moving on

Well, my race on Sunday did not go as well as hoped.  Not even close.  I'm no stranger to bad races, but this one probably hurt the most.  My goal had been to PR, which meant finishing under 1:46:48.  That did not happen.  Instead, I finished about 15 minutes later at 2:01:59.  A time I would like to forget.  I was so excited and feeling very ready going in to this race.  I was ready to run my butt off, push through the pain, and cross that finish line knowing that I gave it my all.  I was ready to put my legs to the test.  I was ready to race.  Unfortunately, my legs had other plans.

So what happened?  To be honest, I'm not exactly sure.  I got to the race about 45 minutes early and met up with Stephanie, who was also trying for a new PR (she did it!).  We got our numbers, used the bathrooms, got ready, and were on our way.  The start was down the street a little ways from where we parked.  It was a little chilly, so we very slowly jogged to the start to warm up.  We lined up by the 8:00 pacer and waited for go time.  I stretched and tried to keep moving as much as possible to keep my muscles warm.  After a few minutes I noticed a little bit of a burning feeling in my legs.  I didn't think much of it and figured in would go away once I started running again.  A few minutes later, it was time to go.

Miles 1-5 were great.  The plan was to be consistent and stay as close to an 8:00 pace as possible.  Mile 1: 8:02 (perfect!), mile 2: 8:01 (right on!), mile 3: 7:57 (yes!), mile 4: 8:00 (on top of the world!), mile 5: 8:14 (uh oh).  That's where things took a sharp turn for the worst.  Suddenly my legs felt very tight and my muscles were burning like crazy.  I don't know what happened, or where I went wrong, but my legs decided they no longer felt like running that day.  I thought maybe if I stopped to stretch that it would offer some relief and I could somehow salvage this race.  I was wrong.  Very very wrong.  Every step that followed was painful.  This time my mind was saying go, but my legs just kept saying no.

I wanted to quit.  I wanted to throw in the white flag and give up.  I think for the first time ever I shed a few tears during a race.  I couldn't believe it.  I couldn't believe after feeling so ready, how horribly bad I felt from mile 6 to 13.1.  In that moment, I had absolutely no desire to cross the finish line.  I was mad.  I was mad at running.  I was mad at my body.

There were many bad thoughts that went through my head after the race on Sunday.  There were also many more tears shed on the drive home.  I felt defeated.  I started to question everything.  Why am I doing this?  Maybe long distance running isn't for me.  Maybe I'm just not cut out for this.  Maybe I'm not strong enough.  Maybe I should just give up.  I can be pretty good at negative self talk some times.

After a couple of days of thinking and reflecting, I'm ready to move on from this bad race and look forward to the next one.  I received many words of encouragement and support, and reminders of why I really do love running, which I am so very thankful for.  I was reminded that one race does not define a person, we need the bad races so we can fully appreciate the good ones, and there will be more races, and more opportunities to be great.

This race taught me the importance of respecting running for what it is.  It is hard.  It's a challenge, and that's what makes it so exciting.  Good races are good races for a reason, everything clicks.  All of the training and hard work pays off and you have a moment of greatness.  Those moments are what make it all worth it.  Those moments make the bad races forgettable.  Those moments are what I will continue to run and train for.  Those moments make it all worth it.  

beautiful sunrise from the morning of the race    

race time

Well, it's that time again!   Time to race.  On Sunday I will be running the Half at the Hamptons at Hampton Beach, NH.  I have never done this race before, so I'm excited to give it my best shot.  From the website, it is promised to be one of the flattest courses in New England with a total climb of 115ft. If you've spent any time running in New England, you know a flat race is hard to find.

This makes me very happy

The week-of-the-race anxiety has begun and I'm feeling a mix of emotions as race day approaches.  My goal for this race is to PR, which means crossing the finish line under 1:46:48.  My training lately has been going well and I've been feeling really strong in all the workouts.  I know I am capable, but I'm scared.  I'm scared because I know that means returning to that pain place, and not giving up when my mind starts to challenge my body.

