What I learned from the (FANTSTIC!) Round Church 10K

True confessions from "I never liked running": more than a week before GMAA's Round Church 10K I was secretly thinking up excuses to get me out of running it. And I'm so glad I didn't give into that impulse, because the race was such a fun day of running and celebrating.

Jess had recommended running 3 miles before the race to increase my mileage for the day, which keeps me on track in training for the Leaf Peepers 1/2 Marathon the first weekend of October. But running nine miles somehow seemed an implausibly huge distance. I still had a little jet lag, I'd barely gotten home from vacation, I'd been sick... what else? What else? The crisis in Syria? Locusts?

The Round Church 5K and 10K is a women-only race organized by GMAA. The out-and-back course starts at the Richmond landmark and goes out Cochran Road by the river. The day dawned foggy but burned into a bright blue, warm sun sky over 600-700 women running for the fun of it. I'm sooo glad I didn't skip this race.

I got to Richmond at 7:30 Saturday morning, got my race bib and headed across the iron bridge toward the village. The trail along the river around the park was awesome, the little side street neighborhoods were awesome, the Port-o-let line was not awesome, but I got in 3 miles and got to the Round Church just in time for the start.

A few fantastic people who were at the race:

• Emily, my friend of 10 years (is that possible?) who is now running with a central Vermont group called illume, and several of their runners were out in force in bright red shirts
• Jess, who answered questions, handled logistics, greeted runners and still kicked ass in the 5K
• Heidi, who ran hard in the 10K, and still waited around for me finish, and who ran the last mile or so with me
• Sasha, who I only know by her bright neon Fleet Feet shirt, and who ran my pace and who had an awesomely fun attitude the whole time
• Evie, a 9-year old I met in the first mile who was running her THIRD 5K; I was amazed

I love out-and-back courses because you get to see all the runners -- the fastest, the slowest, the marvelous middle of the pack. There was such a good mood shimmering over this race, with women of all paces and the ages cheering each other on and smiling through the sweat and miles.

And not for nothing, but I won a pot of purple flowers in a raffle after the race. Not too shabby! (Liz: "You won flowers for running? " Me: "No.. I won flowers AT running....")

So, I could have easily slept in and not done the extra three miles, I could have even skipped the race altogether and copped a reasonable excuse for doing so. But there's really nothing to gain by starting out with a mindset of "how can I get out of this?" What I learned from the Round Church 10K? Stick with goals that are realistically hard, and try to focus on the 'realistic' part rather than the 'hard' part.

Also, dress well. It makes you feel better.

Regent's Park 10K, "Resplendent!"

When I decided on a vacation in London, the only firm plan I had was to run in the monthly 10K in Regents Park. Yesterday morning I met my college friend, Joy, in the lobby of my hotel and headed toward the Sloane Square tube station to get to the race start. Checking the time, we decided to take a cab instead, and got the funniest, nicest taxi driver, who was vexed by the road closures due the London triathlon, also that weekend. We turned a 15 minute ride into a 45 minute ride while he cracked us up with comments about Americans being laid back (news to me) and running (he used to run daily until he got a girlfriend a year ago and found that eating out is more fun) and about my fear of being the last one to finish the race (to which he added his fear that I would be the last one to arrive at the race if he couldn't get a handle on the detours. Sorry, "diversions.").

Regent's Park is pretty, with boating ponds, open lawns for cricket, shaded pathways and fountains. The 10K was three loops of a 2-mile path, several hundred runners, many of them from running clubs, and some of them extremely fast. I beat my goal by one minute, finishing at 1:09 and a few seconds.

And as in every race I've run in the US, my slow-to-middling speed was overshadowed by having noteworthy attire. There are no running dresses (or running skirts) to be found here. So the fact that I was wearing a black, pink, white, turquoise swirly-patterned running dress sort of stood out. Particularly when the elderly race announcer boomed through his bullhorn at the starting line, "Here's the most colorful outfit of the day! ONLY AN AMERICAN WOULD WEAR THIS!" I mentioned this race was three loops, which gave the man with bullhorn (Peter, I introduced myself to him afterward) four opportunities to comment, through said bullhorn, on my dress. "Ah! Here she comes! Only an American would wear that!" "Here she is again, Miss Resplendent! Only an American would wear that!" The word "resplendent" was bellowed through that bullhorn a few times, as was his pronouncement of my nationality. Joy reported overhearing a spectator call my dress "psychedelic." I never pegged myself as the obviously-an-American kind of traveler, till this...

