Megan and I met almost twenty years ago as freshmen in college. (twenty years? How is that possible...??) She was this laid-back, naturally cool, very smart poly-sci major - a young Helen Hunt with long blond hair and vibrant smile. Through the magic of Facebook, we've kept in touch over the years. Well, she's still laid-back and very cool and now goes by "Professor," having finished her PhD in poly-sci several years ago. She contacted me in November 2013, revealing she just signed up for her first half. I said, "You go, girl!" And go, she did. Here's her story.


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I’ve never been a “serious runner.” It would be more accurate to say that for the past decade or so, I’ve been more of a “casual jogger,” going out for two or three mile slow jaunts on a semi-regular basis. Some weeks that would mean three or four times; all I had to show for other weeks was good intentions. I would sign up for a couple 5k races each summer, and even ran a 10k a couple years ago (which, at the time, I thought was going to kill me). I never trained for any of these races, and I didn’t give any thought to how fast I ran them. I was content with jogging through the courses at an easy pace and going home with a new running shirt. But in the back of my mind, I’ve always thought about doing more—specifically, a half marathon.

The idea of a full marathon has never appealed to me (Can I say that on this blog?!), but 13.1 miles seemed like a challenging yet attainable goal…someday. “Someday” was always the key. For years I told myself, of course I could run a half marathon...if I actually tried…and then I never tried. But as a regular reader of this blog (Shameless plug—Do I get some sort of a kickback? [Editor's note: Sure! Just as soon as I get paid.]), it became impossible to ignore Kim’s repeated rallying cries that “if she can do it, anyone can do it.” In the span of a couple years, she went from no running to marathon running…it was hard to ignore the inspirational effects of that.

Yet I was still—for lack of a more accurate word—lazy. I loved the idea of running a half marathon, but it was going to be hard. But not running a half marathon? That didn’t sound hard at all. And then it happened. I was flipping through an issue of Self Magazine and I landed on a page entitled “You Can Run a Half Marathon.” I think my first instinct was to duck out of view of the woman on the page staring back at me so she couldn’t see me while I tried to pretend that I hadn’t actually seen the title and therefore was under no obligation to run anything. But then I made myself read the article and examine the accompanying 12-week training program, and the very next day I signed up for my first half marathon.

It was a November day when I signed up for the Rock n Roll Half Marathon in Chicago (where I live) that would take place on July 20. It’s not that I planned to train eight months or anything; I just wanted to pay my money for the race so I couldn’t back out. From November to April, I continued with my casual jogging…but did try to up the frequency of my outings (And by outings, I mean trips to the gym. November-April in Chicago is not a pleasant time to run outside).

When I was exactly three months out from the race, I started training. The Self schedule I used was great for me because it told me exactly what I needed to do every single day. The first day said “Run two to three miles at an easy pace.” No problem…I’ve been doing that for years. Look at me! I’m a half marathon runner! After a few weeks of training, I was not so cocky. Once the long runs started getting up to seven, eight, nine miles, I had to put in some serious effort—and planning. I figured out pretty early on that six miles was the farthest I could go without water. This realization also came to the rest of the people in the Chicago Public Library when, six miles into my first seven mile run, I stumbled in to gulp water directly from the bathroom sink. I’m sure I looked both regal and inspirational.

Equipped with my new hydration belt, I also needed to find ways to distract myself during the long runs. Music is a must for me, but after six or seven miles, I’d find that I’d already heard all those “pump up” songs that would get me through a rough patch. Since I had two little iPods that I ran with, I began reserving the shuffle only for long runs. Throughout the week, I’d buy new running songs and add them to the shuffle. When it was time for my long weekend run, it would be such a treat to get to listen to all the new songs. This trick worked so well for me that I actually didn’t use my shuffle for the three weeks leading up to the race so that it would be filled with new fun songs to surprise me while running!

