2012 Boston Marathon: The Perfect Worst Race

Before I start writing, I would like to point out that it is 49 degrees in Boston right now.  K, thanks.

Aaaand, here we go...

As I was riding the elevator one final time in the Omni Parker House Hotel before leaving Boston, a fellow survivor said to me, "Congratulations on a perfect, worst race."  At first, I looked at him confused, but then I realized, he was spot on.  Having run about 25 minutes off both my goal and PR, I do not think any race could have filled me with as much happiness and pride as the 

2012 Boston Marathon.

And yes, for everyone that finished, we can forever call ourselves "survivors".  As the second hottest race in Boston Marathon history, reaching nearly 90 degrees, we have etched our spaces into the running history books.   Here are the quick and dirty (or should I say, the not-so-quick and dirty) stats:

• Of the 26,000+ registrants, over 4,300 either did not pick up their race bibs or accepted a deferment to the 2013 event.  This is the first time in Boston Marathon history that a deferment was offered.
• Nearly 1,000 runners that started the race did not finish.
• Over 2,100 runners needed medical assistance along the route.
• About 150 runners were brought to area hospitals.
• Between 10 and 20 runners were in critical condition on Monday due to dehydration, hyponatremia, or heat stroke.
• One woman died of a heart attack.
• Both defending champions, Kenyans Geoffrey Mutai and Caroline Kilel, started but did not finish.
• Of the 37 elite men and women that started, 10 dropped out.

What am I grateful for?  The sheer fact that I am not one of these statistics. 

Arriving in Boston:  "Fear Becomes Comfort"

When the weather forecast reached 80 degrees a week before the marathon, I became dysfunctional worried.  People would say, "Oh, don't worry, you'll be fine", which made me mad.  I would read, "Everyone is dealing with the same thing", which made me even madder.  The thing is, I trained hard.  I got in good shape.  I was healthy.  I was ready to peak.  When you train for a marathon, having all these factors come together at once is actually not, um, typical.  So, yes, I would be fine, and yes, everyone was dealing with the same thing, but I was not there to compete with everyone else; I was there to compete with myself.  As the predicted temps continued to climb that week, I started to accept them and took away the self-inflicted pressure.  I finally just had to say to myself, "Shut the hell up, and go run, Jen."

  

Our flight out of Raleigh was awesome (yes, I just said "flight" and "awesome" in the same sentence...also not, um, typical); it was full of marathoners!  How can you tell marathoners apart from everyone else in an airport you ask?  Oh, you didn't ask?  Well, tough, here is your answer anyway:  We carry backpacks with "26.2" or "Runner Dude/Chick" water bottles sticking out of every possible pocket, we wear compression socks, we are snacking on clif bars and plastic packets of peanut butter, we are reading Runners World and Running Times Magazine, and we get up to pee 732 times before we board.  I think I won the captain obvious award however.  I did not fully finish drying my race apparel the night before, so I laid it out to air dry in the airport.  Totally normal.

Upon arriving at Logan Airport, all my conversations with runners (and I had a lot of them) began with either, "How will you adjust your race with the heat?" or, my favorite, a simple, "WTF (said in its non-acronym form) is up with this heat?"  Mike and I shared a cab with two gents from Kentucky, and they were busy using an online calculator to convert their goal times into heat-adjusted goals.  Again, totally normal.  When we arrived at the Omni, most runners were somewhat freaking out, although still smiling, and there was a certain comfort in this.  Despite all the email warnings from the Boston Athletic Association urging runners to, um, not run, that would not be an option for the majority of us; we all trained hard for this day, and we were in it together.

 My own little fan club

Athletes' Village:  "A Long Ride on the Way to a Long Ride"

My alarm went off at 5am, but since the race did not begin until 10am, I didn't need to hoover my bagel or take a body glide bath just yet.  Lucky for me, the buses to Athletes' Village were parked right outside the Omni, so at 6am, I headed out and joined the sea of runners waiting to board.  On the bus, I met Cassidy from Arizona, and we quickly became Athletes' Village BFF's.  We also met Mark and Dave, two gents from North Dakota.  We took pictures of each other in proper runner-nerd fashion, but I apparently took the nerd-cake as I boarded the bus with a beach chair, blanket, and pillow.  What!?  If my ass was going to be sitting for almost three hours, I demanded comfort!

Once at the Village, it was quite the site.  The temps were rising, so water bottles were strewn about and runners were already stripped down to practically nothing.  The body glide baths had begun, and I saw more ass that day than is ever necessary.  I waited perhaps a little too long to take my final pee.  The port-o-pot lines were loooong, and after 30 anxious minutes, I was finally out with just enough time to start my own stripping and the long walk to the start line.  After a 45-minute bus ride, a two-plus hour sit-and-wait-fest, and a mile walk to the start line, it was finally time to melt run.

Um, yeah, thanks.  We get it.  It's going to be hot.

That's right, how you like my chair now, suckas?!

Cassidy and I

Start Line:  "Shit, I'm Already Sweating!"

Here we go!  I must say, I was more relaxed now than before any other marathon.  The day was turning out even hotter than predicted (80 degrees at the start), so the pressure was off.  I carried a 10 ounce bottle of nuun with me to the line, which I discarded when I realized that 10 ounces would certainly do me no good.  Even if there was 10 ounces of magical-heat-crusher-fairy-dust in there, it still wouldn't have mattered.  Once in position, I looked down at my feet for the twelfth time to neurotically ensure my laces were tied and noticed beads of sweat already dripping down my stomach.  Then I heard the guy next to me say, "Shit, I'm already sweating!", to which we both just laughed and wished each other a fun and SAFE run.

Miles 1-6:  "I Got This.  Or Not?  But, Really, I Do.  Or Not?"

On a good day, the goal in Boston was to go out conservatively around 7:10 pace, and then pick it up once I settled in.  At the 5k mark, I was on 7:13 pace, and at the 10k mark, 7:09 pace.  Perfect!  Or not?  The first six miles felt effortless, but I could already feel the monster starting to set in.  And by "the monster", I mean "the sun".  It's ironic, really, that one of the daily affirmations I was supposed to tell myself while training was "I love the sun."  Mm hmm, yeah, okay.  I went through mile four in 6:58, and whereas I normally wouldn't blink at that pace, today I was twitching.  I knew I would need to slow down.  Or not?!  I was still confident that I COULD PR; I mean, why not?  I trained for this!  ...aaand that's when I saw the "Quit Zone".  In Ashland, there was an ice cream shop, open and cheering for runners to stop, call it a day, and eat free ice cream.  Hilarious.  ...aaand tempting I must add.  Although some runners did stop, I forged on, noticing that many runners around me were already breathing very hard.  Somewhere around mile six, I saw my first open fire hydrant and got VERY excited.  That's when I realized this might be trouble.  Twenty miles to go, and I was overly excited to see a fire hydrant.  Twenty miles to go.  Oh.  My.  God.

