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Thursday, September 15, 2016

27 Weeks

Yeah, so, I'm getting big.  While in the gym earlier this week, the front desk lady gasped and exclaimed, "Ohmigod!" as I waddled through the door.  Then some dude thought it was funny to tease me while lifting five pound weights by saying, "Hey there, your sit-ups aren't working!"  It did actually make me chuckle, until I suddenly had the urge to punch him in the face (no worries, I refrained).  In any event, shit is getting real.

Around 18 weeks, my running actually started to pick back up.  I snuck back under 8:00 pace, while still at recovery effort, and felt so thankful that my body was letting me do this.  Then somewhere around 19 weeks, my feet got really fat, and I no longer had sneakers that fit.  So, in my stubborn-ass nature, I put on the one pair in my closet that actually did still fit, full-well knowing that this particular shoe was BAD for my running gait.  "It's just one run," I thought.  "What are the chances that something will go wrong?" I thought.  Yeah, so, about a mile into that run, I pulled my calf.  BAD.  I ended up with about two weeks of no running.  That's when this happened:

What do you get when you cross a pregnant chick with the inability to run or drink wine?  A hole punched through your bathroom wall.

Luckily, we took a really nice trip to Maine right after this happened.  We had some cooler weather, lots of opportunities for cross-training (kayaking, hiking; etc.), and other distractions.  However, on our final night in Maine, I ate a cheeseburger (obviously) ...but then threw the entire thing up a few hours later.  Oh dear lawd, my pregnant ass is revolting against beef!  Therefore, when we got home, this happened:

What do you get when you cross a pregnant chick with the inability to run, drink wine, or eat cheeseburgers?  A hole punched through your other bathroom wall.  
(Hot dayumn I'm strong!)

Luckily after this, I was able to start running again.  Except now, I was around 22 weeks, and my GI system started to perform some really special tricks (which was eventually determined to be from my daily white chocolate mocha), and my uterus was starting to cramp.  Around 20 weeks, I was diagnosed with partial placenta previa, which means my placenta is somewhat covering my cervix.  The risk with this is the placenta tearing, which can send you into pre-term labor.  The doc advised to stop running if I felt any cramping and that if I progressed to complete previa (or if the partial did not clear by 28 weeks), most of my activity would be halted.  So, from that point forward, running became very spotty, and from 25 weeks on, has basically been non-existent.  The cramping and the urge of a baby falling out at any second is, ya know, a tad unsettling.  Now, with less than a week to go until my 28-week mark, the partial previa has yet to clear.  So, that's why this happened:

What do you get when you cross a pregnant chick with the inability to run, drink wine, eat cheeseburgers, or drink white chocolate mochas, topped with the lingering threat of not being able to move at all?  A fully torn off car sun visor, irrationally accomplished while sitting at a red light.
(Do I need anger management??)

I've still been able to ride the recumboring bike and the elliptikillme in the gym, but I'm not gonna lie, that shit blows.  However, I do it because my running goals sit thick in my heart, and I will be thankful I stayed in shape during this pregnancy.  If after next week I'm taken off all activity, I'll probably be somewhat distraught, but hey, it's for a very good cause, and well, we do have a third bathroom...

I find myself cringing now when someone asks me, "Are you still running?"  Many people think your level of activity during pregnancy is a choice.  Maybe for some it is, but for others, you have to listen to your body and doctor and do what's best for your baby.  If it actually was my choice, I'd head out the door for a 20-mile run right now, but unfortunately, that's not in the cards for my body.  I actually had someone call me a wuss (granted, they said it jokingly, but still!) when I mentioned I was going to the gym to ride the recumboring bike.  That was like a knife going through my chest.  At that moment, I wanted to drink six white chocolate mochas and then invite him over to my house, where I'd lock him inside for 24 hours...  

Do you ever drive past a greenway, trail, or other runners and start crying because you want to be running SO BADLY?  That's where I'm at right now.  Here's the thing though... I know this is going to serve me SO WELL.  My desire and drive has never been greater while dealing with the forced rest, and like I've said before, I truly believe this is how some women come back from pregnancy faster than ever.  Screw the hormone levels and blood volumes; it's about heart and guts.  How bad do you want it?  I know I want it more than ever. 