The first seven weeks of training were great. My schedule had me working out six days a week (combining long runs with tempo work, cross training, strength training, and yoga), and I only missed two out of 43 workouts. Then I started traveling: I spent a week in St. Louis, a week in California, a weekend in Wisconsin, etc. I have to be honest: My training became non-existent. I ate and drank like I was on vacation, and the well-worn printout of my training schedule that I had been carrying around and consulting religiously for the last seven weeks was forgotten. The next four weeks, I probably only made one or two workouts each week. At the start of week 12—the last week of training—I vacillated between freaking out (“There is no way that I can run 13.1 miles on Sunday…the farthest I ever made it was 10.5 miles.”) and a zen-like acceptance (“I will just go out there and do my best. It is what it is.”).

On the day of the race, I was up at 3:30am. I texted my friend who was running with me to say “good race day morning to you.” A seasoned marathon runner, he texted me back an hour later: “Damn rookie, you’re up early.” Yes, I was excited. And I also felt that I was ready.

Much of the race went by in a blur. The first six miles consisted of me trying to ensure that I wasn’t running too fast or too slowly. I didn’t let myself walk at all for those six miles because I was really paranoid that if I did, my legs wouldn’t start up again. But when I was coming up on mile seven, I had to let myself walk for a couple minutes. Luckily, I started up again without incident. But it was about that time that I realized I was only half way through the race. With this realization, I think I actually looked down at my legs and asked them “Are we going to do this?” They didn’t seem super confident.

Seven more miles seemed really far away, so I told myself that I only had to make it to the Gu station at mile 8.6, and then I could walk again for a little bit. I don’t know what was in that Salted Watermelon Gu (seriously, I don’t know anything about it. I have to admit that I never really used any of that stuff during my training—which I now realized was a bad idea—so it was my first time) but whatever it was, it worked. Miles 9-13.1 were awesome. I just kept telling myself to get to the milestones: make it to double digits; make it farther than you’ve ever gone before (10.5 miles); make it to the last mile…because as I think every runner has told herself at one point “Anyone can run one mile.”

When I crossed the finish line, to my own surprise, I put my hands up over my head in victory like everyone else was doing for the camera. My friend, who had finished 40 minutes before I did, was waiting for me at the finish line with a big congratulatory smile and hug. I felt awesome. No, I hadn’t run it very fast (2:30), but I had done it. I went into it with only the goal of finishing the race, and I had done it.

And so here’s the part where I get pseudo-philosophical for just a minute: The number one thing that I learned from this whole experience is that we (humans, runners, whatever) are capable of much more than we give ourselves credit for. I used to run for a couple miles and then stop because it was uncomfortable; I was tired or hot or my legs hurt, and I never made myself push harder. But on the days that I “had” to run five or six or ten miles, I did it. Whatever I needed to keep going was already there; I just had to tap into it. I hope that I remember that the next time I’m faced with something that seems impossible—whether inside or outside of the world of running. Because yes, I am already thinking of my next half marathon…and how I know I can run it faster than my first one.

I've gotten quite a few questions about what a long run is like, so I thought I do a quick post on it. That said, I'm certainly not an expert (or even a very good) runner. There are a number of things I'm sure I'm doing wrong (or could improve upon), so please do not take my word as gospel. Likewise, if I'm missing something or you have a helpful trick/tidbit to share, leave it in the comments section! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

PRE-RUN

The fun starts on Friday night. Anytime I have a long run on Saturday (I consider anything longer than 16 miles to be a "long run"), I try to eat a substantial dinner that is heavier in carbs than any other meal that week. Runner's World just posted a great pasta and avocado recipe which I've used the past few weeks. I load up on water during the day (no alcohol, especially in the summer months) and try to get to bed around 9pm. Laying out my clothes is helpful so I'm not fumbling in the dark come morning.


THE RUN

The alarm goes off at 3:40am.

After applying Body Glide to every imaginable crevice, I'm downstairs by 4:00. I eat a small bowl of steel cut oats with one tablespoon of almond butter and a dollop of raspberry jam. I eat first since I want the food to settle, usually about an hour before the run starts.