Miles 7-10:  "Negotiations"

Around the seven mile mark in Framingham, I spotted a digital clock with a temperature reading of 85 degrees, followed by a digital sign warning runners, "HOT, HOT, HOT!"  Um, really?  ...because we were unsure of that.  By this time, the sun had me under it's ugly pretty big little rays.  Problem was, I wasn't ready to throw the towel in just yet.  I did, however, start grabbing cold, soaked towels from spectators.  The water stations were getting backed up, and as you approached them, you barreled off the soaked backs of other runners.  To ensure they had enough water for everyone, volunteers pulled back if you grabbed for more than one cup.  Runners were already dropping like hot cakes ("dropping like hot cakes"...does that even make sense?!).  Walking.  Sitting on curbs.  Cramping.  Gasping.  One man in good spirits started singing, to which another man responded, "Shut it, dude!"  My body knew I needed to slow down, but my brain was still determined.  I can still do this!  But I'm not sure I should.  YOU BOUGHT A $100 MARATHON JACKET...KEEP GOING!  Slow.  Down.  At mile 9, I got somewhat of a second wind, which lasted about 8.5 seconds.  At this point, another runner, Missy, started chatting with me.  She seemed un-phased by the heat and was giving encouragement to everyone she could.  Hrmpff.  By mile 10, I finally decided that finishing and surviving was the most important goal for the day.  I consciously slowed down by about 20-30 seconds per mile, which felt great.  It would not be the day I hoped for, but now I could relax and enjoy a long run with 20,000+ hot friends.

Drenched

Miles 11-13:  "Here Comes the Sun, Little Darlin', and I say, it sucks It's Alright"

Did I say "relax and enjoy a long run"?  Yeah, I lied.  Despite the slower pace, everything started to hurt.  The monster was cruel, very cruel.  You physically could not consume enough water to keep sufficiently hydrated.  EVERYONE was cramping.  My quads and hamstrings started to go.  Anytime there would be the slightest bit of shade on the road, everyone rushed to that side.  It usually took me to the end of the shady spot to realize why everyone was over there, so yeah, I'm dumb.  Spectators were out in full force, with kids handing out popsicles.  I still had too much pride in myself to actually take a popsicle, despite how delicious they looked.  I started looking forward to Wellesley College, which was where those supposedly-crazy-loud-awesome girls would give me a jolt of energy and pump me up to the finish line.  I gotta say, they were kind of a big deal.  Thank you, gals!  Shortly thereafter, a group of spectators was singing the Beatles to us, "Here comes the sun, little runners, here comes the sun, and we say, you're alriiiiiiight!"  It really made me smile...

Water tunnels were set up along the route.  Thank.  God.

Miles 14-20:  "Oblivion"

Right foot.  Left Foot.  Right foot.  Left foot.  GIVE ME A POPSICLE (Pride?  Who gives a shit about pride!?).  High-fives for ALL!   Thumbs up!  Hey, look!  It's MarathonFoto!  SMIIIIIIIILE!  Hmm, what do I want to eat after I'm done?  Burrrggeeerrrrr.  ...and I'll have white wine instead of red since it's cold.  Hey, look!  There's Missy!  Oh, no, the monster bit Missy.  I wonder how tan I am getting right now?  Ice bags.  ZIPLOC ICE BAGS!  Yay!  Ice, Ice baby...  Drop ice into bra and into front of shorts.  I look lumpy, teehee.  Boston College drunk boys are the BEST CHEERLEADERS EVER.  Hill?  Oh yeah, those Newton thingies.  Quad cramp.  Walk up it.  Oh shit, charlie horse.  RUN up it!  Another popsicle. YAY!  Spread-eagle spray hose station.  YAY!   High heat alert sign.  REALLY?  Is it hot?  I hadn't noticed.  Do not look at the medical tents.  OMG they are filled!  DO NOT LOOK AT THE MEDICAL TENTS!  Did I just pass three elite females?  Whewee!  Mental note: look up who bib "F22" is.  My sunglasses need windshield wipers; I can't see!  Did a spectator just say it is 89 degrees?  Oh.  That's not good.  Aww, look at that runner making out with the BC dude.  Wait, what?  HERE COMES THE SUN, LITTLE DARLIN', doo-do-doo-do.  Gatorade.  Burrrp.

Making the most of the day with a Mile 19 Photo Opp!

Miles 21-26:  "Do the Pez Dispenser!"

For a moment, despite the agony that was 90 degrees, I was a little sad as I passed mile 20.  In six miles, my Boston Marathon experience would be over.  Then, my left calf cramped, and the thought of it being over was FREAKING AWESOME.  There were times in the final six miles that I felt a burst of energy, but there was no point in taking advantage of it.  Why not?  For starters, I might, um, die, and second, all goals had come off the table anyway.  Just finish.  Safely.  Heartbreak Hill was really nothing in which to raise your eyebrows.  Granted, the cramping made it more challenging, but if you train on rolling terrain, it is no big deal.  At the mile 22 water station, there was nothing positioned on the left hand side of the road as there were at all the other water stops.  Therefore, I missed water all together.  Between miles 20 and 23, I HAD NO WATER.  This was tough, as this was when we needed it the most, and my right quad seized up on me.  I found comfort in encouraging other stopped runners to keep going, that we were almost there.  When the 1-mile to go sign appeared, I became a little emotional.  I trained hard for a less-than-ideal day.  I never felt so much discomfort, yet so much enjoyment at the same time.  I knew that the best finish line in the world awaited me.  With a half mile left, my calf about gave out on me.  That's when I yelled, "Come on, y'all, let's do the pez dispenser!"  Pez Dispenser:  heads bobbing uncontrollably, legs completely unbent to prevent further cramping.  If you've ever seen "Saved By the Bell",  you might remember Lisa doing "the sprain".  I must say, I never imagined that in my final moments of the Boston Marathon, I'd be thinking about...Screech.

26.2:  "Tears, Laughter...and Wheelchairs"

This was it.  After rounding that final turn, the finish line came in clear view.  After passing the 26 mile mark, the sun's rays could shine no brighter than the smile on my face.  I was choked up, with sweat beads and laughter at what this day brought streaming through my body.  The crowd was still in full force, cheering as my eyes kept focused on that line ahead.  Once across, I was shocked to see what awaited us:  wheelchairs.  A medical professional greeted me as I raised my arms in glory, then lowered them down in defeat, to ask if I was okay.  As I continued walking, another medical professional gave me a huge hug.  Whomever this person is, they deserve a raise.  Yes, that is right, the "Finish Line Hugger" for the hot-as-balls 2012 Boston Marathon DESERVES A BIG-ASS RAISE.  I feel as though we walked a mile...maybe even more...to collect our medal, food, blanket, and bags before finally reaching the family reunion area, where Mike greeted me with a beautiful, yellow rose.  I finished the Boston Marathon in 3:27:28, my slowest marathon to date by over 13 minutes, and a far cry from the sub-3:06 (PR) I was confident in, but at that moment in time, a hug from the person that loves me most was better than anything.