When I PRed in the half marathon last May, I was ready, I was excited, and I was confident.  I felt the burn in my legs, the fatigue, and the struggle, but I didn't give up.  I was determined to cross that finish line under 1:50.  And I did.  Following that race, I struggled through the rest of 2013 to find that same fight and determination from start to finish of a half marathon.  Instead, when things got tough, I got frustrated and doubted myself.  I gave up.

Dove gets it.  I have to too.

This year I've already taken some pretty big steps to improve my health, my confidence, and learning how to believe in myself.  I'm ready to find that fight and determination once again.  I'm ready to see what these legs can do.  I'm ready to let go of the doubt.  I'm ready to race.

Truth.   

tattooed

I've been struggling lately coming up with things to write about.  Training is still going well.  Winter is still here in full force, to my dislike.  I've still got a pretty good case of the winter blues going on.  So, I just haven't felt like I've had much to say, or any fun running news to report.

I did, however, get some fresh ink added to my body a couple of weeks ago.  I had been wanting to get another tattoo, but wasn't sure exactly what.  When I lost my favorite little wrinkly man, Manny, in November I knew I wanted get something to remind me of him.  I thought for a long time about what to do.  I have a scar on my right wrist that is from him.  He was a little jerk from time to time, but I loved him just the same.  I knew I wanted to somehow incorporate the scar in the tattoo, or have a tattoo around it somehow.

After a lot of brainstorming, doodling, and drawing on myself, I decided I wanted 4 paw prints.  The first one around my scar, and the three other staggered up my arm, facing me.  I was very nervous to actually go and get it done though.  I have other tattoos, but being on my wrist, this one would be the most visible (I have one on my foot, which is very visible in the summer because I live in flip flops.  But, it is still hidden when I'm at work).  I was nervous about what people would think when they saw it.  I made an appointment anyways, and went down to the tattoo shop.  Still feeling a little nervous, I got out of my car and looked down at the ground.  Staring back at me, in the snow, was a paw print.  When I saw that, the nerves went away, and I knew this was what I wanted to do.

Manny meant a lot of things to me.  Tattoos obviously aren't for everyone, and are frowned upon by many.  Personally, I see them as way to express yourself, your beliefs, and what is important to you.  This year is about moving forward for me, living life without hiding behind an eating disorder, and believing in my abilities.  This tattoo is a reminder of all of those things, along with helping me feel like Manny is still by my side.

Do you have any tattoos?  What do they mean to you?             

winter blues

If you've followed along with me at all, you probably know very well that I do not like the cold, and am not a fan of the winters in NH.  This winter we've already had our fair share of deep freezes and single digit temperatures.  While I am not a fan of running in the cold, I'm even less of a fan of running on the treadmill.  If the conditions are too icy, cold, or not safe, I will move my run to the dreaded treadmill.   Otherwise, I'm usually the crazy lady running around town bundled from head to toe.  Each winter season that comes and goes, I grow increasingly annoyed with the cold temps and feet of snow.  This year has been no different.  I think the words "get me out of NH" have left my mouth more times than anyone cares to hear.  I've been feeling funky lately, and I think the winter weather has given me a solid case of the winter blues.

snow, snow, go away…
don't come again another day

I like to torture myself by looking at pictures like this one below and wishing I was on the other (warmer) coast.

If anyone wants to scoop me up and take me here, I won't resist.

Surprisingly, with the cold temps, snowy streets and winter blues-y attitude, I have had some pretty stellar weeks of training.  I decided at the end of last year to take the month of January off from racing.  I raced a lot last year, and felt like I needed to take the month off to rest my body and my mind.  This has allowed me to focus more on my training and working towards getting stronger and (hopefully) faster.  I've unfortunately had to take a couple extra days off due to my work schedule + frigid temps + icy roads but I've managed to complete all of my long runs as well as the speed work.

This is what the past week of training looked like:

Thursday: 15 min warmup, 4 mile tempo between marathon and half marathon pace, 10 min cool down.  I ran the tempo miles @ 8:23, 8:19, 8:15, 8:11.  For this run I got in my car and drove to the town I used to live in.  I've been pretty bored running the same routes around my house lately, so I thought running in a new area would help.  It did.