T-Minus 12 weeks and five days (but let's be real, most likely less for me) until we get to meet our new little man!  And T-Minus 18 weeks and five days until I can start training again!  ...not that I'm counting. :)

Happy Running!

Here's a little of what we've been up to these past 10 weeks...

Butter's room is starting to take shape!

We're fortunate to have the new LeBauer Park in Greensboro. 

Fun times with family and friends in Rangeley, Maine

I'm fortunate to have so many beautiful mama friends!

Neighborhood cocktail party (minus the cocktails for me!)
25 weeks along

National Folk Festival in Greensboro

Logan is picking up my carbo-loading slack!

Tuesday, July 5, 2016

17 Weeks

Don't try this at home:  vacationing with a toddler while pregnant and therefore unable to 1) drink wine, and 2) go out for hard runs.  Or, if you do, bring a babysitter.

Mike, Logan, and I ventured to Wrightsville Beach for the Fourth of July weekend.  Totally my idea, which was probably a stupid one.  Don't try this at home:  listening to a pregnancy-brain laden pregnant chick's ideas.  

The weekend was full of toys being thrown off our third floor balcony, crayons being thrown across restaurant booths, blood-curdling screaming for no apparent reason, "no mommy sit" (I'm apparently supposed to stand at all times now), and eating meals realllly fast to ensure we actually got to eat before the tyrant sounded his alarm.  "Tyrant" is now in the running for baby boy #2's name.  "Butter Tyrant Goff" - definitely has a good ring to it.   

Okay, it wasn't really that bad.  It was awesome to see the beach and especially how well Logan does in the water.  Our little dare-devil apparently has no fear diving off a pool ledge and seemed to pick up some basic swim techniques easily.  Logan just may be a triathlete in the making - and I hate to admit this - with running being his weakest link.   NOOOOOOO!

Air Logan!

The highlight of the trip for me, probably to no surprise, was a run on the beach unintended one at that.  Since the Saturday morning temp was already 80 degrees with ridiculous humidity, I didn't set out to run for fear of frying the Butter Tyrant.  Therefore, I planned a leisurely walk on the beach instead.  That afternoon, I threw on my now ill-fitting bikini and headed toward the ocean.  The sand was hot, so I ran down and realized that not only did I feel good, there was an awesome breeze coming at me.  Therefore, I kept running, taking two-minute breaks every ten minutes to douse myself in water.  Lemme tell ya... if you want people to stare at you in shock/horror, go running on the beach pregnant, barefoot, and in a bikini that does not fit properly.  I didn't care though.  I felt so good, almost Baywatch-like, except my new gargantuan, science-experiment-like boobs are actually real, and I have a gut.  I made it about five miles before realizing how blistered my feet were from the rocky beach sediment and called it a day.  Pure bliss.

At 17 weeks along (halfway according to Logan), running has become harder but is still going fairly well.  I'm running three to six miles at a time now, four to five days per week, and have slowed considerably in sticking to recovery pace effort (about 8:30).  I have more occurrences of walk breaks, mostly humidity-driven, but listening to my body is most important right now (although isn't it always!).  All-in-all, I'm 100% content with what my body is allowing me to do at this point.

In the next two weeks, we need to decide if I'm going to start weekly progesterone injections to help stave off pre-term labor.  We would of course prefer to not have another baby in the NICU but also don't like the idea of pumping my ass (literally - the injections are in the ass) with a synthetic hormone.  If we decide to do it, I anticipate running becoming even tougher, as additional hormones are guaranteed to make anyone batshit crazy.  This is NOT part of our decision-making, but I need to be prepared for what the final 20 weeks could bring.  Therefore, if you see me running down the road with a botox-looking ass (maybe I really should be on Baywatch?!) and crying simultaneously, you'll know what we decided.  I just have to keep reminding myself that this is temporary and will ALL be worth it.   

Streaming the 2016 Olympic Track Trials this week has provided me motivation when getting my 12-pounds-and-growing heavier ass out the door to run at 6am feels tough.  It's a wonderful reminder to enjoy and appreciate life in the present but to always keep your eyes on the prize.  I'm coming 2020... 