I pack:

Fluids: 55 oz of water in my Osprey pack, an additional 32 oz of bottled water, 12 oz of Gatorade, a protein/juice blend from The Juice Standard to consume immediately post-run, and watermelon juice to sip on for the ride home.

(Aside: Watermelon has so many amazing properties...it should be a staple in everyone's diet. I'm going to write a poem about watermelon one day.)

This amount may seem excessive but remember, I'm running in full sun in July in Las Vegas. It's 95 degrees by 8am. I've experienced dehydration before and would do anything to avoid that misery. I'd rather bring too much than not enough. Unless someone wants to set up little aid stations for me on the Loop, I'm going to tote around over 100 oz of fluid. It's kind of my security blanket.

Also included: a little tub of cut watermelon (ah, that magical fruit again!), a bag of sea salt, 2-3 gels, sunscreen, a visor, wallet, keys, music (iPod shuffle), Garmin, Body Glide, and a towel soaking in ice water.

I'm out the door by 4:45am and arrive at the parking lot just after 5, as the sun breaks over the horizon. This is my favorite part of the run: the quiet few minutes before it starts. It's so lovely and peaceful. Makes me believe greatness is possible. Questions on my mind: will my knee hold up? Will I see any animals? How many cyclists are going to piss me off?

Miles 1-7.7 are equally amazing and awful. The park doesn't open until 6am, so I'm guaranteed solitude from cars and cyclists for the first hour. It's also cooler since the path draped in the mountain's shadow. Little animals are still out and about, so it's not uncommon to rabbits and coyotes. I tried once to count the rabbits (to tell Scotty later), but had to stop after fifteen. They really do multiply like, well, rabbits.

The awful part? The first sevenish miles are mostly uphill. Tough, calf-burning, oxygen-gasping hills. There are moments when I wonder if I'm still moving forward.

Overlook Ascent signals the best part of the run is about to begin; miles 7.7 to 12 are my least remembered but most enjoyable. It's a lot of downhill flying. Running is just controlled falling, remember? This is when I try to practice good form and fast feet. I'm not breaking any land-speed records, but it's a incredibly sensation to zoom down literally as fast as my feet will take me.

Mile 12: Kim hits a wall. 

The fun train has ended. I'm off the Loop, merging onto to Hwy 159. This is horrible for several reasons: the sun burns down, the cyclists whiz by, and I am trekking uphill again. I start my "Red Rock Shuffle" back to the car, dodging bikes and cars as they come within inches. At this point, my water is mostly gone and I can feel the salt crusted on my face. I mean, this is no Badwater shoes-melting-on-the-pavement-hot, but it sucks. Big time.

Mile 14.5: MY CAR!

I fight the voice in my head telling me to jump in my car and take off, never looking back. Unfortunately, there are still 5.5 miles to go, so no dice. I can't leave yet. I refill my pack with cold water, towel off (ahhh! bliss!) and have a few quick bites of watermelon. If I feel really thirsty or sluggish, I'll drink a quick Gatorade and add salt to the watermelon. 

Salt may be a strange thing to eat at this point, considering how much is in the media about the dangerous affects of sodium, but for runners, salt lost through sweating is a real concern. Attempting to replenish fluids without additional sodium can result in hyponatremia, a potentially lethal condition.  Overconsumption of water can actually cause blood sodium levels to plummet if the kidneys fail to compensate, causing cells to swell and retain fluid. This is why many ultras require weight checks at aid stations; if you gain weight during a long run, there's a good chance you are overhydrating.  Too much swelling can affect brain cells, causing confusion, disorientation, and sometimes, even death. Yikes.

It's not something I'm especially concerned about (particularly because doing an easy 20 is nothing compared to say, 100 miles) but it is something to be aware of, especially in high heat. I don't want to dehydrate OR overhydrate - both can be equally dangerous. I'm still experimenting, so each run is a chance to practice.

