Welcome Back

About this time eight years ago, I started my fitness journey. About three years ago, I started to falter a little; two years ago, I fell off the wagon, and a year ago, I was sick, couldn’t do any physical activity for pretty much my entire summer, and I lost almost every single gain I had made since 2011. Since this fall, I’ve started to try to work my way back to where I was at my peak, but it’s been a rough road.

Having this dingus as a running partner/motivation doesn’t hurt.

When we got our husky puppy, Quinn, she was good motivation to get in a run–she has A LOT of energy to burn. All winter, I was able to run pretty regularly, but usually only a mile or two at a time. I was able to maintain a very, very basic level of fitness, but that’s about it.

For the first running race of the new year, I ran Empyrean Ales, a trail 5K race and one of my favorite races. I was slow but steady, and felt absolutely fantastic by the end. I was ready to improve. I ran two 10Ks in March, the Leprechaun Chase and the Shamrock Shuffle. They weren’t great, but they weren’t bad; still more than a minute per mile slower than I know what I’m capable of, but I felt pretty okay through both races. Next up was Race for GRACE, another 10K and one of my last chances for a “long” run before the Double Half Mary.

13 degrees at race time. Let’s do this.

At the start line of the Race for GRACE, I ran into Brittnnii, a friend of a friend that I had met just the evening before. We chatted a little before the start; she mentioned something about running together, but I warned her that I was pretty slow, so not to have too high of expectations out of me.

The race started, and we hit our own paces, and I lost sight of Brittnnii. I focused on trying to catch up with the two firemen running the 10K in full gear.

 

Show off.

 

Brittnnii and I somehow ended up back together, and fell into step with each other. We were able to overtake one of the firemen, and we started to maintain a nice, steady pace. There were a few times that if I’d been running on my own, I would’ve taken a walk break, but Brittnnii was the motivation I needed to keep moving. We chatted back and forth a little; I told her about my struggles and how I hadn’t run hardly at all the year before, but I was trying to get back into the swing of things.

“Well,” she said simply. “Welcome back!”

It was amazing how powerful that statement was for me. I was struggling in my running, both physically and mentally, but my partner saw someone who was “back.” I was back. I was definitely coming back.

We didn’t have a whole lot of race left, when we started worrying about the lack of “butterflies” on the course. The Race for GRACE is a fundraiser for an organization that helps local families affected by cancer; individuals can buy signs to display along the race route to honor loved ones. Usually, the signs started only a couple of miles into the race; we were close to four miles in but hadn’t seen a single butterfly yet. We worried that with the recent bad weather, the race organizers were unable to put the signs out, but fortunately, we came across the butterflies with a couple of miles to go. Hundreds of butterflies line the route, each one with the name of someone affected by cancer. It can be humbling, to say the least.

It’s pretty common for runners to pick up their butterflies to carry with them to the finish line; Brittnnii stopped to pick one up….and then another….and another….and another. She had so, so many close family members who had been affected by cancer; it was sweet and heartbreaking to see her pick up each butterfly and hold it as we continued. Then, as we neared the last turn to the finish line, we saw something we never would’ve expected–a marriage proposal in progress. Brittnnii acted quickly and got out her phone to take photos; it was a wide swing of emotion for one 10K, but I’m so very excited we got to be a part of it. We congratulated the couple and kept trekking; the finish line wasn’t far away.

We crossed the finish line in 1:16; with a couple of water stops, one walk break, and a stop to witness an incredible moment, an overall pace of 12:06 was nothing for me to be ashamed of. Brittnnii thanked me for keeping her going at a steady pace; I did the same to her. We were just what the other needed for a successful race.

By the time we finished, it had warmed to a balmy 18 degrees, so after saying goodbyes, I changed into dry clothes in the car and my husband took me to the nearest brewery for beermosas.

The taste of victory.

Each of the 10Ks I had run in March and April were progressively faster, so that made me happy. The next challenge was on the horizon, though–the Double Half Mary, a race that would definitely challenge me both mentally and physically. But that was another race for another day.

Welcome back.

Running with Grace

For the last several years, I’ve participated in the Ni-Bthaska-Ke Trail Run, a completely brutal 12K trail race at Platte River State Park. It’s generally scheduled in the first weekend of April, which always competed with another race, the Race for Grace in Grand Island. I’d always heard great things about the Race for Grace, but given the choice between a trail race and a road race, trail generally wins out.

Because of things like this.

The Race for Grace is a 10K and 2-mile race to raise money for the Grace Foundation, an organization that provides assistance to families in the Grand Island area who are affected by cancer. Last fall, my husband lost his mentor to cancer; he asked to run Grace this year instead of the Ni-Bthaska-Ke. I registered us for the road race.

It was the dawning of a new race day.