At the finish, when I thanked Peter for a great race and introduced myself, he enthusiastically shook my hand, gave me hug and enthused about my clothing choices to the crowd at the finish line. He's going to the Portland marathon this Fall, and I suggested he might try wearing a running dress. "Resplendent!!" he answered.

"Sweaty Betty"

Arrived in London for a 10-day vacation and suitcase packed with lots of running clothes. I stayed in Chelsea the first few days, and thoroughly enjoyed my posh, sophisticated temporary neighborhood. Among the shops near Sloane Square is a women's running store called Sweaty Betty. Which gets me back to the point of this blog.

One of my first days here, I struck out from the hotel heading south toward the River Thames, dodging down red brick streets with bright white trimmed windows, painted brick townhouses with black trimmed windows, and shiny painted doors; going by St. Luke's (Charles Dickens was married there); passing Old Chelsea Town Hall (someone was actually getting married there); and got to the broad stone raised walkway alongside the river. Ran east overlooking the river for a stretch, spotted the Peace Pagoda on the opposite bank, and gorgeous towering townhouses along the street. Passed the Chelsea Physic garden (odd name, beautiful green space) and ducked back into the neighborhoods heading north and west again to the hotel.

NYC lottery : do I, or don't I?

Several months ago, in a fit of ambition, I signed up for the lottery for the New York City Marathon. The IMG NYC Marathon has about 45,000 runners. Really fast people can qualify for guaranteed entry, really generous people can get in through charitable entry, and the rest of get in by entering the lottery.

A few numbers to consider from the NYC Marathon web site:

• They estimate 8-12% of people in the lottery will get bibs.
• Overall, there were 125,500 applications in 2010
  
• They estimate that applications will grow by 15% for this year's race, still vying for 45,000 bibs

So.... knowing that my chances of getting in were small, and feeling somewhat ambivalent about the training I'm doing now for a spring marathon, I kind of put the idea of running New York out of my mind.

Then last week I saw this email light up my blackberry: "Important Announcement: Check your marathon profile NOW"

My first thought was, 'Oh no..... I got in. Crap."

Then I read the message and realized it was just to say, the drawing is coming up, make sure your info is in order. And the dread of getting in was instantly transformed into disappointment that I have to wait a few more days to find out.

Since then, I've debated whether I want in or not, but I'm pretty certain that if I get a spot I'll go for it. I mean, 8% chance? The opportunity to sit among tens of thousands of fellow whack-jobs in the pre-dawn hours on Staten Island for the honor of running 26+ miles? Can't pass that up.

Drawing is tomorrow, April 27, 12 noon.


UPDATE:

Do I or don't I? I don't. No winning lottery bib for me. In August, when it's 85 degrees and sunny, I will be very happy to spend my weekends lazing around Lake Champlain, and not running 20 miles.

Running with ungulates

My long run was a big loop through Williston and into Richmond on a warm, overcast Easter Sunday.

My original plan was to start at Liz's house and head out Mountain View, run towards Catamount and then join Route 2 and come back into Williston. At the last minute I decided to go counterclockwise instead, starting on 2A, heading East on 2 and then turning on the back road. This was a good plan strategically -- the extra miles I needed to pick up would be easy to find on the side roads of Mountain View, once I was closer to the finish. But I wasn't anticipating the cute baby donkeys.

Heading out Route 2 through Williston Village, you go down a short, winding steep stretch that opens into a wide valley. Right at the bottom of that hill I should have taken a left turn on Governor Chittenden Highway, but I was transfixed by a small shaggy gray-tan donkey with a dark brown shaggy mane (is it called a mane on a donkey?) and huge eyes. There a few horses and other small donkeys, but this one was near the road and responded to, "Aw, hey buddy!" I wondered briefly if it was a full-grown miniature donkey, then wondered what the difference is between a donkey and a jackass and a mule. And then remembered a story I read 18 million years ago in the New Yorker about Gen. Norman Schwartzkopf reminiscing about when he was a kid he wanted to be a garbage man because his garbage man owned a donkey, and he really wanted a donkey.