Happy Running!

obligatory (17 week) bump pic

 Another highlight from Wrightsville was the food (the taste, not the speed at which we ate).  This was a delicious smoothie in a bowl from Sundays Cafe, which followed a massive gouda cheese-baked bean-brown sugar-cole slaw burger from Poe's Tavern (ate it too fast to get a pic).

Friday, June 3, 2016

Running for Two

If competitive eating were an Olympic sport, I definitely would have secured an OTQ (Olympic Trials Qualifier) by now...

But unfortunately, it's not.  However, on December 13th, I'm set to reach the finish line of my ninth "marathon", where Logan will be awaiting the arrival of Butter, his new baby lion.  Yes, Logan thinks there's a lion in my tummy, which he proudly named after watching me eat wayyy too much of a certain something recently.

In actuality, Logan will be greeted by his new baby BROTHER, which means, yes, I will forever be surrounded by men.  Ladies, I'm currently planning my 2017 girls' night calendar, so let me know when you're free.  And to anyone that's tempted to ask if we plan to have a third to try for a girl?  Two words:  HEYULL NO.

First Trimester Pregnancy Stats:

Weight Gain:  Nine pounds.  Recommended?  Five.  I know, I know, I'm such an overachiever.  Given that the lion is only about the size of a goldfish right now, I'm pretty sure my ass just grew its own ass...

Cold Sore Count:  Seven in 13 weeks.  WTF.

Cravings:   Pizza and spaghetti with a side of tortellini, a family sized bag of Smartfood popcorn, wheat rolls lathered in BUTTER, and Skittles, preferably all served together.

Aversions:  Wine.  The lion is truly f'ing with me.    

Since I'm "high-risk" due to previous miscarriages and pre-term labor, I've cut my mileage by more than half.  However, as long as I keep it easy, my doctor encourages me to continue, stating that it would be a bigger shock for my body to stop doing what it's used to.  So, I'm getting out four to five times per week for four to seven miles, all at recovery effort (which is ~7:45-8:00 pace right now).  I also make sure not to run in temperatures above 69 degrees, as overheating is a pregnancy no-no.  On the other days, I supplement with light weights and the recumboringent bike.  I may or may not have eaten a snack bag of Doritos while pedaling the other day...  

    Three Months Along

The 2020 OTQ Plan:
While it's hard to plan too much around pregnancy (eh hem, not mentioning any names, but I know a boy that surprised his parents by arriving six weeks early), the tentative plan is to resume training in February 2017.  The qualification period for the 2020 Olympic Marathon Trials should open in summer or fall of that year and remain open until at least the end of 2019.  I will use a 2017 fall marathon as my first marathon back and plan spring and fall races accordingly from there.  

I realize the challenges that raising a toddler and a newborn while coaching full-time will pose on my OTQ dream, but I'm ready and willing to tackle them.  I've already fielded some warnings, some wanted and some not, about how bouncing back after the second is harder than the first and how having two is more like caring for a gaggle of inconsiderate, poop-exploding geese.  When someone pokes about my age (I just turned 36), I respond with stories of Meb and, more recently, Heidy.  I use all of this as fuel for the fire, as everyones' experiences and how we choose to respond to them are very different.

Furthermore, and more so than in my first pregnancy, I miss training TERRIBLY.  Many wonder how women can possibly get faster after pregnancy.  Personally, I don't think it has as much to do with the physical changes our bodies experience as much as the emotional.  We're forced to take that ever-so-crucial break from training, and we therefore come back fresh, more motivated, and simply wanting it more.  I'm already pumped to take my training to the next level; having always been a low-mileage runner, there's still a lot more in these legs.

To aid in my comeback, I'm considering having my tonsils removed at the tail-end of my pregnancy recovery and immediately before I resume training.  I experienced seven bouts of tonsil infections/antibiotics in the two years after Logan was born, which I know were caused by a lack of sleep while working my body hard in so many ways.  Of course, I need to speak to my doctor about whether this is medically smart/safe, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to achieve my dream while also being the best wife, mom, and coach I can be.   

Keep dreaming, and
Happy Running!  

Thursday, February 25, 2016


Four years ago, I was in Houston to watch the 2012 Olympic Marathon Trials, in awe of the women that achieved the qualifying standard of 2:46:00 and the honor of being on the start line with America's best.  I remember thinking how insanely impossible it would be to reach that mark, that I was okay with just being "good" because these women obviously had some sort of talent that I was never blessed with.