Friday: OFF

Saturday: I met up with Stephanie to do 16-17 miles with the last 20 min at marathon pace.  Stephanie was running 6 miles, so I couldn't pass up the opportunity to run some miles with a friend.  I drove down to Mass to meet her at the paved trail we like to run on.  It was a great 6 miles of running and run therapy that was very much needed by both of us.  I finished the last 10.5 miles on my own, explored a new part of the trail, got soaked by a nice rainy/slushy mix, ran the last 20 min at marathon pace, and then drove home in a snow storm.  

Sunday: 40 min easy on snow covered roads.  I was supposed to do strides at the end, but the snow made it difficult to pick up the pace.  I decided it wasn't worth the risk of injury and didn't do the strides.

One of the few times I think the snow looks pretty.

Monday: OFF

Tuesday: 15 min warm up, 10 x 200m on, 200 off @ 10k pace, 10 min cool down.  I averaged around 7:30 pace and felt really strong throughout. 

Wednesday: Should have been 40-50 min easy.  When I woke up at 5, the temperature was 4 degrees, and it was too early to use the treadmill, I was unable to do the run.  Instead I did Dr. Lesko's dirty dozen  and worked my core.  I didn't have time to run after work because of dinner plans.  Weather permitting, I'm hoping to get this run in on Friday.

Thursday: 15 min warm up, 1 mile (3 min rec), 2 x 800 (3 min rec), 4 x 400 (90 sec rec) all done at 5k pace, 10 min cool down.  I'm not going to lie, I was nervous for this workout.  I was nervous about the paces.  My 5k PR was a 7:11 pace.  I want to be faster than that.  So, my goal was to do this workout at 7:05 pace, which scared me.  We're in the middle of another very cold span of weather, so I did this workout (reluctantly) on the treadmill.  I nailed it.  All were done at 7:04 pace, and the last 400 I did at 6:40 pace.  My legs were feeling it towards the end, but I did it.  From this workout I learned one very important thing: I need to be able to believe in myself more.  I'm getting there, but I still have some work to do.

Reason number 672 why I love running: it's one of the few things helping to keep my winter blues at bay.    

2014 Goals

I know I'm a little late to the 2014 goals/resolutions party.  But better late than never, right?!  I've never really been that big on setting resolutions.  Well, except to get in better shape, or lose x amount of pounds, or some other silly unattainable goal.  This year however, I think it's important to set some goals that revolve around running, and finally treating my body right.  So, without further adieu, here are some goals I've got for 2014.

1.  To be good to me body, so my body will be good to me.  For a long time, I was not good to my body.  I didn't treat it well at all.  I basically abused it and expected it to function properly.  Well, it doesn't work like that obviously, so this year will be a lot about learning how to fuel my body correctly, and respecting it for what it is.

better fueling = faster running 

2.  Strength train!  I despise going to the gym, but that doesn't mean I can't strength train.  I have a living room with plenty of floor space to get the job done.  Besides doing a plank a few times a week, I really don't do any kind of strength training.  I know it would help my running, as well as my overall fitness.  Time to get my butt in gear.

3.  To PR in every race distance I run this year.  I realize this is a pretty lofty goal, but I say it only because I really believe I can do it.  I have been putting in the hard work and saw many great improvements last year, as well as earned myself a new PR in every distance I ran.  I really feel like I still have a lot of room for improvement.  It's exciting, and scary at the same time.  But with the help of my coaches Stephanie and Ben Bruce, I am ready to see what my body is capable of.

4.  To run a sub-4 marathon.  Yes, this could also be included in the goal above because it would be a PR.  But I think it deserves it's own number.  I ran my second marathon in October and was hoping to finish under 4 hrs.  It didn't happen.  I've thought a lot about that race and what went wrong.  I absolutely believe I am capable of running 26.2 miles in less than 4 hours.  Especially if I stick to numbers 1 and 2 above.  

So that's that.  Reasonable, completely attainable goals for 2014.  I have a feeling this is going be a good year. 

Tell me, what are some goals you have for 2014?      

confession time

As 2013 is coming to a close I, like many people, have been thinking a lot about the past year and what it has meant for me.  I have grown a lot as a runner, and as a person this year.  I have referenced in many posts how I have become more confident, mostly because of running and the running family I have found.  I finally feel comfortable in my own skin and abilities, and am not afraid to say this is me.  When I wrote that very first post in March, in this attempt at blogging, I'm not sure I believed everything I typed.  I wanted to believe it.  I wanted so badly to be the confident person I felt was inside of me somewhere.  Now, as I type this last post of 2013, I can honestly say I am me…and I am very much ok with that.