And by this time, I was headed past the field and the barn and the farmhouse where they sell awesome pumpkins in the fall (hi KP!) and was well on my way toward the iron bridge and the town of Richmond. And I had not turned left on Governor Chittenden as I intended.

At the iron bridge, Route 2 meets Route 117 and Interstate 89, and at this point I realized that I goofed. This is the downside of running a new route. I got to the Kitchen Table restaurant, then turned around and took a seat on a construction pylon at the bridge. (The very badly rusting bridge. Sketchy.) I normally don't run with ID or a phone, but today I stuffed both into my camelbak. I fished out a Gu and my phone and looked at the map. Sure enough, that donkey charmed me out of remembering where to turn. The bonus, though, is that the bridge construction site had a port-o-let, so I took advantage of that, and then headed back west on Route 2.

Said hi to the donkeys again.

Governor Chittenden Highway is awesome name for a road, and an awesome road at that. Beautiful wide dirt road, not rutted at all, winding uphill with beautiful views of the Williston countryside. If all you know of Williston is Wal-Mart and Best Buy, you should see what this part of the county used to be like.

And then the second confusing part of the route: a sign that read 'road ends 500 feet'. Heading up a curve toward a horse farm, I crossed paths with a really nice woman who was walking a super friendly horse named Julie. "Julie will keep nosing you until you pet her," she told me, not even bothering to ask why I was walking through their farm. The road does continue through and into the woods, but only snowmobiles and deer use it in winter. The nice woman with Julie said the road reopens in May, but it's passable now - just a little snow and ice is left up in the woods.

"It'll be like that Battery Hill -- just follow the road up, up, up in the woods." Nice.

I loved this road. It was uphill, and I did hike fast instead of actually run it, but it was awesome to be the woods, and see streams and waterfalls and views from between the trees across the valley. Totally awesome. Begin infatuation with Thomas Chittenden, first governor of Vermont, who lived on that hill, according to the plaque I read.

And then, back to the pleasant, plain reality of Williston. Climbing out of the woods, I was out on Mountain View Road, heading straight toward the burbs. Sidewalks, walking paths, and neat families dressed up for Easter. I didn't have to take so many side road detours, thanks to my donkey/bridge/port-o-let detour into Richmond, and instead headed back to Liz's house. Her neighbor says, "Hey, I heard you were running, like, a million miles today."

Nah. Just 17. Sweet.

15 miles, feels like a new day!

Weather can make an amazing difference! Today was 45 degrees, clear blue sky, bright sun, brisk off the ice off the white ice on the lake, fields free of snow. Very nice, indeed.

I dialed up a playlist for today's run that was accidentally inspiring. A few tracks:

"I'm The Best" Nicki Minaij
This fed delusions of grandeur around Mile 7, "I hear them coming for me, because the top is lonely...I'm the best, best! I'm doing it, doing it! I'm the best, best..."

"The Outsiders" Needtobreathe
"Why are we keeping score? Cause if you're not laughing, who is laughing now?" A good reality check and reminder stop looking at the Garmin and just enjoy running.

"I Want You Back" cover by Jer Coons
My interpretation of the Jackson 5 classic is me singing to my marathon goals, "I was blind to let you go... I want you back now..."

"OK, It's Alright By Me" Eric Hutchinson
This was perfect around Mile 12 when my pace was flagging but I kept going.

"I Have Dreams" Brandi Carlisle
This song sent me into the home stretch. Perfect!

Ok, let's assess

At one point during the New Bedford 1/2 marathon I thought, "This might be the worst I've ever felt in a race." (Then I remembered the Montreal Marathon, and thought, "This might be the second worst I've ever felt in a race....")

In retrospect, I doomed myself with too high expectations, unnecessary pressure and too much distraction. I held to pace that was at the limit of what I could do through mile 8. Around mile 10 I stopped at the seawall to pop a massive blister on the ball of my left foot (this time I used a safety pin from my race bib instead of other methods), and that's when I let the race slip away. I limped, walked and jogged and whimpered the last three miles.

