Running with Dogs

It’s rare that I’ll go for a run without my partners in crime. Running is always ripe for life metaphors, but running with dogs can be even more symbolic:

-When everyone is in sync, you feel invincible.

-Some days run more smoothly than others, depending on everyone’s mood.

-The littlest distraction can derail everything pretty quickly.

-Sometimes, everything can suddenly come grinding to a halt for some unexpected s#!+.

When my hardest 5k was a half marathon

Funny thing about being a teacher: once school is out, I suddenly have time to run again. After running three 10Ks, three half marathons, and a couple of 5Ks with next to no running in between, I was ready to get back into a rhythm. 

A couple of years ago, I started to attempt a summer run streak every year: run at least one mile per day, every day, from Memorial Day to the 4th of July. After a successful streak last year, I decided to try again. My first week of my streak, I was able to run at least two miles per day, and my pace seemed to be improving with each run. At the end of the week was the Half Hastings, a local half marathon I’ve run every year since its inception. I was nowhere where I needed to be training-wise, but I was in far better shape than any of the last three halfs I had run this year so far.

The Lincoln Half had been almost a month ago, and it had been my last long run, so I declared May to be a “taper month” leading into my 22nd half marathon. Compared to the close to 9,000 finishers for Lincoln, the Hastings race had close to 120 finishers. 

At Lincoln, it takes 45 minutes for me to get to the start line; Hastings, about 45 seconds.

Something that amuses me about runners–especially female runners–is that we are more than happy to lift each other up with praise and support, but we are always our own worst critics. Two of my good friends, Deborah and Sarah, were running Hastings as well, and they were both super nervous coming into the race. Sarah runs almost every day: often between 5-7 miles, so she was definitely in shape, but she said her nerves often take over for races and she never knows what to expect. Deborah cycles and works out regularly, but she hadn’t been running much and her longest run coming into the Half Hastings was six miles. I wanted to offer to run with them to ease their nerves, but I know that both women are considerably faster than me, so I didn’t say anything.

It was in the low sixties at race time, with a slight northwesterly breeze. The forecast was calling for major winds later in the day, so the sooner I could finish, the better. I made the decision not to look at my watch during the course of the race: I didn’t need to know how slowly I was going, and I didn’t need any mental messes in my brain.

We started off in proximity of each other, but Deborah blew our doors off almost immediately. The first couple of miles were a little bit twisty, through residential areas, but the air was still pretty cool and there was plenty of shade. The race had several cyclists helping with race support; as one rode past me, she called out encouragingly, “just keep going steady, steady, steady!”  I called out as she rode on, “That’s the only pace I have!”

As we continued on, Sarah was just a couple of blocks ahead of me–enticingly, maddeningly close. We weren’t even halfway done, though, so I didn’t want to blow myself up trying to catch her; I just followed behind at a creeper’s distance.

The course winds point to point through Hastings, twisting to hit most of the nice little parks in town. Just before mile 10, the course makes its way past Hastings College, and the final three miles are an out and back to the charming downtown district. Runners make a short loop downtown and make their way to the college for a big stadium finish (not quite like finishing in Lincoln’s renowned Memorial Stadium, but the Lloyd Wilson Field *is* very nice).

At mile 10, my Garmin beeped my split and I looked at my watch for the first time. I had run my first ten mile in two hours: definitely not PR pace, but I was on track for a good finishing time. Before the race started, I had declared that if I finished in 2:40, I would be happy. At my current pace, I would finish well under that.

Right before stuff went real, real bad.

As I headed to my final three miles, I fell apart, and fast. It was getting warmer by the minute, and the wind was increasing exponentially. Sarah, who had been my rabbit for the entire race, was pulling farther and farther away by the minute. When I eventually lost sight of her, it was the beginning of the end. 

That time I broke my “give-a-damn.”

Because I have gross hobbit feet, a callous on my big toe had been rubbing on the inside of my shoe and I could feel the blister forming. My legs were shot, and I was losing energy fast. I would stagger for a while until my body would give out and I would have to walk. After looping through downtown, I headed back toward the college for the last homestretch: right into a 20-mph headwind.

As I came close to the stadium, I saw my husband and friends waiting for me. I should’ve finished less than a minute behind Sarah; she crossed the finish line around eight minutes before me. I threw a few obscenities toward my cadre of friends and limped to the finish for a finishing time of 2:43:17. 

One of my favorite things about the Half Hastings is that a homemade breakfast burrito is waiting for finishers, but I felt so crappy, I couldn’t process eating anything. My breakfast burrito that I had been anticipating for weeks went unclaimed. 😕

Me with an awesome friend but sans burrito.

Deborah, who hadn’t trained at all, completely killed it. She had a finishing time that wasn’t her best, but wasn’t her worst. Sarah finished with a good time, but it wasn’t her best or her worst. My finishing time definitely not my worst but far from my best. Though we were each “just okay” with our personal times, we celebrated the other women’s times and praised each other for a job well done. 

