Hunger

It's time for a correction to my previous post.  My appetite is not a bit off.  I'm hungry.  Really hungry.  Really, really hungry.

After basically force-feeding myself all day, my body has decided to ignore the fact that my run ended eight hours ago.  It is still screaming for food.  Lots of food.  Like a mountain of food.  And while this would normally be something tolerable, something to be celebrated even, with, say, a mountain of food, my brain for some reason doesn't want anything to do with this idea.  So I have continued to force-feed, albeit only a little at a time (mostly because that's all I can tolerate).

And yet, mere moments after I stop eating, I again have a raging, insatiable hunger.  Like so hungry I'm nauseated.  Uncomfortable.  Restless.

I am not a fan.

New Records

Today I ran farther than I've ever run in my whole life:  14.46 miles, to be precise.  And every Saturday from here on out--except for the third-week stepbacks when I slightly reduce the distance to gear up for the next push--I'll be setting a new record for myself.

I'm a bit tired.  My appetite's a bit off.  (I'm really hungry but have had a taste for virtually nothing all day.)  And I'm a bit cranky, realizing that I still have to finish up that stupid ab challenge I committed to.  But mostly I'm feeling accomplished.

Dragging

I'm tired.  I've just entered my seventh week of training, and I'm dragging.  It's not the usual suspects:  that the workouts have been particularly hard, or that I've been lacking sleep, or even that I've been working too many hours.  I just feel a bit out of it.

Maybe it's the grey fog that's finally seeping back into the city.  Maybe it's the holiday season, which I'm not really a fan of.  Or maybe it's simply that my neighborhood drug store has been out of Vitamin D gummies for two weeks.  Yes, I'm a grown-ass woman who likes her gummy vitamins.  (Also, it's a telling sign that winter is approaching in Portland when all the vitamin D gets snatched off the shelves.)

For the past few days, I've just been in a bit of a funk, struggling to get my energy up and not really looking forward to my runs.  Or much of anything for that matter.  I'm still following my training schedule, but my heart isn't quite in it for the moment.  I know that still with eleven weeks to go, ups and downs are a given.  But it's disheartening when the downs crop up.  

I think part of the problem might also be that I've attended several social events over the past few days, much more than I'd prepared myself for:  holiday parties, fundraisers, even a movie screening.  And as a self-proclaimed "social introvert," it's depleting to be social.  I generally enjoy the events in the moment, and it's not that I'm socially inept by any means.  It's simply draining.  I want to reclaim my "me time."  In fact, that's one of the reasons I enjoy running so much.  It's a guaranteed way to claim time for myself.  But I'm finding that as my reserves seem particularly low, I will have to supplement the runs with some much needed alone vegging out time in addition to the running.  

And maybe that's the other part of the problem.  I know that it will be quite some time before that happens.  With the rest of the work week still looming, followed by more holiday events through the weekend and into next week, the prospect of replenishing alone time feels a long way off.  I'm struggling.

High Fives

A few weeks ago, I was on my most common neighborhood route, four miles in, when another runner heading toward me from the opposite direction gave me a high five.  It was quite possibly the worst high five in the history of the world.  We were going too fast.  The street lighting was bad.  Really, I could make a million excuses.  But the sad fact is, it was just sloppy and awkward.  It was a little too aggressive on both our parts, and we half missed, but our individual momentum kept propelling us forward, lumbering away, each probably secretly blaming the mishap on the other's clumsiness.  It was the high five equivalent of a romantic comedy first date kiss where the guy goes in for on open-mouth kiss right as the chick trips, and he licks her eyeball.

With that said, though . . . I loved it!  I'm always up for some running camaraderie.  And since I personally often dislike running with other people (a topic for another time), that usually entails a quick smile and a nod with random runners on the street.  This more physical and interactive show of fellowship was something more rare, and, I must say, I got a nice little boost from it.

This afternoon, I was almost at the end of my run along the same route when a guy came out of a coffee shop, stepped onto the sidewalk and gave me a high five.  Again!  I'd like to note that it went much more smoothly this time.  I attribute it partly to the fact that he was walking, and partly to the fact that I privately vowed after the last blunder to be more skilled in my spontaneous high fiving.