Giddy spectators at the 2012 Olympic Trials in Houston

Knowing what I know and feeling what I feel now, man was I a naive jackass back then.  I wish I had been wiser, more confident, more apt to say f*ck it; I can do that! ...and then actually believing in myself to go for it.  Unfortunately, in 2012, I just was not there yet.

So now here we are in 2016, another Olympic year.  While watching the Marathon Trials two weeks ago, my mindset was different.  I was no longer watching in awe but instead with a burning desire to be there.  I have to be there.  I cry thinking about being there.  There is this deep, impatient passion within now to be there.  And you know what?  I'm finally at the point in which I believe it can happen.  It's fascinating, almost life changing, when you make the transition from saying you believe in yourself to actually believing in yourself.  This truly is the meat and potatoes (or better yet, the wine and cheese) of making it happen.

This belief developed slowly over the past four years.  In 2013, I lowered my marathon PR from 3:06:35 to 3:02:59 right before becoming pregnant with Logan.  I remember feeling scared that my running would forever take a nosedive from that point forward, letting negative feedback seep into my preggo-fragile brain're not going to have time, your body will never bounce back, you'll be too tired to do anything else, you're getting older, it's not about you anymore, yadda yadda.  And you know what?  Much of this is true.  I see it in the bags under my eyes, feel it in the spaciness of my brain, and feel it in the pain of my diastasis recti that I'm not sure will ever go away.  However, I learned that with passion, patience, attitude (whether of the "positive" or the "get-the-hell-out-of-my-way" variety), good health, and wine, no woman (or man!) should ever lose sight of their individual goals.  We're in control of making them happen if we truly want them to.  Eleven months after Logan was born, I broke three hours for the first time (2:58:31).  A year later, I dropped that to 2:54:58 in a race that saw temps climb to a sunny 75 degrees.  Sure, I was happy and proud of the PR and runner-up finish, but I knew I could do better.  My confidence was suddenly at an all-time high, and the thought of an OTQ came to light.  Why not me? 

So now here I am.  I'm not scared of putting this enormous goal out there because as long as I'm doing everything in my power to achieve it, I will have given it my best shot.  I already well up with emotion when someone asks me, "what are you training for next?" and I respond with "to qualify for the 2020 Olympic Trials."

Subject to change, the current OTQ standard is 2:45:00, and the qualification period should open by the end of 2017.  I've spent some time stalking researching the backgrounds and training of women that qualified for 2016.  The stories of sacrifice are plentiful, from the 80-90-100+ mile training weeks, to the 42-year old mom of three that trained at high altitude in Kenya for six weeks, to the numerous women that put off family plans to go for this dream first, to the giving up of sugar and alcohol in the six weeks before their qualifying attempt (<-- um, say whaaa?).  As for me, I plan to add more miles to my weeks, hoping to grow from the 60-65 I ran before Kiawah to 70-75.  At some point, I guess I should maybe probably sorta give more attention to nutrition, as my burger-wine-dorito-burger-wine diet may need a little fine-tuning.  I'd also like to incorporate yoga for recovery/strength and to focus on weight-training, which is something I let slip a bit last year.

One thing I have in which I know not all women are as fortunate is an incredibly supportive husband.  While talking about our personal goals last night, the first one Mike stated for himself was to make sure I reached mine.  He understands how much this means to me, almost as if he is training for the race himself.  We've also had lots of conversations about our joint goals, the biggest being to expand our family.  Given that I'll be 36 in two months, we realize this window doesn't open any wider in the coming years.  Sometimes in my weaker moments, I feel resentful that pregnancy and hard training individually require 100% of my body, which then leads me into an extra bottle of wine extreme guilt for feeling this way.  I have to remind myself that while qualifying for the Olympic Trials is a race against the clock, life itself is not.  Whether attempting to expand our family or qualify comes first, I want to smell the roses and fully enjoy the process of both.  And heck, if I crushed my PRs once after giving birth, I fully believe I can do it again.  ...even if I am a few years older.  Just ask Meb.

Never give up on your dreams. 