I had always heard great things about the Race for Grace, so I figured it would be a good race, but it is one of those experiences you can’t fully understand unless you’ve been there. Most of Grand Island’s larger running events will draw, at most, a few hundred runners, but the Race for Grace had over 1,600 entries.

Plus these two studs

The 10K runners lined up first, and before the gun went off, there was a guest speaker. A cancer survivor spoke about her journey, and what her friends, family, and the Grace Foundation had done for her during her battle with cancer. I had to tune her speech out a little, especially when her voice would crack as she would tear up. I know that makes me a terrible human being, but I’m already an overly-emotional runner, and I knew I wouldn’t make it 6.2 miles as a blubbering mess.

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The race started and I went out at a nice, easy pace.  The first stretch of the race takes runners down Locust Street, a major thoroughfare through town. The community support for the race is obvious, and many of the businesses had their signs cheering on the runners and promoting the race.

Ironically or not, most of them are fast food joints.

As we turned off into a beautiful residential area, the butterflies began. As part of the fundraising for the foundation, people can buy signs memorialize those who had been lost and to honor those still fighting. The butterflies are placed a few feet apart along the route, and they go on for a couple of miles. There were so many, many names: so many people affected by cancer.

I always try to thank all of the volunteers along the race course, but there was a fantastically large number of people to thank. When I would thank them, the response was almost universal a heartfelt: “Thank you for running!” In the tone of the response, I could translate the message: “thank you for supporting the foundation; thank you for supporting families in need.” Even though cancer is a dark bitch that destroys lives, this event was one of live, light, and happiness. Though every single one of us has been hurt by cancer in one way or another, it also gives us a uniting factor and a way to lift each other up.

I always like running the Ni-Bthaska-Ke because it shows me what I’m physically capable of. The Race for Grace showed me the strength of the human spirit, and what goodness people are capable of.

Untold Riches

As I came to what I knew was the end of the Beer & Bagel route (4.5-mile very challenging trail run), I was feeling really bummed because I hadn’t gotten to high five Sasquatch yet (it’s totally a thing). When I saw him at the bottom of the hill, I SQUEALED because even though I was pretty sure I was about to die, I WAS GOING TO HIGH FIVE FREAKING SASQUATCH.

I think this photo drives home why I run. I suck pretty hardcore at it; I’ll never be competitive, but it brings me moments like this: high fiving Sasquatch in the woods, or seeing hundreds of people lining a street to cheer on a bunch of strangers, or returning to your primal roots by hurtling down a wooded path. Without running, I wouldn’t be challenging my body to see what it is capable of–26.2 miles at once, or back-to-back half marathons, or running 100 miles in 30 days, or running almost every day between Thanksgiving and New Year’s. I wouldn’t know just how delicious a Runza tastes after 13.1 miles, or a burger after “the toughest trail run in the Midwest,” or a beer after a hard effort on a run.
When I started running, I passionately hated it; it was a necessary evil I had to endure to reach an unsatisfactory goal. Today, running has repaid me far more than I have contributed to it. I’m just thankful that I can recognize that.

Ode to the 80-Year-Old Marathoner

Today, I ran the Central Community College Ram Run, a Hastings, Nebraska tradition for the last 32 years. (In fact the original race director retired just last year, and this was the first year he was able to run the course as a participant.)

The race options were a 2-mile and a 5-mile race, which meant most newbie runners would be choosing the 2-mile race, and I’d be running a very lonely five miles. (When the field is made up mostly of experienced runners, I know that I will certainly be bringing up the rear.)

I know I’ll never win a race or even place in my age group, but I came to terms with that long ago. My goal, however, is to be pack filler. In my 5K PR this spring, I almost finished in the main pack (ALMOST breaking a sub-30 5K), and I was ecstatic.

At the beginning of the Ram Run, I was skirting the edge of the main field (just under 10:00/mile), but after a mile, I started to lose steam and they peeled away from me. The field began to string out more, and my run became lonelier and lonelier by the step. As I lost the main field, I was passed by The 80-Year-Old-Marathoner, and thus began a game of cat and mouse* for the next few miles.

(*me plodding endlessly after an old man)

Now, I have no idea who The 80-Year-Old Marathoner is; I don’t know his actual age or whether or not he has actually run a marathon, let alone the numerous marathons my imagination allowed him to complete. He was most certainly well past retirement age, he wore an Omaha Marathon shirt from two years ago, and he had both knees wrapped. He passed me as the route was headed on a long straight stretch, and I paced myself behind him.

We were headed east, towards the rising sun on a crisply cool but slightly foggy morning. Facing the sun, he cut an impressive silhouette, and his pacing and gait were so consistent, I found myself following his cadence footfall for footfall. His gait was fascinating: his feet hit the pavement remarkably close together (I think his footprints would have made a single line), and his knees bowed out with each stride. With my strange daughter-of-dairy-farmer shuffle gait, I know I’m not one to judge the running styles of others, so I simply let myself be mesmerized by the cadence of my newly-appointed pacer.