All.  Done.  ...and smiling!

Of all my races, I have never been prouder.

A badly cramped runner making it across the line

Runners await their turn in the finish line medical tents.

Got my burger!

"Redemption"

What!?  You can't expect me to have trained that well and not consider a redemption marathon.  Sheesh!  After the marathon was over, runners around Boston were seen limping, wearing their medals and jackets, and telling stories about their 26.2 experience.  Elevator (the stairwells were, um, empty) conversation was mostly about seeking redemption on this perfect, worst race.  It seems that most runners tried to run their pace for the first six miles, but realized, stubbornly, that they would not be able to continue if they wanted to finish safely.  So, we all slowed down, and when that felt hard, we slowed down more, until all we could do was hang on and "enjoy" the ride.  None of us planned for this, so why not plan for another?  My plan is to keep running (I took two days off and felt good enough to get right back at it) and see how I feel in a few weeks.  If my body feels too trashed, then no, I will not run another.  If I feel good, however, I'll see another city very soon for my next 26.2.     

So, that bib I passed?  #F22?  That was Mary Akor, a 2:33 marathoner that competed in the Olympic Marathon Trials in January.  In Boston 2012, Mary finished in 3:14.  It is even more humbling to realize how much the elites struggled.

To everyone that ran and finished, to those that started and unfortunately did not finish, and to those that ended up in the hospital instead of at the finish line, congratulations for merely having the courage to START.  I hope everyone's recovery has been healthy and full of pride.  We will forever have stories to tell and be able to say, 

"I survived the 2012 Boston Marathon." 

 (btw, this needs to be a t-shirt!)

Most importantly, a huge debt of gratitude is owed to the volunteers, and even more so, to the spectators.  Without them, there would have been many more runners needing medical assistance, and their candor and encouragement was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. 

And now, without further ado, given Vanilla Ice's lyrics flowing through my hot head somewhere around mile 18, I rewrote a few verses for what would be a great 2012 Boston Marathon theme song, set to, of course, Ice Ice baby.

Go ahead.  Click below.  Change the lyrics.  Embrace your inner nerd.  Sing along.

Ice Ice Baby 

New lyrics:

Yo, BAA, we did it!

Ice ice baby
Ice ice baby

All right, stop

Rehydrate and listen
Ice was there giving us some attention
The sun, grabbed a hold of us brightly

Stuck rays in our face and said, "go bite me!"
Did it ever stop?
Yo, hey-ull no

Turned up its heat, that's fo sho

In the extremes, we weren't sure we could handle

 Curse at the sun, you damn, mighty lil' vandal

Walk

Rush aid stations real soon

  We're killin' our legs, and there ain't no nuun

 Deadly, shoulda had more gel with me

Anything less than my best is a felony

Slow it or stop it

I lost too much weight

Betta eat freeze pops

The heat don't play

I think there is a problem

Yo, I'll solve it

Check out my ice before the sun dissolves it

Ice ice baby, give me more

 Ice ice baby, give me more

Ice ice baby, give me more

Ice ice baby, give me more...

*************************************

Thanks, Boston.  That was a humbling experience, but you still take the cake (mmm, cake)!

Happy...cool...running, y'all!

Diary of a Marathoning Madwoman

Happy Easter!  Or, as I've called it this year, Happy Feaster!  Mike and I had a bunch of friends over to celebrate with us, and feasted did we!  Last year, we had a semi-Jewish friend over for the holiday, and we therefore termed it, Happy Jeaster!  Stay tuned for next year; you never know what corny-type event we'll be terming up. 

Feaster

One week 'til Boston!  I thought I would start documenting my thoughts each day over the next week so I can go back, re-read them, and realize what a moron I am before the race.  

4/8:  Today was moderately unstable.  I completed my final longish run this morning and then emailed Tom letting him know what a mentally-unstable-hot-mess I am.  I was supposed to run the first six miles at marathon pace.  Translation in Jen's head:  just in case marathon pace feels hard (which would be bad), let's run wayyy faster, because that way, it is supposed to feel hard (which would be okay).  I mean, wtf is wrong with me?  Dumbass.  After sulking to Mike about not running the workout right, I got over it and recovered well with a big bowl of pasta and side vodka cocktail, which was unnecessary awesome.  The weekend before Feaster began, however, was not so awesome.  After eight 800's averaging 2:54ish on Thursday (which I was psyched about), I worked on my feet all day Friday and Saturday.  My legs pretty much hated me, and I therefore became crabby.  Over the past week, I've also had a nagging ache on top of my foot.  Therefore, my Saturday crabbiness was slightly overturned when Dr. Fields (best sports-medicine doctor ever...and Frank Shorter's college roommate!) came into the store.  I obviously hijacked him, threw my stinky foot in his face, and was quickly assured that a metatarsal strain would be no big deal.  Anywho, let's get back to things that actually are awesome, like SirMixaLot.  Coming off my enjoyment of "Baby Got Back" on my iPod, I decided to plug the booty king into Pandora, and here are some other gems I was reunited with:  "Wild Thing", "O.P.P", "Insane in the Brain" (which may or may not have been written about me), and "Bust a Move".  I'll stop writing on that note...bust a move.  'Tis what I need to do in one week!

Takeaways from today:  Run the correct paces this week; it is a taper after all.  Vodka is not a good precursor to wine.  I like rap music?!

4/9: 80 degrees.  Yep, just checked the ol' weather forecast for Monday in Beantown, and the high is 80.  Seriously?  SERIOUSLY?!  So, we will hope that number comes down to more Boston-like standards, say 50's or 60's.  Is that too much to ask, Mama Nature?  Work with me, lady!  Granted, the weather forecast changes more in a week than I change my socks (and I go through a butt-load of socks), so we shall see.  Anywho, can't control it, so enough obsessing over that.  Let's obsess over something else:  sneezing.   It's funny how things in the week before a race become so much more prominent in the mind than at other times.  Like, sneezing.  So, yeah, I totally sneezed a bunch this morning.  Uh oh.  UH OH!  I'm getting sick!  Five weeks ago, I would have chalked it up to our house being too dusty, or actually, I probably wouldn't have noticed it at all, but nope, not today.  Totally sick, obviously.  Or not.  Work was crazy again today, and despite not eating lunch until 3pm, I did a good job of sitting when I did not need to be standing.  I also worked all day in my new K-Swiss recovery sneaks, which I highly recommend if you have not tried them.  They feel like someone is suffocating your feet with pillows...but in a good way.  At the end of the day, one of my runners gave me a card that read "To My Coach, My Inspiration".  That was enough to turn the entire day into a fantastic one.  Inspiring others to do what I love is an amazing feeling, and I feel grateful for it every single day.  I can't wait for Monday!  Actually, no, not even just Monday, the whole weekend and being surrounded by everything and everyone running!  