A little of what we've been up to...
Family trip to Wilmington, where we watched the 2016 Olympic Trials on live television.  Logan was inspired and challenged us to a running race.

 Logan is digging his new school.  When did he get so tall?

 Epic southern snowstorm of 2016.  Yes, you can still see the grass...

Date night.  Uber selfie because we thought we were uber badasses.  

Brownie cupcakes with peanut butter oreo buttercream
About that nutrition...

Thursday, December 17, 2015

Kiawah Island Marathon

'Tis the season to be... ... ... merry-thoning in warm weather and drinking wine on the beach in flip flops.  fa la la la la la la la la.

Well, I made it.  Two (ginormous) tonsils still intact and all.  After a bad tonsilitis flare up in August, I decided to forgo a tonsillectomy to continue training.  What were the chances it would come back before the Savannah Marathon on November 7th, and what were the chances it would come back the actual week of the race?  Eh, no way.

Well, shitters, Santa.  Right around Halloween, while already feeling like a loser dressed as a, um, banana, I felt the all too familiar pinch in the back of my throat, and it got worse from there.  Perhaps I asked for it dressing like a banana because, well, I totally ROTTED.

rotten rednecks

Okay, suck it up, fruitcake.  After a 10-day short pity party, I decided to get healthy and push the marathon out five weeks to Kiawah Island.  The risk here was upping the miles again and trying to hold peak.  However, my body seemed to handle it well.  I actually made more progress, bopping (bopping?  did I just make up a word?) through two-mile intervals at 5:56 pace and an eight-mile tempo at 6:10 pace in the middle of a 16-miler.   Plus, after the nasty humidity that cursed Savannah, I started believing it was a blessing in disguise.  While my original goal was sub-2:55, I was confident now to target 2:50 in Kiawah (6:30 pace).

Race week.  Are you f'ing kidding me, weather dude?  What the hell is El Nin~o (<-- um, I can't figure out how to get that tilde thing on top of the letter) anyway?  Whatever it is, it can kiss my bubble ass.  Race day temps were predicted to be 55-60 at the start, 70-75 three hours later, 80-85% humidity, no breeze, sunny.  Ewww k, new plan.  I'd start closer to 6:40 pace and hope for the best in the second half as the temps rose.  I typically like to negative split marathons, but I knew it would be hard here.  Suck.

Race expo.  When I picked up my bib, I was informed that they created a new 200-runner "high performance" corral at the front of the start line.  Anyone with an "A" on their bib was invited, but mine was "A"-less.  Men were seeded by time, and women were chosen by lottery.  Wait, what?!   When I asked how I could get into this corral, I was told not to worry, that I'd only start 10-15 seconds behind the leaders.  I'm pretty sure my face immediately went into stink eye mode as I said "not happening", grabbed a sharpie, drew an "A" on my bib, and left.  I'm such a bitch.

Miles 1-9.  I felt pretty flat off the start line.  Mile one was 6:50.  Oops, too slow.  Mile two was 6:28.  Oops, too fast.  My legs finally synced with the rest of my body around mile three.  This is also where I met Paul, who was targeting a 2:50.  We ran together for a bunch of these early miles and discovered that we lived only one town over from each other.  It was nice to have a new friend along the way, especially while still feeling so comfortable.  ...cuz when I get uncomfortable, I get kinda mean.  Jus' saying.   Miles three to nine were all between 6:27 and 6:38; perhaps a little fast, but it felt easy.  I saw Mike for the first time around mile nine, and he let me know that I was about 2:00 off the leader.  No problem.  I got this.

Miles 10-16.  At mile 11, I had a fantabulous cheering section consisting of Logan, my mother in-law, father in-law, and lotsa STREAKERS.  Then shit got lonely, as I was by myself, and there were no spectators.  I still felt comfortable at halfway (1:26:01), but mile 14 is when I started to feel the sun and temps rising.  I realized I had a new running buddy at this time too, but he was pulling some "Night at the Roxbury" (<-- seriously, watch that.  hilarious) shit on me.   When he said, "Sorry, I'm not good at giving personal space," I barked, "You think?!  Seriously, dude!" and put on a surge to get away from him.  Totally mean.  Anywho, these miles were all between 6:28 and 6:34.

