20 Miler, the longest run on my training schedule, which would then put me into tapering for the last three weeks.  I emailed the team's coach, explained what had been going on and how sick I'd been, and he immediately responded with strict instructions to sit the 20 miler out and make it up the following week (this Saturday).  Even though I had been assuming that that was going to be the verdict, I was DEVASTATED.  Everything had been going so well so to be hit in the face with sitting out my longest run... it stressed me out.

I'm so lucky to have such wonderful friends and family because everyone rallied around me and convinced me that the worst thing I could do is try to exercise through being sick when I'm this close to the race and risk running my body down even more.  Brian was a champ (he deserves a shout out if only because he claims that I'm the worst sick person in the world.  Ironically enough, he's never been in MY shoes when HE'S sick) and I'm now feeling 150% better.  I've done cross training twice this week, have a short run tomorrow (5 miles) and am facing The Big One on Saturday morning.  

Everyone says to treat your longest run pre-race as a dress rehearsal, so I'm pretty pumped to basically tell myself all morning that I'm running a mini marathon.  It'll also be nice to go into the run knowing that I won't have to run that long again until the race!

Highlight of my week so far?  This little lovely came in the mail yesterday:

As I sat on the couch and read through it last night, I went through the following sequence:
  *Teared up.
  *Couldn't wipe a ridiculously huge smile off of my face.
  *Had chills.
  *Almost threw up.
  *Couldn't wipe a ridiculously huge smile off of my face.

And it's just carried over to today!  My lists to get ready for Marathon Day is slowly being cleared (y'all know my lists are serious business).  Also exciting-- information was emailed out this morning for runners to send out to family and friends to track their runner!  I'll be updating with this info as the race day gets closer, so if anyone's interested in either following my progress online or getting texts as I cross significant points of the race, stay tuned!

Running makes you lose your mind.

Because I vowed to be completely and totally honest throughout this training process, I'll come clean with y'all.  Up until this past weekend's run, I was STRUGGLING with the training.  Like, there were days when a flurry of obscenities would come streaming out of my mouth, tears would well up, and I just wanted to flat-out QUIT.  And then I really would cry because I felt like I was letting everyone down: Brian, my family, my friends, Ellie and her family, every amazing person who's donated to my fundraising, my coworker who's training to run as well, strangers who see me running and give me an encouraging smile and a thumbs up to keep going... I threw myself a big ole pity party and wallowed in it.  

Even worse, as much as I've come to look forward to my long runs, they were really affecting my mentality as well.  I'd make it about 8 miles into a 12 mile run and start to lose it a little bit.  I mean, let's face it-- running is very much an individual sport which is partly why I enjoy it so much.  I don't do so hot at team sports when everyone depends on everyone else. The solo runs, when my main concern is putting one foot in front of the other and breathing, I can do.  But when you're running alone for 2+ hours, it gets... LONELY.  There have been times in the last few runs in Scituate when I was making a loop past the ocean and started to see things.

Let me state that I am always thoroughly hydrated and fueled.  I have nothing to base what I saw on anything other than pure wishing and hoping that something could entertain me during the run.

The week that I ran 11 miles, I was having an awesome run.  Everything felt great, I had great energy, my music was perfect, the humidity had cut back-- ideal morning run conditions.  As I touched my foot to the end of one point in Scituate and started back the way that I'd come, I passed an elderly woman who was also running (Dear God of Knees, please keep mine in tip top shape and don't let them give out on me.  I'd love to still be running in my 70s.  Amen.) and after smiling and flashing my runners wave, I came up to what I consider one of the prettiest views in Scituate.  The house on this property is on a cliff and set back from the road, and as I run past the driveway I can look out and see the ocean, the beach, a whole different section of houses on the cliffs... at 7am, it's gorgeous.  