Takeaways from today:  In my next life, I will be a weatherman; you can be wrong 80% of the time, and you can still get a good performance review.  I'm a compression addict. 

4/10:   So, today I was in the gym, and as I was lifting five pound free weights (Shut up!  I'm not a very big person!), a random guy started talking to me.  Mmk, two pet peeves here:  When I am in the middle of a set, I can't don't want to talk, and when I have headphones in my ears, I have no idea what you are saying anyway.  The problem was, I couldn't even understand the guy without my headphones.  When I put the weights down and turned my music off, his statements went something like this, "Yo lady (lady, really?!) hsksvkn words jlvksjljoj sugar words words you gettin' into jisjegkjo."  I asked him to repeat himself three times, finally felt like an ass, and just blurted out, "I'm running a marathon on Monday!"  His response, "Oooh, how fahh dees one?"  *turns headphones back on*

I went for a nice, easy run today with some striders afterwards, and the foot feels pretty good.  Excellent!  To keep that up, I iced my leg from the shin down in a deep spaghetti pot.  For dinner, my friend, Emily, came over, and we ate spaghetti.  No, Emily, that was not parmesan cheese in your pasta...........ew, okay, gross.  I swear I do not use said spaghetti pot for actual, um, spaghetti anymore.  I am also supposed to be getting in 110 grams of protein a day this week, which I decided is moderately impossible unless I bathe in it, which would be grossly gelatinous.  And on that note, I am going to stop typing, as too many disgusting words are flying off my fingers right now.

Takeaways from today:  When in the gym from now on, play dumb.  Gelatinous has officially been added to my list of extremely-disgusting-never-to-be-used words:  mucous, moist, crusty...and gelatinous.  

4/11:  It was cold today!  This is how Boston needs to be.  Jus' sayin'.  I went out for a nice, easy trail run this morning, which was awesome.  The last two times I've been on the trails, I have not seen another single soul.  I usually like seeing other runners and bikers out and about, but for some reason today, I found it quite peaceful.  As I did a few striders back in the parking lot afterwards, a cyclist stopped me and said, "It is a pleasure watching you run."  That actually gave me chills (and not because I was cold).  All hyped up from a good run, I decided to start obsessing over looking at race logistics, i.e. where to catch the buses to the start, where I will stuff my face the night before, expo info, and what to bring with me to Athlete's Village.  This all brought me to the Runner's World forums page.  This also brought me to tears of laughter.  Here is what some other Boston runners are obsessing over saying:

"Well, since people keep saying worrying about the weather won't change anything for Boston, can I start worrying about the weather for the NYC marathon?"

"My son was home sick with a cold yesterday.  Usually I would make the best of it and hang out and read with him on the couch.  Instead, I wore a mask and avoided him like the plague."

"Now I just have to get over the fact that I'm flying on Friday the 13th....."

Oh, and this guy...
wtf?!

Takeaways from today:  All runners are crazy, weird, type-A, and obsessive.  And awesome of course.  You see!?  I'm totally normal (for a runner).

4/12:  Second track workout in a row...nailed!  The track and I are starting to rekindle a friendship.  I did not do very well on my 4/8 "takeaway from today" however; I ran too fast.  I felt controlled with less effort though while running paces that felt wayyy harder a few weeks ago.  It's all coming together. :)  The workout was short too, sticking well to taper standards.  After my cooldown home, I was taken aback to notice my little Zoe's head, which was now completely infected above her eye.  A visit to the vet unveiled an absess caused by the groomer's potentially un-sanitized scissors.  After draining it, administering an antibiotic injection, and some prednisone (and a $280 bill, yikes!), I brought Zoe to work with me.  She needed a lot of loving, which I knew my Streakers would be good for.  I am really beginning to think there is some sort of correlation between my marathons and Zoe getting eye infections, hmm...

What did I do wrong, Mom?

The cone of shame.

The Streakers made it all better!  duh.



One of the docs at the vet is also running Boston, so while the babe (eh hem, Zoe) was being taken care of by another doc, we did a little race strategizing.  We talked mostly about the crazy weather, which is really starting to look...............awful.

Takeaways from today:  Find a new groomer.  Yep, that's about it.

4/13:  Happy Friday the 13th, yikes!  I keep checking the calendar to make sure it's not actually April Fool's Day because some weather forecasts are now saying it could reach 90 degrees in Boston on Monday.  This HAS to be a JOKE.    Really, Boston!?  Looking back on the forums to hopefully gain some laughter again, runners are not laughing.  Some have even canceled their trips altogether.  I would never go that far, but it is important to remember to run smart and still have fun in the process.  I was really starting to freak out yesterday; I am READY TO RUN, so why does something out of my control have to get in my way?   However, when it comes down to it, it is what it is, and we need to make the best of it.  If the "best of it" means being safe and kissing the Wellesley girls along the way, then so be it.  I received a call at home from the vet this morning, thinking they were calling to check on the babe, but it was the doc running Boston asking if she can buy salt tablets in the store, ha!  Love it!  I actually feel more relaxed now that I am accepting the forecast; I will give it my all in return for what the day gives me.

And on that note, I gotta pack!  Woohoo!  Here I come Beantown!

Takeways from today:  Heat or no heat, it is still the Boston Marathon, and it will be awesome!

Two Weeks Until the Boston Marathon

I like big butts, and I cannot lie.  You other brothers can't deny.  That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get spRUNg!   *begin interval* ...

Yep, just added this little 90's gem to my new iPod shuffle before my Sunday workout.  Thank you Sir Mix-a-Lot.  And thank you Apple for not laughing when I brought in two broken nanos...one that drowned while running in an unexpected rainstorm, and one that died while flying unexpectedly through Mike's bike spokes.  Oops.

Note the word "unexpected"  ...both totally weren't our fault.  Obviously.

Whelp, 13 days until I toe the line in Hopkinton.  Seeing this, I feel like I should wait and continue this post tomorrow since "13" is such an unlucky number, but I'm stronger than that.  I don't need luck (my training has overruled that); I not buying into superstitions (my twitching eye does not mean I will fail); and I don't need to wash my hands 682 times a day (although I've had my moments).  Oh, and perhaps most importantly, I do not need to neglect my wine.  I am a lucky gal that Mr. Cab and Mr. Malbec forgave me after that whole two-week stint before Houston...whew!

