Philadelphia Marathon started at 7:00 a.m. this morning. Have a great race, everyone!
Half-marathon splits (not sure if this net time):
Chad: 1:20
Thao: 1:53
Beth: 2:05
Nadine: 2:23
Final times - congratulations!!
Chad: 2:39
Thao: 3:43
Beth: 3:59:33 PR!!!
Nadine: 4:48 PR!!!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Tomorrow's the day
Here's how it's going to be:
I'm going to pack a gym bag tomorrow -- running tights, long sleeves, reflective wrist bands. At 5 p.m., I'm going to head out the door from work and hit the road. Three miles is enough, it doesn't need to be much. I just have to get going again.
Update:
Ok, maybe tomorrow....
I'm going to pack a gym bag tomorrow -- running tights, long sleeves, reflective wrist bands. At 5 p.m., I'm going to head out the door from work and hit the road. Three miles is enough, it doesn't need to be much. I just have to get going again.
Update:
Ok, maybe tomorrow....
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Life intervenes
My blogging was sporadic all summer, but there is more than laziness and busyness behind the month-long hiatus since my last post on Oct 18. On Monday, October 19, my dad had a serious fall while working at Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego and he passed away early the next morning, October 20.
While I was home in San Diego for two weeks, I tried to run. I did run, a few miles here and there. There's a trail near my parents' house that circles the canyons around their neighborhood. The dry air caught in my throat and I stopped on the path to sob and take deep breaths and try to make sense of a new reality in which my dad is suddenly gone, and I am still here, trying to go for a run.
I haven't been running since I've been home in Vermont. I haven't even seriously thought about it. I imagine being a few hundred yards down the road from my house, wondering if I really have it in me to be out for 5 miles, 3 miles? Would I be able to keep my breath and mind in check, to not double over in frustration and sadness and cry on the side of the road? After staying awake too, too late and thinking pointless thoughts, could I find my way outside while there's light in the morning?
I had dreams of running and doing strength training all through fall and hitting January in top shape, ready to start training for VCM and finally run the marathon I think I'm capable of. Now, I'm muddling through the fall and hoping that January brings a fresh start.
While I was home in San Diego for two weeks, I tried to run. I did run, a few miles here and there. There's a trail near my parents' house that circles the canyons around their neighborhood. The dry air caught in my throat and I stopped on the path to sob and take deep breaths and try to make sense of a new reality in which my dad is suddenly gone, and I am still here, trying to go for a run.
I haven't been running since I've been home in Vermont. I haven't even seriously thought about it. I imagine being a few hundred yards down the road from my house, wondering if I really have it in me to be out for 5 miles, 3 miles? Would I be able to keep my breath and mind in check, to not double over in frustration and sadness and cry on the side of the road? After staying awake too, too late and thinking pointless thoughts, could I find my way outside while there's light in the morning?
I had dreams of running and doing strength training all through fall and hitting January in top shape, ready to start training for VCM and finally run the marathon I think I'm capable of. Now, I'm muddling through the fall and hoping that January brings a fresh start.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Foundering, in need of perspective
My dad died two weeks ago. He fell in an accident Monday afternoon, and died in the hospital early the next morning. In the intervening hours, I booked a one-way ticket to San Diego and stuffed a bag full of clothes. Most of what I packed was thoughtlessly tossed in; the only things I took care with was a suit of clothes appropriate for a funeral and plenty of running shorts and socks.
I thought running would be a respite, a way to shake off the grief for a short while. The hilly canyons of San Diego's suburbs smell of eucalyptus and scrubby chaparral. Last week, the air was as dry as one could imagine, skin-itching, nose-stinging dry air. Breathe in, breathe out dry fragrant air and try not to think, just concentrate on footsteps, vistas, pace. That is useless advice. The air caught between my throat and lungs, and I felt the full misery unyielding, exhausting grief.
A flat dirt trail encircles the housing development where my parents live, but you have to choose between two extreme downhill routes to reach that trail: one is a long hill, a paved road with sidewalk; the other is straight down, gravelly and treacherous but very short. Coming back up either hill after a run offers two different experiences. The long hill is an endurance effort - you grind away it and it grinds away at you; it feels insufferably long but you look up occasionally and see that you've gained elevation and you're making progress toward the top, toward home. The short hill offers little and demands a lot. Descending it is dangerous, even in mincing steps and grasping the timber fence posts. Ascending it is futile. There is no maintaining a run, there is barely a possibility of hiking the path. Scaling it with the aid of hands and feet is required, it's exhausting and when you get to the top... you are exactly where you would be if you had taken the more methodical, long-term approach. And you have no energy or capacity left to appreciate how far you've come.
I thought running would be a respite, a way to shake off the grief for a short while. The hilly canyons of San Diego's suburbs smell of eucalyptus and scrubby chaparral. Last week, the air was as dry as one could imagine, skin-itching, nose-stinging dry air. Breathe in, breathe out dry fragrant air and try not to think, just concentrate on footsteps, vistas, pace. That is useless advice. The air caught between my throat and lungs, and I felt the full misery unyielding, exhausting grief.
A flat dirt trail encircles the housing development where my parents live, but you have to choose between two extreme downhill routes to reach that trail: one is a long hill, a paved road with sidewalk; the other is straight down, gravelly and treacherous but very short. Coming back up either hill after a run offers two different experiences. The long hill is an endurance effort - you grind away it and it grinds away at you; it feels insufferably long but you look up occasionally and see that you've gained elevation and you're making progress toward the top, toward home. The short hill offers little and demands a lot. Descending it is dangerous, even in mincing steps and grasping the timber fence posts. Ascending it is futile. There is no maintaining a run, there is barely a possibility of hiking the path. Scaling it with the aid of hands and feet is required, it's exhausting and when you get to the top... you are exactly where you would be if you had taken the more methodical, long-term approach. And you have no energy or capacity left to appreciate how far you've come.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)