I took the next week off to allow sore muscles and bruised ego to recover. The next weekend I went skiing instead of running, and while that wasn't a great training decision, it did lead to this great moment: looking out at from the top of the Madonna life at Smuggler's Notch, I remembered with joy and relief that I run because I want to. My family, my friends, my salary, my health aren't affected one way or another if I go run fast or slow, many miles or just a few. I need to find a better balance between commitment to training, and unhelpful self-imposed pressure.

Gorgeous warm weather, and treadmill is here

The nice guys from Earl's Cyclery delivered my treadmill on a warm, sunny spring afternoon. Ah, the irony. Even though I didn't have it around during these long snowy winter months, it'll be great for those summer nights when running in the dark seems sketchy, and the sun is too hot or the rainstorms too filled with thunder and lightning.

I ran a few miles on it to try it out. So far the cat is staying far, far away.

"My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend..."

Remember the scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off when Ben Stein's character drones, "Bueller? Bueller?" during attendance and Simone answers, "Um, he's sick..." and then launches into an endless list of connections who relayed that Ferris threw up at 31 Flavors last night? I was a on a treadmill at the gym tonight next to that girl.

Not her exactly, but it was her incessant voice, yakking yakking non-stop about inane, involved details of events that were mundane and completely uninteresting. She and her incredibly patient and/or comatose friend were on elliptical machines behind me, and she provided a constant, rapid-fire, overly intoned soundtrack to my run.

"I totally think I should do some kind of race before my wedding day. Don't you think I should totally do that?! I mean, I totally should."

[ignore, ignore, ignore]

"And then she went to her boss and was like, ''ok, like here's the deal. I, like, really really need to know, like...'"

[not listening! not listening!]

"Oh my god! His classroom was, like, RIGHT NEXT TO MINE!"

[Oh, for the love of Job...]

I was only running a quick 3 miles to shake out the cobwebs from the Sunday run, but I hit STOP on the treadmill at 2.27 miles. I couldn't take it! The relentlessness of that high-pitched voice. I went downstairs to the machines on the floor and finished the last 3/4 mile on different treadmill in harmony.

As I was pounding out those last crummy tenths of a mile, I realized that I let go of an opportunity to practice endurance, determination, the ability to work through pain. I should have approached that tiny little run as if it were miles 22-25 of the marathon: push everything out of your mind and keep going.

And as I was a finishing the run and feeling a little bummed about letting the gabbermouth girl get to me, I heard it again. That voice. Walking by me toward the exit, her friend still listening silently, politely nodding.

"And then he was all... and then I was like..."

And I let it go. Some miles have to be punishing, but not every one of them needs to be.

Well, that's not normal

Last weekend one of my favorite people, Joy, was visiting. And it happened to have been an incredibly cold weekend. A clear skies, blisteringly bright, deathly cold kind of fun.

Joy and I both have Reynaud's, and the weather gave us a chance to commiserate about the problem of having crappy circulation that leaves our fingers turning white at the faintest exposure to cold. But Joy has it worse than I do, and I blithely related that I haven't had many symptoms for awhile. I generally wear mittens or gloves, but sometimes I don't and mostly it's ok. (This is a significant improvement over a few years ago when just getting a pint of ice cream from the grocery store freezer would turn my hand white for half an hour.)

Oh, my cavalier dismissive defiance of the circulatory system! Today was not nearly so cold as last weekend, but I still wore thick gloves during my long run. And when I pulled the gloves off afterward, here's what I found: a reminder not to talk smack about Reynaud's just 'going away.'

You are what you eat (please say it isn't so)

Heidi let me know about a marathon nutrition lecture tonight at the UVM College of Medicine, and I enthusiastically signed up. Nutrition is one of my biggest stumbling blocks in marathon training (aside from long stretches of not running...)

The lecture was helpful - a good review of things I'd heard but not actuated, and an equal dose of practical nutrition science. She said 2,300 calories a day, 60% carbs. I'm probably getting 1,600 calories a day, 60% coffee.