The taper has begun...I think.  Despite an hour-long trail run today, the volume comes way down this week.  I finished my main training with a strong, confidence-boosting workout on Sunday:  a 21-mile run with 4x 2-miles included (two intervals at the beginning, and two at the end).  The 2-mile intervals averaged under 6:30 pace, and I was therefore tired thrilled with myself.  Mentally, that workout was an awesome segue into my taper...

The phone rings in the middle of the night.  My father yells what you gonna do with your life.  Oh daddy dear you know you're still number one.  But girls they want to have fun.  OH GIRLS JUST WANNA ... um ... RUN!

It seems I am stuck in the 80's and 90's, which is fine with me.  This IS when my passion for running began, and I ran my first-ever race in 1990, while in fourth grade.  It was a 1-mile cross-country race, and I ran a "blistering" 7:24 to beat all the other fourth graders.  Just so you can set the scene, I did this while wearing knee-length, black compression shorts with neon-pink and turquoise flamingos (yes, I said flamingos) down the sides with a matching neon-pink cotton tee and matching neon-pink socks.  ...Oh, and stark white reeboks.  One word:  HOT.  Okay, two words:  DORK.  I could never understand why I wasn't very popular by the time middle school rolled around...hmm.

These past 12 weeks since Houston have been, well, full of ups, downs, highs, and lows.  There were times in the middle where I wanted to give up because I could not hit the prescribed track workout splits, but then I would crush an endurance workout, and everything would be okay.  It's funny; I definitely caught myself at times thinking how hard this was, that I couldn't do it, and how I therefore couldn't wait for it to be over...running scared and defensively I guess; however, now, with only two weeks to go, I am sad that it is almost here, because soon, it will all be over.  I love training.  There is just no other feeling in the world to me like that of crushing a long run.  This is why, one day, I will do an ultra-marathon.  Yes, I did just say that.  I will do an ultra.

Down in the shadow of the penitentiary.  Out by the gas fires of the refinery.  I'm ten years burning down the road.  Nowhere to RUN ain't got nowhere to go (except Boston, duh).  ...Born in the U.S.A., I was born in the U.S.A...

Gotta love the boss.  Speaking of the boss, I have been amazed and very appreciative for my coach, Tom, since I started working with him in early February.  I've only met him in person twice, and yet, he knows me.  He tells me things about myself that I am too afraid to admit to, um, myself (i.e. I am afraid of higher mileage because I might get injured; I can run forever and ever at a solid pace but put up a defensive "this-is-too-hard" wall when asked to run shorter and faster...even if only by ten seconds a mile).  Hearing these things makes me want to confront my personal limitations and break down those walls.  It also gives me confidence that I may lack otherwise; I may not have hit some of these 10K-type workouts, but hell, I've nailed every single marathon-type workout.  

The callouses are shaved (you so wanted to know that), and the toes are officially Boston-certified. 

On April 21, 1980, Rosie Ruiz emerged out of the Boston Marathon spectating crowd on Commonwealth Avenue about a half-mile from the finish and began surging her way towards the line.  Without all the technology and security we have today, Rosie was declared the winner, which left Jacqueline Gareau stunned to learn that she was NOT the winner, as she had lead the race from very early on.  Later that week, after suspicions continued to mount, Rosie was disqualified from the race. Furthermore, race officials learned that in the New York City Marathon, Rosie had taken a subway to the finish line, which is where she "earned" her Boston qualifying time in the first place... 

Exactly one day before this historic event in women's marathoning, I was born.  My mother's name is also Rosie.  You see?  Me and Boston?  Yep, we were meant to be...

...and no, this does not mean that I am planning on pulling a Rosie.  K, thanks.

The whole Boston weekend is shaping up to be very fun.  I get to see my college roommate, who lives in Boston, and my high school teammate, who is also running.  Mike's parents are coming to watch, and I already have post-race drinking celebratory plans with some former Greensboro friends.  I am looking forward to soaking up the whole experience, from Athlete's Village, to Wellesley College, to seeing old friends, all the way to the finish line.  I feel extremely relaxed, and I am looking forward to this marathon more than any of my previous three.  It is on par with running my very first marathon.  I always tell my runners, "You'll never have another first marathon."  Well, the same is true for Boston...you'll never have another first Boston.  My corral placement is perhaps less than ideal:  Wave 1, Corral 7.  This means I will be starting behind 6,000 other anxious runners.  Hello, congestion?  However, this is good practice for me in letting go of things I cannot control (but really mother nature, pleeeeeeeeeease bring good weather!) and focusing on the positives.  Perhaps this will save me from going out too fast?  Patience, young Jen, patience.

Just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world.  She took the midnight train goin' anywhere (is this song about Rosie Ruiz?!  bahaha).  Don't stop believin'.  Hold on to the feelin'...

I believe in myself that a PR is within my grabs, even if it is Boston, and I hope the experience is so awesome that I hold onto the feeling for a lifetime.  I've "worked" hard for this.  People will say to me, "you work so hard", to which I smile and thank, but then I smile harder within myself to know how fortunate I am to not perceive my running as work.  I am simply doing what I love.  It's who I am.  I cannot wait for Boston.

She said I think I'll go to Boston...I think I'll start a new life.  I think I'll start it over, where no one knows my name.  Boston... where no one knows my name... yeah...

Get 'er done!

Quintiles Wrightsville Beach Half-Marathon

My cowbell made the news!  I knew I'd be famous some day.  Check out my cowbell's 1.7 seconds of fame from this past weekend's Wrightsville Beach Marathon & Half-Marathon:

http://coastal.news14.com/content/top_stories/655181/charitable-marathon-held-in-wrightsville-beach-sunday 

It doesn't matter that they cut my torso and face off.  I'm still totally famous.  Shut up.

Mm k, so this past weekend, Mike and I trekked out to Wilmington, NC, where I was participating in the Wrightsville Beach Half-Marathon as a tuneup for the Boston Marathon.  The goal was to run a hard and even-paced effort on tired legs.  My coach, who happens to be the race director, did not taper me for this race.  The theory is that when I actually do taper off this training into Boston, I will apparently feel like I have a rocket up my ass.  He refers to it as a "well-oiled machine"; I think "rocket up my ass" has a much better ring to it, no?

Being tired is something I have become accustomed to over the past few weeks.  On top of all the training, work has been, well, long.  With 47 runners in my Streakers class this time around (which is amazing...I love my runners!), I conducted 40+ individual analysis meetings and wrote the same number of training plans in a less-than-two-week span.  Throw my normal floor hours, a couple of events, and one "how will I ever get everything done" panic attack on top of that, and you've got a tired and stressed Jen.  You've also got two cold sores (which makes an Angelina Jolie looking Jen, but in a not-so-good-looking way).