As I looked out over the shining, smooth water... I saw sea lions.  I swear to you, I saw sea lions.  I probably didn't, but I could have sworn I did.  I was excited to the point of looking around to see if the elderly woman I'd passed was close enough to me so that I could share the news with her because look!  Sea lions!  Swimming and leaping!  I looked, looked, and looked again and after concluding that I was only losing my mind and not seeing acrobatic sea lions, I continued on my way.

Four weeks ago, as I was closing in on the last couple of miles of my 13 mile run and seriously tired, I thought that the street signs were dancing.  DANCING.  I was on a windy road so when I saw this sign below the way that my eyes looked at it, the sign was dancing.  And I don't mean just the yellow sign-- I mean from the top of the arrow to the bottom of the pole, the thing was wiggling.  Even worse?  I was thoroughly amused and entertained.  Again, I glanced around to see if there was anyone nearby with whom I could share my amusement.

source

The following week, also in Scituate, I was running along another ocean road as part of my 14 and, minus the buckle unhooking from my Camelbak which required a good 10 minute stop to repair it, I had found my rhythm and was loving the run.  

I was close enough to the water to hear the waves so I pulled my earbuds out and realized I was caught up in one of those moments that I truly run for-- when your body is completely in sync with your mind, your head is in the run and you're aware enough of what you're doing to get the miles done but you aren't focused on the miles (huge difference), and you're mentally just... there.  I was in the midst of the runners high that I love so much, that all runners love so much, the feeling that makes you keep going back for the pain and torture of training runs and tempo runs and track workouts.  The breeze was coming off of the ocean, I could hear the sand and gravel crunching as my sneakers steadily pounded away, and I couldn't help but grin as I realized how far I've come since the first day I tried to make it around the track for a mile without pause.

I continued down the road, all caught up in my pride and happiness, when I gazed out to the ocean and saw it.

source

Well... I thought I saw it.  I was 150% convinced that I was watching a humpback whale breaching out of the water.  

mind = blown.  

Several different emotions and thoughts raced through my head at that moment.
1. Terror.  Whales terrify me.
2. Surprise.  A whale!  On my run!
3. Truth.  There's no way a whale could be THAT close to the beach and be leaping and breaching and such.
4. Excitement!  I can't wait to tell everyone that I saw a whale off of the beach!
5. Dismay.  People will think I'm crazy when I tell them I've seen a whale off of the beach.

I continued running down the road and kept looking over to the water to have a sanity check, but by that point, my concentration was thrown.  The rest of the run was semi-manageable but I was exhausted.  I mean... it's a lot to process when you realize you still have 7 miles to run and you've just seen a whale... or not.  Probably not.

In hindsight, it's a good thing that as badly as I wanted to chat with someone that I never had interaction with people when I temporarily lost my mind during run.  Scituate's a small town where everyone knows everyone and everyone watches each others backs: 

BEWARE OF CRAZY WHITE GIRL:  

Runs with water backpack, hot pink Nike hat, iPod full of Britney, Bruce and Bono, Gu Chomps in her pants.  Claims to see sea life off of town beaches.  If encountered, back away slowly: looks friendly but is in marathon training and temporarily loses all sanity.

I'm an athlete?

I'm pretty confident that I spent my entire childhood NOT running because I was afraid of what people might think.  

For those of you who spent hot, buggy Texas evenings watching me shuffle down the soccer field or grudgingly round the bases at softball, you can agree that I'm not exactly light-footed and graceful.  Seeing kids effortlessly fly past me only reinforced to my young self that ATHLETICISM?  I DIDN'T HAVE IT.  This is why I was on the dance team for four years of high school-- no running is required when sporting tasseled white boots, a petticoat and rhinestone cowboy hats.

I have never considered myself an athlete.  Athletes are graceful and move easily and are agile, and they are motivated to win!  They go all out every. time. and experience the thrill of a victory and the agony of defeat!  Um... yea, no.  I'm extremely competitive, yes.  I like to win and I like to be right, oh yes.  But I've just never had the drive to be the best on the playing field... or the track... or the tennis courts (7th grade PE credit, whoop whoop!).