But I have made an effort in the last week to eat better, and I think it made a difference in my long run yesterday -- I ran longer and stronger than I have in months, and I felt great. Today I ate raw almonds, chopped vegetables, whole wheat crackers with hummus, baked trout, orzo and a green salad.

And 4 cups of coffee.

I dreamed a dream

Ok, so here's the kooky dream I had:

It's marathon race day, presumably VCM but it looked more like start line at New Bedford, MA. Amid the masses of people gathering before the race, I kept crossing path with people whom I closely associate with running - Beth, Hiedi, Erika, Jess, and lots of others. Then my mom and my sister were there, and then I realized my sister was running the race also. (She's not a runner.)

A group of us were standing around a 'Pedestrian Crossing' pylon in the street near the start line stretching, milling about, stuffing Gu in our pockets. Then I went into the nearby sports store (which I think was supposed to be Ski Rack, but inside it looked more like a used office supply store). I waited in line to use the bathroom, and stood there with some off office chairs reading the newspaper. And then realized I had been there a long time and the race was starting. I bolted outside and Beth and Erika were like, 'we gotta go - your shoes are over there." And I thought, 'Jeez, why did I wait till now to put on my shoes?!"

While I'm scrambling into my Asics, I overhear my sister asking a concierge (random concierge desk is now on the street corner by the pylon) for a map an directions for the race course. I'm like, 'I've run this race before, we don't have time to get a map - we gotta go!" And Tina is looking at the course map and asking the woman, 'Oh, so If we wanted to shorten this, we could just cut over from here and get to the finish area sooner?' And I'm simultaneously thinking, "there a MILLION options to short cut the VCM course, I'll point 'em out to you. Let's get going!" and also, "you can't just cut short a marathon! That's the point of the marathon - to go the whole distance!"

At which point I realize, my dream brain is confusing marathon training with the hiking we did on vacation last month, when we could chose where to go and for how long, and what route. So get my sister to follow out toward the start, which is no longer on the street, but now involves going through a modernist building with lots of staircases, and Tina decides she doesn't feel like doing the race, maybe she's hang out in the gym or the spa instead.

I start running, but it's seems like it's hours since the race started, because I can't seem to convince the people on the race course that I'm actually a runner -- they all look at me like, 'you know the race passed here ages ago?'

Now, none of this seems like a good running dream. Disorganized at the start, forgot my shoes, temptations to cheat, starting hours late. But it wasn't a stressful dream, mostly just nervous- exciting. Am I gonna make it? Yes, keep going! And that's maybe the bigger point here. Because what part f my training hasn't been undermined by bad planning, forgetfulness, willingness to be talked out of what I should be doing. Making through/around/over those obstacles is what counts.

Love the gym, hate the gym

When the weather guys talk about Arctic conditions for days on end, I adore my gym membership. I think of how warm and lovely I will feel running in a tank top-running dress on the treadmill, not a care in the world about layers, Balaclavas or ice-resistant contraptions strapped onto my shoes.

One evening this week I headed to the gym tired but determined not to the fight compulsion to go straight home. I got myself to the gym, and kept a focused mind when I saw the hand-lettered sign on the door that read 'No hot water.' No matter, I'll drive drive home after running and not bother with showering at the gym. (I overheard another gym goer trying to maintain her determination in talking to the desk clerk, 'Well, i guess I can take a cold shower ad then jump in the sauna to warm up.' "No, the sauna's broken. So is the hot tub.")

Walking past the cardio room, I saw that all the treadmills were taken. Ok. I'll start out on an elliptical until one is freed up. No worries, no reason abandon the workout.

I got in the locker room feeling proud to have brushed off obstacles and was feeling the power of being resolved and determined. This is what long-term goals require! Steadfastness, unwillingness to yield in the face of inconvenience and roadblocks!

And then I realized I had forgotten my shoes.

At this point I knew I would not be running this evening. I live a 1/2 hour out of town, so going home to get my shoes was not an option. And despite the aforementioned resolve, running in the dark Arctic night was not even on my list of possibilities.

So instead, I mentally rescheduled my run for the next day and I went shopping for a treadmill. They are not cheap, but it might be worth it.