With all of that being said, a large part of why I started this blog was to try to be more open and honest with myself and with others.  There is one pretty big secret that I have wanted to share since my first post.  I have hinted at it a few times, I have though about writing about it, but could never find the motivation, or the strength to fully let it out.  A few recent doctor appointments, a new confidence, and my desire to help others has lead me to feel as though this is the right time.  Some details may be left out, some I may not remember, some will be very difficult to share, and equally as difficult to read, but I'll do my best.  

For a long time, this was me...

I don't really remember a time when I was comfortable with my body.  I remember being probably 9 or 10 at gymnastics camp, comparing my body to my teammate's.  Growing up in a leotard, you become very aware of every imperfection.  I don't know where these thoughts came from initially.  I don't remember ever being told I needed to lose weight.  I can't pinpoint exactly where or when it all began.  But I do remember that day at camp, and I do know since then it's been an ongoing battle.  Twenty plus years of putting yourself and your body down is exhausting.

Through high school I had periods of gaining weight and losing weight.  Going in to my senior year, I lost a fair amount of weight by restricting what I ate and counting calories.  After many years of believing I was too heavy, I had my first taste of restricting calories and seeing results because of it.  I went through most of my senior year this way, until the stress of going to college caused me to forget about counting calories, and instead doing quite the opposite.  I ate what I wanted, I drank what I wanted, and as a result, I gained weight.  During the first 2 years of college I remember hating what I saw, but not really doing anything about it.  I was desperately trying to fit in, and meet friends, while hating myself and my appearance.  I didn't want to be away at school, I didn't know what I wanted to do, and I began to withdraw a little more each day.  I felt like I didn't belong.

After returning home from my second year of college in 2003, I started to run, workout, and attempted to lose weight.  As I began to lose weight, I also became more strict with what I was eating.  I returned to school to live in a house with three other girls, one of which had joined weight watchers over the summer.  She was successful with her weight loss, and was counting points for all the food she ate.  Looking back now, I realize this was not a good environment for me to be in, because it only added fuel to my fire.  I remember being complimented by many about how great I looked after loosing weight over the summer.  While I agreed I looked better, the voice in my head would tell me I'd look even better after loosing a few more pounds.  I began spending more time in my room, and reading message boards for "thinspiration".  I only allowed myself to eat certain foods, I counted every calorie, I went to the gym early in the morning to avoid as many people as possible, and I began to lose interest in the things that I once enjoyed.  I grew increasingly moody due to the lack of food and always feeling hungry.  All I could focus on was what I was going to eat that day and how much.  At the time I didn't see anything wrong with this.

When I returned home for Christmas break, I continued to follow my new eating habits, counting calories, and spending a lot of time on the treadmill.  The thought of returning to school in January gave me a lot of anxiety.  I became depressed.  Nothing felt right anymore.  I didn't want to see my friends.  I didn't want to be around anyone.  I spent most of my time in my room, on my computer, reading about people with eating disorders, looking at pictures of thin actresses, and believing being thin like them would make me happy.  I spoke to my mom and told her that I didn't want to return to school in January, and I didn't.  I got a job working at a (not so busy) tanning salon 5 hours a day M-F.  A good day for me was waking up, eating a few bites of food, or none at all, going to work, coming home around 2:30, eating a very planned out "lunch" of 200 or so calories, going for a run to burn them all off, staying in my room until "dinner" and going to bed having consumed 800-850 calories that day.  Anything more than that and I was upset.  I lost a lot of weight.  

Two of my friends grew increasingly concerned and decided to call my mom to inform her of what was going on.  My mom had noticed I was losing weight, but I think maybe she was in denial of what was going on.  The three of them confronted me and urged me to get help.  At the time I was angry.  I reluctantly agreed to see a therapist to keep everyone quiet.  (I have tremendous guilt now for the hurt that I caused to the people I love the most from my selfish behavior, and inability to see anything else but my disorder.  Many people tried to help me, and I would not accept it.)        