Miles 17-20.  One of my superfab Streakers was out with a spray bottle, and Mike rented a bike so he could give me extra water as the temps rose, which helped a ton.  We were doing more out-and-backs on peninsulas here (five total u-turns along the course, ick).  The good thing about this was that you could see your competition going in the other direction.  The bad thing about this was that you could see your competition going in the other direction.  I knew the leader was getting farther in front of me at this point, so I just started focusing on, ya know, not dying.  At mile 18, I cramped in an, um, unfortunate part of the body.  Seriously, who the F cramps THERE?  I did my best though to keep moving forward as straight as possible as to not jerk any more, um, muscles?  These miles were all between 6:41 and 6:44.  <-- ruh roh, starting to slow...

Final 10K.  Even though I was slowing, I still passed seven men in these final miles.  Any confidence boost helps when you feel like you want to kill yourself.  Most of this portion was run on a greenway.  Poopers.  Speaking of poopers, I had no GI issues the entire time!  Yay!  Aren't you glad you know that?!  I digress.  Anywho, while the greenway sucked boring monkey butt, I was VERY appreciative for the shade.  At mile 25, we merged back with the half-marathoners, who were crossing their 12-mile mark.  Having to weave in-and-out of runners on a narrow path also sucked monkey butt.  Luckily, a lead biker appeared out of, um, I actually have no idea where they appeared out of, and cleared a path for me until we made it back to the road.  Once I crossed the 26-mile mark, I kicked to a 2:54:58, second place overall female, and 12th place male/female finish.  These miles were all between 6:37 (dreaming of wine and burgers) and 7:07 (mental vomit).

Once done, I started crying.  Seriously, since becoming a mom, I cry ALL THE TIME.  I cried when Curious George's kite flew away the other day.  Right.  Anywho, I was happy to be done, happy with the PR in these conditions, happy to hear there was unlimited cider beer in the finish tent, and happy to see this face:

The hardest part of extending my training for Kiawah was leaving this face on Saturday mornings for more long runs.  Logan started associating my running with "bye-bye".  He'd watch me leave and wave out the front door window, and I'd then cry a little before taking my first step.  This is why it meant so much to me on this day when he rang a cowbell and said "Go Mommy!"  It gives me hope that maybe, just a little, he understands what this all means.

Since the race, I've been on a strict diet of wine and cow and a fierce regimen of no running or showering (<-- cuz there's obviously no point if you don't sweat).  I'll give myself a week to reboot, be fat, and figure out my next goals.  

Overall, it was a great weekend.  I'm proud of myself for toughing it out in the second half and thankful for the entire Kiawah experience, as it is an amazingly beautiful place.  I'm even more thankful for extremely supportive family and friends and for the wonderful and unique bond that the Streaker family shares.  

Congrats to all Kiawah finishers!
Happy Running, and Merry Christmas!

Kiawah Streakers!

Tuesday, October 20, 2015

Myrtle Beach Mini-Marathon

This past Sunday, I ran the Myrtle Beach Mini-Marathon (um, half-marathon).  The goal was to run a hard effort on semi-tired legs (I had just run a 22-miler a week prior) and then start tapering afterwards for my marathon, which is in three weeks.  Mission accomplished.  

Mike, mini-Mike, and I drove out to dirty Myrtle on Saturday.  Logan did well in the car for about two hours and then wanted to get the heyull out, so I had some beautiful "pump-up music" for the remaining hour and a half.  Upon arrival, we grabbed my number at the expo, checked into our hotel, made some spaghetti, threw it all over the floor, and then headed to the beach to watch the sunset before bed.

We REALLY love spaghetti.  ...and yes, we were "hydrating".

Goodnight, moon.

Mm k, so after getting mini-Mike to bed, big-Mike and I watched a pretty good movie ("The Road Within") before learning why dirty Myrtle is in fact called dirty Myrtle.  Around midnight, a group of, hmm, rambunctious (?) females outside our door REALLY wanted to teach Logan how to pronounce the letter "F" ...over and over and over again.  Then, around 2am, a group of, hmm, aggressive (?) gentlemen outside our door REALLY wanted to share in Logan's joy and proclaim their love for, um, suckers (but maybe add another four letter word in front of that) over and over and over again.  At this tired point, I proclaimed what a big mistake this trip was, felt hugely selfish for putting Mike through, and throwing Logan off schedule for, this crap, and decided that I suck at life and shouldn't run.  Yay negative-self-trash-talk!  Ugh.

