The Road to Savannah: Working on a mystery, going wherever it leads

I’ve run more this year than I ever have.  Not just in any year, probably all the years combined.  And maybe double that.  But the weird thing, it doesn’t seem that weird.  I honestly wonder what I did with my life when I wasn’t running through it. How on earth did I pick my next trip, if it wasn’t because of the next race I’d be running. What a sad little life I must have had!

People ask me all the time why I run so much, or when I’ll take a break, or how do I get up every Saturday or squeeze in evening runs when I’m busy. The truth is, there are some hardcore, dedicated, super runners out there – and I’m just not one of them. I do run. I do run a long run every Saturday. Except for the Saturdays that I don’t. I run hill runs and I run tempo runs, except for when I don’t. Sometimes I opt to stay in. Sometimes I opt for 3 miles instead of 5, or 7 instead of 9, or 14 instead of 18. But, more often than not, lately, I get out there.

Along the way this year I’ve learned some things about myself and running. I am not a short distance runner. I hate three miles. Sometimes I hate five. Sometimes it takes me 40 minutes to really find my groove. Sometimes I don’t find it. But I will never settle in and feel satisfied or happy with a short run. Those will leave me feeling uncoordinated, tired, and on the edge of inury. I am at my best when I’m out there for the long haul.  Knowing this has made those short runs easier to handle.

I’ve learned that I need to drink more water. As I type this my water bottle sits by my desk, half full from the only time I filled it today – so I’m going to get up, finish it on the way to refill it.  I need to drink more water. A lot more. Always.

I also need to eat better. When I have a week where I’ve had time to carefully think out my meals, or say, have meals, my runs are so much better. Same with sleep.  When I’ve slept, my runs are better. Understanding these things has made the bad runs easier. I am not a bad runner – I am a bad water-drinker, eater, and sleeper. Somehow, I have an easier time accepting those flaws in myself.

As with other aspects of my life, there is a race-day routine, and I find comfort in it. I wake up at least an hour before I have to leave the house. There are a variety of preventative type meds that are consumed, water, dog walk (if I have her with me), peanut butter, banana. My favorite socks (and I only have one pair of these), and I generally have a preference for running shirt. I have my water belt, and tiny bottles of frozen water. I have my jelly beans, and shot blocks, and power bar chews. I have my phone, and my headphones, and my hat (that’s new this year, but it stays). I affix my running number to my right upper leg. If I have a shoe tag, that goes on the left shoe. I have three bobby pins. But, what I’ve learned this year is, I don’t need three bobby pins, or my favorite socks, or that running shirt. I remember a run in Austin where I got down to Town Lake for 8 miles, and realized I didn’t have my watch. And I went home. It wasn’t an excuse, really, I really did not think I could run without my watch. And while, I’d still prefer to know my times and paces, I think I could stick it out without much panic. I could manage with a new pair of socks, or luke warm water. I could do this having been up for only 30 minutes prior to leaving, or with chunky peanut butter and not creamy. (I’m not sure I could do it with my race number pinned anywhere but my right leg, although I’m now looking at pictures where my race number was pinned to my shirt and I don’t seem to be hyperventilating, so maybe even that’s possible). This year, I’ve learned to be more flexible. And more forgiving. Each day is different, each run is different, and I’m not out here to rule the world. I just like running.

So, in my mind, Savannah is like a final exam of sorts. Where I can prove to myself that I am a better person. And I can get out of my head and enjoy a run. My body can take my mind along for a ride, and run a marathon that even a turtle would be proud to be a part of. And, for the love of god, if I rip open a chocolate milk container and spill it all over myself after crossing the finish line, this time I will simply ask for another instead of bursting in to tears!

Bring it, Savannah! No one’s nervous!

The Road to Savannah: It was the turtle who won that race...

I’m not going to be winning any races any time soon. My July race was a small half marathon in Easton, MA. There were 300 runners in the half, and I finished faster than 3% of those people.  Yes, that puts me in the bottom 10 people. And, ostensibly, I’m ok with that. I still ran it. Someone has to be last, one day it might be me. Do I love being at the back of the pack, no! Does being at the back of the pack offer me some anxiety that front-of-the-pack runners don’t have to deal with, yes! Do I routinely have to fight with the notion that some people will think I'm not as dedicated as fast people, yes! But, it’s a spot I’ve learned to accept.