Over the next few months I saw a therapist weekly, I was put on antidepressants, and I began gaining weight.  I was constantly watched.  I felt like a prisoner in my home and my body.  I didn't know what to do.  And then I did something that I will forever regret.  I made myself throw up after feeling as though I had eaten too much.  I don't remember exactly when it occurred, or where I was.  I do know it took a couple of tries before I was "successful" for the first time.  This began what I consider to be the darkest years of my life.  It's very difficult for me to talk about.  It's disgusting, shameful, and embarrassing.  I wish it had never happened that first time.

I thought this was my way out.  This was my way to eat when I needed to in front of people, and then get rid of it after.  Well, it didn't take long before I was making myself vomit multiple times a day, some days up to 5 or 6 times.  I would stuff myself with large amounts of food, vomit, and repeat.  It was awful.  This went on for a couple of years, until I was confronted by my mom once again.  I had never felt so ashamed in my entire life.  However, I couldn't stop.  I realize that sounds ridiculous, and it is probably hard to imagine if you've never experienced anything like this.  Eating disorders grab a hold of you and don't ever let go.  It is a constant battle quieting the voices that tell you you're not good enough and you need to lose weight.  At the time, it is difficult to imagine the potential for lifelong effects.  All your mind can focus on is food and weight.  Nothing else matters.  It's an addiction, just like drinking or smoking.  The difficult part about eating disorders is that you can't avoid food completely to brake the addiction.

I never really felt the effects of what I was doing until recently.  Over the years, the self-induced vomiting became less frequent, but would still occur from time to time.  I wanted to be healthy, but after years of being extremely unhealthy, I didn't really know how.  August 17, 2013 was the last time I made myself vomit.  Admitting that fact is one of the hardest things I have ever done.  My secret is out.  The following day (Sunday), I ran a terrible race and am lucky that nothing bad happened to me due to being extremely dehydrated.  After many many years of restricting calories and eating then purging, I finally felt the effect of the damage I was doing to my body.  After that race I made a promise to myself that I would NEVER force myself to vomit again.  I have not done so since.

About a month ago, I went to a GI doctor try to figure out a cause of the stomach and digestion issues I have been experiencing for years.  I had blood drawn, a colonoscopy, and upper endoscopy.  What they found was inflammation in my esophagus from stomach acid, as well as inflammation in my intestines.  I was diagnosed with IBS, and given two different prescriptions to take.  One every day in the morning, and one before each meal.  I am very certain that this is due to the years and years of abuse I put my GI system through.  Now, I have to deal with the lifelong consequences, and the daily stomach discomfort.  

Why am I sharing all this?  Mostly for myself as a final attempt to close the door on a rough chapter of my life, and look towards a better, healthier, more confident future.  The other reason is for the hope that I could help even just one person to see how horrible and dangerous eating disorders are.  They absolutely are not worth it.  They do not help anyone in any way.  I gave away too many years of my life and the only things I got in return are a damaged GI tract, scars on my knuckles from making myself vomit, way too many unpleasant memories, embarrassment, shame, and guilt.  Eating disorders are very real and very dangerous.  They are difficult to talk about, but I think awareness is very important.

I know that the bad thoughts will return from time to time, but I feel fully ready and willing to put up a fight and tell them to go away.  It's been a very long road, but I finally feel like I have won.

If you have any questions, please ask, I will do my best to answer them.    

Jingle Bell Half

On Saturday, December 14, I ran the Jingle Bell Half Marathon in Atkinson, NH.  My friend, Lori, had asked me if I wanted to do it with her.  I was a little unsure about committing to a half marathon in December, in NH, but she had just committed to running the Vermont City Marathon with me in the spring, so I figured I owed her one.  The Jingle Bell Half would be my last race of 2013, and put an end to a long, but rewarding, year of racing.

As race day approached, I became more excited about having one more half marathon to finish out the year.  My training lately has been going great, and I've been seeing and feeling a lot of improvements.  I PR'd the half marathon in Boston at Boston's Run to Remember in May, but have struggled to finish close to that time since.  I only finished under 1:50 one other time this year recently, at the Seacoast Half Marathon in November.  I didn't verbalize a time goal for this race.  Most importantly, I just wanted to have fun and finish the year with a good memory.  But, in the back of my mind I know I was hoping to finish sub-1:50 and as close to my PR time as possible.