I can't stop wondering, though, whether it was the same person.  It was near the first high five location, but too far to assume anything outright.  It was a different time of day.  This was a youngish white guy of medium height and average build, as was the first one.  But Portland's teeming with those, so that led me nowhere.  And since this guy was walking and not running like in the first encounter, I can't decide whether I think it's someone else or not.

Furthermore, I'm not sure which idea I like better:  the thought that there's some really spirited, high-fiving runner in my neighborhood, greeting other runners with palms of zeal and good cheer, or the thought that this random runner high five might be catching on, spreading through the sweaty ranks to power you on when you least expect it.  Either way, I'm in.

Rest Day (A.K.A. Big-Hair-Don't-Care Monday)

I'm learning that my training over the past month or so is starting to make me appreciate my rest days more.  Which, in turn, makes me appreciate my running days more.  It's a nice balance.  The addition of just one more rest day than I'm used to is already greatly benefiting me.  I'm a fan.  It also means I can ensure at least one good (fun?) hair day in the beginning of the week before sweat and nasty weather start assaulting it.

Hence, the celebration of my big-hair-don't-care pic.

Arctic Blast Update

After sliding treacherously over ice through a stop sign Friday afternoon, I'm happy to report that I made it safely to the running store near my house.  There I purchased a couple of goodies that contributed to my successful weekend run.  I found a pair of gloves that met all three of my requirements (thick, water-resistant, and touchscreen-compatible):  the Gore "Air So Lady" glove.  It has a ridiculous name but kept my fingers warm after over two hours of being in 20-something-degree weather.  The only fault that I found was that the thumbs seem a bit long, so using the touchscreen pads on the thumbs was a bit cumbersome.  Not terrible, but meh.  They also have touchscreen pads on the tips of the index fingers, so it's not the end of the world.  It's also got me thinking that I might have particularly short thumbs--which seems odd--but I'll have to ponder on that more before committing to any compelling conclusions.

I also got some nifty compression socks from the granddaddy of all compression gear:  the CEP Progressive+ Run Socks 2.0.  As I knew from my research--I'm a research junkie, FYI--they were expensive.  Sixty bucks for one pair, but I'm looking forward to seeing how much they assist in post-run recovery.  Like the gloves, I wore them on my Saturday run, but I'll have to try 'em out a few times before I can really tell how much difference they make.  In the meantime, they did keep my legs warm, so I'll give them that.

Additionally, I've upped my cold weather clothing layer list to also now include a second jacket (on top of the two shirts and other jacket) and a beanie (on top of the already donned headband and hat).  While I sweated like a beast and my snotty nose left the skin underneath a crusty, flaky mess, I nonetheless felt well protected from the elements.

Here I am getting pumped in my gear (sans beanie, that is).

I also found when I stepped outside that my neighbors had created a masterpiece in our communal driveway.  Okay, not a masterpiece.  But at least an enchanting homage to the early frost.

By the way, I also found an enormous log of frozen poop stuck to the sidewalk, another fun find I can only encounter in snowy weather, but I decided to spare you the photo.  You're welcome.

Don't Tell Me Not to Run

The holiday season brought with it a nice little cold for little ol' Summer this year.  Nothing too serious.  So far, it's been a few days of a scratchy throat, dry cough, but more than anything else, a general feeling of fatigue and malaise.

Which brings me to my gripe.  It seems that every non-runner out there keeps trying to tell me not to run because I'm, ahem, sick.  Apparently, I should be resting.  Running, they've told me, is making me sick, or if not that, it's certainly hampering my ability to get well.  And God forbid I go outside in the cold!  That's what kills people!  (Haven't you seen all those runners with colds out there on the streets just dropping dead on the sidewalks?  I mean, it's so bad here in Portland, the city's going to have to hire a snow plow to just shovel them into a mass grave somewhere.)