All good though, when the alarm went off at 4:30am, I thanked those f'ing c-suckers because I was pissed and ready to run!  I proceeded to eat a small breakfast of two pop tarts, a clif bar, a banana, a bag of pretzels, and a cup and a half of coffee.  Okay, perhaps not small, but what can I say, partying all night results in the freaking MUNCHIES!  

The race went off in the dark at 7am.  My plan was to run marathon pace for the first mile, which I reached in 6:36.  We headed into a pretty strong wind for the first six or seven miles, so I tucked behind a dude for the next two miles, which passed at 6:22 pace.  I then looked up and saw two girls a little ways ahead of me and decided it was in my best interest to start, um, stalking them?  So, I did.  I was in third female position now and had something to chase (or so I thought) ... 

Aaaaand we're off!

The next three miles passed in 6:24, 6:18, and 6:16.  These miles snaked around a little, so I practiced running the tangents really well since there are 55 TURNS on the Savannah Marathon course.  What?!  Yeah, no, seriously, it looks like someone handed Logan a crayon and said, "Ready, Set, Draw a course map!"  Mm k, anywho, I closed the gap pretty well on the two girlies but realized I wasn't making up ground as fast as I'd hoped.  So, at mile seven and with the wind now at our backs, I made like Logan with a toolbox and dropped the hammer.  At mile nine, I passed one of the girls and was now in second, YAY (or so I thought)!  The other girl wasn't really getting any closer, so at this point, I just focused on maintaining pace and staying controlled and strong.  Miles seven through 11 were all between 6:11 and 6:15. 

Somewhere around this point, a spectator yelled "fourth female"!  I was like, dude, you like, soooooo can't count.  I guess it lit a fire under my a$$ though because mile 12 passed in 6:08.  Then, shortly thereafter, I saw Mike and mini-Mike!  A huge smile (and perhaps a grunt of "is this over yet?!") erupted on my face until Mike yelled, "You're in fourth; you can get her!"  Well, shit balls; I'm pretty sure Mike knows how to count.  With 1.1 mile to go and full-well knowing I wasn't going to catch her, I think I sub-consciously slowed down a little.  Ahh well.  I snaked my way back into the wind and up the boardwalk to finish as fourth female, nine seconds off third, and ninth overall male/female in 1:22:42.  Needless to say, I was ECSTATIC with the effort.  I was not expecting to run this fast, and if it weren't for those girls, I most likely would not have.

I'm appreciative to have felt so strong both physically and mentally in this run, as it gives me a lot of confidence going into Savannah.  I'm appreciative to Elite Performance Chiropractic for helping get my tight a$$ under control to run pain-free.  I'm appreciative for a husband and son that support me and my neurotic ways to enable crazy weekends like this to happen.  I'm appreciative for good friends to come home to that ate massive burgers, ice cream, and wine with me in celebration.  I'm appreciative for the inspiration my Dad gave me the day before in winning his age group in the SONO 5K in Connecticut.  Life is so good.

Now with that said, let the obsessive hand washing and hourly weather refreshing begin!

Happy Running!

Thursday, October 1, 2015

Happy Fall!

"Excuse me, ma'am.  Do you need a buggy?"  I apparently looked overwhelmed while happily perusing the Total Wine and More aisles with three bottles of wine in tow.  However, rather than actually considering the prospects that (1) I was buying too much wine, and (2) perhaps I really did need a buggy, all I could think about was how this dude didn't think I could handle it.   So, what did I do?  I (1) gave him the stink eye, and (2) added another bottle to my load...without a buggy of course (<-- totally normal, stubborn, runner behavior, right?!).

We've had lots going on over the past month, most of it pretty awesome.  So, just like my experience in Total Wine and More, perhaps I'm carrying around more than I should right now, but no way in hell is it more than I can swallow.  Cheers, bitches!    