In any event, I was therefore semi-fearing this half-marathon, afraid that I would feel completely wiped out and suffer through the whole thing, but it turned out okay.  If only we could all be like Kara Goucher and get paid to run.  I mean, we've already established that Kara and I look like twins, so we might as well act alike too.  She probably needs someone to stand in for her every now and then during her photo shoots and such.  Hmm, although, if News 14 Carolina cut my face off during a mere cowbell segment, my career as Kara Goucher's stand-in double isn't looking so promising.  Um, yeah, no. 

Alrighty, well that was fun.  So, what was this post about again?  Oh yeah, half-marathon.  We arrived in Wilmington on Saturday, ate a disgusting lunch at the Atlanta Bread Co. (it wasn't really disgusting, but the speed in which I ate my sandwich kinda was), and grabbed my race number and teased Bart Yasso at the expo.  Yes, I said teased Bart Yasso.  I have met Bart numerous times; he semi-interviewed me at Runner's World Magazine years ago, and I've hung out and run with him at two running conferences.  Yet, he never remembers me, nor do I expect him to.  He is fun to joke around with though, so I always go up to him at races (he was in Myrtle Beach too) and act really offended when he doesn't remember me.  He becomes all concerned at my disappointment, and then I start laughing.  It's a fun game.  Bart remembering me is like me remembering a cheeseburger I ate six years ago; there's just too many like 'em to remember 'em all!

That night, we went for dinner at the Front Street Brewery.  Getting completely sloshed on wine crossed my mind (it was St. Patty's Day after all), but I was already having intoxicated symptoms without the alchy:  visions of green EVERYWHERE were making me dizzy, and the race's 6:30am start time was a risk in itself of oversleeping.

Race morning.  4:30am.  Get out of bed.  Sigh.  Am I late for work?  Sigh.  Oh yeah, race.  Eat a pop tart.  Grunt.  Walk downstairs in unmatched pajamas searching for coffee.  Take the elevator back up one flight because I'm too tired to walk.  Sigh.  Curse at myself.  Trip over my sneakers because it is still dark out.  Slowly remember that we live in the age of electricity and turn the lights on.  Grunt.  Drink water.  Sigh.  Pee.  Look at Mike sleeping and think he is a spoiled brat.  Grunt.  Put race attire on.  Ask Mike if my butt jiggles in my spandex.  Remember that he is still sleeping.  Brat.  How dare he not answer me.  Sigh.  Pee.  Eat another pop tart.  Go.

After a 1.5 mile warm-up to the start line, I was finally awake and ready to run.  The morning was misty, 61 degrees, and full of that nasty, humid stuff.  Oh well.  The gun went off, and with 3,000 runners on the line (2,000 in the half), I started cruising at my "I can go forever" feeling pace for the first mile.  At mile two, I gradually began to pick it up.  I made the decision to click my mile splits to review later on but to run the whole way on "feel" and not look at my watch.   Between miles three and seven, I passed a bajillion runners.  Yes, a bajillion.  Really, I counted.  I felt smooth and comfortable through mile eight, and then I started to reach the discomfort zone.  I pulled my gu out of my pocket, and FAIL!  ...dropped the gu.  A very lady-like obscenity forced its way out of my mouth; I suppose I could have picked up the gu, but I did not want to break stride.  Instead, I took a sip of gatorade at mile 10 to replace any electrolytes that I could, but that was, um, nasty, and I spilled the RED gatorade all over my WHITE jersey.  Question...What is the point of diet gatorade?  I mean, we're running 13.1 miles.  I'd rather add lard to the gatorade then have them take away my calories.  Seriously.    

Okay, so mile 10.  There were two extremely smelly guys running next to me (hi, deodorant) talking about their splits, so I now knew my pace.  This was the first time I glanced at my watch.  I could feel the fatigue in my body at this point, but a 5k is only a 5k when you are marathon training, so I knew I'd be fine, even without the gu (although that sweet lil' jolt of espresso-love-caffeinated-goodness would have been nice).   I had a strong, final kick into the finish for a 1:27:59.  Okay, okay, officially it was 1:28:00, but I like my watch better.  I ended up sixth overall female and first in my age group, which earned me a pretty sweet beer stein that I will fill with red wine very every so often.  In reviewing my splits, mile one was my slowest, while the rest of my miles were all in the 6:30's and 6:40's.  I ran a perfectly even race, which is not typical for me.  It's amazing what happens when you simply listen to your body and not let technology dictate what you can or cannot do.   

My Streakers also fared well; we now add three new half-marathoners and two new marathoners to the cool club...I couldn't be any prouder of them!  Oh, and cowbelling them and other runners into the finish is when I became famous.  By the way, let me know if you'd like an autograph.

Also making the weekend exciting was my alma mater!  Lehigh handed Duke their dookies on Friday night in the first round of the NCAA Basketball madness.  To show my Brown & White pride, I ran in my former Lehigh cross-country singlet.  The brown butt huggers stayed home.  Even if Lehigh had gone on to win the whole damn tournament, the huggers still would have stayed home.  Talk about butts jiggling in spandex...yikes!  In any event, it was fun hearing the various cheers out on the course while donning the jersey:  "Duke sucks!"  "Where's Lehigh?  Oh, Lehigh!  HELL YEAH, LEHIGH!!!"  The jersey alone made me smile more than I normally do in races...

Well, onto Boston!  Four weeks to go.  Bib numbers have been posted, and it looks like I will be lucky #6844.  I am still searching for the hidden meaning in this one; if it is 6,844 seconds, I am in pretty good shape.  A1:54:04 marathon would be kinda ideal. ;)

And so the training continues.  Over the next four weeks, I want to focus on better recovery techniques.  I learned my lesson going into work right after a 20-mile hard run and not having time to eat or drink water all day.  The ensuing week's runs were pretty rough to say the least.  Gotta keep the machine well-oiled if I want to earn my rocket!  I've also let go of a goal for Boston.  New outlook:  run hard, smart, have fun, and enjoy my surroundings.  Let go of the pointless, stupid, self-inflicted pressure.  See what happens!  

All in all, it was a solid run and a nice weekend.  The race was very well-organized and had a loud crowd given the small-town feel.  Wrightsville Beach is also a great destination spot, so for anyone looking for a great half or full, check this one out.  Kudos also to my coach/race director for staying so professional, calm, and collected this week, despite his sister's house being completely obliterated by a tornado, one of his staff members being hit by a drunk driver on race morning, and having a gentleman collapse with cardiac distress during the race.  Thankfully, everyone is going to be okay, but man, situations like these really help me keep everything in perspective.

Thanks for a great weekend, Wilmington!