My standard rule is that I still run when sick, unless one or more of the following happens:

• fever, which pretty much means I don't have the strength to run anyway
• intense migraine
• nausea/vomiting, including the occasional nasty hangover, which is pretty rare these days; this also overlaps with the migraine category
• ungodly pain of some other sort; also, see migraine

It's possible that there's more to this list, but I doubt it would be much.  This basically means that colds or moderate illness don't prevent me from running.  In fact, as other runners know, running makes runners feel better.  And I don't mean in some psychological way, as in it's fulfilling and satisfying to the mind in a way that artists would say making art makes them feel better.  That's a factor too, but it's not what I mean.  I also don't mean it in some obsessive and/or addictive way, as in a crack addict telling you that they feel better after smoking crack.  Although . . . there can be an element of that as well.  (The running, not the crack, just for the record.)  I'm not even talking about a runner's high, while that's always pleasurable.

What I'm talking about is the genuine physical change that my body undergoes from a run, as it relates to the immune system.  My lungs and nose clear.  My energy levels increase.  My circulation is better.  All those little nagging, finicky annoyances (i.e., sore throat, stuffiness, general discomfort, etc.) just dissolve away.  Really, I've most often credited my lack of getting sick in recent years to running.  And when I do happen to catch a little something, it's the running that keeps it at bay for longer, keeps the symptoms to a minimum, and usually lets it pass through much quicker than anything else.

It's these people that keep telling me not to do it that drive me crazy.  As if I have no idea when I'm too sick to run.  Guess what?  A few years ago, I had walking pneumonia.  I didn't run then.  Know why?  I was too fucking sick.  I didn't need someone to convince me not to do it.  It was obvious based on how my body felt.  (Also, see "fever.")  Same concept here.  When I'm really sick (barring some weird injury), I don't even have the desire to run.  So If I'm well enough to want to get out there to run, I'm pretty much well enough to do it.  And it's actually good for you.  

I'm not making it up just to support some deep compulsion.  It's fucking science.  Look it up.

Cold & Mostly Prepared

Portland's high temp today was below freezing.  Yup, the high.  And I don't care about all the Midwesterners and East Coasters out there.  For this California girl, that's fucking cold.  Luckily, I enjoy running in cold weather as long as I genuinely believe I'm geared up enough to handle it.  Today's run . . .

Two shirts?  Check.

Jacket?  Check.

Long pants?  Check.

Knee-high socks?  Check.

Gloves?  Check.

Headband and hat?  Check.  Check.

It was satisfactory--particularly since cold weather running generally makes me go a tad faster than usual.  So, I suppose it was minimally above satisfactory.  However, with three months of winter still on the horizon, it's time I gear up with something more heavy duty.  

That means that tomorrow becomes one of my favorite kind of days.  No work, payday, running gear shopping Friday!  On my to-buy list are heavier gloves, knee-high socks, and earmuffs of some sort.

The glove situation is a must-have for several reasons.  As you may have noticed from the checklist, I already have gloves.  The problem is that, a) they're really thin; and b) while it's been an amazingly dry fall so far, the rain is a-comin', which means my moisture-absorbing gloves are gonna do me in any day now; and on a more first-world problem level, c) I want my gloves to have touchscreen-compatible fingertips so I can use my iPod/iPhone without having to take them off.

As for the socks, I wore some--albeit totally rad--U of O football fan socks that I've worn to several a Ducks game and celebratory event (yes, I married a duck, waddya gonna do?), but they're not made for running, so it's just a brief matter of time before they give me blisters.  I've been looking into compression socks for some time, but I've been torn on whether I really need them for the run or only for recovery afterward.  As it turns out, compression socks have been pretty much the only really long socks I've come across for running, so I'll give them a shot.  They're expensive too, but I'll experiment with a first pair and go from there.

And the earmuffs, well, that's pretty self-explanatory.  My ears get cold.  Duh.  I've got headbands that I wear over my ears, but they aren't doing the job during this cold snap.

So I'll see what I can do tomorrow.  It almost feels like Christmas is coming early.  And just in time, because Saturday's run promises to be a 23-degree chiller.

Day 29 Check-In: Cross-Training

As I begin my fifth week of training, I'm forced to reflect a bit on the past month.  So far, my training has been relatively low-key.  In fact, for the first several weeks, I lowered my weekly mileage to be more in line with slightly conservative training.  Not significantly, but I figured going from about 30 miles per week to 25 would ensure that I'd have enough energy (and no injuries) to tackle those really long runs when the time came.