I don’t run to be fast. I tried to get fast(er) once. And I did. And in the process I broke down and was sidelined for the better portion of a year. On the heels of that, I realize that I value the ability to run races more than I value any hope of “winning”.  I love doing this, and I’d like to keep doing it for a long time. So, I don’t push to reach speed standards anymore.

I found this t-shirt the other day, and I love it
(not just because my dog is named Turtle!)

I often find myself apologizing for my (lack of) speed, or trying to make excuses for it. I'm always putting a caveat on the "Oh, so you're a runner" comments with an "I'm not that good" response. I hide my run/walk type of running style like a dark secret, I stare off to the side when people say with disdain "I saw this one guy walking..." and I cower in the corner when people talk about how they’d rather die than take more than 4 hours to finish a marathon. I shift my eyes downward when crossing paths with someone who is fast, dreading making eye contact for fear that I will see them looking at me and wondering why I’m even running.  But, then I remind myself that I'm out here, running, just like those fast guys. We all do our own thing to get across the finish line and get back out there the next day. We have our routines, our preferences, and they are our own. I don't run races for anyone else, and I don’t run to be fast.  

I run so I can unplug. I run so I can disconnect. I run because I am pushing myself to my own limits, not someone else’s. I run because it slows my brain down, which is often moving too fast and doing too many things. I run because it makes me feel strong, and determined. I run because it opens my eyes. I run because it makes me a kinder person. I run because it makes my head clearer. I run because it chases away the trials and tribulations of the day. I run because it connects me to the places I live. I run because runners are some of the most wonderful people I’ve met. I run because I am the absolute best version of myself when I am running. When I remember these things, the shame of running slow falls away.

I may not be fast, but I have become better. What I’ve learned through this year of running is to stop letting my mind control my body, and start letting my body control my mind. My mind tells me to stop some days before I even get going, but my feet just scream louder for my running shoes. My mind tells me I’m tired and can’t go any further, while my legs are singing look at us, we are going. My body is in control, shutting my mind down when it wants to be scared. I notice that it does not take the mental preparation for me to run 8, 9, 10, 15 miles. I was so sure my mind would talk me out of my very first 18-mile run that I hopped on a plane and ran that run in Boston (8 miles with NDH and then a pass off for the final 10 miles with CNHB and tiny Ebster!) 18-miles is not the same mental hurdle that it was. (22, 26, they still are a mental challenge), but I can see how far I’ve come since that first day I trained for a timed mile.

I've noticed this same effect on my personality off the road. Instead of reacting to things like an emotional illogical hot-mess, I'm slower, more thoughtful and hopefully a bit more purposeful. I find myself to be a bit more understanding of others, and their opinions/needs/ideas. I give myself time to process, and thoroughly think things through. I care less about the expected outcome, or preferred procedure, and I make choices based on what works for me. I've noticed that things which would have been a "hot-button" for me a year ago can slide by almost unnoticed these days. I have been banking a lot of energy that I used to spend worrying about endless things. It's a welcome, new-found freedom.

I joined a new running group, which I absolutely love, and have been running in the back of that pack. There are plenty of people who are much more talented at running than I am. But I won’t lie and say I didn’t love some of the facial expressions when early in the training season I told them that this would be my third marathon. And that I’ve run a half marathon every month so far this year. Yep, me, that girl huffing it out in back. What of it? We had a happy hour a few weeks back, combined with the half marathon training group. I spent some time talking to the half marathoners, and I remembered a similar day in Austin when I chatted with a marathon runner. I was in absolute awe of her, I could not comprehend what type of guts it must have taken her to set out one day and say, I’m going to train for 26.2 miles. I was in awe that she wasn’t already crying because she was about to go out on an 18 mile run, and what if she died out there! I was nearly crying for her.  I saw a similar look of disbelief on these half marathoners faces, as I told them of my first, second, and now third time training for a full marathon. I think the biggest disbelief was my own. There are many people who are much more accomplished at this than I am, but, it turns out along the way – I’ve become a runner. And I'm trying to stop making excuses, or placing a caveat on that. I am just a runner, it doesn’t matter my speed.