Runners, amirite?

Happy Trails (of all varieties)

I’m about to say something fairly controversial and I don’t care who disagrees.

Nebraska is pretty.

Now, the majority of the state is quite beautiful: the rolling hills of the Platte Valley in the Southeast, or the Wildcat Hills of the panhandle; the Sandhills or the Loess hills: these areas are all postcard-perfect. South Central Nebraska, however, is the reason why outsiders think that the state is boring.

Come for the Interstate, stay for the flatness.

The majority of South Central Nebraska is miles upon miles upon miles of flat cropland, 90% of which is cornfields. However, there are little hidden jewels here and there, and there are some truly lovely places.

I had never even heard of Bader Memorial Park until I had seen a flyer for the Bader Park Challenge, a trail 10K and 2-mile run. Bader is a county park along the Platte River just east of Grand Island and south of the teeny town of Chapman.

The race field was small: between 40-50 runners for both distances. At the start, the race director started by saying we’d be doing three 2-mile loops, and I cringed: I HATE running laps. There was good news, though: we were doing three different loops through three different areas of the park. Even though the park is relatively small, we were able to run six miles with very little repetition. 

Turns out, there are plenty of other things to be afraid of.

Having never been to the park, I really had no idea what to expect, other than that I wouldn’t have to worry about any major climbing. (Hard to climb hills when there are none to be found.) The route was far than flat, however; it constantly undulated with hundreds of microhills. The terrain varied across pretty much every possibility for trails.

We started out on the first loop, which wound its way through a tall grass prairie toward the Wood River. The terrain was mowed grass; I had to watch my step carefully with the uneven ground. The trail continually wound back and forth; it was pretty cool to see the brightly-colored shirts of the runners peek through the tall grass as we went.

Not pictured: also, lots and lots of wind.

As we left the grassland to transition to the second loop, we ran on a maintenance road consisting of dirt and loose gravel. It took me a while to switch my gait for the change in terrain–this ended up being the major challenge of the Bader Challenge.

For the second loop, we ended up in a cottonwood grove, running on a trail maintained by a local Boy Scouts group. At the start-line, the race director had warned us: “there will be some muddy tracks on a couple of spots-don’t run through the mud, but run through the grass on the side.” By “muddy tracks,” he wasn’t just whistling Dixie:

squishy.

The trail traversed through the trees; though any potentially confusing sections were well marked, I found comfort in seeing the runner just in front of me. She’d pull well ahead of me from time to time, but I always tried to keep her in my sights. As we emerged from the trees, we came right along the shore of the Platte River–a stunning sight.  “A mile wide and an inch deep,” the Platte is the lifeline for the majority of waterfowl in Nebraska. As we ran beside the Platte, we were greeted with a beautiful view, but as we came along some of the spillage ponds, we had a new, tougher challenge: sand. For some sections, we ran along a fairly thick beach sand. 

Love running but hate the feeling of being propelled forward? Try sand!

I would run in the sand as best as I could–which is, not very well at all. The sand was deep enough that I had to take several walk breaks: it was not worth the energy exerted to make as little of progress as I was making. Thankfully, we were on to the third and final loop of the race: out of the sand and back into the woods. This time, the terrain alternated from a dirt trail to wood chips.

No horses on the wood chips; no footballs in the swimming pond. Seriously, it’s in the brochure.

In six miles, I’m pretty sure I experienced every possible type of terrain to run on, save pavement (and, I guess, REALLY rocky terrain.) I chased the runner just ahead of me for the entirety of the race, and I’m glad I never passed her; generally I like to have a “rabbit” to chase, but she ended up being my beacon instead. It would’ve been a total dick move to pass her at the end–not that I ended up in the position to make that decision anyway. As we finished, we congratulated each other; she told me she was comforted by my presence as well: as long as I was just behind her, she figured she was where she needed to be.

The park was beautiful, the volunteers were awesome, and I can’t wait to come back to this great little park again.  I finished about sixth from last; however, it was a very small field and I was only two minutes slower than my street 10K from the week before, so I call that a success.

Plus: monster cookies at finish. Five out of five stars. Would race again.

  

Stairway to Hacking

When I started running, I hated it and thought it was stupid. How the hell could I ever manage to run for THREE ENTIRE MILES STRAIGHT?!?! I worked up to a mile without stopping; I eventually conquered two miles, and when I ran my first official 5K race, I knew I was unstoppable. As a person of barely-middling athletic ability, I love to see what my pudgy little body is capable of.

One of the more unique races I’ve done is the Trek Up the Tower: a race up the stairs of the First National Building, the tallest building between Chicago and Denver.

Forty stories of glory.

Wearing a wristband timing chip, racers line up to start every 10-ish seconds. You swipe your wristband across a timing mat to begin, then once again at the top floor.