It seems like it's been a good plan because I have plenty of energy and generally look forward to each run.  With that said, right before I started training, I read that one of the big things that most people let slide in their marathon prep is not so much the running itself but the cross-training.  And I knew immediately, I too fell into that category.  So I made a commitment to myself to actually use my Sunday cross-training day to do just that--cross-training--and not what I usually do, which is generally sitting on the couch and binging on Homeland or Dexter, or some other delectabe serial adventure.  (Please note that the cross-training does not prevent or negate the online TV binging.  It is now just a complement.)

My activity of choice has been yoga this month, and while I inevitably return home after each session at my gym complaining that it hasn't been as rigorous as I wanted, I did indeed wake up this morning with a long list of muscles that were sore.  So I suppose I'm doing something right.

Today, though, I got an extra little fitness surprise.  Surprise, is that accurate?  More like a dare I goaded myself into.  A friend, after completing a 30-day plank challenge in November, told me that her new plan was a 24-day ab challenge.  Yup, that's right.  Twenty-four days of ab work, starting with a nothing-to-it series of crunches, leg raises, and planks, and increasing in reps and hold times of muscle-trembling proportions.  I instantly jumped on the bandwagon, not even thinking about my sad, already sore core.  Yet, I'm excited to take on this challenge.

If there's anything I need more of, it's more core work, particularly since I have shoulder and upper back issues that could be easily (at least moderately) alleviated with more core strengthening.  And in my line of work, there's no amount of ab and back strength that wouldn't help to combat the repetitive stress I subject myself to on a daily basis.  Not to mention that my chiropractor and massage therapist constantly ask me if I'm doing just that, targeted strength-training, and it's embarrassing to answer no.  Every.  Damn.  Time.

So that's the plan.  I've missed a day already, considering today is December 2, but I figure I'll start with Day 1 and skip the first rest day to get on schedule.  Hey, I might even recruit my husband to join me.  A little marital ab bliss is always a plus.  Or at the very least, I'll have one more person to commiserate with for the next few weeks.  I'm stoked.

And if you're curious, here's a link to the challenge.  Just don't laugh at the clearly photoshopped picture.  Okay, laugh.  I did.  It's fucking ridiculous.

Unexpected Finds

Sometimes I find funny or interesting items on the street during my runs.  Often, I find nothing funny on my runs.  Maybe a broken umbrella or a discarded, half-completed homework sheet.  And it is those mundane runs make the unexpected gem even more precious.

Since I recently started carrying my phone with me, I am now able to capture some of the ridiculousness I come across.  Below is one such treat.  And yes, it might be hard to tell the actual size of the item due to lack of other comparable objects nearby.  I assure you it was well over a foot long, and I won't even begin to guess the circumference.

In fact, I actually ran by this thing and chuckled out loud.  But I was compelled to turn around and come back just to take a picture.  (That is, after the old man passed me on the sidewalk.  I didn't want to have to explain why I was so intrigued.)

Wonder who cast it aside. . . . Wonder if it's lonely. . . .

Just Be Farts

Warning/S(p)oiler Alert:  

If you are averse to or offended by toilet humor or potential TMI situations, you should probably skip this post.  Or, while you're at it, go ahead and skip this whole blog 'cause you're no fun anyway.

I have a confession to make.  Over the past couple of weeks, I've had a few runs where I've had some close calls.  And by close calls, I mean more specifically that I came within milliseconds of pooping my pants.  Now I understand that after the first close call, it should be ridiculous for it to have happened again . . . or to continue to happen.  But I sheepishly admit:  it has.

I'm not sure exactly what the root cause(s) is/are, but it can probably be summed up by some combination of the following:  bad coffee timing, impatience (lack of wanting to wait just a tad longer after the first poop at home to make sure nothing else is waiting in the pipeline), sensitivity to whatever my pre-run meal or snack was, plain old run jostling of the digestive system (read:  rocket launch activation), and even less exciting, plain ol' bad luck.