The week of the race, I did as most do, and began checking the weather forecast for Saturday.  Apparently Jack Frost wanted to remind us it was winter in NH.

I would have been happy if the temp had actually reached 15 degrees that day.  Instead, we were hit with 9 degrees at the start, and a balmy 12 degrees at the time of the finish.  It was cold.  Due to the weather, and the elevation chart I figured I should take a look at…

My goal for the race quickly turned in to:

Race morning began as most do.  Wake up, make coffee, drop a nuun tab in some water, check twitter, sit on the couch, eventually eat a gluten free bagel with peanut butter and jelly, then begin to get dressed and gather my race day essentials.  I dressed lightly for the hour ride to the race, but made sure to pack extra layers and a change of clothes for after so I didn't freeze on the ride home.  In case you're crazy like me, and end up running a half marathon in single digits…here's what worked for me: Oiselle new lesley tights, winona tank, 2 lux layers, and the flyer jacket.  I also wore a headband to cover my ears, gloves, and a neck warmer.  

Flyte tank instead of winona, and only one lux layer,
but these are my go-to layers to stay warm.

Thankfully, the race started (and finished) at the Atkinson Country Club.  This meant a warm room and bathrooms before the race, and motivation to run as fast as possible to return to the warmth after.  We stayed inside as long as possible, until we were told to get our butts to the starting line.  Ready or not, it was time to run.  

Lori and I staying warm for as long as possible

We gathered at the starting line somewhere around the middle of the pack.  We jumped up and down, did some last minute stretching, and thankfully after just a few minutes, it was time to go. 

This is my pretending to be excited face.

To my surprise, once we started running, I didn't feel as cold as I thought I was going to.  Again, thankfully, there was no wind, which helped make the cold somewhat bearable.  Lori was aiming for a PR and told me she was going to try to stick with me as long as possible.  When we started she took off and was in front of me for the first mile or two.  I didn't try to catch up to her, I've made that mistake in other races before.  I just tried to stay calm and run my own race.  Unfortunately, my Garmin was set on kilometers, which I didn't realize until I started running.  I decided to stop my watch, switch back to miles, and start it again at mile 1 so I would at least know what my pace was like.  So dumb.      

I don't remember much of the course.  It was mostly through residential areas.  There was a section that was on a main road, with cones along the right side of the road that we were supposed to stay inside of.  We basically had to run single file, which made it difficult to pass people.  I felt better than I had expected running up and down the rolling hills that were promised on this course.  Lori was now running right by my side, or slightly behind me until mile 8 or 9, which helped to push me forward.  It was around that time that my ears started to feel cold and I became very aware of just how cold it was.  Looking around, most people had frost on their headbands, hats, gloves, water bottles, and beards.  It was pretty funny actually, but also a constant reminder of how cold it was.  

At mile 8 I struggled to chew a shot block that was pretty frozen at that point.  So was the water I attempted to drink after.  I still felt good while running, but needed something to take my mind off the cold.  I pulled out my iPod and frozen ear buds and started listening to music that would carry me through the rest of the race.  The miles went by pretty quickly.  My face felt numb, but other than that I felt good.  I pulled up my neck warmer a few times to try to breath in to it and warm my face.  It worked for a couple minutes, but the cold air always found its way back in.  

Around mile 10 I started to pick up the pace a bit.  Since I didn't start my watch until the first mile, I wasn't really sure what my time was at that point, but I tried to figure it out based on what I thought I ran the first in.  I thought I would be close to a PR, and definitely sub-1:50 as long as nothing crazy happened.  I felt myself running faster with each mile…11…12…13.  I was passing people who had passed me earlier in the race.  As I climbed the last hill to the finish line I gave it all I had left.  

1:47:59…8:15 av pace.

Not quite a PR, but it is my second fastest half marathon time.  The course in Boston I PR'd on was the flattest half I've done, so given the elevation and the cold, this felt like a PR to me.  It was the perfect end to a year of racing.  

Side note: as I was typing this I tried to upload the data from my Garmin and it died (again).  I guess my splits are forever lost inside Garmin world.  Sad day.