When I started running a little over 4 years ago, Brian would go to the track with me to run and somehow evolved into my semi-coach.  After taking a walk break after an exhausting 1/4 mile of running (that would be ONE lap around the track, good gracious...), I would stop to walk, then kinda run, then walk again, then if I saw more people coming to the track, you could pretty much just consider me down for the count because there was NO WAY I was going to do the shuffle in front of spectators.  My lackadaisical routine must have a struck a nerve because he started telling me out of the blue to run a mile, just one mile, and then let myself walk.  And then as he walked away he told me that a jog isn't considered a jog unless both feet are always in motion, and that if I stopped to walk that that distance didn't count towards whatever distance I was aiming to complete.  As you can imagine, this went over extraordinarily well.  

So off I went, slowly making my way through four laps, making a concerted effort to have both feet in motion at all times.  If you close your eyes and think of that, you can probably picture me as a baby elephant trying to wobble forward.  I had no form, no posture, no idea how to breathe and not hyperventilate... it was a mess.  BUT I was moving.

Even now, just because I'm training to run a marathon and have learned how to do all of those things like breathe and pace myself and change how my feet strike if something feels funny and eat Gu Chomps mid-run and make sure my fists never clench and I run as if holding eggs in the palms of my hands... I still didn't feel like that qualified me as an "athlete."  And then I took to The Google:

athlete: a person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports, or games requiring physical strength, agility, or stamina

Hm.  Are you wondering what the point of this blog is?  I was too, until just a moment ago-- completely lost track of where I was going.  Basically, I came across this picture today while perusing past NYC marathon stuff:

And I realized... I'm going to be running in front of thousands upon thousands of people lining the streets to cheer the marathoners on.  And I am one of the marathoners!  Mind. Blown.  On the days when I'm struggling with a run and even getting through three miles feels like torture because I JUST DON'T WANT TO, I try to remind myself of how far I've come:  from a clunky teenager who would stop jogging to walk when a car drove by, to a wannabe runner who couldn't make it two consecutive laps around a track, to an ATHLETE in her mid-20s who is training her bum off to run a marathon.  That is what I think they call "progress," my friends.

It's a struggle.

There are days when running just... stinks.  Big time.  I've trained for smaller races before and the highest mileage I ever really hit was between 3 and 5 miles, and by then I'd run the race and would go right back to maintenance miles, which were between 3 and 4 each time I'd run.

But now...  NOW it's constant.  Every day, there is a run.  When I wake up, I think about how many miles I have to run that day.  As the day goes by, I think about what I'm eating to fuel my body, if I'm drinking enough water to not get dehydrated, if I'm wearing the best shoes to support my weird 'n' crampy left arch.  When I get home, it's time management from the moment I get off of the train to get in my run, shower, cook, eat, try to breathe/relax for a moment, and head to bed to start over again.

I'm not an idiot-- I was very aware going into this that I'd be (literally) running my bum off.  But just like with any other workout, there are days when I'm loving the training and how good it makes me feel, how fit and strong I feel, etc.  It's REALLY fabulous to be hitting the distances that I'm running for long runs and not be, well... dead.  Because I totally thought I'd be crawling once I hit 10 miles.  Y'all, I wasn't even all that sore on Saturday.  It's fabulous because I know that I'm slowly training my body to be completely conditioned to take on a crazy goal, and it's working.  BUT for as many good days as there are, there might be three more bad ones.  There are days when I just don't want to do it.  The thought of doing anything else in the world as a physical activity OTHER THAN RUNNING is appealing.  