Okay, enough salt talk. Back to the grind.

The rest of the run is a "chipper" - just gotta take it piece by piece. I know by mile 17.25 I can turn around and head back to the car. Mile 18 is only 2 miles from being done, and mile 19? Sheesh, it's one more stinkin' little mile. Anyone can run a mile. Or at least, these are the things I tell myself. Sometimes it's as simple as "Run to that pole. Run to the next pole. Hey look! There's another pole! Try to get to that one, too..."

Just keep chipping until...

DONE.

RECOVERY

I drink my protein shake as soon as I'm able to rip off the water pack and stretch a little. At about 250 calories, it's made with spirulina, a complete plant-based protein that will help with muscle repair. Better, it's cool and refreshing (despite its odd teal coloring.)

After I get home, I tell the guys about my run and try to recount for Scotty all the critters I saw. I shower and get an ice bath ready. I can usually handle about 10-12 minutes in the tub with 2 10-pound bags of ice. It's miserable, yes, particularly the first two minutes, but it helps so much to push the lactic acid out of the muscles, thereby decreasing soreness. Consequently, it's worth it. I also sip on a cup of tea to stay warm(er) and wear a ski hat to prevent more heat loss. Funny how I go from too hot to too cold. It's just never the right temperature...

I struggle with eating the day of a long run. I think my stomach is convinced we were fleeing from a hungry bear, so the whole "fight-or-flight" survival mechanism, which shunts blood away from my internal organs to the extremities, takes a little time to turn off. I don't feel any hunger most of the day, and eating actually causes physical pain; once I ate a piece of toast and immediately doubled over in pain. I've learned to stick with small bites of soup (southwestern black bean is my favorite) and bananas for the first six to eight hours post-run. It's gotten to the point where I actually wake up on Saturdays, craving those foods now. It's weird to think about dreaming about a bowl of hot soup at 10am on a Saturday morning in July (in the desert, no less), but do what works for you. We all have our "things." 

I also make sure to wear compression socks for the first six to eight hours as well. If I'm staying home, I'll wear the full-on green ones that go from toe to knee. If I have to assimilate back into the real world where people don't count coyotes or swear at cyclists, I'll just wear the compression calf sleeves. I've learned these can be easily concealed under a maxi dress. I've worn them to toddler birthday parties, a baby shower, a hair appointment, and most recently, a trip to the mall with friends. A DVF wrap dress looks smashing when paired with compression sleeves.

I apply Neosporin to all the places I failed to Body Glide properly and call it a day. The long run is over for the week - celebrate!

Ironically, the body parts that seem to be bothering me the most lately? Right on my shoulder blades, where my hydration pack hits. Miles and miles of it jostling on my back have caused two small rubbed areas, red and chafed, to develop. It looks almost as though wings are about to sprout. That's not the case, but it certainly would make my life easier. :-)

Any helpful tips of your own? Let us know -- comment below!

I do things in my life other than run. Or talking about running. Really. Approximately 85% of my waking time is dedicated to running, sure, but in the last 15%, about 3% is consumed with home repair. (The remaining 12% is spent thinking about sleep).

I got a random itch this week to spruce up the old homestead, so I took a quick look around to determine what I disliked the most about our house. Sure, our living room lacks furniture (unless you count the Lego table), making us appear like nomadic serial killers, and an entire year's worth of Scotty's school work is littered in one of the upstairs bedrooms (what the heck am I supposed to do with all that stuff?), but it was the outside I focused on first. Namely, our address plate.

See, here in Vegas, most homes have these crappy white boxes technically called "address lenses" attached to the stucco where the house number is displayed. Per our HOA, it has to be uniform and match the rest of the neighborhood. One look around the cul-de-sac told me most people had replaced their lenses at least once since the homes were built in 2003, since theirs were bright, white and shiny. Ours was yellowed and cracking with one of the bulbs burned out. This seemed like a quick fix, right? Perfect. I love a good (easy) project.