I spent the next three miles trying to catch up to The 80-Year-Old-Marathoner. He was consistently, constantly, tantalizingly out of reach. My mind would sometimes wander as I started to make up a backstory for The 80-Year-Old Marathoner, picturing him crossing dozens of finish lines all across the country.

As we hit the turnaround point and headed back towards the finish line, I started to make headway. For forever, I trailed him by less than a hundred yards. Slowly, surely, I chipped away at his lead until we were the distance of two telephone poles apart. When we had turned and were headed west, our long shadows stretched out before us; when my shadow clipped the backs of his heels, I knew I would catch him right at the four-mile point.

At four miles, the course turned back to the college campus for one large loop back to the starting point. As I passed The 80-Year-Old-Marathoner, we traded “Good Run” and “Nice Job” pleasantries, and ran side by side for a fleeting moment. I had wondered if we would end up crossing the finish line together, but in the final two miles, The 80-Year-Old-Marathoner’s steady pace had started to flag, and I pulled decisively ahead of him. After a hundred yards or so, the sound of his footsteps had faded away, and as I took a turn on the course, I looked back to see that he had drifted considerably behind me. While I’m always happy to have “reeled in” another runner and overtaken them, it also made me a little sad.

My final mile ended up being my second to fastest, so I ended up finishing considerably faster than The 80-Year-Old-Marathoner. After he crossed the finish line, he made a point to congratulate me on my run. I was going to tell him that he was my pacer, and that I had spent four miles trying to pass him, but I simply congratulated him on a good run and left it at that.

Blessed.

Why yes, when I’m running, I *do* realize how good I have it…

Dedication to a Life Well-Lived

I had been doing a great job with my Summer Run Streak (run every day between Memorial Day and the 4th of July), but things fell apart around day 25. I had a crazy day all day long, and was running a half marathon early the next morning, so I didn’t think a late night run would be feasible (also, some nasty thunderstorms were rolling through that evening, which would’ve made a run dangerous anyway).

After my half, I missed a second day, because once I knew the streak was broken, I struggled with getting back out on the road after running 13.1. I decided to start back on my streak and continue on until the 4th, where I’d finish up with a 10K race.

I was in the checkout line at Walmart a day later when my mom called to let me know that my grandfather had passed away.

Grandpa Mel was 95 years old when he died. He had been married to my grandmother for over 72 years–they were still living in their own home until a month ago when he took a bad fall and had to be admitted into a nursing home. Married right as the United States was being drawn into World War II, they were married for six weeks when he was drafted and shipped off to the Pacific for nearly four years.

He came home to farm and raise a family. Five children, sixteen grandchildren, twenty-nine great-grandchildren (number thirty is on the way): his family was his proudest achievement. He would sometimes look admirably over his grandchildren and say, “Not a bad one in the whole bunch.” His descendants almost all chose a life of service: many are farmers, educators, or service members. He and my grandmother created a family of love, laughter, and light, and their marriage was an inspiring example of love, companionship, and partnership.

Though I processed the news of Grandpa’s passing by going for a run, I lost all motivation after that. Between a many-hour trip to a family reunion on my husband’s side and heading back to make the visitation and funeral, I did not run at all for several consecutive days. Then, my plans for the 4th of July 10K became shaky when I found out my cousin, who I planned to do the run with, had a conflict arise and she wouldn’t be able to participate. Did I really want to wake up at 4:00 am to drive a three-hour round trip to run a race by myself, when running had been the least on my mind?

The night before the race, I decided to go for it. I woke early and headed to Seward, “Nebraska’s 4th of July City.” It was a beautiful morning, slightly overcast and not too warm. Since I hadn’t run in about a week, I didn’t know how well I’d run, but I made the decision as we lined up at the start that I would dedicate my run to my late grandfather.

The air horn sounded, and we were off. I stayed with the main pack for a little while, but as the field began to stretch out, I ended up trailing towards the back. I checked my pace; I was at around a 10:30 mile, so I decided to try to keep under 11:00 miles.

The route turned out of town quickly, and we took to a nice country road. As I crested a large hill, we ran past farmhouses, fields, and pastures. I felt as though my grandfather was with me, there in the country. I was no longer running a race; I was just out checking crops with Grandpa. The greens of the corn and bean fields could not have been more lush. The hayfields were freshly baled, with the round bales dotting the land. The breeze kept me cool, and the gravel crunched beneath my feet. I couldn’t remember what my 10K PR stood at, but I was pretty sure I was at least close to matching it.

