I wonder if there is a belief among non-runners that  we runners love to run all the time. Like, we live to run. I mean, yes, we love running and we talk about running a lot. We feel sad when we have to miss a run, we follow other runners on social media, talk about those runners, and then post our own stuff, but do we love it all the time? For me, no. I love it about 90% of the time. But depending on the day and the workout, the idea of putting one foot in front of another can be a real struggle.

This rang true on Saturday when my alarm went off at 3:23am. Welcome to summer in Las Vegas.  

I immediately hit snooze. "I'll just run tomorrow," I mumbled to Brian.

He mumbled back. "I'm golfing, remember?"

Darn it. Now what? Just skip it, that awful voice whispered. You aren't even in training yet. No one will know if you don't go. You're tired; yesterday you did 5 miles, leg day AND spent six hours at Wet n Wild. It was true; my body felt like a desiccated piece of beef jerky. I knew I was dehydrated. After all, yesterday's high was 111. Six hours at a waterpark in the blazing sun racing after a five year old was exhausting. Even if I had worn my hydration pack and consumed 32 oz of water per hour, I would still be feeling the effects. Instead, I had consumed barely thirty ounces of water the entire day and eaten a soft pretzel covered in those tiny, delicious salt granules. Very poor planning on my part. Everything on my body hurt.

These early mornings were starting to wear on me, too. For the past 8 weeks, I've been getting up at 4am or earlier to get my runs in before bootcamp, usually 3-5 times a week. Sleeping until 5am was now a treat. Brian referred them as my "trucker hours." I'm essentially a walking zombie by 8pm. This is the challenge of training through the summer when you live in a desert. Either rise before the sun or run in the sun and roast. Today's high? A toasty 113. It was already 88 degrees and once that sun came up, it was going to be hot, hot, hot. 

The other part of my brain decided to chime in on this conversation. If you don't get up now, you won't get your run in, it reminded me gently. This voice sounds decidedly like Scott Jurek: kind, reassuring, determined. The 5K is next weekend, then you are out of town for two weeks. It's much harder to get your runs in when you aren't home. You need to get up. Besides, what is the first rule of marathon training? Never miss a long run!

I stared at the ceiling, listening to both voices, wishing desperately I had picked a better, easier, more-climate friendly hobby. With good snacks. Scrapbooking was looking better by the minute.

The war in my brain ended promptly when the pro-running voice accurately pointed out, Scott Jurek has the same internal fight. He ran Mount Si back-to-back-to-back as a training run...then turned around and did the same thing the next day. C'mon, get up and run. Get up, Kim.

So I did.

I jammed a toothbrush in my mouth and tried not to think. I put my shirt on. The anti-running voice reminded me that it doesn't matter if I skip a day; I probably need extra rest.

I took my shirt off.

I looked over at the warm, cozy, dark bedroom and sighed heavily.

You'll feel so much better after a run.

I put my shirt back on.

I'll admit, I was secretly hoping a kitten would trip me down the stairs. Any obstacle, hurdle, or roadblock was welcome. But the cats were still asleep, the coffee was ready, and my hydration pack sat on the counter neatly, exactly where I laid it out last night. All systems go.

As I drove, I tried to reassure myself that running at 4:30am was not dangerous. I'll be fine, right? Yes, this is the earliest I had ever set out, but it was also the hottest time of year.  I couldn't figure out what I was more afraid of: hungry animals or bad humans. Running alone was stupid, I muttered. I should have stayed with the group; the Lulus were already out. In fact, as I drove down a very dark Hwy 159, I saw all of them charging up the road, reflecting like shiny jewels in the light of my headlights. They were not running the loop, which is why I opted to do my own run. I needed to run the Loop. It was calling. It had been too long.

So I parked, my car one of only three in the gravel lot, and geared up. It felt strangely reassuring to don the hydration pack. Sixty four ounces of water strapped to my body and all the pockets a girl could ask for. In my shorter runs, I'd been forced to stash the key fob in boob alley, a rather unfavorable location for many, many reasons. I don't even run with my phone anymore, mainly because I don't have a place to put it. (Lululemon shorts, as much as I love them, are consistently getting shorter and shorter. My Midwestern modesty was now a thing of the past). But with the pack, I had a choice of twenty-seven different pockets. Keys, gel, music, heck yeah! I'll bring my phone too. Why not. There was even a pocket to store my head lamp once the sun came out.
 