Ten-Year Anniversary
Mike and I celebrated the big 1-0 a couple of weeks ago.  Celebrating to us consists of (1) eating a buttload, and (2) drinking a buttload.  On the actual day, we had dinner at our fave-anniversary-tradition, Table 16, but the highlight of the week was our childless quickie (<-- if the sentence ended right there, that would've been okay too) trip to Wilmington.  Within 30 minutes of arriving, we'd tasted nine different wines, and while we thought we wouldn't remember what it was like to not have a child around?, yeah, no, we remembered.

Keeping it classy with a plastic wine glassy

Logan hasn't even turned two yet, but he has certainly entered the "terrible twos".  So, yeah, I was THAT mom in Whole Foods last week...ya know, the crying one with mac and cheese in her hair that can't control her screaming-on-the-ground kid?  Needless to say, this month has been challenging, but I'm learning to appreciate all of our moments together, both the good and not-so-good (<-- I don't inhale, but I can blow some good smoke, eh?).  Seriously though, when not tantrum-ing or throwing food in my face, Logan and I have had some really awesome times together.  For example, yesterday, he sat still in my lap for 3.2 seconds, and last night, as I was standing in the bathroom mirror with my arms raised and index fingers pointed out as if I had just won a major marathon, I caught a glimpse of him standing behind me mimicking my exact stance.  ...or maybe he was just making fun of me because it probably isn't normal to stand in the bathroom mirror with your arms raised and index fingers pointed out as if you had just won a major marathon.  Damn it.

Now, challenging moments aside, my favorite part of every day is picking Logan up from school.  He watches for me through the window, as if he knows exactly what time it is.  When he sees my face, he drunkenly sprints towards me and gives me the best hug ever.  You know when moms post on Facebook about how full their heart feels while feeding their child at 3am?  Yeah, I totally want to call their bluff and smack them in the face, but at this moment every day, I'm totally there.           

Logan and Wit and awesome times together 

When it won't stop raining, DANCE! 

Since ya know, this is my running blog, I should probably write about that, huh?  Training has been kicking ass, but it hasn't come without a hiccup.  After my first 20-miler a couple of weeks ago, my gluts massively tightened.  No biggie; I went for a sports massage the following week and then attempted a speed workout the next day (<-- yep, I'm a tight-ass and a dumb-ass).  I got through 3/4 of it before listening to my body and calling it quits.  I took a few days off, cross-trained, and started A.R.T. therapy with Elite Performance Chiropractic.  My tight-ass ways are now mostly under control (right, Mike?), and I'm hitting the roads again.  I opted to forgo a half-marathon this weekend to instead get in the long run that I missed last weekend.  Furthermore, I'll probably stay off the track and supplement with more tempos until the marathon (five weeks to go!).  My best/favorite workout to date has been 16x1000 at alternating 6:18/6:52 paces with no rest.  That is a 6:34 average for 40 laps (10 miles) around the track.  ...and I wonder why my ass hurts.  Whatever though; I feel fit!

 The stationary bike, as always, really brings out my inner and outer beauty

Logan joined me for a "swim" after pool running, which is basically like watching paint dry.  In light of my boredom, I secretly raced an 86-year old man swimming laps in the lane next to me; I lost.

Fall & Coaching
Fall is a runner's best friend, and while it's my busiest time of year, it's also my favorite.  Many of my athletes are within a few weeks of their goal race, and while their minds are slightly clouded with nerves and uncertainty, I love being able to look at them, full-well knowing that they are about to CRUSH their race.  The most rewarding part of coaching is that "ah-ha" moment when a runner meets or exceeds their goal, and the limits they used to impose upon themselves are forever broken.  It actually gives me chills, just like those of a crisp, fall day.  Maybe that's why it's my favorite.

Okay, it's also my favorite because I'm allowed to make pumpkin scones the size of my head again (and, no, I'm not pregnant): 

I'm lucky to have awesome ones.  I'm even luckier to have had one of my best high school friends fly in from Boston this past weekend for some much-needed, silly girl time.     

 Pretty and sober

 No longer pretty and sober

Who's gonna make us grilled cheese?!

At the end of the day, I'm trying to be more patient with myself and everyone else around me.  This isn't always easy, so in my weaker moments, I've turned to this to prevent me from biting everyone's head off:

 I even practiced on Logan - it totally works! 

Happy Fall, and Happy Running!