I kept each mile under 11:00, even with a couple of gradual but long hills. I finished strong, but had to hold myself together for the last mile. My rhythm for the last mile ran through my head: For. Grandpa. For. Grandpa. For. Grandpa. I crossed the finish line, grabbed a banana, and took a moment to have a little cry alone in my car.

I set a new PR, by around six minutes. My average pace per mile was about a full minute per mile than my previous record.

I know that Grandpa would be proud of me.

I Run for Those who Can’t

Because the end of the school year is so ridiculously busy, I haven’t run a single step since Market to Market two weeks ago. Added to that, I think I’ve been pouting all this week after we found our that we did not get into the Nebraska M2M.

Now, however, my last day with students was Wednesday, and though I’ll have to go into school regularly for the next couple of weeks to finish some things up, I can do it on my own time table, and my mornings are now open for running. I have my sixth half marathon approaching on June 22, and I’ve already planned several races for the summer.

Tomorrow, I’m running a 10K in a little neighboring town; it is a “Run for a Resident” hosted by the nursing home. I know that I am not a graceful or fast runner, but I CAN run.

Last night, I found out that my 96-year-old grandfather is in the hospital after a fall. Luckily, there are no broken bones, but he had to have stitches and will be admitted into a nursing home for care. Over the last several years, I’ve watched his health fail and his strength weaken. A man who was vital and vibrant into his eighties is barely mobile and cannot move around without full assistance.

So I will run for a nursing home resident–I will run for Grandpa. And I will not take my running for granted. Someday, I will no longer be able to run, but that day is not today.

My Proudest Running Moment

I belong to an awesome online running club, RunJunkEes. On their Facebook page, a fellow member posed the question: “What was your proudest running moment?”

Just as I was getting into running, I had a very close friend who was diagnosed with cancer. My husband, two close friends and I had “Team Jen” shirts made; whatever race we ran, we would take a photo of ourselves with our shirts on and send them to her. She later told us that while she was going through her chemo treatments, they helped lift her spirits.

I ran my very first 10K in honor of her–when people cheered me on for my show of support for my friend, I declared, “next year, I’ll run a half marathon to celebrate Jen kicking cancer’s ass!!” I said it, and knew in my heart that I meant it.

The gauntlet was thrown, and I started my training program. The Omaha Marathon was my first 10K; it was only right that it would be my first Half. (A year later, it followed suit as my first full.) I worked hard and piled up the mileage. When the day came, I started with the attitude of, “Barring a serious injury, I WILL finish.”

The weather was perfect that day; a little chilly at the start, but never too cold or too warm. The Omaha Marathon course, of which the 10K was a part of, was notoriously hilly, but I only walked through a couple of water stops, and ran the entire course. My husband and a few wonderful friends rode their bicycles, hopscotching the route and cheering me on. They kept my energy up and a smile on my face.

Towards the end, I climbed one last monster hill through Little Italy, and started cruising down through the Old Market and towards the finish. My legs were tired but steady as the final miles ticked away.

With one mile left, it hit me. I was going to do it. I was going to be a half marathon finisher.

I don’t have any diagnosed form of asthma, but when I get very emotional, I can have wheezing fits, where I can only make shallow breaths, and no air seems to fill my lungs. As I thought about what I was about to accomplish, about the work I had put in; about the amazing husband and friends who helped me along; about the bold promise I had made to a friend a year ago, the air caught in my throat. I wheezed a couple of times, and feared I would have to stop in my final mile to get my breathing back under control. Instead, I steeled my resolve, took a few quick puffs of breath, and pushed on to the finish line.

Now, I’m just over a week away from my fifth half, and Jen’s been cancer free for almost a year…

Live Like Addie

This Easter weekend, I had an opportunity to run in a 5K in honor of a remarkable little girl. I never met Addie, but in her short time on Earth, she made a huge impact on my little hometown.

Shortly before her 10th birthday, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Mere days later, she was gone–two days days before her birthday.

In her single-digit lifetime, she made a dedication to serving others. She set up a lemonade stand to raise money for the local animal shelter. For her birthday, she had requested that her guests not bring birthday gifts: instead, they should bring gifts of pet treats and toys to donate to shelter pets.

A year after losing Addie, her family organized a 5K; the hope is to raise money for various causes every year. From such a tragic moment comes such a wonderful event. It is truly inspiring to see 600+ participants (including many four-legged friends) lining up for the 5K fun run and 1-mile walk. Many, many volunteers send smiles all around and enthusiastically cheer everyone on. Once you cross the finish line, you are met with tables full of homemade cupcakes (Addie’s favorite).

I’ll never win a race; my current goal is just to finish with the main pack. I know that many people who don’t “get” running don’t understand why I’d ever pay money to run races I’d never have a chance of winning. I submit that I get so, so much more from my entry fees.

Live Like Addie