The only place to purchase an address lenses (approved address lenses, that is) is clear across town. As in, the east side. ::collective gasp:: I know, right? The EAST side. And not Green Valley, either.

We all know the West side is the best side.  Traversing across the Strip is kind of a big deal in my tiny universe. For non-Vegas people, you need to understand, when you live in Summerlin, your ultimate goal is to live, work, and shop no more than 10 miles from your house at any given time. Leaving the safe confines of Summerlin's gentle rolling hills and scenic walking paths is met with disapproval and disdain. Some trips are necessary; Downtown is okay, since it's fun to play hipster occasionally, and the Strip is fine when the moment calls for it (hello, Fashion Show Mall). But the EAST side? Really? Do people even live over there? 

Scotty and I made the drive Tuesday afternoon. I made the unfortunate mistake of taking Sahara the whole way. Directly in front of Palace Station, 35 minutes into our journey, as I'm trying to weave around a ditched car in the left lane (this never happens in Summerlin!), Scott decides to inform me he needs to go potty. As in, #2.

Much swearing commenced, followed by strict instructions that Scotty can NEVER say those words to anyone, ever.

We finally got to the store (just east of 6th Street...that's how far through the looking glass we were), bought the appropriate lens, and let the boy poop. Things were looking up.

Until the lens did not fit.

The Very Kind Woman at the store assured me - no, PROMISED ME - the lenses were all the same size. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. That's a tall glass of nope if I ever saw one.  

I found this out only after I had removed the old one, which shattered like glass in my hands. Years of baking in the hot sun had all but destroyed the thin plastic. "Popping" it off was not an option. More like "gingerly removing tiny shards at a time as not to slice a vein" was more accurate. Thankfully, I do not need my hands to run. Does this require a tetanus shot? 

Today we went back to the store (took the 15 and it took 15 minutes). The Very Kind Woman gave me a new back plate and very specific instructions. It involves like, wires and stuff. Maybe even a drill. But, she assured me - no, promised - that this was the easiest repair of my life. Okay...

So, the good news is my assistant is a very cute 44" little guy who is well-adept at holding the ladder. The bad news is that it's 107 degrees out and the HOA has already driven by our house, staring and jotting notes about our gaping eye of an address lens.

I can do this, right? If I can run 31 miles in the dead of night, I can change an address lens. Off to meet my destiny...

I survived my mini-breakdown. Really, it was just a lot of crying; summer 2014 will forever be known as the Summer of Watermelon and Tissues. The blog has been dark for no reason other than a family vacation (currently working on a two-part series entitled, "...and then God made Utah...".) Right now, I'm immersed in my "week o' big miles" - not just in the training program, but also in my life. From Monday to Sunday, it'll be 52 total miles. If you factor in the long runs that happened the weekend earlier (total of 8 days), it will be 79 miles. Seventy-nine miles in eight days. Wow. I still remember the pride I felt after completing my first six mile run ("Just two 5Ks!" Kerry told me encouragingly). Now ten mile runs are my "easy" runs.

All of this running has given me an inordinate amount of time to think, particularly about how badly things were going a few weeks ago. This is what I came up with...

It's good to have a buddy

Kat and I are not running together (in the literal sense - she's way too fast for me), but we are running the same race, so our training programs are in the same cycle. We started with a similar level of excitement and enthusiasm and then both hit a wall around the same time. She was struggling because she fell into a mountain and ripped up her face and knee; I was falling apart because brushing my teeth was exhausting. (I told you we are at different fitness levels). 6am boot camp was starting to look like a war zone medical clinic as Reinier moved from mat to mat, tending to various ailments. Kat and I exchanged a lot of nervous looks during those days. I think we were both thinking the same thing: how are we going to pull this off? Are we in over our heads? WHY are we doing this?

(or maybe I'm just thinking these things and she's thinking, "I'm really tired...why does Kim keep looking at me funny?")