The Road to Savannah: In the Beginning

I remember the first time I joined a running group, and that first day we ran a timed mile. This was to figure out our paces, place us in groups and ultimately help to track our progress. I remember training for that day. For a mile. I remember being scared of it, what if I can’t run a mile? Will they kick me out? This first run with that running group sticks out in my mind to perfectly portray the anxiety and doubt and fear that I had about running. I trained for a mile, because I was unsure if I could finish it.

I don’t know when I started running, really.  It was in Texas for sure.  And I would run sporadically, randomly, without any knowledge or purpose or expectations. In writing this post I saw an email I sent to a friend in September of 2007, where I said I had “just started running distances” and went on to further say that I could “probably finish 3 miles, but not 5!” This was where my distance running started, my dreaded 3-mile slump. What little I knew about myself and running back then!

Early one morning, in February 2008, I went downtown to watch RO’D running in the Austin half. And it was amazing. The crowds, the runners, the strength and determination. I went home and I ran a few miles, totally inspired. And then, I forgot how it had felt that race day, and went back to my half-assed uninformed occasional running. It was sometime in 2008 that Ryan and I decided we were going to run the San Antonio rock and roll half marathon in November of that year. I downloaded a training plan, and I stared at numbers of 6, 7, 8, 10 miles. Holy holy holy crap.  And I put that training plan away. And I found a running group.

What’s so special about Savannah, and why is the road leading there?  It’s true, nothing really.  It’s not my last race of the year, it’s not my first marathon, it’s not a particularly challenging race or significant date, it hasn’t been a life goal of mine. Truth is, I signed up for the marathon in Savannah one night after having one too many Resurrections at a Brewer’s Art happy hour. I signed up for Savannah a mere week after telling someone in an email that I “may never run another marathon, that may not be my distance.”  Savannah will be my second full marathon this year, and only my third ever. That girl who started distance running with 3 but not 5 miles, she never wanted to run a marathon. She was content with the challenge that 13.1 miles posed, and she was content doing that only once in a while. She never wanted more. Until, the day she wondered if she could.

Cue the push to sign up for the Baltimore Marathon with NDH and VK for October 2011. At that point I had finished 3 (4?) half marathons, 4 10Ks, a few team triathlons, a mud run, and one Ragnar series relay race. I signed up for my first marathon with an overwhelming sense of dread and fear, and curiosity – could I even do this? I ran my first marathon to see if I could. And by some accounts, I did run it. It was slow, and painful. My goal was to finish, and I did. I felt proud and happy. But I didn’t necessarily feel I had done “my best” – there were many times I felt close to giving up, and worse there were times that I felt giving up would have been ok. I (eventually) wondered if I could do it better. Cue signing up for the Country Music Marathon in 2013 with NDH. Nashville was going to be different.  I was still scared, but of different things. I could finish – but could I finish well? Unfortunately, the ending of my Nashville race still plagues me to this day. I’m not talking about the time (I rarely do). But, I was so beat down by the end of that race. Not only had I lost confidence in my ability to run, I had convinced myself I was bad at it, by mile 26 I had convinced myself I was bad at most things in life. I still feel embarrassed when I think about sitting on the sidewalk alone, chocolate milk container spilled all over me, cold beer in my water-wrinkled hands, shivering from the cold that comes from being soggy wet for 7 hours, crying. Crying because my brain had told me that I had done so badly, and I believed it. I hate my brain for ruining that day for me. The truth about Nashville is I ran a 20-minute PR marathon through such torrential downpours that most people I know (save for the thousands of people who ran it) probably wouldn’t have started.  Moreover, I was on pace for an even bigger PR for much of that race. It was a proud accomplishment, but there I was crying over spilt milk and bruised egos.

I signed up for my third marathon, not to see if I could do it, and not to see if I could do it better, but I signed up for my 3^rd marathon to be better. Turns out, that girl who started running at 3 but not 5 miles, she’s learned something about herself and running. She’s a little bit stronger, even on her weakest days.

*If anything, this song reminds me of myself more than any one specific person, as I am often my own worst enemy - particularly the part about being tired of spinning my wheels. Particularly that part!