Since I'm being totally honest, there have been a couple of days where I just gave myself a break and didn't beat myself up about THE GUILT and didn't do anything at all.  I made sure that the days have been cross training or easy runs, never speedwork days or long runs.  I felt incredibly guilty about it at first, but after talking to fellow runners at work, they helped me to realize that if taking a day off to maintain my sanity is necessary, TAKE IT.  Training to put your body through 26.2 miles of running is crazy intense enough, and if you do it burnt out and exhausted, you're more likely to get tired of it in general, not to mention hurt yourself, not train at your full potential... and so forth.

At the end of the day, I know that training for a marathon is hard-- if it were easy, it'd be a lot less of an accomplishment to have crossed the finish line, and a heck of a lot more people would do it.  And I knew I'd hit bumps during training-- it's totally normal to be angry when you read the word "Fartlek" and have to wear sneakers to commute in because your foot hurts and know that by Saturday afternoon you'll have run 25 miles and that your body will be TIRED.  

But in the end, I know it will so be worth it!

In other running news...

I ran my 10 mile long run on Saturday.  

It was horrific... because it was on the treadmill.  

As I'd mentioned, my arch in my left foot has been bothering me, so I've been babying my foot a little bit until my appointment with Sports Medicine this Thursday afternoon.  I didn't want to run 5 miles out from the car and have my foot start bothering me... so I chose to run on the treadmill.  Even with a good night's sleep, tons of water and my energy Gu, it was a tough run.  Physically, I felt great.  Mentally, the games-- they were a-playin'.  

When I do long runs outside, it's easy to pick something else to focus on when I'm struggling, even if it's making it to the next street sign, then that red car, then the big building... and once I'm there, I'm usually past the little wall that was trying to shut me down.  But on the treadmill, the only things you have are your body, that rubber belt under your feet, and whatever sight you're seeing directly in front of you (for me, a big pretty window... that opens to the warm, sunny courtyard... that backs up to a building.  Not exactly inspiring.)  Knowing it would be a trying run, I had downloaded a movie to my Kindle but not even Bridget Jones could help me through this one.  Bridget nor Hugh nor Colin in all of their British man glory-- fail fail fail.  

It can also really mess up your rhythm when the treadmill only allows you to run 60 minutes at a time, so since I was running for over an hour and a half, I had to time it to catch the distance and time up enough with each other so they'd be at a sort of round number when I got to 60.  As if I want to play with math at a time like that while trying to breathe, not trip, not gasp too loudly-- balls to that.

BUT I made it.  And I tried my second form and flavor of Gu.  My current favorite are the Gu Chomps, watermelon flavor.  They're gummy but not overly chewy, so if you can get past nearly choking when first sampling while running, you're gold!

Watermelon Gu Chomps: 

This weekend I tried an actual Gu gel, strawberry banana flavor... and about died.  The flavor, the consistency, the sweetness-- gah, I have chills just writing about it.  It was awful.  It did it's job, but I will not be relying on the gel for my runs any longer.

Off to make friends with my Fartleks.

I ran a Niner. And it stunk.

Last Saturday morning, I ran nine miles.  9.  NINE.  I'm not really sure how to describe it, even though admitting that is like breaking the first cardinal rule of blogging.  Brian and I had been chatting and running the longer distances close to our apartment was getting to be really difficult.  Pretty much any way you turn, the roads are really busy and the sidewalks are cracked and crumbly (that doesn't paint a pretty picture for my Texans, I'd imagine...), so it's hard to get into a long run and kind of zone out.  It's safe (and I always carry my runners mace-- thanks Jannie) and all but it's just... hard.  And running lots of miles is hard enough, so why add more obstacles?

The final straw kind of came when I ran my 8 miler.  There's this one section of sidewalk along my route that is AWFUL.  It also just happens to be along the busiest street in our town.  It's all driveways split with cracked cement mixed with dirt mounds... obviously the best running surface out there.  When I run this part, I definitely think of it as my trail run and am leaping and bounding to land in the right spots.  In my head, I look like Katniss from The Hunger Games, sprinting through the forest (there are totally trees and branches and vines): 

source

Alas, Katniss I am not, so I try to block out what passersby are thinking as the girl in hot pink leaps along as Kanye sings in her ear.  Guarantee I'm not looking as light-footed as I feel.  Anyways, the last run I did along that road I landed funny and almost twisted my ankle.  I was also exhausted and dehydrated, so that probably played a part as well.  But I decided I was DONE with that long run route.