I'm Learning to Fly, But I Ain't Got Wings...

Less than six weeks 'til Boston.

And I will say, I've been working my ass off.

It's not that I didn't work hard before, but this is just...different.

More specific.

More logical.

I don't know why I'm breaking my sentences up into paragraphs, so I'm gonna stop doing that now.  K, thanks.

Less "hmm, how many miles do I feel like doing today", and more "if you want to run a fast marathon, this is what you need to do today."  I am actually afraid to NOT do it.  I am also afraid OF doing it.  If you had a track workout totaling 14 miles, you'd be scared too, so don't judge.  What I've discovered is that the effort required in running hard on my hard days is almost equal to the effort of running slow on my recovery days.  You need both.  I understand that better now.

I learned the importance of recovery (it's easy to mentally absorb it, but physically understanding it is a whole other concept) in a workout last week.  I failed.  Bonked.  My legs were like, "HELLLLZ NO, WE ARE ON VACATION, SUCKAAAA!"  They actually yelled that to me, really, I swear.  Or maybe I was just tired and hallucinating.  I dunno.  In any event, this was the first workout in the last five weeks that went horribly.  I had a little temper tantrum on the track, threw my sunglasses down in lane one, and then felt silly when I realized that all I could do was, um, pick them up.  All the while, little elementary school kids were walking and jogging laps on the same track during their gym class.  Their lesson that day?  Don't grow up to be like "that" crazy chick on the track.

After emailing a few whine-full (did someone say wine?) words to my coach afterwards, we focused on good recovery for the next couple of days, and WHAM!...

I had a break-through run.  Twenty mile workout, awesome splits, confidence restored.  I viewed this prescribed workout as the hardest one yet, something I would not be able to accomplish, but I did...and then some.  And maybe even some more. :)

Post 20-miler trophy! 
*Unleash disgusting faces and sounds now*

It is so hard when you are in the moment, but remembering to keep everything in perspective and having fun all the while is so important.  During the first conversation I had with my coach, he said to me, "It's supposed to be fun.  You're not Kara Goucher."  To which my response was, "Hey!  You don't know that!"  Okay, okay, but really, he is right.  Damn it.  In any event, that helps reel me back to reality sometimes.  I do this for ME.  If I feel pressure, it is ONLY because I do it to myself.  I oftentimes let other people that get competitive with me get under my skin, but then I remember, this is about ME and MY personal goals.  They don't matter.  If their goals include beating me, well then, so be it.  ...but that's a whole other blog post!

But really, I kinda look like Kara Goucher though...a little...dontcha think?!?

No?  Whatever.  I didn't ask you.

Okay, I guess I kind of did ask you.

Jenny Barringer Simpson maybe?!

In any event, despite the angst of being challenged more in my new training, I know it makes sense.  I will *try* and accept the bad days for what they are...bad days (no, not the end of my running career) and relish in the good days.  Previously, they were all good days because, well, I wasn't challenging myself beyond my comfortable limits.

I had an epiphany today while driving to my physical therapist.  I was behind a car with one of those "initial" bumper stickers.  It read "GB".  Although "giant booger" was the first thing that came to mind, the first place I could think this meant was Great Britain.  Or, perhaps, Grassy Bald, which was a mountain I hiked last year, or Green Bay, or, you get the drift.  Point being, they make no sense.  They are fun to guess at for a while, but unless you are riding the car's ass and risking an accident to read the fine print (which doesn't always even exist!), you will never know the intended meaning.  Point being, my previous training was fun to guess at for a while, but in the end, it wasn't making enough sense.  There really was nothing else I could do to get the end results I desire, so I needed to back off, move on, and change my focus.

Okay, but seriously people, if you want to advertise a place you love going to so much, why would you make it so cruel and hard to figure out?!  Arggh!  Giant booger, hehe.  You like giant boogers.

So, all in all, I feel like I am in a great spot.  Despite going to Crazytown every now and then, and being really, really hungry all the time (Mike and I woke up STARVING at 2am the other night and had a cheese-peanut butter cup-ice cream-nutella-pretzel-and other assorted chocolate food binge on our kitchen island...which was AWESOME by the way!), I am learning my pace better, improving said pace, and getting stronger.  Whatever happens in Boston, I am learning a lot about myself and even surprising, um, myself (hello, Austin Powers!) with what I am capable of.

I'm learning to fly...and I don't need wings. :)

Happy running and training to all headed to Boston in six weeks!  If you have off days or weeks in your training, keep that perspective and remember this factoid:  In 1972, the first year in which women were officially allowed to run, the overall women's champion ran a 3:10:26.  Today, the open standard for simply qualifying to run is 3:35:00.  That's right; this means you are already pretty damn awesome. :)

More Cowbell!

Before this past weekend, which was the Myrtle Beach Marathon Weekend, I did not know the true meaning behind "more cowbell."  My only knowledge of the cowbell was from hearing it in races and seeing it non-stop on television during the Tour de France (in addition to all the naked people  ...the Tour de France in my mind = drugs, naked people, and MORE COWBELL! ...oh, and fast cyclists).

So, in any event, after realizing the power of the cowbell in Myrtle Beach, I decided to google where its significance derived from, and duh, of course...Will Ferrell!  I should have known!  So, without further ado, and if you are as stupid as me and did not know where this catchphrase actually came from, here is the SNL skit that made the cowbell famous:  http://www.funnyhub.com/videos/pages/snl-more-cowbell.html.

On Friday, Mike and I trekked to Myrtle Beach to support my Streakers in their 5K, Half-Marathon, or Marathon.  Of the 20 running, one was entered in the 5K, 16 in the half (eight first-timers), and three in the full (one first-timer).  The weather was perfect....40's to 60's...and my cowbell had been dusted off and was ready to rumble as well.  The Streakers knew the cowbell well, so when they heard it, they would know they were approaching me along the course.  The funny thing was that I did not realize how excited ALL the runners would get when they heard it.  Therefore, I rang that cowbell non-stop at miles two and ten for both 5-minute milers and walkers alike.  Note-to-self:  Apply body glide to hands before cowbelling...   

At mile ten, a random runner asked if I would cowbell alongside them for the next 16 miles (um, no), and a woman even took a camera out of her pocket while running and photographed me cowbelling (odd on many levels).  I could not believe the number of runners thanking me, asking me to ring it louder, and those that even stopped to ring it themselves.  Point being, do not underestimate the power of the cowbell.  Don't ask me where to buy one either.   I have no idea where mine came from.  I'm 100% positive that I did not buy it, and I really do not spend much time on farms, yet I have one.  So, yeah...