My lamp didn't last that long. I had a strong beam of light for about three minutes until it dimmed and then went out completely. Argh! If the first rule of marathon training is never miss a long run, the second rule should be always check the batteries in your head lamp. Rookie mistake. Now it was just me, a very black canyon, and a plethora of scary thoughts.

The first two miles, I kept the  music off. Instead, I concentrated on the noises around me, listening for the sound of animals in the underbrush and the eventual growl of the puma as it would inevitably attack. I devised a plan; if I don't scare the big cat away, I should be able to still make it to Summerlin hospital in time. Blood loss might be a problem but I'm A+; that's a really common blood type. They'll be able to stitch me up in no time. Just gotta protect the internal organs.

Happy thoughts.

My quads felt like fifteen ton steel beams and my hamstrings were singing. The ridiculous number of squats we did yesterday combined with the many flights of stairs at the water park had taken its toll. I started to negotiate with myself - why not run six miles instead of the thirteen? Three miles in, three miles out. Six miles is a totally respectable distance. After all, I got up at 3:20 in the morning! And it's black as night, my head lamp is dead, and there's a strong possibility I'm going to end up as some creature's breakfast. I deserve a shorter run.
 
I ran quietly, listening to the desert around me, content with the new plan. What was that in the bush, that rustle? I took off like a shot. This isn't scary, this isn't scary...this is really stupid. My mom would be so pissed if she knew I was doing this. (hi, Mom). Hell, I AM a mother; why am I doing this? This isn't scary, everything is going to be a-okay...just keep running.

I got up the monster hill at mile 2 and popped into the outhouse. While I had been focused on larger animals, I had underestimated the insect world.  This guy was hanging out on the wall next to the toilet paper. He was the size of my hand.  

I had a quiet conversation with him that mainly consisted of me pleading with him to stay on his side of the bathroom and not to try anything funny.

He complied.

When I walked out, the sun had come up.

The relief was palpable.

I'm going to make it!

The faint strains of daylight made the canyon feel like a new world. The scary animals and serial killers instantly vanished. My legs felt warmed and ready, not heavy and stiff. My fatigue evaporated. Hell, I had just peed right next to a wolf spider. Red Rock had nothing on me. I was going to rock this run!

So I did.

I didn't stop at mile 3; I went all the way to my turn-around at mile 6.5. I flew down the Wall then back up. I smiled at three cyclists. I passed a group of runners going up as I went down and we all smiled and waved. I sipped water, enjoyed the music, and watched the sun touch all parts of the rocks.

Life is beautiful.

I couldn't resist snapping a couple of pics, mainly because I was in such a good mood. Ironically, I had just read an article in InStyle magazine that offered tips for a "no-makeup selfie." They recommend hitting a facial-only bar that will have your skin looking luminous in 30-50 minutes. I feel the urge to write in and suggest you put on your favorite visor, go to glorious canyon in the middle of the night, and run six miles uphill after urinating next to a five-inch long spider.

It's an incredible feeling when you go from "I can't, I can't" to "I can...I am...I did."

My last two miles were an easy-peasy 8:38 and 8:29. I returned to the car in one piece, free of animal attacks, drenched in sweat and having avoided the imaginary murderers and rapists that lurk in the canyon.

To think I had almost skipped it.

HI!

I'm here...alive, a little tired, but ready to write again. The spring is over, school is out, and my life is mine again. As any mom of a school-aged kid can attest, their schedule becomes your schedule and you spend 90% of your day in the car. I'm thankful t-ball did not overlap (much) with LA Marathon training; I'm not sure I would have had enough energy for both. Sprinkle on a healthy helping of additional volunteer gigs, a new business, and a very busy husband (four trials, five months ::insert grimace here::) and I quickly found myself over my head.

It was a tough spring. Days flew by and I never seemed to get everything done. But as the long, hot summer stretches in front of us, some recent social preening has opened up my fall calendar to focus on what I need. Scotty fell so in love with baseball that we are already signed up for Fall Ball. Like Charlie and his golden ticket, I found myself the lucky recipient of an entry to the St. George marathon. The Las Vegas Chapter of Medals 4 Mettle just continues to grow and some very cool collaborations are on the horizon. My new business, Presentation Matters, is swimming along nicely. I feel like I can finally breath again. Maybe some people dread the summer months with the kids at home; for me, I'm excited to have the Bear with me and already agreed to pay him as my assistant when he comes on jobs with me. (do I need to get him a W9? How exactly does this work?)