Since my Saturday mornings consist of trips to Target and Trader Joe's in Hanover anyways, we decided it would make sense for me to start running in Scituate.  So this past Friday I laid out everything I would need for the next morning (again with the lies about just lacing your sneaks and running out the front door!): my clothes, shoes, FIFTEEN DOLLAR running socks, iPod case, headphones, a packet of Gu Chomps, sunscreen, my Camelbak backpack was filled with water and in the fridge chilling, and my iPod was charging.  My alarm went off at 6:30 Saturday morning and I was off. 

I was feeling really proud of myself and excited on my drive down and maybe a little emotional (why?  Because I'm Katie.) because I definitely got completely choked up as I was singing along to this song on the radio:

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I kid you not.  Couldn't get the words out.  

As I pulled into the parking lot I'd mapped out and at that moment, it occurred to me that I felt like an official runner, like a pre-marathoner.  I tucked my Gu and car key into my Camelbak and buckled myself in: 

Let me tell you, it's even more attractive ON.  With my iPod on and my hat adjusted, I was off.  I'd already mapped out my distance so I knew where I was heading.

Can I just say now that when you drive a distance, you never really think about how far it actually is?  For all of you Scitutes, in my head I knew I had to run from the driftway Dunkin Donuts, loop Peggotty, loop the Lighthouse then run straight back down the Driftway.  EASY STUFF. 

Wrong.  An easy route, yes.  Flat and smooth and easy to zone out?  Absolutely.  Did I hit any walls during my run?  About a million.  Thoughts that went through my head?

Miles 1-3: 

It's buggy.  

The humidity is gross.  

It's foggy. 

Love the smell of that sea bree-- why the eff does it smell like clam chowder?

*Hit Peggotty's incline and took a Gu*

There is NO WAY I'm running this hill.

I AM FLYING!!

Miles 4-6:

My nose is itching.  

My ankle hurts.  

The arch of my left foot hurts.  

I wonder if I'll see anyone I know.

Save some energy to sprint through the Harbor and look impressive.

*Realized I'm an idiot for sprinting through the Harbor and took 2 Gu*

That old man just passed you.

Ooh, I love running by the Lighthouse.

Cute dog!

That old man just passed you again.

Miles 7-9: 

I'm dead.  DEAD.  There's no way I'm going to run 26.2 miles!

*Hit the Harbor and took 2 Gu*
I'M FLYING!  I HOPE I SEE SOMEONE I KNOW!  I'M TOTALLY GOING TO BE THAT ANNOYING MOM SOMEDAY WHO RUNS WHILE EFFORTLESSLY PUSHING THREE KIDS IN A RUNNING STROLLER!

Training ain't pretty, my friends.  Once I hit the 8.5, I knew I was good and just slowly enjoyed the last little bit of the run.  It wasn't terrible but could have been better; it wasn't awesome but could have been way worse.  Regardless, I finished 9 miles.  My legs were rubber when I got back to the Jeep, but I felt amazing.  

I've had a weird cramp on and off in the arch of my left foot for the last week and have an appointment this Thursday with Sports Medicine, so I'm hoping to get that little issue squared away.  Just to be safe though, I'm sticking to the treadmill at the apartment for tomorrow's long run in case it starts to flare up.  I do not need to get stuck 5 miles away from the car and hobble 5 miserable miles back-- no thank you!  So, I'll be making friends with Sandy tomorrow morning-- my current movie is The Blindside.  It makes me cry and laugh and forget the fact that I'm a hamster in a spinny wheel for the next hour and a half.

Happy weekend!