Thankfully, time has a way of healing wounds, both psychic and physical. Walking out together after hill day today with her, I think we are both in a better place. Her leg healed. I finally got some sleep. We see the light at the end of the tunnel (just four weeks away!) and know we are going to make it. Hitting a wall together is certainly not advisable, but it made me feel less crazy. And while I'll be trailing her light on August 9, it's comforting to know she'll be out there with me.

Be Kind to Yourself

During my first 20-miler, I was inexplicably mean to myself. For no reason. I beat myself up all the way to Overlook Ascent (about 7.7 miles in), lambasting my pace, my form, my attitude. (isn't that counter-reflexive? ...my attitude is mad about my...attitude?) I worked myself into such a tizzy that at mile 16, I simply gave up. My left knee was in serious pain and mentally, I was done. Of course, at this exact moment, as I stood by the side of the road kicking tumble weeds and moments away from a full blown panic attack, I ran directly into Reinier and his friend. Talk about a hot mess. He graciously told me to end the run (thank GOODNESS!) and I limped back to my car, tail between my legs. I didn't say a word to Brian when I got home; I just plopped my sweaty, disgusting body on the couch and sat there silently, crying.

Ah, the drama. (poor, kind, patient Brian).

Eventually, I got up. And thought a lot about what went wrong. When I headed out last Saturday for my 18-miler, I decided I was going to do everything differently. First, I channeled my inner Princess Unikitty. No negativity. No bad thoughts. Only kindness. (positive, Positive, POSTIVE!) Second, I didn't look at my Garmin on the way up to Overlook; I was going to run on feel alone. And finally - this is big - if I needed to walk, I was going to - gulp - allow - deep breath - myself to - wait for it - walk.

Whoa.

Guess what? I arrived at the Overlook in exactly the same time I had during my 20, just with a totally different attitude and a lot more gas in the tank. Even though I walked a little.

Mind = blown.

I was a delightfully happy runner by the time reached my break at mile 14.5. I refilled my hydration pack (good-bye stupid, heavy hydration belt!), noshed on some watermelon, and stared at the cyclists whizzing by. The remaining 3.5 miles were no picnic, but at least my head was in the game. Just the repetition of telling myself, "Just three more feet. Three more feet," helped. (thank you, Murakami. That's one of his tricks). I finally stopped focusing on time and just ran. It was a HUGE mental milestone to complete that 18 successfully. HUGE.  

Accept it.

Reinier likes to say there's a lot of freedom in acceptance, and he's right. (he's getting a lot of mentions in this entry; clearly I've been listening and trying to absorb all his wisdom). During our trip to Utah, I thought a lot about acceptance; accepting the pain that will come with the race, accepting that training is going to cause me to miss out on fun stuff. Accepting that I'm a different person (and becoming more and more different...) as I continue doing this. And that's okay. I was expending a great deal of energy trying to remain the same - and do everything, despite all of the changes - and it was exhausting.

On a strictly logistical standpoint, I also realized that this summer has been one of the busiest of my life. Volunteering heavily for two non-profits, traveling, keeping a four-year old happy and busy (why did I not sign him up for summer camps?!), maintain the house AND train for this race - in the dead of summer - has been extraordinarily taxing. In a way I did not anticipate. (I'm going to be so bored come fall). But once I accepted that yes, this is a crazy time of year and training is only making it more crazy - it felt less overwhelming. Acceptance IS freedom.

So there you have it. One trip to Utah, a few watermelon slushies later, and a solid 18-miler under my belt and I'm a new woman. I'm actually looking forward to my 20/10 run this weekend because I feel like my head is finally in the game. Let's do this!  

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Watermelon Slushy Recipe, courtesy of Kerry

Throw a bunch of cut watermelon into the blender with ice and a squeeze of lemon juice (lime works in a pinch, too). Blend until slushy. Enjoy, because it's AMAZING!