With Scotty entering kindergarten in the fall, I'm shifting the focus of the blog from motherhood/children to more about running/weight loss. He's old enough now to feel embarrassment by his mom sharing stories on the internet. The blog has been moving in the direction for a number of years anyway, so it seems like a natural fit.

So...running. The recovery from LA was one of the longest and hardest ones I've had. Even the ultra, with the lack of sleep and chaos of Brian's hospitalization, I was able to make it to Hill Day on Wednesday. After LA, on Tuesday night, I texted a terse "Not gonna make it" as I laid supine on the couch. My legs, oh my legs. Maybe it was the heat or dehydration or the copious amount of Chardonnay I tearfully consumed in the days after the race, but man, I was hurting. Emotionally, I felt as though I had let everyone down. LA was supposed to be my sub-4 marathon that would set me up for a Boston-Qualifer in the fall. Not only did I not make, I wasn't even close. I spent a solid week beating myself up over my performance, eating golden Oreos, and licking my wounds. Boston had never seemed so far away. Maybe I just didn't have it.

It wasn't until Reinier suggested running the Summerlin half marathon that I felt that familiar spark of interest. Summerlin was April 12, about 4 weeks post-LA. Technically, I should be fully physicially recovered (assuming I put the pita chips down). Mentally, 13 miles sounded amazing, but could I beat my time from last year? I had run it in 1:52 and was delirious proud of that time. Thankfully, before I could continue this negative spiral of setting unrealistic goals and never making them, a friend pulled me aside and said the course had changed and was much harder. Don't go for a PR, he said, just aim for under 2. I took it to heart and practiced on the course. I learned ALTA is a four-letter word and wtf, Far Hills? Adding a monster hill at mile 9 seemed downright cruel. I recalibrated my expectations, drank a ton of water, and gave it a go.

Turns out, Summerlin 2015 will go down as one of my favorite races ever. Running without expectations is so freeing. I mean, I still had my Garmin on, and yes, I wanted to do sub-2, but my brain wasn't screaming at me at every mile. Some Boot Camp friends from out of town surprised us on the course at different mile points, and I almost started crying when I saw them. Not only did they provide extra water (it was hot!), but conversation and a great mental break. Kat was waiting for me at the base of that monster hill as we had agreed, and her pacing helped me concentrate on the mile ahead. This half will go down as one of the most joyful, fun races I've ever done. I breezed in at 1:57, hot, thirsty, but redeemed.

All sights are set on St. George for now. Over the last few months, I've worked to increase my speed and get my weight down. Qualifying for Boston means 3:40 or less; that equates to around 8:22/mile. It's getting more and more competitive to get in, despite a qualifying time, so faster is better. With the beautiful St. George elevation profile, I'm hoping the net-down course will give me some extra speed. I ran a 5K at the end of May with a new PR of 23:43 (7:38/mile), which was nothing but a gift from God considering we had people over the night before and I drank like, 2 bottles of wine. (all of this drinking...this is not making me sound very good. It was an ill-advised decision, without a doubt. I do not recommend drinking the night before a race). Considering I wasn't even sure I was going to make it to the race because of my throbbing headed, I was shocked by my PR. Yes, I spent several minutes dry heaving at the finish line, which seemed like a suitable punishment.  Yet I took 3rd place overall and even got a tiny plaque. Life is weird.

Happy to report, I've shelved the booze and am opting for water these days. Weight is coming off and I officially weigh less today than I did at my wedding. I'm less than what my driver's license says, and since I've gained a 1/2 inch of height from Pilates, I should probably head to the DMV soon since I'm essentially committing fraud. (when I told Brian this, he just rolled his eyes). With so many new people at boot camp these days, it's been a chance to reflect on what I've done over the last four years. I want to tell them, "Be consistent! Follow the program! It works!!" It really does. It's fun to feel strong and to run fast. I never thought I would get here.

But there's still a ton of work to do. I hope you stay with me as I blog about my fifth marathon. Lord knows it's a giant roller coaster of emotion. Buckle up!

And with that...here we go! :-)