One of the worst parts of these episodes--aside from the very fact that they exist--is the sheer swiftness upon which they render me helpless.  From quick twinge to hard pang to oh-shit-here-it-comes panic.  Luckily, I am often in close range of an emergency pit stop location on my runs (bar, restaurant, grocery store, gas station), although never as close as I'd like it to be.

Anyway, on my run tonight, I began to feel that quick twinge, verging on moderate pang, and I realized something.  I have become a cowering, servile minion of my own butt.  I realized that I was pleading to my butt for it to just be farts in there, and not something more sinister.

Many runners have their own personal mantras that they create and repeat to themselves to get them through tough runs when they need a motivational pick-me-up.  Many an elite has one, and many a coach recommends one.  I, however, have always bordered a little too close to that OCD boundary to voluntarily have a phrase repeat in my head for hours.

Tonight, though, as I begged my butt to hold on for that one last mile until I got home, I realized that I had indeed created my own mantra.  "Just be farts."  Before I knew it, the phrase formed on my lips over and over as I came closer to home.  Just be farts, just be farts, just be farts.

And what do ya know, it actually worked.  I got home safe and sound with no need for a pit stop.  Maybe there's something to this mantra thing.

Pants

Today my pants fit.

And not even my old throw-them-in-the-back-of-the-closet-'cause-those-will-never-fit-again pants.  Although I did just recently try on a couple of those, and waddya know, they fit these days.  Excuse me while dance a silent jig.  And I'm not just talking about my ol' standby regular pants either.  Those pants have become increasingly too big over the past few weeks.  At first, it was just a little wiggle room here and there, but eventually I began to notice that I had to constantly tug on the waist to keep them from falling.  (If you've ever been a sign language interpreter standing at the front of a college classroom, you'll know how far from ideal that type of situation can become.)  When even my skinny jeans became baggy, I knew it was time.

Under normal circumstances, this would have been a celebratory event.  Mandatory shopping because my pants were too big?  Delightful.  But seeing as how funds have been low recently, I put it off for as long as possible.  This weekend, I made a brief trip out to score some work slacks--wait, did I really just use the word slacks?!  Ew.  Anyway, work pants and a couple of pairs of jeans.

As it turned out, I came home with a pair black work pants identical to a pair I already own and love.  Strike that.  Used to love, before they started falling down.  But, I discovered, this new pair has one advantage.  A different size.

And even better:  they fit.

Ice Pack Burn

This weekend I had a first. I injured myself in a way that I did not know was possible. How? The evil, dreaded ice pack. I know, I know. I kinda wish I had a better story. But I don't. Deal with it. So as it happened, I woke up Saturday morning with a sore Achilles heel. This in itself was odd since I hadn't worked out at all Friday, and in fact, I'd barely left my bed in a guilty case of a wonderfully lazy Friday. So, like I said, it was odd to begin with. However, it wasn't severe, so I carried out my normal Saturday 10-miler with no problems.

Upon arriving home, I realized both Achilles were sore. This, though, was not odd. Every so often after long runs, it's not uncommon for me to have tired, disgruntled heels. So this Saturday, as many a Saturday before, I applied a nice ice pack onto the heel of each foot. As always, I used the protective wrap so it wasn't directly touching my skin. And as always, ten to fifteen minutes later, I unwrapped my feet.

The problem was immediately clear. My skin on my right heel was frozen stiff into the ribboned folds from the wrap and looked to be completely frozen and numb to the touch. My mind raced back to a few minutes before when my heel was hurting under the dumb wrap, and I wondered why I hadn't taken it off early. Because I'd done this a thousand times with no problem, that's why! Then I considered if I'd possibly done seriously damage. But don't people spend hours on mountains with frostbite and still recover, I asked myself. Surely they do. So I figured, logically, that recovery from a 10-minute ice pack session in a reasonably warm house--nowhere even near Mt. Everest, mind you--would take place fairly quickly, the situation having resolved itself.

Wrong. Oh so wrong. The stiffness and pain in my right heel continued and left me hobbling glumly all weekend. That meant Sunday I was in too much pain (and too self-conscious) to go to the yoga class I'd planned. Which, by the way, worked out fine since my new yoga mat still hadn't arrived from Amazon. Fair. What pleasantly surprised me--and probably shouldn't have--was that my backup core yoga session at home actually helped me stretch out the Achilles muscles and tendons without overdoing it. I was even able to walk that afternoon . . . albeit with a bit of pain.