In any event, the Streakers kicked some Myrtle Beach cowbell booty.  Everyone finished, and of the 11 that had run their race distance before, they all PR'd.  It was an amazing weekend, and it was rather emotional seeing their excitement and pride.  To help inspire others to love doing what I already love doing, well, it makes me love running even more.

The Streakers post-race with their bling on the beach.
*(The Streakers are a fully-clothed training group if you were wondering.)*  

I enjoyed being in the support role this weekend instead of the race role.  You can learn a lot by observing your surroundings.  When I am in race mode, I typically notice nothing around me.  For example, as I mentioned above, the number of runners thanking me for supporting them astonished me.  I now want to improve upon that while racing.  You could scream in my ear from a centimeter away..heck, give me a wet willy (okay, gross, NEVER do that!), and I would probably be oblivious.  I want to be more grateful for those around me making my experience what it is.  My conclusion?  I am a race bitch.  Yep. You know, there are already race whores, and now I'd like to introduce to you the race bitches...

Race Whore; noun.  One that races too much and might want to look into a secondary hobby if they actually want to PR and/or maintain the mental sanity of their loved ones.

Race Bitch; noun.  One that analyzes their goal splits a minimum of 86 times and would not know it if a softball hit them in the face at least a week prior to...or during...a race.

So, yes, I don't want to be that.  It was really nice seeing some of the redneck countryside areas on the drive  down to Myrtle, exploring an area I had not been to before (rather than just viewing it as a place I am racing), and feeding off the excitement and relaxation of both the Streakers and other runners.  Once again, as I am learning more and more, running...and life...is really about perspective.  When you teach, you will also learn.  When you think less, you will do better.  When you hear cowbell, you yell, "MORE COWBELL!" and enjoy the whole experience. :)

Congratulations to all the runners in Myrtle Beach this past weekend!

Eyes on Boston!

So, the Houston Marathon was only three weeks ago, but it feels like it was decades ago.  Marathons are funny; you choose one, train for months, and the race itself can feel like it lasts forever (especially if you don't run smart and struggle in the final miles like someone I am know).  However, once it is over...poof!  Been there done that, and onto the next!  

Okay, so I should back up for a moment.  Marathons really aren't "funny".  I'm pretty sure I did not laugh once during Houston.  Or after it.  Although, the dude giving out "free hugs" at mile 21 was pretty funny.  If I wasn't unsure of whether or not my legs were still attached to my torso, I may have laughed.  I mean, anyone that is willing to hug any ONE person, let alone thousands, after they've just run 20 miles deserves a prize or something.  Perhaps an honorary marathon medal.  ...because that's kinda hard core.  ...and gross.  Okay, way off topic.  In any event, marathons are pretty damn SERIOUS.

My "onto the next" is of course Boston.  It is hard to believe that it is less than 10 weeks away.  I feel good about where I am.  I took five days off from running after Houston and instead participated in the sport of "I am going to inhale anything and everything that consists of wine, cheese, and/or burger".  If you have never played, I highly recommend it.  It's kind of a big deal.  In any event, I feel fresh, am happy about the base under my belt, and am ready to sharpen these legs (so yes, my legs actually were still attached to my torso) for Beantown.

I am starting to see the silver lining in my race at Houston.  I am so afraid to not keep an even pace now that I know I will be more patient in Boston.  In addition, it made me hungrier and more determined than ever.  I do not like the feeling of performing under the level in which I feel I am capable.  Honestly, it sucks.  And by hungrier, I'm not talking about a burger (although if you put one in front of me right now, I'd totally eat it...).  I am not going to let myself have a bad race in Boston.  And that's that.

Mentally, after Houston, I knew I needed a change.  My confidence stores were depleted, so I decided to enlist the help of a coach.  For three years, I have stubbornly marathon trained on my own.  I have avoided real speed work since college, partly because I just want to run how I want to run, but also partly because I was afraid I would fail and be unhappy with myself.  I know I know...oh the mind games!  Oh the ridiculousness!  I will have two hard runs a week now, with four easy ones.  And by easy, this means running almost a full minute slower per mile than I am used to.  And by hard, this means, well, #*&^'ing hard!  I'm up for the challenge.  Good days.  Bad days.  Fast days.  Slow days.  I'm enjoying the structure, accountability, and the feeling of running with a purpose again.  Most importantly, I'm believing in myself again.

I have also played around with a GPS watch recently to help keep track of my training paces.  Now, mind you, I was always the girl in college that said, "I will never have a cell phone.  I'm not that important!"  Five years later, I had three of them (no joke, I don't even know why...I guess my importance level increased pretty significantly?!  um, no.).  So, over the past three years, I have maintained, "GPS watches are unnecessary, and they will make me go crazy!"  Ahh yes, so I wore one last week, and it did make me go crazy.  The face on it was so ginormous that I could not get my jacket sleeve over it.  I had to take the jacket off, take the watch off, put the jacket back on, and then put the watch back on over the jacket sleeve.  Awesome.  During my run, it said my real-time pace changed by over six minutes in a matter of 30 seconds.  Um, no.  When I was finished, it said the route I ran was a full quarter mile shorter than I always knew it to be, which then made me start analyzing the difference in pace between what the watch said and what mapmyrun said.  ...And so there ya have it:  GPS + Jen = Crazytown.  I am going to give another GPS model a whirl, but I am kinda sorta thinking.........buh-bye.

Okay, let's back up again and get really off topic.  Is "ginormous" an actual, recognized word?!  Usually, when words are not really, uh, words, blogger underlines them in red.  Like "GPS" or "mapmyrun" or "#*&^'ing".  Totally not real words.  However, "ginormous" did not get underlined.  Hmm, interesting.

So, anyway, in summary, some exciting changes on the horizon for me!  I may even throw in some shorter races before Boston to help calm pre-race nerves.  Practice makes perfect PR's, right? :)

In-between all the training fun, life is good.  The "Streakers", the training group I coach, are heading to Myrtle Beach for their half-marathon and full marathon in two weeks, and I am excited for them to experience all the emotions and self-discovery during their 13.1 or 26.2 journey, especially for the first timers!  It's funny how natural it is for me to guide them in their training, but how hard it is for me to take my own advice.  I guess there is a reason for the saying, "Do as I say, not as I do", as well as something to be said for accountability.  In any event, I am very proud of them!  Mike and I have a few other trips planned as well; he will be repeating his 100-mile mountain bike race in Tennessee in April (um, I will be waiting for him in the cabin drinking wine), and we are going back to Charleston this summer where we will go kayaking in the black swamps with gators!

Yeah, so, let's back up again.  "Kayaking with gators."  Now, if we go kayaking and do not actually see any gators, this will be ideal, because then I can say, "I went kayaking with alligators!  How fun!"  If I actually see a gator come up alongside my kayak, my gosh someone please help me...

HAPPY RUNNING!

New training kicks for Beantown!