Forty floors. 870 steps. 633 vertical feet.

It always sounds like a good idea when getting the “early bird pricing” in November.

When starting a stair race, it’s easy to start out too fast. You enter the stairwell and spring your way up the first couple of flights, but your legs become very heavy VERY quickly. There are a couple of places where the stairwell gives way to a very short hallway to accommodate the shape of the building: these hallways are completely glorious. It’s amazing how a short stretch of regular walking can ease the fire in your quads. 

This year, I did “okay,” but I had to take a few breaks to catch my breath and get my heart rate down. At one water stop, a paramedic was taking a guy’s blood pressure–I’m not sure if it made me feel better or worse. I had forgotten to start my Garmin, so I had no idea how long I had been in the stairwell; you lose track of time as you climb and climb. Finally, the end was near. I was still upright, but felt like I was crawling. I have a policy for running races: you always, ALWAYS run across the finish line (no walking). Following that policy, I should’ve at least jogged up the final flight of stairs, but my legs did not have it in them. I staggered up to the timing May and swiped my wristband to end the pain.

My time this year was 12:57, which I’m pretty sure is my slowest in the five years I’ve done the race. The winning time was 4:32, and the slowest participant finished in 55:53. I placed 1,183rd out of 1,724 participants; 93rd out of 150 in my age group, solidifying my status of “pretty fast for a slow person.”

My husband finished in 6:31, but no one really likes him.

After our sub-15-min workouts, we did as one does: we ate like we just ran a half marathon.

The greatest breakfast food is all of the breakfast foods.

One of these days, I’ll actually train for Trek Up the Tower, but until then, I settle for the training regimen of “I live in a split-level house and am very forgetful.” All I know is that I can do it, and that’s enough for now.

 

The Thing I Needed

It’s been 251 days since my last blog post and slightly less than that since I last felt like I had my shit together. As a running year, 2015 felt like a bust. I finally broke a 30-minute 5K in March, and then never came close to that time again. Unseasonably warm temperatures for the Lincoln Half turned one of my favorite Halfs into a disastrous death march.  My fall Market to Market race was a debacle; I had a physical and emotional breakdown on my second leg. My last race of the year was supposed to be the Feast and Feathers trail half, but I missed out when an impending ice storm canceled our travel plans. My usual Holiday Run Streak was a complete bust….embarrassingly so. I missed my 2015 mileage goal by hundreds of miles.

When I started running, going for a run was hard work–both mentally and physically. As I ran more and more, and became (relatively) better at it, I could go for miles without problems. Hadn’t run for a while? I’d crank out a “quick” nine-mile run. On a run, I might “explore” a new road–it might add another three miles to my run, but: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But then, eventually, I stopped improving as a runner, and it seemed like my work was pointless.

For some reason, when I plateaued, running became hard work again. I didn’t celebrate my run; I just counted down the minutes until it was over. The smallest excuse to not go for a run was enough to keep me from putting my shoes on. I would stall long enough that I would run out of time, or it was too hot outside, or two windy, or I couldn’t find a sports bra, etc. etc. etc. Almost every race I ran last year, I ran hopelessly undertrained. My finishing times seemed to only get worse as the year progressed.

This weekend was my first race since last November, and though I only had a handful of miles for 2016 so far, I was excited for it. The Empyrean Trail 5K is a race that I’ve done every year since I had first started running. They celebrated their fifth anniversary this year, and I’ve run it all five years.

 

And always in style

Less than a week before the race, Winter Storm Kayla had made Nebraska her bitch. Camp Carol Joy Holling, where the race is held, had received around six inches of snow. Though a rudimentary swath was cut through the snow for us, it was obvious that the trail would be snowy and slick.

 

And freaking gorgeous.

I started at the very back of the pack with my friend Dan, who was planning on walking most of the course due to some arthritis problems. As I crossed the start line, I weaved  dozens of walkers to find a good pace group. With my trusty trail shoes, I was able to pass some runners that were slipping and sliding all over.

Though my 45-minute finish was nothing to write home about, there was a change that seemed to take place. Maybe it was because of the perfect 30-degree weather. Maybe it was the beautiful scenery of a lovely church camp that I cherish. Maybe it was the promise of free beer at the end. Whatever it was that compelled this feeling….running was FUN again. Yes, it was hard work, and yes, I had to walk some of the bigger climbs, and yes, there were a couple of times my legs threatened revolt, but for the first time in a long time, none of that mattered. I was alive, my body was moving, and I was working toward a goal.

 

*literally the highpoint of the race*

 

It took me a month to get into the swing of 2016, but I’m feeling good (better) about this year.

 

Even though I lost to an overweight yellow lab.

 

My equal in running ability.

 

I love you, volunteers, but…

  

Welcome to south central Nebraska.



Solitude.



Blessed.

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

Mmmmm…cupcakes.

5Ks that end in cupcakes are the best kind of 5Ks.