Now Monday, it's progressed to a burning feeling on the skin, some red/purplish discoloration, and still a little range of motion limitations. Having now covered it in cream, gauze, and an Ace bandage wrap, it's definitely more functional. I can walk without limping, but I'm concerned about my run tomorrow. Even if I can run without too much discomfort, I'm not sure that I should. Aside from the superficial skin issue, I'm terrified of injuring something internal. Overly cautious? Possibly. Marathon training injury paranoia? Probably. But if I have to sit it out a few more days to be on the safe side, I will.

But more importantly, one question still rings in my ears more than any other: What the hell happened?! How is this even a thing? Argh.

Day 1 of 125: Ahh . . . Rest

The day has come. Today is the first day of my 18-week training for my very first marathon. Although, I've found a bit of a paradox in saying that. As it turns out, Day 1 is a "rest day," so can I really say that I'm training today as I sit on my ass and rest? Well, guess I'm embracing it. Rest day or no rest day, it is regardless Day 1. Off to a great start!

Fall Running in Portland & Gearing Up for L.A. Marathon

Ever have one of those days when the universe comes together in a magical way to allow you an epic, inspiring, and most magnificently effortless long run? Yesterday was that day.  It was a miraculous moment when weather, caffeine levels, breakfast (read: absence of digestive issues), technology, listening content, new shoes, and newfound running gear all conspired to provide one of the best runs I've had in months, if not ever.  (And as much as I complain about Portland in any season other than summer, I was able to document some nice classic bits of autumn Portland as I encountered it on my 10-miler this Saturday.)

Now, the rest of this post I'd planned to devote to the aforementioned new gear since I've found myself completely enamored.  Not to mention, loving the fact that I've come across this new combo right before I'm scheduled to begin my marathon training.  Having the right gear setup goes far in giving me confidence that I'll be well prepared and ready for race day rather than suspecting I'll be uncomfortable, annoyed, and fidgeting with my shit during every one of those long 26.2 miles.  As any long-distance runner knows, it can become torturous to be stuck with something uncomfortable (or worse yet, something just plain not working which just becomes dead weight) on your body during a long run, and it can even bring me to the brink of rage or mini breakdown.  Think:  this little girl and her poor, exhausted, trying-to-make-a-point little self:

  

However, since I've indulged in a bit of a gear binge recently, I'm only selecting the top pick to discuss in this post--mostly because some of the gear leads me down long-winded tangents . . . so I'll spare you for the moment and focus on the #1.

FlipBelt - I AM IN LOVE!  The concept of this accessory is so simple, and yet it is everything I have been looking for without even knowing it.  A product of pure ingenuity.  What is it, you ask?  Imagine cutting the waist off of your favorite running pants and sewing up the open seam.  Then take that and slash four horizontal holes in the middle of the fabric, and you've got the FlipBelt.  Basically, it's a fanny pack without the pack.  Just a stretchy piece of fabric that lays flat against your body and carries all your crap.  The best part?  It doesn't move!  Since it's stretchy and comes in various sizes, it's made to be snug and did not move or shift once during my run.  

                                                                   

As a bit of back story, I was recently looking for a replacement for my iPod workout armband.  That's when I came across this sweet li'l mama.  I'd been impatiently waiting for it to arrive for days before I was able to put it to the test.  In its debut run, I stuffed it with:  my iPod nano, two Gu packets, and my iPhone (which I stored in a little waterproof plastic bag FlipBelt sent me for free as added protection).  Since the belt is hollow the whole way around, that meant that I could situate the phone in the back, iPod in the front, and a Gu on each side.  