Nice neighbors

Like many parts of the Vermont, bicyclists and runners are no strangers in the Champlain Islands and I'm always appreciative of the well-trained drivers who carefully give a wide berth to those of us on the edge of the road. The waves of massive snow storms and berms of plowed snow make being courteous a bit harder for drivers, but they still make the effort to give us space.

Today when I headed out, everything was white. The sky was white, the fields and yards were white, the road was mostly white except where patches of slush had broken free from endless freezing days. Black and green mailboxes poked out of their snow caves, and the muffled sound of snow blowers and roof rakes could be heard.

In the pedestrian-unfriendly monochromatic whiteness, I pulled on a bright red fleece and hit the road. By making it easy for drivers to see me, the drivers make it easy for me run in the travel lane, which is nice because that is really the only space available. There aren't too many cars on East Shore Road on a Sunday morning, but every one of them waved and eased into the oncoming lane, and it made me smile a little every time. There are really nice, helpful people out here.

Until the silver Subaru. I was pretty close to my turn-around point, feeling cheerful and a little winded when a car came barreling right at me! Ok, actually, she was just going the speed limit and was traveling squarely within her lane, but her lack of effort to move over left me covered in a gray, road-salt laden Slurpee. I reflexively turned and threw my hands in the air with the international 'WTF?!' gesture, but the car didn't slow. I ran the next several minutes thinking, 'People are lame! Drivers suck! They aren't nice at all!' A few cars came by, and all gave me plenty of space, and I eased back into a good runner-driver relations mood.

About 1 mile from home, the silver Subaru passed me again. This time, she pulled way out into the oncoming lane, and came to full stop to wait for me with the passenger window down. "I think I splashed you back there -- I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!" Her tween-age daughter looked a little embarrassed/intrigued in the front seat. (The look on her face was cross between 'my mom is so lame' and 'maybe there'll be fight!' ) I was tickled that she stopped to apologize, and so relieved to know that she hadn't intentionally slushed me with schadenfreude that I happily accepted her apology and even suggested I deserved it. (I mean, I did chose to go out the door in these conditions.)

But mostly, I was just happy to end the run knowing that every driver I passed was a good neighbor.

Oh, did I mention I'm a runner (again)?

Today is the first official day of my training for Vermont City Marathon 2011. I'm getting started a few weeks late because I was in South America getting caught up in civil unrest* and then I got a cold** but now I'm ready to go!

A quick recap of a few memorable runs I've done lately:

• New Year's Eve, Waitsfield: Siri, Jamie and I headed out the door of Renee's house and logged 3+ beautiful, peaceful miles on the Common Road and Joslin Hill Road. We tumbled back into the house and Kim and Renee served up the best breakfast ever. Topped off with hours of sledding at Chez Hosford, a great way to end the year!

• New Year's Day, First Run 5K in Burlington: were we a luge team, or bobsledders? No matter, we won the group costume competition and had a blast. Thank you Erika, Heidi and Beth!

• Grey Glacier, Chile: technically a fast-paced hike and not a run, but ... 8+ miles with some rain and serious wind (I wish I had the pictures!) and amazing views of a blue, blue glacier. Inspired exercise.

• Torres del Paine, Chile: four miles along the shore of a turquoise blue glacial lake in Patagonia, with two stops to commune with a family of wild guanacos (kind of like llamas, with big giraffe eyes and fluttery eyelashes)

Granted, not every run ahead in this training cycle will be as memorable or fun, but I'm determined to make the most of this winter of running.

* Long story short: mass protests in the Magellan region of Chile shut down all roads and ports, and we got stuck for three days in the tiny town of Puerto Natales. Three times we got snared at barricades that protesters set up to stop people from moving around the region, until the Red Cross bussed us out of town to an airstrip and the Chilean Air Force flew us to the regional capital of Punta Arenas. No running was accomplished during this time, but I did get to walk with my luggage for a 1/2 mile or so from one of the barricades towards the town...

** I'm not 100% yet, but soooo much better than last week. Though I did get some grossed-out looks as I was coughing on the treadmill, at least I didn't need a spittoon.