I think my running life is forever changed.  I have always been one to avoid the fanny pack and water belt situation at all costs.  The idea of having something bouncing around my waist or hips as I ran was unbearable.  Yet, now, with something that actually stays put and that I can literally forget I even have on, I am transformed.  I can now bring my phone on runs, which will be reassuring as my marathon training will require many pre-dawn and post-dusk runs several times a week.  Not to mention, I am now free to use my phone for taking photos and using my MapMyRun app.  (Read:  added bonus for this blog.)  I also don't have to stash my Gu in my sports bra anymore.  (Thank God!)  And if I feel the need on a long run, I can stash cash, a debit card, and/or ID.  I'm so sold on this, I don't even know what to do.  And I feel more symmetrical when I run since I don't have the armband . . . which also means no more armband tan!  Score.

Tonight, I might get on my knees and pray to the gear gods for such good fortune.  "Thank you gear gods for blessing my sweet hips with your benevolent FlipBelt.  I will honor you by offering up to said FlipBelt delightful technological trinkets and nutritious mid-run nourishment.  And by offer up, I mean 'cram in your hole.'"  

My only complaint is that putting things in the back of the belt, depending on their size and shape, can make it a bit bulgy.  But that's purely aesthetic, and since I'm (so far) unable to stare at my own ass while I run, this doesn't bother me too much.  "I bow down to you, oh, wonderful FlipBelt.  May I always be worthy of your love."

                                                                         

T Minus 165 Days (or 40 Days . . . or 6 Days)

Let's be clear here.  This is my first blog.  But perhaps it's long overdue.  Not so much because what I have to say is going to enhance your life in dramatic ways.  Ha, so sweet of you to think so, though!  More because it's helpful for me to purge myself of my obsessive neuroses via writing.  Specifically as they relate to running, that is . . . although I'm sure there will be plenty of spill-over from the rest of my life.  This isn't to say that you won't enjoy yourself along the way, however.  So if we're all accounted for and ready, let's get to it!

I have recently decided (ooh, "decided" is such a solid, unwavering, and frightening word, isn't it?) to run my first marathon.  So depending on how you look at it, I am 165 (or 40) (or 6) days away from my "thing."  My marathon of choice?  The L.A. Marathon, which is being held on March 9 of next year.  (Why I chose this one, I'll get into a bit later.)  Hence, 165 days from now.  However, as a somewhat neurotic, list-making, plan-obsessed Virgo, I am less counting down to the actual race than the start of my training schedule:  November 4 (40 days away).  And since I'm not content with leaving it at that, I am further counting down to the first day of online registration for the race, a mere 6 days away.

About Me

Well, where to start?  And more importantly, where to end?  I suppose I'll start here, and we'll just see where we end up.

My name is Summer, and I'm a gal born and raised in L.A. but who seems to keep migrating farther north:  up to the San Francisco Bay Area and now at home in rainy Portland, Oregon.

I've been running for several years now.  I use the vague "several" because like my early relationship with my husband, my running relationship has a nebulous and hard to identify starting point.  I remember running a bit here and there in college (10+ years ago now, shh, don't tell).  But it was never very serious, long-lasting, or with any specific goal in mind other than getting off the couch and getting outside.  Then in 2006, I signed up with my best friend for Camp Pendleton's Mud Run in San Diego--a 10K race full of obstacles (think mud pit, tire jumping, lake-wading, etc.).  I remember thinking it was the most fun I'd ever had sober.  Well, before the post-race beers, that is.  We did that race a few times, and in 2008/2009, I wound up in San Francisco, feeling frumpy, tired, and out of shape.  So lo and behold, I signed up for my first half marathon in Santa Cruz.  I've found that pretty much the only way for me to stay on task with my workouts is to have an upcoming race on the books.

Now, four years later and with five half marathons under my belt (not to mention plenty of ups and downs on the scale), I've convinced myself that I'm ready for a full 'thon.  I'm not a fast runner, mind you, but I'm a dedicated runner who's found that the long weekend runs are my favorite.  Give me a 10- to 12-miler on a Saturday morning, and I'm one happy lady.  So in theory, it all makes sense to make the marathon my next goal.

In my non-running life, I'm a professional sign language interpreter by day, a wife, friend, and mom of a rambunctious little kitty by night.

This blog is about my attempt to conquer my fears and anxieties as I approach my first marathon--mainly by exposing and hopefully eradicating them via some strategic obsessiveness, humor, and i'm guessing a few angst-fueled tears.